Musing

A man dies on the street outside Starbucks, and I think about sex, death, and gratitude.

Life goes on, even when it shouldn’t. Especially when it shouldn’t.

Given my druthers, I’d simply lie back and be ministered to. This makes me a boring sexual partner, but at least I’m self-aware about it.

Jillian Keenan wrote a terrific, honest exploration of her appetite for spanking in, of all places, *The New York Times*.

Less writing, less sex, less energy — but not less thinking about all three.

If abortion is murder, rape and incest exceptions reveal what you’re really after: punishing women for having sex.

I wanted to write about the impossibility of symmetry in non-monogamy. Turns out I already did.

Trying not to replicate my father’s mistakes around sex and secrecy, while knowing I probably already have.

Another questionnaire — this time, about how you’d like me to go down on you.

Privacy is good. Secrecy? That’s my addict doing pushups in the basement.