Musing

Blood doesn’t bother me. Tampon strings, on the other hand, are a different story entirely.

I was raised in shame, and lived most of my life there. I’m finding my way out, slowly.

When I wrote this discussion of a GQ profile of Deen, we didn’t know him to be a rapist. Or at least, a poor handler of a rape accusation.

Before I tell you about the boat, T and I need to negotiate what our son might one day read — and somehow that leads to the word “Daddy,” Oedipus, and my mother.

People always want to label themselves: swinger, poly, kinkster, slut. I hate labels.

I threw S under the bus, and she called me on it. Now I’m earning her trust back, one picture at a time.

K asked me to describe my orgasm. Turns out it’s as hard as it sounds.

I’ve never been a fan of the quickie — but I’m learning.

Establishing trust with distant buddies, women I’ve never met and may never meet, can be a challenge.

Liza asked how my long-distance relationships evolve from tawdry to something more. The answer, it turns out, is slowly, unevenly, and with a certain melancholy.