Musing

From George Costanza to Gary Sinise — and the secret society that opened its doors along the way.

On the right words for what I do in bed. Wanna fool around?

Don’t travel to fuck someone you haven’t met. Obviously.

Desire is strange: compliance medicates a deep, dark wound, and photo #126 of her ass is every bit as thrilling as the first.

There’s a tendency to imagine some objective standard of ethical behavior against which we should measure others. I’m not buying it.

Noms de whatever: the evolution from hiding behind “Grey” to being liberated by “N. Likes.”

Wanting what I can’t have is the single thing that most torments me in life. And it’s never about them — it’s me.

Sex is best when we use one another ruthlessly, and that’s precisely why it’s so hard with the people we love most.

So many questions. Not so many answers.

Checking the “bi-curious” box on a swingers site: half the men think you’re going to rape them, the other half wish you would.