Musing

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.

James Deen is pretty much my sexual role model. But I have some notes.

What I mean when I write “I fucked her face” is usually a lot more gentle — and a lot more complicated — than it sounds.

I didn’t choose my type, and I can’t will it away — but I wish I could.