Musing

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.

The perils of being a slut who writes about it: everyone feels special to me, but the blog makes everyone look the same.

A guy at the gym paid me a compliment, and it made my day.

Guilty as charged: I’m a fetishist of lists. Here are two.