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An “exercise pad” at the hourly hotel. We didn’t notice it until we were on our way out.

L and I are starting a contest to see whose blog does better — metrics, prizes, punishments, the whole deal. She’s worried I’ll kick her ass. I’m still figuring out the prizes.

She wasn’t much to look at, but her mouth ruined me for everyone else.

A evening out, planned in detail — for someone I won’t be joining.

A resolution I somehow left off the list.

A scavenger hunt, of sorts, beginning at Grand Central and ending in Room 1402.

L sent me an elf-pajama crotch shot. Merry Christmas.

Sometimes the high road gets you exactly where you wanted to go.

She does as I ask. And then she says the thing that makes a tentative dom go weak in the knees.

The deliciousness of anticipation — and its fragility.