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I have a stalker. It’s not fun.

A woman on the street wants to know my pornographic preferences. I’m not sure I ever understood what she was after.

A chance encounter in a coffee shop with someone I once paid to dress, suck, and fuck — back in a chapter of my life that ended long ago.

She’s smoking hot, she’s read my blog, and she’s afraid she’ll pale in comparison. She won’t. All I ever think, when things are going well, is “Fuuuuuuuucckkkkk!”

I don’t even know what to say.

Right now, Sofia’s far away. Not in miles – she’s always far away in miles – but in every other way.

An alphabetical catalogue of the women who blow hot and cold — and what that says about me.

The smartest and hottest sex bloggers, under one roof.

I loiter on her block, phone in hand, one eye on the screen and one on the passers-by, hoping for something I’ve agreed not to pursue.

’nuff said.