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My body responds before my mind does, but thankfully, my mind wins every time — and it’s not virtue, it’s something deeper and darker that keeps me honest.

You’re out there, reading, aching, wanting. I know. Write to me.

Coffee, months of tension, and then, finally, a late night in which she did everything I asked and I disappeared into the dark.

Two sexy women, two great dates, and two write-ups that made the sex sound less hot than it was. I’m better at desire than satisfaction — on the page, at least.

I have strong feelings about Google Inbox, and one fatal flaw involves your nudes.

I can predict the outcome of a date with near-perfect accuracy, which only raises the question of why I sometimes go on the ones I know will be bad.

The things I tend to do, and ask for, as I get to know a woman — and why they matter to me even if they’re not exactly new.

A plea for compassion from the man I am to the man I’ll become.

Every six months or so, I fall ill. I’m ill. Here’s some old stuff while I recover.

Before I tell you what makes me sexy, let me lead with my weakness — arrogance, selfishness, stubbornness, a smaller-than-average cock, and a monotonous sexual repertoire, for starters.