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There’s no woman who doesn’t look hot in a tiny black dress.

Sweet, innocent, and desperately pleading — all at once.

Three women I want, none of whom I’ll have.

I’m a human thermometer, but only below 60 degrees.

A woman on the subway, in a red dress, squeezing her thighs together.

All black, except her hair. And a run behind the left knee.

I’ve never been one for the pick-up — but I’m learning that sitting at a bar and telling a stranger you’re a sex blogger makes for surprisingly easy conversation.

I want your orgasms. All of them.

A refreshed look at what you all are reading — and what that says about you, and me.

Two brief fictions about blindfolds, trust, and the senses we use to know one another.