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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.

It took about twenty seconds to find out everything about Alison. I probably won’t use any of it.

A woman on the subway. Or in a coffee shop. Wherever she was, I saw her.