Compliance

Interrogating the hydraulics of not being turned on.

I don’t want to see your breasts. I want to hear your voice.

We men are like a kid running with scissors: irresponsible and dangerous.

Just like a toddler, what I want isn’t to have — it’s to get.

Joe Orton, public restrooms, and what I actually want when I ask a woman to spread her legs for me in a hotel bar.

I’m REALLY good at compartmentalizing.

Words, cock, hands, tongue, imagination, demands — these are what I trade in. Give me your compliance, your arousal, your sounds, your images, and I promise: I will only ask for more.

Here’s what I want. It’s simple, really.

I directed you through the crowd, watching your ass, before we ended up in a champagne room with whipped cream and a dancer named Dee who couldn’t stop talking about your tits.

Bad science, good questions, and the hottest sexual experience I can remember — one I wish I could forget.