Craigslist

It wasn’t the sex I was addicted to — it was the endless, shimmering promise of it, glowing on screen after screen.

An elaborate fantasy involving oral sex, a dinner party, and Craigslist — and the humbling discovery that almost no one else wants what I want.

How trust builds, one flaked plan and one awkward drink at a time, when you’re paying for companionship.

My peak erotic experience was real. My peak erotic fantasy is more revealing.

The Craigslist ad that started it all — a little self-knowledge, a lot of squats, and two trainers later, I’m in the best shape of my life.

CraigsList, hotel rooms, and the education of a sexually self-aware man, one blowjob at a time.

The demimonde of pseudonymous sex blogging: simultaneous radical honesty and complete secrecy, and the strange discomfort of living as two authentic selves.

My wife had a great idea, and I ran with it — farther than she probably expected.

Craigslist ads, dubious correspondents, and the question of what turns me on about a story that may well be entirely fictional.

She sounded too good to be true, and there’s no such thing as that good on Craigslist.