Dating

From the strip club to the hotel room, I directed your orgasms by text — and then joined you for the rest.

She tells it better than I could.

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.

Snap judgments, Birkenstocks, and ostrich burgers: a date that was over before it started.

Socializing at a poly event plays to exactly none of my strengths.

I call myself a slut, but the truth is more complicated — and more Groucho Marx than easy lay.

What I really missed wasn’t sex — it was seduction.

She wanted the offer, not the items on offer.

A night out with a new couple gets off to an inauspicious start.

A loss neither of us wanted, imposed from without.