Dating

Luna scares me — she’s too hot, too smart, too snarky, and my desire for her is so visceral it makes me stupid and vulnerable in ways I don’t write about well.

I meet, and prepare to use, Luna.

She’s tall, toned, and joyously kinky — and our date got me thinking about shame, its absence, and why I need it lurking somewhere nearby for sex to mean anything at all.

A new woman. Blonde, full-lipped, slender, smart, demanding. I have high hopes.

Designed by addiction researchers, populated by women whose clits throb at lunch — Tinder may be my dream app.

An exchange on OKCupid about dominance, submission, and feminism that I found… illuminating.

The ethics of fucking someone else’s partner aren’t mine to police. But the practical risks? Those I think about.

Sentences overheard (by too many) in a bar.

I was wrong about Ashley Madison.

I’ve discovered the simple pleasure of talking to women in bars — no agenda, no expectations, just conversation.