Fear

My surprising strategy to fend off fears of death – mine or others – is to feel my cock grow hard.

Why do I procrastinate? Because I’m scared.

Most of my dates are sure things. This one won’t be, and that means something much scarier than not getting laid: the possibility of being rejected not for my looks, but for *me*.

The ethics of openness, secrecy, and desire — and the icky feeling when someone else gets what you can’t have, precisely because they’re willing to be dishonest about it.

My brain would rather be anywhere but here — planning dinner, rehearsing catastrophes, fantasizing — as if the present moment were the one place it can’t bear to stay.

Forgiveness isn’t something we do. It’s something that happens to us — if we let it.