Massage

A Saturday afternoon, a Village Voice, and a pay phone: the mechanics of my first paid sexual encounter.

My relationship to money and desire, and the ingenious, self-defeating system I built to get the former without risking the latter.

A tour of the rub-and-tug establishments of my past, from the grim to the almost classy.

A sex party in a Bushwick loft, with velvet pouches, topless acrobats, and a crowd that works in public radio.

Standing on a street corner, waiting for a woman who would never come, I finally saw just how far I’d fallen.