Memory or fantasy?

I direct her from across a crowded hotel lobby, texting instructions while businessmen in khakis steal glances at what they can’t have.

L concedes our contest, but not without first turning my Twitter feed into porn set in an Applebee’s.

Sometimes, bossing people around gets exhausting. Sometimes, you just want to kneel.

An infinite line of women, infinite stamina, and not a single act of intercourse. It’s my fantasy — I’m allowed to be selfish.

Seven sexual wishes for the new year — some more likely than others.

A scavenger hunt, of sorts, beginning at Grand Central and ending in Room 1402.

My hand lifts you by your crotch; my other hand pushes you down. You hinge forward at the hips, ready for whatever may come next.