Sexuality

I’m writing about Isabella, one of two women who taught me the most about my sexuality. She showed me my cock could be an object of desire, while Cecil taught me my desire itself could be desired. I miss them both — not just for sex, but for the intimacy we shared.

I’m reflecting on how shame has shaped my life and my blog since 2010 — from the radical openness I once had in writing about my most uncomfortable impulses, to the self-judgment and contempt that have crept back in now that I’m less anonymous and less self-accepting.

Yesenia has effortless elegance, always-impeccable style. I wonder what she wears beneath. Everyone should only wear things that make them [feel] hot.

Meeting women has changed dramatically over the last 15 years — from mass-swiping Tinder to the blog attracting partners organically — and now all avenues have dried up.

I’m marking the 15th anniversary of my blog, a few months late. What began as exhibitionistic and therapeutic has become a memoir of my inner life through my fifties.

Every behavior, sexual or otherwise, contains valuable information. Lately my pornographic habits are raising disturbing new questions I’ve been avoiding — ones I plan to explore in a future post.

I contrast my past destructive obsession with commercial sex against my current generative, productive compulsion with AI tools.

I reflect on my lack of passionate, spontaneous sex and the losses inherent in any particular sexual configuration.