Thanks for showing interest in my writing. Instead of sharing what I write about, let me start by telling you what I will never write about: Becoming super rich on Medium, ways to optimize your life in just 3 steps and celibacy.
Most racy —
Most read —
Most politically incorrect—
A glimpse into my past —
And who I am today —
I’m your alter-ego.
Who enjoys people and provocation.
Not the devil on your shoulder but rather the devil’s advocate.
A romantic that’s anything but hopeless.
Who enjoys a hint of danger, in and out of…
On my knees. Staring up at him while he takes off his belt in front of my eyes. My mouth salivating in anticipation.
Most people’s sexual fantasies have familiar beginnings. Belt unbuckling is mine. For it’s not just the sight of a man removing his belt that gets me wet, but how he might use it later.
Adding toys to the bedroom doesn’t have to come from a drawer of leather paraphilia. Often, it’s a simple accessory at waist level just waiting for moments of spontaneity to arise. …
“Hello?” I answer in a groggy, hungover voice.
“Hey, I’ve been thinking about you a lot today. How old are you again?” It’s my girlfriend, Vita. She’s 50 but doesn’t look a day over 30.
I look at the time. It’s 11 AM. I’ve been sleeping for 5 hours as it was a late night out dancing at some warehouse party. “You there, she asks?”
“Ya, ya, I’m here. I’m 33. Why do you ask?”
“Well, you should really think about freezing your eggs this year.” She says in a serious voice. “You don’t have a lot of time.”
For the curious and restless like me, here’s what I think about laying in bed. To set the scene, not usually naked and in the act. Then my thoughts are preoccupied with other stimuli. But for when sheep counting gets old…
What do you do when you hear someone having sex next door? Cover your ears, leave the room you’re in, or get real quiet and put your ear closer to the source. Thought so.
The word voyeur, after all, comes from the french word “voir,” which means to see, so don’t worry, your fetish is safe with me.
There’s nowhere to go but up.
That’s often what people tell their friends when they’ve hit rock bottom to comfort them. We don’t tell ourselves because there’s no actual light at the bottom.
But what if you aren’t at rock bottom but simply floating through time and space, trapped in an infinite loop of sameness?
That’s how I feel. Likely many of us feel.
Not depressed. Not overjoyed. Just neutral. And I’ve learned it washes out my skin.
For the most part, I am stable. The way a rolling office chair is stable. As long as I’m not stuck in…
Are you bringing anyone? Have you asked him yet?
What are you wearing? How short is it?
What time are you going to show up? Where should we post-party?
Decisions I wish I was making this year.
Instead, I’ll be sitting at home in yoga pants reminiscing on all the cringe-worthy moments from holiday parties past. The almost obligatory tradition where you drink copious amounts of alcohol with people who you wouldn’t normally find yourself having small talk with.
Like the guy from IT who brings his biker wife who reminds you of a character straight out of Sons of…
If your country asked you to have sex and procreate for patriotic reasons, would you do it?
That’s the challenge Denmark faced. In 2015, their population growth rate was only 0.1%, according to data provided by ourworldindata.org. Like other developed nations, Danes were opting to delay the child process, having fewer children or none at all. This decline presented a challenge for the country as a slowdown in population growth correlates with a slowdown in overall economic growth.
Own your sexuality! Be sexually liberated! You can have sex like a man too!
Hm. I can see why men are confused when I won’t sleep with them on a first date if I like them.
If I don’t, your chances of a 2 AM text increase by 50%. But if I like you, I’ll throw every caution in the wind as the atmosphere turns hard and wet. On one such stormy night, a tornado of words found oxygen.
It was a second date, and he found himself in my bed. We were mostly naked. I say mostly because he…
My Instagram feed over the last couple of days has been filled with jubilant celebrations reminiscent of some of my favorite late 90s hip hop videos: Champagne bottles popped over crowds, booty-shaking on the streets, and joints passed in cars.
Democracy beat fascism.
Love beat hate.
Kamala broke the glass ceiling.
Biden broke the age ceiling.
How much change will come when Biden officially takes office is yet to be determined but, if history is any indication we will soon return to our regular programming of COVID blues, retail therapy, selfies, and disparaging the other side.
“What are you going to be for Halloween this year,” a friend asks.
“A whore”, I reply.
“Ha, aren’t we all! But what’s your costume?”
“No, that’s it. I’m going as a hooker.”
Fast forward to Halloween day. I put on my pink bob wig, a leopard print bra, fishnet tights, a pair of skimpy underwear, and black thigh-high leather boots. Not quite Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman more Natalie Portman in Closer but you get the idea.
It was going to be a chilly night and the party was mostly going to be outside so I added a…
Writer | Provocative ideas on sex, relationships & culture | Lover of darkness, duality, and depth