Category Archives: Sex



I’m a Camgirl now. And here’s what I’ve learned:

Camming is all about the art of seduction.

Premeditated seduction makes me uncomfortable because I like to believe seduction is a spontaneous process and seductiveness is a natural quality. I truly believe that the kind of connection I form through seduction is singular and irreplicable. It’s magic–our connection. It’s God.

We favor quality over quantity: a fresh pastry over a loaf of Wonderbread, a chocolate truffle over a bag of Tootsie Rolls, a filet over a Double Quarter Pounder.

But when it comes to human interactions this just isn’t true. Time is King. The longer you’ve known someone the more meaningful your relationship. Love is valued like labor: Time is the dominant measure of value. Anything outside of what you’ve clocked just doesn’t “count.”

Films end. So do therapy sessions. A breeze dies. Your sister can only visit you for a week. You dance to a song at the bar and the song fades out. Talk to a stranger and take their advice. Ride a roller coaster. I don’t know…

Maybe we need these scripts to jump off of. Dancing with you is not the same if we’re at my house and I play the song. We need the surprise. A DJ to play the song. A crowd to be a part of. A crowd to distinguish ourselves from, through our connection.

Maybe seduction is just the set-up for the scene for us to play out…the detail given to the improv performers so they can make their magic.

Maybe these set-ups that I view as so unnatural are actually the tool that nature provides us, so we can build our specificities upon it.

Sex After Ecstasy (#nofilter)

sex after x

When the experience of drugs doesn’t fundamentally change you, it’s only natural to keep coming back for more.

When you get to enjoy the reoccurring insights that your new understanding of life offers you, there just isn’t the same urgency. One new theory is exciting enough.

Doing Mylie opened up a new cavity in my heart and expanded my capacity for love. Caring for my dog Norman expanded my capacity for love.

I also felt something pop in my emotional psyche when I had my last seizure.

The day after we did Mylie, as I sat in my boyfriend’s flannel and watched television with his sons, I felt a horror that he would leave into the garage and never return. Doubt spread through my veins like hot water stings and I cycled through horror and fear that my love for him was not equally reciprocated, that I had only imagined what happened the night before, that I would never love and care for anyone like that again, and that I would never be able to get over the sadness I felt mourning those moments.

The felt such a strong sense of loss that I couldn’t keep from telling my new boyfriend I feel really scared you don’t love me right now. He found this adorable and assured me the feeling would pass. It was true. My love for him went on and I loved him in a more honest, direct, true, atomic way than I had ever loved anyone before.

For the next year and a half we brought joy everywhere we went together. Together, we radiated. And when I walk Norman down the street, 9 out of 10 people we cross crack a smile. And when I ate mushrooms I developed the ability to distinguish my self from my clothes.

And when I ate mushrooms again I stood in a rain forrest pinched between freeways and felt tears spill down my cheeks as I longed for the comfort of Jason.

Drugs are real. My love for Norm is real. And I know something popped when I had a seizure.

The reality I’m not sure of is the earnestness with which I question my memory of him dragging me down, throwing me out, and leaving me fucked at a dark gas station in the middle of nowhere. And I don’t trust that I didn’t effortfully push him to do it.

Is this what people imagine when they refuse to try ecstasy because they fear sex will never be as good again?

Museum of Sex / TRPLBLK Exclusive: DOM-estic Violence

My brilliant friend TRPLBLK released a new music video on the Museum of Sex blog today: “DOM-estic Violence.” The song is from Big Dick Niggas Eat Pussy Too, a Curtis-Mayfield-ish-spoken-word-R&B album all about the man’s love for lady parts. I swear, TRPLBLK is the only man who can pat my pussy and rub my head at the same time. The lyric “She pull out my dick and she slap herself with it” should be an automatic nomination for songwriter of the year. Seeing TRPLBLK’s work acknowledged by the Museum of Sex makes me tingle all over. Fuck yeah. If you want to tingle, too, watch the video here and then read TRPLBLK’s interview on the MoSex Blog.

Fuck Sex


Sex is isolating.

The subject of sex separates me from the people I cherish most.

I have experienced more significant things than sex. I have made stronger bonds and felt deeper appreciation and connection with people in relationships where sex is off-limits. If sex is a disruptive property to these bonds then fuck sex.

I want to be friends with my friends’ wives. It’s this issue of sex that villainizes me in the spaces I most want to be.

Sex is not a scary place where I feel vulnerable. A sober dinner with friends is. Entering a new business partnership is. Making art and showing it to someone whose opinion matters to me is.

The sex world isn’t better than the rest of the world. They’re crazy and disorganized and unfocused and unreliable and don’t really care if they wind up fucking you in the end. It’s like every other disappointing conglomeration—there is no interest in expanding, growing, improving, or connecting.

And they don’t have any money. It’s only like two steps above any given local hip hop scene.

If you want money, go to the people who are against the sex world. I wish it was their ass that I was kissing right now. Sex with the repressed is always better anyway.

I love the people I don’t have sex with so much more than the people I do. My interest in sex causes discomfort and distrust with those people.

Sex is isolating. Love is encompassing. Fuck sex.