Half-dressed on a lawn chair--

1. Writing erotica means thinking a lot about what sexuality is and how much it is both literally private in that you can't TRULY share the inner life/narrative that drives intellectual/physical/emotional response AND how it is so particular in the ways that one lines up with another. I mean, you can sleep with anyone. But that phrase, "sex, like pizza, even when it's bad it's still pretty good" is in no way true. Bad sex, past a certain age, is just dumb. And in order to be a decent human there is a certain amount of caring with which you must engage. 

And bad pizza is a sort of culinary tragedy. 

2. I once made out with a lovely, beautiful man and, then, in the interest of trying to be honest and ethical, told him I also had feelings for a mutual friend. I was trying to be open and kind, and my feelings for someone else had nothing to do with the fact that I found him attractive, lovely, and was someone about whom I was curious and wanted to make dinner and get to know. I wanted to find out if I had "intentions" because I was pleasantly surprised to find out, in that moment, I did! Totally backfired--understandably, I suppose. Sometimes, just like with sex, it's hard to express what we mean in a way that is understood the way we intend by another. Such a bummer as it was the first time I'd enjoyed myself in a while. 

3. Lust is a strange beast--and the older I get is driven by those people with whom you feel both nervous and comfortable, challenged and accepted. Make me want to snuggle even as you've made me blush and I'm over the moon.