After a lovely evening at Suspension, I decided to revamp my FetLife profile. A few positive hours of spanking very pretty strangers will do that to you.

About me
Writer, New Yorker, hedonist, poly, dandy, kinky, daddy, top, switch. Man of letters. Man of great hungers. Man about town.

I’m interested in doing complicated things with complex people who have diverse tastes.

I am most comfortable topping. I am good at being mean. I am a caring sadist. I like figuring out how people work and then taking advantage of that knowledge. I enjoy leaving marks, making people make funny noises, and basically controlling someone’s pleasure, pain, and comfort.

I am far more picky about bottoming. I bottom to pain and enjoy being in service to those I have a strong connection with. I am an able valet and a considerate service top. Being queened is one of my top kinks, though more the physical act than the associated humiliation play.

I love co-topping and middling. I am most comfortable as a hired thug.

I enjoy ageplay, as a big. Dirty uncle, bully older brother, and other mixed dynamics are fun. I am only a daddy to my girl.

Most of what you want/need to know about me can be found on my erotica site, Erotica, true stories, rants and sex toy reviews. Buy my books.

If I’ve violated anyone’s boundaries, as a top or a bottom, I’d like to know about it so I can apologize, and help resolve conflicts about boundaries and safewords and power.

Note: With few exceptions, I only friend people I have met or plan to meet in the NYC area.




It was so delightful, shooting with @natashagornik for this series. We met late morning at my studio and danced with the light that streamed in from my westward facing windows. Natasha is always such a pleasure - but I love her face and demeanor when she’s crafting so very much. A special treat of an interaction.  



There are no kinks, fetishes, perversions, or even dark fantasies that make me even remotely as uncomfortable as writing even one sentence about what it is like being both a sexual being and a fat man.

And let me note that this is a good example of something that sucks, but is pretty low on the spectrum of things that suck in the world. As a fat white queerish man, the impact of me not being portrayed as a someone who deserves pleasure in any reasonably respectful way is problematic, but indicative of a whole other array of problems. So yeah, what I’m trying to say is, it is important to contextualize your problems. That fight is one of many and doesn’t diminish any other fights.


I write notes on my phone a lot. Every few months I take those notes and either trash them or move them to text documents in my Writing folder of my Dropbox.

Sometimes there are weird gems that I am not sure what to do with. Sometimes they are the start of stories. Sometimes they find there way into stories I’ve already started. Something they just hang around. Here are some.

The tale of the wounded bird collector.


Lucy had perfected the bored look years ago. Ideally, she needed a martini in her hand. She dressed like it was 1962 and had fire engine red lips and a body that could make a man sell his soul or even his house.


She promised not to smoke if I just came over. When I got there, she stank of mouthwash and she didn’t know what to do with her hands.


There was nothing to do but fall into her arms, trapped in her honeyed gravity well.


You could tell the state of Amanda’s life from the state of her lips. That morning they were chapped and bitten and in general all fucked up. It was going to be a long morning.


They met in line to tour the Vatican. She was with her parents for that last vacation before you are too old to go on vacation with your parents anymore. Barely twenty. Could there be a more inappropriate place to pick someone up?


He touched the ring on her bellybutton. “Was this your first little rebellion?” he mocked.

Her mouth turned into a frown and as she pouted she wished he would smack her already.


I gave in. I gave all of myself. I surrendered to the Power Point presentation.


Naked, he looked very different than the man in the suit she had gone home with. His chest was broad and strong and as she moved closer she wondered if this was what it would be like to put your hand through a cage a pet a lion.


Sometimes he would place his hand on her forehead, as if checking her for a fever, and the comfort it brought frightened her. How did he have the power to turn off her thoughts and stop the shaking and the fear? How did his hand become such a powerful sedative?