Dear Department of Transportation:
Imagine a taxi. Make it a seductive little conveyance on four wheels. Deck it out with leather seats, furry little balls lining the roof, neon plates…. Now imagine me in the backseat. I’m wearing a dark linen suit and a white shirt with a few buttons undone. Is that the hint of a hard-on you see outlined against the fabric at my crotch? Imagine that, and a hard-on it will be. Imagine me riding without a destination, taking my time, checking out the women in their summer dresses as they glide past my windows. Imagine the high heels and the short slit skirts. Remember that hard-on you were imagining? You don’t have to imagine it anymore. Consider the hard-on a fact. Continue reading Backseat Imagination: his response to The Taxi Sex Experiment
Dear Mr. X,
We were at a large party out in the countryside with several dozen people, and midnight was gone. Music blasted from loudspeakers, and waiters moved everywhere with generous varieties of booze. We had escaped across the lawn from the noise (booze in hand) to chat with a few friends. My wife and I don’t often stay out late together, but if we make it past midnight everything is possible. Also, if my wife has more than three cocktails, everything is probable. 
X, My pussy gets wet just typing that little erotic letter. I mean just glimpsing it down there on my keyboard, my nipples get hard. But then my skin is so sensitive these days that any old letter is likely to set me off on increasingly vivid fantasies. “QWERTY” is like dirty talk to me. I called 
My Little Exhibitionist,
The world is always at a distance, and what happens out there can often seem like a strange performance through a plate of glass, less real than the thoughts that fire through our minds. Separation is the modern condition, and I find that it’s only in sex that the world and my mind collapse into one another and become unified.
Dear Mr. X,
Dear Intrepid Voyager,
My Duke,
I continue to be awed by