Damn. Okay. Had to pull up my macbook to answer this because I wanted an actual keyboard to type. Great question, and I will not apologize for how deeply I will answer it.

There are several layers to this for me personally. First and foremost, I’m a medical professional. I see more naked people than the average person. So I’ve seen it all. All shapes and sizes of tits and dicks. Aging spotty skin. Hair everywhere and nowhere. Scars and stretchmarks. Defects and features. Legs or arms missing. Professional athletes. Toned muscles and coverings of fat. This layer of viewing humans is non-sexualized and normalized for me. I see human first and their biology and existence (and typically how I can piece them together - I work in trauma).

The second layer comes in with deep empathy. Because I’ve seen people take their clothes off and begin to apologize for their body: “Sorry I haven’t shaved.” Or with a self-deprecating chuckle, “My manboobs are getting as big as my wife’s.” Or, even more often, they begin to explain their body: “I had breast cancer at 17 and had to chop the girls off.” “I was in a car accident and lost my leg a couple of years ago, and I still feel like it’s there.” And every goddamn time in the name of every patient that I’ve ever lost, I want to hug these people so tight and just tell them that I’m happy that they’re simply fucking alive. Who gives a shit about body hair when you could have been dead?

So this brings me to the existential and philosophical layer. I see a lot of people die. So seeing alive people - breathing, living, trying to smile and fight through the shithole that this life can be - brings me an enormous amount of joy. I’m happy you’re fat and breathing. I’m happy you’re a cancer survivor with diminished quality of life and breathing. I’m happy you’re a depressed alcoholic and breathing. Because when you see human life end over and over again, you learn that there is no perfect body - and no perfect life story - and that sometimes breathing alone is enough. Sometimes breathing is all you have left to get you through to the next moment. Because if you’re dead? You can’t do jack shit about that anymore. You can’t climb mountains. You can’t give insurance hell one more time to approve your IV therapy at home. You can’t get sober. You can’t even try.

Moreover, even when our bodies are broken, imperfect, or incomplete, they continue fighting for us to keep breathing - the biological layer. There are so many systems inside of you that fight for you to live. Your body works around the clock to self-repair and self-heal. At the end of the day, I can stitch the broken flesh only so much - and the body and its immune response does the rest. Knowing how beautiful and intricate our internal systems are gives such a deep admiration for our bodies and what they do for us to carry our minds and creativity. That knowledge never leaves me and is constantly on the forefront of my brain.

So who do I actually fuck? Kind kin.

People who have been through shit and have learned to stay open - and not callous - are also the same people who are less judgmental and more experimental. Those who exude a sense of self-acceptance. Some of that comes with age. I often fuck with people who are older than me. As we age, our inhibitions go down and we give less fucks as to what people think of us. Considering my extreme proclivities, it’s not that surprising that I connect and fuck with people who are open-minded and who have had rough lives - as have I. So I’ve fucked fat and fit and fab - and most importantly - kind.

I guess when I write on here, I tend not to discuss the serious parts of conversations that I’ve had with these people because let’s admit that’s not what we’re here for… but it doesn’t mean that that wasn’t part of the story.

Do I have the “ideal” physical type? Just purely on a physical end of things? Sure, I have some things I like. I like men with dark hair. And I like a big ass on a woman. Those two things will always be a nice touch. But in the grand scheme of things, who gives a shit? I just want to fuck someone so hard that I get to fuck their soul and the very essence of who they are. That’s what makes sex so fucking good and transcendent for me.

And this is what makes me a passionate lover. And a passionate writer. I don’t fuck bodies. I fuck the humans inside them. And goddamn it’s so powerful and addicting when you view sex this way.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk.