HNT

Preparing to take the stage at the Highline Ballroom for last night's Moth GrandSlam, I was nervous that I had chosen a story too awful for the given theme, “the point of no return.”

This was my first time to make it to the Moth’s championship round of storytelling competition. Like the nine other storytellers on the bill, I had won a previous StorySlam before moving to the GrandSlam. Competitors had been provided with the evening’s theme about two weeks prior to the event. Given the five-minute time limit and what I’ve so far ascertained about the audience’s familiarity with subjects I generally address as “Jefferson,” I felt a keen awareness of the challenges in choosing a story and telling it well.

A few days prior to the GrandSlam, I scrapped the story I had chosen in favor of something much more raw. The story went back two decades and yet its new revelations were only days old. As I told my story, I found myself shaking with a mix of emotions—fear, rage, numbness—and the audience’s dead silence as my only feedback.

I came in second place.

It’s not a story I anticipate telling on this blog, so to those who heard it live, thanks for allowing me to share it even as I’m not sure what happens next.

Welcome to those who found me through the Moth. By way of introduction, be aware that my blog isn’t safe for work, as I write graphically about sex. I also write about parenting, dating and relationships—our secret, but these are the real subjects of my sex blog—and each Thursday, you’ll keep up with the ongoing adventures of my right foot.

If your heart aches for stories of love and loss, you might start by reading Old Roads. If hot sex is more to your liking, that all began with my first post nearly six years ago. To keep up with my day-to-day meanderings, follow me on Twitter.

Enjoy.