for the Inevitable
You know youre gonna do it, but are you physically
enjoy sex. My girlfriend enjoys it, too, and hopefully she
still does after we’ve finished. That’s important to me. Always
has been. I’m not too insecure about my abilities anymore,
but that wasn’t always so. There was a time—right up until
about last Tuesday—when it was everything I could do not to
think about sex and if I’d be able to perform to the level
of . . . well, I’m not sure what, but I had to be good. Real
good. Mind-numbing. And I’d just freak myself right out trying
to prearrange every single moment of a possible sex scenario
to make sure I’d be ready.
Sure, today I could just pop a pill bringing about the 36-hour
boner (the very thought of which sounds like the definition
of erectile dysfunction to me). But let’s be honest, I can
scratch off a list of every pill and lubricant, describe the
nuances of every delay cream and cock-ring, but let’s be honest,
that just wouldn’t be that fun to read about, let alone write.
The good stuff, the funny stuff, took place during when we
were younger—the more naïve times. When we thought we
knew what worked. Sure Viagra’ll give you an ever-lasting
erection, but believing that masturbating right before sex
guarantees exaggerated endurance is kind of funny. That’s
the equivalent of believing your uncle when he says you’ll
get a surprise if you pull his finger.
I surveyed a few of my old blokes for humorous nuggets of
wisdom they gleaned from locker-room discussions and big brothers.
A few of which I’ll lay out for you, a la Studs Terkel. Names
have been changed to protect the embarrassed.
Sitting around the counter in an upscale, 1950s diner in Guilderland
last week, Kronky Schlumpo and Tito Boomba discussed their
approaches to “gettin’-they-shit-right” for the ladies.
follow a strict workout regimen,” Boomba said, his Latin accent
saucier than ever. “I’ve been following it for years, and
it really has taken me a long time to achieve the desired
are,” Schlumpo asked, in his usual blasé attitude, not looking
up from his sixth cup of coffee.
it’s an erection magnification program, really,” Boomba began
to explain. “I pulled the idea from those men’s mags, I think.
Really it’s just like lifting weights and you approach it
as you would any floor exercise.”
this at home in your bathroom sometime,” Boomba continued,
“Before you hop into the shower, work yourself into an erect
state and place a T-shirt on top of your member. Now just
like you’d curl a dumbbell, bring that T-shirt on up. Start
with three, eight-rep sets and work your way up. It’s a simple
motion that doesn’t take long to figure out and it builds
incredible strength in the foreshaft region.”
Schumplo remained unimpressed.
can increase your resistance up, too,” Boomba said. “Start
with the T-shirt. Then try a wet washcloth, a beach towel,
your backpack. I’ve yet to nudge the coffee table, but I’m
Schlumpo’d heard enough at this point. He sat fuming silently
for a few minutes before unleashing a profanity-laden screed
[my friend] if you’d brush your [silly] teeth with a little
baking-soda-and-peroxide toothpaste and follow it with an
aggressive flossing,” Schlumpo trailed off, leveling his anger.
“Look, you can do all the erection-enhancing muscle exercises
you want, [brother], but if you’ve got diet-soda-and-tuna-salad
breath, you’ll be celebrating the splendor of your monumental
Boomba mulled this over a bit. “Point taken,” he said.
Another friend of mine, Geoffery Luenthal, remembered his
first experience preparing for the big night out with a girl
he’d met at the nonalcoholic juice bar at his old college.
be quite honest, I’d heard too much nonsense by the time my
famed “big night” was staring me down,” Luenthal admitted.
“I was supposed to yank it before going in—for stamina reasons.
I also heard I was supposed to shave my balls or the ladies
would ignore them.”
I thought I was above all the bullshit and I’d make my own
rules, but then I got to thinking,” he paused for a moment.
“I thought to myself, hey, shaving the balls sounds kind of
interesting. So I gave it a go as I was sure that this was
going to be the night, complete with that whopper of
a porno-style blowjob I’d been begging for for a good two
was an adventure, me mucking about the college dorm shower
with my legs propped up all over the place looking for that
smooth shave,” Luenthal said. “I was so taken with shaving,
I went the full monty and took it all off. After clearing
the shower drain of my pubic carnage, I lotioned up, admired
my work and was off.
story short, I never got a blowjob, but I did stick it in.
She was like hooking up with corkboard, though, stiff and
unwelcoming, nervous and about as passionate as head lice,”
Luenthal said. “All I got out of this gig was a quick nut-bust
and two weeks of itching my shit as the pubes grew back.”
Developing and nurturing a fulfilling sexual relationship
requires a knowledge of your limits, a lot of sensitivity,
and a willingness to haggle like a Mesopotamian merchant
is a give-and-take. It’s the art of the compromise. Two
hearts learning to beat as one. One hand washing the other,
and all that.
But let’s say, just for the sake of argument, that one hand
wants the other hand to get itself gussied up in a soiled
gardening glove and spell out in sign language, “I’m a naughty,
naughty, dirty hand,” over and over before the washing begins.
Let’s say that hand No. 1 just can’t—or won’t—enjoy the
mutual washing without that little drama. What’s hand No.
2 to do if the whole thing makes it feel a little, well,
Everybody goes through growth pains in their romantic relationships—it’s
no news. Learning to navigate the quirks and obstacles in
the successive strata on the way to your loved one’s secret
and innermost heart takes fortitude and flexibility. And
the more deeply buried that quirk—the more truly private—the
greater the risk that you’re really going to have to recalibrate
some of your own prejudices and expectations before making
any further progress. After all, this quirk wasn’t stashed
down in the sub-basement of your sweetie’s psyche by accident:
Your mate wanted you to be fully engaged before letting
you know that they were such aficionados of the dirty, dirty
garden glove—or of pony play, exhibitionism, water sports,
or the idea of tying you up with a length of laundry line,
stuffing you in a steamer trunk for 40 minutes, then releasing
you and forcing you to pantomime along to What’s Opera,
Doc? while slapping your ass with a wisk broom.
So, the question is: Where do you draw the line, sexually?
When do you admit that your dear, sweet, adorable, snugglebunny
is a full-on freak? And how do you define acceptable freakiness?
Or, conversely, how do you decide that your current partner
is a repressed, judgmental, puritanical drip who will never
understand, much less accommodate, your delight in full-face
latex girl masks?
In picking and retaining your life partner (or night partner,
as the case may be, you wanton slut), what are your dealbreakers?
The things you won’t tolerate? The things you can’t live,
or love, without?
We conducted a highly scientific and rigorous survey to
get the answer to that very question. All names have been
changed to protect the weird, though the cocktails are true-to-life.
There were, not surprisingly, the strictly physical requirements:
Interestingly, though women, generally speaking, admitted
to fewer exclusionary practices based solely on appearance,
they were pretty staunch about dating men taller than they.
Miss Mojito reported that she had spent one short-lived
relationship entirely in flats, and was not at all interested
in repeating the experience. (A quick glance at online dating
services confirmed that even the most open-minded “women
seeking” almost without fail requested guys several inches
taller than their own listed height.) We can only assume
that Shorty must have made her laugh.
Guys, we’re sorry to report, were not so accepting, and
easily rattled off a grocery list of dealbreakers of Seinfeldesque
Bottled Bud says, “Ankles, man. Gotta have slender ankles.
That’s feminine, sexy. I couldn’t be with anyone with thick,
Paulaner Hefeweizen likes his women small all over, “like
Audrey Hepburn.” Not content to simply loom over his date,
he wants to dwarf her. “I like girls who are very, very
petite. All of my girlfriends have been small. I was set
up with a friend of a friend once and she was almost as
tall as me; it was like dating somebody on the rugby team.
I like delicate women.”
Getting a little more into the spirit of the invasive, prurient
questioning, Knob Creek on the Rocks barks, “Odor. Personal
aroma.” With surprising candor, Knob details the demise
of an otherwise promising relationship because he just never
became comfortable with the smell—even the “clean and showered”
smell—of his girl in arousal. (There are reports that pheromones
work in humans in much the same way they do in other animals;
and that we are programmed to find attractive the smell
of another person whose immune system is unlike our own,
thereby promising a doubled or reinforced immune system
for our offspring. By the same token, we may find repellent
the natural smell of someone who would provide too narrow
an immunity. So, it’s possible the guy’s not just an ass.)
But, of course, these are all inherent characteristics,
things that couldn’t be changed even if the potential partner
were willing to do so. What about less-biologically-coded
stuff? Things that could in theory be negotiated?
Bottled Bud fesses up to really liking lingerie; Miss Mojito
says she feels good in lingerie herself. A love match? Not
likely. Further discussion at the prompting of Lady Chablis
reveals that the parties really aren’t talking about the
think really classy lingerie is sexy,” says Chablis, “but
not, like, Frederick’s of Hollywood stuff. You know, like
the stewardess in crotchless panties, or something like
Miss Mojito agrees avidly, “No, no. I mean something pretty.
Like a floor-length sleeping gown, or a lace baby doll.”
Bottled Bud looks a little sheepish, admitting, “No, I mean
trashy lingerie. Kinda slutty. I don’t want my girlfriend
to dress like a tramp all the time, but at home, you know,
it’s kinda hot.”
And what about behavioral stuff? Unsurprisingly, there’s
a hesitance to reveal this kind of personal info, but once
the ball starts rolling . . . .
Everybody likes the oral sex; and nobody is interested in
scat. Or animals.
(This article will still have to go through a thorough process
of peer review, but these seem pretty solid conclusions.)
Knob Creek is adamant: “Yeah, oral sex. Reciprocal oral
sex. I definitely couldn’t do without it—in either direction.
I mean, I want it; and I would think that a woman who didn’t
had some hang-up that was going to come out in some other
way later. I’d want her to be comfortable with that.”
There is a general murmur of consent, as if that’s a given.
Bottled Bud adds, “Same with masturbation.”
Again, nods all around, though the ladies reserve comment.
OK, fine, but what about the less-common stuff, the sex-issue-headline-making
stuff? There’s a deadline to think about here, after all.
What about BDSM? Role playing? Group sex and/or partner
swapping? Cross-dressing? Bisexual experiences? What about
anal sex? What about knife play?
Miss Mojito, Bottled Bud, Paulaner Hefeweizen, Knob Creek
on the Rocks and Lady Chablis all look askance at House
Cabernet, quizzing them rapidly over his notebook. All the
aforementioned pleasures/perversions, in fact, bring conversation
to a screeching halt.
We finally manage to cajole a unanimous “no” vote on anything
involving pain, poop or preconsent. And the interspecies
romances are right out.
Aside from those hard limits, though, it seems there’s a
whole lot of gray area out there.
For the record, we’ve already ordered our copy of Getting
Start Your VCRs
Is feminist porn an oxymoron, or a revolution?
first experience attempting to rent porn was a miserable
failure. In the windowless backroom of a suburban fetish
shop my boyfriend had brought me to, next to floor-to-ceiling
racks of videotapes, I asked the diminutive 50-something
proprietor if she had any feminist porn. “There’s no such
thing,” she snapped. “What do you actually want?”
I didn’t manage to express it then, but what I wanted was
to avoid the formula. You know the one: Ditzy, whiny blonde,
with surgically enhanced breasts and ribs showing, meets
OK-looking guy with really big dick, he forces himself on
her and she decides she likes it. He comes on her face.
Repeat with slight variations. To quote an online reviewer
at bluedoor.com: “Eeewwww.”
According to a quick survey of mine, that reviewer and I
are not alone. “All the porn I’ve been exposed to is focused
almost solely on the pleasure and satisfaction of the men
involved or men watching,” says one college-age woman. And
many people said the prevalence of rape and other violence
is just creepy. All too frequently, “sex for a man appears
to be an act of revenge—payback for his many frustrated
desires,” says one guy. “The message . . . seems to be,
‘Take that, bitch. Who’s got the power now?’ It’s ugly.”
And then there’s the bodies. “Most women want to see themselves
reflected on the screen sometimes, and very few do,” says
Dr. Carol Queen, staff psychologist for Good Vibrations,
a women-owned, women-friendly sex-toys store. Or, as one
straightforward guy puts it: “The concept that you need
to have some nipple-scraping, bust-enhancing surgery to
be sexy to others is disgusting.”
Marianna Beck, Ph.D., and Jack Hafferkamp, Ph.D., co-editors
of Libido Magazine (www.libidomag.com), have been
on the receiving end of lots of video porn. In Hefferkemp’s
professional opinion, most of it is “stupid, ugly, demeaning,
antisexual, full of bad information, and patriarchal, by
which I mean as much as it strives to be bad, it just reinforces
a bunch of stereotypes.” ’Nuf said.
But can it be anything else? For a long time, some very
prominent feminists, first among them Andrea Dworkin, have
said no. Dworkin maintains that pornography is necessarily
a process of dehumanizing women, period. Others think trying
to make porn feminist will defeat the purpose. “Feminist
porn [is] diluted. You remove all the lust from it,” said
Camille Paglia in a 1993 interview in Puritan. “Feminist
porn’s absurd. I’m totally against it. I like regular porn.”
But there’s a growing chorus of people who identify as sex-positive
and think both Dworkin and Paglia are off-base. They are
demanding movies that will turn them on without turning
them off, and some folks are starting to deliver.
For its first 15 years, Good Vibrations didn’t carry porn,
because its founder didn’t believe women were interested
in it, says Queen. But then a generation of women came to
work for the store who told her women were interested, they
just needed help navigating through the tons of dreck that’s
out there. And so the Good Vibes video library (www.goodvibes.com)
was born. “From the very beginning, women were like, ‘Thank
goodness. We really want someone we trust to help show us
through this,’” says Queen.
Annie Sprinkle, a former mainstream porn actress who now
does sexual performance art and holds a doctorate in human
sexuality (www.anniesprinkle.com), notes that “porn is new
to women, so I’m not sure they know what they like exactly.”
They may not be able to name their favorite directors, but
many of the people I spoke to knew at least what their ground
rules would be: “women shown doing things for their own
pleasure,” “greater variety in the roles women play and
the body shapes shown,” “good chemistry between the characters,”
“women are the subject rather than just the objects of sexual
desire,” and “no heels!”
porn would look like the sex lives of my friends (straight,
gay, bi, trans, and poly!),” summarizes one woman in an
e-mail message. “It would be like a real-life soap opera,”
complete with occasionally short-lived erections, ripped
clothing, mismatched libidos, and honest-to-god chemistry
between lovers, she says.
To meet these varied goals, Good Vibes tries to pull the
gems from the mainstream industry and seek out alternative
and independent producers. They look for respectful portrayals
of women and their sexuality, and real sexual energy. And,
notes Queen, “We’re not crazy about really stupid plots.”
Symbols in their catalog identify videos with: a focus on
women’s pleasure; presence of people of color; good chemistry;
decent plot; safe sex; unconventional acts; and even “woman
penetrates man with strap-on dildo” (customers want to know
how to use the other merchandise, right?).
And, oh yeah, it’s also supposed to be hot. Possible? Yes.
In my random sample from the Good Vibes rental site, I lucked
into Urban Friction, produced by Beck and Hafferkamp.
It features a young and attractive—but not stick-thin, airbrushed
or surgically altered (if you don’t count tattoos)—couple
who are into fulfilling each other’s fantasies, but the
woman is nervous that her boyfriend can’t handle her desire
to have a three-way with another guy. Hot, explicit fantasy
scenes are overlaid on lots of sex with each other as they
figure out their relationship parameters. Condoms are used,
but as a matter of course, with no preachy overtones. The
women are smart, take initiative, and have real orgasms—ditto
for the guys, for that matter. The spacious and lavish city
apartments may be the only things that actually call for
a suspension of disbelief. What’s not to like?
Not every attempt, even in the Good Vibes library, hits
quite that standard. Ageless Desire, three scenes
of real couples of over 50 getting it on, was shot like
a documentary, and while it succeeds in reminding viewers
that sex over 50 can still be good, it was also often stiff
and full of corny, forced-sounding dirty talk. For me, Bobby
Sox, which got several thumbs ups from a range of reviewers,
triggered almost every complaint about mainstream porn.
we stuck with feminist porn, our shelves would be very sparse,”
admits Queen, who defines feminist porn as that made with
the specific intention to change the face of porn and deal
with gender-equity issues. Good Vibes carefully notes that
their “focused on women’s pleasure” rating does not necessary
involve feminist content. “Any director that does a good
job of depicting women’s pleasure, even accidentally, could
get that rating,” says Queen.
can’t assume what women want,” warns Queen, noting that
many women of all persuasions like gay male porn, don’t
like plot, or are into extreme sexual acts. Condescending
assumptions gave us a lot of wimpy women’s erotica full
of “elevator music and no exchange of bodily fluids,” complains
Many of these porn pioneers prefer to think of the goal
as expanding the diversity of what porn offers: from feel-good
consciousness- raising work like Zen Pussy (vulva
shots) to hardcore BDSM where consent and context is explicit;
from educational videos on female ejaculation to fantastical
romps with carefully diverse casts. “In the ’70s there was
one kind of porn, like a tree trunk, and then it started
branching out,” says Sprinkle. “If you don’t like the porn
that’s out there, make some that you do like.”
Much Time on My Hand
Easy access to vast amounts of Internet porn has some men
devoting hours a day to their obsessionor is it addiction?
does not fit my preconceptions about Internet sex addicts—if
there is such a thing. He’s a good-looking, personable, married,
well-educated, upper-middle-class professional in his mid-30s.
Yet he spends several hours every day surfing the net for
pornographic images and video clips, many of which he admits
to compulsively compiling and categorizing on a zip drive
and several disks. He is a little wary about this writer to
whom he’s entrusted his anonymity (Brad is not his real name)
during our short conversation—not too wary, however, to briefly
demonstrate for me on his home computer in his study just
how much “free shit” is out there.
He pulls up one of his favorite sites, and in less than a
minute has downloaded a movie clip—not a 15-to-30-second snippet,
but a three-to-four-minute segment of a porn movie. “I didn’t
necessarily get Road Runner because I wanted faster access,”
he says. “I was married and I wanted to watch movies.” When
asked if his wife has ever caught him, he points down to the
power strip-surge protector on the floor: “Hot key,” he says
with military seriousness, indicating the glowing red switch
inches from his foot. “But I always worry she might read in
Vogue or Cosmo ‘how to find out if your man
is looking at porn.’ I’m always dumping Internet files and
cleaning up my history [of sites visited].”
Back in the mid-’90s, when I was in graduate school—and shortly
before I became acquainted with the World Wide Web—I encountered
another, more prototypical guy (let’s call him Adam) who was
quite forthright about his Internet porn obsession. He spent
days sequestered in his apartment in an old sweatsuit, smoking,
chomping junk food and tapping out commands for porn on a
grimy keyboard. (Grad school seems to abet, if not aid, this
kind of lifestyle.)
But this was part of a larger sexual fixation that included
piles of videotapes. On one tape, he claimed, he had carefully
compiled all of the nude scenes of major Hollywood actresses.
(His knowledge of such lore was impeccable, though he scoffed
at the suggestion that he include Kathy Bates’ buff moments
for the sake of completeness. No patsy, he had certain criteria
that could not to be breached.) Adam fit the picture of the
porn addict for me—he fascinated me and, more to the point,
creeped me out.
Nevertheless, numerous journal and newspaper articles point
to a rising pornography obsession among middle- to upper-middle-class
professional men because of the Internet. Easy cyber access
has eliminated the social stigma of renting a film, buying
a magazine or receiving materials in the mail. Before the
Internet, Brad claims he would purchase the odd Playboy,
but he says he had never seen or sought out a pornographic
video. He also had no idea about the range of things (fetishes,
acts, images) that was out there. “Stuff that would have dropped
my jaw 10 years ago is, like, nothing now.”
Whether Brad is an “addict” is a thorny issue. There has always
been some resistance among academics about behavioral (i.e.
nonchemical) addictions in general (gambling, computer-game
playing, etc). Nevertheless, a November 2001 article in The
Journal of Sexual Research points to numerous technological
addictions that are emerging in cyberspace, in particular
Internet sex addictions (which can range from involvement
in “cybersex” to viewing online pornography). The lengthy
piece argues and thoroughly supports the claim that “although
the amount of empirical data is small, Internet sex addiction
exists.” (It also notes a 1998 study that found sex to be
the most frequently searched subject on the Net.)
Journalists—who rarely wait for empirical clearance to bang
the drum on such an enticingly marketable term—have been quick
to legitimize the affliction in all corners of the English-speaking
world. A 2002 article in Scotland’s Sunday Mail declared
Internet sex addiction “the curse of the 21st century. It
is destroying the lives of seemingly respectable fathers and
husbands.” (True to U.K. bombast, it also called it the “crack
cocaine of the 21st century.”) Stateside, the York Sunday
News in Pennsylvania detailed the firing of a county commissioner
over his Internet sex addiction in a 2003 article, noting
that area counselors were dealing with more and more Internet
addictions. A cursory research stroll through Lexis-Nexis
will rouse up a jackpot of similar themes (even “How Internet
porn landed me in the hospital”).
But Brad isn’t buying into the notion that he’s an addict;
he simply considers it a part of his daily schedule. “It’s
gotten to be so much a part of my routine: take dog out, make
coffee. . . . Everybody’s got a hobby, [like] fantasy baseball.
Everybody’s a collector. I guess I’ve compartmentalized it.”
Brad, who makes his own work hours, says he usually checks
out porn for about an hour in the morning—often longer at
night and on weekends (when the private opportunity arises).
There does seem to be something vaguely obsessive-compulsive
about his surfing, though: He notes that a bulk of his time
is not spent masturbating, but finding the “right” image or
video to suit his masturbatory fantasies. The vastness of
material available and the amount of options has him constantly
searching, wondering if there’s something even more stimulating
around the corner.
However, he claims that Internet pornography hasn’t conflicted
with his interpersonal relationships and job or become one
of the most important things in his life—the hallmarks of
addiction. “If I was an addict, I’d be looking at work,” he
shrugs. But doesn’t the sheer time cut into his professional
life? “I’m a procrastinator,” he says. “I’d probably find
A primer on sexual statutes across the nation
people are turned on by handcuffs, but there’s something
less sexy about being cuffed and booked by a cop for illegal
sexual conduct. Ignorance, as they say, is no excuse,
and there are plenty of laws governing what you cannot
do in the bedroom or in public in a given state or municipality.
So, whether you’re interested in upstanding citizenship
or the arousal that comes with risk and lawlessness, it
behooves you to check the laws of the land. Let us guide
you through the murky legal waters of sexual conduct through
our fair nation. That way, the next time you’re marooned
in Vernal, Utah, and feeling randy, you’ll know what’s
New York is a comparatively free state when it comes to
governing sexual activities, as opposed to other states
where merely living in sin or having sex with another
consenting single is still technically a crime. There
are some basics that cover all states: Having sex with
corpses is illegal, as is incest. Of course, sexual assault
is strictly punished in many varying degrees. The age
of legal consent varies from state to state, but you should
generally avoid going anywhere near a minor if you’re
over 21. Only in Colorado, Iowa, Mississippi and South
Carolina is the age of consent under 16, and even in those
states, sex is still illegal if the other person exceeds
a specified age limit.
Obscene public behavior is generally frowned upon, and
well over half of the states have laws prohibiting indecent
exposure. Most states also have laws prohibiting “crimes
against nature,” a category including bestiality, and
often oral and anal sex.
Fifty years ago, sodomy laws were on the books in most
states, making oral or anal sex forbidden. Although many
states have repealed these laws, they remain on the books
in a number of states including Arizona, Idaho, Louisiana,
Maryland, Mississippi, Virginia and Utah, but are largely
unenforced. Some states started to use them again in the
1980s; one striking example was a man in Georgia who was
sentenced to five years in prison for engaging in consensual
oral sex, with his wife, in the privacy of their home.
But last summer, the Supreme Court struck down Texas’
sodomy laws as unconstitutional because they prohibited
only same-sex couples, not heterosexuals, from oral and
anal sex. In so doing, the court set the precedent for
sodomy laws nationwide to be ruled unconstitutional. So
anyone interested in exercising their autonomy under our
glorious constitutional rights should go to these states
with a consenting partner and test those laws simply because
If your journey of sexual adventure happens to be by motor
vehicle, you might also want to consider the fact that
many localities have laws prohibiting sexual activities
related to cars. Female toll collectors on the Pennsylvania
Turnpike aren’t allowed to have sex with truck drivers
in their booths. If a woman has sex with a man while riding
in an ambulance in Tremonton, Utah, she’ll have her name
published in the local paper. And please refrain from
having sex in a motorcycle’s sidecar while rolling through
Norfolk, Va. Lots of municipalities have laws as goofy
as these, usually because of indecent-exposure laws. So,
as they say, if you’re worried about illegal exhibitionism,
get a room.
If, on your trip, you happen to need some extra cash and
have some time to kill, you could become a prostitute
in Kansas where the penalty for being caught is no more
than a month in jail. Or, for those serious careerists,
prostitution in Nevada, that state of all things corrupting,
remains legal and is generally regarded as safer than
picking someone up on 53rd and Third.
If you thought the old puritanical Northeast is inhibited,
think again. Both Alabama and Washington have gone so
far as to make it illegal for a man to seduce a “chaste”
woman, and in Michigan, any man known to “seduce and debauch
any unmarried woman” can get up to five years in prison,
though the law isn’t the same in reverse. Michigan is
rather prudish on other counts too. There, masturbation,
either solo or mutual, is considered an act of “gross
indecency” and is punishable by up to five years in prison.
New Jersey has a similar law as well.
For those less adventurous sorts, you still may be defying
sex laws without even knowing it. In both Michigan and
Virginia, it’s a misdemeanor for men and women to live
in sin. Virginia also lives up to its name by making fornication
illegal if the parties are unmarried. In Massachusetts,
fornication, defined there as sex between unmarried people,
is still punishable by up to three months in prison or
a fine of $30.
as Well Face It...
Sex addiction: Is it for real, and are you an addict?
his 2001 novel Choke, Chuck Palahniuk tells the
fictional (I hope) story of Victor Mancini, a guy who
regularly attends sex-addiction support groups. Palahniuk
is famous for burrowing into his characters and apparently
spent a great deal of time researching for this story.
Granted, his character’s whole goal in attending sex-addict
meetings was to get laid, but as I read Choke,
I couldn’t help but wonder: “Really? You can actually
get addicted to, uh, doing it?”
mean, I enjoy sex. A lot. Who doesn’t? Find me someone
who can honestly say they don’t and I’ll bet they’re either
under 10 or over 70, really bad at it, or just plain lying
liars. But where and when does one cross the line between
having a healthy sex drive and being a flat-out junkie?
I had to study up a little on this. The last thing I want
to find out is that my sex life is clinically fucked up.
And is this addiction thing for real? Like, for really
real? According to my research—which, admittedly, consisted
of little more than a quick trip to the library and a
few Google searches, with more than one “unexpected” detour
to a porn site—sex addiction is a relatively new concept
that is still in need of a firm definition, but the experts
(what few there are) agree that it can happen, and you
had better be careful or you could get caught in the downward
spiral and wind up selling your ass for . . . OK, maybe
1989, Patrick Carnes, Ph.D., widely considered to be the
nation’s leading expert on sexual addiction, wrote Contrary
to Love—Helping the Sexual Addict, one of what would
be his many books on his pet topic, essentially introducing
the term “sex addiction” into the vernacular of popular
psychology. Carnes has further defined and examined the
subject in his subsequent writing, providing valuable
resources for professionals and educators with titles
like Don’t Call It Love—Recovery From Sexual Addiction,
and the oft-referenced psychology text Our Sexuality.
despite the appearance of sex addiction in more and more
psychology texts, and its increased acceptance as an honest-to-god
disorder, Carnes seems to be the only person writing about
the topic on a consistent basis, which leaves its validity
open to debate. But, thanks to Oprah and her ilk, sex
addiction has dramatically increased in popularity over
the last decade or so. Still, the question remains: Is
this a truly unique and valid diagnosis, or just another
construction of the Dr. Phil school of psychohypochondria?
These days, it’s as if there’s an “if it ain’t broke,
break it” school of psychology. Screw it—I’m looking this
up in the manual. If it’s not in there, I’m not buying
American Psychiatric Association’s Diagnostic and Statistical
Manual of Mental Disorders, or DSM for short,
does not include a specific entry for sexual addiction.
There are entire categories in the DSM devoted
to “psychosexual disorders” and “other sexual disorders,”
but somehow, addiction does not fall into either. The
term did appear for a brief time, beginning in the manual’s
1987 revision, but was removed in 1994 with the addition
of the broader entry, “Sexual Disorder Not Otherwise Specified,”
a blanket diagnosis that covered, among other things,
the archaic concepts of “nymphomania” and “Don Juanism.”
Great. I’ve settled it. I’ve got the definitive “this
is a bunch of malarkey” that I was looking for. But, glutton
for punishment that I am, I made one more phone call in
hopes of putting the issue to bed. Instead, I just made
professor and professional psychotherapist John Ostwald
considers sex addiction to be classified as an “impulse-control
disorder,” placing it in the company of kleptomania and
pyromania. The disorder is “characterized by sexual impulsivity,”
says Ostwald. “These people are unable to control their
sexual behavior and are driven to engage in frequent and
indiscriminate sexual activity. [They have an] uncontrollable
urge to have sex with strangers,” he continues. “They
are usually preoccupied with sex, and this affects many
aspects of their lives.” Wait a minute here—I’m
preoccupied with sex! (That happens when you aren’t getting
any.) And I want to have sex with strangers, like that
girl at the end of the bar, although that’s probably just
the third pint talking.* Are these danger signs? Worried
for my own well-being, I turned to the Sexual Addiction
Screening Test (SAST). (Take it yourself at www.sexhelp.com/sast.cfm,
if you dare!)
some of the questions on the SAST certainly did not apply—I
was never abused, and I’ve never paid for sex, although
sometimes I wonder if I should have—I found that I was
answering “yes” a lot more than I thought I would.
4, for instance: “Do you regularly purchase romance novels
or sexually explicit magazines?”
um, what exactly are we considering “regular”—four to
six times a day? Then yes, I guess I do.
8: “Do you ever feel bad about your sexual behavior?”
I’ve had a few one-night stands that I’ve totally regretted,
sometimes while I was still there. OK, more than a few
11: “Have you ever worried about people finding out about
your sexual activities?”
I’ve got a few ex-girlfriends who would have been pissed
if they knew what I was doing. Or maybe they did know—they
are ex-girlfriends after all. (This one also coincides
neatly with question 16: “Do you hide some of your sexual
behavior from others?”)
12: “Has anyone been hurt emotionally because of your
Sorry ’bout that. We’ve all had our off nights. Sometimes
it just doesn’t take very long. Sue me.
“Do you have times when you act out sexually followed
by periods of celibacy (no sex at all)?”
I’m trying to take care of that right now. I’ll let you
know how that turns out.
SAST didn’t prove me to be a sex addict, per se, as my
score aligned me with more than 83 percent nonaddicts,
but according to the statistics, even 8.6 percent of the
people who answered “no” to all 25 questions are addicts.
Seriously. So the system is a little flawed. I went back
to the source of my temporary paranoia—Palahniuk’s Choke—and
checked my habits against his list of sexual deviants:
the guy who snuck into a clinic in a white coat and gave
and sex criminals out on a three-hour release from their
minimum- security jail.”
criminal record here, thank you very much!
men mounting cameras inside the lip of some women’s room
think you can buy that stuff prerecorded these days.
guy rubbing his semen on the flaps of deposit envelopes
at automatic tellers.”
No way, man.
people are clearly messed up. I guess I can breathe a
little easier knowing that I’m part of the “normal” majority.
No need for any 12-step meetings here. So what if I’m
basing my conclusion on a work of fiction? If it helps
me get to sleep at night, so be it. Now, if you’ll excuse
me, I have to go grab another pint and talk to that girl
at the end of the bar. I’ll let you know how that turns
Metroland does not generally condone the practice
of writing while drunk, but if it’s for the overall good
of the article, we’re not going to stick our noses into
other people’s business. Cheers!
Bakingin the Afterglow
First comes lust, then comes sex, then comes . . .
cuddling? Sneaking out? Making a sandwich?
Tom, carefully lifting his head and glancing over at his
lover’s sleeping face, makes a quick decision. He ever-so-slightly
lifts the woman’s body, and slowly, painstakingly, pulls
his arm from under her shoulders. Mindful and meticulous
about every inch his body moves, he sits up, careful not
to indent the soft mattress so much as to wake her. He
progresses to the edge of the bed and steadily stands
up, leaving the slumbering woman none the wiser. Tiptoeing
to the bedroom door, he glances back one more time to
assure himself she hasn’t woken up, breathes a barely
audible sigh of relief, and bolts. It doesn’t matter
that he steps on the cat, knocks over knickknacks, and
crashes into the door—ultimately, he makes his escape.
familiar? The act of sex is much more than a physical
one. It can have some serious emotional effects. For instance,
having a one-night stand can render a person paranoid
and impractical, as seen with Hypothetical Tom’s one-night-stand
escape. We decided to acquire some information on how
people deal with some of the consequences of sex, and
we agreed that we’d leave the pregnancy and STD portions
of this argument out of this article, since, though it’s
always good to have a refresher course, this account will
instead focus on some of the emotional calamities caused
by sex. And, for the benefit of all, we will also avoid
the unending-but-grossly-unappetizing subject of post-sex
cleanup (you all know it’s there, and necessary, but we
don’t need to be discussing it in this forum, OK? Go take
a sex-ed. class).
friends and colleagues were victims of an impromptu survey
about their most embarrassing, scariest, or just plain
annoying post-sex experiences. One professional woman
said that her most embarrassing experience was “getting
caught ‘fornicating’ in the parking lot of a country club,
by the cops. They thought I was a drunk whore and made
me get out of the car and go through a drunk-driving test
and prove that I wasn’t a prostitute.” Another woman relayed
a college experience: “I had a really good athletic romp
with a boyfriend one time at my house in college with
the door to my room open because everyone was supposed
to be gone. After we were done and laying there basking
in ‘the glow,’ I realized that [someone had closed] the
door . . .”
man questioned admitted he was afraid of the reality of
the intelligence possessed by his partner after the cloud
of lust had passed. “I think the scariest post-coital
moments are usually more subtly killing than they are
laugh-out-loud funny. They’re more Neil LaBute than Farrelly
Brothers: Like those situations in which immediately after
sex, your partner stops talking dirty to you, starts talking
clean and you realize that you’ve tricked yourself into
believing that you don’t actually despise them. And they
renew the monologue you endured at the bar last night
about, like, how Stephen King is the greatest writer of
the past 20 years, or what a sharp cookie that Julia Roberts
we consulted many more single people than coupled people
for this piece, but we will give the couples a voice.
A girlfriend interviewed said that her post-sex problems
usually stem from “my boyfriend’s chosen times for sex,
i.e., late at night or early in the morning. Sex normally
leaves me wide awake, which stinks, because if it’s morning,
I’d like to go back to sleep but can’t, and at night he
goes right to sleep and I’m left wide awake with no one
to talk to.”
asked her ideal next step after sex, a college-age woman
answered that it depended on the person: “If it’s your
calc professor and you’re trying to get an A, bolt; if
it’s your lovey-dove, then sleep . . . right?” One guy’s
response when asked how he escapes a one-night-stand situation
or something equally as uncomfortable said, “As a resident
of a fairly small community, I find it generally unwise
to gracelessly bolt from one-night stands. Those kinds
of hurt feelings can come back to haunt you. So, if you
have no intention of it ever going further than the one
night, it’s less trouble to fuck people on road trips.”
surveyed were asked what their idyllic post-sex picture
was. Most women answered that they’d like to be able to
take a shower afterwards, and that they’d like to stay
in bed for a while instead of being rushed to go somewhere
(i.e., work). One woman said that in addition to hanging
out in bed, she’d like to “have a nice meal—regardless
of the time of day.” Another woman said she likes “to
share a cigarette. Yes, I know, how Sarah Jessica Parker
in Sex in the City, but I swear I was doing it
before the show came out.”
guy added, “Depends on time of day, degree of intoxication,
meteorological conditions and, on some occasions, extent
of shame and/or likeliness of getting caught. If, however,
things line up well, then going out the next morning,
still rumpled and funky, for a huge diner breakfast and
conversation can be great.” On the other hand, most men
had a different idea of good after-sex activities: more
oft-stereotyped image of the female half of the couple
wanting to cuddle, and the male half wanting to either
pass out or make a sandwich, has been somewhat disproved
in my research: While as many women as men would prefer
to fall asleep than to do anything else, men answered
that they’d like to have post-coital conversation more
often than not. But, as a gal interviewed pointed out,
“I do think that women tend to get attached and use sex
as emotional validation more so than men. So, I guess
that would make them more likely to prefer cuddling to
sandwiches and sleep.” And there were a few guys who defined
the stereotype, as well: When asked if men would prefer
to make themselves a sandwich after some good lovin’,
one participant answered, “No, of course not, most men
would prefer that their partner make the sandwich for
favorite reader responses to the Metroland sex
the circumstances of the best sex you’ve ever
of winter, not unlike the nights we’ve been
having. No heat in the apartment, so to keep
warm we had to share a twin bed and all the
covers we could find. Chest to chest, softest
belly to belly and gentle stroking genital to
genital. Small but rhythmic like waves of intense
heat. Sometimes less is oh-so-much more . .
On the beach on the south shore of Long Island
as boats passed by. It was difficult to do because
of the slope in the sand, but it was definitely
When I was head-over-heels in love—I was heels-over-head
The best sex I’ve ever had was with a man whom
I cared deeply about, gorgeous and charming,
but we had to keep it a secret from our other
colleagues every day, so on the weekends when
we got to be together—and alone—it made us feel
He buttered my biscuit.
Me, myself, and I.
When people can catch you.
In a nice Chicago hotel after a fabulous meal
and more than a few drinks, my wife and I had
wild, three-input monkey love that included
bondage, ice cubes and drizzled minibar libations.
In the pool.
In Washington Park.
When I’m high.
The best sex I ever had changes every time I
have sex with my current boyfriend.
one fulfilled sexual fantasy.
convinced my girlfriend to lie naked across
the seat of my pickup truck, head in my lap,
and play with herself for the enjoyment of the
truckers I passed on the Northway.
Sex with my tall black boots on and a skirt.
Girlfriend who enjoyed oral “all the way,” if
you know what I mean.
He put a banana in my pussy.
Sex with a married woman.
Boyfriend wearing women’s clothing and makeup.
A la Iggy Lizard. A man dressed as a woman with
a huge erection equals one long night. Yum!
In the pool.
On a pool table.
Sex in water—it was in a hot tub, and the fact
that it was spur-of-the-moment was so hot.
Driving my car.
one unfulfilled sexual fantasy.
fed Godiva chocolate and having champagne licked
off of me by a certain someone . . .
Having sex with boyfriend wearing pink legwarmers.
Having sex with two women at the same time.
Sex with a famous person.
To have sex in a pool of oil.
Two words: twin brothers.
Me having sex at church.
On top of a mountain.
On the beach.
Dennis Rodman—no, just kidding. Vince Vaughn.
He came in five seconds.
I have a sex life.
you ever had sex with a stranger immediately
after a chance meeting at any place other than
a bar or party? Describe.
A nod and a wink and off we would go, to the
alleys, the parks, the cemeteries, etc.
Yes, in Miami, a Latin lover—we had sex between
the cars in the parking lot.
Yes, I picked up a girl hanging around outside
of Latham Circle Mall. It was hot so I rolled
up and asked her if she’d like to take a ride
in my car to cool off. I bought her some beer,
took her back to apartment, showered with her,
fucked her then dropped her back off. I gave
her the beer we didn’t drink.
When I was in high school, I was at the library
working one afternoon. Every time I got up to
get a new book or put one away, I would see
the same guy seeming to always end up where
I was. Before I left the library that day, I
visited the restroom. After finishing at the
urinal, a stall door opened and he came out—came
up to me, grabbed me very gently and motioned
for me to come into the stall. Against my better
judgment, I followed him.
Yes, he bought me ice cream.
I met a guy in a gas station who pulled up in
the same vehicle I was driving except the hood
was all screwed up. He said to me, “Hey, wanna
change hoods?” and we started talking. The next
night we had sex like crazy.
I’ve always wanted to find the one who says
very little but can communicate well with body
language. Starting with a stroke on the shoulder,
the chin, the neck, hands around my waist, then
we’re face to face and touch lips . . . and
that’s it. Until next we see each other in public
again and it goes a bit further each time.
Nope—there was always a bar involved. I hope
that doesn’t mean I can only score with drunk
chicks. Wait, I think it does!
the worst situation sex has gotten you into?
a great circle of friends because I crossed
a line with a married friend.
My wife found out about my girlfriend.
Suspended from school for having sex on the
property, and fired from a number of jobs.
Being caught at a train station by a police
officer who ended up being cool and not arresting
us but telling us to get a friggin’ room.
I work next to the guy.
I was having an affair with a county sheriff’s
wife, when one night while we were out parking,
a sheriff’s car pulled up with his spotlight
on. She held her blouse over her head, and thankfully
all he said to me was, “Are you both over 18?”
When I said yes, he said, “Don’t stay here too
long, and drove away. Thankfully.
Parents walked in.
Caught by police.
Losing a best friend.
A sore pussy.
the most inappropriate sexual situation you’ve
ever been in?
A guy I was screwing called me a guy’s name
Other people being in the room.
Sex in the bathroom.
Sex with a married woman.
Where parents or bosses could easily walk in.
Doing it at the bar.
Having relationships with sisters (behind their
Getting a blow job in a closet at work and hearing
my boss calling my name in another room over
Having sex with someone who I didn’t want to
have sex with.
I crossed a line with a married friend.
The dog licked his ass while we were having
the best come-on you’ve ever heard?
look good enough to eat.”
like your glasses—they make me want to be spanked
poke my nose one more time, I might do something.”
special—not like everyone else.”
me butter your biscuit.”
like guys with big thighs.” Now come on, do
you really think that got me into bed?
have rickets, want to screw like crickets?”
me wax your carrot.”
is a stick-up.”
a big girl, I saw you at Barnes & Noble
yesterday, what are you going to do with that
Saying “Let’s go to the library,” and then writing
me a note of what he wants to do.
The weirdest one that worked for me was the
time I looked disgustedly at a girl and told
her she looked like a “motorcycle slut.” That
was exactly the look she was going for, and
the next thing you know she was buck naked on
a bike having her picture taken.”
the oddest thing you’ve ever thought about while
I was going to cook for dinner—I was reading
my vegan cookbook while in the act.
Prioritizing what I had to do at work the next
I can’t think while having sex. There’s not
enough blood to reach my brain.
Movie-star hot guys.
My friend Chandra.
My friend Crystal.
Fox 23 anchor Greg Floyd.
Wishing it was my ex.
Fucking a rock in the woods.
What a jerk he was.
your craziest sex story that your friends still
didn’t believe that I had sex with three different
women in 18 hours, and they all had their “friend.”
That I was a prostitute for a week because I
was so horny.
I had sex in a photo booth.
A married coworker seduced me for a period of
three weeks. She gave me crazy sex, only so
that I would get her pregnant. Once she was,
she dumped me. She named her son after me. But
no one believes me. Her husband never figured
When a sofa bed folded up on us.
I did it in a treehouse.
I was stopped at a light once, and a chick walked
up to my car. She told me she wanted to give
me oral. The part they don’t believe is that
I drove away.
They know I’m crazy with sex, so they believe
us your best story about getting caught in the
tap on the side window of my Camaro caused me
to look up into the disapproving scowl of a
priest! (We were parked behind the field house
at a seminary.) I thought priests went to bed
My father walking in on me giving my boyfriend
head in the garage.
We were having sex in my ex-boyfriend’s hot
tub, and his mother came out onto the deck while
he was still in me. The bubbles covered it,
and we had a conversation with his churchgoing
mother for like 10 minutes while he was still
I had sex with my first boyfriend in my mom’s
bed. She came home and made me clean her comforter
Got caught having sex in a park by a homeless
man. We were engaged in anal sex under a well-overgrown
tree. We heard someone ruffle the leaves, and
looked around. The homeless man not only caught
us, but was standing there jacking off. What
can you do? You can’t just leave this horny
human being to his own devices. We let him join
the most outrageous lie you’ve ever told to
a. get sex?
I have three vaginas.
I won’t get attached.
I need it.
It’s been a long time.
A gay man doesn’t have to lie to get sex—he
only has to show up at the bar or club and he
will get some.
I was once a man.
Said I was a virgin.
I’m a lesbian.
explain where you were last night?
my bed with my boyfriend.
Sprawled on couch.
The only time I explained where I was last night,
I said, “I had to stay over to take care of
business.” Which kind of is the truth.
have you offered someone in exchange for sex?
Fifty bucks in Atlantic City.
For oral sex: I’ll return the favor twice.
Coke. What else?
I offered blow jobs numerous times in exchange
for rides home.
A Hershey bar.
Nothing, but I’ve been offered trips to the
have you demanded from someone in exchange for
Clothing—a boy has to look good.
That I get to be on top.
A new book.
You name it.
your most embarrassing masturbation story?
knock on the door, and mom asking, “What are
you doing in there?”
Ex caught me wrapping my erect clitoris with
a tiny rubber band.
A “flying cuke” casualty.
Masturbation should never be embarrassing—everybody
I got my fingers caught in my pussy.
I can’t masturbate—that’s embarrassing.
us about the best sexual surprise you’ve ever
a first date, I discovered my date was not wearing
Three AM booty call in the middle of the winter.
One up the ass.
Sex with a married woman.
My first orgasm.
Three orgasms in a row.
Whipped cream and chocolate.
A woman I was sleeping with told me she had
secretly taped our last get-together and we
watched it while we screwed.
When my man found my G-spot! Yowza!
While on a horse-drawn wagon ride in Washington
Park to see the Christmas lights, my girl took
out her favorite plaything. It got stiff and
cold, so she went down on it to warm it up.
Instead of moaning, I kept up chatter about
the pretty decorations in the hope that the
girls driving wouldn’t turn around. After things
were over, we adjourned to the nearest bar to
get her a well-deserved chaser.
us about a dream come true that went bad.
affair can seem like a dream come true, but
the truth is, they almost always turn out bad.
Fulfilling just about every sexual fantasy I
ever had . . . and living to regret it!
Ken the guy at work—wow, what a mistake.
When they can’t get it up, or too quick.
After mastering deep throat, she tried teeth
play, but got too into it, and broke a blood
vessel. An accident, but being half black-and-blue
put a damper on things.
us your best sex story with a housemate or coworker.
coworker was “getting it on” with his girlfriend
across the darkened motel room that we shared.
When she moaned “Hit me with your best shot,”
he grunted “Fire away!” I was supposed to be
asleep but couldn’t keep from bursting into
laughter! She screamed in embarrassment and
we all laughed like fools for an hour.
I went to an arts-based high school with after-school
programs that included life drawing. One afternoon
after dance class I went to the restroom to
change. The life-drawing model was in there
undressing. He was 6 feet tall, broad, and built.
We engaged in some hot quick sex right there
in the bathroom. Finally the drawing teacher
came looking for his model and discovered us.
That was a quick end to his modeling career.
I had sex in our president’s office with the
In the storage room after hours.
Fucking a coworker behind the counter while
the store was still open for business and wearing
nothing but my workshirt, tie, and Kinko’s apron
during a late-night shift.
First I harrassed him until he hung out with
me outside of work. Then I got him drunk and
we drew on each other with lipstick and we stayed
in bed for 24 hours and I had my first orgasm.
Then he never talked to me again.
I worked in a nursing home that was always quiet
and empty on weekends. So one Saturday a coworker
I had been flirting with told me during lunch
that if I took her baggie of grapes and came
on them before the end of the day she would
sleep with me after work. I took them into the
men’s room later, did my thing (fueled by fantasies
of later) and then gave them back to her. She
ate every one of those grapes in front of me!
Man, what a night that followed!
sexual discovery has changed your life?
That I can find better.
Being too comfortable with your sexuality tends
to make people uncomfortable.
Using people for sex diminishes sexual pleasure,
and not the opposite; sex based on the partner-as-person-as-end
That I know how to orgasm. So my guy better
be able to do it. It’s easy.
Realizing that we’re all basically the same,
we all share some of the same or variants of
wild fantasies, desires, adulterous affairs/cheating,
“quirky” sex, etc. It has taught me not to feed
into or accept any preconceived notions about
types of people.
I’m not too fat to be loved.
is your favorite sexual fetish?
Women who chew their fingernails, because I
just imagine their pent-up oral fixations and
dream of satisfying them.
When he plays with my ass.
Men who enjoy (not just in a sexual way) wearing
women’s clothing. I think I’m a gay man wrapped
in a hetero male, trapped in a hetero female’s
Getting eaten out.
A well-dressed man in a nice suit.
Licking of the ear.
Oven mitts! Oooh, I can hardly write the words
without coming. Why? Who doesn’t get turned
on by oven mitts? Oooh, I said it again!
your most embarrassing inhibition?
I am comfortable with my few inhibitions and
not embarrassed by them at all.
Eye contact. I feel I am too transparent and
anyone can read my thoughts as long as they
look long enough into my eyes.
My big fat belly.
I can’t masturbate.
your best public-sex story?
picnicking at a local nature preserve my girlfriend
got up to “heed the call” supposedly and came
back “all natural.” It was quick but it was
the middle of the day in the middle of the trail
and it was excellent!
Sex in the Lexus.
Sex on a dry rock in the middle of a waterfall,
with people down below, who I’m sure got a free
The pedestrian walkway over route 787 to the
river is a very public spot is also largely
deserted. At one end you can do it for all of
Rensselaer to see, and at the other, there’s
a cozy elevator for fun and games. Thanks Mayor
In the library.
Washing the windows in the nude.
your best story about watching or being watched?
sharing a motel room with a coworker, girlfriend
and I did our best to be discreet. Apparently
we weren’t too good at that since as soon as
we were done we got a standing ovation from
my coworker who congratulated us on our stamina
In a drive-in movie theater. A little boy opened
the door to see!
There is an adult store in Arizona that had
movie viewing booths in which the shading on
the windows between connecting booths disappears
when a movie has been paid for in both booths—so
you could watch people jack off without their
knowledge—nothing hotter than watching someone
please themselves, unabashed and in their own
do you go to get lucky? Why?
Not around here.
Upstairs. And after what I’ve put my wife through
I’m lucky to have an upstairs—let alone her
to go with it.
Weddings, parties . . . People are happy, they
feel good about themselves, and it’s easy to
get out of it if it isn’t worthwhile.
would improve your sex life?
Finding a man.
Knock 10 years off my age.
For starters . . . if my boyfriend would wear
pink legwarmers tonight.
Romance and a bigger member.
More sex, more sex, and more sex.
A wife who could separate herself from the rigors
of everyday life just long enough to become
the spontaneous passionate woman that I married
10 years ago.
risks do you consider before having sex? Why?
have to have the opportunity for sex before
you can consider its risks.
Safety in every form. Always have a condom and
always act on your gut feeling about someone’s
How many people they have been with before.
The human body is a breeding ground for various
diseases and parasites.
No more risky sex for me! I’m a one-woman man.
STDs and pregnancy.
would your utopian sexual society look like?
responsibility, tolerance, and respect would
be instinctive. Sexual activities would be uninhibited
and joyous but still somewhat discreet and with
a touch of romance.
Just like the ideal society. No stereotypes,
biases, or petty competition. Honesty and imagination
Clean shaven vulvas with tits.
Sex-demeaning religions would be shamed out
of existence replaced by religions promoting
sexual pleasure; bourgeois human relations are
All naked men.
Girl on girl on guy action, tropical weather,
limited clothing, no such thing as STDs, and
plenty of vibrators.
Beautiful, intelligent people everywhere.
Penises and vulvas, with legs.
My utopian society would be a place where sex
was understood to be a mutual fulfillment of
desires. People would be open-minded about what
their partner needs to make them feel their
best and vice versa. People wouldn’t judge certain
acts as dirty, but understand that someone else
does enjoy them and that person should be allowed
to indulge in their fantasy without worry of