The New York Times Style section has gotten the memo: 50 Shades Of Grey is a book the ladies be readin’. Cue interviews with various and sundry New Yorkers who are involved in the kink scene, from sexual submissives to fire players. Actually, this article was written by a friend of mine named Matt and even if he wasn’t my bud, I’d still think this article about issues pertaining to kinky sex was a job well done.
Take note, other journalists who write about sex! Here’s six ways the New York Times actually got it right on kinky sex (or, as much as they could in one article): Keep reading »
I’m cautiously optimistic about the next episode of “Our America,” Lisa Ling’s docu-series on the OWN network, in which she discusses families/couplings who are non-monogamous. I’m pretty psyched anytime that the mainstream media acknowledges alternative sexualities at all, bonus points for when it acknowledges we are “normal.” Polyamory or even just being monogam-ish are more common than you think. This preview teases Ling’s show as answering the question “How many is too many?”, which is presupposing something is wrong with non-monogamy and that it is possible for there to be “too many” partners in a polyamorous union. Yet everyone who gets screen time in this preview seems happy with their personal decisions — and pretty “normal,” too. As American as apple pie, you might even say. “I Love You & You … & You” airs next week, Tuesday March 5 at 10/9c on OWN. [Oprah.com]
I am a writer.
Having said that, I ask that you bear in mind how broad that category is. I call myself a writer, and so does Philip Roth. So does my personal public enemy #1, a young woman I met in college who writes lip gloss reviews for a living. My point is that being a writer can mean a wide variety of things, and this week, for me, it meant getting in touch with male porn stars. Or rather, trying and mostly failing to get in touch with male porn stars.
The story started as all good stories do: With a penis. Surely you’ve heard the saying that you can judge a penis just by looking at the feet. Well, the other day I was sitting around bored and aimless, trying to decide what to write, when I started thinking about penises. This happens often, but on this specific occasion, the penises I’d started thinking about were The Penises That I Have Known. (I used CAPS just then because when you write about The Penises That You Have Known, it is important to be respectful.) Anyway, there I was thinking about The Penises That I Have Known, and as I continued thinking about them, I wondered if maybe there wasn’t a story there, a story in investigating whether the saying is true.
Alas: Although I could bring to mind the penises, I couldn’t remember the feet. It occurred to me then that thing to do would be to prove/disprove the idea, not with reference to my own experience, but by using male porn stars. Their penises are available to view, of course, so all I’d have to do was find the shoe size. Keep reading »
One of our brave dumb reporters talked to real porn stars and did hardcore research into the world of adult film to bring you a new photo gallery exposing 10 porn mythsyou probably believe.
Diving into this topic for a photo gallery was not easy, but at least the dude who wrote it can’t get in trouble for using a work computer to bring you this XXX-clusive content. Heck no, he’ll probably get raise! Read more…
“[Gold Trans Am] began as a song about my car, which is a gold Trans Am, and it works about 40 per cent of the time. I don’t have another car because I love that one so much. But then like all great pop it became a metaphor for something else – my pu**y. But my vagina is in tip top working order. Valeted and souped-up and working 100 per cent of the time … [My mom and I] write songs about boys and sex together. That may not be normal to the average psychiatrist out there but I think it’s pretty cool … Don’t analyze.”
– The pee drinking, ghost sex having Ke$ha overshares again in Q Magazine. How does one soup up a vagina? Just out of curiosity. [The Sun UK]
You can usually whittle it down to a specific moment. I’m talking about the moment when you know you can never, ever, ever fuck a guy again. It has little to do with emotion or intellect or how nice he is. It’s a mandate issued directly from your vagina. It’s visceral. Unarguable. And once she’s made up her mind, ne’er shall she be persuaded again. Quoth an anonymous friend, “He was laying naked on my bed and said to me in baby talk, ‘Come cuddle with me.’ And that was it.”
After the jump, some more horrifying MYKYCNSHA (moments you knew you could never screw him again) courtesy of the women who lived through them. Our condolences … Keep reading »