My big sister’s favorite game to play with me as a child was a simple one that I’ll just call “Lure John into the dark basement, then race up the stairs and lock the door.” It was a game that I always lost, and she always won. I’d beg her to open the door, and she’d just cackle. My sister had a wicked snicker. She wasn’t sadistic. This was just the law of the jungle. The price I paid for her not smothering me in the cradle. The door would eventually open like her arms and her laughter would be a sprinkler on a summer day, soaking us both. So we’d both end up laughing, and there would be no grudges. Because there really aren’t any grudges between brothers and sisters. Brothers and sisters are as close as peanut butter and jelly. Keep reading »
How do you compliment a naked man? You don’t. The Golden Rule of Sex is usually do others as you would have them do you, but not in this case. Women enjoy sincere compliments in the bedroom. Not over-rehearsed grunts or snippets of porno dialogue like “Oh baby, you’re so baby, baby.” In my personal experience, women also aren’t into dudes who’re effusive blabbercheeks. My poet’s heart was in the right place, but she informed me that I didn’t need to barf up bargain basement Byron. Keep reading »
Hi. I just met your boyfriend. He’s a goatsack, but I don’t blame him. Doucheberries are born, not made. However, I judge you, because you’re supposed to be smarter than this. If the girlfriend of a friend of mine is a soulless sorority monster with vodka gills, I usually think “she must lick a mean ice cream cone” or “so I guess he really isn’t gay.” But when I meet the boyfriend of a female friend and he’s a macho pressed ham, I can’t help but judge her. Keep reading »
When a man gets into a relationship, he’s usually the last to know.
Women fall in love, men slip on it. Women gently twirl down the rabbit hole of love like whirligigs, landing on their feet in a land of wonder. But for men, love is a sudden minor concussion. One moment, we’re strolling down the street like a Pharoah in no hurry, snapping our fingers, whistling a jaunty tune. Maybe we’re leaving the apartment of a recent conquest early in the morning. Women call this the “Walk of Shame.” But to the male species, it’s called the “I Just Got Laid Parade.” Or maybe we’re just walking over to the beer store, smugly satisfied with ourselves for not immediately texting some chick back. Because no one owns the male spirit – it’s like a bacon-scented wind. We’re wild game you can’t tame, oh yeah. Then an ambush of unwanted emotions happens. Love is a banana peel. We wake up on our backs with a throbbing skull, swatting away clouds of mosquito-sized hearts buzzing around.
At least women look before they leap. Keep reading »
Gillian Telling, author of the book Dirty Girls: The Naked Truth About Our Guilty Secrets (Unpretty, Unclean, and Utterly Horrifying), recently wrote that women “don’t consider drunk kissing cheating, as long as we’re the ones doing the drunk kissing. We consider sex with another man cheating.” This was number 19 on her list of “20 Things Men Don’t Know About Women,” which she wrote for this fine internet publication. As you can imagine, there was a strong reaction in the comments section to Gillian’s claim that women don’t count drunken make-outs as cheating. It was truly magical. There’s a scene in the beginning of the movie “Gladiator,” when Russell Crowe’s character Maximus is leading his Roman army in a battle against German barbarians. He turns to one of his lieutenants and growls, “On my mark, unleash hell.” It was like THAT in the comments. Keep reading »
If I could, I’d swap my penis for a vagina. Just for a day. I’m both physically and emotionally attached to my urinary and reproductive pleasure nodule. But I’d be lying if I wrote that I’m not curious as to what it’s like to have a secret garden. This curiosity does not call into question my sexuality, nor does it suggest that I’m an enlightened man who longs to experience the burdens of the feminine condition. The female reproductive organ is a source of endless fascination to men. We desire its sensual folds, fear its bloody mysteries, and owe it our very existence. One day I think it will be possible for men and women to trade genitals for fun and recreation. Keep reading »