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Rising Without A Trace

April 14, 2010 L.A. Odes, Opinion 1 Comment

British graffiti artist Banksy came back to L.A. and left his mark. Greedy as we are, it wasn’t long before someone stole it. Oh, Los Angeles, city where dreams are made, shattered or simply stolen from under our noses!

In a piece for the LA Weekly about his film Exit Through the Gift Shop, the infamously anonymous artist gives an ode to our city worth sharing:

In Los Angeles, you can rise without a trace. There is a moment in the film where you see a dude joining the back of the line at an art show. He says he doesn’t know why he’s there, but he joins it anyway. The first time I saw that, I laughed — it was the emperor’s new clothes, the triumph of hype and hot air.

But now I’ve thought about it. I love that guy — he’s prepared to give anything a shot, to try something new. Cities like New York and London might pride themselves on being more hard-bitten and cynical than Tinseltown, but you have to ask yourself: what’s actually so great about that?

Image and picture from the LA Weekly.

Seeking The Ultimate Blowjob

April 2, 2010 Opinion 7 Comments

I love blowjobs. I’m male, so that pretty much goes without saying. But I really love blowjobs. Epic blowjobs. Intense, full depth, sloppy, slobbering, gagging, tearing, face-fucking, extended eye-contact, fully consuming blowjobs. The kind that cause you to take pause when you see or experience one unexpectedly. Again, that probably isn’t much of a revelatory statement coming from a man, but for me a proper blowjob is almost a fetish. In fact, it might be my one and only fetish. And that single sexual preference has unfortunately been an obstacle that has kept me from having a serious, long-term relationship for many years.

Now I don’t mean that in the most absolute sense. It’s not as if any girl I consider dating must have a total lack of or complete control over her gag reflex. There’s no chart at my front door that says “You Must Swallow This Many Inches to Ride the Zipper.” But it’s a preference. Just in the same way I’m sure size queens have liked, fallen for, and dated guys of average stature, but in the end realized they couldn’t be with someone who didn’t fulfill all their needs, both personal and physical. That’s where the trouble starts for me; finding the combination of both personal and physical chemistry.

Admittedly, I’m something of a contradiction. After a handful of wild years I’ve calmed down for the most part and settled into a slower lifestyle. I don’t go out that much anymore, and when I do, it’s usually to a more intimate bar with friends, rather than a loud, pulsing club full of expectation. But when it comes to sex, there’s no slowing down. Your libido doesn’t downshift. Or at least mine doesn’t. To miss-quote the genius comedian Jim Jeffries…

I want everything that everyone wants in this world. I want to fall in love, get married, have kids, all of that. But I’ve lived this life for so long that I can’t go back to nice girls because they’re shit in bed.

Once you push your limits a bit, experiment, and find something you enjoy there’s no undoing it. So, since I’m living with these two halves of myself, my ideal mate must be similarly bifurcated. A secret freak, like me.

Allow me to explain how difficult finding such a woman can be.

In my sexual experiences, I’ve found that maybe 7-10% of women give the kind of fellatio that I’m talking about. Unfortunately, so far I’ve only met two types of women in that percentage; party girls and BDSM enthusiasts. Now I have nothing against party girls, they’re part of the reason I discovered great head in the first place. But I’m not like that anymore, I’m older and tired and already have a commitment to Netflix.

So why not date the kinksters, you ask? Well, I have them to thank as well. They helped show me where my limits are. While I have no judgments against people who enjoy it, I have zero interest in anything BDSM-related. Sure, I’m obviously the dominant type in bed. I like to pull a woman’s hair, smack her ass a bit, get a little rough just for fun. But whenever games or rules or costumes or role-playing is involved, I lose interest. It’s too much work; I don’t really see the point. There are so many fun, amazing, intense things you can do with just a couple of naked people, why complicate things? It’s just not for me.

Such is my conundrum. Trying my to find the smart, opinionated, independent, creative, mousey brunette who will spend an afternoon with me reading in the park, stay in and watch horror movies on a Friday night, join me for the occasional night of heavy drinking, and lovingly impale her face on my cock. Now some women think that sounds degrading, and even scoff at the idea of doing that to any man, and that’s fine. But please know that my obsession with this isn’t about discomfort or humiliation, it’s about effort. One of the reasons why crazy deepthroat blowjobs are so hot (besides the obvious physical pleasure) is how much effort one requires to be done properly.

When anyone willingly takes your erect penis, forces it down their throat, cutting off their airway, causing them to gag, making tears stream down their face, and they still look you in the eye with that same twinkle they get when they smile… there is nothing more attractive. They’re fighting their own instincts and reflexes to give you the most intense sexual pleasure they possibly can and they’re enjoying it. That’s the greatest gift in the fucking world.

So I’m picky. About both personality and sexuality. I admit it. But I refuse to settle. It takes a lot of time, experience, and therapy to realize what you want from yourself, let alone a partner, so why should we compromise? Commitment and dedication is personal, not universal, and we all have very different but equally fucked up fetishes, fantasies and tendencies. The trick is finding someone whose fucked up-ness fits well with yours, and it would seem I’m just not playing the odds.

Aaron is an east coast transplant who works in entertainment and new media, you can leave your comments for him here or write him at Aarononthe405 AT gmail DOT com.

You Fuck The Way You Date

March 15, 2010 Opinion No Comments

Our editrix has a sex and relationships column on BlogHer, not that you should know, because usually it’s more relationships than it is sex, but we thought this week’s offering would amuse you. Her theory is that a woman can tell everything she needs to know about how a man fucks by how he dates. An excerpt:

In her autobiography Sinner Takes All, porn star Tera Patrick talks about her horrible relationship with Erik Schrody, the lead singer of Everlast. Their first date would spell out the modus operandi of their entire two-year relationship:

Our first date was a movie date at his house. Ladies, don’t ever let a guy take you to a date at his house: (a) It’s cheap, (b) It shows disrespect (What? He didn’t want to be seen with me in public?), (c) It usually means all he wants from you is sex, and (d) It’s just plain lame. We deserve dinners and romance, don’t we?

I should have known how lame Erik would end up being by that very first date … and unbeknownst to me at that time, we started a pattern that would be the basis of our relationship: I come to his house. We sit on his couch. We watch TV. We have sex. I go home, utterly unsatisfied.

For two years, I would follow that pattern. The sex was never mindblowing. You can tell if sex is going to be good by how much effort a guy puts into you when you’re not under the sheets. Erik put zero effort into dating me, taking me out, or making me feel special or beautiful, and that selfishness extended into the bedroom.

While I don’t agree with Patrick that a house date is entirely out of the question (imagine how sexy it can be with some degree of effort: a home-cooked meal, a tour of the art and antiques he has collected over the years, a soundtrack and lighting he can control for mood and an open bar that never closes), I do agree that the way you date says everything about you.

You can read the whole thing here and comment there. Or you can just tell us what you think here.

Women’s Day

March 8, 2010 Opinion 2 Comments

As a man, I felt somewhat slighted when I saw the top ‘trending topic’ on Twitter this morning: “Happy Women’s Day.”

Huh? This must be some sort of Twitter in-joke, like when everyone tried to fool their friends into thinking that some balloon-faced Canadian kid named “Justin Bieber” was in the Billboard Top 40.

< epic eye-roll > Right. < /epic eye-roll >

Crushing a half-smoked Lucky Strike into the ashtray, I launched Safari on my iPhone, typing out the following: “Women’s Day.”

Something looked… off. The capital letters, the apostrophe — all of it legitimzsed things. This bothered me to such an extent that I retyped it, as follows, with the surrounding quotes: “womens day”

Search. Loading…


It’s, uh… real. With its own official website, even. I’ll save this audience from muddling through the holiday’s Atlas Shrugged-length history, and instead summarize:

International Women’s Day was first observed around a century ago after being declared a holiday by the Socialist Party of America; during its early years it was influenced by lots of Eastern European and Soviet-Russian themes. Today, it’s seen in most of the world as a sort of cross between St Valentine’s Day and Mother’s Day.

Well, Freud certainly would’ve been keen.

However, I find it asinine. The very idea of celebrating women’s achievements tends to invalidate them. Why? Because, at a basic level, it says, “Yeah! Let’s celebrate human progress and achievement! … oh, but only when spurred on by individuals with female genitalia.” I’m surely not alone in supposing that most of the women who historically achieved were quite a lot more preoccupied with doing amazing things than they were about ensuring placement for “Women’s Day” on calendars every 8 March.

Besides that, it’s also essentially a holiday to commemorate women for being born as women. Why should I commend that as though it’s some sort of fantastic accomplishment? Perhaps we ought hold a celebration once a year for gingers? “To commemorate the achievements of red-headed people across the world!”

Bollocks. Absolute bollocks. What say you?

Eric Ludzenski (@ericludzenski) is a visual artist who currently resides in Austin TX.

We’ll Miss You, Black Heart

February 2, 2010 Editrixial, Opinion 2 Comments

Almost a decade ago, a woman named Laura Roberts reached out to me with some compliments on my blogging skillz (has it been that long? Jeez). She was also a blogger and also interested in sex. Soon, we had developed a correspondence — about writing, about sex, about writing about sex — and when Laura launched the web zine Black Heart Magazine in 2004, I was one of the first people she asked to submit a piece.

Eventually, I’d join the Black Heart team as a sporadic columnist and sex news reporter, or, what Laura called “in-house badass.” Without any hesitation about the combination of sex and cultural commentary, Black Heart ran four shorts from my series on consumerism and apathy in America, an ode to Hunter S. Thompson aptly titled Reverse Cowgirl: A Savage Thrust into the Cunt of the American Dream.

That was the thing about Black Heart — it was sex, yes, even shallow, just-in-it-to-get-off sex — but it wasn’t afraid to be smart, either. That’s what I liked best about the rag. Whether she was flashing her tits for cheap thrills or charity or getting into huge arguments with Vladimir Nabokov’s son about the legacy of Lolita, Laura Roberts made Black Heart a combination of the filthiest gutter and ivory tower.

In the years that Black Heart was running, whether I was writing or not, Laura and I kept in touch. We talked about how hard it was to monetize content like ours, to herd around writers who were doing it more for the love than for the money, to keep the content of a publication consistent with its original vision even though you, the person running it, are not static.

I learned more about running a blog from Laura and Black Heart than from just about anyone or anything else on the web. And that’s saying something considering the kind of web pioneers I count as my nearest and dearest.

So even if you have no idea what Black Heart Magazine was, know this: if you like this blog, if anything you have read here, has offered you absolutely anything, then you owe a thank you to that little zine.

The Black Heart chapter is closed now. Laura has moved on to other things. We’ll make a valiant effort to continue the tradition of mingling the filthiest gutter and ivory tower.

You’ll be missed, Black Heart. And thank you for everything. Especially this:

We’re humbled and honored.

Roe v. Wade: More Harm Than Good?

February 2, 2010 Opinion No Comments

Suzanne Reisman over at BlogHer had a very thought-provoking piece regarding abortion that we here at Sex and the 405 didn’t think you should miss. An excerpt:

January 22, 2010, marked the 37th anniversary of Roe v. Wade, when the Supreme Court legalized abortion across the United States. This is not to say that abortion was not legal at all before Roe — it was legal in 1/3 of states before Roe, and it was legal in the US before the Victorians more or less ruined everything with their horrid morality issues. But don’t get me started on the Victorians…

Anyway, for a little while, Roe changed things for women who lived in states that did not have legal abortions. But in the long run, as a staunch supporter of a woman’s right to terminate a pregnancy within a reasonable time frame for whatever reason, I actually think the national legalization of abortion did more harm than good. What it did was open the flood gates to little laws that chipped away at the right to have an abortion so that while abortion is technically legal, it is not necessarily accessible. This keeps most Americans complacent, wondering why pro-choicers are complaining when abortion is legal. At the same time, the protesters remain whipped up in a self-righteous frenzy because abortion is legal, even though abortion services are not available to many women in America.

Consider: The good folks at The Guttmacher Institute* reported that 87% of counties in the US lacked an abortion provider in 2005. Over one-third of American women (35%) live in those counties. As a result, 25% of women seeking abortions in non-hospital facilities travel 50 miles or more, and 8% of women traveled more than 100 miles to exercise their legal rights to a medical procedure. Given that these access issues are most pronounced in states that did not have legal abortion before Roe, I’m not sure how things are so different for women who live in those places today. Legal or not, they still can’t get the services they need.

Read the entire piece here.

Information from BlogHer.

L.A. Guys: Worst Strip Club Patrons. EVER.

January 19, 2010 Opinion 2 Comments

Men come to Las Vegas from all over the world to indulge in three things: gambling, substances, and, of course, women. Naturally, any man can blow his wad on delicious bare bodies at various gentlemen’s clubs across Sin City. Believe me I know, I’m a stripper.

In this industry, a dancer experiences all kinds of men. And no, men are not all the same. As much as I try to avoid stereotypes, men from different places behave in different ways. Canadian and British guys are always gentlemen and are never broke, east coast guys are kinky and have ass fetishes, southern guys love women with curves who talk about guns, and then there are the infamous dudes from Los Angeles. Oh yes, L.A. guys. Where do I even begin?

They travel in packs varying from 5 to 15 men coming from San Diego, Orange County, and the City of Angels itself. They all wear white collared shirts with jeans, drink cranberry vodkas, and huddle together in dark corners. Most the girls that walk by the VIP booths are denied entry into their sausage fests, even though men usually come to strip clubs for girls, right? Yet, L.A. guys don’t want girls. They really want each other.

It was Saturday night and the club was packed. I entered a booth occupied by five Angelinos. I met one that looked like an Italian version of Nick Lachey. He was hot and so were his friends, but I was a little thrown off to find I was the only stripper in the VIP booth. After dancing for Nick Lachey, I looked over to find his bro giving a drunken lap dance to another male friend. They gripped each other wildly, arms around one another, and laughed while giving each other high-fives.

“You don’t want her,” one said pointing at me and speaking to Nick Lachey. “Let me give you a dance, dude. Oh my God, my dick is so hard. Feel it.”

“Naw, dude, that’s OK. I’m cool,” said Nick Lachey completely embarrassed.

“You need to get these guys out of here,” I whispered in Nick’s ear.

“Ugh, I know. They are really drunk.”

This interesting display of bromance was not the first. I started to notice a pattern among these tanned bros from SoCal. Could it be they are tired of pussy and trying to prove that they are not? Or are they so marinated in the land of plastic that real sexuality between a man and a woman is now passe? Being born and raised in Long Beach, I am concerned about the homoerotic behavior among these hairless, manicured men in the context of a club carrying female tits and ass.

Another evening, I sat and talked to two Mexicali guys from Anaheim. We secretly pitied their friend who had just married his fiancee in one of the sad little chapels on the strip.

“Yeah, my marriage is cool though,” one of the thirty-somethings said.

“How do you keep it that way?” I asked.

“Well, I like to watch her fuck,” he said.

“I’m sure you do. Every guy loves to see his girl with another girl,” I said.

“No, she doesn’t get with girls.”

“Oh, OK. So she…” I hesitated.

“I watch her fuck other…”


“Yeah, I love it.”

“Umm, OK.”

I asked him for a lap dance but he turned me down.

As I try to avoid the inevitable, I am not the only dancer witnessing this phenomenon. I hear other co-workers complain as well.

“Anything out there?” Veronica asked while I dug through my locker in the dressing room where dancers hide out.

“Well, there’s a group of six guys, didn’t you see them?” I asked.

“Ugh, those snobby motherfuckers from L.A.? They were so into rubbing each other’s elbows and drinking their cranberry vodkas, they wouldn’t even give me the time of day. I can’t stand L.A. men. Why do they even come here? They hardly ever get dances or VIPs. I swear to god if they didn’t have wedding rings on I would think they were gay.”

On another afternoon, I walked up to a group of young white boys sipping mixed drinks and conversing. I tried to sit with them, but they proceeded to give me dirty looks.

“Umm… we are talking.”

“I noticed,” I said. “But I always assume men come to strip clubs for women, not for each other.”

“Can you come back later? You are pretty but we are busy,” another white-collared asshole said. I was aghast at their rudeness.

“ARE YOU ALL FROM L.A.?!” I shouted, my face aflame.

“Ummm, yeah,” they said.

“I fucking thought so!” I exclaimed and stormed off.

Believe or not, dancers actually warn each other when SoCal is in our establishment. We are tired of being rejected, tired of “dude”, and tired of hearing about how it takes only three hours to drive to Las Vegas from L.A. It doesn’t, it takes five. But most importantly, we are tired of L.A. men acting gay.

If you’re a straight man and you live in Southern California, please be a gentlemen to Las Vegas strippers and buy a lap dance. Otherwise be true to yourself and go to Chip N’ Dales.

Jessica Janson (@jessicajanson) was born in the greater Los Angeles area, where she spent much of her life when she wasn’t satisfying her wanderlust in bizarre places around the globe. Foreseeing the state’s impending economic collapse, she packed up and took off to Vegas where she now makes a killing ignoring her Master’s and grinding on laps.

Image by Cap’n Monky.

G Spot: Fact or Fiction? Wait, What?

“Women everywhere have read or heard that they may possess a secret pleasure zone inside their bodies that, if stimulated correctly, yields intense pleasure and even orgasm,” CNN reported yesterday, adding: “But this so-called G-spot has never been precisely identified as a concrete biological entity. Scientists are still arguing over what it is and whether it exists at all.”

The g-spot (or g-ridge)–named so for Ernst Gräfenberg, a German scientist best known for his studies of female genitalia–is an area located on the anterior wall, one to three inches above the vaginal opening, which, when stimulated, reportedly leads to intense orgasms.

Now, research conducted by a team at King’s College London of over 1,800 female twins is suggesting that there is no genetic basis for a g-spot and that pleasure experienced from its stimulation may be more related to psychology than anything–meaning, it’s a bit like the placebo effect.

The existence of the g-spot has been the subject of contention since Gräfenberg’s day and now that this research has surfaced, media outlets are positively in a feeding frenzy over it.

Here’s my issue with the research: clinical psychologist Andrea Burri, who authored the report for the Journal of Sexual Medicine, and her team did not physically examine the women in the study to see whether they had a g-spot–they only gave participants a survey asking whether they believed that they had one.

To say there is no genetic correlation in a study of twins based on perception and not anatomy is to essentially say: in genetically similar or identical women, one may believe she has a g-spot while the other does not.

This is a study about perception, not about whether a g-spot exists.

They found that 56 percent of respondents answered “yes” and that there was no genetic correlation. But only about 30 percent said they were able to achieve orgasm during intercourse, which may indicate that women were confused by the G-spot question because stimulation of the G-spot is supposed to induce orgasm, she said.

The definition of G-spot in the study is too specific and doesn’t take into account that some women perceive their G-spots as bigger or smaller, or higher or lower, said Debby Herbenick, research scientist at Indiana University and author of the book Because It Feels Good.

“It’s not so much that it’s a thing that we can see, but it has been pretty widely accepted that many women find it pleasurable, if not orgasmic, to be stimulated on the front wall of the vagina,” said Herbenick, who was not involved in the study.

The study also found correlations with personality components in women who did report having G-spots: For instance, these women tended to be more extroverted, arousable and open to experience, which may indicate a psychological component to the G-spot, Burri said.

Certainly our perception of our bodies is critical to sex research, but to call into question that the g-spot exists without the proper examination of study subjects is bad science reporting at best.

“Initially, it was a good concept, because who wouldn’t like the idea of ‘push a button and get the best orgasm ever?’ ” Burri said, to which CNN’s Elizabeth Landau added: “But those women who can’t orgasm from vaginal intercourse may feel inadequate, and knowing that the G-spot may not exist can take some pressure off.”

That makes perfect fucking sense. Let’s tell people the clit doesn’t exist next so women who can’t orgasm through its stimulation and men who can’t find it don’t feel pressured, either.

God help me.

Facebook: Rising Cause of Divorce

January 5, 2010 Culture, Opinion, web 1 Comment

Social media brought with it the ability to connect with old and new friends. It was labeled the solution to the problem of loneliness experienced by a more and more mobile generation. But nothing is without its drawbacks, as some divorce lawyers with enough time to peruse divorce petitions discovered.

They found one in five cited Facebook as cause for divorce.

“I had heard from my staff that there were a lot of people saying they had found out things about their partners on Facebook and I decided to see how prevalent it was,” Mark Keenan, Managing Director of Divorce-Online, told the UK’s Telegraph. “I was really surprised to see 20 per cent of all the petitions containing references to Facebook. The most common reason seemed to be people having inappropriate sexual chats with people they were not supposed to.”

Sexy chats. E-mails. Wall posts. Private albums. It used to be that affairs had to be conducted secretly on our own time. Now, they can unfold as we sit beside our spouses in bed, typing on our laptops as they read.

But is it that more people are cheating because of how much more accessible people are, or is it that it’s just easier for people to get caught?

This month’s issue of Details gives us some hard numbers in their article “Everyone Else Is Cheating–Why Aren’t You?”:

Numbers from the book Lust In Translation, by Pamela Druckerman.

“A lot of people are coming to terms with the unnaturalness of monogamy,” says David P. Barash, co-author of Strange Bedfellows: The Surprising Connection Between Evolution, Sex and Monogamy. “But there’s a difference between the public persona–what we like to think of each other–and what we all know goes on.”

And this, perhaps, is why Facebook is so dangerous.

Read the rest of this piece, including what’s wrong with marriage, at Twirlit…

Apple’s Anti-Porn Stance Blows, Encourages Scamming

December 31, 2009 Culture, geek, Opinion, Technology No Comments

Here’s an excellent argument on the suffering we’re enduring at the hands of anti-porn Apple, by Gizmodo‘s John Herrman:

Apple has a ratings system in the App Store. It has a 17+ rating, for apps with violent, crude or sexual content—or app that have a browser function, which could be used to access objectionable content. Most of the apps above are 17+, which means that if parents so choose, they can block their iPhone-having children from even being able to download them. It follows that they could do the same for 18+ apps, so why haven’t they?

I can understand Apple not wanting to get into the porn business, which, by taking 30% of developers’ revenue, I guess they would sort of be doing. But the current setup just doesn’t make any sense. You can buy an app with a built-in browser, which can access the most horrible smut on the web, and get a 17+ rating. But if you link said app to one of those sites, and disable general browsing, suddenly it’s verboten. Again, I can understand how we ended up here, but the results, as you’ve seen, are depressing.

It’s fair to say that most people just assume there are porn apps, when there really aren’t. But there are hundreds of apps that look like porn apps, cost money, and that are, effectively, bait-and-switch scams. Apple can fix this in two ways: they can open the floodgates and just let people have their real porn apps, which would effectively kill these in-between semi-porn apps, or they can revise how the App Store works: by instituting a 24-hour open return policy for paid apps, like the Android Market has, people would simply return these worthless apps, and developers, now unable to trick people into giving them boner money, would stop making them. They would tumble down the rankings and into oblivion.

Anyway, no matter what Apple does, people will continue to look at photos of naked humans on their iPhones. It may make the company squirm, but there’s no reason to pretend it’s not happening, and to let scammers screw up the App Store more than they already have.

The system is broken, Apple. Please fix it.

Image from MapData. Information from Gizmodo.


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Gamers Won’t Be Seduced, Will Stare At Random Cleav Instead

That Steam allows the objectification and sexualization of female characters in a variety of its games but refuses to accept a game about actually engaging with women in a more interactive fashion is astonishingly backward.

FetLife Is Not Safe for Users

That the site doesn’t take measures to protect user content and has shown incompetence or negligence in regard to user privacy, all the while prohibiting victims from warning others about predatory behavior creates an environment where it is nearly impossible for members of the community to take care of themselves and one another. By enabling FetLife to continue espousing a code of silence, allowing the spinning self-created security issues as “attacks,” and not pointing out how disingenuous FetLife statements about safety are, we are allowing our community to become a breeding ground for exploitation.

Why You Should Vote No On Prop 35

Should people who benefit (parents, siblings, children, roommates!) from the earnings of “commercial sex acts” (any sexual conduct connected to the giving or receiving of something of value) be charged with human trafficking? Should someone who creates obscene material that is deemed “deviant” be charged as with human trafficking? Should someone who profits from obscene materials be charged with human trafficking? Should people transporting obscene materials be charged with human trafficking? Should a person who engages in sex with someone claiming to be above the age of consent or furnishing a fake ID to this effect be charged with human trafficking? What if I told you the sentences for that kind of conviction were eight, 14 or 20 years in prison, a fine not to exceed $500,000, and life as a registered sex offender?

Pretty and Calls Herself a Geek? Attention Whore!

If you are a woman, you might be given a chance to prove yourself in this community. Since there is no standard definition of what a “geek” is and it will vary from one judge to the next anyway, chances of failing are high (cake and grief counseling will be available after the conclusion of the test!). If you somehow manage to succeed, you’ll be tested again and again by anyone who encounters you until you manage to establish yourself like, say, Felicia Day. But even then, you’ll be questioned. As a woman, your whole existence within the geek community will be nothing but a series of tests — if you’re lucky. If you aren’t lucky, you’ll be harassed and threatened and those within the culture will tacitly agree that you deserve it.

Cuddle Chemical? Moral Molecule? Not So Fast

Zak’s original field, it turns out, is economics, a far cry from the hearts and teddy bears we imagine when we consider his nickname. But after performing experiments on generosity, Zak stumbled on the importance of trust in interactions, which led him, rather inevitably, to research about oxytocin. Oxytocin, you might remember, is a hormone that has been linked previously to bonding — between mothers and children primarily, but also between partners. What Zak has done is take the research a step further, arguing in his recent book, The Moral Molecule, that oxytocin plays a role in determining whether we are good or evil.

How to Avoid Pissing off a Stripper

Let’s talk about the strippers. Whether they like to be half-naked or not, whether they enjoy turning you on or not, there’s one thing they all have in common: they’re working. Whether you think that taking one’s clothes off for money is a great choice of career is really beside the point (is it a possibility for you to make $500 per hour at your job without a law degree? Just asking). These women are providing fantasy, yes, but that is their job. And as a patron of the establishment where they work, you need to treat them like you would anyone else who provides a service to you.


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Here you’ll find news about the latest research being conducted to figure out what drives desire, passion, and other sex habits; reviews of sex toys, porn and other sexy things; coverage of the latest sex-related news that have our mainstream media's panties up in a bunch; human interest pieces about sex and desire; interviews with people who love sex, or hate sex, or work in sex, or work to enable you to have better sex; opinion pieces that relate to sex and society; and the sex-related side of celebrity gossip. More...