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Beaten, Bruised and Subspaced

April 13, 2010 Daisy, Diary No Comments

Erotic torture at the hand of a good Dominant can leave lovely souvenirs of a good time had. It might take the form of bruises, welts and scratches on the submissive’s body. Seeing color and patterns appear on the skin from BDSM play can be almost as intoxicating to the Dominant as the submissive’s screams and cries.

I am reminded of Sir M’s delight in inflicting corporal punishment on me every time I rub arnica cream onto my sore butt to reduce the redness and welts that linger days after our scenes.

My last session with Sir M began with 10 hard whacks of his paddle on my naked butt that turned it completely red, like a monkey in heat.  I was to count each strike and say, “Thank you, Sir. This will not happen again.” It was my punishment for not following proper protocol the weekend before.

I’d lost focus that night and forgotten to stand and walk on his left side and open doors for him. For this offense I was beaten so hard that by the fourth strike I had trouble speaking and by the ninth I couldn’t hold myself up. The paddle left an outline mark on my right butt cheek that lasted for days.

He hugged me and caressed me after the tenth strike and reminded me not to fuck up again.

My tattoo blushed

Sir M gets a kick out of snapping the tattoo of a geisha girl on my hip with his riding crop — aiming to make her cheeks blush red. It is a super sensitive spot on my torso so her blush comes at great pain to me. He also enjoys carving long lines and designs into my skin with his deadly sharp knives. (“Bad kitty did it to me” is my typical excuse if vanilla friends or family remark on my deep scratches.)

The marks from a BDSM session, frightening and beautiful in their colors and textures, can be a badge of courage among masochists. Some subs can’t wait to lift their skirts to show off their welts and bruises, to demonstrate how much pain they can endure in submitting to their Doms.

In my case, as a non-masochist, I find myself totally fascinated with the marks left on my skin from Sir M’s hands and toys. I love to inspect the bruises he inflicts on my butt and thighs and follow their progression from red to a bluish purple to yellow-green and finally back to normal as they heal.

Subspaced

The bruises left by a Dom’s hands are only skin deep. There are psychological effects from BDSM play that can continue for hours or even days after the session. Probably the most pleasurable is known as subspace. This is an altered mental state caused by endorphins released in response to erotic pain. This state might typically last 20 to 30 minutes or longer after the scene and leaves the sub with a floaty sense of well-being. For me, it can range from feeling relaxed and spacey with lower pulse and heartbeat, to completely being in a trance with no perception of what’s going on around me.

When I go into subspace deeply I cease to hear anything in the room and I feel in a calm, meditative state. Sir M has told me after I return to reality that I’ve gone deep into “La La Land.” I often have absolutely no recollection of what has happened during that time. It’s a delicious feeling of complete transformation and the euphoria lingers a good, long while.

But occasionally the effect is just a depleting spaciness — in rare instances that can be hard to shake off. I had this experience recently when I played (did a BDSM scene) with a new partner at a new club. I teetered on the edge of subspace but wouldn’t let myself quite let go to get there. And after the scene we were distracted and not able to do proper “aftercare.” This is usually a quiet time to help the sub recover and get grounded and is an essential part in the process.

Too much of a good thing

I was spacey for the rest of the evening and wasn’t able to feel grounded. I drank a soda, got some fresh air, and eventually was OK to drive home. But I went to sleep in that altered state and wasn’t able to get a full night’s sleep. I awoke just as spacey and depleted as I’d felt when I went to bed. It was a reminder of last night’s fun, but felt like an ugly, undeserved hangover. To my dismay, the spaciness lasted for the entire next day.

I started to feel alarmed. One person suggested I take a long hot shower. Another person suggested I eat chocolate and drink lots of water. I took all the advice and on the following day I felt slightly less spacey but not back to normal.

Fortunately, my lover J had the intelligent solution.

He came over the following morning and crawled into my bed.

He smacked my still sore buttocks briskly enough to wake me up and then cuddled up behind me.

He tugged my not-quite-healed nipple piercings hard enough to make me wince and yell “ouch” Although it hurt, it did jolt adrenaline through my system. Better than a triple espresso.

J worked his deceptively soft hands down my front, then gripped my outer thighs. His finger fluttered along my clit then slid under to feel the juices running from my cunt. He pulled me back against him by wrapping his large arm around my chest while he worked his finger inside me. I felt warm waves of pleasure travel from my head to toes. When I climaxed my muscles clenched so hard it almost pushed his finger out of me.

The combo of sexual stimulation and pain brought me to a heightened state of erotic pleasure and afterward I felt mental clarity for the first time in days. The best cure!

Daisy TraLaLA (@daisytralala) is a saucy Angelino kinkster who glides with ease between the worlds of tech, art, cuisine, electronica and dungeon parties. Check back every Tuesday for posts from her journey to the most divine surrender.

Menstrual Tweets — Really?

April 12, 2010 Advertising, Culture No Comments

Not to fall behind Kotex in embracing open discussion of menstruation, Tampax has apparently launched MenstrualTweets, an aggregator collecting the Twittersphere’s 140-character missives about — you guessed it: cramps, PMS, tampons, cycles, and periods.

As with most aggregators, we’re seeing a variety of … interesting things.

No word from Tampax of yet as to this campaign. We’ll keep you posted. And, of course, you can go gawk at @MenstrualTweets on Twitter.

A Really Raunchy “Fuck You” To Hollywood

April 12, 2010 Events 1 Comment

Last night was the ceremony for the second annual Streamy Awards, which, for all of you non-geeks out there, is an award show for web shows. Think about it like an Emmys for the internet (and if you don’t know what the Emmys are, well, geez, we can’t help you). We’re not in web video, but we sent out our editrix (who’s a renown geekarizer and fancies herself a member of Los Angeles’ tech set, the poor thing) to feel out the event and come back with some juicy gossip.

She didn’t. Nevertheless, the L.A. web cognoscenti are on fire in various social networks today in regard to the award show.

Apparently, while our editrix was enjoying a tryst in the ladies’ lavatory — the award show was collapsing into a festival of vulgarity.

Here’s what everyone is upset about:

Lisa Nova and Chris Hardwick were molested onstage by other members of the webvid glitterati:

Streamy-veteran Felicia Day was accosted by David Faustino in nothing but his underwear while retrieving her award. Screengrab below from Web Series Today, via NewTeeVee:

When technical difficulties ensued, two men ran through the crowd naked, stopping only to high-five Kevin Pereira, host of G4′s Attack of the Show. They remain unidentified. Screengrab from @Kiddsock:

According to Garrett Garese, founder of Spytap Industries, the ceremony also involved a fake porn producer receiving “a ‘lifetime achievement award’ and repeatedly uttering variations on the phrase ‘oceans of semen.’”

Mathieas at Web Series Today makes mention of more of the shenanigans, including “numerous masturbation jokes” during the opening as well as a “five minute bit about vaginal reconstruction.”

Many in the industry are issuing apologies to their viewers today, for asking them to tune in to the event on Ustream. We like director Blake Calhoun’s take on the whole thing: “I liken this misstep to Kevin Smith’s early movie career. He made Clerks. Was a big hit. Went out and made Mallrats next. Was a huge flop. But then he made Chasing Amy… Let’s hope next year’s Streamy Awards is our Chasing Amy (without all the dick jokes of course).”

We’re into those dick-jokes, of course, and hope the event won’t be entirely sanitized. But there’s a place and time and proper method of execution for everything, creatures. Don’t ever forget that.

Anyway, here’s Hollywood saying “fuck you” right back: “Technical difficulties plagued the second annual Streamy Awards on Sunday night, somewhat fitting for a ceremony that honors web series.” And so the web’s battle to be taken seriously marches on.

PS: we’re kidding about the tryst. Our editrix was charging her iPhone. Hey, have a laugh, we all survived the Streamys and a little glitch is not going to stop the web’s content creators from doing what they do best: keep on rocking.

Photo of Orpheum Theater in the banner montage by Billy Jensen. Screengrabs and videos are linked to their source within the post.

Thinking of You: Sext Me!

April 12, 2010 lolz No Comments

We here at Sex and the 405 think it’s vital to let people know how much you adore them, so we’ve created a special new section showcasing the best of the web when it comes to showing your love.

This week’s jewel comes to you via someecards, the epitome of cool when it comes to e-cards.

Click to send one to someone you dig!

Even the Unlovable Can Get Some Love

April 11, 2010 Diary, Raymond 1 Comment

How many times have I leaned on you?

Why is it, in the cycle of disrepair, that I reach out this way? I’m drunk, I’m on the phone. I shouldn’t be on the phone. I want you to come over. You’re my new squeeze, my ex, my anything, my everything. I want you.

I want you and I don’t want myself. I don’t want to be myself anymore. I’m drunk or I’m hungover. I’m raging against the dying light, or I’m licking my wounds at noon. I have booze and drugs and rock and roll and I need sex. I need you. I have to have you. You are all I want now. Without you there is nothing left.

There is no us. There is only me. Me and my hands and they can’t be still without these chemicals. I love you but I can’t consider you. I love you and I would if I could. And I mean that. I’m almost out of excuses but I’m hoping that you’ll listen to one more. I’m hoping that you’ll see past the agitation, the aggravation, and the endless frustration. Don’t look at the vomit on the floor that’s all crusty and rust-colored. I still consider myself a spiritual person and vomit doesn’t bother me. Not much at least. Not anymore. Just don’t tell anyone. You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?

There’s a knock on the door and I drag myself to my feet. Well, hellllllll-o.

You brush past me, wanting to assess the damage. For a Friday afternoon, it’s really not that bad. At least as I see it. The furniture is largely upright and unstained. What matters to you as far as I can tell is that you’re here now, and that I’m breathing all right. I am. When I’m not chain smoking, that is. And if you ignore the occasional coughing fits.

I don’t think about why you’re here or what’s right or wrong. I can’t be bothered with all of that. Why address the impossible…? This is what I am and what I want to be, what I always wanted to be. Otherwise, the conversations might be different. We might be different.

You fell in love and you ignored the warning signs. The pictures of us together are lovely. You sleep deeply and somehow the blaring music in the other room doesn’t bother you. If I were you, and I were a woman, I’d probably buy earplugs. If I were you I might try to help but then I might give up, too.

If I were you, I’d stop answering the phone so much.

I have goals and I have dreams. You play along with my romantic notions and slurred speeches. What else can you do at this point? You’re a woman and you fell in love. Leave, you’re still in love. And then you’re in love with an apparition, a memory. What good would that do you, or more importantly — much more importantly — me?

But you’re in love with a ghost as we chit-chat today. The ghost of the good me, the one you came to love. The ghost of our happy times, before I started wallowing in the wretched.

You push me away at first when I try to kiss you. I have been very lonely today. It doesn’t occur to me why, but I wouldn’t care had it registered. I would have brushed that away just as you brush my kiss away now.

You want me to take a shower. I think about this. At first I say no in order to buy some time. Showering will be awful, it will ruin my high and I know this. But now I am naked and getting into the shower. I stop in front of the mirror and admire myself. I like to do this when I am high but I won’t want to do this tomorrow.

I have an angle. Nudity is a precursor to sex. So I will shower.

When I get out of the shower, you are on the phone. You hang up and look at me. You smile. You take the extra towel and you run it over my hair. I smile back at you and do a little dance. This is courtship.

I pour you a drink even though you don’t really want one. I get high as soon as I’m dressed so that I can relax and ditch the bad clean feeling. I comb my hair. And then I comb it a second time.

We agree to watch a movie. I bide my time. Ten minutes into the movie I am bored and hit pause. I always do this. We argue. I pour a drink for myself. You decide to have another. We sit on the couch.

I manage to harangue you into going in the bedroom. I have needs and then my needs have needs too. As soon as I get your clothes off it’s all sweetness and light, but I’m biding my time again.

I fuck you hard. I’m not nice about it. You go with it. I almost lose my way, but I throw us both over and use my mouth all over your body. You suck my cock back to fullness and we flip around again. It’s frantic now, we both know that we’ve got one last shot. You are groaning and straining with your back arched. We come together. You howl as I grunt like a wild boar.

You wanted to fix me and I wanted to fuck you. I got what I wanted.

Where we will go from here, no one can say. I wipe the semen off with a stiffened towel that hasn’t been washed in weeks. Naked, I go into the kitchen and pour another round.

Tomorrow I will tell you stories of reform. Tonight I will drink and smoke weed and fuck you and smoke weed again and listen to music. In that order. You will fall asleep hours before me. Alone.

Raymond Burns is an esoteric indie film professional living in Los Angeles. Raymond is a social animal who loves every inch of the female form. He comprehensively appreciates the quiet aftermath of a woman’s orgasm. He hangs a bit to the left.

Drunk Tweet To Be Proud About

April 9, 2010 Lessons No Comments

Last weekend was a holiday weekend and you guys partied it up. We here at Sex and the 405 know all about it — the good, the bad, and the ugly. From Twitter. That’s right, before you deleted them Sunday morning. Out of control, Los Angeles, you’re out of control.

Well, don’t worry, you don’t have to suffer the indignity of the looks you received on Monday morning at the office ever again.

All you have to do is read and follow “mixultant” (but that’s sultan of cocktail mixing to you, plebs) Joseph Boroski’s common sense guide for drunk tweeting you can be proud about.

1. No emo tweets.

2. Do not overwhelm us every two minutes with all your change of locations and celebrity sightings.

3. Don’t repeat yourself.

4. Don’t start using words you would never use while sober.

5. Don’t roll the bus on your buddies.

6. Tell us funny, happy, and exciting things.

7. Make the pics you post are worth looking at.

8. Tweet it later!

9. Put the damn phone in your pocket and hang out with your friends already!

10. If you’re going to put us through your drunk ramblings via Tweetie, you might as well let us know how you got in such a sorry place to begin with.

You’re welcome. Now go get started, it’s already happy hour in London.

Read the whole thing by Joseph Boroski, or follow him on Twitter: @sipSLOWLY. Post via @SexCigarsandBooze.

Kid Sues Mom Over Facebook Drama

April 8, 2010 Culture, News, OMGWTFBBQ, web No Comments

It was only a matter of time before it came to this, creatures. If you have a Facebook, you know first hand how angina-inducing interaction with your near and dearest can be. Unlike a social gathering or family dinner, you can’t really walk away — or try to keep things between yourself and the other person. They’re out there, breaking in real time, for all your contacts to see across the world — and to access, later (if you fail to remove the content) at their leisure.

Now, a 16-year-old in Arkansas is suing his mother for slandering him on his Facebook profile. According to ABC7, Denise New of Arkadelphia hacked into her son’s account, changed his password and posted “slanderous comments about his personal life.”

New says she sought only to monitor her son’s online interactions. The teen lives with his grandmother, who holds custodial rights, but New claims she has the legal right to monitor his online behavior. She plans to fight the charges.

Watch the report from ABC7 below:

“Amazing.”

Information from ABC7.

Negativity Is Cool

April 7, 2010 Health, News, Research No Comments

Looks like some nasty habits aren’t so nasty after all. Commenting in a recent article in O Magazine, Bryan Gibson, professor of social psychology at Central Michigan University, says: “In certain situations, what is typically a detrimental trait can turn out to be a good one.”

And just what is he talking about? Being negative, swearing, and getting pissed.

Negativity

“Picture the worst-case scenario and work your way backwards,” says Nicole Jordan, our resident PR pro. And she’s right — focusing on the negative outcomes help us prepare and thus overcome difficulties.

“Defensive pessimism—thinking specifically about what might go wrong—can turn anxiety into action,” says Julie K. Norem, professor of psychology at Wellesley College and the author of The Positive Power of Negative Thinking.

Cussing

Bad words make you feel better! According to a recent study published in NeuroReport, participants who immersed their hands in icy water and were allowed to shout bad words experienced significantly less prickly, numbing pain than when they said neutral words. The reason? Swearing seems to activate the stress response, boosting our pain thresholds to better deal with crisis.

Getting Pissed

And by that, we don’t mean piss drunk. Though we’re sure researchers could find a good reason to get wasted if they really tried. Anyway, get this, so long as your rage isn’t a recurring thing, getting angry when you face a difficult situation does help deal with stress.

According to Jennifer Lerner, director of the Harvard Decision Science Laboratory, reacting with focused anger instead of allowing yourself to get carried away with anxiety releases less of the stress hormone cortisol. Less stress means less likelihood of losing bone mass, becoming depressed or obese. Fantastic!

So, cherish your pessimism, embrace your inner sailor and for the love of all things good and decent, let yourself get seriously pissed every once in a blue moon instead of “dealing with it.”

It’s good for you, trust us.

Image from Tambago the Jaguar. Information from O Magazine.

Double Dom’ed: How I Got Virtually Co-Topped

April 6, 2010 Daisy, Diary No Comments

My date night started out perfectly vanilla, like the type of dates you see on reality TV shows. Sir A arrived at my home elegantly dressed, and took me to a quaint Italian restaurant in my neighborhood for dinner. Sir A is one of the Doms I’ve been courting since last month. I dressed up in a deep plum silk dress with plunging neckline, stockings with garters and my best heels. We debated the wine list, chose something Italian, then decided to be politically incorrect and order veal. The adjoining tables would never have imagined that our conversations included flogging, caning, threesomes and ass play.

I finished off with some warm flourless chocolate cake that was just divine. I find that rich chocolate is an aphrodisiac as it warms my body and brings a blush to my cheeks.

“Let’s go back to my place.”

He gave me a wicked kiss that lasted a few seconds longer than usual and a little bite on my neck that sent shivers down my spine. Then we were off.

No time to pour him a drink

We entered my living room and before I could offer him a drink he had me pushed up against the wall with my legs spread.

“Keep your hands up there and don’t move.”

He pulled off my bra and stood behind me squeezing my breasts and tweaking my nipples.

Sir A chomped on my neck harder. He put one hand under my dress to graze my crotch and was pleased to find no panties, just a moist pussy. He thrust his groin against my butt and penetrated me aggressively with one index finger. It made blood flow to my cunt, engorging it and making it throb. The other hand played with my nipple piercing, twisting and pulling slightly to just cross my pain threshold. My nipples popped erect and my cheeks flushed more deeply. He enjoyed seeing my reactions as erotic bliss and erotic pain combined to bring me to a boiling point.

“Well, I was just going to go home but now I want to stay and have you suck my cock.”

That sounded like a good idea but I had an even better idea.

Virtual three-way

“Sir, may I have your permission to put on the webcam so Sir M can watch?”

Sir A smiled and bit the back of my neck.

“Of course!”

As I wrote a few weeks ago, I get a thrill out of keeping the webcam on for Sir M, hoping he will randomly catch me doing something sexy. Sometimes I flash my bare ass to the camera as I pass by, to see if he’s watching. I’ve left the camera on when I’ve had female friends visit but don’t feel its right to do that to a Dom without his permission. I guessed that Sir A would be down for it.

Sir A has been very respectful of my relationship with Sir M, as Sir M is my main Dom and I am “under his protection.”  We both have been careful about protocol to reflect my relationship with Sir M, but still honor Sir A as a Dom. As of yet I hadn’t encountered a situation where I’d be interacting with both of them at the same time.

Sir M’s slut in action

I slipped off my dress but left on the stockings, garters and the little silk slip I wore under the dress. We set the laptop with webcam up on a chest facing the bed and I turned it on. I was giggly and turned on by the idea of having Sir M watch his slut in action.

We started wrestling on the bed and removing Sir A’s fine clothing. Sir M logged on. My heart leaped!

Sir A thanked Sir M profusely for his kind generosity in sharing his property (me). They discussed my skills and merits like I was a house pet — and I liked it.

“What she lacks in skills she makes up for in enthusiasm. I could teach her a few tricks if I wanted to,” said Sir M.

I realize Sir M likes to keep me on my toes so I don’t get “lazy.” His compliments often come with a qualifier. In this case I think he also wanted to challenge me to perform to his liking.

I swallowed his cock in front of the webcam

Sir A laid back luxuriously on my bed, propped up against the pillows, hard cock looming in front of me and taking up much of the real estate on the webcam broadcast. I kneeled next to him on his left, facing forward so I could swallow his cock in Sir M’s line of vision. We did some adjusting and brought the laptop closer so he’d have a better view.

Then I really got down to business. I sucked and stroked while Sir A ordered “lick my balls… NOW!”

I shifted down and licked and sucked while he squeezed and manipulated the upper shaft.

“Now lick the top. Come on, use your tongue, that’s what it’s for!”

Sir M was silent for a while, until he drawled, “well, that’s OK, but make her work harder!”

Two Doms = double pleasure

I had two Doms telling me what to do, feeding off each other’s energy and co-controlling me. It was intensely hot and at the same time a bit distracting as they gave me orders.

Sir A said to Sir M: “I can’t make her follow all my orders like you can. She doesn’t even always call me Sir.”

Sir M replied, “I can make her do whatever you say, so go ahead and order her!”

“OK,” Sir A said to me. “You can’t touch yourself or masturbate at all until you next see Sir M.”

I was mad but I pushed it out of my mind. That seemed like a very bad idea to me but I complied.

Sometimes they gave me conflicting commands.

“Get all the way down on it, you lazy bitch!” Sir M would growl.

“Just suck the head,” Sir A would taunt me.

“Use both your hands — that’s why you have two hands and a mouth,” Sir M would add.

“Don’t use your hand like that — if I wanted a hand job I’d tell you to give me one,” Sir A would bark at me.

It was exciting if confusing, having two masters. I’ve always loved the idea of being with two men — double pleasure and double fun.

My mouth was violated

We did some repositioning and Sir A had me lay on my back while he hovered over me to face-fuck me. That is one of my favorite positions because it makes me feel gloriously submissive and therefore sexy, to lay still and be violated that way. 

He slid his cock in to make sure I was comfortable then pushed it to the back of my throat as far as it would go. I gagged and broke out in goose bumps like a jolt of electricity had gone through my body.

“Take it and stay there!” Sir M yelled.

My throat relaxed so I could take in his cock completely. I sucked on it deep in my throat and Sir A started to groan. His eyes squinted, he was in another place and I could tell he was on the verge of cumming. I increased the intensity of my sucking and he groaned more.

“Ahhhhhhhhhhh! You little whore!”

He dug his fingers into my head, holding me prone. I got swept up by his energy too and grunted loudly as he shot his load into my throat. I continued to suck and watch him twitch until he couldn’t take it any longer.

“Yes, she is enthusiastic,” Sir M commented.

Sir A thanked Sir M and they agreed it would be a good idea to “co-top” me again sometime soon.

Having two Doms dominate me in sex play was a supremely sexy experience, even if one of them was in cyberspace.

Daisy TraLaLA (@daisytralala) is a saucy Angelino kinkster who glides with ease between the worlds of tech, art, cuisine, electronica and dungeon parties. Check back every Tuesday for posts from her journey to the most divine surrender.

Thinking of You: If I Was Your Coworker

April 5, 2010 lolz No Comments

We here at Sex and the 405 think it’s vital to let people know how much you adore them, so we’ve created a special new section showcasing the best of the web when it comes to showing your love.

This week’s jewel comes to you via someecards, the epitome of cool when it comes to e-cards.

Click on the card to send it to someone you dig!

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Featured

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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Sex and the 405 is what your newspaper would look like if it had a sex section.

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...