I WANT TO have sex,” she announced politely but firmly, like a little girl demanding a new doll. “Where can we go to do that?” Not anywhere around here, I thought as I looked around the barren park where we were lunching. There was a devastating lack of shrubbery; surely we would be spotted fornicating like the wild dogs we were from every conceivable spot in this obstruction-free landscape. Read more Read it in print

I’VE NEVER BEEN a member of Manhunt, Adam4Adam or any of those online sex sites geared for horny gay guys. Mostly because I’ve always been terrified of a co-worker or acquaintance giggling over my photos or my profile, but also because I freeze up when confronted with the prospect of going to a stranger’s apartment for sex or, worse, having someone from the Internet come to my place. The handful of times I got laid via Craigslist, I hid knives in strategic locations all over the apartment. Clearly, I wasn’t cut out for online sex. Porn stores, however, turned out to be a different matter. Read more Read it in print

“Dude? Seriously, if you would just hold still for one second, I swear to God, I can almost get this fish’s eyeball in your butthole.” Read more Read it in print

THE AIR IN the cell was warm with evaporated piss and sweat, so eventually I took off the leather jacket I’d been wearing. Someone sitting on the bench—a young, coffee-colored guy with fat red lips tattooed on his neck—jabbed the guy beside him and pointed at me.Well, it’s about time, I thought. Read more Read it in print

MY FRIEND ERIN is the girl who gets one-liners from men at bars. The do you come here oftens of slurred solicitation that she brushes away with a derisive laugh and a flip of her blond hair. My friend Danielle gets the CSI variety of creepy lurkers, and she’s found her personal antidote in a keychainbound can of mace and a black belt in Aikido. Another friend gets the drunk dials, and still another gets the exes that return in the middle of the night like housecats. It’s been said that every woman has the potential to bring out the worst in men. I summon forth the cock pictures. Read more Read it in print

“DO YOU WANT to see my work?” “Yeah!” I sounded way too hyper. It had been two years since I first met Sylvain and began having spread-eagle fantasies about him. It was the summer of 2005 and I was 20 years old, a virgin from California passing the summer in Paris after a year abroad in Bordeaux. Read more Read it in print

AT AGE 17, people still called me “pimple beard.” My mouth was filled with braces and while my scoliosis developed better than the doctors expected, I still had a slight hump. The only thing greater than my physical monstrosities was my sex drive. Despite being hobbled by social anxiety disorder—when I got nervous around people I licked my wrists—I was determined to finally get laid. Read more Read it in print

OCTOBER ALREADY, CAN you believe it? My doorbell rang this morning—a deliveryman saying he had a package for me. I was so excited I skipped down the stairs thinking it was a package from you. It was actually a box of purple suede go-go boots I bought online last week and then forgot about. I was a little disappointed that the package wasn’t from you, but then I tried on my new go-go boots and kicked around the house a bit and felt better.They have zippers! I’ve since put them back in the box, however. Read more Read it in print

I crave hot dogs the way crack heads crave rock. My preferred dealer is the Gray’s Papaya at West 72nd Street and Broadway. Last April, I decided to give into the hankering before a hair appointment. After injecting two dogs (well done, no kraut, no onions) I exited Gray’s wearing the afterglow of gastronomic pleasure. At the corner, I noticed an older white man noticing me. His 1980s navy blue Members Only jacket read retiree. Read more Read it in print

A FRIEND ONCE said that it was too late for us...too late for love. She said that if we hadn’t met anyone at college, we never would. Ridiculous as it sounded, once I landed my first post-college job and became resigned to the daily NY/NJ commute— stepping onto the bus in the predawn and returning home in the dark of night, motion-sensored porch lights flickering on at my approach—I began to believe her. Read more Read it in print