Kink University (KU), a site that seeks to “improve the world’s accessibility [to kink] through learning fun, safe, and effective skills related to consensual kink and other aspects of sensuality,” just released a list of the nation’s kinkiest cities, and Philly cracks the top 10 at No. 9.
Last week, The Huffington Post published a commentary by a 19-year-old female, Brie, titled “I’m Demisexual: Here’s What That Means.” In it, the writer describes demisexuality:
“I don’t feel sexually attracted to people in the ‘normal’ way. I’m demisexual (that’s on the asexuality scale), so I honestly can’t feel attraction toward people unless I already love their personalities and minds along with a few other special snowflake qualities.”
Of course, I couldn’t help but notice a good amount of my gay-identifying social media friends sharing the article, mostly poking fun at the author’s “need” to label herself as a sexual orientation that was, in their opinions, “fictitious.” As one person put it, “We’re going to run out of letters of the alphabet to describe people soon. What’s it now? LGBTQD?”
Proof that we could all use a bit more quality time between the sheets (not that kind of quality time, you guys): A new sleep survey of over 1,000 adults, conducted by the TODAY Show, found that nearly half of adults would rather get a good night’s sleep than have sex. And when it comes to women, that number jumps up to 65 percent. Why, you ask? Well, according to the survey, we simply don’t get enough shut-eye.
In his eloquent paean last week to watching porn, Daily News scold Stu Bykofsky equated the practice to stopping by the watercooler to chat with a colleague. There’s one essential way, at least, in which the two acts differ: One is solitary, and one is not. Stu cited the statistic that 29 percent of Americans say watching porn is morally acceptable.
I’m surprised the number’s that low. I don’t give a royal hoot who watches porn, though I’d prefer public officials not be doing so while they’re on the job. But what’s being called “Porngate” reminded me of a handy app that’s being pushed as the answer to the current “crisis” of sexual assault on college campuses. The app, Good2Go, takes the mushy gray out of “He said, she said” college sexual assault accusations by reducing the question of consent to a Wawa touchscreen condiment choice. Read more »
Last month, Slate‘s Rebecca Onion unearthed pure gold from the depths of the Library Company of Philadelphia‘s digital stacks. Guide to the Stranger or Pocket Companion for the Fancy is essentially a personal review of every brothel in the city worth mentioning circa 1849. The gentleman who compiled this data was pretty much the Roger Ebert of mid-19th century Philly whorehouses.
Addresses are listed for several of the brothels. So, as maturely as possible, let’s find out what’s become of these properties. Besides, how much can change in 165 years?
As a woman pushing 30, I’ve been called a slut more times than I care to think about.
Most women have. Cruelly by partners. Casually by gossips. Playfully by friends. Randomly by strangers.
I’m not sensitive to many words, but this one has always bothered me, has always lingered in the air a couple extra seconds. Drop the dreaded “C word” on me and I won’t blink, but “slut” — a tidy little package of judgment, shame and manipulation — has always felt unusually heavy.
When SlutWalk Philadelphia debuted in 2011, I didn’t necessarily like the name. It made me, like a lot of people, uncomfortable at first — and it should have. Like the word, the SlutWalk has pretty uncomfortable origins: A protest march that eventually went global, it began in Toronto after a police officer advised women to “avoid dressing like sluts in order not to be victimized.” Instead, women decided to take a little stroll together in fishnets.
I have no real interest in “reclaiming” the word – you can keep this one, among others. But if it’s going to be used against us, I’m personally in favor of harnessing its power to call noisy, unladylike attention to the idea that what we wear somehow determines that it’s OK to harass us.
Well this goes against everything we ever learned (but kind of knew deep down inside): A new study conducted by sex researcher Zhana Vrangalova and published in Social Psychology and Personality Science shows that having casual sex is actually good for your health — if it’s something you’re into, anyway. More from Design & Trend:
NBC 10’s Denise Nakano reported Tuesday night on spillover from the Radio 104.5 block party, held last Saturday at the Piazza. And I mean “spillover.” Per NBC 10, there weren’t enough free toilets at the Piazza, and so teenagers seeing Phantogram and Chvrches left the Piazza to go pee on things in Northern Liberties.
“My entire house was peed on, people were having sex two feet in front of my children and everyone was drunk that day,” said Sibyl Lindsay of Northern Liberties.
World War II fascinates my 10-year-old son Michael, so I rented the movie Pearl Harbor from Verizon. I forgot what a horrible movie it is and how director Michael Bay tried to force a love triangle into the plot. Before the Japanese attack, there were a lot of intense kissing scenes, which bothered my 7-year-old son David.
“Every time they kiss, my penis starts to shake,” he yelled out.
We probably were not supposed to laugh, but my wife and I couldn’t help it. It was a genuinely funny line and it wasn’t his last. Spurred on our laughter, David said, “It’s like I have an alien in my pants. It just keeps getting bigger and bigger.”
(At this point I want to write a message to future David for when he Googles his name years from now and reads this. I am not writing this to embarrass you or the alien. You were just naturally funny and I hope you still are as you read this. If not, I’ll pay for the therapy … or a car … which ever is cheaper.)
I share this story first and foremost because, as I said, it’s funny. But also, because my wife then told me that I soon need to talk with my two boys about sex, especially Michael.