Dear Mr. X,
Things are taking interesting turns, in your life and mine. Last Friday I met an ex with whom I am on friendly and slightly cheeky terms. He told me about his current affair and commented in his self-deprecating humor that women had become his hobby but he wouldn’t be able to approach them without the Internet. That piqued my interest, and the next morning I set up a profile on this website. My profile picture was almost demure: just a part of my face, my fingers covering a beauty spot and a bit of my clothed shoulder. My text was also very specific and maybe a bit aloof, but purposefully so in order to put off certain types. Continue reading Voyeur Stories: a reader flirts with Girl Girl Boy
A couple of months ago I received an exciting e-mail from an unknown reader:
Sex is like any art in that when it’s really great it breaks routine, reveals hidden beauty, and extends our sense of ourselves. Great art succeeds in creating something new, in a new way, from a new perspective. Great sex is the same. It needs variety, innovation, audacity, but it is sometimes difficult to find the will to inject those qualities into our daily lives. We need change, we need change in sex, we need other bodies with other predilections, but sometimes just changing the atmosphere will bring about some of that change we seek.
Dear Dastardly X,
Dear Little Showoff,
My wife and I both have a taxi sex fantasy. We’ve never talked about it, but 
Dinner with the neighbors. Dinner with a man who has made my wife “puddle” as she thought of him while sunbathing naked on our balcony, which I know from 
Let me give your photographic mind something to click at. 
Good scientific method means that occasionally your experiments are going to be a failure. The results will sometimes surprise you, and your theories may be overturned. It’s these unforeseen consequences that make experimentation, particularly sexual experimentation, worthy of some healthy obsession. 
I’ll call it a vagina and probe it by the book. I’ll call it a cunt and tongue deep till I’m buried. Call it a vulva, it’s a fruit, a peach. A muff: I’ll be young and grateful and eager to please. And pussy, oh pussy: you’ll make me into a green-eyed cat.