Mélanie Berliet

It’s virtually impossible for anyone with a vagina to avoid being judged for her personal appearance. Males, on the other hand, tend to skirt such dissection — by way of having penises, presumably.

What I discovered is that everyone seems to have a saucy tale worth sharing.

As a writer who frequently covers provocative subjects, I know that sex, money, and love, when bundled, form a combustible mix.

Whatever the case, making it to the awesomely comfortable, beautifully boring stage of love is something to celebrate, even if you do so by feeding your pajama clad partner handfuls of microwaved popcorn while binge watching HBO.

From my experience, more than heavy petting beneath a blanket is virtually impossible on a regular commercial flight.

Staring back at me was a Groupon issued by LaserTouch Aesthetics in Soho.

He was married at the time, but in our moment nuptials didn’t matter. Nothing did.

As sisters, we shared a lot, but I wasn’t aware of this booklet’s creation until Céline’s death, at age 30, in the spring of 2009.

Not even the least sexually inhibited are immune to awkward moments between the sheets. The reason for this, I believe, is twofold. First, we’re all susceptible to the involuntary nature of bodily functions.

Perched atop an exam table at Rutgers’ Imaging Center, twitching bare feet, I glance from the standard medical gown keeping me cold to drab linoleum floor to unforgiving fluorescent ceiling lights.

We all seem to agree that young women are embracing hookup culture as fervently as their male peers. But according to a recent study led by the Kinsey Institute’s Dr. Justin R.

A couple of shots make it seem less odd that almost every nook—including an elevated, cushioned cubby accessible by ladder—is occupied by a twosome engaged in an aggressive round of necking and/or heavy petting.

“You’re the Jedi pooper,” my boyfriend declared roughly six months into our relationship. He was referring to the fact that I’d managed to duck detection while going number two for an entire half year.

In the quest to invent strategies for becoming blindingly blitzed, no group excels quite like the young.

Are Americans prudes? Some people think so. After all, the country that gave the world Elvis’s hips, free love, and Porn Valley is also a land founded by Puritans, given to legislating what goes on in the bedroom, and perpetually outraged by the sexual dalliances of politicians (though, to be fair, even the Italians are getting fed up with presidential philandering).

What I never expected was that one of these guys would become a constant source of entertainment.

As the reality of what I’d gotten myself into set in, I began to have doubts. Maybe my parents were correct and I was, in fact, an absolute loon.

To overcome my reservations about walking the line between dating and prostitution, I told myself that any such concerns were the result of societal conditioning.