A Sex Blogger and A Science Blogger Walked Into A Bar...

ME: Oh, discussing things with my followers!

HIM: What now?

ME:Observe this transcript, unfolding on Twitter.

ME: The Flox Cumsicle: three tablespoons of semen per cup of rice milk. Add the smallest drop of almond extract. Pour into mold and freeze.

SHE: that is fucking gross! *barf

ME: Have you ever swallowed when going down on someone?

SHE: yes but lordy in a popcicle?

ME: I'm amused by those who readily consume semen yet find consumption in conjunction with other ingredients as "disgusting."

SHE: totally not the case. cold semen is gross within seconds to me, i cant imagine freezing it.

ME: If this is merely a temperature issue, then, by extension, you'd be willing to have it in, say, a warm latte?

HIM: ha -- cum soup!

ME: her answer? No. And she backs down. Ah, it's no fun. Not with my followers. Maybe with your followers. Of course, then I wouldn't be talking about cum and posicles.

HIM: its okay, I'm talking with one right now about how I'm immortal.

FOLLOWER:The world's only "immortal" animal? The turritopsis nutricula species of jellyfish.

HIM: I'm totally immortal. I revert back to my polyp state all the time.

FOLLOWER: Ya gotta wonder if immortality is worth it if you need to constantly go through polyp stage.

HIM: On the contrary, I particularly love the polyp stage. no worries. no responsibilities. just enjoying life.

ME: I don't know which one of us is more ridiculous with our discussions.

HIM: Just because my followers can use words like polyp doesn't mean discussion is any more intelligent.

"Sinner Takes All" by Tera Patrick

I was bored. Paul wasn't letting me act out on any of my sexual fantasies, and frankly, I just craved a different cock. So I cheated on Paul with Terry and Paul flipped out and kicked my cheating ass out the door.

"I can't believe you did this!" he yelled. "That guy is a fucking scumbag!"

I was still basking in the glow of fucking that fucking scumbag. All I could do was smile and say, "Yeah, well, you know..."

How much did it mean, though, to say that Eiko and I were the same sex? We both had XX chromosomes, we both had female genitals, and out bodies weren’t different the way men’s and women’s were. But those commonalities seemed utterly insignificant compared to the fact that she and I were completely different individuals living different lives, with two separate physical bodies, and different sensibilities and ways of thinking. I put my hand on Eiko’s breast, and sure enough, it was different from mine in volume and shape…Eiko didn’t seem any more similar to me as a human being than Masao or Shunji.

Once I grew comfortable with the idea that it made no sense to set up distinctions based solely on how the sexes were paried in a couple—between homosexual love and heterosexual love—and that I had been rejecting same-sex love for no reason I could have articulated, everything became extremely, elegantly clear.

Rieko Matsuura, The Apprenticeship of Big Toe P

"No one," Sigmund Freud wrote in his Infantile Sexuality essay, "who has seen a baby sinking back satiated from the breast and falling asleep with flushed cheeks and a blissful smile can escape the reflection that this picture persists as a prototype of the expression of sexual satisfaction in later life."

In other words, the mother figure (and her bosoms) teaches the child how to love and, yes, how to seek a sexual connection. Breastfeeding, Freud argued, is the first form of intercourse we experience. Does that mean that bottle-fed babies lack a healthy appreciation for boobs? Not necessarily, but you've got to admit that Freud has a point with the whole nourishment/pleasure thing. We're taught to consume breasts, starting with nursing and then painfully progressing to clandestinely checking out an ample rack.

Christine Borden, A Frivolous Appreciation Of Boobs