Male Masturbation Lesson

Female Ejaculation - AKA "The Squirter"

There is only one mystery greater then that of the female orgasm, it is female ejaculation.

We've all heard stories about friends who have been with women who can ejaculate, but how many of us have actually experienced it first hand? When asked to describe the ejaculations, responses are often quite similar, "It's liquid, it's clear, it's wet, and it squirts". Beyond this, the details have always been quite gray.

Let's begin by understanding what the elements of the ejaculate are. The four main ingredients are Glucose, prostatic acid phosphatase (an enzyme which is characteristic of the prostatic component of semen), urea, and creatinine. The last two ingredients are commonly found in urine, but are in lower levels than in urine. So there is some urine in the ejaculate. Some studies conclude that in some women the ejaculate is more like urine, and in other women it more like a prostate fluid. Until this question is answered fully, its safest to assume that it is a bit of both. The quantity of ejaculate can range from a few drops, to a shower of it.


Where does the ejaculate come from? There are several theories here on this, but remaining constant amongst all of them is that female ejaculation comes from G spot stimulation. When the G spot is stimulated over a period of time, the spongy tissue that creates this area fills with fluid. Women who can ejaculate often hold back, thinking that it is urine. The exact source of the ejaculate is still debated by researchers, but it does appear to come out of the urethra (like urine) and/or nearby Skene's Gland, so that is where the confusion takes place.


So what's left?



You might want to learn how to get someone to ejaculate, or how to do it yourself. Like exploring everything else new in your experience of sex, you should work towards it, but not put unnecessary stresses on yourself by making it your goal. Also, it is not known whether all women are able to ejaculate, so if you or your partner is unable to - don't worry, but perhaps keep trying once in a while. As you already know, the ejaculate comes from the urethra or Skene's Gland, so it feels a lot like urine.


Apart from people who love golden showers, how many people do you know who feel comfortable enough to risk urinating on or around their partner? It may be a good idea to allow yourself or your partner some privacy to understand this function of their body; at the very least let your partner now that you are excited about it, not grossed out. That being said, great places to try this out include the shower or bathtub, in or near water, or on top of some old blankets that you don't mind getting wet.


Good luck - and please be sure to write in and share your experiences of this wonderful type of orgasm with others...

Our Little Secret

It was a Friday night and I had just been out down the town with a few of my friends.

It was only ten when I set off home but I had been on mornings all week and I was fucked so I’d left my friends, jumped in a taxi and headed home. After the short taxi ride home I got out of the car and walked around the back of my house because I only ever took the back door key out with me. I unlocked the back door and walked in.

Now this seems like a good time to fully introduce myself my names Joe and I’m 19 and I live with my mother Jackie. The two of us live together in a small two bedroom house. My sister moved out last year and my two brothers live with their dad. We don’t have the same dads me and my sister do but my two brothers have a different one he’s a complete prick he once beat me when I was 15 and dislocated my jaw so my mother left him.

Now for my mother she’s around 5’8” with a medium build, she’s not fat by any means she has really nice big round breasts that at the age of 45 have started to drop a little but they still look rather firm and she also has a arse like a peach that when she wears tight fitting jeans looks really good. She has short brunette hair and she’s recently come back from a holiday and has golden skin that is still firm. As for me I’m around 5’10” athletic build due to the fact I play a lot of sport. I have very short brown hair and a well defined upper body decorated with tattoos.
Any way as I entered the house and closed the door behind me.

I was in the kitchen, I was thirsty so I filled a glass with water and drank it as I walked through into the hall. I then saw some light coming under the living room door so I gathered that my mother must still be awake so I thought I’d say hello before I went up to bed. But as I got closer to the door I started to hear heavy breathing and muffled moaning noises. All I could think was what the fucks going on. So I slowly walked up to the door and listened. As I listened I heard what I continued to hear muffled noises and I needed to know what was going on so I slowly started to turn the door knob and then I gently opened the door.

What I was greeted with I could not believe. In front of me on the couch was my mother face buried into a cushion, on all fours with her tits hanging down getting fucked from behind by some tall man that I have never seen before. As I stand there unnoticed in the door way watching this scene in front of me, the man was pounding away behind my mother. I could hear the slap of their bodies every time he thrust into my mother his balls slapping the underside of her and her tits swinging backwards and forwards in sometimes violent jerks. His body glistened with sweat his eyes tightly closed you can see that he is really giving it his all. All I did was stand and watch. Confusion reigning in my mind, I need an emotion to react to.

Am I angry? No. Upset? No. Disgusted? No. Then what? Turned on? A little. Excited? Yeah.

Now I’m even more confused. “Oh my God I’m going to cum!!” My mother shouts as she raises her head up from the cushion her face all bright red and flushed. As she looks around towards her lover she sees me. Fuck what do I do, I’m stood there holding a glass of water with a completely lost expression on my face. She jumps off the couch and onto the floor almost taking the man and his dick with her. “Joe!!!” She’s now on the floor four feet in front of me one arm over her breasts the other hand covering her pussy, the man has fallen down onto the couch dick on full show. His 8” member in all its glory gleaming in the light and its dripping with juices.

“Oh my God Joe!!” I looked back at my mother sat there on the floor desperately trying to cover herself up, looking up at me with an expression of complete fear. As I looked an alarm turned on in my head and it screamed run!! And run I did. I turned and ran out of the door, through the hall, into the kitchen, out of the back door, through the garden, out the gate and stopped behind a wall where I collapsed to the ground with a thud.

Trying to catch my breath as well as my thoughts. I sat up with my back to the wall. What the fuck just happened? I’m looking around the streets empty all I can see is rows of cars lit up with street lights. I bring my hands up to my face and rub my eyes, before dropping them again. One of my hands drops into my lap. Dazed I start to feel something.

I try to work out in my head what it is, then it comes to me. I try to squeeze my hand but it’s met with solid resistance and I know that I have an erection. My cock is fully hard and it actually feels like it’s trying to expand even bigger. I whip it up into my waistband and get up off the floor. I walk around in a daze for a while, trying to piece together what I had just seen. It was obvious that I had just been turned on by watching my own mother get fucked by a complete stranger. It turned me on just thinking about it. I closed my eyes just for a second and I could picture her there on all fours. What was I going to do? I couldn’t walk around forever, so after walking around for an hour I headed for home.

As I walked past the front of the house I could see that the living room light was off so I walked around the back and walked in through the back door. The house was dark and I didn’t put the lights on I just used what light there was and felt my way quietly up to my room. When I got into my room I lay down on my bed in the dark and continued to think about my mother and I closed my eyes and I could see it in my mind.

My hand found its way into my trousers and I started to rub my hard cock. I then unbuttoned them and slid them down and took them off dropping them on the floor and took my shirt off. I then spat on my hand and rubbed it onto my cock. I pulled my foreskin back then let it slide back again as I started to masturbate to the vision in my head. It was electric, by far the best wank that I had ever had. A little beam of light shone across me from between my curtains from the street light beyond. My dick glistened in the light. I am stroking the whole length of my 7” shaft. I am in a world of pleasure and my whole bodies tingling.

Then snap! Back to reality! With the sound of a door handle and the squeak of my door. Then the room’s filled with light. I look over and there in my doorway is my mother, stood wearing a dressing gown hand on the light switch.

Now it’s my face that’s filled with fear. I don’t react. My hand wrapped around my cock. We stare at each other. I see her eyes move from my face to my dick and rest there. Seconds tick away like as if they were hours. She drops her hand from the switch and it lands by her side. It’s now that I lose control of my limbs. My hand starts to stoke my dick again very slowly. She responds by taking a step forward towards me legs crossed, eyes transfixed on me as if in a trance. I continue to stroke myself, as her hand moves from her side and she slowly tugs on her gown and it falls open exposing what is underneath.

She is wearing a short blue silk night gown with lined with a see through lace. It barely hangs down much further than her pussy. I look up and I see her biting her bottom lip. I look down and I can see her picking her nails. As I am looking at her I feel myself getting even more turned on. Her night gown struggling to contain her 34DD breasts slightly covered by her dressing gown. I take my hand off my cock and bring it up to my mouth and spit on it before returning it to its previous position and resuming stroking. Her hand then moves from by her side it slowly brushes her leg en route to her pussy.

Her thumb clearing the way for her fingers by lifting up the bottom of her gown exposing a light blue thong partially covered by her hand. She runs her middle finger the length of the pussy exposing the outline through the thong. She then starts to rub her pussy in circular motions. She licks her lips and lets out a little moan. Just a little “mmmmm” my hearts racing, I’m breathing faster and deeper in through the mouth and out through the nose. She stops and lifts her hands up as high as the top of her chest then with the middle finger on both hands she peels her dressing gown away and lets it slide of her body and fall to the floor.

Leaving her standing in the night gown. I stop and then I stand up and I face her. We are six feet apart and I slowly start to walk towards her. I stop just short of her. The sexual tension between us is incredible as I raise my hands to her shoulders guided by running my hands up the curves of her body. Then with the my index fingers I gently slide the tiny straps of the gown down her shoulders and let the gown slip down and fall to the floor.

Now we are stood inches from each other I slowly move my hands down from her shoulders down the top of her arms and it cupping the side of each breast down onto her hips as we move closer. My cock slides up against her. Our mouths are open and are now inches from touching. Then I close my eyes and move in. Our lips touch. Her soft lips against mine.

Small pecks followed by her soft tongue gently searching for mine finding it and rubbing its self gently against it. I then feel a hand moving slowly up the inside of my leg. Soft skin brushing up against my thigh. It then reaches my balls and gently cups them and rubs them. Then the hand turns its attention to my dick. This soft hand starts to stroke very slowly. She breaks the kiss and leads me over to the bed. She lays down with her legs over the side of the bed and her arse on the edge of it. I drop to my knees between her legs and raise my hands to her hips. I grab the light blue lace thong and gently pull it down exposing a completely shaven pussy.

It even seemed to release the smell of her pussy. I inhaled deep through the nose it smelt so sweet. Her thong was so wet and warm to touch I dropped it and raised my hand and touched her pussy. It was so hot I couldn’t believe it and it was really slippery. I ran my finger along the inside of the pussy and then I took my other hand and I parted it exposing her clit. I lowered my mouth to it and kissed it. I ran my tongue around it and sucked on it. It tasted so good. I then raised my right hand and started to insert my fingers into her pussy and I finger fucked her as I licked her clit. I looked up over her body as I was doing this, her big boobs slightly parted I reached up with my left hand and grabbed one. It felt so good, it was nice and firm but at the same time soft, she had really big nipples they were like the tip of my thumb.

She suddenly sat up and grabbed my head and pushed deep into her pussy as she came. I couldn’t breathe but I didn’t care, I could feel her cum wash over my fingers as I removed them and put them in my mouth. They tasted so good as I licked the silky cum of my fingers. She then guided my head away as she stood up followed by me. She then turned around and climbed onto the bed ass facing me. I climbed on behind her and positioned myself behind her looking down at her arse. I could see her tight ass hole which made me even more excited she reached back and took my dick in her hand and guided it towards her pussy. When the tip of my dick touched her hot wet lips I could feel them start to part and engulf my cock as it started to inch its way in.

Once I was half way or so I started to thrust in and out getting deeper and deeper each time right up to the balls she started to rock back onto my cock. It felt incredible. I could feel me balls slapping against her and I could hear all the same sounds I heard earlier my skin slapping against hers but now I could here squelching from her wet pussy as my cock motioned in and out of it. I then reach forward and grab her swinging boobs and take their weight in my hands as I squeezed them letting her hard nipples slide through the gaps in my fingers. I stopped and pulled out and she got up as I sat down on the bed and she climbed on top of me.

Now her tits are in my face I lift one up and put her nipple in my mouth and start to suck on it, it’s literally the size of the teat on a baby’s bottle. I sucked away while she grinded on my cock. She moans and she starts to breathe deeper and fasted. She wraps her arms around me tight and starts to fuck me harder. I wrap my arms around her and we press our bodies together I lick my fingers and run my right hand down her back to her arse.

I start to rub her ass hole when her hand grabs the back of my head, “I’m going to cum. Are you going to cum with me?”

Whispered in my ear, I nodded, “Yes,” We both go at it bodies pounding together, we both getting hotter and hotter, I feel my orgasm building, I can feel her body tense in my arms, she grabs me tighter, “I.....I’m cumming!!!” Right then I slide my finger into her tight ass followed by another just before she comes, I feel her arse hole get tighter around my fingers as I arrive at orgasm shooting my load into her I go light headed and almost short of breath, our mouths meet and we share a passionate kiss as our bodies come to a stop. We stop kissing and she kisses my cheek then my neck then shoulder and I remove my fingers from her arse.

We stay in that position for a couple of minutes until my dick softens and falls out followed by a mixture of our combined cum. She gets off me and lays down next to me. She reaches down and sticks her fingers in her pussy I turn onto my side to face her she then brings her fingers up to her mouth, “mmm tastes good...” I lean over and kiss her as she returns her hand to her pussy I can hear her fingers going and out squelching, she brings her hand back up and I wrap my mouth around them licking her fingers clean. I then lay down next to her and she snuggled up against me and starts to stroke my now limp cock.

She looks up and looks into my eyes, “This is our little secret okay?”

"G" Marks The Spot

Doctors claim to have found the first compelling evidence that the G spot exists, but say not all women appear to have one.

Ultrasound scans revealed clear anatomical differences between women who said they experienced vaginal orgasms and a group of women who did not. The scans identified a region of thicker tissue where the G spot was rumoured to be lurking, which was not visible in the women who had never had a vaginal orgasm.

Doctors at the University of L'Aquila in Italy, where the study was conducted, say the findings make it possible for women to have a rapid test to confirm whether or not they have a G spot.

The location, and even existence, of the G spot has been hotly contested in medical circles. While doctors know that female sexual anatomy varies substantially, until now there has been no solid evidence to link those differences to a woman's sexual responses.

"For the first time, it is possible to determine by a simple, rapid and inexpensive method if a woman has a G spot or not," Dr Emmanuele Jannini told New Scientist magazine.

The G spot is only thought to affect a woman's ability to have vaginal orgasms, so if women do not have one "they can still have a normal orgasm through stimulation of the clitoris," Jannini said.

The team used ultrasound to scan nine women who had experienced vaginal orgasms and 11 women who said they had not. In the first group of women, the tissue between the vagina and the urethra was found to be substantially thicker than in the other women.

Jannini, whose study appears in the Journal of Sexual Medicine, said the scans suggested that "women without any visible evidence of a G spot cannot have a vaginal orgasm".

The research supports a previous study by the team which reported differences in the chemical make-up of the G spot tissues. Women who appear to have a G spot produced specific chemicals, including an enzyme that processes nitric oxide, the substance that triggers male erections.
Other researchers welcomed the findings, but said it was unclear whether the team had identified a distinct G spot structure or an internal part of the clitoris.

"This may be related to the presence of the controversial G spot," said Tim Spector, a consultant rheumatologist at St Thomas' hospital in London. "However, many other explanations are possible, such as the actual size of the clitoris, which although not measured in this study appears highly variable."

Elisabeth Lloyd, a professor at Indiana University and author of The Case of the Female Orgasm, said scans should now be conducted on a larger group. "There's been controversy over which parts of the female anatomy might be the G spot, and what the role of it might be," she said.

Lloyd said only 20% to 25% of women had vaginal orgasms during sex. "It has never been explained why that is the case; it's a mystery. This paper doesn't totally explain it, but it might do partially, and that could help us understand what those numbers are about."

First Time Lesbo

Anna looked at the clock for the third time in 5 minutes. 18th century art was such a boring class except that Mr. McClellan taught it and he had a girlfriend named Shelly, who visited the class once in a while. When Shelly came in it was always a pleasure, because she was one of the sluttiest people anyone of us had ever seen, with her 40-D boobs giving all of the men wet cocks. Today was one of those days. Anna could not wait to go home and puck her fingers into her nice clit, and then rub all of the juice on her perfect boobs. Suddenly the bell rang, and Anna’s day dream came to an end. Mr. McClellan said: "wait, I have all of your quarter grades." When Anna got hers, she was horrified to see a big fat D on it. Ok so she didn’t turn a couple of assignments, big deal. But a D. That was a problem.

She sighed and got up to leave, not noticing that Shelly was looking at her. When Anna got to her car, she finally noticed Shelly coming over to her. She unlocked the car, pretending not to notice her. But when Shelly knocked on the car window, Anna had to look up. Anna pulled down the window and said: "hey Shelly, what’s up? Shelly said: Mike has a meeting to attend and I don’t have a ride home. I was wondering if you could drop me off. I think it’s on the way back to your apartment"." Sure" said Anna, as Shelly got in.

As they pulled up to Shelly’s place, Shelly said: "why don’t you come in and see the place. I have some stuff I think you will like.” Anna could only nod, because she was so confused. Why was her teacher’s super hot girlfriend inviting her into her house? As they rode the elevator in silence, Anna peeked over and say that Shelly’s pants were a little bit darker than usual. As they got off the elevator, Shelly led the way to a door 690, took out a key, and opened the door. As Anna got in, she say a beautiful little condo, which was sparkling clean. One moment said Shelly, and she went into her room. A couple minutes later, Shelly came out wearing nothing but her low cut bra and panties. Anna uttered a little gasp. Shelly looked like a vixen in those clothes. "W-what are you doing?" said Anna. "Oh come on Anna can’t you see how I look at you all the time. You are just what I want. Mike doesn’t do shit to me and it’s leaving me drained". Shelly came over in her sexy outfit up to Anna and started kissing her neck.

"S-stop it please" said Anna, even though inside all her sense were aroused. Shelly slowly stopped and looked her in the eye. “One time, that’s all. And how about this. You satisfy me, which wouldn’t be hard, and I might just get your grade up to an A.”

As soon as Anna heard this, she pulled Shelly back to her, and kissed her on the mouth. It felt so good! And as they kissed even more, Anna’s nipples got rock solid, and her pussy got really wet. As Anna pushed Shelly away, she pulled off her shirt to reveal beautiful breasts and an amazing body. Then she pulled her skirt down. “Give it to me baby” moaned Shelly. And she started to kiss Anna on her bra. Anna couldn’t contain it any more. She ripped off her bra, and then ripped off Shelly’s. And then started to suck Shelly’s nipples, like there was no tomorrow. Shelly moaned in anxiety, than leaned over and pulled off her panties. Anna gasped. It was the hairiest, most beautiful crotch she had ever seen in three years of wild sex. “Oh yah baby I need you to do it to me.” Anna immediately went down and smelled the musky sent of pussy.

It made Anna’s pussy even wetter. She started to lick Shelly’s pussy until it came out. “I’mm Ccuuummmiinng” screamed Shelly and she squirted right onto Anna’s face and open mouth. Ahh, Anna hadn’t tasted a women’s cum for forever. It tasted like heaven to her. Then Anna’s pussy got insane; it was almost going to explode with cum. She pushed Shelly to the sofa, and opened her legs real wide, as she destroyed her panties.” I did it to you bitch, and now you are going to suck my cunt until it is dry”. Shelly licked her lips and dove into Anna’s pussy. And it exploded on Shelly’s face. Ahh it felt so good. Anna’s moans were so intense that she grabbed her nipples and moved up and down. She cummed again this time it exploded onto the table and love-seat. Anna sighed in pleasure.

Shelly got up quickly went into the other room, and came back with an 8 inch strap-on. “Baby, I want to fuck you like you have never been fucked before.” She pulled Anna onto the island counter got her in wheelbarrow position and slid the vibrating strap-on into Anna’s awaiting pussy. Pain shot through Anna, and then again but this time there was some pleasure. And then the next time the pleasure was so intense Anna cummed onto Shelly’s nice dildo.

After more naughty fun, moans, and cumming, the two women put on their clothes, and cleaned off everything. “If you ever need me for anything, just call” said Shelly. “And by the way, you are now getting an A in Mike’s class, because I’m satisfied beyond my wildest imagination.”

Dear Diary

Male, junior at the University of Michigan, single, straight

DAY ONE

10:30 a.m. Roll over in bed with a wicked hangover. Wait until I hear my roommate get in the shower before I start to whack off. Damn. Judging from the load, I need to get laid immediately.

5:00 p.m. Still have a few finals to get through, decide to head to happy hour with my buddies. Mission: get laid immediately.

5:35 p.m. Bar is filled with yappy Kappa girls. The chatter gives me mild headache but I decide to stay because most of them have enormous breasts. Push my way to the bar. The chick next to me is rambling about the new car her dad is buying her. Fantasize about sex with her with my hand over her mouth.

6:00 p.m. Girl I had a one-time fling with walks in. She looks extremely hot and completely ignores me. Decide she’s playing hard to get, make a mental note to hit on her friend.

9:30 p.m. Have no idea how much I’ve had to drink but am vaguely aware I’m leaving the bar with a mildly attractive female. Is she chubby or am I seeing double?

9:40 p.m. Realize I might score with mildly attractive chubby chick. Struggle to control my hard-on.

10:41 p.m. Sloppy tongue kissing and groping back at her room. Where the hell am I? Jesus, this chick has ridiculously large breasts. Push at her head, pray wildly she’ll give me a blow job.

10: 45 p.m. Soft sound of her hitting her knees. Score!

10:46 p.m. She swallows. DOUBLE SCORE!

10:47 p.m. In the dim light realize the girl is not mildly attractive and only chubby. Get the hell out of there.

DAY TWO

11:00 a.m. Smugly announce to pals I got action last night.

11:01 a.m. Mortification when my bud informs me the chick I scored with is a TA in the math department.

1:13 p.m. Studying while thinking about sex with TA. Might not be so bad!

9:00 p.m. Drinking again when I should be writing a lit paper. Consider taking a shower as an excuse to masturbate.

11:00 p.m. Decide not to hit the bars due to my chem final the next morning. Wait for roommate to leave before put on Asian porn.

1:06 a.m. Pass out after jerking off twice to Asian school girl video. Still have not written paper.

DAY THREE

10:30 a.m. Most likely have failed aforementioned final. Decide getting laid will make me feel better.

1:45 p.m. Girl at the gym is totally eye-fucking me as she runs on the treadmill. Her jugs bounce Baywatch-style with each step. Hot. Hope she is impressed by my gleaming muscles.

1:56 p.m. Linger by the water fountain to see if treadmill girl will talk to me. I like the way the sweat runs down her cleavage. Fantasize about railing her on the gym mats. What can I say? I'm a former high school wrestling star. Gym mats turn me on.

9:00 p.m. Another night in, this time I refrain from drinking. Masturbate twice at my computer to cheesy cheerleader locker room porn.

11 p.m. Congratulate myself for actually studying several pages of foreign affairs text. Remind myself to delete cheerleader porn. I’ll never hear the end of it if my buddy finds out I jerk off to something so lame.

DAY FOUR

12:30 p.m. Lunch with ex-girlfriend from freshman year. I’m only still friends with her because I’m hoping for more break-up sex and/or to score with her roommate. She’s in SDT which always makes me think of STDs. Gross. Wonder if she got crabs from that douchebag in Pike she cheated on me with.

12:31 p.m. Wonder if she ever found out I banged her sorority sister in the bathroom during their formal.

2:30 p.m. Head over to my frat house to catch up with the boys. Begin drinking heavily.

10:00 p.m. Puke. Nachos after the 7th beer was a bad idea.

10:03 p.m. Continue drinking.

10:10 p.m. Text message girl from my chem. class to see if she’s out. Get hard when she responds she’s getting ready for a DG theme party. Rally the boys to buy beer for after hours. Sniff armpit and consider showering. Decide not to. Sex is always better when I’m a little dirty.

1 a.m. Thoroughly wasted when chem. girl arrives. She’s obviously not wearing a bra. Take her to another part of the house to “talk.”

1: 13 a.m. Decide talking is overrated. Throw myself on her, shove a hand up her thigh. When she spreads her legs I know I’ve got a green light to tear in. Thank god I strategically hid condoms in this room.

DAY FIVE

1:00 p.m. Check cell to see a late night text from an unknown number. Fear it might be from the math TA, don’t respond.

1:01 p.m. Reconsider the snub. Was she really that fugly? Continuously replay blow job scenario. So what’s if she’s a little big? Big girls like to swallow.

3:01 p.m. Look for treadmill girl at gym but all I see are crazy Alpha Phi anorexics going nuts on the elliptical machines. It’s such a turn off how those girls don’t eat.

9:00 p.m. Head to frat to get high while watching Family Guy reruns. Find out a younger brother had anal sex with a Kappa girl in the stairwell of the dorms. Curse myself silently for not being so lucky.

10:45 p.m. Drunkenly text unknown number from the previous night. No response. What a slut. Ignore text from chem. girl. Always leave ‘em wanting more!

1 a.m. Pass out with my hand on my dick.

DAY SIX

11:20 a.m. Annoying phone call from my mother demanding to know my grades and when I’m coming home. Tune out her rant about finding a summer job and fantasize about railing my high school ex.

12 p.m. Text high school ex to see when she’ll be back in town. Decide coming home for the summer might not be such a bad thing.

12:15 p.m. Hop in shower, masturbate to the idea of anal sex with her... or any other female.

2:30 p.m. Check Facebook and get hard when I see the pics of DG’s theme party. Spend 30 minutes downloading cheerleader porn. Masturbate.

4 p.m. Spy treadmill girl at the gym, casually bump into her as we’re leaving. Turns out she just broke up with some a-hole in Pike. What is it with those losers? Silently rejoice when she tells me she’s not in a house. Sorority chicks are totally overrated and I can’t deal with all the drama that comes with dating them. Briefly discuss the bar scene with her, invite her to drink at my frat later that night.

5:05 p.m. Look up treadmill girl on Facebook and study her recent photos. Hot. Her friends are hot too. Get hard thinking about sex with her.

10:09 p.m. Bars are a mob scene. Throw back several Jager shots, head to frat to smoke.

1:07 a.m. About to text message the chick from chem when I see treadmill girl. Offer her a beer, take her to strategic condom room. Seriously aggressive kissing ensues. She has a great body but freakishly strong arms. Hmmmmm.

1:15 a.m. Interrupted by dumbass frat brother who should know better than to open the door. Can’t convince treadmill girl to come back to my apartment despite wild pleading. Vow to beat the shit out of frat bro next time we play basketball.

DAY SEVEN
1:00 p.m. Wake up hung over and alone. Momentarily feel like a pathetic loser. Masturbate to overcome the feeling.

2:30 p.m. Grabbing lunch with friends when my highschool hottie text messages to say she’s excited to see me when she gets home next week. Score.

6:00 p.m. Last final of the semester. Notice the girl next to me has very nice, hard nipples. Thank god for excessive air conditioning.

6:03 p.m. Struggle to focus on something other than the girl’s nipples. They’re still hard.

9:00 p.m. Get high and chug celebratory beers at my frat. Booty text every female in my cell while simultaneously making mix drinks. Determined to get Michigan a$s before I leave for home.

11:00 p.m. Treadmill girl texts. She’s having a “girls night in.” WTF? Text chem. girl furiously. She better be around or I am going to lose my sh!t.

11:55 p.m. Chem girl asks if I want to come over to watch a movie. High-five buddies before hauling a$s to her place. I am totally getting laid.

12:50 a.m. Arrive to find chem. girl has consumed multiple bottles of wine with her roommate. She clumsily climbs on top of me and pulls at my belt. I’m hard like a 14-year-old who just found his father’s stash of Playboys. I rip at her shirt and flip her over so I can be on top.

12:58 p.m. Pound.

1:01 a.m. Wondering if I should be embarrassed that I came so quickly when I hear chem girl snore. Nope, no embarrassment needed. I am a satisfied man. Fall asleep next to her dreaming of highschool hottie.

It's going to be a good summer.

Totals: 7 acts of masturbation, 1 blow job, 2 cheerleader-gym mat fantasies, 1 episode of vomiting, 6+ booty call texts, 2acts of sexual intercourse.

Bodily Functions

There's nothing quite like a loud 'parp' or an involuntary squeal for killing that sexy moment, but with the right attitude, they needn't shoot it dead altogether.

Pussy farts (queef)

All women do it at some time, usually at the most inappropriate times. Pussy farts are not the same as your usual fart, they are made up of air and not stinky gas (as no gas is produced 'down there'), and they're released from the vagina, not the bottom. During sex, air in the vagina gets compressed and is then forced out at high pressure (often following the removal of the penis/dildo etc). While they might not stink like normal farts, they do make the funniest, loudest, kill-the-moment noises ever.

Best way to deal with it: Laugh it off - together.

Screaming orgasms
The question is how loud is too loud? There's no straightforward answer, as this often depends on where you are, who you're with and whether you care what anyone else thinks. Screaming, "Fuck me harder big boy" when you know his parents are in the next room is probably a little loud, while a 'When Harry met Sally' extravaganza in the comfort of your own pad should be OK.
Best way to deal with it: Being vocal during sex is not a bad thing; if anything it shows you're comfortable with your partner, and you'll probably have better sex as a result.

However, a new partner may be terrified if your outbursts are dirtier than the tame 'yes, yes, yes', while screaming your ex's name at climax is a dumpable offence. If you find your partner's flatmates sniggering when you go down to the kitchen the next morning, you may want to think before you scream, and bite your lip instead.

Sex makes me want to pee
No this isn't something for incontinent OAPs, it's a common problem for girls for several reasons:
Fear: that we'll lose control when we orgasm and piss all over our lover causing them to run away screaming. Even if you don't actually need a piss, somehow you think you do.
Pressure on the bladder: Some sexual positions put more pressure on the bladder than others and can make you feel like you need to piss even if you don't.

You really do need a piss: Often our thrustings and fumblings happen after the pub/club meaning there are several pints of alcohol swimming through your system as you start to get jiggy.

Best way to deal with it: Removing the fear of giving an uninvited golden shower is easily done - go to the loo before you have sex (especially as sex on a full bladder is one cause of cystitis. In truth, you're probably in better control of your bodily functions than you think, and actually weeing on your partner (without wanting to) is unlikely to happen. If you are really worried you could also try training up your PC muscle.

Blowjobs For Laudry Duty

College students frequently barter for sex.

Don't believe it?

Researchers at the University of Michigan School of Public Health say the practice is so prevalent that even affluent college students who don't need resources will still attempt to trade sexual currency for provisions.And they add, don't be surprised: the exchange of resources for sex has been an activity many species, including humans, have taken part in since the beginning of time.

One of the most prominent examples of the exchange of resources for sex among humans is prostitution - engaging in sexual intercourse for money. Just in the last few months, ex-Governor of New York, Elliot Spitzer, was busted for paying call-girl Ashley Alexandra Dupre to have sex with him, musician Joss Stone has been accused by tabloids of sleeping with her boss for a record deal and one 31-year-old woman is all over the news for posting an ad on Craigslist.org offering an "epic mount" for 5,000 Gold World of Warcraft Dollars.However, the recent discovery made by Daniel Kruger, a research scientist at the University of Michigan, about college students suggests that such behaviors are part of humans' genetic makeup, and persist no matter how wealthy a person may be or how much resources or security they obtain.

"It's remarkable to find these patterns in the students in the study," Kruger said. "We have seen many examples where people do this out of necessity, but we still see these tendencies in people who are already provided for."In the research, 475 Michigan undergraduate students aged 18 to 26 were interviewed by researchers in order to find out if they traded things for sex outside of dating or formally committed relationships and if they acknowledged when others tried it with them.

Men are more likely to attempt to exchange investment for sex, females were more likely to exchange sex for investment, Kruger said. However, if they were in committed relationships they did not view the partnership as trading, he said.About 27 percent of men and 14 percent of women reported attempting to trade investment for sex, and 5 percent of men and 9 percent of women reported attempting to trade sex for investment. As far as being aware when someone else attempted exchanges with them, 14 percent of men and 20 percent of women reported that someone attempted to trade investment for sex with them and 8 percent of men and 5 percent of women reported that someone attempted to trade sex with them for their investment.

Kruger said the findings were remarkable in that any exchanges were reported at all, considering the subjects' youth and affluence - in other words, these students seem to have everything they want or need or are capable of obtaining anything they want or need due to their wealth, yet they still attempt these exchanges.

"The confirmation of hypothetical predictions regarding these exchanges once again demonstrates the power of an evolutionary framework for understanding human psychology and behavior," Kruger said.

The Campus Chick Confessional

When I was in my early twenties (still in college and working near full time hours) I was the boyfriend of a chick with a four-year-old.

She had a girlfriend who had a day-care for kids. She watched her son for us. Her name was Ann. She was twenty-four, about five-foot-two, one hundred-five pounds, with long brunette hair. She was very petite and very sexy. She had a small tight ass and small tits with beautiful nipples.

One Friday, her boyfriend was out of town for the weekend and I stopped over to give her some groceries I'd picked up since she feeds my girlfriends son all his meals from her own refrigerator during the week.

I knocked on the door around six o'clock in the evening. She answered wearing a bathrobe with her hair in a towel, obviously fresh from a shower. Her son was at her sister's and she was home alone. After I put the food away, I sat in the living room chair and chatted as she sat on the sofa in her robe.

She told me to get myself a beer, which I did. When I sat down again I noticed her left tit and nipple peeked through when the robe fell open. I was getting hot as I looked at her beautiful body, trying not to be obvious. I figured she didn't know she was flashing me. I didn't know if it was intentional or not, but I sure as hell wasn't going to mention it, especially since I found her to be one of the hottest girls I had ever met and didn't want to put her off.

There was a knock at the door and she got up, pulling her robe together and covering her breasts as she walked over to answer it. It was her girlfriend, whom she told that she'd decided to stay home. She closed the door and sat down again. We smoked a joint and I went into the bathroom.

When I got back she was totally naked and eager to please.

"I looked at her beautiful jewel of a cunt and parted her lips with my fingers. I bent down and got my first taste of her" When I returned her breasts were exposed again. I didn't think she was doing anything more than teasing me and I didn't care. My cock was hard and I liked the show.

Soon she asked if I had another joint, I told her I had one back at my place. She got up and said she'd dress and then we could go to my place. She put on a sweater and jeans and we left.

We got to my apartment and sat on the floor next to my aquarium, which was the only light we had put on. I opened a beer and rolled a joint as we sat together and talked. After smoking the joint she started telling me how she loved to suck on hard candy until it was gone. It turns out she had one in her hand; she showed it to me and next thing I knew we were in a deep, passionate kiss that told me this would go much further than I thought. We stood up and started to undress.

I pulled her sweater over her head to find the see-through teddy she was wearing. Soon we were both tearing our clothes off. The next thing I knew she was on the floor and I was on top of her. I'd never wanted someone so much before.

As I entered her she whispered that I couldn't come inside her. We fucked for about five or ten minutes before I pulled out and shot my come onto her belly.

I can normally do full-marathon fucks, but she had turned me on so much that I shot early. I made it up to her by giving her head. I laid her back down on the floor and wiped her tummy clean with my shirt. Propping a pillow under her head and one under her hips, I spread her legs and licked my way down to her pussy. It was soft and wet and her bush was matted with sweat and sperm. I looked at her beautiful jewel of a cunt and parted her lips with my fingers. Slipping one inside her, I bent down and got my first taste of her. She was delightfully wet down there and became more so between the combination of my spit and her juices. She was also pretty sensitive after we had fucked.

Easing a few more fingers in, I started licking faster and soon was able to bring her to a series of orgasms that got me even more worked up.

My dick had gotten stiff again and I slipped it back in. She was happy to have me fuck her one more time and once the initial lust we felt had subsided and we were more used to each other's body, we were able to get a little more inventive. I showed her my favorite sex position--her on her stomach, me entering from behind so I can penetrate deep--and she showed me hers, which was doggie-style. Since I couldn't come inside her, I grabbed her hips and banged away fast, then pulled out and glazed her back with a small drizzle of scum, feeling totally spent and fulfilled. She smiled back and me and we drifted off to sleep.

I often think back on that time and masturbate. That¹s one memory that never fails to get me off!--B.P., Oakland, California

Paying Off Those Student Debts

Aaron Foster, a junior majoring in history at the University of Massachusetts in Boston, was browsing Craigslist one day in 2005 when he saw an ad for nude models. It had been posted by Boink, a glossy new sex magazine by and about college students founded by Alecia Oleyourryk, then a senior at nearby Boston University, and Christopher Anderson, a software consultant in his 30s moonlighting as a photographer. “You’re going to pay me $200, and all I have to do is pretend to be with a chick — you’re going to pay me to do that?” was how Foster, now 24, a slim, dark-haired former marine with pierced nipples and tattoos of raking animal claws on his back, described his reaction.

Soon he found himself standing behind closed Venetian blinds in Oleyourryk’s off-campus apartment, clutching the denim-clad buttocks of a redheaded, similarly nipple-pierced young woman named Jessica as Anderson’s camera clicked away. It wasn’t long before the jeans came off, and the underwear. The impromptu couple then repaired to a queen-size bed, where they simulated intercourse and then lay as if in blissful postcoital repose. The session resulted in a cover shot and an eight-page layout in the third issue of Boink. “It was fun, being nude and being photographed,” Foster told me months afterward. “A good experience. All my friends thought it was pretty cool. Especially if I have a party, the first thing my friends will do is bust out my porn. I think they get a kick out of it.”

It wasn’t so long ago that the male collegians of America hid their copies of Playboy deep inside their sock drawers, and the naked women tucked therein were glamorous, unknowable princesses from a media empire far, far away. These days, when anyone can run a virtual media empire out of a dorm room, student-generated sex magazines, some with the imprimatur of university financing and faculty advisers, are becoming a fact of campus life. Their subjects and contributors are the gals — and guys — down the hall; their target audience is male, female, straight, gay and everything in between. Not all are as overtly titillating as Boink. The grande dame of the group is Squirm, a “magazine of smut and sensibility,” which has been circulating since 2000 at Vassar, once the inspiration for the awkward lunges and contraceptive pessaries of Mary McCarthy’s 1963 novel “The Group.” Topics considered within its pages have included bondage and sadomasochism, the history of the condom and the fluidity of gender. At Yale, there is the earnest, instructive SWAY, whose title is an acronym for Sex Week at Yale, a student-run symposium held biennially there since 2002, with administrative blessing and a corporate sponsor, Pure Romance, a company whose representatives sell sexual aids for women at Tupperware-like “parties.” The premiere edition included a slightly breathless interview with the porn star Jesse Jane along with an essay by the conservative Jennifer Roback Morse, Ph.D., a former Yale economics lecturer, which concluded: “Marriage is for lovers. Hooking up is for losers.” In 2004, H Bomb arrived at Harvard with slightly loftier intellectual aspirations: its founders, Katharina Cieplak-von Baldegg and Camilla Hrdy, positioned it as a “literary arts magazine about sex and sexual issues.” Vita Excolatur followed shortly after at the University of Chicago (its title a truncated version of the university’s motto, translates roughly as “Life Enriched”), proclaiming itself “eager to engage all interested parties, from Republican pro-choicers to pro-Foucauldians.” And Columbia now has, simply, Outlet, whose second issue, published online in December 2006, includes a review of eight vibrators and an article on “vaginal personality” — shades of Dr. Betty Dodson, the masturbation instructress — subtitled “How snarky is your punani?”

To middle-aged parents who still remember parietal rules, these projects might seem shocking. True, Playboy has been publishing a feature called “Girls of the Ivy League” since 1979. (Later came “Girls of the Big 12” and “Girls of the Top 10 Party Schools.”) But it could be argued that the co-eds depicted (in a far more decorous mode than their Playmate counterparts) represented only a very small percentage of the student population. College-based sex magazines suggest that the students willing to bare it all may not be so exceptional after all. And while these publications may be less common than the sex columns — usually written by women and often explicitly confessional — that have popped up like little red-light disctricts within the respectable black-and-white confines of established school newspapers, they have taken hold at some of the country’s most prestigious campuses.

In an era when the educated elite seems wholly comfortable with overt sexual imagery (Nerve.com depicts highbrow group gropes; Fleshbot.com and others archly parse the nether parts of Paris Hilton and Britney Spears), maybe it’s not so strange that students are confronting their own sex lives so graphically and publicly. But there’s more to the phenomenon. Considering that a smorgasbord of Internet porn is but a mouse click away for most college students, there’s something valiant, even quaint, about the attempt to organize and consider sex in a printed magazine. It’s as if, though curious to explore the possibly frightening boundlessness of adult eroticism, they also wish to keep it at arm’s length, contained within the safety of the campus. The students involved display a host of contradictory qualities: cheekiness and earnestness, progressive politics and retro sensibilities, salacity and sensitivity. They aren’t so much answering the question of what is and what isn’t porn — or what those categories might even mean today — as artfully, disarmingly and sometimes deliberately skirting it.

Despite the sex magazines’ brash names and general air of exuberance, a scrim of protectiveness, even primness hangs over many of them — a vestige, perhaps, of a not-so-distant past when topics like date rape, sexual harassment and AIDS were dominating the national discourse. Seminars addressing these issues are still a part of most freshman orientations, though mention of the infamous Antioch sex code of the early 1990s — which postulated that students should secure their partner’s verbal consent, button by button, before each stage of lovemaking — tends to evoke blank stares and giggles from the undergraduates of 2007. Still, though personal online pages on Web sites like MySpace or home videos on YouTube often reveal as much as students do in these magazines, Squirm’s release form specifies that the magazine is intended solely for on-campus distribution and that students retain the copyright to their contributions. “We try to limit unwanted exposure as much as we can,” wrote its current editor, Sarah Fraser, in an e-mail message. “It’s one thing to know you’re posing nude or writing erotica for an insulated campus, and understandably quite another to know it’s being disseminated widely.” After a brief initial flurry of publicity, Kimi Traube, one of Outlet’s founders, began declining interviews from noncampus press. “We’re flattered by all the attention but have decided it’s best for the magazine to focus our energies on the Columbia community,” she said, also via e-mail. The current editor of H Bomb, Ming Vandenberg, is especially concerned about the security of the magazine’s content on the Web. “I am trying to design a foolproof plan to prevent any negative externalities,” she said, adding with a note of horror, “There could be a photo of a clothed Harvard student that someone goes into, chops the head off and puts it on an unclothed body.”

These publications vary in tone and content, but while all strive to be provocative after a fashion, they generally eschew the term “pornographic,” hurling it as an insult with the good-natured mutual contempt of varsity football teams. “Outlet ... is not intended to be porn,” sniffs a December letter from Traube to readers, saucily addressed “Dear Hotbottoms.” “They do a very good job of that over at Harvard.” On their Web site, Harvard staff members retort: “If you aren’t mature enough to tell the difference between playful nudity and pornography you probably shouldn’t be reading H Bomb.”

The exception is Boink, which Oleyourryk calls “user-friendly porn”: an unblushing assortment of bared private parts, lewd prose and graphic caricatures. With its panoply of contributors — about 50 percent of whom are enrolled at B.U., most of the rest at other colleges — Boink is the most independent and commercially ambitious of the pack, and at first glance the least interested in critical thought. It retails for $7.95 at Newbury Comics and other stores in the Boston area, has a print run of 10,000 and, atypically for a college publication, pays its contributors. Boink has also sponsored a number of parties, some shut down by the police for under-age drinking. Recalling one of these events, Aaron Foster said enthusiastically: “Girls walk around with their tops off. But it’s just a party. My buddy was convinced there was some secret orgy room. I was like, Dude, there is no secret orgy room!”

The absence of a secret sex dungeon was not enough to endear Boink to Boston University’s administrators. Before the first issue even appeared, it was denounced by Kenneth Elmore, the dean of students. It did, however, attract the attention of Howard Stern, a B.U. alumnus, who promptly booked Oleyourryk on his radio talk show. Ben Greenberg, a young editor at Warner Books, was alerted to the broadcast by a friend. “I was like, Wow, I can’t believe someone would do that — what would their parents think?” he says. But the shock wore off quickly. Harvard’s sex magazine might have been more obvious fodder for a book, but “the general consensus was that the H Bomb one was kind of tame,” Greenberg says. “It didn’t want to consider itself in any way porn. The Boink people were willing to embrace that and run with it and turn it into something sex-positive rather than something that was dirty and smut.” Warner, which has published anthologies by Penthouse and Vice magazines, eventually offered Anderson and Oleyourryk a six-figure advance to compile “Boink: The Book,” a collection of erotic writings and photographs from college students around the country; it is scheduled for publication in 2008, to coincide with spring break.

Oleyourryk, now 23, graduated in 2005 with a journalism degree and is working part time as a bartender. She herself gamely disrobed for the debut issue of Boink. “I was very comfortable with it,” she said on a chilly autumn afternoon at Charley’s, a pub on Newbury Street. Blond and slender, with professionally arched eyebrows, she was wearing a glittery paisley shirt and big gold-medallion earrings and furiously biting her nails. Anderson sat across from her: a dark, calm, slightly portly fellow in a green fleece pullover with a faint sheen of perspiration on his upper lip.

The two met after Oleyourryk, then in her sophomore year, paused at a water fountain during a run and looked up to see a flier Anderson had posted seeking nude models with athletic builds. He was hoping to augment his portfolio of black-and-white art photos, which he sells at www.light-sculptor.com. (Cited influences include Edward Weston and Rodin.) “It was about, Can I do this?” Oleyourryk said. Photographer and subject struck up a friendship, and after Anderson did some work for the first issue of H Bomb, he called to see if Oleyourryk wanted to collaborate on a magazine. “We thought it would be fun,” he said.

“People couldn’t understand that we were just doing it to do it,” Oleyourryk said. “So many people were looking for justifications — like: ‘Oh, there are going to be articles, right? There are going to be articles about S.T.D.’s and contraception and about this and about that?’ Nobody could accept that it was for entertainment value. Why is that not O.K.? It’s just so unsettling, it seems, for people, that it’s just like, Oh, it’s porn for porn, enjoy it, masturbate to it, whatever.”

Oleyourryk said that for her and her peers, the question is not why pose nude, but why not? After all, they grew up watching Madonna (“All she was was naked all the time”), parsing the finer points of the Monica Lewinsky scandal and flipping through Calvin Klein ads: sexual imagery was the very wallpaper of their lives, undergirded by a new frankness about how to protect oneself from pregnancy and disease. “Condoms. They’ve been rammed down our throats ... since we were old enough to start contemplating training bras,” wrote a Boink contributor in an essay called “Fall Fornication Must-Haves,” which apparently included crotchless bikinis and a Swarovski-crystal-encrusted dildo called the Minx.

Sex is “everywhere, and it’s always been everywhere for this generation,” Oleyourryk said. “A body is a body is a body, and I’m proud of my body, and why not show my body? It’s not going to keep me from having a job. Maybe it sticks to people, but it doesn’t have that negative connotation like, I’m going to have to carry around this baggage. Maybe it’s like, I’m going to carry this around and be proud of it and say: Look how I looked then! My boobs weren’t on the ground. I wasn’t 45 pounds overweight. How hot was I? It’s not, like, ‘The Scarlet Letter’ anymore. It’s a little badge of honor.”

Of course, posing naked for a sex magazine is not exactly like making Phi Beta Kappa or playing the lead in the school play. For one thing, it’s generally not something you write home about, though Oleyourryk insists that her parents have been supportive of her venture. (“As much as they could be,” she said. “I was raised very Catholic, but they live in today’s world.”) For another, it’s something pretty much anyone with sufficient moxie can achieve; Boink models are fit and fresh-faced but hardly all homecoming kings and queens. “We’re looking for diversity,” Anderson said.

Indeed, the most recent issue — Boink’s quarterly publication schedule has been suspended while its editors work on their book — is, in a way, a triumphant marriage of the prurient and the politically correct. There is a 10-page layout devoted to the cover model, a fetching blonde named Eve; 7 more pages of Sarah, a buxom brunette, stripping for the shower; and 9 of Crystal and Lexi photographed together in a tangle of pearls and pierced body parts. But a customer buying the magazine to get glimpses of such nubile female flesh might be startled to encounter compact, mop-topped Zach (“I’m planning to get my Ph.D. in mathematics, just for fun”), followed by dark-eyed Costa (“Some of my friends call me Super Greek”) masturbating to orgasm clad in nothing but a silver cross around his neck. “We have different sexualities represented, which commercially has been a hindrance,” Anderson said with a shrug. The practice, however, has won Boink grudging approval in at least one unlikely quarter: the Boston University Women’s Center, the college’s resident feminist organization. “What really stood out is that there were male students in it,” Heather Foley, 21, now president of B.U.W.C., which devoted a meeting to discussing the issue, said in a phone interview. “Because there were men in it, and gay men, under the same cover, it was sort of alternative. It kind of equalized it: gay men could look at it, women could look at it, and that was great. Women as objects, men as objects.”

Foley, a senior majoring in political science, acknowledged that equal-opportunity objectification might represent a dubious sort of progress. “I believe Andrea Dworkin, that porn perpetuates violence against women,” she said. “Most pornography is just women. Boink is different in that way, but because porn does feed into that system, I tend to be against it in general, and I don’t think just because we’re putting men in it that makes it O.K. But it’s a step forward that men are being put in it.” In some way her confusion seems to mirror the awkward pas de deux of college sex magazines and their audiences, a tug of war between pornographic conventions and subverting those conventions, between private and public: Look at me! Don’t look at me! Protect me! Set me free!

For all Boink’s raunchiness, its founders profess a certain idealism and purity of purpose. Back at Charley’s, Anderson told me that he and Oleyourryk have turned down lucrative offers to do reality-television shows and for joint deals with what they disdainfully call “the industry,” with all its implications of hairy middle-aged predators, silicone implants and tacky trade shows in the San Fernando Valley. Oleyourryk stressed the authenticity of Boink’s subjects in a Botoxed, surgically altered world. “We want to be proud of the fact that this is what’s going on in sex and in college right now, and these are real people, and you’re more relatable if you’re a real person,” she said. “We don’t put makeup on them, we don’t do their hair, we don’t Photoshop them. We aim for honesty and truth.”

Over at Harvard, students are pursuing a different kind of sexual veritas. In contrast to Boink, H Bomb was approved by the university’s Committee on College Life and somewhat controversially granted $2,000 in start-up costs by the Undergraduate Council. Sex magazines apparently create strange bedfellows: writing in The Crimson, Travis Kavulla, publisher of the conservative journal The Harvard Salient, suggested with unlikely indignation that this grant shortchanged the Take Back the Night rally, sponsored by the Coalition Against Sexual Violence, an event historically ridiculed by campus conservatives.

Unlike Boink, H Bomb has a faculty adviser and adult champion: Marc Hauser, a professor of psychology and evolutionary biology, who is a friend of Sarah Hrdy, the anthropologist and mother of Camilla, one of the magazine’s founders. But Hauser pronounced himself somewhat disappointed with

H Bomb’s maiden efforts. “It hit the ground with all this big fanfare, but it didn’t really do its thing,” he said. “Stylistically it succeeded, but everyone” — citizen critics gathered breathlessly during the long ramp-up to the magazine’s debut — “felt that it didn’t really succeed in terms of content, that’s where it fell flat.” He would like to see the magazine take a more belletristic bent, reviewing controversial books, perhaps — “You think of ‘Lolita,’ ” he said — and examining what might be called sexistential questions. “Nowadays, what constitutes porn?” Hauser mused. “What does a 21-year-old think porn is? I, as a parent of an 18-year-old, would like to hear that view.”

H Bomb initially shared at least some of Boink’s exhibitionism, if not quite the full-frontal erections. In the spring 2005 issue, undergraduates posed in various states of undress, using only their first names and responding to the question “How’d you lose it?” One young man was depicted with a bare light bulb shining on his flaccid member, his face obscured by shadow. Vandenberg, who inherited the magazine after Hrdy graduated and Katharina Cieplak-von Baldegg grew preoccupied with her thesis, plans to take things in a more modest direction (and curtail all the budding Anaïs Nins experimenting with free verse — “I hate the poems,” she said).

“Now that I’m in charge, it’s not the kind of thing that you have a problem with your parents seeing,” the new editor said over homemade oxtail soup in the capacious penthouse apartment she shares with her boyfriend in Boston. “I would prefer if all nude photos were anonymous,” she said. “But people want everyone else to know. People want to stand out.”

On a laptop computer, Vandenberg, 20, showed a few of the pictures she is planning to publish in the next edition of H Bomb, which will be online only for financial reasons. “Quite tame,” she said. In one, female Harvard science majors peered earnestly at test tubes, wearing lab coats opened to expose black lacy bras and panties, as in the old Maidenform advertisements. It was intended, she said, as a comment on the brouhaha that ensued after Lawrence Summers, Harvard’s former president, publicly remarked that genetics might account for why women are still a minority in the sciences. “I really don’t think he said much wrong,” said Vandenberg, who is pursuing a bachelor’s degree in biological anthropology. “I’m not a feminist. Feminism has this premise that men and women are equal, and I have a more biological view of things. I don’t think men and women are equal at all. I think we’re different, and what’s wrong with that?”

She spoke disparagingly of the prose submissions — H Bomb publishes both essays and fiction — sent in by Harvard women. “They’re sent in as fiction, but they’re always barely disguised personal confessions, or not even confessions, outpourings of angst: I entered Harvard and I thought to myself, I’m going to rebel against my sheltered upbringing, I’m going to have sex with whomever I want to — that’s the opening of the piece, and then the body will be Subject A: I led him on and then I felt bad, because I really liked him. Subject B: I thought I was leading him on, but actually he dumped me first. Conclusion: I’m so frustrated, I’ve ruined my reputation and now no one wants to have a serious relationship with me. They realized that they’re not fulfilled by casual sex, and yet they can’t find someone they connect with.”

More photos clicked past: a daytime re-enactment of Primal Scream, a Harvard tradition during which students streak naked across the Yard the last night before final exams begin; a montage of young vacationers frolicking in the Hawaii surf — “like Abercrombie & Fitch,” Vandenberg said, referring to the clothing company’s popular ad campaign; and a young man photographed in the dressing room of a sex-toy store, wearing handcuffs and a feather boa. “This was about making bondage, which is a scary sort of thing, more palatable,” she said.

Sleek and attractive, with a low-key volubility, Vandenberg was a freshman when she walked into a crowded H Bomb meeting in Harvard’s Loker Commons, thinking it was for the film-society magazine. She stayed because there were free T-shirts. “They wanted me to be a model, and I was incredibly scandalized by this,” she said. Hrdy learned that Vandenberg had done some travel photography and offered to provide her with human subjects. “I thought, Well, this would be interesting,” Vandenberg said. “I’ve never taken nude photos before — why not?” Among her efforts was a series of black-and-white shots of a fellow female student sitting on a toilet with her legs crossed, naked but for a pair of pumps, her head turned to the side and mostly obscured, and another of a woman covered in red rose petals, “American Beauty”-style. “I thought it was great fun,” Vandenberg said. “It was a great, controversial thing to say, Oh, I’m a photographer for H Bomb.” Miss Rose Petals, a sophomore named Fiona, returned the compliment, saying on the phone later that she was “honored” by the opportunity. “It’s sort of a document of my time at Harvard,” she said. “My friends were very accepting. Those who saw my pictures thought they were very beautiful.”

You might expect that the staffs of campus sex magazines would convene in some sort of Dionysian, orgiastic formation — multiple bare limbs splayed over a king-size bed — but in fact the publications are just as likely to be produced in digital solitude, submissions beamed over the Internet, no one so much as touching hands. “Right now it’s a dictatorship,” Vandenberg said. “I’m the meeting. I really hate meetings, actually. I really just like to communicate online. It’s very inconvenient to meet physically.”

The exploration of sexuality on college campuses has often had a political, communitarian component. Forty years ago, love-ins and slogans like “Make Love Not War” linked anti-war sentiment with feminist rejections of traditional roles. In 1990, students at Radcliffe — then still a separate institution from Harvard — began publishing a magazine called Lighthouse, after the Virginia Woolf novel “To the Lighthouse.” Considered a “safe space” for women to express themselves, it also contained intensely personal anonymous female sexual confessionals, dropped furtively into a cardboard box in Lamont Library. It died a quiet death in the late 90s, around the time that Radcliffe definitively merged with Harvard. In H Bomb and many of the other new breed of publications, any tolerance for emotional vulnerability appears to have evaporated, replaced by an uneasy, fleshy bombast.

Vandenberg described a social landscape changed irrevocably by the rise of networking Web sites. After meeting someone, it’s now de rigueur to check out his or her profile — a collage of pictures (often risqué) and preferences — on MySpace or Facebook.com. “I have a BlackBerry — so immediately,” Vandenberg said. “You might run into someone at a party, and then you Facebook them: what are their interests? Are they crazy-religious, is their favorite quote from the Bible? Everyone takes great pains over presenting themselves. It’s like an embodiment of your personality.” Except for the die-hard holdouts who refuse to participate in these networks — “They’re treated like pariahs, people will just harass them until they join,” Vandenberg said — to attend college now means to participate in a culture of constant two-dimensional preening, for males and females alike. In this context, posing for a sex magazine can seem like just another, more formalized level of display.

At one of Boink’s parties, Aaron Foster, the cover model from the third issue, met a female model, Anna Lee, signing copies of the second issue of the magazine, in which she appeared wearing only body paint. They connected again on MySpace and had what he described as “a whirlwind thing,” but then he stopped calling her. “It was a weird situation,” he said. “She’s a porn girl, so ... I dunno. I assumed she wasn’t really looking for much from me. I’m a guy. There’s a lot less stigma attached to it. A chick, people think ‘slutty,’ whereas a dude gets associated with male bravado.”

Now a junior, Lee became audibly distressed when asked about her relationship with Foster. “That’s not why he told me he broke up with me,” she said. “The reason we split up is because Aaron was in a time in his life when he didn’t want to have a relationship.” As for her being a “porn girl,” Lee said: “It was a mutual thing. I didn’t know what to think of him either.” About her dealings with Boink, she expressed equally mixed feelings. “It really just started out as a joke. I think it’s good to be proud of your body, especially when you’re younger and stuff, as long as it’s tasteful. Just something to add to the résumé. I thought the body-painting spread was really creative. I wanted people to say, ‘That’s really cool and artistic and different.’ ” But she wasn’t pleased that her image was associated with some other, more explicit shots. “In my issue there’s this guy who posed, and he’s masturbating in the picture. It’s really awkward. I’m like: Wow. That was pretty disgusting.”

Lee, who is 20, was also upset because, she said, Boink had marketed a poster featuring a picture from her shoot — one without body paint — without her consent.

Anderson later told me that he had contemplated making posters of Lee and another model (the release form Boink models sign gives the magazine complete sovereignty over their images, he said), but there was no consumer interest and they were never printed.

“I think this was a case of being in the spotlight and then out of the spotlight,” he said of her complaints. “An attention-getting thing.”

It was a windy Sunday, a model search for the Boink book at a local nightclub had been canceled after the club’s manager was fired and Anderson and Oleyourryk were having a subdued meeting in the living room of the latter’s apartment in South Boston. They were discussing a Web site she had discovered that featured faces — only faces — of people experiencing orgasm, one that a writer for Outlet would also later cover. A cat paced back and forth on a white shag rug, eyeing the birds on the swaying boughs outside. In one corner of the room was Oleyourryk’s discarded Halloween costume, a low-cut green garment with glittery scales. “I was a dragon,” she said. “Girls totally find Halloween a chance to be slutty. Not slutty in a negative way, but — sexy.”

“We’ve had a surprising number of people, writers who have told us they’re virgins, which just seems unusual to me,” Anderson said.

“Why are there so many virgins?” Oleyourryk wondered.

“Might be a lack of opportunity,” Anderson said. “College is supposed to be a time of experimentation, but a lot of people get freaked out by it too. They have all this opportunity, and they don’t really know what to do. Too much choice.”

The duo were sitting on a couch, a bottle of Diet Coke at Oleyourryk’s side, sifting through printouts of essay submissions. “I would guess that if you were watching J. K. Rowling write a book, it would be a bit more stimulating,” Anderson said, passing over a sheaf of papers. Our sex is the Mass, read a piece by a Dartmouth student. You kneel down in the doorway of my chapel. ...

“We get so many female submissions,” he said. “Everyone wants to be Carrie Bradshaw.”

“All girls want to be sexy and have a lot of sex, but they want to do it in an environment that’s safe for them,” Oleyourryk said. “So they’re doing the Carrie Bradshaw thing or dressing up for Halloween.”

Anderson tilted his laptop to show a picture of a blond woman standing in a black bikini in a road, then clicked over to a head shot of a light-skinned African-American woman. “I like her lips,” Oleyourryk said, stretching and getting up. Her cellphone bleated urgently. “Oh, Christ, I will call you back in a minute,” she said, batting crossly at it.

They seemed a bit overwhelmed, to lack zest for the task at hand. Where were the eager freshmen to help? “Who in college doesn’t want to get involved in a magazine like this?” Anderson said. “And then their interest lasts about five minutes once they find out that they’re not going to be surrounded by naked girls. People have a very skewed view of what it’s all about. They think it’s going to be the Playboy mansion 24-7.”

“Wait, wait,” Oleyourryk said in sarcastic imitation. “We’re not going to have an orgy?” Rising from the couch, getting ready to leave for her evening bartending shift, she sounded like any other recent college graduate facing the world. “Oh, lordy, lordy,” she said. “I do not want to go to work.”

Alexandra Jacobs is an editor at The New York Observer. This is her first
article for the magazine.

The Truth About College Dating

Remember your first day of high school?

The new guys seemed so cute, and your love life seemed so full of possibilities. But soon you knew all their names, who was cool, and who was weird. And now you've dated everyone you wanted to, or you don't click with the guys at your school, or you're tired of the high school drama — and you can't wait for college. You've heard the basics about college dating: more types of guys, more freedom, and more mature relationships (hopefully). But with close living quarters, no parents, and stressful classes, things get intense, and college has its own soap operas. Read on for the inside dirt you'd have no way of knowing until you're on campus — and need to know if you already are.

truth #1: hookups outnumber boyfriends
"The atmosphere is so charged with opportunities to hook up. Girls on my floor define a night's success by how many people we kiss.”
—LISA, 19, BOSTON COLLEGE

With so many different types of guys around, it's tempting to sample them all! Why not, right? Hookups can be fun, but a lot of times they're mini bombs that explode in one of two ways: into a relationship (rare!), or into misunderstanding, hurt, or just thin air. At the typical beer-soaked party (even if you're sober), you can't always tell which guys want a one-night thing and which ones truly like you. If you've been drinking, there's not always a trusted friend there to stop you from going too far with a guy you just met. Just like there might be things you're not telling him about your life, he could be hiding stuff too. What if that hot econ major has anger issues or a closet cocaine addiction? Meet guys and have fun, but stick with your friends at parties so you can watch out for one another. And don't make it a contest!

truth #2: things get way more intense
"I told this guy everything about me, so when he broke up with me a month later, it hurt that much worse."
—JENNY, 21, SYRACUSE UNIVERSITY

Relationships move faster in college, physically and emotionally. Basically, three months of college dating (where you can have breakfast, lunch, dinner, and late-night pizza with a guy if you want) is like a year of high school dating (when you're living with your parents' restrictions). New college couples tend to rush from the getting-to-know-you stage to the practically-living-together one. It's like they're addicted to their new freedom. And the more intense it gets, the more it hurts when it ends. So hold off before stocking your guy's shower caddy with your Venus razor. Not only can you lose yourself if you spend all your time with a guy, you also lose the time you'd spend meeting other guys and potential lifelong friends. Be sure to make room in your busy love life for the rest of your college experience.

truth #3: there's a new dating vocabulary
"After some awkward mornings and 'walks of shame,' you realize you have to start setting new boundaries."
—SARA, 20, UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA

Love it or hate it: Dorms can be cesspools of debauchery! Living in the same building as guys creates interesting new situations (and vocab words!). There's sexile (when your roommate hooks up with someone in your room and you're shut out) and dormcest (dating people who live in your dorm). Dorm gossip can devastate your reputation more than high school gossip — you live with the people who know your business! Then there's the walk of shame: your trek home the morning after hooking up with a guy and sleeping in his room (it's actually against the rules at some campuses to stay over!). It's seen as a rite of passage, but doing it a lot won't make you feel great about yourself (the word shame isn't there by accident!). We know you'll pass college dating tests! Just watch out for the trick questions, okay?

Sexy, Sexy Lover

I heard this at a party over the weekend and it inspired me to rejuvenate the site. I will be updating on a daily basis from now on introducing to some of my friends throughout the coming school year.