To the Editor:

Re: “The Science Behind Sexual Attraction,” Opinion, Oct. 28

As a gay man on campus, I am incredibly offended by the Science Section’s treatment of sexual attraction in this article. In theory, I wouldn’t mind a piece that discussed the nature and evolution of heterosexual behavior; however, I would prefer that said piece contain at least SOME acknowledgement of other forms of sexual behavior, even at a perfunctory level.

J: Yo, whattup bitches? It’s your two favorite (by default) Cornell sex columnists (from this year).

J: We like to aim for the stars.

J: So, I’m sitting here in my boxers waiting for Jess to touch it.

J: I’m not going to touch it.

J: C’mon, you can type with one hand!

J: I thought you hated hand jobs.

J: This is true. I do, however, like hand jobs from girls with tiny hands so it looks Honey-I-Shrunk-the-Kids-disproportionately-huge.

Congratulations — you did it. You got that guy or girl of your dreams to agree to come back to your place and sleep with you. Lucky, lucky. However, there is etiquette that one must adhere to when participating in a one night stand — one night standiquette, if you will. It will help you avoid making the awkward pre-walk of shame morning-breath goodbye kiss any more awkward (assuming that your partner was kind enough to stay the night).

Who decided that titty-fucking was cool? Did Sinatra used to finish his lowball of whiskey just to take home that dame across the bar for some good ol’ slipping and sliding between a pair of tig ol’ biddies? Initial research (i.e. I did not in any way attempt to research this) has been inconclusive as to Sinatra’s inter-mammary predilections, but this I do know: Everything about titty-fucking is just plain wrong — from its name, to the act itself, to the Google Images result when I type in the term (well, actually, the search results are pretty good).

Dudes can be cruel to be kind. As a womyn, I can say that. Dudes, you can be cruel — to be “kind” — either to embarrass us or reproduce with us.

Case in point: about a month ago I was walking to a party with my gal pal. We were gabbing about, you know, Sex and the City, and which character we’re most like, and what sort of vodka-tinis we’d be imbibing later, and then we talked about doing our nails, and kissing boys and having the red tide come visit us every 28 days.

To the Editor:

Re: “Don’t Worry, It Happens to Everyone,” Opinion, Oct. 1

As a recent Cornell graduate who had his share of intimate moments on the Hill, I feel an explosive urge to respond to this stimulating column on male impotency. The author provides some honest advice. Seven shots at Group Therapy never leads to good things, and it would be quite an accomplishment to trick a smart, Cornell girl into believing that a flaccid penis was really hard. I do wonder, however, if she is not oversimplifying “Type Three and Four: The Cowardly Cock(s).”

The sex columnists in the past have usually focused on the crazy things they have done in the bedroom or their own sexual mishaps. Not me. Today I’m writing about what no man on Cornell’s campus wants to admit happens. That’s right, it’s time to talk about erectile dysfunction. One would think from Viagra and Cialis commercials that penis fail only happens to middle-aged men. You’re wrong. It’s about as prevalent at Cornell as dinosaur jokes or apples.

In my experience, there are three distinct types of penis fail:

Type One: The Drunk Dick

Disclaimer: What you’re about to read is really, really gross. If you’re a weak-stomached pansy-ass, this is about as far as we recommend you go. Better luck next week, pansies-ass-pansies. You’ll have to get your superfuntimes another day.

So here goes. The other day, R and R went to the gym as they occasionally do after apple festivals, and they were feeling pretty good. One R took to the treadmill while the other R mounted her usual weird-elliptical-treadmill-hybrid-thing and began to ...

R: WORK IT!

Guys masturbate like all the time. It’s probably why they seem more relaxed and less desperate to find a relationship. However, masturbation shouldn’t be viewed as a dude-only domain. If more women took the time to get to know the ins and outs of their vaginas, we would live in a world filled with more equality and less crazy bitches.

A column would never be written teaching guys how to rub one out — a testament to how important it is for women to understand their bodies in order to gain equality in the bedroom. A guy knows what he wants and exactly how to get it. Generally, the same cannot be said for girls. Learning how to pleasure yourself is the first step in the right direction.

Well, here we are. End of the line. This is where I’m supposed to tell you all about what I’ve learned being a sex columnist, how my life has changed and pepper in some thoughts on Life and the Hereafter. Let’s make it quick.

What I’ve learned being a sex columnist: Everything that has ever been fucked, sucked or come upon has already been talked about, fought about and turned into an entire media enterprise. The very concept of the (inevitably) female or gay male sex writer has become a cliché in itself.

How my life has changed: I got pretty all right at frantic writing, and AEPi wants people to pay money to throw pies at me. Cream pies. Bless their hearts.

Thoughts on Life and the Hereafter? Keep on fuckin’.