This has been possibly the best week ever for homosexuals in North America. Gay marriage is now legal in Ontario and about to be legal across Canada, and the U.S. Supreme Court struck down Texas’ anti-sodomy law, overturning a previous ruling. The opinion now held by the court, taken from the dissenting opinion in the original ruling (Bowers v. Hardwick), is this:

“…individual decisions by married persons, concerning the intimacies of their physical relationship, even when not intended to produce offspring, are a form of “liberty” protected by the Due Process Clause of the Fourteenth Amendment. Moreover, this protection extends to intimate choices by unmarried as well as married persons.”

Isn’t that the most marvelous thing? I want it tattooed on me somewhere, ideally where you’d have to committing an unnatural act on me to see it. It’s certainly the last decision I ever expected to see during the Bush Adminstration. I would have paid cash money to have seen the look on Attorney General John Ashcroft’s face when he heard about it. Behind him, I’m convinced, the enshrouded Lady Liberty was giggling her half-naked ass off.

Now you may not be gay. You may even think homosexual acts are against the laws of God, unhealthy, immoral, and/or icky. But there is a good chance that you too will benefit from this decision, especially if you’re the kinds of people I think you are. See, if the law been struck down because it was discriminatory (since it wasn’t against the law in Texas for straight couples to bugger each other), as Justice O’Connor argued, it would have invalidated all laws against sodomy between same-sex couples but left the rest of the anti-sex laws alone. Instead, the majority argued that the law violated the individual’s right to privacy, and so with a stroke of the pen all the consensual sex laws have been undone. The government has been completely shoved out of our bedrooms, and the door has been locked.

And now it’s a whole new ballgame.

Have you ever found yourself avoiding unnatural acts in the privacy of your own bedroom for fear of prosecution? Grab the butter!

Ever wanted to carnally explore a watermelon? Now you can!

Been holding back on inviting the bridge club over for sandwiches and light bondage? Start slicing the cucumbers!

There are still restrictions, of course. Your twisted acts must be fully consensual, everyone involved must be old enough to legally consent, no animals, and no commercial transactions. But look what that leaves! Here’s a short list, all now officially sanctioned by the United States Supreme Court:

Sodomy.
Oral sex.
Heavy petting.
Group sex.
Group sex involving sodomy and oral sex.
Group sex involving sodomy, oral sex, and the contents of your vegetable crisper.
Group sex involving a couch, a gallon jug of vegetable oil, and the game “King of the Hill.”
Bondage.
Blondage.
Masturbation.
Mutual masturbation.
Competitive masturbation for speed and/or distance.
Pillow-biting.
Pillow fucking.
Rimming.
Frotting.
Bundling.
Frigging.
Cornholing.
Humping.
Bumping.
Licking.
Sucking.
Fucking.
Whipping.
Fondling.
Flashing.
Fisting.
Legging.
Shaving.
Stripping.
Streaking.
Nude housework.
Nude carpentry.
Cybersex.
Hybersex.
Water sports.
Extreme water sports.
Hand jobs.
Blow jobs.
Auto-fellatio.
Auto-cunnilingus.
Wearing clothes originally designed for the other sex.
Gang bangs.
Gang booms.
Sticking an entire Bratz “Slumber Party Meygan” doll up there.
Sex with shoes.
Sex with boots.
Sex with cheese.
Sex with armpits.
Swirl.
Pogo swirl.
Pump with an underground hammer.
Nude Yahtzee.
Sex with a deep sea diver’s suit on.
Home colonoscopy.
Sex while fantasizing about Supreme Court judges.

Party hearty, people! This is a great day for all of us, and I’m incredibly grateful to the two wonderful homosexual Texans who made it all happen by not taking their sodomy charge lying down. Bless you, both of you, and I can only hope that you’re celebrating your asses off.

It can take a long time to learn your lover’s rhythms. Each person has their own inner beat, and nowhere (except for television channel changing) is it trickier to synchronize your tastes with someone else than in bed. Have you ever zigged when you should have zagged? Has your lover ever zagged when they were supposed to zig, even after you made puppy noises when they almost zigged, and any halfway sensitive person would have noticed that and damn well zigged ’til they were blue, but no, your lover had to go and zag like a selfish bastard and throw you completely out of the moment and the whole time your lover was looking at you like you weren’t pissed off, right, and yelping at you like an idiot, “Say my name! Say my name!”

Well, we’ve all been there.

Establishing a rhythm during lovemaking can be tricky, especially for those of us who sing only in the shower or more than 300 yards away from other people, by court order. You can try putting really loud clocks in the bedroom, or even a metronome on the headboard as a cool decoration and valuable pace-setting tool (use 100-120 bpm in 2/4 time for a lively evening, only moving up to 160-172 bpm if you have a durable partner and a strong heart). You could even use dance rhythms to keep your focus, although if your partner overhears you muttering “One, two, three, one, two, three,” under your breath over and over you soon may be dancing alone. But these methods, while dependable, leave you with a steady, boring beat that will bring your partner to ecstasy only by dogged perseverance and long-lasting batteries. Much better to use music.

Music has long been used to establish a mood for romance, seduction, and laying the pipe down. It may have been why music was invented in the first place, Rohypnol being thousands of years in the future. But I’d like to sugegst that you use the cadence of the tune, not the atmosphere the music creates. Fix a tune in your mind and thrust along with the words. Hump to the beat! You won’t need to try and come up with individual rhythms or styles, you can use someone else’s. Instantly you’re a sex god, moving with confidence and driving her wild! There’s a reason that rock stars get so much poon, and it can’t be their looks. It’s that driving, pounding rhythm that gets into the soul and drags you along, forcing your body to pulsate at their frequency and resonate to their every movement. Also the drugs.

Next time you’re intimately connected, pump, lick or suck in time with the catchiest song you can think of. Doesn’t have to be sexy, or even good, just fun and bouncy. Here’s the sex score for the first two lines of “You Are My Sunshine”:

Unh uh uh UNH UNH, unh uh oh UNH UNH
Unh uh unh UNH UNH, unh uh ah unh…

That’ll get her going! Almost any song will work, although you might want to avoid rap and bluegrass banjo until you’re more comfortable. Try starting slowly, with some songs that all but tell you when to thrust, such as The Beatles’ “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer” (Bang! Bang!) or Billy Squire’s “The Stroke.” Once you get the hang of it, try more complicated melodies for different effects. Queen’s “We Will Rock You” is an obvious and insistent choice, Led Zeppelin’s “Whole Lotta Love” seems to have had this purpose in mind from the start, “Livin’ La Vida Loca” can drive you over the edge of the bed, Metallica’s “Enter Sandman” is a good, dependable guide when you want to pace yourself, “The Anvil Chorus” is surprisingly effective, the chorus of The Beatles’ “Yellow Submarine” can bring anybody off, and “Amazing Grace” can produce a truly astounding orgasm if you can last for all six verses.

No matter what tempo you have in mind for your monkey-lovin’, there’s a song to help you out. Remember, all you need from it is the rhythm, it doesn’t matter what the song is about. Want to go slow and steady? Go with Simon and Garfunkel’s “Scarborough Fair”, Five for Fighting’s “Superman”, Whitney Houston’s “Exhale (Shoop Shoop)”, Arlo Guthrie’s “Alice’s Restaurant” (why not?) or “Air for a G String” by Bach. Pop music, up-tempo classical and feisty country songs are ideal for playful romping with variable rhythms, such as Madonna’s “Open Your Heart”, Randy Travis’s “Before You Kill Us All”, Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy”, or anything by Belle and Sebastian (even though the sounds of kids playing during “If You’re Feeling Sinister” throws me off). And if you’re in the mood for jackhammering, you can’t go wrong with Queen’s “Stone Cold Crazy”, or “One Week” by Bare Naked Ladies. Be sure to do some stretches first, and stay hydrated. My wife and I once tried to keep up with Savage Garden’s “I Want You” and it took us a week to work out all the leg cramps.

As long as the cadence of the lyrics or the beat of the song matches your sexual needs, there’s no reason not to pick songs that match the moment. I think highly of Bloodhound Gang’s “Bad Touch” and Tenacious D’s immortal “Fuck Her Gently”.

And don’t neglect television theme music! Theme songs are easy to keep stuck in your head and they can provide fantastic thrashing rhythms as long as you keep repeating them over and over until you’re done. Just think about the themes from Mission Impossible, Barney Miller, Sesame Street, Rawhide, Gilligan’s Island… I get all shivery just thinking about it. And the commercial jingles! They drive you fucking crazy anyway, why not use that to your advantage? Besides, the erotic uses of the Oscar Meyer theme song are so obvious they don’t bear repeating.

Schoolhouse Rock songs are unbelievable.

Musical accompaniment works wonderfully for other forms of sex besides just the ol’ in-and-out, y’know. Try giving a pounding handjob to Busta Rhymes’ “Woo Hah! Got You All in Check” (”Woo Hah,” indeed), finger your lover to the beat from Pink’s “Don’t Let Me Get Me” (RUB rub rub RUB RUB!), and while Ludacris’s “What’s Your Fantasy” is a strong runnerup, “The Marriage of Figaro” is, quite simply, the single best guide to cunnilingus ever devised:

Lick lick lick LICK lick
Lick lick lick LICK lick
Lick lick lick LICK lick, lick LICK lick, lick lick lick lick
Lick lick lick LICK lick, lick LICK lick, lick LICK lick lick
LICK LICK LICK LICK LICK LICK LICK LICK LICK LICK LICK LICK, lick
LICK LICK LICK LICK, lick
Lick lick lick
Lick lick lick
Lick lick lick lickalick lick lick lick lick lick slurp!

Don’t stop during the instrumental parts or your lover may look at you oddly, wondering why everything shut down, while you’re mentally waiting for the next verse. Keep right on going, playing the air guitar with your hips, which is basically what Mick Jagger has been doing for forty years now. If you’re the lady on top, twist your hips to the tune from “Hotel California” by the Eagles, or bounce merrily along to Disney’s “It’s a Small World”, although you might want to hum that last one to yourself.

Instrumental pieces also add an impressive feeling to the encounter, like you have an orchestra backing you up as you prong away. “The Ride of the Valkyries” is majestic and aggressive, “The Flight of the Bumblebee” is ideal for that office quickie, “Mars, The Bringer of War” from Holst’s “The Planets Op.32″ works well for that l-o-n-g slow grind, and nothing, but nothing beats “The Main Title March” from John Williams’ stupendous Superman movie soundtrack. Starts slow, builds up, goes slow, builds up, gets fast, goes slow again, ends triumphantly. Up, up and away!

If you’re in the moment and having problems thinking of the perfect melody (don’t you hate that?), try turning on the radio and taking pot luck. Pick a station with heavy playlists and few commercials, and try to avoid the afternoon show or you may find yourself trying to screw to a traffic report. If you’re really feeling adventurous, set your radio to “scan” and let the rhythm change every five seconds. Can you keep up? Don’t use MTV or VH1 for this, since the last thing you’ll ever catch a music video channel doing is actually playing a music video. If you get really cocky try a Weird Al Yankovic polka medley.

There’s no reason you can’t share your newfound love in music with your lover. You can spend an exciting time looking through each others’ collections and selecting the night’s playlist, and you can sing to each other as you happily bang away. The gift of a specially-made best-of CD carries even more meaning if you know it’s the menu for the evening. And if you both know what’s coming up you can time things better, such as holding back because you know she loves to come just as “A Day in the Life” builds up to the crashing piano chord.

Once you get good at it, it’s time to go for an entire evening of musical sex. Play entire CDs and keep up with the changes. Theme albums work well for this – Pink Floyd’s “The Wall” may be too depressing to permit a hard-on, but Styx’s “Kilroy Was Here” is a ball-drainer, and “Downward Spiral” by Nine Inch Nails speaks for itself – and the variety of songs on the average CD makes for a unpredictable romp in the sheets. Try any album by Tangerine Dream, or Dream Theater.

Different things work for different people. For me, it’s soundtracks. I’ve already mentioned Superman, but I call to your attention the outstanding fucking potential of such greats as the Indiana Jones theme, the “Imperial March” from Star Wars, and The Pirates of Penzance (do “Modern Major General”, I dare you). I have a personal fondness for The Nightmare Before Christmas, and I cannot recommend highly enough the soundtrack to the movie The Princess Bride, although I usually lose it during the sword fight theme.

After awhile you may find yourself thinking in terms of musical selection when you size up new dates. Would she prefer the gentle lovemaking of Edwin McCain’s “I’ll Be” or John Mayer’s “Your Body Is a Wonderland”, or does that hungry look in her eye call for a screaming “Bat Out of Hell” fuckfest? Do you feel like doing Bon Jovi’s “It’s My Life” on that guy at the bar until he can’t remember his parent’s names? Are you in the mood to “Ja Rule” somebody tonight? You may even find yourself characterizing people by genres, and choosing your lover based on the Billboard charts. I know I’ve started judging new music for its lovemaking properties. When I first heard Norah Jones “Don’t Know Why” I knew immediately why she couldn’t come: her song was too damn slow. Stick in a big drum solo finish and she’d have popped one off, no problem.

Naturally, despite my exhaustive research, I’ve completely forgotten the ultimate sex song, but I’ll bet you’d be only too happy to show me the error of my ways. So send it in! Write to me at wyyrd@hootisland.com and tell me which song you most enjoy knocking boots to and I’ll round them up in a future column. Remember, we’re looking specifically for cadence and rhythm, not emotional meaning or quality. Even if the song sucks and makes the average listener cringe and try to yank their own ears off in frantic self-defense (and here, of course, I’m thinking “Achy Breaky Heart”), as long as it has a catchy beat and you can fuck to it, send it on.

I’ll just be sitting here with my headphones on, don’t mind me.

My thanks to the people who already tossed in ideas to augment my frozen-in-the-mid-80’s tastes, especially Rick and Dana.

Please gather ’round,
hear what I’ve found,
the truth I’ve learned inside;
the night I dreamed,
the night I screamed,
the night my pussy died.

I’d laid right down
in my nightgown
(it’s flannel, soft and thick)
when I awoke
to see the smoke
like from a magic trick.

I sat upright,
awash in fright,
and knowing I would die
when there appeared
a thing most feared;
the Reaper, one foot high.

Cold darkness spoke
inside its cloak
and demons howled within.
No face I saw
inside that maw
but I could feel its grin.

“You’ve lost your way,”
I heard it say.
“Your pleasure you’ve forgot.
What you don’t use,
you’re bound to lose!
I’ve come here for your twat.

“You’ve let it lie,
you let it die!
Your pussy has gone south.
No daring stunt
can save your cunt!
Not even mouth-to-mouth.”

“But I can’t fuck!
I’ve had no luck
in finding perfect guys!
You’re saying I
should just comply
and open up my thighs?”

“I do not nudge,
I do not judge,
I merely come and take.
The bill’s been paid,
your twat will fade
and leave before you wake.

“But think on this,
and reminisce
on what just might have been.
You’ve not proposed
to keep it closed
because of fear of sin.

“It’s not been still
to test your will
or any higher call.
You don’t demure
to keep it pure,
(and worthy reasons all).

“No, I’m afraid
you have betrayed
your pussy’s life to fate.
If you won’t touch,
or look too much
or even masturbate.”

Up on my bed,
and then it said,
“Now for your quim’s demise.”
And in that strife,
my pussy’s life
did flash before my eyes.

We lived it high,
my cunt and I
when once we were a team.
Those days back when
we both loved men
and ate them whole, with cream.

Once for a whirl
we tried a girl
and that was squishy fun.
We had no fuss,
me and my puss;
we worked and played as one.

The years gone past,
in stark contrast,
have dried my juice to dust.
I’ve been so stressed,
no time to rest,
and hardly time for lust.

We had to quit,
me and my slit,
before our dreams were met.
But, dwelling on
my joys foregone,
I started to get wet.

The Reaper crept
towards my cleft
and raised its blade to slay.
My hand swept down
and grabbed its gown
and stripped its cloak away.

It stood revealed,
and unconcealed
it was an awesome sight.
A dildo strong,
a full foot long,
and colored boney white.

Instead of fear,
my path was clear,
my last chance come upon.
I held my breath,
and snatched up Death,
and turned the fucker on.

The fury came;
the thing became
a hellish buzzing force.
With all my strength,
at full arm’s length,
I moved it from its course.

If it could reach
my fuzzy peach
I knew my twat was dead.
So I deployed
that fiendish toy
and shoved it in, instead.

The battle grew,
and we both knew
that this would spell the end.
For if I lost,
the smallest cost
would be my oldest friend.

So on I stroked,
my pussy soaked
with lust and fear and flame.
and just in time,
with joy sublime,
my pussy and I came.

We came in fright
in hallowed light;
we came and we were one.
The Reaper stood
and donned its hood
and said to us, “You’ve won.

“But think on this:
one swampy bliss
won’t cover decades’ lack.
You both must fight
to seek delight
or one day I’ll be back.”

So that’s my tale,
my hot young male.
And now you have your chore.
You and your chum
must make me come
To keep me from Death’s door.

It has long been said, in different ways at different times, by travelers since the dawn of time, that “sex on the road don’t count.” It’s a way to justify getting some on the side that has no bearing on the relationships one leaves behind, with all the logic and empirical foundation of “hollow chocolate has no calories.”

It’s true, though.

What’s more, there are many other special circumstances during which sexual activity with strangers or others not your official loved one is okay, or at least easily explained. Here’s the full list:

Sex On the Road Don’t Count
No-brainer. Sticky encounters that occur during travels are, by their nature, transitory and cannot touch the sacred vows you exchanged with old what’s-her-name. Just make sure that you don’t let slip your real name, phone number or home town. This covers musical tours, conventions, and presidential campaigns.

Sex in Mid-Air Don’t Count
This was actually legislated for lengthy cross-country flights (nothing that can be accomplished in a 2′ x 2′ bathroom can ever mean anything) but it has since been used as precedent in skydiving and high-wire encounters.

Sex With Anyone Who Looks Like Your Lover Don’t Count
Obviously when you slept with that guy in Long Beach, it was because you missed your husband so much you just had to have him. But he wasn’t there, and that guy had the exact same mustache… This works surprisingly well, as long as your explanation stops before any variation of “…but he had a much bigger…” is said.

Sex With Someone You Don’t Like Don’t Count
This is okay because there is no possibility of an emotional entanglement that would interfere with your true love. If affection begins to rear its ugly head, break it off clean and stay away from each other until the loathing starts again. Lasting relationships springing from mutual antagonism only works in movies, sit-coms, and real life.

Sex You Pay For Don’t Count
In the same way that hiring a plumber doesn’t lessen your appreciation for your husband’s abilities, and going out to eat doesn’t mean you don’t prefer your wife’s cooking. But isn’t it nice, once in a while, to let someone else handle things for you, maybe someone that does what you need for a living?

Sex With Objects Don’t Count
How can a person be jealous of a device? Even if said device can deliver sexual satisfaction faster, more reliably, and for just pennies a day? Even if you’re addicted to said device to the point of carrying a picture of it with you and calling out its name during intimate moments?

Sex With Siblings Don’t Count
Don’t be silly, that’s just messin’ around.

Sex While Drunk/Wasted Don’t Count
How could it? You could barely tell your own name, much less the name(s) of the person(s) in bed with you. It don’t mean nuthin’, honey, really. Only she needs to crash on our couch for a few nights, she got tossed out of her place. That’s all right, isn’t it?

Sex When You’re Convinced You’ll Never See Your Lover Again Don’t Count
This can range anywhere from sex during a (temporary) break-up, to sex while stranded on a desert island, as long as it’s not with a volleyball. It does not cover sex while you’re separated from your lover by, say, a bathroom door. It does, however, include:

Sex When You’re Convinced You’re About to Die Don’t Count
The urge to live will express itself at any opportunity, and any life-or-death situation is guaranteed to evoke the urge to procreate and spit death in the eye (or wherever). How could anyone begrudge you your last chance at intimacy and human touch? Covers sex during ship wrecks, hostage situations, and the invasion of earth by aliens and/or demons. Does not cover sex had after your lover catches you and tries to shoot you.

Sex With Anyone in Your Chosen Profession With More Power Than You Don’t Count
Come on, that’s just good business sense.

Sex With Anyone Smaller, Uglier, Weaker, or More Neurotic Than Your Lover Don’t Count
Since they’re not any sort of a threat. I mean, look at them!

Sex To Avoid Imprisonment, Fines, or Punishment Don’t Count
Surely your lover can understand why you were on your knees in front of that cop, right? I mean, he woulda done the same thing.

Sex With Anyone For the Common Good Don’t Count
Sometimes you’ll meet someone so good, so giving, so beneficial to the rest of humanity without thought of thanks or recompense, that you just want to fuck them. This, in my opinion, should be allowed. Here I’m thinking firemen, Jimmy Carter, emergency rescue personnel, authors, adult webmasters, and so on.

Sex During a Historical Re-Enactment Don’t Count
Okay, I slept with this girl at the SCA event last month, but that’s all in the past.

Sex During a Dramatic Performance Don’t Count
The show must go on! Your lover simply has to realize that there’s no connection here, that it’s hardly intimate when 25 people are watching and taping it, and it’s not really you anyway, it’s just the character you play. Whoops, gotta go, it’s the gangbang scene! Love you!

Sex With An Old Lover You Never Got to Fuck the First Time Around Don’t Count
It’s for closure, or something.

Sex Intended to Publicly Embarass An Asshole Don’t Count
If you can nail an obnoxious public figure in such a way as to ensure the total collapse of their fame, trustworthiness and power base, more power to you, I say.

Sex In the Service of Your Country Don’t Count
A soldier’s gotta do what a soldier’s gotta do. Does not cover rape, impregnating indigents, or Tailhook. However, it is included as part of your VA benefits.

Sex To Satisfy the Terms of a Bet Don’t Count
Hey, you’re only as good as your word, right?

Sex That Wasn’t Any Good Don’t Count
Sure you shacked up with a cocktail waitress. But she was terrible! NO idea what to do, smelled bad, used her teeth too much, and she cried afterwards. Boy, you sure learned your lesson, huh? And her sister was even worse.

Sex Had When It Was Incredibly Frickin’ Cold Don’t Count
If that’s what it takes to preserve your own life, you owe it to your lover and your family to do everything you can do to come back to them safely, even if it involves doggy style.

Sex With Someone on “The List” Don’t Count
Many couples have late-night conversations where each one confesses to an unrequited interest in another person. Usually someone unattainable, such as a celebrity or utterly disinterested acqaintance. That person goes on The List of People It’s Okay to Fuck, usually in an amused, tongue-in-cheek “you wish” sort of deal that may come back and bite you some day. If my wife ever has a layover in the same hotel as Johnny Depp, all bets are off.

Sex While Under Medical Supervision Don’t Count
Because it’s not really sex, it’s therapy. Especially if either you or your doctor can write a book about it later.

Sex Had While Appearing on a Reality TV Show Don’t Count
Apparently.

Sex Had in the Spirit of Adventure Don’t Count
If your lover won’t risk life and limb alongside you, they can’t take offense if you temporarily bond with someone who will. It worked for Sir Edmund Hilary, and for Admiral Byrd. Of course, they both nearly froze to death, and required teams of dogs and lots of special equipment, but still…

Sex With a Mythical Beast, Deity, and/or Supernatural Being Don’t Count
Goes without saying, really. No reason anyone could blame you if a being of indescribable might descends upon you and decides to take a little taste. It’s already resulted in a bunch of cool myths and at least one major religion.

Good evening and welcome to “Who Wants to Bang a Nymphomaniac?” Last week, the world held its breath as 50 pathetic women publicly debased themselves on live television as they vied for the matromonial attentions of an equally pathetic multi-millionaire. Knowing nothing about their prospective hubby whatsoever, save for his bank account, these women nonetheless stood up in front of God and their families and said they whore themselves for money. And you loved it!

Okay, you all gathered around in little clumps at work and talked about how horrible it was, and how FOX sunk to a new low this time, and how it typecast women as being money-grubbing and shallow and desperate to land a “good” husband and get a finanacially secure life regardless of their actual feelings for the man, and the guy picked a dog anyway, but the point is that you watched it! You thought the women were whoring themselves, but let me tell you our advertisers loved those numbers we brought in, so now it’s time for the shoe to be seductively dropped off the other foot as we play “Who Wants To Bang a Nymphomaniac?”

We’ve chosen 50 men, out of the millions who signed up in malls, subway stations, in clinics and at our web site, to compete to see who gets a year of ecstacy from our anonymous slut. The men know absolutely nothing about her, except that she’s beautiful and she loves sex more than anyone they’ve ever met. Let’s meet the lucky guys!

[insert tape of all 50 guys being introduced]

Aren’t they great? Now our nympho is going to select the top 6, based purely on their looks, enthusiasm, and perceived dick size. The lucky few are: Vince, from Brooklyn; Joey, from Indianapolis; Bret, from Los Angeles; Manuel, from Corpus Christi; Stephen, from St. Louis; and Steve from Tampa, Florida. Congratulations, gentlemen! Now we’ll ask you some random questions, to let our slut and her friends find out a little more about you. Steve, let’s start with you. “Intimacy”. If your new nymphomaniac wanted to share you with some of her friends, would you be bothered by that? Please choose