Sex Tips From Walt Whitman

“Behold I do not give lectures… what I give I give out of myself” 


Dear Walt,

I grew up in a post-Madonna age where prudishness means limiting the amount of visible ass-cheek when you walk into classy place like a convention center or a Red Lobster. It’s 2017 not 1951, right? I’m over 21. I got an ass. Life is short.

Well… recently, I was at my family reunion when my Aunt Merle starting talking about “hook-up culture” (her turn of phrase not mine). Well, two bottles of Kahlua later, the inevitable happened and before I knew it I was giving Merle tips on where to buy the best sex swings. Instead of being grateful she was horrified. Whoa! Merle, who are you to judge? But it got me thinking… how much sex is too much sex? how many partners are too many partners? Am I a freak for liking a swing and some chocolate body paste every now and then?

—Sometimes Kinky Especially with Kahlua


Hell no, Girl. Stay safe and all that but GET. YOUR. GROOVE. ON. There is no such thing as too much sex! Baby,“I too am not a bit tamed… I too am untranslatable, I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.” Look at who you’re talking to though. “ What is commonest and cheapest and easiest is Me.” F*ck yeah. Embrace that sh*t. Don’t ever let anyone make you feel ashamed. Merle has probably had her fair share of tumbles in the grass (if not in a swing). And if not? Well, that’s a pity. Embrace your liberty, embrace the world, embrace ALL the men and women you desire. Just stay safe.

Hugs and kisses,


P.S. I’ve also always thought the dress-code at Red Lobster was far too restrictive. Chili’s is far more liberal.

Dear Walt,

I’ve been with my boyfriend Gary for over seven years. I love him and I can not imagine not being with him. The problem is after seven years Gary wants us to move in together. I’m scared. I really want to live with him but… AH! I’ve never lived with anyone before and I’m just not sure how I can expect things to go. For example, I have a really long complicated ritual when I pluck my eyebrows… what will Gary think? He’ll think I’m nutty that’s what he’ll think! Not to mention… the idea of taking a poo with my Gary in the next room? Inconceivable! I’m worried that once we move into together the romance will be gone and he’ll just see a shitting, compulsive eye-brow plucking FREAK! I love him. I want to be with him but I’m not sure I can live with him. What do I do?

— Furrowing-Her-Thin-Brow


Thin Brow,

Seven years? You love him? Honey, it’s now or never. Hey, if he heads for the hills after listening to you poop then it’s not meant to be. But, I don’t think you need to worry. Look, we are all disgusting humans with complicated eyebrow plucking rituals.

I’m sure Gary has has a whole host of weird-ass bathroom rituals. We all have a dark side. That’s human nature, Sweets.We all have weird relatives, weird pooping rituals and weird body rashes. Love is not perfect. Lord knows, I didn’t love that my darling boy Pete was a Confederate solider but what relationship doesn’t have issues?! He also drank a bit too much. But that is besides the point! I loved my rebel friend and you love Gary. That’s what is important here.

Love is a powerful thing! If you do want to live with him (and it sounds like you do) then embrace this moment! Let yourself go! Show him your weird body markings! Invite him to watch you pluck your eyebrows. Who knows he might even like it! Move in with him and mix up all your books till you don’t even know whose copy of The Phenomenology of Sprit is whose! Let it all hang out. There is no need to fear. Precious girl, “Who need be afraid of the Merge… Undrape!” 

So Walt,

I feel in love with a Jersey Boy. He makes me feel all the feelings! We have an amazing physical chemistry and we also can challenge each other on an intellectual level. Check! Check! He’s a dreamboat. But… this dreamboat is from Jersey. He loves Jersey. He says it has it all… metropolitan areas and trees. Ugh. Like New York doesn’t have that? Really? He wants us to live together in New Jersey (Hoboken I think? I stopped listening). I don’t know if I can do it. I am a born and bred New Yorker. I’m from THE CITY. As in, there is only one… CITY! I know it’s not exactly politically correct but Jersey?… gross. I say… Keep your full service gas stations and your big haired women. Keep your incredible views of the skyline and your delicious blueberries.

Yeah. I’m sorry. I just can’t.



Preach. Every generation has a great and tragic love story. A love torn apart by the most terrible of circumstances. My dear, yours is that story. I’m afraid you have no choice but to break up with him. If your dreamboat can not cross the river to Manhattan, then he can not cross into your heart. Hoboken? No. There is a reason why Sinatra left.

There is no love like the love one has for New York. “Manhattan eyes and faces forever for me.” Great loves come and go but Manhattan? Never let her go. Ny4Lyfe Indeed. Or as I once said, “O’Give me the Streets of Manhattan.”


P.S. But you should really check out Jersey’s Peach Harvest festival. That is pretty dope. Still.. Go Knicks!

Images: Wikimedia Commons