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Two perspectives, one column: Liza and I are launching a joint advice venture, because every question deserves both a monogamist’s and a slut’s answer.

Before I tell you about the boat, T and I need to negotiate what our son might one day read — and somehow that leads to the word “Daddy,” Oedipus, and my mother.

She’s smart, funny, and brave. And her husband beats her mercilessly.

Liza and I have something up our sleeves.

T’s ass looks great in denim shorts. But that doesn’t tell you very much about her.

It’s bad enough to be a geeky stalker. It’s so much worse to be a bad one.

It’s Frisky Friday again — show me what you’ve got.

One of the loneliest parts of my secret life was all the interesting shit I couldn’t talk about with T.

This blog creates a distorted picture of me as a hypersexual free agent. The truth is far more complicated, and far more interesting, and it starts with T.

A reader has questions about Le Trapeze, sex addiction, and going to a swing club while pregnant. I have answers.