Criticism

Shakespeare got something about lust that Steve McQueen didn’t.

A budget midtown hotel where you can rent a room by the hour — and where every detail reminds you that’s exactly what you’re doing.

A seedy, psychedelic hotel in Manhattan, perfect for a couple of hours.

At the Liberty Inn, everyone you pass in the hall knows exactly what you just did — and there’s something liberating about that.

A sex party in a Bushwick loft, with velvet pouches, topless acrobats, and a crowd that works in public radio.

A weekly sex party in a borrowed Manhattan apartment, where everyone gets naked at 9:30 and you can still be home by midnight.

A review of one of the sexier party options in New York — where the dress code is white or nothing, and the crowd delivers on both counts.

Exercise equipment roped off, bridge-and-tunnel couples fucking in the pool, and a vibe that wasn’t quite as welcoming as all that.

A field guide to the various twelve-step fellowships for sex addiction — their bottom lines, their rigidities, and their surprising nuances.

A guided tour of New York’s grungiest, most democratic sex club — limestone façade, crudités, and all.