Commercial sex

Paying for sex, and the Delta lounge.

Amnesty International moves toward supporting decriminalization, and the opponents tell you everything you need to know about why it’s the right call.

Rejection stings worst when it echoes old wounds. My readers let me know I had my head up my ass, and they weren’t wrong.

She looked like a porcelain doll — red lips, red hair, pale skin. I thought we’d become friends. Turns out I’d only ever been a customer.

An unfinished, scattered meditation on sex trafficking — what I know, what I don’t, and the joyless workplaces that aren’t limited to the sex industry.

Hy and I are back with two more dissolute picks, and I have some thoughts about Cande’s posts on sex tourism and paying for sex.

A sex worker writes about her experience, and it reads like the flip side of mine.

Hy and I swap blog recommendations again — this month, I’m drawn to the cold, almost sociopathic detachment of a john in Amsterdam, and to the sharp voices of sex workers writing about their own lives.

The answer to how a single guy gets into a sex party is simpler than most men want it to be.

A man’s inarticulate defense of rape led me to a more honest reckoning with the frustration of sex scarcity — one that justifies nothing, but that nearly every straight man has felt.