Tag Archives: Sex

Let’s Talk About Sex

The start of the mega-hit Let’s Talk About Sex begins with at least one of the band members expressing concern about the controversial topic of their song. Keep in mind, this was way back in 1991 and mentioning bumping uglies in a pop song was still very much frowned upon.

Their concern was not surprising and probably part of a conversation that actually took place. They decided to throw caution to the wind and did indeed talk about it for the next 4 minutes and 34 seconds.

Taking our cue from the ladies of the pioneering female rap act Salt-N-Pepa, Mele and El Kaiser decided it was time for us to stop dancing around it and get on with the discussion of bacon making.

We each share the touching stories of how our dads explained the birds and bees to us and Chris relates the heartwarming tale of how he approached ” the Talk” with his boys. It’s a tale worthy of the Lifetime network and I’m so inspired, I just can’t wait to talk to my own kids about the joys of dancing the horizontal tango.

[Editors Note: Practically everything in the previous paragraph is false. Take a listen to the show to hear what really happens.]

Whether you’re sealing the deal, rocking the Casbah, or buttering the biscuits, it’s a normal and healthy part of life. We here at About Men Radio approach the subject of boinking  the same way we tackle all other topics: with maturity and taste.

[Editors Note: Um, yeah. Read previous note.]

Let’s talk about slammin’ ham, baby! Yee haw!!!!!!!

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“Fifty Shades of Grey”: A Review From A Guy’s Point of View

​As my wife and I sat in the movie theater waiting for “Fifty Shades of Grey” to begin, she squeezed my hand and said:

“Are you excited?”

“I’m going to be open-minded,” I replied.

“Careful,” she teased, “or your brains might fall out.”

If only they had. Then my head would have been as vacuous as this movie.

To be clear, I am no prude when it comes to sex or nudity.

As part of a misspent youth, I visited many theaters worthy of the trench-coat crowd and have seen some pretty far-out stuff, sexually speaking.

What goes on between two consenting adults? Get your freak on, folks.

Clown make-up, scuba suits, dripping candle wax: Whatever curls your toes, have at it.

But this movie did almost the impossible: It made sex scenes that were antiseptic, turgid and utterly lacking in heat.

In sum, it made for boring boning.

Christian Grey makes Anastasia Steele go through what amounts to some kinky “Simon Says” exercises. (The difference being that when she failed to follow the specific instructions, she got spanked.)

But there was zero spark or chemistry between the lead characters. It was like they were acting in two different movies, each shot separately against a blue screen and then spliced together.

My problems with the movie ranged from irritation (ridiculous over-the-top product placements for Apple) to disbelief (Anastasia is a modern-day college senior and she is using a flip-phone, plus she’s a virgin?) to exasperating (she is supposed to be falling in love with this creepy borderline stalker-abuser but she seems mostly uncomfortable in his company).

But most of all, I found “Fifty” demeaning to women to the point that it made my blood boil.

Anastasia is on the cusp of graduating college but she appears not to have a brain cell in her head and is painted as a total dolt, following Christian around like some hapless puppy.

Add to that a paddling scene that looks more like a vicious beating by an abusive spouse or boyfriend and a sex scene bordering on rape.

It felt like two hours and five minutes of “torture porn” masquerading as mainstream movie-making.

At one point, Christian says: “I don’t make love…I fuck. Hard.”

I *get* dirty talk, and I’m all for it, but in the context of this movie, it sounded silly, at best, and like an excuse for engaging in misogyny at worst.

My wife and I debated the attraction of “Fifty” to women, who made up nearly two-thirds of the ticket-buyers in the movie’s opening weekend.

I don’t understand it, though there is no denying that actor Jamie Dornan is a hunka-hunk of burning love.

What I do know is that, as a man who is open-minded about sex and who likes a hot depiction of it as much as the next guy, I found this movie degrading and insulting.

There is a scene in which Christian says: “I’m 50 shades of fucked-up.”

Yep. So is this movie.

Do yourself a favor and just say “Laters, baby” to “Fifty Shades of Grey.”


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Sled. Gloves. Boots. Condoms. …Condoms?!

I discovered a connection between the snow on my rooftop (the white hair, not dandruff, thank you) and the blizzard swirling outside.

Here it is:

Upon learning that school would be closed, our youngest, a high school junior, was soon coming upstairs to announce that he would be spending time playing with friends in the snow.

Good, clean, outdoor fun. Yea! Great!

But when we started to explore what time he would be home and how he would get home in a raging snowstorm, plans suddenly shifted.

He was back upstairs a short time later to announce that he would be staying overnight at the house of his friend, who happens to be a girl.

And who else will be staying there, I asked, my eyebrows arching.

Oh, so-and-so, he says, naming yet another girl.

And what will be the sleeping arrangements, I ask, my eyebrows now arching in a way that would make McDonald’s envious.

Let me pause here to say that my son is an extraordinarily responsible young adult, sociable, outgoing and an excellent student. And the girls he named are likewise.

They are just a tremendous bunch of kids that any parent would be proud of.

It’s just that when it comes to his old man, my son is such a rotten kid.

Presented with the opportunity to bust my stones, he will seize it with a grip worthy of Darth Vader.

So my inquiry about the sleeping arrangements was an engraved invitation to turn my already white hair even more white.

And then, have it fall out completely.

“Oh,” he says, a big grin breaking out, “we’re all going to sleep together. There will be sex. There will be so much sex, the house will be coming apart.”

My ever-so-helpful wife (not one to let a moment like this slip by) chimed in: “They will be humping like rabbits.”

Me: “I hate you both.”

My son: “Oh yeah, no worries. I’ll be coming home with two pregnant girls.”

My wife: “Just don’t come home with herpes.”

At this point, it was hard to hear anything because I had gone face-first, up to my ears, into my bowl of oatmeal.

Then, as he’s preparing to leave and we’re going through the checklist of things that he should make sure he has for his stay, he calls out as he’s walking down the stairs:

“Hey Dad, how many condoms do you think I should bring?!”

That’s when I went bald.

Rotten kid.

I cannot imagine where he gets it from.

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