opinionsubmit@hotmail.com 19-Year-old Virgin to 26-Year-old Slut Brandon “Humpy Humperson” Ferguson, Opinions Editor In the seven years I’ve been sexually active, ’'ve gone from a 19-year-old virgin to a 26-year-old slut. My part- ners have ranged in age, race, skill, affections and, on one crazy martini-induced night, even gender. But if Bill Clinton doesn’t consider it sex, then neither do I. A mouth’s a mouth, right? As a passionate social scientist, I do my utmost to be attentive to situations and diligent in lessons learned. From my earliest days (my best friend Adam demonstrating—at a bowling alley—how wildly his girl- friend loved doggy-style) to my latest blunders (no, I am not in fact tantric—I don’t even like Sting), sex has been an evolving process, as beautiful to behold as it is bliss- ful to be held. So, my sexy friends, readers, and severely disturbed ex-girlfriends, here’s what [ve learned from the last seven-odd years of sex. Making Out: How You Doing? I’ve been rounding up the tadpoles and calling down for more mayo since my earliest showers, so coming isn’t exactly a remarkable feat to me. But kissing is, and remains one of the best parts in any romantic encounter. Lips locking, tongues swirling, it’s a mish-mash of slow and fast expression that latches me to you. Talking is such a pedestrian way to explain how you feel. No matter what transpires between two people, they'll always remember the kiss. It’s so blindingly magnanimous on a first date, so binding and fabulous on your wedding day, that Romeo and Juliet had little choice but to end on a kiss. Add to it the hustle and bustle of groping and no thing can hold a candle to the whole mantle of making out. I’ve turned down sex to “just” make out. I’ve made an ass of myself on the dance floor to “just” make out. And, with sex lasting a mere average of 2.5 minutes, how else to you plan to fill the time? To steal a line from Managing Editor Miley: Making out—it’s the new finger-bang. Finger-Banging Trim your nails, dude. Always. Soup’s On For the longest time, I hated eating out. It tasted weird, was so far from her mouth, and what in the hell is with all these flaps and folds and layers of skin? My more “mature” friends used to always mention some- thing about “400 grams of black forest ham” and it scared the shit out of me. It looked like I was never going to give—or get—oral pleasure ever again. Then a mentor took me aside and said, “Son, do you know how freaking lucky you are to be there? It’s the cradle of civilization, man. It’s where it all began. You are at the nerve centre sitting in the captain’s chair—and she'll love you for it.” I’m infatuated with cunnilingus. I’ve got a big fat crush on your vagina. Limp Happens Fellas, I understand. I know, I know—it was a long day at work, you haven’t been sleeping well lately, you jerked off in the shower and swung by Matty’s for a Beverly Hills bump of blow. Limp happens. No, it’s not her. It’s physics. Physics and the fact that God gave us these schizophrenic meat socks that rise and fall like dynasties. Remember how much of a gam- ble getting up in front of the class was in grade 11? They ate maniacal, miserable little bastards that you still wouldn’t give up for all the tea in China. Plus, there’s always gin and Viagra. The Dead Fish Now that we’ve dealt with male disability, which is so easy to mock that even Jay Leno could muster some- thing mildly amusing to say about it, let’s talk poisson. One of the most thoroughly unsatisfying encounters I’ve ever endured was due to what’s known as “the dead fish”—when the woman lies cold and limp on her back, gurgles the odd groan, shifts her ass listlessly every now and again, then tells her friends that sex with bud was “okay, I guess.” Fuck you, chick. You haven’t earned the right to a ride home, let alone an opinion on perform- ance. (Of course, it could also be that I aw the most mon- umentally dull lay since necrophilia was outlawed.) Continued on page 10 Sex, Crimes, Millie Strom, OP Contributor crimes. and Psychiatry Psychiatry has an ongoing love affair with the criminal. Particularly the sex criminal. By dressing up crimes as dis- eases and disorders, it gives people excuses for their nasty deeds. One exam- ple of psychiatry’s meddling is the Catholic priest sex abuse scandal. Instead of reporting priests who had sex with children to the police, the church sent them off for mental health treatment. After treatment, the church assigned the pedophile priests to new locations where fresh batches of poten- tial victims awaited them. Some priests couldn’t resist and re-offended...again and again. And they received treat- ment...again and again. By giving pedophiles a medical excuse, psychiatry was an accomplice to these horrific And look at the mess psychiatry made of the Karla Homolka case. Homolka convinced psychiatrists that she suffered from battered woman syn- drome. This diagnosis, along with her testimony against her former husband, allowed prosecutors to reduce the charges to manslaughter for her bizarre role in the sex murders. Convicted, Homolka served 12 years. Now she’s out, though the court imposed Section 810.2 restrictions which require her to stay in touch with police and psychologists and stay out of touch with criminals and drugs. The courts had to do something to mollify the pub- lic, but few of us care that Homolka’s charter rights have been eroded. Does the ability to con the shrinks point to the depth of Homolka’s evilness?