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Urge: Naked World
Penis of Jesus trimmed 2,000 years ago
While the Feast of the Circumcision is no longer a Catholic cause célèbre, male mutilation continues its barbaric history.
By Hank Hyena
[01/04/00]

Bottoms up
Raw eggs, Guinness and pastrami can help your hangover, but don't mix them.
By Steven A. Shaw
[12/29/99]

How to avoid a hangover
Buy vodka you don't like so you won't drink as much.
By Robert Capps
[12/29/99]

Urge: Naked World
Self-sexing insects and other cases of parthenogenesis
What's so divine about a virgin birth?
By Hank Hyena
[12/24/99]

Kicking for breath
I watched as my brother almost died from asthma.
By Frank Houston
[12/23/99]

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By Urge readers

Jan. 4, 2000 | Three weeks ago, we invited Urge readers to share their favorite sexual experiences of the millennium. The request was as imprecise and ambitious as sex, and the amorous rose to the challenge.

Almost unanimously, people preferred moments they had directly experienced, effectively whittling the millennium down to about 80 years. But this window proved wide enough to accommodate an impressive sexual diversity. From summer-camp necking to rejections on the Equator, people found their hot and heavy in a jumble of circumstances truly deserving of another steamy 1,000 years on the planet.

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It was our anniversary -- one shining, difficult, delicate year behind us as lovers. We escaped to a country inn and devoted ourselves to having as much sex as possible in 48 hours, with a few breaks for sheep-petting, blackjack and pancakes.

Saturday night, after a long afternoon's labor between the sheets, we dressed and drove down a long country road to a Connecticut-fancy restaurant in a converted barn. We were seated in the hayloft, looking down on most of the other diners, with a few other patrons at tables about 10 feet away. We were alone -- sort of.

Our glasses clinked. I smiled into his sweet blue eyes. He took my hand in his and said "Do you know what we did today? As soon as I woke up, I reached for your breast ... " He began stroking my fingers, telling me what he had done to me that morning, that afternoon, that evening and what he planned to do to me in the bathtub that night, using that voice he uses when he wants to make me crazy.

His words inflamed me, made me flush and grin wide. As he caressed my fingertips, they softened, became as sensitive as my nipples, my thighs. I felt my body warm, my muscles tense. My eyes darted around the hayloft once -- and I dared to close them, lean back and surrender to him. He moved his fingers higher, massaged one knuckle, then the next, as my breath came faster. He continued to talk in that slow, husky voice, evoking each moment of the day's pleasures as he encircled my middle finger with his hand, working it up and down. At last he reached the soft web between my middle and ring fingers, teased it ever so gently, and whispered "I love you." I clenched, gasped. And I came. Hard and long and hot, mouth open, head back, legs apart, I came.

He tells me that I let out a soft moan, not loud enough for anyone to hear, and I had no choice but to believe him. I probably had 20 orgasms that weekend, hundreds that year, but that one remains a glowing ring around my body, the sweet anniversary climax from the man I love so much.

- Anonymous

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I was traveling in East Africa in the mid-'70s and had been on the continent for about three years. Sex then was free and easy. I was hitching in the Kenyan highlands with beautiful surroundings, the snowcapped Mt. Kenya always visible. There was a sign on the main road marking the equator and off to the side was the Equator Bar.

The bar had a thick yellow line down the middle of the floor with a large "S" on one side and an "N" on the other. I walked in, straddled the yellow line, looked at the barmaid with that look and, in Swahili, said, "Let's have a go." I envisioned one leg pointing north, one South and me riding latitude 0. She looked up for a moment and then said, "Don't even think about it." Of all the screwing I did over the years, that's the best lay I never had.

- Sharky

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I contacted a woman through an e-dating Web site. She said she didn't actually live in L.A. yet, but she was moving here. During the course of our e-mail and, later, telephone calls, she told me she was "very open sexually." I proposed this: When you arrive at your temporary apartment in Los Angeles, call me. I will call from my car when I arrive. Leave the door unlocked, get undressed and get all the way under the covers. I will enter your room with two blindfolds. I'll hand you one, then I'll get undressed and join you under the covers. We'll remove the blindfolds once we're in the midst of our orgasm. She replied, "That's crazy! We'll take the blindfolds off only when we're finished." And with that compromise, we did it.

- Anonymous

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