How I almost died after developing a perineal abscess
I was working as a journalist in Saint Petersburg when the butt pain started. The doctor’s heavy Russian accent made me believe I had “gemroids,” which sounded like asteroids made of gemstones, which seemed a lot better than what I actually had: hemorrhoids. More than a month later, it had all gotten much, much worse.
I sat across from the doctor. He was very Russian. His English wasn’t excellent. He smiled.
“So, you have problem with the anus, yes?”
“Mhm.”
He gave my midsection a concerned look. “What?”
“Well,” I told him, “it is excruciating in my — well, my…
My looks have been declining in increments of celebrity look-alikes.
My date watched me from behind her vegan banh-mi and said, “You look like Bradley Cooper.”
“Thank — “
“But, like Bradley Cooper in A Star Is Born. Have you seen it?”
“Yeah — Lady Gaga was great.”
“She was.”
“So, I look like an alcoholic Bradley Cooper?”
She nodded, took a bite, and said, “Don’t watch me chew.”
I waited. She swallowed and said, “Yeah, maybe not alcohol, though.”
“So I look like a heroin-addicted Bradley Cooper?” I joked.
“Yes!” she cried, placing her banh-mi back on her plate.
“Oh.”
“But,” she clarified, “not like you’re on heroin, but…
Lived Through This
My internal struggle as men at the gym keep trying to adopt me
I fit in at the gym about as well as a Disney Princess in a BDSM studio. I don’t get the culture: running, lifting, grunting, groaning, flexing. I’ve never understood the axioms of “power through” or “feel the burn” or “do three more.” The only times that “power through,” “do three more,” or “feel the burn” apply to my life is over a plate of chicken wings. I don’t feel a need to get stronger or run faster. Who do I have to run from? Who is trying to hurt me? …
A simple guide for older men trying to figure out what they’re doing wrong.
For any guys under the age of eighteen, this piece is not for you. The reason women don’t want to have sex with you is apparent: you are drowning in a sea of acne-puss and hormones. Wait it out. After that, things get more complicated.
1. You have a bad personality.
Scenario # 1: You’re kind of a dick.
Being a dick only gets you laid until you are about twenty-two. Of course, after that, if you’re good looking, you can continue to sleep with people under twenty-two for ten-ish years until you become that creepy old guy in the bar facing rejection after rejection, then stumble home to a dog that hates you…
Nobody understands this deeply weird phenomenon — least of all my mother.
It’s not that she doesn’t appreciate them. She does. She appreciates them so much that she sends them to me. I’ll wake to a text from my mother. Oh, what’s this? It’s a penis. Wait, and is that an inner-thigh tribal tattoo? Yes. Yes, it is. Before this photo has a chance to burn a hole through my childhood, my phone buzzes again and again. Oh boy, I realize, this is a group chat. Yes, when my mother receives dick pics, it’s a family bonding opportunity.
The thing is, my family, like every non-dick-pic-sending group of folks, finds this phenomenon…
A few of the certainties I’ve learned over a long mistake filled career in the bedroom.
There are some sex rules I never had to learn. Rules like always asking consent and caring about my partner’s pleasure. Even as a kid, if a friend came over to play a game with me, I always wanted to make sure they were having a good time.
“Are you sure you want to play Scrabble, too?”
“I’m having fun. Are you having fun?”
“No? Would it help if I played with your nipples a little bit?”
Then, there are those rules that I never learned — or wasn’t paying attention well enough to learn. It’s kind of like how…
The wrong words, at the wrong time, for the wrong reasons.
Why did I do it? Why open a letter posted on The White House page from Melania Trump? Before 2016, when I saw the name Trump, I knew someone was about to take money from me. Now when I see the name — it is so much worse. It takes my reason, my sanity, my happiness. Yet, I keep opening that damn door and rolling the dice. This time was no different.
“As your First Lady, it has been inspiring to witness firsthand what the people of our great Nation will do for one another, especially when we are at…
An interview with Dr. Christopher Jones, a clinical psychologist and sex therapist.
Spanking the monkey, making the bald man cry, burping the worm, celebrating Palm Sunday. Whatever you call it, you’ve done it. Yes, I’m talking about masturbating. I thought I knew everything there is to know about jerkin’ the gherkin. Yet, after, a chat with Dr. Christopher Jones, a clinical psychologist, and sex therapist, about male masturbation, I can now admit I was wrong. Just like how kneading dough for 10,000 hours doesn’t make you a professional baker, my lifetime achievement award for strangling my cyclops is nothing more than a paperweight.
Until this opportunity presented itself, I didn’t realize how…
Repressed parents, lousy porn, and horny friends led to an exceptionally awkward sexual awakening.
When I was in kindergarten, I used to lay in bed butt-naked, spread-eagle, and imagine girls from my class, falling on top of me through the ceiling. Then, we would hug each other very tightly and roll around. At this point, I’d never seen people have sex, nor had I seen porn. I just instinctually wanted a warm body against mine, never suspecting for a minute that this spout between my legs needed to be in any way involved. This weird habit aside, my interests were more in building forts, putting ketchup on chicken, and refusing to take off my…
Mandatory fun days are not team building tools, they are time-sucking portals to hell on earth.
Aren’t you excited to do a Conga line with James, who cornered you in the break room to tell you, in great detail, about his vasectomy?
No?
Me either. It turns out, no one is. So how did you find yourself standing beside him, paired off for an office-wide scavenger hunt as he says, “They didn’t put me under for it, you know, there was so much tugging!”
Mandatory fun, that’s why.
It is a term that every employee in the world knows, and every boss seems to forget. No matter what job I work, or what country I work…
Benjamin Davis
Columnist and author. My writing is like a bunch of people at a party trying to tell different jokes at the same time. benjamindaviswriter.com
