God knows which month we are up to. December? November? eh? Nurse, where are my glasses?

As I enter the autumn of my years, and have grown sere and yellow, and soon will fall... etc, I lead a life of blameless quiet which bothers no one, least of all me, by the simple expedient of closing my ears and eyes to anything modern. It is very easy. The TV lies uncalled for, gathering dust behind the rocking chair. The gramophone is allowed, but only for music written before 1850, with the odd exception (Richard Strauss, Tom Lehrer). Books are piled on the floor, but no novel written since 1930 (K. Amis excepted), and only the best thrillers, such as Elmore Leonard and James Crumley. Newspapers fall unread into the cat litter tray.

And so it was that ridges formed upon my smooth, clear and unfurrowed brow the other week when some chap called Darryn Walker (Darryn is yet another man who can't spell his own name, country's crawling]]> Jamie Maclean Thu, 30 Oct 2008 00:00:00 GMT http://www.eroticreviewmagazine.org/issues/article.asp?article=409 The sexually obsessed or addicted celebrity tends to get good press coverage. The non-obsessed take a prurient, sanctimonious delight in reading about them and all the gory details that are fit to print. If the obsession seems uncontrollable, then the obsessed are labelled 'sex addicts'. Actually, obsession and addiction are sister and brother, incestuous siblings collaborating to prolong an enjoyable ecstasy and agony. Self-confessed sex addicts tend to absolve themselves of their sexual incontinence by rushing off to the nearest shrink, who is usually only too happy to encourage the delusion that they are disturbed as long as they sign up for years of expensive therapy. I'm still waiting to hear this sort of sex-addict complain that his or her therapist told them to 'grow up and get a life' or 'try a little moderation and self-discipline'.

Here at Erotic Towers we possess a more benevolent attitude to sex addicts, indeed we often employ them, but they must]]> SLB Thu, 30 Oct 2008 00:00:00 GMT http://www.eroticreviewmagazine.org/issues/article.asp?article=410 My three-month subscription to the dating website meetic.fr is about to come to an end and I am wondering whether to reinvest... After all, what else can you get for sixty euros these days?

During a recent discussion with one of my friends regarding Catherine Millet, she fixed me with a steely stare and uttered, 'Of course women are entitled to whatever kind of sex life they wish. I am a feminist. Just don't go writing about it, and don't assume I wish to read it.' So, chère Madame, just for you: I am not writing about my sex life; this is a story; a story about kissing more frogs.

Where to begin?

Once upon a time there was a man who chose the pseudonym 'Vibrations'...

'Vibrations' lives in Versailles, which has a reputation for being even more right-wing than my little town in the wonderland western suburbs. I am looking for an independent, artistic type, much like myself. He is looking for?

- A sensual woman]]> Bruno Phillips Thu, 30 Oct 2008 00:00:00 GMT http://www.eroticreviewmagazine.org/issues/article.asp?article=411 I think we all have our own ideas about obsession. This is because at about the age of eleven we became obsessed with Rachel Harcourt in 4B or if we were a girl, Sigismund Kent the French master. Though I think a few boys went for him too. Whatever it was they represented was inchoate. All we knew was that to be in their presence was enough. As we grew older our ideas became both more eclectic and yet more specific. We began to focus on things like bouncy tits or long legs. Boys generally divided into tit or bum people. I have no idea what girls debated, but suspect general consensus about crinkly smiles, the ability to spring lightly from a drop handlebar bike and the hint of firm buttocks.

These youthfully formed and general preferences go with us through life. Curiously, whole cultures create such conditioning. The USA has evolved generations of men (and women), obsessed with big tits. Men appear to desire them and women feel they ought to have them. Ther]]> Jessica Lear Thu, 30 Oct 2008 00:00:00 GMT http://www.eroticreviewmagazine.org/issues/article.asp?article=412 It all started with a dirty text message: "I want u on yr knees, sucking me deep til I xplode".  I still remember every nuance of the moment when I received this message: exactly where I was, the atmosphere surrounding me, and most importantly, the feeling  - a gasping dizziness peppered with pure adoration. All of this because the text was from my idol – my Paul McCartney in the microcosmic Beatlemania I had been experiencing for over a year.

The idol in question was fairly obscure – a stage actor who lucked out with a controversial guest role in an American television series that was at its height of popularity. In reputation, he was equivalent to an American Neil Morrissey, and his onscreen charm and off-screen cheekiness had piqued my interest. I spent hours sighing over photos and interviews of him on the internet, even participating in the obligatory online forums where we (his fangirls) discussed everything from his recent televi]]> Penelope Friday Thu, 30 Oct 2008 00:00:00 GMT http://www.eroticreviewmagazine.org/issues/article.asp?article=413 "It's a warm night," she says. "Let's go out."

I glance out of the kitchen window and presume this is a joke.

"It's raining."

"Yes, but only gently," she says. "Soft, like kisses." And my wild, untamed girl takes my hand in hers and tugs me out into the drizzling summer night. "Isn't it beautiful?"

We run across the grass towards the woodland. This was the first thing she  pointed out  from  my bedroom window as I unpacked and  I hadn't anticipated exploring it so soon. Seeing it now, the leaves glinting wetly in the semi-darkness, it is more beautiful than ever. We reach the edge of the trees, and she kicks off her shoes.

"Zara," I say as she crouches  at my feet, "what are you doing?"

She smiles up at me mischievously

"What do you think?" Her fingers are unbuckling my shoe straps.

"But my tights! It must be muddy if we're going in the woods."

"It is," she agrees. "Now, stop wo]]> Ian Dunt Thu, 30 Oct 2008 00:00:00 GMT http://www.eroticreviewmagazine.org/issues/article.asp?article=414 The first rule of getting laid, an older cousin once told me, is to never let the girl know you like her. "But remember," he continued, "to always make sure she knows you like her."

It's a form of idiocy only adults can properly comprehend. A GCSE student at the time, I treated his advice with contempt and successfully attained a thoroughly sexually frustrated childhood. It's only from a mature perspective that you can appreciate sexual relations for what they are – the oldest and most vigorously insane game in human history. Faith in reason is just a euphemism for never having sex.

There are three main contradictions, or forms of madness, that need looking at: The madness of what women want in men, the madness of what men want from women, and the general madness of relationships. We'll start with the first because I'm a man, I like having sex with women and this is all terribly important to me.

As you probably already know, women need me]]> Pete Clark Thu, 30 Oct 2008 00:00:00 GMT http://www.eroticreviewmagazine.org/issues/article.asp?article=415 Like any other self-respecting man of the world, I assumed I knew all about ladyboys, those exotic creatures from the East who exist in a fragrant limbo between genders. The fact that I'd never encountered one in the flesh was of no significance whatsoever: when the time came, I would know exactly how to comport myself. Wrong.

It happened one night in the Cambodian capital Phnom Penh, just after the torrential afternoon rain had washed away the humidity of the day. I had taken the opportunity afforded by the downpour to lower the level of a bottle of vodka by more than a couple of inches. Sitting on the terrace of my fourth floor apartment, I contemplated the seductive lights of the bars down on the street.

The Candy Bar looked like a bit of a clip joint, and 69 was way too obvious. UpDown, on the other hand, seemed just right: small, classy in a tacky way, moderately lively. Finishing my drink, I slipped 50 dollars in my back pocket and floated down]]> Lisa Martinson Thu, 30 Oct 2008 00:00:00 GMT http://www.eroticreviewmagazine.org/issues/article.asp?article=416 In the past three months, I have seen estate agent porn, "chav" porn and hoodie porn. I've seen a sex-aid that looks painfully similar to an ice-cream scoop and a butt plug in the shape of the baby Jesus. I've been amazed by the variety of human sexual desire and bored by the utter banality of it. I've read the phrase 'self-confessed cumslut' more times than I care to remember and been made comprehensively aware that half the British population has such an apathetic attitude to road safety that they'd quite happily be fellated at high speed down the M1.

If I see another vagina this month my eyes are going to run screaming into the back of my brain.

If anyone says 'shall we fuck?' I'll slice their lips off and wear them as earrings.

The one month I come to talk to you about obsession, the one thing I'm not obsessed by is sex.

That's right, not obsessed. Christ alive, I'm barely even interested.

But, dear readers, in case you]]> John Gibb Thu, 30 Oct 2008 00:00:00 GMT http://www.eroticreviewmagazine.org/issues/article.asp?article=417 His left eye clicked open. Seven o'clock. No gradual awakening; more a stab in the dark, a sudden squirt of shame and guilt. It occurred to him that his eyes had been taped open in the night while someone blew hot air across them. A bag of gas, inert as a baby's head, lodged in his solar plexus. His tongue was gritty as acid rust and the teeth seemed heavy. He reached for his Blackberry. It was sticky. He recalled vomiting onto it. Oh God. He was lying on top of the bed still dressed in the Turnbull and Asser suit. A cigarette had fallen from his hand and smouldered its way through the counterpane. He leant forward to remove his shoes, forcing gas into his oesophagus which converted it into poisonous matter and violently rejected it through every available orifice.

The pain hit him thirty seconds later penetrating an inch his temples and behind his eyes. As he stared at the fouled handset, it vibrated and started to emit the word 'NO,' in a falsetto voice, ']]>