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Private dancers
From North Beach bars to the Mitchell Brothers' high-priced flesh emporium, she went in search of women to dance in her lap.
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[07/03/99]

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The 1899 Merck Manual is being released along with the 1999 version.   
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[07/02/99]

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[07/01/99]

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[06/30/99]

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As age creeps into my body, my hands keep creeping into younger men's pants.
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[06/29/99]

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One seasoned sex explorer gets more than he
expected from a run-in with airport security.

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By David Steinberg

July 6, 1999 | On my way to board a flight back from a conference of sexologists in Seattle, I'm surprised to hear my carry-on sex-toy bag set off the airport's security metal detector. It usually does just fine as long as I leave my eight-inch-long solid brass dildo -- a Kegel exerciser some people playfully call Robocop -- home, or remember to stash it in my checked luggage. But this time the machine is definitely beeping away, meaning that the airport security people are going to inspect my most personal possessions to find out why.

The stern, older black woman watching the screen backs up the belt and stops my bag under the X-ray. She points at the screen, showing her young, blond assistant what to look for. I'm in a good mood, not too close to flight time, and find myself smiling at my companion and looking forward to a little theatrical fun.

"Is it all right if I look in this bag?" the attendant asks with measured politeness.

"Sure, if you really want to," I answer.

I watch her face as she digs through the cuffs, the latex straps, the blindfold, the zip-lock bag with condoms, rubber gloves and lube, the zip-lock bag with cock rings, the zip-lock bag with miscellaneous tit clamps, butt plug and so forth, Mark Chester's wonderful Spandex full-body bondage bag, the elegant soft leather scratch gloves with the sharp metal points scattered all over the palm and fingers. Her face stays 100 percent deadpan throughout, an impressive show of professionalism.

Other departing passengers flow by, grab their unoffending bags and take various levels of note of the assorted toys spread out on the table. There was a time when I would have been unbearably embarrassed to have my sexual proclivities laid out for anyone in the Seattle airport to see. But this has been a wonderful weekend and I'm feeling unusually good about myself, so I'm not embarrassed at all, just wondering what it's like to be an airport security guard pawing through some stranger's bag of sexual equipment. I mean, she doesn't even have gloves on; how does she know if I've washed the latex dildo?

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