This is the gender reversal of what we're used to hearing: stories about women complaining of a headache or offering a simple, "Not tonight, honey." Just this week, the Wall Street Journal published a piece ostensibly about "differing expectations about sex" in relationships in general, but which fell back on the stereotype of the frigid wife who withholds sex. The piece presented only one real-life example of such a dynamic and, despite mentioning far, far down in the piece a study on desire that found no significant gender differences, the piece ran with the headline, "He Says 'More' and She Says 'No.'"

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The health impact is clear: As Human Rights Watch reported,"Police use of condoms as evidence of prostitution has the same effect everywhere: despite millions of dollars spent on promoting and distributing condoms as an effective method of HIV prevention, groups most at risk of infection ... are afraid to carry them and therefore engage in sex without protection as a result of police harassment." What's more, "Outreach workers and businesses are unable to distribute condoms freely and without fear of harassment as well."

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This is just one scene from several YouTube videos of Stenzel, the same speaker behind a recent controversy over abstinence-only education. After Stenzel gave a lecture at George Washington High School, 17-year-old Katelyn Campbell took to the national media to complain about being subjected to the activist's "slut-shaming" message. Campbell's bravery didn't stop there: As a result of exercising her right to free speech, her principal allegedly threatened to contact Wellesley College, where she had already been accepted, to complain about her "bad character" -- so, Campbell quickly lawyered up and filed an injunction against him. (Wellesley's official Twitter account soon sent out the following tweet: "Katelyn Campbell, #Wellesley is excited to welcome you this fall" -- and the Internet rejoiced at perhaps the only bit of sunny news this week.)

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When the waiter brought us our bottle of wine we filled our glasses to the brim, mused about the end of an era, and raised a toast: “To divorce!”

After a Mediterranean feast we headed over to her apartment nearby so I could finish up some work emails, and over some more wine flipped through our old wedding album, giggling at some of the cheesy photos from the reception. Conspicuously absent from our little album, which a federal bureaucrat had paged through some years back while scrutinizing us closely, were pictures from our honeymoon, a wild Saturday night spent at the Cubbyhole, a popular lesbian bar in the West Village where, incidentally, we also first decided to get married.

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Normally it'd be the type of all-sorts-of-exploitative piece I'd barely roll my eyes at before moving along -- but it's the advice she's offering in particular that deserves a second look, if only because it's so pedestrian, and so misguided.

Her teaching? Have lots of sex with your husband.

To Dakin's credit, she acknowledges that there are "obviously other factors" to infidelity, but she argues that, as the Sun paraphrases, it most often "simply comes down to not giving their men enough sex." She also falls back on some classic gender stereotypes: "Men are sexual creatures -- unlike a lot of women, they can separate the act of sex from love," she said. (I will take a moment here to give Dakin the benefit of the doubt: It's hard to know where her advice ends and the Sun's sensationalist editorializing begins; I've contacted her but have yet to hear back.)

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A man faking it? Morgentaler, an associate clinical professor of urology at Harvard Medical School, had never heard of such a thing. After he got over the puzzle of how a man could effectively pull off such a ... sleight of semen, he got to the patient's motivation. As Morgentaler writes in his new book, "Why Men Fake It: The Totally Unexpected Truth About Men and Sex," his patient was having trouble climaxing during sex with his girlfriend, so he feigned pleasure for her benefit. He "was simply trying to do what he believed was the right thing by her."

Morgentaler came to realize that faking it was more common among men than he had realized -- and that this general sexual sentiment was, too. "That is a refrain I hear regularly from men in one form or another, yet this admirable, loving aspect of male sexuality is hidden among the detritus that passes as wisdom about what men are all about," he writes. His book -- which paints a portrait of men who feel anxious about their erections, pressured into having sex and concerned about their partner's pleasure -- is all about correcting that.

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Ah, the old "flaunt it while you've got it" rationale.

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I’d proposed to Ellie in 2009 in the town where Sappho was born. At sunset, we climbed a hill overlooking the ocean and in a very ineloquent fashion, I asked her to spend the rest of her life with me. Despite the grand romantic gesture of a proposal, when we got home from Greece, we hardly told a soul about our engagement. Partially it was because we were in a new city and nobody knew us. Partially it was because gay marriage isn’t legal in California, so announcing our engagement felt a little like playing pretend. We wanted legitimacy, and not in the form of Facebook comments. But we couldn’t have it, so we accepted our new life as betrotheds without fuss or fanfare.

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But then Deen claimed that he had actually been hired by an unnamed porn company to film a video with Abraham. He told TMZ, "I think what happened is that they were going to pass it off as a 'sex tape,'" he said. But then "somebody saw us coming out of a building together ... and people asked me what's going on ... and I have this problem where I can't really lie, so I was like, 'We're making a porno!'"

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We had our first kiss in a dark corner. Before long, we were flying down the stairs of the club and climbing into the back of a cab. Within 30 minutes we would be back at her house for hours of groping and tussling, but when I asked the cabbie to pop the trunk, she asked, “What is that big, green bag you’re carrying?” I looked at my feet and confessed.

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This is becoming an increasingly common scenario, activists say, given the proliferation of “revenge porn" and the legal system's failure to catch up with it.

A new bill in Florida is aiming to remedy that: It would make it a felony to publish online nude photos or videos of a person without their permission and along with identifying information. At the same time, activists around the country are petitioning for both state and federal laws to criminalize what they call “non-consensual porn.” A recent class action lawsuit filed by more than 20 women in Texas against revenge porn site Texxxan.com along with its host GoDaddy has only turned the heat up on the issue.

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Actually, no. According to a new study published in the May issue of the journal Pediatrics, adolescents are having less sex than you think. The study's lead author, Lawrence Finer, says, "Policymakers and the media often sensationalize teen sexual behavior, suggesting that adolescents as young as 10 or 11 are increasingly sexually active. But the data just don't support that concern," he said. "Rather, we are seeing teens waiting longer to have sex, using contraceptives more frequently when they start having sex, and being less likely to become pregnant than their peers of past decades."

Go ahead and reread that paragraph above. Let it sink in. Teens are waiting longer to have sex than you and your peers did at their age. They're also more likely to use contraception and less likely to get pregnant than previous generations. In other words: Kids these days are doing it (or not doing it) better than you did.

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Me? I may have done the most heroic thing of all. I went on Match.com for a year.

The thing was, I had just done something brave, which was to write a memoir with my son, tour the East Coast together, and appear on stages before hundreds of people at a time. But one dream coming true doesn't mean you give up on other lifelong dreams. You're not dream-greedy to want, say, a cool career and a mate. And having realized this one long-shot dream with my grown child gave me the confidence to try something even harder: to date.

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Given this, and the Supreme Court hearings this week on the Defense of Marriage Act, I started thinking about what the future of marriage might look like. I wondered -- out of liberal glee, rather than conservative terror, mind you -- whether same-sex unions could open up the institution to even bigger changes. Might we someday extend marriage's 1,000-plus legal benefits and protections to people regardless of relationship status? Would we ever institutionally separate monogamy from marriage? What about allowing for polygamy or group parenthood?

I called up Barbara Risman, a senior scholar at the Council on Contemporary Families and sociology professor at University of Illinois at Chicago, to get her predictions. We talked about everything from monogamy to polygamy, utilitarian marriages to romance. One thing became clear: Marriage isn't going anywhere.

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I never called it sexual abuse, because it felt like an overly dramatic Oprah-ization of what happened. The word "abuse" seems to imply victimization and has always made me uncomfortable in this instance. Until now, I have been far too politicized to admit the chief reason I never called it sexual abuse in spite of the fact that it would be considered as much from both a criminal and a clinical perspective. The real reason is because I believed I asked for it.

The summer I turned 12, I went to sleepaway camp. I shaved my legs for the first time, dumped Sun-In in my hair and tanned with baby oil. I had my first boyfriend -- a skinny, freckly arrogant kid a year my senior who took me for two paddle boat rides and then broke up with me, declaring me a prude and, I was sure, ruining my romantic life forever.

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There’s nothing like a vacation to bring a relationship to the next level. I’m not talking about novelty, shared adventure or lifelong memories -- although, yes, those things are important. I’m talking about flatulence, y’all. From that point on during the rest of our stay in those tight quarters, we developed a code: “I’m gonna go take a fake shower now,” he would tell me. Or I would ask with a knowing look, “Could you go somewhere far, far away?” The subtext always being: Noises are going to come out of my butt, and I don’t want you to hear them.

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Two weeks after we had sex for the first time, he and I and his best friend got drunk — me for the first time in my life — and I ended up having sex in a park with both of them. It was somewhat miserable for me to have sex consecutively with two young men, ages 17 and 19, and to hear the second one ask, in the midst of intercourse, “Are you using birth control?” and quickly add, “Oh, who cares — if you get pregnant, it’s your fault,” and to have my bra and panties left behind on the grass when they drove me home. I was shaken both by the degrading nature of the incident and by the fact that I had allowed it. But allow it, I did.  Was I raped? No. Did I ever for one second think that maybe I had been raped? No.

Many would disagree.

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