Have you flipped through the book Porn for Women (Chronicle Books) at your local B&N yet? Despite its title, it's not meant for your nightstand--Porn for Women ain't exactly masturbation material. But this little impulse buy by the Cambridge Women's Pornography Cooperative cracks our shit up and is totally deserving of a spot in your guest bathroom. (In fact, Em's mother-in-law emailed her some images from the book with the subject line, "This is so funny!!" so you know it's got universal appeal.)

Was there anyone who didn't think of the mile-high club when they read about the double bed in a private suite on the brand new Singapore Airlines Airbus? And yet, according to an airline spokesman, "If couples used our double beds to engage in inappropriate activity, we would politely ask them to desist. There are things that are acceptable on an aircraft and things that aren't, and the rules for behavior in our double beds are the same ones that apply throughout the aircraft."

But why else would you spend close to a year's salary (for most of us) just to get from point A to point B?! That sounds only mildly more ridiculous to us than actually attempting to have sex in an economy-class airplane bathroom. (Seriously, do people actually do this in real life? We can barely bear to pee in those things, let alone let our, um, vajayay grind up against anything.) Then again, perhaps it's a sort of wink-wink "ban" to ensure that even people who have a private bedroom and champagne on tap feel like they're breaking a rule when they get it on up there.

We love a bit of celebrity Schadenfreude, and nothing fits the bill quite like photos of celebrities looking less than sculpted. It reminds us that nobody can look gorgeous 365 days a year--even people who are contractually obligated to visit the gym daily--and that the lithe young things featured in magazines are the result of good plastic surgeons, great lighting, expert retouching, clever fake-tanning, and emergency tone-up sessions right before a big night like the Oscars.

Of course, every now and then we have an up-with-sisters pang of guilt for ogling with such glee the "Celebrities With Cellulite!" headlines on line at the grocery store. Which is why we were a bit relieved to see this feature accusing male celebrities of turning from "hunks" to "chunks." (Transatlantic translation note: Cliff Richard is a U.K. pop star who has had hit singles in every decade since the '50s. He's known for being an all-around nice guy and "hunky" to the right kind of woman--the kind who might have found the Beatles a bit too rock-star-ish and "out there." Em's U.K. mum, for example, has fancied him since the '50s.)

Okay, so she was really 35 years old. But when L., a new patient, revealed to me that she hadn't yet had sex, she really meant no sex--not the Clinton version of sexual relations, but no penetration or orgasms of any kind with a partner. L. had decided that she was finally ready, but was anxious about what it would be like. Her friends, upon hearing that L. finds tampons uncomfortable, told her, "You're screwed. You'd better see a doctor for advice." The irony of "screwed" aside, this was a less-than considerate response to L.'s concerns.

The average age of first intercourse is around 17 years in the U.S., and roughly 90 percent of us have done the deed by age 24. But that leaves a good number of our sisters who are delaying the first time until their late 20s or beyond. It may be for religious reasons, or cultural, or the mess factor...or one (or more) of a thousand reasons. Given that we're living in a time when nearly everything is now okay--anal sex, threesomes, vibrators that sing, etc.--shouldn't we be supportive of all the choices that women make on the subject? Which, of course, includes choosing not to do any of those things, or waiting until the perfect guy, the perfect moment. So if a virgin friend asks you for any advice, be compassionate and tell her the following:

For two women who've been writing about sex for almost a decade, we have a pretty poor vocabulary when it comes to the vagina. We've always hated "pussy"--it rankles us like "scalp" and "moist." In a pinch, we'll say "puss," and we've been known to use "veegee," but nothing's ever felt quite right. And as for the C-word--well, clearly we can't even bring ourselves to write it out. Which is why we couldn't be happier about all the good sense that poured forth from the New York Times Style section this past weekend. The article traces how the show Grey's Anatomy recently launched the word vajayjay into mainstream usage (accidentally, as it happened: the writers wanted to use plain old vagina but the standards and practices execs objected, feeling the word had been overused).

Even Oprah has adopted it as her very own and it seems like the whole country is talking about the vagina vocabulary vacuum. According to the paper of record: "What this really demonstrates, say some linguists, is that there was a vacuum in popular discourse, a need for a word for female genitalia that is not clinical, crude, coy, misogynistic or descriptive of a vagina from a man's point of view." Yes, we couldn't believe our eyes either. The Times also helpfully informs us that there have been at least 1,200 terms for the vagina in the history of the English language. More than a thousand and not a single one that most women feel comfortable saying amongst friends or--more importantly--during dirty talk.

It's not trick-or-treaters who are scaring us this week, it's the headlines...

• David Copperfield disqualifies himself from last Friday's WWYD with sexual harassment lawsuits and shady groupie pickup techniques.

• Even 10-year-olds can buy slutty Halloween costumes.

• Abstinence group urges teen girls, "Guard your diamond." And yes, they're talking about your hymen. [via Feministing]

• Britney keeps a diary and may publish it; her mom will publish a tell-all memoir. Please, make it stop.

• Apparently it's funny if it's you hitting him.

In her new book, The Scent of Desire, Rachel Herz argues that if it weren't for the sense of smell, sex would barely be worth bothering with. Smell triggers emotions more strongly than any other sense and is deeply tied to memory and attraction. Which might explain why Napoleon famously wrote to Josephine, from several hundred miles outside Paris: "Home in three days. Don't wash." (We're guessing she didn't write back: "And please douse yourself in Axe Bodyspray.")

And even if a diminished sense of smell didn't stop us from doing it, we'd probably be a lot less successful in choosing the right mate: we are unconsciously attracted to people whose genes are most different from our own, and we sniff each other out to get the scoop. This was recently proven in an experiment that asked women to rank men's sexiness based on their sweaty tees.

Halloween is one of only two sex-related topics that the two of us have disagreed upon completely in our eight years of writing together (the other is baby talk in the bedroom, but that's a post for another day). As we write in New York magazine this week:

Em thinks sexy costumes are only slightly less annoying than those Axe Bodyspray commercials and are for women who are too chickenshit to dress provocatively the rest of the year. Lo, on the other hand, sees nothing wrong with a holiday that sanctions a little light role-playing for everyone and gives straight men an excuse to wear eyeliner and tight pants. Meaning, sexy costumes can serve as an on-ramp to after-party kinkiness in the bedroom, without the need for any of those awkward 'Who's going to be the top tonight?' conversations.

This Halloween seemed as good a time as any to work out our issues in print, as a recent poll conducted on behalf of, yes, Axe grooming products, found that 55 percent of women believe Halloween is an excuse to act or dress naughty, and 39 percent have worn a naughty costume for Halloween. When we started asking around for people's opinions on Halloween and sex, we got more stories than we could possibly use--turns out everyone's got an opinion on this, the sluttiest of holidays.

aries (Mar. 21st-Apr. 20th)
You have great friends--they're funny, charming, attractive, good conversationalists and probably dynamite in the bedroom, too. And the thing is, you're going to be bricking all week. So might we suggest you travel in a posse? No need to hide behind them; just think of them as a temporary safety net until you get your mojo back next week.

You get to make two of them disappear into puffs of smoke...but you've got to make sweet magic with one of them:

David Blaine. Pros: Check out those abs. Cons: He's an attention whore. He's not really a magician or a daredevil or an escape artist; in fact, his only feat is not getting bored of his own company (though we suppose that is quite some feat). And we once saw him trying to pick up an obviously bored actress by trying to teach her a card trick.

Criss Angel. Pros: He's a yogi, which means he'll be way into your yoni. And check out those abs. Cons: We're not convinced that any man who pays that much attention to his hair can be any good in bed. Plus, total player (Cameron, Britney, et al.); plus "escape art-ist" equals bad news bears.

David Copperfield. Pros: He gives back to the community. (Yes, that makes us think of cunnilingus.) And he once foiled armed robbers using sleight of hand. (Yes, that makes us think of handjobs.) Cons: Where are the abs?!