The French call it La Petite Mort. Literally translated, it means the little death. The phrase refers to the orgasm. I like the idea of a larger definition, one that transcends those explosive moments of bliss. I want you to talk to me about the little deaths, good ones and bad ones, that come before, after, and during the act of sex. Starting today, La Petite Mort is also the title of Phillyist's new sex column. I had a list of alternate titles that would appeal to those of you "How is this Phillycentric?" whiners, but I didn't think Porkin' in Philadelphia would appeal to our demographic.
It's cold out. For many of us, it's hibernation time. That leaves nothing much to do but eat, sleep, drink, and bang. So bring it. There's nothing too dirty, freaky, or twisted. E-mail your sex questions over.
Image credit goes to this Flickr user.



Nothing too dirty? Be careful. Some sicko (read: me) might take that as an invitation to try.
Sorry Ross, you can't recreate 2girls1cup. It was cake batter, not poo. Please don't touch the interns.
Eat your heart out Sue Johanson.
You know I still haven't seen 2girls1cup, and I'm at work at the moment, so it'd probably be a bad idea to investigate.
And I'll do whatever I damn well please with the interns.
I think this is the appropriate place for Pencopal to elaborate on the concept of the Dutch oven...
I can tell already that this will be a classy column.