Playboy is an American staple, a God-given right in some respects. It’s the pinnacle of glossy porn, of sweaty palms and sticky pages. And I could not find a single copy on the south side of Berkeley.
Normally, I don’t peruse the publication, even for the articles, but over the summer I participated in a college sex roundtable discussion for the rag. In a somewhat inappropriately themed back-to-school issue, college sex columnists and writers (including myself) jabber about the state of sex on the nation’s campuses. I thought nothing of my experience until Playboy’s most dedicated subscribers tore open their October copies.
I’ve received an unusual amount of friend requests on Facebook lately. Some future friends were willing to own up to their Hugh Hefner devotion. One man enjoyed “your story in Playboy,” another said I was “funny” and a third eagerly reported reading, again, “your article.” Needless to say, I myself have not seen the damn piece.
(more…)