Between love and tacos, sometimes it’s better to choose tacos. Our series continues where we ask novelists to dine out, then write us something that 1) is a restaurant review; 2) is not a restaurant review.
Asterisks can mean emphasis, doubt, or prudery. In the realms of #vanlife, where expectations are low already, they can also supply the sort of sex that saves lives.
Here comes summer, when the yoke of responsibility loosens. We all have our past indiscretions, but they’re too sordid to sign our names to—so we’ve changed the names and rearranged the text to protect the guilty.
Even someone who writes erotica for a living has to find ways to get through moments of shame.
Dreams of a Matalin-Carville romance tempt a young Washington journalist covering the death of a dictator to cross party lines in pursuit of love.
When Roger Ebert died in 2013, America was deprived of one of its finest film critics. But reviewing his body of work shows we also lost one of our best writers on addiction.
The only thing worse than Valentine’s Day is a crappy Valentine’s Day. A handful of TMN writers and editors dish (anonymously) on their worst dates—crying men, rugby brawls, and a dislocated sacroiliac joint.
Sometimes a love scene calls for [WHIMPERS], sometimes it needs [YELPS], but knowing which one to use makes all the difference. The secret life of a professional closed captioner.
Human beings captured behind closed doors, in their most animal state. Some images may be considered NSFW.
An American ballerina makes headlines when she says the Bolshoi Ballet wanted a bribe to let her perform. The company denies her accusation. But a small library in Virginia knew about it first.
Portraits of men in Philadelphia taken just moments after they catcall a woman on the street.
Pope Francis’s recent remark that he would not judge gay priests was a revolutionary moment for the church—a moment, in fact, worth twerking into verse.