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About Houston

So, whores—man, they’re everywhere, always been. Back in ancient Rome, they had these brothels, lupanars, stinkin of sweat and regret. Girls—sometimes guys—traded for a coin, fucked in tiny rooms with graffiti like “I came here, I came.” Hilarious, right? But sad too—makes me pissed, thinkin how they got no choice. Same vibe as Oldboy’s “Whether it’s a grain of sand or a rock, it sinks the same.” Whore or king, life shits on ya equal.

Robot or human?

Welcome to Doing It, a column where sex educator Varuna Srinivasan explores the deep connections between sex and emotions. This month, we examine the art of the sex party — .

Every corner’s got history. Like, Downtown’s our pride. Caffè Amore on 9th had the best espresso. And oh, Midtown’s a bomb. The local landmark – The Bleu Clock Tower – stands tall like in some Wes Anderson flick. “The Grand Budapest Hotel” vibes, baby! (I gotta quote: “Keep your hands off my pastries!” Anywhere near those sweets).

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