How's It? A Gay Man's Guide To Clinton Hill Living On A Beer Budget

What’s wrong with us? Why can’t our side ever win? I’ll tell you why. Everything that makes us liberal also makes us just too damned honest and nice. We don’t aspire to confrontations. We try to play by the rules. We aren’t comfortable telling lies. That, my dears, is why we are getting our liberal asses kicked daily. We are lying and cheating challenged.

The game is no longer played by a set of rules, but we continue to obey the rules of the old game. We all cringed when President Clinton went on TV and told us he had in fact gotten a bj. We didn’t give a good damn about what he had done, it was his lying that made us angry or sad or both. None of us saw it as the unforgivable transgression the Repubs did, but rather, damn it, he told a story, a fib, a lie. So we tried to rationalize why he did it and so forth. At least I did. I always felt his punishment was the morning he confessed to his wife. I would think that would be one of the most difficult situations any man could have to face. But see, it wasn’t enough for the Republicans. They made it the transgression of all evil transgressions, and ergo an impeachable offense. I swear that if bush had not totally screwed our country and had been even a half decent human being, and if he were to be caught lying about a bj, there is no way in hell I would think he should be impeached.

Now we are in a disastrous war that was entered into based upon, shall we say lies. We aren’t raising hell because we aren’t by nature hell raisers. Sure we spout and spurt our unhappiness about the insanity, but that’s all we do. Everything inside us knows that bush should be impeached because he has ventured out way beyond lying about sex. He lied about life and death issues. Sure he knew he was lying when he repeated information that Tenet had told him was wrong. That’s a lie. He lied. He did the very same thing that Clinton did except the stains left behind are blood stains on the sands of Iraq. That’s bush’s blue dress and the stains are only too visible.

They tell us to question the war is to tell the families of the fallen soldiers that their sons and daughters died in vain. No it’s not. To question the war is to tell the families that their fallen sons and daughters died because the president of the United States lied to them. Tell them the truth. Tell them it was all bullshit. Let them get mad too. They should. They deserve to be allowed to get mad and raise holy hell about the wool that was pulled over their eyes. Remind them of the speech on the Abraham Lincoln and all the other sleight of hand that has been choreographed by this administration. Tell them we support the troops and not just by slapping a magnet on the ass end of our car. Tell them we support bringing their kids back home, not sending more to die. I call that support, don’t you? We support the culture of life that keeps kids from dying in war. Couldn’t be any simpler that that.

We don’t slap anti-war magnets on our cars, because the good Christian followers of the bush doctrine would most likely key the hell out of our cars. Do we key the cars with their magnets? Hell no! Why? Because we are just too damned nice. We respect other people’s property and rights and opinions, as misguided as we may see them to be. We’ll stand up for someone else’s right to call us unpatriotic assholes because we still believe in free speech. We play by the rules and we think if we play that way long enough we can win the game. That’s the way it used to be. Used to be that honesty and fair play was rewarded. Now honesty and fair play seem to result in getting your butt kicked royally and repeatedly. Meanwhile, the other team makes their own rules and breaks them on a whim. There’s no honesty or fair play involved, but they just keep on scoring. Is it time for us to come up with new rules or shall we just keep playing nice and getting our asses kicked? We’ll keep playing nice because we can’t play any other way. We’re liberals.

The other night I was sitting home watching a Tivo of Stump the Schwab on ESPN and just about nodding off when suddenly someone began pounding on my front door like I owed them money. It would be hard to overstate my surprise when I opened the door and Ann Coulter pushed past me, smelling of alcohol and Nicorette gum. She had already taken off her sweater and shoes before I remembered to close the door.
‘Nice to be back here at the Fortress of Decrepitude. Bet not many ladies come here twice.' She shook her head. 'Have I missed you,’ she sighed, glancing toward me.
‘I’m..flattered..’
‘I’m not talking to you,’ she spat, ‘I’m talking to your cock. Bet you never thought you’d see me again.’
‘Not without being able to change the channel, no..’
‘Well get out of that ridiculously too young for you Abercrombie & Fitch t-shirt, say goodbye to 1998 and lose the cargo pants, and get ready to stuff the only thing interesting about you into the sloppy end of my digestive tract.’
‘Which end is that?’
She didn’t appreciate my making this admittedly small joke. She stepped up to me with rising anger, and I had the small adrenaline rush that precedes a fistfight. But instead of hitting me, she said through clenched teeth:
‘I came here to chew gum and have Liberal cock slammed into me.’ She spit her gum onto my floor. ‘And I’m all out of gum. We clear?’
I flinched.
‘Yes.’ I reproached myself for looking away, unable to meet her menacing gaze. She resumed taking off her clothes.
‘Don’t you want to, I don’t know, talk politics?’
‘You think you’ve got me all figured out in that box of shit you keep balanced on your neck, don’t you?’
‘Well I think I have an idea what flips your bingo switch, yeah, so if you want to discuss..’
‘No need. I listened to Clinton’s ’92 acceptance speech in the car. I’m as horny as the hat rack at a Viking bar.’ She stood naked and impatient before me. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘I’m a little freaked out by your hip bones’
‘I still weigh what I did Freshman year at Cornell,’ she said proudly.
‘Have you eaten since?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean hit a buffet. Get some plates dirty. Seriously.’
She fixed me with a hot stare. ‘It’s not how the meat bounces on the girl; it’s how the girl bounces on the meat.’
‘Could we, like, kiss or something?’
‘Aw,’ she said tartly, ‘isn’t that sweet. You want to kiss me on the mouth.’
‘Yeah, I would.’
‘Well I’m a little picky about who I let kiss me, Libby. Now, how’s about sticking your fuckmeat up my ass?’ I felt beaten.
‘OK, OK..’
‘Now, don’t be like that. Listen, do you know what it means when someone says put it in slowly and gently?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. Then do it the exact opposite of that,’ she said, smearing lotion on my uterus poker. She noticed what must’ve been my glum look, rolled her eyes and sighed. ‘OK, what do you think of the war on activist judges legislating from the bench, Libby?’
I perked up.
‘I think lackey judges legislate from the bench too, the Administration just prefers their decisions.’
‘Pat Robertson thinks activist judges pose a greater threat to America than terrorists,’ she said smugly.
‘I read that. Well, he’s a man who believes Adam & Eve had three sons and populated the Earth, he must be right.’
‘Anti-Religious rhetoric. That’s hot.’
‘I’m not anti-religion. I come from religious people that I love very much.’
'You just think you’re smarter.'
‘I just think if anyone wants to live in a democratic fundamentalist theocracy, they should move to Iraq. They’ll have one soon enough.’
‘Do you like Football?’ she asked eagerly.
‘Uh, I guess..’
‘Good,’ she said, climbing atop my pool table and waving her ass in the air like a rapper without a care, ‘then tell your Brown Bay Packer it’s kickoff time.’
Knocks rattled my front door. I recognized my friends' voices.
‘Who is that?’ she hissed.
I listened at the door.
‘It’s Tim and David and someone else.’
‘Jesus, it’s always a social program with you people, isn’t it?’
‘I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting them. Or you.’
‘Well answer it,’ she said, sitting on the pool table. I wanted her to not get her slime on the felt, but I thought better of asking. I opened the door to see Tim, David and John Cusack. He was really good looking in person.
‘Hey guys,’ I said anxiously.
‘Let us in,’ said Tim, ‘Redd Kross is going to be on Letterman in a couple minutes.’
‘Hold on a sec,’ I said, closing the door. I turned to report. ‘It’s Tim, David and John Cusack. They want to come in and watch Redd Kross on Letterman.’
‘Never mind. How did they vote?’
‘Uh, Tim and David voted for Kerry, if they voted. I think John Cusack was active in the Nader campaign, wasn’t he?’
Her eyes narrowed slyly. ‘Let them in.’
I opened the door again.
‘Hey, you guys want to help me fuck Ann Coulter?’

Then we were all up on the pool table surrounding Ann Coulter. David was stationed by her head, Tim and John Cusack were at her either hand, and I was positioned familiarly between the backs of her legs as she crouched like a supplicant before me. Taking aim as I prepared to bust into her shit-shack with my splattering ram, looking at her slavering, pulsing crap valve, which for an instant seemed to wink at me like an old friend, I realized that from this angle, we’re all the same. Sure, some of us think the best way to confront terrorism is by falsifying grounds for war and creating the greatest recruitment drive for young men willing to die in the name of Islam since the Crusades, and some of us do not. Some of us advocate teaching ‘Intelligent Design’ in the classroom alongside Evolution and hope someday Astronomy classes will give the Bible teaching that the Earth is the center of the Universe equal time with the scurrilous notion that we actually orbit the Sun, and some of us do not. Some of us believe the poor and helpless in a civilized society are entitled to nothing more--and can benefit from nothing more--than contempt, and some of us do not. Some of us believe that a 13 year-old girl should be required to deliver the child of incestuous rape, and some of us do not. Some of us believe that if childbirth threatens her life, any doctor who ends her pregnancy is a murderer, and this fact should rightfully be brought to the attention of his children and their fourth grade classmates, and some of us do not. But when you get right down to it, and contemplate our assholes, we’re really all the same.
‘One thing before we get started,’ Ann Coulter said, pulling her hair back in a pony tail, ‘I don’t want to catch any of you life-partners holding hands while you’re stabbing me, OK?’
We all nodded in consent, and began tunneling.
For those of you who have never tried 5-person sex, it’s a little trickier than you might think. With the guest of honor buffeted at all sides, until everyone works in a kind of sync, it’s a little like trying to fuck a mechanical bull. I found myself wrenched out mid-stroke and made the mistake of satisfying my curiosity, glancing down at her ham-trap. It looked more like an exit wound than any baby-wallet I’d ever seen before. Was this a surgeon’s handiwork?
In an instant she kicked her heels up powerfully against my backside, and driving me forward, caught me again in her yawning fudge mine. I felt slightly seasick, but on either side of her David and I had achieved the sort of rhythm that allows two-man saw teams to do their work efficiently.
My head was spinning. I noticed all of us around Ann had kept our socks on, and wondered what that was about. I felt really weird doing this in front of my friends. Everyone kept their eyes to themselves, like men at the open urinal troughs in the Dodger Stadium bathrooms. I was thinking about how cool it was to have John Cusack over, and how much I liked Grosse Pointe Blank. Judging by the way he casually smoked a cigarette, I guessed he had sex this way all the time.
Ann Coulter was swaying in a gentle clockwise motion, accommodating all of the thrusts around her in a smooth sequence. She stopped suddenly and snapped at me over her shoulder.
‘Hey back there—fuck it like you dig chicks, wouldya sport?’
The guys snickered.
‘We can trade places if you’re not up to it,’ John Cusack sort of drawled disdainfully at me. Now I felt really uncomfortable.
‘He can do it,’ she half-mocked, half-defended me. ‘Now, I want you to turn my ass-snatch into a one-man mosh pit. Comprende?’
She went back to bouncing David’s scrotum off of her chin. With my renewed effort, the gentle circuit her body was making became quickened and jerky. She didn’t seem to mind, moaning in muffled pleasure like a mental deficient with too much cake in his mouth. She began to hum something familiar that caught our attention, especially David’s, since she was humming it on what he referred to as his "pink floyd." Tim began to sing along:
‘If it takes just a little while..open your heart, and look at the day,’ the rest of us joined in slowly, ‘you’ll see things in a different way. Don’t, Stop, thinking about tomorrow..’
She convulsed spasmodically in orgasm as our rendition grew louder. Over our chorus, Ann Coulter could be heard making horrible noises, like a pterodactyl being disemboweled.
‘It’ll soon be here. It’ll be better than before; yesterday’s gone, yesterday’s gone..’
With her whole body shuddering in paroxysms of ecstasy, the pace got really hectic. As she caromed wildly like a pinball caught between four double-bonus bumpers, I sensed things were about to get soupy.
‘Uhhhhhggg..yeah!’ David gasped triumphantly.
Along with him, Tim and John Cusack were nearing their own scrotum-lightening, Coulter-whitening experience. The terrific tempo at which she expertly beat them both made me think she could probably play the shit out of some bongos.

That’s when things began to go horribly wrong.

Ann Coulter’s slender frame, which had been so easily jostled between our various cum-muskets, suddenly became as fixed and immobile as Joe McCarthy’s tombstone. This was just registering in my mind when I heard David let out a high-pitched shriek. I looked up to see the terror on his face as suddenly he was being swung around, flailing helplessly like a stuffed animal in the mouth of a pit bull. Ann Coulter began to swell grotesquely, and she was suddenly a massive, armored confluence of rigid, steely muscle before me. She became covered with gruesome scales and sharp, bony protuberances. The air filled with a thunderous, guttural laugh, like a Shelby Cobra being gunned over and over. Her arms bulged powerfully and began to clench the penis in either hand with ungodly force. I watched in horror as Tim and John Cusack’s cocks burst in her hands, now taloned claws, like water balloons. They both, mercifully, passed out from either shock or pain. The beast that Ann Coulter had become clutched what remained of their genitals in either bloody hand like burst bladders. David was now hanging lifelessly from her maw, as though his skeletal structure had been sucked right out.
I tried to disengage but her heels, now burred hooves, again held me helplessly in place. Unthinkingly I screamed alternately for my mother and for Sweet Jesus as I became aware of something like a hand pulling me deep in the monster Ann Coulter's buttmouth, intent, and I felt sickly sure, capable of dragging me to the darkness within.

I awoke to the ringing of my telephone. I was sitting on my couch. Stump the Schwab was over, and Say Anything, starring John Cusack, was on. I began, with relief, to assemble my mind. I didn’t own a pool table. Tim was in Ireland. I hadn’t spoken to David in longer than I can remember. Redd Kross hadn’t put out an album in years. It was just a dream.
I rose to answer the persistent telephone.
‘Hello?’
‘Hello. Is this Bachem Macuno?’
‘Speaking,’ I rubbed my eyes. ‘Look, I don’t have a mortgage to refinance; I don’t know how I got on this list.’
‘This is Ann Coulter.’
‘Is it?" I said, unsettled. "Well, hello again.’
‘What do you mean, "again," you booger-twiddling imbecile?’
‘I mean..we’ve met.’
‘You mean in your little story.’
‘Story? It was an account of our afternoon.’
‘Yes, I’ve read it. Just because you’re piteously insignificant doesn’t mean you’ve escaped my notice.’
‘Well, it’s just that you make it sound like it didn’t happen.’
‘It didn’t.’
‘Uh, you know perfectly well it happened, as do I, owing to the fact that we were both there.’
‘If you think I can’t know something perfectly well and continue to argue the opposite, you’ve not very familiar with my work. Anyway, maybe you just dreamed the whole thing.’
Something in her voice gave me a chill up my spine.
‘Hey, you’re free to regard the account however you wish.’
There was a considered pause.
‘I see you’ve gotten a lot of positive feedback,’ she conceded.
‘People have been probably over-generous, yes. Look, I’m not naïve; I know that has more to do with you than it does with me.’
‘It doesn’t matter what Liberals think. Two things they never remember to do. 1. Shut up. 2. Vote.’
‘That’s probably good news to people who misconstrue a 3% differential to be a mandate.’
‘Still, that praise has got to be pretty heady for a failed TV writer.’
‘I’m not a failed TV writer. I’m a failing TV writer. There’s a difference.’
‘They both make the same amount of money.’
‘Did you call for any particular reason?’
‘Did I wake you?’ she intoned knowingly.
‘Seriously. What do you want?’
‘I wondered if you watched the press conference last week.’
‘Yes, I did. Just, you know, to count how many times the leader of the free world said "nucular"’
‘You sneering elitists. It’s a regional thing. It’s just like the British saying ‘aluminium’’
"Actually, the British say ‘aluminium’ because they spell it ‘aluminium’. Is there a dictionary with ‘nucular’ in it that I don’t know about?"
‘Come on, it’s folksy.’
‘It’s not folksy, it’s put on for faux-shitkicker appeal. The guy went to prep schools and Yale, it’s not like he doesn’t know better. It’s his aw-shucks anti-intellectualism signal flare saying "Hey dumb people, vote for me!"’
‘I’ve got to tell you, this is some of the most low-caliber phone sex I’ve ever had.’
‘I didn’t realize that’s what we were doing.’
‘Well clue the fuck in. Do I have to put it in bold type on the cover of Mother Jones?’
‘Alright, alright..well, I did like the President’s energy plan. I think supplying China with energy efficient technology is a good idea.’
‘Yes?’
‘Sure, once we get some. Maybe we can trade them the technology we don’t have for the technology they do have, like the breakthroughs they’re making and patenting in stem cell research.’
‘Ah, you object to the "Culture of Life"?’ she said, intrigued.
‘Seems like yesterday it was the "Culture of Vengeance," bragging about all the mentally retarded people he executed.’
Her breathing quickened. ‘People of faith believe life, and stem cells, are sacred.’
‘It was a lot easier when scientists could just be burned as heretics, huh?’
‘Uhnnnggghh,’ she gurgled on the other end of the line.
‘Are you touching yourself?’
‘I’m tapping my clit like a telegraph operator on biker speed. Continue!’
‘Hey, I totally respect people of faith making that determination for themselves. If they really feel that way, I hope they have the courage of their convictions. I hope they will, on principle, suffer and die from conditions Stem Cell research will be able to address once the breakthroughs are made. I hope they have the courage to resist Stem Cell advances and watch their loved ones suffer and die, and stay true to their principles. Otherwise, they’re just busybodies killing time between complaint letters to the FCC about any instance of language stronger than "dang." Otherwise, they should put their time and energy into baking a nice Mind Your Own Business-cake, with delicious Shut the Fuck Up-frosting.’
‘Ahhhhrrgghh..’ she wheezed, ‘describe something degrading you’re doing to me.’
‘Ok, ok..I’m behind you with my dirty jockstrap pulled tight over your face and mouth like a bridle, and I’m yanking the waistband like reins.’
‘Yes! YES!’
‘I’m riding you over to the toilet..’
‘You can lead my horseface to water, but you can’t make me drink!’
‘Yes, but I can stick your head in the toilet and flush!’
‘Oh God! Oh GOD!!’
‘And I’m scrawling something on your ass with a sharpie.’
‘Uhhh..Ohhh..what are you writing?’
‘I’m writing..HILLARY IN 2008!!!’
She began huffing and grunting like a cow having a seizure. I could hear her strumming her clitoris like Earl Scruggs picking out Foggy Mountain Breakdown on the banjo. The sound of a woman having a tremendous climax is usually arousing to me, but I sat there in a grim mood, like I’d gotten bad news and was trying to grasp it. I waited, resigned, for her to regain her composure. She finally did.
‘Was it good for you?’ she said, catching her breath.
‘Not really.’
‘Good,’ she cackled. ‘You must really hate Conservatives, huh?’
‘Not really. I have close friends who are Conservatives. I’m not so threatened by people who disagree with me that I need to reduce them to cartoons to vilify, or hateful misrepresentations like Der Ewige Jude. There are people I disagree with that I respect quite a lot. Your shtick is calling anyone who disagrees with you to be shot for treason.’
‘Shtick?’
‘Well, you must know better. You’re just an entertainer. It’s a complicated world. If you can ease people’s confusion by presenting a preposterously oversimplified worldview where one side is all good and the other all evil, great for you. People don’t make the New York Times bestseller list writing considered, balanced analysis. People want an uncomplicated reality. There’s a nice living to be made in providing it to them. But I don’t think you really believe much of it, just like I doubt the Verizon guy walks around saying "Can you hear me now?" when he’s off-camera.’
‘I bet you think you’re pretty clever for a guy wearing cargo pants.’
‘I don’t think..how did you know what I’m wearing?’
‘Ha. What else would you be wearing?’
‘Look, you’ve had your fun. I’ve got to go.’
‘Fine. Go.’
‘Goodbye.’
‘Wait, Bachem..’ she called. I returned the receiver to my ear.
‘Yes?’
‘Enjoy the movie. And tell Tim and David I said no hard feelings.’
I dropped the phone and my mouth fell open in a silent, breathless scream. I heard familiar peals of dark laughter booming through the room, as the ground swirled beneath me and fell away from my feet.

Dead rattler may have legs

This story was published Friday, May 6th, 2005

By John Trumbo, Herald staff writer

Nancy McLeod of West Richland knew she had snakes in her back yard, but she had no idea one of them was a biped.

The 2-foot-long reptile, which McLeod believes is a rattler, was discovered Thursday morning on her Red Mountain Road property as a friend was helping her burn tumbleweeds.

Pedro Osorio, 46, said he shoved a pitchfork into a tumbleweed, lifted it and saw the snake on the ground. After placing the weed onto the fire, he forked the snake and tossed it into the flames also.

Osorio said he noticed the strange little appendages on the charred snake after the fire died down.

"I called to Nancy, 'Come here and look at these little legs,' " he said.

Each leg, about a half-inch long, protrudes from the snake's body about 4 inches from the tip of the tail.

"Obviously it is a mutant," said McLeod, who wasted no time in trying to alert Kelly Cassidy, curator of the Conner Museum at Washington State University in Pullman.

"They were very, very interested," she said, noting that the researcher told her to put the snake into a sealable plastic bag and to keep it in a freezer until someone from the university could pick it up.

If the snake does have legs, it would be a rare discovery of interest to herpetologists and paleontologists.

A report in the April 1997 issue of Science News magazine discussed how paleontologists Michael W. Y. Lee and Michael W. Caldwell believed the fossil of a 40-inch-long creature with stubby rear legs may be a missing link between a snake and a lizard.

The fossil, known as a Pachyrhachis problematicus, was discovered in 1978 near Jerusalem. Its tiny legs, while fully formed, were too small to serve any purpose, noted the magazine's report.

Unfortunately, McLeod and Osorio didn't have time to realize the potential significance of their reptilian visitor.

"If I ever find another one, I'll try to keep it alive," Osorio said.

Gay Men Respond Differently to Pheromones

By RANDOLPH E. SCHMID, Associated Press WriterMon May 9, 6:47 PM ET

Gay men's brains respond differently from those of heterosexual males when exposed to a sexual stimulus, researchers have found. The homosexual men's brains responded more like those of women when the men sniffed a chemical from the male hormone testosterone.

"It is one more piece of evidence ... that is showing that sexual orientation is not all learned," said Sandra Witelson, an expert on brain anatomy and sexual orientation at the Michael G. DeGroote School of Medicine at McMaster University in Ontario, Canada.

Witelson, who was not part of the research team, said the findings clearly show a biological involvement in sexual orientation.

The study, published in Tuesday's issue of Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, was done by researchers at the Karolinska Institute in Stockholm, Sweden.

They exposed heterosexual men and women and homosexual men to chemicals derived from male and female sex hormones.

These chemicals are thought to be pheromones — molecules known to trigger responses such as defense and sex in many animals.

Whether humans respond to pheromones has been debated, although in 2000 American researchers reported finding a gene that they believe directs a human pheromone receptor in the nose.

The Swedish study was one of a series looking at whether parts of the brain involved in reproduction differ in response to odors and pheromones, lead researcher Ivanka Savic said.

The brains of different groups responded similarly to ordinary odors such as lavender, but differed in their response to the chemicals thought to be pheromones, Savic said.

The Swedish researchers divided 36 subjects into three groups — heterosexual men, heterosexual women and homosexual men. They studied the brain response to sniffing the chemicals, using PET scans. All the subjects were healthy, unmedicated, right-handed and HIV negative.

When they sniffed smells like cedar or lavender, all of the subjects' brains reacted only in the olfactory region that handles smells.

But when confronted by a chemical from testosterone, the male hormone, portions of the brains active in sexual activity were activated in straight women and in gay men, but not in straight men, the researchers found.

The response in gay men and straight women was concentrated in the hypothalamus with a maximum in the preoptic area that is active in hormonal and sensory responses necessary for sexual behavior, the researchers said.

And when estrogen, the female hormone was used, there was only a response in the olfactory portion of the brains of straight women. Homosexual men had their primary response also in the olfactory area, with a very small reaction in the hypothalamus, while heterosexual men responded strongly in the reproductive region of the brain.

Savic said the group is also doing a study involving homosexual women but those results are not yet complete.

In a separate study looking at people's response to the body odors of others, researchers in Philadelphia found sharp differences between gay and straight men and women.

"Our findings support the contention that gender preference has a biological component that is reflected in both the production of different body odors and in the perception of and response to body odors," said neuroscientist Charles Wysocki, who led the study.

In particular, he said, finding differences in body odors between gay and straight individuals indicates a physical difference.

It's hard to see how a simple choice to be gay or lesbian would influence the production of body odor, he said.

Wysocki's team at the Monell Chemical Senses Center studied the response of 82 heterosexual and homosexual men and heterosexual and homosexual women to the odors of underarm sweat collected from 24 donors of varied gender and sexual orientation.

They found that gay men differed from heterosexual men and women and from lesbian women, both in terms of which body odors gay men preferred and how their own body odors were regarded by the other groups.

Gay men preferred odors from gay men, while odors from gay men were the least preferred by heterosexual men and women and by lesbian women in the study. Their findings, released Monday, are to be published in the journal Psychological Science in September.

The Swedish research was funded by the Swedish Medical Research Council, the Karolinska Institute and the Magnus Bergvall Foundation. Wysocki's research was supported by the Monell Center.

Oops-there goes that 'social conditioning' argument....

Play Nice

She's an Unsettlingly Lean, Viciously Mean, Liberal Cock-Loving Machine

Dead rattler may have legs

Gay Men Respond Differently to Pheromones

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