I suspect I may be bisexual. Problem is, I have limited sexual experience in general. This has led to an awful catch-22.

My “new” (or newly accepted) interest in my own gender means lately I’ve been less interested in pursuing the opposite gender. But my lack of experience with the opposite gender makes me absolutely terrified of pursuing or even talking about my new interest… with anyone except a random girl on the internet.

So, two questions. One, is it possible to realize something like this about yourself when you don’t have that much experience? It’s not like I have a lot for comparison here. Two, what the fuck should I do in general Coke Talk?

You don’t need sexual experience to recognize your own sexual orientation, but recognizing it and being comfortable with it are two different things. Being comfortable with your bisexuality does take experience. Relax. It’ll come.

Oh, and yes. If you suspect that you might be bisexual, it’s because you are. No big deal. So is everybody else. Really. It’s all just a matter of degree. Stop worrying about the label.

One day, you’re gonna start fucking — girls, guys, whatever — you’ll eventually get to swapping some bodily fluids. Until you do, you’re going to be a bundle of nerves. It’s perfectly normal to be freaked out by sex when it’s right in front of you the first few times. Enjoy the thrill.

Look ‘em in the eye and take it like a man — or give it like a woman — I honestly have no idea what your gender is, nor does it matter. Whatever turns you on, just be safe and go with it. If you’re lucky, the people you want to fuck will want to fuck you back.

Go knock it out and have some fun.

I just started out stripping 3 days ago and when i ask any customers for a lap dance they always say they don’t have any money, but i see them walk off and get 600$ dances from other girls.

i’m a very attractive girl and i have a good body, can your give me tips on how to talk these men into getting a lap dance from me?

ps. girls usually get most of their money from lap dances.

Yes, my dear. I am quite aware of the cash flow model of the average strip club, but it was very sweet of you to point out what you learned in your first few hours on the job. (The dollar sign goes in front of the number, by the way.)

Now, as for your problem. You need to shift your thinking a bit. Being a very attractive girl and having a great body is all it takes to get male attention outside the strip club walls, but once you’re inside the rules are temporarily suspended.

Gender roles are reversed. Women become the aggressors while men sit back and soak up female attention. It’s what they’re really paying for, and it’s all bullshit. You know it. They know it. The trick is to get them to temporarily forget that it’s all a lie. That’s how you make the big bucks.

They don’t pay you because they find you attractive. They pay you because you find them attractive. It’s called hustling, and it’s a hell of a lot harder than just standing around looking pretty.

Unless you want more than the occasional free drink and a few dollar bills at the pole, I suggest you start letting those men know how irresistibly sexy they are.

Good luck meaning it.

(Also, I highly recommend you follow both The Dame and Kat’s Blog. The Dame is a pole dancing bad ass who gives great advice, and Kat is a smirking genius whose blog is basically the Huffington Post of strip club culture.)

Who the fuck started the rumor that women can have orgasms from sex without clit stimulation? I’VE personally never met one of these magically orgasmic females…have you? Are they really out there? If it IS a myth (as I suspect) I’m not about to make it worse for all of us by faking orgasms for clueless men. Thoughts?

Oh, you poor, poor woman. This breaks my heart.

Unicorns are a myth. Leprechauns are a myth. G-spot orgasms are not a myth. Clitoral orgasms are great, but if you’ve never had a G-spot orgasm, I’m really very sorry for you.

Now, I’ll grant you that eliminating clitoral stimulation and/or involving clueless men is generally a recipe for bad sex. Still, that should not affect the legitimacy of a good old fashioned toe-curling, mind-blowing, mattress-soaking G-spot orgasm.

I hope one day you come to know what I mean.

* Oh, and to this idiot: you and gullible people like you are grossly misinterpreting the recent British G-spot study. Please stop swallowing statistics and soundbites without chewing them. You’re going to choke on your own stupidity.

Recently, I’ve noticed that occasionally my vagina actually literally has steam come out of it. When I try to look up the reason behind this, I just get a bunch of porn. Point is- Is this normal?

Is the steam accompanied by the sound of truck brakes? Are you a Warner Brothers cartoon from the forties? No? Well then, steam coming out of your pussy is not normal.

By the way, steam is superheated water vapor, so unless you’re cooking soup in your vagina, it’s probably something else. Maybe it’s swamp gas. Maybe it’s a ghost. Whatever it is, don’t you think this is the kind of thing maybe a doctor should look at?

Seriously. Go down to Planned Parenthood and get your shit looked at. Trust me, they’ve seen worse.

I would consider myself an artist; to be specific, a painter, and attend art school, however I feel like I’m not doing enough. I do what I’m assigned, and truly do feel deeply passionate about the work I produce. There is no question in my mind that this is what I want to pursue for the rest of my life. But the problem is, unless I’m specifically what to do, I find myself too lazy to take the initiative to work on my own. Instead I will peruse the Internet for hours, or spend time viewing the work of other artists. I watch TV shows I don’t even like, and I stay up until I’m exhausted; even if I don’t have anything that is assigned for the next day. I’m one of those girls who loooooves to sleep and yet I push myself to stay awake until 1 or 2 in the morning to wake up at 6 the next day for absolutely no reason.

I suppose the real question here is, is there any way to change ones work ethic? I feel like there is so much I could be doing, but I’m too lazy to take the initiative. I feel psychologically compelled to not do work that I’m not assigned, or without a deadline (and even then I will procrastinate).

I’ve discussed this issue with a friend and she says to consider taking anti-depressent / anti-anxiety medication (or something like that at least) to help me concentrate and get me out of this rut, but I’m a little bit wary of those types of drugs and how they might affect the way I paint, write, and think.

Are pills the only sort of “cure” for laziness? Or is there something that I can do to change myself? Or is it something I was born with and is unfixable?

You’re not depressed. You’re just a spoiled brat. That is to say, you don’t need anti-depressant or anti-anxiety medication. Not really. Yeah, there is no pill for what you need.

If you insist on a chemical solution, I suppose you could always start smoking crystal meth. That would definitely get you up and buzzing around, but then again it comes with all those side effects.

The next closest thing would be prescription for Ritalin, but add that to all your apathy and art school, and you’d just turn into one big hipster cliche.

Anyways, if it seems like I’m phoning this answer in, it’s because I really don’t care what you do.

That’s pretty much the lesson you need to learn here. Nobody cares what you do. You’re probably a shitty painter anyways, and there’s a legion of infinitely more talented artists already starving in New York. You should just quit now before you waste any more of your parent’s money.

You can consider yourself an artist all day long, but who are you kidding? You’re not one. You’re just a lazy cunt that goes to art school who wouldn’t know a real problem if it knocked you up after a Bright Eyes concert.

If you want a career in the art world, fine — every gallery needs a receptionist — but don’t pretend to be something that you’re not. Writers write. Sculptors sculpt. Painters paint. Real artists have a burning desire to create.

You either do it or you don’t.

I get hot even looking at silly girly things. I’m glad girls don’t get boners. What’s up with me?

Are you kidding? I get massive throbbing purple-headed girl boners all the time. That shit gets unwieldy.

Nothing’s wrong with you, sweetie. Enjoy every second of it.

How do I go about becoming more honest?

I’m 28 and have been smoking since I was 20 and I’ve never told my parents. I just don’t want to deal with the condescension and judgement that will come with my upper class liberal parents knowing that I smoke. And that’s how I deal with most things, if it’s easier, and cleaner to deal with a white(ish) lie than to deal with the truth then I’ve always gone with the lie.

Problem is, pretty much everyone I interact with is subject to at least one game-changing lie. My ex, who is still one of my best friends, doesn’t know I cheated on her. The girl I’m currently with doesn’t know I had a one-night stand two days before we got together. My best guy friend doesn’t know his wife propositioned me. My sister doesn’t know that I think she’s settled and given up her dreams. My boss doesn’t know that I don’t respect him. No one knows how much I drink or what goes on between 2 and 5 in the morning (and here we are…). Yada, yada, yada.

It’s not like the lies are impossible to keep track of, they’re very simple ones, but big ones, and they make life easier, but I’m tired of lying.

Thing is, I have this duel sense of dread that I can’t figure out, half of me wants to tell the world what’s going on, “To thine own self be true,” etc etc. And half of me is terrified that if I do that then everyone I know will feel betrayed and turn their backs on me.

I want to be an honest person (that IS the best policy, yes?), but I don’t know how to get there without ruining my life as it is. Or is that the answer? My life as it is isn’t all that great? Or maybe I’m being dramatic? My real friends will stick with me regardless? See, I’ve tried to think this through and now I’m just confused and need an (un)biased observer.

You talk a lot about being honest, but you also acknowledge an uber-Republican family who has no clue about your life. I’m sure they love you and would do things for you that your friends who you’re more honest with wouldn’t do. How do you reconcile that?

Can you be honest with everyone? If not, how do you decide who to lie to?

I’m not as desperate as this letter may come across but I’d really love to hear what you have to say.

Contrary to popular belief, honesty is not the best policy. Rather, integrity is the best policy.

Lies are no big deal. Everyone lies. The trick is to lie without betrayal. My republican family doesn’t know about my wild side because they don’t want to know. Not really. That’s why they don’t get the whole truth, because to give it to them would be a betrayal. It would hurt them. It would cause stress and strain because they wouldn’t understand, and so I lie. The greater virtue is to prevent the betrayal, not the lie.

The thing about integrity is that it requires inner strength and self knowledge. When your best friend’s wife propositions you, there are situations where integrity demands that you immediately tell your friend and there are situations where integrity demands that you shut the fuck up and protect him from the truth.

You have to know the difference, and you have to be strong enough to act on your convictions.

That’s why you come off as a little bit whiny. You’re basically complaining that this stuff requires strength, and you’d rather just unburden yourself in the name of honesty despite the pain it would cause people.

Come on, man. Have some integrity instead.

Do you have any advice for girl’s with body issues? I beat myself up over this newly developed cellulite that I assume just comes with the territory of getting older (I’m 27). I am in really good shape but can’t help but get depressed whenever I see my ass in the mirror.

When you turn around to look at yourself, arch your back, lean forward at the waist, and stick your butt up and out like a Playboy centerfold. Now squint.

Best I can do without lasers.