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Rose & Olive
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Your daily cup of WTF?
Hooksexup@SXSW 2006.
Blogging the Roman Orgy of Indie-music Festivals.
Coming Soon!
Coming Soon!
Coming Soon!
The Daily Siege
An intimate and provocative look at Siege's life, work and loves.
Kate & Camilla
two best friends pursue business and pleasure in NYC.
Naughty James
The lustful, frantic diary of a young London photographer.
The Hooksexup Blog-a-log
The Prowl, with Ryan Pfluger
ScreenGrab
The Hooksexup Film Blog
Hooksexup @ Cannes Film Festival
May 16 - May 25
ScreenGrab
The Hooksexup Film Blog

new this week
Scanner by Gwynne Watkins and Ada Calhoun
Oh, you animal!
The Screengrab by Bilge Ebiri
Today on Hooksexup's film blog: Who will be the next Siskel & Ebert? Plus, this week's Forgotten Film.
VIPs by Terry Rodgers
A wealth of sex.
Shadow Dancing by K Leo
If you're feeling sinister... /photography/
Sex Advice from . . . Trapeze Artists by Noah Davis
Q: How can becoming a trapeze artist improve my sex life?
A: You get bigger, you get stronger and you get abs of steel. The women love them. /regulars/
Miss Information by Erin Bradley
Is my boyfriend a sex addict, or just a cad? /advice/
Love Is a Desert by Sarah Sundberg
Iranian illustrator Marjane Satrapi knows that everything bad is good for you. /books/
Beatdown by Paul Neilan
"I tried faking an orgasm but she either didn't notice or didn't care. I tried bucking her off but that only made it hurt worse." /fiction/
 FICTION




Snack bar cook, you grill hamburgers at Echo Lake Swim Club. Mrs. Staub has a plain piece of lettuce with cottage cheese glopped on top. A slice of pineapple, if one is available. She wears a white visor and comes to the snack bar in her bathing suit, bends to rub her foot free of sand or bark bits. You peek down the top of her suit, feel you must keep your distance from the counter. She pays with red nails, her purse snapping primly when she puts the change inside. "Thanks," she says. She walks to the picnic table and sits, eats with knife and fork balanced carefully in her hands. She is brown as pine ship tar, her lipstick pale pink. You see her legs sometimes under the table, watch as they live what seems a life separate from the one her hands live. At the end of the summer, at the pool dance, you kiss her daughter, Sally, who is small and timid, a ghost of Mrs. Staub. You put your hand on Sally's breast fast, faster than you should, and she lets you. She knows she is a ghost, a daughter ghost, and finally you dry hump on a pool pad in the towel room at the back of the men's locker room. Through movement, she becomes her new self, is no longer a ghost, and you kiss a lot, kiss like crazy, Sally becoming a new Mrs. Staub.
                                                     



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