Let’s shed a little educated light on the resurgence of this whole “Vampire Romance” genre. Now, before you justifiably click away, assuming I’m going to start talking about Twilight, let me assure you: This is not about Twilight. This is about vampires. Twilight is not a vampire book, it’s Hello Kitty caliber softcore pornography for First Level Goths. It is entirely unconnected to the true resurgence of the vampire, present in anything from True Blood to The Vampire Diaries to Anne Rice to Being Human and on and on. No matter how effeminate, emotional, romantic or just unabashedly gay the shows, movies, and novels featuring the modern vampire might be, they do undoubtedly contain actual vampires. Not pallid fairies that glitter when you tickle their anus: Vampires. They’re back. But why?...

Last week, jurors watched nearly an hour of "Milk Nymphos" in the federal obscenity trial against pornographer John "Buttman" Stagliano. Headphones were provided, two TV screens were directed at the jury box, and 14 strangers were asked to perform their civic duty by drinking in, so to speak, this decidedly unwholesome ode to dairy enemas.

The coverage of the case, which was dismissed late Friday thanks to sloppy work by the Justice Department, largely focused on the legendary "Buttman" — but I kept thinking about the women in the film. What must it be like to be the focus of a rare federal obscenity trial in Washington, D.C., to have your work broadcast for people who hadn't sought it out, to be evaluated in terms of "community standards," offensiveness and "serious literary, artistic, political, or scientific" merit?...

“The Earliest Pornography” says Science Now, describing the 35,000 year old ivory figurine that’s been dug up in a cave near Stuttgart. The tiny statuette is of a female with exaggerated breasts and vulva. According to Paul Mellars, one of the archaeologist twits who commented on the find for Nature, this makes the figurine “pornographic.” Nature is even titling its article, “Prehistoric Pin Up.”

It’s the Venus of Willendorf double standard all over again. Ancient figures of naked pregnant women are interpreted by smirking male archaeologists as pornography, while equally sexualized images of men are assumed to depict gods or shamans. Or even hunters or warriors. Funny, huh?...

Last week, she came to my door with some personnel files, code for "we're fucking today". She closed my door, turned the lock.

She's taller than me, redheaded: pale skin, freckles, light blue eyes, A-cup tits and a small, cruel mouth. She always wears dresses or skirts, knows her ass is her best feature.

She undid the clasp on her skirt, unzipped the seam at her hip. She pulled it down over those nice hips and let it fall to the floor. Nothing underneath, never anything underneath. She walked to my desk, unbuttoning her blouse. She slid in between me and my keyboard. Her face was hard, her expression annoyed, amused. She put her left foot up on my desk, the black pump nudging my printer. She put her right foot on my chest, the pump's heel digging into my tie. She pushed me back.

I took my tie off. I could already smell her, could see the wetness on her newly-waxed pussy.

She reached over, grabbed my head.

"Get to work," she said...