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V for Vixen: Vixen is in da house

Vixen is in da house

Coming up with a title for a column is hard. Not as hard as neurosurgery, bench-pressing 900 pounds or Ron Jeremy’s cock three seconds before go-time, but it’s tricky. It’s got to be catchy, memorable, something that makes sense or can be explained in 100 words or less.

According to Wikipedia, source of all modern knowledge, "vixen" refers to a wide variety of nouns, ranging from a female fox to "a shrewish, ill-tempered or spiteful woman," to a DC Comics superheroine, to a form of ’80s-era political correctness. And let’s not forget that it’s also the name of one of Santa’s legendary reindeer and my nail polish colour of choice.

The word "vixen," however, most often refers to an attractive woman, and is usually used in a sexual sense. Therefore, I think using the term in the title of my newly minted sex column is appropriate. Plus, who doesn’t love an allusion to anarchy, fighting fascism, a bald Natalie Portman and Hugo Weaving in a Guy Fawkes mask?

It’s also way sexier than my original title, Vagina Popcorn. Lucky you! Of course, you may be wondering who the mysterious vixen behind the V is, so here’s an extremely brief kiss-n-tell-all biography for ya:

Laura Roberts, author of V is for Vixen, is the editor-in-chief of Montreal smut magazine Black Heart. She has been building the mag since 2004 with a varying gang of geeks, nerds and fetishists, and she recently graduated from Concordia with her second extremely useful degree – this time in creative writing and English literature. She’s a damn Yank, according to some, and a "hack writer," according to whoever vandalized her Wikipedia entry back in January. And that’ll have to suffice, for now, because there’s something that’s been on my mind.

I’m sure all writers get this at some point, but it still gets this vixen every time: It’s the way people you’re dating will invoke the "Don’t write about me!" clause when they find out you have an audience of some kind, whether it’s a column in a paper or a blog that no one ever reads.

There are a couple of things that come to mind right away when someone says this to me. The first is, of course, "Who says I’d want to write about you?" Honestly, what kind of self-centred freak immediately assumes that they’re being discussed (and negatively, bien sûr) when I say I used to fuck a dude with a monkey fetish?

More importantly, though, why would I not be allowed to write about my lovers? Allowed by whom? Why would I need permission to write about my feelings and perceptions of various events? Those belong to me, and as a writer and human being, I’m perfectly within my rights to use those feelings and events to tell a story. The question is whether those stories are factual or fictional, and that, my darlings, is always up to the reader to decide. Furthermore, if anyone is going to get upset about the way they appear in print, perhaps they ought to change the way they act. Or get gigs writing dirty, filthy sex columns so they can out me in return!

Dueling sex columns? Man, that would be hot. I need a cold shower just thinking about it.

But seriously, I can understand why people don’t like to be written about, which is why I always give them sweet little nicknames like Stinkfist and Jowly. Only my little black book knows their true identities. And my closest girlfriends, because let’s be honest: When we go out for "coffee," we’re talking about how y’all rate in bed.

Still, I don’t like the phrase "kiss and tell," because while what I do may qualify as such, I also think it’s an organic part of human nature. It’s in our blood to tell stories, to share things that touch us, and sex touches us deep inside. Not just in our genitals, asshole! I mean in those places that are tender and fragile and easily mocked, and it takes a lot of courage to admit that you had sex with a bed-wetter not once but multiple times. Why? Because you thought maybe he was worth it, and because you don’t like to judge until you’ve got all the facts.

Sometimes, though, a kiss is just a kiss and a bed wet by a 30-year-old man isn’t worth lying in.

Next week: How to make a fake marriage work!

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V for Vixen

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  • by Frederic Serre - October 20, 2007, 5:53 pm

    Your opening lead instantly reassured me that you will do just fine in, not only entertaining Hour readers, but also giving them something to munch on every week. And your writing style is delicious! Velcome aboard!

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