What an honor! This summer, I was one of four students selected to serve as campus leaders of the new Campus Coalition for Sexual Literacy project of the NSRC. Before I even left the NSRC Summer Institute I was sending out enthusiastic emails to get the CCSL chapter started at Indiana University. A number of students shared my excitment - some feeling relieved that a group that supports their interests now exists. And, with ease, I gained the support of the Center for Sexual Health Promotion at IU: http://www.sexualhealth.indiana.edu/.
As with any student organization, I followed the path to gaining official recognition from the university - tabled at the incoming student fair, attended student organization training, etc. And, with financial support coming from NSRC, I began the process of creating a bank account for my CCSL chapter. With a decent turn out at our first monthly meeting and a high level of excitment about getting the group running, it seemed that things were headed in the right direction.
The month of October and beyond seemed to prove otherwise. I would say that my first mistake was encouraging an active component of membership, including projects that small groups of members would pursue to push our mission of sexual literacy on campus. While this seemed to be ideal for our coalition model, it seemed to scare members away after the first meeting. It's quite disappointing for me to see...

According to my mom, I was a "good little boy" who didn't cry much and seemed to be happy most of the time. I was a small boy with strawberry blonde hair and a smattering of freckles across my face. My mom has told me that I was very sensitive to how others were feeling and that I was always very curious. I started talking and reading fairly young and often drove my parents and grandparents to the brink of insanity with my constant questions of hows and whys about the world and how things worked. I remember being allowed to play dress up in high heels and makeup, and spending hours in the kitchen alternating between creating new recipes (all of which my brave grandmother willingly tasted) and dissecting the hearts, gizzards, and other organs that came with the turkeys cooked for Thanksgiving dinners. I didn't care much for sports and preferred to spend my afternoons putting on puppet shows or switching between playing beauty shop and operating room in my grandmother's front bathroom where my clients and patients were one and the same (you always want to have gorgeous hair when having an appendectomy!).
On December 13
Today, sex workers and allies of sex workers will march on Washington D.C. and hold community vigils and rallies in cities across the globe for the 

In high school and college "fuck" was as much a part of my vocabulary as “dude” and “gross” and plain old “like” (as in, “like, that’s so gross, dude”). Saying “what the fuck” when I was annoyed or “fucking awesome” when I was pleasantly pleased was a bit of a rebellious act, since my home was a no-profanity zone. To me, "fuck" was blue collar, adult, and manly, and since I wanted to be a blue-collar adult man, it’s not so surprising that I loved the word.
According the the 
The election is over and I’ve been thinking a lot about something that happened back during the primaries.
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I believe in sexual pleasure—yours and mine. From hawking sex toys to telling teens about the clitoris, I have spent my adult years proselytizing on the subject of pleasure. And no wonder; desire and pleasure--especially for women--are the stepping stones to sexual knowledge, rights and justice. For teen women, as Deb Tolman revealed in