We were still close enough to the freeway that when a semi-truck passed it would make the whole car vibrate. Rectangles of white headlight came through the back window and then passed, quickly, along the length of the interior wall, illuminating Jake’s face and body so that I saw him like an old fashioned filmstrip, in rapidly cycling frames.

Anyone who has read Guts by Chuck Palahniuk knows that things can end very badly when we don’t carefully consider the risks of exercising our proclivities. But just in case you didn’t get the lesson (or you fainted during one of Palahniuk’s infamous readings of the story), we have some more gruesome tales for you, fresh from ERs around the country.

Don’t be the batshit ex or you, too, will derail great discussions and turn them into a dinner-time carnival of lulz.

Tonight she watches. Legs crossed, head cocked, a bemused smile on her lips. A softly fuming cigarette at her fingertips. The taste of vodka.

The fundamental tenet of BDSM play is “Safe, Sane, Consensual.” This isn’t Ma Cherie’s Kink U* so I’ll sum up: Don’t kill each other. Don’t be too drunk or under the influence of other, ahem, substances to make rational decisions. Respect each other’s limits.

The sun has barely shaken its veil of gin and jazz. It struggles above the horizon, announcing its distaste with an angry spray of crimson and gold. The city is aflame, the end of her cigarette blends into the morning sky.

Now, the Folsom Street Fair is acknowledged to be the world’s largest leather event. Wikipedia calls it California’s third largest spectator event. This year it is estimated that 400,000 people attended the one-day festival this past Sunday.

She enjoys a slow seduction. A rhythm that swells and retreats with the quickening and softening of heartbeats. The pulse of an evening. This one was a child, really. A man in years only. Full of his own estimations. He was ripe for instruction.

Would you rather be the elegant, stylish idol Jackie O, or sexpot goddess Marilyn Monroe? (For the younger generation, Team Jennifer or Angelina?) Virgin/slut, wife/mistress, girlfriend/hook-up, whatever paradigm you use to explain the roles available to women in society.

When people ask me about my Labor Day weekend, my polite answer has been the aforementioned title (since I love film references). The reply closer to reality would be: beer, sex, and cigarettes. Since I’d rather not write an entire novel on this lost weekend, I’ll give you the blow-by-blow by the hours.