No, I’m not free at 11 pm for sex

Sonali K in Open:

Being a sex columnist is a double-edged sword; you never know which side it’s going to fall on any given day. Some days it turns a conversation into a beautiful relationship, other days it automatically casts you in the role of a one-night-stand. There have been as many bitter epiphanies as exciting moments on this journey.

Being a sex columnist means…

» Getting used to mild cardiac arrests on a daily basis. Like when my little brother grabs my laptop before I’ve cleared my browser history. It also means sackfuls of emails from lecherous men each time a new issue hits the stands. “No, I’m not available for sex at 2300 hours next Saturday, Sir. That’s right, not even if you pay me by the minute.”

» Directing porn films starring friends. How do you stop a hysterical friend from describing her lover’s erectile problem in graphic detail? And how do you look at said paramour in the eye when you meet him at a party two days later?

More here.