FRANK: Hello. I’m Frank Hardy. That’s not the name printed on my birth certificate, but as far as lowbrow write-in sex column pseudonyms go, my younger brother Joe and I feel as if it’s hard to beat. I’m sorry, that was crude. But did you think Dear Abby’s name was really Abby?!

The real (fictional) Hardy Boys were detectives of great mysteries, much as your very own Hardy Brothers will try to investigate the sexual stratosphere of Brown University and beyond with the doggedness of our favorite teenage private eyes.

What are our qualifications for the job? The answer is…we don’t have any, really. Instead, we figured that the most we’ve got going for us — besides a healthy, post-adolescent interest in the subject and our easygoing brotherly rapport — is the sum of our cumulative sexual experience: as of the print date of this column, we estimate that between the two of us, we have enjoyed vaginal intercourse with 15 partners, given oral sex to 10, and received oral sex from 16 (the imbalance of which will hopefully be questioned by one of you). Additionally, we have manually stimulated 21 partners, and been manually stimulated by 4 (the imbalance of which will hopefully also be questioned by one of you). We have seen 24 pairs of breasts, felt 29 pairs of breasts, and kissed, oh God…maybe 37 partners in our combined 41 years of life. We have engaged in anal intercourse ¼ of a time, and we have masturbated at least 5,475 times, but probably more. Additionally, we may have just invented a new discipline: sextistics.

If that seems like a lot of sex, don’t worry! It’s a little alarming to us, too. But we only mention it to show you that when you sit down to think about your own experiences, you might be surprised to find that you’re more like a Hardy brother than you may have previously thought. Welcome!

Of course, in spite of what a friend once told me, it really is all about quality over quantity in sex, regardless of your batting average. Still, we wouldn’t want all those experiences of ours to have been for naught. This is why we are giving sex column writing a go. While we haven’t yet gone in for any same-sex activity (like our namesakes, we are, admittedly, rather hetero-normative)…or had a threesome…or really engaged in any number of a very long laundry list of more adventurous sexual activities (inspire us!), we feel as if we have a solid enough foundation, as well as overactive imaginations, by which to draw responses to your write-in sex questions and inquiries. We hope you agree.

JOE: Thanks Frank, I’ll take it from here. I’m Joe, the crazier (but less neurotic), more outgoing (but never sleazy) Hardy brother. I play sports, go on adventures, and eat — a lot. When it comes to sex, like the fictional Joe, I choose intuition over logic and passions over principles. I aim to please, and hope to offer some scintillating advice to complement Frank.

I tend to avoid planning, but Frank has asked me to explain the format of the column:  We want you, Brunonians, to submit your questions on all things “romantico-sexual” (thank you, Benjamin Kunkel, for supplying us with the term). From the common, “What’s your favorite sex position?” to the philosophical, “Can men and women be friends?” we want to hear it all.

Each week Frank and I will write separate responses to at least one of your questions. Whose advice to believe? We’ll leave that one up to you.

To submit your questions, shoot us an email at TheHardyBrothers.ThePost@gmail.com. Your identity will always be kept strictly confidential, but we encourage you to finish with sensual sign-offs and creative acronyms (“Best” is for Professors. Instead, why not try something like, “Affectionately, Heart Awaiting Real Desire, Yawn”).

Or, if you’re a little more old-fashioned like my brother Frank, slip your questions into our J. Walter Wilson mailboxes (sounds hot, huh?). My box number is 7149, Frank’s is 7886.

So who are we, really? Along with your secrets, that’s one we’ll never tell.

–xo xo The Hardy Brothers

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Dear Hardy Brothers,

Now that I am an upperclasswoman, I can’t decide what to do: should I find myself a silver fox or play cougar and prey on some freshmeat?

Confused,

On the Prowl

JOE: Sharpen your claws, but soften your paws, OP. It’s huntin’ time.

Having been on the receiving end of some cougar affection, I know from experience that the older woman/younger man scenario almost always works out better for the woman than when she pursues a silver-maned sugar daddy. So harness some lucky young man’s desire to please you, though if he turns out to be a bad apple, don’t hesitate to drop the rookie.

But where to start? You have to remember, OP, that your seniority gives you all of the power. Don’t worry, you’ve earned it. First, find some healthy prospects (remember: you’ve got to plant a lot of seeds even if you want just one flower to blossom).

At this point, you likely know where to find a younger man of your choosing: the V-Dub at dinnertime if you’re into jocks; late night at the Rock if you like a little more intellectual flavor. Hell, pull from Fish Co or Liquid Lounge is you’re so inclined—wait a minute, haven’t I seen you before?!

Once you’ve established a connection with your new plaything, “baby you can have whatever you like,” to quote a jailed rapper. When you’re the cougar, you can purr gently or take a ferocious swipe out of his…

Your spicy romance might just be a one night fling, but it may turn into a semester-long affair (god forbid a “serious” relationship develops).

The point is, OP, that when you’re the coug, it’s up to you! So don’t disappear on the Amtrak in your few remaining weekends to see some I-Banker in New York or Red Sox minor leaguer in Bean-Town.  Stay at Brown and enjoy the presents from our admissions department—freshmen: the gifts that keep on giving.

FRANK: Well, Joe, not to play Judas to your Jesus, but don’t forget that the cougar/younger man relationship can just as easily be more of a miracle for the lucky boy in question than for the deserving girl. I know it’s worked out for you in the past, but that’s to be expected: you’re a Hardy Brother, after all.

However, it only takes a quick survey of all the relevant pop cultural materials—The Graduate, “Sex and the City,” “The O.C.,” “Gossip Girl”—to see that those boys, as delicious as the latter trinity are, just wind up with someone their own age in the end. Of course, the tabloids offer an occasional counter—you go, Demi!—but those fairy-tale lives are just as much a fiction as movies and TV.  Let’s talk reality here.

I suppose, OP, it comes down to the thing that resolves almost all erotic queries: knowing what you want. If you’re in it for the fun, Joe has a point: cougin’ ain’t half-bad. But in my heart of hearts, I have to say my sympathy goes to the silver fox (perhaps because I’d like to be one when I grow up). Choose not just any old fox—bear in mind that men are men and will fuck you over the first chance they get, although I have yet to see any hard evidence that the formulation “women are women” isn’t equally true—but a wise, not wizened, one (the silver is optional) who has known love and loss and—here’s the rub—many partners! This fox will therefore know that you are a rare flower to cherish, preserve, and pollinate liberally.

The silver fox’s brand of hard won, lived experience is no guarantee of anything (see the Ben Kingsley/Penelope Cruise film Elegy for more information on this subject). In the games of sex and love, there is no such thing. But it does make it that much more likely that he will know a good thing when he sees it, know how to articulate the good thing both to you and himself, and most important of all, know how to keep it a good thing day after day, year after year. Because in that department (forgive me, Joe), boys these days are sorely lacking.

So, OP, do girls just want to have fun, or have a total eclipse of the heart? Write back soon and the same goes for all you Brunonians out there. Like Obama says: “This…has never been about [us]; it’s about you.”

—xoxo

The Hardy Brothers

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Dear Hardy Brothers,

Although I have long had an active fantasy life, for too long now my sex life has been sub-par. I am interested in BDSM, and particularly choking during sex (both choking and being choked), but I have no idea how or where to start. How should this beginner rough things up?

—Yearning 2Be Kinky

Frank: Dear Y2K,

Congratulations! Your letter marks the second milestone for us Hardy Brothers. Last week’s column we celebrated our first write-in response, and this week’s column we celebrate our graduation from a wholesome column full of fun for the whole family (we like to imagine this family around the dinner table: “Hey kids, do you know Aesop’s fable about the cougar and the silver fox?”) to a hardcore, out of the shadows sex column! Joe—I think our patron saint Dan Savage (let’s hope he’s out there somewhere watching us) would be proud.

We must warn you,Y2K, that although we’ll investigate your unusual, but cautionary case to the best of our amateur, adolescent mystery-solving abilities, this one’s a little above our pay grade. For that reason, we’ve consulted the top ranks to bring you a survey of advice and opinions on what the excellent resource sexuality.org refers to as the “heavier aspects of BDSM.”

First off, to quote a New York Times bestselling author who recently came to Brown for a reading, “Being over-prepared never hurt anyone.” At least he said something like that, anyway. Of course, he was talking about writing novels, but enacting fantasy scenes is not entirely dissimilar (well, not to sell you short ,Y2K, but maybe fantasy role-play is more like writing a short story). At any rate, both follow scripts, or at least guidelines, and knowing where you are heading is even more important in sex than it is in fiction because someone really can get hurt. My point is, before diving headlong into more risky and extreme forms of BDSM play, a good place to start is by reading a book.

Unfortunately for us, there is no BDSM entry in the For Dummies series (and the sex tome penned by the venerable Dr. Ruth makes no mention of it). But fortunately for us, we live in a capitalist society (though everybody’s favorite theorist Slavoj Žižek might disagree), and their competitors, the makers of Complete Idiot’s Guides, have an Amazing Sex volume which includes a chapter on it. Of course, there are other options out there too (SM 101: A Realistic Introduction, How To Be Kinky: A Beginner’s Guide to BDSM to name a few), though starting out with one of these is a good bet.

But Joe’s the brother who can really offer you the goods when it comes to the particulars of “heavy” petting. Hopefully he can also steer your fantasy in a different, safer direction.

JOE: That’s right! Forgetful Frank omitted a critical disclaimer. Although I doubt that President Simmons had erotic asphyxiation in mind when she wrote, “personal safety is the number one priority” in that campus-wide email awhile back, she would undoubtedly condemn such unsafe sexual practices. As responsible Hardy Brothers, we must do the same. To all you one-handed readers out there, belts are for waists, not for necks, so don’t strangle yourselves while masturbating (and reading our column)!

Depending on how eager you are, Y2K, you may be parsing the definition of erotic asphyxiation with a fine-tooth comb. You may be thinking to yourself, “belts and ropes aren’t cool, but it would still be fun to wrap my hands around my hunny’s throat while on top” (or vice versa), and you wouldn’t be wrong to think that such practices are popular. But so is meth, and you don’t go chasing rocks, do you? We hope not.

Fortunately, there are still infinite ways to safely explore the rougher side of the bedroom, or kitchen.  The first step to kinking any sexual relationship is an open and honest discussion. Once you and you’re partner have decided on a BDSM appetizer to introduce to your sexual repertoire—spanking is a fun place to start— it’s time to develop your very own safeword. If you don’t think you can say “Nicomachean Ethics” with a ball gag in your mouth (we don’t think we can either), the stoplight system promotes communication and is a common and easy way to gauge your partner’s comfort level. Green means go, yellow is for a break or lighter play, and red demands an immediate halt to whatever you’re doing.

After you’ve comfortably crossed into BDSM-land (it’s like Narnia), the possibilities are endless; you may just find yourself buying leathers at Bedlam. Just be careful: in more extreme forms of sex, the physical and emotional stakes can be higher. Make sure you’re with a partner you trust.

And always remember: there’s no safe way to strangle somebody (especially during sex), but there are lots of other fun things you can do, BDSM and otherwise. Try those instead.

—xo cough (anal) xo The Hardy Brothers

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Dear Hardy Brothers,

Sometimes when I’m high, I think about threesomes. The other night I was stoned, listening to the new Britney Spears song “3” and I really got to thinking. Then I got stuck. Maybe because I was too high. Maybe because it’s too complicated an issue. Either way, Hardy Brothers, I’d love to hear what you good-looking boys have to say about it. Do you think there is such a thing as a genuine threesome in which no one feels left out? Does everyone have to be bisexual? Is it inherently hyper-sexual and porn-like or can it be just chill and good?

Love,
I call middle!

Sometimes when I’m high, I think about threesomes. Joe: Me too! The other night I was stoned, listening to the new Britney Spears song “3” and I really got to thinking. Frank: Are we leading parallel lives, I.C.M.? That’s my new favorite song! I think it’s even eclipsed Lady Gaga’s “Love Game” as the seminal piece of contemporary sexual theory in all of pop music. Then I got stuck. Joe: Me too.  Maybe because I was too high. Frank: We find it’s never because we’re too high. It’s always because of the things that make us want to get too high. Either way, Hardy Brothers, I’d love to hear what you good-looking boys have to say about it. Joe: If you’re talking to me, I.C.M., let’s meet on the fourteenth floor of the SciLi, tomorrow at midnight. Cool?

Do you think there is such a thing as a genuine threesome in which no one feels left out? Frank: I think it takes three participants practiced in the ways of polyamory in order for no one to get their feelings hurt. I’ve heard it through the grapevine, though, that these things tend to work out best when, after the fun is over, or while resting up for round two, the threesome winds down to a twosome. Of course, negotiating who will go home alone, or which partner will go home first, in a way that doesn’t make him or her feel left out, is a sticky situation. Joe: I find that it’s typically best to kill the partner that’s least desirable. Frank: Joe! People are listening… Joe: You’re right. Killing never solved anything—just ask O.J. But back to threesomes, there are two surefire tricks to proper threesome etiquette: first, if you’re having a premeditated threesome and you’re the organizer, lead by example: don’t be awkward yourself! More importantly, all involved parties must be honest about their desires, and their limits. If you start investigating un-discussed and unexplored territory mid-threesome, the sh*t could hit the fan—literally. Frank: In a dorm room, this is especially disgusting. Or a motel. But how do you talk about your feelings and still have a spontaneous, spur of the moment, making the beast with two backs threesome, the kind we’ve all dreamt about since eighth grade and Baywatch?

Well, if you are fortunate enough to engage in this rarer kind of unplanned ménage-a-tois, you need to be especially attuned to the body language of your two other partners to translate the situation. Use your post-coital recharge time to feel out who wants to end up where at the end of the night. We’re of the opinion that if you’re down to go to bed with a certain someone, or someones, a proper gentleman or lady should also be prepared to let their partners spend the night if that’s what they want. Joe: Can three people even fit in a college twin? Frank: If they’re small. Does everyone have to be bisexual? Joe: Isn’t everyone a little bit bi? Is it inherently hyper-sexual and porn-like or can it be just chill and good? Frank: This is the Obama era. It’s all chill and good, baby.

Shit, Joe. Looks like we’re a regular Frost/Nixon. Joe: Stay tuned, loyal readers, for the Broadway production. 
—xo xo The Hardy Brothers

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Hi Hardies,

I thought up a game while drifting over Colorado called “Tap that Ass or Take a Pass?”  I toss a few situations your way, and you decide whether to invite her up in your balloon, or drop the tether instead and float off alone.

—She slept with your roommate once or twice, but that was weeks ago.  OR: You slept with her roommate once or twice, but that was weeks ago.  Roommate swap?

—Slurring her words like a Southern temptress (even though she’s from Vermont), she says, “You’re not as drunk as me!”  You disagree: You ARE as drunk as her.  At least you think so, but that whole independent subjectivity thing is tricky.

—You had a fling on, say, Spring Weekend, but it was supposed to end there.  Suddenly, a week later, you wake from a nap to find her sitting at the foot of your bed (your roommate let her in).

So eager for a response, I could barf!

Falcon

FRANK: Falcon! You sly dog, you. Not only was the balloon stunt a hoax—and rather impressively, my boy, the talk of the national news media last week—but your question seems to indicate you’re a great deal older than six too! Damn you’re good.

I should tell you that Joe will not be joining us this time for our weekly excursion. Unfortunately, he had to go home to Bayport to see the Hardy Family (one of those emergency situations), but he’ll be back next week (I miss you, Joe).

Situation One: Joe and I have a rule. Well, it’s a more of a principle, really (not that it’s ever been violated to date—that I know of…). Regardless, the rule is no sharing (or swapping) partners between us no matter how many weeks, months, or years have gone by. We have also respected this rule (again, to date) when it comes to other siblings too. No one wants to come between blood relatives—pun possibly intended—which, as we all know, can be a really messy experience. Now, when this came up a couple of weeks ago, Joe contended that there was a qualitative difference between, say, making out with someone at a party once or twice and—to borrow the colloquial term a friend of mine has been abusing lately—fucking (“Slept with” is a nice euphemism, Lil’ Falc, but oftentimes “fucking” is more honest—you’ll learn this when you get older). I can concede the point. Especially for us Brunonians, who tend to skew rather prude (you may recall our colleague Allie Wollner’s column from a few weeks back), kissing and fucking do not usually feel like the same thing. So, to sum up, unless the girl’s Helen of Troy, or, if it’s more of a love connection thing, a second Juliet, you should avoid hooking up with your roommate’s former fling or, even more so, your former fling’s roommate! They both may say it’s cool (this is much more likely with the former situation) and be wrong, not realizing the depth of their feeling until you’re in too deep. Take a pass.

Scenario Two: The Southern Belle from Vermont is probably also a dish best avoided. First of all, you don’t very well want to tryst with a girl whose grammar is bad (she should have said “You’re not as drunk as I am”) because it goes to follow that other things with her could be bad as well. If she’s willing to let the way she freaking talks slip by the wayside, who knows what else could be bad about (and with) her? And, if she’s trying to gauge your drunkenness in such a coarse way, it probably ain’t because she’s sensitive and doesn’t want to take advantage of you. Independent subjectivity is tricky. So is radical insecurity. Take a pass.

Scenario Three: If you like the girl, goddamn are you lucky. Tap that ass, and keep your roommate in controlled substances for the rest of the month to say thank you. If you don’t like the girl, all the things I said about Scenario Oneno longer apply. Foist her on *him. And be sure not do anything else illegal, Lil’ Falc! It may be okay on national television, but not in the Hardy ethos. Many things are permitted—age teaches us this—but to be a gentleman of love and sex in the Hardy school, deception isn’t one of them. Stay in school.

—xoxo Frank Hardy

*The same suggestion should also apply for any combination of genders.

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