The Male Harem Hall of Fame, Submission No. 1

The Winning Team, Ireland: By National Library of Ireland on The Commons (Winning Team  Uploaded by russavia)

The Winning Team, Ireland: By National Library of Ireland on The Commons (Winning Team Uploaded by russavia).

Curating a Male Harem is not a science. If so, it would be more popular than Match and The Sultanette would be on Charlie Rose or even The View. Truth is, it’s had ups and downs. Past misfires have included the Opera Buff who after a season of overtures at the Met couldn’t crescendo. And Biscuit Boy who started off all Hugh Grant and ended up more Bela Lugosi.

But holding fast to the belief that the journey is the destination, The Male Harem continues to celebrate the best and brightest among people who have penises (see “person with a penis” at Whose monogamy is it anyway?) So today marks the launch of The Male Harem Hall of Fame series – a “what-if” riff on intriguing characters who emerge in the public eye as hypothetical harem candidates. Read more . . .


Top 10 signs you know you’re having the perfect affair.

The Kiss By Hagenkunst (Own work)

The Kiss By Hagenkunst (Own work)

While the sole purview of The Male Harem is not sexual (see The Male Harem FAQs) there’s nothing like a fueled libido to give a woman a  kick-ass pov on life. And when the idea of gathering a harem was just a twinkle in The Sultanette’s eye, fate provided the ideal fueling in an early acquaintance.

The following, an extant document penned before I was encouraged to make The Male Harem anonymously public as a blog, was experienced after crawling out from sixteen years of well-intentioned fidelity with One and Only to rediscover the raw pleasure of being appreciated from end to end. Read more . . .


Oxford English Dictionary: The Male Harem Edition


Holy Communion: Tropenmuseum of the Royal Tropical Institute.

Blame it on a recovering Catholic’s naughty schoolgirl fantasies. On those crooked streets hiding randy-making pubs, arcane museums, pastry shops with proper tea, and the seraphic strains of evensong rising heavenward in gothic chapels. One of the hottest Male Harem weekends of The Sultanette’s life was had at Oxford, yes, England. It was a weekend so exceptional, an experience so perfectly shared, there was no choice but to return: Alone.

What does being alone have to do with The Male Harem? Everything. The harem was hatched out of the acute aloneness experienced upon realizing that One and Only would never have – never did have – my back (see Whose monogamy is it anyway?). A lethal tipping point, for sure, but a life-giving one. That old wives’ tale that it takes another person to complete you? I began to understand it was up to me to finish the job and now I could get on with it. So if you’re expecting lurid tales of the bodice-ripping Oxford weekend, read no further. But if you’ve tasted the mental-masturbatory thrill of self-discovery, stick around for the ride. Read more . . .


Whose monogamy is it anyway?

Image credit: InSapphoWeTrust

The Leggo Wedding. Image credit: InSapphoWeTrust.

So let’s dive into the mother of them all, that cherished myth of the committed couple – monogamy.  At least it was mine for sixteen years with One and Only until I realized that though he wasn’t cheating on me physically, he’d been carrying on a liaison dangereuse with his past – a twenty-five year constipation over an insidious betrayal he’d never resolved. (Translation: baggage.) He denied it.  He had to.  He’d been deftly abused and lacked the metal or the wiles for right-sizing himself.  So when I realized I was participating in a relationship with the ghost of his past I made a break for the present. Read more . . .


The Male Harem FAQs

Mata Hari.

Mata Hari.

In response to the relentless inquiries among friends, strangers, and soulmates concerning the how’s and who’s of The Male Harem, below is a compendium of most frequently asked questions.

Q:  Do you have sex with all of them?

A:  I may be The Sultanette but I’m not Mata Hari.

Q: Then what’s the point?

A: Happy to say this answer has eluded only one would-be member of The Male Harem, call him The Judge for his litigation creds in the courts of law. (Harem descriptions slightly modified to ensure anonymity.) Installed in his rural idyll where we’d been introduced by his well-meaning wife at a charity event, The Judge suggested he drive into the city for lunch to discuss a book project he was dabbling in. The next week at Blue Water Grill on Union Square, I offered writing advice, then broached the subject of The Male Harem, curious to see if this country gent would be shocked.  Au contraire, The Judge’s immediate response was an enthusiastic, “I’d like to join!” The Male Harem wasn’t a club to be joined, I explained, but an experience to be cultivated. Objection overruled, he suggested we reconvene for lunch next week, venue TBD. Read more . . .