Fun fact: did you know that one of the first plotline ideas I ever had for Leftover Soup was to give Trent AIDS?

It's true. I knew I wanted to have Ellen using her hair tie to get into Max's apartment, but, instead of stumbling into the aftermath of a naked party, she'd find Max exhausted and crying because Trent had tested positive, and the ensuing screaming match had broken up their entire five-way relationship. Kinda glad I didn't go with that idea.

As much as I'm in favour of porn and masturbation and openness, I remain cognizant of the fact that actual sexual intercourse is, very often, a terrible thing that hurts people. I like to write and draw fantasy porn situations in which accidents never happen and consent is unequivocal and there are no STIs and boners always work and no one needs lube or condoms and no one ever has a case of the broccoli farts. The reality, though, is that even ideal sex is between sweaty, fallible mammals. It's gross, it's dangerous, and, 9 times out of 10, if you're doing it, you know damn well you probably shouldn't be.

I guess this strip is a sort of compromise between my ideal porn world and that gritty everyone-has-AIDs pessimism. Jamie's just not very good at fucking. Which, y'know, that checks out.