“I’m resetting my dick and my brain,” said Greg Barris of his decision to give up porn, sex and masturbation.
Barris is one of the men featured in New York magazine’s piece about the male anti-masturbation movement. According to the piece, a number of men are reflecting on their masturbation habits — even abstaining from “fapping” altogether in order to be able to perform better with women and to be better men in general.
Thirty-two-year-old Henry compared the feeling of not masturbating for a long period of time to being on antidepressants. He reported feeling more alert, younger and far more attracted to women, better able to communicate with them, better able to perform in bed.
In my personal sexual experience, I’ve found this introspection about porn, masturbation and sexual performance, to be a growing trend amongst the men I sleep with. More than three of my sexual partners have expressed the sentiment that “porn is screwing me up.” Keep reading »
I’ve been going to the same vagina waxer for almost six years now. When you tell people that you wax down there, often their first question is: Isn’t that awkward to have someone all up in your vagina like that? The answer is no. Good waxers make you feel like your vagina is disinteresting. Or mundane. And I mean that in the best possible way. Good waxers look at your vagina the way a grocery store cashier looks at a carton of milk; only enough to make sure they’ve scanned it properly at check out. Vaginas are just kind of a non-issue to them. I know there is some debate as to whether or not it’s appropriate to talk to one’s waxer while she is working on the vagina. I say yes. After six years of waxing my muff once a month, I pretty much consider my waxer, almost, kind of, a friend. We’re not friends, but she knows what’s going on in my life and I know what’s going on in hers. I’ve been with her through two pregnancies and she’s been with me through four times as many breakups. All that being said, there have been a few really uncomfortable moments we’ve shared over the years. Keep reading »
I don’t usually care all that much who my friends date. As long as the person makes them happy enough, I recognize, that as adult in my 30s, it’s really not my business. Do what you want, yo! Relationships are weird and complicated and what works for someone may not work for me. Who am I to judge? I’m essentially laissez faire that way.
That being said, occasionally situations come up where a friend is dating someone who concerns me. When I say, concerns, I mean, I fear the relationship may damage/ruin/send my friend on a downward spiral. Not like oh, this person is unavailable and he/she will hurt you. More like, this person is a vampire who will destroy your life. Keep reading »
I have stumbled upon a dating conundrum that I cannot figure out on my own. I don’t need to consult an advice columnist, or my friends or therapist. I need to hear from the people of the world at large who have been through this and have practical pearls of wisdom to bestow upon me.
So here’s the dilemma: The other night I was out with some friends … wait let me back up. Here’s what you should know: This dinner bunch is a tight circle of friends. We work in the same field and our bond is not only personal, it’s professional. One of the members of this group is a guy that has been a close friend of mine for the last two years. I have always sensed some attraction on both of our ends at different times throughout our friendship, but neither of us have ever acted on it at all. Never in any overt way, at least. Over the past couple of years, we’ve become really, really close, sharing stuff about our families, dating lives, professional lives and personal lives. This guy probably knows more about me than most of my closest friends. Keep reading »
On the latest season of “The Bachelor,” contestant Brittney showed up armed with an escort to meet Ben Flajnik — her 72-year-old grandmother Sheryl, who hobbled out of the limo on crutches. An adorable little stunt for “The Bachelor,” where it’s customary for women ride in on horses or do back flips to win a rose. For the record, Ben and Sheryl seemed to like each other way better than Ben and Brittney. Sheryl may have helped Britney earn her first rose, but she left of her own accord on the third episode. Can you blame her? Watching Ben is like watching paint dry.
In real life, on real dates, these types of schemes are far less endearing. Now don’t get me wrong, I do love grandmas. Especially my own. But when Charles* asked if he could bring his “Bubbe” (Yiddish for grandmother) along on our second date, I wasn’t sure how to respond. Is there an appropriate way to turn down a man’s granny? Keep reading »
When pubic hair first appeared on my adolescent body, I was mortified. I wanted it gone as quickly as it sprouted. It just felt, for lack of a better word, bizarre to have it there. But at the age of 11, waxing was not option. Well, maybe it is nowadays, but in the late ’80s, that was not a something that happened.
By the time I got to college and started getting naked with boys, I felt mortified afresh when, after receiving oral sex for the first time, my boyfriend stepped back from my vagina, and pulled a long pubic hair out of his mouth. I thought I would never recover. He didn’t seem to mind one bit. It was 1996.
After we broke up, I started sleeping with an older guy who was absolutely wild about giving cunnilingus, full bush and all. His enthusiasm made me start to like my pubes. Keep reading »
God help me for admitting this: I don’t like my brother’s fiancée. Phew. It feels so freeing to write these words. I can’t even bring myself to call her my future sister-in-law. It makes my skin itch. I would love to be able to give you a concrete reason for being irked by her. Like she kicks small dogs or steals subway seats from old ladies or physically abuses my little brother. None of the above. Keep reading »
I sat at the airport, waiting to board Virgin Airlines flight 451 traveling non-stop to my sunny destination … to a friend’s wedding. I exhaled. It had been too long since I had been on a real vacation. All my vacation days seem to be designated to other people’s weddings. In the terminal, I replayed the fantasy I’ve always had that one lucky time in my life I would end up seated next to a hot man on a plane, all the planets would align, and we would join the illustrious Mile-High Club. Maybe I could even take him as my wedding date. Keep reading »
My younger brother Dan used to sleep in a car bed with a GI Joe tent over it. He owned a skateboard, a boogie board, a BMX bike, a moped, and a scooter. His favorite movies were “Rad” and “Gleaming the Cube.” But underneath his little daredevil facade was a kid that worshiped me, his older sister who occasionally used him as a human Barbie doll. He did whatever he could to please me — even if it meant wearing a dress — whatever it took to be accepted by me — even if it meant watching “Annie” every day for a week. I embraced him as my apprentice, my little neophyte. As we got older, I tried to instill him with values and culture. I introduced him to indie films and alternative music. I dragged him along to parties with my artist friends and gave him books to broaden his perspective. I encouraged him to leave the state for college and travel, to grow as a human being. I supported him 100 percent when he decided to move to New York City post-college to pursue a career in finance. I was always there when he needed advice. Staring at the clean-cut, 26-year-old man sitting across from me at his engagement dinner, I barely recognized the person he had become. Keep reading »