I am a gal who enjoys watching porn. I have since I was a teen and used to put my ear up to the television speaker, volume real low so my parents couldn’t hear, listening to the moans and groans coming from the picture garbled Spice Channel. Nowadays, I get my porn for free online; I’m usually pretty whatever about what I watch — I click around until I find something that strikes me as hot (the actors or “real people” seem genuine, there isn’t a lot of annoying storyline, etc.) and hunker down for 5-10 minutes of self-lovin’. Until recently, I hadn’t really understood the notion of having a favorite porn star. With so many porn videos available on the web, how do you even keep track of who’s who? And, really, porn stars have never struck me as particularly compelling, especially the male stars, many of whom are really, really unattractive, their only attributes being, well, you know.
That is, however, until I came across Manuel Ferrara. Keep reading »
At first I thought there were pimples on my vagina. That was when they were only hard, tiny lumps. I noticed them when I was in the ladies room at work. The next time I went in the bathroom, they were much, much bigger, and I started to get worried. And was it just me, or were they really starting to hurt? By the time I went home they were so painful I couldn’t sit down. I started to think that somehow, this meant I was going to die. This had never happened before but I, ever the optimist, went to bed sure my vagina would be back to its old, sexy self when I awoke the next morn.
It wasn’t. The bumps were larger and even more painful, and examining my naked body that morning, I was sure that, for the first time, I was seeing what a really pissed-off vagina looked like. She was screaming at me, she was aching and tired and red and troubled. When I discovered I couldn’t even wear pants, I called the doctor and they told me they could squeeze me in two days later. (Here is the part of the story when you learn an unfortunate character trait of mine that will come up several times in this story — I am a truth avoider/denier.) I didn’t want to be pushy or impose, either (I am from Ohio, if that explains anything). So, I accepted my appointment and lived the next two days enduring an increasingly excruciating pain in my crotch. Keep reading »
I’m going to talk about my trip again. Hate me yet? Anyhow, I had a four hour layover at the Dublin airport on my way home from Paris. I was tired and bored, so I spent all my time shopping in their mall. They have a mall! In the middle of the airport! There was a Jo Malone store there.
I’ve talked before about the many ways Fifty Shades of Grey is ruining in the world. In a bookstore, at the Dublin airport mall, I discovered yet another: publishers are falling all over themselves to release as many Fifty Shades rip-offs as possible before no one cares anymore.
The formula for these books were the same for the most part; either a similar title (one involving a number and a color), and/or a cover art in the style of Fifty Shades. The bookstore had the good/bad sense to put them all together on one bookshelf, next to the real Fifty Shades and sell them for a deep discount. Really? As a book lover, I cringed. Can’t we let Fifty Shades die and move onto something else in the world of erotica? Owl fetish, anyone? But as I mentioned, I had four hours to kill, so I flipped through them all. Oh, the horror.
Surviving the holidays is always stressful. And if you’re single, it’s the perfect time to eff the pain away! Thanksgiving weekend provides a few days to hunt for hotties — especially if you’re traveling somewhere. But even if you’re stuck home alone, make sure you take full advantage of all the seasonal action by following The Frisky’s Guide To Getting Some Gravy On Thanksgiving!
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