I have a new gynecologist. Let’s call her Bev. She’s a mid-wife so she’s not actually a doctor, but I am already more impressed with her than any other lady doctor that I’ve ever had. That’s because while she was down there, collecting cell samples from my ladyflower, she offered to show me my cervix. And I was like, “Uh, okay. Why not?” No other doctor had ever offered and I had never asked, but in that moment, as Bev handed me the world’s longest armed mirror, I was like, Fuck yeah, I am about to meet my cervix for the very first time. Keep reading »
The Frisky already owns a large rubber boob. Now we need The Big Coloring Book Of Vaginas, an actual coloring book for adults with drawings of ladyflowers to keep us busy with our Crayolas. There are even pages with questions a damsel can answer about her vagina, like “A special treat for my vagina is ___” and “My vagina likes ___.” I feel like a neglectful woman, because I don’t know the answer to either of those questions. Excuse me, I’m off to commune with my vagina. [Amazon.com]
The e-mail simply read: I’ll pay you $350.
I lay down and thought about this. I thought about a three, a five and a zero. How pretty they looked altogether, no periods to dash out the mass. How nice they would look in my empty piggy bank. I thought about what was being asked of me for the $350. The man wanted me to, shall we say, pleasure myself in front of him. As a straight 21-year-old, newbie journalist, this wasn’t really what I had expected when signing on to do an article about sex parties for a hipster-porn-rag mag.
But this is where my “literary” endeavors had led me — to possible prostitution. The want and need for our readers to hear what it’s like for me, a young Jewish man, living in NYC, to attend, watch and maybe, maybe participate in a sex party, had gotten me into this predicament. Keep reading »
Dakota Fanning’s Cosmopolitan cover raised some eyebrows because the “Twilight” actress is 17-years-old and we all know your hymen magically becomes open for business at midnight on your 18th birthday. Presumably, Cosmo‘s ad sales department knew this fact, which is why it sent out a sample mock-up cover to advertisers scrubbed of all the naughty stuff. The sample mock-up cover (at left) received by the NY Observer newspaper promises articles on “Spring Clothes, Hair, Nails” and how to “Feel Close After A Fight.” The actual cover (at right)? Sex! Vaginas! More sex! I guess the articled entitled “Um, Vagina, Are You Okay Down There?” wasn’t deemed advertiser-friendly. I can’t imagine why. [New York Observer] Keep reading »
Many women (and some men, too) fall in love and think they can “fix” the person they are with. He may have bad hair, she may smoke, he could snore at night or wear the wrong clothing. Most of these problems can be dealt with, but there some that cannot and sexual chemistry is the biggest.
A recent letter to The Daily Mail relationship expert asks this very question: Can a relationship survive when you have everything in place but the good sex? The answer, sadly, is a resounding no. If the sex is bad, the relationship must end.
Oh I know. I can hear the groaning from here. But the answer holds firm. Try as you might to believe otherwise, sexual chemistry is an absolute dealbreaker in a relationship. It may seem shallow, but it really is not. Read more…