A recent essay about “facials” really got me thinking. Why is it that the act of ejaculating on a woman’s face is called a “facial”? Is semen an astringent? It seems to me that the act could be called something manlier, like “spackling,” or more … inviting? Women love cupcakes. Why not call the sex act “frosting”?
This essay was posted on Jezebel, and it was written by Hugo Schwyzer. The piece seeks to explain why men want to “jizz” on a woman’s face. Apparently, this sex act is highly controversial. Some women find it degrading, some find it liberating. Is it a way for men to mark their territories? Or is the act a symptom of the AIDs epidemic, when semen became a potentially lethal substance? Has porn popularized this climactic ritual? Does porn influence men, or is it a reflection of the evolving sexual desires of the day? (I’m going to answer this in a hot minute.) Keep reading »
There’s no joy quite like like surprising your boo, or your gyno, with a temporary tattoo on your boobies. Whether you want to convey “Satisfaction Guaranteed” or “100% Natural,” a company called TaTaToos will sell you tats for $10, one for each boobie. There’s even special holiday-themed ta-ta tats reading “Santa’s Helper,” “Trick Treat” and “Touch Down.” What a way to class up second-base. [TaTaToos.com via The Gloss]
Vaginas! So strange. So mysterious. So essential a component of the female anatomy. Sure, you may have a vagina. Or maybe you’re just curious about vaginas. Vaginas are like snowflakes. No two vaginas are alike. Of course, some vaginas are more exceptional than others. Like Hazel Jones, the woman who was so brave as to go on morning television to talk about her, not one, but two vaginas. Click through to find out more about Hazel’s lady flowers and other unique vaginas in our vagina-tastic slide show.
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 »