Right after Ex-Mr. Jessica and I broke up around New Year’s, Tom*, a friend I’ve had for about four years asked if I wanted to go down to Washington, D.C., and visit him to get my mind off the breakup. I assumed there might be an ulterior motive there, but I was in pulling-my-hair-out, “Who knows why men do anything?!” mode and wasn’t totally sure. In any case, I told Tom I was still too sad to be good company, which was true.
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After much thought and Advil, I have decided I am going on a sex/dating and drinking sabbatical. I went on a six-month sex sabbatical after my breakup from my fiance a few years ago — or, rather, I announced I was going on a six-month sex sabbatical and then it lasted for, I think, around two. It wasn’t a complete failure, in other words. Hilariously, I went on a sex sabbatical because all of my efforts to get laid were being thwarted and I figured I might as well decide to NOT have sex with a purpose.
Meanwhile, I have never taken a significant break from drinking. I didn’t start drinking until I was in college — I believe most people start in high school, so I was a late bloomer in more ways than one — and I remember the night I got drunk the first time as well as you can possibly remember a hazy night 13 years ago. The amount and frequency of my drinking has gone up and down over the years, but I generally consider myself to be a responsible boozer. I don’t drink and drive (easy when you don’t have a car!), I don’t say things I don’t mean, and, for the most part, I don’t do things I actually regret. Keep reading »
Last night, while out to dinner with friends, my phone rang—a rare occurrence in a world where phones are amazing for organizing schedules and arranging text messages into adorable dialogue bubbles, but aren’t so hot at providing a clear pathway for two people to talk. I recognized the area code immediately, though I had deleted the caller’s name in a huff a few days before—it was Scruffy Beard. I hadn’t heard from him in almost two weeks, since he sent me a lame “see you around” text the day after we had sex and he darted out the door 20 minutes after, throwing the condom in the trash.
I resisted the urge to listen to his voicemail message all the way through dinner. But as I left the restaurant, I just had to know what he said. Keep reading »
I’ve had a few one-night stands in my life. Don’t look so surprised! But I have never had a one-night stand on New Year’s Eve, which, according to a study conducted by “intimacy” products manufacturer Wet (creative naming!), is the night the majority of women would have one. According to the study, 33 percent of women surveyed said they’d be more likely to have a one-nighter on New Year’s Eve than any other day. But why? Is it because they’re feeling more horny as the clock ticks down to midnight? More depressed and looking to soak up their sadness in the warm embrace of a stranger? More, well, drunk? Though I’ve never had a one-night stand on New Year’s Eve, I can’t write the holiday off as a total dud for my sex and love life — I met my ex-fiance at a New Year’s Eve party and we got engaged on New Year’s Eve four years later. If only he could have waited three and a half more months to dump me — we could have made New Year’s our break-up anniversary too! Ahh, well.
So, what about you, Frisky readers — whether you’ve had a one-night stand(s) before or not, would you be most likely to have one on New Year’s? Have you? [Wet via Lemondrop] Keep reading »
As Scruffy Beard began unhooking my bra, a panic signal went off in my head. Uh oh, Dater X, I thought to myself. This is your third date and you are straddling him in a chair. Your shirt is across the room, and you can feel his hard-on through his pants. You are on a steam locomotive powering towards sex town. This. Is. Not. Good.
I pulled back, feeling suddenly shy about the fact that I was topless. I looked him in the eyes—definitely his nicest feature, though I’d come to appreciate the rest of his face in the two weeks we’d been dating, too. His gaze seemed filled with adoration and desire, and he leaned forward and kissed me, soft and slow. I felt his hands squeeze around my butt. And that was it. Soon the rest of our clothes hit the floor, our makeout session getting more intense with every kiss and touch. Keep reading »