We were walking down the street when Colin asked me if I’d ever feel comfortable saying that word. Colin — 24, biracial in the way that is still largely read as black — and me, a Jewish but let’s be serious, white, girl on the edge of 30; and Colin wanting to know whether I, with my intelligent, progressive world view, would ever say that one word that white people are not allowed to say.
I paused before responding. “Well,” I said finally, “on the one hand, I think that words on their own are completely meaningless, and only ‘offensive’ because we, as a society, imbue them with meaning and power. On the other hand, I understand the painful history behind that word, and I don’t think that arguing for my supposed right to be able to say it is a battle worth fighting.”
“Have you ever said it?” he asked.
I had. Years before, as a younger and more naive me working at an after school program serving low-income (and predominantly Black and Latino) high school students, I’d said it during a class. I forget the point I’d been trying to make; but I remember assuming the affect of one of my students and saying that word, though, of course, with a soft a at the end. The stunned, uncomfortable silence that resulted was enough to deter me from ever saying it again.
“Yeah,” I said. “And I didn’t feel good about it.” Keep reading »
No one on earth is quite as pleased as a man who has just pleased a woman between the sheets. We love the care and attention you’ve paid to us for our own benefit, but we also love watching you bask in self-satisfaction. But as satisfied as you might be with yourself, sometimes we’re not quite as satisfied as you’d hoped: something relatively minor, but highly distracting, was a bit “off.”
Don’t be offended, darlings, but a few nips and tucks in your bedroom style might speed things along (in a good way)—leaving us more time for another go at it! Keep reading »
Monday morning at The Frisky offices is all about weekend hookups, natch. Today, I had to share all about the guy who wanted to be called “sir” in bed — as in “Please, sir, may I have another?” Calling a guy “sir” in bed feels so formal to me. But I suppose if I’m going to ask a guy to call me a “slut” in bed then I cannot be too picky. I would draw the line at calling a man “daddy,” however. That’s just too much for me. Amelia gamely admitted a guy once asked her, “Who’s your daddy?” I would probably have told him “Mr. Wakeman” and then leapt out of bed to scrub my brain clean.
What’s the weirdest thing a partner has asked you to call them in the bedroom? Did you oblige or were you too uncomfortable? Tell us in the comments! Keep reading »
After a slew of flings that consisted of more games than the World Cup, I was practically in heaven when I met Jake – an intelligent, successful, Southern gentleman who eerily resembled New York Mets heartthrob David Wright. Keep reading »
I get called a “slut” all the time. My friend Ashley calls me a slut like it’s my name: “Slut!” The Frisky staff calls each other sluts when we divulge our sexual escapades. Internet commenting trolls call me a slut fairly regularly (and a “bitch”, and a c-word, and plenty of other foul things). I call myself a slut, like, say, last week when I hooked up with a dude on the first date. A lot of 20-something women are used to being called a slut in some area of their lives, in every situation from “haha, just kidding” with our friends or (cool) co-workers to more serious areas, like when it’s hurled at us by a catcaller. “Slut” is one of those female-centric words — like “bitch,” like “feminist” — that can mean so many things that it almost means nothing anymore. Except, it turns out, in bed. Keep reading »
“Tell me what you want to do to me,” I cooed in Brandon’s* ear. It was our first time in bed together and I was hoping he would pass my “dirty talk test.” The test is simple. I ask the man what he wants to do to me and he responds with his own special brand of dirty talk. Easy, right? Not always so simple.
It’s easier to get the little head than the big head in the game. But the problem is, I only want to have sex with a man when both heads are present. I want him to understand that my pleasure takes place first in my mind and then in my body. And if he can’t stimulate my mind, he has a very slim chance of stimulating anything on my body. Sure he can fumble his way around and accidentally push a button, but why bother? I know some people don’t like to talk; they just like to “do.” But for me it’s not enough. Keep reading »
Last week, our Catherine totally skeeved all of us, which I might add is not an easy task, with 20 Words That Gross Us Out More Than “Moist.” Seriously, ew! It’s bad enough to hear a funky word in your day-to-day life, but what about when you’re trying to keep things sexy? You don’t want to say something icky when you’re naked. That’s why we’ve compiled a list of no-no words for once you’ve said “yes.” Let’s do it, down and dirty with 36 words you should never ever say … in bed!
Keep reading »
I’ve learned a lot of things from the women in my life. How to appreciate wine, do my own taxes, not be a douchebag. And because of them, I am a fan of Pinot Noir, keep a shoebox of receipts, and am a fan of Pinot Noir. But more on this later.
Sex without dirty talk is a bland affair, like chicken nuggets without the hot mustard. Without that whispered verbal communication and the trust that goes with it, body and mind aren’t connected. No, I’m not getting all Deepak Chopra all up in this joint. Sex is a brain thing as much as a skin thing. Without uncensored, honest, blushing dirty talk in bed (or the backseat, stairwell, or under the kitchen table) there is no way to find out if she needs it faster or slower. You’d never learn that she likes her hair pulled to the left, while you softly kiss her jaw line on the right side of her face. Apparently, there’s a world of difference between a flick and a pinch. These are important facts, and the reverse is true when you’re with your man. Keep reading »