Buffin’ the muffin. Tiptoeing through the two lips. Five knuckle gusset shuffle. Coochie cuddling. And, if you’re Irish, Tickling me Elmo. We all do it and we all have our favorite euphemisms for it—so why can’t we talk about it? Keep reading »
Bachelor and bachelorette parties have become synonymous with wild and reckless nights, the details of which are slightly obscured when describing it to significant others later. Movies like “Bachelor Party” and “The Hangover” paint the occasion as a shame-inducing free-for-all of alcohol and bawdiness, but it hasn’t always been that way. The origins of bachelor and bachelorette parties are remarkably tame when compared to the ones we know of today, so how did this once-low-key event get transformed into the craziest night of a groom- or bride-to-be’s life? Keep reading »
If you’ve thumbed through an issue of Maxim magazine or Men’s Health anytime in the last twenty-five years, you’ve probably read a few pointers on how to properly compliment a woman. Personally, I think these lists can be a little too vague, and quite honestly, a little lame. For example, one list I read recently said, “When you meet someone interesting, commend her on her wit or intelligence—not her beautiful breasts.” That someone actually felt compelled to remind men not to compliment breasts at first sight shocked me. Don’t all guys know not to do this? Keep reading »
I’ve only dated a few men that are shorter than me. And when I say “a few” I mean one. Maybe two if I really dig—deep into the Dead Sea perhaps. I have definitely dated a lot of guys that are within an inch or two of my own height.
Being in a relationship with a shorter man does not bother me one bit. In fact, I think there should be more couples with shorter men and taller women. But if I have no problem at all, why do I usually find myself with those 6’2” fellows? Keep reading »
I knew that I was a lesbian very early on. As I reached my twenties, it was clear that I was a butch lesbian, with more “male” energy than “female.” But my long hair and curvy body was not supporting my self-image. That had to change. It’s not that I wanted to be a guy exactly, I just wanted to be able to pass as one—the hair, the look, the attitude. For me, it was not about altering my body so much as it was about altering my hair. The right haircut would put a swagger in my step, a bit of mischief in my eye, and help me attract the femme woman of my dreams. Keep reading »
A long time ago, right before I met the man who would become my husband, I dated a guy named Gary,* a new-age rocket scientist who excelled in many things, including the art of self-promotion.
I remember that cold February night, a week before Valentine’s Day, when we were driving in his car. He had played his guitar and sung songs at his church that day and was giving me the post-mortem on his performance. Keep reading »