I’d been invited to three adult novelty parties via Facebook. The first two I skipped, but decided the third time was a charm. You see, I’m a scientist, a doctor, with the capacity to deduce conclusive results from my experiments, even failed ones. After my divorce I concluded that a successful relationship requires me to think of what I can give to a partner both emotionally and sexually, rather than focusing solely on what he could give to me.
That’s what sent me to a relationship seminar about sexuality and spirituality. It’s also what solidified the decision to say yes to this party. I am in a new relationship, considering spending the rest of my life with a man and his two children. I figured, subscribing to my friend’s philosophy: “You must try everything once or you’ll die stupid.” Besides, alcohol, food and sex talk with a bunch of strangers didn’t sound like a bad way to spend an afternoon. Keep reading »
Simply put, I have been boy crazy since elementary school.
Men have always been the ones I kissed, fellated, fucked, Skype-sexed, you name it. All of my sexual experiences and struggles coming to terms with my sexual kinks have involved cisgendered men.
But until recently, there was a side of myself that lay dormant so long it would probably more appropriate to call it “stagnant.” It was a side of myself that I didn’t act upon out of fear of what would happen: the one that had sexual and romantic feelings for women. Keep reading »
Once upon a time in 2005, there was a young lady in her mid-20′s who lived in a faraway land known as New York City. This young lady was single and, as a result, was in constant pursuit of a man to be her boyfriend. She searched far and wide throughout the land for a proper companion. Eventually, many years later, she would find one to call her own, but in 2005 she was rifling through as many men as were available, ready, and willing. In the summer of 2005 she was balancing two different gentlemen, and it was in said balancing act that our fair maiden accomplished the near-impossible – the arguably slutty, the inarguably promiscuous – and put two penises into her mouth in one day.
Two different penises, that is. Just so we’re clear. Keep reading »
“Call me in one hour and tell me your boyfriend dumped you,” I told my girl friend as we stood outside the movie theater where we had just seen “Magic Mike.” “If the party’s weird and I want to leave, I’ll say ‘Oh my God, are you okay? I’ll come meet you!’ Got it?”
“Sure thing,” my friend promised.
“I’m texting you the address I’m going to right now,” I told her, tapping on my iPhone. “Just in case these people turn out to be rapist-murderers.”
“I’m sure they’ll be fine,” she soothed me. We hugged goodbye and parted at a street corner. “Have fun!” is what she called as I walked away.
Have fun at your spanking party is what she meant. Keep reading »
I always laughed when, in middle school, my friends worried about getting tampons stuck inside of them. I was the first to brush off any fear that anything could actually get stuck inside your vagina. I mean, how could you not know if something is up in there? However, I have been converted – a vagina can be a cavernous hiding spot for all sorts of paraphernalia. Somehow, unbeknownst to me, I once got a condom lost inside my vagina for days. Yes, days. Keep reading »
Years ago, in my early 20s, I dated a guy named Mike. Now Mike, by all accounts, was heterosexual. Perhaps you’re thinking, Um, hello? Duh. Of course he was. He was dating you, and you’re a woman. But as any lady in her 20s living in New York can tell you, this doesn’t always guarantee straightness. No. It does not. However, Mike seemed thoroughly, authentically hetero. And as evidence of that fact – and just to get down to the nitty-gritty of it – I offer you the following: He had a healthy sexual appetite and, more to the point, he really enjoyed the performance of The Oral Sex. And more to the point, he was unfailingly, ahem, aroused after having done so to moi et moi’s lady-bits.
So this one night, Straight Mike and I were enjoying a couple of post-coital drinks and chitting and chatting, and I – in a pathetic if nonetheless truthful attempt to make him think me more worldly than I was/am – mentioned having made out with a girl in college. I said, “Well, there was this month in college when I kept making out with my friend Barbara.”
I expected him to tell me how edgy, original, and adventurous this was, but instead, he went, “Oh, yeah. Well, I mean, I guess I never think that stuff’s that big a deal. I mean, well, I sucked this guy’s dick, like … last year I guess it was?” Keep reading »
Here’s a thing I can promise: If you invite me to your wedding, your other guests will comment on the quality of my dancing. It’s inevitable. I’ve never been to a wedding where the thank you note for whatever I picked off the registry didn’t do exactly that. Anything from, “My Uncle Morty loved your dancing!” to “You really got the party started!” My dancing skillz come down to one word: Commitment. I hear a song that moves me, and I commit. I give 100 percent. The way my best friend once described it: “It’s like, one second you’re in your chair eating a slice of cake or whatever, then the next second you’re shimmying so hard I’m, like, ‘OMG: I’m worried her head’s gonna fall off.’ You go from zero to 60 like that.” Keep reading »
The other night I went on a date. I was following my own advice about getting back to dating basics, and thought it would be a good idea to invite my date to a live taping of a game show that I was offered tickets to. Perfect. A date where we could just have some good, clean fun. Three minutes in the door and the woman checking us in, who I should mention had a raging herpes outbreak on her lip, asked: “Are you a couple?” Keep reading »
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 »