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 »
“Sit down, you forgot to act,” my teacher said, and my cheeks burned.
It was less than two minutes into my scene and he was already stopping it.
I was a 23-year-old acting student. The assignment was to come up with an imaginary circumstance and an activity to go along with it while improvising a scene with a partner who had created his or her own circumstance and activity. As always, I’d worked hard on my homework and spent hours preparing. So I was furious when my teacher cut me off so quickly.
“I’m not even going to bother critiquing that,” he said. “It wasn’t worth it.”
Blinking back tears, I shuffled to my seat with my head down and squeezed into my chair. Keep reading »
I’d never slept with a virgin. On our second date, Jim and I escaped from a hot and overcrowded bar and sat on a bench outside. Fueled by a few pints of Guinness and the urge to confess, Jim admitted to being a 30-year-old virgin. He’d never even had a girlfriend. After a long moment of silence, I asked him, trying to sound as non-intimidating as possible, why that was.
Jim didn’t have a concrete reason. He rattled off details about his life. He was Catholic, but didn’t go to church and definitely wasn’t saving himself. He went to an all-boys high school. He lived at home during college and grad school, though he owned an apartment now. He really didn’t know why. The desire was there; the opportunity just hadn’t presented itself. Keep reading »
Ryan* and I started dating during my junior year of high school, when I was going through my Christian good-girl phase. I dutifully attended church lock-ins, Bible camps, and crushed on worship band boys. Ryan, who played guitar in a Christian band (sigh) and just so happened to be the son of my 6’5″ Pentecostal Pastor, was the one I chose. In addition to being a couple, we were best friends who were in choir and church drama team together. Ryan was absolutely hilarious, super tall like his dad, and best of all, my mom LOVED him. He really knew how to get old broads to swoon.
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I met Greg* through a dating website and we talked online and then on the phone for about a week. I was very hesitant because I had never tried online dating before, and also because of one more very glaring fact: Greg was in a four-year relationship with Jen*.
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As I laid on the couch, having a very regular, very non-inspiring evening alone watching baseball, I got an onslaught of sexts from the woman I was dating. After a series of lewd and kind of hilarious d**k pics, she replied with what looked like a Vogue magazine worthy, very tasteful, classy black and white digital nude. I got harder than Chinese algebra. I went from zero to phone sex in a matter of seconds. I dialed my woman. It was the next logical step. Keep reading »
In the spirit of Columbus, Magellan and Lewis and Clark, I spent my teenage years as a fearless explorer of uncharted carnal terrain, reporting back to my tight-knit group of girlfriends with play-by-plays and handy tips from my randy sexual exploits. I was the ﬁrst in my high school crew of gals to do pretty much everything: kiss a boy, get felt up, get naked, get ﬁngered (in a movie theater), receive oral sex, give oral sex, and ﬁnally, have sex (on the ﬂoor of my high school boyfriend’s parents’ basement). A new world of experiences was opening up, and I took on my role as trailblazer with fervor, drive and anthropological scrutiny. That ﬁrst night on the basement ﬂoor, I remember thinking to myself, Wow, the cavemen did this! Keep reading »
In my early 20s I was still new to relationships and sex with women. I hadn’t yet completely identified as a lesbian and the idea of sleeping with a woman totally freaked me out. I was terrified of oral sex and to me, that was the only way to do it with women. When I finally broke through my fear and got together with my first girlfriend, the sex was amazing but pretty vanilla — no dildos, no spanking, no bondage. Keep reading »
My first concern when preparing for my appointment was: What I should wear? Sure, I was going to be stripping down to nothing, but maybe I could strip down to nearly-nothing instead? I looked through my closet. What could I artfully drape over my body while still keeping the safe spots — shoulders, ankles, torso — bare? What did I have that could simultaneously reveal and conceal? Why in heck had I never purchased anything with ruching?
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Here at The Frisky, we have been getting all touchy-feely with our emotions for “Love Yourself Week.” But what about the more literal and physical side of the phrase “touchy-feely”? You know, the more hands-on approach to self-love. Masturbation, to be blunt. This little act is, uh, an important part of learning to love yourself. Up until yesterday, I have always taken a manual approach to masturbation and my fingers have suited me just fine. But I couldn’t help but think I was missing out on something by being sans sex toys. So I decided to be a big girl and set out to buy my very first vibrator. Keep reading »