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 »
I really didn’t know what polyamory was until I fell into it at 27. I was arguing one day with a couple I’d been sleeping with for about a month, when BAM! I ended up in a three-way relationship.
I’ve always been open-minded as far as sexual relationships were concerned and was sleeping with a male/female couple. That day, Dan was being overly critical of Ellie. I told them the nit-picking was bothering me, but it really wasn’t my business how they treated each other, since, you know, it was their relationship.
That’s when they looked at each other and asked me, “Well, aren’t you kind of… with us?”
Hmm. “Fine,” I said to Dan, “Be nice to my girlfriend then.” Keep reading »
I double-checked my bag: Wallet, bus pass, lip gloss. A bottle of cheap wine. A variety pack of condoms. My favorite vibrator and a pair of handcuffs.
My husband and I were attending our very first sex party and — by God — I wanted us to be prepared.
I wasn’t sure what to expect that evening. My libido levels had been low as of late, and intimacy with my husband was suffering. As someone who often relied upon a vibrator, was I really planning on possibly masturbating in public? Were Michael and I actually going to pull out that set of never-before-used handcuffs in a public setting? Was I going to allow myself to actually feel something? Keep reading »
“I’ve never even kissed a woman,” Adam said. One of my best friends on the planet, Adam was unequivocally gay—the kind of caricature personality who lisped, wore pink, plucked his eyebrows, flicked his wrists, and decorated his apartment in rainbows. He was my first call when a guy I was dating was being a jerk, the one who was always up for an impromptu shopping mission or who’d dance with me until the wee hours of the night at an ’80s club. Technically, he was everything I’d want in a boyfriend: smart, funny, kind and gorgeous—too gorgeous to be straight, as the saying goes. But since he was gay, I barely noticed.
But as he said those words, our faces were inches apart and we were locked in that trance-like pull of an inevitable kiss. We were at a party, dancing to New Order. And soon our lips locked and we were full-on making out. As I felt his hands squeeze my butt, I backed up and stared at him. “You’re an amazing kisser,” he said, with a wink.
Next thing I knew, we were back at my place. Keep reading »
We met when I delivered his mail, a task performed by all the interns. But I liked to think I was different: I was an eager little NYU journalism student, desperate for attention, and I chatted with all the editors as I passed their cubicles. Many magazine editors on the top of the masthead are a bit standoffish and see interns, especially ones who want to talk while they’re busy, as an annoyance. But the Older Man was actually inquisitive and kind; we’d chitchat a little bit, a welcome reprieve from the other editors who could be cold and snappish. Keep reading »