Gee G-Spot, you sure know how to disappoint a girl. First you exclaim your existence to the world. Then you hide as my fellow ladies are poked and prodded in search of you. One day you promise earth-shattering orgasms, the next you disappear without a trace. A recent review of over 100 studies into your existence has come to the conclusion that there is no proof of it. That you don’t exist. But I don’t think this is the last we’ll hear about you, g-spot. You’ll lay low awhile and then pop back up again, taunting us. Why do you continue to play these games with our emotions? Do you find it humorous that millions of us ladies spend days and nights pondering where you are? Keep reading »
Good morning! Let’s get this week off to a pleasurable start, shall we? Here’s an awesome supercut of Meg Ryan’s fake orgasm scene in “When Harry Met Sally” spliced with other sighs, moans, oohs and ahhs from movies. It is vaguely NSFW so use headphones. [via Vimeo]
I think I had a g-spot orgasm. Maybe. I’m not really sure. Even as I thought I might be having one, I questioned its existence.
Somewhere along the way I got the message that this was how I should be getting off. Whether it was part of the idea that penetration is the ultimate sex act or a side effect of sex positive feminism or one of Cosmo’s unrealistic sex tips — the notion that my body should be achieving g-spot orgasm on the regular was embedded in my brain. Keep reading »
“[W]hat is sexual in a high heel is the arch of the foot, because it is exactly the position of a woman’s foot when she orgasm. … So putting your foot in a heel, you are putting yourself in a possibly orgasmic situation.”
— Christian Louboutin is bats**t crazy if he thinks this is true. I have lots of heels and they only thing they give me are blisters. [Fashionista]
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 »