When my first love and I broke up, I was still new to the world of sex. I was 22 years old when we said our tearful goodbye, knowing full well that what we had at that young age wouldn’t be able to transcend time. I remember thinking I’d not only never love again, but never, ever have sex again either. Sometimes I really miss the equal parts drama and naivety that comes with youth.
As a way to cope with the loss, I set up camp on my couch with endless supplies of veggie burgers and Ben & Jerry’s, and drowned my sorrows in “Beverly Hills, 90210″ reruns. I still contend that Emily Valentine really was one of the highlights of the show, and I have the months of obsessively watching it as scientific evidence. I also saw a wee bit of myself in her.
After a few years had passed, I started dating men here and there, having superficial flings steeped in alcohol as the common denominator, and by the time I moved to New York City, casual sex was all I was really interested in. It was there for the offering, I knew I enjoyed it, at least most of the time, so why not take advantage of sexual opportunities that life presented me?
Then I fell in love again. Keep reading »
I wish more men were like Nick Gilronan, winner of last year’s Smallest Penis in Brooklyn contest (this year’s contest is this Sunday, aka Father’s Day). He is proud of what he’s got between his legs, so much so that he was willing to stand almost naked, wearing just a mankini, in front of a crowd and strut his stuff. He told an interviewer, “The size of a man’s penis does not matter for who he is as a person or in a relationship,” and I wholeheartedly agree. See, I prefer guys who are a little less endowed, with good reason. Firstly, the best lovers I’ve ever had have been on the smaller side, which I don’t think is a coincidence. My hunch is that because these men feel self-conscious about their size (all of them told me as much at some point), they go out of their way to make up for it, excelling at oral sex and making good use of their fingers as well as positions like doggy-style. Keep reading »
I’m a pretty open-minded chick and the last few months have involved quite a bit of open-legged-ness as well. This sort of slutty period in my life has been both fun and educational, not to mention reintroduced me to some sex acts that I’d never really given a fair shake before. In no particular order, here are five seriously underrated things to do in the sack that I suggest giving another shot.
Want more sexy mcsextown videos like this? Subscribe to our YouTube channel!
Wouldn’t it be nice if we could ascertain whether someone will suck in the sack before, you know, having sex with them? That’s where I come in! Hindsight is 20/20, which means I can look back on some of the bad sex I’ve had and recognize that there were glaring warning signs well before the clothes came off. These are not hard and fast rules, of course, but more often than not, these seven things are glaring red flags that the dude you’re considering humping is going to be a total dud.
Want more sex talk from yours truly? Subscribe to The Frisky’s YouTube channel!
I love dirty talk. I LOVE IT. All of it, even bad dirty talk because bad dirty talk, while awkward in the moment, is funny as hell later. And good dirty talk — whatever you consider that to mean — can make a world of difference when it comes to getting down. Discovering if and how a new partner talks dirty is probably one of my favorite things about hooking up. Sometimes, it’s nothing I haven’t heard before — your standard ‘Ooh baby, you like that?’ — but there have been a number of dirty talking types who have been particularly memorable. In this episode of Funny Girl Sex Guide, I’ll introduce you to just some of the dirty talkin’ types you might encounter during your sexual adventures. Time to talk dirty, you sexy motherfuckers.
Like this? Subscribe to our YouTube channel!
I’ve lived in New York City for a little over 10 years. As any of the other writers for The Frisky can tell you (and have written about over and over), dating in this city isn’t as easy as a walk in Central Park. In a city of eight million people where the single women outnumber the single men by roughly 150,000, the stakes are high and the pickings slim. Having been out there floating in that sea for longer than I would have wished on most people, archenemies excluded, naturally I have found myself in sexual predicaments that, tragically, I probably won’t be forgetting anytime soon. Actually, there’s a very good chance I’ll never forget some of these scarring and haunting forays into the ridiculous. And because of this, I think the best way to deal is to share them with someone besides my therapist. Keep reading »