I don’t masturbate. Don’t judge me.
That isn’t to say I never have. I’ve tried. I really have. But it’s always felt more of a chore -– a kind of requisite feminist activity -– than the pleasurable, relaxing, even necessary pastime I assume it is for everyone else.
While for most women, I’m told, masturbation is a shameful activity, my shame always came from the fact that my orgasms were never self-induced.
Feminists are supposed to masturbate. We’re supposed to be empowered, sexually liberated, independent women of the (sexy, sexy) future! In essence, we’re supposed to be able to give ourselves dick-free orgasms. Keep reading »
If you’ve ever fantasized about being a small time secretary seduced by a big time exec, or a stranded civilian who gets rescued and ravished by a hunky cop, you’re not alone! Seven women come clean about the secret bedroom personas that they’d love to act out with their man.
“So just like every other 20-something with a pulse, I’m obsessed with the show Girls. My boyfriend is really sweet and would never demand that I do anything that I didn’t want to do, especially in the bedroom — but I’ve been having this fantasy about re-enacting the scene from last season’s finale, where Adam demands that Natalia get on the floor, crawl to his bedroom and lets him finish on her. I’d even want him to call me Natalia, and I’d call him Adam … “ —Helena H., 24, Charlottesville, VA
Read more on Your Tango…
Let this be a lesson to all LED screen repairmen. Do not, I repeat, DO NOT start watching a movie with explicit sex scenes on your laptop while you are still hooked up to a jumbotron billboard that broadcasts in a very public place. I say this because that’s what a repairman for Jilin Southern Advertising in China did.
Forgetting that he was still connected to the enormous, digital screen in the bustling train station, the IT guy began watching sex scenes from the film “Jing Ping Mei,” known in English as “The Forbidden Legend: Sex & Chopsticks.” (The chopsticks part refers to a scene where a nun named Moon pokes a virgin boy’s manhood with a pair of chopsticks.) Keep reading »
Back in college — this was the late ’90s mind you — I had a friend who had a friend who who got a massage somewhere in Chinatown that ended with the masseur giving her an orgasm. I never met this girl or talked to her directly, but I accepted this story as truth because of its happy ending (har har), although, I’m fairly certain it was an urban legend. Someone wrote an expose about women who get happy ending massages on the regular. So, I guess it happens, but more than 15 years later, I’ve gotten several massages in Chinatown and I’ve never had a hand go anywhere near my no-no parts. I once heard a man in the next massage stall grunting a little bit. But it just sounded like I’m Getting A Massage Grunting. I’ve never met anyone who’s actually had a happy ending massage or admitted to it. And I guess that even if they did, they might not want to brag about it because it’s considered an act of prostitution in every state but Nevada. Good ‘ol Nevada. But this story isn’t about Nevada where masturbatory services flow like Franzia. It’s about China, and the fact that police there had no idea that happy endings were legal. Keep reading »
I’m about one more “and then he came inside me” away from blowing my brains out.
I’m a sex enthusiast, perhaps even a connoisseur on the matter. I peruse publications about sex, participate in deep conversations on the act, and occasionally even engage in the monstrous business. But for fuck’s sake, if I have to read another article about unprotected sex, I’m going to jump off a bridge.
This all started a few years ago when I was reading Vice magazine, specifically the section “People Who Just Had Sex With Each Other.” It’s a column in which an interviewer talks to a couple who just had sex and asks them intimate questions about that particular love-making session. This one painfully hip couple were giving an account of their intimate nudie-sesh. They talked about the foreplay: touching each other’s business, licking each other’s things, fingering each other’s hoo-has. All normal stuff. Then the girl talks about how the guy came inside of her because she was on her period. They had just met the previous week, yet were already at the stage where they could, not only have period sex, but have unprotected period sex. Imagine taking the red ski lift into cream-village with a complete stranger like it’s not even a big deal. I just remember sitting back in my chair and thinking about all the new STD’s that could be swimming inside of their hipster bods. Keep reading »
I went to a college that was funded with money from a nearby casino. Unsurprisingly, the biggest neighboring city has a population of 30,000 people and 10 fully-nude strip clubs for them to attend. Regardless of how expensive the drinks are and how off-putting both the strippers and clientele are (one guy told me he’d actually SEEN a herpes outbreak on one of the strippers as she was rubbing the pole), the strip clubs continue to be the biggest source of tourist revenue for the area.
I didn’t get around to going to one until my junior year. The outing was suggested by one of my male friends. We went to Sirens*, one of the bigger clubs in the area. It was on the side of the highway in an industrial-looking building behind a power generator. Inside there were six stages featuring girls of all shapes and sizes.
My friend bought us a round of shots as soon as we sat down. Each one cost $8. There were a couple of guys there who didn’t look like they had $8. One of the strippers came over to talk to us. She introduced herself as Ivy, even though she had a massive tattoo on her back that said “Courtney.” She started telling the men that she was going to go have sex with one of her girlfriends that night, and that they should come watch. Keep reading »
Chances are you’ve heard the story: an unmarked door leads to a dimly-lit massage parlor where women with strong hands and tolerant smiles await a train of libidinous male patrons. The “happy ending” tale is all too common, a mixture of truth and urban legend that captivates male imaginations even in an age of casual sex and unlimited Internet porn. Read: Does Casual Sex Screw Up Emotional Intimacy?
“It’s always a certain type of place,” said Brian, a 41-year-old screenwriter who admits to visiting the odd “men’s spa” or two (though never, of course, for that). “You go for a reason, and you know what you’re getting when you walk in the door.” Read more on Your Tango…