“Have you ever seen your teacher’s breasts before? Well, now you can see them.”
Such was the tag line for MySluttyTeacher.com, a porn site started by Heidi Kaeslin — oh dear — a special education teacher and girls’ soccer coach in Stockton, California. Kaeslin lost her job at Lincoln High School after she was found to have set up My Slutty Teacher and other porn sites on her work laptop with the aid of her alleged boyfriend, a resource officer at the school.
And you thought you had a rough day at the office: a prostitute in Zimbabwe passed out during sex with her john. As she was being placed inside a coffin, she suddenly woke up and began screaming, “You want to kill me!”, thus freaking everyone the f**k out. The woman, identified as MaNdlo, reportedly collapsed and “died” on the job at the Manor Hotel in Bulowayo, Zimbabwe. Authorities wasted no time putting MaNdlo inside a steel coffin, as they assumed her cold body mean she was dead. Nope! “It was like a movie,” The Huffington Post quoted a source ”People were running away in different directions. It was a scary incident because we were all convinced that she had died because she was just cold. Miracles surely do happen.” Or maybe people just need to learn how to take a pulse. [Huffington Post]
A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away … OK, it was last year in The Frisky office … I was going to get my first-ever (and last-ever) Brazilian bikini wax. I was curious, but also terrified. Pain and I are not friends. So I asked Amelia, my boss and friend and person who had made an appointment at the waxing spa at the exact same time as me so we could go together, if she would stay in the room with me and hold my hand. And you know what she said?
“NO WAY.”
Fast forward to last week when, for some reason, Amelia was talking about a friend she once had who wouldn’t let her borrow her compact to check whether she had a tampon stuck inside her. She asked if we’d let her borrow the compact in such a situation. As a noted germaphobe, I said, “Um, no?” Cue hellfire and brimstone raining down upon me.
It’s clear to me now that when there are friends (and bosses) and vaginas, there are complex and varying levels of closeness. Let’s unpack them, after the jump: Keep reading »
Recently I went home with a kinky man after our first date. The experience phased in and out of being consensual throughout the night. I distinctly left his apartment feeling violated and I continued to feel violated for several days after.
We found each other online because both of us were interested in dominant/submissive (D/s) sex, particularly in spanking. I thought this man would be dominant in bed, as per his online dating profile and a conversation we’d had about it on our date. But instead of just dominant, he was controlling. Before we started playing, I told him the “safe word” I wanted to use. A safe word is a word or phrase used by kinky people during sexual play that they want the play to stop immediately; I never play with a partner without one. To my surprise, this guy told me that safe word I chose was “terrible” and to use something else. That raised a red flag right off the bat.
Another red flag came at one point during play when he called me a “bitch.” I’m not against being called names in bed. In fact, with a partner whom I know and trust, being called a “bad girl” or a “slut” can be really hot! But we never had a conversation about using words like that, and if we had, I would have told him that the word “bitch” was not OK with me. Keep reading »
So, I use a lot of Google Alerts to constantly refresh me with story ideas here at The Frisky. One of those Google Alerts is for the word “vagina.” I write about ladybusiness, so you would think the word “vagina” would come up a lot, right? Not true. It’s mostly news stories about the Eve Ensler play “The Vagina Monologues” or random people writing into Yahoo messages boards asking questions about why their/their partner’s vagina smells like it does.
But occasionally, occasionally, there will be some stories in my “vagina” Google Alert that make me at once giggle and despair for humanity. You see, people put a lot of things up there. Things that don’t belong in the vagina. After the jump, a couple of questionable decisions people across America made this week:
Are you eating? Because I can’t ask you to read a blog post about an art student who stored 68 vials of his own sperm in a school fridge without making sure.
Marc Bradley Johnson, 23, who attends the School of Visual Arts in New York City, planned an exhibition called “Take This Sperm And Be Free Of Me,” displaying 68 vials of his own spunk in a fridge, which he “harvested” himself, that visitors could take home. The jizz was meant to represent “creation, parenting, desire, masculinity, fantasy and reality.” He even agreed to microwave the sperm vials to kill off pathogens (and, bonus, achieve that freshly-harvested feeling of warmth!). Keep reading »
Last week, a 15-year-old girl in the Maldives was sentenced to being flogged with 100 lashes for having consensual sex outside of marriage. Now the Islamic ministry and judiciary are being pressured to halt the public flogging or at least wait to carry it out until the youngster turns 18. If the criminalization of a woman’s sexuality is not bad enough (and yes, the AP confirms that it is usually the women who are flogged), it actually gets worse: the Muslim teen complained about sexual abuse by her stepfather and another man. In other words, she is allegedly the victim of sexual abuse by older men and now could be physically punished for having consensual sex. This is completely disgusting. [Seattle Times]
Here’s a sex advice question that comes to us via the UK’s Guardian:
I am a 23-year-old man and am obsessed with celebrity culture. Whenever I have sex with my girlfriend, I insist that she must wear a mask of one of the female celebrities who really turn me on, such as Billie Piper or Kimberley Walsh. My girlfriend isn’t too impressed with this, but goes along with it anyway. However, when she wants me to have sex with her when she is not wearing a mask, I don’t think I can, because I can only get turned on by the celebrities.
I think I can speak for all of us when I say WHAT?! Keep reading »
When friend had mentioned she’d been to sex parties, I knew I wanted to go, too. Could she bring me along next time, if it wouldn’t be too weird? As it turns out, she would soon be hosting one at her very own house. Sure enough, an invitation came in my email a few days later, sternly worded emphasis on consent.
In preparation, I treated the sex party as if was a date — a group date, of sorts, where I was sure to get laid. So I did what I’d do before a normal date: I shaved the winter fur off my legs, blowdried my mane, and did my eye makeup real fancy. I squeezed into a sequin Forever 21 dress that I first/last wore at a club on my 24th birthday party, then unrolled it off like sausage casing when I realized I couldn’t breathe. I tried on my sweetest LBD and chucked that aside, too, for not being “sexy” enough. I’m supposed to look fuckable at an orgy, right? I’m a slightly overweight feminist WASP with eczema on my ankles. The Victoria’s Secret definition of fuckable isn’t really my look. I settled on jeans, boots, and a gorgeous silk blouse over some pretty lingerie.
Worrying so much about how I looked was a colossal waste of time. Keep reading »
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