All posts by Anonymous

Living and Leaving an Abusive Relationship

July 30, 2014 Anonymous Leave a comment

Living and Leaving an Abusive Relationship

Everyone wonders why the abusee stays. I wondered for several years after the conclusion of my relationship… why did I stay those 3 years, my college years? The simple answer may sound banal: I loved him. The convoluted answer is that love was worth fighting for, no matter the costs.

I thought that I could fix him, that I was the only one who could or would understand him. And for a long time, that made me feel special and important. But sometime between the belittling insults, the punching and shoving, the time he spit in my face, the time he dragged me across the carpet and threw me out the door in the middle of the night, and the time he cancelled my cross-country airline ticket home without my knowledge, leaving me stranded, penniless, and hopeless in the JFK Airport, I stopped feeling special.

The end started at that exact ticket counter. Andrew and I had spent four painful days in Manhattan visiting his sister, an NYU sophomore at the time. Our return flight to California was scheduled to leave early Tuesday morning. After nearly a week of yelling at each other, we both figured it was finally over, but despite my better judgment, I agreed to share a cab with Andrew to the airport. We hopped into a cab at 4 am with the plan of beating early rush-hour traffic and checking in early for our flight. The cab ride was particularly painful because after four days of fighting, we couldn’t even make eye contact. All I wanted to do was get home and away from him. Something in me told me that this was it: all I needed to was to get home and then I would be safe, with my family and friends there to help me through whatever storm was brewing.

We arrived at the airport with several hours to spare before we were allowed to check our baggage and print our boarding passes. I piled my suitcase, backpack, and purse into a makeshift cushion and tried my best to nap after the exhausting previous days. I was so close. I didn’t even need to sit next to Andrew on the flight. I could make it home on my own, without him, as long as I had my belongings and my plane ticket. I slipped into a light sleep for an hour or so before it was finally time to drag myself and my things to the ticket counter.

The airline employee at the ticket and baggage check-in counter asked for our ticket confirmation number and our IDs. He typed in our information, checked and double-checked his computer screen, handed Andrew his printed boarding pass, and looked up at me sympathetically, “I have one flight reservation for Andrew, but it appears the other ticket on the reservation, the one for you, miss, has been cancelled.” My knees buckled, my mouth dropped open, and tears immediately flooded my eyes. I looked at Andrew, pleading for an explanation, for his help. Andrew had booked our tickets, and sometime in the previous few days, he had intentionally cancelled mine. After days of arguing and fighting, he was exerting his final act of control over me, this time financially.

Andrew stared expressionless at the airline employee, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I didn’t cancel that ticket.” I looked him straight in the eyes and whispered, “You motherfucker.” The one-way, last minute ticket from NYC back home was $800, and I was a broke college student. The employee said, “Sir, it states right here that only her ticket has been cancelled. You cancelled it.” Andrew shrugged his shoulders and grabbed his boarding pass and his baggage. “Well, I better make it through security,” he smirked at me. “Good luck.” And he walked off toward the TSA security line.

I ran after him, not even bothering with my things still parked at the ticket counter. Grabbing his arm, I pleaded, “What are you doing? You’re leaving me here?! How am I going to get home?! Andrew, I need to get home.” I started to beg, my voice shaking, along with my hands. He had complete control over me and my ability to get home. “Andrew, please. I can’t pay for that ticket. My credit card can’t even accept that charge. Please.” The passengers waiting in line to pass through security stared at me and whispered to each other. I looked delusional and crazed. I was panicked, and Andrew was smiling. He was enjoying this. He loved the manipulation.

By this time, I was on my knees sobbing. He looked down at me condescendingly and replied with a smile, “You have that Coach purse I gave you for Valentine’s. Sell that. It’s gotta be worth three to four hundred dollars, easy. You’re half-way there already.” He shook me from his arm and headed off again in the direction of the security line.

Looking back, why didn’t I call my family back at home for help? There was a way to get out of this: all I had to do was use my phone. But that’s the scary thing about abuse. I was so afraid and so wrapped up in Andrew’s manipulative game that I felt completely isolated. He was my one and only confidant. You’re supposed to be able to rely on your partner when things get rough, right? But what the fuck do you do when the person you love is the person who will openly humiliate you in public, just to see you suffer?

Somehow ignoring the surrounding crowd, I picked myself off the floor and walked back to the ticket counter and back to my belongings. The airline employee was fully aware of my pleading attempt get Andrew to help me. I looked at the employee, hoping that there was some magic button on his computer that would reverse Andrew’s manipulative trick and restore my reservation on that flight home. “Please, sir. I have no money. He cancelled my flight. I need to get home.” And this man somehow knew that I was telling the truth and that I was hopeless. That I was forced to stand in front of an audience of airline passengers and employees, pleading for help on my knees to a guy that was getting a rise out of the whole dramatic scene. And somehow that airline employee knew something was wrong. He sighed, “Okay, miss. I can restore your seat.” He typed some commands into his machine and printed my boarding ticket with a concerned expression.

I inhaled deeply and thanked him repeatedly. I wanted to hug him. To this day, I wish I had recorded his name in my memory. He was a stranger who might have risked his job by taking a chance on a young woman who, in that moment, clearly could not help herself.

It took another three months after this incident in the airport to finally leave Andrew.

Revisiting the entries of my journal from those last few months, I now realize how I omitted all the specific events involving physical, emotional, or mental abuse. Maybe writing them down forced me to face them, made the feelings real. What I did write was, “When am I going to be enough? When am I going to be worthy of me?” It took three years to lose my self-confidence and my self-worth, and it’s taken me just as long to gain it back. Now, I know that I am worth more.

Photo by Sara Slattery

Home

So You’ve Decided To Purchase Weed

June 9, 2014 Anonymous Leave a comment

A friend of mine recently sparked the idea for this article when she told me about her recent trip to Denver. Her host, a college buddy, took her to a recreational marijuana shop, because when in Rome. They purchased a small amount of weed—LEGALLY!!!—and gleefully brought it back to their apartment, only to find themselves staring at the friendly little buds with bewildered expressions. Casual but not regular users of pot in college, neither of them had ever had to roll a joint, pack a bowl, or any of those other mildly scandalous verbs. For them, it was the equivalent of standing in front of a sack of potatoes holding a martini glass.

And such is the case for thousands of similarly passive users who are now exercising their new rights to buy recreational marijuana in Colorado and Washington. Should you smoke it rolled up in a joint or spliff? Perhaps using a glass pipe or bong? Using something simpler, like a one-hitter, or something expensive, like a vaporizer? Your choice might vary based on factors like how many people you’re smoking with, and how comfortable you are with handling the ganj.

[Note that this is more of a guide for people who have smoked in the past. Things to remember if you have never smoked marijuana before: start with a little bit; remember to gulp the air, almost as if you’re swallowing it; know that it’s okay to cough; and remember to eat/drink something. Don’t do what this guy does... or do, because it’s fucking hilarious (it’s not crack, sir!!).]

For starters, regardless of your smoking device, you’ll need to grind down that pretty, conical green bud. Many people who use weed regularly have a grinder of their own, which allows you to break a bud into a few smaller pieces and then grind it within a range of fineness—say, French press to espresso. Others, myself included, who haven’t gotten around to investing the $25 in a small grinder, use their fingers. I usually break a bud into manageable pieces—around the size of a pea or smaller—and then rub the piece between my thumb and forefinger with all the delicateness of a French chef crushing some dried thyme over a steaming coq au vin. If you go for this chez stoner approach, be sure to crush the bud over a smooth surface so it’s easy to sweep up and won’t get stuck in any crevices. An open magazine works nicely for this.

Now, to choose a device. If you’re just looking for a tiny toke and you happen to be near a corner store that sells tobacco products, it’s worth investing in a one-hitter, also know as a “porcelain cigarette.” True to its name, it’s painted to look exactly like a cigarette, but it’s typically made of metal (someone realized porcelain was too fragile for pot smokers). Very sneaky, if you’re trying to fool any friends who also don’t happen to have a sense of smell. The great thing about a one-hitter is that it’s easy to pack and even easier to use. All you need to do is gather up some of the bud you’ve just crushed—a coarse grind works in this case—and stuff the front of the cigarette (the end of the white part, where there’s about a half-centimeter well) until you can’t fit any more in there. I had a friend who would simply plunge the one-hitter into a jar of weed to simultaneously crush and pick up bits to stuff the front, which is a little barbaric, but to each his own.

To smoke your stuffed one-hitter (which is actually a misnomer, as you can usually get 2-3 small hits out of it), simply light the front end with a lighter and inhale gently. The one-hitter might get a little warm because it’s metal and thermodynamics something something something, but only the weed itself will actually light. You’ll have to repeat this with each hit, holding the lit lighter in front of the weed without jamming the flame into the front well, so the pot inside gently burns. To clean out the residue after smoking, simply hit it against something hard. I recommend a brick wall. One-hitters can get a bit gunky, but you can boil them in some vinegar to loosen the crud inside. And you know those pipe cleaners you used to love in art class? They’re not just for homemade ornaments anymore!

My one-hitter, whom I call “Trusty Rusty”

If you’re planning on sharing with multiple friends or if you just want to smoke a lot of weed (no judgment), you might want to consider packing a bowl or bong. Here, you can be a little coarser with your grind. You just want to pile a bunch of little pieces of bud into the bowl or well of a glass piece, almost filling it up. I wouldn’t necessarily recommend purchasing a giant bong, especially if you’re an infrequent user or you have grandparents who like to drop in unannounced, but if you have one to use, this helpful video will show you how to smoke from it.

I personally prefer smaller glass pipes, as they’re easier to store and clean (see one-hitter cleaning instructions, minus the brick wall part), and they come in a wide variety of styles and colors. My beloved pipe is beautifully glass-blown to look like a hedgehog: the underside is the bowl, the tail is the mouthpiece, and the mouth is the air hole (also known as a “carb”). I keep it on my mantle, and no one’s the wiser…

Ain’t she a beaut?

Smoking from a pipe is pretty simple but takes a little bit of practice: hold it in one hand, with a finger covering the carb, and have a friend light the bud; or if you’re feeling coordinated, do it with your other hand. As you see the green bud glowing merrily, inhale gently, still covering the carb. Then, release the carb and inhale a little deeper. All of the smoke that’s accumulated in the pipe will now be in your lungs! Be careful not to produce too much smoke before you release the carb, though, because coughing a lot is way less fun than being high.

The last and (I think) most visually classic method is the trusty joint. This is when you’re going to want to use that grinder or those fingers to their full extent, really pulverizing your weed. You’ll want to get rolling papers for this. My favorite brand is OCB, though I’ve heard those are tricky to get in the US. But any brand will do! Simply lay out a single rolling paper horizontally, with the tiny adhesive strip on the far side, facing up. Carefully place your finely-ground weed along the fold of the rolling paper, then even it out, leaving a pinkie-nail length of empty paper on one end. That will be your smoking end. Carefully pick up your loaded cargo and take the fold between the thumb and forefinger of your hands. Give the weed in the paper a little pinch from below, to try and pack it into this long cigar-shaped form. (You can use a little or a lot of weed, but remember: the more you put in, the harder it is to roll. And you can always roll another!)

Pre-loaded joint/spliff rolling paper

In theory, what you’ll want to do next is very gently shift that packed weed roll toward the non-adhesive end of the rolling paper, so it’s primed to roll within the paper all the way up to the adhesive end. This step requires a lot of finesse, so don’t throw it against your wall in a fit of rage if you don’t get it right the first time. That would be very wasteful of you! I like to hold the end of the paper with my thumbs, sticking my forefingers atop the weed at either end, and resting the whole operation on the rest of my fingers. I use my thumbs to lift the paper up and over, and then I use my forefingers to tuck in the weed. Once there’s a reasonably tight seal, it’s easy to finish rolling the joint, licking the adhesive to completely seal it up. This sounds much more complicated than it is, so here’s a video demonstrating that same process.

Then I tuck in a roach, which is a little piece of poster board-weight cardboard that usually comes with the rolling papers, rolled up and stuck into the end where you left a little empty space. Truly great joint-rollers will stick this in while they’re rolling, so if you’re feeling ambitious, experiment away. If you find that your joint is too loose, just re-wrap over it with another rolling paper!

A professionally-rolled joint, with roach

Obviously, if you’re only using a small amount of weed, and especially if you’re double-wrapping, it can feel like you’re smoking more paper than pot. Because of this, my go-to rolled choice is a spliff (mixed marijuana and tobacco), which requires either buying some rolling tobacco at a corner store or, if you’re in a tight spot, bumming a cigarette from a friend. Yes, cigarettes are definitely bad(!), so I recommend using rolling tobacco if you can get it, which is still tobacco, but has fewer nasty chemicals. I never use more than a third of a cigarette’s worth of tobacco in a shared spliff, anyway; and also, you’re already smoking, so, let’s talk about the pot calling the kettle black (ZINGAHHH!!!). The rolling process is obviously the same, although you’ll have more product to roll since you’re mixing tobacco with the weed. I like to pre-mix to ensure evenness when smoking, either stirring the pulverized weed in a jar with the tobacco or just mixing it with my fingers on the same open magazine, before piling it into the crease of my rolling paper.

I recently visited a city where weed purchasing is, if not totally legal, then at least ignored. There, I purchased a pre-rolled, monster-sized spliff, which I took apart to show you its guts:

Notice how nicely the little weed pebbles are mixed in with the tobacco strands

Of course, if you’re in the middle of the woods or you don’t have any of the aforementioned devices, you can go all high-school and make a bong out of an apple. I’ve tried it before—it’s not as delicious as you might expect, but it gets the job done.

Happy toking!! Don’t eat too many frosting sandwiches! Uh-oh, I’ve said too much.

Photo by Gali Levi-McClure

Career

Office Drama, or #WHATSHOULDWECALLTOXICJOB

June 2, 2014 Anonymous Leave a comment

How many times do you need to come home from work in tears before you start considering a new job? My last job was terrible almost from the moment it started, but I stayed for nine months trying to make it work, and then trying to hoard enough cash to get out. Looking back on this past year, all I can see is the slow buildup of quiet-yet-demeaning incidents that made me question my worth, my abilities, and my general sense of why I am at all interested in do what I do.

Here is a list of the major red flags.

When I started my job, there was no training. None! They actually said: “Here is your computer!” and then left me on my own.
My supervisors act like they don’t trust me, and revise deadlines without telling me. Once, after seeing the timeline for the interviews that I manage, my supervisor approved and implemented it, and then scheduled all the interviews and emailed the schedule to me. She never addressed whether I had done them wrong or late, or any reason why she had done my job for me, even though it was a full week before we had agreed it needed to be done.
There are three people whom I report to. Every time I ask for clarification on whom I go to for what (even things like time off and emergency situations), they tell me that I was hired because I could “work independently.”
And then when I ask one of them for help with one of the other departments, they usually fail to answer the question because they get sidetracked, ranting about how pretentious the other department is.
Once, in a committee meeting, I had an older co-worker stop mid-discussion, turn to me and say “who are you?” I responded with my name and title, and he said, “Oh! I thought you were a student spying on us. Are you even on this committee?” He checked on his phone, found I was, and said, “Oh, well, what can you do?” We had met multiple times.
When I was introduced to one of the departments, which was formerly all-male, and I’m a young woman, several comments were made to the effect of “Well, now we can’t curse in meetings.”
Recently, one of my supervisors has been asking me to help her with Excel spreadsheets, and when I turned in a draft (like she asked me to), she brought me into her office and pointed at a column without borders and yelled at me, “Where is the column?! Where is the COLUMN?!? There is no column there!” and then had me redo it.
I am required to have an autoreply message on my email instructing students how to make appointments. I have gotten back multiple emails from coworkers who are outraged that I would send them appointment instructions. The first sentence is “This is an autoreply.”
This year, one of my papers was accepted to a prestigious conference. When I asked that same supervisor if there was any funding I could apply for, she said “If you get funding, we might as well add a budget line for my cats.” That was about two months into the position.
I am frequently asked when I am planning on having children. These are not subtle hints from people I am close with. Coworkers who I rarely interact with have come into my office specifically to ask me when I am planning on getting pregnant.
After having congratulated me for improving our numbers so much that a particular department might not be at risk anymore, one supervisor came in and told me that the numbers should go up even more because “we haven’t worked that hard

What I’ve learned from this experience is that—surprise!—my happiness really is affected by being treated poorly by the people whom I spend the majority of my day with. I’m really not sure when the turning point was… when I knew I needed to GTFO. I wish I had known when to say something, because maybe things would have gotten better. But by the time I left, I trusted no one that I worked with or for, and I dreaded going to work. I worry I’ll run into coworkers around town and I feel like I’ve developed some really bad work habits (like hiding from my supervisors) that will affect me in the future. My job was affecting my relationships outside of work as well, I was so emotionally drained that I wasn’t myself.

The worst part was that this was supposed to be my dream job—working with exactly the right population in exactly the right role. But my coworkers and terrible supervision ruined it. I put in my two weeks’ notice despite not having something else lined up because not knowing what was coming next was better than being unhappy every day.

Much to my surprise though, leaving my toxic job felt just like a really bad breakup. It probably should have not been surprising, but ah well. My last two weeks were full of utter insanity, and all I could do was hold on to my end date, knowing that it would be over soon. A small sample: My two weeks’ notice was initially rejected so they could “think” (is this legal?). I had more than 12 meetings with all levels of my supervision, where the second question was always “but, your partner isn’t leaving too, is he?” driving home the point that in their minds I was only there because of him. They told me that I would have had a better time in the job if I were “friendlier.” On my last day, none of my supervisors even showed up, wrote an email or left a voice message saying goodbye. And then, as if to tie a big bow on the whole package, about a week after I left, one supervisor sent an email to my personal address about job searching in my field, and how to know if a job is a good fit.

I’ve been free of this job for three full weeks, and let me tell you, life is so much better. If any of the above sounds like your job, get out. ASAP. Don’t wait. If you don’t have a cushion that will let you bail, start sending your resumes faster, network more, do something. It’s not worth being unhappy every day. I also highly recommend just reading the entire archives of Ask a Manager: this helped me figure out the difference between what was simply strange and what actually crossed a boundary, so that I could work up the courage to leave.

Photo by Meaghan Morrison

Brainfood

Leaving Islam

April 18, 2014 Anonymous Leave a comment

Growing up, religion was never something I questioned. When my mother told me I was Muslim, because she and my father were Muslim, I didn’t question it. I told everyone that I was Muslim without hesitation. This usually meant the other kids thought I was the weird kid who couldn’t eat bacon. What being Muslim meant to me, however, was doing everything in my power to prevent going to hell. My parents very effectively and efficiently instilled the fear of God in me: I said a prayer before meals, after eating, every night before bed… I never dared to think of religion as a choice; it was simply what I was born into.

Then I hit high school and the angsty teenager in me started questioning my parents. I became that stereotypical punk kid with the stereotypical rebellious attitude. I disobeyed my parents, stayed out late, and listened to loud music about how The Man was keeping me down. My religion, however, was still unquestioned until senior year of high school and—like many life-changing stories—it involved a girl. I’d had a crush on this girl all year, and we had just started dating, I was excited to bring her home and introduce her to my family so one day after school I invited her over to play some video games in my room. About five minutes after we started playing Rock Band my mother called me into the living room and asked why there was a girl in my room. When I told her about my new girlfriend she was furious. While my girlfriend was waiting for me in my room my mother proceeded to shout at me in Arabic about how she had raised a sinner and how I was forsaking God. I’d had a crush on this girl for the better part of a year because of what a genuinely good person she was and my mom completely denounced her without even meeting her. This was the first moment I started questioning my parents about religion. My whole life I had been told never to judge anyone and here she was shouting at me about my girlfriend’s terrible character based completely on her gender. It all seemed extremely hypocritical to me at the time and that made me reflect on all of the other ideas I’d been taught about religion.

I was conflicted for a couple of weeks. I didn’t understand how dating someone was such a crime against the creator of the entire universe. Then, after those weeks of thought, I decided that I was going to do something absolutely crazy. One day I went to school like I always did, but when lunch time rolled around, I walked to the cafeteria and ordered the one classic school lunch that I was never able to try: I ordered a slice of pepperoni pizza. In a single decisive moment, I took a bite into this pizza topped with sin and I waited for God to smite me.

But the smiting never happened. That was the day that I stopped being Muslim. It was the best pepperoni pizza that I have ever had.

I may have stopped being a Muslim that day, but my religious journey was far from an end. For a couple of years after that moment, I identified as an atheist with a staunch disbelief in God. I was basically a jerk to every religious person I met. I thought I had it all figured out. Of course I didn’t, and I still don’t, but that didn’t stop me from sitting on an anti-religious high horse. I still haven’t been able to tell my parents about my absence of religion. But religion, or the lack of it, became a consuming part of my thought process—probably because I was still coping with an ingrained part of my life coming to an abrupt halt—and I, for some reason, decided I should tell everyone else what they should think.

Eventually, however, I grew out of that as well. I realized that I have no right to force my beliefs onto anyone the same way my parents did on me.

These days, I don’t even identify as an atheist. In fact, I don’t really identify as anything. I’ve had a long transformation on the path to my current (non)belief system, and my ideology will probably keep changing as that path continues. After 23 years of life, the only thing I’ve learned about religion is that I don’t know anything about it. For all I know Zeus and all of his godly acquaintances are sitting in Olympus and using the human race for their amusement.

The only thing of which I can be certain when it comes to religion is that I will never know anything, and at this moment, that feels kind of enlightening.

Sex

Oh Baby! Sex During & After Pregnancy

March 26, 2014 Anonymous Leave a comment

The first time I saw D, I knew I had to have him. We worked at the same hotel, in different departments, and would flirt constantly. I would confidently tell my co-workers “I’m going to fuck him.” They would laugh, but I wasn’t joking—he was going to be mine. After a few months of flirting I finally had an opportunity to nonchalantly ask him out to a bar after work. It was a month before my twenty-first birthday and he snuck me in by giving a twenty to the bouncer (it’s like a bro-code: you have to help your fellow bro hook up with the underage girl by letting her into the bar). During the first few months of dating, all we did was eat, drink, and screw: it was bliss. When things got more serious, and people would ask when we were going to have kids, my boyfriend would always respond “We’re just practicing” and wink at me. But all of those years of practicing didn’t prepare us for the reality of sex after a baby.

I’ve always been DTF (if you have to look that up, I’m sorry) and was not at all concerned about getting down while pregnant. My boyfriend, on the other hand, got a bit apprehensive towards the end because the baby had dropped considerably and he didn’t want to “poke an eye out.” Positions started to become a challenge with my ever-growing bump. Pregnant women are not supposed to lie on their backs (apparently as your uterus gets heavier, it can potentially cut off the circulation to a major vein going through your body), so that ruled out a couple of standbys. Then, my belly got too big for me to be on top without it pushing into him and him feeling our daughter’s kicks, which totally freaked him out. But, overall, I remember very much enjoying myself, often even more so than our pre-pregnancy romps. The sex dreams weren’t bad either…

We tried to have “relations” before my due date because we knew it would be quite a while before we could again (longer than we had ever gone before… it was depressing to think about). Doctors recommend that women wait six weeks after giving birth to have vaginal intercourse again and I knew I couldn’t wait that long to get it on. After two weeks, neither of us wanted to wait any longer, but D had witnessed the distress my lady-parts had been put through, and, despite his desire, forced me to wait. We made it another week before we couldn’t take it anymore. I won’t go into vivid details, but it was really great—that is, until we changed positions, and my va-jay-jay was not having it. The most embarrassing part is that we had to put our daughter down in her swing on the floor, and she would not stop crying (she did eventually, but it was awkward for a little bit). Sometimes we have to take drastic measures to fulfill our carnal desires, I guess.

In those three weeks pre-nasty and post-baby, I started reading up on it a bit. I was shocked to find out that many new moms wait months, or even a year after giving birth to have sex with their partners again. It can be pretty difficult to feel sexy after having just pushed a tiny person out of your body, dealing with the pressure to lose the “baby weight,” earning chapped nipples from breastfeeding, and getting little to no sleep. Not to mention, a lot of women tear or rip during delivery (I did), which can make you feel damaged or insecure. I have accepted the fact that my vagina will never be the same, but I couldn’t be happier with what I gained. I did my kegels—and I will be perfectly honest that it took a while before it felt “normal” again downstairs. But, since then, sex has felt even better than before.

Even once the healing has completed, and your partner has patiently waited for his or her turn, another road block is put up: being a mom is a legitimate full-time job, especially in the beginning. Your newborn is 100% dependent on you, and your focus and all of your energy goes to them. There were countless nights where we would say that tonight would be the night we would have some “sexy time,” just to pass out not long after getting in bed. I can remember times when D would come up behind me and would try to start feeling me up and I would disregard him or push him away—totally consumed with cleaning the baby’s bottles and my breast pump for the next day so I could finally go to sleep. Some women are hardwired to put their offspring before anyone else, and their partners bear the burden of being forgotten. It took a long time for me to realize that I was being inadvertently negligent and wasn’t giving him the attention he needed in and out of the bedroom.

When you get down to it, sex is a big part of why you got together with your co-parent in the first place, and it’s how you made that screaming child who is now cock-blocking you from having more. Overcoming the exhaustion and chaos of post-baby life can be insanely difficult but, without intimacy, we would just be roommates or really good friends raising a kid together. At first, putting myself ahead of my child made me feel like a bad parent, but I continually remind myself that I can’t be the best mom I can be unless my needs and the needs of my partner are met, too. We may not be humping like rabbits anymore, but we do our best to keep the fire alive and our passion for each other strong through the many hurdles of parenting.

Photo by Willow Rose

Relationships, Sex

I Had Casual Sex With My Roommate

January 22, 2014 Anonymous Leave a comment

There was a brief period in college where I was having what might have been seen as a sordid affair with a good friend. It was great. We were part of a big group of people who all worked together, and were all attached at the hip. Weekend trips to the beach, late night drunken karaoke sessions. I would find myself belting the lyrics of Moulin Rouge’s most soulful duet from the sunroof of a car with an Oreo shake from Jack in the Box in my hand and my friends leaning out the windows singing backup. And, as if eating poorly and consuming trash media weren’t enough, I decided to add what would eventually become an emotionally disastrous relationship to the mix.

I honestly don’t even really remember how it started, but a few nights a week the two of us would find ourselves alone, in one of our rooms, and things would get steamier from there. At first, it was fabulous. The best part about this “affair” was that it was so casual. There was literally nothing beyond hooking up, and after the terrible breakup I had just gone through it was such a relief to have something easy with a friend I trusted so much. There wasn’t any interest in dating, so we could dispense with the awkward so-what’s-your-middle-name conversations. Hell, we already knew all those things about each other.

Come spring quarter, our entire group was moving off-campus and we were all deciding where to live. A piece of our little group organized itself and signed a lease on a fantastic party house off the main drag and got excited about a whole year of playing and dancing and late-night heart-to-hearts. This friend and I, still in the midst of our precarious relationship, found ourselves staring down a twelve-month lease. But we trusted each other, and were really enjoying our rendezvous. Wouldn’t it have been smart to take it a little easy once that lease was signed?

Because, as it does, the other shoe dropped on me. My friend-with-benefits met and fell in love with someone. Which, under any normal circumstances, I would have been absolutely thrilled about. In fact, I was thrilled, except for two tiny details, which ended up having not-so-wonderful effects. First, I was not actually told that things had changed in our arrangement until things were already underway with this other girl (which made me feel not totally valuable and as if I was being kept on the line just in case). Second, I didn’t get to choose. I felt like I was being broken up with when the whole point was that we weren’t dating. Oh, and bonus: she had the same name as me.

I must say, I may not have handled this situation perfectly. My entire feeling was, essentially, “Who the fuck are you to go and date someone else with the same goddamn name?” Really helpful, trust me. But I felt like I had been blown off. It is not very productive to dwell on feeling worthless. And then to have to spend months listening to her moan from their room (oh, the thin walls), and watch their stupid fights… I wasn’t envious of their relationship, I just hated having been rejected. I hated that I was second string. I hated that I was the one who didn’t get to decide when it was over (control freak, much?). I never said anything about this to any of my friends, benefits or otherwise, because our relationship was never more than physical: I never felt like it was my place to explore what had happened. I think things would have been better off if I had allowed myself the space to really work things out. Instead, I stayed angry for the entire year.

This wasn’t jealousy. By then, I was dating someone else, but unfortunately I’m not exactly the type to let bygones be bygones. Tiny forgivable offenses like not cleaning up the dishes turned into character flaws and major issues. I was hypersensitive about everything, and I played a major part in dividing the house. Because we were living together, there was no space to cool off, no opportunities to stop picking at the wound. Our friendship never really recovered.

All in all, the actual sexy-times part of this lasted about a month, maybe, but the effects were long-lasting: four years out, I don’t really keep in contact with this friend even though I am still very close with my other roommates. I really regret not maintaining that friendship, and the fallout from our not-actual-break-up-break-up. In the moment, there were really no downsides. We knew each other well, trusted one another, and could have a really good time. It was exciting and fun and we could ignore all the cliffs we were skirting. Until, of course, we teetered over the edge. Afterwards, it was all downsides. Awkwardness, uncomfortable feelings within our friend group, heightened tensions around quotidian issues.

Would I do it again? Probably. But this time around I would add a little more sunlight into the equation, and work harder to make things less awkward once it was all over. I would let go of my pride, and be open about how I was feeling. And maybe not sign a lease together.

Photo by Sara Slattery

Health

My Emergency Pap Smear

October 11, 2013 Anonymous Leave a comment

Pap smears suck. It’s ingrained in women from the time they even hear such a thing exists. “They’re gonna do what, to that?!” Admittedly, I put off getting my first one done for a long time; I figured I’d think about it when I became sexually active. But, then again, I wasn’t quite expecting that my first one would be in the ER.

Photo by Meaghan Morrison

One day during the summer a few years ago, I had come down with really bad abdominal pain on the right side. Like excruciatingly bad. It felt like someone stabbing my ovary from the inside. Based on location, I figured it was some kind of “female issue,” so I went home, took to my bed with a heating pad, and popped a couple Advil. Thankfully it went away after a few hours. Just in case, I still called my local hospital’s advice nurse the next day and, after being asked in six different ways if I could be pregnant (“Not unless it was an immaculate conception.”), she said it was most likely an ovarian cyst. She instructed me to go to the ER if the pain came back, in case she was wrong or it burst. I didn’t bother making an OB/GYN appointment and the pain stayed away, so I assumed the cyst had shrunk on its own.

A few months later I woke up to the exact same excruciating pain. This time it wouldn’t go away so my poor dad—being the only other person home—drove me to the ER. After much waiting (the usual ER fun) and not one, but two different nurses going “OMG, you’ve never had sex! Never?!” (thankfully my dad was in the waiting room), I got to see the doctor. A male, of course. He proceeded to poke and prod the painful area, “Does this hurt, how about here, what if I do this?” Um, yes to all of the above!

I don’t remember the exact order of events but he did an ultrasound and at some point decided I needed a pelvic exam (because obviously all the poking on the outside of my abdomen wasn’t enough). Cue the remaining nurse gawking at me, saying “OMG, you’ve never had a pap smear?!” Yes, thanks a lot, lady. But then she did take it down a notch and attempted to comfort me by saying it wasn’t a big deal, I was actually the right age to get my first one. So the sadist doctor proceeded to poke around from literally both angles, which hurt much more than just poking on the outside. Between that and the slightly terrifying-looking black spot that showed up on my ovary during the ultrasound, he determined that it was a cyst. But, just in case, he decided that he still should do an actual pap smear. Best part? His attempt at consolation: “Well at least down here we use the plastic tools, they’re much better than the metal ones the OBs have!” Really?! How does he know what is more comfortable down there?

Luckily, the actual pap smear itself was quick and easy (after you’ve had a cyst poked at from all sides, everything is easy). I left with a prescription for painkillers and, oh joy, an appointment with an actual OB/GYN for yet another pap smear a week later. Fortunately, the cyst shrank significantly in that week. I found out later that when cysts don’t shrink on their own, they can burst and/or surgery is needed.

My second pap smear was as fine as a pap smear can be, I suppose. And here’s a fun fact: metal and plastic tools feel pretty much the same (or at least, to me they did!). I haven’t had a cyst since my gynecologist prescribed birth control, and hopefully won’t ever need another emergency room pap smear. But the one good thing that came from this experience? Pap smears no longer intimidate me. Take that, obstetrics!

Sex

An Introduction to Kink

May 6, 2013 Anonymous 1 Comment

So you want to get into BDSM? Welcome! The scene—in other words, the world of BDSM—can be a lot of fun, and people are generally friendly to newbies. All of this can seem intimidating, but just remember that everything should be “safe, sane and consensual.”

Here’s at least some of what you can expect:

Sex doesn’t need to be a part of your BDSM play.

There’s an assumption that BDSM is all about sex, but plenty of people have had scenes (a BDSM session with a partner) without even taking clothes off.

Expect a spectrum of interests.

BDSM can mean bondage and discipline, dominance and submission, sadism and masochism. People into BDSM are as diverse as people anywhere are.

The definition of this is slightly different for some people, but generally speaking, “safe, sane and consensual” means you’ll be having safer sex, not trying anything too risky if you haven’t been trained, not playing around with kink (I’ll use “kink” interchangeably with “BDSM”) under the influence of alcohol or drugs, and not doing anything kinky that both partners haven’t agreed to first. Bigger cities and conferences offer classes so people can become experts (classes are a great way to learn about something without trying it in a scene, by the way).

People who aren’t in the kink lifestyle often assume it’s all about “whips and chains”, but lots of kinky people never use either. Some people who are into impact play might use whips, but they could also use floggers or canes or belts or bare hands. Or even wooden spoons! Anything to make an impression (sorry, couldn’t resist the pun).

Despite what you might read in Fifty Shades of Grey, bondage isn’t the first step for many people. Bondage is something you do with someone you really trust.

How do you know what a potential play partner is into?

Well, you negotiate beforehand. It’s common for people to talk before a session together and work out activities that both people are comfortable with, as well as a way to end the session if things aren’t as expected. For example, play partners can agree on a safe word; it can be any word that isn’t likely to come up (so “no” or “ow” isn’t a good safe word, because a person can say those in conversation, without wanting things to stop). Some people use “red” as a safe word, with “yellow” as a warning that the scene might be getting too intense. Safe words aren’t the only tool at one’s disposal to be safe: there are plenty of other safeguards that you can use, depending on what you’re doing. Another example is a safe call, where you make an arrangement with a third party (not a play partner) that if you don’t call by, say, 11 pm and say that you’re safe, they’ll call the police.

One of the hardest things about kink is knowing yourself well enough to know what you want, so that you can negotiate these things with a partner. A way to figure out some of your kinks is to pay attention to what turns you on—it can be something that will surprise you!

Some people are more dominant, and some are more submissive. Others are equally comfortable in either role, and switch between the two: these people are known as “switches.” People who are more dominant might identify as a “dominant” or a “master”; submissives might identify as a “sub” or as a “slave.” Although “dominant” and “master” seem like synonyms, they aren’t, and that’s true for “sub” and “slave,” too.

So where can you find people to play with?

Fetlife.com, a social networking site for kinksters, is a great first step. You can use it as a way to find other like-minded people near you, or you can look at the groups. There’s a group—a chat board, essentially—for any kink you can imagine, and probably a bunch you can’t. The “Novices & Newbies” board has a section with frequently asked questions that is a tremendously useful resource.

That said, be aware that not everyone in your life will be accepting of your kinky leanings, so take it slowly when you “come out” to others about your interest in BDSM. You might want to be cautious about using your full name and a easily-recognized photo on Fetlife. (My photo doesn’t show my face, and I don’t use my real name—a choice made by many people in the scene. That’s also why this is being written anonymously!)

If you are wary about Internet security, how do you find out about kink?

There are some very useful books:

SM 101 by Jay Wiseman (Greenery Press, 1998) is an older title, but it has useful information about the basics of BDSM.
Playing Well with Others by Lee Harrington and Mollena Williams (Greenery Press, 2012) gives plenty of details about how to find people like you, how to negotiate with them, and even what to wear when you see them.

Regardless of what you’re into, remember to take it slowly! No need to rush into the scene—it will still be there in a week, a month, or a year. You’ll want time to figure out what you want.

Sex

Handjob Etiquette

April 22, 2013 Anonymous 2 Comments

The date is going well. You’re kissing, petting, and the hands are going south. Ziiiiip… Is it time for a handjob?
Why HJs?

If you have a penis, chances are you’ve been giving yourself handys since puberty. Hands are how we primarily interact with things, it is the default setting for all tool use, so it doesn’t really make sense why that wouldn’t extend to the use of your tool. It’s more a question of “’why not?’”

Some folks don’t like giving head, which is understandable. Some people don’t like receiving blowjobs (which I think is less understandable, but to each their own). There is a time and a place for handjobs—specifically when it’s too early in the dating process for anything more (i.e. oral or sex), but dammit, that end-of-date kissing was awesome and intense and neither of you want to stop.

Also, avoiding STIs and pregnancy are some key health reasons behind choosing HJs over an end-of-date BJ. It’s very difficult to catch something from an HJ. You can catch almost anything during oral sex that you can during vaginal/anal intercourse, so there is no health advantage with oral sex, over intercourse, other than avoiding pregnancy.

Oral and vaginal/anal intercourse are often considered to be much more intimate than an HJ. People might just not be emotionally ready for sex, but still want to fool around and trade orgasms.

Attitude

“I wanted a blowjob! What’s this bullshit?” or “Aw, man, I’m not getting sex tonight. This sucks!” are common and highly inappropriate responses to a person who is kind enough to lift and lower your love pump to climax, and will likely result in you not getting any further sex acts from this person.

Life is too short for bad sex, and the same can be said for handjobs. Semi-sexy -time should be honored, respected, and most importantly, enjoyed.

Cues to an HJ

When making out in a private or semi-private space, heavy petting can lead to heavy petting down south. This is about a half-step from an HJ. If they’re down there for more than a minute, go ahead and unzip. Don’t whip your dick out; let them dig it out in case they don’t want to dive under the underwear.

CAUTION: Beware of HST (handjob standard time). Count Mississippis if you have to. Make sure it’s actually been a minute, and not just your wishful thinking. Generally speaking though, hand-on-dick is a good indicator. Transversely, when your partner puts your hands on their genitals, you’re probably good to go. Rules of reciprocity imply that they’re down for what they’re doing to you.

Mid-HJ Etiquette

Givers:

Never look bored. Your hand might be getting tired, but don’t look up at your partner with the “Am I going to get carpal tunnel?” look in your eyes. Stay involved, stay interested, and your partner will feel that way. Encourage your partner to keep their hands busy as well.
Don’t just jerk the thing. As in all things sexual, there is an art to it. Alternate speed, grip, and grip strength. Find out what your partner likes, not what Cosmo says he likes.

Receivers:

Be involved with your partner. Use this time to at least apply your foreplay skills. I’m not going to give you general foreplay tips—that’s an entirely different article.
Give them a handy. I find I have a much better time when the lady kind enough to lend me a hand also has a good time. Same principle applies if your partner has a penis. Be nice to them; they’re being nice you.
The above is especially important because a dick is a simple mechanism. There is really a limit to how complex a technique one could use to jerk a penis. It only involves the hand, and it gets boring. Don’t bore your partner; keep them engaged. Keep your body close to theirs. If they’re turned on, their hand won’t tire as fast.

Cleanup

No one likes dealing with ejaculate. I’m a man, I’ve been around my ejaculate since puberty, and as soon as that shit leaves my body, I want to be as far away from it as possible. You don’t want to be caught unprepared to deal with jizz—you could turn what has been some very pleasant semi-sexy -time into an awkward “where-do-I-wipe-this?” moment that kills the entire encounter.

Be polite—this means not ejaculating on another person’s property without their expressed approval and enthusiasm. Some people are into it, but many aren’t. This is especially true if you’re in a car, and especially if this person has been nice enough to drive your ass around and tug your luxury liner into port. Ejaculation etiquette is paramount.

Don’t jizz on their cushions. Don’t jizz on the dash. I wouldn’t advise you try to jizz out of the door or window. Not only will you probably draw undue attention to yourself, if you miss you’ll make the inside of the car door look like Slimer’s albino cousin just left the building.

If it’s your own car, your partner might think you’re gross. Jizz on yourself, and again, your partner might think you’re gross. This isn’t a problem if you never want to have this person jerk you off again, but assuming you do, it helps that your partner not think of you as some sort of semen slob.

Kleenex isn’t ideal. And, unless the person jacking you off is a mother of three and is driving a wood-paneled station wagon, odds are they won’t be handy. If you’re a male in his 20s, having Kleenex in your car is conspicuous. It may look like you use Kleenex to mop up the aftermath of masturbatory missions ten times for every one time you use them to blow your nose. I know it. You know it. Unless your partner is woefully naïve, they will know it too.

There is an ideal solution: moist towelettes. Like the kind you get from a fast food restaurant. Let’s say this was a premeditated palm penis-polishing, but you didn’t want it to appear to be planned and risk losing the excitement of spontaneity. Before your date, go to KFC and order something small and see if you can get some moist towelettes. (I like to get the cornbread.) You can keep them on stock for months at a time. Just pop one into your pocket on your way to your date. Cleanup is quick, easy, and convenient—no awkwardness or ejaculatory acrobatics required.

Aim

You don’t have to be Robin Hood. When you’re squaring off manmeat-a-mano, stay on the mano. (Your partner is using their hand, so keep it on the hand as best you can.) Warn your partner—try to give them about three seconds to dodge, dip, duck, and/or dive as they wish. In my experience, they just shift their hand a bit to make certain they don’t get any on their hair or clothing.

After that, conveniently produce a moist towelette, and enjoy a bit of afterglow. (Don’t forget to return the favor if she/he so desires.) Kiss goodnight, and pat yourself on the back for a handjob well-received.

Photo by Sara Slattery

Sex

Good Vibes: A Guide to Vibrators

October 10, 2012 Anonymous 3 Comments

So you want to buy yourself a sex toy. Where do you start? There are so many—how do you know which type is for you? What about how loud it is, how intense it is, what it’s made of? Where do you even go?

Not to worry, knowledge is power and I am about to share what I’ve learned with you. I hope this will empower you to take control over your own sexuality and sex enjoyment (if you haven’t yet). If you have: hooray, and well done!

A note for males: in this article, I address ladies because I am a lady. However, vibrators can absolutely be for guys, as can sexual empowerment, so I encourage you to read the article and take what you can from it.

Now, let’s talk vibes.

Vibrators vs. Dildos: Choose your pleasure

This can be a tricky one, but it’s a good starting point. Some sexy lady toys are vibrators, some are dildos, and plenty are both. If you know whether you’re more sensitive to clitoral stimulation or G-spot stimulation, that’s a good place to start. If your previous self-sexy experiences have led you believe that the best way to get yourself off is to rub that little nub at the front of your lady-flower (inside the folds of your labia, but not inside your vulva), then you prefer clitoral orgasms. A slight majority of women are with you on this, and you may want to focus your attention on vibrators that are not dildos. However, if you’ve found that you prefer the feeling of something inside you, as opposed to some external rubbing, then you likely have a preference for the G-spot orgasm. In your case, looking at dildos (that are and are not vibrators) is a good idea.

What if you don’t know what you prefer? What if you’ve never had an orgasm before? (Or you can’t say for sure?) Well, ladies, that is just fine! When I bought my first vibrator, it was at the advice of a caring and wise gynecologist, after coming to her worried about the excess pain and lack of pleasure I felt during my first few months of having sex. Her advice: “Take a nice long bath, put on some music, and experiment with yourself. See what you like to do.” Since I had no idea what I might like, I bought a vibrator that looked pretty versatile: The Easy Glider. It can comfortably stimulate the G-spot as a dildo or pleasantly pleasure your clitoris, so I had the versatility to learn more about my body and my preferences. And I definitely figured out how to know if I had an orgasm.

Meet the Vibes:

Bullet, Eggs, and Rockets (Clitoral Vibrators):

Pocket Rocket is a crazy popular brand that you can find almost anywhere. I haven’t used one myself, but I’ve heard they are particularly good for beginners.
The RO 80mm Bullet and The Go-Go Bullet are pretty typical bullet vibes. I don’t own one (yet), but I like that they seem to be simple and easy to manipulate.
Babeland Leaf Life is one of the more fancy-schmancy, design-student-project vibrators. I must admit, I’m always drawn to their aesthetics and the contours tend to help them work well, but they also typically have a higher price tag.
The Club Vibe 2.OH is an example of how kooky and fun these guys can get. It’s remote controlled and can vibrate at different speeds to the beat of your music.

Just G-Spot Vibrators

The Tiger Vibe is a classic G-spot stimulator. Note its shape: that’s the most common shape to look for if you want a solid aim for your G-spot.
The G Swirl SmartVibes is another example of a vibrator that is designed for your G-spot. Either of these can probably do a decent job on your clitoris, but that’s not what they’re built for.

Versatile Vibrators (use them however you want*; good for beginners who are experimenting)

As I said above, The Easy Glider was my first vibe and it was perfect for starting out. Just $20, can be used inside and out, and has a spectrum of speeds.
My absolute favorite vibrator right now is another versatile one: the Lelo Gigi. (Explore the whole Lelo site as I’ve heard all their products are excellent.) The Gigi fits snugly wherever I want it and has a variety of vibrating patterns and intensity. The drawback, however, is the price. I got mine on sale through Amazon, though, so look out and snag those deals if you can!
If you can’t decide, get a kit! The Babeland Vibrator Starter Kit will get you a Silver Bullet, a G-spot stimulator Orchid G, and a Sonic Ring to put around anything that might be penetrating you and add some clitoral stimulation into the mix

*If you want to use a vibrator or any sex toy for anal play, make sure it looks like this, with a safety bit at the end that keeps it from completely entering the anus. Unlike a vagina, which is not super long and gets much smaller as you go deeper, your anus goes right on to your intestines. You definitely don’t want to go to the hospital to get anything embarrassing removed.

You may have heard of…

Rabbit Vibrators. These little guys have a nice bulbous dildo bit and a delicate little clitoris bit to stimulate both parts at once. I have The Butterfly Kiss, which is a Rabbit variation. One drawback is that sometimes the top of the dildo can be a bit big: Rabbits tend to come in a standard size, whereas ladies come in lots of different shapes and sizes, If you’re interested in trying, though, check out this little guy: My First Rabbit Vibe.
Hitachi Magic Wand. “The Cadillac of Vibrators” might look a bit alarming at first glance. The tennis ball–sized head is too big for most people to insert (though there are dildo attachments that are more manageable) and the thing looks more like a massager for shoulders and backs. That’s because when it was first marketed, it was a massager for shoulders and backs. Thank Betty Dodson and Sex and the City for finding its true purpose! The Hitachi is supposed to be very powerful—too powerful, in fact, for many. If you’re interested but intimidated, check out the smaller, less intense Mystic Wand.
The We Vibe. This little guy has appeared on Oprah, Dr. Oz, and more! The little U-shaped device fits snugly against your clit and your G-spot, stimulating both at once. Meanwhile, the vibe is small enough that your partner can penetrate you and enjoy the vibrations him or herself. There is a lot going on in there! I’ve never tried anything like this, but it certainly sounds exciting and there are tons of testimonials on the website if you’re interested.

Other Factors to Keep in Mind:

Intensity:

If you’re a beginner to the vibrator world, you probably don’t yet know how intense you need your vibrator to be in order to enjoy it. You might buy your first vibrator only to feel under-stimulated by a little pocket rocket or over-stimulated by the Hitachi. For your first time, look for a vibrator with different vibration settings, so you can experiment. If possible, I prefer vibes with either several settings or a sliding scale of intensity so I don’t find one setting too light and the next one too intense. Also, many vibrators have different vibration patterns, which can be fun!

Volume:

I don’t know your sexy needs so this may not be a problem for you, but some vibrators are loud. Luckily, most websites have both a volume and intensity star rating system, so you can fit your purchase to your needs. And if you’re buying in a store, feel free to take out the vibrator and turn it on and listen to it. I would say that two stars is quiet enough to use if thin walls are all that separate you from your parents or even if you’re in the same room as a sleeping roommate, if that is the sort of daring thing you might do.

Power:

Once upon a time, all vibrators were powered by batteries. Today, you have far more options. Some vibrators plug into the wall. Some recharge with a wall outlet, but can hold their charge for a time (these are my favorite). Some are even solar-powered! Again, keep in mind your needs and preferences when shopping.

Materials:

Different materials give you different experiences, so it’s good to consider what you might want. Harder plastic and metal both transmit vibrations well, but they are also very firm and inflexible. Hard plastic, metal, glass, etc. are also nonporous, and are therefore super easy to clean with soap and water.

Soft plastic and jelly rubber can provide a lighter touch (but these can get powerful as well) and also offer flexibility that allows you to manipulate them easier. The downside of these is that they are extremely porous (so they can trap dirt and bacteria) and need to be washed very carefully and thoroughly, or else used with a condom.

Silicon is becoming a very popular material for sex toys. It is nonporous and easy to wash, and you can even boil it for extra disinfecting if there is no vibrator inside. Due to its popularity, there are now products with silicon blends as well, which can provide more flexibility but also more pores.

Lubes:

This could possibly be an entire article, but for now keep in mind some things about these four types of lubes:

Water-based lubes are the most common and are compatible with condoms and silicone toys.
Oil-based lubes are good for hand jobs, but break down condoms/latex and aren’t good for your silicon toys.
Silicon-based lubes are long-lasting, but hard to wash out and expensive.
Extra virgin coconut oil is an excellent lubricant and doesn’t leave you feeling sticky after, so it makes great massage oil as well.

Where to Buy / How to Shop:

Shopping online is my preference because I like to read reviews, check volume and intensity levels, search various sites to see if I can get the same thing cheaper elsewhere, etc. Some great sites to start with are Babeland and Good Vibes. Both are female-friendly, non-skeezy sites with good customer service and discreet shipping labels. I’ve heard that Adam & Eve is good too, though I have never bought anything there myself. I’ve also bought brand-name vibrators from Amazon on sale.

If you’re planning on going to a shop in person, look around for a women-friendly or an upscale sex shop, as you will probably be much more comfortable there than in a dirty room with girly magazines and leering creeps. Have a rough idea about what you’re looking for and know what you want to ask the sales clerk. If you have a friend with whom you’re comfortable talking about your sexy preferences, bring them along to get a second opinion and ease the tension you might feel going alone. Most importantly, don’t be afraid to ask for help! Ask for opinions and advice from the sales staff and have them put batteries in your options and turn them on for you. You can hear the volume and test the intensity on your nose to get an idea of what it will feel like.

In short: be brave, be unashamed, be sex-positive! Good luck!

Photo by the author