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Relationships, Sex

I Had Casual Sex With My Roommate

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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

Sex

Let’s Ask: Lies My Mother Told Me About the Birds and the Bees

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My mother is a pretty awesome human being by all accounts. It’s important that I make sure all of you know this. She’s been through a lot of crazy, tough stuff over the years and has clawed her way to the other side like a fucking grizzly bear. But what she did not do was prepare me in any way, shape, or form to have any semblance of a functional adult sex life.

All the sex “advice” my mom ever gave me had but one simple through-line, one motive: to convince me to never even think about having sex. EVER. For any reason. To instill in me a crippling fear of the anatomy of the opposite sex. “I’ve been there. I was a teenager in the 70s, okay?” And I had to believe her, how could I not? Now, to be fair, most of these pearls of wisdom were handed down to me when I was only about 10 years old, the year my mom awkwardly left the “What’s Happening To My Body?” book on my pillow and never spoke of it. So… maybe the whole G-rated fright-fest makes sense. But a G-rated lie is still a lie!

“Sex hurts. It’s not fun for girls, only for boys. Girls who tell you they like having sex are sluts who are just trying to make you feel uncool.”

Yikes. Way to make sure I’d grow up to be a total bitch ice queen with ZERO friends, Mom. And what exactly was I supposed to think of myself, the day I had sex and realized that I liked it? Was I, too, a slut? Are we all sluts? What’s the meaning of life? Are we alone in the universe? These are the questions.

“If you give him the milk for free, why should he buy the cow?”

Thanks, Mom, now you’re calling me a cow, too? I think this one is fairly common, textbook advice for girls. It’s also fairly ridiculous. I know plenty of people whose stable, happy relationships were borne of a random, sexy encounter one random, sexy night. The act of having the sex you want when you want it doesn’t hold the same cultural weight that it might have years ago. Guys don’t typically “lose respect” for girls if they “put out” right away. Also, can we as a generation sign some sort of pledge to do away with the phrase “put out?” It’s so dated, so very look-at-me-I’m-Sandra-Dee. It sounds so dirty, too: Put. Out. She puts it out there, guys. It. Her vagina. Shudder.

Anyway. I fully support a lady waiting a little while to sleep with a guy she’s just started dating, so she can get to know him better and make sure he’s a solid choice. But that’s different. That’s not a decision made out of fear because you’re worried he won’t respect you anymore if you do the deed. And if that fear turns out to be true, that he does lose respect for you after you sleep together, then this guy might actually be the worst. So… good riddance.

“Ten minutes of good sex is not worth the pain of childbirth.”

Because obviously every time a person has sex it automatically results in a baby being born nine months later. OBVIOUSLY. I don’t doubt that having a baby hurts like the dickens, but that’s kind of neither here nor there. Because of this, for the longest time, I thought that people’s parents only had sex the day they decided they wanted a baby. The concept of birth control didn’t really factor into this discussion until I was several years older, and I already knew what it was thanks to my friends who had courageously bought condoms and put them on bananas at a sleepover.

“Having sex is worse than saying the worst swear word you can think of.”

So… the F word? Wait. Is this what a conundrum feels like? I am ten years old and my brain just imploded. This might be my self-destruct code. Send help.

“You’re not allowed to get married if you’ve already had sex with someone else.”

It’s worth mentioning that my family was not very religious. We were the swing-by-church-on-Easter-and-Christmas variety of Catholics. But for some reason, my mom would rev up the Pope-mobile whenever it came to the subject of pre-marital sex. You didn’t do it. Period. Those were the rules—God’s rules. You can’t break God’s rules because he’s definitely gonna hear about it, being God and all. And that’s not necessarily uncommon: a lot of parents tell their kids that they shouldn’t have sex until they’re good and hitched. But my twisted, 10-year-old mind took this warning to a whole new, disturbing level by assuming that a doctor had to examine you and give you a certificate of “Nope, Never Done It!” before you could walk down the aisle. And the worst part? When I asked my mom whether or not this pre-marital medical exam actually existed, she said yes.

“Penises are really ugly.”

Well… okay, fine. I’ll give you this one, Mom. I’m glad I was prepared.

Photo by Meaghan Morrison

Sex

My First Time Was With a Paraplegic

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I was lucky, in many ways, with how my V-card was punched. My mother had a fairly liberal non-shaming outlook when it came to sex, and her only advice was “Find someone who you trust and care about. It’s a big deal.” I took that advice to heart. I also valued honesty, which is why one day I walked into my kitchen to get a snack, looked at my mom, and said thoughtfully, “Hey mom? I don’t think I’m going to wait until I’m married to have sex.” She looked back at me and said, “Oh. Okay.” And I waltzed back into my room with my orange or crackers or whatever snack I had decided the moment warranted.

I’ll call the lucky recipient of my virginity “C.” I met C in high school when I was 16. He was four years older than me. He was funny, cute, fun to be around, and he had his own place… directly next door to his parents. Looking back, there were a lot of problems with the relationship, which really should have been obvious considering that he was 20 and stoked to be dating a 16-year-old.

Of course, none of that was obvious to a high schooler. I felt awesome and sophisticated to be hanging out with this guy and his cool, old friends! But I was fairly well-balanced and had a decent sense of self-esteem. I made it clear to him that I was a virgin and if he was expecting anything from me right away, he was going to be disappointed. To his credit, he took it very well and assured me that he was ok with waiting.

About five months into the relationship, we started having problems. He claimed that he was in love with me. I cared about him, and I wanted it to work, but I hesitated to call it love just yet. There were some other issues as well and I was unsure about him.

Until, one day, I got a call from one of his friends. C had been in a car accident, thrown from the car, and landed on a pipe in the industrial area of our town. He had some severe burns on his stomach and had broken his spinal cord in two places.

According to my mother, the minute she heard this she knew—due to my caretaker tendencies—that he and I were going to be together for a long time after that. Which, to my mom, wasn’t necessarily good news. But she kept her opinions to herself and, after weeks of waiting for him to be able to receive visitors, she gave me a ride to the hospital.

That first visit was fairly traumatizing. His throat had closed due to irritation from the weeks he had been on a breathing tube and they had done a tracheostomy so that he could breathe. Because of the hole in his throat, he couldn’t talk. He could only mouth words. He had skin grafts on his abdomen and scars from the spinal cord operation. Both he and I knew that he would probably never walk again. And on that visit, he asked me to marry him.

What else could I say? I was a scared teenager looking at my boyfriend in a hospital bed, who was waiting for me to answer a question that he couldn’t actually ask, he had to mouth it. So I said yes.

I waited a few weeks to visit him again, until after he got the trach out. Once he did, we talked about the “whole marriage thing” a while more and agreed it would be best to get me a “promise” ring and call it that for the time being. After that, I accompanied him to physical therapy and visited him regularly until he got out, and for a while, sex was a non-issue. He had other things going on with his body to think about.

I found out later that, while he was in the hospital, he attended what was essentially a “Sexuality for the Disabled” seminar, and had learned a lot. He could, indeed, still have sex and enjoy sexual feelings. He told me some of what he learned. I was glad to hear it, but we still hadn’t “gone all the way” yet and I thought we still had a while before we would have to deal with it.

He moved back home, and that’s when the pressure started. Before, when he was able-bodied, he didn’t mind waiting. Now, he felt any resistance from me was an indication of hidden repulsion. While that was untrue, I will admit that having sex now gave me more pause than before because I simply didn’t know how it would work. But, by now, I had very deep feelings for this man. I wanted to show him I cared about him, and that he and I could live and love in a normal way. And I weighed it: did I care for him? Did I trust him? The answer to both was yes. So, one night, about a year after we first started dating, and after I had turned 17, we had sex.

I told him I was ready that night, but just getting things going was an adventure in itself. I had touched him before, but that was all prior to the accident. He was numb from just below the breastbone down. I was very nervous because I wasn’t sure his body would even respond to me. It turns out, in his case, he could achieve an erection fairly easily in response to manual or oral stimulation. He couldn’t feel it, really. He could feel some slight tingling but he couldn’t really pinpoint where. It was a relief and at the same time it made me even more nervous because it meant I would actually be having sex that night, for the very first time. That was the moment where it became real.

I remember we had to do cowgirl position. I remember it didn’t seem to hurt at all. I wasn’t too surprised by this, since I danced and had been using tampons for a while now, but I still expected it to hurt or bleed or something. I had to provide all of the movement, which felt really awkward because I’d never done it before. How does a girl “thrust” when she has nothing to thrust with? I remember it just kind of…stopped, with no actual finish. And I remember I cried. I was only a little embarrassed to cry. He handled it well, and held me close. I had told him many times what a big deal this was to me, so it just felt natural to let the emotions out. I was very confused, because sex with C was so different from anything I had ever heard it or expected it to be, but I felt safe.

We dated for two more years after that. Our sex life progressed through a lot of experimentation. Among my friends, there was always a lot of curiosity about how we had sex. I was always glad to share (and am still) that there are many ways to have a fulfilling sex life in a relationship where one person is disabled. For example, the spot on C’s abdomen directly ABOVE where he stopped having sensation was actually ultra-sensitive. I would drive him crazy (in the good way) by gently running my fingernails over the area. Our options for positions were limited, but it was fun to think of new ones. He was unable to achieve physical orgasm, which is a loss he mourned, but he claimed he had had a “mental” one a couple of times. His erections never lasted very long but they were easily achieved again so it wasn’t a big deal. The sexual experience is going to differ infinitely between different injuries and disabilities. I can only share our own experience.

Our relationship ended on a difficult note, but I still say I’m very lucky with how I began my sexual life. He ultimately wasn’t the right person for me, but I am still very comfortable with how long I waited and the age at which I had sex. I’m glad it was with someone I cared about, and I’m glad it happened under sort of unusual circumstances. It made me more open-minded, more experimental, and since both he and I were, in a way, discovering our new sexuality at the same time, it meant that I was confident enough to figure out what I liked and ask for it, since he was doing the same with me.

I get a lot of raised eyebrows when I say the words, “I lost it to a man in a wheelchair,” but I want people to know that sex is a diverse, multifaceted, and often beautiful thing. I hope after I tell the story, people think about sex through a slightly wider and more colorful lens.

Photo by Remi Coin

Photo by Remi Coin

Relationships

My Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Breakup

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I grew up with a strict mother who only believed in dating after marriage (well okay, at least halfway through a college degree). Yet once I was in college, I never really met anyone I deemed worthy of my time or attention. I had my share of awkward texting, a few month-long flings, but nothing with an official title or anyone worth spending the holidays with.

By the time I moved to India, I had somehow managed to escape 5 years in the largest city in America with no relationship. So you can imagine my surprise upon meeting my first serious boyfriend mere months after arriving in Bangalore. Apparently, all I needed was a city three times the population of New York to find someone compatible.

It was a whirlwind, passionate—ahem, disgusting—romance; we were joined at the hip, spoke in our own gross code, and everyone rightfully hated us for it.  Within three months, we told each other we loved one another; within four, we were visiting each other’s families (even the extended ones in Indian villages!); six brought us on multiple vacations; and eight solidified that we were going to get married at some point and even get matching tattoos (gag, I know).

While nothing is wrong with an intense romance, I realize in hindsight (funny how that always works) that we were completely incompatible for each other. We were each other’s crutch, not complements; there were many inherent traits—passivity, indecisiveness, laziness—that would not have worked long-term. Okay, fine, I’m sure there were many traits of mine that were flawed as well, but since it’s my shitty breakup, let’s just bypass that.

Yes, you read right: breakup. Since it has been over nine months and I’ve moved on to greener pastures, I can look back on that brutal breakup with a sense of a relief, instead of the initial heartbreak that it caused.

So let’s rewind back in time to March of this year. Fresh off a weekend with my family, my boyfriend, the anonymized “AS,” left for a beach town in northern India for a week-long work retreat. Since his coworkers were scattered all over India and Africa, the retreat was an opportunity to get face-to-face interaction. The week would consist of team-building exercises during the day, before enjoying the beach and parties in the evening.  All friends and family were welcome to join on the weekend, which is exactly what I had planned.

During the week, AS regaled me with tales of group dynamics, fun beach parties, and the mushy stuff that made me excited to join him over the weekend. He also mentioned the Uganda-based employee and new hire, Renee. Renee was a very cute girl, I would totally love her, she was perfect for his coworker John. And, ha, John was trying so hard to hook up with Renee!

Thursday night, I boarded a 12-hour overnight bus to the beach town. AS was planning on picking me up at the bus stop. After a bumpy ride where I stayed awake most of the time, I called AS around 6:30am to let him know I was close.  No answer. I waited a bit before calling a few more times and texting; each time, he never answered.  So I got off at the random bus stop in an unknown town at 7 am where I didn’t speak the language or even know the hotel name so I could call and figure out why my boyfriend failed to show.

Around 7:15am, AS called back, groggy and confused. He claimed he slept through his entire alarm after partying the night before. He gave me the hotel address and I played charades with a taxi driver before navigating to the hotel. Though annoyed, I was happy to see AS and enjoy the early morning beach with him. Immediately, I also met all of his bosses and coworkers, including Renee, and spent the morning with them.

After a long morning, we retired to our respective beach huts for a nap. “Want to grab something to eat?” I asked AS, as I hung our swimsuits to dry. AS stayed silent for a minute before he whispered, “Shilp, I need to tell you something. I hooked up Renee last night.” I pinched my forefinger with one of the clothespins, “Fuck these clothespins!” I exclaimed.

AS began to stammer. “I mean all week we were getting along really well. Last night we had been drinking and I decided to leave the group to get my phone from the hut. She followed me and one thing lead to another…” His voice trailed off.

I stared intently at my clothespin attacker wondering what sort of dickhead would use such an archaic way of dealing with clothes. A clothespin was just a glorified paper clip.

“She has a hickey on her neck, and I didn’t want you to get suspicious,” AS rambled.

A hickey? Have they made a resurgence post high school?

“Actually, she has a boyfriend she lives with in Uganda… so…”

Initially, I couldn’t process what had happened. Then the shock began to fade, and anger started to sink in. AS left me stranded at a bus station because he spent all night having sex with a coworker he’d been gushing about over the phone all week. Though I was on my way to see him, though his entire company knew of my existence, he completely disrespected and humiliated me by screwing a coworker who was also cohabitating with her boyfriend hours before my arrival. And since I couldn’t get another bus or flight out earlier than Sunday (it was now Friday evening) I was legitimately trapped for the next 36 hours with AS, her, his company, and what was supposed to be a beach holiday.

Her beach shack was directly across from ours. In the mornings when I went to retrieve my swimsuit, I saw her doing the same.  She and her hickey that my boyfriend left her sat at the end of the dinner table I shared, rejoicing in moments with the rest of the team.  While my boyfriend played a pathetic dog, stuck to my side, I was completely aware of her glances, her frowns, her desperate brown eyes staring AS up and down when he was with me.

AS and I didn’t talk much during those 36 hours. I put on a happy façade though I just wanted to constantly vomit; no one suspected anything. The night before we were scheduled to leave, we separated ourselves from Renee and went to a party on the beach. Yet just like an annoying zit on your chin, Renee and the rest of the team showed up. I watched her like a hawk, hoping she’d keep her distance from me. AS never told her once to stay away. Shameless people, however, have no boundaries—within minutes she’d bring drinks from the bar to peddle off to AS or try to engage him in conversation.

Maturity and taking the higher road sure is a bitch: the last 24 hours of playing the Stepford wife had been killing me. I felt suffocated in my own body, wanting to tear my skin off and run. So that is exactly what I did—well, the running part. Like a bad Jennifer Aniston movie, I found myself at 1am sprinting down the beach towards my shack in tears as AS’s ass lagged behind, yelling for me to stop. Stop? I wanted to drown.

Hell froze over and Sunday finally rolled around and it was time to catch our flight. As we joined the rest of the team to say our goodbyes, I stared directly at Renee and her hickey. The entire weekend of suppressing my urge to smack her across the face had manifested in my throat; I looked at her intently, smiled and declared loudly (in front of her bosses, coworkers, and naturally, AS), “Renee, I want to thank you for such an amazing weekend. Please tell your live-in boyfriend in Africa that I would love to meet him: it sounds like we’d have so much in common.”

Then I lit a cigarette and threw the match behind me as the entire shack burst into flames. Well, okay, I just stormed off. But later I found out that Renee burst into tears in front of her entire company, so that’s really just a legal way of doing the same thing.

Ultimately, reader, you guessed it (seriously, you guys are way smarter than me), AS and I broke up. He never once stood up for me during the entire experience and continued to fluctuate between ambivalence for his actions and pathetic groveling. His passivity was astounding, even during the breakup. It was a clean cut—no follow-up emails, no phone calls, no run-ins. It was so clean that it made me question if our entire relationship had actually occurred—overnight, all proof of its existence was wiped. To this day, I struggle, wondering if he ever loved me. I also wish I had said something sharper to Renee. Don’t you hate it when all of your great comebacks come to you hours later?

Maybe it’s the universe giving me an epically shitty breakup because I was deprived of partially shitty breakups throughout college. Maybe it’s fate intervening to keep me from wasting more time with such an immature child. Regardless, at the end of the day, it’s science telling me that I at least deserve a better travel partner.

What did I learn from this breakup and relationship? Always keep his hard drive of movies.

Recently, a mutual friend drunkenly told me that he saw Facebook photos of AS gorilla-trekking in Uganda… presumably gifting Renee more hickeys.  My thoughts on that? Well, some species haven’t evolved like the rest of us.

Photo by Sara Slattery

Photo by Sara Slattery

Relationships

Clear History: Porn and the Long Term Relationship

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“All I’m saying is… if we like, move in together or get engaged or something, I don’t want to find out he’s watching porn ever again,” a dear friend confessed to me in a scandalized whisper over a bottle of wine one night.

I was floored when I heard her say this. This was a girl who was comfortable with her sexuality and was always up for dishing about her most recent inappropriate nocturnal activities. I snorted into my glass of Merlot and said, “Yeah, okay. And what’s he gonna do if he ever catches you watching porn?”

“I don’t watch porn,” she said.

“Lies.”

“I don’t need to,” she argued. “Why would I? My relationship isn’t missing anything. Sex is great how it is.”

She then elaborated on how degrading pornography is towards women and that she didn’t understand why her boyfriend, a self-professed male feminist who was down to take his wife’s name when he got married, could allow himself to watch it.

And thus began a long day’s girl talk into night as she and I hashed out the place of pornography in today’s long term relationships. It was a doozy.

My side of the argument sounded a little something like this:

It’s important for both parties in a long-term partnership to be able to express their feelings about porn, because guess what: it’s here to stay. We can’t get rid of it as long as the Internet is also here to stay (and I’m pretty sure that’s a given). Gone are the days when a guy would sneak away at 3 pm on a Sunday, pop the collar of his shady looking trench coat, and duck into a dirty movie. As adults engaging in sexual relationships in the 21st century, it would be naïve as all hell for us to pretend that porn doesn’t have a seat at the table (er… in the bed?). It’s too accessible. You cannot pretend that your significant other isn’t ever going to watch it again if he or she is already in the habit of doing so. If my friend came down hard on her boyfriend for watching porn, he would probably just start sneaking it, and then it would turn into this weird, dirty secret he had. Why have weird, dirty secrets if you don’t need to have them? Unless you like having them—but, that’s neither here nor there.

My friend and I then chewed over this idea that, if someone watches porn, is he or she fantasizing about something that is missing in his or her relationship? This was the reason she said she didn’t “need” to watch porn, and one of the reasons she was offended when she found out her boyfriend occasionally did. I guess the thought process goes like this: if your significant other is seeking out a very specific type of fetish every time he or she pulls up the YouPorn home page, you might conclude that he or she wants you to incorporate said very specific fetish into your sexytime routine. But the truth is that he or she likes it because it’s not real life; it’s a fantasy, an indulgence. It would lose its allure if it were part of reality.

“Listen, you don’t watch him play Grand Theft Auto and think he’s going to run around the city jacking cars and running over innocent bystanders, right?” I asked her.

She agreed that the analogy made a lot of sense. Even if her guy was peeping on some kind of freaky stuff, it did not necessarily mean that she was expected to imitate it IRL. After all, porn doesn’t show you what it’s like to have sex with someone you’re emotionally invested in. It’s not a roadmap by any means! It’s important that both people in the relationship know that.

My friend then conceded that maybe porn did have its benefits because it can help people deal with the boundaries of a monogamous relationship, especially if a monogamous relationship is what you ultimately aspire to. Sometimes we have to resist the urge to behave like animals. I wholeheartedly agreed: everyone, male or female, gay or straight, has had to avoid forbidden fruit at one point or another. Porn allows people to keep their shit together in real life; the temptation for forbidden fruit is super rare if said forbidden fruit isn’t looked upon as a super rare thing.

At that point, we circled back around to this idea that pornography is, traditionally, just plain offensive to women. If a teenage boy is caught looking at porn, a lot of parents might write it off as “totally normal for his age.” But if a young lady were caught in the same predicament… well, it goes without saying: we’re kind of not supposed to like porn. Because, as she argued, porn, in the “classical” sense, degrades females. There’s really no getting around that.

However, thanks to the Internet, more varied types of erotica have become accessible these days. It’s no longer 100% for-dudes-by-dudes, I argued back. I encouraged her to give it a whirl sometime and see if there was anything out there that she might like.

We hit the bottom of the bottle about an hour later and found our conversation in a very different place than where it had started. But my friend seemed much happier and far more relaxed now that she’d aired out her concerns. We agreed that monogamous couples don’t have to turn a blind eye to porn in our relationships and marriages if we don’t want to. And it might be healthier not to do so, especially considering it is everywhere!

And as for her boyfriend’s status as a self-professed feminist—his rep can remain intact.  We settled on this: it’s okay for a guy who upholds those ideals to find something sexy even if it goes against the feminist grain. If a person is a champion for non-traditional gender roles at home and in the workplace, the fact that they like guy-on-top sex shouldn’t discredit said championing. Sometimes, the body just wants what it wants—which is also probably what hurts the most for someone like my friend. Why does the body want that? I don’t know. Ask the cavemen, I guess. We also discussed the fact that it seems like a huge percentage of women secretly prefer guy-on-top-type sex as well—women who want their guy to “be in control” in the bedroom. But a great deal of ladies are hesitant to really own up to it because they don’t want to sound like a scab to the feminist agenda. Feminism and pornography have been waging a very complex cold war for years, so I didn’t want my buddy to think of it in such black-or-white terms. If she loved this guy (and of course, she did), she would have to find a way to navigate this question with an understanding, open mind.

If you’re invested in someone and you really care about them, hold their sexuality to the same standard that you hold your own. Don’t put them down if they enjoy certain things. Respect the chemistry, as Walter White would say. Porn doesn’t have to draw a dividing line between two people in a relationship. If you approach the subject in a respectful manner, it might even strengthen your relationship in ways you never expected.

I’m happy to report that my bud is now engaged to this awesome fellow. I’ll take a smidgen of credit where credit is due for this one (though that bottle of wine probably deserves an honorable mention, too).

Have your own opinion? Share it in the comments!

Photo by Sara Slattery

Sex

Handjob Etiquette

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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.

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Photo by Sara Slattery

Sex

Good Vibes: A Guide to Vibrators

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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:

    1. Water-based lubes are the most common and are compatible with condoms and silicone toys.
    2. Oil-based lubes are good for hand jobs, but break down condoms/latex and aren’t good for your silicon toys.
    3. Silicon-based lubes are long-lasting, but hard to wash out and expensive.
    4. 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!

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Photo by the author