I meeean…everything’s cool until someone gets hurt. Sexual relations in most any instance is a good thing until it negatively affects other aspects of your life. There used to be a time in my life (a.k.a college) when I could get my freak on Friday and Saturday night and give no more than a head nod to my “partner” in the dining halls on Sunday afternoon. Over time I guess I’ve grown to want a little more from my relationships. I can’t do the friends who fuck thing anymore. I just want more too much and I can’t help it. Just fucking, though, I can still get into. But then that means I don’t need to be bumping into you at the time clock or water cooler. Idk…I just think if it’s really all about the sex, which it DAMN WELL SHOULD BE IF YOU’RE WILLING TO PUT YOUR JOB ON THE LINE ‘CAUSE SOMETIMES IT COMES TO THAT ‘CAUSE THIS IS REAL FUCKING LIFE AND FOLKS NEED PRESCRIPTIONS THAT AIN’T GETTING FILLED, why can’t you find someone somewhere else to do your dirt with? Why complicate your life? I know some people don’t have shit better to do but why make crying in the work bathroom a total possibility for yourself (or for someone else)?
Now, if this is some sort of thrill of the chase, my much older and sophisticated widowed boss wants to throw me on his mahogany desk and show me how to collate and copy then, THAT’S WHAT’S UP!!! ‘Cause how often does anyone have that experience and if anything it’ll be a fun story, ya know?
Sex at work is all about you and what you can handle. I agree with one hitter quitters as long as both parties continue on not being too sure of each other’s last name, but if things become too regular and a neighbor knows the make and model of your car, it’s an issue. Or will become one real soon.
Hope my opinion is useful. Write me back with yours or email me, fool!
….uggh! I could go on and on about this. I’m sitting here thinking of all the times I’ve heard of people who were “just fucking” super regularly and went their separate happy ways afterward. I mean, I know it can happen because it’s been me a couple times but it’s been soooo not me more than a couple times. And I understand the fun and convenience of finding someone at work you’d like to bone but at what point does it go from hitting them up every couple weeks to them being the person you’re drunk dialing on a Friday night? There is a really fine line with all this, which is why I’d suggest few venture there at all.
I can’t believe I let my second blogiversary go almost completely un-shouted out. It was March 3rd and I’m so happy my baby has grown and changed and become something that lifts me (and others) up, which is surprising considering how it started. I can actually have lengthy and pleasant conversation with the boy who hurt me so bad I had to tell the whole internet about it. A year and a half post, he said he was sorry and I cried like I’d been waiting every night since to hear it.
Looking back at times like that give me hope for my current situation where thoughts of my most recent ex-almost-relationship sneak all too easily into my head. I mean, I’m over things for the most part. Like, I’ve mourned all the immediate losses. I’m over no “Good Morning” texts and I’m okay with the fact that no one cares how my day went. I’m over the fact that the guy I used to see everyday doesn’t want to hang out with me…ever. Subsequently, I’m over having to go to movies and eat at restaurants alone. I’m slowly but surely reverting back to the one woman show.
Still, there is one last piece of the puzzle giving me a bit of trouble: the sex. Specifically, the penis. First, I should tell you a thing or two about me and my ex-almost. We had lots of sex. Our sexual chemistry was far and beyond that of our actual chemistry, which is probably why I’m here today telling you a bit too much about our not-even-a-relationship. In any case, we did it (or something like “it”) all the time.. everywhere…all the time. So you can imagine my struggle as a newly single woman trying her best to save face with her ex-almost while still satisfying her physical needs. And I can’t even find peace in masturbation because, duh! Who/what am I thinking about? Uggh! Have you ever whimpered while masturbating? Not like a “Oh my God! I can’t believe how great this feels” whimper, but a “Why doesn’t he want me? Waah! Waah!” whimper.
The sex was (is?) great but I’ve had great sex in the past and know there’s great sex to be had in the future. I just don’t have it in me to go out into the world and find it or let it find me. The idea of letting someone new in my vagina is nauseating. Seriously. And it has less to do with me being hung up on ex-almost and more to do with me trying to keep the list of men who’ve seen my areola on one side of the page, ya know?
Plus, there’s the familiarity thing. Ex-Almost knows what I like and how I like it and vice versa. I’ll be damned if I disrobe for mediocre sexy time. Ex-almost’s penis and I developed a relationship. I took ownership of him. “He” was mine to care for and such like a girlfriend should and it looks like breaking up with “him” is going to be the hardest battle of all. Couple all that with the fact that Ex-almost cares whether I live or die…and how I’m getting home. The two of us still give a shit about each other which makes things all the more complicated. I made a vow to myself a little while back that I was through having meaningless sex, which, for me, means sex with men I’m not in a relationship with. I doubt this resolution will last but for the time being I think I’ve had my fill of “oops!” sex and would like to see what sex in like/love is all about. This presents even more issues as it means I must get back out there in the dating game. But the dating game is so difficult when you’re out of school. What am I to make of glances on the street and “You’re beautiful“‘s at work? How do I turn a crush into coffee when passing notes or Facebook chat are not an option (I don’t do FB chat)?
Dude, twenty-two going on twenty-three is a rough place to be. I still have all the same kiddie urges with knowledge enough to know that they’re indeed childish. Like, I’m so down with passing a note to this guy at work who could have it all except that’s totally not what’s up in 2012 after the age of recess. So, what it all comes down to is: I really want to have sex but at this point in time ONLY with my ex except every time we do I get a “But, Christine, why?” feeling and I’d really like to have sex with someone else except I know that that won’t leave me feeling any better unless I cultivate some sort of meaningful relationship which I don’t know how to do because the city of Chicago is completely unlike the small college town and all-girls Catholic school where this girl learned her best moves.
For a change I’m asking you all, what’s a girl to do?
Love you guys!
I guess I should start this post by explaining myself. There hasn’t been a post of quality on my lovely little piece of the web in quite some time and it’s because, though I hate to admit it, baby girl has been hurting. I’ve had my head between my knees, rocking back and forth slowly in the darkest corner of my room for maybe two months. Not really, but I have been sad. The most functional, nutty kind of sad that only comes when a chick that considers herself kinda bad ass gets dumped. It’s the mutant child of “I’m fine” and “I just want to go to sleep forever”. It’s the step sister of “I really need to be drunk right now”. It’s just bad. And I haven’t felt right giving advice or sharing my two cents about life when I’m deleting and re-entering an ex’s number into my phone so often it freezes. Obviously, Android isn’t ready for my kind of crazy.
Today, my sister saw I was upset for the zillionth time. I’ll be great one minute then have a flashback that lands me right on my ass. I’m closer to my sis than anyone but we don’t bond over boy talk and at-home pedicures. So, for her to tell me that I need to start taking the advice I give on this blog and make decisions that are better for me, was moving. And here I am. This is me pulling myself up by the bootstraps. I’m done pretending I haven’t been affected by a kind of loss and I’m not going to act as if I haven’t made some of the dumbest decisions ever in trying to rekindle things. I’m retiring my bat and burying the dead horse.
The first kick in the pants came on New Year’s Eve. I’d had a great night out with friends. Our worst decisions were among mixing light and dark (and bubbly), leaving our Hennessy bottle unguarded and not calling a cab ahead of time. For us, this was a top night. After being stranded for an hour or so, cursed out by a Taxi driver and Kleenexing puke from my coat-sleeve, I was on board a 4AM Nothrbound Red Line train home with a full car of the wildest cast of characters. I’m so thankful for my college experience because I feel there is no better education in how to deal with an odd assortment of odd people. No matter where I go I feel I can always accurately peg people—put them in categories so as to better understand where their heads at. Like, the frat bros comparing Chicago’s meat packing district with New York’s or the small group of college freshmen in kitty heels babysitting their first “Girl, I kinda know”. They don’t know yet what karmic rewards they’ll reap for this act of kindness.
Amongst the chaos, I fell asleep. I was awakened by the sound of someone sobbing.
You guys, I’m not being dramatic. When I say “sobbing”, I mean trails of snot, okay? Like, chick was not holding back (audible tears). And everyone knows it’s an unwritten rule of life that you don’t let people see you cry. I, like you, have no clue when we were all taught this, but when you feel the waterworks it’s chin up, eyes wide. There are a few exceptions especially when amongst friends and relatives but chick was letting loose on a packed train with seemingly no friends. The man next to her was half dead. She was sitting directly behind me so I couldn’t turn around completely to get the scoop but I peeped her reflection in the train window and saw no accomplices.
The train buzzed around her, everyone too drunk to notice. I think city folks are exposed to so much shit we don’t understand or don’t want to deal with (especially on the train/bus) that we learn to just tune it out. Literally, not a single soul frowned a single brow. I looked! I wanted to share my silent concern with another kind-hearted individual but there was no one. I wanted so badly to ask, “Why are you crying?” but that’s not socially acceptable past the age of four. I pictured myself as a black version of the Monster’s Inc. girl, sitting in her lap and offering up a hug. In that same moment, I wished so badly that she’d gotten bad news from a family member: Grandma’s back in the hospital, Uncle Jerry’s on another bender, something! But, I knew. I knew no one had died. I knew she wasn’t having terrible cramps. I knew she hadn’t stubbed her toe. I knew she was crying over a boy. On New Year’s Eve. On a crowded train of strangers. She was crying over a stupid boy.
Guys definitely have us beat with all the fighty-fighty-break-up stuff. Because if a full-grown man had been crying on the train, I’d probably think we were about to crash. He really did stub his toe. Grandma’s cookies were the best. Uncle Jerry is like a father. Oh God, you poor thing. I would never auto-assume he was crying over a girl, because really, there’d be nothing to cry over if he was crying over a girl. If a dude would show he cared enough…and actually CRIED…”Oh, honey, come to mama! It’s okay. Everything will be okay. We’ll make this work.”
But they never cry.
We’re always the ones left crying, but when is enough enough? With this last break-up I realized how much of a glutton for punishment chicks can be. Do you know how many more times after the first time I offered myself up for the slaughter? So many that part of me can understand how women return to abusive relationships. ‘Cause this is all coming from me, a girl who grew up in a two-parent home, never had an unfulfilled want or need, college educated, the works and I’m acting like a complete idiot, practically begging someone to be with me. I can’t even imagine what someone with less guidance or support would do.
For me, unfortunately, I think I needed him to treat me badly. I couldn’t leave things amicably. I needed his actions to negate all the sweet shit from before. I needed him to make me hate him. I needed a real reason to walk away. I needed more proof when all the proof was there in front of me. If I looked back on things, it was clear that we weren’t exactly what I wanted. We were so great in so many ways, but lacking in others. I was willing to work and he wasn’t. The end. Well, it should’ve been the end, but I had to make it about a title and other girls and not talking as often and not meeting his friends. I had to pick fights. Make what was bad, worse so that I could finally pick up my shit and leave.
My only hope for next time (God forbid, but I’m only 22 so, yippee..) is that I don’t feel so foolish at the end of it all. I don’t want to be left hanging onto someone who’s already let go.
I wanna be a gangsta.
*Oh, about the girl on the train: She got off toward the end of the line, a few stops before me. The train had cleared and from the ashes arose some man I hadn’t seen previously. He was definitely nowhere in site while she was crying but it was clear he was the source of the tears upon the two exiting the train. I wish I knew what happened. I wish I knew whether they were able to work it out. I wish I knew if she finally let it go.
**But can we talk about how’d I’d STILL be getting over the Justin Timberlake break up if I were Britney? They’d known each other since the Mickey Mouse club days and probably dated way back then. They were together in the height of their careers and were generally the cutest thing anyone had ever seen. Add to that the fact that everyone knew about the break up. Ugh! I can’t even handle my sister and a few friends knowing. Really, we should all be glad Britney isn’t strung out on heroine right now.
This will not be the typical SEXURDAY post as there aren’t any real tips or tricks hidden throughout. I just need to have a quick chat with you all about how necessary it is to feel comfortable telling current and future lovers how you like things done. I told a story once about how a thirty-year old lured me into a date and nearly drowned me in saliva in front of my own home. For the record, when I say “lured”, I mean he suggested Mexican and paid. When I say “drowned”, I mean my eyes have seen the pearly gates. I wondered, in that particular post, how a man his age could have gone so long kissing the way he did. None of his previous girlfriends thought to address the problem? Did his previous girlfriends start the problem? Who’s to blame for letting this man run wild in the streets, hunting young prey at nightclubs, taking them to classy Mexican eateries and returning them to their fathers blue in the face and gagging? Admittedly, I said nothing. Maybe wiping my mouth with my sleeve from elbow to wrist was a sign? If so, it was the only one. Should I have said something? I mean, this guy is thirty-one now and likely serving some kind of sentence for attempted murder.
Whenever I’m asked an advice question along the lines of “How do I get him/her to…?” the answer (though, it sometimes takes me a paragraph or two to get there) is always, “just ask!”. When it comes down to it, this is a person you’re swapping spit with. He’s seen you naked and vice versa. You’ve seen his cum face and experienced the moments of silence afterward where he’s trying to pull himself together. He’s seen your body wiggle in some of the most unsightly positions. At this point, we’re all family!
Let me hit you with some dude logic real quick, ladies. Men love sex. Men will do things for sex that they won’t do for things that are not sex. Men love sex. So, telling a man to put his hands here, or lick you there, or lift your leg this way or stop doing this or that or the other thing affects absolutely nothing as long as penis is meeting vagina at the end of the day. And things are REALLY a wrap if your request comes while penis has already met vagina. Remember being a master manipulator when you were a child? You knew exactly which parent or uncle or aunt to ask for whatever useless toy you wanted. Mommy for candy. Dad for cute stuffed animals. Grandparents for anything over $25 with no major holiday in sight. Now’s the time to resurrect those skills. Anything you’ve seen/heard enacted in a movie or retold during girl talk is fair game when your lover is in full swing. As long as your request doesn’t begin with “Put your dick in the blender”, you’re golden.
Note: Dudes, for chicks like me, asking to put your penis is my butt is the equivalent of “Put your dick in the blender”. Just so ya know.
BUT here comes the part where things start to sound contradictory. I’m reading a book currently where the author suggests men are just as self-conscious as women. Surprising to some because chicks always get a bad wrap when it comes to self-esteem and all things overly emotional, but dudes give a shit about what they look like and how they’re perceived by others too. It’s just, like, not something to whine about. I lived with a dude for a year and definitely caught him flexing and lotioning his body in the mirror more than a few times. He also ran his outfit choices by me sometimes. Dudes care! So, when it comes to intimate requests having to do with a man’s physique or qualities/attributes beyond his control, things need to be handled with a certain finesse. For example, say you’re having sex with a sweater (ie: a man who sweats profusely, not a GAP clearance item, you weirdo). Theeeee absolute worst! You haven’t quite lived until you’ve had the sweat from a man’s brow splash repeatedly on your bottom lip mid-banging. This is one of those comments that is best said while penis has already met vagina. What could possibly sound bitchy in the day light while your naughty bits are clothed and at rest, is the most inconsequential request while his penis is at work. “You’re sweating on me!” will be the sexiest thing he’s ever heard, promise.
There are some requests or corrections that need to be made very clear whether things get bitchy or not. My friend was telling me about a recent rendezvous where the dude was slapping her ass repeatedly. Not the “Oo baby! I like that” intermittent slaps, but like, next day delivery on the Pony Express. Giddyup! I was so confused that anyone would ever think that was okay, I made her repeat it several times. “So, wait, he was slapping you continuously?” Yes, non-fucking stop! This is one of those things that needs to be stopped before it even starts. You don’t want this dude thinking for a second that this is actually something you like in case you ever get black-out drunk or desperate enough to let him your bed again. If you experience a dude doing something with his hands that he shouldn’t be doing, grab that hand immediately and give it a better job. Obvious default positions are boobies and clitoris. Your clit is the more deliberate choice. If you put his hands on your boobs, he may take a few squeezes and continue on wrangling imaginary cattle. But that’s an important note for any sex move or position that your lover is doing that you don’t like. Don’t tell them to stop. Instead, suggest something else you’d like them to do. That way, you’re not little miss bitchy pants sex expert, but a cool chick that knows what she likes.
Overall, I’d say the best advice I could give to anyone looking to correct things they don’t like about their lover’s lovin’ is more action, less words (but really, whichever gets the job done). I mean, don’t we get enough use of words in our everyday lives anyway? When it comes to sexytime, it’s more about the “show” than the “tell”.
Questions go HERE.
FIRST, WATCH THE VIDEO!
I don’t mean to belittle the importance of losing one’s virginity (or taking someone’s virginity) by saying things like “It doesn’t’ matter who you lose it to. Who gives a fuck?”. I only say that to assure you that losing your virginity is your decision and no one else’s business. Lose it with whomever you deem appropriate according to your own requirements, cool? Cool.
Onto talks of blood and pain. As I said, it will hurt. It hurt for me and most of my friends. You may be different. You may be the same. Likely, the same. Take comfort in knowing that your body is meant to stretch to such proportions and produce enough lubricant for you to survive. I promise. The blood comes because your hymen breaks. Well, breaks…stretches..I don’t know the details. Google it. But it is likely that you will bleed and it will be embarrassing because your partner isn’t into your blood on his sheets. Or your blood on your sheets. Just, your blood anywhere, dude. It’s gross. But prepare him beforehand and perhaps put a towel down (so your mattress isn’t ruined) as a precaution.
If you use tampons or are fingered fairly regularly (with like, a two finger minimum) things may hurt less for you and what a joy that will be! I wasn’t a heavy tampon user as a V-card holder but what a gift that was afterward. Life’s little joys.
There will be lots of discomfort during your first time but you shouldn’t let that hinder future endeavors because as you may have read here previously, sex can be good times. However, it’s important to note: sex will not be fabulous every time after your first either. Now you’re confused, right? I’m just sayin’ sucky sex is everywhere. There are adult women having sucky sex every day. There should be awareness ribbons. It’s real and it’s out there. Just make sure YOU know what the fuck YOU’RE doing so that you can point out sucky sex at first sight.
In the video I suggest not giving much thought to positions on the first time. I say this because it’s probably safest for the girl to be at her most relaxed. This takes lots of trust in your partner, because, as a woman, you don’t have much control in missionary. For this reason, some would suggest the girl get on top. I say that’s phooey (did you know “phooey” is a real word? Did you know “phooey” is spelled with a “ph”?). First of all, riding takes a certain finesse a newbie does NOT have. There is no convincing me otherwise. Secondly, gravity will not be a friend to a woman on top for her first time. I honestly feel like missionary is best BECAUSE the woman is in less control. She won’t want to continue pushing herself because it hurts. She’ll need the guy to “force her” (using this loosely, you shouldn’t actually be forcing anything, guys) to take necessary steps forward, ie; allowing him to put more of himself inside. Get it? Mmkay.
Dudes, like I said, don’t go into this expecting too much. I remember the guy I lost mine to asking me mid-stroke if I wanted to flip over and I said, “NO!”. He asked if I’d like to try a few other things. I said, “NO!”. Don’t ask her for shit, you understand me? You’re toughing this one out in order to get to future moments where you can sling her against the wall and whatnot, but that ain’t tonight. Note also, she must be prepped and primed for this occasion. Pull out all the stops. This means your fingers and/or (AND) tongue may need to take a trip down south, ya feel me? Things go better too if she actually likes you so, even if you’re an asshole and you both know it, put on a smile for the night. Sell the dream. Or at least try.
Ladies, one last word to you all. This is something I struggle articulating even to myself, but I want you to know that you will lose something else, something very important, on the night you lose your virginity. I try to warn all my V-carded friends of this before they enter into the Land of the Lost so here goes. You will lose your Natural Stopping Point. Yep, I just made that up. Your Natural Stopping Point (NSP) is that instinct you have, while still holding your V-card, to stop intimacy with the opposite sex before things go too far. See right now, you’re a virgin so, you have no desire to just allow any old hook-up into your panties (because no one gets into your panties). But imagine a world where your vagina has been around the block. Well, not around the block, but like, across the street. She’s seen a little bit. She knows a little bit. She wants it a little more. She’s a little harder to control. She convinces you of things and then BAM! You have a penis inside you and your legs aren’t even shaved! Or worse, you’re not even really into this dude he’s just a good kisser.
It’s real, folks. NSP is real. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
That’s all for now,
QUESTIONS GO HERE!
Sometimes I hate 2011. Even with all it’s technological advancements, there are times when I can’t stand this day and age. Those times are typically moments when this day and age fails me miserably.
I can’t stand people and their opinions all over the internet (yea yea yea…we’ll pretend this isn’t my blog filled with my opinions…on the internet). I hate when newscasters reference Twitter. I hate that my computer is filled with my face stretched and pinched at various angles. I hate that sometimes I post my ten best angles on Facebook. I hate that I can’t explain Foursquare without sounding really dumb. “You can like, tell people where you are… and stuff”. I hate that people put you on hold for lack of service upon entering an elevator. Like, really? In 2011? I hate that the “a” key on my Blackberry doesn’t work, which I admit is more of a personal problem but I can kinda complain about whatever I want ‘round these parts. And on that note, I hate that I have a toaster, an oven and a toaster oven yet had to tong two slices of bread over an open flame yesterday morning to get some crunch with my breakfast. Movies are in 5D but I can’t make toast! I hate that a couple of weeks ago I found myself trapped in the stairwell on the twenty-fourth floor of a high-rise building. I hate that you never have cell phone service when you REALLY need it. And not I’m-locked-out-of-the-house need it, but like, Tom Hanks in Castaway and near-tears-up-and-down-a-stairwell-wondering-when-your-life-became-a-sitcom need it.
What I’m trying to say is don’t ever get too comfortable in these streetz…. and always carry pen and paper if by any chance you need to slip a “TRAPPED IN THE STAIRWELL !!!!!” message under a door.
BUT there are times when technology comes through in the clutch. Times like the onset of a long distance relationship OR two horny individuals with no gas money OR two hard working individuals with nothing but a company monitored computer, picture messaging and a dream. Technology takes the world of sex to a whole ‘nother level, setting pictures of erect penises a scroll or two away from overabbreviated texts from your dad and Red Box coupon codes. Shits crazy!
Before doing the digital “do” always take into consideration that any and all of what you do could be captured, saved, shared, linked, alladat! Like, yea yea yea you guys are in love TODAY but, I mean, bad things happen to good people. What did I say about never getting too comfortable? Right. And what are the chances that you’re really in love? Let’s be real. Truth is: most often it takes the least amount of convincing for people to do the most damaging things. So, let’s play “Day in the Life” and say for instance your lover texts: “Shake something’!” You decide that you have enough time and the right kind of underwear to stage the perfect nudie. Personally, I don’t do vag photos. Vaginas aren’t cute and I just can’t stomach the idea of sending mine through any kind of wires or airwaves or cyberspace or outer space or the like. But boobs! Boobs and butt are a “can do” for me.
Alls ya gotta do is stroll on over to the nearest mirror, snap and send. I would advise you to cover up any tattoo, recognizable piercing or birth mark/scar. You may say, “Christine, why suddenly so cautious?”. BECAUSE BAD THINGS HAPPEN TO GOOD PEOPLE and once upon a time taking this little precaution saved me from an ass whooping and a lifetime of shame and ridicule. So, just do what I say, okay?
In addition, it’s shouldn’t alert you that these photos are supposed to be sexy. Meaning you want to look at least half way decent. I’m not talking full blown hair and make-up but you ARE in complete control of the visual you’re sending. Take advantage. Allow yourself more than one take. Bob, weave, and bend in whatever position gets things looking right. Note also, that there is a possibility this man (if he isn’t in a committed relationship with you or doesn’t really respect you…you know the ones, don’t kid yourself) will forward naked pictures to their friends. Any man will verify this information. I’ve seen a few naked strangers in my phone. Don’t play yourself.
The best pictures though, are the ones sent unexpectedly. If you’ve done the cell pix thing one too many times, I’d suggest taking things straight to your computer. Open up that webcam, shoot something very niiice (an all-fours profile shot, perhaps? Just a suggestion) and send it to his/her email at work or wherever. Slap a NSFW on that sucka for good measure and prepare for a reply that includes a winky-faced emoticon.
Now, phone sex takes things up another notch. I’ve never been good at it until recently. Well, I’m still not good at traditional phone sex actually, but I’ve discovered a form that works for me. Basically, If I have a mind to do so, I will call my lover while masturbating and or start masturbating during otherwise normal phone conversations. See, it was always the awkward “So where are you touching yourself now?” setup that I couldn’t get with. I’ve found that my way is much more organic. It’s like the “well I was here anyway and called to see if you wanted anything” of sex. Imagine your lover complaining about how Apple charged him $19.95 for an ipod charger and suddenly hearing familiar sounds of pleasure through his receiver. Mmhm.
Onto Skyp/iChat sex, which is the sign of things getting real. Realer than real. Cause it’s like being in person but not because it’s just not and there’s a screen so it’s kinda like porn except you know the person and you can ask ‘em to do stuff but that’s awkward and you’re naked (or thinking about getting naked) and your teddy bear and framed pictures of family are shamefully watching behind you and blah blah blaaaah! But sometimes you gotta grab life by the balls and bare all on the interwebs. If you find that you’re the one initiating things, I’d just start things off by removing a piece of clothing. Your top is a good place to start. Carry on casually this way as if it’s all good. Smart people can read between the lines. If smart isn’t what you look for in a lover, take off your panties first/whip out your dick. That kinda spells things out.
Video chat sex basically consists of both parties DYI’ing while watching the other. Yep, as uncomfortable as it sounds until you’re actually in it. The most important thing to keep in mind is the visual, ‘cause that’s kinda all you got working for you in this scenario. After establishing that yes, you are really about to do this, lay flat on your back with your computer at your side. You want boobs in frame and cooter and hands out of frame. The camera should be set up so you’re visible from at least brow to boobs, but preferably, brow to upper abs. With your lower body out of frame, you could actually be touching yourself or faking the funk if you just can’t get past certain psychological blocks. For most dudes, the excitement of bitches even getting naked on the computer, bare tits and a hot face are more than satisfactory, but you will stumble upon those that need to see a little more. If that’s you, push your computer back so you’re visible from head to butt, flip over to your stomach, pivot your chest outward so boobs are still in play, put a finger or two or three down into your sacred space and go for a ride** (if you have not ridden your own fingers during masturbation, that is your homework). You still have the pleasure of not going spread eagle on video chat, but he’s getting the chance to see more you and more action. It’s a win win.
Last but not least, if you’re a certain kinda girl dealing with a certain kinda man under certain kinda circumstances a request to stick foreign objects into your vagina may spring up. And ya know, crazier things are happening in the world. Just take all precautions. For example, I’m looking at my dresser and see my Summer’s Eve spray bottle sitting there. It’s the perfect height and width for a “prop” but the cap would come off all too easily. BOOM! Yeast infection. Use things with twist off caps and secure said cap as tightly as possible. I’ve also heard of people using food items like bananas and cucumbers and ummm yea, that’s probably an okay idea maybe. I don’t know. We just strolled right on over my area of “expertise” so, ask Google.
** You could also ride facing away from the computer if you’re dealing with an ass man.
** If all of this is ALL too much to wrap your head around, just stick with bare boobs and sit the computer on your stomach. This way you’ll be looking up into the screen or camera in the same way you’d be looking up at him if it were the real thing. And the two of you can just talk about how you love strarring into each other’s eyes or something.
QUESTIONS GO HERE!
I got “No Strings Attached” for my 11th birthday and listened to it every day after for quite some time. Ladies, I know you know this tune.
A few days ago my best friend and I were reunited and set out to Christen the summer with a day out and about downtown—seeing a movie, people watching, etc. Of course, in order to enhance this experience we both thought to invite Mary Jane along. After a long lunch trying to figure out how Mary could take part in the festivities (seeing as we both took the train to this adventure and were without the convenience of a car) we decided that I’d roll her up in the Marriott bathroom (a nice place for quick potty breaks downtown) and then find a spot on lower Wacker (the location of many Dark Knight action sequences) to light up.
So, I’m in the bathroom feeling like a delinquent across from a little girl and her mother sharing the same stall. The toilet is automatic and keeps spritzing my ass with every move I make and I’m afraid Mary smells too potent. I drop the little plastic bag she traveled in and wonder if swanky middle-aged white women know anything about dime bags and smoking marijuana mid-afternoon on a Tuesday. She couldn’t be that far removed from the good old days.
I finish rolling but don’t’ dry it because my lighter is shitty and I feared the constant flicking could draw attention. There was no one in the bathroom, really. I was being paranoid. We exit the lobby and head a few blocks down the street. To our dismay lower Wacker is a bustling street all it’s own with garbage collectors, a few lost tourists and some bus boys on their smoke break. Frustration sets in as Mary seems to be knocking on the door of my right jacket pocket with no answer in sight. We say, “Fuck it!” and determine to just light her and walk. A group of suited gentlemen interrupt our path almost immediately. “Fuck fuck fuck!”
Finally, we see a man relieving himself behind the trash and decide that once he’s done, we’re taking over. I lit up as soon as we crouched down in the shadows of the steakhouse dumpster. We laughed the entire time about the state of our lives. How we met at Sunday school, drooling on the same nap-time pillow and now we’re rehearsing our get-away plan in case a lingering cop car noticed our presence.
Afterward, we walked up the stairs from lower Wacker onto the streets above and marveled at the sunshine. Everything was brighter and everyone was more interesting. Life in HD.
Times like these are the reason why I long for a trip to Amsterdam where I can sit at a coffee shop and smoke. Where I can ride with the top down exhaling ganja through my nostrils. Where I can enjoy the feel of freshly wet grass and a neatly packed bowl. Geeze! It’s just so unfair! (Granted, I’ve smoked outdoors plenty of times but still!) The very nature of a smoker is one that enjoys beauty and takes everything in. Every taste. Every sight. Why does the world punish us with their silly laws? Why must I roll up in secret? Why must I smoke behind a fucking dumpster when the sunshine would like, send my soul through the roof (I get really hippy-ish when I talk about weed. I just really love weed).
A good high shouldn’t be kept indoors at all times. You have to see what it’s like in the sunshine. In the rain. On a beach. Wherever! On the same token, a good orgasm is the most natural high there is. And you haven’t quite seen the world until you’ve seen it while getting your vagina rocked.
I put the stamp of approval on this post while getting serviced on the sand atop a blue, velvet blanket just after sunset. Yep. That’s my life. And there was grilled mangos involved. He knows I love mangos. He’s a real winner this one.
We had just finished a bowl and were tweaking out about how fucking comfortable the blanket was. It was some random blanket he grabbed from a box in his house, but it was so perfect. Have you ever laid on a velvet blanket in the sand? The combination of both elements is magical and I’m almost positive that’s not the weed talking. It was great. Consider this my first tip for sexing in the sand. Get you a velvet blanket, son!
Neither of us realized what exactly made the sand such a great idea until the end of the night. We had found ourselves in so many different cuddling positions and each time I’d say, “Damn! This fits perfect.”. It always seemed like our hands and elbows and shoulders were always in the right spot. And y’all know how cuddling usually is. At some point, someone is uncomfortable. Someone’s leg or wrist or left big toe is losing circulation but they don’t wanna say so. That’s when it hit me that the sand was conforming to our bodies. It adjusted with each move we made, making everything feel that much better. So every time I’d wiggle or arch my back as he did his thing, the sand would let me. The sand allowed me to be my most expressive self, which could account for the many many orgasms achieved that evening.
So, tips for doing this sand-sexing business:
—We ventured out at night, which obviously cut down some of the stealth tactics necessary during other times of day. Did you know that sounds often travels slower at night? Well, when it’s cooler at least, sound travels slower than during the day when temperatures are higher. Fun fact for ya. This doesn’t mean you should be screaming to high heaven. There may be children around, you skank!
—I was wearing a dress. Always the best idea when discussing sex outdoors. Dress. Skirt. Easy Access. Master the pulling of the panties to one side business as well, gents.
—The key to positioning is being cautious of your silhouette. It’s night time so you have the benefit of darkness but there’s still shadows to be concerned with. You don’t want your legs flailing in the air or a legitimate doggie-style situation. Unless you want it to be all “Look at those people fucking!” Try keeping your bodies as flat as possible. In missionary, stay chest to chest. Go chest to back from behind. While giving oral, be sure your body is parallel to the ground and stray from too much elaborate bobbing up and down. Keep things traditional. The fact that you’re in public, on a beach is kinky enough.
—Men, be sure your fingers are sand free before they make an appearance in her vajayjay. Strange things down there can cause irritation and even the dreaded yeast infection. Yeast infections make it burn when she pees. Do you really wanna be the cause of that?
—Stay within the allotted area. Without a bed, or defined borders, it’s easy to lose your way, getting sand in your hair, ass and other places it has no business being. Honestly, the sand and sex will feel so good you may find yourself wiggling all the way to the waves. This is me telling you to stay on the blanket. You’ll have to shower twice in a row to rid yourself of all the tiny granules in your crevices if you don’t.
—Ladies, if you suck at being on top, this may be your time to shine. The sand under your knees reacts like water. Almost like swimming once you catch a groove. It’s easier to find a rhythm because each time you stroke, it creates a defined path in the sand. All you have to do is follow that path up and down or in and out and you’re good as gold.
A few weeks prior to this event, my friends and I celebrated Memorial Day with snacks and booze on the beach. At some point during the festivities, we noticed a couple, I hope was drunk, going at it right there in the sand. Day time, on the most crowded beach in Chicago, and this chick had her legs spread eagle. It was serious. We did everything but point and laugh (we may have done that too) and I giggled a little extra remembering all the heavy petting I did in the park earlier that day.
Now, we’re talking grass with a blanket of your choice in broad daylight.
—I would not suggest sex in broad daylight unless you’re committed to the him sitting with you in his lap routine. However, fingers and stiff body parts are always viable options.
—Lay on your sides facing the same direction with im behind you. Gents, kiss her along her spine with two fingers rubbing her nether regions (over her clothes). First of all, being kissed or licked along the spine is the most amazingest thing in the world. And the teasing, sneaking nature of rubbing her over her clothes will make it even sexier than touching her nude.
—Lay on your sides facing each other. Heavy kissing is suggested. Gents, rub on her booty then find your way to her vagina from behind. I don’t think guys understand how tricky a place the vagina is. It has a top, bottom, sides, middle, alladat! The feeling of the clitoris being rubbed from behind is much different than if you were to put your hands down her pants the traditional way. So, do what I say!
—Now, it’s time to bring it on home. This may sound silly to some who haven’t been masturbating as long as others. Laying face to face, gents, place your knee just inside her crotch. Ladies, hook your leg around and prepare for mild to hot humping action. If all has gone right up until now, you’re about to explode so it’s time to bring all that pent up goodness to the forefront by simulating the act of sex. You’re going to hump his knee. Or his knee is going to hump you. Whatevers clever. Just grind your pelvis as gently or as rough as is necessary for you to orgasm. I used to rub my vag on the edge of my bed as a kid. It works, trust me.
On our second date, the boo took me to dinner and drinks followed by a walk in the park. To my surprise, the park had a playground, which I was so stoked on because I told him I hadn’t’ swung on a swing in ages. So, we did everything. Well, he watched me do everything. I bounced on the bridge and told him the story of how I officiated a wedding right in front of a big orange slide many moons ago. I made it to the fourth rung on the monkey bars before deciding the whole thing was too much of a workout. We spent the rest of the time imagining ways to “do it” in various spots on the playground.
Alright, it’s a playground so, it’s best to go evening to late evening when there aren’t any actual children around. We were offered marijuana and given a rap performance by a man with half a face (no joke, half a face!) at the time we were at the park so, yea, no kids in sight.
—Do you all remember doing “the spider” on the swings as a kid? Well, “the spider” is when one kid sits on the swing normally and the other straddles him/her with their legs dangling on the other side of the swing seat. It’s like a mutant see-saw/swing combo and it was so much fun especially when the swing got super high. Re-enacting this move as a grown-up can be even more fun. Ladies, wear a dress or skirt as previously discussed. Men are going to do the sitting and women, the straddling. Ladies, this will feel weird because you won’t have any leg strength as they’ll be dangling helplessly from the swing. You’ll have to use your arms and pull on him or the swing chains to get your grind on and whatnot.
—There were many places on the playground where I sat and he stood and conveniently enough our crotch areas were perfectly aligned. At the opening of the monkey bars for example, I sat grabbing the first rung and as he approached me, I noticed how conveniently placed our lovemakers were. If you find yourself in a moment like this and have less self control than we, you know what to do. Gents, whip ‘em out. Ladies, enjoy the ride. Don’t forget, however, that even the crack heads deserve their peace. The point of all this is to be low-key. Even if he only gets the tip in for a few minutes, he gets the tip in for a few minutes on a playground where people may or may not see. The fun is in the risque-ness of it all.
On that note, I’m going to end it. I have nothing else for you good people.
Where’s the craziest place you’ve ever had sex? If you find that it’s not that crazy by even Barney’s standards, get your shit together. Venture out into the world and be driven by your impulses for once… or twice. I’ve had sex in a restaurant kitchen. If you’ve topped me, leave a comment. I wanna hear about it. Come to think of it, I’ve been bent over a few places. Ladies, if you haven’t been bent over, semi-against* your will and had your jeans pulled back just far enough, you haven’t lived.
* I said SEMI. No means NO and all that
good serious stuff.