There’s no way you can legitimately believe tops and bottoms are making an equal investment in any given sexual encounter.
The following events are, for better or for worse, absolutely true. I present to you five of the most peculiar sexual encounters of my life.
CW: Perceived negative relationship dynamics My parents’ opposing personalities frequently put them at odds with one another — something that can, in an oversimplified way, be seen as my dad often treating my mom horribly, but also loving her more than I have ever seen anybody love another person. My
CW: mentions of disease/illness, verbal abuse, and drug usage In my first year at Pomona College, I would sob on every flight from New York City to Claremont. Each minute that passed ripped me further and further away from someone who I felt I could not exist without. Three years
I only recently gained the ability to partake in hookup culture. For all of middle school and the first half of high school, I couldn’t make eye contact with boys/men because I did not want to be looked at. I hated the way I looked, and, even more, hated my
Much like a shark, the most reliable way for me to make a value judgment of a physical object is to put it in my mouth. Unlike a shark, I try not to use teeth. With that said, it should come as no surprise that I enjoy essin’ that dee.
To me, queefs are kind of like quiches. They can be totally different depending on who makes them, and I used to be confused on how they come about. Unfortunately, the similarities end there. While Grandma Lorraine’s quiches may fill you with nostalgia and an appreciation for home, queefs
From the end of freshman year of college through the beginning of sophomore year, I hooked up with the same boy a handful of times. He cut things off abruptly, texting me that he wanted to stop hooking up since he was worried it would “complicate” our (nonexistent) friendship. I
It’s safe to say that Cosmopolitan is not my go-to for sex advice (the magazine, not the cocktail, although both result in regret when over-consumed). Ever since the infamous “#DonutGate” of 2003, Cosmo and its ridiculous, sometimes dangerous, sex tips have been the butt of many jokes, my personal favorite
CW: Mention of sexual trauma, slut-shaming I’m going to let you in on a little secret: I don’t masturbate. Now, as a self-proclaimed progressive woman living in the 21st century (and in a single room), I realize how odd that may seem to those who rub one out on the