The Beauty of Body Mapping

by

They say if you’ve spent 10,000 hours practicing a particular skill, you’re considered a master, if not an expert. As for sex, you’d have to engage in it for two hours a day for 13.7 years or one hour a day for 27.4 years, meaning most of us who don’t have sex for a living are likely still amateurs. Add to that the constant adaptations to physical changes and different partners and we may never feel we’ve mastered sex. Welcome to the club. read more

Love, Virtually

by

When I was sixteen, around the time my brother got a TRS-80 personal computer from Radio Shack, one of the high school teachers offered students an opportunity to partake in a matchmaking experiment. We answered a few dozen questions about our likes and dislikes, religious affiliation, and future goals, and our teacher’s mysterious data processor spit out a list of the six opposite sex students with whom we were deemed to be most compatible (when it was assumed one would only ever pair up with a member of the opposite sex). read more

The Freebird Paradox

by

A few years ago I was so moved by the biopic “Marianne & Leonard: Words of Love," about the complex relationship Leonard Cohen had with his most significant lover/muse Marianne Ihlen, I paid homage to it on my Instagram feed by writing: "Some souls are steadfast and some are restless. Soulmates don’t often live and die together. But they often live and die a richer life." However, one of my followers wasn’t nearly as enamored. read more

Alias: Greta

by

I was 23. The first thing I was drawn to were his earlobes, don’t ask me why. They were the kind that didn’t attach at the bottom, you know? The kind that were begging to be sucked. He had a piercing in one of them, and the sight of it glinting there made me lick my lips. read more

Invisible (Wo)Man

by

I remained friends for a time with a man who broke up with me after confessing his Amy Adams obsession and desire for a petite ingenue. I was ultimately relieved, as I’m built like a discus thrower and he like an Elf on the Shelf. Being naked with him felt a bit creepy, as though he hadn’t quite reached the age of consent. read more

The Cock Whisperer

by

At the tender age of eleven, having never been kissed by a boy or known anything more than the musky, metallic odor of the ones who played in dirt, I stumbled upon The Joy of Sex while snooping in my parent’s bedroom closet. Paging through this original 1972 version, filled with line drawings of hirsute, naked heterosexuals doing unfathomable things my body vibrated, not with pleasure but horror, the kind of weak-kneed fear you feel near the end of Silence of the Lambs. What distressed me more than discovering that his part goes into her part, was the things they did with their mouths to said parts. read more