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@nouvellenouveau
1. Changed tumblr theme. Pretty much the same as old one
2. Start on paper on Buddhism in China
3. Club Monaco please hire me so I can
4. Get money to go travel this summer
5. Somehow convince parents to let me travel solo (HAR HAR HAR)
Just fucking fuck me, already.
This is a Craigslist post by a woman in seattle from 2008, but it is still relevant! Enjoy!
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Dear Men of Craigslist, Look, I know you men have it difficult. Women are just about impossible to understand, much less please. In a post-feminist society, you never know exactly what you should be doing. Women are bloody picky, I know we are. It can be scary, too, when women freak out about what appear to be benign issues. And men who do their best to be respectful, female-positive humans, I salute you, I do. But please, please just fuck me already. Honestly, I appreciate your thoughtfulness. I like that you want to take things slow. I can totally get behind the idea of emotional connection, but dearjesusinheaven, FUCK ME. We've done dinner and drinks. We've gone dancing. We've cuddled and watched a movie. I'm wearing a low cut shirt and you've been staring at my breasts all night. Goodgodalmighty, get to it and fuck me. When we get hot and heavy, please take charge. Please, please fuck me. Trust me, I'm not going to just lie still - I'll get involved. But don't make me force your hand into my panties. That makes me feel like a rapist. We've been kissing for a half hour and your hand keeps grazing my ass. That's nice, but it's time to move forward. Get on top of me. Don't make me get on top right out of the gate and start bobbing up and down on your cock like I'm practicing some crazy new aerobic yoga because YOU won't go down on me. Roll on top and start dry humping like a good boy should. Don't gently suck my nipples and then pull back when I moan with pleasure. You being coy is totally not what I want. It's not what WE want. OK, I know it's scary. There are lots of women out there who make fucking really difficult. So, I have compiled some handy tips. Don't think of this as complaining, or as schadenfreude for the Andrea Dworkins of the world. Just some simple tips, for timid men who have forgotten what it means to fuck like men: 1. Taking charge is not bad. Oh, there will be some women who feel that you are pushy. If you are making out with a woman, and she starts to push back, ask nicely if things are moving too fast. If she says yes, say something like "I'm sorry - you just look so fucking delicious. I'll go slower." Otherwise, skillfully move forward. If you start kissing a woman, and she responds well, and before long, you're both on the floor with her skirt pushed up, and you on top of her, it's not the time to roll onto your back and start awkwardly stroking the top of her head. Seriously, grow a goddamn pair. YOU'RE the man. Act like one. 2. Ohmyfuckinggod, please learn to respect the clit. It's different for every woman, so ask what she likes. Do not, I repeat, do not just wiggle your fingers around her pussy like you're trying to tickle her. Do not drum your fingertips against her vulva like you are impatiently waiting at the Sears Tire Center for your receipt. Do not push the clit like it is a doorbell at some house that you need to get inside of. Start by using all four fingers with firm yet gentle pressure against the outside of her pussy. Do not charge in with a single finger and start jabbing at things. And if you really don't know what to do, ask her. Just ask. "How do you like it?". It's a simple question, and most women will answer straight out. If she's being all coy, ask "Do you like pressure? Is it sensitive?" The clitoris is a varied item, indeed. Treat each one as though you have never encountered one before. Forget everything that your last partner liked. 3. Most women like to be fucked, and fucked well. Yes, there are women out there who want to "make love" every time - sweet, gentle, rocking love with lots of eye contact and loving kisses. Those women are not the majority. The majority like to be pounded. The majority like to have their hair pulled. The majority like a good, solid jackhammering. When a woman is bucking wildly against you, it's not because she wants you to pull back and slowly swirl your cock around her vagina like you're mixing a cake batter up there. It's because she wants you to hold down her arms, or grab her hips, or push her legs above her head, and fuck her harder. Don't be too afraid of what this means as far as gender equality goes - I am a raging feminist bitch, but I still want to be penetrated like you are planning on fucking my throat from the inside out. 4. A little roughness is nice. Do not pretend that you had no idea that some women like their hair pulled. Do not act shocked if she wants you to spank her ("Really? Spanking? Won't it hurt?" - yes, it does. That's the fucking point). We know you've read Stuff and Maxim, and that's all those laddie mags talk about in their "How to Please Her" sections. Start with light, full handed smacks to the area of her ass that she sits on. Judge her response and continue on from there. You don't have to bend her over one knee and tell her she's a naughty girl and that Daddy's going to punish her; save that for the fifth date. Women are less delicate than you think, so don't worry about breaking her hip. 5. It's OK for you to make noise. Otherwise, we feel like we are fucking a ninja. Unless you actually are a ninja, and have sneaked into our rooms with vibrating nanuchaku and zippered black pajamas, please, please make some noise. If you're banging a woman, and she's crying out and saying your name and moaning, and you can't even manage a grunt, she's going to feel like an idiot. You don't have to make the sounds she is making, but do SOMETHING. You know how when you are watching porn, and the girl does something great to the guy and the guy kind of goes "Ah!", half grunt, half yell? That's HOT. Do that. Whisper our name (assuming you know it) gruffly. Groan against her neck when you're in missionary position. You don't have to grunt like a mountain gorilla, but if you are totally mute, she's going to get worried. 6. Most women like dirty talk, in addition to the grunting. If you'd like to get some dirty talk going, ask her if she likes the way you fuck her. If she responds well, continue with something like, "I love fucking you. God, you look so fucking hot." Is she still moaning in response? "Your tits are so beautiful." Does that work? If she doesn't respond well to the term "tits", you might have to stop there. If she keep moaning or responding, pass Go and collect $200. Try the following: "Oh, god. Your pussy is SO tight." "You're so wet - are you wet because you like the feel of my cock ramming you?" "I think I'm going to come inside you. I'm going to fill up your little cunt." It doesn't matter that you're wearing a condom; we LOVE hearing this. If all of those work, you can then progress to things like "sexy little bitch" and "dirty whore". Tread carefully, but please, tread. Do not tiptoe. Do not sit down. Charge. 6. You're not obligated to eat a woman out. In return, she's not obligated to choke on your dick. Don't skip one and expect the other. If you do eat a woman out, the only comment you should make about her pussy is how nice it is. The length of her labia minora, the color of her interior, her waxing job or full bush - you are not John Madden. No time for color commentary. 7. Do not bitch about condoms. Oh, we hate them. Trust us. They hurt us more than they hurt you. But we don't want to be preggers, and you don't want to catch anything, right? Don't whine about condom sex. Do not explain that you can't come with one on. LEARN to come with one on, or if not, help us figure out what to do with you once we're satisfied and it's time for you to let loose your load. 8. We really like it when you come. It's called a money shot for a reason. Watching semen shoot out of you is one of the most gratifying things EVER. However, do not assume that she wants you to jack it off onto her face. She might, but don't assume. Seeing and/or feeling you come is rewarding for us, so there's no need to deprive us of it, but please do consult us before unleashing. "I think I'm going to come - how do you like it?" is a fair question that shouldn't rob you of your testicles. In recent memory, I've been fucked by a very aggressive, manly guy, and I've been... well, fucked is the wrong term here. I've been penetrated by a total and utter wuss. Who am I going to run back to when I'm ready for my fill? Manly McHardon, that's who. ---------------------------------------------------- *New point of clarification - some people have brought up some really great issues in response to this post, so let me say this: I don't mean to imply that all women like to be treated like whores. I do mean to say that most women I know have told me that they like sex rougher than most men give it to them. Rough does NOT equal chains and bondage. And this applies to the bedroom only, and does not mean that she wants you to choose her dinner for her, or treat her like less of a person. **Some women have said that they don't like it rough and what the hell am I thinking? Well, girls, you're in the minority. HOWEVER, all women need to remember that, in addition to be straight forward about your sexual desires, you need to be straight forward about your sexual limits. Don't be afraid to ask for more, but when something feels wrong, say so. Don't ever do something you don't want to do in silence and then blame the guy. Silence is dangerous.
Kiss Auction
It was a summer full of assholes and douche bags - real sleazy men, now that I look back at it. The dudes were so disappointing that I started to feel rather shitty about myself. So in order to feel better, I decided to stop having sex until someone came along who "really did it for me". I tried to be celibate on a previous occasion, but that only lasted for about 6 days. This time I was really going to try, just to prove that I have some self control, and as a byproduct, hopefully be more discerning in the guys I go out with.
And it turns out I was celibate for a little over 2 years. I mean, I had "sexual relations" of other sorts, but there was no official SEX going on for that time. Friends would ask if it was difficult, if I was tempted, and how much I relied on my vibrator. After a few months it became easier, at times I was tempted, and I didn't even have a vibrator! They were all shocked at the last part, not only for obvious reasons, but also because I am such a sexual liberal.
When my one year "celibaversary" came around, I wasn't sure how I felt about it. I mean, I had the option for sex with men, but I was never excited enough about anyone to break my vow. My plan was working.
My friends, on the other hand, decided that if I was going to be celibate for another year, I needed to invest in a vibrator. Was I noticeably more up tight, irritable, or bitchy? It didn't matter-everyone agreed that a vibrator is a woman's most important accessory, and they were going to find a way to provide me with one.
It just so happens that my "celibaversary" landed on Labor Day and my buddies were having a big BBQ to celebrate. So my dear friend Megan decided that she would hijack the party and re-purpose it as a fundraiser. She would sell raffle tickets and raise money in order to buy me that coveted vibrator. And the raffle prize? 7 minutes in heaven with ME!
The last time I played games like "spin the bottle" or "suck and blow" I was around 13. And back then it seemed that there were 4 girls for every boy in the circle. The odds of getting picked were too low, and I always ended the games kiss-less. But this night was going to be different- I would finally get to feel the excitement of being chosen. It didn't even matter weather it was a kiss on the cheek, or the coveted "french kiss"....but I was drinking two 40oz bottles of malt liquor, and I tend to get pretty kiss happy after a few.
So Megan promoted me around the party. I knew about half of the people there. Some were college friends, some were acquaintances, and others I had never met before. I kept an eye out for the attractive men I didn't know, and Megan knew which ones to sell to.
Megan: "Hey. This is Jess. She hasn't had sex in over a year so we are selling these raffle tickets for $1 so she can go buy a vibrator. If you win you will probably get to make out with her. How many tickets do you want?"
She ended up selling around 50 tickets! Some friends bought 5 tickets because they supported the cause, and others bought a bunch because their version of 7 minutes in heaven was of me washing their dog or cleaning their room for 7 minutes. But it turns out that a few people bought them because they really wanted to kiss me! I was shocked and excited... and nervous.
It was around midnight, we had collected $50, and the winning ticket needed to be picked. Many people (mostly the ones with dogs and dirty rooms) wanted to make sure that the raffle wasn't fixed- that I wouldn't "accidentally" pick one of the sexier ticket holders.
So Megan had an unbiased party draw the winning ticket.
And the winner was a tall lanky dude I had met a few times before. I didn't find him attractive, but I didn't find him threatening either. He bought 10 tickets because he really wanted to kiss me, and I was flattered. Then when I heard he had begged people for quarters in order to buy the last few tickets, I was honored. I also had 80 oz of booze fueling my enthusiasm.
We all congratulated the winner, and Megan lead the two of us to a bathroom on the other side of the party. Walking down the hallway, I started to feel like I was 13 years old again. I was a little embarrassed, but excited about what could happen behind the locked door. Even though the moment was so close, I had no idea what I was actually going to do.
Megan pushed us in the room, closed the door, and stood outside with a stop watch. "Seven minutes starts...NOW!". I looked at him, smiled, and shrugged. I remember him saying, "We don't have to make out or anything...but can I have just one peck?" I was glad that he asked me. I would have felt weird if he aggressively tried to collect what he had paid for.
"We don't have to though. We can just talk." Wow, this really was like we were 13 again. Still both shy and scared. But since he was being so sweet, I figured I could give him a little kiss on the lips. And he turned out to be a great kisser! We ended up making out for the entire 7 minutes, and it was fun.
Time was up, Megan opened the door, and we returned to the party. I was a little flush and giddy while walking back to the crowd. It felt like I had just experienced my first kiss. When we returned, everyone was surprisingly respectful and didn't "ooh" or "aaah" when we came out. I guess some people had matured since middle school.
We didn't kiss any more after those 7 minutes, but I would have if he made a move. At the end of the night, I went to bed with a smile, $50 in my pocket, and some shopping to do.
A few days later I ordered something like this. I was looking forward to it coming in the mail, but my 13-year-old self would rather have used the money on a new pair of shoes. And while it was fun for a while, it was more exciting to play 7 minutes in heaven.
Carrie vs Cathy
Hey there Internet.
I am starting this blog because I think stories of love, sex, and dating are best when they are shared, discussed, learned from, and laughed at. Which immediately brings me to my first disclaimer... this is not an advice blog. There are so many things I don't know about sex and dating, that I tend to figure it all out the hard way. My plan is to talk about those experiences that I (and friends of mine) have had, and hopefully it will form some sort of forum for stories about, well, anything sex related. I will start off the conversation by saying that sometimes I find myself feeling like some kind of combination of Carrie Bradshaw from Sex and the City (as we all sometimes do) and Cathy the frumpy cartoon (as we all sometimes do?). Every once in a while I think that I have everything under control, feel sexy, smart and confident . . . and then all of a sudden it turns into some kind of parody. I was at a wedding a few weeks ago. I had lost 5 lbs in order to fit into a certain green dress I ordered online that I didn't have the luxury of trying on in the store. So along with new heels, curled hair, and designer mascara, I was looking good. As a bridesmaid I walked down the aisle, witnessed a beautiful ceremony, listened to cheesy speeches, and drank what might have been multiple bottles of white wine.
Then the music started. I found myself dancing with a cute acquaintance for most of the night. He held me tight, spun me around with grace, and even pulled off a few effortless dips! So when the party was winding down, I asked him to meet me behind the barn...
Yes, I took the initiative because I didn't feel like waiting around for him to get the balls to make an official move on me after we had been flirting all night. I had said all the right things, gave all the right sexy glances, used my provocative-but-not-slutty dance moves and I was ready for a fun night of innocent kisses. So when he met up with me behind the barn I felt like a rock star!...or maybe more like a certain column writer from the west village. But when I woke up the next day, I felt more like that frizzy-haired cartoon. My lips were all chapped and the lower part of my face was flaking off from that evening's 5 o'clock shadow exfoliation. It wasn't going to be easy to act innocent at the (morning after) Wedding Brunch with all that evidence. And in addition to having to see my whole family, I had to face my "barn buddy". AAACK! In the bright morning light, with the expensive mascara racooned underneath my eyes, there he was. No longer in his dapper suit and my projected haze of white wine, I started questioning my "rock star" moves. Did anyone see us go behind the barn? Maybe I was too aggressive. Was he really that good of a kisser? Was is worth getting grass stains all over my expensive control top stockings? I wasn't as attracted to him. We were both acting awkward toward each other. Sobriety came flooding back and I felt less like a Glitterati and more of a stocky line drawing. But I looked around, and except for the bride and groom, everyone else looked like they might belong in a comic strip of their own. If I was Cathy, then my cousin (shot down by a girl) was Charlie Brown, and the best man (waiting for something to do) was Dilbert. We all seemed to have these different personalities brought on by hangovers. And hey, who doesn't love Sunday's funny pages? When brunch was over, I hugged everyone good bye, including my "dance partner", and got in the car for the drive-of-shame home. A few toll roads, bad compilation mixes, and diet sodas later, I was feeling back to normal. I am neither a pump-wearing, cosmo-drinking fashionista, nor a frumpy, desperate chocoholic. I am just a normal boot-wearing, latte drinking, brooklyn girl who wants to enjoy life, and maybe kiss some boys along the way.