I realized I’m not the only one who gets turned on during a hot and heavy work out sesh; I’ve always wondered what it’s like to pee like man, and now I can; I learned how to do my own bikini wax, properly pluck my eyebrows, and how to really lay one on my crush and know he loved it.

I learned it was National Condom Week (I didn’t even know that existed); women aren’t crazy, men really are jerks; I learned that if I run into my ex, kicking him in his special spot is not the best idea; neither is hooking up with someone your friend’s hooked up with (though that one I kind of already knew).

I was sad to learn that the Prince of Pop is losing his palace; and I learned what drinks I can have that won’t send my calorie count through the roof.

I guess the saying is true, you learn something new everyday.

[The following post is courtesy of our homegirls over at YourTango. Well, their male perspective. They’ve been through it all and know just about everything about love, so we thought we’d bring their expertise to you. Enjoy!] 

I am an aficionado of the kiss. No other act is so simple and so intimate. The light suction, the flick of the lip, the playful nibble, the deep advance and retreat of the tongue—a good kiss is like jazz, an improvisation of melodies, flirtatious staccatos, and passionate brassy crescendos. A good kiss is a rapport enacted physically, like sex, but more erotic.

Many women don’t realize this. I’ve been surprised at how many treat kissing like it really is “first base,” just a step towards something better. And when I meet such women, I face a dilemma, like being a music lover who discovers that a new friend has bad taste. Do you break it off, or do you educate? And if you educate, how do you give lessons without giving offense?

My first encounter with such a kisser ended badly. Julie and I were 14, at the conclusion of our second date. She tilted her head, put her open lips to mine, and, using a combination of wetness and suction, established airlock. Then her tongue invaded. I imagined an eel or a water-dwelling snake, or perhaps a tapeworm, darting towards my throat, slithering around, and then withdrawing, only to strike again immediately. I tried to block her with my tongue, but she swirled and pushed me back. I could not breathe. Then I began to gag reflexively.

Being fourteen has its disadvantages; Julie had not learned the cardinal rule of kissing: it’s a conversation. There’s nothing inherently wrong with an all-out tongue invasion, but if your interlocutor hasn’t asked for it, then you’re more scary than sexy. I didn’t even call Julie to break up with her, figuring that if a girl had literally made me gag, she would probably get the message.

Read the rest at YourTango!