I love having a boyfriend. I love the stability. I love the comfort. I love the support and the casual movie nights and the snuggles and all of that great stuff. But, on occasion, I do daydream about what it would be like to be single.
Alas, the day has come, and I haven't a shred of editorial modesty left.
After two decades of listening to pop music, I'm increasingly desensitized to the grimy messages that are perpetuated. That said, what irks me about the song is the delineation between "good girls" and "girls who openly love sex."
One group of ladies feel like there is a simple solution to HBO's sexism: more Ds.
My boyfriend and I have been best friends since 7th grade (we are both juniors in college now) and just started dating. It is hands down the best relationship I have ever had. But the sex sucks.
Sometimes it's because I'm in a dark mental place and arousal is the last thing on my mind. And sometimes...my reasons are maybe less sympathetic.
Porn stars, Playboy Bunnies, cam girls, feminist bloggers, feminist men and feminist women, we asked them all: What is good sex?
Wyoming came in last place. Sad. They're going to have to live with this stigma until like a month from now when everybody forgets this list existed.
Personally, I'm single because I recently had to breakup with dairy and can't get over a man called cheese.
I have incurred a gnarly cut on my lip via a midnight bathroom run in the dark gone terribly awry. I've also been hit on more in the last five days than in the preceding six months.
Crazy and a little awkward, but also very true.
6. The shower. I'm black. I'm not about to get my hair wet.
It happens so often, that when my friend told me a guy was jerking off to us, I found it funny, while he felt violated and disgusted.
"Mom, I'm gonna have to call you back."
For as long as I can remember, my daydreams/fantasies regarding sex always featured me in a mildly submissive role while the guy was always the more experienced/dominant one.
Breezing by the trees—oh, here we go. Waving to the mailman–almost there. Peddling up a hill—this one is a doozy! Awkwaaaaaaaard.
Because who wants to feel like a total trollop? Not me.
Sexual, performance, anxiety…three words that stand on their own, but when combined they create a label for something that afflicts almost every man, no matter how experienced in the horizontal (or vertical…or diagonal if you’re really adventurous) matters of the mating ritual.
Last night my boyfriend told me he doesn't enjoy me being on top, or in his words: "You suck at being on top".
I try not to judge others' sexual proclivities, I really don't. But every time I hear someone refer to the guy they're dating or interested in as "daddy", I can't help but cringe.
It's bigger than an iPhone and smaller than a Venti cup of coffee.
The NY Times thinks you care more about making that paper than finding Mr. Right.
Ah, growing up. In every young woman's life, there comes a time when she must become acquainted with the special lady doctor: the gynecologist.
Upon first read, it's so easy to scoff at these hypocrites and feel so superior because, thank Beysus, I'm so much more enlightened than that.
A study claims that casual sex among college students has caused psychological distress, but when I was in college, I remember a lot of other things way worse that caused me to be depressed.