Sex Archives - Page 16 of 18

Sunday Love bites are short, random musings on sex & romance usually written while I’m still in my pajamas (or, in today’s case: leggings and a fat shirt)

Love Bite #2: The Toothbrush.

Today’s “Bite” I discovered via Caroline, one of my favorite bloggers. Caroline is a total sweetheart, a terrific writer and one of my favorite people I’ve met through this crazy blogging journey. I adore her to bits and I kind of like to think of her as my little blog sister because a lot of the struggles she writes about remind me so much of things I went through when I was 23. This is a quote she posted in her blog the other day. I wish I had read this 7 or 8 years ago.

Short. Sweet. WORDS TO LIVE BY.

Happy Sunday xox

On Sundays, laziness usually overtakes me. I’m trying to write more frequently so, I thought I would try something new: Sunday Love bites: short, random musings on sex & romance usually written while I’m still in my pajamas. I’m hoping I can keep this up on a weekly basis, it will force me to keep things short & give me the opportunity tell stories that maybe don’t warrant a full length post.

{Today’s post is a little on the long side but, I thought I’d kick things off with a “bang” – pun intended}

Love Bite #1. “Well, that was awkward”

I few weeks ago I went to Hemingway’s (a local bar) to meet up with Vanessa for an after work drink. Hemingway’s is the kind of bar that you really only go to for the following reasons:

1) You work in Yorkville (like I used to) & you want to get shit-faced after work but you don’t want to run into all your co-workers at the Pilot.

2) You’re using their conveniently located ATM machine that charges ridiculous service charges before moving on to somewhere cooler in Yorkville (because you’re too tipsy/lazy to use the real bank machines on Bloor St.)

3) You can’t really think of anywhere else to go. It’s close by. People know the place and you can always say “hey, at least we’re not hanging out at Remy‘s” (which, when it comes to cheesy Yorkville watering holes, is pretty much as bad as it gets. Unless of course you’re looking to hook up with over-tanned 40 year old guys who love Ed Hardy & wear pointy-toed shoes then, its a great place)

I was meeting Vanessa there for reason #3 – it was the first time we were hanging out and the bar is halfway between both of our offices. Because Hemingway’s prides itself on being one of the only bars in the area that doesn’t accept debit cards, after Vanessa and I had a nice visit I was forced to use their sketchy highway-robbery-omg-this-service-charge-is-totally-funding-organized-crime bank machine. While I was getting my cash, I thought of another time I used that bank machine.

Flashback tiiiiiiiiime!

It was the spring of 2004.

My friend and I had stopped at Hemingway’s to use the ATM machine before heading over to Babaluu’s to go dancing.

A few months prior, this friend and I had slept together ONCE. Then TWICE. This was the first time we were hanging out as “fully clothed friends” since getting it on.

The sexual tension in the air was so thick you could have cut it with a knife. I think we were both trying to play it off like nothing had happened and everything was cool. I know I was repeating the following mantra in my head:

fully clothed. just friends. fully clothed. just friends. FULLY CLOTHED.

That night I was wearing a really nice pair of black stiletto pumps. As I used the ATM machine, he waited behind me, a few feet away. Once I received my money and prepared to walk away, I realized that I couldn’t move. The heel of my shoe was stuck in the metal grate of a heating vent on the floor below the ATM machine.

Friend: Um, are you coming?

Me: I’m stuck.

Friend: What do you mean you’re stuck?

Me: I can’t move. My shoe is caught.

I kept on trying to move forward but I couldn’t. I took one more forceful lunge and BAMMO! Instead of freeing of shoe from the metal grate, I managed to free the metal grate from the floor. During the next few seconds that passed it felt like time temporarily stopped. I was standing there, just staring at my friend with a metal grate dangling from the heel of my shoe. I was looking at him, he was looking at me. I totally lost sight of my mantra. All I could think of was:

Oh my god. I know what his penis looks like.

A few months ago we were buck naked on the hood of a car.

I liked how his skin felt.

Penis! Penis! Penis!

He smells good. I wonder what cologne that is?

OH MY GOD I HAVE A FUCKING HEATING VENT STUCK TO MY FOOT.

FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!

Me: Um.

Friend: Err, let me help you with that.

We both bent down. I took off my shoe & we managed to dislodge my heel from the vent. We looked up at each other.

Friend: Wanna get out of here?

Me: Yes please.

What transpired after we left the bar- well, I’ll get to that later.

***

Back to a few weeks ago – after I got my cash from the ATM and I remembered this story, I looked down at my feet and smiled. In the spot where the heating vent was, someone had bolted down a sheet of corrugated metal. I guess the management finally took it upon themselves to prevent future awkward moments/law suits.

The moral of this story:

Sleeping with your friends can get awkward.

Stilettos and metal grates don’t mix.

Hemingway’s sucks (but, not as bad as Remy’s).

The end.

Happy Sunday!

(Anyone else have any “friends turned friends with benefits” awkward stories to share?)

Do you remember how you learned about Sex?

It was the spring of 1989 and I was nine years old. I was playing at my friend’s house. Somewhere between Barbies and hide and go seek she said to me, “Wanna see something cool”. We snuck into her older brother’s bedroom where she showed me what I now realize was an educational book designed to teach kids about sex that her parents had no doubt purchased for her brother. I remember there were a lot of flesh coloured diagrams. I stared at it in awe. That was the afternoon that I made the disturbing realization:

“Oh my god. THAT goes THERE?!”

I was disgusted and intrigued all at the same time.

A few months later the school nurse came to visit our class and give us “the talk”. She didn’t speak French so, she explained the birds and the bees in English – the forbidden language that was only used in class for really important stuff like explaining sex or why you shouldn’t do drugs or the rules of dodge-ball.

My Sex-Ed experience consists of a Kaleidoscope of bits of information/mis-information & experiences that I gathered over the years that eventually became part of the big picture of how I understand sex. Here are a few from the very early years that stick out:

Reading articles in Seventeen magazine. (I was allowed to read Seventeen magazine which talked about sex and periods but, YM was considered too racy because it mentioned stuff like blow-jobs). Listening to my friend describe the stack of Playboy magazines that her Mom’s creepy tenant kept stockpiled in his rented room – I remember her telling me: “Simone, they are something called Super Ex-Ex-Sexee“. I think she was trying to tell me that they were XXX-rated but, somehow it got lost in translation. And of course, Judy Blume books.

If you were a girl growing up in the eighties (or maybe even the 90’s) you probably remember Judy Blume. I’m sure most of us at some point picked up a copy of “Blubber“, “Then Again Maybe I won’t” or “Are you there God? It’s me, Margaret” and found a tiny piece of our own awkward tween-age self within the pages. However, probably not all of you realize that Judy Blume also wrote a few books for adults. One of these books is the 1978 novel “Wifey” – a sex filled-romp about a bored suburban housewife who decides one summer to start questioning the life that was laid out for her & instead gives in to her sexual fantasies.

When I was 14, I accidentally stumbled upon “Wifey” while browsing the paperback section at my local library. The book was yellowed & dog-eared with cover-art that looked like it was meant for the jacket of a 1970’s porno. Was this really the same Judy Blume?! I was dying of curiosity so I took it up to the counter, whipped out my library card and completely avoided eye contact with the librarian in hopes that she wouldn’t notice that I was checking out smut.

{ The exact cover art. Dog ears, scratches & all. The photo was found here}

“Wifey” is the story of Sandy Pressman, a bored, sexually frustrated housewife living in suburban New Jersey. Sandy’s husband Norman is basically the word “boring” personified. Sandy and Norman have sex once a week, in the missionary position. When Sandy suggests climbing on top he says it’s “wrong” because “he’s the husband”. Norman and Sandy’s sex life reminds me of what mine might have been like if I had married Guy #3 – the guy whose response to my suggestion that we try new positions was: “SIMONE YOU’RE MAKING EVERYTHING TOO COMPLICATED”. Bullet dodged!

Sandy’s life gets interesting when she starts to receive regular visits from a naked man who masturbates on her lawn while she watches from the living room window (Yes, this really is a Judy Blume book) Sandy is disgusted but also super turned on so, she starts doing crazy stuff like masturbating in her car while she’s driving to the grocery store (Sandy has some serious skills!). Sandy starts to fantasize about her high school boyfriend Shep, who is clearly “the one who got away” and “the one who used to give her multiple orgasms“. Sandy has sex with her sister’s husband who also happens to be her gynaecologist (!) who confesses in the heat of passion that examining her “turns him on” (Whoa, creepy dude!) She also sleeps with her best-friend’s husband who takes her to see her first porno and calls her bizarre animal names like “My Little Kangaroo” while he’s inside her (Once again, I SWEAR this is a Judy Blume book). Eventually she reunites with her now married, ex-boyfriend Shep and they have lots of amazing sex until she finds out he has no plans to leave his wife.

I remember lying on my bed re-reading all the steamy passages and thinking, “WOW”. It all seemed so grown-up and shocking and HOT. Did real adults actually do this kind of stuff?

I’d almost forgotten about “Wifey” until a few months ago when I saw a copy of the book in a second hand store. When I went back to buy it the next day, it was gone. That’s when I knew I had to read it again and blog about it. Now that I’m an adult, what would I think of the book? What would I think about all the sex scenes? Would I still find it shocking? Would I cringe?

I’m happy to report that last week I re-read “Wifey” in its entirety and now am ready to share my thoughts:

I did find it shocking but, not for the same reasons I initially did.

The book is well-written & actually quite humorous, almost satirical in parts – something that was completely lost on me the first time I read it. As for the sex stuff: Although some of the scenes in the book are still pretty hot ( & no, I’m NOT referring to the ” My Little Kangaroo” scene), for the most part the stuff the characters do would probably be classified today as “vanilla”. Things like oral sex or doing it doggy-style might have seemed more scandalous to the average person at the time & place the book was set (1970’s suburbia) but, now would be considered as stuff that many of us already do as part of our bedroom routine. The scene however, where Sandy is so “excited” for her date with Shep that she decides to wear no underwear but, also a tampon – so that if she gets really turned on, she won’t “drip” on the floor of the country club, MAKES AS LITTLE SENSE AS IT DID THE FIRST TIME I READ IT (who does that?!)

What really blew me away was Sandy and Norman’s relationship. The first time I read the book I don’t think I really paid attention to Norman’s character. He’s controlling, he’s racist and he says stuff like “All you need to worry about is being my wife and making sure there is a hot meal waiting for me when I get home“. In other words, you basically want sock him in the nuts for the majority of the book. However, it was one of the final scenes in the book that really got me. [Spoiler alert] When Sandy tells Norman that she has Gonorrhoea (because she’s been getting her freak on all over New Jersey) he slaps her across the face. She’s deeply unhappy in the marriage and yet, at the end of the book she decides to stay with him.

It’s funny, I vaguely remember the book ending this way but, I was still hoping for a different ending. I wanted to see Sandy, with all her newfound sexual confidence go off into the sunset and become her own person while continuing to explore her sexuality on her own terms – just like Blume did in her own life after she left her marriage. But, it didn’t happen and it made me sad. Sandy comes so close to having a major epiphany, only to turn back at the very last minute.

Judy Blume books have followed me throughout my life. “Superfudge” helped me better understand sibling rivalry. “Are you there God? It’s me Margaret” helped me get through those awkward tween years of first periods and first crushes. “Tiger Eyes” was there for me the first time someone really close to me died. I was hoping now that I am the same age as Wifey that upon re-reading the book I would find some precious little nuggets of Judy-Blume wisdom about what its like to be a 30-year old woman. I know that the book is supposed to be a comment on life in a certain era but, I selfishly wanted to see myself reflected in the pages just like I did in the rest of her books. Instead once all the sex scenes were over, I wanted to throw the book against the wall of my apartment in frustration. I will always love you Judy Blume but, with this one you let me down.

Do you remember how you learned about sex?

There are some books that you read at the perfect time in your life.

This is the case with Julie Klausner‘s book “I Don’t Care about your Band: what I learned from Indie Rockers, Trust Funders, Pornographers, Felons, Faux Sensitive Hipsters and other Guys I’ve Dated“. Klausner wrote the book right before her 30th birthday as a humorous ode to the romantic collateral damage of her twenties. The book spoke to me because at the time I was also on the cusp of my 30th birthday and like Klausner, I’m also in the process of trying to make sense of everything that happened in my twenties and pull out whatever wisdom I can from the wreckage.

Klausner compares Kermit the Frog to the modern hipster guy (“Kermit the Frog is a terrible boyfriend”) and tells the story of dating “Douche Ziggy” a self-deprecating weirdo with a penchant for crazy sex. Although the details are slightly different, some of Klausner’s dating experiences are so close to my own that it almost feels like I could have written this book. Her stories are so witty & hilarious & achingly heartbreaking that I WISH I could say that I wrote this book. However, the chapter that resonated with me the most wasn’t really about dating at all – it was the final chapter of the book that describes Klausner’s first New Year’s Eve as a 30 year old.

I wrote quite a bit about all the stuff I wanted to do before my 30th birthday and what I did to celebrate but, I haven’t written anything about what it feels like to be on the other side of my twenties. Just like how sometimes you find the perfect book at the perfect moment, sometimes someone else is able to put into words what you haven’t been able to. This passage from the book perfectly describes how being 30 feels to me:

“I remember walking to the lip of the building to better see the skyline of sweet, wide Manhattan and thinking about how good it felt to exist in a negative space. I know what I was not……I thought about how lucky I was to be different from how I was before. How I used to mistake “yes” for “yay!” and the pursuit of knowledge for the possession of it. I thought about how trivial people used to be better company to me than solitude and how I’d finally earned the ability to shut out clutter-at least occasionally – and to leave self-sabotage to the kids who can’t enjoy being alone now and then”.

In my twenties I said “Yes” to so many things. At 20, I was a young woman (girl) on her own for the first time in a city that at the time felt enormous. Everything was a new experience. I was so eager to soak up all the shiny newness around me that I often mistook “NEW” for “WORTHWHILE”. I just kept saying YES, YES, YES, unwilling to believe that the fire I was playing with was hot until I reached my hand in and felt the burn.

Go to a party at an abandoned warehouse at 4am. YES!

Take off to Miami to party for a week with a guy you barely know. YES!

Go to a bar that smells like beer pee and stand around in uncomfortable shoes watching a band that sucks. YES!

Self-Medicate. Put lots of bad chemicals in your body. YES!

Do these things because it feels better than being alone on a Saturday night. YES!

Date someone who’s your complete opposite or totally inappropriate just for the novelty factor. YES!

Practice emotional cliff diving. Settle for half-baked relationships. Be the side-chick, the mistress, the friend with benefits. Sleep with your exes. Date guys with homes that look like the set of the latest Seth Rogan movie. Do all these things even though you know you want more. YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES!

In the early point in my twenties I feel like I just let life happen to me. I said “yes” to so many things that at times I felt like I was Alice, tumbling down the rabbit hole towards whatever new self-created chaos awaited me.

Eventually I learned that being alone felt so much better than having to deal with the fall-out of my bad choices. Somewhere in the later half of my twenties, it became so much easier to just say “NO” to situations that didn’t make me feel good.

Being 30 is about saying “NO” to all of that stuff that just no longer makes any sense.

Being 30 is about packing light. It’s about recognizing which people and things you should include in your life and which you shouldn’t. It’s about knowing what is a worthwhile use of your time. It’s about recognizing that if an opportunity seems less than awesome…its probably because it is. It’s about knowing when its OK to just say “NO” because you’ve lived enough to know there will be other opportunities that are more worthwhile if you are patient.

Being 30 is about saying “NO” to beating yourself up over all of your transgressions in your twenties. For a long time I let myself feel bad about a lot of the less than stellar choices I made when I was younger. But, life goes on. You can’t change the past. If I hadn’t done some of this crazy stuff or made mistakes I did, I probably wouldn’t have much to write about and this blog would probably be pretty boring.

Being 30 is about “owning it” – acknowledging your experiences for what they are and sharing them with others. It’s about saying “This is me…and I am OK with me”

(If you want to read a really good post about “owning it” I suggest you read this post by one of my favorite bloggers)

Being 30 is also about saying “YES” to the right things. Saying “yes” to working hard at the things you are passionate about. Saying “yes” to spending time with people who you love and who inspire you to be the best version possible of you.

Whether you’re planning an all-night dance party with friends, or booking a trip to Vegas to party with 99 people you’ve never met, Being 30 is about saying YES to having fun, 100% on your own terms.

Being 30 is about being able to say without any hesitation or regret, “I’m not putting on those uncomfortable shoes and going to that bar. I’m going to stay home and write because you know what? I don’t care about your band“

I don’t know if feeling any of this stuff is exclusive to “turning thirty”. I think all of you have/will come to similar conclusions at different points in your life. For me, 30 has been the age where I have felt these emotions the strongest.

What do you guys think? Has there been a certain period of your life where you felt different that you were before? Is that time now?

BF was gone for most of March

BF is gone for most of May.

BF will be gone part of July.

If you haven’t figured it out already, BF travels a lot for his job.

And…well…I have “needs”

(I know he does too but, we’re talking about ME right now)

Before he left on his most recent excursion we discussed the possibility of him buying me a new Sex Toy for when he’s not around. I have a few toys already but all of them are…broken. Yes, you heard right. When I told my friend about this she said, “That’s hilarious. Only YOU would break your Sex Toys“. It’s actually not as twisted and perverse as I make it sound. The reason they are broken isn’t from over-use. I SWEAR! “Veronica” my original purple vibrator, no longer works because the plastic cap that holds the batteries in became brittle and cracked in half. As for my other vibrating toy, something is wrong with the motor. It doesn’t vibrate like it used to and using it is about as exciting as riding a bike down a unevenly paved street (in other words: not very). I’m long overdue for a new toy.

I wanted BF and I to pick out something together but, with him working 12-16 hour days right up until he left for China, we never found the time to make this purchase. On the day of his departure, he came into our bedroom at 5am and said to a very groggy me:

“I’m sorry we didn’t buy your toy. I left you a stack of cash on the kitchen table. Use some of it to buy whatever you like”

“But, I thought you wanted to pick it out together?”

“No, buy what you like babe. I don’t want to meet the other guy!”

Sunday, I woke up and said to myself “TODAY IS THE DAY!” After a hearty breakfast at the Greek Diner, I headed down to Queen West and paid a visit to the nice people at Come as You Are.

I really like this store. The vibe inside is very laid back, welcoming & women friendly. The staff are really helpful and knowledgeable which is a huge bonus. Buying Sex Toys (especially if its been awhile or you’re totally new to the game) can be a bit overwhelming. There are a million different options in a million different colors. There are the vibes that look like distorted penises (weird angles, bulbous heads, WAY too many bulging veins for my liking). There are the vibes that look like cute animals (I understand that you might not want something that looks like a penis if you’re not into men but, a DOLPHIN. Really?! How is this a better option?). And then of course the ones with so many ribs & doohickies & tentacles that look more like some kind of sea creature than something I want to play with.

In the end, I chose THIS.

I was attracted to the streamlined Swedish design, the multiple speeds/functions and that it comes with a WARRANTY (because obviously I need one).

When I walked out of the store & looked down at the hot pink box (apparently I like to match my toys to my blog), my heart warmed when I noticed that it was named “Mona”. I knew that I had made the right choice.

I won’t give you a play by play product review. I’ll leave that to awesome people like City Girl who already do fabulous sex toy reviews on their blogs. I will tell you one thing about this toy that made me giggle: There’s this one setting where the vibrations sound musical. It sounds like an auto-tune song playing between your legs. I’m not into T-pain but boy, I don’t mind this. And THAT is hopefully the last time I’ll ever use “T-Pain” and “between my legs” in the same paragraph.

Later that night I spoke to BF long-distance:

“I bought my toy and I think you’ll like her”

“Her?”

“Yeah, it comes with a name. Like a Cabbage Patch kid. And don’t worry, she doesn’t even really look like a penis”

“What do you mean?”

“No veins or balls”

(slightly defeated) “Well, I guess its a good thing we bought that bulk pack of batteries at Ikea before I left”

“Oh, she doesn’t use batteries. You plug her in to the wall and charge her like a phone”

“Should I even bother coming home?!”

Here is the thing guys:

You don’t need to be intimidated by toys. Sure there are some things that they do well but there are many others they don’t. A toy can’t replace the feeling of someone’s bare chest against yours, the sensation of skin against skin, the rush you get from a passionate kiss. A piece of plastic can’t surprise you in the bathroom and hoist you up onto the counter while it rips your clothes off. You need a real person for that. A toy is what it is: fun.

I read somewhere that the only power we have anymore in our society is the power to decide what we consume. This thought kind of depresses me. However, I have to say: when I walked out of that store, I did feel empowered. WHY? Because I bought something that was specifically for my own pleasure alone (although I think Mona will come out and play with BF and I at some point). Because I am fortunate enough to live in a society where I can openly buy objects like this. Because “Lady V” was totally disrespected during the Hand-Raping incident on Saturday night and now I am doing something nice for her. Because she deserves to be treated nice. Yours does too.

PS. I may have opened Pandora’s box (no pun intended) because now I also want THIS.
and possibly a couple of other goodies, like THIS that unfortunately is only available in the States. I’m not sure what upsets me more: that I won’t be able to buy that toy or that I won’t be able to have these Cynthia Vincent for Target wedges because Target also doesn’t ship to Canada. American companies, you are missing out on business!

Questions? Comments? Have I totally freaked you out?!

Sunday Love Bites #2: The Toothbrush Test

Sunday Love Bites #1: Well, That Was Awkward

I Learned about Sex from Judy Blume

On Being 30 & Saying No.

A trip to the Sex Toy Store

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