When You Don't Get Tested... - **Guest Blogger**

**I reached out to a well known literary artist in NYC for this piece.  It's a little heavier than most, but it gets the message across.  Enjoy.**

 

I rarely get mail anymore. One Thursday night in February, I came home to a letter in a blank envelope that had been carelessly slid under my door. The paper in this envelope was lacking letterhead and looked like it had been typed on an old typewriter; there were markings, rust and scratches between words. The content of the letter was unclear as well, except it was strongly recommended that I go to the “Chelsea Health Center” at the location provided.

Later that night, I went to visit a few friends and took the letter with me. Both agreed that the letter was so vague that perhaps this was some kind of money scheme or worse. We spoke of this with Law and Order SVU playing in the background—the episode where women got letters in the mail saying they won a computer, and when they went to retrieve their prize, they were murdered. This made us think even less of this possibly important letter I had received.

I went online to look up the name and address provided in this letter. “Chelsea Health Center” was listed as “CLOSED” according to Yelp, and the address was now a Department of Health clinic that provided free health services including STD testing. My thoughts were muddied with all these conflicting facts, but one friend convinced me to go the next morning with the promise she would come with me.

Early Friday morning, I paced back and forth with five other strangers with blank faces, anxiously waiting for the doors of the Department of Health clinic to open. I had no cell phone service in this spot and was just realizing how important it was for my friend to be with me.

I followed the strangers through the doors and into this little room without windows, where we each took a golf pencil and a pre-numbered questionnaire that we time-stamped. This room exposed each of our insecurities, exerted through the small jump we all made as the time-stamp punched our cards. Between answering the intrusive and shaming sexually explicit questions (i.e., Have you ever had anal sex? Have you ever used sex toys that aren’t yours?) I took a moment to rest my eyes and look around. The little room was plastered with sex education campaigns and disease awareness messages. I spent the last ten years of my life writing these messages thinking they would help and educate others, but a poster telling me to think before I act when I’m sitting in a room, post-act, tells me that I’m worthless. It was defeating to see all the diseases I could possibly have. My eyes burned as they forced-filled with water, and I took a quick steep breath.

My number was called, and I was brought into a small office. The door shut quickly. The woman behind the old CD ROM asked me my name and why I came, and I mentioned the letter. She looked my name up and wrote down a code on my card without a hint of expression. Her laugh lines and forehead wrinkles showed proof that she was capable of exerting more emotion, and chose not to waste the risk of more visible aging on me.

“So, what is this? Why am I here?” I asked. She kept her eyes on the computer when she answered.

“You’ll find out upstairs.”

“Do you know?”

“No, they don’t tell me anything. Trust me, if I knew, I would tell you. Have a seat, and they will call your number again.”

My friend was waiting when I came out. I gave her a shrug indicating I still knew nothing. One thing I had always admired about this friend is that she never changes tone. She’s always loud, and never holds back her true emotions. Having this constant measure was a good marker for how dim this room was. A poster on the wall caught her attention.

“Hey, did you know that just because we live in NYC, we’re at higher risk for STDs? Scary, right? Whoa.”

Being respectful of the others in the room wasn’t important. I needed her to be her loud, innocuous self. It drowned out the “what-ifs” in my mind.

 My number was called again, and I was brought into yet another small office with a different woman who also lost her ability to show empathy. She asked me the same questions, looked up my name. But this time she asked me to read and sign an agreement to take an HIV test.

“Is it standard that everyone has to take this test?”

“Well, since you had contact with someone who is HIV positive, we recommend it,” she said with a bite of sarcasm. I couldn’t hear or see anymore. All of my senses had turned inward. I could just feel my heart getting faster. My voice now had one volume.

“Wait! What? How do you know that?” I lost control of everything.

“Yeah, you see this code? That’s what it means. The woman in the other room didn’t tell you?”

“Oh my God. What do I do, now?” By this point, I was just focusing on breathing correctly, but I seemed to forget how long one takes to inhale and exhale. 

“Now, you take this clipboard upstairs to the other waiting room. It shouldn’t take long. Your case is serious, so you’ll get through fast.”

I nodded silently and took the backhanded comfort that she offered me. On the way upstairs, I shared the news with my friend with as little emotion as possible and added, “Don’t worry, everything is going to be okay. Look at me. I’m fine.” Anxiety was eating me alive inside, but the one thing that would have made it worse was transferring this oppressing emotion to my closest friend.

“Trust me. I’m okay,” I lied again.

We retreated to the upstairs waiting room, where we texted our mutual friend who had calming words to share, but in a lasting effort to lighten the tone, her last words of advice were “…so stop fucking around.” Again, like the disease awareness posters, telling me not to do something I have already done left me feeling hopeless and unchangeable.

After crafting the most awkward and ambiguous email to my coworkers, explaining that I was out sick on a beautiful summery Friday in February, I was called in by the physician.

“You know why you’re here, right?” Now that the secret was out, I knew I would be reminded of it, constantly.

I stripped down to a hospital gown and was poked and prodded, like at any other standard OBGYN appointment, only it felt more intrusive. I stopped seeing the gloves she wore as sanitary precautions for my benefit, but rather protection for her, in case I was infected. She asked me how many men I had slept with in the past year, and I shrugged.

“I sleep with women, now too. Does that matter?” She continued to ask questions about my sex life with men only, and something in me changed. These last two hours were about WHY this is happening to me, but when the doctor started to narrow down my sex partners, that’s when I started to ask WHO. Who sent me this letter? Who put ME in this position? Fear set in, and I stopped complying. I wanted to contribute however I could to get answers, but every word muttered by the doctor became a potential clue in the case.

“Why is November so important?”  I yelled out as she left the room.

I had just got dressed when she came back into the room with a coy smile.

“I have good news for you. You’re not pregnant.”

Back to the waiting room I went, joining a now bigger crowd of frightened kids, including my panicked friend. Then I was shuffled into another office, this time to meet with a health education counselor, Claudia. When I stepped into her office, I was put at ease by the photos of kids on the wall—the only sign of future hope in this entire building, I thought. She apologized, because it was intended that I saw her before anyone else. Claudia was a licensed social worker and qualified to tell people bad news. Claudia explained to me that the guy that I had contact with didn’t have to give my name, and I should feel thankful that he came forward to give my name at all. Of course, I didn’t hear any of this. Within her well-composed spiel explaining the purpose of confidentiality was another clue, I thought.

“This happened a while ago, so there’s no reason to ask who.”

Gender narrowed down the candidates, and now I had a timeframe. My own health took a backseat. I had someone else to focus on.

After waiting in line in a hallway, I was brought in to get my blood taken for the HIV test. First, they took a few cylinders that they would send out to determine my status in from 2 weeks ago, and then they gave me an instant finger prick test, which determined my HIV status from 3 months ago.

The instant test was negative, but I still had this bout of uneasiness.  The dim clouds should have lifted this weight off of me, and yet it didn’t. I should have been able to go back to the waiting room and retrieve my friend, but I couldn’t. Instead I passed her and had a few seconds to fake a smile and say, “I’m negative. There’s nothing to worry about. I just…have to go.”

Claudia took me in arm and brought me to a darker, dimmer office without any windows.

“It’s not over yet, you know. You’re only negative as of 3 months ago, so anyone that you had contact with since then could have infected you. When you get these results back in two weeks then you will know for sure.”

“But you said that my incident happened a while ago.”

“I said nothing like that, and I can’t say anything to protect that person’s identity.”

Claudia then brought me into a room with this man at a desk with a single sheet of paper and a pen.

“In the case that you are HIV positive, you have the option of writing down everyone that you have had sexual contact with since November [three months ago.]”

The panic came back, and the fact that so far, the tests said I was negative meant nothing, but the anger and inability to cooperate came back too.

“I’m negative, and I don’t have to give you anything.”

The man shrugged and took out a red pen to which he wrote, “REFUSED” on my file. I thought of the guy of my past and how he felt during this whole process—finding out he was HIV positive, having to sit in this room and write down the names of everyone he slept with. I was negative. Why was I feeling so guilty about refusing to list names?

I had one last meeting with Claudia before I was able to leave for good. She told me to call her in two weeks to confirm my negative status, and she suggested that I didn’t have sexual contact with anyone until then.

After this grueling morning of red tape and miscommunication, my friend took me out to eat where I ate both the pancake breakfast and the French toast. There’s something about a gamble with your life that makes you hungry as fuck.

The following weekend, I surrounded myself with friends that I trusted with this scare, but I held back the possibility that I could still be positive. They took every opportunity to make me laugh—even mentioning the sketchy lovers in my past.

“You sure it wasn’t a girl? I had money on the girl from Brooklyn, who you thought had implants.”

Smiles and laughter was really the only thing I thought I needed, but when I was alone Sunday night, the bubble I was in had burst, and I was alone in the dark crying myself to sleep.

Late in the night, I called someone from my church that I trusted, afraid of what she’d think of my promiscuity. Judge-free, she led me through those next two weeks with her prayers and positive messages.

Eventually, the burden had lifted, and two weeks later, I found out I was negative. I thought about my actions in those last three months, and thought to myself, ‘for someone that wants a family and a monogamous relationship, I’m sure as hell not acting like it.’

I’m lucky. I got a warning, and someone I know, whoever he is, wasn’t as lucky. I just have to remember that how I’m living right now is my second chance.

The Religious...Downfall. - **Guest Blogger**

"**Note from Editor:  Please indulge in the latest post from my colleague, "Ralph", and her adventures in finding "The One"**

Putting yourself out there to try to meet someone gets exhausting.   I went thru a few months where I was dating three people at the same time (no physical stuff until monogamous though, I’m not that kind of girl...actually maybe I would be that type of girl but I just wasn’t that into any of these dudes).

Anyways, I dated these guys because they were nice, appropriate and had the same religious background as yours truly.  For the past six years actually, I’ve only seriously dated people that are of the same religion as me because I figure it would work out in the long run.  In fact, I would ignore huge imperfections because, at the end of the day, we had similar cultural and religious upbringings.  Yet, 6 years later, here I am, post-yet another-break-up.  The whimsical visions of walking those 4 circles to holy matrimony are still fresh in my mind as I thought that this time, maybe this time, it would work. 

Years ago, I dated my best friend.  He was Sikh and I am Hindu and yet, our connection was deeper than any I’d ever had with a Hindu male.  I started the relationship out with a caveat, stating firmly, “this can never be long-term because I’m marrying a Hindu guy.”  Looking back on it, our bitter break-up, albeit very much so due to his cheating and lying ways, also had a lot to do with my inability to go all-in because I knew, or thought I knew, the credentials needed of my future “life partner”.  (cue: my wannabe bio-data language)

I think about it now and I wonder, what if the religious contradiction was never an issue?  Would we have then perhaps become that envious cliché found in every Yash Chopra Hindi film?  Best friends who innocently fall in love.  Wow – what a trip that would have been. 

Bringing it back to 2012, I sit here and I think about the small pool of people I have to date and choose from – all for what?  I love my religion and I want to marry within it, but at what cost?  Religion is about God and God is about Love and Love, romantic, weak in the knees, friendship, soul mate, exploding heartbeat love...well, I’m not sure if that’s the same love as "God Love" – but I know that I’m more happy, blissful and AT PEACE with life when I’m in love.  So maybe religion is important, yes – absolutely.  But maybe my faith and how I view my beliefs is more closely linked to all encompassing Love, rather than in the details of my religion.  Or maybe, just maybe, I’m having a crisis of identity as I sit here, alone again, mending my clichéd, exhausted and hackneyed broken heart.

Fuck N Foreplay

Let me set the record straight.  I don’t carry any emotional baggage.  I was never heart broken.  Nothing has happened to me that could substantiate my cynicism.  I find the need to put that out there in the hopes that others are able to identify with what they really want (or don’t want).

I’ve had two major relationships.  Both of which ended pretty mutually.  Both stand up guys who I’m still in touch with to this day.  Looking back, I might not have appreciated either of them as much as I should have, but I learned a lot about myself during my “attached” time and hope (know) they will find someone better.

Looking back, I can’t believe either of them put up with my bullshit, but there was nothing like an emotional explosion that has held me hostage all these years.  My methodology is simply science and it just is what it is.

That being said, I have seen people were just like me end up in lasting relationships.  So obviously that’s not to say that things don’t change.  And end drunken blabbering.

So let’s talk about foreplay.  I, for one, don’t really need it.  I think it’s a waste of time from the real thing that I am out to get (dick).  However, most normal people are inclined to participate in some sort of foreplay prior to getting it in (present company included).

The scientific basis behind foreplay is simple.  Foreplay obviously provides men with a chance to get harder (most guys are at some point of hard on when initiating foreplay) and it provides women with a chance to secrete (lubrication).  This, in theory, is the optimal scenario for copulation.

But what’s interesting is the way foreplay and acts of foreplay have evolved over time.  I can’t imagine our ancestors were able to suck a mean dick.  (which reminds me of a conversation I recently had about dick sucking, see future post on evolutionary basis behind sucking a dick).  I digress.

In any event, the evolution of foreplay has mutated so exponentially, it’s hard to keep track of everyone’s likes and dislikes.  I am not even going to lie when I met a dude who asked me to put a finger in his ass because it got him hard (I didn’t do it, but don’t put it past me either). 

In the end, foreplay is important especially when it comes to building a relationship.  It’s about trust you have with the other half.  I genuinely feel that if you are looking to have mindless sex with someone, foreplay just doesn’t make sense.  It’s more intimate an act than people give it credit. 

In close, I’d be interested in hearing some of the foreplay tactics that you all either have heard of, enjoy yourself, or think I might enjoy. 

Not dedicating this post to anyone, it would be too easy, and I'm not easy, I'm just fast.    

I'll Call You Tomorrow - **Guest Blogger**

**Note from the editor:  So, after all my crazy rants and cynical assumptions (truths), I've decided I need someone to counter all my bullshit.  Enter, Ralph, a pseudonym, and a friend who will be chronicling her search for the perfect mate.  You can generally find her updates on Wednesdays and all comments are welcome.  Enjoy!**

About a month and a half ago, @controvershiL had asked me to be a guest blogger on her site.  As she claims to not believe in love (a point which I argue with her about on many occasion), she felt her readers would relate to me and my quest to find that quintessential long-term male companion (i.e. – a husband, a soul mate, whatever term floats your boat).

The funny thing about this is that a month ago, I wasn’t sure I could write about my trials and tribulations in the crazy anxiety-ridden world of dating because I was actually blissfully involved and infatuated with someone who appeared to be kind, honest, hot and humble.  Add to this the fact that he came from my religious background and was looking for a serious relationship and you can imagine my true sense of joy and quite frankly, relief.  Finally. Finally. Finally.  I had found him!

Days and weeks can pass in a flash when you’re a 29 year old Indian girl in the beginning stages of new love.  You can get involved with someone so profoundly in the span of just 7 weeks that you truly look past all potential pitfalls and keep going.  You keep your rose-colored glasses glued firmly on your face so that you can finally get to that proverbial finish line before it’s too late.  I constantly feel like I am running a race that everyone else in my life has completed.  They are all at the finish line, re-hydrating and carb-loading and I’m still panting away, with the finish line so far away I can’t even see it.  At this point, I’ve fainted and I’m laying on the track, my heart beating fast, my eyes closed.  Everything’s blurry and I’m dizzy.  Someone call an ambulance – I can’t breathe.

Honestly, as I sit here typing away– I still don’t know what happened with the above mentioned male.  Our conversations went from serious discussions of the future, to mystifying texts filled with false promises. 

“I’ll call you tomorrow : )”,  “Sorry today was crazy – call you Sunday : )”.  Ugh. The smiley face text – meant to disengage the reader, but really I just view it as aggravating passive aggressiveness.  Emoticons are cute in your teens.  In your late 20s/early 30s?  Man up and call a girl.

I’m not sharing this story with you all to bore you or gain sympathy points.  I’m sharing this because I’m sure its relatable and because I truly believe that if you really truly want love or babies or whatever it is...then it will come and these relationships that don’t work out are all land mines that you’ve been blessed enough to avoid.  I won’t go into detail about the aforementioned mate – but there were large flaws and compromises I was open to making just to be with him.  And I can’t help but wonder if, 5 years ago, I would even have considered him a viable option.  Are we so scared of being alone that we’ll take whatever we can get?  I’m not sure.  I’m slightly afraid to say, that in my case, up until this point – that answer may just be a resounding yes.  So – in the last few months of my 20s – I plan to change this way of thinking.  I plan to be even more thoughtful with who I decide is appropriate to date, and I plan to be less emotional.  I plan to date multiple people at the same time until one person shows me security over a time period of several months.   I will reopen my biodata online dating accounts that I so gleefully closed when meeting the former object of my affection.  It’s time to move on – no time to grieve over someone who can’t even be bothered to give you a reason for his ambivalence.  Gotta move on.  Gotta stop listening to sad Bollywood love songs.  If you want that big love in your life, there’s no time to grieve over the landmines that you’ve thankfully avoided.  Get to it.  It’s a job.

Oh, Zuckerberg

The Facebook IPO dropped, the zombie apocalypse arrived, my old boxing coach offered words of reconciliation (thus I’m back on the Golden Gloves train), and two white boys called me on the same night for a booty call.  Shit is officially hitting the fan.  What did Zuckerberg think would happen after he married an Asian girl?  Apparently, none of us are safe and the white boys are on the hunt.

I ended up meeting one of the guys for a drink later in the week.  I’ve slept with him before and he was good so I thought what the hell.  In the end, I didn’t end up sleeping with him merely because I wasn’t interested in bringing him home.  Not to mention, I generally get bored after the first time I sleep with him which got me thinking to some of the guys I’ve given a 2^nd chance to.

Over the sobriety gig, I called the other boy to see if he’d come over for a quickie and lucky for me, he was available this Saturday for some Saturday morning sex.  Afterwards, I kicked him out to load up on Starbucks for my next 2 hours at dance.  I ended up falling asleep while we were texting that night, and the next morning I wake up to a text asking me if I was mad and I flipped my shit.  I know I shouldn’t have, but really dude?

It seems that more and more dudes are getting emotionally attached after one-night (morning) stands.  Then I realized that we’re at that age where it’s not just females looking to settle down, but males too.  And as I asked around, most of my male friends tend to agree.

It seems that “settling” down has become a common theme in many of my (male) friend’s mission in life, and while I’m not mad, I do feel a little concern for both parties on the term “settling”.  Why should one EVER settle?

We go through life avoiding settling on colleges, jobs, cars, etc and yet, when it comes to someone we are thinking about spending the rest of our lives with, “settling down” has become a kind of hysteria spreading around in our generation. 

I mean, how many girls did Zuckerberg even date before he rashly (perhaps?) decided to get married?  And you know that kid would have gotten plenty of play.  Sure, the majority would have been gold digging hoes with nothing substantial to offer, but still, at least he had options. 

What’s going to happen later down the line, when he realizes that A.  Facebook is dunzo.  And B.  He should have checked out his options?  Maybe it’s the cynic in me, but I’m still very light hearted to anyone who jumps into something without giving it a thorough thinking.  I’ve had several conversations with married couples who “settled” and are now, I hate to say it, regretting their decisions.

So what’s the deal?  Are we just getting scared of being alone so we settle with the next person who gives us a little attention and compromise all of our expectations into an unhappy or unfulfilling relationship?  I’m seriously hoping that one of you can prove my theory wrong.   

Head Games - **Guest Blogger**

**while I'm not one to enjoy cunnilingus, I'm likely in the minority, please enjoy a piece submitted to @controvershiL from @PatakhaKuri** 

For the longest time, I was a 'giver' in bed.  I mastered the art of going down on a guy, giving blow jobs that would blow the minds of guys away (modest, I know).  But I was uncomfortable with the idea of a guy going down on me.  I’d want to please my partner so he’d know that I’d be even better in bed.  The thought of a guy “eating me” and then having to kiss him after was just gross. 

After speaking with some of my friends, I found that I wasn’t the only one who felt that way.  They, too, agreed that it was a little “gross”.  On the other hand, however, guy friends have hardly ever said anything negative about going down on a girl.  In fact, most of the guys I’ve slept with have all wanted to go down on me, some even before I sucked them off. 

So then a few years ago, I was dating this guy.  He planned this sexy, racy night for us (see:  red satin sheets, wine, dirty play list, etc).  After being wined out drunk, my inhibitions lowered and I let him go down on me.  And for the first time, OH.  MY.  GOD.  I decided then that if you are sexually active, and haven’t had a guy go down on you, you are missing out.  I know that there are several girls out there who, like me, are uncomfortable with the idea of it, but the truth is, once your guy starts licking those lips, your brain, won’t even work. 

While it took me a while to get used to it, I fully embrace cunnilingus.  I always advise my girlfriends that we have to love ourselves, our bodies, and especially our vaginas.  If we can stay comfortable with ourselves, our male counterparts will too.  We simply need to get over our fears and plunge in.  And if you need additional convincing, the orgasms (yes plural) are phenomenal!

Jeal?

I’m not even going to lie when I say I’m one psycho bitch.  I can tear someone up just by pulling a silent shutdown (something I learned from my less psycho mother).  At 27, I got kicked out of a club for punching a girl at my best friend’s birthday.  At 28, I started anger management, and at 29, I have been known to socially murder anyone who does anything that rubs me the wrong way. 

The problem with me is that while it doesn’t take a lot to get me angry, I have a hard time getting jealous and haven’t really been known as the psycho jealous chick.  After writing papers upon papers about jealousy in graduate school and understanding the intrinsic value of it, I realized that while it may be justified, I haven’t been blessed with the “jealousy gene” which furthers my belief that I’m being evolutionarily weeded out.

Whether you are a female or a male, and you say that you don’t get jealous, you are either lying (which is usually the case) or you really lack the gene and weren’t meant to procreate, let alone be in a relationship.

So when a friend of mine asked me if I would be jealous of the future Mr. ControvershiL (I can’t even type that without laughing out loud) speaking with, flirting with, hanging out with other females, I was inclined to say “yes” for fear of being judged.  But I said no, and watched her judge me instead as a liar, which is fine. 

 The down and dirty is the whole idea of cuckoldry, right, so males don’t want their females to copulate with another male for fear of uncertainty of their kin, while women don’t want their males to copulate with another female for fear of resources being expended elsewhere.  Genetic superiority, yada yada yada. 

Back to being a psycho jealous, I think in the end, there is probably a healthy dose of jealousy one can maintain while still being able to maintain a strong relationship.  In fact, I am inclined to believe that a relationship can’t survive without jealousy.  I mean imagine being in a relationship where your counterpart could give a shit what you did (actually after typing that out, I realized that might actually be the perfect relationship for me), but seriously.

I’d like to pose this question out to my readers (who seem to enjoy responding on twitter, which is fine, do what you will, assholes).  Do you get jealous?  If not, are you lying to yourself or are you being genetically weeded out?  If so, how do you deal with it especially if you are in a relationship?  Do you get irrationally angry/agitated/etc?

Off topic, it’s been 3 months since I’ve gotten any and I’ve come to terms with it.  Because the next time I get it in, you better believe it will be good with something for me to write about.

Dedicated to all my jealous bitches (including the jealous dudes who act like bitches).

I'm Not Trying to Get Married

I’m not trying to get married.  Biologically, it’s not natural to be tied down to one person so I can’t even take marriage seriously.   Even as I’m invited to be a bridesmaid to random weddings overseas, I can barely fake my enthusiasm.  I won’t even apologize, since it’s bullshit.  Marriage is bullshit. 

I know that most of you reading this are now thinking that I’m bullshit, and you aren’t too far off.  You are probably thinking that I just haven’t found the right person, and again, you are probably right, but I’m too cynical to care.

This got me thinking about my married friends.  I wonder if they are happy, faking happy, or miserable.  I’m actually inclined to think the latter simply based on science and reason, and the emails upon emails I receive of both males and females unhappily married.  And I sure I’m only hearing one side of the story, but I can’t help but be biased after reading some of your letters.

And instead of being an asshole and just outright saying you should leave your significant others, I’m actually going to offer some general advice on how to attempt to make this work (if that is really what you want). 

If you read my work, and you know me, you know that I’ll tell you how it is.  And that is how it should work with any type of relationship.  Communication.  If you can’t communicate with someone, whether it’s a friend or someone more than a friend, then it’s clear you aren’t meant to be.  I hate to say it, but its true.  Yeah, you are going to say that it is easier said than done, and that’s true.  But if you can’t man up to communicate what the problem is, then you can’t complain about the issue.

And further more, if you can’t communicate pre-marriage, then what the hell are you even thinking?  Walking on eggshells your entire life is bullshit and that’s what I’m hearing in your letters.  It’s not going to get you anywhere and you will end up in more than resentment.

It gets me thinking about this whole arranged marriage fad.  Is it because of society or is there really something to it?  My parents were semi-arranged and they are almost 30 years strong.  No walking on eggshells, communication on point.   Comparing them to some of my married friends, I’d have to say that I’m actually more in favor of an arranged marriage over those who actually do it willingly. 

I commend my married friends who are “happily married” and subsequently have healthy sex lives and have kids and are STILL happy.  

End rant.

What are your thoughts? 

Dedicated to my married friends.  One pair in particular.  They know.  They’re assholes.   

Spank Me

I asked this guy out on a date once.  We went to this fancy noodle house, which was actually pretty sexy.  Afterwards, I invited him back to my place with no real intention of sleeping with him (with every intention of sleeping with him on the second date).  After some serious 2^nd base action, I kicked him out with a 2^nd date scheduled.  Post 2^nd date, I went back to his place, a cute Brooklyn railroad style apartment where I wasted no time stripping naked and jumping into bed with him.  The sex was pretty much the best I’ve ever had, but not without a “WTF” moment. 

What’s up with dudes and wanting to spank you?  I was going to say, “I don’t get it”, but then I realized I’d be a hypocrite, because I don’t mind being spanked.  The problem I had in this situation was that he didn’t even warn me.  It kind of came out of nowhere. (And thank goodness he only knew a pre-boxing controvershiL, because dude would have been left with a hard right on his high cheek bones)

I’m totally into S&M, but spanking someone does NOT put you in charge.  In fact, if it comes out of nowhere, then it just makes you like a pansy ass that is afraid to divulge his inner most desires. 

Back to S&M, I’m totally into domination.  I like being in charge.  I know what I want, I know what I like, and I’m not afraid to tell it how it is (as if that wasn’t obvious).  And doms like me are into guys who know how to take charge.  The problem is that they are far and few in between. 

I think it’s kind of cool to relate to this my life in general.  I’m a take-charge kind of person.  I do what I want, when I want, without any shame or worry about the consequence.  And perhaps that isn’t the way it should be, but confidence can take you everywhere.  And I don’t want to push this post into how confidence is what makes the world go around, but it really is, and frankly, whether you are a dom or a sub, all you need is confidence to make it work.

And while I like playing by my rules, I can totally accept a guy who will step up to the plate and try and take charge.  In fact, he doesn’t even need to warn me if he isn’t just going to be a pansy ass spanker.  I know that kind of sounds hypocritical, but it’s the truth.  Some dudes know how to “take it”.  While others just play like they can. 

So readers, I would like to pose the question to you.  Are you a dom or sub?  What are some of the things you like to do in the S&M world?  Do you prefer your better half taking charge in bed?  And the most important question of all, are you a spanker?

Dedicated to my one true love, who took care of my while I was sick this weekend, Scandal. 

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There's nothing wrong with you.

No Sex in the Champagne Room...or Any Room

Been pretty cranky lately.  Could be due to lack of sex.  Sure it was my own decision, but I’m feeling the effects of it and more so on my mood than anything else.  People ask me why I’m doing it and the only thing I can say is that it’s something I need to do.  Just need to be sober for a while.  And while the first month was atrocious with restless nights, this past month hasn’t been so bad with the exception of my blatant crankiness/bitchiness. 

It got me thinking about some of my friends who are attached.  Who are either in a committed relationship or flat out married.  Some of these very people have reached out to me divulging that they in fact are living a lie in the relationship.  They are putting on the front that they are in a great relationship and that life is all great, but in the shadows of the background, they are living one of the scariest predicaments one can have, a sexless relationship.

I hate to say that sex isn’t everything in a relationship, but I’m feeling a little bit more open-minded lately, so I’ll go with it for the purposes of this piece.  Sex isn’t everything.  I get it, but it is something.  The first time you meet someone, you are attracted to him or her.  There is something about them that attracts you to them, which is a physical reaction, which we are created to act upon.

So then when does the emotional connection become so strong that the lack of a physical reaction bears nothing on the foundation of the relationship?  I find it hard to believe that there is a fear instilled that if they broke it off that they wouldn’t be able to find someone.  Have relationships become that diluted?  That you have to put on a show to keep society happy?

What about my married friends who have kids and are no longer having sex?  Is it that their schedules are too packed to make time for each other?  Or has the physical attraction just died since the purpose of mating has been completed?  It’s kind of a sad thought and more prevalent that you might think.

Then I wonder if there are people on the other side of the spectrum because if there are, I haven’t met them.  People who are only in relationship filled with physical attraction and sex where there is no emotional connection, feelings, or the like.  While I fully believe that one can have emotional-less sex, I don’t see a relationship evolving from it.  In fact, I don’t think “relationship” can be defined as 100% physical or 100% emotional.

If someone asked me what I would do in this situation, the answer would be easy.  I’d leave.  Biologically, you need a healthy dose of emotional and physical attractiveness for any relationship to take.  And I don’t believe that physical attraction can just die (unless you count having kids, which I mention above, and will need to take another blog entry to discuss). 

So I want to pose the question out there to the blog world.   Do you think it is appropriate to stay in a sex-less (physical-less) relationship?  Would you do it?  Why or why not?  Do you think you can have a “relationship” that is based solely on sex?  Would you consider that a relationship?  What kind of advice would you give to those who are in these situations?

Undercover Hos

I struggle to make sense of people who can’t own up to their inner slut, like those girls who will sleep with anything and everything or those guys you know get so much fucking play because their hot as a mother fuck (like MBB from college, who coincidentally is now engaged!).  But they don’t own it.  It’s a secret, and you know damn well we talk about them behind their backs in hushed voices, while I’m silently shunning them from the “Getting Yours” brotherhood (see me for details and initiation package).

I knew this girl in high school who would sleep around with everyone.  She wouldn’t own it, but I don’t think she cared what people thought about her.  Either that or she didn’t know what people thought.   Looking back, I realize that I may have judged her.  But I’m basically living her life right now and fully respect her choices and the fun she must have had. 

Then I knew this girl in college who penetrated (best word EVER!) our friend circle and tried to sleep with everyone in it (including Christoph), only one of which bit, who later was more than heart broken.  I actually used to like her, even respected her for her boldness, up until she did that. 

Sure, I slept with Toby and Christoph, who were both at one point friends or cool or whatever college guys are with one another, but I never thought about the ramifications about it until recently.  Until I started pushing 30 and realizing that my insecurities from then would NOT fly in this day and age.

So, I’ve had sex with plenty of my friends.  In fact, many of the guys I’m friends with now are guys I’ve slept with in the past.  (It’s kind of like how I initiate you into my friend circle.)  In any event, I didn't think I'd see most of these guys after I banged them.  It was kind of like a hit it, leave it, over it kind of deal, but lucky for me, I got a friendship out of it (I mean, mostly because I’m awesome, but who knows).

Leaving college has kind of changed my mentality, because at this point in time, I have several friends that I’ve yet to sleep with and frankly don’t really want to.  I suspect the sex would be great, and my friendship wouldn't be ruined or anything, but I just prefer not to compare them to some meaningless sex I have outside of the circle and I’m just secure enough with myself to make and keep a friendship without the hit it quit it clause. 

Does that make sense?  What I’m trying to get at is that we’re at a point in our life where you can’t get away with the shit you used to.  Go ahead and sleep with the person you meet in the lounge at the Coffeeshop on Saturday, but don’t try and sleep with the friend you grew up with or try to sleep with a friend circle or anything of the like.  It’s bad practice, and frankly a clear sign of insecurities. 

Trying to find the one girl or guy who will fall for your bullshit just so you can get what you want out of the situation.  Get the fuck out of here.  No one appreciates that shit.  Get over yourself, your insecurities, your low self-esteem, and get a new hobby.  We’re almost 30 and everyone can pick up on your bullshit.

I spoke with several colleagues about this subject.  People are certainly judgmental of people who are out to get theirs (present company included).  Sleeping around is not exactly rewarded, but sleeping around in a circle of friends, and further not owning up to it, is just plain bullshit.   

Just own up to the fact you are trying to get yours and the dudes will come flocking.  Trying to be an undercover slut will just give you the reputation you aren’t trying to have.  Don’t be that person.  Look amongst yourselves.  I wouldn’t write about this if I didn’t see it.  Although, you probably don’t read this, so it will be lost on you. 

Dedicated to my two non @ buddies.  You know who you are (clichéd, I know, but whatever).    Also dedicated to Toby who was a “down low ho” in college, we all knew, and talked about it all the time ;). 

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You are NOT a loser. 

Single and Scared

Here’s the problem.  The weather is getting warmer, and girls are breaking up with their winter boyfriends, and single guys are running wild and free just aching to get into my bedroom.  The problem is that I have taken a vow of celibacy until further notice so I’m trying to avoid any temptation.  Not that I see any since no one seems to be capturing my interest lately.

So, let’s talk about relationships and how more often than not, like these cold weather hook-ups, they don’t last.  These days, divorce rates are around 50% and the more I talk to people in my age group, the higher the fear of commitment.  More recently, I’ve been talking to several people, both male and female, who are recently single, separated, or divorced.  And the fear of going back out there is highly prevalent.

Not to mention, my 30-something friends who are still single simply because they don’t want to end up single, separated, or divorced.  It’s sad but at the same time, it’s understandable.  The one thing I can’t stand is the stigma associated with having an ex.  Sure it’s kind of crazy and baggage-y when a partner brings up the ex-files, but is it really that big a deal.  So, s/he was in a relationship, and so it didn’t work.  What the hell does that have to do with you?  Not a goddamn thing.  And you have to keep telling yourself that anytime you wonder about his/her past life, because it has nothing to do with you. 

Those of you who have had relationships that have ended, whether you were dating or married, there is nothing wrong with putting yourself out there again.  It might take awhile, sure, but don’t judge every future relationship based on the one that didn’t work.  They are out there.  Don’t just shut the idea out.  Whether you want to believe or not, emotions are harder than you think to control. 

And what’s wrong with a guy or a girl who was in a long-term relationship and left because they realize it wasn’t going to work?  I must say I respect these brave souls the most.  Not only did they take the risk of exclusivity, but also they were mature enough and strong enough to get out of a shitty situation.  How can you not be attracted to something like that? 

With that being said, I’m feeling a lot better about keeping my own mind open about the possibility that I might have found someone who I can relate to.  I’m definitely having an internal struggle dealing with a new kind of emotion that I’m feeling on top of my daily bouts of anxiety and panic attacks.  I’m not scared of it. 

Riddled with grammar mistakes, rambling dialogues, and sporadic curses, this one is dedicated to you.  I’d say, “you know who you are”, but that sounds stupid and clichéd.  So instead, I’ll say, I know who you are. 

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To live with or without?

A ControverSHIL Confession

The last time I was in a relationship was with Christoph, seven years ago.  He was the average guy next door that many wouldn’t even look twice at.  I made that mistake when I first met him thinking that lunch outings would be harmless.  The more we went out, the bigger the knots in my stomach grew.  That’s when I knew I wasn’t just a sexpot vixen trying to have my next big orgasm; I actually had the ability to become emotionally connected with someone.  

The thought is mind blowing right?  I realize that emotional connections are normal for most, but not something I’m used to since I only ever play off the physical attraction I have with someone.  But I’m not devoid of emotions, and in fact, I think I’m actually insatiable.  And instead of being only halfway satisfied emotionally, I tread on being 100% satisfied physically to avoid the danger of someone coming up short and focus my emotions on other shit (See:  boxing, dancing, volunteering, mindless sex).

Since Christoph and I broke up, that weird stomach knot anxiety hasn’t hit me often.  Sometimes I’d think about Toby and it would slightly hit.  Or a tad with Rick two years ago, where I actually stalked him to drop off a Valentine’s Day card, on Valentine’s Day (Actual poem I wrote in the card:  “Roses are Red, Violets are Blue, Let’s get a Drink, So I can get to Know You”, complete with phone number). 

But what happens if the emotional connections are inevitable?  I slept with this guy last spring that I thought I was getting emotionally connected to.  In the end, I suspect I was wrong, but he didn’t share the sentiment so we went our separate ways (and to clear my mind of the bullshit, I went on a full on fuck fest that summer, good times).

For me emotional attraction is dangerous because it’s like heroin.  Don’t do it, and no one gets hurt.  Because just like heroin, if you do it the after effects are sick.  I’d end up doing two a days with my therapist. 

I was never good at expressing myself emotionally.  I’m always upfront if I think you are attractive, being an asshole, if your tits are out, etc.  But I have a hard time telling a guy that he genuinely makes me laugh.  That I enjoy his company.  That I ultimately want to spend more time with him.  That I am willing to go straight for him.  That I don’t want to sleep with him right away.  That he gives me weird knots in my stomach. 

…that it’s been seven years since I’ve felt this way.

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Some things are better left to Pavlov. 

Porn Plug

One of my best friends went out with this douchebag who told her told her wanted to have an open relationship and then proceeded to ask her if he could meet her friends.  I feel like you can get away of that shit if you are hot (which still isn’t acceptable), but this dude couldn’t even get a cute from me. 

Open relationships are great.  I think that’s the way all couples should function.  It’s the safest way to commit (does that make sense).  But frankly, if you are going to have an open relationship with me; you better know that it won’t be with my friends (unless you have been deemed community property which is another post I won’t go into tonight).

I could launch into a tirade about how this douche is pretty low on the evolutionary ladder and how his dick is half the size of my thumb.  Instead, let’s talk about porn.  I’m not going to go into the history of porn (which if you are really interested in, HBO provides a great overview in their Real Sex series).  I think what most are wondering is whether it is appropriate or not.

The truth is that it is.  Single, engaged, or married, watching someone else have a sexual tryst is not just exciting; it’s kind of a societal taboo.  Again, I could launch into how this is bullshit, but we’re not talking about that.

I especially hate when females get angry because their significant other or even some random dude watches porn.  It’s a fucking hobby.  It’s like getting angry for watching some cheese TV show like Psych (which by the way is the best show ever).  I know some of it has to do with jealousy and insecurity, but most of it has to do with the societal taboo and acts associated with watching it. 

I know plenty of guys and girls who watch porn.  Some watch it to get off, most just for the mere allure of watching someone else get off.  Others to get ideas.  A small percentage watch for the art of it.  I watch for all.

Males who watch are not physically cheating on their mates, nor are they emotionally cheating on them.  It’s fiction and fun.  It’s natural sex (okay the stuff with the anal beads are a little unnatural, but still).  I want to open this up to the females who have an innate, unfounded hatred of porn.  What’s the big deal?