For women’s studies, we had to parody an ad and I chose a porno
For women’s studies, we had to parody an ad and I chose a porno
I can’t look him in the eyes, so I look away. I absorb everything that is happening in this room while his hand on my leg winds its way up to wherever it’s trying to go, and I sit there. I sit there and I smile, but I do not look him in the eyes because then this entire situation would unravel. Not because I’m afraid to see what lies behind his eyes, because, really, it could be anything. It doesn’t matter if it’s a bestial desire for carnal knowledge or even a more elevated state of emotional release. But mostly it’s because I know what’s lying behind my eyes, and every ounce of brokenness that I am barely containing behind these heavily mascara-ed eyelids is on the verge of bursting out, watery spewing across this otherwise erotic situation. And that would ruin everything. I am merely half a human about to get fucked, and the person inside me is about to ruin all of that.
Shut up, bitch. Look away. Don’t ever let him know how much everything hurts all the time, even now.
He’s pure. I can tell. Just by the way he walks, and I can tell because of his eyes and the way he’s looking out of them into the world. There’s no fear and there’s no anger lingering within his eyes, and when I look at him I can tell that he doesn’t see the evil roiling within me. Which is all for the better, because if I sit here and smile softly, eventually he’ll see everything beautiful within me. And he’ll want to touch it. Even if he doesn’t know it, or won’t admit it, he’ll be there. And he’ll be there, and he’ll continue to be there, right where I can see him. He’ll come back. He’ll call me. He’ll come to me. Again and again, and it will be because he wants to touch me. Not out of greed or a selfish search for pleasure, but out of a genuine desire to be close to another human being.
My plan is to fuck him. My plan is to get him to fuck me. My plan is to make it his idea to come in for a kiss. To slightly caress. To move the hands up and down as clothes fall onto the ground. This is my plan. I want to fuck him, but not in the way that he wants to fuck me. I want to fuck him merely because I’m curious as to what his dick looks like. And, if he were to put it in me, what would that feel like? How would he move his dick across my pleasure spots? Would it feel good?
And then I would discard him. This is my plan.
Fully knowing that his plan is to love me. To make me a better person. To find the goodness in people. You know – all that Christian bullshit. But, me? I plan on destroying all of that. With a fuck, and a kiss, and a goodbye, and a casual hook up with his best friend.
I think this will be fun.
I fuck better than God.
And then sometimes these intermittent bursts of wanton sexuality should be punctuated by a long term master manipulation plan wherein I rope some unsuspecting male into an undisclosed but definitely longer than six months period of time so that I can unleash a slow moving, quietly developing scenario of mutual destruction, chronic fucking and codependency. Because walking into the bar and fucking anyone I want gets boring after the 50th time. But tricking someone into fucking me time and time again over the course of two years seems like it could be pretty fun.
Although I am concerned that it will get boring. And by it, I mean the sex, because there’s nothing boring about waiting through a two year period to see who can win a long, drawn out game of mental stamina and emotional distance also known as, how many times can we fuck before you start to feel emotions? I think I could go two years. So long as the sex doesn’t get boring. I’m definitely willing to invest two years of my time into ruining someone else’s life, just for sport. Grabbing someone else and dragging them into an unending spiral of neediness, manipulation, psychosis, addiction and insecurity. Just for fun. Just to see if I can come out the other side alive. Kinda like trying heroin, except this time another human being will be the drug that I slowly cook down and then shove up into my guts.
Can I be sadistic and unrelenting for two years straight? Four years? Twelve years? Possibly for the rest of my life forever? I know I have it in me.
~because Teen Vogue isn’t breaking it down with enough realness~
Society is constantly telling us, among other things, that there are certain people that we just shouldn’t fuck. It’s rude, it’s embarrassing, it’s desperate, it’s imprudent, it’s social suicide, it’s politically catastrophic. Well, you know what? Just because you shouldn’t fuck him doesn’t mean you can’t, and because it’s someone you shouldn’t fuck, you know what that means: it’s probably fun as fuck! So, we’d like to give you a quick guide to the pro’s and con’s of fucking that guy that you just know you shouldn’t. (Warning, this is kinda gross. I know, right??)
Your Sister’s/Best Friend’s/Mom’s/Roommate’s Boyfriend (or, even better, Husband!)
They call it sloppy seconds for a reason, but let’s admit it: if you’re in your 20’s, you’re always going to be someone’s sloppy seconds. So don’t let that reason stop you. On the other hand, nothing tastes better than forbidden fruit. The only downside to fucking homegirl’s main man is that you have to be ready to completely forfeit your friendship, and, like any break up, you might find that some of your formerly mutual friends are taking sides that might slightly ostracize you. If you’re just hanging out for a one night stand, you can always rectify the situation with the whole, “Sluts before Fucks! Don’t let men come between us!” bullshit. If you’re going for a full on relationship – well, you can’t get mad when he starts fucking your other best friend. So, before you go down this path, ask yourself: is his dick worth it? I mean, homeboy better be throwing down something fierce in the bedroom. And if he’s not, then revert to the “Don’t let men come between us” bullshit. It might not work, but it also might work. Be prepared to wear the “homewrecker” mantle for a moment, you scurrilous cunt, you! Read more →
Having sex in public is a finely finessed art, and doing it in Oakland (aka the robbery capital of America) is even trickier. Of course, it’s always important to consider that while your pants are down around your ankles and your going at it with one or more other people, are you vulnerable as a victim of a robbery? Yes. Yes, you are. However, on the flipside, you don’t want to get picked up by the cops for indecent exposure (although, shouldn’t the cops be looking for people who are robbing other people instead of penalizing the merry galavanters of Downtown Oakland watering holes?) or become the buzzworthy spectacle of a group of fellow bar flies. So, it is with great aplomb that we would like to share some of our favorite places for having sex in Downtown Oakland while bar hopping. Because it’s way easier to bang in a parking lot than to take home some stranger and deal with kicking them out of your bed at 4 am, and also if you’re still Downtown you can go get a drink after! (And, also, your significant other probably isn’t scouring alleyways, looking for you and evidence of your cheating heart.)
So, here we go, broken down bar by bar, with the closest, most convenient place to have sex:
Ruby Room The library is right across the street. Of course, sometimes people (aka CNN, shout out to CNN) are hosting their anti-Ruby Room parties there, so you could go check out the Lake, although do so with caution. I’m not sure what the new promenade is like at night, but a hobo threatened to pull a gun on my friend for not bumming him a cigarette, so maybe just stick with the library and if it’s busy try elsewhere. Also, the Lake is plagued with joggers, but I’m sure late night joggers are used to that kind of thing. Also, see Radio. Read more →
Recently, I feel like I’ve seen a lot of women become sluts, which is great, but I can tell that many of them haven’t really thought out this life decision. Instead, they’re rushing into it head first without considering the consequences, the rewards or a long term strategy for slutification. You see, becoming a slut is kinda like starting a new business. You need to assess your risk tolerance, set goals for your return on time investment, and have an exit strategy. Without thoroughly thinking out the different aspects of sleeping around, you can often times find yourself in a messed up, tangled up situation that leaves you broke, destitute and lonely. So, it is with great pleasure that I would like to start discussing the various aspects of writing your very own Slutness Plan.
Motivation When considering whether or not you want to be a slut, it’s important to examine your own self motivation. Why do you want to sleep around? The factors that inspire someone to be a slut vary, but some of the most common ones are: wanting to have fun, getting back at an exboyfriend, hating your father, low self esteem, general life malaise, hypersexuality, sexual curiosity, a manic episode, a renewed sense of empowerment, or a new found love for alcohol or other substances. While some of these motivations are clearly very negative, others can be positive. It’s important to consider that if you are motivated by a negative factor, seeking therapy in conjunction with slutting around will probably be helpful, as sluttery can be symptomatic of deeper psychological issues, and if you’re not in the right head space, you’re probably gonna fuck up this whole thing. Read more →
As you lie there next to me and peel my legs open, revealing all the ugliness hidden up there. Your hands unzip my thighs, and the further up you go, the more flaws come spilling out. I look at you and wait to watch you shudder as everything ugly about me comes crashing down on the sheets beneath me, all the small imperfections magnified by the bright light outside. I wait for your desire to wane as unshaven legs and the folds of fat and the lumps on my skin and the scars and zits and the blotches and the bumps lay bare on my skin, beneath your hand. And I don’t know what your hand was expecting, as it lies there in pause. Maybe some milky smooth surface not discolored by the years of use that my legs have seen. The kind of things that only exist in the second dimension as its elevated above our heads on billboards. The hair on my head is not silky and smooth. My teeth are not white and straight. My fingernails do not glisten with polish, and my belly spills over in awkward places. My skin is not white enough. My eyes are not blue.
So I look at you, and I brace myself for that moment when you recoil. Away from me, and the words are already stitched together neat, needy little sentences, waiting to bounce off my tongue with excuses and reasons why I’ll be better next time. I wait for you to judge me and reject me and go fuck someone younger. The skin on my body is so old. Read more →
After you let someone stick his dick in you, or after you stick your dick in someone, or whatever it is that you do that qualifies as sex, sometimes it can be hard to quantify exactly what is going on. Is this a relationship? Was it just sex? In today’s age of boundary-respecting and consent, misqualifying your relationship with someone else can often be seen as a grave social faux pas. So to avoid accidentally calling that dude that texts you at 2am for drunk sex your “boyfriend” or hurting someone’s feelings by saying “hey, we’re not actually dating, we’re just fucking” when the other person totally thought y’all were monogamous, here’s a handy little guide to the qualifiers and titles that come with fucking other people
One Night Stand The good ol in-n-out. This can just be a suck off session, a little bit of fucking, or even a good 12 hour fuck marathon. Regardless, if it has only happened once, then, yes, technically, you have a one night stand on your hands. This, of course, doesn’t rule out the possibility of it ever happening again, but until it does, it looks like you had a one night stand.
Just Fucking/Booty Call Or, chronic one night stands. This implies a level of sexual intimacy that forgoes the usual buying you drinks, intellectual conversations or other general interpersonal interactions that might qualify your relationship with this person as a friendship. Nope, instead, this is someone that you might not know very well, kind of don’t really give a fuck about, but whom you will tolerate for a session of sucking, fucking, and possibly (but definitely optional) making out. It’s efficient and convenient because you don’t have to even pretend to like the other person or act like this is ever going to be anything more than fucking.