Yet, as our adventure progressed, I felt closer to my friend than ever before. We knew exactly what each other liked because we had spent years revealing our sexual experiences to one another, so it was easy for me to please her and to guide the guy to do the same.
It is a stereotype of male arousal that it tends to go one way or the other. That is to say, you’re either turned on or you’re not. While such platitudes are mostly true, they do overlook the realm of partial tumescence, the delightful stage in-between full erection and full flaccidity.
Yesterday my friend bought a dirty magazine from a gas station in Cortland. Smut, as my grandparents would have called it. Later, while poring over it in a semicircle of four or five rapt gentlemen, I caught a wave of nostalgia for the bygone days of print pornography. The magazine itself was printed on paper, of all things. There were no play or pause buttons or volume sliders, either.
Sexual fantasies. When a girl mentions this term, I assume most people imagine some steamy, hot bondage sex scene with lots of rope, blindfolds, and other sexy kinks. But to me, the term “sexual fantasy” means something else. It refers to my private, creepy, does-this-reflect-a-hidden-part-of-my-character thoughts when I’m touching myself, or sometimes even just daydreaming in a coffee shop after seeing a hot guy. Yeah, neurotic.
It’s 2 P.M. under the blistering West Coast sun. My friend and I are putting peach and baby pink lipstick on each other, our lashes are full, our teeth are flossed and our hair is big. We enter the DILFing complex that is … Home Depot. I know what you’re thinking: “you can’t be serious … you didn’t actually go into Home Depot to pick up hot Dads.” But, my friend, you underestimate the power of a virgin’s horniness. There’s something about older men, and I’m not talking late 20’s, but rather late 30’s and early 40’s that really turns me on.
College is fun, I can’t deny that. There’s booze, boys and rigor. But I also can’t deny that we’re in a bubble of our Ivy League hook up culture, and for the most part, going back home blows. Of course, there are the exceptions — kids that pretty much just resume partying back at home or in Cabo — but in my case in cookie-cutter suburbia, it’s pretty damn boring. There’s nothing to see, and no one to flirt with since they don’t have the “safety” of being a Cornell student.
There’s something oddly exciting about anonymity. Albeit it’s extraordinarily difficult to be completely anonymous, with IP addresses and all, the simple act of covering your face in the midst of a lewd act is enough to excite me all over. Yes, I’m talking about public, but not so public, masturbation. It all started quite early for me. My best friend Alyson and I were sexually adventurous and we would do anything for attention.
It’s a question most girls, and probably most guys, wonder. I’ve always thought of myself as a bit of an anomaly when it comes to oral sex — I really like it. I’ve always liked it. I think that’s because my first time giving a blow job was so casual — I asked a friend to teach me and it turned out great. Ever since then, I’ve always felt good making other people feel good.
Do our sexual partners really care about the things we are so insecure about? Let’s take a look at some commonly believed myths. Porn and TV portray specific images of sexuality, sex and body types. The differences between these portrayals and reality were some of my biggest surprises when I began my sexual adventures. Vaginas don’t lubricate within seconds, not everything stays up all the time, people have bodies of different shapes and size and pauses are necessary to take off clothes and put on condoms.
These “bad” things happen, but are actually not really that bad and definitely not a deal breaker.