Columns

SEX ON THURSDAY | Lao Tze and The Art of Post-Coital Banter

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The date itself was great. As recent Ivy grads living in New York do, we met on Hinge, the millennial’s go-to catalog of both eligible and ineligible singles. The digital prelude consisted of playful digs atCornell and Columbia’s sports programs, obligatory “Fuck Trump” talk and our shared affection for the filmography of Marty Scorcese. After a few days of feigned interest in her gap year in Italy (“ugh im soo jealous – ive always heard naples is beautiful”) and mutual social media vetting, we agreed to meet at a ramen joint in the East Village. 

She happened to live a few blocks away (what a convenient coincidence), so we went back to her place to smoke some medicinal reefer. And after a joint and nine minutes of Scorcese’s criminally underappreciated 2011 masterpiece Hugo, we found our way to her bedroom where, without too much detail (basically – me on top, her on top, me on top, sideways, me from the back, concluding with an unironic congratulatory high-five) and with the clarity of hindsight, I can confidently say we enjoyed one of the three greatest sexual experiences of my life. 

Sweaty and spread-eagled on her bed, we passed each other a Menthol Juul, listening to Daniel Caesar’s romantic banalities humming in the background.

Columns

SEX ON THURSDAY | Masquerade of the Red Death

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I couldn’t tell what caused it initially, but everyone was sexier when I came back to campus after an endless summer of quarantine. Certainly some of this was attributed to my pent-up isolation lust, but there was an added x-factor that really churned my butter. Never before have I thought such a vast number of people were attractive as I twiddled my thumbs, six-feet-apart, in the arrival test line. That is, until I recollected my childhood crushes: Zorro, the Phantom of the Opera, Mrs. Incredible, and Hannibal Lecter. All of them wore masks.

Sex on Thursday

SEX ON THURSDAY | I’m a Brat, and You Might be Too

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Not unlike a miserably small man maintaining a Napoleon complex to counter his stunted stature, I, a small Asian girl, have always harbored a tendency to offset the likely impression of myself as quietly obedient and accommodating with behavior indicating the total opposite.

Columns

SEX ON THURSDAY | Eat, Pray, F***: The Garden of Culinary Delights

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Seeing a partner lay nude before you like a Thanksgiving meal is a heavenly sight — especially if there is actually a Thanksgiving meal smothered across their body. In my case, it was a generous layer of honey, whipped cream and peanut butter. Synesthesia ran rampant as the sensations of sustenance and sensuous touch were blurred. With every kiss came a taste of sweetness and when we’d roll around it was like two pieces of bread being slapped together to make a slippery sandwich. When I slouched I felt like that vine of the peanut butter baby and my sheets looked like Willy Wonka and all his Oompa Loompas collectively combusted, but it was somehow still hot, like a sriracha-drenched jalapeño popper.

Columns

SEX ON THURSDAY | Coming Out in Quarantine

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“You’re not pregnant, are you?” was the first question my parents asked when I sat them down and told them we had something we needed to talk about. The question seemed laughable to me, considering my long-term boyfriend had just broken up with me and what I was about to tell them. “I’m … not straight,” I told them haltingly, and braced myself for their response. While I love my parents, acceptance of the LGTBQ+ community has never been their strong suit.

Columns

SEX ON THURSDAY | Sex Changed When I Met You

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Her:

The girl who was shown how to love herself—

I walked into my first frat party during O-week, clutching my Keystone tightly to my chest and covering it, worried that someone would spike it, and I would be found unconscious in a ditch. Sex to me was a dirty thing, something that a guy wanted to take from me — and take and take and take until I had nothing left to give. I carried the clouds of a variety of my sexual assault experiences and traumatic stories of others with me. I had sex willingly for the first time three weeks into college. In my new room, under my string lights, I tried to remind myself that it was okay to have sex and that it was okay to have sex casually, for fun.

college sex

SEX ON THURSDAY | When Plan B Becomes Plan A

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Today I want to talk about a situation that I recently found myself in, and that I know other women have found themselves in too. I was hooking up with a guy and asked him to use a condom. He complained at first but then acquiesced briefly, before stopping and saying that he really didn’t want to wear one and it wasn’t going to be good for him and he wasn’t going to be able to finish with one on and so on and so forth. Willing to just go along with things, and honestly mostly just wanting to fuck properly already, I said fine. The next morning, after all was said and done, I got to go on an especially magical journey.

Opinion

SEX ON THURSDAY | Missed Connections

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In September, your photo came up on my screen while I was scrolling through Tinder. I accidentally swiped left. My stomach dropped. I hurried to the bathroom to avoid waking my roommate, flicked on the light and proceeded to spend the next half hour trying and failing to download Tinder Plus so I could undo my erroneous finger movement. I flooded my best friend’s phone with texts, frantically trying to figure out which way you would’ve swiped on me, and how to show you in a totally-deniable-but-still-flirty-and-cute way that I really, really meant to swipe right.