It helps to see things through a non-sexual lens.
It helps to see things through a non-sexual lens.
Whether you’re quarantining with a new partner, just went through an awful breakup — but are still stuck living together — or are stuck in the isolation blues, it’s likely that whatever your sex life was pre-pandemic, it’s pretty different now. Maybe, like me, your months in quarantine have been replete with fluctuation – beginning with a time of passionate, consuming sex with a beloved, followed by periods of agonizing sexual and emotional separation, and then frosty post-breakup months spent wondering if you’d forgotten how to masturbate. Maybe, if you really are like me, your body is just waking up as if from a long sleep, the pain subsiding enough that you can finally ask: How can I get off without risking giving COVID to my housemates?!
After hours of scrolling through tinder with zero intention of meeting anyone and of scouring the internet for porn I actually enjoy, I found myself turning to a long familiar form of pleasure: language. So whether you’re looking to spice up your quarantine sex life or you’re just trying to keep your twin bed a little warmer as we head into autumn, look no further than these cliterary classics:
from “When the Beloved Asks, ‘What Would You Do If You Woke Up and I Was a Shark?’” by Natalie Diaz
“Be-loved, is loved, what you cannot know is I am overboard for this
metamorphosis, ready to be raptured to that mouth, reduced to a swell
of wet clothes, as you roll back your eyes and drag me into the fathoms.”
Here is a poem for if love comes to you as an act of submission, of offering yourself completely to a dream or to a lover. Here is a poem for if you ache for acts or for imagery that you fear to speak aloud.
Working up to find your p spot takes time. Ensuring you’re in a comfortable position with yourself or your partner is vital. But once you learn to love your hole, sex and pleasure will never be the same.
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.
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.
In February, my roommate and I found two boys who were also roommates. We lived in the same dorm, so it was easy to sneak into their room for smoke sessions and late-night conversations when the weekends came. Little did I know that the cute relationship we had would get fucked because of one person who pushed things a little too far. At the time, we were a strong group of four, and between all of us the sexual tension was manageable. But one night, only one of the guys, LG, came over to our room to chill.
In a world where we claim to strive toward egalitarian parenthood, we should see mommy as equally powerful and dominant as daddy.
My birthday is two and a half months away. I’m going to pass the final stage of adulthood, and involuntarily enter my twenty-first year. I’ve accomplished so much, and yet I still haven’t had sex. Everybody around me tells me “HLG, honey, your time will come,” or “They’re out there … waiting for you too.” And that’s the best thing you can tell someone like me, because literally nobody can verify it. It’s vague-ass comments like these that you hate receiving, but exhale with relief when those same comments save you from the panic that mounts as you desperately search for advice for someone else.
“You’re so fun at parties because you always have the best stories,” Austin joked. “Tell them what you told me.”
Austin and I had been friends since high school, and I was standing among a group of his friends at a party back home over Thanksgiving break. He was asking me to share the story of what happened during sex with my summer fling. I tend to be pretty open about sex, so I didn’t mind talking about my experiences, though this one elicited a bit of shame. “Well,” I started, blushing, “you have to understand he was a teenager and loved the fact that I was a few years older than him. I’d never been with a younger guy.” Austin was already giggling.
“She came first, ‘cause I got it like that,” he whispered in my ear as we shuffled through the aisles in Jansen’s. I looked back at him with a faint smile. How does this work? Am I supposed to pretend to be interested in his little sex story? Because I don’t want to hear it.