Funny/Disastrous Sex Stories

Seeing as how a lot of my topics are painful, emotional and difficult, I thought that a post here and there with some levity would be appropriate. I'm all about consensual sex, and when it's consensual some funny shit can go down. So I have been gathering some stories from my friends and whatnot. I'm going to leave them all anonymous with pseudonyms as names, but I thought after reading about all the sadness some happiness was well in order. Who knows, maybe one of these stories is about me.

1. A friend of mine was staying at her boyfriend's house for the weekend while his parents were away. They decided to sleep in the master bedroom, which they'd never done before, and hence used the master bathroom. So my friend was getting ready for bed  (going pee, brushing her teeth, washing her face, etc.) and decides she's going to give her boyfriend a blow job before bed. As she's going down on him though, he starts to lose his hard-on...and the more she tries to get it back, the softer he gets. Finally she says "what the hell is going on?" and he says "I have no idea! Why don't you tell me? I can't even feel my dick anymore". So they're both sitting there all confused and he goes to the washroom to wash himself off when he finds the open tube of toothpaste she had used to brush her teeth. Only it wasn't toothpaste...it was RUB A535. The effects lasted for a week, poor fella.

        2. Two of my friends had been dating for a few weeks and were reaching that point in the relationship where it's time to do it. They were out at the bar with a few friends and both of them knew that tonight was the night, so they had a couple drinks and took off. They come back to her apartment and things are heating up. He takes off her pants but trouble starts to arise when they try to take off his. In this day and age when men have tighter jeans than women, we're running into these types of issues. So finally he lies on the bed and she grabs the bottoms and starts yanking while he's wiggling his hips in an effort to help. After a few good tugs, his pants come loose and literally fly off...not only does she fall back into the wall but she punches herself in the face and ends up spending the next twenty minutes trying to stop her nosebleed. And who says romance is dead?

3. My friend and her casual fuck buddy hadn't seen each other for a little while and so when they finally got their hands on each other again things were going at warp speed. They were making out on the counter in the kitchen but had to quickly move to the bedroom because she kept banging her head on the hanging lights. They attempted some foreplay but were both just way too eager to get to the real thing so they just started boning. About two minutes into it though, he goes soft and she's thinking "well, Jesus. I know it's been a month but that's just funny"...but then she looks down and sees blood.
Thought 1: oh shit I started my period on a dick.
Thought 2: why does he look like he's in pain and not just grossed out?
Thought 3: oh my god that blood is not mine
Thought 4: I BROKE A MAN'S PENIS
And thus with one foul thrust the weekend went from one full of sex to one full of babying a poor man and his poor foreskin. Word of caution: always warm up your gal.

4. A friend of mine and his girlfriend were celebrating their anniversary, and they decided to go to dinner, pick up a few fun desserts at the grocery store and then head home for a night of whipped cream, chocolate syrup and other sexual edibles. At the dinner, they have a few drinks and end up getting each other super horny, all giddied up on the anniversary and the promise of the anniversary sexy times. By the time they get to the grocery store they can barely keep their hands off of each other, so they decide to get risque and fuck in the grocery store washroom. They find it near the checkout lines, and discover it's occupied, so they wait. They're riding their buzz and giggling when 2 minutes goes by. Then 5 minutes. Then 10 minutes. Just as their buzz is dying, the door opens and a massive man comes out, sweat pouring down his face and onto his cheetos-stained t-shirt, followed by a waft of the most indescribable stench the two of them had ever encountered. The guy just looks at them, grunts "s'all yours" and shuffles off to the candy aisle. If that's not the definition of buzz-kill, I don't know what is. Needless to say, they waited for the safety of their own home.

That's all I've got for now. I'm sure more will follow in the future. For the record, I asked all of my buddies for permission before posting, so if you're out there and I know your silly sex story and you're worried, don't be! The worst I'll do is ask :)

Sad Side to Feminism

Today is one of those days when the feminist in me is experiencing a lot of sadness. I can tell you, it is very difficult to have conversations with people who believe that sexual assault is partly the woman's fault. It is difficult for me to hear someone go off about the victim, never knowing that in a room of 5 girls, at least 1 of the women present probably is a victim. It is difficult for me to hear people I consider intelligent show complete ignorance and refusal to learn over issues like consent, sexual assault and rape culture. It is difficult for me to hear men talk about abortion when they'll never know what it's like to experience pregnancy. It is difficult for me to think of the women who are just dying inside because they don't have a support system or a person to lean on or a friend to cry to.

I go to the comment sections on feminist posts and it makes me reel. People are saying things like: "If you're a feminist you're pretty fucking stupid", "real men don't accept no" and "Stick with your kitchen job woman! You are lucky to get out of the house" (links where those comments are posted below:  http://9gag.com/gag/av0nrEW, http://9gag.com/gag/a8W44VV). I wonder why people feel okay saying such hurtful things, why some men are fucking animals to women they don't even know, or to women that they do know, why human decency is no longer something you can assume everyone has. I wonder why some women are pushing others down to feel bigger, when in reality they're just dragging themselves down as well. Why degrading language about women is so prevalent, and no one seems to protest. Why a man would think that sexual assault is a women's issue, when 97% of aggressors of sexual assault are men.

Today is a day where I'm thinking about the justice system, and how few sexual assaults are convicted. How most women are suffering in silence, too scared or ashamed to come forward. But then why would they, when our system isn't designed to believe the victim? When the system turns the survivors of sexual assaults into witnesses to the crime committed against their own body. The sexual assault is seen as an offence against the crown, not the woman made of flesh and blood standing in front of them.

Today is a day when I wonder how many more Rehtaehs there are out there. The only reason her story came forward is because she killed herself; that's what it took for the media and law enforcement to care about a girl who was raped at a party and then harassed for two years. How many more girls in high school and middle school are suffering through the humiliations that Rehtaeh dealt with, wondering if there is any reason to hold onto the ounce of hope they have left?

I ask myself on days like today why everyone, (not just every woman), isn't trying to right these wrongs. For men, it's happening to their sisters, their girlfriends, their mothers and friends. It's not just happening to women that you think "deserve it". I look at my beautiful younger cousins, all 6 of them these gorgeous tall creatures with so much life inside of them, and worry myself sick that someone will rob them of that light. I know the statistics, I know the world they're growing up in, I know about the lack of education on consent. I know what they're facing, and I hold my breath for them, fingers crossed, hoping they make it out alive, and I try to forget the "1 out of 5" statistic.

On days like today, I have to remember the women I've helped on the Sexual Assault Crisis Line. I have to remember the friends who felt safe enough with me to tell me their stories. I have to remember the internal drive that I have to protect as many women as possible, to educate as many people as possible, to prevent as many sexual assaults as possible. On days like today I have to believe that even if only one person reads my blog, I could be making a difference. That even if only one out of one hundred women I speak to feels more empowered, I am helping that one person.

That this fight is one I can win, that women can win.

On days like today.

Teases and the Friendzone

Isn't this just a nice thing to do?

There's been a huge influx of friendzone posts, memes and comments out there on the internets, and the more I see them, the more bothered I become. For the purposes of this discussion I'm going to say that the person being sent to the friendzone is a man and the person friendzoning is the woman, as seems to be the majority of complaints. 
The friendzone is where a girl "puts" a guy when she doesn't want to date him. I went to www.urbandictionary.com to look up the definition for all the lovelies reading this, and I found a hilarious mix of posts. 

1. The seventh level of Hell, where despite all and any efforts to the contrary, no member of the opposite sex will ever see you as anything more than conversation.
2. It's the point when a girl decides that you're her friend, you're no longer a dating option. You become this complete non-sexual entity in her eyes, like a brother, or a lamp.
3. The perennial location for nice guys everywhere. 

They're in the friendzone for a reason...

Now I can see how it may feel like the seventh level of Hell when you want to bone someone and they don't want to accept your bone (so to speak). I can see how you may feel like a brother or a lamp when she says "you're great, but I'm just not feeling it; friends?". But this last one, come on. Buck the eff up gents. Plenty of nice guys have girlfriends. There's not a group of nice guys all huddled together pining after their lost loves while the girls date cheating alcoholic ass holes. I'm sure that situation does take place, but is she supposed to lust after your penis just because you're nice? I don't think so. There's this little thing called sexual attraction, and if it's not there then it's just not there. So when a girl says "I'm not feeling it" or "Can we just be friends?" I think a lot of the time it translates to "I am not attracted to you". It may suck to hear, but that's just the truth. And it happens to girls too, we just don't sulk about it by saying the guy has put us in the friendzone. Actually what you hear about a lot is the guy sleeping with the girl anyways and afterwards letting her know he's not interested...so sweet. 


And let's take a second to define what this word "nice" means. Being a nice person does not mean doing nice things in exchange for sex. If you're only being nice to a girl so she'll sleep with you, here's a little news flash: YOU'RE NOT NICE. You're just a jerk. You can't be nice to a girl and then get mad when she doesn't put out! Sex isn't some gentle form of prostitution; women are not obligated to give you something in return for human decency, or even above-and-beyond kindness. Get your facts straight. 

It's pretty clear that a few feminists have found their way onto Urban Dictionary as well, because there were some other choice definitions for the friendzone:

1. The excuse a man gives for a woman rejecting him sexually/romantically when he expected payoff for being friendly.
2. A mythical place where misogynists go to when a woman doesn't want their penis.
   "I didn't expect her to have sex with me, so she should have had sex with me. I'm totally in the friendzone!"

It doesn't make a woman a tease to want to test out the waters before she dives in. That's how you break your neck, fools! It's not teasing to kiss a fella and then not proceed to submit to all his fantasies. There is no contract that says if you flirt with a guy all night, or all week, or all month you owe him your vag. Just because you invite a man into your life, or your house, or even your bed doesn't mean you've invited him into your lady parts. Gents, no woman is a sure thing until you are physically inside her. And even then, she has the right to stop things (it's not your divine right to finish). 

I know it must suck to be in the friendzone. I also think it's okay to be upset about being in the friendzone. But take a beat to think about why you're complaining. Is it because you genuinely liked a girl and wanted to date her, and she tossed you off the dating cliff and into the friendship lagoon or is it because you were nice to her for like twenty four hours or a week or something and then expected to get laid? One of those things just plain sucks, and one of those things makes you a douche bag. You figure out which is which...

Also, why is being in the friendzone so horrible? Being a girl's friend is a good thing; embrace it, don't hate it (y'all see these rhymes?!)

Last note: I think we've spent a long time misinterpreting the saying "Nice guys finish last". Maybe it's not about getting the girl, or the job, or the scholarship, or whatever. Maybe it's about good old fashioned sex, and trust me when I say you want a guy who lets you finish first. So nice guys out there, you just keep finishing last :) 

Ferociously Feminine Bodies

Hello! This is a very exciting post for me, because I didn't write it (but I did the photo captions)! My wonderful, beautiful, whimsical friend Cait (known to those who love her as Caitron) has written this post because she felt like it, which is the best kind of post. It's about loving your body and it offers a different perspective from what I've previously shared on the blog. In terms of accepting your body, Cait is the Charmeleon to my Charmander. I bow to her knowledge and experience. She also has her own fabulous blog about eating like a healthy human (http://caitliniles.wordpress.com) Here she goes:

The other day a very dear and beautiful friend asked me “How often do you think a woman should be thinking about her weight?” My response was immediate and vehement “Little, if at all,” I responded. “As long as the weight is not actively contributing to dis-ease or affecting your quality of life, then I don’t think it’s something a woman should be concerning herself with on a regular basis.”

“Oh,” she replied. “I think about mine all the time. And I don’t know how to stop.”

I'll take row 2 please, with a side order of dayummm

Her response profoundly saddened me. This is a woman who is smart, powerful, funny, beautiful, and a passionate feminist. Yet the ideal of a perfect body and its relation to her self-worth has been so ingrained in her psyche, that she puts a significant amount of time and energy into thinking about, obsessing over, and trying to change her body and weight to fit this standard of beauty. I’m speaking more broadly about many women in our culture who have been damaged by this cult of the ideal. We have been conditioned since we were old enough to notice we had hips (and it just keeps starting earlier and earlier) to think that unless we had the perfect body to go with our killer brains and wicked sense of humour, then we are in some way lacking. Well ladies, I’ve had enough of this horseshit. I’m tired of women thinking that their bodies are the enemy. I’m tired of seeing myself and the women I love punish our bodies and our minds with abhorrently restrictive diets and backbreaking workouts all in the quest of the perfect 36-24-36. I personally don’t think all women are necessarily meant to have six packs and perfect thighs and perky bums. Yes, some women are genetically predisposed to that sort of figure and they should certainly be allowed to celebrate their bodies, but not at the expense of the perfectly healthy women who are told they are too much. Too much personality, too much thigh, too much stomach, and too much booty.

Might go home and do up a photo like this...

Hear me roar world! I’m no longer going to apologize for the jiggle in my thighs. These babies are friggen amazing. Not only do they propel me down mountains with grace… well, they get me to the bottom anyway ;), but they also take me on woodland adventures, paddle me through the water, support me in tree pose, and help me dance until I can’t breathe. So what if they’re not perfectly slender and toned with that ever elusive thigh gap. I don’t think that makes a lick of difference in their ability to do all the wonderful things I ask them to do. And same goes for my booty. I have never been and will never be a size 2 (well I was once, but damn was that a lot of horrifically hard work), and that’s ok. This size is completely natural, healthy, and attainable for some women and that’s amazing. But me? Not so natural, not so healthy. I need some jiggle to my wiggle to help me stay warm in winter, support me if I’m sick, and if I someday decide to have a baby, nourish and support that tiny, beautiful little alien. Why would I starve and punish my body to attain some dude’s fantasy of a perfect woman when I am already perfect to myself?

I love my body. It wasn’t an easy journey to get here, but there are a few things I did along the way that I think can help many women who are struggling to see the beauty and wisdom inherent in their beings. One of the biggest things I’ve done to change the way I feel about my body is to hang out naked as much as possible. Seriously, ask my sister and she will attest to the fact that when we lived together I was naked as much as company dictated. And I still sleep naked every night. I run my hands over my tummy, hip, and thigh “lumps” and feel their softness and their beauty. I make my own moisturizers, lotions, and body oils and luxuriate in rubbing them in until I glisten. I admire myself in the mirror, bumps and all. I look at new muscles I create doing the things I love and become giddy when I see how my body continues to evolve as I nourish and support her.

 

NOT A RHETORICAL QUESTION! 

Once I started becoming more physically aware and appreciative of my body, I was able to start listening to her and providing her with the things she needs. Instead of mortal enemies, we became best friends. Through all those years of dieting; intense exercise regimes; and the backsliding into booze, cigarette, and junk food fests I lost contact with the wisdom inherent in my being. It’s only been in the last couple of years that I’ve gotten to the point where I can listen to what my body needs and know that she trusts me enough to give it to her. It’s not a relationship that develops overnight. Years of abuse had conditioned my body to believe I would not listen to what she wanted and what she needed, because, well, I hadn’t. But I took those first few steps, and slowly but surely my body began to respond. She now tells me what she needs, calmly, but firmly. I know I’m fighting off a cold when I get intense cravings for garlic and ginger. I know I’ve been pushing myself too hard when my body begs me to go to bed at 9:30. And I know I’ve been too slack when I literally get up, put my yoga gear on, grab my mat, and walk out the door without actually realizing I’m doing it.

This photo is here because it reminds me of how much of
a hobbit Cait is, and how she likes to explore the woods

The point is our ferociously feminine bodies are wise. Wiser than our egos telling us we won’t be happy until we’re our ideal size. And wiser than the assholes who arbitrarily decided for us what that size is. We need a perception shift if we’re going to live as vibrantly beautiful women in a society that doesn’t really value our vibrancy or our womanhood. We need to start by loving ourselves, because we live in a society that tells us not to. The best form of protest is to stop buying into the idea that we are less than and celebrate our bodies, whatever their shape or current level of fitness. I still struggle at times with self-doubt, but I’m better able to step back and recognize these doubts for what they are. Fears that I am not enough. And then I think about all that I am, all that I’ve done, and all the people I’ve loved and I tell those doubts thanks, but no thanks. Our abusive relationship is over. An amazing thing happens when we start treating ourselves with the love and respect that we bestow upon others: we stop relying on external forces to tell us we’re worthy because we already know that we are. And once that feeling takes hold it’s a slippery slope to nourishing ourselves with the best foods, the best exercise, and the best relaxation for our bodies. But all that comes in time. First you have to say I love you and really mean it.