Posts tagged ‘Sex’

Excerpt from “Who Wants to Marry a Savant?”

Having endured over 30 years of alternating waves of adversity and prosperity, I thought I had figured out at least a few things–particularly my sexuality.

While I appreciated the dynamic nature of sexuality, I also felt my sexual orientation had essentially congealed by that point. In other words, I thought I pretty much knew where I stood along the sexuality spectrum.

But the more I got to know Rachael, the more aware I became of the most painful irony: as my biological clock began to chime, I grew exponentially more attracted to women.

August 29, 2012 at 9:57 pm Leave a comment

Light and Truth: Exhibit A

May 28, 2012 at 6:47 pm 1 comment

Excerpt from “Who Wants to Marry a Savant?”

“Edgar, I want you to be perfectly honest with me—do I emasculate the men I go out with?” I sat next to him on his sofa. I had just returned from another abortive attempt at dating.

“Not on purpose.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Wait, let me explain. To the extent that your actions or personality/aura make men feel intimidated or even emasculated, it’s not your fault. And I’m not saying they’re justified in feeling this way or responding problematically, I just think it’s something out of your control.”

“So . . . you’re saying I do emasculate them. This is all really ironic.”

“How so?”

They feel emasculated, subordinated by me. And yet it’s out of my control.”

“Look, it just means you’re gonna have to have high standards. As you should. Here’s the thing: you are more woman than they will ever have and more man than they will ever be.”

I took a moment to process what Edgar, my seemingly gay best friend, had just said. “You’re totally right. Did you come up with that?”

“No, but I wish I had.”

“Well, it’s absolutely the kind of thing you would come up with. You’re the best! I love you so much, man!” I pulled his face toward mine and kissed him passionately on the cheek without thinking about how that might make him feel.

February 9, 2012 at 4:29 am 1 comment

Excerpt from “Safe Mode”

Even if you think you have nothing to hide, it always makes sense to cover your e-tracks. When it used to matter, I had three browsers I’d use for different purposes. Google Chrome was for email, LinkedIn, casual browsing, and other activities I generally didn’t need to purge from my record. Firefox . . . I forget. And then there was Internet Explorer.

At one point, I had two YouTube accounts—one I’d open with Google Chrome, and the other I’d open with Internet Explorer. But then they made you link your YouTube account to your Google account. So I linked my “legit” account to my Google account and dropped the other one, the Internet Explorer one. So there were some videos I just didn’t get to see after that. Which was a shame. It wasn’t like they were illegal or immoral or wrong or anything. I just felt paranoid about looking at anything restricted through my Google account.

I liked at least to pretend I was anonymous. That’s what I’d use Internet Explorer for—all of my anonymous activities. I had some silly username like gemini84 (I’m a Sagittarius and wasn’t born in ’84), and I’d change my password regularly (It would always be something nonsensical like &%$#fraDujlKja9899i9W23). None of that ultimately mattered, but at least I felt I had a sense of autonomy and privacy in a world of virtual spotlights and actual predators.

Turns out I was wise to drop that YouTube account, never to enjoy those restricted videos. Somewhere out there, they really do have more records than the KGB.

December 5, 2011 at 12:28 am 2 comments

Excerpt from “Who Wants to Marry a Savant?”

Edgar and I were talking in front of my bathroom mirror as I put on makeup to go out in. I was in the middle of telling him about all the problematic men I had dealt with over the last few months. Dating had become so tiresome.

I just wanted to dance the night away without thinking about hooking up or playing games or trying so damn hard. We were going to meet a few friends from college at a gay club a few blocks from my apartment. It had practically become a monthly tradition at that point. This was before I knew Edgar was straight and, incidentally, madly in love with me.

“What about that guy who was inexperienced but good in bed?”

“He turned out to be an uptight pothead if you can believe that.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met one of those. I’ll take your word for it. What about that guy who was pretty stable and treated you with respect and always paid when you went out?”

“He’s still in love with his ex. I refuse to play second fiddle to anyone. Hell, if I’m gonna be with someone, there better not be any other fiddle he’s listening to! I know it’s one of those ‘it’s not me, it’s him’ sort of situations, but it still sucks and I can’t not take it personally.”

“I hear ya. What about . . . I think his name is Paul? What’s the problem with him?”

“Paul.” I couldn’t keep from smiling a little at the sound of his name. “Well . . . nothing.”

“Then what’s the deal?”

“He’s honest with himself. And he’s honest with me. He’s not at a point in his life where he can completely give me what I need.”

“He can’t? Or he won’t?”

“Does it matter?  He doesn’t.” And, with that, I broke into song: All my hangups are gone / How I wish you felt the same.

“I love it when you sing Prince or The Artist or a symbol or whatever his name is these days. Are you ready yet? You look great.”

I put my arm around his shoulder and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Let’s go, baby!”

September 30, 2011 at 8:06 pm Leave a comment

PG-Rated Homoerotica

Stay tuned for “PG-13 Homoerotica.”

Boys just want to have fun!! In one of many great scenes from The Rules of Attraction, Paul (Ian Somerhalder) and Dick (Russell Sams) enjoy a little friskiness on a hotel bed before heading down to dinner with their pill-popping moms. George Michael provides the soundtrack. Enjoy!

July 14, 2011 at 10:49 pm 3 comments

Excerpt from “The Little Black Box”

He wanted to know what she thought about when she masturbated—or even when she made love.  She told him the secret was inside a “little black box,” to which he did not have access.  He asked her how to obtain access.

She said he couldn’t:  Obtaining access would be akin to meeting the man behind the emerald curtain.

November 10, 2010 at 8:48 pm Leave a comment

Taking Back the Night: A Feminist’s Response to Yale’s DKE Incident

No means yes! Yes means anal!”  chanted the Delta Kappa Epsilon (DKE) fraternity pledge class while marching across the Yale campus last week. This egregiously offensive and threatening speech must be punished, and we need to open up a dialogue about the prevalence of sexual assault on college campuses in general and by fraternity members in particular.  While I commend Dean Mary Miller and President Richard Levin for making a public statement condemning DKE’s actions, this should just be a first step in a longterm, comprehensive plan for creating a safer social environment in colleges and universities across the country.

Unfortunately, the DKE incident does not surprise me, and I can no longer remain silent about my experience.  In an ongoing attempt to reclaim my agency (which was, to borrow the words of Billy Joel, “something I’d never lose, something somebody stole”), I share my story and take back the night that fundamentally and almost catastrophically changed my life.

The president of a Yale fraternity raped me when I was an undergraduate.  I didn’t tell anyone about it for over a year because I was in denial about what had happened.  Like so many victims of sexual abuse, I blamed myself.  Shortly after the incident, I became bulimic and extremely self-destructive.  I cried myself to sleep almost every night—and, although I was never suicidal, I had a sincere death wish. Seven years later, I have overcome most of the shame and hurt associated with such a devastating loss of agency, but I continue to suffer.  Writing has really facilitated my ongoing quest to reclaim my autonomy and self-confidence. Below is a post I previously wrote about the incident.  I changed names and immaterial details to preserve anonymity:

I strode along the curb of Prospect Street toward Alpha Nu as he ambled—slightly drunkenly—on my right.  I met Tex, a Bulldog linebacker and president of Alpha Nu, at Josh’s track party that night.  The cross-country team had already had its first race of the season the day before, and I still felt a bit high from performing well.  It was the beginning of September, and fall always seemed to arrive early in New Haven.  The temperature must have dropped 20 degrees since the track party had come and gone, and I started to wish I had worn a jacket.

A black Escalade zoomed by, nearly splashing me with a wave of cold, grimy water.

Tex tugged me away from the road.  “Whoa! Let’s switch places. I’m more than twice your size.  No one’s gonna hurt me, and no one’s gonna hurt you while you’re with me.”  He ran his fingers through his dishwater blond hair, sweaty from dancing, and winked.  We held each other’s clammy hands. “That’s kinda sweet,” I thought.

“You’re big and strong and all, but that doesn’t make you invincible.”  I dropped his hand and softly punched his shoulder.  (This was my attempt at coyness.)  I had a weakness for “teddy bear” guys because they seemed so manly and so eager to protect, but I figured it was too early to let on that I might actually be into him.  I hoped to continue the interesting conversation we had begun at Josh’s apartment, and maybe we would kiss and caress for awhile. I hadn’t had many sexual partners, and I just wanted to date people and to generally take things slowly.

“Well, I promise you’re safe with me.  Besides, we’re almost there.  I apologize in advance for the mess.  I didn’t know I’d be meeting such a lovely lady tonight.” Tex put his arm gently around my waist, pulling me closer to him.

But Tex didn’t keep his promise—and, although he apologized for the bite marks in an email the next day, he never said he was sorry for all that transpired later that night.

I wish I could truly take back that September night, but I will never forget what happened.  When I talked about it with some close girlfriends, two of them admitted they had also been raped at Yale.  Both friends chose not to report the events because they didn’t think anyone would believe them.

In light of this, I don’t think hate speech like DKE’s chant should be protected by the First Amendment.  When one form of expression is so abhorrent and so offensive that it chills the expression and threatens the emotional well-being of others, the government should be able to impose liability.  Not only did some of DKE’s members deeply offend many students, but they also voiced support for a culture of sexual violence.  The young men who chanted and/or incited such hateful speech should, at the very least, be suspended.  They have assaulted the vibrant, tolerant marketplace of ideas that should thrive at all institutions of higher education. Through hate speech, these men supported heinous mentality and behavior, casting a pall over the Yale campus and beyond.

I am symbolically taking back the night that had taken so much from me.  Although I’ll never forget what happened, its effects continue to fade into a seemingly distant past.  I hope we all take a moment to consider the individual and societal ramifications of sexual abuse and hate speech and how we can learn from this recent assault on intellectual freedom, social progress, and humanity.

October 21, 2010 at 11:31 pm 3 comments

Goo Goo for Gaga

Have you ever liked someone as a friend or acquaintance or even distant contact and—FLASH! BAM! ALAKAZAM!—all of a sudden and without warning, you felt much more strongly?

Lady Gaga, I think I love you.

I fought the feeling at first. I considered her act wannabe Madonna and wondered when her 15 minutes of fame would run out. I dissed “Just Dance” and “Poker Face” and even called her outfits and performance at the 2009 MTV Video Music Awards “outright ridiculous.”

But I have since changed my mind. Lady Gaga is like a lascivious mutant love child of Madonna, Elton John, Gwen Stefani, Cher, and David Bowie. Her performances are completely over-the-top, her voice is spectacularly versatile, her wardrobe is bizarre/sexy/original/fearless, and she identifies as bisexual. Her music defies genre, and her sexuality transcends social constructs.

Not to be arrogant, but I’m pretty sure Lady Gaga would want to have sex with me if she and I knew each other. Gaga seems like the kind of woman who gets around—not in a slutty way but in a cosmopolitan, open-minded sort of way. And although she’s admitted having sexual relationships with women (see the Barbara Walters interview), she has only been in love with men. Sounds like someone I know.

So, Gaga, hire me as your entertainment lawyer or personal trainer or backup dancer or—better yet—conjoined twin. I run circles around Alejandro.

July 21, 2010 at 5:57 pm 2 comments

Happy Trails

May your snacks be delicious

and your orgasms

patriotic.

April 7, 2010 at 8:25 am 2 comments

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