I’m a travel writer. I’ve visited Seoul, Santiago, and Vancouver in the past few months alone. My job sounds pretty glamorous on paper: I get to sample exotic foods, visit locations that others own dream about, and meet people from all over the world.

But there is a less glamorous side, too. I usually either travel solo or with a group of other travel writers on an organized press trip — that means that I am spending the majority of my time by myself or with a bunch of people I barely know. Given these circumstances, the number one question people ask about my job is whether I have had any hot vacation hookups. Here’s the sad and possibly surprising answer: nope. While I might stay in hotel rooms with heart-shaped bathtubs, I sleep in their king-sized beds alone.

As a girl, my traveler/writer icons were people like Paul Bowles, author of The Sheltering Sky. The real-life Bowles traveled from New York to Morocco to Paris to Sri Lanka, and I dreamed of doing the same. Or perhaps I could be like Ernest Hemingway, bumming around a surprisingly cheap Europe without any mention of visa problems, writing bits of journalism here and there but always having time for oysters and white wine in the middle of the day. But there were few models of how this life might look for a woman. There was just Hadley Hemingway, dragged from flat to flat, home with a baby while her husband roamed Paris, and Jane Bowles, the alcoholic who never got better. Mostly I’ve had to forge my path as a female solo traveler by myself.

My work schedule while traveling is usually sightsee by day, write and sleep by night. That doesn’t always leave time to sit langorously in hotel bars, flirting with men who can’t pronounce my name. Some of the times I went off on trips I was in a relationship back home;  although it works for some people I’ve never been a believer in the “if it’s in another country it doesn’t count” philosophy. Even when I travel as part of a groups, I spend a lot of time by myself, writing alone in hotel rooms at 2a.m. because I’m so jet-lagged I barely know what day it is.

The truth is, as a woman traveling alone, a handsome stranger can seem more dangerous than sexy. Most of the places where you can meet a cute guy amenable to a hookup or two are bars. However, I don’t bar-hop by myself as a general rule, especially not in places where I don’t speak the language or where I’m concerned about my safety. Of course I meet still meet single men throughout my travels. But even though Philippe had a plummy accent and a waiting Vespa, all I could think about was Natalee Holloway, sleeping under the Aruban sand. And though Thomas had a laugh like a forgotten bird and I wanted nothing more than to go back round to his flat, I didn’t have cash for a taxi or a backup plan if he tried to attack me. Perhaps under other, sunnier, more familiar circumstances, Philippe or Thomas and I would have fallen in love, gotten married and had a sweet how-we-met story to tell our friends. But instead, I spent those nights by myself wondering if the Chinese place down the block delivered.

That said, I am not completely isolated when I have my passport in hand. After a solo trip to Uruguay, I befriended the other Jewish kid in my hostel and now count him as one of my closest friends, even though we live on different continents. Recently, a fellow solo traveler in Hong Kong and I ended up daytripping to Macau together. Thanks to traveling, I’ve been able to meet hilarious, smart, adventurous people – I just didn’t wind up banging any of them. And, the truth is, I’d rather have a collection of new friends from around the globe than a few hazy memories of one night stands with men who forgot about me before I’d even boarded the plane to go home.

Honestly, sometimes it does feel weird to be in the most romantic places in the world by myself, walking along the Bosporus at dusk as all the boats come in or so high up in the Chilean desert that every glass of wine counts as three. And of course I feel a twinge of loneliness watching honeymooners snuggling in the moonlight while I’m flipping around trying to find an English-language channel on the hotel TV. But ultimately, I don’t think that I need a man in order to make a beautiful memory. Paris is worth visiting simply because it’s Paris. I would rather go alone than never go at all.

Follow Lilit Marcus on Twitter.

[Image of a woman's feet in the sand via Shutterstock]

Raised as a fundamental Christian in a patriarchal society, I married the first man I slept with. Before my wedding, my feisty Irish Grandma Pat had asked me why I wanted to marry so young and sign up for the role of wife before I had even auditioned as an independent woman. Good question.

After my 23-year marriage ended, and I was well into my 40s, I had my first one-night stand. Read more on TresSugar…

I’ve been dating this guy for a while now and last night he called me while he was with his friends. Our conversation was normal until he suddenly asked, “Did you hook up with one of my friends?” I tried to deny it, but after he asked me several times, I just finally said “Yes.” It happened a long time ago before I even met my boyfriend. I didn’t tell him because I even forgot I had hooked up with his friend. It was that meaningless and suck-ish. He was completely upset, especially since he was out with that specific friend. He kept telling me he had a right to know about it and that he was so hurt. All I want to know is, should I have told him about it? And will he eventually get over it? – J.

Oh, the fragile male ego.

First things first. You were under no obligation to tell this guy you hooked up with his friend, unless you were asked point-blank. The “prior relationships” conversation is an emotional minefield, and if either (or both) of you have avoided that whole subject during your relationship, I 100 percent support that choice. Of course, he’s freaking out and being a bit ridiculous.

But … just spare a thought for this poor guy. Have a little compassion for the absurd headspace this guy is in. Men spend large portions of their life in a state of blissful delusion. Here are some of the lies we spend our whole existence telling ourselves:

1. We’re cool. (We’re not).
2. We’re attractive. (C’mon. We look like fat pears).
3. We’re good at sex. (C’mon. We fuck like fat pears).
4. Our girlfriend has never had sex with anyone of significance before us, and sex with us DONE CHANGED HER SEX GAME, FOR ALL TIME.

These are just some of the lies men tell themselves. We lie to ourselves because we’re idiots. But we also do it because women are attracted to the delusional confidence that these self-deceptions create. (See? As usual, it’s always a little bit womens’ fault.)

This bombshell, that you hooked up with his friend? It just opened up a psychological Pandora’s Box for him. What if the friend was better at sex than him? What if his pal’s dick was bigger than his? What if you did crazy wild stuff with the guy that you never do with your boyfriend? What if you still pine for another roll in the hay with this dude? Thinking about this stuff is torture for men: WHICH IS WHY WE LIE TO OURSELVES SO WE NEVER HAVE TO DEAL WITH IT.

So how do you deal with it? You have to replace the damaged lies in your boyfriend’s head with other, equally powerful lies. You have to tell your boyfriend a story: make this past hookup sound like the single worst sexual experience of your life. It shouldn’t be too hard, since you already confessed that the sex kind of sucked. But “kind of sucked” isn’t going to cut it. In your retelling, this sexual encounter has to sound Book of Revelation-level terrible.  This guy’s pecker? Miniscule. Hung light a light-switch. His prowess? Non-existent. Barely eight seconds of embarrassing effort. It was so bad, you almost gave up on sex completely … UNTIL your boyfriend showed up and DONE CHANGED YOUR SEX GAME FOR ALL TIME etc. etc.

He will get over it. It will just take a little time. Unfortunately, you made it needlessly worse by denying hooking up with any of his friends before eventually admitting it. That adds time to the healing process, because now he’s suspicious. Why did you lie? What are you hiding? His brain is on a loop of paranoia. You must draw on all your powers of fabrication to put him at his ease. And there is something else you have to deal with. Sooner or later, in all this commotion, you’re going to start wondering: did HE have sex with any of your friends before you started dating? And do you want to know the answer?

My advice? Draw a line under it. Have an agreement NOT to discuss past hookups. Nothing good can come out of those conversations. At the end of the day, the lies are we all tell ourselves are much more comforting.

This is our friend Tom. He’s a married guy with tons of relationship experience, and a skilled advice giver who’s here to answer all your pressing sex, dating and relationship questions. Have a query for Tom? Email him at friskymarriedguy@gmail.com! All questions will be posted anonymously, unless otherwise requested.

I’ve always been told that true love will find you when you’re least expecting it. I’ve always thought that was a load of bullshit. Like I’m supposed to believe that right after you, for example, decide to ease up on your hunt for a soulmate and embrace your single status, a guy who noticed you on OKCupid will pop up at your local bar, introduce himself and boom—a month and a half later you’ll be inseparable? HAHA, yeah right. Except, that’s what’s happened. Though the unexpected “love” hasn’t quite happened yet, it’s safe to say I’m very much in “like.” I’ve been seeing Andrew for awhile now, so I feel it’s only appropriate I give you all a status update on our “situation”; a State of the Union, if you will.

I was unsure about Andrew in the beginning. I was attracted to him, but not weak-in-the-knees attracted. There was the whole height issue, which I was thankfully able to get past. Also: my dad is, frankly, racist and dating outside my race has been a bit of struggle because of his prejudiced attitudes. Andrew is Spanish, so off the bat, I knew that if I wanted to get to know him without anybody else’s opinions distracting or deterring me, I would have to tune out the peanut gallery and focus on my own thoughts and feelings exclusively.

With the exception of leaking a few basic details to some friends, I kept the specifics of our first several dates private to avoid having my judgement clouded, and it was the best thing I could have possibly done. During that time, I was more clear-headed about my dating desires than I’ve ever been, mainly because I wasn’t allowing anything or anyone to sway my own thoughts on the matter. For the first few weeks that Andrew and I were seeing each other, we kept our dates basic — a dinner here and a lunch there— but the one constant was laughter. Not only is Andrew ridiculously witty and full of jokes, but he can take them just as well as he can dish them, and I love a guy who can laugh at himself. And when he does laugh, it’s one of those hearty, contagious belly laughs that can’t help but make you and everybody around you laugh, too.

In between dates, Andrew and I text often and he continues to actually CALL ME. Like, on the phone. Apparently chivalry is not dead and that dialing thing still works. Before I knew it, our conversations became more frequent and 15 minutes of silly banter turned into two hours of deep, meaningful discussion. Sometime during that transition, I started to really develop feelings for him.

A month or so in, Andrew and I started seeing each other more frequently, branching out with our date night plans. We went bowling, saw a comedy show, went to the movies and did more “couple” activities until I finally felt comfortable enough to invite him to my place for dinner one night. At this point, my interest in Andrew had become full-blown attraction. He’s a good-looking guy with a body you could legitimately described as “chiseled,” and his personality only sweetened the deal. But despite the fact that I was now emotionally AND physically attracted to him, I still wanted to wait a while longer to have sex. I’ve hopped into bed with guys quickly in the past, only to be ditched and left hung out to dry (ahem, GQ), and I didn’t like the way that made me feel, so I wanted to move a little slower this time around. That night after dinner, we headed to the bedroom where things started heating up, and I knew I had to make my intentions perfectly clear before I lost all of my willpower and gave in.

“Before things continue, I just want you to know I really like you but I’m not ready to sleep with you yet. I hope that’s okay,” I said, half waiting for a disappointed reaction.

He laughed.

“I don’t hang out with you with the expectation of having sex with you, or even with the expectation of hooking up with you,” he said, looking me in the eyes. “Do I want to sleep with you? Absolutely, but only when both of us are ready. My only expectation is to have good time, and you’ve come through tenfold every single time.”

I smiled, gave him a kiss and thanked him for understanding. He leaned down and whispered in my ear.

“But until that day comes, I want to make you feel the way you make me feel. First, I’m going to…” and he proceeded to tell me exactly how he was going to get me off while he did it. It was like he was narrating our own erotic scene from a Choose Your Own Adventure book, and his descriptive detail was ON POINT. I’ll let you create your own visual here.

The next weekend, still having abstained from the No Pants Dance, he asked if I felt comfortable meeting some of his friends and family (sans parents) after we went out to dinner. Understandably a little nervous, yet flattered that he wanted us to meet, I agreed. When we walked into the bar, we were greeted by, no joke, at least 20 people: Cousins and sisters and friends and girl friends, all eyeing me up and down like they were about to haze a new recruit. Thankfully, they all turned out to be very welcoming, but one-by-one they tested my wit. Knowing Andrew needs a girl who can keep up with him in the humor department, they took friendly jabs at both of us, waiting to see if I could return the punches. Not even an hour after we arrived, Andrew waltzed over to me while I was talking to his best friend and said, “Got a sec? I want to show you something.”

He pulled me into a dark corner and opened up a group chat on his cell phone labeled “Everybody.” He held it out in front of me to read.

“Dude, we love her.”

“She made fun of your shelf ass, so she’s a keeper.”

“If I weren’t a straight girl, I’d date her.”

I high-fived him, brushed my shoulders off, slapped his shelf ass and walked away. At this point, I knew Andrew was the real deal. He felt comfortable enough with me to introduce me to some of his loved ones, he compliments me, embraces me in public (unlike Officer Handsoming, who wouldn’t go near me) and gives me those damn butterflies in my stomach. I smile when I see his number flash on my phone, look forward to our time together and feel like I can truly be myself around him. (Side note: I feel SO “myself” around him, that I even told him when I got a yeast infection, which is normally totally against the rules of dating, but whatever. He has sisters and didn’t even flinch.) He’s pretty great, guys.

This week, we slept together for the first time. To say it was fucking glorious would be an understatement. Sex with Andrew was everything I could have hoped for and more. I’ll spare you the details (even though you probably want them) and simply tell you that holding out a little bit longer was the right choice. Those extra few weeks made me realize that that guy I’ve been dating is the guy I want to continue dating. Probably exclusively. Right now, I’m enjoying our time together: the connection we’re making, the great conversation, and the kick ass sex I can confidently say we will continue to have. To sum it up, I’m happy. It pains me to think that I might have missed out on being with someone who compliments me so well if I hadn’t overlooked some of my dating “dealbreakers” and just … rolled with it.

I live in San Francisco, land of art, sexual experimentation, and entrepreneurial spirit. Since I’ve moved here I’ve explored the boundaries between public and private sex in multiple ways – in the back of a pickup truck on Twin Peaks, in the woods by the Sutro Baths, with a bike-powered sex machine in the middle of Folsom Street Fair, in a coffin in SOMA for Arse Elektronika. What can I say? I like to experiment. Novelty is, for me, particularly sexy.

When I started to hear stories about a Hook-Up Truck that would travel to you, provide a secret discreet space to fool around, and even film it for you through a little peephole if you gave consent, I had to know more. I was fascinated by the 30 minute time limit (strictly enforced) and curious about the impetus that led to its creation. When I discovered that I was friends with the artist involved (we met at a life-sized MouseTrap game), I knew I had to interview her.

And so, I sat down with Spy Emerson, creator of the Hook-Up Truck, to ask her about her inspiration, her artistic vision, and why her project is blowing up all over the internet.

Kitty Stryker: What inspired you to create this Hook-Up Truck project? Too many roommates in a Bay Area apartment? I know the housing situation is dire, and walls can be pretty thin.

Spy Emerson: It’s funny you mention housing, because that was the focus of my last project, Dystopic Horizons Realty. I sold cardboard box “homes” to people through a fake “Real Estate company.” Much like The Hook-Up Truck, both projects are social commentaries, presented as businesses.

With the Hook-Up Truck, I recognized an opportunity when hearing stories of people having public sex. I thought about making a mobile hotel room. The intention was a participatory performance art project with an intrinsic statement regarding the commodification of, attitudes toward, and media representation of SEX. I imagined capitalizing on the growing trend of geosocial networking applications geared towards location based sexual connections while promoting safe sex and self expression. I never ever expected I would gain a worldwide following!

I’ve read about the Hook-Up Truck in all sorts of places: Blazenfluff, Glamour, TIME, the Bold Italic, San Francisco Chronicle, even Medical Daily! Why do you think your idea has taken off so expansively and in so many different areas of media?

Well, I think there are several reasons for the massive interest. Sex is super unifying. It physically brings two people together, but it also is something that every single human person shares. At first conception, and again in adult coupling, sex profoundly affects each of our individual lives, and is innately connecting us all. So, sex as a subject is always going to gain interest … and sex sells. Media featuring a story on sex will gain interest from the public!

But something else in the great successes of this project, I was inspired by a friend who reminds me, “Spy, life is disappointingly simple.” This great insight has influenced my work over the last two years, and I think the Hook-Up Truck is so simple that it is brilliant. Smart people get it, and are very excited about what I’m doing.

Medical Daily focused on the safer sex and consent aspects of the project, which I think is pretty cool. I can understand why you provide safer sex barriers, but talk to me a bit more about the decision to not let people who are “aggressive, loud, rude or intoxicated.”

I just think people should be kinder to each other, and more respectful to the world we live in. I am happy to create an environment for this social experiment that is underscored by love, and if someone is rude, they are not invited to play. Privileged people can not buy their way in with anything other than mutual respect. Being friendly is a currency. I’m all about it!! I was born and raised in East Coast cities, I am a New York Italian. For years I was fighting and angry, and then I came to California and over years of self discovery I figured out how to love more and hate less. I turned off my TV in the 90’s, I don’t look at newspapers or magazines, and I only started using the internet regularly in December. I have avoided the conditioning to hate and instead encourage people to love each other. I can’t require kindness in the rules to the Hook-Up Truck, but I can turn anyone away.

A lot of media has been attracted to the fact that this is a truck for sexyfuntimes. I think it’s interesting that there’s a camera-ready option- sort of a exploration of privacy and surveillance, public sex versus private sex and where they intersect. Talk to me about your artist statement — am I on the right path?

Yes! This is a game for adults to play with their mind and body, it’s meant to be fun. The room being decontextualized, in a truck, on the street is very thrilling in addition to the pleasure of the sex. Using a camera is just another step for the daring (and consenting!) to make as much of the experience as possible. It really is whatever you want it to be.

I’m also totally fascinated by your statement on your about page that the Hook-Up Truck facilitates discussions about “biased notions of germs and sluts.” I’ve been doing a lot of writing against AB 1576, a bill mandating condoms for porn performers, that I think speaks to similar biases and fears. Please talk more on this!

Some of the articles written about The Hook-Up Truck, and many of the comments from people, are exclamations of disgust regarding their concerns over the cleanliness of the room, or slut shaming me. Why do these people think sex is dirty, and bold women are sluts? Because misconceptions are cultivated to control people. Sadly, people are so worried about how clean our meeting room is, yet no one is talking about how clean the gas station toilets are! Never mind the REAL news issues, like the child labor that made our sneakers, or the animal torture of factory farming, or the global environmental crisis that should be eclipsing every other concern. But no. The hater-nation is stuck in their petty misconceptions.

Well, not terribly surprising, considering a lot of our media is a diversion from actual issues, right? SIGH. Anyway, my last question is that 30 minutes seems like a particularly specific amount of time. It’s not quite a quickie, but also not quite a full on sex session. What made you settle on a half an hour?

The time was specified to allow for the environmental adjustments one might need to get comfortable, and then a good wham-bam thank you ma’am!! Really, 30 minutes is just perfect in a room that feels like a cross between a childhood fort, and a strip club.

*****

I have not yet gotten a chance to try out the Hook-Up Truck yet, but they’re taking bookings for the summer and you can bet I’ll be giving it a go. I may have lined up two hot dates already … not that I’m eager or anything! Maybe this will be the the nudge I need to try out Tinder – having a neutral spot for a sexytimes test run is kind of amazing. Then I can decide if I want them to know where I live, depending on their, erm, “performance”…

Spy is also seeking sponsors for the Hook-Up Truck so she can make it even more incredible, with trucks in several major cities. Will there be more art inside? Different furniture, perhaps? I can’t wait to find out. Potential sponsors and art patrons can contact Spy via HookupTruck@gmail.com!

Read more from Kitty on KittyStryker.com.

[Image of San Francisco via Shutterstock]

“Hey.” “Hey you.” “What’s up?” “Yo.” “Heyyyy.”

These are the types of messages I’ve been getting from former flings and lovers about every six months or so. And I’m fucking sick and tired of it.

If you think I’m being a rageful bitch about a guy’s perfectly nice overtures for conversation, I just want to be clear that each and every one of these guys charmed me, flirted with me, dated me and then ghosted me.  And then, about six months later, they all decided to pop in with a “What’s up?” followed by half-assed flirting, half-assed plan-making and then even more half-assed goodbyes.

And then the cycle repeats itself six months after that. It’s like a dude’s version of “lather, rinse, repeat,” but he “blathers, dodges commitment and then repeats.”

I’ve fallen for it a lot. I thought, Maybe they want to be friends! or Maybe they want to go out with me again! or Maybe this time they won’t lie to me or cancel our dates or reveal that they just don’t have time to squeeze me into their busy schedule or that they’re sleeping with a friend of a friend. What I’ve learned is that they all did want to see me again, or should I say, they wanted to hook up with me again without putting in the normal amount of effort.

The hard work for them was long done. They knew my name, my dreams and my weaknesses. They had my number programmed into my phone. They knew that at some point, I had enjoyed making out with them on dimly lit Manhattan street corners.  They knew from friends that I was currently single. Ergo, why not put in the smallest amount of effort they could muster to pull in all of me once more?

I try to see the best in people. I know I have a sharp tongue, but  I am also cursed with a weak and forgiving heart. So, I’ve often fallen into the trap of trying to make excuses for these guys.

After all, there are a ton of reasons why a guy would ghost on you and then contact you out of the blue: He could be a foreign war correspondent who is undercover in a dangerous war zone where all incoming and outgoing communications are watched by a despotic regime. He could be studying gorillas in the mist, far away from any cell or email service. He could be lost on a deserted island. He could be in a coma. Or he could be encased in carbonite in Jabba the Hutt’s palace. Or, he could be actually in love with you. The kind of love that crushes on your heart in the middle of dark, muggy nights and terrifies you so much you can’t face it head on.

As it turns out, none of the guys who have pulled this smooth move on me have any of these excuses and now I feel the worst kind of rage. I’m not even that angry with them, because I’m furious with myself.

I don’t know what it’s like to receive a well-written love letter. There have never been late-night trains or red-eye planes booked just to see me. I’ve never gotten an apology or a mix tape or a breathy message on an answering machine lamenting, “I couldn’t wait to call you.” I can think of only two romantic overtures in my entire life: one happened when I was four years old and the other involved an mp3 file. But the more I think about it, the blame for all this doesn’t lay with my so-called suitors. It falls upon me, because I’ve never demanded more.

Well, now I am. If a guy honestly likes me and he wants to pick up the pieces of whatever mess we both made in the past, he can. He’s just got to do more than offer a measly late night Facebook message or random salutation via text. He’s got to explain himself and he has to accept that I may be a forgiving person, but I’m also someone who doesn’t forget the times he’s let me down.

Right now, there are at least two half-hearted “Hey you,” messages waiting for me to answer. I haven’t answered them yet. There is a part of me that feels deeply horrible about this because I feel like I’m being rude. The thing is, if any of these guys were making honest, heartfelt overtures (even if they just wanted to be friends!), they would have texted me something else by now. They would have sent an email. They would have pressed “call.”

All they have the heart for is a short “hey,” and so for the sake of myself, I’m giving them the heave-ho.

[Photo of annoyed woman holding cell phone via Shutterstock]

If you’re sick of watching porn and having to lower the volume for fear that your roommate/partner/neighbors will hear all of those sensual moans and groans, have we got good news for you!

A Taiwanese company called LOVEPALZ –  which currently makes automated air pressurized genital stimulators for both men and women, and is apparently the NASA of sex toys —  has developed headphones to be used specifically while watching porn. Ladobies are said to enhance the listening experience of porn by making every lick, flick and exhale sound closer and clearer, like the people you’re watching/listening to are “just next to you.” YES, PLEASE.

Obviously the 4D surround sound capabilities of these headphones would also be ideal for jamming out to some rad pop songs, watching chick flicks with your man and YouTube videos of cats and things, but come on … why do that when you can feel like Manuel Ferrara is doing the nasty right next to you? I don’t care what you say, that’s 15 times better than watching “Frozen.” [LOVEPALZ]

Whether you’re freshly divorced and just dipping your toes back into the singles pool, or if you’ve been wading in the deep end for years, you’d likely be intrigued by a list purporting to lead you by the nose to the best cyber meat markets that $34.99 can buy. You wouldn’t be alone. Discover the 10 best hookup websites on AskMen…

I’m a pretty open-minded chick and the last few months have involved quite a bit of open-legged-ness as well. This sort of slutty period in my life has been both fun and educational, not to mention reintroduced me to some sex acts that I’d never really given a fair shake before. In no particular order, here are five seriously underrated things to do in the sack that I suggest giving another shot.

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I would naively assume that the main reason a person would have sex would be simply because they wanted to. As it turns out, there are a whole slew of complicated reasons why people have sex.

The University of Texas conducted a study to find out exactly what motivates people to get busy and the results were much more nuanced than I’d have thought. Researchers first asked over 400 survey participants to reveal reasons people have sex; then, they asked about 1,500 undergraduate students about their experiences and attitudes. What they found was over 237 reasons for having sex.

The UT researchers were able to divide those reasons into four main categories and several subcategories:

• Physicality (stress relief, pleasure, improving experiences, and attraction to a partner)
• Goals (hoping to get pregnant, wanting to gain popularity, revenge)
• Emotions (love, wanting to express a positive feeling like gratitude to a partner)
• Insecurity (low self-esteem, feeling obligated, attempts to keep a partner interested)

Some of the other specific reasons cited were wanting to feel closer to God, boredom, wanting a promotion, wanting to give someone an STI (seriously), drunkenness, hormones, self-punishment, fear of saying “no,” a dare, and hopes of manipulating someone. Both genders were motivated by all four categories, but men were more likely to have sex for physical reasons or for goal attainment, whereas women were more likely to do it because of emotional reasons or insecurity.

It seems that almost every feeling in the world has been a motive for people to bang at one time or another, even though they are sometimes on opposite ends of the spectrum. People do it both to feel powerful and degraded, to express love and contempt, and to either feel popular or alienate themselves. In that regard, it seems that sex is like any other form of social interaction (albeit with many more serious implications than say, a conversation or a hug). It’s a vehicle that can be used to express whatever the participant chooses to use it for.

People much wiser than I am have often told me that pretty much everything we do as humans can be linked back to a usually subconscious desire to feel loved or whole, and I don’t exactly see that as untrue. I don’t believe people only have sex to feel loved or validated by their partner; I actually detest that line of thinking. But all of the end goals cited by these survey participants — even revenge, manipulation, and just plain fun — stem back to that desire for validation, just like every other thing people do. When we analyze the study’s results this way, maybe its findings aren’t so surprising. Maybe the only surprise is that sex, at its core, is just like any other behavior out there. We all have complex reasons for every choice we make in a given day all stemming back to that “feeling whole and loved” business.

[PsychCentral]
[Spirituality Health]
[University of Texas]

[Photo of a bedpost via Shutterstock]

There comes a time in everybody’s dating career when your dance card suddenly becomes fuller than you know what to do with. One day, you’re swiping sullenly through Tinder bemoaning the lack of attractive, normal-seeming men that are possibly as tall as they say they are in their profiles, and the next, you find yourself drafting a spreadsheet to keep track of the nine dates that you have somehow booked for one week. Dating karma is like that. Like all things in life, your dating life will ebb and flow. Years of Sahara-like drought will give way to a summer full of eternal possibility, teeming with tapas dates and dinner dates and beach dates galore. One day, you’ll wake up in a daze, and find yourself with a bucket full of eligible, decent, good dudes, all clamoring for your attention.

“How could I possibly date two people, or even three people, when handling one person was too much?” you ask yourself as you scroll thru your texts one lazy Sunday. “How could it be that the universe is handing me such a Herculean task?”

Keep this in mind, dear reader. This embarrassment of riches is your prize for enduring countless shitty dates and rebuffing the advances of grody bros in I-banker loafers who are too drunk to see straight while you’re waiting in line for the bathroom. If you ever, ever feel bad about dating more than one person, remind yourself that if you were a dude, this behavior would be second nature.  This is unfamiliar territory, and it is perfectly natural to have questions. Let me assuage your concerns. Here are a few tips and tricks for juggling two people — or more! — at once.

Are there any hard and fast rules to follow?

The golden rule: Make sure they don’t know each other. I had a friend in college who happened to be dating two people at the same time for over a year. The deception in and of itself was bad enough, as she was forging deep connections with both, but the worst part? They were friends with each other and, inevitably, they found out. One day, she got home from class and found both of them sitting on the couch, waiting for her, and they were not happy. The fallout was dark. If you’re going to date two people, do your absolute best to make sure they don’t know each other, like, at all. If you find out early on that they do, abort mission.

When — or if — do I have to tell the people about each other?

There is an enduring instinct to treat people the way that we’d like to be treated. With dating, this rule sadly doesn’t always hold true. In short, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, but especially if things don’t feel entirely serious just yet. It is not dishonest to keep each person in the dark because you’re weighing your options. You are a powerful and confident and fantastic person who deserves the very best, and sometimes it takes a minute to figure out what the very best is. If you’re casually seeing more than one person, keep that up until the balance tips in favor of one or the other. But until you have “the talk” about being exclusive, you don’t have to tell anyone anything.

Is having sex with multiple people something they have a right to specifically KNOW, especially if you’re using condoms?

This is where it gets trickier. Personally, if I’m having sex with somebody, I would prefer it that I was the only person they’re having sex with, but would love the freedom to be able to do whatever I wanted to do. Is this fair? No, not really, but as my mother always tells me, life isn’t fair. Regardless, the people you’re boning have somewhat of a right to know, but when and if you want to tell them is up to you. The instinct to let them know is natural, but I think if you’re being safe, and it’s not THAT serious with either party just yet, then you’re in the clear.

When does “dating multiple people” become “in my mind, I’m the leader of my own sex cult and I’m collecting followers”?

Who’s to say that dating multiple people isn’t a sex cult? Really, it’s all about your mindset. If your vagina is magic and keeps collecting various suitors, then your sex cult fantasy is your own personal truth. Keep doing what you’re doing, because it seems to be working.

What happens when one, or two, or three of the people are starting to catch feelings, and is leading up to The Talk, but you’re not ready for that?

You can’t have your cake and eat it, too. If you suspect that one of the people you’re seeing is starting to develop real, actionable feelings, and those feelings just aren’t there for you yet, it’s in your best interest and theirs to be honest. It’s perfectly okay to really like somebody, but not be ready to make the commitment that The Talk implies. Part of the allure of dating multiple people is that you’re trying things out to see what it is you really, truly want. It’s empowering and it’s necessary, and sometimes life just happens that way. The only shitty thing is the fact that you’ll probably have to let go of the one who wants to take it to the next level.

Life is nothing more than a series of risks, large and small, calculated and unplanned. It might be tempting to keep up the string of suitors for as long as you can handle it while pining away for the one you like the most, but I say go with what your heart wants. Take the risk to tell the one you like the most how you feel, and have confidence that it’ll work out however it’s supposed to. Any possible rejection you experience will be a blip on the radar, another lesson learned, but it shouldn’t slow your roll. Date! Be free! Trust that you will find another if this isn’t the one.

From the time I learned what fingering was at age 11, it sounded not that great to me, and that didn’t really change for about 15 years.

Even the idea of fingering (or “fingerbanging,” yikes) sounded bad. It almost didn’t occur to me that fingering would be something I would actually want. I’d even tried it myself but it was just left me bored and with a cramp in my hand. Certainly it did not stand up to the newly discovered pleasures of the shower head. But it was still something I expected to happen to me at some point, a natural progression like moonrise following sunset or whatever.

As I got older, I learned to direct wandering hands toward the clitoris with so-so results. I found it baffling that the most sensual kissers were neither gentle or nuanced when it came to using their hands. There was also the chronic nail-biter that made me bleed.. When it came to fingering, men, I’d found, were often more excited to put a hand in my pants to see that they’d accomplished something, namely, getting me wet. And a little bit of slickness was enough for them. A single finger inserted into the vagina made me feel a bit like a chicken being checked for doneness with a meat thermometer. Is she cooked? Alright, let’s finish this bird off. The men who resorted to violent thrusting with one, two or heaven forbid three fingers before I was properly worked up were clearly thinking about what they thought they’d do with their dicks rather than how I should hopefully be responding. I learned early on that dead silence didn’t do much to get the message across that I wasn’t enjoying the poking and prodding. I allowed a few thrusts out of politeness, tried to take over out of desperation, and ultimately found it was more effective to say, “Baby, can you go down on me?”

That’s how I gave up on fingering.

But then, as always, there came a guy. Our meeting was proof that sometimes, the movies get it right. Someone at a party wanted me to meet him. He turned around and his eyes lit up the second he saw me; I felt the same electricity down the right side of my body. Later that week, we fell into bed. With hands boasting perfectly groomed fingernails, he focused completely on me. To be honest, I was surprised at the attention and braced for the request, “Can you go down on me?” that never came. I was nervous and felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with my not having clothes on. His touch was really exploratory and I guess I just didn’t know what to make of it. I enjoyed myself, mind you, but couldn’t quite relax, and after what seemed like a long time, but was likely just 10 minutes, I stopped him. Embarrassed, I explained it’s nearly impossible for me to finish with a partner and there was next to no hope of it happening with just fingers, so he shouldn’t feel pressured. Of course, I was the one feeling pressure, wanting to hide from the light of his bedside lamp.

Before we went to sleep, he told me all about how he studied martial arts and the Kama Sutra (”Well, the most important parts”). “The other thing is, I hate failure,” he explained. So he while he understood that he would need patience to get me there, he was sure he would. The next morning, we picked up where we left off and it was incredible.

For a few weeks, at least, we fell into bed and he learned things about me every night. And yes, to my amazement, he did get me off a few times. But what was beautifully consistent was a very real interest in how it all worked. Here was a man who loved fingering and could make it the main event.

What I missed in my earlier experiences with fingering — and all of sex, really — is about learning with and from your partner. I learned while he learned, too, and I felt in tune with where his hands went, enough so that I could recreate some of the amazing sensations once I was alone. He would sound genuinely surprised, honored and elated that he discovered a new response in me. Sadly, he was kind of a jerk, so the whole thing only lasted a few weeks, but I got a lot out of it. It’s important to be in control of our sexuality, to figure out how to get off ourselves so we can be the teachers to hopelessly clueless men. At least this time, it didn’t work out that way for me; he and I learned together. My “thank you for last night” texts were never really enough to say how grateful I was.

I hate admitting that I even have a bucket list in the first place, but I do and there are many things on it, and I hope to eventually cross all most of them off. While I know “Yoko-ing” a band and becoming the muse for the fashion designer Nicolas Ghesquière, à la Charlotte Gainsbourg, are likely impossible to achieve, there are still some things that I must do before I die – if only to kill the curiosity within and gain some bragging rights. One such item on the aforementioned list is having sex in public. Why? I don’t know. The thrill, maybe; the been there, done that, need to check it off my list, even more so.

Having just recently updated my bucket list to include a public romp (and running the Boston Marathon — haha, I can’t even run a half-mile!), my new husband and I ventured off on our honeymoon. Italy is a country of love, art, and pizza, so what better a place to have sex in public? It’s not like we’d be the first to take a roll in the grass of Boboli Gardens (where we made our first attempt), nor will we be the last to have sex in a dully-lit alleyway against some ancient ruin in Rome.

My husband, already having done the whole public sex thing, wasn’t as enthused as I was. “It’s different when you’re younger,” he said. But that didn’t deter me. After a couple of minor debacles, we pulled it off like champs, well, as close to champions we’re personally able to be, and I can proudly say that my bucket list is one item lighter. Does this make me a pro? Hell no! But from my experience and the experience of some others, I now present the ultimate how-to guide for having sex in public. It’s the summer, you guys; let’s get the most out of this warm weather, shall we?

1. Timing is everything. Central Park on a Saturday at noon? Are you kidding? While you may have a couple of places to where you can creep off to be, well, creepy, just think about that holy awkward moment when little Sally chases after her ball into the bushes and she gets an eyeful of another type of balls entirely. There’s nothing wrong with maybe giving someone a quick show of something that they didn’t expect to see on a Saturday afternoon, especially if you’re into a bit of exhibitionism, but consider the children. They are our future, after all.

2. Keep your colors low key. As my husband reached under my skirt in one of those lovely little out-of-the-way caves in the Boboli Gardens, I realized that even through the fully leaved trees, his red T-shirt was practically a neon sign, all but screaming for attention. Look at me! Look at me fucking my wife over here! Hey! I said look at me! He had two options: remove it swiftly and deal with whatever might follow should we be stumbled upon or, stop wearing red in public. Since the latter was already a no go, he removed his shirt so his pasty, winter skin could blend in better with nature. Which it did, until some tourists thought the cave was a pleasant place for a picnic.

3. Lose the underwear. Once spring rolls around I ditch my undies most days. In my mind, with Swamp Ass season just weeks away, it’s time to keep things airy and dry in there. No one wants a yeast infection during their July holiday. That being said, if you’re not already going sans underwear and there’s a moment before your public sex gets going that you can slip away and remove your panties first, then do so. The unfortunate thing about women’s underwear is it seriously interferes with what you’re trying to accomplish, and fumbling to take them off is a real time suck. It’s not that you’re on a tight schedule, per se, but anything you can do to prevent wasting time on technicalities beforehand is for the best.

4. Get a leg up. If you’re the type of person who only wants to lie down while fucking, then public sex might not be for you. Sure, if you’re going off into a Tuscan field as if you’re starring in “Room with a View” and there isn’t a soul around for miles, then fine, sprawl out. But if not, you need to stand, find a great support system for your back (building, bathroom stall, doorway, car hood, etc.), so you have leverage. You want to be able to tightly pull yourself into your partner with the same vigor you can when you have the floor as part of the equation, while keeping your balance. Depending on the height difference between you and your partner, balance can be tricky, but if you both work together to push your weight against whatever is supporting you, then you can happily avoid a tumble.

5. Skip the foreplay. Foreplay is great for when you’re at home — and nothing makes sex better than prolonged third base action — but if you want to seal the deal in public, you need to go immediately to home plate. This isn’t to suggest that some fondling beneath the clothes to get you and your partner’s body raring to go is completely off-limits, it’s just that you want to keep it brief. It would be nice if at least one of you, if not both of you, climax during this little public feat.

6. Shut the fuck up. I get it! You’re a moaner! One of those loud, screaming at the top of your lungs at the very instant of ecstasy type of moaners! Awesome! I’m so happy for you! But shut the fuck up! The last thing you need is to be moaning, even softly, and have some do-gooder come to your rescue because they think you’re an injured animal who needs some TLC stat. See? That’s the problem with do-gooders: they ruin the mood with their nosiness.

7. Don’t try to recreate a movie scene. I’m sure there’s not a single person who’s seen the train scene in “Risky Business” and hasn’t thought, “Wow. I want some of that.” Tom Cruise and Rebecca De Mornay make it look so easy, once they remove the gawking homeless man from their train car, of course, but that’s the funny thing about Hollywood: they make everything look so easy. Whether it’s some hot scene on a bar top with James Deen you’ve been fantasizing about or the pool scene in “Showgirls” you’ve been dying to recreate, hold off on such ambitions. Goals are great and everything, but you have enough on your plate with public sex alone, so don’t overload on your responsibilities.

8. Have an excuse. So, let’s just say you do happen to get caught – there’s always a chance the worst-case scenario is possible, right? This is your moment to let your inner actor shine, or at the very least, let your natural ability to lie and get away with it kick into gear. So, what’s your excuse? You were trying to get a bug out of her pubic hair with your cock? He was helping you find that ring that you swallowed that miraculously ended up in your vagina instead of your intestines? I mean, your excuses could be endless honestly, because at that point you’ve already been found out, so the ridiculousness that you come up with for your reason WHY is just some extra fun at that point.

In a study called Who Benefits From Casual Sex? The Moderating Role of Sociosexuality, researchers found that, “having casual sex was associated with higher self-esteem and life satisfaction and lower depression and anxiety.” Read more on College Candy…

There’s nothing worse than being on a date, one that’s not too exciting, and just wishing it could end in sex. It’s as though you’re counting down the minutes, maybe even weighing the social graces of when it’s actually OK to mention that it’s time to head out and get it on somewhere. It kinda makes you wonder why you just didn’t skip the whole date thing and get straight to the fucking, doesn’t it? Besides, it’s not like you’re looking for love at the moment anyway.

Far too many people waste their time on chatter and getting to know someone when in reality they just want to bang. Even my friends who use hookup apps often complain to me that although both parties are well aware that they’re there to have sex, there’s this awkward period of sort of dancing around the inevitable. But why? Why is it so hard for us to just drop our pants and get right in there? Is it that ingrained that forging some superficial connection is a necessary step before a physical connection can be even broached? If so, un-train your brain and go for the jugular, sexually speaking, of course. You’re there to get down, so just do it already.

1. DON’T meet for dinner. It’s important to meet in a safe, neutral place. If you’re meeting someone from Tinder or Grindr, you’re not really sure what you’re getting. Inviting someone to your place before you actually see them in the flesh is never a good idea. Looks can be deceiving, and we all know the Interwebz are a sea of freaks. Having a meal with someone is a great way to get to know them, but if you’re just meeting up for some late afternoon kink, suggest a drink instead. It’s easy to quickly get to the gist of it over a cocktail and make a beeline for the door, as opposed to sitting through an hour-long meal, twiddling your thumbs, and nodding politely like a robot.

2. DO keep it local. You know what can mess up a sex date? Chatter. If you choose to meet at a place that involves a subway ride or several long blocks back to one of your places, you’re killing the mood. Small talk is the stuff of nightmares and if you’re forcing yourself to do it, it will feel just that: forced. Forced will spiral into awkward, and after 10 minutes of somehow ending up in debate about the lack of artistic integrity of Coldplay, you’ll end up alone. (But hey, if that happens, you have a vibrator for a reason, and honestly, who doesn’t love alone time? You are the best lover you’ll ever meet, after all.)

3. DON’T dole out unnecessary information. Wait. You’re from Scranton, too? No way! Really?! Who cares! It’s great when you meet someone who understands when you make specific small town references like the one about coffee shop guy on Main Street who looks like Sloth from “The Goonies,” but stay on topic. “I figure he doesn’t need to know that I work in marketing or that I had tuna for lunch,” says my friend Sarah who’s a regular “sex date” connoisseur. “He just needs to know what amount of pressure I need him to apply to my clit so I’ll orgasm.”

4. DO get to the point. Whether you trolled Craigslist or used one of the many handy-dandy apps you have on your phone, you’ve probably already tantalized each other with some dirty talk. Don’t backtrack. After salutations (because “hello” is, you now, just a basic human thing), get right to the point and keep things moving forward. Now what were you saying about my clit? Ah yes. And let me refresh your memory as to what I was going to do with your cock and that can of whipped cream I’ve been saving for a night just like this one.

5. DO acknowledge your awesomeness. You are a vixen. You are a femme fatale. You are the type of woman who knows what she wants and how she’s going to get it. You don’t play by society’s rules . You are a sexual being and proud of it. You don’t just walk; you strut. You flaunt and are proud of every inch of your brain and body. Yes, that’s the real you, and there’s no doubt in your mind as to just how fucking phenomenal you truly are. You are not here to make friends, procure some complicated relationship that may evolve into a tearful breakup on a sidewalk somewhere, but a woman who is in command of the here and now, and the impending romp just moments away. You’re about to get laid, my friend, and you didn’t even have to fake interest in his lactose intolerance. How great is that?

When my first love and I broke up, I was still new to the world of sex. I was 22 years old when we said our tearful goodbye, knowing full well that what we had at that young age wouldn’t be able to transcend time. I remember thinking I’d not only never love again, but never, ever have sex again either. Sometimes I really miss the equal parts drama and naivety that comes with youth.

As a way to cope with the loss, I set up camp on my couch with endless supplies of veggie burgers and Ben & Jerry’s, and drowned my sorrows in “Beverly Hills, 90210″ reruns. I still contend that Emily Valentine really was one of the highlights of the show, and I have the months of obsessively watching it as scientific evidence.  I also saw a wee bit of myself in her.

After a few years had passed, I started dating men here and there, having superficial flings steeped in alcohol as the common denominator, and by the time I moved to New York City, casual sex was all I was really interested in. It was there for the offering, I knew I enjoyed it, at least most of the time, so why not take advantage of sexual opportunities that life presented me?

Then I fell in love again.

But this time when things ended — actually the FOUR times it ended — with whisky bottles being thrown dramatically out of windows, almost an entire case of cheese being hurled at his head after he told me he’d fucked someone else, and tearful pleas on my part for him to just respect me enough to treat me as a human being, I came out on the other side different. I was irrevocably changed. I was hardened. What love and softness and affection that I had in me once upon a time had been sucked dry from my being. I was devastated at the loss, a loss that, as I said, I had to endure four times because I was too weak to tell him to “fuck off” every time he strayed. I was angry. I was pissed off that I was not the one for him, that he would never love me, something he told me over and over, but yet he wouldn’t let me go, and I hung on for dear life hoping for a miracle in which he’d “come to his senses.” There was no sense at all to be had in those four years.

I wasn’t just table-flipping mad, I was smash-that-table-to-bits-after-I-flipped-it mad.

So I fucked someone else too. It felt amazing. I was completely in control and knew that every time he penetrated me I was somehow getting revenge on a relationship that had bound me and broke me. With each orgasm, I felt a wave of success and satisfaction. I took all that angry energy I had and used it in bed with this other man. I felt like I was on top of the world. Maybe the man who broke my heart didn’t want me, but I was going to take my sexuality and use it to feel something other than rage and sadness. I was going to come and come again, and know that each moan that bordered on a scream was just pushing him further back in my memory. That’s when I realized revenge sex is the best sex.

With revenge sex, I was reaching heights of pleasure and satisfaction that no amount of therapy could offer. I felt empowered to know that I could fuck, without strings attached, and then walk away, never seeing the man again or, if the mood struck, only once or twice more. In the year after the final ending with the man who broke my heart, I had more one-night stands than I had had in my entire life. I had threesomes. I tried things, both sexually and otherwise, that I hadn’t before; I was liberated. This revenge sex was healing for me and made me stronger. I was bouncing back from the broken person I had been. I finally had control over my heart again.

I realize revenge sex isn’t for everyone. I have more than a few friends who wince at the thought of climbing into bed with a one man one night, then doing the same with another man the next night, and I understand where they’re coming from. We all regard sex in different ways, and that’s part of the beauty of it. While I would never advise that someone go out and fuck the pain away, as Peaches would say, I will always defend revenge sex as a means of shifting feelings in the body, a way to take the ache in your heart and replace it with an orgasm between the legs. I mean, honestly, have you ever been able to think about anything mid-orgasm besides the orgasm at hand? It may not be what the doctored ordered, but when it comes to love and loss, I don’t think anyone should judge how we choose to tackle pain so we can move on or, in my case, get back to the person I was.

[Photo of orgasmic woman via Shutterstock]

I’m so sick of men saying that all you need to get laid is “to be a woman.” If that were truly the case, would all women, everywhere, be getting laid at all times whenever and however they want? Yes. Does that actually happen in the real world? No. When it comes to this particular topic, guys don’t really know what they’re talking about. But, hey, if they want to think we have all the necessary skills and assets to constantly be getting some, then let them live with their delusions. Godspeed.

Since it isn’t always a piece of cake, I’m here to give you a few tips on the matter. After years and years of being single (I’m married now), I not only mastered the art of dating, but I got the whole “getting laid when you really want to” thing in the bag. Dudes are probably right that it’s easier for us to have no strings attached sex, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t require at least a little bit of effort on our part.

STEP 1: Get Dolled Up. No, no, no. I’m in no way suggesting you get yourself all gussied up for some dude (or gal) you haven’t even met yet, and don’t plan to see again after you do. What I am saying is that do YOUR version of dolled up. If your sexual confidence is at its absolute highest when you’re in your sweats and sneakers, then go with it. If you’re on the other end of the spectrum where your sexuality exudes when you’re rocking your tiniest of minis and your favorite four-inch heels, then that’s what you need to grab from your closet. It’s those who are truly confident in themselves that score.

STEP 2: Pregame. Usually we associate “pregame” with getting our drink on before we leave the apartment, because, fuck, drinks are hella expensive, but in this instance, I’m talking about masturbation. I have a single friend who swears that when she brings herself to the brink of orgasm and stops, then goes out, her goal to get laid is even stronger than it usually is. You’re “teasing” your vagina for the impending thrill, she’s explained to me. If I had such self-control I would have tried this one out for myself, but once I hit the brink, I just fall right over to the other side. If you know your can tease yourself without giving in, then this technique is for you.

STEP 3: Fly Solo. Personally, I have always found that when I wanted to get laid, it was far easier when I was rolling without my homies. Sure, it’s always great (and fun) to have your friends with you, especially when one is a designated wing-woman, but when you’re alone at the bar or a party, you’re not just more approachable, but it’s more organic to get a conversation started. When you’re looking to put at least a drop of water in your dry spell, it’s best to go solo so you can cut out all the games that come when you and your girlfriends are let out in the wild together. Remember, you’re on a mission.

STEP 4: Have Fresh Breath. People can overlook unwashed hair. People can even ignore body odor. But one thing no one, and I mean no one can forgive, is bad breath. Keep it clean in there with some minty freshness. If you’re fresh out of gum (see what I did there?), ask the bartender for a slice of lemon. It’s the next best thing.

STEP 5: Peacock It. Who owns this bar? You. Who’s the bell of the fucking ball? You. Who’s going to walk right over to that hot guy and take him home? You. Let your hips command the room, demand attention, and get what you want.  Strut, you, strut!

STEP 6: Pretend To Be Interested. Not to get all scientific on you, but studies show that men eat up even the smallest amount of attention. Sometimes it’s hard to keep your eye on the ball when you just want to go home and get it on, but if you can at least feign interest in whatever he’s saying, you’ll make major headway in how your night will evolve.

STEP 7: Don’t Push It. If you set your sights on someone, but somewhere down the line it goes awry, walk away. Don’t quibble, just move on. You know that saying about other fish in the sea, right? It’s true — you’ll find your partner in crime for the evening before last call. Next!

STEP 8: Own It. This pretty much goes for everything in life, but is especially pertinent when it comes to sexuality. When you recognize the need (and want) inside you to have sex, then go with it. Do not feel ashamed, do not judge yourself, and don’t you dare stand in front of the mirror second-guessing your looks as some sort of roadblock to getting laid. You’re hot. You’re sexy. Own it. It’s the freakin’ weekend, baby, you’re about to have you some fun…

Fair warning, I don’t know how to flirt either. But I do know how to fail at it! To that end, here are eight definite signs that you don’t know how to flirt. Employ none of these, and you will be on a better path to successful flirting. Learn from those who have come (and failed) before you. Read more on Your Tango…

In the lifecycle of dating, there’s a black hole smack dab in the middle of “I’m talking to someone” and “He’s my boyfriend,” that I like to call Exclusivity Limbo. I’ve been in that spot before and I’ve detailed my time there, what with the constant questioning, confusion and uncertainty of where things stand. But even though a relationship status may remain undefined, the physical and sexual cravings just continue to escalate. So, in a predicament that could be much worse, I find myself wondering one thing: to bang or not to bang?

Things are progressing with Scar Twin, but I made a conscious decision to hold off on sleeping with him until it becomes evident that we both want to be in a relationship together. I don’t want to be just another notch on his bedpost, and at this point, I can honestly say I don’t think he’s a Hit It And Quit It kind of guy. We’ve seen each other a bunch of times, several times without doing anything really physical, and he’s given me no indication that he’s just looking for ass. The first time the opportunity to have sex popped up, I told him I wanted to wait, and he respected my decision. Since then, he’s remained true to his word. Then, a few days ago when I saw him, the opportunity came up again and I felt the need to tell him why I’ve been holding off.

“Before we sleep together, I just want to make sure we’re on the same page,” I explained. “I’ve, at times, jumped into things too quickly and just don’t want to regret anything.”

“Don’t feel like you need to explain,” Scar Twin replied. “As long as you know what you want, that’s fine. I’d rather you be certain than have regrets.”

It could have ended there, and then, for some stupid reason, I kept talking.

“I just don’t want you to feel like I don’t want to sleep with you,” I admitted. “I really, really want to. I guess I just wanted to make sure that my head was in the right place and that neither of us are still interested in seeing other people. Sooo … yeah.”

“I’m not seeing anybody else,” he said. “Are you?” I replied no. “Are you sure?” he asked, warily. I confirmed.

“Here’s the way I see it,” he said. “When I meet someone who I like, I want to date that person and see where things go. I don’t see the point in adding more people into the mix when you haven’t even let one thing play out yet.”

This makes total sense to me, and I’ve always been the same way. Once I find someone I enjoy spending time with, I don’t really have much of an interest in seeing other people. (See: The Non-Introduction to Marky Mark.) Scar Twin’s explanation also justifies why he decided to take his OKCupid profile down without telling me. To me, removing his profile means he wants to focus on where things go between us. It doesn’t necessarily mean he’s ready to get down on one knee and pop the question, and for that, I’m thankful. I don’t see that as a red flag. I see it as someone who is genuinely interested in dating another person. What’s so wrong with that?

But now that I know where we stand (or at least where he says we stand and where I think we stand), I find myself much more at ease and really wanting to sleep with Scar Twin. No, scratch that. I want to screw his brains out. Because it’s been over a month that we’ve been seeing each other without having sex, I almost feel like everything else we do has this undertone of sexual tension. Our text messages are more flirty, our conversations have become more intimate, and our connection—both physically and emotionally— keeps getting stronger. So am I safe to jump in the sack with him yet? There’s no telling if it will be emotional, sweet lovemaking or rough, animalistic fucking, but I WANT TO FIND OUT. (Also, based on our previous encounters, I’m gonna go with the animalistic fucking thing.) I completely recognize the fact that my holding off on sleeping with him isn’t going to prevent him from thinking I’m “easy” or from keeping me around because I’m willing to do certain sexual things anyway. But my hope is that by the time I’m ready to do the deed, I’m 100 percent sure that I can emotionally handle it, whether it changes things for the good or the bad. It’s more for my own, personal validation that I’m ready to invest in someone who feels the same way. So now, it’s just a matter of time before I say “fuck it,” and then … well, fuck it.