Caution - Freaky Approaching

“Why aren’t we more romantic?  Why don’t we make love on the beach?  Why don’t we have sex in the shower?  How can we spice up our sex life?”  No one wants a boring sex life.  That ’s when things can get monotonous and stale.  But before you break out the sex swings and the Bedroom Bingo make sure you are well informed.  It is all fun and games until someone loses a penis.

I am all for experimentation in the bedroom.  I encourage anyone and everyone to try new things.  Have fun.  Mix things up.  But there are some ideas that have been romanticized and frankly aren’t worth the amount of crap you are going to go through to reach this impossible sexual crescendo.

Myth 1 - Sex on the beach.

Makes a great shot if you are into those kinds of fruity drinks.  But the actual act of having sex on the beach is a nightmare.  I am going to throw some words out there for you.  Sand, shells, wind, night walkers, and the most important words no one should forget… Sand gnats.  Those little bastards will take your groove and eat it for dinner.  TRUST ME.

When you go to the beach you get sand in places you don’t even want to think about.  For example, your hair, fingernails oh and I almost forgot, your vagina.  I am all for exfoliation, but that is one place I can do without the grit.  In other words, unless you want to have sand in your whoo haa, gnat bites on your ass, windburn, and be walked by/in on by Snow birds then stay away from beach sex.  Because come to find out Fran and Sal Millhouse from Syosset, NY can be damned judgmental!  Friggin tourists. And one last tip…

Watch where you put your blanket.

Myth 2 - Shower sex.

We see it soft core on Cinemax, and sometimes hardcore in porn.  Two people soaped up writhing around moaning with pleasure…  Wet, passionate, hot sex while water cascades down each others bodies.

I call bullshit.

Someone is always in the back with no water freezing their ass off.  Come to find out, when water is introduced into the sexual equation (I love naughty math normally) lubrication becomes a serious issue.  And this also applies to pool sex.  And under NO circumstances are you allowed to use your hair conditioner as lube.  EVER.  I shouldn’t have to tell you guys this, but I have heard stories…

Myth 3 - Sex in a car

My last job was in a strip mall and I would go to the back on occasion to smoke.  Every day around 1′ish a couple would pull around the back of the complex, by the dumpsters no less, to meet up and get their freak on.  Needless to say I saw arms and legs hanging out of windows, saw the hazard lights come on, and I am pretty sure I kept hearing a BONK, which was her head against the door.

Where do I sign up?

I haven’t had sex in a car since I was in High School.  And there is a reason for that.  IT SUCKS.  Do you have sexual day dreams about making whoopy in a large Tupperware dish?  No?  How about in a 10x 12 box?  Then why do you want to have your man or woman pull over and sprain their groin trying to get on top?  Release the break, back up the seat, lean it back, let down the part between the trunk and the back seat…  Thanks but no thanks.  Maybe if you have an SUV this is an easier task (Reminds self to look into SUV’s and trade in my sedan for a brand new Sexual Utility Vehicle.)

So  the next time you decide to spice up your sex life, please refer back to this handy dandy post.  Only you can prevent crab bites, sand gnats, water logged fingers, and groin pulls. Did I forget anything? There has to be more awkward sexual romps gone wrong!

Have YOU ever had a bad sexual experience that was supposed to be the end all be all sexual tryst?  But maybe turned into a trip to the relationship counselor or to the ER??  Tell me your Stories.

Virginity…the key to longevity?

Ms. Clara Meadmore, a retired secretary living in Glassgow, celebrated her 105^th Birthday this past Saturday. It’s not too much of a surprise, nor is it barely notable these days… people who celebrate 100 plus years of living and breathing. But Ms. Meadmore’s self-proclaimed key to longevity would more than likely cause most of us to pause. No, she isn’t a vegetarian or a fitness fanatic; she doesn’t even oppose smoking and drinking. Rather, Clara’s claim to a long life is her ability to remain virtuous.

Okay, okay…it’s not beyond the realm of likelihood that some people truly manage to become 40, 50 or even 105 year old virgins. However, Ms. Meadmore’s reasons for abstaining throughout her entire life are what I find perplexing. You see, Clara was apparently ahead of her time…she is quite the independent and self-sufficient woman who saved her salary and spent the money going on walking tours in many parts of Britain in the 1920’s and 1930’s. She believes in doing things her own way (a motto this girl enthusiastically supports) and apparently that includes saving herself not for marriage, but for death…a decision she made at the ripe old age of 12 and has never reconsidered.

Granted, she likely still has her hair because she hasn’t yanked it out in moments of frustration with the opposite sex. And while I’m in awe that her sharp wit and teeth remain in tact, I can’t imagine what her soul is missing. Now, don’t get me wrong, Ms. Meadmore’s life thus far seems to have been fulfilling and she’s even entertained several platonic relationships with men. However, she chose life long abstinence because she “imagined there is a lot of hassle involved” and she’s always “been busy doing other things.” Busy doing what exactly? She didn’t have the time or inclination to squeeze in a rendezvous or two whilst traipsing across the countryside on her walking tours? Seriously, a backpack and blisters are far more daunting than occasionally dropping your drawers, no?

Although I wholeheartedly support intermittent vows of celibacy in the name of self-preservation, isn’t an entire lifetime’s worth a bit much?  One would think that a woman like Clara who is so independent would embrace all that life has to offer…including sexy time.  Although Ms. Meadmore contributes her extra long life to keeping her hoo-ha penis free, personally, I’d venture to say that it has more to do with the fact that she’s never owned a television. Nonetheless, Happy Birthday Clara…Mother Theresa would be proud!

What do you think folks? Is it possible that Ms. Meadmore has lived 105 years because she’s never been deflowered? Could you, would you, ever give up the bow-chica-bow-wow if you were guaranteed a longer life span? If you could have both…a long life and sexual fulfillment, would you even want to live to see 105? And did anyone else notice the striking resemblance between Clara and Mother Theresa?

A Fair Trade?

“An intellectual is a person who has discovered something more interesting than sex.” ~ Aldous Huxley

Once upon a time people struggled to speak about sexuality. Men were supposed to suppress it and women…well, they weren’t even supposed to be sexual. Nowadays it seems that the inability to speak about sex has been replaced by an inability to speak about love. People are more comfortable with the sharing of a bed than the sharing of their souls. What happened to us?

Women and men used to trade sex for love. Now they trade sex…for sex. Men and women of every orientation are becoming more and more comfortable engaging in sexual encounters for what they would tell you is pleasure’s sake alone. But we all know that pleasure can be achieved without a partner. So is it possible that we are sharing that bed for something more than we are admitting to?

Ah, yes…love. That mysterious, confusing, horrifyingly wonderful experience that most of us are chasing after, pining for, hiding from or wallowing in. But in one way or another, most of us spend more than a bit of our time thinking about it. So why are we pretending not to be?

It is my belief that whether or not we will acknowledge it we often jump into that bed with our intentions and identities concealed, because we are unsure of ourselves. We fear what we get is going to be too much…or not enough. We fear our vulnerabilities. We fear exposure and judgment. We hope for validation, affection, acceptance.

We want to be known.

Yet sometimes the pressure and the fear are too much and we flee from it. To avoid drowning we avoid the sea altogether. We reject love before it can reject us.

I used to think I had mastered separating sex from love. I didn’t think I wanted an awkward emotional exchange and so I would go to great lengths to ensure that one did not occur. Until the day I awoke wondering when exactly I had allowed myself to become so hollow. I feared I have damaged myself irreparably.

But then something miraculous happened. I met a man who refused to let me hide. And just ten minutes in a bed with someone that saw me, truly, down to my very core, and still wanted to see more… it changed my life. It changed me.

And now…I want to wallow.

Because it’s really not as messy as you might think.

What say you, distinguished audience? Can you compartmentalize sex and love? Or do you need the complete package to be satisfied? Do you think this is something that develops as we get older, or is it really as simple as finding the right person to wallow around in the love-muck with?

The Magic Poon

Most recently, I was having a casual conversation with a group of men in my office. They were *gasp* gossiping about a certain NFL quarterback on the disabled list for an injury. Turns out, the 4-1-1 down low is that this man is not hurting from physical impairment. Hypothetically, let’s agree his knee is strained. What was funny to me is that his *cough* knee is not hurting as much as his cock. I mean, ego. Apparently, he is totally wigging out over a woman.

From what I learned, said quarterback had finally brought his long term love to the same city after enduring a long distance relationship for more than three years. My guess would be that this move was to migrate the relationship to the next level. What does this million dollar man get in return? Apparently, the pleasure of walking in and seeing his beloved doing the dirty with her drug dealer. Rumor has it she was riding on top of him with great fervor. Oh, joy!

Does it make any sense to you? Is this long term love just using him for his name, influence and ability to fund her drug habit? How, exactly, does one move a thousand miles and so quickly find a new dealer? I guess it would not be hard to do if you are tied to a local celebrity. Then again, perhaps I should kick my cynic to the curb and believe she really, really LOVES him. And her crack. Or something.

Amidst the sports talk, one of the men used the word “poon” to describe the QB’s injury. My forthright reply was, “wow, that must be some magic poon”. Once they retrieved their composure from laughing, we talked at length about the power of a magic poon. I asked several point blank questions. First, had they EVER known the power of a magic poon? I was not surprised to learn that each had known one in their lifetime. I was, however, surprised, to learn each had ONLY known one “magic poon”. There was NOT a second magic poon in any of their histories. It seems the Magic Poon and The Highlander share a trait in common: There can be only one.

Thus, comes the subject (lol…but only once) of the illustrious, magnificent and oh-so-rare Magic Poon. Of course, I naturally felt compelled to learn more. What made it magical? Was it a look, a feeling, a smell, an anomaly? Was it completely shaved (or waxed) with the essence of strawberry and mango? What? Damn it, I wanted to know! Alas, there were no concrete answers, only more questions. It was magic poon, period. Despite my intelligent questions and deliberate attempts to garner more information, I was left with magic poon. The best I could gather, the magic poons are entities to their own, seemingly unrelated to the women who own them. For all I know, every other woman has a poon reminiscent of raspberries or tastes like peaches. All other poons could be sweet and tasty, but they are NOT magical.

Oh, I called other male friends only to inquire as to the magic-ness of any poon in their history. Surely, those who know me well can speak more freely. NOT! Apparently, there seems to be an unspoken zipper on the lips of any male conversation regarding magic poon. It’s as if it’s a secret only known to men, never to be understood by the opposite (dare I suggest fairer) sex. I, for one, really want to know what makes those poons so magical!!! Perhaps the men do not understand, either. There was simply a time in their lives where some undefinable quality about a woman made them impossible to deny.

True to form, several of those male friends turned the question table on me. Have I ever known a magic cock? Well, I will freely admit that I have known a magic man or two in my day. Trust me, they did not taste like strawberries! The bigger factor is that I would not classify them as magical. What I have learned is that magical and wonderful are two totally different things.

Women seem to have a great lover or two in the past. Yes, we do have “that” guy who rocked our ever-loving-worlds and left a standard rarely met. We may even use several men to form the ideal man. If nowhere else, in the sanctity of our our minds. However, men seem to have one woman who rotated their tires in a new direction. It’s not necessarily the woman, or anything about her, it’s all about the magic energy in her panties. This woman owns a magic poon and most of the men who have ever been in or around the vicinity.

I want to learn more. I want to know what makes a poon magical. I want to know why men only seem to embrace one. Why is one enough?

Come on, guys, who was YOUR magic poon…and why? Or, if you have been the Magic Poon, tell us why! Let’s all share a bit of the magic!

Protecting and Serving The Vagina

I am not only flabbergasted, but outraged! My original intent of this “Confessions of a Single Girl” post was to maximize my self-deprecation through a rather embarrassing yet hilarious tale of my contraception method gone awry and the subsequent high cost of owning a vagina. Unfortunately, while researching the facts and figures to support my decision to use what many deem as an inconvenient, messy and archaic form of birth control, I’ve become privy to an issue that I thought was simply an isolated case of rare and unfortunate circumstances. Apparently, however, I am not alone and it seems as though the Hippocratic Oath has given way to compromising patient care in lieu of religious and moral beliefs.

Whilst making a late night trip to an E.R. that likened a Tijuana abortion clinic to have my diaphragm extricated (stop laughing!) I was subjected to what I’d chalked up to as an uncomfortable and unfortunate event. Awkward from the get-go, the experience was made even more painful by the lecture and inquisition being delivered below a paper sheet between my knees. I could hear her words, but only see her turban…a purple, silk paisley turban asking inappropriate questions and offering personal opinions while digging for my beloved cervical barrier with forceps and a flashlight. With conjured up memories of after school detention, I left feeling even more ashamed and horrified then when I’d walked through the doors.

A woman’s body is hers to do with as she pleases…or at least that’s my personal opinion. No state, government, church or physician has the right to delegate what’s appropriate and what is not. If I choose to utilize a 120 year old birth control device and risk getting it lodged in my hoo-ha as opposed to the vast array of modern day hormonal methods I shouldn’t be judged for it. And I most certainly should not be told to “abstain,” by Mr. Battkha, the pharmacist who wouldn’t refill my replacement diaphragm. Yep, after he lied and told me that my precious diaphragm had been taken off the market, I inquired as to my options. It was then that the religious zealot said, “Why don’t you abstain, Karri?” (I bit my tongue as to not tell him that I had a better idea that involved him screwing himself!)

Seriously, who knew that opting for passé pussy protection would come with a whorish stigma? Men aren’t being ostracized for purchasing condoms so why did a Doctor and a pharmacist feel it appropriate to condemn me for at the very least keeping my eggs unfertilized? Honestly, I don’t give a rat’s ass about their personal, moral or religious beliefs…I respect our differences. But this is my vajaja we’re talking about and I will not tolerate extremists telling me how to care for it. It is after all a very fragile environment and it must be protected…and who better to be in control of that than the woman who owns it?!

Apparently my circumstances aren’t the rarity that I’d assumed. Women all across this great and free country of ours are being held hostage by the personal beliefs of physicians and pharmacists. “There are pharmacists who will only dispense birth control pills to a woman if she’s married. There are physicians who mistakenly believe contraception is a form of abortion and refuse to prescribe it to anyone,” said Adam Sonfield of the Alan Guttmacher Institute in New York, which tracks reproductive issues.

Bottom line is this…sex and religion are two of the greatest debates in history and I would never be so naïve as to believe that someday we will all agree. BUT…for the love of all that is (un)holy, please save the sermons for the Synagogue and keep them out of medical practices! Thank you.

Bring it people…I can’t possibly be the only one who is livid with others spewing their personal propaganda under the guise of a professional title. Where are your boundaries? Do you believe that medical professionals have the right to discern a woman’s contraceptive choices?  And what about men, shouldn’t they be held to the same set of standards and lectures?

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