It’s Hard Out Here For a Pimp

With head bowed, my intention was to make a hasty retreat without actually making eye contact with anyone. If I could just get to my car without bringing attention to myself, I could make it home without being spotted in my oldest, formally known as white, sweatpants. I may also have been wearing a scrunchie to keep the stray, unwashed strands of frizzy hair out of my mascara-free eyes. Okay, I was, and it was red.

Yet, Murphy’s Law dictates that without fail, the moment you run out for a quick errand without any makeup on while wearing 15 year old cotton, will be the exact moment you run into someone you know, or Leonard DiCaprio. In other words, I should have known better than to stop for a pack of smokes, but I didn’t. There’s just no way of bringing sexy back when you haven’t showered in two days and you’re wearing attire even the Goodwill wouldn’t accept.

He reached the door before I did. He wasn’t Leonardo DeCaprio but he may as well have been. As he opened the door for me I instantly considered if it was too late to run and hide behind the stand promoting increased female arousal and male stamina. Would it have been any less mortifying had I made a mad dash to the erectile dysfunction aisle then to face the cutie while looking like Aileen Wournos? I’m guessing so, so on I went, cursing my decision not to just go home and bum a cigarette off my roommate when he wasn’t looking.

I was almost there. Six more steps and I would be safely inside my vehicle, never to step foot at that gas station again for fear that I might be recognized as the women in Homeless Couture.

“How are you?”

Shit. No such luck.

“I was at the light and saw you so I turned around to come say hi. You are very pretty. Could I get your number?”

Since when had the DMV begun issuing licenses to people with severe visual impairments?

Hurriedly, I thanked Mr. Cutie and parted with my digits. The longer we stood there making idle chit chat, the greater the odds of him noticing the whitehead on my chin and realizing the error of his ways.

He called, we talked, and we made plans to meet for lunch the next day. There was great satisfaction in knowing the next time I saw him I couldn’t possibly look any worse than I had at the gas station.

“So tell me a little more about yourself. What do you do for work?”

“I sell medical marijuana.”

Great. “So you’re a drug dealer.”

“No. I sell medical marijuana. I have a dispensary in -”

“You sell pot. That explains why you brought me to a Chinese buffet.”

This was going well. And may have explained, in part, why he had approached me in a gas station parking lot; he was high.

While I wasn’t thrilled with the idea of starting a relationship with a man who sold weed for a living, I could make due knowing he actually held a job that was legal – depending on whose interpretation you followed, be it State or Federal.

A few nights later we met again for dinner. The little druggie was starting to grow on me and aside from the whole selling pot thing, I was enjoying his company. If the time ever came to introduce him to my family, I could always say he was a pharmaceutical rep like my cousin’s husband.

For date #3 we decided to spend a quiet evening back at his place. He had his own condo and lived alone. By all appearances, the legal-ish distribution of marijuana had proven very lucrative for him. If he was as knowledgeable about the female form as he was about the logistics of drug dealing, I was in for a real treat.

“Why does your phone keep blowing up? Is there a sudden influx of people with insomnia and back pain this evening?”

“No, it’s my other business.”

“Other business? And what business might that be where your attention is needed at 11:30 on a Saturday night? I’m guessing it’s not a beauty supply.”

Shifting uncomfortably, “I also have an escort business.”

“You’re a pimp, too?!?”

“I’m not a pimp.”

“If they’re fucking and you’re taking half, you’re a pimp.”

Then it dawned on me:

“YOU’RE RECRUITING ME!”

“I’m not recruiting you. Although, if you wanted to make a little extra money…”

Just because Mr. Cutie wasn’t wearing a purple fedora and driving a white Cadillac didn’t make him any less of a pimp. He just had better game.

That’s when it hit me. I really had looked that bad that night at the gas station. He probably thought I was homeless and taking a little break from my corner on Santa Monica Blvd. And despite his generous offer, I decided not to “make a little extra money.” That’s what AVON is for.

Posted in Dating | Tagged | 3 Comments

5 Reasons Why Jamie Dornan Will Do Just Fine Playing Christian Grey

I hated Fifty Shades of Grey. I thought it was poorly written, redundant, and immature. If a book about S & M can be considered as such. I, like many others, read it out of curiosity, and because, to put it simply, I like me some erotica, here and there. Instead what I encountered was a book saturated with almost comical and childish sexual fantasy.

Needless to say, I’ll probably still go see the movie.

Sadly, I’ve heard far more criticism about the actor chosen to play the elusive, perfect, and drop dead gorgeous philanthropist then about the actual book (which sucked, btw, in case I hadn’t already mentioned that).

Originally cast was Charlie Hunnam, who I would have considered perfect for the role. Who, in actuality, would be perfect for any role. Ever.

Can't. Concentrate. Must turn away. What's my name?

Can’t. Concentrate. Must turn away. What’s my name?

But since Charlie bailed, we now have Jamie Dornan and below are five reasons why Jamie will do just fine playing Christian Grey:

Oh yeah, he's aight. I wouldn't kick him out of bed for eating crackers.

Oh yeah, he’s aight. I wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eating crackers.

You’re welcome.

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19 Things You May or May Not Already Know About Valentine’s Day

It’s that time of year again. The time of year we are inundated with commercials and TV shows that’s sole purpose is to guilt us into spending our hard earned cash on chocolate and overpriced greeting cards. Or in my case, the latest in adult oriented toys that vibrate. But I digress. Below are 19 things you may or may not already know about Valentine’s Day. Enjoy. Or don’t.

  • According to the condom company Durex, condom sales are highest around Valentine’s Day, which are 20 percent to 30 percent higher than usual.
  • More at-home pregnancy tests are sold in March than in any other month which is a pretty strong testament to the reliability of Durex.
  • Penicillin, a popular treatment for venereal diseases such as syphilis, was introduced to the world on February 14, 1929. *cough* Durex *cough*
  • Teachers receive the most valentines, followed by kids, mothers, wives and sweethearts which may help account for the increase in student-teacher relations. Just sayin’.
  • The roots of St. Valentine’s Day can be traced back to the Roman fertility festival of Lupercalia. On Lupercalia, a young man would draw the name of a young woman in a lottery and would then keep the woman as a sexual companion for the year. Equally creepy, the men would also strip naked and spank young maidens in hopes of upping their fertility. I guess they hadn’t quite yet figured out that’s not how babies were made.
  • For every 120 single men who are in their 20s, there are 100 single women in the same age range.
  • Beyond 65, there are 33 single men for every 100 single women of the same age range. I’m still trying to figure the math out on this one.
  • 15% of US women send flowers to themselves.
  • More than nine million pet owners are expected to buy gifts for their pets this Valentine’s Day which isn’t nearly as pathetic as sending flowers to yourself.
  • In the middle Ages, people believed that the first unmarried person of the opposite sex you met on the morning of St. Valentine’s Day would become your spouse. I may be a little late to work today as I’ll be stopping by Fire Station 19 on the way.
  • One theory regarding the origin of Valentine’s Day is that while the Roman Emperor Claudius II was trying to bolster his army, he forbade young men to marry. In the spirit of love, St. Valentine defied the ban and performed secret marriages. For his disobedience, Valentine was executed on February 14.
  • In 2011, Iran banned Valentine cards, gifts, teddy bears, and other Valentine tokens as part of an Islamic republic backlash against the spread of Western culture. Additionally, some religious activists in India and Pakistan protest Valentine’s Day as a day of shame of lust. They view it as a Western holiday in which Westerners satisfy their “sex thirst.” Mmm, sex thirst.
  • Ironically, India celebrates Children’s Day on November 14th, 9 months after Valentine’s Day.
  • Valentine’s Day is also banned in Saudi Arabia. Nothing red can be worn or sold on Valentine’s Day in Saudi Arabia.
  • “Quirkyalone Day” is celebrated on February 14 as an alternative to Valentine’s Day. It is geared toward people who “resist the tyranny of coupledom.” Another alternate Valentine’s Day celebration is SAD (Single Awareness Day), which reminds people that they don’t need to be in a relationship to celebrate life. Yes, let’s help end of the stigma of singles on VD by calling them quirky, alone, and SAD. Strong work.
  • Saint Valentine is the patron saint of lovers and engaged couples. He is also the patron saint of epilepsy (which he is said to have suffered), plague, greetings, travelers, young people, and bee keepers.
  • You can make special Valentine’s reservations at White Castle and other fast food places. Klassy.
  • Each year the city of Verona Italy receives more than 1000 valentine’s addressed to Shakespeare’s Juliet. It is said that each year, Juliet, will rise from her non-existent grave (because, you know, she’s not actually real) and make sweet love to one lucky valentine sender. Ok, I made that last part up.
  • On Valentine’s Day 1929, at the height of prohibition, Al Capone ordered the killing of members of a rival gang run by Bugs Moran in Chicago. Nothin’ says lovin’ like a bullet to the head. Which is pretty much what I feel like having every February 14th?

Happy VD, ya’ll! May your day be filled with unrealistic expectations, latex, and vodka.

Posted in love, sex | Tagged | 1 Comment

Welcome To The (Sex) Doll House

Realistic sex dolls aren’t exactly new to the market. They’ve been around for years in one form or another. And no, I’m not an expert on the subject; I just watch a lot of TV.

My first introduction to the sex doll was via HBO. They did a segment on a company that produced realistic female sex dolls. So realistic, in fact, that most men having sex with one wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between them or a drunk sorority girl. The dolls came with breasts, pubic hair, and hollowed out vaginal cavities for those wishing to fornicate with a 110 lb. condom with tits.

Not to leave the women out, this particular company was toying with the idea of a male prototype. After all, what’s good for the goose is certainly good for the gander, right? Right.

To prove the effectiveness of this new male Ken doll, this company (whose name escapes me because I lost the receipt), brought in three female porn stars to give him a go. Three orgasms later, it was concluded that Ken was just as good in the sack as any flesh and blood gent with a boner. Only I suspect Ken would be much more fulfilling because you could finally have sex with the lights on and not have to worry about sucking in your stomach.

Not long after that I saw yet another documentary on the men who carry on legitimate relationships with female sex dolls. They would dress them up and hang them from the ceiling as any good boyfriend should do. They would talk to them for hours describing their day at work, watch TV with them in the evenings, and after dark they would hoist them into bed where they would make sweet, sweet love to a block of silicone.

Yet, this isn’t the strangest thing I’ve seen or heard of in man’s attempt at sexual gratification. Human sexuality is an amazingly fascinating and complex thing and something I’m often times trying to learn more about. While I don’t see myself fucking a piece of plastic anytime soon, the idea that someone would is extremely intriguing.

So, in honor of this year’s AVN Adult Entertainment Expo in Vegas, I checked out these so-called “Real Dolls.” Creep factor aside, even I must admit that these were some fine looking dolls. Many women only dream of having the type of body men drool over and want to pound relentlessly while they themselves stay frigidly still and silent.

I had to wonder, what does it take to make a Crystal or Stacy or even a Melissa, yes Melissa (they spelled it wrong), part of your very own doll collection? A mere $5499, to start (all major credit cards accepted. Sorry, no PayPal). For just 55 hundies you too could be the proud owner of the only sexual being I’m aware of that doesn’t get headaches.

But I’m not done! Real Doll: Home of the world’s finest love doll also makes Male Real Dolls. Hallelujah! Is it my birthday? For shits and giggles I decided to build my own Real Doll. I didn’t need anything fancy. I picked Nate with Body Type A (the larger of the two options at 123 lbs.), brown hair, brown eyes, clean shaven, trimmed pubes, with a Fixed (instead of removable) “X-Large” penis. Of course. The only thing better would be if the penis had a vibrate option.

The male dolls were a little more pricey than the female dolls, running, on average, $5,999. That must be one hell of a penis to account for the extra $500 but who am I to judge? After all is said and done, let me introduce you to Nate, the sixth member of One Direction…

Bow Chica Bow Wow

Bow Chica Bow Wow

Now before you rush out to go make your very own “lifelike” male version of Frodo, let me leave you with this:

The male RealDoll2 dolls are made of the same Platinum silicone as our female dolls and feature the same improved skeletons and advanced weight reduction. They also have magnet based interchangeable heads with a 7″ oral capacity.

Your male doll ships in boxer shorts and a tank top with a care kit including cologne and a cleaning kit.

Oh, the things one can do with a 7” oral capacity.

So, I have to ask, would you have sex with a doll?

Posted in sex, sex toys | Tagged | 1 Comment

Making Love Like Gorillas

I’m not a huge fan of Bruno Mars. In truth, listening to his music sort of makes me want to shoot myself in the face. But I’m sure you didn’t come here to read about my suicidal tendencies. You came here to learn about the important and relevant issues of the day…like gorilla sex.

A few weeks ago, a little show aired on MTV called the VMAs, otherwise known as the Video Music Awards. You might have heard of them. Billy Ray Cyrus’s daughter was bumping uglies with the son of that dad from Growing Pains and Lady Gaga was, well, being Lady Gaga. In the midst of all this bump and grind, Bruno Mars performed Gorilla. And I liked it. So much so, that I immediately downloaded the song so I could listen to it on repeat over and over and over.

To make a long story short, I really liked the song. The performance itself was a little cheesy, what with the ginormous roaring gorilla head popping up every time Mr. Mars would get to the chorus but I didn’t care – he was singing about passionate animal sex. I thought the song was sexy and I imagined that were I and Will Smith (who appeared to also appreciate the song) to get together we would most certainly make love like gorillas. We’d be high on coke and full of liquor with my legs up in the sky and the devil in my eye. We’d be in a jungle and I’d be banging on his chest – I’m sure you can see where this is going.

Anywho, I digress.

After that, everything about gorilla mating seemed hot. I wanted to be with someone (Will Smith) in the same raw and wild way that Bruno had been singing about. Then my sister went and ruined everything.

“A gorilla’s penis is only about 1 ½” erect.”

Suddenly, gorilla sex wasn’t so sexy.

”And they eat their own poop.”

And neither were gorillas. The song clearly hadn’t had the same affect on her as it did me.

“That’s a dumb song.”

See, I told you.

So, I did what any self-respecting women would do – I looked up gorillas having sex on YouTube. It was rather disappointing, to say the least, and there wasn’t an 8 ball to be found.

I can certainly appreciate the range of positions but I was hoping for something a little more animalistic and chaotic and a little less Paris Hilton.

Then this happened:

Jack Baruth: Have you seen bonobos having sex?

Me: No, I haven’t googled that yet.

JB: Our zoo had a bonobo exhibit. Basically, they had to shut it down because the bonobos would blow each other all day in front of children.

Awesome.

Naturally, I googled bonobos having sex because at this point, should my computer ever be taken as evidence, all my credibility as a normal functioning adult had long been obliterated. And, if Bruno Mars had done his homework, he would have noticed that bonobos have a far more exciting and adventurous sex life than any gorilla I have found. But I guess “making love like bonobos” just doesn’t have quite the same ring.

Clearly, I have way too much time on my hands.

And I still think the song is hot.

Posted in Awkward, penis, sex | Tagged | 9 Comments

A Birthday To Remember


It was my birthday, my twenty second birthday to be exact. I had spent that entire college semester figuring out how I would manage to have a threesome before I graduated and it finally seemed like I had come up with a feasible solution. A best friend of mine had let it slip that she too had wanted to have one, so I seized the opportunity and immediately asked her, “Do you want to have one together?” She said yes and from there the search for the perfect third began.

We searched through our phones and Facebook friends list, we questioned friends on who would be the best pick, but it wasn’t until I went to my journalism class that I found him. He and I shared a penchant for sexy writing, sexual deviance and a newly discovered interest in threesomes. He was a svelte, bearded, and ex-Army. I promptly invited him to my birthday party.

The party consisted of ten friends and a rousing game of pub golf, which ultimately meant nine bars and a minimum of eleven drinks. We danced and threw back shots all night. Needless to say, I was drunk by the end of the evening, as were my bedroom partners. I looked at them both as the clock neared two and said, “I’m ready for my present.” They both immediately put their drinks down and grabbed their coats. My classmate lived a few short blocks from the bars, so we proceeded to run back to his house, stealing kisses and gropes along the way.

His apartment was tiny and modest. A simple one bedroom that would soon become a mess of clothes and condoms. Once inside, the three of us instantly gravitated towards the kitchen and I started to slip in and out of drunken consciousness. My shirt was the first to go, shortly followed by hers and then his. There were flashes of a make out scene, the three of us standing in a circle on the linoleum grabbing at each other wildly and then it’s gone.

I come to maybe ten, twenty minutes later and we’re deep into our threesome. She between my legs and he behind her. I’m not too sure of my level of participation prior to my awakening, but now I was ready. We take turns alternating between each other. My hands deep inside of her, her hands on him, him between my legs while I was between hers. It became a whirlwind of tangled limbs, loud moans and too many condom changes to keep track.

An hour or two passed and the liquor caught up to me again. I’m not sure when I fell asleep, but I know when I woke up an hour or so later that she had left, he was fast asleep next to me and the floor looked like a sticky rubber warzone. My eyes fluttered once again.

—-

The morning light pierced through the blinds and stung my tired eyes. The sunlight caught the smooth curve of his shoulder and I knew I needed to head home. I woke him up in hopes of getting a ride, but he had a different ride in mind. We went at it once more, this time much less dramatic and satisfying, but good nonetheless.

As he finished, he said, “I have a present for you.” I thought it was a poorly timed sex joke, but instead, he hopped up and grabbed an envelope off of his dresser. I looked around a little confused, unsure of what he could have possibly gotten me. As he handed me the envelope, I noticed it was strangely shaped, hard and bulbous in areas. I grabbed what was inside. I immediately knew what it was as soon as my hand touched the plastic. As I pulled my hand out, I found I was holding a purple Rabbit vibrator. I must have looked confused, because he quickly said, “”Adam and Eve was having a sale. It made me think of you.”

I thanked him for my gift, but was too tired to truly show my appreciation. I just needed to go home. I slowly picked up all of my clothes. I found a necklace in the living room. My coat and shirt in the kitchen, underwear in the bathroom and my pants in his room. We got in his car and I asked him if we could get some food.

I had him stop at Taco Bell, where I decided to get two tacos instead of my usual one. It just seemed fitting.

Years later, it’s still one of the best birthdays I ever had and while he’s long gone the vibrator certainly isn’t.

Amanda Stevens is a sex and relationship blogger that’s been blogging about her sexual adventures since the day she lost her virginity. She’s currently dating and living in Seattle, Washington.

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Swedish Public Masturbation

Whilst scouring the internets for cat memes and Miley Cyrus videos I discovered yet another reason to travel abroad. Amsterdam has their Red-Light District and now Sweden allows public masturbation (just so long as it’s not directed at any particular person). Of course.

Sweden Allows Public Masturbation

I don’t recommend googling “old man masturbating on a park bench.” It’s disturbing.

I don’t recommend googling “old man masturbating on a park bench.” It’s disturbing.

To paraphrase an article I read in TIME, some 65 year old man pulled out his wang and spanked the monkey while chillin’ on a beach in Stockholm. When charged with sexual assault he was acquitted because he didn’t make eye contact with anyone. One has to wonder, had it been grandma rubbing one out would she have “gotten off” so easily?

Other rad things about Sweden:

- Sweden is one of the homelands of the Germanic ethnicity and culture. The Vikings trace their origin back to Sweden (as well as Norway and Denmark). Vikings!

- The world-famous discount furniture chain IKEA was founded in Sweden in 1943. Without which, I’d be sitting on an egg crate and would have ZERO dishes.

- All employees (including graduate students) get 5 weeks of paid vacation a year. What’s not love about that? I’m lucky if I get 5 days a year.

- All employers (as of 2004) are required to provide free massage. Those Swedes sure do like to use their hands.

- St. Lucia is a nationally celebrated saint, and despite the fact that she is a saint because she tore out her own eyes to avoid being seduced by a man, little children dress up like her every winter. In other words, children dress up like that Japanese girl in Hostel.

Moral of the story is this; if you absolutely feel the need to orgasm while taking a stroll through the park, just close your eyes. You wouldn’t want anyone thinking your erotic bliss was due to them. Because that would be bad.

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