Lived Through This
My internal struggle as men at the gym keep trying to adopt me
I fit in at the gym about as well as a Disney Princess in a BDSM studio. I don’t get the culture: running, lifting, grunting, groaning, flexing. I’ve never understood the axioms of “power through” or “feel the burn” or “do three more.” The only times that “power through,” “do three more,” or “feel the burn” apply to my life is over a plate of chicken wings. I don’t feel a need to get stronger or run faster. Who do I have to run from? Who is trying to hurt me? …
The wrong words, at the wrong time, for the wrong reasons.
Why did I do it? Why open a letter posted on The White House page from Melania Trump? Before 2016, when I saw the name Trump, I knew someone was about to take money from me. Now when I see the name — it is so much worse. It takes my reason, my sanity, my happiness. Yet, I keep opening that damn door and rolling the dice. This time was no different.
“As your First Lady, it has been inspiring to witness firsthand what the people of our great Nation will do for one another, especially when we are at our most vulnerable.” …
An interview with Dr. Christopher Jones, a clinical psychologist and sex therapist.
Spanking the monkey, making the bald man cry, burping the worm, celebrating Palm Sunday. Whatever you call it, you’ve done it. Yes, I’m talking about masturbating. I thought I knew everything there is to know about jerkin’ the gherkin. Yet, after, a chat with Dr. Christopher Jones, a clinical psychologist, and sex therapist, about male masturbation, I can now admit I was wrong. Just like how kneading dough for 10,000 hours doesn’t make you a professional baker, my lifetime achievement award for strangling my cyclops is nothing more than a paperweight.
Until this opportunity presented itself, I didn’t realize how many questions I had about shucking corn. How much is too much? Is no-fap really good for you? Are there health benefits to making a tartar sauce rainbow? Should I stop using euphemisms when I talk about masturbation and be a grown-up? …
Repressed parents, lousy porn, and horny friends led to an exceptionally awkward sexual awakening.
When I was in kindergarten, I used to lay in bed butt-naked, spread-eagle, and imagine girls from my class, falling on top of me through the ceiling. Then, we would hug each other very tightly and roll around. At this point, I’d never seen people have sex, nor had I seen porn. I just instinctually wanted a warm body against mine, never suspecting for a minute that this spout between my legs needed to be in any way involved. This weird habit aside, my interests were more in building forts, putting ketchup on chicken, and refusing to take off my blue power ranger outfit. …
Mandatory fun days are not team building tools, they are time-sucking portals to hell on earth.
Aren’t you excited to do a Conga line with James, who cornered you in the break room to tell you, in great detail, about his vasectomy?
No?
Me either. It turns out, no one is. So how did you find yourself standing beside him, paired off for an office-wide scavenger hunt as he says, “They didn’t put me under for it, you know, there was so much tugging!”
Mandatory fun, that’s why.
It is a term that every employee in the world knows, and every boss seems to forget. No matter what job I work, or what country I work in, everywhere is the same. There is this pervasive misconception among those in charge that employees would rather spend their non-working hours away from their friends and family, to do some inane activity to “boost morale” or “create stronger teams.” …
A review of the Arcwave Ion: the world’s first male sex toy that uses pleasure air to intensify the male orgasm.
“Are you sure you’re not going to get dick cancer after sticking your pecker in that thing?” is not the first thing you want your father to say after you show him your new sex toy over Skype. But that’s what he said when I showed him the Arcwave Ion, my new sex toy (and no, we aren’t going to unpack any of that).
It was a fair question. If you didn’t know anything about the Ion, you’d look at the picture on the box, a high-end desk vacuum-looking contraption with a blue light shooting out of the hole in the center, and think, Oh, fuck no. …
The tragic consequences of ill-conceived Christmas miracles.
2:00 PM
I never wanted to be an elf. I was born to be a Hamlet, a Jean Valjean, hell, even a Willy Loman. But today, I am an elf at a Preschool Christmas party. I wash my hands and step out into the hall. The headmistress with six gold teeth rolls up to me. Her rock-like face is polished. Her eyes are onyx. She points. I follow her directions to a door inundated with a labyrinthine display of Christmas Joy. I go through. The room is vast, a gymnasium almost. It is crowded with all manner of Christmas. Bells float through the air, jingling — ropes of ornament-covered pine snake along the walls. …
At what point do we stop being polite and call #stopthesteal what it is: stupid.
I’m averse to the word “stupid”. For many years I have exchanged it for words like ignorant, persuadable, or uninformed because those are all things that can be changed. They do not indicate that something is inherently wrong with the way a person’s brain functions, nor that they are somehow, in an irreversible way, worse off than others. When I say those things, I am trying to say, “This person clearly, for whatever reason, lacks the information necessary to make an informed decision.” However, recently, I have had a very difficult time not using the word stupid. …
A tale of mishaps for any man looking to take on a new kinky hobby.
I’d found myself in a terrible position. I’d bought the right lube. I’d laid down in the ideal position. I’d completed a round of four-in-seven-out breathing exercises. I’d managed to get the prostate massager where it needed to go only to realize that I lacked the technical prowess to get it to work.
It seemed like a time for reflection.
I never thought reviewing sex toys would become a hobby of mine. More specifically, if you told me years ago that one day someone would send me something to stick up my butt in exchange for a write-up about it, I would have been a bit surprised. …
This Is Us
A bit of ‘wisdom’ passed down from man to man over the years that needs to stop
When I was around 10 years old, my parent’s friend Dick (yes, his name was Dick) sat me and my cousins down to tell us about this epic threesome he had in his twenties. I don’t remember the details, except that they were “babes.” I do remember that it was the first time — the first of many times — throughout my childhood and teen years that older adult men would corner me to regale me with their youthful sexual escapades, all of which starred women who never had an identity beyond their physical features. …
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