I recently began my sex toy journey, and once I stopped giggling about the bucket of dusty pocket pussies in the corner of the sex shop (shout out Good Vibrations in Brookline), I realized some of the adult toys looked eerily familiar…
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In middle school, I started filling a journal with ideas of my future girlfriend. Giddy with the thought of my first queer love, I scribbled down every scenario I could think of. Some of them came true. Some of them didn’t. Two queer relationships and a college-hookup-bonanza later, I’m dating a man. After six years of declared lesbianism, this revelation of bisexuality felt like a step back…
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Like many hopeful romantics, my guilty pleasures include: my favorite rom-com, coffee or tea, a sexy lingerie set (typically under unassuming clothing), a good snack—oh and anything that may possibly bring my romantic inclinations to life. This so happened to be: the Law of Detachment…
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I truly didn’t know what to expect going to a queer bar for the first time. In my head, I looked forward to not having to play the “Are they into women?” game—having to analyze a person’s outfit, hair, body language, or seeing if they would make eye contact with me from across the room before approaching someone I’m interested in.
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The seemingly straightforward title of “songs i wanna get fucked to” is more layered than one may expect. Trinna, the playlist’s creator, says in the description that the playlist has a “‘please be gentle when you’re ripping me apart’ kinda vibe.” At 13 hours and 34 minutes, the playlist’s bold length challenges the selectivity of its creator. However, I trust Trinna’s judgment on every pick; each one feels delicately curated. What is strange isn’t the playlist itself, but the sheer amount of followers it has garnered. Spotify is not an app often defined by followers and playlist saves, but Trinna’s playlist has amassed 141,615 saves.
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Of all the paths we go down in life, the most difficult is the high road. Someone wise once said, “Your oldest friends are the ones you’ve forgiven the most.” I’ve been mulling it over ever since, wondering how much power people truly have to forgive when human error holds us back.
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Our relationship started when we were seventeen and eighteen, graduating high school. Now we are turning twenty-two and twenty-three, graduating college. One can only imagine the changes we’ve experienced in arguably some of our most formative years.
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College is the ultimate playground for figuring out your sexuality, testing the waters with different partners, or finding a sneaky spot for some extracurricular fun. But at what point does “fun” start feeling less like a thrilling memory and more like a public service announcement?
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Peter, Peter, pumpkin eater, had a wife and couldn’t keep her…Cheater, cheater, pumpkin eater… You know the story, even when it’s embellished: It starts with two people in love and ends in disaster, like some good things do, often leaving one person heartbroken and the other responsible…
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Have you ever been in class and the guy you find cute is staring at you again? You immediately dart your eyes to your email inbox to avoid it? Well, I have…
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My friends always called me the shy one in middle school. It’s a funny thing to be told that you’re shy when you’re far from it. What they really meant was, “Anna doesn’t talk to boys.” They were right about that. I was too scared and too anxious. It was never a rejection thing, the boys I pined after always liked me back, but I was just too afraid to say “hello…”
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I know that the phrase “incestual friend groups” is kind of disgusting, but it helps to paint a picture of the groups we know all too well. While it’s not uncommon for non-queer friend groups to also fuck each other, it does (from my experience) happen at an insane rate in queer ones. We can go from a kiki to a kiss kiss at such a natural yet rapid pace that it can be hard to keep up with who’s been with who.
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I have vividly dreamed of my wedding day, particularly my first dance, since childhood. I remember gathering my animals in a line and sending them down the aisle one by one on multiple occasions. Dance, to me, is a tying of souls. Really, my perfect scene only has two problems: first, I am not a very smooth dancer, and second, how are people outside of heteronormative gender roles supposed to partner dance?
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There's something about the first crisp morning in October that triggers an almost Pavlovian response in the perpetually single. Perhaps it's the way scarves begin appearing around necks like relationship status indicators, or how every coffee shop suddenly transforms into a backdrop for potential romance…
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He’s the sweet, bumbling “fixer-upper.” He’s a-dork-ably funny, and he never learned how to do laundry. His ineptitude is endearing at first, until you’re months into proving Freud right and teaching a grown man how to rinse the dishes before putting them in the dishwasher…
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Yearning, pining, longing… Have you or someone you know been a victim of unrequited love? You may be entitled to emotional compensation…
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There are three screens in front of me, filming a woman spanked by a man, from triad perspectives. Other men, hiding behind trees, touching themselves, to see how it feels. My steps roam through the room, am I a fool to come and see something so cruel? I ridicule myself for the role I play, amongst associating objectifiers, yet none of us look away.
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College life is a juggling act, and adding romance to the mix can make it even more challenging. For those of you who haven't been to the circus before, imagine trying to keep multiple balls in the air while walking a tightrope— that's what balancing academics, social life, and a relationship can feel like. But fear not! With the right strategies and mindset, it's possible to excel in your studies while nurturing a fulfilling relationship.
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It’s five days after our breakup. My cheeks and eyes are bleeding colors, matching pinks, indistinguishable from the other. I pull my hair back to keep the tears away from it, and since my bedroom has become suffocatingly hot. In these last few days, we fought every night, each argument ending with his pleas for reconciliation. I feel as if my bed will remember my shape better than he ever will, and I realize that my hair has lost its shape as well.
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Your mom’s boyfriend is a groaner. His sighs sound like an avalanche heaving down the side of a mountain. The groans reverberate through the walls accompanying every activity from browsing the fridge to movie nights. He has neck, teeth, and knee problems from working on a boatyard. Also, he plays the bongos when he’s happy.
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