by Laurelin

I remember that I used to go to his bar after we had broken up. I had always gone there, why should I change anything just because my life as I knew it was over? Besides, I was fine. I would do my hair differently, a different style, parted to another side. And I’d wear a little black dress because I was on my way to a fancy event that once he would have also been invited to. I was okay, and he would see that.

I wasn’t okay, I was drunk. Lines blurred and people stared, and when I fell backwards off my barstool he came running to help me up. I screamed that I didn’t need his help anymore, that I was fine. Our friends shook their heads and saw me home, and I knew that I was far from fine. That night would replay a couple of times a week; a different dress, the same sad looks. And always I would cry when I thought no one was looking, even though everyone was. He must have been horrified.

Three years later, I watch him walk drunk into my bar regularly. He has his head held high, but I can always tell that something is wrong.

After the scene unfolded for the first time, I leant over to one of our friends and said, “This is what it was like all those years ago when I used to go into his bar, isn’t it?” Our friend nodded his head, and I felt impossibly sad.

I would rather have nights of my own endless heartbreak than know I’m causing someone else to ache like that. I don’t know what’s happening, and I am powerless to stop any of it. I have my own problems and having front row seats to his makes me feel guilty for being annoyed, but I am.

“I just miss you,” he says, reaching for me. I turn away, just out of his reach and I want to cry, but I don’t. Not until I was telling someone else the story later did my eyes fill with tears. “You’re happy now,” he had slurred and I wanted so badly to shake him and tell him that I was anything but happy; I was still always being let down, the only constant in my life was our sad city bar scene. But he didn’t need to know that. If he thought I was happy and that made him sad, it wasn’t my place to let him know that I really did want to be rescued – just not by him anymore.

It’s raining outside today, and I can’t bring myself to get out of bed. I don’t feel like drinking, I don’t feel like talking, texting, writing, eating. I feel sad, alone, heartbroken. I have to be at the bar in one hour. As shitty as I feel I know, I’ll get up, I’ll add some color to my pale cheeks and I’ll fake a smile, and while some people will know, others won’t. I’ll be okay. Maybe he’ll call and maybe he won’t, and no matter which “he” it is, I shouldn’t answer the phone, because nothing is right.

I have to be at the bar in one hour, and the mere thought of lifting my face off this pillow is enough to make me turn to ashes.

[..]

by Daniel Robert Epstein

“I love the idea that masochism is a reincarnation of prudery.”
– Bill Condon

Bill Condon is the Oscar winning screenwriter and director of Gods and Monsters which was released to great acclaim in 1998 and launched Ian McKellan as a legitimate film actor. Since then Condon wrote Chicago and finally brought to light his long gestating project, Kinsey, which is a look at the life of Alfred Kinsey, a pioneer in the area of human sexuality research, whose 1948 publication Sexual Behavior in the Human Male was one of the first recorded works that saw science address sexual behavior.

Read our interview with Bill Condon on SuicideGirls.com.

by SG’s Team Agony feat. Leandra

Let us answer life’s questions – because great advice is even better when it comes from SuicideGirls.

Q. Basically my boyfriend never wants to have sex and it confuses me. I wear sexy outfits, corsets, thongs, nothing but a skirt, fish nets stockings, but nothing works. I rub on him, even give him head, but he still doesn’t want to have sex with me. I don’t know what to do!!! Any tricks you could teach me?

A: Firstly, you need to know it’s NOT you. Wearing sexy outfits, lingerie etc., will only do so much. I am sure you look amazing!

It sounds like you have a real problem in the relationship here, I don’t think trying any tricks will help. How long has he been this way? Has he always been less sexual than you? Sometimes guys just are not sexual, despite the stereotype.

The first thing I think you should do is confront your boyfriend on this issue, but be kind and be gentle, this is a sensitive subject. I know this is frustrating and can do serious damage to your confidence and self esteem, but please try not to take it personally and please don’t think you’re not hot enough and can’t “do it” for him.

He should be willing to go to a doctor and have a few tests done, he may have a medical problem. He may have low testosterone, (you might want to Google that and see if he has other symptoms). He may have erectile dysfunction, which he can get pills for (Viagra and others). There may be a lack of blood flow to his penis, etc. It’s important to rule any physical factors out for his health.

Once you have ruled out anything physical, author possible causes could be emotional or mental. Has there been a change in the relationship or a change in his life? Could he be stressed, tired or overworked? Are you guys okay besides this sex problem? It may help him to talk to a therapist. You guys could even consider going to couples counseling together.

Basically, this doesn’t usually happen for no reason. Sure, some men and woman are just not very sexual, but there is usually a reason beyond that, especially if it hasn’t always been this way. You need to work together to get to the bottom of it, and you need to be supportive as I’m sure this is going to be a little embarrassing for him.

If he is not willing to seek any kind of help, you need to decide if you will be happy spending the rest of your life in a sexless relationship. Personally, I wouldn’t be so hurt that my boyfriend wasn’t having sex with me, I would be much more hurt if he wasn’t willing to try and do something about it.

Good luck!!!

Leandra
xXx

Got Problems? Let SuicideGirls’ team of Agony Aunts provide solutions. Email questions to: gotproblems@suicidegirls.com

by Cameron Frye

For those of you who haven’t heard the news, I’ve lost 270+lbs. Since losing the weight, I’ve entered the dating world and it’s been….nice? Who am I kidding, it sucks. But I can’t be anti-social Suzy for the rest of my life and I can’t get drunk and hope for the best anymore. So I have to put some effort into finding someone and conning some unlucky bastard into loving me.

It was so much easier when I drank and it was always a surprise. I use to equate it with getting a goodie bag after a birthday party. The majority of the stuff was horse shit, but occasionally you’d find one gem to keep you occupied for a while. You have to admit, there’s no better feeling than waking up in the morning and finding out from your friends or from the guy that’s sleeping next to you what you did the night before and following it up with an awkward doctor’s visit filled with judgment on Monday. How I didn’t get herpes is still beyond me. But that’s not why we’re here!

We are here to read about my entrance into the dating world and what I’m doing to make it more enjoyable.

So I am going on a lot of blind dates or first dates or torture sessions (whatever you want to call them) and they’re painful. It’s filled with awkward conversations and judgment. I just assume they’re thinking the worst of me (I admit I’m doing the same to them) and I can also assume that the friends who are setting me up, think very little of me or they’re getting back at me for something fucked up I did in the past. Listen, it’s not my fault he lingered a little too long after that kiss and, really, you’re the only one to blame. You gave us permission to hook you up.

Anyways, after accepting another date from a bad karma charmer, I’ve been scheduling a second “date” for later in the evening. Ok, it’s not really a date. It’s just my version of the nightcap and, since I can’t drink right now or indulge in my favorite desserts without getting sick and vomiting all over the place, I need something to take the edge off.

So, I’ve been meeting up with one of my many hook ups from Christmas’ past and having sex. The way I see it, they’re performing a service and if anything, the lucky fella I really want to be with will thank them in the end or at least that’s what I’m telling myself this week.

Since losing the weight equivalent of a defensive lineman for the New England Patriots, I’m not 100% comfy with my appearance out of clothes. Granted, that’s normal and that’s why God created the dark – but I still think the more ‘practice’ I have being naked with a guy, the better. Right now my body looks like its melting and that’s not exactly a big selling point with guys out there. I know, I know, it’s more than looks. But that’s bullshit. If it was, I would have been beating them off with a stick when I weighed 448 and had the slight resemblance of Mama June on ‘Here Comes Honey Boo Boo’ – just sans neck crust. *shudders*

I doubled up on the ‘dates’ this weekend. The first one was with ‘a really nice guy’ that worked with my friend’s husband. Attractive, good job, well dressed – just nothing there. He had the personality of stomach cancer and was more into talking to his reflection in the mirror than me. Translation? He was a less witty Patrick Bateman.

Now I fully admit to checking myself out in the mirror when no one is looking, but he was looking at himself the entire time. I saw him winking at himself in the mirror once or he had a thing for the 60 year old he saw sitting behind us. I won’t lie; she was a looker…in 1954.

For almost two hours I sat there listening to him ramble on about Mitt Romney, soccer and his new BMW. He was also one of those guys who needs to know everything about what he was going to eat. I care about animals, I really do. But I don’t need to know the life story of the chicken that’s being added to my salad. I’d rather assume, the chicken gave his life for a noble cause – like to earn money, so he could feed his starving children and the world is a better place for it. OMMMMM *ding* Namaste. After hearing the chicken life story, I contemplated stabbing myself with my salad fork.

Instead of ruining a perfectly good outfit or dealing with a trip to the hospital, I decided to text Round 2 and asked if he wanted company earlier than we had planned. When he responded with a “yes,” I couldn’t have been happier. Well, that’s not true. I was happier than a pig in shit when Round 1 asked for the check. When he wasn’t looking, I might have greased the waiter and said there’s more if he can get me out of there in less than 10 minutes. It worked.

Boring Bateman got a little grabby on the way out. Evidently, he thought he won me over or I wasn’t picky. While I was trying everything in my power to get away, he got blinded by his reflection in the mirror and I was able to hop in the first available cab.

I guess, in a way, I should be honored. I mean, he didn’t drink much and I did look good. I’m going to assume that’s what made him a little rapey. Two points for the kid.

I texted round 2 and said I was on my way. I’m going to be honest, I was nervous. It’s like I said before, it was much easier when I drank. Everything is. Ok, maybe not driving, raising a child or threading a needle, but hooking up was. When I was drunk, the real me came out. I wasn’t the insecure ass that I usually am. I just didn’t care. I was more concerned with having fun and not getting pregnant or worse.

But the bucket of fun was forced to be sober and now we’re forced to dazzle people with the personality we really have, which in itself is a horrible idea. Deep down inside, I’m a good person – but I’m kind of an asshole. I laugh at awful things and I make awful jokes. I’m not exactly the girl you bring home to mom. That is, unless your mom loves Louis C.K. (Talking of which, can someone put in good word with him for me? Listen, I used to be fat – I can suck a mean dick. Feel free to pass this info on to him).

I met Round 2 at his place. Round 2 lives near one of my favorite bakeries and a place I’d stop off at if I had an exceptionally bad day. There was a sad moment when I wondered if I could break in, grab a cupcake, not get caught and still make it up stairs for cock. I tamed the Super Sugar Force and headed on up to his apartment.

It’s weird, I was far more comfortable walking into his apartment and jumping into sex, than I was sitting down and having a peaceful dinner and getting to know someone. Being sexually confident and going for what I want in the bedroom is cakewalk or fart. (BTW can we please stop farting on cakes? You’re wasting a perfectly delicious treat.), It’s much easier than letting down the walls and letting someone in. I swear, I didn’t get that from any self-help nonsense. I came up with that embarrassing piece of verbal vomit myself.

I know why being sexually aggressive is easier for me, I had to do that most of my life. If I wanted something, I had to go get it myself. If I wanted someone, I had to do everything in my power to make them want me. But controlling that side is hard. I use to pick some awful men (i.e. married men or men already involved) to keep in my fat stable and I’d like to think I’m better than that. I just need to start believing it. I really need to stop talking to my mom when she’s watching her favorite TV shrink of the moment.

Until that happens, I’m going to keep on having fun the only way I know how. At least I know I’ll go to bed with a smile on my face and my vibrator batteries live for another day.

Since losing weight, Cameron Frye has gone from writing about sports to writing about sex. You can follow/stalk her on Twitter or read her ramblings on DigBoston.com/. If you know Louis C.K. – put in a good word for her. Also, she’s now accepting tattoo artist recommendations in the Boston area.

by SG’s Team Agony feat. Aadie

Let us answer life’s questions – because great advice is even better when it comes from SuicideGirls.

Q. I’ve been married for two years and my wife told me she wants to separate. It’s been three months and everything I do or see reminds me of her. I want to move away but I’m on probation and can’t. I’ve tried dating other women but every time I go on a date all I can focus on is how it’s not the same as with my wife. She’s already moved on and I see no hope of us getting back together. What should I do?

A: You need to focus on you. You have devoted two years to ‘us’ and she left. For that I have empathy for you, but now it’s seriously all about you.

Going on the odd date here and there is healthy but don’t over do it. I think you need to find yourself again in the aftermath of a relationship that very much defined you. It’s sad when people separate but sometimes that’s just the way it is.

Now it’s time to reintroduce yourself to yourself, get new hobbies, go to new bars, join a new gym, get a new hair style even. Find new friends, and also reconnect with old ones who perhaps fell by the wayside as you put more energy into the relationship.

For the moment, instead of looking to replace one relationship with another, build up your social circle and social life, so you have plenty of support and distractions. This will also help you when you are ready to find love again, to perhaps find it in a more organic and less overwhelming way through friends and friends of friends.

It’s going to be difficult, but you’re worth more then you know. Take a deep breath and hold your head up high. Your new life is beginning. You can only move forwards from here.

Aadie
xoxo

Got Problems? Let SuicideGirls’ team of Agony Aunts provide solutions. Email questions to: gotproblems@suicidegirls.com

by Sex Toy Expert Moxi Suicide

Wow. I just finished using the Doc Johnson Mood Fantastic for the first time, and I have to admit it’s kind of hard to type because my finger tips are still tingly from my amazing orgasm. I recently received a huge box of toys from Doc Johnson, and trying to pick out the first one to try was a bit of a challenge, but I definitely picked a winner. I was drawn to the Fantastic because it looked like it packed a lot of punch, and if there’s one thing I need in a clitoral vibrator, it’s power.

The Fantastic is made of phthalate and latex-free plastic and is part of the “mood” line by Doc Johnson. There a lot of features about the Fantastic that make it a great vibrator. I love love love the fact that it’s rechargeable. It charges similarly to your cell phone, so that when you’re ready to use your vibrator you can just unplug it from the charger and you’re ready to go, no hassle with batteries, with the extra bonus, it’s environmentally friendly!

Speed is controlled by an easy to reach dial on the shaft of the vibrator. In addition to the speed dial there’s a small button on the side that allows you to pulse the vibration. Once you set your speed you can pulse away at your own rhythm!

True to its first impression on me, the Fantastic holds a lot of firepower. The flexible head of the Fantastic covers your entire clitoral area and delivers dynamite sensation. This vibrator is the one I’ll grab when I need a maximum power toe-tingling orgasm fast!

xx
Moxi

Related Posts:
Power Tools: Doc Johnson’s Harmony Slim G Yang
Power Tools: The Nubby Bullet

by Laurelin

He looked just like he did on TV. Face, smooth and smiling, muscles pressing up against his huge T-shirt and his hat pulled down just enough so that I could still see his eyes. I had started to get up to refill my wine glass, but when I saw him I sunk back down, the air rushing from my lungs as though someone had just squeezed the life out of me. I could feel a flush traveling up my body and suddenly my face was burning, and I turned away so he wouldn’t see me.

I rarely meet celebrities. Like every other girl in the world I have dreamt what it would have been like to meet Leonardo DiCaprio, staying calm and collected so that he would shake my hand and look me in the eye. You imagine that if they could just meet you, you would be best friends, they might even fall in love with you, and everything would be right in the world. But that’s just in dreams. You will never meet Brad Pitt or Ben Affleck, and they will most certainly not fall in love with you. You are just you after all, a regular girl, who dates regular guys. You are common, and they are special.

He took his time walking around the room, signing autographs and taking pictures with everyone from old ladies to screaming teens to little kids. Still, I sat. I wonder what I’ll say when it’s my turn, would he remember me from a brief Twitter message I sent that he replied to? Will he think I’m crazy if I bring it up? He moves closer and as he approached I could finally stand and I shook my head, clearing the clouds. He is just a man after all.

I reached out my hand to find his and from somewhere in me comes a voice, and I said, “Hi, I’m Laurelin.” He smiled and inside I melted, but outside I must have seemed okay because he started asking me questions, then we laughed and he said that he did remember me from a year ago on Twitter. I made a snarky remark about his clothing and he thought I was funny. I sat back down in my seat and I watched him continue to sign autographs. I clutched the stem of my wine glass and I looked at our photo and I smiled. I’m taller than him.

When I looked up he was sitting next to me.

“Do you have a ticket for tonight?” he asked.

“Yes,” I stammered, fumbling around for it. He must want to sign it; he signed everyone else’s. I found it and he took it, smoothly scribbling something on the back and pressing it into my palm. I looked down and I see a phone number. My blood ran cold and hot at the same time, and I thought, “Say something clever…”

“Can I drunk dial you later?” I asked, smirking.

“Absolutely,” he said, and I die. The girls around me had their jaws on the floor, and as he left he smiled at me and waved. We started texting almost immediately, stopping only because the arena was growing dark and it was time for him to come out.

I think of how all summer I have had no one, nothing but an empty bed and a cat, and now, with the coming fall, the promise of something new. All of a sudden, out of the blue, the promise of something totally just… fun. I slid my phone into my pocket and headed to my seat to watch him. The place is packed, everyone screaming his name, and my phone buzzed one last time.

“Nice to meet you,” he said. “I would love to see you again.”

I felt sick. I went home that night alone, and I crawled in bed with someone else.

“How was tonight?” my real life non-celebrity boy asks. I buried my face in his neck and hugged as tight as I could.

“It was fine,” I said, “really fun.”

We fell asleep, and I knew I was right where I belonged.

[..]