Love, Virtually

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When I was sixteen, around the time my brother got a TRS-80 personal computer from Radio Shack, one of the high school teachers offered students an opportunity to partake in a matchmaking experiment. We answered a few dozen questions about our likes and dislikes, religious affiliation, and future goals, and our teacher’s mysterious data processor spit out a list of the six opposite sex students with whom we were deemed to be most compatible (when it was assumed one would only ever pair up with a member of the opposite sex). read more

The Freebird Paradox

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A few years ago I was so moved by the biopic “Marianne & Leonard: Words of Love," about the complex relationship Leonard Cohen had with his most significant lover/muse Marianne Ihlen, I paid homage to it on my Instagram feed by writing: "Some souls are steadfast and some are restless. Soulmates don’t often live and die together. But they often live and die a richer life." However, one of my followers wasn’t nearly as enamored. read more

Alias: Greta

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I was 23. The first thing I was drawn to were his earlobes, don’t ask me why. They were the kind that didn’t attach at the bottom, you know? The kind that were begging to be sucked. He had a piercing in one of them, and the sight of it glinting there made me lick my lips. read more

Invisible (Wo)Man

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I remained friends for a time with a man who broke up with me after confessing his Amy Adams obsession and desire for a petite ingenue. I was ultimately relieved, as I’m built like a discus thrower and he like an Elf on the Shelf. Being naked with him felt a bit creepy, as though he hadn’t quite reached the age of consent. read more

The Cock Whisperer

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At the tender age of eleven, having never been kissed by a boy or known anything more than the musky, metallic odor of the ones who played in dirt, I stumbled upon The Joy of Sex while snooping in my parent’s bedroom closet. Paging through this original 1972 version, filled with line drawings of hirsute, naked heterosexuals doing unfathomable things my body vibrated, not with pleasure but horror, the kind of weak-kneed fear you feel near the end of Silence of the Lambs. What distressed me more than discovering that his part goes into her part, was the things they did with their mouths to said parts. read more

Bad Sex Matters

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In a recent fit of anxiety over whether I was doing enough to keep my finger on the pulse of contemporary sex, I signed up for Cosmopolitan’s weekly newsletter called The Thirst. It’s essentially a fluff piece platform to promote an array of sex toys and paraphernalia, but I keep opening it because I’m amused by its focus on sex positions which suggest it’s possible there is an infinite number of ways to pleasure each other with a finite number of appendages and digits. read more

Carefree or Careless: What Will You Be in the Post-Pandemic Fuck Fest?

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I once attended the London Art Fair back in the days when galas were exuberant events heaving with people and you could embrace a perfect stranger without wearing a vapor barrier. I was twinkle-toes in love with the man who took me and between the wattage I felt in his company, the prosecco served on silver trays, and my thigh-high leather boots, I essentially off gassed erotic energy throughout the evening. read more

WRONG NUMBER

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A man rang me up by mistake, he got the number wrong. And  that thing happened that never really happens: we didn’t hang up. We could not. My body, which had been carted about by me with unloved indifference for years, became a poised centre of unexpressed longing for this unmet man. Not absolutely immediately, of course.  First he said sorry to bother you, I said no no don’t worry, there was a pause, he said you’ve got a very sexy voice you know, I said so have you actually, he said my name’s Mull, I said mine is Elizabeth. read more