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If You Want A Sexy Night, Ask Your Partner These Questions


By Kasandra Brabaw

The hottest sex I’ve ever had started with a question, when a former partner leaned in close to my ear and said, “What have you always wanted to do?” We had amazing sex that night, because I finally felt free to speak up about different positions I had wanted to try, like face-sitting. But that one question also opened us up for more creative sex for the rest of the time that we were together. We tried ice play, and hot oil massage candles, and had a thrilling almost-got-caught moment in a bar bathroom.

While a lot about seduction can be non-verbal, that night helped me recognize that asking questions can be just as sexy as lighting candles and dimming the lights.

“Questions like that can build the anticipation and the foreplay,” says Megan Flemming, PhD, a sex and relationship therapist in New York City. She suggests building that anticipation throughout the day, by posing sexy questions to your partner in text or email in the morning, that way they’ll be thinking about what they want to do to you (or have you do to them) all day. Logan Levkoff, PhD, a sexual health educator and member of the Trojan™ Sexual Health Advisory Council, says that Post-It notes could also be a fun and sexy way to build this anticipation for anyone who feels too awkward talking “dirty.”

While it’s generally good practice to ask questions about what your partner wants from sex, there are certain ways to bring it up that will make it feel less like a clinical Q&A and more like the beginning of an adventurous night. Ahead, we’ve rounded up a few questions you can use as inspiration to get the conversation — and the foreplay — flowing.

What’s the best sex you’ve ever had?

Why it works: Asking your partner to describe their best sexual experience (in vivid detail, of course) not only gives you an idea of what they want in bed, but also serves as verbal erotica.

What do you think about anal sex/BDSM/other kinks?

Why it works: Asking about kink in a noncommittal way tells your partner that you’re interested in hearing about their kinks, which will help them open up about any they’ve been wanting to explore. If it feels too awkward to bring up, you can always say that you read about anal sex or bondage or whatever else you want to try on a website or in a magazine, and you just want to know their thoughts.

What’s your biggest sex fantasy?

Why it works: Have your partner describe exactly what they’ve been fantasizing about, and then do it (as long as it’s legal and consensual, of course). Win-win.

What movie scene really turns you on?

Why it works: Movies and TV can help you realize fantasies you never even knew you had. Have your partner tell you which scene gets them going, then watch it together for inspiration.

Complete Article HERE!


Gay people are better at sex, according to science


By Ryan Butcher

Gay people might have faced generations of persecution, harassment and social torment, but finally, science has dealt them a decent hand: they’re apparently better at sex.

We’re being facetious, of course. But research published this year suggests that the above is true.

A study looking at the differences in orgasm frequency among gay, bisexual and heterosexual men and women suggests that same-sex partners are better at bringing their lovers to ecstasy than their heterosexual counterparts.

This is reliant on the premise that good sex is defined by the frequency of orgasms.

The study, published by a group of researchers, including human sexuality expert David Frederick, assistant professor of psychology at Chapman University, says that although heterosexual men were most likely to say they always orgasmed during sex (95 percent), gay men and bisexual men weren’t too far behind (89 percent and 88 percent) respectively.

On top of that, 86 percent of gay women said they always orgasmed, compared with just 66 percent of bisexual women and 65 percent of heterosexual women.

By looking at the higher likelihood of orgasm for gay men and women – and again, on the premise that good sex is defined by the frequency of orgasms – sex between two men or two women could be better than sex between a man and a woman.

Of course, the other glaringly obvious conclusion from this study is that men in general, regardless of sexuality, orgasm more than women, as pointed out by Professor Frederick, who told CNN: “What makes women orgasm is the focus of pretty intense speculation. Every month, dozens of magazines and online articles highlight different ways to help women achieve orgasm more easily. It is the focus of entire books. For many people, orgasm is an important part of sexual relationships.”

The study also found that women were more likely to orgasm if they received more oral sex, had longer duration of sex, were more satisfied in their relationship, asked for what they wanted in bed, praised their partner for something they did in bed, tried new positions, had anal stimulation, acted out fantasies and even expressed love during sex.

Women were also more likely to orgasm if their last sexual encounter included deep kissing and foreplay, as well as vaginal intercourse.

Professor Frederick also suggested that the reason between the orgasm gap could be sociocultural or even evolutionary.

Women have higher body dissatisfaction than men and it interferes with their sex life more. This can impact sexual satisfaction and ability to orgasm if people are focusing more on these concerns than on the sexual experience.

There is more stigma against women initiating sex and expressing what they want sexually. One thing we know is that in many couples, there is a desire discrepancy: One partner wants sex more often than the other. In heterosexual couples, that person is usually the man.

Either way, although this study is good news for gay and bisexual people – regardless of gender – if there’s one thing it proves it’s that even when it comes to orgasms, the patriarchy has struck again.

Complete Article HERE!


Why Erotic Fan Fiction Might Be the Key to a Better Sex Life


By Jandra Sutton

Where I come from, sex is taboo. I never learned how to use a condom, I never learned anything about birth control, and abstinence was preached above all else. I was even given a fake plastic credit card as a symbol of my pledge to remain abstinent, a tiny golden card that told us of the “importance of abstinence” that we could carry around in our wallets, intended as something that would remind us of the gift and value of our virginity, along with our commitment to not have sex—and yes, I attended public school.

At the private Christian university I attended, it got worse instead of better. Professors gave talks about how masturbation was evil and addicting, not to mention the sins of pornography. We were told that pornography was basically a gateway drug to sexual promiscuity and broken relationships. Pornography was whispered about in church like it was heroin, making it one of the worst things in which you could possibly indulge. Sex and everything related to sexuality quickly became terrifying, although of course, I was still curious, but clueless. TV and movies were all I had to learn about sex, but I soon discovered that the library scene in Atonement doesn’t quite count as a proper sexual education.

I’ve recently started coming to terms with sexuality, however. I’ve realized that there are issues with my limited knowledge of sex that aren’t just dangerous (hello, condoms) but severely limiting in terms of my relationship with my husband—yup, I’m married now.

So what options are left? My conservative upbringing made it uncomfortable (and embarrassing) to talk to a professional about sex, and I could never dream of mentioning my burgeoning sex life with my friends. Hell, even writing an article about sex is enough to make me blush. Like right now.

Weirdly enough, fan fiction saved my sex life. It’s strange to admit, especially to countless strangers on the internet, but it taught me that sexuality isn’t just OK, it’s a part of life and something to be embraced.

I stuck with fan fiction about fictional characters, mainly because I was (and am) uncomfortable with reading fan fiction about real people—especially sexual scenarios—but also because it allowed me to explore without any secondhand embarrassment. I didn’t want to watch porn or hear about real people having sex because, truthfully, I couldn’t handle it. Sticking with the fictional, however, lowered the barrier of entry (pun intended).

By reading about characters with whom I already identified, fan fiction taught me that I’m not a light switch to be turned on and off when convenient. I knew that arousal was different for men and women, but I assumed that I was defective if I couldn’t get “into the mood” without proper, erm, stimulation. Even then, there were times that sex still wasn’t on my agenda, but I had no guidelines for how to deal with that except TV shows where the woman would feign a headache (and be portrayed as a frigid b*tch for doing so).

Fan fiction provided me with a safe space to explore my sexuality. With only one sexual partner in my life, I’d never had the opportunity to discover what I liked in bed. Sex, as I soon discovered, isn’t something to be ashamed of—and it shouldn’t be.

Not knowing anything about the different types of foreplay, role-playing, different positions, masturbation, and more, I came into my marriage relationship as a virtual tabula rasa. And while that could be viewed as a good thing depending on your personal beliefs, it definitely made sex awkward. I had a vague idea of things I thought I should be doing, but I had no idea how to do them. I didn’t know how to take an active role in pleasing my husband, and I had even less of an inkling on how to enjoy myself in the process. Sure, I could talk to my spouse about these issues—and did—but it often left me feeling deficient.

Fan fiction, however, let me read about healthy sexual relationships without feeling embarrassed or overwhelmed. I could delve into different sexual scenarios on a whim, and I was in control of the process. It allowed me to explore (or avoid) whatever I wanted, which I could then take back to the bedroom thanks to the support of my husband.

Given that women are more often stimulated by the written word than men, fan fiction helped cultivate a healthy sexual appetite within my relationship that had been previously inaccessible to me. Fanfic is often more female-friendly than porn in that it often gives women a more dominant role, especially one in which the female orgasm is just as important (if not more so) than the male’s, along with the ability to choose a story that has a plot (not just sex), making it more immersive in the process. Not only that, this makes erotic fan fiction more approachable—and beneficial—to people like me, who are interested in learning but are often uncomfortable with blatant displays of sexuality.

Honestly, I’m beyond grateful for erotic fan fiction. It’s free. It’s safe. It’s empowering. Why shouldn’t women—and men—be free to imagine themselves having kick-ass sex? And instead of taking away from my relationship, reading about sex this way has enriched our sex life in ways that I definitely didn’t expect. I learned that sex is normal, it’s healthy, and it’s whatever the f*ck I want it to be, because it’s mine (and my husband’s). The concept of “should” doesn’t belong in the bedroom.

Fan fiction doesn’t just offer readers the opportunity to escape, it also reminds us that sexuality— whatever form that may take for you—is perfectly normal. It’s OK to have experience, and it’s OK not to. Sometimes we feel like we need to be having sex (and lots of it), but we’re also expected to be the perfect blend of sexy and innocent, knowing exactly how to drive our partners wild, all while feeling incredibly confident in the bedroom and seeming like eternal virgins. The challenge for women can seem insurmountable, especially when the pressure to perform sexually can absolutely kill the mood.

I’d spent so much time worrying about how to do sex “right” that I forgot the importance of enjoying myself throughout the process. Yes, I want to please my partner, but my own pleasure should be of primary concern, as well. Over the course of our lives, women are subtly taught to view themselves as objects, and sexual objectification is no different. We exist as more than objects to fulfill our partners’ sexual desires, and in my experience, fan fiction can help teach that. As more and more women see and experience relationships—even fictional ones—in which a woman’s sexual enjoyment is just as valuable as a man’s, she can see her own pleasure as increasingly important.

And if you’re looking for an easy introduction to erotic fan fiction, a quick trip to Google will help you find a whole host of steamy scenarios. Start with something simple, like a longer fanfic that simply has sex woven into the broader plotline, or dive right in with a collection of smutty one-shots (these are short, one-chapter-length snippets). and Archive of Our Own are both great places to start, and you can even search based on your favorite pairing or how smutty you want the story to be. Want to imagine yourself as the object of Thor’s affection? It’s definitely doable with a quick search. Or if you’re just dipping your toes in, you can even filter the search results according to rating: If you’re more comfortable keeping it PG-13, do that. Want something more mature? Opt for that! Go forth and embrace your sexuality, find what works for you, and know that wherever you’re at is a great place to be.

Complete Article HERE!


With midlife comes sexual wisdom


Research shows women’s sexuality adapts with aging

by Madison Brunner

While women experience changes with the menopausal transition that can negatively affect their sex lives, they often adapt behaviorally and psychologically to these changes, according to a qualitative study by University of Pittsburgh researchers.

The results of the study, which included individual and focus group interviews, will be published online in the journal Menopause on November 1.

Midlife, which is defined as 40 to 60 years old, can bring physical, psychological, social and partner-related changes. Menopause-related vaginal dryness or pain, aging joints and reduced flexibility may lead to negative changes in sexual function for some women. Additional contributing factors such as career, financial and family stress, and concerns about changing body image, may add to decreased frequency of sex, a low libido and orgasm difficulties. However, not all changes are negative. The positive psychological changes aging brings—such as decreased family concerns, increased self-knowledge and self-confidence, and enhanced communication skills in the bedroom—may lead to improvements in sexual satisfaction with aging.

During the course of the study, the researchers interviewed a total of 39 women who were 45 to 60 years old and had been sexually active with a partner at least once in the prior 12 months. Participants chose to take part in either an individual interview or focus group.

“While prior longitudinal studies have documented negative changes in sexual function as women move through midlife, few have highlighted the positive changes,” said Holly Thomas, M.D., M.S., assistant professor of medicine, Pitt School of Medicine. “We found most study participants were prompted to try new adaptive behaviors to overcome negative challenges to maintain their overall sexual satisfaction.”

Such adaptations included using lubricants, different sexual activities/positions and changing priorities, with greater focus on emotional satisfaction. Women also discussed changing their priorities around sex; as they aged, they de-emphasized physical sexual satisfaction and placed more importance on emotional .

“It is important for to recognize that each woman’s experience of during menopause is unique and nuanced, and they should tailor their care accordingly. Midlife can learn strategies, such as adapting sexual behavior and enhancing communication of sexual needs, to help ensure and maintain satisfying as they age,” explained Thomas.

Complete Article HERE!


Pain and power



When #MeToo suddenly flooded social media with testimonials about sexual harassment, assault and violence, I applauded those who spoke out. Yet, even as I was overwhelmed with a need to support and fiercely affirm those around me, I was confronted with a certain uneasiness that extended beyond my reservations about the mentality of mass movements, representation of such campaigns and even ignorance surrounding the sexual harassment–awareness movement’s inception ten years ago. The torrent of posts filled me with a nebulous discomfort.

I couldn’t identify why until I began reflecting on my own experiences, memories of harassment and assault that I’ve swept under the rug as quickly as they have steadily accumulated over the years. From piano to debate, political functions to conversations with acquaintances, encounters with strangers to those I trusted, these are instances that I do not spend time discussing. When I recall the moments that constitute my identity, they do not come to mind. Yet, reflected in the honest and raw stories of the people around me — mostly women, but also oft-ignored men and queer individuals — I was forced to face how the climate of sexual violence has shaped my daily decisions.

Ironically, I have studied women’s rights movements and sexuality. I read voraciously about rape culture and gender inequalities, and consume op-eds and studies and literature on gender-based and sexual violence. With an understanding of how sex, gender and sexuality play into oppressive power dynamics, I advocate for survivors and women in so many spaces, defend the experiences of others around me and celebrate their bravery and authenticity with the fullest conviction. However, the culture I’ve internalized means that writing “me too” makes me feel either that I have no control over harassment and assault, which is scary, or that I hold responsibility for the situations I’ve encountered, which is worse.

This was and is still difficult for me, because I define myself as a strong, assertive woman. In the face of unfairness I have clung to resilience; I want to believe that I have the self-determination to control my own narrative and have the upper hand. I don’t want to sound like I’m whining, or focusing on the little things, or acting hysterically. I don’t want to sound like I’m weak, and, like many around me, I have implicitly linked these experiences with victimhood cast as weakness.

When I finally did write about my experiences, it was a bid for both me and others to associate strength with speaking truth to disempowering experiences, to reconcile the “me” who seeks positions of influence with the “me” in “me too.” Amidst well-intentioned people who dismiss harassment and men who hesitate to criticize friends for predatory behavior, amidst women who quietly succumb to blaming themselves and those ashamed of their experiences, I wanted to affirm that you can be strong and thick-skinned, yet still say “me too.” I wanted my experiences to discredit how we characterize powerful women and what we expect strength to look like.

At the same time, however, I wrote with a certain anxiety about the way I depicted my experiences and how they would be consumed. I’m a believer that sharing our stories can elicit transformative empathy, but it was with a sinking feeling that I wondered whether I’d raise awareness or attract pity. I felt as if I’d submitted scenes into a long, continuous documentary of #MeToo experiences, where the various dimensions of survivors’ memories had been reduced to a performance of pain in an exhausting bid for change. I wondered about the actual impact of writing and speaking out; I questioned using my experiences as a place of implied advocacy.

The past week of reading, reflecting and writing about scenarios of sexual harassment and assault has been emotionally draining for both those who have withheld and those who have shared their stories. Although I wish otherwise, the only way for nonsurvivors to understand the lived experiences of others is through hearing about them. #MeToo has brought about a bittersweet mix of acknowledgement and pain, so I hope that we see this pain as power and truly shift the way we think about victims and aggressors. Don’t let this be a pointless show.

Complete Article HERE!