Casualsex.com

While she offers her body with no strings attached, sex surrogate Cheryl Green’s work is anything but “casual sex.” Sexual surrogacy is a legitimate profession, lately featured in two films on the indie circuit.

In “The Surrogate,” John Hawkes plays real-life poet/journalist Mark O’Brien who was so physically handicapped he typed by tapping out keys with a long stick he held in his mouth. At 38, he figures he’s never going to have sex unless he does something about it, and eventually finds sex surrogate Cheryl, played by Oscar-winner Helen Hunt. This one’s getting huge buzz at Sundance & similar smaller film festivals, often run concurrently with the 1997 documentary “Breathing Lessons,”  featuring the same remarkable man’s journey.

Dr. Drew recently interviewed sex surrogate Cheryl Cohen Green, who worked with O’Brian to help him realize his sexual self, unblock emotions, and eventually find true love with a special woman for the rest of his life:

http://www.hlntv.com/video/2012/01/27/woman-has-sex-clients-therapy

Cheryl Green Cohen has sex with her clients — is she a therapist or a prostitute? One might argue both occupations provide a necessary service to those unable to connect with others due to physical or emotional limitations. What do you think?

If two consenting adults are hooking up for an evening of no-strings-attached fun: who pays?

Not for the sex, duh, this isn’t a question about hiring strippers or hookers or gigalos. No, I’m talking about the drinks, snacks, cab fare, etc. that add up during the hours between “Is this seat taken?” and “Was it good for you, too?”

Now, I’m no cheapskate — and in relationships, I am happy to pick up a tab — but when it comes to casual encounters, sorry guys:  you pay. Seriously, don’t even look at me when the check shows up cause I don’t even bother doing that little “fake grab” for my purse anymore. If a guy insists on splitting the bill, fine. But as they say on American Idol, his journey ends there.

Last time a guy asked me to chip in, I told him flat out that I thought it was a tacky move, and had totally turned me off him. He countered that he’d only asked me because he didn’t want me to feel “obligated” to have sex with him.

Really? Did he actually think that I’d feel beholden to him for throwing down, what? Forty bucks for my beers & an order of nachos grande we shared?

I laughed, and he seemed irked. Well, if I let him pay for everything and then fucked his brains out, wouldn’t that make me a prostitute?

Oh no, no, no… Lemme lay this out now like I did for him, in case any other penny-pinching guys out there are thinking they’ve found a way around a basic tenant of Western courtship. Here’s the deal:

Guys pay for dates. Period.

Sound unfair? I guess it does, if you’re a typical guy who doesn’t really have any clue what the typical woman goes through to get from “girl next door” to “fuckworthy hottie on bar stool beside you.”

What does a guy do before going out? He showers & puts on shirt/pants/shoes from his closet. But girls? Ha! Our fashions change drastically with the seasons and plus often require expensive upkeep. And those high heels that make our legs look so good aren’t free, ya know. Guys can get away with black & brown shoes, but a well-dressed girl needs an arsenal of boots, heels, sandals, etc. for various venue & weather contingencies.

Typical mani/pedi costs about $50. A trip to the hair salon, $150. Cosmetics add up, too. Not to mention a small fortune in moisturizers to make our skin so soft & kissable.

Bottom line: it costs A LOT to be a hot chick these days. No worries, it’s totally worth it for the fun, attention, and awesome sex that being attractive tends to provide. Looking good is an investment, I guess: we pay because, in the long run, we appreciate the pay off.

But when a random hook-up expects us to chip in, there goes our pay off. All that cash & effort, wasted. Cause, let’s face it: we don’t need to go through all that just to get laid — we do it for the excitement of being wooed, of being courted, of being treated like a lady by a gentleman who will later tap into our inner slut.

If all we wanted was sex, we could get that without leaving the house. I could post a free add on Craig’s List:  “Horny woman seeks man for hot sex now. I need a shower & my legs aren’t shaved but I’m raring to go!” and it’d take mere minutes before my mailbox was jammed with responses from guys willing to accommodate me, sight unseen.

Biology is unfair: men want pussy more than women want dick. So don’t just offer us your dick, dummy.

Pick up the damn tab, and anything else your lovely lady lets you pay for. Such generosity won’t make a woman feel she “has” to fuck you, but she’ll be much more likely to want to.

Have you heard about eduHookups.com? A site for casual hook-ups aimed at college kids, or I suppose, creepy professors who also happen to have a university email address…

Anyway, I tend to agree with Jay Leno that we already have a place for college kids to hook up:  college, duh. I have a hard time believing there’s a need for online messaging with so many men & women living/eating/studying/going out/etc. together within the limited confines of your typical dorm & campus.

But maybe I’m wrong. A great blog post on the San Francisco Chronicle’s website addresses how the last decade of texting/messaging/digital communications has created a poorly socialized demographic of young people, who do not know how to interact in person:

“Before the Internet, there was voice. A man was expected to approach a woman and talk and mate; to not be afraid to say anything. Now, men generally are the reverse: fearful of saying anything to a woman and more concerned with what other people will think…”

Dude may be onto something. I don’t think it’s generational, though. Plenty of the guys I meet online — in my own age bracket, mind you — come across fine in messages but turn into awkward, pushy dates in person. Perhaps the less we rely on face-to-face exchanges, the harder it tends to be to seal the deal, intimately-speaking.

And, it’s somehow instinctively harder these days to trust anyone without seeing their social networking profile. Even on a sex site, it helps to know who you’re dealing with and for better or worse, most of us feel we can size someone up pretty well by their friends, comments and posts.

Maybe sites like eduHookups.com are not just fun or convenient, but are actually necessary in today’s electronic climate?

How many sexual partners is too many? Most of us engage in casual sex as a pastime and not necessarily as a lifetime choice. So, the odds are good at eventually, we’ll find ourselves in a relationship again, where the subject of past partners may come up.

What’s the best way to deal with an, umm, active history? Lies? Cover-ups? The truth?

Most experts agree that sharing your magic number is a bad thing. “The human brain instantly creates images of the information it misses,” explains author & relationship coach Marea Laoutari.  “This will lead in trouble, in most of the cases.”

So, for every encounter you own up to, your partner fills in the blanks with images that can feed insecurities. Just say no!

Instead of owning up to years of casual sex, re-direct the question without actually lying. Be vague & reassuring, for example:

“I did alright but I was always careful to use condoms”

or

“Meh, I didn’t always make the best choices but I tried to be responsible”

or

“I wish I could brag but really don’t have much to crow about.”

What to do if pressed for an exact number? I always give my number of relationships, and then say I can’t be bothered to remember casual sex, which is mostly true cause so many of these one-night stands blend into each other… I could probably figure it out, but it’d require me to sit down & really think, probably using my fingers (or sticks or stones or toothpicks) to count on. Ugh.

And, anyway, it’s not the number, is it? It’s the sex! A person can bang a different person every day of the night for years and still be clueless in bed. And someone else might’ve only had one or two partners, but explored every nook ‘n cranny, tried out every fantasy, milked each encounter for every little bit of sexual pleasure.

Experience is such a subjective thing… and so, come to think, is sex. When counting partners, do you count it if you didn’t orgasm? What if it was just oral sex, no penetration? How about threesomes or orgies  – do you count each partner or just the encounter itself? Do fetish activities count?

Obviously, when it comes to disclosing our pasts with a significant other, saying less is plenty.  Love is hard enough without adding math. Let’s give each other a break when it comes to sexual history. Start each new relationship with a clean bill of health from your doctor, not an awkward conversation about previous partners that’s bound to cause more harm than good.

And in the meantime, let’s just enjoy our casual hook-ups. Better to remember them with wistful smiles & sighs than as mere notches in our bedposts.

Do you ever find yourself wishing you could masturbate and learn something at the same time? Allow me to present a blog that’s right up your alley: Bangable Dudes in History.

Along with fetching photos of notable historical figures, the author provides snarky pie graphs with just the right blend of factoids & sarcasm. For example, I had no idea Nikola Tesla was so hot, but celibate! Or that one of the guys who tried to assassinate Lincoln had bedroom eyes, ripped pecs and a pout so kissable I’m starting to have Time Travel fantasies again.

Bone up on history with some dead guy porn! And it’s not just guys on this site, either. Recently featured: Juliette Gordon Low, the founder of the girl scouts and sweet little hottie in pink chiffon portrait.

Seriously, this thing is a conversational gold mine! If you can’t engage a sexy stranger with a quick iPhone game of Historical Hot or Not, I don’t know what to tell you.

Enjoy…

I’m confused. I figured with a threesome, there’d be MORE sex than less… and perhaps, technically, there is — if you count watching & touching as “sex,” which is debatable.

In waiting for Capt & Cola to work out their availability issues, I wound up researching threesomes online. Threesome experiences, threesome etiquette, threesome protocol… Thank god for the internet, and thank god for all these people who so kindly share their stories!

In my searches, I stumbled upon a couple right in my neighborhood who were looking for a woman to join them. We met up for drinks last night. I’d like to say I was instantly attracted but no… not really. They were essentially hippies. Both quite a bit older than I am, and clearly neither one was a fitness freak. But they were so fun & kind & jolly — truly great energy. I felt pulled into the orbit of these two cuddly, playful, obviously very connected people. While Capt & Cola crackle with sexual energy, these two (let’s call them Auntie Em & Uncle Henry) gave off warm, fuzzy, supportive vibes. I didn’t feel turned on so much as welcomed unconditionally into their happy little love fest.

Would I like to stroll back to their place, to continue our conversation over a cup of tea? What the hell, right?

Couldn’t have asked for a prettier night. Uncle Henry clasped Auntie Em’s hand, and since they’ve lived in this area forever they knew who lived where and what their story was… We had such a nice walk under cherry blossoms, I was practically glowing when we arrived at the doorstep of a charming old row home with window boxes and colorful tiles framing the entrance.

Inside, their home was so clean & cozy,  I flashed back to the homes of scout leaders and classmates I’d envied as having the perfect families.  As we sipped our tea, Auntie & Uncle giggled as they recounted how they stumbled into their current “sharing” relationship. They weren’t always so open to other partners, but as the years went by & their marriage grew, they realized they could enjoy new sexual experiences together, and grow from them, and learn… These were two of the most balanced, in-synch lovers I’d ever met.

Uncle brought out a bong (!) and a book about sensual massage. Organically, this led to their hands on me… and then loosening of clothes… and then I just gave in to the lovely sensations of skin on skin on skin. I was blissed out, totally, but then we moved to the bedroom and things got a little weird.

I think the problem was the room itself: kinda lacy and old-ladyish, which surprised me considering the funky artistry of the rest of their place. It had that “old person funk” going on, too — not overtly, but after my nose adjusted to the scented candles, I caught that distinct musky-sweet smell that senior citizens seem to emit. I could feel my libido withering with every inhale.

The bureau covered with photos of grandkids didn’t help, either. Hard to feel sexy with Little Jimmy smiling innocently out at you, right? Fortunately, neither one of them seemed to be interested in me anymore — they just seemed so pleased to have actually gotten a real live person back to their place, they couldn’t keep their hands off each other in anticipation.

I thought about joining in, but how? Do I just flop down on the bed with them or do I rip my clothes off first or maybe just sit on the corner of the bed and wait to be tag-teamed in…?  They seemed perfectly happy together — maybe they were more into just having someone watch, than actually participate? I took another hit of the bong, and settled in.

Wow. Time is not kind to the human body, and the act of sex does not afford many flattering angles.  And that generation lets hair grow… everywhere.  What I saw last night cannot be unseen, but I’m kinda glad I got an eyeful cause now I have sooooo much more impetus to hit the salon and eat more antioxidants.

They were tender, sweet, obviously in love. They were turned on by my presence, and on one hand I felt kinda flattered and on the other I felt rather rejected. I mean, they’d said they were looking for a third person, but then they didn’t really try to include me. Maybe they weren’t into me? Maybe they could tell I wasn’t really into them?

We’ll never know…  I eased myself out of the room as his bald head was bobbing over her enormous gray bush. Stunned, I wandered back to the bar, ordered a beer, turned to the guy next to me, and told him everything. We laughed and laughed and laughed…

He told me a hot story about his last threesome, then admitted to making it all up. I pretended to be mad at him for wasting my time. He begged to let him make it up to me.

Oh thank god. My mojo came roaring back with a vengence. We hopped into his SUV and he went down on me till I said when. As my legs shook with tension in the seconds before my first orgasm, I thought how funny it’d be if Auntie & Uncle were to stroll by that very moment…  Pow! That sent me over the edge, and into the stratosphere.

I guess this being watched thing has its allure.

Still hoping to check “threesome” off my list sometime soon.  In the meantime,  I’ll probably hit up my new friend with the SUV again — he told me that in addition to giving oral, his other big turn on is massaging lady’s feet.  Interesting…  I think I may have met my first foot fetish guy! Just in time for high heel sandal season, too.

Yay!

Here’s a problem I run into ALL THE TIME:

I’m out in a bar, having a blast with some new-found friends. Males, females, all ages — just a fun time out on the town. I’m drunk, so I am loving life and loving everyone and do not want the night to end. But it does… and as I’m heading out the door with perhaps a possible hook-up, I run back to my table for one last hug and make sure we all exchange phone numbers cause of course we’re all gonna be BFF’s!

But then, the next  morning, I’m lying fried on the couch, nursing a headache and savoring some “alone time,” but dammit my phone keeps going off!

Look, not everyone who follows up on fast, drunken friendship is desperate or crazy, but certainly the majority are. I hardly have time to keep up with my real friends, I can’t keep pulling new people into my circle, especially not the hardcore partiers who tend to have issues. And don’t get me started on random guys I’d rather not see again!  I wind up ignoring such calls/texts, sometimes for weeks or in one case even months. UGH!

I’d save myself a lot of hassle if I just gave out a fake number in these instances, but unfortunately, when I’m drunk I honestly feel a bond with these strangers I meet… Also, there are rare exceptions when I actually DO meet someone I can stomach sober. So, ideally, I’d like a way to give out a “fake” number when I’m drunk that will allow me to monitor the messages and even talk to someone without divulging my real contact info.

Introducing… Tigits.com!

The site was created by a guy who was meeting women online who hesitated to give out their phone numbers cause some guys can’t take a hint. He saw the need, and created what sounds like a great service.

For a nominal fee, you get a secondary phone number you can give out to whoever. When your bar buddy/potential hook-up/friendly stranger/etc calls you, your Tigits number shows up on your caller ID so you know it’s someone you gave that number to. You can accept the call or send them to voicemail — either your regular voicemail or to your Tigits voicemail, which automatically converts the message to an email for your convenience.

To call out from your phone, dial your Tigits number and then dial out — only your Tigits number will show up on others’ phones. How’s that for handy?!

Best of all, Tigits is right now offering a free month trial membership. Trouble is, while Tigits claims to work with ANY carrier, they unfortunately do not work for every location. My phone, sadly, is out of their area, sigh. Another bummer: right now, Tigits only works with phone and voice mail — not texts. They’re currently working on expanding their coverage as well as offering SMS “very soon” so hopefully it won’t be too long before this handy tool can be in every Casual Sexer’s kit!

The casual sex scene’s gotten a lot bigger these days, thanks to legions of cheating men & women finding each other on sites designed specifically for married or attached individuals seeking a little side action.  Top sites such as AshleyMadison.com boast 8 million members, thanks to aggressive advertising campaigns as well as basic human nature.

What’s the deal? Who are these people? Redbook reporter Lisa Taddeo’s MSN Lifestyle article investigates the men behind the profiles, and comes up with some not-so-surprising similarities. Anyone who’s been actively meeting new partners should be able to identify:

- the restless intellectual, wondering what he’s missing

- the sad sack looking for respect/admiration

- the newly tied-down party guy missing his single days

- the sex freak who can’t keep it in his pants one minute

Looks to me like guys keep being guys whether they’re married or not. Which is a point Lisa brings up after spending time with “H,” a 30ish engineer engaged to a woman with high marks in every regard but he’s obviously not committed if he’s cheating on her. Why go through with the marriage? Lisa suggests these men take it for granted they must eventually wed in life: “If they’ve dated a woman for X number of years, marriage comes next, an obligatory stop on the endless conveyor belt.”

Well duh. Women do this too, and then they wake up a few years after the ceremony to realize the guy they’re hitched to hasn’t done any of the shit he used to talk about, and furthermore he is the biggest fucking baby…  My point is: it’s not uncommon for people to put pressure on themselves to get married, and in doing so choose the wrong person.  We’re all guilty of being blinded by our own unrealistic expectations, at some point. You live, you learn.

Perhaps what we can get from Lisa’s intel about “cheaters” is that they’re not all that different from you and me. In fact, they ARE you and me.  And our fathers and our mothers and every person who’s not had the heart to tell someone they didn’t love them anymore.

I’m thinking sites like AshleyMadison actually help marriages endure, because so many couples are together out of convenience or duty more than genuine love and passion. Life is long, and it’s hard enough to just tolerate another person “forever,” let alone maintain romantic attraction to them & only them.  Love is by nature fickle and ephemeral — that’s part of the rush.

If familiarity breeds contempt,  ”infidelity” websites nurture our inner selves so that we can continue supporting and sacrificing for our families. We all want to be needed but we also want to be desired. To be attractive. To feel the flush of infatuation from time to time. A bit of clandestine intrigue can go a long way towards smoothing out the long, rough road of daily life.

Ready to explore? All you need is a profile describing what you’re looking for. No need to post photos or details publicly — most sites allow you keep potentially incriminating information hidden until you grant access with a private key or code.  Using internal website messaging keeps your communications discreetly separate from your home or work email accounts.

Meeting and corresponding with prospective sexual partners can be exhilarating! Often, just trading messages back & forth can be surprisingly satisfying, after years of monotony.  Er, monogamy. Ha!  Is it any wonder those two words sound so similar? Might as well be synonyms.

So let’s not worry about changing our lousy husband or warming up a frigid wife. Chances are, you’re ridiculously mismatched anyway. What do you expect? That was so long ago. You’re totally different people now.

But you’ve got a family to take care of so don’t jump ship. Just sneak off into your own private lifeboat for awhile.

(seems to work for the Europeans)

Bed bugs — the new STD?

Met a guy the other night, the usual story:  weeknight, post happy-hour, local watering hole,  lukewarm plate of wings I needed help finishing… Never fails to open up conversation, by the way, offering greasy food. You get cred for digging “guy chow”  and also props for not clearing the plate all by yourself like a binging bulimic.

Anyway, my point is that the evening was going great. Before long, we were flirting madly. Or at least, I thought we were flirting. The signs were certainly there:  he was stroking my hair, lifting it up to stroke my neck… He lightly caressed my legs. He kissed my wrist and then my inner arm, all the way up to neck again. My eyes were half-closed in purring bliss when I felt his attention focus…

He seemed to be staring intently at the back of my right arm. “Um… do you have a rash?”

I whipped my arm back to investigate. Sure enough, the back of my arm had the tiniest little red bump. A pimple. One lousy little pimple. A clogged pore or something, totally no big deal. Just a speck of a raised bump, hardly some hideous rash if that’s what he was implying…

I told him as much, but he eyed me suspiciously all the same. Gotta admit, I was kinda insulted.  I’m no Angelina Jolie but I’m no ugly beast, either. Even Angelina, I bet, suffers the occasional skin blemish.

He apologized, swearing he didn’t mean to hating on my complexion.  ”I was just concerned it was a bed bug bite,” he told me. And then he went on to explain how he traveled a lot for work, and bed bugs were a huge issue… blah blah blah. He rattled off some pretty scary facts about these critters, too:

- All you need is one little female bed bug to follow you home… she can produce up to 400 offspring.

- Bed bugs can go dormant, and live an entire year without feeding, just waiting for a warm body to suck on…

- They’re ridiculously resistant to extermination — and constantly evolving to thwart even our strongest pesticides.

- They can hide in wall cracks, furniture seams, wallpaper, molding, drapes, clothing, bedding, mattresses… Removing them is a tedious process — you can literally spend months and thousands of dollars trying to get rid of them, and even then, there are no guarantees. Even moving doesn’t always solve a problem, cause the little suckers have been known to tag along.

- They can lodge in your ear canal! And lay eggs!

Of course I was grossed out, especially after we goggled some photos of bed bug bites on his iPhone. What a way to kill a mood, huh? But aww, man… how many strange beds have I been in this past year? The year before? Great. One more risk to sleeping around. A condom can only protect you from so much. Fortunately, a little awareness goes a long way.

One of the first signs of bed bugs — besides the itchy little pimples they leave on a person’s body — are the reddish or brownish spots of their droppings on bed linens.  Casual sexers, keep your eyes peeled. Frequent travelers (especially to NYC, the biggest bed bug hotspot in the US) tend to stand the highest risk.

Probably a good idea, too, to grab some insect intel from the Bed Bug Registry, where you can enter a street address or hotel name to see if an infestation has been reported.

Let’s not get paranoid but also let’s not allow bed bugs to turn a one-night stand into a long term commitment… with the exterminator!

OMG! I am so fucking horny right now!

Seems Capt and Cola’s quite the tease. Seems I really really like it!

Saturday, all three of us met up for dinner — a sweet little bistro, obviously a popular date night venue. Couples, everywhere, except for our peculiar little group of two ladies and one beaming gentleman. I had no idea what to expect, so I followed their lead entirely.

I was a tad disappointed at first when they seemed to actually be reading the menu. I’d kinda figured we’d just share an appetizer or something real quick and then head back to their place. But no… they seemed very relaxed, clearly enjoying their night out. “Don’t think we’re horrible parents,” they laughed, “but it is SO NICE to get away from the kids!” They’d dropped them off with her parents, so we had all night to play.

Felt kinda like a fifth wheel at first, as they cooed over their shared entre and asked me questions about my sexual preferences and experiences. Almost felt like a good cop/bad cop interrogation, the way she would hunt for details and he tried to deflect her when I seemed to be getting overwhelmed or uncomfortable. I guess it makes sense that she’d wanna nail down my intentions, and make sure I wasn’t some psycho bitch after her husband. However, it’s not like I chased them down — they’re the ones who started this, after all.

I started worrying. Is this threesome thing just a game for them? Like, maybe they have no intentions of actually going through with things, but instead were using our chats & introductions to spice up their sex life? Was I just some kinda fluffer to them?

My mind started racing and I was THISCLOSE to addressing my concerns when I noticed Cola nonchalantly slice off a pat of butter with her knife and then proceed to spread it over her palm as if she held an invisible piece of bread. WTF? She caught my confused look and smiled wickedly. Her hand slipped under the table; Capt groaned.

Up came her hand again. She sliced off another pat, but this time held her buttered hand out to me. What the hell, I took it and we squished our hands together… Weird, but kinda cool as our slick fingers entwined, tickling our palms and raking our manicured nails along each other’s thumbs, wrists, digits. Her gaze flicked to Capt, and then she smiled so purposefully I saw at once what she was orchestrating.

Together, we moved our slippery hands down under the table, where Capt’s thick cock was standing at attention.  We grabbed hold and got down to business, sliding up and down in tandem… She, of course, was expert at jerking him off, so I followed her hands, kept up her pace, and soon Capt’s breathing indicated he was ready to blow.

But not so fast. She grabbed my hand, held it fast to his dick, stopping all motion. Then she leaned back and casually asked our waiter for the dessert menu. Wow, this girl was a pro! I hadn’t even seen the guy coming. As soon as he was on his way, she resumed focus on Capt’s incredible hard-on.  We resumed our rhythm and a moment later, Capt unloaded with a grunt/growl that raised a few eyebrows in our immediate vicinity.

Cola’s eyes shined with a mix of mischief and delight. Capt’s were glazed & dilated. Mine? I probably looked like a wide-eyed kid on Christmas morning. When the waiter came back with our menu, he seemed to know something was up, and I’m pretty sure he caught onto our vibe when we all ordered one piece of cake to share.

“Anything else?” he asked, “Coffee? Tea?”  Viagra? he was probably tempted to add.

“Nope,” Cola smiled innocently up at him, “Except maybe some extra napkins.” I almost busted up laughing, when I looked over to catch Capt trying to wipe his lap with a corner of the tablecloth.

A promising start, for sure, but when they asked me to follow them back to their place, I dunno, I wasn’t ready quite yet. As I’ve said, I have practically zero experience with other women, and now with Capt spent, I didn’t want our threesome to begin as a bisexual twosome.

And, anyway, it’s kinda nice to slow things down, despite my initial impulse to just do it. We made plans to meet again as soon as they can arrange for another overnight sitter.  In the meantime, I’ll process our latest encounter.

And by “process” I mean masturbate to!