Posts from the sex Category

By Carmen Farrell


I like sex.  I like it a lot.   I’ve been with my guy 19 years and we’ve been whooping it up for most of that time.  The beginning was exciting and animalistic.  A big chunk of the middle was taken up by creating, then caring for new life (…man, pregnancy sex is good.  Were it not for the tiny human you’re left with after 9 months, I’d consider being pregnant constantly).  And now we’re in a new phase.  He’s fixed…so no pink lines for us to worry about, there are no more small people wedged between us at 4 am, and my boobs are mine once again and not “family” property. So the sky’s the limit in the whoopee department, right?  Maybe.  You see, despite the fact that I like sex, sometimes it just feels like work.

You have to wind down from your day; turn off mommy mode, and get into sexy mode.  Push away any new to do list items that pop up randomly.  Stop worrying about whether that rustle you heard in the other room means a kid is awake and can hear you.  It was so much easier in my younger years to turn off my mind and just be in the moment.  Now it’s something I have to work at.  Us modern day chicas keep a lot of balls up in the air, don’t we?

So you know what really feels like the ultimate gift?  A good, old-fashioned wet dream.  It’s like you’re mind’s giving you a freebie.  “Hey girl, just lay there, sleeping peacefully, and I’ll rock your body like nobody’s business, and leave you to bask in the afterglow.”   It’s great.   You’re left feeling woozy and wonderful and you didn’t have to raise a finger…literally.

I knew that dudes had them.  As a kid, the boys in the schoolyard would toss around vague references, but I had no clue they were even a girly thing until my hormones began to rage and they started happening to me.  Man, was I glad they started happening to me!

Let me tell you about my most memorable weirdest wet dream.  Well, actually, I won’t really tell you about “it” because that would just be embarrassing – and this ain’t no 50 Shades novel, anyway.  I was probably 17.  I woke up mid-orgasm and quickly went from feeling like I was flying to feeling like I was going to barf. In that moment, my dream came at me in full HD….in my mind, I’d been doing “it” with Dom DeLuise.  Yup, what may have been one of the best orgasms of my life was brought on by a much older, overweight, often sweaty, bearded comedian who I’d seen peddling Ziploc bags on TV throughout my childhood.  It certainly wasn’t the Brad Pitt/Tom Cruise/Johnny Depp trifecta that  had starred in my fantasies previously.  Let me tell you, it was hard to get back to sleep after that.  To this day, the memory still brings a mixture of horror and excitement.  He may not have been my first pick, but he got the job done.

Nowadays, my wet dreams happen very infrequently (and they’ve never again starred Mr. DeLuise)….but when they do, I feel like I’ve hit the jackpot.

dom deluise

Anyone remember Dom’s Ziploc commercials from the 80s?  Give them a looksy and then see what kind of dreams you have tonight!

by Tiffani Michele

A bunch of my friends call February, “Sexuary”, and vow to have sex every day with their husbands. This has been going on for a couple years now.

Last year I ran my first half marathon and moved into a cute little house, and I kind of went under the radar while I focused, ran, and packed/unpacked my little heart out. I barely had any extra energy to feed myself, let alone spend any time texting/facebooking friends or thinking about sex. Plus, I didn’t have a boyfriend. So Sexuary came and went and I had no idea.

This year is a bit different. I happened to meet up with a bunch of these friends in Vegas and they spent part of the time talking about what they had in store for their month long sexathon…outfits they’d put together, toys they’d bought, and all the things they were going to try. Committing to a month of daily sex takes a bunch of planning and, aparently, alcohol. Also, the floozies were sexting up a storm with their husbands while they were living large in the LV.

There isn’t much I miss about being in a relationship, I think the divorce thing is still too new for me to harbor a strong desire to get back into something that still feels like going to jail…but I did feel sad that I couldn’t join in their girly games. And while I have no problems being alone, I did feel lonely for the first time in a while. I have no one to send pictures of my glittery cleavage too. Or my ass in fishnets. Or just me smiling into my phone, wishing the other person was there. My friends were nice enough to tell me I could sext them anytime and they would respond accordingly, but it’s just not the same.

I also started to opt out of all their Sexuary talk, since I’m not in a relationship nor do I have a dude for a booty call every day of the month. I also don’t have 28 dudes for a booty call one time each. I don’t have 14 booty call dudes for sex twice each. I, uh, have no booty call dudes, period.

But then I thought to myself, “Don’t forget about a little something called masturbation.”

I was raised with the belief that masturbation is wrong. To keep me from doing it, or anything bad, I was also told that God could hear my thoughts and see my deeds. And that, my friends, is a real ladyboner killer. I immediately felt sick to my stomach, and so knew I had to commit to Sexuary. Daily sex, oh yes, and with myself. I had some ‘hangups’. I had some nights I felt uninspired. I discovered that I also needed good planning and booze to pull it off.

I’ve invested in myself a lot this month. Some days I knew I didn’t feel in the mood, and did whatever it took to help myself out.

Me to me: “What do you need right now to get you to a happy, sexy place?”
Me to me: “Ice cream with hot fudge!”
or: “Baked brie with french bread!”
or: “new shoes!”
or: “something from a trashy store!”
or: “I need to dance!”
or: “I just need to find a quiet spot to chill and think. With wine.”

So far, so good.

Strike that.

So far, so great!


So far, so amaaaaaaazing.

I shortly worked out how to get God out of my head by realizing that if he’s going to be listening to anyone’s scenarios in their head while they masturbate, they won’t be mine. Not that I’m boring, but I know a lot of highly creative people who I’m sure have a lot more twisted shit going on in their imagination that would be a lot more interesting than anything I’m whipping up in there. And with billions of people on the earth, I think my thoughts are flying under the radar.

And I don’t really give a shit anymore, anyway.

What I do give a shit about is learning how to use the most expensive toy I’ve bought for myself. All I can say is, before I didn’t know what to do with this thing that some amazon reviews claimed was “pretty and would even make an attractive sculptural decoration”…and now I can tell you it’s worth the money if you’re in the market.


I’ve learned a lot this month. I’ve learned so much, I’m surprised. Maybe I’ll sum it all up when this Sexuary month is over. Some things have been fun to learn and some things have been profound. It’s been a lot of fun and it’s been a lot of work, too. It has taken a kind of commitment and devotion to myself that has been unprecedented in my life so far. I can only imagine that this same commitment and devotion is also present if you do it with a partner, and now I understand why my friends do this every year.

It is grueling though, so I also understand why they pick a month that only has 28 days in it!

By Jill Greenwood

Tiffani wasn’t joking about those crickets. It’s totally my fault, y’all. A while back, when Erik’s was buying her house, I took over our posting calendar. And towards the end of last month, we adopted a puppy, and that pretty much took over my life. So that’s a huge reason for our silence. But back to the good stuff…sex.

My husband and I have shared a full sized bed for 22 years. I know, I know. A full sized bed is likely the bed that most children sleep in after they emerge from their cribs. But yet we sleep in that same size bed every night. Tight squeeze but we manage. And since we’ve been sleeping in the same bed for all those years, it’s not a stretch to figure out that we do other things there, too: read, laugh, have sex, argue, joke around, figure things out, cry. Arguably, it’s where we spend most of our time together. And when he’s on a business trip, I basically stick to my side of the bed, curl up into a ball, and go to sleep.

But on vacations – like this weekend’s Chicago getaway – I get to revel in a king sized bed. Roll around in it. Sleep on my side and never touch my husband. Laugh. Figure out what to do the next day. And revel in vacation sex. Admit it…part of the fun of a vacation is trying to figure out if the bed is as much fun as your own.

Turns out this one is. Enjoy the long weekend!

By Tiffani “Let’s Talk About Sex” Michele

When discussing the topic for this month, all of us ladies of O+U decided it was only reasonable to assume that February would be devoted to love. All things love. Love love lovey love. We all have love, feel love, give love, receive love, love the love!

And then no one posted anything.

*crickets chirping*

And then we were all, “OK, how about love and/or sex?!” and that got us excited again! For a second. And then no one posted anything.

*more crickets*

Isn’t it interesting that the two things that drive our entire human experience are also the two things that are the hardest to maintain/have energy for/open up to/accept/give. Songs are sung, poems are written, facebook status updates typed out, tweets sent, love notes poured over, sex help books penned, porn posted online, and thousands upon thousands of wishes made for love and sex. Humanity spends a lot of time and energy and money in the pursuit of both these things.


My first love note, 9 years old.

We all want it.
We all need it.

So why are both love and sex so difficult to nourish and keep around? How is it that these two things aren’t the easiest parts of our collective lives rather than the stress, heartbreak and complications they often become?

My married friends complain about taking care of all the errands/responsibilities/work issues/life problems in their everyday lives and then not having enough energy for sex. They talk in exasperated tones about having to give so much of themselves to kids/spouse that they just don’t get a break. They fantasize about getting away for a little bit all by themselves. I remember; I used to be there, do that.

My single friends complain about doing all the work of living life without the bonus of having awesome sex to make it worth it. They talk about having so much to offer but no one around to want and appreciate it. They fantasize about sharing some of their alone time with someone else that they can laugh/cry/share/eat/grind all over. I know; I am there, think that.

I remember being married and comparing notes with my other married friends…how often do you have sex, and for about how long, and do you really get into it or just do plain old vanilla sex…just to see if my twice a week/10 minutes/same old routine experience was the norm or not. It wasn’t unusual to mentally schedule a night (or nights) for sex so that I could prepare myself during the day and try to keep the stress/busyness at bay. And so I could shave and groom. And actually put on makeup and/or a bra. When it wasn’t those scheduled nights, I would get undressed quickly in my closet with the door closed so that there would be no chance for any exposed flesh to turn anyone on.

And now, with the reality that sex isn’t guaranteed or scheduleable, I am a sex maniac. I think about it. I dream about it. I vow that when I find a partner, we are going to have sex every night before bed and every morning before we get up. I want to cuddle while we watch TV together while rocking our bodies back and forth in a shared laugh. I promise I won’t be stingy with my girl parts and will not hide them behind a closed closet door. Mostly? I don’t want to just feel love, I want to share love. And in the cheesiest sentence I will ever write, I want something else: I want to make love. I’m not saying, “I want to make love again”, I’m saying, “I’ve never experienced sex as something people do together as an awesomely inadequate substitution for actually just wanting to get everything they are and feel and hope and want and fear and love into the same space as everything the other person feels and hopes and wants and fears and loves.” That. I want that.

Aren’t we a crazy lot. We wax poetic about finding true love, then when we get it, rant and rave on Facebook about how that person is driving us batshit crazy.

I don’t know the answer. Sometimes you don’t know what you have until it’s gone. Like the grass is always greener philosophy, only sadder. Perspective is an enlightening bitch, and maybe that’s the key.

To my married friends, let me be the reminder that once sex isn’t a constant, it becomes really important again. Like, you’ll become like a raging hormonal 17 year old boy without any options. And once selfless and devoted love isn’t a constant, it becomes something worth more than any golden treasure. Life is still awesome without it, but it’s kind of like taking photographs at midday…it’s a little bit harsh and stark. Selfless and devoted love turns life into the golden hour…dreamy, sunflare-y, soft, and magical.


And to me, and all my single friends, I’m reminded that it’s important not to get lost or defined by anything outside myself. That anything, no matter how great it is, will start to annoy me if I forget to take care and prioritize myself. And that it’s good to take some time out and just enjoy the silence of myself.

Love is in many forms. Sex is in many forms. Together, alone, with and without.

It’s messy and crazy and brings out the best and worst in people.

Let’s see what this month in O+U brings!