You wouldn’t necessarily know it, judging by most of what I’ve written around these parts, but I know love. I know all about it. I know about the butterflies in the chest and the longing in the heart. I know all about late nights and early morning conversations. I know all about passionate sex and the passionate fights. I know all about the tears and the laughter. I know all about the emotional tumult, the primal and inexplicable yearning that singers sing about and writers write about. I also know that making love last has nothing to do with all of that shit and everything to do with choices; with choosing to love someone, even when you don’t feel like it.

But I’m not here to talk about love. Not really. I mean, pretty much every song, movie, book, recipe and user manual ever written is about love in some way. So I figured I wouldn’t add to the clutter. And it is clutter. Clutter designed to sell you, me, all of us something. Don’t believe me? Google love, and see what happens. Actually, you don’t need to because I did and I’m sharing with you my thoughts on a few of the most popular search results. Consider this my Valentine’s Day gift to you. Enjoy!.

LOVE POEMS? YES!

So, love poems are a big deal. I guess that shouldn’t be too surprising. I mean, who doesn’t like a good love poem? And according to the site “if you are looking for love poems or love quotes, you have come to the right place”. Well, I wasn’t really looking for a love poem but hey why not? So, I clicked on the “love poems” link. You can view the entire collection or select a number from a list and you’ll be directed to a poem. I like the number 10. I chose poem number 10. Love poem #10 was written by Meghan. This poem has a nursery rhyme like quality to it. And it expresses the typical love poem stuff. The stuff that usually makes me nauseous/snicker/guffaw and reminds me that modern conceptions of love make it sound like a disease or syndrome. Don’t believe me? Check this passage:

“I love you with my heart,
My body and my soul,
I love the way I keep loving,
Like a love I can’t control”

Really? All your body? And your soul? The way you keep loving you can’t control? That sounds suspiciously like Irritable Bowel Syndrome. I don’t want anyone loving me like this. Nooooooo thank you. I want to be wanted. Not needed. Like a crutch. Or a laxative.

LOVE MATH

Who doesn’t love math? Who doesn’t love love? Who doesn’t love the love calculator. This is frankly ridiculous. And a time waster. I like ridiculous. And I love wasting time. I proceeded to match myself with some of my favourite female bloggers. The results are not very promising:

Sam Sharpe + Her Lil Black Book = 43% Love. This might have worked better if I entered her real name. But isn’t it funny that the Love Calculator doesn’t discriminate and accepted “Her Lil Black Book” as her name. Brilliant.

Sam Sharpe + Skye Blue = 53% Love. Apparently we have a reasonable chance of working out. The Love Calculator is clearly not good at love math.

Sam Sharpe + Elizabeth Rose = 63% Love. Yes! Finally! A C-! Now we’re getting somewhere. And clearly my love increases in 10 per cent increments.

Sam Sharpe + Nikki B = 15% Love. Yikes! So much for that 10 per cent increment thing. Oh well, I guess it wasn’t meant to be….screw it, I’ve got my own math. I’m gonna say that other 85% is lust. I know Nikki likes lust. God (and math) knows I do. So yeah, we can definitely still get down!

Sam Sharpe + Man Shopper = 61% Love. It’s a little disconcerting that I still haven’t broken 65%. What, is there something wrong with my personality? I guess a 61% isn’t too bad but it could never work between us. She travels too much.

Sam Sharpe + Max-Logic = 56% Love. I can’t believe I’ve wasted my (and your) time with this. I guess that’s what the pursuit of love does to a man.

THE BIG SELL

Okay, does anyone know what the hell lovingyou.com and thelovemagazine.co.uk are? I sure as hell don’t but they must have something to do with love right? A quick glance suggests Lovingyou.com is Cosmo-esque while thelovermagazine.co.uk is giving me a headache the likes of which I haven’t had since my sister forced me to watch FashionTelevision with Jeanne Beker when I was young. Though lovingyou.com did teach me that Kim Kardashian is a pear, Audrina Partridge is a wedge, Natalie Portman is a rectangle, Jennifer Hudson is an apple and Beyonce is an hourglass. And sooooo one named. Hmmm, two sites designed to sell a certain lifestyle to women are among the most popular search results for love. I wonder what that could mean.

HOW DOES THIS LOVE THING WORK ANYWAY?

Ever ask yourself that? Ever wonder just how this love thing works anyway. Well, just Google it. You’ll see there’s a Wiki for that plus a howstuffworks for it too. The howstuffworks spiel is pretty standard love stuff and come to think of it the Wiki is as well. But I’m partial to the Wiki because they’ve got a video on the very first page. And I’m a sucker for video. Anyway, if you watch the video, fast forward to the woman at the :33 mark. She says, and I quote “…where you’re so hot for the person you can’t breathe, eat or sleep.” Seriously people. Tell me this doesn’t sound like Irritable Bowel Syndrome.

I’ve never been in love. I’ve been in lust plenty of times, and there was that one time I believed in fairy tales, but actual love and not the crazy-person kind? Nope.

Wait. Hang on. Hold the violins and the pity party, please. I know y’all wanna start feeling all bad for me for some reason – but put that knee-jerk on pause for a sec. Falling into romantic love isn’t the only form of love, you know. My life is full of love – and it is one of the things that sustains me. It may just be a bit different. Let me explain.

First, of course, is equating love with physical intimacy.

1) Box o’ chocolate love: Avoiding the whole commitment thing means, well, you never know what yer gonna get when the lights go down (or not) and the clothes come off. Might be that adorable 21-year-old knocks your socks off, even with his age and one arm in a cast. Might be the dimple-faced Irish bartender can’t perform past jackrabbit sex. So, yeah, you take the chocolate truffle with the marzipan. But you can always send the marzipan home in the morning, and I’m no worse for wear. I don’t have to keep eating (pun intended) marzipan… or try to change it into truffle.

More importantly? It makes my life exciting and diverse. Different people can teach me different things– yes tricks in the boudoir, but also about my body and their bodies. Additionally, I don’t have to ask permission to try new things, nor do I have to let go of certain desires, I just find someone new who is into them. And, you know, it rarely gets monotonous.

2) Solo love: Why don’t we celebrate masturbation more? I mean, I know why, and sometimes people do, but still! Hell, you know what works, yet you never have to have awkward conversations about what doesn’t. There’s no need to fake it, either. Moreover, no one’s making me watch lesbian porn or getting weirded out by watching gay boy sex or gang bangs (although sometimes I have to send my inner feminist out for ice cream).

Of course, there’s more to love than physical intimacy. Love also translates into emotions and relationships with other people.

3) Unconditional love – My family: I love my family. They love me. However, we’re going through a pretty rough time (no, I’m not getting into it here), so… it’s a bit complicated at present. While this isn’t the time to really rely on my immediate family for support, it is very much about unconditional love and self-sacrifice. About putting other people first, letting go of selfish notions and inappropriate expectations. About the deep bonds we often take for granted but hold up when things are completely shit.

4) Platonic love - My friends: I may have said it before, but I am ridiculously lucky when it comes to my friends, both near and far. They listen when I throw a fit, bring over wine and a shoulder when things are tough, and call me out on my bullshit. Yeah, yeah, I’ve never been in love, but I do know my life wouldn’t be complete without them – I would never give them up in exchange for romantic love, and I think it’s always a bummer (and, let’s face it, stupid) when people sacrifice their friends for their partner.

And then, of course, the last one…

5) Self love: I am not perfect. I make mistakes and say the wrong things and can be naïve and trip over my own feet. Yet, I love the person I am. I love the life I have built, and continue to build, for myself. I love what I do, I love the people I keep close. IMHO, you cannot have and truly appreciate any of the other kinds of love unless you have this one.

In short, my life is full of love. No, I don’t have experience with the one we may typically associate with the term, but ever stop to think about our obsession that one anyway? I’m not knocking it, but damn you can’t turn on the radio or watch a movie without Romantic Love being shoved in your face as the end-all be-all experience of not only love, but practically life itself.

I beg to differ.

Look. I’m not saying one kind is better than others, that it’s better to have the whole box of chocolates than choosing to have the caramel-with-sea-salt every night, but neither is having the best chocolate in the box better than anything else and worthy of sacrificing everything else. I’m also not saying that Romantic Love ain’t awesome.

What I am saying is there is more to love than the romantic kind. There is more to love about love, than our conventional notions.

Why not cultivate it and celebrate it in all its forms?

When it comes to sex as a performance, it’s not a matter of whether or not it is, or whether or not one should approach it as such…but simply…to what degree. Life is a performance and sex is no different. The real question is just exactly who am I performing for? Because I assure you, it’s more often than not, not the easy answer of but your partner of course. And then more than this is the why behind the escapade or depending on degrees, more aptly titled the charade.

Sex is like ice cream. It comes in any flavor you can imagine. And here are just a few of the flavors that drip themselves upon my tongue. Power sex. Makeup sex. Hate sex. Hotel sex. Vacation sex. Novelty sex. Sampler sex. Revenge sex. Love sex.

Power sex is about me. And you. It validates me. It’s a pat on the back not to worry sweetie, you’re hot, you’re desirable, you can get what you want when you want it. Sure enough you might be in the audience, but the show is for me.

Makeup sex is about us. Together. And apart. I ‘m sorry and you’re sorry and this is how we say it, even if we’ve already said it with words, or maybe exactly because we didn’t or couldn’t. Sometimes it’s sweet. Sometimes it’s cathartic. But the slate is getting washed clean. You wash my slate. I wash your slate. And then the curtains close and the show is over.

Hate sex is about putting me before you. Because I hate you. And also probably love you. But mostly hate you. Maybe because you broke me. Or maybe you just chipped me a bit and I shed a tear or two but we’re through and this is how I say it. I’ll be more aggressive. The sex will be louder, and faster, and harder, and when we’re done I’ll have my clothes on before you can even think to reach for a towel. It might happen only once or I might come back a few times. Really, it just depends on how much rage I still have to work out. But you can be certain. You won’t come out of this without a scratch. And more than just a few bite marks.

Hotel sex is about everybody and nobody. It’s a show for anyone within listening distance. These aren’t my neighbors. These aren’t my sheets. And I haven’t a care in the world. But it’s also something private. And intimate. Because I’ll likely do just about anything, try anything, be anyone, go ahead and ask for your greatest fantasy. Hotel rooms are like little chambers of time and space that don’t exist outside of the four walls encapsulating it. They are a safe space. And while I’m not moaning louder, panting faster, or yelling out fuck me harder for anyone but you. Unlike at home, I don’t care if anyone hears. You’ll fuck me stupid and then I’ll send you out for donuts. With sprinkles!

Vacation sex is about me and my friends, and my spank bank. I’m putting on a show for myself. Look at me, I’m so daring, I’m so scandalous, I’m so indulgent, and I can do whatever I want. And then I do. And it’s a fantasy. And it’s amazing. And you’re so attractive. And everything is just so tropical, or foreign, or spontaneous. And then I’ll go home. And tell all my friends about the amazing sex I had while on Vacation. And I’ll think of you again, warm against my flesh when I’m wet and warm under my sheets. You’ll get me through many a cold winter night when who has time to go out and date when all I want is to help myself off to a good night of sleep. And I’ll cherish you. And what you did for me.

Novelty sex is a grab bag. Sometimes it’s for me, because I’ve always wanted to know what it’s like to be with two guys. Sometimes it’s about you, because you wanted to see what it was like to rip a whole in my nylons and do me through it and I’m nothing if not a good sport for someone who deserves it. And sometimes it’s about both of us, when there’s role play and suddenly I’m performing for you and you’re performing for me and suddenly the role of audience becomes intertwined in our interactive live show.

Sample sex is about me. And testing you. Though you may or may not really be able to control your performance. Maybe we’ve gone out on one date and you were absolutely fucking tedious we just didn’t click but you’re super hot and I could use a good booty call. Or maybe we’ve gone on three or four dates and we have a good time, not a great time but good enough and frankly I’m trying to figure out if our time together is worth the effort to put on makeup and shave my legs. Either way. I sleep with you. And it’s a test. Not one that you might pass or fail in the sense that you have any real control. But more like a litmus test. I’m testing to see if your acid balances out my base to form the most intensely balanced pH. I’m testing to see if you can fuck me science…er…I mean silly. This is sampler sex, and I’m dipping my toe in your waters. Whether or not you have any idea.

Revenge sex is about you. Because it hurts. Because it hurts me. Because you’ve hurt me. And so this about me trying to hurt you. Or at least make you flinch. Two for flinching!! And the thing of thing is, you’re not even the one getting laid. Maybe it’s your best friend. Maybe it’s your brother. Maybe it’s your cousin. Or even just your roommate from college. But it’s a sad bad mad thing that I’m doing. And no one will come out the better for it. But people do it anyway. I’m going to do it anyway. The revenge is about you, it’s a show I’m putting on for you and the other guy, my co-star…well…I barely notice him. And the whole thing is so misguided and childish and spiteful and unhealthy but dammit if I’m not going to fall down the rabbit hole anyway.

Love sex is about us. I look into your eyes, run my hand along your jaw line. Trace my thumb across your check until just before it touches your lips. Those are for me, waiting for mine. Lips kiss. Part. Wait. Pant. Hold. Nuzzle down into my neck. There are slow times. Soft times. Fast times. Hard times. Passionate times. No secret times. Sharing everything even this moment times. We lock fingers. Intertwine like highschoolers walking through a county fair. It borders on sappy and gross. But we don’t care. Nobody is watching. Nobody else matters. This is for us. You. Me. Us.  Love.

And I’m sure you. He. They. Her. The other person. Has their own view, another side to all our fantastical sexcapades. These Performances of Passion. These Luaus of Lust.  These Dances of Desire. These Operas of Orgasm. But sometimes I’m just fucking for myself. Sure you’re there. You’re necessary. You’re an integral ingredient. But the reasons why you’re there. Why I picked you. Picked now. Picked here. Or there.  Well that’s about me. Narcissistically nuanced sex. And don’t pretend you don’t do it to.

And sometimes the sex is good, healthy, stable type sex. And sometimes it’s false, destructive, broken type sex. That’s life. A mix bag. A grab bag. You just never know what you’re going to get. But just remember that the next time some young 22 year old lets you fuck her in the backseat of her car, parked down some dimly lit rarely used street, at four am after the club…she’s probably just doing it for the feeling of power it gives her. And if you’re cool with that, then fuck away my friend. But know that she’s faking. And that’s really the biggest problem with performing sex. A girl not getting off, and a boy not knowing.

Hi, I’m Ethan Sommers. I’m new around here at Met Another Frog. Ms. Blue invited me over because I have a confession:

I hate performers in the bedroom.

Don’t know what I mean? Here’s the nitty-gritty…

It was some years ago when I was with one particular lady-in-question. We were both in our early twenties and she hadn’t had a lot of partners. I was a bit more experienced and welcomed the opportunity to play teacher.

In one of our first forays in the bedroom, she decided to ride cowgirl over my rough and rugged plain. After she slowly lowered herself onto me, I closed my eyes and surrendered to the sensation. She quickened her pace, up and down, and then, like a Hawaiian dancer, twisted her hips from right to left, drawing me in and out of her as she did.

I remember thinking for someone so inexperienced, she seemed pretty crafty with the coitus.

She began moving her hips in a circular fashion, stirring herself with my erection, alternately speeding up and slowing down depending on her impulse in the moment. At first, it was enjoyable. I was content to let her play around as she was still discovering herself. Then I opened my eyes.

Her gaze was fixed to the left of the bed, on the mirror that made up the sliding door of her bedroom closet. She was watching herself, noticeably sucking her stomach in as she pinched the pink nipples of her perky breasts. Watching her as she moved, I realized she was so focused on how she looked that she didn’t seem to be enjoying herself. I had a theory why and a question to ask.

“Where’d you learn how to do this?”

She looked back at me, smiling. “Honestly? I saw it in a porno I watched last night. You like it?”

“Sure,” I said, trying to keep things positive. “How about you?”

“Oh, it’s nice.” She turned her head back to the mirror. While her attention was on me, she had relaxed a little. Now that she was conscious of her appearance again, she assumed the upright porn star pose once more, sucking in her stomach as she picked up the pace.

Did she look hot? Absolutely. If Heaven is a real place, then I hope the first sight I see beyond the Pearly Gates will be a woman riding me to climax. This lady, however, wasn’t even coming close. She was going through the motions of how she thought she should screw me, and that was a huge turn-off.

I’ve never had a problem with girls who want to watch themselves in the midst of a good fucking. It can add to the experience in so many ways that it’s worth a shot if you haven’t tried it already. The problem in this instance was that the lady-in-question wasn’t doing it for her enjoyment. She was putting on a show, performing for herself in the mirror; obviously more worried about how she looked than what she felt. I knew I’d have to nip this shit in the bud.

I chose my words carefully, got her to close her eyes and concentrate on how things felt as she moved above me. It didn’t take long for her to figure out what worked for her, and as the mess of the bed later indicated, it didn’t take long for me either.

Following a few more weeks of exploring, we tried the mirror again. Gone was the idea of looking sexy. Now it was about being sexy. Watching each other’s reflections pump and grind instead of spot-checking appearances made for quick and delightful work.

Sex done right is about connecting. If alone, with one’s self. If with others, then it’s about connecting with one ’s self and others. Whether you ride waves of pleasure to the port of orgasm or just for a lengthy cruise, it’s about knowing what you want to experience and exploring how to get there. By being more concerned with the performance rather than the sex, the lady-in-question was missing the point.

That’s the problem with learning about sex from porn, as so many do nowadays. Anyone with an iota of actual experience knows that on-camera fucking isn’t always the same as actual fucking. Porn is performers getting paid to look good in acrobatic poses meant to arouse the viewer enough to rub one out. You can learn some new positions and get turned on plenty, but not everything on-camera is going to work for you in the real world. As hot as it may look, no girl I’ve been with has ever enjoyed reverse cowgirl while suspended above me on all fours. I’ve been with a few good women that have tried, but it ended up not being worth the trouble because neither of us enjoyed it.

The moral of the story?

When the bedroom antics become a show, it’s more about the idea of sex than sex. One is good, but the other is much, much better.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out which.

Hey CoCo,

The problem I’m having is a little tame compared to the stuff you usually tackle. The thing is, I’m a little self-conscious in the bedroom and I always have to have the lights off during sex.  My boyfriend goes along with this but I know he watches porn so I can assume that he’d actually prefer to …you know… see stuff for real.  I don’t mind a little bit of undressing in the living room but once we’re down to our skivvies I move us along to the darkened bedchamber in a hurry. I used to think this was normal but I realize now that it probably isn’t.  Do you have any advice to help me get over this?

Lights Out

–

Hey Lights Out,

Not to worry! With all the nude and nearly nude bodies on display in the media we consume it’s easy to feel like you’re the last prude on earth. Nothing could be further from the truth. I’ve talked to many women who have a lights out policy just like you! That’s the good news. The bad news LO is that you are indeed a timid little flower and your unfortunate tendencies are limiting your sexual range. It’s time to take off those big girl panties and show the world – or, um, just your boyfriend – what you got.

Self-consciousness is a beast that we all struggle with everyday. The truth is that no one feels confident 100% of the time. Negative voices are like the ultimate backstabbing friend. We’re used to them so we still hang out, but they invariably leave us feeling shitty. Remember, negative thoughts are NOT your friends and they’re out to ruin your good time. Recognize that and don’t let them take over. It can be scary at first but, if you’re going to conquer brave new worlds, you’ve got to leave your excess baggage behind.

An example of the many benefits of sex with the lights on.

Take baby steps to begin. Start with a little mood lighting: try replacing the lights in your bedroom lamps with lower wattage or coloured bulbs. Candles are also a nice way to go, just be sure they’re nowhere near the bed. This kind of lighting flatters everyone and lets you ease into full exposure. You could even blindfold him in the beginning so that you can explore his body while you build up your own courage and arousal. When you’re ready to take the plunge, position yourself to best advantage and let him feast his eyes upon your womanly wonders. He will be embarrassingly grateful. Count on it. If this still feels like too much too fast then dress things up a little. Sexy lingerie that you actually want to show off could go a long way towards giving you a boost of confidence. You can even keep on your lacy bra and garter/stocking combo during the dirty, that way you feel wonderfully alluring and you get your money’s worth from the outfit.

Maybe you’re the type to over think things? Why not make a list of pros and cons and determine what the worst case scenario is? I’ll get you started…

Pros:

• No more blind fumbling
• Your sex life will improve
• You’ll experience more connectedness and intimacy with your BF
• You’ll learn to appreciate your body and the pleasure it can give you

Your boyfriend gets to… you know… see stuff in real life.

Cons:

• Lingerie and candles can get expensive
• It may take some getting used to.

There you go LO, a perfectly reasonable pros and cons list, and as you can see there are almost NO cons to having adequate lighting during sex. Take it from an expert, it’s the truth. There may be some initial awkwardness but that’s about it. Don’t fear your partner’s reaction LO, your BF will be the happiest little boy on earth. I guarantee it. Besides, if you thought he would point and laugh at you while you sobbed in naked mortification would you be dating him? I sincerely hope not. Anyways, ruling out spontaneous combustion, that really is the worst case scenario and it’s not going to happen. Don’t you feel better now?

LO, keeping the lights on during sex isn’t just about being able to see all the naughty bits. It’s about being able to appreciate and properly attend to them. It’s about trust and confidence and intimacy.  These things don’t come easy to anyone but they’re available to all of us if we believe ourselves worthy.

Don’t be so hard on yourself, you deserve to have great sex and you’re worthy of your partner’s admiration. Start slowly with the suggestions above and you’ll soon be walking around starkers in broad daylight, with a trunk full of sex toys and detailed map of where to stick them.

So, onward brave explorer. There is much to see and do!

Love CoCo

That powerful little word kept coming to mind way back in November, as I sat listening to Lux Alptraum’s keynote address at Playground. For the better part of her speech I was busy scrawling all the questions the points she was making brought to mind into my notebook. By the time she was finished I had more than a page full of questions pertaining to the way our society views, approaches and even condemns our sexuality. Questions like…

Why is penetrative sex the only type to be considered real sex?

Why is there such little room for people to be exactly who they want to be – even when it doesn’t fit mainstream norms – in their sexual lives?