The only reason

we didn’t fuck right there was

social convention


Dress Me Up

The best dresses are


those that showcase the right parts


and hide the wrong ones





I really want a


flat stomach, but I also


really love chocolate


How to be Sexier (for Ladies)

Funny thing about the word “sexy” – it includes the word “sex.”

It’s hard to be sexy without having a relationship with sex. In fact, how you feel about sex, whether you want it, whether you have it, how you judge yourself for wanting and/or having it, and whether it has historically been a safe place for you, and are all related to your sex appeal.

The path to becoming more sexy lies in feeling your sex. You – your own sexuality – must be felt in order to be truly sexy. In other words, you must feel it. Your sexuality and your sex appeal are inextricably linked.

This is me!

I consistently get the feedback that I’m sexy, and it’s not because of my physical appearance. Yes, I have an acceptably attractive body and face, but I’m not that objectively hot. I believe that those who tell me I’m sexy aren’t responding to how I look, even if they consciously believe that’s why. They’re responding to how I feel. How I feel about myself, how I feel about my own sexuality, how I feel about sex in general, and how I feel about the sexuality inherent in others.

I’m sexy because I like sex, and I like my own sex.

It’s no coincidence, then, that I have put a lot of energy into developing my sexuality. I’m a sexuality educator. I think about it, read about it, ask about it, and talk about it. And the places in our lives in which we put the most effort and attention tend to be the places that grow and thrive. Those that are constantly thinking about work, business, and finances tend to have robust work, business, and finances. It is what consumes their thoughts; it is what pleases them (or drives them, which is not always the same thing).

Don't worry, only dogs have this view... and maybe little people.

I think about my sex and sexuality. I place importance upon it. When I feel like touching myself, I do, and I don’t shame myself for it. I’m comfortable watching pornography. I wear short skirts and high heels and I like how the breeze feels under there. When I’m having sex, I react. I allow myself to feel. I’m present, not thinking. I don’t worry about what I look like in this position, or whether my hair is going to get messed up, or what he’ll think if I move in a certain way to get myself off (hint: he’ll think it’s awesome).

Ladies: if you want to become more sexy, you must put attention on your sex.

That means prioritizing it. It was a revelation the day I actually realized what prioritizing means. It means choosing one thing over another. That is, instead of washing the dishes right now, I’m going to dance to this song on the radio in a way that makes me blush – and watch myself in the mirror as I do so. Instead of being exactly on time to pick up the kids, I’m going to go upstairs for a quickie with myself.


Because someone had to anime-fetishize the Starbucks siren...

Instead of writing this work memo (or blog entry), I’m going to indulge in my fantasy about that hot Starbucks barrista doing me in the backroom with the door unlocked. Instead of going over my grocery list in my head on the train, I’m going to subway-flirt with the guy across from me and press up against him when I get off (pun intended).

So if you want to become sexier, here is your homework: feel your turn-on.

Just feel it. You don’t even have to do anything about it, so to speak (although doing something is obviously encouraged, as well!). Just feeling it is enough, and enough practice for many women. Many women have the tendency of pushing it back or away or repressing it, either because they’re embarrassed and don’t think it’s ‘appropriate,’ or because they don’t think they have the time to ‘indulge.’

Don't turn into the female version of this!

But it’s not indulging. It’s keeping yourself sexually healthy, vibrant and alive. Your sexuality is a source of power, and it is a source of energy. You take vitamins, you exercise, and you brush your teeth. Physiologically, sex is healthy – whether it’s with someone or whether you’re flying solo. And the more fun you have in your life, the more sensual you allow yourself to be, the more fun you are to be around, and the more attractive you become. Naturally.

She's gettin' the hang of it...

So this week, when you walk past a poster of a hot guy and have a split-second image of what it would be like if he pressed you up against your dryer in your laundry room, go with it! Don’t shut down the thought; don’t assume that it’s less important than work. Your sexuality feeds you, and it deserves equally as much attention as other aspects of your life. Think of it as taking your sexuality vitamins.

And I’m telling you, once you put attention on it, you will see a difference both in how you feel and in how others react to you. Because as you walk down the street fantastizing about that poster boy, I guarantee that at some point you’ll have a smile on your face, and it will be a naughty one, and people will notice. And you know what they’ll think as you pass them by?

“Damn, what was it about that woman? She was sexy.”




Put ’em up

Whenever a bout


of low self-esteem kicks in,


it’s shooting range time


Hot girl with a gun, women at shooting range, woman with gun

Photo by Rob Beyer


When she saunters in


eyes follow her, just as they


do when she walks out.



Hot woman with cool shoes

PMS: What. The fuck.

I swear to God, being a woman is absurd sometimes. It isn’t enough that we have to carry our vaginas with us everywhere and therefore eternally concern ourselves with whether when that brooding guy hanging out on the other side of the subway platform late at night approaches we should run away or start screaming and whether if we started screaming anyone would come. No, we also have to contest with the mother of all hormonal irregularities (barring, you know, those horrible congenital ones that are actually fatal or whatever). You know what I’m talking about.

PMS, which hereafter shall solely be referred to as The Syndrome, is aka:

PMS is super fun if you're a psychotic bitchPass My Shotgun
Psychotic Mood Shift
Perpetual Munching Spree

Puffy Mid-Section
Pimples May Surface
Provide Me with Sweets
People Make me Sick
Pardon My Sobbing
Pass My Sweatpants
Pissy Mood Syndrome
Plainly, Men Suck
Potential Murder Suspect

Seriously though, it’s absurd. Absolutely, positively absurd. Every month for at least 3 days – that is, EVERY SINGLE MONTH – The Syndrome turns me into an irritable (we’re talking ANGRY), lonely, sexually frustrated (OK, maybe that’s more than just once a month), angsty, self-righteous, pissy, crying bitch. I basically alternate between thinking that I’m a worthless human being who should probably just kill herself right now, or that other people are worthless human beings who should probably just kill themselves right now… or I’ll do it for them.

Women on hormones are both hot and bitchy

Let me just TREAT you to some of the thought patterns that haunt my feverish estrogen-saturated brain:

  • “I HATE you, post office lady. Like literally, I feel rage right now.”

  • “If those fucking people don’t stop fucking laughing I swear to God I’m going to fucking scream.”

  • “My life sucks.” (note: there is actually nothing wrong with my life).

  • “My job sucks.” (note: there is actually nothing wrong with my job).

  • “My boyfriend sucks.” (note: if boyfriend doesn’t exist, this one is almost always replaced with, “Why don’t I have a fucking boyfriend!?” or, “Why am I not having fucking sex?!”)

Oh, and let’s not forget the ubiquitous “You’re fat and ugly” thought-toads that barge in without fail right at the beginning of the PMS cycle and take up permanent residence for the duration of The Syndrome, squatting directly over and therefore blotting out ANY and all joy that could even possibly be derived from one’s appearance at this time.

Being bloated just makes me want to curl up with a hot press and watch Project Runway until I pass out.

I do realize that the idea of this woman actually looking bad when bloated is retarded.

By the way, God, what the FUCK is with making women ACTUALLY bloated and have ACTUAL acne at the SAME TIME that they can’t exile the “You’re fat and ugly” loop that plays on repeat every time they look in mirrors at this time of the month, such that when you THINK you’re fattest and ugliest, you actually get impermanent but seemingly fucking permanent PHYSICAL CONFIRMATION of that fact? How is that fair??

But I digress. Here is the worst thought pattern that plays on repeat:

“Wow, that was kind of a nasty thing I just said to him/her (or look I just gave him)… I’m just so fucking IMPATIENT. And angry. I’m so ANGRY! I’m annoyed and I’m upset and I’m an emotional mess – why does anyone ever want to be with me – friends or otherwise?? What the hell?? I’m never going to have the relationship I want because no one is going to want to deal with the hot mess that is me – and they shouldn’t have to. I wouldn’t blame them. I’m awful, I should just die. This is stupid. What’s the use? I’m worthless and I’m never going to get what I want. It’s way too far away and I’m stupid and worthless and useless. And a bitch. Oh, my God, I’m a bitch. Shit. I feel so guilty. I’m a total raving bitch, and I can’t control it! Awful, awful, awful. Bitch, bitch, bitch. I just want to curl up and die.”

PMS makes me hot, and not in that hot way, more in that hot flashes and cramps way.

This is definitely the outfit I wear when I'm PMS-ing.

… and on and on. On repeat. For at least 3 days. Did I mention this is an event that occurs MONTHLY?

The thing is, as funny as this sounds, it actually FEELS REAL. It really feels like it’s the end of the world, like nothing is worth doing, like everything sucks and you’re never going to feel better. It’s not like this for 72 hours straight, necessarily, but you gotta admit that it’s pretty fucking weird that EVERY MONTH nearly every single woman on the planet goes just a little bit nuts.

And just in case you think I’m exaggerating on the little bit nuts, no kidding, this shit is real: one academic study found that 46% of all admissions in psychiatry ward and 53% of attempted suicides were during menstruation or pre-menstruation (Dalton, 1959). Do you know how MANY that is?

This is what being pre-menstrual does to youKnow what else that same guy discovered? In a study of female prison inmates, of those who had committed violent crimes – we’re talking assault, murder, etc. – a full 62% had done so either while they were pre-menstrual or at the end of a menstrual phase (apparently PMS symptoms resurface then, which I only knew was anecdotally true but is apparently backed up by hard science).

Bottom line? Having PMS is like drinking: it doesn’t MAKE you do something, it just tips you over the edge so that that thing that would have just stayed a fantasy (or just ‘really bad idea’), becomes a reality. Sometimes one that is seriously detrimental to either your own or someone else, or someone else’s life.

Angry bride marriage sucks marriage is awful

What to do when your woman is pre-menstrual

Oh yeah, and since this is a blog about sex and dating, I should probably put in something about that … uh, if you’re dating someone who has PMS (ha, ha.), my advice is to TRACK IT, motherfucker. Your woman might not be aware of it, but you’re gonna wanna KNOW. And you wanna know like, ahead of time. Know when those 3 days are, and just fucking stay away, dude. Just stay away, it’s not worth it. Seriously.

It is hard to deal with PMS as a guy

But also know that if you can manage to hang in there and put up with her whining and bitching and complaining about everything (including you), what she really, REALLY wants is a massage. And a hug. And to be told that she’s beautiful even if she’s bloated, and that you’re not gonna bail just because she temporarily turned into a raving lunatic.

And – I know this sounds trite, but it’s so fucking true, it really is – a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. Now, your woman’s preference may not match my own but just in case my future mate is out there somewhere reading this, please know, darling, that while some preferences tend to come and go, this is one that’ll never change, and it really is the way to my heart:

Chocolate Fudge Brownie, baby. Chocolate Fudge Brownie.

"I'm fine. I love you. I hate you. I want ice cream. Oranges?"

Vixen Fact: According to Susan Lark, MD, director of the PMS Self-Help Center in Los Altos, Calif., having sex with orgasm relieves menstrual cramps because the vigorous muscle action moves blood and other fluids away from congested organs.

VIXEN LINK OF THE WEEK: Funny Euphemisms

Especially check out number 6…

OK, Time to Whistle at Her

Photo by Sven Gabriel

Today, I was the image of a radiant woman. I saw Slumdog Millionaire for the first time a few days ago, and ever since then I have felt viscerally joyous and happy about who I am. I am ecstatic that I still have working legs. I can dance and jump and twirl and do sprints and lift weights and hike mountains and have fun on beaches and traipse around foreign countries with big backpacks if I want to. I can do flying trapeze and backbends and slide down sand dunes and scream at the top of my lungs while I do somersaults and dive off of boats in the Caribbean.

The film also brought home to me the fact that I am actually privileged to have the choices – physical choices – that I have, because not everyone has them. I saw a blind man on the subway the other day and gave him money because I though to myself, that man is brave. He gets up every morning and goes about his business just like the rest of us, only he can’t see anything. I can barely find my cell phone in my purse in the dark, let alone my way around NEW YORK CITY. He is brave as fuck, and I’m fortunate to have two working eyes. 

I OWN you!

The point is, all that joy meant that I was RADIANT today. I dressed nicely – nothing fancy, just jeans that show off my figure and a hot leather jacket and sexy, straightened hair. But I don’t think it was as much the fact that I looked good on the outside as that I was radiating gratitude and excitement from the inside. Everywhere I went, men whistled, stopped what they were doing to check me out, or gave me thumbs-up signs. It was incredible! I felt like I owned the city, like I really belonged, like I could have it all – and be appreciated for that.

By the way, a big shout-out to all the men from the Black and Latino communities. I’m not black so I can’t officially call you ‘brothers,’ but what the hell – I’m officially calling this a diverse blog and I’m a diverse woman, so I’ll just say it: to all my brothers who are not afraid to whistle at a woman or tell her she looks great, THANK YOU!

Hot black man

Mmm, yes please. Check me out. Check me out right now.

I like seeing the look of admiration on your face when I walk by and I’m looking good and you know I’m looking good. I don’t mind that you’re checking out my ass, cause I’m in my 20s now, and I’m not gonna be forever. I know some women get uptight about receiving compliments on the street, who feel it’s demeaning to get looked at in this way, but to me it’s a compliment. It makes me smile, and sometimes makes me laugh.

Whistling at women

No, no, I was whistling WITH you, not AT you!

Interestingly, I find that this rarely happens with white men. Caucasian males appear to feel a lot of shame and guilt about checking out women. Personally, I believe this is because white American culture is derived from the Puritans. White Americans are extremely sexually repressed, but in denial about it. In white culture it’s unacceptable, disrespectful, or men are afraid that giving a genuinely sexually appreciative look or comment will freak a woman out. And that’s a shame, because when the checking-out – whether a whistle, a smile, or a comment – is genuine (i.e. not a creepy, I’m-going-to-get-you kind of thing), it’s encouraging. I’m thinking in particular of the guy the other day who got off the subway with me and very authentically said, “That’s a great outfit.” He wasn’t doing it to get attention or prove his masculinity – he clearly just meant it, and it was flattering.

Shopping bags and construction men

Maybe if we walk quickly, they won't notice us in our neon pink top and neon blue skirt...

I also particularly like that feeling of sharing something. For example, I’m multi-lingual, and one of the languages I speak very comfortably is Spanish. I was on the subway platform recently and this Latino guy was talking to another about me, and he even addressed me (in Spanish) to say, “You are the most beautiful woman, I want to marry you!” then said something else funny, at which point I laughed. When he realized I understood him his eyes widened and he turned to his friend, all freaked out, and in Spanish said, “She knows Spanish!!” It was amusing. Anyway, I doubt I had a lot in common with this guy but we did share this moment, and when I got on the train I stepped to the window and put my hand up to it, and he smiled this huge smile and blew me a kiss and waved. It was touching. We connected on a human level.

So what do you think? Is whistling an obnoxious form of misogynistic despicability or a sign of admiration and approval? Yes, those are the only two choices.

In my opinion, it's never too early to get started.


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I can’t even tell you how worth it it is to go to this site. OMG.