My first date with Cai involved a lot of tongue. Not the fun kind—like, a literal plate of seasoned duck tongues on the table between us. But that wasn't the weirdest part of our date, because I swear duck tongues are delicious. The weirdest part was my coworkers, all gathered together at another table, watching us.
After Tokyo’s bubble economy burst, the Roppongi district—once an upmarket quarter with exclusive nightlife—became known for its massage parlors and sex clubs, largely staffed by foreigners. It was here that I found myself, one steamy August night, sitting in a darkened strip joint while the police knocked on the door.
I never had bad luck with dates or flings, especially with the kinds of men who look good on paper. There was the corporate lawyer. The investment banker. The diplomat. The doctor. The congressional aide. Even when I was out traveling for work, I often had drinks or dinner plans with a guy.
Even in death, this woman still gives me nightmares.
Everyone takes their phones to the bathroom these days, so let's just get it out of the way: When I go, I usually play Candy Crush. I'm a quick pooper, but I still manage to fit in a game. As for those occasionally awful, oh-god-what-did-I-do-I'm-going-to-die dumps, they no longer cause me pain. I no longer feel…
There's a penis on my backpack. A real one. I need to go to school but there's this large, black penis lazily resting on my backpack and really don't know what to do. I am 12, kneeled down in front of this penis like I'm examining a strange leaf or perhaps a weird mushroom. I hesitantly reach for my pink backpack…
I felt like Will Smith in "Enemy of the State." I was being hunted, harassed and stalked by criminals with technological expertise. I had been thrust into an unexpected war. I felt exposed, vulnerable and alone on the front line. I had awoken a hideous network of villains and saboteurs, who were in pursuit of me,…
(This piece originally appeared on Nautilus.) About six years ago, I was putting a new roof on a 200-year-old house on an island in Maine when I got a call from Justin Timberlake’s cousin and assistant, a girl named Melissa. I put down my nail gun, told my boss I was taking five, and answered.
The job that could put me in jail started at the same time that the desperate emails did. Women searching for abortion-related terms online found something I had written, and started sending me desperate pleas.
The typical reaction I receive when I answer the oh-so-common “what are you doing this summer” question: Wide eyes, shock, skepticism, and intrigue. “You’re working in a jail? As an intern? Providing sexual health education? Woah….” The response deems the work itself as it truly is – otherworldly.
During the second to last episode of Battlestar Galactica, we learned that, before the destruction of the Twelve Colonies, Laura Roslin lost her father and her sisters in a car accident. How horrible, I remember thinking. This explains so much about her emotional armor, how slow she is to grow close to anyone. It also…
One August afternoon when I was fourteen, my friend and I somehow acquired enough cash to rent a white stretch limo for an afternoon to drive us around Calabasas, the affluent San Fernando Valley suburb that spawned and still comfortably hosts the Kardashians. A few years after our impromptu joyride, the "Bling Ring"…
I've been blessed with the extraordinary ability to create scenarios in my head that have no basis in reality. I recently utilized my remarkable talent after a great first date with a guy named Ryan. Because, when dating someone new, why bother staying grounded when you can manufacture the relationship in your head?
It's awkward when you realize you don't want to hook up with a guy who you've invited into your apartment for that purpose. But you can and should always be able to stop a hook up you don't want to have. (Duh). This [Law and Order dum-dum] is my story.
It's normal to obsessively cyberstalk your ex. But why do some of us obsessively cyberstalk our ex-lovers' new partners instead? I compulsively tracked my ex-boyfriend's girlfriend for months without really understanding my motivations for doing so — and it turns out she was following me back.
I woke up this morning feeling a little cynical. Sure, the weekend was at my fingertips, but it still felt nearly impossible to see over the work day ahead and unwind from the workdays of the past few weeks. Lately (and this is unsual), we've been pulling 10-12 hour shifts at the Good Ship Jezebel and, while I love my…
It's been said that you never forget your first time, your first kiss or your first love. Personally, I'll never forget my first make-out session, my first crush and the first time I sauntered into a sex club: a den of delight for swingers, voyeurs, adventurous couples seeking other couples, and sexy singles looking…
Growing up, I remember making a pact with myself. As an adopted child I promised to find my family in Korea, but how exactly that would occur remained a mystery to me. I luckily had the unconditional support of my American family, even if they were stumped by my vague plan.
The funny thing about being a lesbian in the lingerie industry is that it feels like a paradox: I see versions of myself everywhere and nowhere at the same time. It's undeniable that female homoeroticism plays a part in so many lingerie editorials, both implicitly and explicitly, that it's not difficult for me to find…
I've been in love — earth-shaking, soul-burning, life-transforming love — a couple of times so far, and once was with my shrink.
