I'm pissed because people so frequently try to take women down a peg by attacking their sexuality, automatically throwing out names like "whore" and "slut." And that shit happens to me, even though I own my promiscuity. It's even more hurtful when it comes from other women.

Sexual double standards are still annoyingly prevalent, and tearing them down has been my personal crusade as a feminist. Accepting insults cast upon my sex life would be undoing everything I've set out to accomplish. I hate when people say that I fuck so much because I have a low self-esteem, or that I'm lonely, or that I just want attention. In fact, in my first ever post on my personal blog, I stated that the only void I'm trying to fill is the one between my legs. And I know that I'm not the only one. There are tons of other women out there just like me (you're probably reading this right now!), who engage in casual sex purely for the physical merits of it. And I think that we all find comfort or solidarity in sharing our stories with each other, because as women, that's how we do: Bitches love talking.

I feel defeated sometimes knowing that people aren't able to fathom that women don't need a reason to have sex other than just wanting to fuck. It's like, if we aren't in a relationship or prostituting, then there must something wrong with us. By saying that sex is only useful to single women as a commodity devalues our existence.

What's more is that I've never tried to be sexy in my writing. If anything, I like to explore the more unpleasant aspects of sex, because they're more interesting to me (like herpes or queefing). And you know, I don't have any delusions about being completely altruistic. I get plenty of benefits from writing about sex, like this job, for example.

I know I can tend to be all TMI, but I think that's because I place a lot of emphasis on I, and if people think that's TM, then TS. That's much more of a reflection on them than me. I've noticed that the shit I tend to write is like a literary Rorschach test.

And I'm probably preaching to the choir here, since this isn't a common problem I encounter on Jezebel (which actually proves my point that I'm not the only unabashed slut out there). But from here on out, I'm putting my foot down. I'm not taking any shit anymore, because like it or not, it's not gonna keep me from spreading my legs, my anecdotes, or my opinions. Real talk.

Earlier: Queefs: What's The Etiquette For Dealing With Air Up There?
Contrary To Popular Belief, Herpes Is So Whatevs
Last Night I Boned An AVN Award Nominee

His name in her phone is "Beautiful Husband"

She reaches for her Blackberry. On the screen, it says "Beautiful Husband." Not Dennis, not a phone number, but "Beautiful husband." He arrives shortly after, walks straight to the booth, and slips his tongue down her throat.

When they got married he was still sleeping (aw!) on a mattress on the floor.

"But it was beautiful!" Elizabeth insists. "It was like a blank canvas, everything white. And I didn't buy or do anything. We were given wedding presents and pretty pictures and things, and I just got to do that. And I got us three dogs. Rescue dogs."

She didn't Google him after they first met.

"I wish I had [Googled him]," she says, because then she could have had a photo of him in those two dreadfully long weeks before they e-maied. "I was longing for a picture of him."

Their three decade age difference is the source of much pain and sorrow.

Do they feel 31 years apart? "Sometimes," Elizabeth says. "Only when I think, Why wasn't I born sooner so I could spend more time with him? I know his story, but why wasn't I there to help him through it? Sometimes I cry about it."

If it all seems so creepy and fanatical you have to wonder if Jesus isn't involved, well...
Dennis's dad beat him for "sneaking out" to church to be the angel in a Holy Communion pageant, and she took off for India to work in one of Mother Teresa's orphanages when she was 18, "something she had wanted to do since the age of nine, when she saw the nun on television serving the poor."

And like just like veganism and UFOs, it can happen for you too.

"Look, In Washington D.C., probably one of the most love-starved places in the planet, our story has captivated a lot of people. Some of the most hardened, grizzled people just open up." At least three people, after spending time with Dennis and Elizabeth, met their soul mates, the couple divulge. "Oh, it's been wonderful." Elizabeth says. "You read the fairy tales, prince, princess, and all that, but people don't really believe that happens in normal people's lives."
"But they want to!" Dennis says.

Earlier: How Dennis Kucinich Landed Smoking Hot Liz, In 8 Minutes!

Because, I have to confess, I am an ass-virgin. I haven't ever had a long-term relationship with someone experienced in the art of anal pleasure (at least, I'm reliably told it can be pleasurable) and the one guy I dated who expressed an particular interest tried the timeworn tactic of telling me that I'd like it "once I got used to it" and then insulted me to try to change my mind. My response to that was that if I could have pleasurable sex or painful/uncomfortable sex until I got "used to it," I was pretty well going to opt for "pleasurable" every time, thanks. He thought I was selfish, I thought he was an ass-obsessed pig, and things didn't work out.

But, anyway, so when I told a couple of close girl friends about my ass-virginity over a few bottles of wine a few weeks ago, both expressed shock and amazement that I (of all people) had never done it, and proceeded to tell me how much they liked it under certain circumstances... and then they both clammed the fuck up. I didn't learn anything from either of them that I didn't already know despite the booze. So, I surveyed my gay friends, who are much more talkative and less circumspect about the finer points of ass-fucking, as well as hilarious pseudonym-choosers.

"Chad Dandylion" told me that "the rules are the same [as for vaginal intercourse] — it needs proper preparation, and if it's your first few times, a very gentle touch." Below, "Chad's" 10, uh, tips for the uninitiated:

• 1) Make sure you don't have diarrhea or anything else that makes you shit a lot and leaves the anus inflamed
• 2) Don't eat roughage at least 24 hours beforehand
• 3) Give yourself an enema with lukewarm water
• 4) MAKE HIM EAT OUT YOUR ASS FOR SEVERAL MINUTES. This relaxes the ring of muscle, acclimates you to the sensation of having something probing your hole, and also happens to feel really really really good
• 5) Use lube, not spit. make sure the lube is latex-safe
• 6) If it's your first time, make him go slow, make him be gentle. if you get startled, you can clench, which hurts at first, or if he's rough he could accidentally do some damage
• 7) When he pushes inside, push back like you're taking a shit — this opens up the anus and makes the initial penetration easier
• 8) if you're not being a total whore and taking it doggy-style, sitting on him is easiest, because then you can control the speed at which you get opened up
• 9) You control the pace, unless you're a submissive bitch and then you let him pound you till your eyes roll back
• 10) Be vocal, give him hints as to what feels good and what doesn't. If you like him teasing your hole by pulling out to the head then pushing back in all the way, tell him that. If you like him mostly in and skooching it around, tell him that. Remember: as the bottom you are, ultimately, in control. Unless you don't want to be.

Since some of that didn't sound so terrible (except for maybe the enema thing, and the eyes-rolling-back thing), I figured I would ask another gay friend of mine for his advice because the more the better, right? "Chance" told me that his only real advice was not to let a Marine fuck me up the ass, because some "straight" jarhead came over and fucked him with so little grace and lube that he ended up having to get the inside of his asshole stitched back together at the hospital the next morning and then learned what a panty liner was.

I think I'm going to stop asking now. Well, except for this little poll.

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When I first started getting my period, being rather unfamiliar with my body, I went the pad route until my bff had a pool party and I simply had to use a tampon for the first time. Things seemed to be going relatively well, until I tried to pull it out. That part went much, much less well, and resulted in very uncomfortable car ride home (and then to the ER) with a tampon stuck half in and half out of my vadge. The doctor looked intently at my 15-year-old genitals, said, "Oh, isn't this interesting," moved something and slid it out. It had been caught on my hymen- which, unlike most hymens, had developed into a thick strand of tissue bisecting my vaginal opening (sorta like the accompanying picture!). My first gyno visit later, the doctor informed my mother and I that the best thing to do would be to have it surgically removed under general anesthesia, or wait until I had sex when it would "probably" break. My mother and I did not see eye-to-eye about my best option.

Two years of tampon use (and a growing familiarity with how to pull my hymen aside to extract it), 6 months of consistent sex-having and lots of stretching later, it finally broke. I bled like a stuck pig all over myself and my boyfriend, told my mother I broke the damn thing trying to use a super tampon from a friend and never looked back. Presumably because of all the stretching/practice, it didn't even hurt (or, it did but I was too busy having sex to notice).

My sister, on the other hand, was less lucky (and, yes, it apparently runs in the family). She had to have hers surgically removed under local anesthesia and a shitload of Valium at the age of 21 because no doctor could get a speculum in there, no boy could get a finger (or anything else) in there, and no tampon of any size could get in, let alone out, of there. It basically prevented her from having sex until she could get the surgery done to remove it (not an easy thing to convince a university health plan to cover, by the way). So, in my family, hymens were damn near the same thing as a chastity belt and, sometimes, as hard to break as a diamond, unless you got the angle and the, um, tool right. Maybe these abstinence kids do know something about their bodies after all?

Diamond Hymens: The New Bling [Feministing]

Usually we shun all what-celebrities-eat stories, since they: a) are dumb b) have no apparent basis in reality and c) often feature diets so high in calories, and so popular, we suspect that they are part of some sinister plot to ensure that celebrities remain thinner than the rest of us.

But we're inclined to buy this one, because it reminds us of back when we were a wayward youth with a mild case of teenarexia and eschewed meals in favor of whatever weird food we picked that week. Like, carrots and peanut butter we did for a while. Another time it was white rice. Then, of course, we started smoking pot, and that put an end to that.
It's Stars In Their Pies [TheSun]

I suspect most of us ladies have a love-hate relationship with our digestive systems. Unless you've got some fetish going on (no judgments!), there's not much to love about the, uh, product—but don't try and tell me that you don't feel better after taking care of business! Alternately, there are few discomforts quite so exquisite as the overwhelming fullness of constipation (not to mention the distended-belly-bloated visual effect). And while we could talk and cringe all day about the various sorts of backups and clog-causing situations, there's one in particular that I find really troubling, one that seems, in my uninformed opinion, scientifically inexplicable.

When I'm traveling, I'm not crapping. Plain and simple. This isn't simply a matter of being constipated while in transit. I could be settled in my private vacation paradise for weeks, and I won't be able to relieve myself for the life of me. I could take a gentle women's laxative, certainly, but if I don't normally have this issue, why does it come up under these odd circumstances?!

Plenty of woman are simply "poo-shy," uncomfortable with admitting to having bodily functions in the presence of new acquaintances who, thanks to close quarters, make it difficult to go to the bathroom with any dignity. I, too, have suffered from this—but usually nature wins out. If I've gotta go, no amount of modesty will stand in my way. What I'm talking about is the sheer inability to regularly move my bowels so long as I'm anywhere vaguely unfamiliar. Take me away from my normal surroundings, and those bitches get stubborn.

Thankfully, it's not just me. Though an awkward query of the dude sitting across the table from me suggests that men don't have this sort of issue, an informal and hasty IM survey reveals perhaps a girly trend piece in the making:

• "Yes, it always takes a few days. New surroundings I think."

• "yup, I usually get constipated. but that has a lot to do with poo-shyness. like i COULD NOT shit at joe's house in fire island. cause it is WAY too quiet there. and none of the doors lock at all. the shyness is so strong. that it manifests as actual constipation."

• "i went to peru in february and i was there for over a week and i only went twice. i had to go buy this like fiber saw dust stuff there. but i'm always constipated so i guess i don't know what it's like to be normal. although it does get worse on vacay."

• "oh, that never happens to me. I get a lot of fiber." [Ed: Bitch.]

• "omg once my family and i did this trip to portugal spain and morocco. it was like 14 days, and my sister and i did not crap for like 12. we were COUNTING. and some of the food was weird while we were traveling which forced us to keep eating bread, and we were just getting more and more irritable and bloated. it was so funny. plus! hemorrhoids! i mean you really freak out just THINKING about 'anal bleeding—am i right?"

Um, right! These insights doesn't necessarily answer my need for understanding nor my cries of "Why?!"—but at least we know that though we may suffer in silence, we don't suffer alone.