Tag: gay

Posted on

Slutever + Dr. Zhana on HuffPost’s Love + Sex Podcast – 11 Awkward Sex Questions

What the F is a “dry orgasm?” Why is MILF porn so unbelievably popular? What should you do when anal sex unexpectedly gets messy (and what can you do to help make sure it doesn’t)? Dr. Zhana (AKA Slutever’s “Ask a Sex Researcher” and I went on HuffPost’s “Love + Sex” podcast to answer 11 sex questions that you might be too shy to ask your friends. Continue reading “Slutever + Dr. Zhana on HuffPost’s Love + Sex Podcast – 11 Awkward Sex Questions”

Posted on

Why Am I Hot?

A couple weeks ago, Slutever had the pleasure of speaking on a panel at the Frieze Art Fair. The panel was about female attractiveness—how does society assess who’s “hot,” and what gives a person value? The most powerful part of the panel, in my opinion, was when Grace Dunham (sister of Lena) gave a speech so perfectly breaking down the culture of self-worth, so I wanted to share her speech with you here. Continue reading “Why Am I Hot?”

Posted on

Ask A Lesbian

By Scout Durwood /

Ever wished you had a wise lesbian BFF you could turn to in all of your queer quandaries? Well, now you have Scout—aka Slutever’s new guest “Ask a Lez.” Scout Durwood is a Los Angeles based comedian, currently appearing on Oxygen’s comedy show, Funny Girls. She also writes the very funny (and helpful!) blog, Sex Advice from a Lesbian. I’ll now be nagging her to answer your reader questions (aka share her scissoring advice—j/k?) here on Slutever semi-regularly. 

1. I’m a 26 year old bisexual girl, and I’m currently in my first same-sex relationship. I’ve been dating my girlfriend–who’s full lesbo–for 6 months now. I see our relationship progressing, and I’ve met her family, who are totally cool. But I can tell she feels weird that I haven’t yet told my family we’re together. My parents are conservative and religious, and I just think they’re going to freak out if I tell them I’m with a girl. Do you have any advice for me? Do I have to tell my parents? Should I wait another 6 months before I tell them, in case me and my gf end up breaking-up, and then I gave my parents heart attacks for no reason? And if I do tell them, how should I go about it? Confused Bi Lady

Dear Confused, 

Coming out is like prom: some of us had an amazing time and can’t believe they were ever stressed out about it in the first place, some of us spent most of it in tears, and never want to speak of it again, and some of us decided not to go at all. I can say from experience that in general, hiding your sexual identity is WAY more stressful than sharing it, but if you think this may be just a one girl thing, then there is no harm in waiting it out to see if it sticks. Each of us is constantly evolving. Give yourself plenty of time to grow. 

Second of all, congratulations, and welcome to the tribe! It sounds like there are three relationships at play here, so let’s take them one by one. First, you have the relationship between you and your girlfriend. Of course, you must support each other when times are tough, and be willing to compromise when times are even tougher. But it sounds like you’re already on the right path there. Relationship two, however, may be even more important, and that’s your relationship with your sexual identity. Whether and when you talk to your parents about being bisexual is about your relationships to men and women, not about your relationship with any one man or woman in particular. If you want to talk to your parents about being bi, then do it. Your girlfriend will be there to love and support you. However, this is your journey, not hers. Remember, you are coming out as bisexual, not coming out as someone else’s girlfriend.

As for when and how to do it, to thine own self be true. My general advice is to avoid pairing it with a major holiday or get-together, as there will already be a lot going on, and no one likes to multi-task. Pick a quiet time to bring it up to give everyone involved time and to react, ask questions, and respond in his or her own time. When I came out to my mother, she gave me some of the best advice I have ever received. Any tears there were to cry, she said, were hers to get over, not mine to explain.

The third relationship, is your partner’s relationship to her sexual identity. If she is out and proud, it may be hurtful for her to feel she has to hide who she is or to not be able to participate in an important part of your life, like family. It’s a balancing act, for sure, so play it like it’s chess, not checkers. It isn’t about leaping across the board, it’s about positioning yourself to make a victorious move in the end. 

2. I’ve been seeing this guy for about three months. He’s a super hot babe, very nice and funny, and the sex is good. However, he’s a bit lazy and not super social. I get that he likes to chill in his room and smoke bongs or whatever, but I always end up doing the 10 minute walk through our dodgy neighbourhood to his place at night, and when I suggest him coming over he always makes excuses or just can’t be bothered! I’m a pretty laid back person, and we really do get along, but it’s starting to make me feel like shit that I just walk over to his house to have sex when he’s high. Also, a week ago, we had fun dinner and then came back to mine and hung out and had sex, and then he left at 11pm. Anyway, do you think he may like me and is just lazy, or do you think he is just using me for boning and BJs? Ugh.

Dear Ugh,

Welcome to the “kiss or kill” moment in any extended hook up situation where one must dig deep within oneself and ask the age-old question: “What is this?” Said hook up dude is not acting like your boyfriend. He doesn’t come off as a great compromiser, and he doesn’t sound like he would impress your friends at parties. If you like where things are in terms of bong hits and sex, then stay in it as long as you like! But you did use the red flag phrase “starting to make me feel like shit,” which implies that you would prefer a revised situation. Unfortunately, it takes at least two consenting parties to be in a full-fledged relationship, and this fella doesn’t scream “ready to commit.” 

You have two options. One, ghost this guy, never speak to him again and hope he learns his lesson. Two, get ready to wade into the dangerous waters of “talking about your feelings.” Should you choose option two, which I think is a stronger choice, but totally up to you, do so with confidence and intention. Having the same argument over and over is death to any relationship, so next time he booty calls and your bootie isn’t up to be called, let him know that you’re not up for it, and suggest an interaction in the human world, instead. If he says no, then he is making the choice not to see you. His loss. Don’t do things that make you feel like shit. Ever. Unless it’s delicious Mexican food, and you feel like living on the edge. 

Keep the parts of this that bring you joy, try to have a positive influence on the parts that do not, and know that, in the end, you have to be willing to walk away. It is up to him to decide when he is ready to put the bong down and walk his own damn dog, and it is up to you not to do things that you resent having done. From what you’ve described, I’d be over it, too. 

Posted on

My Weekend at a Porn Festival

Words and photos by Vera Papisova /

This isn’t a Vegas convention center filled with fake tits and Mr. Clean lookalikes handing out complimentary butt plugs. Contrary to what you might expect from a porn fest, the NYC Porn Film Festival takes place in an experimental art gallery in Bushwick, Brooklyn. The vibe is somewhere between your favorite dive bar and a Fassbinder film. The event staff looks like a group of Bard graduates. Miley, you would’ve thrived.

Friday is the first day of screenings, and tickets for the public are sold out by the time I pick up my press pass. There were 12 cops outside in anticipation of protestors that didn’t show up until the next day (more on that later). The first screening features MySpace star Tila Tequila in a performance that won an AVN award for Best Celebrity Sex Tape. “My dick sees the light,” Tila Tequila’s faceless paramour muses, “it wants to go in your butt.” The crowd roars with laughter. This was my first taste of something bigger—yes, my wide-eyed children, something bigger than Tila Tequila. 

Untitled-1

Watching porn in a room full of people is empowering. It reminds you that sex and porn are nothing to be ashamed of, that we’re here to celebrate sexuality in all of its forms. I realized very quickly that the crowd at the NYCPFF is the best you can ask for: incredibly friendly, supportive and genuine. There is a palpable kinship, which is arguably the direct result of socializing porn. This is something festival organizer Simon Leahy should be proud of, especially considering the main goal of the weekend is to facilitate a comfortable environment that encourages a greater discourse around pornography. But enough about Tila Tequila.

The next hour features a serious discussion about the future of porn led by MakeLoveNotPorn.TV’s founder and total badass, Cindy Gallop. She talks about how the porn industry functions on broken business models, after which we’re prepped to watch a compilation of Make Love Not Porn #realworldsex videos—something they claim is a completely separate category from porn and amateur content. This is something entirely new to the internet – real people, having real sex. (E.g. no screaming, fake orgasms here.)

The video compilation begins. There’s a 70-year-old couple using a sex swing (#GOALS), a cheeky lesbian couple explaining “how to f- butts without hurting people,” and a hipster couple so natural and in love that you’d never guess they were porn stars IRL. The compilation received some of the best, if not the best, audience reception at the festival. After the presentation, I overhear Gallop saying MakeLoveNotPorn is the only place on the Internet where current or former porn stars submit videos of themselves having #realworldsex with their partners. (I’m in!)

V1

I spend some time talking to festival goers, most of whom are Brooklyn transplants in their 20s who are very excited to watch porn with their friends. “I didn’t know porn had a sense of humor,” said an NYU student to her friend. This is a popular reaction all weekend.

I miss the majority of the Yaoi screening. Yaoi is Japanese manga porn featuring men banging, and—plot twist!—the authors and viewers are mostly women. I entertain the idea of cartoon sex, but only because I long to be Sailor Moon.  Next, the opening night party starts up with a screening from CockyBoys that, among other things, features artist Colby Keller. Keller’s work is a standout, and not just because it’s a big gay acid trip. I try to stick around for the clothing optional party, but it takes too long to get started.

v2

The following day, anti-patriarchy protestors show up right before James Franco’s screening. I ask them if they’re protesting Pornhub as a sponsor, which would make sense given the countless degrading and misogynistic titles in their database. But nay, they’re protesting porn in general. Sigh, anti-porn feminists. When I ask one protestor how feminists feel comfortable telling women what they should and shouldn’t do with their bodies, she gets flustered and hands me a pamphlet as wildly misinformed as she is. I decide against asking how protesting gay porn is fighting patriarchy, or if they bothered reading the content in the festival program, which is consciously feminist. I politely tell them that the point of the festival is to get people talking about porn, so their protest is actually helping the cause.

But back to James Franco: Interior. Leather Bar is not porn as much as it is straight actors having emotional breakdowns about filming gay scenes. My boredom is on a level that can only be compared to the time I had to read Watership Down in 7th grade.

At this point, I get hungry and go buy a cupcake with a vagina on it. It’s delicious.

Sunday is filled with more art porn, BDSM, and horrorporn. Yup, horrorporn is a thing. Paralyzed by content overload, I spend the majority of the day getting drunk with drag queens at a porn festival. In Bushwick.

When people experience adult content as a group rather than in secret, it influences a public reaction – a discourse. Without a doubt, the NYC Porn Film Festival achieved what it set out to do: I found beauty in all different kinds of sex. I felt a connection to other gender identities and sexual orientations on a deeper level than I had before. In porn we trust.

v3

Vera Papisova is a freelance writer and sometimes standup comedian who’s written for publications like Yahoo Style, Complex and Teen Vogue.

Posted on

The Ex-Files

A personal essay about that first time you see an ex after a breakup, by Kathleen French /

When C. came over she hugged me for too long, not that it registered that way. The people you must keep around, always, are the ones that insist on hugging you for too long when the time calls for it. Then she looked me up and down and wordlessly set her things on my desk, queuing up a 1930s bluegrass station through some app on her phone. I hated that damn music, but she wasn’t asking and I wasn’t saying.

Earlier:
“I’m coming over.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow. Not in a good way to talk tonight. I promise we’ll do something tomorrow.”
“Already in a cab. I’m coming.”

C. emerged from the bathroom. I was still seated on that one corner of the couch. The one I’d not really dared leave for two days. I had been sitting here when she left the apartment for the last time when we were an ‘us.’

“Did you vomit?”
“What? No. I have a phobia of that.”
“Weird colored water in the toilet bowl.”
“I cleaned it with the brush.”

That was one of the first things I did. Not shower or brush my teeth or change clothes. I cleaned the toilet with a scrubbing brush.

“You need to snap out of it,” C. said. “You’ve got a world of hurt waiting for you. This is nothing.”

✕

We agreed to meet for drinks close to my apartment. It had been nearly a year since I had seen her last, the all-too-familiar swirl of her brown hair quickly disappearing in the shrinking gap of a closing door. I hadn’t chased after her. I had already begged too long for her to stay. Perhaps, even then, I knew it was for the best that I remain still.

I approached the meeting with an ambivalence that unnerved me. Am I a sociopath? I messaged F. If you are then so am I, she said.

For two and a half years, I walked into restaurants or events or parties and could spot her immediately. In this tiny, low-lit place, I didn’t recognize her sitting center-view at the end of the bar. I hugged her, sat, fumbled to hang up my coat. I said something about failing to see her.

✕

C. sat on the rug staring at me, that tinny music clanking in the background. I stared at my bare toes on the edge of the couch, knees keeping my head upright, afloat, though it felt heavy as lead.

“This is a good thing.”
“I can’t see it that way.”
“Not now, but you will.”
“What am I supposed to do.”

It wasn’t a question. People want answers to questions. In my mind, she was on her way back because of course—she had to be. These histrionics were temporary. But I’m terribly good at denying realities.

“Well, that’s the hard part. You’re in for it. Losing someone shreds you up and throws what you believed to be true into every corner of your life.”

C. said something about getting older. Something about refusing to dwell. Something about cleaning. You have to start over. Where are your cleaning supplies? We’re cleaning all of this. 

“Right now?”
“Right fucking now.”
At least I had already scrubbed the toilet.

✕

I will admit I had made plans. She had too. We had talked of futures together that now seem like the low droning hum of a different life. That’s what it was; that’s what those years are to me now. That’s what every excruciating end and every excruciating beginning demand. If cats have nine lives, then we humans aren’t giving ourselves enough credit.

✕

“Are you happy?” I asked her, and I meant it.
“I am. Are you?”
It wasn’t a time to say that’s a difficult question for me to ever answer.
“I am.”

We tried each other’s craft cocktails. She stole some of the toasts from my small plate. I looked at this person I once surely would have laid down my life for with a foreignness suggestive of amnesia, some traumatic brain injury.

Is that all we become to one another? Shells of what we once loved? Shells we treasure like children, the memories bound up in ornate boxes.

Seeing each other again after so long had traces of the uncanny. This was a planned uncanniness, though, it’s the unexpected that we can’t help but eroticize. The couple that parted ways who happen to run into each other years later in a book shop, a coffee shop, always a damn shop. They See each other for Real this time. It’s all a crock of shit, of course, but we invent these possibilities, believe in them viscerally, to go on. That is, until one day we stop.

How much love do we invent for ourselves? That’s what I kept wondering as I walked to meet her, as I walked home at the end of the evening.

✕

“I don’t know how to do this. I’m not OK.”
“But you will be.”
“I don’t think so.”

C. stood and sighed. Said something about the few years she had on me. Something about the people that let the dissolution of love destroy them. Something about how if I was so goddamn miserable why didn’t I just End It now, to which she quickly knelt and locked eyes with me in that way you remember always, like a bee sting or a cold slap. 

“But you? I don’t worry about you, kid. You don’t want nothingness.”

✕

I saw an ex of over a year once at a football tailgate, of all places, months after we’d parted ways. I had no idea she would be there. I turned around and this person who I truly didn’t even know was in the godforsaken country greeted me with a wide smile and a stiff hug. It was one of the most abjectly terrifying moments of my life thus far. If there’s any moral to all of this it’s to make plans when it comes to seeing your ghosts.

✕

Time, time, time. That’s what everyone says about breaking up and it’s infuriating because it’s true. And beyond time, they all say you must hide away every remnant of that person, cut them out of sight. Some advise to destroy every relic, but I couldn’t; I never could. Still haven’t. I see little virtue in erasure.

She toiled with the thin black straw in her drink. There was no awkwardness between us, just this mutual understanding, but of what? Not civility, not decorum. This wasn’t forced. A tacit acceptance, perhaps, of the reasons we failed to articulate or understand in the Why of leaving. To see each other be OK; a confirmation that maybe only seeing someone in the flesh can commit to certainty—that all that pain wasn’t for naught.

I squeezed her hand hard before she got in a cab. Said it had been so great to see her, and it was—it truly had been—this different person I still love in the way only an Everest of history can allow for them another chance, because in the end no one wronged anyone else, misery notwithstanding. Neither of us would wish a hurt of that magnitude on the other. It could have just been a glint of light off a street lamp, but her eyes seemed strained with the restraint of disavowing tears; I know because I was doing the same. And I watched her leave this time with a wave, and I probably wiped at my eyes, and I walked inside.

✕

Once, she said to me: “You have to promise if things ever go south between us that we treat each other with kindness.” And I had agreed, dismissively; found even the mere notion of separation laughable and, deep down, utterly gut wrenching, but I didn’t see it as a portent of what was to come. I still don’t. And there’s such great relief in landing on the strength of that promise after you’re forced to rebuild, atom by atom. When all you have or want to offer someone you have loved and hated more than anything in the world is kindness.

✕

The apartment, that night after C. came over, was the cleanest it’s ever been.

Kathleen French is a writer living in New York / photograph by Santa Katkute 

Posted on

Ask Slutever: Am I a Lez?

Despair-1Pic @ Alex Prager

I’m a 22 year old girl, I’ve been with my boyfriend for 5 year, and I’ve been thinking about having sex with girls for over 3 years. But if I’m honest with myself, I’ve always known, in the back of my mind, that I like girls. I’ve cheated on my boyfriend–I kissed a few girls, had sex with one of them, and I think I fell in love with one of my girlfriends. But to me it wasn’t really cheating because I felt I had the right to explore my sexuality, and did not feel any guilt, but rather extreme happiness that I was getting to know myself better. I love my boyfriend to bits, and I feel like he’s the only man I can be with (our sex life is still great), but at the same time I feel absolutely zero attraction for other men, and feel like a teenage girl with butterflies in my stomach every time I see a hot girl. I’ve told my bf that I like girls, but he just got horny and said we should have a threesome. I wouldn’t mind that! We’ve been trying to find the right person to do it with for over a year but it’s not easy. But when I tried to explain to my bf that I really really like girls, he seemed unfazed.

Anyway, the point is that I don’t know how to explain to my bf that this is more than a fantasy for me, and that I think if I repress these feelings now I will be unhappy forever. But at the same time I don’t want to end my relationship with him because I’m scared of losing him for something that’s maybe just a phase. I know I can’t have everything, but I wish I could. I’m so confused!

Yay, you’re part gay, how exciting!! I personally believe that a person’s sexual orientation can change and evolve with time. (Look at me! I’ve been a lesbian for over two years now. Didn’t see that one coming…) Maybe you’re discovering a part of your sexuality that you didn’t know existed when you met you boyfriend. Or maybe this is a new facet of your sexuality that’s here to stay. Or, sure, maybe these lez feelings are “a phase.” But so what? Why should that make them any less valid?

I don’t get why, when it comes to sexuality, people so often regard “phases” as being silly or insignificant. It’s like, if you had a phase where you suddenly really craved coffee despite never having been interested in it before, no one would say “don’t bother drinking coffee because you might stop craving it eventually.” That’s a stupid analogy, but do you know what I mean? Even if your newfound lesbianism is a phase, don’t you think you should capitalize on it?! If this is your only gay/bi phase, then you should sleep with as many girls as possible before you phase-out and miss the opportunity entirely! Quick! Or, if you actually do prefer girls, for the long term, than you might as well start your crossover to the darkside sooner rather than later, right?

It’s so funny and predictable that your bf thought your attraction to girls was hot, but not a “serious” issue. Men are so egotistical; it’s insane. I had a similar situation with my ex boyfriend. Although I told him I was bi, he never really took it seriously–the only time he noted my bi-ness was when it meant we got to have threesomes. He literally told me that I could sleep with girls on my own, despite he and I being in a monogamous relationship, essentially because he didn’t find women threatening–like “yeah, you’re in an experimental phase, that’s cute,” type of thing. But the joke was on him because I ended up leaving him for one of the girls he found so unthreatening… mwahahaha.

Anyway, the point is: yes, you have every right to experiment with your sexuality, and you should! But you can explore and experiment without cheating on someone at the same time. It’s not really fair to your boyfriend that you’re sneaking around fucking other people. (And I’m pretty sure that even though you didn’t feel like you were cheating, it was still technically cheating–lol). I would never tell you that you should dump him, because I don’t know you, or him, or your relationship well enough to make that major decision for you. But I do think you should consider whether you are hesitant to break up because you’re just scared of change, or of being alone. Of course, those are valid things to be anxious about–5 years is a long time to date someone, and breaking-up sucks. But the fact that you said, “I think if I repress these feelings now I will be unhappy forever” seems like a major sign to me! In life, people far more often regret things the things they didn’t do than the things they did do. 

Also, you’re just 22! You’ve been dating the same person since you were 17! I assume it’s not just that you want to have sex with girls, but that you want to have sex with other people in general. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that it’s unlikely that you’re going to be with this guy forever. That doesn’t mean it was a failed or regrettable relationship. It just means it’s not the only relationship you’re ever going to be in. If you’re boyfriend is important to you, he can still be in your life as a friend after you join the lesbian mafia.

Posted on

Can Couples Therapy Make Me Less of a Cavewoman?

karley-sciortino-breathless-couples-therapySo, an update in the saga of my very drawn-out and pathetic break-up: my ex has proposed going to couples therapy. Yay? But like, does couples therapy actually work? Can it make me less of an emotional cavewoman (as I’ve been told I am)? Or is the whole situation just embarrassing? Read my latest Breathless column for Vogue to find out HERE :)