Tag: lesbian

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I’m Gay I Guess (Life is Hard)

Follow me on Instagram, I’m @karleyslutever

I’m randomly gay now. I feel very oppressed; life is a daily struggle. My girlfriend and I get evil glares in the street, Christians throw rotten fruit at us, we’re not allowed in certain restaurants, and although we can get married in our (very hip and progressive) home of New York City, as a whole our country is not really supportive of our (potential) desire for a legal union, and therefore I hate America now. So I’m leaving.

I’ve decided to escape to Europe for a couple of months. I haven’t spent any considerable amount of time there since I moved to New York from London almost three years ago now (eek–time flies!), but as of this weekend I will be living temporarily in Paris. My gf will be coming for part of the trip too. Very “romantic” (barf). The gay stuff isn’t actually the reason why I decided to leave. I, of course, am aware that idiotic homophobic people exist in France too (WHY can’t you just accept us for who we are?! We were born this way, GOD!), and that there has been a string of recent hate crimes in Paris connected with French parliament’s current debate over the gay marriage bill. However, hopefully as of next week gay marriage will be legal in France! Yay! A win for Team Us!

No but seriously, it’s actually lolz how much more concerned I have become with gay politics since dating a girl. Like last week, while watching a series of Youtube videos regarding Prop 8, I came across that famous video of Dan Savage talking about anti-gay bigotry at a high school journalism convention (the one where all the Christian high schoolers walk out when he starts criticizing the bible). I was watching the video in my kitchen, and it was making me weirdly emotional, and then in walked my roommate (who by the way is also gay–we roam in packs). And so she was like, “Are you OK? Why are you crying?” And I was like, “Oh, I’m just generally crying for gay rights. I care about this stuff now, because I’m gay.” And she just laughed at me and said, “You’re not gay, you’re just slutty. There’s a difference.” And I was all, “Uhh… excuse me, is this a hate crime?!”

One interesting thing I’ve discovered since crossing over to the dark side is that gay sex is a lot more inventive than straight sex. Since “normal” P-in-V fucking isn’t an option, you have to be creative, and think up other ways to get off. Like I realize the question, “How do lesbians have sex?” seems sort of stupid and naive, but I honestly wasn’t entirely sure of the answer when I got into this. I know that people throw around the term “scissoring” a lot, but let me just tell you, that straight-up doesn’t work. And of course there’s oral, but you’re not always in the mood for that, and it’s also so one-sided. Taking turns giving and receiving pleasure is cool occasionally, but usually it’s the most fun if you’re both getting-off together, ya know? And the same problem exists with strap-ons. I did give in and buy a strap-on a couple months ago, because I was like, “This is what lesbians do, right?” but we barely even use it. It can definitely be fun, but I tend to get self-conscious when she’s fucking me with it, because I feel like she’s bored and it just doesn’t feel like anything for her. Stressful.

So, what’s the solution? Well, the majority of the time we just do hand related stuff, but again, it’s hard to do that effectively simultaneously, because you really have to concentrate and put in some effort if you want to make someone cum with your hand, and like… it’s just hard to find a position where you can both touch each other’s clits and not be awkwardly lying on each other in an uncomfortable position or whatever. See–ughhhh, being gay is hard! However, we’ve recently adopted a new way of fucking that is my favorite yet. Basically, this new method just involves us being in our underwear and grinding up against each other. I Googled it, and the technical term for this is frottage. (Good word, right? Very glamorous/French.) So essentially, what happens is that we simply lie on top of one another and rub our crotches on each other’s legs. It’s surprisingly effective, and it’s very safe STD-wise, because you literally don’t even have to be naked. And I’m pretty sure you can’t get pregnant from it either.

I was recently talking to my gay guy friend about this whole “inventive gay sex” thing (him and his boyfriend are both gay librarians–cute), and he saying how it’s difficult for gay guys because obviously it’s not always the “right time” to have anal sex. And I was like, “Oh, have you guys tried wiggling around on top of each other in your underwear?” and he was like, “Um… no…. but sometimes we masturbate together while holding hands.” I was like, “Aww, total cute alert!”

Anyway, I will soon be live-blogging my frottage encounters from Paris. I got some tips on hot Parisian sex parties and sex shops to check out too. Also, if you’re in Paris and want to invite me to cool stuff, email me here: karleyslutever@gmail.com <3

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Vice Slutever Show: Gray Area


God, sexuality can be so #confusing, right?! Like, how are we supposed to tell if we’re gay or not? In this episode, my recent sex dreams about my gurl crush, Mistress Amanda Whip, cause me to ponder, “In sex, does everything have to be black and white–“straight” or “gay”–or can we be somewhere in between, like, in the gray area? Clearly, the only way to solve this dilemma is with a LESBIAN MAKEOVER!!!

This is my favorite Slutever episode to date, so I hope you like it too! I’m also extremely excited about the #all-star cast, including international playboy Dev Hynes (aka Blood Orange); Lauren Dillard of the trending lesbian band, CREEP; and of course, the most powerful lesbian of all time and member of Le Tigre, JD Samson. (I had a poster of JD on my wall during that one year I went to college, so this is a pretty big deal for me.)

Later queers!

Special thanks to “the team” – Adri Murguia, Martina De Alba, Greg Eggebeen and Mariano Carranza
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Ask Slutever (aka Ask Bunny)

Illustration by Merlin Mannelly

For this edition of Ask Slutever I’ve enlisted my BFF Bunny Kinney to answer some of your pressing/desperate questions. Bunny has shared his words of wisdom for Ask Slutever a couple times before, and TBH he’s impressively good at giving out relationship advice, especially when you consider that he’s a possibly asexual, gender ambiguous, socially awkward depressive. Bunny has also written some guests posts in the past, mainly concerning life in the London squat we once shared. And I’ve written like 500 posts about him, all of which can be found in the archives of this #relevant sex blog. Smile!

I’m a 20 year old gay guy, and to most people I’m the not-so-token borderline asexual gay, which I guess is partially true, because sex is something that rarely crosses my mind. Little do they know I love meeting up with middle aged men and giving them blowjobs. Really impersonal encounters in their cars and in parks, cruising online and stuff. Every time it’s the same: I meet up with a guy, he tells me how great I am at sucking dick, then I walk away feeling guilty and vow to myself to seek out more meaningful sex the normal way, but give me a month or so and I’m back to lurking cruising sites. What worries me is that I pretty much have no sexual attraction whatsoever for guys my own age and have never had any emotional attraction to anyone. I have never been in a relationship and am someone who likes being alone, but not forever. I worry that my behaviour is going to make me old, cold, and lonely like some of the guys I meet up with.  Help! Anonymous

Bunny: I’ve recently been talking to a lot of asexual people I’ve met through various online forums while doing research for a short documentary I’m working on. I actually tagged along on their march at London Gay Pride the other week – you might have seen us, walking awkwardly along and shouting things like “We’re here! We don’t want to have sex with you! Get used to it!” whilst wedged in between a group of middle-aged Christian transsexuals and a lesbian roller derby league.

Asexuals are people who feel no sexual attraction to anyone, but the asexual community encompasses a much vaster range of people who identify in different ways. And as I’ve learned from hanging out with some of them, in addition to “not sex”, their interests also typically include writing fan fiction, watching anime, using the internet, getting cartilage piercings, and talking about being asexual. So basically everyone I did theatre tech with in high school.

Some asexuals are in non-sexual romantic relationships; others eschew from relationships all together. Others hover in a realm called “greysexual” – people who might occasionally experience sexual attraction, or have a very low sex drive, or only experience sexual attraction for people with whom they have first experienced an emotional attraction. There are even a few non-romantic sexuals kicking around the forums – those who enjoy sex but do not want relationships. Kind of like the cokehead one on Two and a Half Men.

My point is, as I’ve found it, asexuality offers a sort of weird window by which to better understand the infinite complexities of stuff like love and sex, sexuality and intimacy. It also reinforces the fact that no matter what you’re into – or not into – it doesn’t make you any less valid as a person or necessarily limit your prospects in terms of finding ways in which you can achieve intimacy outside of the conventions of sexual and/or romantic relationships.

What you’re into now might change as you get older, but it’s also important to accept that there is nothing wrong with not wanting to be in a relationship or feeling turned on by older dudes. And although your psychotherapist might try to break it down for you, as I see it, if who you’re into is ready, willing, and not going to kill you or land you in jail – what’s the problem? And perhaps, if your fears of a future all alone continue, you might try to spend some time with a few of these guys somewhere more conducive to conversation than the bushes near the Arby’s parking lot at 3am and stumble upon that seemingly impossible combination of a person who attracts you physically as well as emotionally.

I’m an 18-year-old virgin starting college really soon. I’m really body conscious–I’m gangly and nerdy and just very shy. To make matters worse I went to an all boys high school and think I might be gay or at least bi-curious as all I watch to jerk-off is gay porn. I have been going through this vicious self-defeatist lifestyle, like I purposely did really badly in my final year, only just scraping through with my SATs. It might be depression but everyone has those days, right? Is there any life advice you can offer me? Life’s really just lonely and boring and I kinda hate the world as a result. Henry

The good news is: high school is over. Gone are the days of changing into your gym clothes in the locker room toilet stalls five minutes before all the other boys arrive. Never again shall you fear out over which table of mutants you’ll be forced to sit with in the lunch room. And no one who isn’t a complete twat will ever ask you about your SAT scores again. The last person who asked me about mine was this fat kid called Jeff Bus in my college freshman orientation group who bragged about his perfect score on the math section and then dropped out a few months later to became a full-time weed farmer. News flash, Jeff, we went to art school. We didn’t even have math classes. But we definitely had classes where you could learn to blow glass, so he probably crafted a few artful bongs and felt as if he finished learning everything he needed to in life and just got on with things.

Anyways, hurray! You are now officially free to be whoever you want to be and do whatever you want to do without feeling the wrath of a testosterone-charged bromocracy upon you as you attempt to inconspicuously cross the hallway between classes. When I reflect on my formative teen years, I feel as if I was not far off from where you are now. Life was the pits. Cowering underneath my Snoopy-embroidered kimono was nothing more than a clueless, 90-pound child of indeterminate gender.  As far as I was concerned, if the world that waited outside my conservative Christian high school in Texas did not prove to be any less evangelical, jock-saturated or prison-like, I definitely would put some rocks into my pockets and walked into the Rio Grande.

So, this is the part where I’m supposed to tell you that “it gets better” because that’s what Ellen told me to do. But the truth is, it doesn’t always. Life is quite often a complete piece of shit, but not without its redeeming moments that keep me interested enough to stick around and see what happens. Existence is plagued with things over which most of us have little control – stuff like who are family is or which high school we go to or our body type or all of the hormones rushing through our heads that keep leading us back to the “solo male J/O” section of xTube –  and although I have always been a bit on the depressive side myself, until recently I had never before considered that happiness itself might be a matter of choice. And I think that if you really want to choose to be happy, you first have to figure out what makes you happy, and then do it. Just be the gangly loser you are, and as long as you’re keeping yourself busy enough with the stuff you like to do and the people you like to do it with in a place that isn’t completely dismal so that you’re not bored and alone and miserable all of the time (just some of it), then you’re probably going to be alright. It’s what I tell myself every day.

I’m a fairly heavy heroin user. I’ve been doing it off and on since I was twenty-one (I’m turning thirty in a few months), and have been seriously addicted for the last five years. I do not use needles (I snort it), but my use is a good deal heavier than most junkies I’ve known. Most of my sexual life has been spent in relationships. From my high school sweetheart on I found myself losing my libido as the relationship progressed, to the point where I would not want sex even though I still found the person in question very sexy. My last girlfriend did not know I was using drugs and a huge part of our breakup revolved around my refusal to fuck her, even not being able to get it up sometimes. I found her very sexy and wanted to be with her but my libido just dropped off a cliff after the sixth month. I now have gotten down to masturbating about once a week just to release fluids and neither my mind nor body crave sex in the least. I enjoy sex and miss it and wonder if there is any problem with me other than the drug use, and if there is a possibility that I might be able to raise my libido without quitting my vice. Alexander

Like science and religion, or ketamine and jello shots, opiates and sex are simply incompatible. Drugs like heroin prolong orgasm – which might seem like a good thing, especially for Sting or males who ejaculate prematurely – but it basically makes it impossible to orgasm, and in the process manages to rid you of energy, pleasure, and the will to carry on. If you can even get an erection at all, after two hours of joyless, robotic humping, you will probably give up, unsatisfied and very sore. What’s a junkie to do? You can’t have your cake and eat it too. Well, at least not if you’re in the toilet puking up because you’ve taken too much smack.

I’m fairly libertarian in my view of other people’s drug use, so I’m not going to tell you to stop taking heroin if that’s what you want to do. And I have known other drug addicts who maintain a relative sense of normalcy and functionality in their lives without turning into complete shells of their former selves – although that’s rare and often temporary. But I’ve never seen anyone stick with their addiction without making some sort of sacrifice elsewhere in their lives.

Just as the asexuals showed me, you can have love without sex. But if sex is something you and your partner want and need, then that kind of compromise is going to prove difficult, especially if you are substituting your shared sex life with your private addiction. I don’t think your relationships fuck up just because you can’t fuck your girlfriends – it’s because you can’t commit yourself to your girl if you’re already committed to something else. As Lou Reed once sang (and as I once dramatically reinterpreted for an 8th grade speech class assignment that led to my suspension): “Heroin, it’s my wife and it’s my life.” And you can’t love your girlfriend just like she really needs – completely, with all of you – if you’re going to stay wedded to your wife.

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Fucking My Intern

Photo by Bella Howard

I fucked another one of my interns. No wonder I can’t keep them around for very long. It’s awkward to ask someone to organize your external hard drive after you’ve had their genitals in your mouth. That’s just a fact.

If you remember, a few years back I had that goofy teenage boy intern, Stan, who I met at my local supermarket and who ended up briefly moving into the squat I lived in in London. When we met he was living in a depressing, one-bedroom council flat with his grandmother, and I said he could crash with us on account that he did random things for me for free whenever I asked him to–update my blog when I was too drunk to type, organize my underwear drawer, act as my human foot stool, insert my tampons, etc. It was cool for a while, but then I ended up half sleeping with him–or more like quarter sleeping with him, really (I never properly finished anything back then as I was always on so much ketamine)–and then everything went to shit. But then even after he stopped working for me I never kicked him out, because I’m too nice, and so he just stayed around and went on to sleep with practically everyone else we lived with, both male and female. The dirty little whore. (Keep in mind that there were twelve us of living there and we didn’t have a shower.) So he essentially became our squat’s personal, teenage sex slave. But whatever, that’s another story. And one I’ve already told.

My new intern has been working for me for about a month. She recently graduated from NYU, after which she emailed me saying that she would love to help me out in any way possible, noting that she was looking for a fun way to fill her free time before attending grad school at Harvard. At first I rejected her, as she is obviously under qualified for the job. However after she begged me (and showed up for our first meeting covered in bruises left by a fuck-buddy who likes to bite her), I gave in and said OK. 

The intern is an extremely upbeat, busty 22 year old with the sort of long beachy hair and bright white American smile that make it painfully obvious she grew up in California. She talks really loud and fast, most of the time about her future goal to create a cosmetics line free of unsafe ingredients, that doesn’t test on animals, and that contains some sort of nut butter that will benefit the economy of various poor areas of Africa. Or something. Sometimes when she’s talking I think, “Wow, she’s such a good person, I wish I cared more about Africa or whatever.” But then like five seconds later she’ll start rambling about how she recently puked on someone at a rave and I’ll think, “Actually never mind, you’re just as disgusting as everyone else.”

I like her a lot and we’ve become good friends, but to be honest she doesn’t even do that much work for me because since she only graduated a month or so ago she’s always too busy partying to care about transcribing my stupid interviews. Normally our text convos go something like this: “Hey Intern, I have an interview with an adult baby for you to transcribe,” and then four hours later she’ll say, “Sure, no problem! I have plans for the next eight straight days but I can totally do it afterward,” after which I just give up and do it myself. But then last week when I texted her “Hey Intern, your assignment for this week is to help me fuck my boyfriend,” she immediately replied “OMG sounds AMAZING! When? I’m totally availz whenever!” to which I responded “You’re an insane whore,” followed by, “No offense! That’s why I hired you, duh!” to which she replied, “OMG obvs NBD!”

The threesome was a going away present for my boyfriend who just a few days ago moved away to Boston for the entire summer to study some complicated science stuff at Harvard. (Apparently Harvard is “in” right now.) So now I’m sad and alone at my apartment staring at my air-conditioner, feeling depressed about the fact that I’ve literally already watched every (good) porn movie on the internet multiple times over. No but seriously, I’ve been feeling sort of like a desperate, dependent loser these past few days. When did I become this person? Like I keep going through the same thought loop over and over where I’m like, “Oh my god I’m so lonely, this summer is going to suck,” to then later thinking, “Hold on, I’m a powerful, independent woman who doesn’t rely on anyone or anything, I haven’t even thought about my boyfriend in hours!” and then looking at the clock and realizing it actually hasn’t been hours at all, it’s only been twenty minutes and I was napping during the entirety of it. Tragic.

But anyway, those are my feelings. I feel a lot better now that I’ve put them out there for a bunch of internet strangers to read. Feel free to vomit your feelings into the comment box below if you feel so inclined.