HI: So would you say that sex has always been with us, but our attitudes and comfort level have changed?
Meryl: Oh, fuck off.
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Valentine's For One
Valentine's Day! Most romantic of holidays, a day (and night) to celebrate the powerful relationship you've forged, with hard work, love and communication, with your significant other(s). Sure, it's a combination of several pagan holidays and Roman bacchanalian celebrations hammered together and relentlessly pushed at you by soulless corporations to sell greeting cards, candy and roses, but is that any reason not to go with it? Love it up!
However, there are those of you who will be alone on this day. You may be single, or widowed, or your lover may be unavoidably occupied very far away. Many of you feel Valentine's Day to be a mockery of your solitude, an insult added to your injury. I say thee nay! Valentine's Day is meant to be a celebration of love eternal, no matter what your immediate social situation may be. Spend it with the one you truly love! The one who will never leave you, no matter how bad things get. The one you can say anything to, the one you can touch wherever and whenever you want without fear of awkwardness or misunderstanding, the only one in the world that truly understands you and loves you anyway. Your dog.
For those of you who have no pets, spend the day loving yourself. Take a 24 hour period and cherish yourself the way you were meant to be. Learn to love the person who truly owns your heart.
First thing in the morning, welcome yourself with breakfast in bed. Granted, you won't have the element of surprise you might ordinarily, but you'll get to enjoy both the little-sneaky-kid feeling of doing something special and the wonderful feeling of being pampered. Bring your tray back to bed, cuddle up under the blankets and watch cartoons while you dine.
Be sure to get up early enough to get ready. Remember, you're going out tonight! Groom yourself thoroughly — brush, shave, pluck, tweeze, shape, wipe, whatever you'd do for your hottest date. When you shower, however, take your time. Soap yourself thoroughly, letting your hands roam over and down your curves, no matter how many curves you have (or don't have). Close your eyes and relish in your touch — let your slippery hands slide along your throat, brush your nipples, glide down your stomach and slip between your legs. Go ahead, lose yourself in the sensual, well, y'know, sensations. Don't take yourself too far — you want to heighten the anticipation, not lose it in the shower. Towel yourself with the biggest, fluffiest towel you own and get ready for work.
After making a few quick phone calls, head out to the car and find the love note you left for yourself. Isn't that sweet? Secret love notes can be left anywhere you're likely to find them, whatever your personal circumstances — tucked into your car visor, in your briefcase or lunchbox, tacked to your kitchen bulletin board, stuffed into the top of your garter belt, maybe slipped into a file you know your Chief of Staff will be handing you later. Be creative.
At work, check your messages or voice-mail and smile to yourself as you hear the message you left yourself an hour ago. Gives you a warm feeling, doesn't it? Your secretary or the guys at the plant may look at you funny, the jealous, small-minded fools, but they'll really be surprised when the bouquet arrives. Don't let anybody see the card (although you should chuckle to yourself as you read it, and blush if you can. What a hot little number you are!). Later in the afternoon, sneak off to the bathroom or lock yourself in your office and allow yourself to think about what's to come. Close your eyes and whisper gently into your ear (fake it, c'mon, work with me here) all about what you want to do with yourself later. Get good and worked up, then go back out amongst your co-workers and try to hide your condition. Isn't it wicked getting your lover worked up at work?
After work, head straight home. It's time to start feeling sensual. Lay out your clothes so everything's ready, then luxuriate in a long, hot bubble bath. You need to unwind and start feeling like a lover. Pour in lots of bubble stuff — bath salts, dishwashing detergent, those little soap ball things that are supposed to dissolve but always leave little deflated skins floating around in there with you — and just experience the moment. Feel the heat of the water on your skin, and the sense of steam rising past your face. Lather yourself completely and, still laying in the hot water of the tub, pour bowls of cool water across yourself. Let your hands roam a bit and see how close you can bring yourself to climax without going over, then jump out of the tub and get ready. Your fanciest outfit, jewelry, scent, the whole shebang. Hurry, you've got reservations!
Well, reservation, anyway. When you show up at the restaurant, explain to the maitrè de that your partner is an ER nurse on call, but you expect them to show up any minute. This will help keep your server from sniggering at you when they bring your drinks. Make sure that you request a table by a window — they'll think you're watching for your lover to show, when you're really using the reflection to gaze into your own eyes. You'll even get better service, as your server will feel sorry for you the more it seems that you've been stranded. With a little luck you could even get the waitresses to come line up and sing to you and bring one of those little cakes. Get up to go to the bathroom, find a server that hasn't seen you yet, and have a drink sent to your table. If you're feeling exceptionally daring, head to the bathroom, take off your underwear, stuff it in your pocket, and return to your seat to enjoy the illicit sensations. Enjoy a fine meal, but take it easy on the wine, you don't want to get out of control.
When you leave (tip well), don't go straight home. The night is young! Take yourself on a carriage ride, stroll on the beach holding hand, go to a horror movie and hug yourself during the scary parts, play mini-golf and giggle when you catch yourself cheating, pull yourself into a dark alley, slam yourself into the wall and roughly thrust your hand down between your legs for the fast, brutal thrill of it. Share an ice cream cone.
When you do head home, be coy. Smile knowingly when you let yourself in and see the champagne and candles. Oho, what did you have in mind? Stretch out on the couch and spend some time talking to yourself. What are your true feelings? What do you want from a lover? What turns you on? What fantasies do you have that have never been fulfilled? As you get closer, touch yourself lightly on the face and caress your throat. Open the top buttons of your shirt, or slip a few fingers into your neckline. Feel the heat of the room and the richness of the champagne as they both combine to bring fire to your cheeks. Close your eyes and let your hands wander as they will. When you've gone as far as you can with clothes on and you're still thinking reasonably clearly, head to the bedroom.
Light just enough candles to see and then drop onto the bed, ready and eager. Strip your clothes off like an animal, flinging them away without ever taking your eyes off yourself. Grab yourself savagely, uncontrollably, undeniably. Ravish yourself quickly and violently the first time, to satisfy the hungry cravings that you've been cultivating all day. You can’t get enough of your sweet ass, this is no time for gentle loving. Grab your hair and pull your head down, if you're flexible enough. You can sit on your hand for five minutes to deaden it if you want to feel like someone else is touching you. Once you reach the ragged edge of orgasm, hold yourself there for several long, agonizing minutes, and then rake your fingernails across your nipples as you bring yourself to a screaming finish. After your breathing becomes regular again, you can continue to caress yourself the rest of the night.
A few last-minute tips:
Be careful with your alcohol intake. Getting yourself drunk is crude and disrespectful, and imagine how embarrassed you’ll be if you can’t get yourself up! Also, the use of date-rape drugs such as GHB or roofies to take advantage of yourself sexually is reprehensible, as well as being somewhat problematic. Should you wake up the next morning and you suspect that you might have abused yourself, call the police immediately. Don’t shower or bathe, no matter how much you feel you want to. Be ready to give the police a good description of yourself. Have the strength to stand up to attackers like yourself
, it’s the only way you’ll be able to get past this and move on with your life.
Even though the buildup is incredible and the entire day tremendously romantic, don’t assume you’re going to “get lucky.” You should never take yourself for granted like that, and communication is the most important thing in your relationship with yourself. Try to be sensitive to your feelings. You start acting like you owe yourself sex and next thing you know you’re out on your ass.
Don’t call your friends afterwards. It’s understandable that after a night like that you’d want to brag, but it’s just not polite, to yourself or to them. What are your friends going to think of you if you violate your own privacy just so you can boast that you got yourself off three times in a row?
Next morning, be sure to call yourself. It's the least you can do.
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Sex au Jus
I met her by the rice pilaf sneeze guard. She was ladling rice onto her plate while trying, unsuccessfully, to balance a salad bowl in the crook of one elbow, so I reached around and rescued the bowl. She was startled and burst into a grateful smile, which dropped like a rock when she recognized me. Ah, well. The smile had been worth it.
“Thanks, Robbie,” she said, looking down again. I waited until she was finished scooping up mushrooms. She took her time, obviously hoping I'd set the bowl down and leave, but finally she took a deep breath and met my eyes.
“You're welcome,” I said. “C'mon, I'll help you back to your table. Where you at?”
Her lips twisted, like she was swallowing lime juice, and then she jerked her head towards the back, away from the rest of our co-workers. I followed her to her table and set the bowl down, then sat across from her. Before she could start to complain or throw things I asked, “May I join you? If I go back I have to pretend I haven't heard Jim's fishing story for the 50th time.”
Another deep breath. God, she was magnificent. “Look, Robbie, I'm sorry it didn't…”
“Hold up,” I interrupted. “This is not a play for you. We work together, and I asked you out because I liked you. Still do.” I started fiddling with a napkin, suddenly awkward. It felt like I was about to violate some sacred guy law by talking about feelings, but what the hell. I could always go punch something later. “I know I screwed up, but I don't want it hanging between us for years and years until you glare at me across the hall in the rest home. I'd like to be friends. You're a good person, and you're funny when you let yourself relax. There, that' s everything I practiced. You can yell at me now. G'head, yell at me, I dare you. I double dare you. Do it and I'll scream rape!”
Her lips were twisting again, but I recognized this one - this was the way she looked when she was trying desperately not to laugh, so I pressed my advantage. “Tell you what, you can make a caveman lunge at me and then we'll be even. Here, I'll close my eyes and you can…”
“All right!” she said, giggling but still wary, if that makes sense. “Okay, you can stay. Be good. You're on probation.” I thanked her and set my drink down to go get my own food. When I looked back she was still there, watching me leave. She hadn't made a move towards her steak knife yet, that was a good sign.
Maggie Seger was easily the most beautiful woman in our office. Short, slender, curvy body, dark curly hair that I suspected was very, very soft. And skin so clear and smooth it looked like spun glass. She had told me her parents were mixed races, and obviously they had mixed very well indeed. Unfortunately I didn't get to hear much more about her life because by then I had made my stupid, fumbling move at her and our first date was over before the first bite of the main course. Thinking back I still can't believe that I misjudged her so badly. I'm usually pretty good at telling if a woman was interested in me or not (hint: vomiting is a sure giveaway) and I coulda sworn she had the “kiss me” look right before she hit me with her broccoli quiche and stormed out of the restaurant. I mean, I don't just seize women for my own immoral purposes. I honestly like the people I date, and I love the slow, romantic process of getting to know them inside and out. Then I seize them.
I had to give her credit though, the next day at work it was like nothing had happened. I feared spiteful office gossip (at best) or an inquest from Human Resources (at worst), but I never heard anything from anybody about it. Especially from Maggie, who seemed to look right through me on those times when she couldn't avoid me outright. Come to think of it, it was kind of unusual to see her on one of our Friday office lunches; she usually avoided those too. I had the impression she wasn't a real people person, you know? But there she was, watching the cook flip the strips of red meat over and over.
Every Friday our office, in a fit of manic executive board anti-disgruntlement appeasement, would venture out for a long lunch. It was supposed to be a way of blowing off steam and binding us all together into a family. Unfortunately it worked, and now we spent every Friday afternoon bickering, arguing, gossiping, yelling, and entering into vast and complicated alliances and feuds between departments before finally ganging up on Sales. This Friday we were trying a new place - Mongolian Steak and Grill, over on Hamilton, where the sushi bar used to be. It was too dark inside to get a good look at the food but it sure smelled good, and our crowd was having a great time watching the cook toss onions and peppers into the air like popcorn. I grabbed my salad, picked out some ingredients for my stir-fry and left them waiting for the cook's attention. Just then he was intent on spinning a spice jar on the edge of his knife, so I headed back to wait.
Maggie was watching him, fascinated. “I didn't know you liked Mongolian,” I said. “I should have brought you here instead.”
“Never been here before, but after Sherri described it to me I just had to come. It's great, huh? Smell that!” She inhaled deeply, which caused her silk blouse to expand and test her button strength. With a coy smile she looked back at me. “I would have been really mad at you if you made me walk out on you here. Oh, look!”
The cook finished spinning his cutlery and tossed some strips of meat into the stainless steel wok in front of him. A loud hissing came out of it, and a powerful scent of sizzling beef filled the room as he continued to pitch vegetables into the mix. It was like watching a master juggler or a man with three girlfriends; his arms never stopped moving. I started to say “Wonder if he does chainsaws too,” but then I got a good look at Maggie's face.
She was horny. I mean, total lust-filled craziness. Her usual demure, shy, “Little House on the Prairie” expression had burned away and underneath it was a wildcat in heat. I forced myself to sit back and relax. I mean, this was exactly what had happened before. We were talking, she got that “fuck me right now, goddamit” look in her eye like someone snuck up and flipped her switch over to “Nympho”, and the next thing I knew I was digging melted cheese out of my ear. So obviously it wasn't me she wanted.
The cook? Didn't peg her for the type to like sweaty old Asian men, but she wasn't looking at anybody else. Wrong angle for her to be checking out any of our co-workers. And how did that explain our date? Did she spot a Pat Morita look-alike behind me that night and I just misunderstood? Not enough answers, so best to shut the hell up and keep watching.
Just then the cook whirled and, with a flourish, slid a mass of steaming food onto a large plate and held it up towards her. Before she could get up I was already halfway there, waving her back down. I grabbed her plate, piled high with thick folds of beef and a token smattering of veggies, and turned back to see if I could catch her staring and figure out her interest. Ha! Bond, James Bond! Cleverly disguised as a waiter, I shall discover your secrets, my dear!
But Maggie wasn't looking at the cook anymore. She was looking at me. To be specific, she was looking right at my crotch, and there was no disguising the hungry look she was giving it. She looked like she wanted to eat me alive, right then and there, and was willing to swallow my change and car keys to get to me. A quick mental check - nope, nothing especially hard down there right now, although I could tell it wa
s on its way. Halfway back I surreptitiously raised the plate a bit so I could check myself out for an open zipper or suspicious stain.
And like a cat waiting for scraps, her eyes followed the plate. I moved the plate down, and she was looking at my crotch again. I slid the plate to the side; her eyes tracked it perfectly. Totally confused now, I set the plate in front of her and dropped back into my chair.
Instantly I disappeared from her consciousness, along with everybody else in the world. She was too busy trying to swallow fast enough so she wouldn't drool, and only years of good manners kept her from digging in with her hands. Stab went the fork into a huge piece of beef and, instead of cutting it, she rolled it until there was a handball-sized wad of meat on the end. She raised it slowly to her lips, closed her eyes, and worked it inside, moaning and letting her lips rest on it for a moment before forcing herself farther. It looked exactly like she was choking down the biggest dick in the world, and if I wasn't hard before I sure as hell was now. Jesus God, what the fuck was up with this woman?
She chewed the chunk slowly and sensually, but it wasn't for my benefit. I could have been gone, or naked, or on fire, for all she cared just then. She had her perfect lover and she was swallowing him alive while his juices ran down her chin. She sucked and nibbled on the end of it until she had worked a bit free, and, never removing her mouth from the ball, she swallowed and eased her lips forward to work on the next load.
I had never in my life wanted so badly to be a forkful of food.
What the hell was going on? And how could I get some of it? I looked down at her plate. It looked tasty, sure, but what the fuck? What the hell did we order before? Let's see, she had the shrimp scampi, and I had filet mignon. Blood rare, as God intended. I had just sliced into it and… she got that look again. Son of a bitch, that was it. Maggie wasn't hot for me that night; she wanted my meat! Well, you know what I mean. She was a meat freak! A beef fetishist. A steakophile. A… I had to keep thinking stupid thoughts like this, because just watching her wriggle while she deep-throated her stir-fry was causing me to almost lose it right there under the table. I honestly think that if she hadn't been wearing panty hose that fork would have disappeared under the table in a heartbeat.
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