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Blessing and curse
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Every gay in America died when Connor Walsh, played by NYU grad Jack Oh God PLEASE Do That Thing That Will Make My Eyes Tear Falahee explained his “HUMPR” (lol) screen name “8 Is Great” to a straight dude on this week’s episode of How To Get Away With Murder. “8 Is Great? Is that your screen name? What does it mean?,” a puzzled Asher asks. “I can show you,” Connor says. Bloop!

LITERALLY GAGGING. I squealed loud enough for my whole house to hear. For those of you who don’t know, an eight-inch dick is the magical dick size in the gay male phallo-scrotal-centered industrial complex. All gay men on social media claim to have one, and it’s worth even more if it has a “mushroom head!” So this was basically a sexual innuendo to end all sexual innuendos.

And it was brought to you by Disney!

How to Get Away With Murder
How to Get Away With Murder

How To Get Away With Murder, created and produced by openly gay TV writer Peter Nowalk, is a great show. It’s exciting, there’s drama. It’s the type of series that gets you addicted and pulls you in because you really react to it when it’s on. I love shows that give me a visceral reaction — shows that make me either jump up and down or scream at my tv set like a lunatic. Scandal got so popular by tapping into viewer’s emotions, doing things you didn’t think network television could do — even at 10 p.m.

There’s been more and more gay with every episode of Murder, and every single time I see a gay sex montage or someone talking about big cocks or “typing faster so you can get your reward” (!) I’m left gasping for air – I mean really I’m just hot and bothered but also gasping for air — and wondering how such racy television could be broadcast throughout all of America on network tv.

How to Get Away With Mu
How to Get Away With Mu

I grew up seeing gay people on TV, from Antoine Merriweather and Blaine Edwards on In Living Color to Carson Kressley and those asexual dudes from Modern Family. But they were always people you laughed at, not with. The problem I have with non-cable depictions of gay people is that they are either fabulous accessories — caricatures — designed to make you look better, or they are neutered, like Ken dolls with no genitals. It’s pretty catholic if you ask me. It’s like, we’ll accept you, “gay people,” just so long as you don’t practice any homosexuality or like actually be gay.

At the same time straight sex is constantly shoved in my face every time I pop on a TV set. Affairs, make out sessions, impractically clearing off desks to “get it in” during a late night in the office, etc. You don’t even think about it because it’s so normalized. Gay sex, on the other hand, is something that for some people is still a bit pornographic, even when everybody has their clothes on. Why?

How to Get Away With Murder
How to Get Away With Murder

“The gay scenes in Scandal and How To Get Away With Murder are too much. There is no point and they add nothing to the plot,” one disgruntled viewer tweeted to Shonda Rhimes.

“There are no GAY scenes. There are scenes with people in them. If u use the phrase ‘gay scenes,’ u are not only LATE to the party but also NOT INVITED to the party. Bye Felicia. #oneLOVE,” Rhimes clapped back.

Can you imagine if I complained that there were too many straight sex scenes on basically all of TV? That those scenes add nothing to the plot?

There is something to be said, though, about the portrayal of gay men as sex crazed cockmonsters, which is what Connor is and IT’S HOT, a stereotype straight people already have about gay guys anyway. But guess what? People have sex! People love sex! And if we’re going to have straight sex montages well then I want a couple gay sex montages, too.

With its diverse cast and interesting approach to storytelling, I really hope that Murder doesn’t cave in to ratings pressure by softening its touch just to reel in a couple million viewers. Keep pushing the envelope. To my mind, Murder is so much gayer and interesting than recent shows that are actually about gay people. TC mark









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1. “When I was in Rome, four unbelievably gorgeous Italian men propositioned me and asked me which one I’d like to sleep with for the night. They all offered to drop their pants to help me make the decision. Finally, one of them was all, ‘What about all of us?’ And, I was like, fuck it, I am young and alone in Italy… why not? (They also took a bit of video before I realized it so I could very well be on an Italian porn site somewhere, which isn’t awesome, but whatever, it’s my favorite travel experience!) — Claudia, 29

2. “One night, all my friends and I went to this night club. A couple of us traveling together had hooked up with each other and we were joking around about it, we had bottle service and we were pretty drunk. One guy was like “we should all know what it’s like to kiss each other, honestly. We practically do.” Instantaneously, everyone started making out. Everyone. Guys and girls, girls and girls, guys and guys. We still don’t talk about it unless we’re wasted.” — Jane, 23

3. “When I was living in Paris, I saw this guy working at the grocery store down the street from my apartment. He was this tall, dark, and handsome in this most cliché way. We made eyes a couple times when I went in there and, one time, he chased me down the street to ask my number and he came into my apartment building a bit and it was so hot and he kissed me. He didn’t even speak English! So, then I gave him my number and I had my French friend text in French for me to set up a date and, two nights later, he came over and I brought him upstairs and we fucked all night without even being able to speak to each other. It was probably the hottest experience of my life… felt like a page right out of an erotic novel.” — Claire, 28

4. “I was in Barcelona and set to stay in a private room with my four best friends in a backpackers hostel. They screwed up and placed us in a room with TWENTY beds. We were livid… until we saw that we were sharing a room with the Argentinian rugby team. I ended up making out with a guy who spoke no english for the rest of the night… he tried to propose to me and I pretended I didn’t understand what he was saying!” — Jas, 24

5. “On a cruise to Croatia from Italy, I had no bed to sleep in because buying a ‘regular’ seat instead of a “room” was cheaper. Even the “rooms” were just tiny cots in prison cell-style settings, but I really wanted a bed to sleep in. I saw a cute tall guy walk into the bar and I made my move…we ended up hooking up for the entire night while my best friend was in the cot next to us with his friend. I guess I didn’t get much sleep after all.” — Laurie, 25

6. “My friend and I were out drinking in Prague at a club and we met these two guys, one of them was Brazilian and the other was Russian. We danced with them all night, then went back to the little apartment I was staying in. The Brazilian guy (who was 19!) and I stepped outside for a cigarette and to make-out and, when we went to go back inside my apartment, we heard my friend and the Russian guy having sex, so we just got in the Brazilian guy’s car, went to his apartment to have sex, and I let my friend hook-up in my bed in my apartment. The sex was great, too, by the way.” — Zoe, 29

7. “Had a hot makeout session in the Vatican once. I don’t know how many people can say they were fondled in the holy city.” — Shannon, 21

8. “Italy has very strict noise policies, and the echoes are crazy because of the cobble stone and the way the buildings are structured around courtyards. One time, my friend was so blacked out and loud during sex that the police AND the military police were called. She spent the night in a jail cell. It was that good, I guess.” — Laura, 26

9. “I was staying at this tiny bed and breakfast in Switzerland and there was this beautiful Australian couple staying in the other room. One night, we were drinking wine and chatting and, I guess we had A LOT of wine, because, next thing I knew, we were in their room having a full on threesome. It was amazing, too, because they were both giving me all their attention, so I just sat back and let them do whatever they wanted. So fucking hot!” — Jane, 27

10. “I met a British guy named harry in line for the bathroom at this London nightclub and had sex with him in the ‘loo.’” — Katrina, 22

11. “I met this incredible Spanish woman when I was in Berlin and, even though I had identified as straight for my entire life, I fell for her so hard. We had the most amazing sex… I am getting turned on right now just thinking about it. We spent an entire month taking the train around Europe to find new and sexy places to have sex, including on the trains! After that month, we went our separate ways, but, even to this day, every time I’m on any kind of train—subway included!—I can’t help but get wet thinking about her and all those orgasms she gave me. Oh my godddddddd. So many!” — Jessica, 29

12. “We were bored in Ibiza (I know, white girl problems much?) and staying in an awful hotel that had no TV, wifi, anything. Just a bed and my best platonic guy friend…and some interesting conversation. Somehow sex tapes came up. We both glanced at his tablet. I know, a fucking tablet! Now we have a home movie to remember the trip by…and we saw ourselves on the screen the whole time. It was honestly the hottest thing I’ve ever done, that I would never do again!” — Julia, 25

13. “Met this guy outside of a random bar in Amsterdam. He was, like, all over me, and I thought he was pretty hot. He says to me, ‘Can I go down on you tonight?’ So, straight up, I took him back to my hotel, let him go down on me for 4 orgasms in a row, then was like, ‘I’m tired, going to go to sleep now, bye.’ Felt like payback for all the times I’ve given a blowjob with no reciprocation!” — Leslie, 31

14. “I went to a coffee shop alone in Amsterdam, I was waiting for my friends to get in the next night. Two very cute guys were working the counter. They invited me to try ‘the really good stuff’ in the back. I obliged… I’m down with mary jane, okay? And they were both Gosling-status. They put up a ‘closed’ sign, we went in the back and did these chocolate-espresso edibles that were nothing short of a full-body high. Before I knew it, I was making out with one of them…and then both of them…and then, well, it was a real full body high. Three bodies, to be exact.” — Hannah, 32

15. “So. Many. Taxi. Handjobs. I don’t know why, but I felt twenty times more comfortable getting low-key physical in dark cabs in a foreign country. It’s like I knew no one I knew could see me and I felt like it was all consequence-free.” — Kellie, 28

16. “I went on a long train trip across Europe with my friend and we were having trouble meeting new people, so we made an action plan: find and make out with one person on every leg of the ride. It definitely made the trip more interesting… but we developed a bit of a reputation with the conductor. Who was really hot. And was very interested in being the final cherry on top of a cross-continental sundae.” — Nicole, 27

17. “I was in Greece with my boyfriend at the time and we were having the absolute worst time. We couldn’t stop fighting and I knew it was the end of our relationship. So, I broke up with him and went downstairs to the hotel bar and flirted with the bartender all night. He took me up to an empty room and we had sex at least 4 times, once in the shower. My boyfriend and I went home early the next day and we haven’t even spoken since. It was so over.” — Sarah, 27

18. “Was in Paris with one of my guy friends. We were talking one night back at our hotel and just going down the list of things that would be super hot to do and so we were like, we’re young and in Paris, why aren’t we doing these things? So, at 3am, we went to the Eiffel Tower, found a secluded spot and had sex. It’s still one of our best, yet most private, stories. I was a guest at his wedding (he was single when we hooked up) and I just could NOT stop giggling thinking about that one night…” — Marie, 29

19. “My best friend and I went to Istanbul for a summer vacation. We had never done anything together EVER. We were out partying one night and we met this unbelievably good looking guy who, after we both were flirting with him, asked if we wanted to all hang out together at his hotel. We both looked at each other without even blinking and were like, “YES.” The rest of that trip, we ditched the guys and explored each other. We’re still best friends, yet, the moment we got back to the States, it was like the whole thing was a distant memory. We’ve never hooked up again, but, give us a few glasses of wine and we’ll be recounting each moment to each other, then have to go in separate rooms to masturbate.” — Kim, 27

20. “I was out dancing with a bunch of my friends at a club in Berlin. We were all pretty high and wasted. I started dancing with this super hot guy and we went over to a more secluded corner. I was wearing a dress and I was feeling totally anonymous and free, so I positioned his hand into my crotch and he got me off, all while my friends were just a few feet from us. I told them the next morning, obviously!” — Lara, 25

21. “The craziest experience in Europe? Well, I went to Amsterdam a straight woman with a boyfriend at home and came back a lesbian and broke up with my boyfriend so I could date women. That was pretty significant in my life.” — Nina, 32 TC mark









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Dear in the Headlights
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It started with porn. We watched porn together sometimes, more his desire than mine, but whatever, it was kind of hot. I mean, porn is weird and unsexy and a bit depressing if you think about it too much or pay a lot of attention to it, but if you can find a good one and pay attention for the beginning only, it can be good. It’s like watching a horror movie and you tense up and your blood pressure rises even though you know it’s fake — given the stimuli, your body can’t help but produce a physical reaction.

Anyways, we watched porn together sometimes and I knew he watched it alone. I’m not like, “the cool girl” who’s totally okay with her boyfriend watching porn but I knew it was an uphill battle and one that wasn’t going to end well for either of us, so I tried to use it to bring us closer together. One night, loosed by a few stiff drinks over ice we drank on his balcony, watching the city lights come on and turn off — the full metropolitan life cycle in one night — I asked him what he liked about porn, and whether access to me or all the other women in the world (hotter ones, I even gave him) would be better, ideally.

His answer surprised me, it wasn’t about quality or quantity, but about availability. With me, (and he loved me very much, he clarified), he had to woo me, constantly. Sex was never a given, and this is a biological difference between men and women. He was trying, all the time to make me think of him sexually and to initiate sex and even my higher-than-average female libido couldn’t keep up with him. As loving and as open and assuring as I was towards him, he was still getting rejected by me in this way, often (and even more often if he would be honest about how frequently he wanted sex).

And so watching porn made sense to me in a way it never had before. The fantasy, the real fantasy, was a world free of rejection, from the tired trope of the guy who wants sex more than his girlfriend does. I felt bad about it, to be honest, as much as I loved him, why did he have to suffer these feelings that he was somehow not enough?

By personality, I am a maximizer. I am the kind of girl with checkmarks and to-do lists and the one who breaks her New Year’s resolutions into “action items.” So I took this sort-of imbalance in our sex life as a challenge — what kind of system could we get on that would work for both of us?

The very first thing to do was to switch places. If our sex life was currently running solely on Adrienne-time we needed to switch it to Boyfriend-time, at least to try it and see what it was like. So we decided that for one week, we would do just that. We would be running our relationship on his biological frequency instead of mine. I could try anything for a week. Boyfriend was too cautious to be excited, as if I would change my mind if he showed too much enthusiasm.

We started on Monday with morning sex before he left for work. I was in the habit of spending the night at his place (it was nicer than mine, albeit less homey — and I’m a writer so I don’t have to get up and get dressed at the crack of dawn like he does) and usually he lets me sleep and I talk to him dreamily while he gets ready, without really waking up. But today was the first day of Sex-On-His-Terms week and I woke up to his breath on my neck and his hand running up my leg, grazing the boy-cut panties I wore to bed — and running back down again. He was ready to start.

I opened my legs to him immediately. There was something freeing about the choice already being made. I was going to have sex with him, I was necessarily “in the mood” because I’d already decided I was going to be. For an overly-analytical maximizer like me, decisions are a lot of work, and knowing this one was already made felt relaxing and luxurious. Like morning sex. I made him 45 minutes late that day. He blamed it on a faulty alarm clock.

I napped afterwards and woke up to several text messages from him, rare for having just seen him off a few hours ago.

This morning was so hot. I can’t wait for more.

The second was more forceful than complimentary:

Stay in bed. I’m coming home for lunch.

I laughed. This was part of a fantasy he had about my schedule. When we first started dating he thought that a freelance schedule meant that I would always be available to him. He talked about lunchtime rendezvous — coming home to pillage me and then leaving me naked there while he returned to work. I filled him in on the reality of deadlines and the hours of uninterrupted focus it took to produce something really good. He got it, but it was like telling a kid Santa isn’t real. Today was going to be his redemption.

I have to admit, it was hot to snuggle back into his linens, smelling him, waiting for his return — to be instructed not to dress. It was the kind of thing where I might usually touch myself and think of his hands instead of mine, but his return was coming so soon that I didn’t, I just waited for him and smiled my cat-who-got-the-mouse smile when he walked in, already unbuckling his belt. I was wet for him, more than usual — it was all the waiting. He felt like a stud, I could tell, as I crawled across the bed towards him, still naked from the morning sex, and climbed on top of him. I rode him without even unbuttoning his pale blue work shirt. I wondered if it would smell like me for the rest of the day.

I didn’t go home after he returned to work. Usually I would have let myself out long ago, gone home and showered and have several hours of work at the corner coffee shop under my belt. I used his shower and didn’t bother dressing, simply draping his t-shirt over me while I helped myself to his much fancier computer. I had to save time somewhere, and he was probably just going to undress me again when he got home anyway. (He did).

Tuesday morning I told him I was going to go home and work, and that I would make dinner for him that night if he wanted to come over. I wanted to keep going with my promise, but I also needed to get some work done so I figured the added promise of a home cooked meal would be enough to tide him over through the day. I made a lasagna so I would have plenty of time to get ready after I was done cooking. I showered and sprayed perfume in all his favorite places. I dressed in lingerie instead of clothes and then when he texted me that he was leaving work, I tried something silly I’d read in Cosmo once. I was kind of sexed out and I needed to get back in the mood so I put on some relaxing music and laid in bed. Without trying to get off or do anything other than relax, I placed my vibrator inside me and thought about him — again, nothing too intense, just kind of opening myself up for the evening. As robotic and forced as the action seemed at first, when I put it away and got up to pour wine for dinner, I was in an entirely different mood. I wasn’t tired anymore, I was desirous, the knock at the door was one of promise instead of obligation.

I kissed him, open-mouth, in the stairwell, surprising even myself with my unwillingness to even walk up the stairs before I touched him. I was already ready, already wanting him and he, in turn, was turned on by my suddenly elevated interest. I wanted to feel his weight on me, and I placed my hands on his lower back, pulling him into me and feeling his jeans rub against the thin fabric of my negligee. I turned, finally, to lead him up the stairs to my kitchen and felt his hands left the back of the slip and grab my ass fully in his hands. I almost couldn’t keep walking, the needing-him sensation inside me about doubled with that touch. While we ate, his hands never stopped touching me — rubbing my thigh, pulling me into him by wrapping his arm around my shoulder, brushing my hair back from my face. It was, oddly, an extremely romantic meal we both prolonged because the tension building between us was so fun to play with. Every touch was becoming unbearable.

After dinner we didn’t go to the couch or pretend we were going to do an activity for a bit. We went to my bedroom. We kissed like we hadn’t kissed in forever — long, deep, high-school kisses. He walked me back to my bed and laid me down beneath him, kissing my collarbone and murmuring sweet nothings between breaths. He slid a finger inside me and held his face above mine, watching my reaction, cherishing my reaction. He told me I was beautiful, that he loved watching me respond to him.

His confidence at this point was intoxicating. He knew I was on board with whatever he wanted to do and instead of it turning him into a greedy tyrant, it relaxed him, it opened him up. I felt closer to him than ever before.

When he pulled me to the edge of the bed and entered me, it was slower and more lust-filled than usual. This wasn’t get-it-over-with sex. This was vacation sex on a Tuesday night. He took a pillow and I obligingly lifted my hips so he could place it underneath them and return to pushing himself into me, deeper now. He places his forearms next to my arms as he leaned over me, maximizing our skin-to-skin contact.

Convinced now that this sex session would be leisurely he pulled out of me and bent down, flicked his tongue over my clit as my eyes rolled back into my head and I squirmed before him. I wondered if he could taste himself in me?

His finger was inside me again, swirling around, feeling the width of me while he kissed and flicked me on the outside. He stimulated me all at once, like an expert. Every erogenous zone was on fire. I heard myself begging him to fuck before I realized that was even what I wanted — and he was on top of me again, thrusting into me like I asked, like I needed, filling me, driving me over the edge.

For once, I came before he did — in a hot sticky dizzy wave that came roaring out of me.

He came next, catapulted into it by me spasming around his dick. I felt his heat inside me and his breathing slow, finally. Lying supine next to my breathless match, I couldn’t believe there were five more days of this. TC mark









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