I’m a 22-year-old college senior, and I have never kissed anyone. It’s not for lack of attraction or for any kind of religious reasons. It just never happened.
Before I ever experienced romantic love, I spent years wondering how it might feel. From early 2000’s Taylor Swift ballads to my grandparents’ slow dance at their 50th wedding anniversary: The world around me was teeming with romance.
I have been dating my girlfriend, Sydney, since Valentine’s Day in the eighth grade. Yesterday marks our seven-year anniversary.
For better or worse, I’m mostly attracted to boys. But in the last few months I’ve started to think about other labels. And that terrifies me.
The friend zone. The proverbial Sunken Place in which people hate to be caught. For some, it could be the worst possible thing that could ever happen.
It was a particularly brisk day — the kind of fall day that teeters right at the edge of winter — when I crossed 31st Street last semester and made my way to the Counseling Center for my very first appointment.
It is nice, I suppose, to be told that as women, we don’t need men to kick ass. It would be nicer, though, if we women had the luxury of exploring our sexuality without feeling that our power would be somehow diminished.
During 11th grade Health class, my friend and I joked about the “mystique of the clitoris” when our teacher failed even to mention its existence in her lesson on sex organs. After class, shocked, we asked her why.
The Emmy-winning HBO fantasy drama Game of Thrones (GoT) is famous for a lot of things, like its elaborate sets and costumes, its eagerness to kill off main characters, and of course its innumerable graphic sex scenes. Many have criticized the show for being overly pornographic or displaying excessive sexual violence.
