Four years ago, I met a man on a “married but looking” website. We exchanged fantasies, which included wanting to have threesomes and a D/s relationship. He was 19 years my senior. I was 42 at the time. For three years, we met twice a week for drinks or sex. The sex was amazing. We had several threesomes. One year ago, we separated from our spouses. We have lived together now for four months. It isn’t what I imagined: the merging of kids and dogs, a D/s relationship turning vanilla. And due to some health issues, he can perform only once a week.
I’m 25, I’m virgin, and I find it quite difficult to relate with girls. My main problem is I can’t accept my sexuality. I’m into fetish SM. But it seems like there are two parts of me. The first part of me wants to lick women’s feet and be humiliated. The second part of me can’t accept the first part and only wants to love and be loved by a girl.
The weekend after Labor Day brought the sight of thousands of choice edible russula mushrooms around Waldo Lake, but most were dry as a bone. A single thunderstorm’s drenching a week earlier brought them out of the forest floor. Then they were betrayed by the summer’s continuing heat and drought. Nevertheless, we can be hopeful that the usual October beginning of the rainy season may yet bless the high mountains with a bounty of delicious treasures. We will find out at the mushroom show at Mount Pisgah Arboretum on Oct. 26.
As one who has worked for 25 years in Oregon to increase voter choice and participation, I can say this about Measure 90: It is one of the most dangerous and deceptive election “reform” proposals I have even seen.
A straight male friend practices sounding and has for years. I am pretty sure he does other things that he isn’t telling anyone about—not even his wife. He has some medical questions about sounding. I am a pediatric nurse, so he brought his concerns to me, but the questions are totally outside my area of expertise. Nothing emergency-room-worthy is going on, but he needs answers and refuses to speak with his regular MD about sounding. I am wondering how to find an MD in his area who would be knowledgeable and nonjudgmental.
Why should I have to pay taxes for primary elections when I can’t vote in them? I’m registered with a minor party — not the Democrats nor the Republicans. Members of the Working Families Party, like me, and members of the Pacific Green Party, the Libertarian and others have to pay the bill for the two major parties’ closed primaries. So do independent voters not registered with any party.
I’m a 28-year-old pan-curious married guy from the Midwest about to move to San Francisco. I’ve been with my wife for 10 years (married four), and we’ve started to explore being monogamish. I am also reexploring my bi attractions. I’ve been thinking a lot about the opportunities for reinvention that our cross-country move might provide. My wife is GGG and fully supportive, but I still feel apprehensive about getting back out there.
The speculation of Scotland as a sovereign state has brought up questions about the future: its economy, military, and standing amongst international organizations, to only name a few. In a sentence, the argument of the pro-independence side can be succinctly summarized to: Scotland is better off on its own.
Eugene is a beautiful, sleepy town, a place where, to quote Garrison Keillor on his recent Prairie Home Companion rebroadcast, “People are more concerned with living well than getting ahead.” The city is many things: eco-activists fed on local organics flourishing alongside a swoosh-tattooed sports empire of sparkle and grandeur, a town whose seeming ’60s Bohemianism is often driven by trustafarii dollars from L.A. and the Bay Area.
I am a man who tends to ejaculate prematurely. Not all the time—but at least 50 percent of the time, I’m good for two to three minutes and then I REALLY have to be careful. I’ve learned to manage it and work around it (like, stop if I’m too close and eat her out to give me some time to relax, etc.), but it’s still a pain in the ass. I have a theory about this: I am not circumcised. I know that circumcised cocks are more desensitized, as they tend to rub on everything all the time.
September is a subtle month. Its changes creep up without being readily noticed. Daylength shortens most rapidly around the equinoctes. We come to realize that summer is over and fall is practically upon us. It is typically a sunny month, one of the best for hiking in the mountains. Nights can be quite chilly but the absence of mosquitoes makes watching the campfire a treat.
City Hall was once a beautiful building – you need only to look at photos of when it was completed in 1964 to understand that. If it seems ugly now it’s because of years of official neglect. Deferred maintenance has become no maintenance. It didn’t have to be that way.
My wife and I went through a long-distance period when we were still dating and she went away to school. I used porn as a masturbatory aid during that time. I did not tell her this, as she believes that porn use is equivalent to cheating. Well, fast-forward a couple years (and a marriage), and I let it slip that I had watched some porn during the times we were apart. She flew off the handle, and ever since then insists that we can’t have children because I’m a pedophile for watching porn that may or may not have contained women acting like teenagers.
My boyfriend of two years cannot climax or maintain an erection unless his testicles are handled, squeezed, pulled, or pressed on (preferably with my stockinged foot or knee). Needless to say, intercourse does not work very well, and our sexual repertoire is rather limited, which is frustrating for both of us. His doctor says his ED is not physiological. I’ve read your advice on “death grip” masturbation and suspect it’s a variation of that.
Along Seavey Loop Road winding all the way to Hwy. 58, “Stop Seavey Loop Industrial Zone” signs have cropped up over the past few weeks on almost every property. The two-lane blacktop runs through floodplain rich in farmland and natural areas nurtured by the Coast Fork of the Willamette River and Oxley Slough and overseen by Mount Pisgah rising gently in the east.
I’m a twentysomething genetic male. I thought for a while that I might be trans, but I ended up deciding that while I hate my masculine features and like girl clothes and want to be “cute,” I have no desire to be female and don’t want to have breasts or a vagina. I also don’t identify with a particular sexual orientation, as I don’t find the concept useful. I’ve been with both boys and girls, and currently I’m with a trans girl.
“Your privates are gonna get bigger and you’re gonna start smelling bad,” one of the teachers said during my fifth-grade sex-ed class. At the end, the teachers provided us with a stick of deodorant — thanks, Mr. Johnson.
I’m glad that the new UO Board of Trustees was keeping a close eye on ex-president Michael Gottfredson’s extraordinary contributions to the university for which he was given nearly $1 million in severance pay. Until it was reported that he had quit his job, I’d forgotten his name.
I’m a 25-year-old gay male into puppy play. About a year ago, I joined a pack with one Sir and several puppies. I became very close to one of my “pup bros” and became his alpha—meaning between the two of us, I’m more Dom but still sub to our Sir. Fast-forward nine months, and the pack has fallen apart due to each of us going through our own relationship troubles. My pup bro, let’s call him Fido, breaks up with his vanilla-but-open-relationship boyfriend. Having such a close bond with Fido, and already being sexual, I bring up the idea of dating.
The first flock of wild turkeys showed up in our neighborhood last year. Adults and young together were nine. This year our flock has 22 chicks alone. Early in the morning they show little fear and are easy to count. I think it is the fruit trees in our neighborhood that they like. One of the birds really stands out; its feathers are pure white, an inescapable tag that draws attention.
It’s summer, and that means rites-of-passage time when I do workshops for African-American related youth on preventing addiction and problems related to sexuality, whether or not you’re under the influence. I combine 21st-century knowledge with 25th-Dynasty wisdom, i.e. African Old School. It’s about keeping your spirits, your wits and your body safe, as well as safeguarding those around you.
Marriage apartheid’s over in our state (woo hoo!) so there’s no reason to continue referring to my lawfully wedded wife as “my partner.” I should call her “my wife,” but I still catch myself saying “partner.” I did it just the other day when I was explaining why I needed my laptop screen replaced and told the tech guy that my partner stepped on it. I gauged the situation in that second-nature queer safety-check thing we do, and added, “She feels pretty bad about it.”