Relationship Rollercoasters

By a UTK Freshman

Many of you all know the thrills of a new relationship.  There’s something enlivening about going on a first date, sharing your first kiss together, and the new bonds of intimacy forming.  Over the past two and a half weeks, I’ve started dating a new guy and these exciting moments have been happening at a very rapid pace.  We started off with a very high initial velocity, meaning we had sex on the first date, and have continued with a constant positive acceleration.  I thought that it was going great, as we became to grow more emotionally attached to one another, especially in our conversations after sex.  We would engage in many a philosophical discussion and we would learn things about each other that no one knew.  I was completely enraptured by what was going on between us, until one Thursday night when we were hanging out, he told me that he thought that it would be best if we “slowed things down.”  I decided that I didn’t want to pressure him into doing anything with me that he didn’t want to do, so I reluctantly complied to his request, but inwardly I was so crushed.  We had decided that we weren’t going to have sex for a month in order for us to establish a deeper emotional connection.  But, I really liked him, so I decided to stick it out.  

During the next two days preceding our upcoming date, I was channeling some serious willpower, because I was so sad that I was not going have sex for a month.  I was so downtrodden and I complained to my friends incessantly about it.

So Saturday arrived, and we went on our date.  We went to dinner, played music together, and then we went back to my place. I had originally intended for us to just make out.  I was going to respect the boundaries that we had made.  But, during our conversation, I had to insert some of my feelings into the situation.  While we were talking, I said that I thought that a month was a little bit long for us to wait and if we could lower it to two to three weeks.  He said that he had been thinking about our agreement as well, and that he thought that it was a little long as well.  Then, he started talking about why he wanted to slow things down in the first place. 

He began to explain that he was doing this out of my best interest, because he had already been establishing an emotional connection.  He thought that I was wanting a less sexual relationship and a more emotionally based relationship.  After this, I explained to him that I was completely comfortable at the pace we were going previously.  I told him that I was different than the girls he had dated previously, in the fact that I am a very sexually driven person.  So, I then asked him again if he would consider reducing the restriction down to two to three weeks.  His response was, “How about twenty minutes?”  My face filled with joy, as I was relieved from my previous notion that I was going to be sex-starved for a month.  The sex that night was the best that we had had yet.  We both looked each other in the eyes afterwards and thanked each other in the most genuine fashion.

All this to say, I think this situation is one example out of many that portrays how gender-based assumptions can affect each other’s pleasure in the relationship and how important communication is.  For if we had not communicated, neither of us would have known what each other wanted, and we both would have miserable. 

Ode to Foreskin

By a UTK Senior

Soft, untouched
Spared by the knife
Nature’s lubricator
Handjobs unopposed by friction
Pull you above the tip
To roll between my fingers
Pull you down
The shy head comes out to play.
Why do they condemn you,
In the name of religion or hygiene
Or mere tradition?
They don’t see you as I do
A blanket, keeping the rest of the body warm
Until night
When it can burrow itself inside my cave.

The things you think you know

By a UTK Sophomore

I’ve fucked a lot of guys.

And after all of the guys I’ve fucked, I feel as though I’ve learned so many valuable things about myself: my kinks, my limits, the way that my body experiences pleasure…

Fucking guys has taught me some pretty significant shit, like that when I’m horny enough, it only takes one strong stroke of a cool, wet tongue across my clit to send tremors throughout my body. Or that my perineum is all too often the unsung hero of my orgasms. That I can give a damn good lap dance to the right song, and teasing someone turns me on in a way that nothing else can. Having sex with men taught me that I don’t care for anal penetration, but I’ll let you rim me all day long. That I do not like doggy-style, and I’m sensitive to latex condoms. Having sex with guys taught me that attempting anything BDSM-related can get super intense super fast, so I like to use not-so-serious safe words to help lighten the mood for that very reason (my personal favorites are either kiwi or tulip).

Having sex with men has taught me the power in my body—the power in my own sexual pleasure—and why it’s important to know these things about myself.

Then I had sex with a woman, and holy shit. Talk about a life-changing, time-stopping, world-shattering experience that really only taught me one major thing:

Everything I think I know? Yeah. I actually know nothing.

It wasn’t until I fucked a woman that I realized I severely dislike sucking dick, and that I would much rather lick pussy all day, every day, seven days a week. It wasn’t until I fucked a woman that I learned 69ing in the backseat of a car is a million times less complicated when done between two women. Fucking a woman made me realize that my own body hair is beautiful. That penetration isn’t very important to me at all, and makes no real difference in whether I come or not. That hearing a woman’s moan at the right time is almost guaranteed to make me come harder than either of us were probably prepared for. Fucking a woman taught me that my sexuality is in a constant state of evolution—remolding and adapting itself after every discovery—and there is no possible way for me to claim that I concretely and comprehensively “know” anything about my sexuality because it is all subject to change with each sexual experience.

It took fucking only one woman for me to realize how much I still have to learn about myself. 

My friends are having sex and I am not

By a UTK sophomore

i’ve never had sex.

while my lack of experience never really meant anything to me in high school, that mindset changed by the time i got to college. the majority of my friends (easily over 90%) have had sex. the conversations i’ve had with my friends about their sex lives are often hilarious, and i’m glad they’re comfortable talking to me about that part of themselves. while i’m truly happy that my friends are having fun and enjoying themselves, i can’t help but wonder what i’m doing wrong. i hate it when i can’t find the answers to amusing, sex-related icebreakers, but i especially hate that i can’t relate to my friends. this inability to relate generates massive insecurity. am i not aggressive enough? am i too loud when i laugh? do i have too much acne on my face? is my body undesirable? are my self-esteem problems that obvious? the list of questions is indefinite and disheartening.  

while i know that my self-worth is not tied to the amount of sex i have or haven’t had, i find it often difficult to separate the two. it’s difficult to exist in a society where women are demonized for the amount of sex they have, but that is another topic for a different day. i shouldn’t feel this way. i shouldn’t feel like i’m an inadequate or incomplete because i’ve never had a dick inside me. i shouldn’t feel like i’m missing something because i have never been eaten out. i shouldn’t be jealous or envious of other people for having sex, and i definitely shouldn’t be beating myself up about not having sex. BUT I DO. i don’t really have any solutions to get rid of these feelings. i don’t know what i’m supposed to do, and that terrifies me.

Magnetic Blue

By anonymous

Her eyes on mine are magnetic blue on hesitant green.
When she captures me with those eyes,
I am lost in the most inviting oceans I have ever seen.

Her eyes on mine are metallic connection on years of isolated green.
Bright, mesmeric, and
Wide enough to take all of me in.

Her eyes say more than the words on her lips, but
Her eyes on mine are only the half of it.

Her gaze holding mine has depth like a soul.
At its core is something wild and fearless.

Her gaze holding mine is contented suspension in a force field of ultramarine.
My mystified green beholders yearn to be held there forever.