Previous installments can be found here. There will be spoilers. “An historian” is a perfectly acceptable Commonwealth convention, haters to the left [side of the road]. Edith and Percy Thompson were lower-middle-class residents of a London suburb, entirely ordinary until the day in 1922 when Edith’s younger lover, the sailor Freddy Bywaters, arrived unexpectedly at their home and stabbed Percy to death. Despite the total lack of evidence that Mrs. Thompson knew anything about the…
Let me give you some numbers that I’m supposed to guard with my life. I’m 5-foot-3-inches and somewhere north of 300 pounds, though I couldn’t tell you exactly where. I’m a U.S. size 28/30, but getting dresses that fit off the rack is a pain in the ass because my hips are seventy inches around but my bra size is a 46B. I am not a little chubby. I am not a few pounds over…
I have bad habits or I had bad habits but now I have given up those bad habits and I still hold on to a small piece of them. I love reading the Casual Encounters, m4w, on Craigslist. No matter what city I am in, one of the first things I do is check in on the menfolk seeking instant sexual gratification from women. They are always up to something and rarely do they adhere…
I’m in an open relationship. I’m certainly not the only person in a non-monogamous relationship these days and my open status doesn’t score me nearly as many cool points as it once did nor is it as controversial as it once was. Everything I read about non-monogamy is like “Yay! So much sex! Whooopeeee! Nothing is hard!” Meanwhile, poor little monogamy is written about like “Snooooooooze fest, I’m bored. Divorce says it’s not…
Jilly Gagnon's previous work for The Toast can be found here.
Back in 2008, E. Jean Carroll asked me to join her in writing a book about college sex, which eventually led to a road trip through the south, horrific abdominal cramping, and generalized anxiety about the future of our society. This is the first part of that story.
I remember being told in high school, during a particularly dull unit on Puritan literature, that there was a time, not that far back, when fiction was still considered suspect. Reading was supposed to improve the reader somehow. It should be a true story, informing you of more about the world than you knew before; a history of some important place or figure; or at the very least, a vehicle for moral teachings.
A couple months ago I agreed to be interviewed for a story on my experience as an asexual woman. The read-back I was promised never happened, and the story was published without my approval. It not only contained misleading statements, but had been written—sans consent—in first person. And one of the more egregious inaccuracies stuffed in my mouth was this: “In many ways I’m just like your
Part II of a two-part series. Part I can be found here. Except sometimes, lately—like tonight, with Pearls squirming underneath you, tears streaming sideways down her face and into her flushing ears as she whimpers against the palm of your hand—the word creeps up the back of your throat, and you have to choke it back with something else, something to remind both of you who’s in charge here. So you backhand her hard…
Previously in The Toast's coverage of adult sexuality: Erotica written by an alien horrified by the human body. However many of them there were at the time strategically exited their clothes and proceeded to do what frankly is none of our business. The two of them eschewed sex for more practical uses of their time, and as a result excelled in their chosen careers. If any of the parties involved reflected inwardly on any particular images…
The University of Texas (UT) at Austin’s School of Nursing removed “poorly worded” dress code signs Wednesday that discouraged students from wearing “revealing” and “distracting” clothing. Following backlash on social media, especially from prominent feminist groups, UT officials removed four signs, all posted in elevators on campus on Tuesday. The signs prohibited midriff-baring shirts, short shorts, short skirts, low-rise pants and low-cut shirts that reveal cleavage.
“You’ve been away too long.” My mother’s voice is a honey-thick purr and I am sitting cross-legged on my unmade twin-sized bed, the sheets in dire need of an industrial washing (beating). The pillows are suffused with cigarette smoke, a cheap brand that makes my lungs throb like a sputtering heart on a cold operating tray, unfiltered tobacco and nicotine that make my hands shake. I don’t even know why I took up smoking again.
Drew Grant's last attempt at doling out sex advice to our readers can be found here. The Toast does not endorse Drew’s advice, but you can email us if you have questions for her. Don’t, though.
Dear Drew,
My boyfriend likes to experiment with kinky sex, but I’m more of a vanilla kind of gal. Last week, he wanted to try a little role-playing, but I felt uncomfortable with the idea of
This article was commissioned by Mosaic [mosaicscience.com], a new digital publication from the Wellcome Trust dedicated to exploring all strands of the science of life. It is reproduced under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International Licence [http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/] 1. Excitement In 1987, an American pharmaceutical executive called Mary Ann Leeper flew to Copenhagen to get a firsthand look at what she thought might be the world’s next great health innovation. She didn’t…
I was bad at all things boy-related right from the start. By age 25 things hadn't gotten much better. I was oblivious to those who paid attention and enthralled by those who looked straight through me. It’s not the most unique description of a young adult’s romantic life as everyone was stupid and young once. Some of us continue to be stupid and old. On a Saturday night about three months out from my 26th…
