On my third date with my then-boyfriend (he's now my husband), we had sex. And like so many times before, I decided I'd fake an orgasm. But unlike so many times before, it didn't feel right. I dated a lot of men in my 20s, and faking an orgasm just felt easier and safer than telling them I had never had an orgasm with a partner before.
As we traverse an era dominated by algorithms and driven by the impulse for efficiency, we increasingly sacrifice our ability to feel. In this "age of emotional poverty," highlighted by philosopher Byung-Chul Han, our emotional landscapes grow flatter, our pains diluted, and genuine intimacy replaced with a sterile digital façade. However, in Gulu's evocative imagery, the body emerges as a resilient space of resistance, pushing back against a world that demands we conform to neat, predictable narratives.
In a stunning new photobook, La Isla, Argentinian photographer Matu Buiatti invites us into a profound exploration of intimacy, trust, and the human body, framed through the lens of analogue photography. This 18-month project transcends mere image-making; it is a beautifully crafted dialogue about human connection, where the photograph emerges not as a starting point but as the culmination of shared experiences.
And unlike any other chore or fitness enterprise, you conceive it more as self-indulgence than self-improvement, and as such, even if you're already in a relationship, it's hard to find that chin-out determination to get it done. Yet sex is an appetite like any other, a necessity like any other, a nourishment like any other. If you let it go dormant the effect on your relationship might be as if one or both of you are on a permanent diet and also lonely.
I can never be upset about anything. Anytime, and I mean ANYtime I bring up something that upsets me, it gets turned around into how whatever she did that upset me is my fault. I end up fuming, but then ultimately apologize so that I can keep some semblance of peace. I'm not respected. I'm not desired. For a significant portion of the year when she coaches, I'm invisible. I try to express what I need physically, and it's usually ignored. Need I go on?
How your partner interprets silence is one easy way to tell how intelligent they are. Some might see a partner's silence as a personal attack and immediately default to panic, while others reserve judgment and are more inclined to give space. That small difference between taking things personally and seeing them in context is the essence of relational intelligence.
When desire fades or the bedroom grows silent, we often point to the surface- boredom, stress, a lack of spark. But let me tell you, sexual problems are rarely about sex alone. Sometimes, they're about unresolved trauma -a quiet force that shapes how we love, touch, and connect. It's the shadow we don't see, but it moves us all the same. It makes decisions for us that we're not aware of.
My wife suffers from health issues that make sex painful. I never pressure her, and her wellbeing is always my top priority, so for years I've "taken care of myself." However, she also isn't a "touchy-feely person," while I love cuddles, holding hands, and kissing. As the years have gone by, I've grown resentful. I feel undesired and unloved. I no longer initiate any sexual moves.
Located in the vibrant neighborhood of Bali, Sipat & Sauh Villa redefines the idea of a rental property by bringing the intimacy and warmth of a private home into a hospitality setting. The client's brief was simple yet challenging: to design a pool villa for rent that feels deeply personal-"homey"-while still making a strong architectural statement. The design began with an exploration of what was missing from most rental villas on the island: the sense of familiarity, softness, and spatial intimacy that makes a house feel lived in rather than staged.
It is impossible to talk about cancer without invoking another Big C: cliche. Illness and pain, journeys and battles, finding appreciation for life while reckoning with death these are the building blocks of cancer stories, at once uniquely devastating and devastatingly common. The poets Andrea Gibson and Megan Falley, romantic partners for over a decade, took divergent approaches to the Big C. As a writer and editor, Falley strived to eradicate cliche; Gibson, as Falley put it, would instead double down.
Aphids toiled brittle stems as we met the dike to rob snakehead buds of their fruit. I gathered persimmons, podgy maypops. You puckered, sucked seeds, tannins, the half-ripe pulp half-glossy, sicksweet. Down lying in crowds of dry grasses, your warm legs pile beads of sweat. Even our silken fruits offer their wet to afternoon sky. Oh darling, this impartial land has grown strange in our rocky
"Parallel play is when two people do unrelated things together in one space at the same time without really talking to each other," Monica Lynne, a relationship and sex therapist with the dating app Flirtini, told HuffPost. "In romantic relationships, it shows two partners can be in the same space, do their own thing and remain connected through attunement to each other."
Sometimes I wear fluffy cat ears and crawl under Zach's desk while he's writing his thesis. He'll stroke me and say, Do you like that? Do you need anything? It's a way for me to feel safe and turn off my brain for a little while. We live with Zach's grandparents as their carers, and once I forgot to take the ears off.
It looks effortless when done well: hips swaying, bodies gliding in sync-the kind of chemistry that makes onlookers swoon. But take one class, and you'll quickly realize: Oh...this is a masterclass in feeling inadequate. First, there's the proximity issue. You're asked to step into a stranger's arms, chest to chest, and breathe normally. Easier said than done. You become hyper-aware of everything: your posture, your scent, whether your hips are doing that figure-8 thing, up-back-and-down, or more of a "confused washing machine" motion. It's like mindfulness with a side of mortification.
But let me tell you a secret: Sexual problems are rarely about sex itself. They're about the silent scripts we carry: those insidious beliefs, 10 or 12 of them, all variations on the theme of "I'm not good enough." These internal narratives, like shadows in the bedroom, shape how we show up, or fail to, in the dance of intimacy.
"How does it feel?" D'Angelo asks that question - worries it, caresses it, plumbs its unseen depths - no fewer than two dozen times in what might have been his signature hit. A meticulous, slow-to-boil ballad from the R&B singer's 2000 album "Voodoo," "Untitled (How Does It Feel)" is basically a seduction in seven minutes: The song opens with D'Angelo asking a woman to come closer, which because the groove is so spare and his voice such a murmur, she can't help but do.
Ed and Sheena were about to have sex for the first time after their third miscarriage six weeks before. Sheena had recently felt Ed being distant towards her. This made her wonder if Ed's disappointment about their most recent loss was turning into anger. Did Ed silently blame her for their losses? After all, her body had failed to carry through the pregnancies. She hoped that the two of them getting intimate with one another that night would bring them closer together.
The exhibition gathers three strands - haircuts, still lifes, and a storefront - into a single season, a climate of attention for small, ordinary acts. In the haircut series, intimacy is staged at close range: a pair negotiating blades and trust, one seated in vulnerability, the other holding the shears. The vertical format elongates the encounter, turning an ordinary trim into something ritualistic, even a little dangerous. Flesh tones are chalky, almost earthen, as if the body were drawn from the ground.
Seven months before I met Viv, my marriage had just ended and I was having the best sex of my life with a good friend. Mindblowing, incredible sex where I discovered that I was into being demeaned and flogged. The depth of trust required made me feel really safe, turned on and even cared for. Things ended with that friend when she moved abroad. I was still grieving the loss when I matched with Viv on Tinder.
During penis-in-vagina sex, he usually comes within less than 30 seconds of penetration. This has been the case since our very first hookup. When he came so quickly the first time, I was surprised, but he was a "PIV virgin," so I didn't catastrophize. I assumed that with time and desensitization, he would last longer in bed. Well, he hasn't. Ten years later, he still comes within just a few thrusts, and that's when sex ends.
Because I haven't slept with anybody else for decades, my sexual skills don't feel transferable; they are specific to Lisa Lisa and I met at university in 1996, when we were 19. Since I've known her, she's grown from a willowy teenager into a middle-aged woman and I've become a middle-aged man with a belly and a bad back. But a 30-year relationship isn't about how you look.
First figure out what exactly is making intimacy difficult. Is it sheer aesthetics? Is your fear that this person is living an unhealthy lifestyle distracting you? What is the real issue here? She is a grown woman who is allowed to care for herself and her body however she sees fit. Through observations, you have made certain inferences, but if you haven't really had conversations with her about her views on what constitutes fitness, you're just supposing that something is awry.
For many years, Esther Perel has been saying, " Sex isn't something you do; it's a place you go." So far, so good. Absolutely! Sex isn't a "doing" thing, it's a "being" thing. I've been saying this for years. But I've also been adding to her quote: "Sex isn't something you do; it's a place you go. Hopefully together." Because sometimes one person goes to that place and leaves the other behind. There's a disconnection. And that's a problem.
A previous post summarized the many myths about desire differences and the sex- therapy approach to resolving them-using either self-help or professional therapy. The sex-therapy program helps many couples-but not all. Recently, Canadian researchers reported an effective new approach, eight weeks of group therapy that produced significant benefits. It's based on reimagining lovemaking to facilitate sex worth wanting. What if Low Desire Is a Reasonable Response to Lackluster Sex?
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