Ms. Behave
Forty years ago, a group of feminists, led by Gloria Steinem, did the unthinkable: They started a magazine for women, published by women—and the first issue sold out in eight days. An oral history of a publication that changed history.
October 31, 2011
New Yorkers are constantly surrounded by the best of the very best. How quickly we forget, in other cities ordering cigarettes and Swedish fish for delivery at 4AM is unheard of.
Just like the jaded New York dwellers, women today forget what it meant to be a woman not so long ago. The challenges and obstacles that we babes take with a grain of salt, things that no longer effect us and ideas that seem so very old, were fully present just two generations ago.
This month New York Magazine takes a look back at the women and the publication who helped push them forward, allowing their work to go beyond just a movement and become life as we know it.
Forty years ago, a group of feminists, led by Gloria Steinem, did the unthinkable: They started a magazine for women, published by women—and the first issue sold out in eight days. An oral history of a publication that changed history.
Photo: Nancy Crampton
How Do You Spell Ms.
In the years leading up to the birth of Ms., women had trouble getting a credit card without a man’s signature, had few legal rights when it came to divorce or reproduction, and were expected to aspire solely to marriage and motherhood. Job listings were segregated (“Help wanted, male”). There was no Title IX (banning sex discrimination in federally funded athletic programs); no battered-women’s shelters, rape-crisis centers, and no terms such as sexual harassment and domestic violence.
Few women ran magazines, even when the readership was entirely female, and they weren’t permitted to write the stories they felt were important; the focus had to be on fashion, recipes, cosmetics, or how to lure a man and keep him interested. “When I suggested political stories to The New York Times Sunday Magazine, my editor just said something like, ‘I don’t think of you that way,’ ” recalls Gloria Steinem. “It was all pale male faces in, on, and running media,” says Robin Morgan, who was Ms.’s editor in the late eighties and early nineties.
But in the mid-sixties, feminist organizations such as New York Radical Women,Redstockings, and NOW began to emerge. On March 18, 1970, about a hundred women stormed into the male editor’s office of Ladies’ Home Journal and staged a sit-in for eleven hours, demanding that the magazine hire a female editor-in-chief. Says feminist activist-writer Vivian Gornick, “It was a watershed moment. It showed us, the activists in the women’s movement, that we did, indeed, have a movement.”
Day of The Dead
All's well that ends well… The problem? When it doesn't. Our affair was long over... yet when his Fiancee uncovered it all, her fresh wounds lead to irrational, psychotic behavior; it was hard not to smile; the irony so strong it hurt.
November 5, 2011
All's well that ends well… The problem? When it doesn't.
Our affair was long over... yet when his Fiancee uncovered it all, her fresh wounds lead to irrational, psychotic behavior; it was hard not to smile; the irony so strong it hurt.
The Fiancee put the 'Psycho' in psychotherapy... which just-so-happens to be her chosen field of study.
After countless furious emails and texts I was reaching my breaking point. After all, it's not my fault her Fiancee fell hard. Even though Halloween is over and finished, in Mexico it seemed the 'day of the dead' just wasn't ready to be put to rest.
Good luck party goers. I'm sure these fireworks will be memorable. Tread carefully though, as people who play with fire tend to get burned.
Two can play this game my dear and everyone knows that Chloe plays for keeps.
Eclipse: New Beginnings
I'm not sure anyone could ever understand how we can walk away from this, when it’s clear there is something beyond our conscious level of understanding that bonds us together.
Deborah Turbeville
August 1, 2011
And after that night, nothing would ever be the same.
I wish we'd recorded our conversation so I could replay every single moment of it. What we said was a testament of how deep our love was, how connected we truly were. It was a true example of what it means to fully understand and respect another human being.
I'm not sure anyone could ever understand how we can walk away from this, when it’s clear there is something beyond our conscious level of understanding that bonds us together.
But, I don't see this as walking away.
The last 2 hours were some of the most honest, incredible and powerful moments that I've been privileged to experience. What exists between us runs deeper than I think either of us will ever truly be able to understand in this lifetime.
I’m at peace, and it's not just because I've met HIM. I'm at peace because what we just shared is something that no matter whom we are with, we will always have.
These past few months you and I discovered things about ourselves; things we were only able to understand because of each other. And that is something so powerful and beautiful, that no one will ever be able to take away.
I don't view our conversation as a conclusion, but as a pivotal moment. One where time stood still and nothing else existed except what we share.
There is nothing to be sad about, nothing at all to mourn the loss of... Although what we had together was deeply moving and passionate, what we will have moving forward will be life-altering.
It’s my belief that we cannot get everything we truly need from just one person. And even though I cannot pinpoint what ‘it’ is we give each other, I have no intentions of letting our incredible connection and deep fundamental understanding of one another vanish.
No longer confined to this wrinkle, I am excited about where our new path will lead.
Come with me my dear friend; let us embark on this journey they call life. Let us be still in this beautiful moment with the knowledge that when we move beyond the confinement of our wrinkle, we will discover it can unfold into our lifeline.
Love Reincarnate
Exchanging glances throughout the night, we sipped cocktails in one of New York’s most glamorous and exclusive places, gazing out over all of Manhattan's glory. Spectacular.
July 13, 2011
And in an instant, everything changed.
Unsure of why, I turned away; fighting the urge to stare deep into his eyes.
How can this connection exist between strangers?
The room spun around us. Time stood still.
Exchanging glances throughout the night, we sipped cocktails in one of New York’s most glamorous and exclusive places, gazing out over all of Manhattan's glory. Spectacular.
Relief swept over my entire being; like I’d found this puzzle piece, I hadn't known was missing.
Making our exit and conveniently 86’ing Crazy Pants (insert long-story HERE), we hailed a cab to The Greenwich Hotel.
Sinking slowly into the stiff leather of the taxi, I envisioned us back at the Boom Boom Room. Leading him to the bathrooms of glass and granite, I'd press my lips to his, parting them with my tongue; lost in every kiss, our long lost souls together again.
The Poet was about to go far beyond just a page in my book. I was both terrified and excited. I wonder what his fiancee would have to say about this…
A Fine Line
Slow and torturous, I get lost with each word.
June 19, 2011
Slow and torturous, I get lost with each word.
Inhaling deeply they expand my mind, my heart, my soul.
In another time, a life we are not living, we're feeling more deeply with each passing day.
Time stands still and in this moment, this very moment, we'll find peace, love, hope and desire.
Your touch soothes my soul, illuminating the dwindling flame that fights to exist within me.
Our breath threatens to extinguish the flame; our passions fight to keep it burning.
Nothing can save us and in reality, is this something worth saving?
Truth Time
Falling down the rabbit hole is a rush. Walls zoomed past as I saw him; I couldn't think or speak... and I most certainly could not look him in the eye.
June 15, 2011
Falling down the rabbit hole is a rush. Walls zoomed past as I saw him; I couldn't think or speak... and I most certainly could not look him in the eye.
From that moment when we'd met, it was something I'd never felt; as if I'd known him my entire life. He could see through the bull shit, into my very core. Undeniable was the electricity and energy that flowed between us.
He put me in a taxi at the end of the night; I knew it would not be the last time I saw him.
Next time, I wouldn't be going home alone. And I didn't.
The problem with the rabbit hole? It's easy to get in and nearly impossible to make it back out.
Let’s call him The Poet.
One Hot Second
Work, friends, secret identities... and the men; the usual suspects created a barrier that I couldn't seem to break. Before I realized it, New York Fashion Week was over. The magazine editors, accompanied by far too many members of the blogosphere, threw back tiny glass-bottles of Russian vodka, while en route to London Town. Winter in the city seemed never-ending and yet somehow, felt like it had flown by.
May 26, 2011
Work, friends, secret identities... and the men; the usual suspects created a barrier that I couldn't seem to break. Before I realized it, New York Fashion Week was over. The magazine editors, accompanied by far too many members of the blogosphere, threw back tiny glass-bottles of Russian vodka, while en route to London Town. Winter in the city seemed never-ending and yet somehow, felt like it had flown by.
The 'modern woman' I am most certainly not. How anyone is able to successfully manage both their work and personal life boggles the mind. Busy with a hundred-million projects, my life seemed to slip through the cracks. With 18-hour days prepping for shoots, shows and whatever else, there was little desire or energy to make it out for a nightcap, let alone anything else I was desiring, including sex.
Working weeks without a break, I'd spend my one day off sleeping more consecutive hours than imaginable. This was not the life I was used to living and these were most certainly not the days of tanning poolside at the Thompson; laptop open with an iced coffee and/or cocktail in hand.
What's a 'Chloe' to do...?
Singing In The Rain
All good things must come to an end; and like all big storms, this one started with just one raindrop.
December 6, 2010
All good things must come to an end; and like all big storms, this one started with just one raindrop.
In a moment of weakness I texted The Britt; was his interest in me purely physical or did he wanted more? He’d been sending rather mixed messages for 3 weeks now; never one to play games, I needed to know where we stood. In his ever-evasive English way, rather than answer me, he called and we chatted about everything other than sex. I guess that means he wants more…?
Arriving in Miami was a breath of fresh air. Although I was there for work, it was still a relief from the stress of the past few months of New York grinding. Very unexpectedly The Ex emailed me advising he would be in New York ‘very, very soon’. Lovely, of course I had just left.
Fortunately or unfortunately (no one really knows) I would be returning to the city the same day The Ex was to arrive. Through our classic witty banter I learn he is no longer with his girlfriend… and through chatting with my ever-gossiping Mum, discover he has informed his mother that he is coming to New York is to visit me. Okay…?
Miami had me running from party-to-art show and back again. We’d had no communication but was not lost on me that The Artist must be there somewhere, which is exactly when I received his text. Later that night we crossed paths at The Interview Mag party at The Delano. He looked unbelievably hot and I was dying to get my hands on him. After indulging in a performance by my hero and ground breaking performance artist, Marina Abramovic, where she swam naked in their famous pool I was flying high on the energy from the room.
Apparently he felt the same because at 2AM with ditched our friends for wild sex in his penthouse apartment along the Miami Beach waterfront. The Artist was just as rough as I remembered and even more hungry. His hands and teeth left more than his usual mark, making for slightly awkward poolside tanning the following day. My nipples were seriously bruised and I wasn’t exactly sure how I would explain that to The Britt, should he ever call me again.
Just when I thought that nothing else could possibly arise, I received an email that was long overdue. The Photographer; the first man I’d been with after The Ex and my first ‘friend’ in New York. We’d been through so much, yet nothing at all over the past 2 ½ years. To be honest, I never thought things would have carried on this far.
It was strange to find myself happy reading his thoughtfully crafted note. He may have been more surprised by my response than I was. “I am so proud of you,” pushing the buttons on my blackberry I told him I would always be there for him as his friend.
Since the moment we met I knew he was lost; finally he'd caught up to speed and wanted to do something about it. I only want the best for him, so of course, even though salty tears rolled down my cheeks, I was happy for him. My tears were selfish; I knew we would never really be friends and it broke a tiny piece of my heart to lose him.
Back to The Delano for my last Miami dinner, The Britt called my mobile. Caught off guard and completely surprised, I answered. I think this really could be something after all.
They say there is a calm before the storm; perhaps I was just too busy with the pace of the city to have noticed it.
Two Hearts Beating Together
After reading, The Decline of Men by noted author, journalist and entrepreneur, Guy Garcia, I took a long sip of my wine and let it sink in. Feminism was never about becoming greater than men, it was about becoming their equal; somewhere along the line, the rise of female success had led men to feel inadequate.
November 26, 2010
After reading, The Decline of Men by noted author, journalist and entrepreneur, Guy Garcia, I took a long sip of my wine and let it sink in. Feminism was never about becoming greater than men, it was about becoming their equal; somewhere along the line, the rise of female success had led men to feel inadequate.
I could not help but feel a twinge of depression, did this mean that I would never find my partner in crime? Was all hope of finding my equal now lost? The only thing I could do was track down Mr. Garcia and find out. Was all hope lost or would men eventually be able to find a new sense of self?
His answer? A little from column 'A' and a little from column 'B'.
Chloe: As a male journalist specializing in socio-economic market research, what is the most notable shift you’ve witnessed, since the start of your career in the early 80’s, in terms of female attitude and behavior?
Guy Garcia: Female attitude and behavior has become more complex as women continue to rise as a gender. Their options in education, work and social life continue to expand, which has made their lives more fulfilling but also more complicated. As men’s social and employment options shrink, women are more and more likely to be a co-income contributor, or increasingly, the main breadwinner. As women become better educated and financially independent, the pool of men that they respect or deem worthy of being with will continue to shrink.
C: As per your novel, The Decline of Men, women have a better success rate when it comes to our modern day social structures (ironic as I believe it was men who created these norms). Do you feel that young men are doomed to be less successful than their female counterparts? Or is it the late 30 and 40 year old's of today who will fall victim to the societal changes of women?
GG: First of all, The Decline of Men is non-fiction business/sociology. It’s true that women are better suited for the 21st century economy, which favors communication and people skills that give women an innate edge over men. In 2010, women outnumbered men in the workforce for the first time in U.S. history. Also, with women making up more than 60% of all college students in America, it’s only a matter of time before women pull ahead of men in terms of overall earning power. It is indeed ironic that the socio-economic structures that men built—and the very machines that make their muscles irrelevant and obsolete—no longer favor the male gender. The traditional definition of males and why they matter is obsolete and as a society we are still groping for what will replace it.
C: Men like the idea of me, but most don’t really like me. As a young, modern woman, my bold sexual presence excites men at first, but tends to leave them feeling disappointed later. Do you see men and women ever hitting equilibrium? Why does society tend to put us against each other?
GG: Society still tells men that they should be dominant, strong, decisive, etc. In the workplace and public life, women were in a supportive role, although the female rule of domestic life had its own power. Now women are competing with men for jobs and socio-political clout, yet men have not replaced women as the domestic decider, which includes most household purchases. Nowadays it’s little girls who are told they should grow up to be fearless, strong, smart, financially independent; as a gender they are in ascent, even as males stall or decline. Men will always be physically attracted to females, but their role in the relationship is no longer so clear. Some guys are ok in the supportive role, other are not. Some women are ok with men that are tame and submissive, but women of all ages complain to me that they can’t find “real guys.” Guys used to use money and power to lure and impress women, now they use Axe and shave their bodies. Leveraging physical attractiveness to balance power with the opposite sex is a strategy that men have learned from women. A lot of young guys aren’t sure they can afford to pick up the dinner tab, let alone support a wife and family. As a result, the gratification of immediate pleasure replaces the rewards of long-term commitment.
C: From an early age the discussion of career and family seems to play a role in the conversations of young girls. Will society reach a point where both men and women will have the ‘choice’ to stay home with the kids or work, and why?
GG: Men are staying home now, but it’s not to raise the kids, it’s because they lost their jobs. In Sweden, the government is mandating maternity leave—paternity leave?—for men. As women take on more demanding jobs we’ll see more gender-neutral flexibility in the workforce, but the percentage of guys who willingly take on roles previously delegated to women is still very small. For now many women find themselves doing the work of both genders: holding down a job – and still making dinner, cleaning the house and making sure the kids have clean clothes for school, etc. Telling guys that they are now free to be housewives is not very liberating; until a truly new definition of masculinity evolves to replace the outdated one, you’re going to see more male confusion, resentment and disengagement.
C: Do you believe that the future success of men is directly linked to the success of women? Or is the ‘decline of men’ a much larger statement about my generation as a whole?
GG: Men and women are inextricably linked. Their fates and desires are intertwined and always will be. Treating the genders as two separate entities misses the point. Half the population slacking off, losing its way and falling behind is a problem for society as a whole, and the solution will come only from men and women facing the facts and redefining the future together. The interesting question to me is: as women replace men in the upper echelons, will they keep the structures and systems built by males or transform them into something completely new and different?
Picture Perfect
I can't help but go crazy for artist, Michelle Thompson. Her combination of imagery, color, use of line and space, creates dynamic, three-dimensional visuals. Each piece poses a reflective and thoughtful answer to the questions about our society today. For your viewing pleasure, I've included a few of my favorites. (Anyone wanting to get me a holiday gift, I'll take one of each.)
November 17, 2010
I can't help but go crazy for artist, Michelle Thompson. Her combination of imagery, color, use of line and space, creates dynamic, three-dimensional visuals. Each piece poses a reflective and thoughtful answer to the questions about our society today. For your viewing pleasure, I've included a few of my favorites. (Anyone wanting to get me a holiday gift, I'll take one of each.)
Mark My Word
You know it's good when he leaves a mark.
I could tell from the first time we’d fucked that he loved sex; though it appeared he’d never been with a woman who was open to exploring it. All that was about to change.
November 16, 2010
You know it's good when he leaves a mark.
I could tell from the first time we’d fucked that he loved sex; though it appeared he’d never been with a woman who was open to exploring it. All that was about to change.
The Brit and I had been between the sheets for hours, yet somehow I was craving more. We lay naked, our breath heavy and slow. I reached across his chest and dragged my nails over his skin. He was taken with me in every way, but most especially how I pushed him to explore sex. The Brit would spank me and I could see his excitement rise. He’d grab my neck and squeeze tightly; he later confessed he’d never that done before and how much he liked it.
I was half way out the door when I felt his hands on my waist. The Brit lifted me onto his kitchen table, pulled my lace La Perla thong to the side and devoured me, again. He ripped off the lace using his teeth and slid himself inside me, taking me harder than ever before. It felt amazing and even though I was going to be so late for drinks, I wanted him to keep going.
Pulling me off the table, he bent me over the grey leather couch. My ass in the air, he continued to work me until I let go.
I woke up the next morning with giant blue and purple marks across my lower back… If we were going to keep fucking in the kitchen, he was going to have to invest in a new table.
Can’t Get Enough?
Sexual Compulsives Anonymous (SCA) has devised a master list of 20, yes or no, questions to see if you are sexually compulsive (A.K.A a sex addict). I found myself saying, 'Yes' to numbers 4 & 5... Let's see how sexually addicted you are.
According to the SCA, answering, 'Yes' to 3 or more questions means they might just need to tie you up; but let's be honest, who doesn't like being tied up every now and again?
Richard Prince
November 12, 2010
Sexual Compulsives Anonymous (SCA) has devised a master list of 20, yes or no, questions to see if you are sexually compulsive (A.K.A a sex addict). I found myself saying, 'Yes' to numbers 4 & 5... Let's see how sexually addicted you are.
According to the SCA, answering, 'Yes' to 3 or more questions means they might just need to tie you up; but let's be honest, who doesn't like being tied up every now and again?
The Twenty Questions
Do you frequently experience remorse, depression, or guilt about your sexual activity?
Do you feel your sexual drive and activity is getting out of control? Have you repeatedly tried to stop or reduce certain sexual behaviors, but inevitably you could not?
Are you unable to resist sexual advances, or turn down sexual propositions when offered?
Do you use sex to escape from uncomfortable feelings such as anxiety, fear, anger, resentment, guilt, etc. which seem to disappear when the sexual obsession starts?
Do you spend excessive time obsessing about sex or engaged in sexual activity?
Have you neglected your family, friends, spouse or relationship because of the time you spend in sexual activity?
Do your sexual pursuits interfere with your work or professional development?
Is your sexual life secretive, a source of shame, and not in keeping with your values? Do you lie to others to cover up your sexual activity?
Are you afraid of sex? Do you avoid romantic and sexual relationships with others and restrict your sexual activity to fantasy, masturbation, and solitary or anonymous activity?
Are you increasingly unable to perform sexually without other stimuli such as pornography, videos, "poppers," drugs/alcohol, "toys," etc.?
Do you have to resort increasingly to abusive, humiliating, or painful sexual fantasies or behaviors to get sexually aroused?
Has your sexual activity prevented you from developing a close, loving relationship with a partner? Or, have you developed a pattern of intense romantic or sexual relationships that never seem to last once the excitement wears off?
Do you only have anonymous sex or one-night stands? Do you usually want to get away from your sexual partner after the encounter?
Do you have sex with people with whom you normally would not associate?
Do you frequent clubs, bars, adult bookstores, restrooms, parks and other public places in search of sexual partners?
Have you ever been arrested or placed yourself in legal jeopardy for your sexual activity?
Have you ever risked your physical health with exposure to sexually transmitted diseases by engaging in "unsafe" sexual activity?
Has the money you spent on pornography, videos, phone sex, or hustlers/prostitutes strained your financial resources?
Have people you trust expressed concern about your sexual activity?
Does life seem meaningless and hopeless without a romantic or sexual relationship?
Take Things As They Come
When a man calls your phone at 1:30AM, after more than a year sans communication, you know he is only interested in one thing. And seeing as we'd never had sex, I found myself taken aback when he began whispering dirty sentiments through the phone.
Nan Goldin
November 8, 2010
When a man calls your phone at 1:30AM, after more than a year sans communication, you know he is only interested in one thing. And seeing as we'd never had sex, I found myself taken aback when he began whispering dirty sentiments through the phone.
The following morning, in what was starting to feel like clockwork, the phone flashed his name across the screen. The Brit was not giving up easily. The words rolled off his tongue sending shivers throughout my body, making me ache to be touched, kissed and pulled apart.
"Rather than tell me what you want to do to me, why don't I hop into a taxi and you can just do it?" As fun as it was to hear about how hot I made him, I didn't want to talk; I wanted action.
The door to his Tribeca penthouse loft swung open; his lips immediately pressed against mine. His hands skimmed the sides of my waist and hips. Grabbing tightly, he threw me up against the wall and kissed my neck and shoulders.
The Brit grabbed my ass and lifted me up so my legs wrapped around his waist then carried me to bed. After what felt like 12 hours of anticipation, he made me come once; then again, and again once more.
Not exactly what I had anticipated doing all Saturday afternoon; but hey, sometimes you just have to roll with it.
Time Warp
They say that time heals everything, but as I sat next to The Ex I couldn’t help but think everything was exactly the same.
November 3, 2010
They say that time heals everything, but as I sat next to The Ex I couldn’t help but think everything was exactly the same.
Not only had The Ex responded to my email to catch up, he invited himself to join me out for a drink right then and there. I guess he felt that coffee wasn’t adequate fuel for seeing an ex for the first time in years.
I sipped my Merlot and continued the polite conversation where The Ex and I caught up on life. Him, delicately navigating around the recent loss of his job and breakup with his girlfriend, while I tried not to sounds too accomplished or pleased with everything I’d achieved since our split.
Last call had people rushing the bar and my friends, who had been sitting near by, invited us to join the midnight (aka 4 AM) snack run. Walking in search of eats, the 5 of us turned into 4, and then 3, as people began to call it a night and head home. Down to me, my friend who I was crashing with and The Ex; we reached the corner of our street. The Ex awkwardly invited me to his place, but I countered offered and invited him in to my friend’s.
The Ex and I sat on the couch both of us waiting for what would be next. He was nervous; his heart pounding so hard, I swear I could see it moving. “I still fantasize about you… No one has ever made me feel the way you did,” he could hardly look at me as the words fell from his mouth. “Sex with you is like nothing else.”
Caught off guard and totally unprepared to respond, I smiled and moved closer to him resting my head on his chest. With his arm around me, it felt like the clock had gone back in time to 3 years ago, when everything was perfect, when we were perfect.
His hands slid their way up my legs, over my body-skimming dress to my hipbone and landing at my waist. The Ex leaned in and kissed me, pulling me closer with each breath. His kiss was so familiar, it was wild. He could not control his self, pushing his hands up my skirt, trying desperately to remove my clothes. The energy between us was totally unexpected. We had been so great together, so fucking great. And this kissing in each other’s arms was just a big reminder of all the amazing things we’d had together.
The Ex couldn’t stop. He kept looking at me, a hunger in his eyes, telling me how sexy I was, how he desired me. We had to stop, but we couldn’t. His lips pressed against the skin of my neck, his tongue pushed inside my ear as his fingers slid deep inside me forcing me to cum.
“You should go,” I whispered between inhales. I had no idea what just happened, but I needed him to leave before I could have sex with him; my will power was at an all time low. The sound of the door locking as it closed behind him hit me hard.
What the fuck had just happened?
The Ex Factor
In life, you cannot control what happens; no matter how high the high the only place to go is down.
October 27, 2010
In life, you cannot control what happens; no matter how high the high the only place to go is down.
He was my University boyfriend. We’d been dating two years, 18 months of which were spent living together. We were that couple everyone wanted to be. Physically and esthetically complimentary to one another; we made each other better in every way. I had found him, my partner in crime and it changed everything.
When I moved to New York we were still dating, but as the black sedan pulled away from our place I knew deep down it would be the last time I would see him. A couple of weeks later our relationship ended.
The fantasy was finished. Everything had been turned upside down in an instant. Moving away only made it all the more clear. It was over and I hadn’t looked back, until now.
Let’s call him The Ex.
Years had gone by, two and a half to be exact. Not one word, email, or text message had passed between us. When it’s over it’s over; I had never been one to dwell on the past.
When I arrived back to the ‘scene of the crime’ to cover an event for an international publication, the last thing I expected was to see him; we had been so good at avoiding each other for so long.
Never having kept in touch with an ex boyfriend, something made me want to change that. Even though The Ex broke my heart and made me question everything I thought I knew about love, I didn’t hate him. Why couldn’t we be friends? I emailed him. Just a few words, a peace offering and the suggestion to grab a coffee while I was in town. To my surprise, he responded.
And that is when everything changed.
Trading Up
It’s not everyday that a man has the balls to write his number on your menu and tell you to call him. So when the handsome guy at the table over did, I was immediately intrigued.
October 22, 2010
It’s not everyday that a man has the balls to write his number on your menu and tell you to call him. So when the handsome guy at the table over did, I was immediately intrigued.
Fast-forward one week, the handsome guy from the restaurant had invited me for drinks. True to my workaholic form, I only had Tuesday at 11:30 PM available. He seemed surprised or perhaps discouraged by my rigid schedule but agreed to meet me anyhow.
Let’s call him The Trader.
Leaning against the black granite bar of my go-to spot, The Summit Bar, I gave my date the once-over. Tall, with dirty blond hair, his suit was cut slim enough to indicate he had a sense of style and his shoes were inoffensive (I don’t ask for much, just don’t offend me with your clothing).
We made our way to the back couches and without my alcohol-induced haze I couldn’t help but notice how young he looked. Bored with the typical ‘first date’ niceties I began to grill him with questions; sometimes a girl just needs to have a little fun.
Through an intense round of questioning, The Trader let slip that he'd had half the summer off. I looked at him quizzically, demanding to know just how exactly someone in New York City had more than a month of vacation time?
He looked slightly embarrassed before coming clean; he had just graduated from college. I almost died, it was too much. He was practically a child. Not that I am much older, but still... The last person I slept with is double his age. DOUBLE!
Not to be ageist, but really. Torn on whether or not he’d seen the horror flash across my face, I decided to stay and humor him.
Poor kid has no idea what he just got himself into.
Guest Blogger: Sophie
"As most of you know, I'm not the only woman who likes sex the way I do. If you are a women reading this right now, you probably relate to my stories and adventures in one way or another. Every now and again I'll be turning over the reins to a guest blogger. Meet Sophie."
October 15, 2010
"As most of you know, I'm not the only woman who likes sex the way I do. If you are a women reading this right now, you probably relate to my stories and adventures in one way or another. Every now and again I'll be turning over the reins to a guest blogger. Meet Sophie."
- Chloe Is My Alias
State of Affairs
Edited by: Chloe Is My Alias
I hadn’t seen him in more than ten years. He was my college sweetheart; the one that ‘got away’. After weeks of intense emails and calls, the anticipation of finally meeting was killing us both.
His initials? CPG.
I was 5 minutes from the midtown lunch spot he had selected to meet when I got his text, “where are you”? It was flattering to know he was as anxious to see me, as I was to see him.
Sliding my coat off my shoulders to reveal my favorite low cut black wrap dress; I handed it to the hostess and glanced over to the bar to see him watching my every move. Nothing had changed, butterflies in my stomach, knees weak, just like the first time we had met. CPG got up from the bar and came over, kissing my cheek as he whispered in my ear “Damn, you haven’t changed a bit”.
We were escorted to a corner booth and the server brought over a glass of my favorite Shiraz, he had remembered after all these years and I was instantly smitten all over again. We felt like teenagers, trying to catch up on our lives and conveniently skimming the obvious topics of his wife and children. CGP looked amazing; my whole body started to shake when he ran his hand up my thigh and under my dress. I couldn’t help but think, “this is what corner booths were made for”.
We left the restaurant and he slid his hand around my waist pulling me in for one of those kisses that instantly make you wet. I nibbled on his ear and told him to bring me to the hotel around the corner; that was all it took.
The elevator ride to the room was a blur; we couldn’t keep our hands off of each other. We entered the room and I pinned him up against the wall, unbuttoning his shirt, running my hands all over his chest and I working my way down until I was on my knees. CPG pulled my hair back watching me lick him. He was the only man that knew how to get me off and I was full of anticipation, knowing full well it would be an afternoon of pure pleasure.
Desired Distraction
My heart sunk deep into my chest; the pain he must have felt to turn to something like heroin, I can empathize. What has me so shaken is quite simple and scares me more than anything. This can happen to anyone and no one saw it coming.
Barbara Kruger
October 13, 2010
Terrible news has a way of creeping up on you. When I called to catch up with a friend she had news and not the kind I was expecting. Our friend is a heroin addict. He is 20.
My heart sunk deep into my chest; the pain he must have felt to turn to something like heroin, I can empathize. What has me so shaken is quite simple and scares me more than anything. This can happen to anyone and no one saw it coming.
There is a pain so deep you’d do anything to end. Lying on the ground, sobbing, you barely make a sound. You want to feel safe; you want it all to just be okay. Helplessness washes over you, making you feel weak and alone, which in turn makes you feel scared.
Worse than the pain is the inability to end it, make it stop. Progressively getting worse, you get to a point where you feel crippled by life, as life itself causes the pain.
So many nights and days were spent dealing with pain. So many pills popped, joints smoked and knives lacerating through layers of flesh in hopes of finding a distraction. It’s not that I ever wanted to die; I was just too tired to keep living.
I first fell in love with sex when I realized it was the only time I wasn’t in pain. Closing my eyes and letting waves of pleasure rush over me, sex was and still is like meditation. In that moment everything bad falls to the side, nothing matters except the physical pleasure.
For me sex is an escape. It requires no thought and has no meaning when it’s done and over. People seem to think there is deeper meaning to the pleasure derived through sex; as a society we are consumed with finding deeper meanings and refuse to just let things be.
No longer in pain, I still see sex as just that, sex. The world is constantly shown in a picture perfect way, a set of ideals that my life is unable to live up to. The ideals others push onto society; inadequacy seeping through and everyday trying to keep up with what ‘they’ say is right.
We live in a world that promotes compliance, not questions. Ignorance really is bliss, but I was never one to be ignorant. Once you open yourself up to understanding, you can never go back.
Sex is still an escape and distraction from the world. That pain that overwhelmed me on so many occasions is gone. I no longer worry about fitting the cookie-cutter mold that is our society’s expectations. I can only hope my friend can find strength to look beyond what people tell us to see and figure out what everything means for him.
Reality Check
Everyone wants to know, ‘Who is the real Chloe?’ Sit back and listen because I am about to tell you.
October 6, 2010
Everyone wants to know, ‘Who is the real Chloe?’ Sit back and listen because I am about to tell you.
There is nothing more real than having your crush die of a heart attack a few months after cheating on your boyfriend with him, while you are still in high school. There is nothing more real than losing your role model in a car accident and having two friends murdered by the time you are half way through your first year of university. There is nothing more real than your family losing their fortune and being told, ‘you should have had more.’
There is nothing more real, than real life.
I never understood why I had to go through so many traumatizing things. I don’t believe that everything happens for a reason. I do know that everything in my past has made me exactly who I am at this moment, and as much as it nearly killed me to get here, I am happy with the person I have become.
We sat on the black leather stools at the bar. The Editor was high, the drugs racing through his veins. My hands were shaking as I attempted a sip of vodka. I had never seen him like this; he was stumbling, stuttering and slurring coming down off a heroin high.
He looked at me and I finally asked the question we both knew was coming, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Looking downward he shrugged, for the first time since we’d met he seemed at a loss for words. “I didn’t want you to be mad.” I was in shock. Mad!? Was he serious? How on earth do you get mad at someone for having an addiction? I kissed his lips, feeling his hands tighten around my waist. We stood at the bar, arms around each other. The room was full of the usual Monday night bar crowd but it felt like it was just the two of us there.
It broke my heart to hear his response. Why are people so consumed with others judging their actions? There was obviously something he could not cope with if he turned to drugs in such a way. We stood with our bodies pressed together and I knew it would be the last time I saw him. All I could do was be there for him, but first he needed to be there for himself.
Good Vibrations
I absolutely adore that my friends call me with their madness, fully knowing I will never make them feel embarrassed or ashamed. People spend too much time worrying about how others will perceive them; they forget to focus on how something makes them feel.
October 4, 2010
"Your ass is not a cul-de-sac, things can get lost up there!" My girlfriend was laughing as she recounted her disaster of a morning. Still half asleep, my eyes flickered open as she continued; a horrifying story about a mini pocket-rocket lodged (and then lost) you know where...
I absolutely adore that my friends call me with their madness, fully knowing I will never make them feel embarrassed or ashamed. People spend too much time worrying about how others will perceive them; they forget to focus on how something makes them feel.
Everyday, everything I do is for me. I do not worry about pleasing others, or meeting any expectations other than my own. Let go of what people told you to think and start thinking for yourself. Know that if you want to make something happen you can and don't let anything or anyone stand in your way.