tw: suicide, sex, sex toys, sad shit, high school
I regret somethings about dating and sex. I regret hurting people. I regret lying. I regret ghosting (hello, we’ve all done these. don’t feel bad). But my biggest regret is that I never believed I was worth more, that I was trying to live out some life that I thought I would never have.
I’m going on a rant here so hang on.
Also, I have talked about this convo with my partner and have consent to share about dating and sex and others.
In my previous dating life, I would have never stopped a date because someone got too sexual too fast. Or to call out a moment where I was uncomfortable. Honestly, I felt like I had to live out some early-aughts teen movie drama because I thought I’d never be able to have sex or pleasure or kindness or even general attraction toward me if I didn’t swipe, date, fuck, move on. Like a fucking quota to fill of lost high school-mid 20s loves and dates and being swept off my feet and everything every girl around me had and I desperately wanted.
I was an ugly teen, or at least a teen without the knowledge of fucking skincare routines and oils and creams like every teen now has. I was ugly and fat and awkward and wanted to die. I had it planned out. I was going to come home from school, slit my wrists length-wise (any depressed girl knew there was a right way to do it), lay out my 1-page note for my family to find, and drift away while listening to Garbage, Hole, The Cardigans, and every other alternative girl-led band that made me and my acne and fat feel understood. I was on diet-after-diet, tried Proactive, Clearasil, stopped eating, and prayed to my No Doubt poster every night that I would wake up and be normal.
Obviously, I didn’t kill myself. I tried but couldn’t do it. Tried other times and still never felt that soft haze into no pain. What I did do was spend years…years…YEARS…so many years hovered over a toilet bowl vomiting, poked and prodded by dermatologist, scratching and cutting my inner thighs, and devouring everything I could about food and working out and dieting — I could legit be a nutritionist from what I know.
I hated living inside this body, and the idea anyone would love it felt so distant and far away. It made me internalize so much trash about myself that when I started to date, I felt lucky even when the other person treated me like I was nothing. Like, there was this one time I was on a date with this guy who asked the cab driver to stop at a convenience store so he could pick up a 12-pack of beer for the night. He proceeded to drink it all before 2am — and I didn’t even blink at the danger I could possibly be in. All I knew was he thought I was pretty and wanted to be naked next to me. How fucking sad is that.
When dates texted me back, I was overly thrilled. When I went on a second date, I would be like “wow me? I managed to fool this person so much that they looked beyond my belly and my fat arms and discolored inner thighs.” My dating diet consisted of me drinking vodka sodas until the other person gleamed a sexual innuendo so that I can have some kind of human connection that made me feel . . . I don’t know . . . special? worthy? anything? Don’t get me started on how I used to find ways to subtly drop that underneath the outfit was going to be a fat body and like, are you cool with that? Are you okay with touching a fat body? Can you hold back your revolted gagging for the remainder of this date?
It wasn’t about sex or dating or attraction for me. It was about finding that butterfly moment where something might happen between me and this other person enough to experience what it might have felt like to be asked out on a proper date, to be courted, liked, to know someone had a crush on me.
I miss dating. I mean, I can date now but like, my partner and I are not in that space at the moment as we make sense of the universe, the pandemic, taking care of a dog, having careers, and trying to find solace from it all. I miss dating in a different way. Like, if I was to date now it would be significantly more gourmet. I probably wouldn’t drink on any date. I would insist on day-dates and activities. I wouldn’t even bring up sex or my body. I’d feel more emotionally mature going into each date knowing that I deserve respect.
AND LIKE, wow do I have ugly duckling syndrome. Everyday is a day where I’m like wait, who told you weren’t pretty. I see myself on these Zoom calls — y’all are lucky with the looks I bring each day.
Nonetheless, I am still that 16-year-old girl that wanted to die. That part never goes away. More like, it evolves to stick around in spite of the systems that made her feel like floating away to alt-girl rock music. She comes out every once in awhile and asks if we’re okay. I’m okay, Laura.
There is no real ending to this story outside of I hope you enjoyed, feel healed in some way, maybe even can relate. You’re great and cool and deserve the good stuff.
Laura
I place my left hand under my chin, propping my face to watch the Hudson float by as we docked into the Brooklyn Navy Yard. Beyond the dark, chalky window are the barges covered in wires? ship things? arbitrary ropes and floatation devices that reads ‘big dreamer’ at the top of the rounded curve.
I always sit up front. The back feels like I’m missing something. The front is where all the action occurs. The front gives me the illusion of control. In case something happens, I can, I don’t know…swim to shore . . . call someone . . . help carry a rope.
My teeth are clenched, body leaning forward, heels are off the ground and ready to prance into action if needed. My shoulders are up, but I’m here, watching us float towards the dock. A picture of calmness with an anxious interior overflowing at all the right spots if one were to notice. It would be what the camera would capture if this was a scene in a film — to let the audience in on the character’s underlying motives.
The sky looks perfect, and I wonder if it’s possible for anyone to look at this (or any beautiful sight that is bigger than them) and take it all in with ease? Are any of us ever really present in the wake of our stress and the stress of the world? I wouldn’t believe it regardless. Not even here . . . on the water . . . where everything is fine.
Links To Things
TikTok:
Stripper Reveal PowerPoint
MTVGramps
That Drag Guitarist
Alana Higginbotham
Donate Here:
Texas Choice Fund
The Stigma Relief Fund
Plan C Pills
Buckle Bunnies Fund
Minnesota Freedom Fund
Women For Afghan Women
ASEEL
Afghanistan Crisis Appeal
Campaign Zero
Border Angels
For the Gworls Rent and Gender-Affirming Surgery
What Am I Thinking When Holding A 30-Min Pose?
Will I ever be able to feel my foot ever again?
Is anyone here revolted by my body? Or are they just drawing shapes?
Art is fueled by fatness because of much more soothing it is to draw a curve rather than a straight line.
Please dear god let me not have to pee.
Please dear god do not let me think of anything sexy so I’m not immediately turned on.
Is this sex work? Where do we draw the line on that? Will I get fired if anyone finds out I do this on the side? But like, fuck that. Who fires anyone for making money that isn’t hurting anyone? Like that woman who was fired from her job for having an OnlyFans account. Don’t more people look at porn more than Youtube? So, y’all are going to fire someone for the thing you consume. I can’t. Get a life.
I should have stretched better.
Someone here has a crush on me. Right? Like, sure, I’m fat. And you’re not supposed to like fat girls or whatever you’re not supposed to do. But the sheer guts to be naked in front of a room of people is so hot. Someone is going to masturbate to me tonight.
Fuck, I have to pee.
May You All Be Blessed With Sex Toy Furniture Confidence
Let me introduce you to The Cowgirl, a “saddle-shaped premium pleasure machine” that is more powerful than your average vibrator and definitely more satisfying than your IKEA couch. There is a certain level of confidence needed to own one of these — anyone who lives in NYC knows that there is no way you could store or hide it from guests (remember that time your super showed up to fix the sink? ya, there is no prep for hiding The Cowgirl on that day). Honestly, I would have one of these if I could outright purchase it and not flop sweat over my other expenses. BUT is it worth the hefty $1,036 price tag? I think so! Here is why:
This toy has independent vibration and rotation control. Meaning, pending on the attachment (the above is the Double Penetration Silicone Attachment), the pronged area can rotate without vibration — internal vibration is certainly cool but the nerve ending of our vaginal and anal canals are not as compact, so the vibration is less effective than say thrust or pressure.
There are 6 different vibration patterns as well high to low swivel variations on the pronged part. SO! The vibration (where the flat nubby part is in the image) could be super high whereas the rotation could be as a slow pace to your liking.
The whole thing is made with a slip-resistant silicone for added stability and to protect from scratches.
There are two-ways to control The Cowgirl: A corded remote that is attached to the base AND via smart phone. Long distance? (or like, provide the info to someone who want to pay for your dinner to get you off … hello, make your money and be safe and consensual but very much be safe please and thanks) Provide your partner with access to the device via the the app and keep the play alive even when you’re apart!
The attachments! The accessories! Wow. You can really mix and match here!
Not that it has to do with the toy, but I like that The Cowgirl team has taken the initiative to create a blog dedicated to sex education.
Anyone can use this toy. Sure, the marketing skews a little big more toward vulva-owners. But like, I used men’s razors because they are better. Packaging is whatever. Enjoy what you enjoy.
Final Note: Sure, it’s a sex toy in your house that is bigger than some bedside tables. But I think that’s what is so beautiful about it. The Cowgirl is like, “Hey! Look at me! I’m not ashamed of sex and neither should you! Do you like it this way? How about that way? Awesome, let’s explore together.” It’s a physical manifestation into not fearing own own pleasure.Big congratulations to our newest queen Kylie Sonique Love for winning #AllStars6 of RuPaul’s Drag Race. Here at Hey Laura, we live and love by RuPaul’s Drag Race Law. Bow down to your queen who literally TRIPPED ON THE LIP SYNCH AND RECOVERED INTO A TUMBLE & LOOK.
Hey Laura is a off-track newsletter dedicated to body image, sad stuff, teeth, joy, poems, sexual wellness, life, butts, confidence, essays, fatness, crying until you're a puddle of DNA, embarrassment, and so much weirdo stuff. note: laura doesn’t take responsibility for your life and actions. she’s just an odd person on the internet that deeply wants to write everything in her heart and genitalia and flesh. some links:
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