Hello. My name’s Kathryn Deanne Hale. You may have encountered me on and off Edenfantasys as Kady the Red Panda. I was born on August 25 near Atlanta, Georgia, making my astrological sign Virgo—the virgin, the maiden, the pure one. My real name, “Kathryn” is Greek in origin and also means “pure.” Heck, even my full name, strangely enough, means “pure, divine hero.” No, really—go consult any baby name site if you think I’m joking.

I guess it’s also fitting, then, that at the time of this writing, I am also a twenty-year-old virgin.

I define sexual intercourse as any sexual interaction between two or more partners. Oral sex, anal sex, mutual masturbation, and penis-in-vagina intercourse, therefore all qualify as ways to pop one’s cherry to me. Masturbation, being “sex for one,” doesn’t count as sex, even if I penetrate my vagina for that reason. I have never even exchanged a sexually charged kiss with someone else, so I’m positive I still qualify for the label “virgin.”

The reasons that I am a virgin are numerous. First off, I am very insecure about my body. If I’m going to be naked, let alone fucking with someone, I want to be comfortable in my body. Sex is an intimate activity, damnit. Being uncomfortable to any degree ruins the intimacy. Second, because of my poor body image, I’m worried about my partner cheating on me. If cheating occurs, the chance of me contracting a sexually transmitted disease by my unfaithful partner skyrockets. I need to make sure I can trust any sexual partner. Third and finally, I’m just too shy. There are people who probably believe I’m more special needs than I really am because of my more prominent Autistic characteristics.

Would I love to lose my virginity? You bet your ass I want to! Only a true asexual would never want to engage in sex. I want to get intimate, try out different positions, see firsthand my partner coming because of something I did to him or her. Even if I don’t come during that session, seeing my partner satisfied would be enough for me. I thrive on seeing the ones I love being happy.

If my fantasies about having sex are this flowery, you must assume that I think that losing my virginity would have me seeing stars, curling my toes until they resemble Swiss rolls, and screaming as loud as a howler monkey when I reach my limit. If you really believe that, you’re completely wrong.

My family says that I have an Eeyore attitude, in that I always sound hopeless about something. True, I’ve been depressed for years, but I also consider myself a realist. Ninety-nine point nine percent of the time, popping your cherry is going to be awkward, if not outright sucky. If losing your virginity was almost always amazing, why are there so many women who wish they could have waited to have sex later in life?

I expect to have some pain. I have experience with toys, but a real penis is NOT the same as a silicone dildo material-wise, or human use-wise. I expect to have some awkwardness and confusion because it’s my first time with someone. The same goes for any new partner; you have to learn what they like before it gets really good anyway. And I expect it to be memorable, whether it was a good experience or not. It is a milestone, after all. Even if it sucked, lovemaking could only get better with more sessions.

I can’t wait.

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I’ve always wondered how many people were ashamed of their own race? I have to admit there are times when I can say that I’m ashamed of being black. Am I wrong? Should I be proud of my race? I agree, yes, I should be proud of my race, but in 2011 it’s extremely hard to be. With today’s music, movies, and T.V, I can see how some can be ashamed. Am I saying it’s right? No, I’m not. I’m just saying I can completely understand why someone would feel this way.

I’m black and so is everyone else in my family. I was raised in a white neighborhood. I went to a white school. My family was the only black family in our whole little area. I didn’t think much of it. My mother worked in a white majority area. She was the only black female in her area of work, and we think that is because most jobs have to hire some percentage of minorities. My mother didn’t mind. She did have to deal with her amount of racism. She always said the people who had a problem with her were far less than the ones who treated her as an equal. My mom worked her ass off to keep me and my siblings in a good school and raised in a good area.

I was raised to speak proper English. Yes ma’am and no ma’am your elders. Just to be right out respectful. Dress well and present yourself as if you had a good upbringing, and some sense of civilization. As awful as it sounds, that is how she raised us. She worked her ass off so people wouldn’t label us as a statistic. She wanted us to not fall into the same category as every other person. She wanted to raise us to be strong, and to not let our skin hold us back. She wanted us to have the skills, and the education, so when the time came for us to be on our own, we would standout for who we are, and for how well we did something, not for the color of our skin.

I remember the first time someone said to me, “You sound like a white girl”. I was sitting in class, and I was in the 7th grade. I didn’t understand what she meant. The whole time I was thinking, ‘what does that mean?’ I went home and asked my mom, and she said it’s how I speak. I speak very clear, and proper. I never tried to; it was just how I spoke. I was a little embarrassed, and I couldn’t tell you to this day why I was. After that, I never spoke to that girl again. I kind of just stopped talking in school really. When I talk to people on the phone, and they meet me, the first thing a couple of them have said is “I thought you were white”.

I always reply, “Why would you think that?” They always follow with, “Because of how you talk”. I never really reply. I always feel like, ‘damn, not all black people talk as if they were ignorant’. I’ve never actually said that, but I do think it all the time. It wasn’t till I moved to Minneapolis from Florida to understand why people were surprised by me. That’s when I started to feel embarrassed about being black.

It wasn’t till I was in Minneapolis (18 years old) that I started thinking differently. I’m not ashamed of my race or being black. I love being black, I love my skin, I love the color. I love the way my skin looks next to my boyfriend’s skin. I’m proud of what my race has overcome. I would never wish to be another race. I guess I’d have to say I’m ashamed of what my culture has become. I’m ashamed of how my race continually proves stereotypes to be right.

Teen pregnancy: Black teens have the highest teen pregnancy rate. For young women age 15-19, black teens are most likely to become pregnant (134 per 1,000 women). Slightly lower rates occur among Hispanics (131 per 1,000) followed by non-Hispanic whites (48 per 1,000).

Drop-outs: The rate of dropout is higher on average for Black, Hispanic, and Native American youths.

Black people along with other races, but more so black people, have to deal with stereotypes such as:

Stupid
Irresponsible
Crack babies
Teen pregnancy
Drop-outs
Incarcerated
Fathers leave their kids
Hard workers? Lazy? (There was considerable debate on this)

So many more should be added to this list of things that are attached to being black. One by one, I see them happening right in front of my face. I don’t know if it’s the day and age we are in, or what is not being done at home, but something needs to change.

I’m out on the street, and I’ll see a group of black females and each of them have a baby tied to their hip, or pushing one in a stroller. They seem to speak as though they haven’t had any education. They’re disrespectful to their elders, and seem to have no self-control. The majority that I’ve met (female) are single parents of one or more children. Education rates blacks at the bottom, and some have no motive to do better.

A great percentage of black families come from uneducated parents that are in and out of jail. A lot of young black men (not all) would rather “hustle” on the street than take the time to look for a job. A few black men I’ve come in contact with always feel as though the “white man” owes them something. Black artists on T.V. reduce their worth or value to big jewelry, huge houses, and women with huge asses. They degrade their women, and every female is a “bitch” or a “hoe”. They value themselves on how big their rims are and how loud the base is in their car, and not how they are presented, or what they stand for.

Black people in general disrespect each other more than any other race could. I was sitting on the bus one day and there was a group of black men sitting in the back of the bus, and they are talking to each other. But the way they are doing it, every other word is “Nigga this, or nigga that”. If someone else was to say it, they would lose their minds. Why would you refer to yourself as something that you wouldn’t want someone to refer to you as?

The majority of black men feel gang life is all they have. I personally feel it’s all an excuse to not have to prove that you are worth more than you think. They would rather be respected by their “homeboys” than be respected as an upright citizen. The majority of black young girls don’t strive to be doctors, or vets. No, they want to be a video girl, the girl who isn’t respected for her education. They’d rather be the girl that is used because she has a big ass. Most would settle for being a man’s other women than being his wife. I don’t feel that you can blame someone for how they were raised. You would think that because they were raised the way that they were, that they would want to change that. No, most would rather sit back and blame everyone else for their failure in life.

People are surprised when they ask me if I have children. I’m proud to say NO. But they make it seem as though they expect me to have a couple of them. When people find out about me, they act so shocked. I tell them I’d love to become a doctor, or even a therapist. I always get a look of ‘Oh, really?’ It annoys me to no end. I’m not saying white and Hispanic people aren’t the same way, but I’m just focusing on black people. I could be looking at this from the wrong point of view, but I’m just stating how I, as Miss Nessa, feel. I can go on and on about this, but his article can be only so long……

References: http://womensissues.about.com/od/datingandsex/tp/Teenpregancy.htm

http://www.ncset.org/publications/essentialtools/dropout/part1.3.asp

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Over the past few months, I’ve noticed a correlation between something I occasionally indulge in and a mindset that I cannot condone. That is, I’ve noticed a disturbing number of people who seem to believe they can base their sex-lives and relationships on the– frankly unhealthy– model presented in yaoi manga and fanfiction.

According to Wikipedia, yaoi can be defined as media featuring idealized homosexual male relationships, usually created by women for women. Yaoi commonly features the the heteronormative roles of a top, the “seme”, and a bottom, the “uke”. The seme is typically depicted as masculine, and the uke as feminine. It seems to be a common theme in yaoi for the uke to be hesitant or outright unwilling, and the seme to pursue and coerce them into a sexual relationship. Typically, that sexual relationship is founded on a set of extremely unhealthy sexual ideals. The problem arises because people read this fiction, meant only for entertainment, and use it as an instruction manual for sex and relationship structures, without acknowledging that it is fiction and it isn’t acceptable to behave that way in real life.

“No only means no the first three times.” is a common meme among yaoi fans, and it’s pretty obvious why, if you’ve spent any amount of time reading yaoi. Far too often in yaoi, rape seems to be used as a catalyst for love. As we all know, some of us all too well, rape and love are not the same thing, and this way of thinking isn’t healthy in the least. And yet, in yaoi it is all too common to see the seme rape the uke to “show them their passion”, because they “love them so much they cannot resist them”. It’s just as common to see the victim of such an assault in yaoi fall in love with their rapist. It is never called rape in yaoi, however. The general idea seems to be that it was just sex the uke “didn’t know he wanted”.

This perpetuates two equally damaging ideas that we as a society need to work towards phasing out: men are animals who can’t control their urges, and men can’t be raped because they always want sex. I don’t think I should need to explain why these two concepts are terrible and lead to nothing good. Men can control their urges, that’s why we don’t see men humping anything with a pulse, people. In fact, I can seem to recall curling up naked with my lover, a man I know finds me desirable, and my orifices remained penis-free at my behest because he had the self-control not to shove it in me, even though it would have been remarkably easy to do so. So, too, can men be raped. Men do not always want sex. Some men are even asexual or demisexual.

Yet another damaging stereotype yaoi perpetuates is the seme and uke dynamic itself. Not every gay relationship has a “man” and a “woman”. Some gay relationships have a top and a bottom, but to think it is necessary for there to be a “woman” in every relationship, even one that involves two penis-having individuals, is unfair to the gay community. The stereotypical male and female roles aren’t even needed in heterosexual relationships, why should we force them on relationships that weren’t heteronormative to begin with? The seme and uke dynamic in yaoi has a decidedly dominance-oriented slant. The seme in the relationship is dominant over the uke and can do whatever he wants to him. In a fully consensual D/s relationship, that’s perfectly acceptable, but not everyone in a homosexual relationship is also in a D/s relationship. Yaoi presents it in such a way that it would imply that D/s or pre-feminist feminine roles are required in every gay relationship.

Which brings me to the things that are noticeably missing from yaoi: lube and preparation. Yaoi seems to perpetuate the idea that lube is unnecessary for anal sex. In yaoi, preparation is almost never depicted, and quite often, when it is, it often shows the characters using saliva as lube, a practice that is hit or miss at best. Occasionally, yaoi depicts the anus as though it’s self lubricating. Worse, yaoi depicts anal sex with a complete lack of preparation beforehand. It almost always depicts anal hard and fast, as though it can be treated exactly like vaginal sex without causing injury, and it rarely depicts the uke as being injured, even after the violent assaults I described before.

None of the things I have described are a problem in the context of fiction, as long as it is treated as fiction. There’s a distinct difference between fantasizing about something you know isn’t real and isn’t hurting anyone, and attempting to perpetuate that fantasy in the real world with real people. The problem isn’t the yaoi itself, it’s what people do with it.

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RICK O’SHEA:  A warm welcome Ms. Charity Bangs to edenfantays.com. You’re a relative new comer in the industry, exuding a fresh face while personifying a stunning all American-girl next door look. Describe how you’d gotten into the business.

CHARITY BANGS:  I got into the industry…..actually it was a couple I was baby sitting for. I noticed they were into it, and it was a lot of fun, so that’s how I got into it.

My attention wanders to mere moments ago before plugging into our audio conversation via Skype. Always one to be prepared, I delve into research with great gusto. This particular vixen had me labored in my efforts. A scene from “Naughty Bookworms” with Christian who plays her school teacher flashes over and over through my depraved mind. The two succumb to their unrequited lust for one another, right in the classroom. Amorously pawing and clambering with a frenzy, her costar quickly has her tight, firm, nubile body peeled out of her silky red and black lingerie. Her supple flawless breasts are cupped and appraised orally…..

I squirm in my seat; all hot and bothered, realizing she’d finished speaking some time ago.

RO:  …Ah …great. I actually read a little on your bio stating that you were a baby sitter and actually got a role in a film aptly titled “Busty Babysitter” too.

CB:  Oh yeah, I did. I was a baby sitter first, then I played one on film.

RO:  (clears throat, politely waiting) …Tell me a little bit about Immoral Productions, and your involvement with this endeavor.

The way she steals the show in all scenes is just blistering. Her unprecedented seduction is eerily reminiscent of Nikki Dial early in her career….or was it Ashlyn Gere? Actually she seems like a scorching hot concoction of Dial, Gere and Alexandra Silk; that’s it. When she performs, she owns the moment.

CB:  Every Thursday I host a cock sucking challenge with Porno Dan. I hope to be more involved in the near future, so I’m pretty excited about that.

Exuding pure passion in her work, my mind drifts to her depraved gang bang scene. Holstering a cock in each hand and yet another embedded into her succulent orifices, it’s truly a marvel how she managed to unleash such masterful fellatio between her talented lips. I squirm in my seat once again, wishing we had made the appointment a camera to camera interaction.

RO:  Essentially it’s a live sex show, is that right?

CB:  Yes it is.

Awkward silence ensues. I begin to detect that perhaps Charity is playing with me. Did Alex, her PR rep, put her up to this? Oh Alex always did appreciate a good rib.

RO:  …okay. It’s interesting there is still such a strong demand for the teen genre in porn, and in a time near saturated in the cougar and MILF phenomenon, describe what the appeal or attraction to teen fantasies for consumers may be.

There, a reasonable, thought provoking question right? No need to panic, just off to a rough start. If I could only get that red hot smokin’ bod out of my mind.

CB: I have no idea (laughs).

Awkward silence ensues.

Okay I’ve got to be on punk’d. That’s it, there must be an adult parody of punk’d. Seems like there’s a parody of everything these days.

RO:  …okay. Do you have any kinks or fetishes to call your own?

CB:  …Ummmm …I really like bondage.

Bull’s eye. Now we can take this and run with it.

RO:  Describe one unfulfilled fantasy.

CB:  …unfulfilled …like a huge, huge gang bang.

RO:  One of your first roles was in “My First Gang Bang”, right?

CB:  Yeah. That just came out.

My voice begins to waver as my palms grow slick and clammy. I’m either on verge of an anxiety attack or cardiac arrest. At this point, it may be my best retreat. I dread the notion that I’m completely boring my guest.

RO:  (Clearing throat repeatedly) What is the ideal man for Charity Bangs, both on and off screen?

There something for the fans to sink there teeth into. Not that they need any further enticement into delving deep into their lust filled fantasies of this ripe sexual deity. Knowing they posses some qualities she looks for, now that reels the fans in for die hard devotion.

CB:  I don’t know…..I like them all. (Laughs).

I’m suddenly tempted to yank the computer chords out of the wall, pray for a virus or a power outage. This is brutal. I’ve truly lost my touch.

RO:  What are dating and relationships like for an xxx performer?

CB:  I keep my options open.

I begin to think my days of xxx interviewing are finished. Such a shame I had so much more to say, so much more to ask. I’ve heard writing greeting cards can be a rewarding and fulfilling endeavor.

RO:  What sexual talent or accolade sets Charity Bangs apart from other performers?

CB:  I do everything.

RO:  Complete this sentence ….A sure fire way for me to orgasm is….

CB:  ….ummm, anything G-spot related. (Laughs).

RO:  So you like different positions, or do you have a favorite toy?

CB:  I do have a favorite toy. I have a magic wand that has a perfect attachment. It makes me cum, like so quick.

I’m captivated by her voice. Elegant, soft yet sultry, and inviting; she really should speak more in depth. I’m rejuvenated by the challenge just to hear more of her voice again.

RO:  What was your most comical moment on set?

CB:  I don’t know. What do you mean? I’m a little confused.

As am I. For the first time in my ripe old thirty eight years, I’ve begun to feel the inevitable generation gap. No wonder she’s been answering so briefly, she has no idea what I’m talking about.

RO:  (clears throat). Any mishaps, practical jokes, bloopers, out takes, that sort of thing?

CB:  Nothing really off the wall.

She’s likely texting a friend out of sheer boredom right now, updating her facebook status, and tweeting what a total drag it was in this interview.

RO:  If you had to recommend one title for curious fans newly discovering Charity Bangs what would it be?

CB:  My First Gang Bang is my favorite one right now.

RO:  How do you spend your free time to unwind?

CB:  I have two dogs that I spend a lot of time with. They’re my babies. Two miniature schnauzers, Chloe and Ginger.

RO:  If you could change any one thing about the porn industry what would it be?

CB:  ….ummmm the politics, not a fan.

RO:  Anything in particular?

CB:  Some girls in the industry give us a bad name.

RO:  What goals or future ambitions are on the horizon for Charity Bangs?

CB:  I don’t know. I don’t really have any set measures of success. I just go out and enjoy, so far. I just do all I can.

RO:  Any special message for your fans? What’s the best method for fans to reach out to you?

CB:  I keep a hold of my Twitter really well. I’m on YouTube posting videos all the time. Just like what I’ve been up to, and what I’m doing. I check in on four square a lot, just …. I think it’s cool….people can see I actually do things that they do.

RO:  Thank you Charity for your time and honesty, may all your dreams come true.

So she’s a girl that prefers to have her actions speak louder than words. Nothing wrong with that; for more sweltering, mind blowing, volcanic scenes check out: Busty Babysitters 2, Cock Sucking Challenge 8 & 9, Every Last Drop 17, Fuck Teams 5, I Know That Girl 4, My First Gang Bang, Nooners, Race Relations 4, Teens Wear Short Shorts, Tug Jobs 19, Unplanned Orgies and Spontaneous Gangbangs 3.

I am not a fan of rape. I am not a defender of rape. I don’t think men are entitled to take what they want just because they can. I know that sexual assault is a prevalent crime that can be harrowing even if no actual violence is visited upon the victim. After all, the threat of violence (whether actively voiced or implied) can be a powerful thing if you don’t think you can outfight or outrun the person hell-bent on getting into your pants or elsewhere. And that still means a profound sense of violation and emotional scarring.

What I am also not a fan of, though, is being too quick to label something as sexual assault when the facts are fuzzy—particular if the memories, motivations and mind-set of the person claiming assault were fuzzy. You know, as in compromised by alcohol or other drugs.

On the one hand, a drunk person, particularly a woman in the presence of an aggressive man, is particularly vulnerable and easier to overpower, frighten, or to discredit afterward if a claim of rape is made. It’s heinous that there are plenty of men willing to use that to their advantage to force themselves on another person.

But on that other hand, memories are fuzzy when intoxicants are involved. If a woman wakes up the next morning and she’s feeling a bit sore but hasn’t been savaged, and the man never threatened her, is it logical for her to claim sexual assault? She might not even be fully aware of what she said or did the night before, and thus may have given consent or implied it without realizing it the next day. Drugs are shitty that way.

I know that many will say the first scenario (rape) is the more common and the second (a misunderstanding leading to a false rape charge) is way more rare. You’re probably right if you do say that. It doesn’t change the fact that it can, and almost certainly does happen often enough for some men to have their lives ruined while having done nothing wrong. I don’t want any victims, male or female.

Now, I don’t have an answer to this dilemma. People get drunk, or high, or both—and they fuck. This is not wise, but it happens. There are no rules or legislative guidelines that will make things more crystal clear the next morning when they were chemically clouded the night before.

One thing I will say is that women should probably not get wasted in a place where they are vulnerable (whether because of the people likely to be there, because they are out alone, or whatever). No, I don’t think a woman is “asking for it” if they get blitzed, any more than I think a woman who dresses sexily invites rape. But I couldn’t see myself (if I were a woman) going off with a man I didn’t trust and know if I was compromised in my reflexes, judgment, etc.—nor could I see myself getting hammered if I were in an unfamiliar place and not with some loyal friends around to watch my back.

This isn’t about blaming the victim, but rather about not putting yourself at a serious disadvantage. When my wife is out at a meeting, or with friends, or whatever, and I’m at home watching our little girl, I don’t drink. Even if she has a ride lined up with a designated driver or is planning to stay over somewhere, I stay sober because I know there’s always that slim chance she may need me to drive out to get her, and what if I’m fucking three sheets to the wind when that happens? It’s not a perfect analogy to the drinking-and-sexual-assault scenario, but it is in the neighborhood. Be wary, and be ready—shitheads can appear at any time. I don’t go down unfamiliar streets late at night unless I have no choice, particularly in cities or areas with which I’m unfamiliar—and even less so if that area or city has a bad reputation. And if I must be in such a place, I keep my eyes open and my wits sharp.

But now that I’ve made my plea to women to be careful out there and not make yourself an easy target, I have to switch over to the guys (though you’re welcome listen in, ladies).

My fellow men, listen closely: Don’t fuck women who are drunk out of their minds, stoned beyond any sense of reason, or anything like that, unless you know them and are pretty sure it will be OK in the morning.

Just don’t.

I’m not saying that drunk sex or sex while high on illegal drugs isn’t fun. It can be wonderful to have all your inhibitions thrown to the wind. But don’t do it with some woman you just met or barely know. For God’s sake, surely if you don’t have a girlfriend right now willing to get wasted with you and get jiggy, you will at some point in the foreseeable future. Don’t rush into it with someone with whom you have no history or sense of context. Because, really, if she’s hopped up on several drugs and inviting you to do all sorts of things with her, perhaps many of them rough, do you really want to take the risk? And I don’t just mean the risk she might think she was raped by you…or just turn out to be a fruitcake who thinks it would be cool to accuse you of rape. If she wants to have crazy stoned sex with you and you just met, you have to wonder if she’s got a dude nearby waiting to roll you, if you’re going to end up with several STDs, or something else.

Granted, there’s always the chance you might be high as a kite, too, in which case you might not make the best choices in such a scenario, but err on the side of just saying no to nookie while massively under the influence, if for no other reason than it will probably be way cooler if you can remember the next day what you actually did so you can relive it over and over in your mind.

Yeah, yeah, I sound like a prude. So the fuck what? Some of y’all want to party, and you want to get drunk, and if a woman whose judgment has left the building comes on to you, you look at me and say, “Why should I say no?”

I don’t know. Because it’s the right thing to do?

Look, I lost my virginity late in life, as I noted in another recent Eden Cafe article. Part of that is because I err on the side of gentlemanly behavior. I think you should, too. I’m a gentleman, and I’ve been able to have some fucking raucous sex. It’s just that I’ve had such sex with a woman whom I actually know, and I know what her limits are (mostly). Even if you’re a bad boy in most of your interactions, at least show some chivalry when a woman isn’t in her right mind.

When I think about it, I realize I could have lost my virginity long before the age of 27 if I had really wanted to—just by taking advantage of women when they weren’t totally in control of their judgment.

I’m so glad I never was tempted by that prospect, much less guilty of doing it.

I wouldn’t have had a ton more sexual notches on my belt, but I would have been able to get some action. But to me, it wouldn’t have been worth it.

First case in point: There was a woman during my senior year of college who was clearly interested in me. I could have gotten her naked with very little problem. There are two reasons I didn’t. First, she was not a balanced person. I don’t know if she had bipolar disorder or what, but most of the time, you could see the cloud of doom and gloom over her head. She was clearly the clingy and potentially obsessive type, too. Sure, I could have fucked her for a while and later dumped her, but I don’t want the stress of having attached to me a person with mental illness who clearly had no interest in medication or counseling—nor do I want to be a party in fucking up her mental health further by being an ass to her when I didn’t really have any interest in her personally. Another guy in our dorm hall got regular blowjobs from her before she started showing interest in me, but he didn’t give her any affection or really, for the most part, even give her the time of day. His theory: “Giving me head makes her feel better. I’m therapeutic to her.” For the record, her demeanor was clearly not in support of his theory, and he callously told her to take a hike a few weeks after being so therapeutic. So, yeah, I could have used her myself, but just because she’s willing to debase herself to get some illusion of love, and just because she was willing to make herself vulnerable wouldn’t make me cool for taking advantage.

Doing so with a drunk or high woman isn’t any better.

So, yeah, about that…I’ve also been to parties with women passed out drunk or so near to unconsciousness that I likely could have done just about anything and had them mumble “OK” and probably not even have been remembered the next day. But why? What am I going to get from a nearly comatose woman that I couldn’t get a lot quicker with my own hand and some spit or lube? Isn’t part of the joy of sex to get that interplay? To make the other woman hot and show how much a man you are that you can get her to say your name and, at the very least, fake an orgasm for you even if you can’t do the job properly? To me, fucking a woman who’s barely aware of the world around her is just a half-step from heading to the mortuary to find a piece of ass that’s about to be embalmed or just has been.

My point is that in a situation where drugs of any kind—legal or otherwise—are involved, someone has to be the responsible one. Dude, let it be you. What sex is possibly worth finding out the next day that the woman wouldn’t have fucked you if she were sober, even if it doesn’t end in a sexual assault charge or an STD or whatever?

I prefer to know that someone I’m about to have sex with actually wants to have sex with me, and knows she’s about to have sex. This isn’t an area where I want mystery or confusion. And if you want to have that kind of mystery or confusion, I wonder about how interested you are in even having good sex to begin with.

If she’s drunk enough to do anything you say, settle for getting her phone number from her and then call her up when she’s actually got her wits again.

You might not thank me for that, dude, but she might—and that’s fine with me.

There was an episode from The Steve Wilkos Show’s premiere season where the former Chicago cop and former Jerry Springer security guard confronted an out-of-control teenage girl. At one point, Steve asks her if she liked having the reputation as the neighborhood whore. Offended, the girl immediately snaps: “I’m not a whore! I’m a slut! There’s a difference!”

The above exchange has become a running gag between my younger sister and me. The girl’s comment was so ridiculous that we just had to giggle despite the situation’s severity. Yes, there is indeed a difference between whores and sluts. But, by my definition, you really don’t want to come across as a slut. At all.

Distinguishing between a whore and a slut can be tricky, similar to telling the difference between an alligator and a crocodile or an ape and a monkey. To the untrained eye, they’re the exact same thing, synonyms of each other. How could there ever be a difference, and a noticeable one at that, between a whore and a slut?

“Whore” and “slut” are terms almost always applied to women, particularly promiscuous ones. While they’re very similar behavior-wise, whores and sluts differ by their degree of promiscuity. Whores are often associated with prostitution. These women have many sexual partners, but they’re selling their bodies primarily for monetary gain, whether they actually want to be a prostitute or not.

Sluts, however, are willing to have sex with just about anything that moves. They’ll engage in dangerous sexual activities at a whim, all while only being concerned about pleasure. At least whores are both aware of the risks and are willing to protect themselves whenever they can. Even if a slut knows about the dangers of frequent unprotected sex, she’ll most likely not give a hoot about safety precautions pre-intercourse.

Doubtlessly, the word “whore” is thrown at women much more often than “slut.” Are you prostituting? You’re a whore. Were you caught cheating with your lover’s best friend? You’re a whore. Did you contract an STD, have an abortion, or appear on Maury Povich for a paternity test? Whore, whore, and big time whore. Although it is still considered derogatory against women, “whore” is tossed around so frequently that its ability to outright offend and insult has lessened over time. Nowadays, it is even as common to describe oneself as a “Starbucks whore” as it is to confess to being a “PMS bitch.”

“Slut,” conversely, is reserved for the whores that top all whores. Unlike “whore,” whose utterance now only annoys me, “slut” not only makes me cringe, but also causes my skin to crawl. Hell, just writing the word for this essay is making me cringe. So it shouldn’t be a surprise that if I see a porn title promising “[insert age or race here] slut(s)” or hear a man openly admitting to wanting to “find a slut to fuck” that I am automatically turned off. When a woman becomes a slut, she is no longer treated like a woman, let alone a human being. She becomes an object to abuse, and no one cares because nobody wants to associate with sluts.

There is also certainly more hope for a whore than a slut. Shelters and programs exist for aiding prostitutes/whores who want to escape their lifestyle. It’s generally understood that prostitutes are often trapped into the world’s oldest profession and need support. Sluts, on the other hand, don’t have such help from others, unless they willingly admit themselves to sexual rehab. Otherwise, the slut is abandoned by society, condemned for their activities.

With this in mind, would you act like the “Steve Wilkos” girl and proudly consider yourself a slut?

Thought so.

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Sherrella La Bella is a serious force to be reckoned with. When I first met her, I immediately liked her. She was vibrant, fun, honest and she oozed sexual energy. I knew she was a Scorpio even before she told me. We exchanged information, and I began to follow her on twitter. The first thing I notice was her open and honest approach to sex. She talked about everything from anal to oral to food that will enhance your sex life.

Sherrella owns who she is, and she does not apologize for being a sexual person. She stands in her sexual power like a lioness stalking her prey. So, when she told me she was getting her own sex talk radio show, I actually cried. Tears of joy! She deserves it. On The Leather with Sherrella is a fun, sensual, and sexy with a dash of rough no holds barred approach to all things sex and relationships. Please don’t take me my word for it. Tune in Mondays and Wednesdays from 8-10pm on www.elitedcradio.com. Follow Sherrella on twitter @Sherrella.

Interview Questions

1.  Introduce yourself to the Eden Cafe audience.

Hey Honies! I’m Sherrella La Bella SEX, LOVE AND RELATIONSHIP LOVER!

2.  How did On The Leather with Sherrella come about?

I thought of the concept three years ago. I have ALWAYS loved sex and talking about it since I was 13 years old, (I know, too young) but I said I wanted it to be a talk show about ENHANCING people’s sex, love and relationships. Unfortunately, all of the media that I wanted to help with the project weren’t as serious as I was. So about two months ago, I got a call from the owner of Elite Dc Radio asking me to be a part of his team, and I felt I could bring OTLWS to the station.

3.  Describe the exact moment when you knew that there was power in sex?

May 24th, 1998, when I had my first orgasm through sexual intercourse with my super ex-boyfriend. After I felt that, and knowing he made me feel that way, I knew this was something I could ALWAYS talk about and research to get the full understanding of this AMAZING act!

4.  Women today are way ahead and more advance than women of yesterday, but a woman embracing her sexuality is still frowned upon. What advice do you have for those women that want to break free?

I tell them to find another open-minded person like myself to be there to listen, and to understand why they feel the way they do. This is the major reason I have OTLWS, to help these women that have no sexual outlet to express the love and passion they feel for this act.

5.  What roadblocks, if any, have you come across on your journey to On the Leather with Sherrella?

So far there have been no road blocks, but I’m sure there will be a few, but I’m ready. I created this, and I will protect it as if it were my physical child. This is something I’m most passionate about and will make sure to execute my vision I have for it!

6.  Name three things every woman should do in order to spice up her sex life.

First, be open minded. Second, know your body. Third, execute all fantasies.

7.  From the premiere of the show up until now, how has your sex life changed?

Do I really have to say?? Lmsao! Let’s just say that before I started the show there were a few things that I had not tried, and now I can add them to my bucket list. I’m a very sexual person, and I am open to everything except for outlandish fetishes! My sex life is on one million RIGHT NOW!

8.  Where do you see On the Leather with Sherrella in five years?

TV PERIOD!!!!

9. When it’s all said and done, what do you want your legacy to be?

At the end of the day, I want people to be able to say that I have changed their lives sexually. Whether it be the relationship has gotten better, to the sex being AMAZING, my ULTIMATE goal is to ENHANCE LOVE, SEX, AND RELATIONSHIPS!

10.  Any final thoughts and words for the Eden Cafe audience?

No matter what you do in life, at the end of the day you MUST ALWAYS turn it with GREAT SEX, LOVE AND RELATIONSHIPS!!!!! (Kisses)

It’s that time of year again.  No, I’m not talking about turkeys or Pilgrims, gifts or sleigh bells or Santa Claus.  Those things get enough attention without me having to remind you.

World AIDS Day, however, does not.

It’s coming up again on December 1st and I’d really like to draw your attention to it.

I’ve been with EdenFantasys for close to 3 years now and every year I’ve been here we’ve done something spectacular for World AIDS Day. It’s a cause and a celebration that has become very dear to me.

In 2009 we raised $1000 dollars for Aids Service Center NYC with the help of our amazing Twitter Community.  In 2010, we created an awesome awareness video that still makes me choke up every time I see it.  Each year we have filled SexIs Magazine and EdenCafe to the brim with words and stories, articles and essays.  Your words. Our words.  The words of the community, pouring forth, filled with support and awareness, advocacy and understanding.

We have plans in the works for this year.  Of course we do!  And we’ll be announcing them shortly but I can give you a few hints; there will be video and pictures involved again and we’ll definitely be raising funds to help our friends at ASC NYC.  There will be banners you can use to show your support and articles from the pros over on SexIs.  But the reason I am writing is to ask for your help here, on EdenCafe.

Write something for us, guys.  

It doesn’t matter what you write, just write something.  Show your support, show that you care, help us raise awareness just by being aware yourself.  You don’t have to have written here before and you don’t have to be a regular reader or a reviewer or have a blog of your own.  Anyone can write for EdenCafe.

Regular submission rules apply so please check out the Writing for EdenCafe page and let’s get those posts pouring in.

We’ll be posting your submissions the entire week of November 28th through December 2nd so you have plenty of time — just don’t dawdle too much.  This is such an amazing thing to be a part of.

Let’s ALL be a part of it!

Yeah, I was once the real-life version of the guy from the movie “The 40-Year-Old Virgin.”

Well, minus about 16 years.

But “The 27-Year-Old Virgin” doesn’t roll right off the tongue as well. Besides, in modern times, having to endure virginity until one’s late 20s when one wasn’t seeking to be celibate is still pretty sucky. Or lack of sucky, as the case may be, since it’s not like I was limber enough to suck myself. But, getting back to the point, while I’ve now been sexually active for the nearly 14 years of my marriage, and the nearly two years leading up to my nuptials, I spent my prime years of quick refractory period, limber body, and ceaseless energy with no lover other than my right hand, and no other companion but my imagination, magazines, porn videos, erotica novels, and the like.

I hated it. Despised it. Loathed it.

But in hindsight, I’m kind of glad it worked out the way it did. As with so many things in life, when we have the benefit of hindsight, we can see all the positives, and by that time we’re no longer in the painful reality of the past. So who cares? Does it really matter that I once went without, now that I’m getting sex pretty regularly? No need to glumly dwell on the past. I’m having the orgasms now and giving them out, and they’re no less lovely for coming late in my life. Better yet, I know I came to my wife knowing with nearly 100% assurance that I was STD-free.

Yes, my first full-fledged lover is also my current wife. You can make fun about how old-fashioned that is, if you like. You can, if you so desire, roll your eyes and think, “He only married her because she was the first woman to put out for him and he was desperate, thinking no one else ever would.”

You’d be wrong. As for the first notion, while I was raised Catholic, I never had any aspirations to save myself for marriage. I fully intended to do some fucking before I got into the honeymoon suite. I figured if I ever got past the geeky/nerdy/shy walls separating me from soft womanly nekkidness, I would clock in some significant sex hours before saying “I do.” (Hell, one of the reasons I took cooking classes in junior high was because I planned to be a bachelor for a long time before settling down, and figured I didn’t want to eat like shit while I was still living alone and playing the field.)

As for the second assertion that I married for the sex—please. Sure I was a nerd. Yes, I was painfully shy and awkward when I tried to get a date. But I wasn’t a fucking fool. Not then; not now. I’m not going to yoke myself to a woman I don’t love just to get sex. My right hand can’t make me miserable, but a bad marriage sure could—along with stripping me of my money and my dignity along the way, if a divorce became necessary. I was desperate enough for sex by my late 20s I might have been willing to date a woman with seriously negative issues just to pop my cherry and get some bedroom experience, but I wouldn’t put a ring on that finger.

Besides, let me tell you something: I could have gotten more sex with someone other than my-love-who-popped-my-cherry. You can point to my previous years of non-boudoir activity to refute that claim, but I can tell you something: When I finally lost my virginity, I gained confidence. I walked with a little more swagger thereafter. Was I still a nerd/geek type? Sure. Was I still “the nice guy” to most women? Yup. But something changed, one of the big things being the knowledge that I could make it not just past first or second base, but get all the way to home (in my opinion, the only thing baseball is good for is sexual metaphors). I suspect a lot of people who lose their virginity early, or who ended up paying a professional for the honor (something I was close to doing) don’t have that same kind of empowerment. I’m not saying sex can’t empower you under such circumstances, but in my case, it was a true rite of passage, and a very huge step in my sexual maturation—in a way that it isn’t for most people, I suspect. It’s like the person who spends their whole life shlubby and housebound and then gets in shape and climbs a mountain. It changes you. It changed me. I knew I could replicate that success. It just happens that I ended up falling in love with the woman who claimed my virginity.

And this brings me to another thing about having my first sexual encounter well into adulthood. I think I was better prepared. Sure, I would have enjoyed getting my sex on earlier, and I would have certainly gained more field experience. But frankly, while my first time with full-fledged sex was a bit fumbling, it wasn’t a failure. I didn’t last very long, but I also didn’t come the moment I entered the holiest of holies. Also, I had some sense of where the parts were from many years of seeing pictures and videos of women having sex, and from reading erotic tales. I mean, let’s face it, you can say all you want that book learning doesn’t equal real-life experience, but book learning put me way ahead of any acne-ridden teenagers with more hormones than common sense in the bedroom, who’s only having sex because they feel they must, and are armed with misinformation from most of their peers. In fact, the first time I got intimate with my lady (on the second date), I didn’t go for sex. I licked her out until I made her come, and I didn’t ask for a damn thing in return. I showed I could give her pleasure, and I sat tight, knowing that if I had gotten that far with her, the next date was going to involve sex. It did, and I didn’t embarrass myself.

Unlike the first time I tried to have sex, (maybe a year before I met my future wife) when after several dates involving lots of lips action and touching, but nothing south of the equator, I finally got into the bed of the woman I was then dating, and then, filled with anxiety, failed to maintain my erection. So we ended up cuddling instead. And then her dog got revenge on me by pissing on my pile of clothing on the floor during the night, forcing me to go home the next morning wearing my girlfriend’s sweatshirt. All of which, along with the fact she had been on the rebound when I asked her out anyway, might have contributed to her going back to her former boyfriend before I got a second chance to make love.

But you know, that wasn’t a relationship that was great for confidence-building anyway. I met her through a personals ad, she was a really busy person and lived nearly an hour away from me, she had several animals (most of which weren’t entirely sane), and like I said, she was on the rebound from a guy she cared about. We got along really well, but it didn’t feel like I had broken through my wall of shyness, given that we met through an ad. None of which really made me feel confident, though we maintained a friendship after she went back to her ex. With the woman who would become my wife, on the other hand, I approached her with no expectation that she was even looking to date (so I was going in cold), and although I asked her out in an entirely geeky and awkward manner, I did have the balls to approach her without any signs she was the least bit interested. That was huge for me, and the fact she said “yes”, much less actually enjoyed my company on our first date, was a huge ego boost. Having the self-control to get her off on our second date and wait until the third to bed her, and not be rendered limp from anxiety, probably had a lot to do with all that lead-up. I was making my way, as a man, and choosing my path. I wasn’t wildly trying to lose my virginity, and I wasn’t with someone whose heart and feelings were divided.

And so, I didn’t simply lose my virginity at the age of 27. I completed my metamorphosis and became the complete man I desired to be. I found within myself the self that I had never been able to tap before. I got out of my own way and worked with the personality and skills I had, instead of hoping to score despite them. I made them tools instead of letting them be handicaps.

My wife would sometimes fret that my sex life was lacking for the absence of multiple partners before her (an issue that will soon be resolved now that we have an open marriage), but she had it wrong. I didn’t lack for anything. Because in the end, in my opinion, sex is about the quality more than the quantity.

Just as losing my virginity was more about the attitude than my age; more about the timbre than the timing.

Last March, I was sexually assaulted.

Last month, my boyfriend of four years dumped me.

You might think you know why those two events are related, but I’m willing to bet that your guess would be wrong. Most people do get it wrong.

You see, my boyfriend tried very hard to be understanding after my assault. He bought books, he joined websites specializing in partners of sexual assault survivors. He was ready and willing to make whatever sacrifices he had to make in order to make me feel comfortable. He stressed, over and over again, that he didn’t care how long it took me to get back to “normal” – he would be patient, and support me for however long it took.

I guess he wasn’t counting on me not going “by the book”, though. And that, dear readers, is what I want to talk about today – the fact that sexual assault survival is not one-size-fits-all. There is no “right” way to heal after an assault.

I read all of the books, too, you see. After it happened, my therapist recommended an entire list of self-help manuals to me, and I read them all, because I figured that’s what someone does after an event like this happens. So I read them all – but the thing is, I didn’t see myself in any of them. Not really, anyway. I understand that not everyone reacts the same way, and even that I might be a bit of an aberration in terms of how I’m dealing with the aftermath – but still, to be honest, I expected better from a person who had always claimed to love me, claimed that he would support me “no matter what.”

Immediately following my assault, I had pretty much all of the classic symptoms, all of the expected after effects of a traumatic assault. I was afraid to stay alone at night, something I had never experienced before; I became nearly obsessive about making sure that my doors were locked after dark. I stopped running, because I was convinced that someone would attack me from behind. I had nightmares.

And, of course, I didn’t even want to hear about sex.

He understood, though. He didn’t pressure me. And that was great.

As time went on, though, (especially after the trial and conviction of my rapist) I began to realize that I was not willing to live the rest of my life in fear. My life had become something that I had no control over, and I hated that – I had always been fiercely independent, and I missed that so much that I knew I had to do something. I had to try to take my life back, even if it took years to do.

I took self-defense classes, and regained some of my confidence. I forced myself to stay alone, and tried to reduce my obsession with locks. I began to run again – something that had always brought me peace and a profound sense of well-being – and realized that, finally, I was beginning to take back control of my own life. There was no reason for me to be so very afraid anymore – the man who had caused me so much damage was locked away, and I refused to go through the rest of my life being afraid of my own shadow. I began volunteering at a local rape crisis centre, helping survivors like me realize that rape does not have to mean your life is over, that you can move on without feeling that you’re doing something you shouldn’t.

Unfortunately…my boyfriend did not share in my joy about finding my way back to my life.

I really don’t want to paint him as the bad guy here, because deep down I know that he meant well. But honestly, it seemed as though once I had taken steps to take my life back, he didn’t know how to treat me anymore. He once said those very words to me: “I don’t know how to deal with you now.”

I asked him what he meant: “I’m the same as I ever was.”

“No,” he said, “you’re not. You’re not supposed to be like this, not yet. It hasn’t been that long since it happened.” (He couldn’t say the word “rape”, you see.)

The upshot? My boyfriend had been led to believe, from all of the books he read and all of the support group websites he joined, that he needed to be a “hero” for me. That I would need him to be strong for me (because apparently, I was never allowed to be strong for myself again.) And when he realized that I could be my own hero, that I could be strong for myself – he couldn’t figure out what to do. And because he couldn’t figure out what his role was supposed to be, he chose to end our relationship rather than ask me what I needed from him. If he had, I would have been able to tell him: “I need you to treat me the way you always have. That’s all. No more, no less.”

Obviously, I can only speak for myself, but to me, being treated as though I’m going to implode if someone breathes on me too hard is not going to help me. I don’t particularly enjoy feeling as though I’ve got a giant scarlet “R” branded on my forehead. Yes, I am a rape survivor; yes, it was a horrible experience. Yes, it’s changed me forever, and I’m never going to be the same person again.

But why does that have to be a negative thing?

I think that there’s this pervasive belief that rape survivors are forever damaged. Afraid to stay alone, eternally mistrustful of people they don’t know, always hesitant about sex. And for many survivors, I have no doubt that’s the case. God knows we’ve got the right to feel all of that. But I have worked so hard to overcome my fears. I have battled my demons, fought my insecurities. I refuse to live the rest of my life in fear, because – well, I look at it like this: My rapist had control over me for six days, but I refuse to let him have control over me for the rest of my life. I’m not saying that it’s easy – it most definitely is not – but for me, that is the way I choose to recover and heal. I refuse to sit in my house with the doors locked, afraid to live my life because one person saw fit to try and take my freedom from me.

It hurts me that the person I had loved for four years was not able to understand that. What hurts even more, I think, is that he didn’t even seem to hear me when I tried to tell him that I didn’t need him to be my hero. I only needed him to support me through my own way of healing. But it seemed as though he had a need to play the hero, and it was impossible to do when I refused to play the role of damsel in distress.

I wish I could have made him understand that no matter how many books he read, he was missing one crucial point: Rape survivors don’t come with instruction manuals. We’re not cookie cutter clones, and there is no “right” way to deal with this kind of trauma. We all choose our own ways of dealing with our experiences, and whatever those ways are, we deserve to be supported by those we love – unconditionally.

I’m doing okay now. It’s only been a month since the breakup, so who knows, maybe I’ll have some sort of major delayed reaction. But at this point in my life, I realize that I don’t have the time or the desire to sit around dwelling on losing someone who was determined to be a hero, when all I wanted was a boyfriend who would love and support me no matter what.

Hopefully I’ll find that again someday – but for now, I’m perfectly okay with being my own hero.

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