Vol. 2, Post #79 Sex Thaw

And the melt is goooooood. My weekly sex tips for girls* (*girls who are holding on to mid-life by a thread). A dating odyssey for Young Olds, (people with readers).

Last month (it feels weird to write that about August, but Helllllooo September!) when I was packing for Provincetown, I opened up the nightstand drawer and thought, “Hmmm, am I taking a vibrator on vacation?”

I mean, that’s two-plus weeks away from my various toy assortment, most of which has been dormant for the spring and summer. Usually, with vacation comes all the things that speak Sex to me. Late afternoon naps with the sun drowsily streaming in the windows. Beach hair. A smattering of freckles across my chest that passes for a savage tan for this Pale Skinned Jewess. My annual late summer Cape Cod jaunt has always been a slinky one, in that I’ve entertained partners and lovers in my beachside bedroom and well, it’s a long time to go without an orgasm, so when I’m solo, I always used to slip something in my bag (when I’m not solo, I also slip something in my bag if my partner likes to play. I am an equal opportunity playah in that capacity).

Back to the packing story. Nah, I thought, and closed the drawer. I’ve not been feeling very sexy. If I get the urge, there’s a great sex toy shop in town and for that matter, I need to refresh one of my Old Standbys. On that note, when I was looking online last night for a new Hitachi Magic Wand, I saw that the company is selling a bundled set of FIVE HMWands, all the sizes, for $519. Hilarious, I thought, because who needs five HMWs? Is that like a matching set of luggage?

Also, that being said, the smallest one is meant to be the same size as a set of keys. This I might need to see/feel/moan for myself.

I digress.

Once in Ptown, while unpacking in my room and stashing phone chargers and body oil and various Young Old prescription pill bottles in that nightstand, I noted that this was indeed looking to be a buzz-free stay. It has been a slow few seasons, sexually and romantically. For that matter, it has been a slower-than-usual few weeks here at Shove. Aside from a few readers writing in and a few mini-dramas in my friend group regarding love and sexcapades, I had been sort of surprised to acknowledge that, as Green Day once sang, “masturbation has lost its fun.”

Which is so crazy, because I’ve always defaulted to that line in Annie Hall (Oh Woody, how you broke my heart…)

Are you the kind of masturbator whose mind works around sheer fantasies or do you work in people from your sex life current or past (or future — stay with me on this)? I’m all those things. I have a reoccurring masturbation fantasy (no I’m not going to tell you. Even I, Zero Filter Lady, like to keep some things private) that always satisfies and it’s actually a “doable” fantasy so at some point, I have to invite in the right people and get going. There are of course the memories of some of the greatest sex I’ve ever had with an ex. And then, there are the times when you just know you want to come and WHO KNOWS how you get to that place, or who sneaks in along the way? Wasn’t that a Curb joke? That Jeff or Larry admitted to the other guy that one of their wives snuck in just ahead of climax and that you can’t help it when that happens? I agree. The mind— the largest sex organ in our bodies — has a sick sense of humor.

Generally speaking, for the majority of 2025, there was no one who made the cut. As a result (or not, who knows), I was opening that bedside drawer far less and just snuggling with the dog. I wasn’t worried. I just wasn’t inspired.

And then…

Well, hold on, lemme tease this out a bit more.

“Narcissist” by @joyceartworks (Joyce Lee — I love [and own] her work).

First, as mentioned in earlier posts this summer, I started to date again. Much of it was just Meh, but there were a few contenders who started to get the juices flowing. One was Mr. Breaking All The Rules (he took himself out of the mix, as my Dear Readers know. Bad BAD divorce and he was feeling it, as were his kids. That was the right call). The other is the man I called My Crush. Not sure what’s happening with him but right now, it’s quiet between us and my mind has started to wander elsewhere. And one of the places it’s wandered is right into the kitchen of, uh oh (don’t murder me), another chef.

You know this about me, right? I love chefs. I love everything about chefs and I love restaurant life. I love the horrible, terrible, hair-on-fire stories from the kitchen. I love the incredible soaring highs you get from feeding people with love — even better if they are people who you yourself love. I love chefs who operate in the upper echelons of haute cuisine and I especially love chefs or cooks who prepare peasant food, or the food of their people, as long as it’s served up with passion. Save for the incredibly bad habits/addictions of many chefs (Tony. Tony. Tony…), I don’t even mind chefs’ hours as long as my chef is present with me when he’s not working. Listen, some people have a thing for stockbrokers in button-down shirts, with expense accounts and Black Cards. Me? I love chefs. Just as I adore artists, musicians, writers. These are the people who have figured heavily in my dating life and I have no regrets.

With every one of my former loves who cooked, played, painted, photographed, sculpted, wrote, sang, my interest in them started out the same way, every time: I liked watching their hands. I liked seeing what, how, and why they touch things. It didn’t surprise me that I found myself watching IG posts and reels of NACA (not another chef, Abbe!) and focusing on his hands. And soon enough, I was thinking about what his hands might feel like on my body.

So, you get it, right? Seemed like a thaw was happening and I was not just welcoming it in my body, but I felt my mind click over into something richly familiar, soft, warm, wet, and wild.

Another @renegarza_ (likewise, atop this post).

Ah, this. THIS is what desire feels like as it re-awakens. Maybe these months “off” — these months when it seemed like nothing was happening beyond cozy sweaters and squishy socks and burrowing under the sheets with a book and the dog were the cocooning I needed? Seems like now, suddenly and unexpectedly, cocoons have split open and ardor is oozing out. And because I was curious (cocoons and all), I Googled “What do butterflies do in September?” This is what I learned: Monarch butterflies migrate south, stopping to feed on the nectar of late-blooming wildflowers. They’re less concerned with laying eggs — more focused on the journey and getting somewhere warm for winter.

Dear Readers, it might be butterfly season.