At the time, I was a 22-year-old with lofty dreams and a rather singular view of the world. I had the hopes of becoming a writer in New York and more importantly, finding the love of my life. While one of those things came true—in dividends—as years passed and blog posts collected, I grew weary and exhausted of writing about my dating life. I had lost interest in detailing every intimate moment from my personal experience for the web to read. Sure, dating was hard. Meeting someone who wanted to share his Netflix-and-chill evenings and his coffee-stained mornings with me seemed impossible. All the time I spent divulging and dissecting my lack of romance left me disenchanted by the whole process—and I found myself seeking greener pastures.
Sticky and sleepy, I waved the keycard in front of the suite and told myself to inhale as I entered the room. A giant tub and standing shower to my left, adorned with a white, plush robe, waiting for me to take off my New York and put on my Mexico. I smiled at the thought and took a few steps to the living and sleeping area that was definitely not a one-size-fits-all but more of a too-big-for-one type of deal. I saw the message from the staff – ‘Welcome Lindsay!’ – written in a rainbow of multicolored rice and I had to touch the corner to make sure it was real, as a way of pinching myself to reality. I kept going until I arrived at the door of the balcony and with a quick sweep of the white linen curtains, I gasped at the view: crystal clear blue waves, the sun shining brighter than I’d ever witnessed in mid-December and two seats outside, calling me to uncork the bottle of wine sitting nearby.
“You created this, Lindsay. You worked for this. You did it,” I heard silently in my head. And though it should come as no surprise to those who love me dearly, I teared up outside in the salty Mexican area, still wearing my winter boots and thermal socks. Of all the moments I used to dream of in North Carolina, imagining what my life in New York would be like, it never occurred to me how following my heart could lead me far beyond skyscrapers and city sidewalks, but how it could take me all over the world, chasing bylines wherever they led me.
“Wow honey. Six years. That’s hard to believe,” my mom said in her groggy morning voice. No matter how early I call on my walk to work each day, she picks up. I know she’s proud of me (after all, she doesn’t go a week without reminding me), but her sentiment about my moving-to-NYC anniversary was layered with both grief and kindness. As much as she will never admit it, I know a part of her wishes my dreams would have kept me in those rolling Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina and not led me to these hectic, boisterous streets of New York.
On a trip back home, I recently connected with my high school boyfriend. He was that guy that so many have—the sweet, loyal and fun first relationship that’s the equivalent of a training bra: comfortable and exciting, but not something that can last forever. I broke up with him—quite dramatically—within my first few days of college because I wanted to experience all that the single life could offer me. I had been tied down most of high school, so why not explore?
It was a rough breakup and we stayed out of contact for the better part of the last nearly nine years, but with one Facebook message, we agreed to meet for our first legal drink together. I don’t have a car anymore — thanks NYC transit!— so just like he did all of those years ago, he stopped by my house to pick me up. As he walked up the stairs, my heart started racing with all of those butterflies that I felt when we first kissed, when we first had sex, when he told me he loved me. Continue reading →
I lost my virginity the way that most girls dream about: to my dedicated, kind high school boyfriend who adored me, with candles lit and Boys II Men playing softly in the background. Totally not kidding. My first ‘special sex’ was pretty stereotypical (and so sweet), but it took me nearly a decade to really understand just how “special” sex can get.
There’s nothing like that first time you orgasm and finally understand what the hype is all about, or when you get up the nerve to have a sexy vacation tryst (and no, you’ll never see that person again, but whoa, what a night). Or frankly, when you feel like a lingerie model because you’ve worked so hard to get fit, and you’re crazy-confident on top.
Special sex is special for a reason. And thus, here are a few types of rendezvouses that every woman should experience at least once in her lifetime……
1. The “We Just Said ‘I Love You’ and I’m Trying My Best Not to Cry” Sex
OMG, we’re totaling changing our Facebook status in the morning, but first … get naked, babe.
I really hate being compared to Carrie Bradshaw, but I’m starting to come to terms with it. We might live in apartments the size of her closet and I might be looking in the windows of Jimmy Choo instead of shopping there – but she got one thing right: there is love in New York.
And for a while, we all believed it – at least the six years that Sex & the City was on – but somewhere between The Bachelor and everyone joining Tinder, we got lost.
I know I definitely did. I moved here with a few bags, full of my clothes, my hopes, my minimal savings and my one pair of fuck-me heels (from Target, thank you very much). I didn’t have an apartment or a job when I landed at JFK – but I knew everything would fall into place because I had faith. And a hell of lot of blind ambition.
Last year was truly amazing: lots of travel, career advancement, adventures, and a few shots at love that didn’t last, but were great experiences. However, in all of this celebrating and happiness, I let my health fall to the side – and indulged in whatever I wanted while skipping those runs I used to love.
So when 2015 came around, I made a pact with myself: I was going to clean up my diet and get that sexy confidence back that I lost in the 15 pounds I gained. First thing to take off my palette?