Moody Magazine: The Rebirth of Transparency

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A D OD D? D O O O O O M M M E E E H H H T T T N U IN U IN YO E O O Y E Y ? AR A ?

R D D A O WELCOME TO THE FIRST ISSUE OF MOODY MAG

We started this magazine out of frustration with the lack of transparency surrounding topics of sex positivity and the realities of self love. We want this magazine to serve as a safe space for all things uncomfortable. No matter who you are, what you are, what you want to be - this is for you. At a young age, we were told to keep these thoughts in our head. Don’t talk about sex, don’t be so vulgar, you’re too much.

Fuck that. Let us be transparent and unapologetic and love all parts of who we are. It’s taken us both a lot of time to get to this point of self-acceptance, and trust us when we say it hasn’t been easy. Loving the good, the bad, and the horny.

This magazine is going to be an emotional rollercoaster ride from start to finish, but we hope you love it as much as we do. We touch on very deep and personal subjects that can be triggering for some readers. We’re here to tell you that you’re not alone. At the end of the day, and at the end of the mag, we hope to leave you with the confidence to be proud of what you’ve gone through and how far you’ve come.

Thank you so much to our amazing Moody team for allowing our vision to come to life. All of your constant support and late nights have made this magazine what it is. To all of our selfless writers, thank you for sharing your stories. We couldn’t have done any of this alone; together we have created a community that is oh-so-moody.

So we ask, are you in the mood?

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SELF LOVE POWER OF BDSM

UNLOVABLE SLUT

FUN SHIT BARBIE WORLD

SEX ON DRUGS

A Love Letter to Myself Before you roll your eyes knowing you're about to read a self love advice piece, take a minute to hear me out. In high school, I fell into a dark place, riddled with insecurity. My mom writes books about self love, making my lack of confidence especially ironic. I hated everything about myself, from my obnoxious personality to my non-existent blonde eyebrows.

Hating yourself is beyond normalized, and as teenagers we are surrounded by self-loathing. A self-deprecatory comment here and a FaceTune there, no natural state is ever satisfactory. We are literally groomed and encouraged to hate ourselves. But one day, my mom could not bear to watch me live with such low self esteem any longer. She came into my room with a piece of paper and pen and told me to write a love letter to my future self. “Write as if you're writing to someone you are madly in love with”.

So I did just that. I wrote down everything even if I didn’t truly believe in it at the time but fake it till you make it, right? I wrote three pages of future goals in present tense, which acted as a form of manifestation to rewire my brain.

“I am so grateful to have friends in college that understand me.”

“I radiate confidence that attracts the right people in my life.”

“I am successful, beautiful, creative and strong.”

I was hesitant to embrace this process that initially seems corny and cliche. But spoiler alert -- Clichés are fucking cliché for a reason. And now here I am, the creator of an entire self-love magazine. As time went on, I began observing the large effects of these little habits. I decided to throw myself into this new lifestyle. I made time to write in journals, learn Chakra meditations, repeat affirmations, and manifest the life I was beginning to realize I deserved.

BY SIMPLY MAKING TIME FOR THE THINGS THAT FEED YOUR SOUL, YOU ARE SUBCONSCIOUSLY TAKING CARE OF YOURSELF.

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The truth is, self-love is so commonly preached yet, so rare in practice. We often overlook the power and importance of creating a loving relationship with yourself. After all, you’re the only person you are stuck with forever. So why does that have to be an anxiety-inducing concept? It is taught that happiness is external, and that love is something to be found in other people. That's why I am advocating for an internal shift; a movement of putting yourself first! The pursuit of happiness that comes from loving yourself lasts longer. It isn't fleeting. It doesn't have an expiration date. It’s timeline is forever.

It can be daunting to start this journey but know that it can be as simple as a mindset switch. You have the power to replace toxic internal dialogue with productive thoughts, all you have to do is try. Your change of thoughts can look a little something like this: Initial thought: ‘I am so bloated, my pants feel so tight and unflattering!’

Replacing thought: ‘Hey, I just ate a delicious meal that brought me joy and nourished my healthy body.’

This is how you rewire your mind, and with time and consistency, the initial thoughts will get quieter and quieter. Also, don’t underestimate the power of vocal or written affirmations. Get in front of the mirror and hype yourself up. Sit down with your notebook and write statements beginning with “I am”.

I AM STRONG. I AM SEXY. I AM BEAUTIFUL. I AM SMART. Read these affirmations out loud; repeat them every morning and every night. It will feel weird, cheesy, and uncomfortable at first, but don’t we know by now that discomfort is where growth takes place?

It’s about radical self acceptance; trashing the idea that self-satisfaction is a distant destination, or something you will reach after changing X, Y, and Z. You don’t need to change. You don’t need to morph. You don’t need to shape shift. Everything you need is already within you.

AFTER ALL, CONFIDENCE IS THE SEXIEST THING.

Big Boys Don’t Cry Men's mental health is an oxymoron, a crisis in itself, and a direct result of patriarchy. Patriarchy has myriad victims, and whether you believe it or not, men’s mental health is one. But what the fuck does that mean? How did we reach a point where men feel it’s unacceptable for them to show vulnerability?

Social conditioning begins at conception. The first moment humans convey emotion, it’s seen as weakness.

Babies usually enter the world crying, an all encompassing symbol of need for another’s care; the first indication of feeling. A baby cries, and you think nothing of it. If a baby doesn’t cry, they are remarkably “strong,” and “good.” Beyond tears, there is no outside factor determining an infant’s emotional fortitude. The first label they receive is determined by whether or not they have an emotional response to stimuli. How do we make such presumptive judgments? There’s a clear tie between one’s emotional responses and perceived strength, a pillar of ideological masculinity. Humans subconsciously relate crying to weakness.

Throughout adolescence, children learn to use language in place of tears. But, the words that boys and girls are taught differ. Both are fucked. I can solely attest to my male experience.

GROWING UP, I WAS REPEATEDLY TOLD, “BE A MAN. BIG BOYS DON'T CRY.” Conditioned to the dismissal of my feelings, I learned to bottle up emotions to avoid rejection from my fellow men.

In elementary school, we studied neanderthals.

Mankind was out here battling to survive. Emotions appeared unproductive juxtaposed with risk of death via starvation, weather, predators, or war. Men were hunters, protectors, providers, fighting threats and fear with violence. We learned that men are the ones who fearlessly rescue others from anguish.

Masculinity ideology associates toughness (typically demonstrated through aggression), independence, and strength, with being male. These narratives provide little leeway. When men bond over emotional matters, it is labeled gay or unmanly. As a result, men tend to maintain superficial relationships. Men who openly crave emotional connection are deemed “weak” solely due to reliance on another person.

MEN LIVE IN LIMBO, REQUIRED TO CONFORM OR BE REBUFFED

BY OTHER MEN. The “masculinity” trope invalidates male suffering and stifles hope for future expression and constructive conversation.

Emotional development is a privilege of the comfortable. Trapped between our masculinity and the confines of ideological masculinity, scared of the social ramifications of straying from the norm, we men often adopt stoicism.

“I’m fine.” The fear of judgment instilled during our youth causes us to reject emotional and communication skills we were taught. It’s fine until it isn't. As life progresses and complicates, our lack of emotional containment and understanding is destined to come to a head. Even then, with no tools to deal with or compartmentalize emotions productively, most men will not reach out for help.

There is an idea that self care is self love. Self care ≠ mental well being. While lack of self care is a warning sign, good self care does not automatically mean someone is okay. So, check on your guys always in the gym, or the guys making you laugh the hardest. The people that you least expect to be struggling, are. I promise.

INTERNALIZATION, FRUSTRATION, AND CONFUSION ARE A MENTAL ILLNESS COCKTAIL. Mental illness doesn’t discriminate. Everyone has a brain, and like every other organ, it can be sick. The conversation shouldn’t turn into a competition of “who has it harder?” It’s counterintuitive to compare who suffers the most from mental illness. Society can't even agree on a definition of mental illness to begin with. Change occurs when groups band together.

Like any system of oppression, patriarchy is unsustainable and it must be reformed. Unquestioned norms are not unquestionable. We can break past patterns through altering our everyday mindsets. If we can collectively prioritize loving ourselves, in addition to loving others, we can redefine what mental illness entails and what it means to be a man.

NICK HELD

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Models: Jaden Haddad & Camryn Johnson Photographer: Mia Hernandez

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(Cum)munication

Why Talking in the Bedroom Leads to Better Sex Caroline Adler

In a picture-perfect world, two passionate lovers head back for a night– consent is asked and given, clothes are torn off, lips clash together, and every want and desire is uttered and ensured.

However, more often than not, the scenario above is that of a dream. Much more likely, once clothes come off, sexual intercourse kind of just happens. At the very least there’s some kink-talk, but consent and general communication are widely neglected. During sex, there’s a long-term absence of expressing “yes, I like that”, “move to the left”, or “go slower”; let alone either partner inquiring if the other is genuinely enjoying the pleasure they’re receiving.

When interviewing Morgan Forer, licensed clinical social worker and sex therapist, she stressed the importance of communication and continual consent during sex in order for it to be enjoyed to the fullest extent.

While initial consent when engaging in sexual activity is vital, there’s more to the story– which is where enthusiastic consent comes into play. Enthusiastic consent refers to a continual dialogue of consent during sex, in which one “checks in” with a partner, asks if they’re OK, and whether or not they want to continue. By engaging in a continual and consensual dialogue, open communication occurs, intimacy is built, and hopefully - more enjoyable, pleasurable sex is had.

One would think, given that it is 2022, America would have progressed out its Protestant ideals on sex. Unfortunately, its chokehold remains suffocatingly tight, which has proven damaging to the creation of Americans identities when it comes to intimacy.

By not engaging the youth of America in an open narrative regarding sex and biology, there is an evident lack in what should be - common - knowledge. Communication about sex. Communication during sex. Communication after sex. As a result, by seemingly wanting to protect youngsters from sex, there’s a conversational

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piece that’s missing, exacerbating romantic pressures, toxic gender roles, and gender violence.

Amongst college-age individuals, sexual activity is at an all-time high, but most do not know how to ask for their needs to be met in the bedroom. And yet, as Forer illustrates, many expect mind-blowing sex from one-night stands or a partner they’ve hooked up with only a few times, but the truth is that many haven’t communicated at all. Let alone discussed what their sexual likes and dislikes are. Everyone has expectations, but there’s a line that needs to be drawn.

1. If you haven’t explored your own body and made yourself orgasm, how can you expect someone else to do so?

2. If you know what turns you on, then communicating that to your partner so they can pleasure you correctly should be a no-brainer.

For fear of being seen as unsexy, many refuse to communicate, but Enthusiastic consent can be sexy Forer suggests making a game out of it. It doesn’t have to be this awkward conversation, but rather something playful and fun: the more one communicates, the easier it gets and the better the sex will get. The phrase “practice makes perfect” holds merit with regard to sexual intercourse. Next time you head over to a hookup, take the initiative and communicate with your partner. Those who have a vagina - if your partner is performing oral on you but not stimulating your clitoris, tell them what they need to do to pleasure you correctly. Or better yet, show them. While it’s normal to have the overwhelming feeling that you can’t or shouldn’t speak up during sex, if you’re not enjoying yourself then what’s the point?

Everybody deserves to orgasm. But that won’t happen if this silence-on-sex persists. Society has told us that we should accept mediocre sex. But we say differently. Good sex begins with talking about it, so let’s.

Sex After Trauma

Peyton Westwood

You never realize the impact that emotional abuse has on your outlook of sex until you have escaped it. Sex was the one thing that made me feel like I could control his anger.

Giving him what he wanted would keep him from yelling, from starting fights, from making me cry. We could be happy if I kept giving him the only thing I thought I was worth. Sex. It’s the only thing he really expected from me whenever we were together. Whether it was a dinner date, carnival, school event, visiting him at work, he always expected sex. If I ever said no or looked like I wasn’t enjoying it…he would fight with me, yell at me, or tell me I didn’t appreciate him enough. It felt like a job, and every time we were together, I knew it was all he was thinking about.

It was years of this. Years of him cheating, lying, then roping me back in with I love you. I need you. I promise you I’ve changed. The cycle continued over and over again until I eventually learned to hate sex. Every time I went back, I became more miserable with myself.

I was angry every day and any time he needed a release that was where I came in.

One night I remember we were sitting in his car, and after hours of him apologizing for cheating on me, yet again, he asked if I wanted to get in the back. I looked out the window and said “sure” while a wave of numbness came over me knowing if I said no, I’d have to go through another fight.

I got in the back of his car in fear he would get upset if I didn’t. I looked up at him and felt nothing. I knew I was doing this for the wrong reasons but I tried to convince myself that I loved him in that moment. Tears streamed down my face. I didn’t know why I was crying. I didn’t want to cry. It was just happening. His head was next to mine, so he couldn’t see how I really felt. I looked up at the ceiling and wondered if this was what love really meant. Forgive-

ness time and time again, but feeling worse each time? It didn’t make sense to me.

I used sex as a way to escape the emotional abuse I was experiencing from a very young age. It was only after having sex that he would make me feel loved.

He was my first. He was the only thing I knew. Those years were my only experience with sex, and it shaped my outlook on it when I came to college.

Although sex itself became a trigger for me and a way to escape the emotional abuse I was enduring, I eventually learned how to heal. Communication and respect are everything in a relationship and without it, it becomes messy and will always hurt someone in the end. Every time a guy approached me in school, I never thought they wanted anything more than sex.

This is something that I still am trying to unlearn.

What has helped me is learning how to love myself.

Learning how to communicate with others, realize my worth, and surround myself with people who I know love me.

Never convince yourself to feel a certain way. Never force a relationship. Walk away from relationships you know are not good for you. But be patient with yourself. Don’t beat yourself up over the toxic relationship you were in, or are currently in. Love is hard. But the first step is learning to love ourselves because we accept the love we think we deserve. We are more than our bodies.

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By Caroline Nol

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What’s your body count? I am begging you to shut the fuck up. We are all begging you to shut the fuck up. Sometimes, you mean well. Usually, you don’t.

Either way, the body count question is out. Here’s why:

It’s a lose-lose situation. We have heard this question time and time again. The worst part? Our answer is never quite right.

We are unable to comply with the impossible standard to which we are held. You want us pure and untouched but decide that we’re boring in bed, prude. You want us to be fun and experienced, easy, ran through, for the streets. When you ask the body us call but to contemplate what our sexual history might mean forced are count question, we and is it worth it to you to add yourself to that count body to you. How high is my number?

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It’s dehumanizing. Sex is the closest that we can be physically with another human being, yet we deny one another the basic respect to be referred to as anything other than a “body”.

Believe it or not, the people you sleep with have actual personalities and characteristics that exist outside of how fuckable you might think they are.

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Sex is not quantitative. Maybe a sexual experience was so unpleasant, so subpar, that you don’t want to deem it worthy of inclusion in your sexual history. And maybe, a sexual experience was so perfect, so special, that you don’t want to reduce it down to a number on a roster. Either way, how are we to decide what even qualifies as sex? Sex means something different to everyone and therefore can not be counted.

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It’s pointless. Obviously, having more partners can increase the risk of getting an ST D. However, it is by no means the most important factor in ensuring sexual health in a partner. Someone could have had safe, protected sex with multiple partners. On the other hand, someone could have had only one partner but had unprotected sex.

The thing is, you really never know – and asking somebody how many sexual partners they’ve had probably won’t tell you. Next time, try “how have you practiced safe sex in the past?” or “would you consider yourself sexually experienced” or literally anything other than their body count.

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Next time somebody asks, remember that you do not owe them an answer.

Nobody is entitled to know. We spend so much time worrying about a number that literally can’t be verified by anyone on this earth but us. Honestly, if you’re so worried about someone else’s body countthen you should add a body to your own list and go fuck yourself.

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WIFEY TO WHORE s.d.

In middle school, I fell in love with a boy named Sam. He would hold my hand and comment on how small and dainty my fingers were. He thought I was beautiful. A boy had never thought I was beautiful. I was twelve and had a forehead of acne. I was enamored as he studied my face and said that I was so delicate looking that he thought if he touched me I would break.

After a year of pining over Sam, I overheard him ask another girl if she had ever given a blowjob. We had never even talked about sex before. Cast aside, I watched them trade whispers in agony. This wasn’t the Sam I knew, who made sweet gestures and never made any lewd comments. However, a voice in my head told me he would come back to me. In my mind, there was a clear difference between me and that girl. He actually cared about me.

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Sam’s attention drifted back to me after a few days and life felt normal again. I believed I would do anything to keep his attention. In a moment of complete lust and anger, Sam assaulted me, destroying my sense of self. I felt betrayed; how could he ruin the thing he loved most about me–my innocence? He turned the girl who didn’t even know what a penis looked like into a hateful bitch in one night.

As I got older, sex became my love language, and after multiple long term boyfriends it became the only way I knew how to connect with a male. I feared if I, their girlfriend, couldn’t balance innocent, quiet, “wifey material” while also doing anything sexual to please them, they would leave me for someone who could.

After a slew of failed relationships, I gave into hook-up culture. I wasn’t ready to be anybody’s girlfriend, let alone a good one. I assumed casual sex would be a good way for me to express myself and take back control over my body.

But, what started as a way for me to gain sexual fulfillment became a competition between myself and ghosts of girls I had never met before. Boys would rant to me about their romantic problems and missing the girl that they were “in love” with after fucking me. One guy even had a picture of her on his wall that I didn’t notice until I left. Although I didn’t care about the boys I fucked, I felt like I was trying to fuck the image of these girls out of their brains. Maybe if I was good enough in bed they wouldn’t want her anymore.

But that’s not how it works.

Labels like “wifey” and “whore” consumed my identity. There’s this pressure to balance both perfectly “lady in the streets, freak in the sheets.” Part of having good sex is being yourself.

Expressing sexuality is sexy because it’s genuine. Please your partner because you want to; dominant, submissive, neither, whatever. Your partner doesn’t want some alter-ego you’re trying to channel

they want to fuck YOU!

HOW OVERSEXUALIZED BLACK GIRLS BECOME INSECURE BLACK WOMEN isabel bekele

In 2017, Georgetown University released a study claiming that Black girls, specifically ages 5 to 14, are seen as more sexually mature and know more about adult topics than their white counterparts. The researchers called this phenomenon, ‘’adultification’’the experience that leads to female Black children being seen as less innocent, and therefore bypassing the privileges of adolescence all together.

Over the course of the mid to late 2000’s, there’s been what has felt like a tsunami of self-acceptance messaging. From girlboss feminism, to body positivity, to self-care and the rise of sex-positivity, it feels as if every five years, there are new mantras to live by. Don’t marry a rich man, be the rich man. Love your body radically- wait no, now we view it as neutral. Be sex-positive, but only in the dark.

What the enormous pink wave of marketing towards women often misses, besides a glaring lack of self-awareness, is the inclusion of Black women, for whom radical self-acceptance is more complicated to adopt than just doing a face mask and listening to an empowering podcast. For young Black girls, the story is different. From a young age, we were instructed by our parents to live by the rules that would keep us safe: focus on school, keep your head down, never act disrespectful. Dress right always, keep your hair neat, be twice as good to get half as far. In a world that viewed us, even at our young age, as inherently promiscuous or developed, these were the rules we would follow to prove them wrong.

As we grew up, we consumed media where Black women were either used to reinforce this stereotype, act as sexual caricatures, or to be the punchline of every joke.

This media deeply informs Black women’s perception of themselves- or at least it did for me.

In a world that views you as something to consume, coming into yourself and owning your sexuality can feel like a betrayal. After years of being conditioned to dull yourself down to stay safe, shedding that to fully lean into your femininity is terrifying- but it’s also the most radical act of self love you can take.

For years, I felt like desire was this illusive, abstract thing that didn’t apply to girls like me. Our bodies as Black women are politicized, yes, but they are also capable of being loved, of being sensual, of being respected, and so much more. After years of feeling like I didn’t fit the beauty standard, only to later on feel fetishized, my journey to self-love has been a bumpy one that’s been built brick by brick. Though painstaking, I don’t think I’ve ever felt more free than when I realized that my body was my own to define, and no one else’s.

Owning up to your own sensuality and desire isn’t just freeing- it’s a necessary act of vulnerability that I hope every girl who looks like me understands they have the power to enjoy.

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MODEL: FJOLLA ARIFI PHOTOGRAPHER: JACE WILLIAMS

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How I am Healing Myself from SA with the Magic of BDSM Bondage, discipline, domination, submission, sadism, masochism It sounds daunting, but whatever makes you cum, right? As a sex worker, if I get a client enquiring me to be his sub, or to let him dominate me, I completely freak out and block their number. However, ever since my partner and I started implementing BDSM in our lovemaking, I experience a level of connection and trust I’ve never felt in any relationship before. This feeling of connectedness extends into our everyday life, making me a stronger and happier person. Engaging in BDSM with a client is off the table for me as BDSM is a special bond between me and my partner.

RAPE, SA

I have tried everything except anal. I need one part of my body to stay sacred because this body and I have BEEN. PLACES. Keeping anal off limits is my way of protecting my brain and staying in control of my body, by keeping sex “precious” and “pure”. (Even though “pure” and “precious” are just fluffy bullshit stigmas that are supposed to define women.) To put things in perspective I have been sexually assaulted… like, a lot.

The sexual assault began with my stepfather at age 9, continuing throughout highschool. Soon after, I became a sex worker which provided me with a sort of financial comfort and emotional compensation for my previously negative sexual experiences. I was healing.

12 months ago, I was raped again by a client. After this, I stopped sex work for a while and let the rape cook my brain. The trauma overtook my personality, crushing my self worth and making it nearly impossible to trust. I was convinced I was broken until I met my current partner and we began to safely and intimately explore BDSM together.

My partner has been nothing but gentle, loving, understanding, considerate, and kind since day one. I think that’s how I managed to let him in. In our everyday life, I wear the pants in the relationship and I call the shots. This man worships me and provides me with all the support I could wish for. I trust him a lot.

In the bedroom, our power dynamic changes because he has total control. Despite me being a no-anal-before-marriage hooker, we definitely have amazing sex because of BDSM. I think shifting our power dynamic helps us balance both of our roles within the relationship, work better as a team, and generally communicate better.

My partner exercises his total control by tying me up, whipping me, and controlling when I can and can’t cum. It’s a fun game, and feels euphoric, like I’m somewhere and somebody else. Most of all, it feels healing. BDSM provides a release that orgasms achieved through other sexual mediums don’t. During BDSM, I am turned on by the feeling of giving up complete and utter control of my entire self - body, heart, and soul. It is gentle, yet painful in all the right ways, naughty and nice. Afterwards, I experience the most incredible aftercare: cuddles, kisses, massages, and whatever I need brought to me.

There is a website called mojoupgrade.com where you and your partner can fill out seperate sexual questionnaires. The questions relate to what you’d be willing or not willing to do during sex. When you both fill out the forms, you can send the link to each other. It’s one of the less awkward ways of confessing your kinks and getting an understanding of what your partner really wants in the bedroom. It helped me understand that in my work life I am a domme and in my romantic life I am definitely the submissive.

At the end of it all, making love is making love. Intimacy is what you make it. Be creative and above all

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let sex heal you.

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Models: Jennie Bull, Roz Beile & Jay Vega | Photographer: Jay Vega

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Models: Colette Goldstein & Liam Flanagan Photographer: Mia Hernandez

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Sex on drugs Nate leboeuf

Air around us hums with life Moon eavesdrops through the window.

In our hidden universe two graphic t-shirts thrown on the floor light strips on his wall embrace us little bulb-like eyes its gaze locked in on him and i My insecurity dissolves the asymmetry of my smile the valleys under my eyes arms and skin the tone of oat milk fading into nothing as the powder meets our gums. feeling his stream-of-consciousness as he leans in.

It has begun.

We climb into each other’s eyes, mouths, hands, Panting and leaping through the air the anticipation of it all re-enters me in the form of a tongue striking the jackpot; we celebrate, Coins raining down Now our joint stream-of-consciousness, jagged, rigid, turns that neither of us can control like a ouija board, where all the fingers on the planchette participate speeding up it’s flow until it Bursts we’re drowning in stream drowning in intimacy And years of a vacant self-esteem of always tensing the skin around my ribs of never letting my shoulders drop becomes Extinct for a few hours

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love sex dreams

There’s this point of irreversibility when you take acid; a point when reality starts to dwindle away and you enter a new plane of being. I usually notice this point when everything starts to feel soft—my knotted hair will begin to feel like suede and the grass around me like a brand-new fur carpet. I remember noticing this while laying in my backyard and looking at my then-partner, whose face grew more and more magnificently distorted by the minute. We became giddy, experiencing an exponential fascination in each other and our surroundings.

Our fascination led us to my house. I remember walking in and going upstairs with this light feeling in my stomach, like “nervous butterflies” engulfed in excitement and happiness. My partner and i entered my bedroom and soaked into the mattress, beginning this unspoken flow of touching each other. His skin felt like a silk pillowcase and his kiss felt like a soothing sensation of suction. As i began undressing, the cloth of my shirt tickled my skin, sending a warm tingle throughout my body.

When you get naked on acid, your concept of body image withers away. You don’t confine your body into the typical societal categories you’ve grown up hearing; there's no “skinny,” no “fat.” on acid, my years of anorexia-based hatred over the shape of my body suddenly became a deeply-felt gratitude and love for every curve, scar and hair. I remember running my fingers across my shoulders, waist and legs, and loving myself with every touch. I also felt an overwhelming attraction and appreciation towards the life of my partner, and it wasn’t long before we began making love.

The feeling of intercourse was beautiful. It was a stagnant point of pleasure; a continuous climax.

The penetration had this primal essence, highlighting an experience that every single generation of humans have shared. I felt this genuine connection to our human nature, as well as an unwavering connection to the body and life of my partner. A rainbow aura danced around his face as i moved back and forth, feeling an instinctive flow of movement.

There was no “finishing” in the sex, just a gradual conclusion that ended in us staring at the glory of each other’s nudity. We didn’t speak once throughout the entire experience. No words were needed. The haze of love and warmth was a palpable substitute for any use of language, for it was an experience that words could not begin to cover. In these moments, the beauty and oneness of life was most clear, yet most indescribable.

There comes a time in your trip when the surrealness begins to fade; when your mind slowly creeps back into a restricted, more logical pattern of thinking. While this saturated lust for life may disappear before our eyes, the memory lives on in our soul. This experience forever coated my understanding of the body i had, the love i could muster, and the interconnectedness of all things on earth. The more i grow, the more i realize i never needed lsd to achieve this understanding, for it was deep inside me all along.

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Adderall.

The limitless pill that makes you studious and skinny. I write this as if a month ago I wasn’t shivering on my dorm floor weak from lack of food and paralyzed by anxiety. There’s a direct link between study drugs and decreased appetite. Study drugs are stimulants, mostly amphetamines, that affect your brain and nervous system by releasing chemicals such as dopamine. Dopamine grants satisfaction, including the feeling of being full. The user doesn’t get hungry or feel bad from lack of food.

I'm writing to share the reality of living in that gray zone, not in any shaming or preachy way because, truth be told, I do the same thing every semester. Drug abuse and eating disorders overlap and have potential to build upon each other until collapse. It starts off innocently enough; you fall behind, you have a paper due, there's an exam tomorrow… You start taking Adderall a bit more than you usually do. You begin to notice the drug's extended effects. You're sharper, more alert, and you start to feel invincible taking on more and more, feeling a need to be constantly working to keep your head afloat. Life feels more manageable. Then you look in the mirror. “Holy fuck do I look good. Better than I've looked in a minute.” Not too healthy, but skinny. Although you may not have paid much attention to your weight before, this excites you. You don't feel the burning desire to eat or sleep, your work output is impressive, and you have more time to do things you enjoy. So, you're feeling accomplished, capable, intelligent. Most importantly, you look good while doing it. This is the best version of yourself. You think, "Why doesn't everyone do this?" and "Why can't I do this forever?" You've finally finished that work you've needed to complete, and there is no justifiable reason to take the amount of Adderall you were consuming.

Things go back to normal. You start eating and sleeping more regularly, and your libido returns. You begin to feel the brain-numbing effects of the Adderall comedown. You look in the mirror, and you notice that you've gained a bit of weight. Even though you've never thought you've had an eating disorder before, you fucking despise what you see, so the following day, you take Adderall because you “have a bunch of work to do today," You don't feel the urge to eat the next two meals. You've been taking Adderall for longer than anticipated now.

You don't feel the same euphoria the drug once gave you and start to resent its side effects. You feel like a zombie, free of personality or life, just doing tasks. You don't even work when you take it anymore. You don't sleep, so you're somewhat lucid. You're depressed and hate yourself for depending on a drug but you're too anxious because you're scared of what would happen if you stopped. You hate constantly feeling mentally and physically weak. So why would you still have the desire to continue taking it? Just to stay skinny. This just brews until you are thrown into a manic episode in which you don't have the capacity to get out of bed, let alone exist in public. You feel like a shell of a human being, separated from yourself in a dissociative frenzy. You look into the mirror and can't recognize yourself.

Everyday interactions become manual, forced, like you’re doing what you think you're supposed to be doing, but nothing feels right. You get to this point, the climax, where you can’t formulate or express how you feel anymore, you feel trapped in your loneliness. You haven't eaten in days. You've gotten 10 cumulative hours of sleep in the past week and you're somewhat delusional. I am grateful that I have people and things that pull me back to reality. Study drug addictions are self destructive. Obviously saying to simply love yourself is easier said than done, but try to find that one thing that can pull you back. Whatever it may be.

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When you first break up with Substance, you will still love him. Even though he hijacked your passions, even though he soiled your relationships. Your identity will be so tied to Substance that you don’t even know who you are without him.

Looking in the mirror, you only see somebody he left behind. You might relentlessly call upon your friend Memory, praying that she will satiate your craving for Substance. You will nitpick the parts of Memory that remind you of the happiness Substance gave you, only to find that Memory will never take you the distance that Substance did.

Soon after, Longing will become your closest friend. And your worst enemy. Memory alone cannot fulfill the role Longing plays on your heart–the way he tugs at your veins and rewires your circuitry. It is something he loves to do; Longing loves to haunt your brain and overpower your knowledge of the toxicity in your past. Longing will vacate your mind, and without permission he will invite Denial into your home.

Denial will disguise herself as someone sweet. You will love Denial at first.But she never stays long. When Denial leaves, you will be heartbroken all over again, but in her absence you might meet Reflection.

Sometimes you have to fondle with Denial to meet Reflection. And you will hate Reflection in the beginning. You might even toggle back and forth between wanting to live with Denial and wanting to open your arms to Reflection. And who can blame you? Reflection is overwhelming at first–-the way her persona excavates the feelings you buried deep in your own grave. She will exfoliate Memory, abruptly bringing dirt to a surface that you insisted on keeping clean. Her presence might even leave you with feelings of disgust. But soon enough, you will find that Reflection serves you much more than Longing or Denial ever did. Reflection will place you in a stiff, uncomfortable chair next to a man named Guilt who won’t stop talking and a woman named Addiction who breathes so loudly that you can never quite ignore her.

But in enough time, your body will adjust to the uncomfortable chair, and you’ll grow to respect it. Guilt will become someone you don’t just tolerate, but appreciate. Addiction’s breath will shrink into a whisper, and you’ll only focus on her in moments of your own choosing. You might even begin to acknowledge her breath as the melody to your own existence–the ongoing chorus that is as annoyingly persistent as it is undeniably attached to the ups and downs of your life. And eventually, you will meet Peace. He will wiggle his way into your personal sphere slowly, but once you let him in, he will transform you. Peace will satisfy you in a way you didn’t know was possible. Your bond with Peace will strengthen until the point of inseparability; until you look in the mirror and you don’t see the remnants of Substance’s abuse anymore. Instead, all you will see is Peace. And you will love Peace. You will begin to love Peace more than you ever loved Substance. And then–even in the absence of Substance, and even in the absence of Peace–you will begin to love yourself. You will learn to embrace yourself the same way Peace embraces you, and in that, you will love yourself in a way that Substance never could.

Colette Goldstein

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I Don’t Do Sleepovers I already know what you want before I open the door. I already know what you’ll think as I take the passenger seat. How? You’re not different. You’re the guy who wrapped his arms around my waist and asked if I wanted to “head back to yours” before the song was over. The guy who asked me to come over at an hour when we both knew how our night would end if I agreed. You don’t want to “hang out” with me. I know you don’t because you don’t know me. You’re not sly. You’re pursuing what you see. You’re pursuing the idea of me you’ve created in your head. It’s so obvious, it’s embarrassing. Let me prove it to you.

I come up for air just long enough for you to look down as my eyes tell you how much I love sucking “your big, fat cock”. In reality, I don’t give a fuck about your dick. It’s nothing special, but I love seeing how little it takes to make you feel good. Your eyes roll back in disbelief because you’re loving how much you think I’m loving this. You think I’m loving this because of you. Your head falls back with a sigh and that’s when I know I have you.

I just want to get fucked… hard. I want you to show me how bad you want me because at this point you do. I want to feel how badly you want this in every inch of my body. So I yell, “Harder!” and you love it because you think I want you more. With every deep thrust and bead of sweat that falls onto my face, you tell me how hard you’re working for me.

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You suggest that I stay, which quickly becomes you trying to convince me to stay. Eventually, you’re begging. Your desire for me is so strong and sweet, my mouth is watering.

I can’t lie, I’m tempted to bite. But, I refrain. I look at you and say “I don’t do sleepovers”.

I watch your ego drop and your face fall as you realize you were far more into it than I was.

It’s because I knew exactly what you wanted, I told you I knew it from the start, and giving it to you was me half-assing it. I just fucked you and you’re welcome.

It’s not only that I want you to want me, it’s that what you want is so simple. Easily figuring you out and seeing how accurately I pinpointed it leaves me with such satisfaction.

Especially when you thought my needs were as simple as yours. It’s easy for me to leave, sexually and mentally satisfied, whereas, you’re left to sit by yourself feeling confused, alone, and wanting more.

In the past, my sexuality was targeted and taken advantage of, but once I realized I could reclaim its power, it quickly became your greatest weakness.

Now you’ll never be able to use it against me again.

-your one night stand

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35

DOWN: 1. making out 2. anal sex 3. condoms 4. head 5. orgasm 6. dildo 7. tinder

ACROSS: 1. me 8. aftercare 9. IUD 10. moody 11. masturbating 12. consent

1

2

4

3

8

9

10

5

6

11

12

DOWN

ACROSS

1. Mouth to mouth action.

2. “Oops, wrong hole” or the back door.

3. Products used that protects against pregnancy and STDs/STIs. 4. “Get that bread, get that ____, and leave (peace out).”

5. The climax or height of sexual arousal.

6. A sex toy that’s modeled after male genitals.

7. App used for meaningless hookups.

1. I love ______.

8. Post-sexual intercourse check-in/practice amongst partners.

9. A type of contraception that can last up to five years.

10. Hottest new mag on campus.

11. Going at it solo.

12. Necessary permission to engage in sexual activity and/or intercourse with another.

7

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when was the last time you got STD tested?

NEVER

55%

do you know where the clit is? yes no i think so

do yo u

>1 YEAR 9% <1 YEAR 24% <3 MON 12% have you ever lied about your body count?

no,

i don’t care

what people think

yes,

i think i’ve

had too many partners

yes,

i think i

haven’t had enough partners

83% 4% 13%

74% 15%

e s u 7%

depends

59% no

11%

thoughts on being choked? yes, it’s so hot 35% 35% i like it sometimes no, not into it 24% 6% not for me, but i like choking others On a scale of 1-10, how important would you rate your hookup’s 3% 2% personality?

17%

3% 2%

7% 3%

5% 5%

1: as long as they’re hot, I don’t care

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10% 8%

15% 11%

17%

21% 10% 23%

9% 11%

18%

if they don’t have a good personality, it’s a dealbreaker: 10

male responses

Questions by Lydia Ham adapted for Syracuse University from 200 responses

what percentage of time do you cum from men? more than 1/ ti

7%

e m

when was the last time you got STD tested?

20%

con d

73%

1

/2

less than 1 /2

2t i

40%

NEVER

e m

e tim

s? om

9% >1 YEAR 12% <1 YEAR 25% <3 MON.

34% yes

have you ever lied about your body count?

66% no, 23% yes,

i don’t care

what people think

11%

spit and piss kink CNC, bondage, roleplay idc, stab me if you want praise degrading

any kinks? voyeurism

“beating women”

BDSM, gags, latex 20%

14% 14%

7% 8%

12%

14% 12%

11% 10%

foot fetish public sex

6%

7%

5%

11%

10%

11%

1: not scared at all, relationships are my jam

female responses

had too many partners

yes,

i think i

haven’t had enough partners

thoughts on being choked?

wax

domination

i think i’ve

9% 3%

76% 9% 15%

7% 9%

love it not for me depends On a scale of 110, how scared are you of commitment?

commitment is my biggest fear: 10

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