From the pages of Issue 2: Grounded

An Indoor Girl on the Outdoors

By Melanie Briggs 

You really have to drop your drawers at least to your knees if you’re actually going to bang in the outdoors, that’s the thing. Doesn’t even really matter the size of the chili dog or the fingers or penetrator of choice that you’re dealing with. If you want it anywhere near the recreation area between your knees and your waist, and you’re outside, those drawers are gonna have get low.

And it’s all thrills and adrenaline until someone has to show their ass to a park ranger.

It’s the physics of it all. If you were aiming for your belly button, it would be a lot easier to discreetly get the object of pleasure to its destination, because your belly button is already horizontal and it’s not lodged between other things. But when you’re dealing with a destination that pointed at the ground and is cordoned off by other limbs and/or muscles, you’re going to have to start shifting and tilting and clearing a pathway and pretty much none of this can happen if those drawers don’t drop. You’re gonna get seen.

This is partially why I’ve always specialized in indoor sex. That and climate control.

At the moment, I specialize in one-woman motorized sex. It’s similar to one-woman luge, or the skeleton event. Or when Che Guevara rode a motorcycle across South America. Just a woman with nothing but her wits and a fully-charged magic wand to get her to the top of the mountain she’s climbed oh, so many times before. And usually her cat who doesn’t have the decency to grant her a little privacy.

It’s actually nothing like Che Guevara riding a motorcycle across South America. Upon reflection, those two things don’t seem comparable. It’s more like Lindsey Vonn in the downhill.

I wouldn’t have it any other way right now. I wouldn’t compete in any other event; no team sports, no two-person bobsled team, no relays.

Because I insist on being seen.

It can be a one-night stand or a lifetime commitment, the measurement of time isn’t a factor in clarity of vision. All I ask is that the person dropping my drawers is listening to my breath, feeling my muscles react and watching my back arch. Blame it on porn, blame it on this crazy “hookup culture,” blame it on the music the kids listen to these days, but the experiences of late have rendered me invisible; I could have been anyone. Insert woman into fantasy, pull out all fancy moves, because isn’t that what sex is? A competition to be the best, to get her calling all her friends the next day, to blow her mind because she’s never experienced anyone quite like you? Surely she’s never seen the move where you pull her to the edge of the bed, make sure her head is hanging off the side and then stand over her and… Surely that will impress her. Surely that’s something she wants.

She’s right in front of you, but do you even see her? Or did you press play on the porno in your head?

I would rather spend the evening with my one-woman bobsled. And my cat. He definitely sees me, I can tell by the intensely distressed look he gets.

I want to be seen. When my drawers hit the ground, I want the person with me to notice what is unique to my shape. I want everyone from sea to shining sea, including the park ranger, to see me.

This is why I specialize in one-woman motorized sex. Because I want the thrill and adrenaline of being seen.