What's The Chapstick

Out of My Box: My Personal Review of Masturbation and The Satisfyer Vibrator

(TW-assault, PTSD, Depression, Graphic or Explicit content to follow. ) There are a lot of things I try to keep private in my writing. My intention is never to be explicit, or graphic because I suppose I always fear that someone close to me will find that bit of my writing and think ill of me, and that which I strive to create. Well, today I would like to encourage them to run from this post if they are uncomfortable with explorations of the female mind, body, and orgasm...because that's what you are going to get with the product I am reviewing with my long time friend, and collaborator, Luna. In the pursuit of women lifting up women I have never been shy about my support for women in explorations and endeavors of sex work, sexual health, or women's health in general, even if my work portrays a luke warm pool for those looking for a deep dive into these parts of themselves. Thankfully, my friend Luna is a sexual activist,

My First Half Marathon: Going the Extra Mile to Look Good Naked

As promised not all of my literary dwellings will be based on my sexual inhibitions both past and present. I want to take some time to really evaluate, and pat myself on the back for running away from my problems, and right over the half marathon finish line. This all started as I was making my new years resolutions. I have been telling myself since the day I stopped being a size 4 in 2015 that I was going to start running again because I know it is the most effective source of exercise for my body. I had always been a treadmill runner, but that was a private excursion that gave a lot of leeway to me to take the easy way out, and it didn't come with a lot of structure (something I desperately needed). Thus, birthed the goal of running a half marathon. I was pretty gung-ho when I first started telling people I was going to run the race. Why it didn't occur to me to start with a 10k or something a little less far fetched I will never know, but in true Caitlin fashion

Grief Guilt: Missing the Old You, and Most Likely the Point

I was sitting in a french fry place in Amsterdam, eating 3600 calories worth of fast food covered up as a cultural delicacy when my phone buzzed. It was my cousin, my second cousin as my girlfriend corrected, but someone close to me none the less. She was reaching out to me to call her immediately from tens of thousands of miles away, and my face flushed, and my head tightened because something was clearly wrong. I couldn't make a call on my phone plan from Europe, and I figured she was letting me know someone was in the hospital. That's what always happens. Someone tries to reach out for communication, and you already know the answer by that effort alone. My first thought was my dad, hes heavier (sorry Dad, but almonds don't negate the nutritional facts of a snickers), and he has a bad heart, and temperamental diabetes. I had decided that she was reaching out to tell me that while I was running around Europe he had a heart-attack. My intuition was only half wrong. Diab

The Chapstick

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