A Thank You To Dancing (And My Body) by Carolyn Busa

At 5-years old I mimicked my sister's hitch kicks to New Kids on the Block. At 9-years old I joined my first jazz class. I learned how to tap dance when I was a Follie Girl my freshman year in our production of Crazy for You. My senior year I danced to Kanye West so hard in my parent's living room that my knee popped out of place causing me to scream, my mom to think I somehow got shot in our gun-free house and my dad to think quick and pop it back into place. Point is, dancing has always been somewhere in the background of my life. But this past year, dance has been itching to take a step forward. Dancing no longer asks permission. Now, I have to dance.

When I explain to people how I am 'sexually peaking', their minds immediately travel down south to Dirtyville. Who? What? Where? When? How many times? All fun stories to tell, but the truth is, those stories wouldn't even exist without the presence of dance. My sexual peak would fall flat if I was not lifting myself and my confidence through my own movements. But that wasn't always the case. I may have learned how to Pas de bourrée and step-ball-change when I was 5, but I only just learned how to let myself go. 

I remember the various dance classes I took over the years. Surrounded by mirrors, forced to look at myself and others. Comparing, competing, pointing farther, looking sharper, flexing flexier. I'd turn bright red when we had to work on our stretches as I hunched over my sad split. More embarrassing than helpful. Now if there is a mirror in the room when I dance, I try not to look. I dance to feel, not to perfect. To quote Shania Twain, when I dance 'I feel like a woman.' But not a woman burned by man or her boss or a bad hair day. I feel like woman - the creature.

Did I lose you? I've never been to Burning Man (although I fear that will change in the next few years) and every time I have to do a group sigh or breathing exercise I roll my inner eye. I'm still sarcastic and snarky when it comes to mindfulness. But now, more than both of those combined, I'm super sensual. When I dance I can't help but feel the sexual, female force within me that, until recently, only a vibrator has been able to bring out. Now I am unplugged, battery-free and using nothing but my body to create feelings of ecstasy. I feel pretty fucking grateful.

I'm also grateful because this year I found people that love dancing as much as I do. I found music that makes me feel primal. I found people that embrace all these things without so much a molecule of judgement. Thank you. In their absence I dance alone in my bedroom as my dog watches skeptically without interruption. Thank you, Remy. I dance when I am frustrated or sad or angry when the leader of our country proves himself a monster once again. Thank you, dance. 

I've recently started dancing with my hair down. It gets stuck in my mouth, my eyes, it sticks to my sweating neck sometimes even trapping itself between my armpits. Afterwards, only then will I make a point to look myself in the mirror. Sometimes I look like some sort of goddess. Sometimes I look down right crazy. I see the shape of my lips outlined by the red lipstick I obsessively wear. I see my face aging in certain ways. I see my hair growing. I see the same freckles I've had since a child but now the freckles mark the face of a woman. I also see my blemishes, my tears, my brow when I'm pissed. My life isn't perfect. I am not perfect. But it has taken until now to truly love this woman I see. I love the woman I have become. The woman that my body has allowed me to become (despite still being unable to do a split).

Thank you.


How I Survived A Weekend In A House With An Indoor Pool As A Sexually Peaking Woman (And No One To Bang) by Carolyn Busa

Every winter my closest friends and I spend three nights away in some unknown town in PA. We spend those nights drinking, eating, laughing, and getting high on each other’s company. This year would be my third year attending and I knew it was going to be an extra special trip. Why? Because this year we would be staying in a house that included something very, very, very special — an indoor pool.

This had me a bit concerned. Not because I can’t swim. Not because I’m scared of water. But because indoor pools are super, super sexy. They’re warm. They’re inviting. They’re always whispering for you to take your clothes off. All amazing things that, in the past, none of which would concern me. But this year was different. This year I was a full blown, sexually peaking woman.

What I had previously thought was sexually peaking turned out to be merely a preview before the three-hour feature that would most likely have a sequel and another sequel split up into two parts. I remember my first winter weekend experiencing sudden urges to dance and needing to let it out. Not the best time for your friend to introduce her new boyfriend: “And the one grinding on the living room floor, yeah, that’s Carolyn.”

We had an outdoor hot tub one year which, yeah, was pretty sexy once you got past all the intense lethargy, low blood pressure and shivers after each dip. One minute we were loving life in the bubbles, sipping champagne, the next we were trembling on the floor shouting “Afghans! More afghans!” It was a scene straight out of the fictional, straight to DVD movie Hot Tubs — The Untold Story.

Plus, I didn’t realize I was in the early stages of sexually peaking on those previous trips. I thought I was just another normal, horny, single girl who got out of a long-term, unhealthy relationship. “I’m free! I’m loose! Watch out!” But time made me wiser (hornier) and I had become familiar with all the triggers of peaking. I knew I had to be careful with the addition of an indoor pool. Grinding on the dance floor might easily turn into a full-blown orgy with whipped cream and lube, at least that’s what I imagine when I think of orgies. But even more concerning, not having someone to bang — how long would I survive?

To start, I made sure to pack extra accoutrements for this special, indoor pool, maximum peaking trip. I packed two bathing suits, a sparkly skirt, and a corset just in case we wanted to play Victorian Strip Poker (not an actual thing). Costume changes are crucial to peaking. A peaking woman uses any excuse to take off her clothes and admire herself in the mirror. I needed the clothes to back it up. I also packed a game of pin the tail on the donkey which I was going to suggest we play naked.*

I felt a lot of emotions when I first entered the house even with my arsenal of supplies. Not only was the house huge, it was entirely decorated in horse paraphernalia including actual horses outside! Were they trying to kill me?! I love horses! I even host a weekly comedy show called Side Ponytail (Like us on Facebook)! Horses are sexy-ass creatures with beautiful manes of hair. I mean, come on. That is me. I wanted more than ever to lasso in a lover with the whip of my pheromone-infused ponytail. I knew I was in for a trying weekend.

I continued touring the gigantic house taking in each horse statue and giant, comfy couch but where was this pool? Was it all a lie? Was it just a giant bathtub? Before I could freak out, my friend Lizz took my hand and led me to a room. “Are you ready?” she asked. I was. She opened the door and I stood there like a golden ticket winner at Wonka’s factory. Hold your breath, make a wish, count to three. Eyes open. No, It wasn’t a chocolate river but it was the most beautiful indoor pool I ever laid eyes on. I’m getting moist just thinking about it. There were noodles and mats and a bar and twinkle lights and it was heated and it was all for us. The sexy bass of poolside music was already pumping out of the speakers. It was Peak City and I was the mayor.

So how did I survive? Well, I relied heavily on food. I even volunteered to cook. Twice. I never get satisfaction from cooking but I knew it was vital to keep my hands and brain occupied. When I wasn’t cooking, I was putting everything (edible) in my mouth — eggs, homemade pizza, lasagna, cannolis, cookies, fajitas. We even had a chip bar that ranged from cheesy to salty to puffy to crunchy to sweet to baked. There was texture and taste for all levels of arousal — even dill-pickle flavored (if you’re into that sort of thing).

My weaker moments of the weekend were definitely the times spent lounging. Lounging, if done correctly, is a time to reflect on nasty thoughts in one’s head. If done incorrectly, lounging can be dangerous and lead to cuddle puddles which could then lead to Carolyn taking her shirt and/or pants off. I tried to stay focused. I was careful not to get too close to any crotches or butts or I would for sure need to excuse myself for um, intervention. I was grateful for the movie selection of the weekend. It was my first time seeing Speed and Keanu Reeves’ dialog and facial expressions did a great job of distracting. We also found a DVD of the movie Nerve. Why anyone would have a physical DVD copy of this movie, I’ll never know but, boy oh boy, was I grateful. There was so many plot holes to think about that for a whole 90 minutes I didn’t have to think of my own holes! Relief!

Of course, there were some close calls which brings me to my favorite peaking defense mechanism — gay men. I am blessed to be best friends with some of the best gay men this world has to offer. These men have been supportive of my peak from the start and allow me to lean (and grind) on them whenever I need. If you’re lucky enough to have such a friend then you know that gay men are always peaking. Whenever I felt an urge, I ran and found one of my friends to cuddle or kiss or practice a new sex move (fully clothed of course). We even invented a wonderfully erotic pool game where you blast water into someone’s face using a pool noodle while simultaneously making moaning noises. We’re still working out the official rules. These men saved me.

I’ll never forget the weekend I was horny AF with an indoor pool and no one to bang. It was one of the most erotic weekends of my life without so much as even a finger in.** Okay, I admittedly did a lot sexting but hey, I restrained from nude selfies and that’s very brave considering the amazing floor length-mirror we had in the den.

I’ve already started imagining what our trip will be like next year. How will I cope if the peaking progresses at the same rate of our rental houses? What if next year’s house not only has an indoor pool and horses, but also has an indoor jacuzzi? Or a slide? Or one of those beds that spins? Or a swing (sex or otherwise)? Hopefully next year’s trip I’ll be bringing a bed-buddy. But if not, I’m going to have to get very creative. Travel blow-up dolls are a thing, right?

 — — 

*We never did.

**That’s a lie. I masturbated once.

Speak About the Peak! by Carolyn Busa

Before I turned 30, my older sister warned me, “Be prepared. Your 30’s are when women sexually peak.” I wasn’t exactly sure what she meant by that but in my head I thought to myself “Gosh, I hope it happens on a 3-day weekend!”

I spent the last few weeks as a 29-year old with so many questions about how and when my journey into sexual peaking would begin. I already had a thing for traffic cops, how much crazier could it get? Would I wake up one day and also be attracted to train conductors? Did I need to start packing extra pairs of underwear? Or would sexually peaking be like when a woman’s water breaks: Quick! Get that woman to a dick!*

While men usually experience higher levels of sexual desire at a much younger age, women experience this later in life when we have fully developed imaginations that let our brains run wild with erotic thoughts. For us, this process is so much more than a boner in history class. We can’t put a notebook over our ‘peak’ and run to the bathroom. For us, peaking is a way of life.

Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you look at it), the start of a woman’s peak is not as in-your-face as the start of a woman’s menstrual cycle. So while l can’t pinpoint the exact moment it happened, I can say celebrating my 30th birthday at a Peaches concert involving a giant blow-up dick and backup dancers dressed as vaginas definitely sped things along…and they haven’t slowed since.

It’s not just one thing. When you’re sexually peaking you’re happy. You like looking at yourself naked. A lot. You have sex because you want to. You have sex because you need to. You are confident. You are curious. You are confidently curious. And, yes, oh yes, you are very horny.

But I have to be careful. This is a whole new level or horniness. What was harmless before, now triggers responses so intense I may have to start working from home so I can rub one out during conference calls. Already I had to stop eating macaroni and cheese in public because the mix of pasta, cheese and breadcrumbs now ignites a fire in me so strong I’m contemplating going vegan. I browse farmer’s markets speeding past the berries and heading straight to the sweat-inducing root vegetables. I had to start riding the bus because the hard steel of the subway turnstiles is at an all too perfect height of pleasure. And boy oh boy, don’t get me started on elevators!

Let’s be clear, no two journeys of a sexually peaking woman are alike. But I hope by sharing my journey, women of all peaking levels and talents are inspired more and more to speak about the peak.

*It’s that one. ;)

Ten Gift Ideas for the Sexually Peaking Woman in Your Life by Carolyn Busa

Do you know a woman in your life who entered her thirties and started walking differently, talking differently and reminding you of how horny she is? Congratulations! You know someone who is sexually peaking!

Whatever you already bought her for Christmas, return it! A sexually peaking woman needs a gift that considers this new phase of her life. A gift that says 'You're sexually peaking and I support you. But not in that way. Unless you want it to be that way. Whatever. We can talk about it later.'

So what do you get the sex-crazed lady in your life? Well, there are a lot more options than you think. Gifts that go beyond the predictable vibrator and gag gifts from Spencer's, although I'm kinda obsessed with the Life Size Allie McSqueal Love Doll. Give her something she'll remember as she peaks into 2017 and beyond! 

1) Uber Gift Card
A sexually peaking woman is more open to adventure and exploring new positions, er, territories. However, when the exploration is over, there is a chance she finds herself somewhere inconvenient, perhaps even New Jersey! An Uber Gift Card guarantees she gets home in style. 

2) Beyonce Dance Class
Sexually peaking while watching Beyonce is like being high and listening to Pink Floyd: It feels so right. Beyonce's movements paired with lyrics like 'I'm feeling myself' and 'Hand prints and good grips all on my ass' is a sexually peaking woman's elixir. Luckily, there are now Beyonce-themed dance classes to support a full-blown Bey addiction. These dance classes are great for times when a woman wants to peak alone.

3) Full-Length Mirror
Not only will this come in handy when she goes home and practices her dance moves, a full-length mirror is A MUST while a woman sexually peaks. Vanity is important in this stage of her life because damn, she looks good. 

4) Touch Gloves
Don't let cold weather get in the way of her nonstop sexting. Spend the extra money for a good pair with ten-finger access. Mmmm. Ten-finger access. 

5) Velvet Leggings
She's gonna be touching herself more either way so why not make it smooth and fun? Velvet leggings are perfect for cold weather excursions as well as a good personal rub down. Think Prince. 

6) Cooling Sheets
The brain of a sexually peaking woman is often cloudy with a side of fiery loins. It's hard to snuff the peak but necessary when it comes to a good night's sleep. Cooling sheets from SHEEX guarantee 'the cool side of the pillow all the time' as well as, brace yourself, 'moisture-wicking technology.' I don't know what 'moisture-wicking' is but boy do I want it. 

7) Ink for her printer
This has nothing to do with peaking. It's just so damn expensive. 

8) Boudoir Photography Session
Boudoir photography, the art of intimate, sometimes sensual photography, has been trending as the perfect gift for brides to their husbands. I say, screw the husband. This is a gift for her. She is in her prime and deserves to be photographed as such for her eyes only. She can even get a wallet-size print that will fit perfectly next to her pocket vibrator. 

9) Tickets to a Peaches Concert
Peaches has been telling us for years to 'Fuck the Pain Away' but she's also been schooling us with lesser-known gems like 'Dick in the Air', 'Diddle My Skiddle' and my personal fave, 'Stuff Me Up.' A Peaches concert will surely speed along the peaking process. Her shows come fully equipped with blow-up dicks, vagina back-up dancers and the occasional strap-on. Strap in. 

10) Selfie-Stick
This isn't a code word for vibrator, dildo or 'massage-wand.' I mean an actual selfie-stick. After she gets her boudoir photos printed, she'll realize the full potential of her curves and angles and the selfies will begin. 

11) *BONUS GIFT* Donation to Planned Parenthood
And finally, if you can only get one thing for the horny woman in your life, get her the guarantee of protection for her beautiful peaking pussy.