Before Holly Randall was the world’s best erotic photographer, she wrote a column for Sex.com. Because Holly Randall isn’t just a beautiful woman and talented photographer, she’s also a great writer!
Holly’s been kind enough to dig up some of her old pieces and let us re-share them with the internet.
Today, Holly Randall has taken some time off from shooting the best erotic photos for Playboy, Twisty’s, and HollyRandall.com to talk about the difficulties of dating with a broken gaydar.
He was my type: tall, skinny, intellectual, and a bit shy. He was also slightly punky, a testament to my high school years when I used to wear a lot of black and listen to Screeching Weasel and Minor Threat, and decided that dyeing my hair blue was a really good idea.
He was the teacher’s assistant in my Greek Mythology class at UCLA, and unlike the professor who tended to spit into his audience as he released his incredibly fiery diatribes, my crush remained quiet next to the projector screen. He was either reading his notes or pretending to be mildly amused by the professor’s enthusiasm on the subject of sympathetic magic and the importance of Lamellae plates in magic rituals. And I imagine he also noticed that the excitement produced an abundance of salvia (which has no choice but to be expelled somehow) in our learned professor’s mouth.
In group sessions, which were held once a week, I was his favorite. I must admit, I’m a bit of a teacher’s pet– I always sit in the front of the class, answer and ask questions, and arrive early. By the second week my professors always knew my name. This gorgeous TA always praised my essays, my literary interpretations, and my participation in discussions. I was sure he was hitting on me. I knew my professor did. Read more…
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