Topic: Anna David

Sex and the Sixties Girl: Sex, the Single Girl and Me

Sex and the Sixties Girl: Sex, the Single Girl and Me

Now that the eve of my book release is upon me (T minus five days), I can’t help but think about it in terms of Helen’s experience with Sex and the Single Girl in 1962. Sex and the Single Girl, when it came out, shocked the nation. It was filled with sex and tips that defied the conventional thinking at the time. The New Yorker summarized it as promoting “self-sufficiency and ambition, emphasizing careers that lend women a patina of glamour…above all, it is a how-to manual for constructing a life that would look enviable.” More »

Sex and the Sixties Girl: The Weight of Water

Sex and the Sixties Girl: The Weight of Water

“How about it? Fancy a surf?” The Australian man stood in front of a rustic beach shack, the sun glinting off his perfectly tanned muscles and long blonde hair.

Despite the pretty sight, I knew exactly how to answer that question: with a quick shake of the head followed by a tale of how I saw Jaws when I was five years old and the fear it generated in my young, fragile psyche caused me not only to avoid oceans for the next decade but also to quiver in the face of pools, bathtubs, and, on occasion, toilets. More »

Sex and the Sixties Girl: A Hole In None

 Sex and the Sixties Girl:  A Hole In None

Date Night at Chelsea Piers looks promising when I walk in and spy two 30-something tall men lumbering toward the entrance, golf bags slung over their shoulders, summer tans poking through their sporty – but not gay-looking – outfits. My friend Nicole, who really knows how to play golf and told me about this event, has left me standing near the entrance next to her golf bag while she uses the bathroom. I’m trying to pretend that I don’t feel desperate and sad to be spending a Friday night at an event that’s advertising my single status to the world. More »

Sex And The Sixties Girl: The Beginning

Sex And The Sixties Girl: The Beginning

I had just screwed my life up in a major way.

Not in the I-chose-the-wrong-career-path or moved-to-the-wrong-city sort of way. Those were, arguably, screw-ups I’d also made, but they weren’t the new mistake. No, the new one was the kind that transformed respected astronauts into diaper-wearing stalkers.

I’d fallen for a married man. More »