(Yes, I put a 'u' in the above. I think I get a few months' grace period where I'm allowed to use Anglicisms and British spellings as I see fit. I'd be chuffed if you'd humour me.)
On Friday, Dan Savage did a great on-line Q&A via The Stranger's blog, The Slog*. He responds to a question from a lesbian who wants to do something cheap but special on Valentine's Day with her girlfriend--not just staying in and having sex, which they do plenty of. Part of Dan's response:
"$20 will get you a nice bottle of wine -- get a prosecco, sparkling Italian wine that is 1. cheap and 2. suddenly everywhere. And then go someplace homantic and sit together and drink the booze."
My emphasis.
Okay, it's obviously a typo, but "homantic" is my new favourite** word. I think it's perfect for people who'd like to mix in some scratch marks and lube with their hearts and flowers. You could apply it to serious couples who met at, say, a sex club, and are returning there for their 25th anniversary. So homantic! Or should you ever get down on one knee and propose marriage, ring in hand, to someone still chained to the wall from their flogging--that'd be totally homantic! Especially if you both agree to put the video on YouTube.
Any suggestions for a good homantic Valentine's Day? Leave them in the comments.
*Does one italicize blog titles?
**Okay, last time.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
My New Favourite Word
Sunday, August 17, 2008
The Schmuck Debate
I'm sitting here on a Sunday listening to old Dan Savage podcasts instead of going to the gym,* and he just fielded a call from a gay man who is not attracted to uncircumcised penises. I realized I'd not yet weighed in on the topic myself. The topic, of course, has three subheadings:
1) The Attractiveness Debate
Dan's caller is the evidence here--some people find uncircumcised penises unattractive, particularly in cultures where circumcision is the norm. It is, of course, the norm in MY culture, so it was only very occasionally that I've encountered a penis that was fully intact. And frankly, you don't always notice: it's dark, or there's a condom on it, or it's erect (in which case they mostly look the same anyway). So I never had a conscious opinion either way. It was only in my recent adulthood that I got a good, lights-on look at an uncut version, and I have to say...it was ADORABLE. It's true that I really liked this guy, which Dan says is key to getting over whatever you genital prejudices are, but it looked rather sweet and mysterious, as though it needed undressing. I developed a crush on it.** So to my cock-sucking friends out there, I hope you can view the presence or absence of a foreskin as but one other facet to find endearing about your sexual partner.
2) The Health Debate
Here we get more tricky. There are very recent studies that show circumcision reducing the transmission of HIV by as much as 50%...in Africa. It's unclear why, and there are a lot of other factors that could be at play here, given that the public health landscape of Africa is pretty different from our own. (And condoms are better anyway! So use those whatever your status.) Most previous research shows that there's no hygienic difference between a circumcised penis and an uncircumcised penis, provided the penis-bearer has been taught the relatively simple art of Keeping It Clean.
3) The Penile Rights Debate
For me, this is what it comes down to. There is the argument that removing the foreskin decreases sexual sensation.*** Furthermore, sometimes the mohel or the doctor screws up, and your child is left with severely decreased, or nonexistent, sexual functioning.**** And then there's the simple fact that we as a society are saying, for no actually good reason, "Your genitals are bad. There is something inherently wrong with them which we must fix, painfully, as soon as possible." I have no opinion as to whether the pain of circumcision saddles guys with a life-long neurosis, but I wouldn't let someone shave off part of my daughter's clitoris just because the bible said so.
Obviously, most circumcised guys come out just fine. There are a lot of them out there, apparently not crippled either physically or emotionally. There's no judgment here--I suppose if I have a son, and there is a father in the picture, I would leave the decision up to him. (The baby's father would, after all, have far more experience having a penis than I.) But if the decision were left up to me, I don't think I could go through with it, not with an easy mind. I'm a Jew, but obviously not one who does things solely because my religion demands it. And since I don't know entirely which side of the debate is right, I expect I would err on the side of caution.
What do you guys think?
*Obvi.
**Of course, things went WAY south, and a few months later I would tell a friend that I hoped this dude's new girlfriend "was reluctant to suck his uncircumcised dick." Which a) sounds sort of like a gypsy curse and b) was not very mature, but heartache requires only public maturity, not private.
***In my unrelated research into the evolution of monotheism, I discovered that followers of Asherah, a pre-YHWH fertility goddess, who honored her by fucking. These worshippers (Semites, aka future Jews) believed an uncircumcised penis was blasphemous, as the lessened sensation of circumcision allowed men to last longer, and thus worship more. So there's that.
****Then there were those mohalim who were giving 8-day-old boys Herpes because, traditionally, they would put the babies' penises in their mouths after the cut as an analgesic. But let's not blame that on circumcision as a whole.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Poetry Corner: A View From Across The Trenches
I was tooling around on Google the other day trying to find the poem "When Man Enters Woman," because I really like the final image. I mistakenly thought it was Sharon Olds--it's in fact Anne Sexton--and thus discovered an ACTUAL Olds poem that I didn't previously know:
Sex Without Love
How do they do it, the ones who make love
without love? Beautiful as dancers,
Gliding over each other like ice-skaters
over the ice, fingers hooked
inside each other's bodies, faces
red as steak, wine, wet as the
children at birth, whose mothers are going to
give them away. How do they come to the
come to the come to the God come to the
still waters, and not love
the one who came there with them, light
rising slowly as steam off their joined
skin? These are the true religious,
the purists, the pros, the ones who will not
accept a false Messiah, love the
priest instead of the God. They do not
mistake the lover for their own pleasure,
they are like great runners: they know they are alone
with the road surface, the cold, the wind,
the fit of their shoes, their over-all cardio
vascular health--just factors, like the partner
in the bed, and not the truth, which is the
single body alone in the universe
against its own best time.
I myself have wondered at those who have sex exclusively within relationships, so it's interesting to have the favor returned.
Having never seen the poem before, I'm still trying to parse it. I would call it "not unflattering," certainly. I enjoy the religious imagery--that resonates--and am intrigued by the athletic metaphors. I relate strongly to the idea of sex making something of its own (aside from procreation), of taking us somewhere. But really, the poem speaks for itself; I'll let you enjoy it.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Hold Your Tongue
Okay...has anyone else ever had the urge to apologize for a mediocre blow job?
I know that is the stupidest thing. I'm not even talking about accidental biting or something like that (because then a simple apology is just polite). But when my fellatio is not up to my own standards, I am filled with a heartfelt desire to apologize for wasting the dude's time, and to assure him that I'm usually better than that. Even if he knows I usually do better!
Of course I cannot actually say anything. In general, I am a fan of not apologizing in bed. (Unless, as with above, it's just a courteous "Sorry!" for accidental collision or the like.) For the most part we shouldn't have to apologize for not having orgasms or not being in the mood or wanting to do some things but not others, what have you. It doesn't help, it perpetuates feelings of inadequacy, and often makes your partner feel bad, as though its hir fault for not showing enough enjoyment. So why this remorse over the occasional awkward sex act?
The last time I felt this way, it was with an acute feeling that I was squandering a magnificent erection. I felt like Bush, taking a huge surplus and turning it into a huge deficit. But, dude, shit happens. Move on!
The Third Wheel Gets The Grease. Or Should.
After listening to a bunch of Savage Love podcasts, and watching The Secret Diary of a Call Girl and old episodes of SatC, and now checking around on the internet, I am newly irked by something: Almost anything you see/read about threesomes focuses on the effect it has on the couple...and completely ignores the third person. Askmen focuses largely on how to reassure your "girlfriend or wife," and insultingly advises you to kick the other girl out afterwards. Cosmo terms even offering your man a threesome "a bonehead move,*" and treats the hypothetical Other like a potential homewrecker. Lame and a half.
I've had two threesomes, the first of which I often don't count because it was in many ways a Bad Scene (plus it was just a drunken one-off) and the second of which rates as one of the best sexual experiences of my life**. A threesome has the power to be really life-affirming or really destructive for a single person, and not enough people talk about that.*** And yeah, I understand that there are a lot of issues a threesome could bring up with a couple, but these arrangements can be just as tricky for the non-becoupled one. Attachments can form, complications can arise, and one might wind up feeling used, feeling in the way, or just plain feeling left out.
I never really thought about this until I engaged in a threesome of my own, but one of the things that annoys me the most is that, apparently, some couples want there to be a No Kissing rule****. Why would the person agree to this??? Do you have NO concept that you owe your partner pleasure, as you do any sexual partner, and that ze's not there solely for your own entertainment??? It's important to respect a couple's boundaries, but it's just as important for a couple to make their single friend feel like ze's part of the team. If you can't handle that, you should take Dan Savage's advice, which is to hire a professional.
Dan, of course, answers the questions he gets, and he has in fact addressed questions posed by a threesome "guest star" (as Samantha Jones calls it). And most often he is rolling his eyes at a couple who thinks they're going to walk into a bar and find a hot bi girl who will come home, do exactly what they want and nothing more, and then disappear afterwards. Dan points out that there are plenty of women like this, and they are called prostitutes--if you don't want any strings on your threesome, look one up.
I have found one essay from the point of view of the non-girlfriend, a young woman named Caitlin McRae who finds herself drawn to couples as a general rule. The best part is where she contrasts the "part of the team" couples with the "probably need a hooker" variety:
These aren't invitations to sexual exploration. They're requests for a favor, wherein I'll be a means to an end, a one-time antidote to this particular couple's sexual ennui: I push from the bumper while they pop the clutch. This doesn't do much for my self-esteem, as you can imagine.
So to all you couples out there, remember there are different kinds of threesomes. Figure out which you want. And if you can't afford a good call girl, don't take it out on your friends.
On a side note, Maxim UK offers the worst piece of sex advice I've ever heard: "DON'T, whatever you do, at any point, laugh." I know it's Maxim but, seriously?!?!?! In any sexual situation, however many people it involves, sense of humor is a MUST--the best partnerships I've had are the ones that involved laughing in bed. It's extra important in a multiple partner situation, where there's more room for fumbling and awkwardness and injury.
And I mean, c'mon. It's funny.
*Which it could literally be; three people moving around in one bed can easily result in head-to-bone collisions. Not that Cosmo would know that.
**Interestingly, the first was not with a couple, though one of the dudes had a girlfriend in another state. (Yeah. Bad Scene.) The other dude was basically gay. Totally hot, followed by months of fallout. Definitely in the category of "Glad I made that mistake already so I never have to make it again."
***I will point out that the "bad threesome" was when I was younger and less mature, someone insecure about both my appearance and my virginity. It's totally possible that I couldn't have handled my "good threesome" back then--even as an adult, it's required lots of communication and reassurance. Seriously: people pay a lot of lip service to communication, but it's amazing how helpful it is, even if it seems hard sometimes.
****No one's ever tried this with me, for the record. That's what makes me so incredulous that some people do.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Friday, June 20, 2008
More Love/Hate With SATC
So, I'm still funemployed* and the roommate has purchased the complete series of Sex and the City**. I just watched "What Goes Around Comes Around" and had that old familiar feeling--part of the episode made me go, "that is so my life," and another part made me go "ugh."
The first part, of course, concerned Miranda. An extremely handsome detective is totally into her, and she's so intimidated by the fact that he's "out of her league" that she ends up getting sloppy-drunk on a date and convincing him she's an alcoholic. Har. This is a problem she has more than once--suspiciously hot guy genuinely likes her and she somehow messes it up***. Which sometimes makes me roll my eyes, because guys who are hotter than me are sort of my favorites. I don't always know what's wrong with their eyes, but I shrug my shoulders and capitalize. But then Miranda drunkenly roars this:
"I'm no Mena Suvari, but I'm great in bed!"
First of all: Mena Suvari? So random, thus adorable. Also, I TOTALLY relate to that. The whole "compensation" thing. When I say it to myself, I tend to say it with genuine confidence--it DOES make up the difference, I think--but there's still the need to say it.
And then Samantha fucks a virgin and he falls ridiculously in love. Blah. Some of us virgins were totally capable of having an awesome first time without getting artificially attached.****
Look! A whole post and I never once needed "I had to wonder..." Suck it, Bradshaw.
*Though I'm moving to London in September to go to grad school so woot!
**And has given me carte blanche to blame its presence in our apartment on her should any gentleman callers balk.
***Though another time the guy seems to like her BECAUSE she doesn't know she's hot, and when her self-esteem gets boosted he bails. Yes, I'm a Miranda buff.
****Though, to be fair, the one time I know that I slept with a virgin, he did seem to get at least sort of attached.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Conquistadoras
I am writing to you from London this week, and in my downtime at the hostel I occasionally get to reminiscing about the time I lived here for a bit. Specifically, my sexual exploits. Oh sure, there were other fun things involving theatre and grizzled blues musicians and friendly squatter junkies taking me in, but mostly, dear readers, I expect you want to hear about the sex. We're kindred spirits that way.
I always remember this show I saw freshman or sophomore year at college. It was a student-written documentary performance piece--yknow, like The Vagina Monologues, based on actual personal stories people had told the writer--and it was called Conquistadoras. The subject matter? Young American women traveling abroad and having lots of sex.
I then remember, when in London, flipping through a humor book at a store--the subject was how to pick up people of various nationalities, with tips on both men and women. In the section on how to pick up American women, all it said was, "Don't worry. They'll pick you up." So that is the reputation we have over here. And it's not undeserved, I think--as they play posited, being a broad abroad* is very liberating. It gives us a sense of sexual freedom to find ourselves without context, without consequence. Perhaps we're even deindividuated a bit--freed from our own identities.
So, my story? I lost my virginity just before the end of sophomore year of college**, and just before junior year started, I changed my mind about school and ran off to London on a temporary work visa. So there I was, having had sex like three times in my life, and suddenly I exploded. I was there less than two weeks when I had my first encounter--a Kiwi I picked up at a dance party at my friend's hostel. Then there was the Canadian who was visiting my friends, the drummer from Rome who played at the bar we frequented, two different Brits (both club pick-ups, the latter of whom I actually dated) and a surprise American***.
So, 6 guys in 7 months. A personal best not to be challenged for another 5 years. When I went back to school, college boys proved very disappointing--in that they did not seem that willing to be picked up. Maybe it was American standards of beauty (Brits don't seem to mind curves), or maybe being an American Girl gave me the sexy caché that book implied...or maybe my anonymity, my untethered floating in the sea of Europe, made me more vibrant, more active, less afraid of rejection. I certainly struck out plenty of times--and I do better in New York than I did in college, as well.**** So I suppose I'm just better at scoring--fucking, loving, the lot--when there are no boxes to break out of. Perhaps I internalize others' pre-conceived notions of me, and can only truly feel attractive when people don't have them, when people don't immediately know the basics of who I am and what my story is. Because in situations where identity is preestablished, the risk of rejection is higher, and so are the stakes--it is that very preestablished identity that is rejected.
Or maybe America just needs to let us fuck already.
Heh.
**And, like two weeks later, lost my girl-virginity as well.
***I say surprise because we were making out before we actually heard each others' accents.
****Even with people who WENT to my college.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Depth Vs. Breadth
["Quantity vs. Quality" doesn't work for several reasons, including its being depressing.]
I must sometimes, reluctantly, face the fact that having had a lot of partners doesn't necessarily mean having had a lot of sex. Once, I told a friend my number* and she did in fact say, "That's a lot of sex!" But it's simple math--if you're in a long-term relationship, you're probably having sex a few times a week for years; if you're like me, you're having sex once every month or so, plus those little two-month islands in which you're actually dating someone. I'll wait while you run those numbers.
Yeah. Exactly.
I suppose I've never had extensive hands-on tutelage--at least not with the same mentor/equipment. So sometimes when I get into a naked situation I feel a bit...remedial. This is especially true when it's not a one-nighter, or when I'm with someone whom I know has had long-term relationships. While I've tried a lot of different things--usually more than your average single-digit-history person--I'm not necessarily proficient at any one of them.
This is mostly paranoia. The things I have little practice with are usually the advanced or novelty kind of practices, which most people do not expect you to be expert about. And while I think I am probably pretty good at most of this stuff, and have a good attitude towards sex (which is important), I do get self-conscious about technique**.
So, be encouraging. Even sluts get performance anxiety.
*Back when it was only ten!
**Especially when it comes to oral.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Eureka!
Quite some time ago, a friend asked me why I would care what our friends think of my sex life, and why it would bother me if they had problems with it. As I reported back at the time, I couldn't come up with a clear answer. For some crazy reason, buying a mini-scone at Starbucks just now, the answer came to me:
It's mean.
There's also stuff in there about losing respect for people who pass judgment in misogynist ways, et cetera, and not wanting to spend time with people who are that square, but come on guys--it's mean! And who wants their friends to be mean? Not me.
But yeah, also all that other stuff.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Final Thought (Plus Tangent)
Here is why my fuck buddy will always have a place in my heart: I am afraid to tell him how many people I've slept with because he might find the number disappointingly low.
This is now near-inexplicably reminding me of something that happened in 10th grade. I had an ideological antagonist in high school, a self-styled conservative, and we took great joy in provoking each other. One day, while in rehearsal together for a play, I said in front of the other actors, "It's hilarious that [Redacted] thinks I'm the Queen of Sin." While another actor who knew me better, and was somewhat sinful himself, laughed at the very idea, my antagonist said, almost under his breath, "Well when you've slept with half the guys in Manhattan..."My jaw actually dropped, and I exclaimed, "[Redacted]! I'm a virgin!" It was an unusual moment in that I wasn't specifically proud of my virginity (though not ashamed), and it was nice and refreshing to have it be a point of power. And it wasn't that being a virgin was inherently good, like it made me virtuous, it just made the point that you can't assume things about a person's behavior based on their beliefs and, okay, in-your-face attitude*.
Ok, back to the fuck buddy. It's awesome to know a guy, even if I only "know" him every few months, has active respect for a girl who's, well, active. No guy has asked me my number since I was 21, and it was conveniently 3 lower than his own number, so there was no drama. But it was in fact a nice intimate moment for us, asking that question, and I'd hate to think that the answer might one day be a source of contention rather than closeness. So, in summation, there should be more guys out there like my fuck buddy. Which is sort of how I end my "Dudes I Like" posts, so perhaps we should unofficially categorize him there, as well.
*Also I was pretty flattered that he thought me capable of fucking half the guys in Manhattan at the tender, chubby age of 15. Still working on it, [Redacted]!
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
On Confidence
As you may somehow have guessed, I got laid this weekend--specifically Friday night. This was awesome for all the usual reasons, but also had an unexpected positive side effect. You see, on Saturday I FINALLY, after (no joke) a year-and-a-half of trying, got my friends to go out dancing at an indie club. I was psyched (and left my comrades with no option but to be psyched themselves), but I also had not been out partying for sometime*. I have very little idea what the kids are wearing to clubs these days, had never been to this venue, etc etc. But I had some weapons to bolster my psychitude--in addition to having on my FIRST EVER pair of skinny jeans, I proudly bore the knowledge that I'd just gotten some.
It was unexpectedly freeing. While I kept my eye out for a make-out buddy, all pressure was off. For one thing, I was too SORE to take anyone home with me**. And when I didn't really find anyone to make out with, since the club was a total sushi fest*** and this one semi-cute guy in a Hendrix shirt couldn't seem to decide whether he wanted to dance with me, there was basically no feeling of rejection. I remember flopping down next to my roommate to rest my feet and saying, "I mean, I don't look THAT fat, do I?" Which got me a deservedly pointed look, but I kind of meant it. I DIDN'T feel unattractive. It was hard to care what anyone there thought, when I could truthfully say, "This morning I fucked someone a hundred times cooler than anyone in this club."
This is both awesome and problematic. Confidence is good, but do I have to get laid every time I want to go out dancing? And, no less, by someone a 100 times cooler than anyone else? Cuz that's, like, a lot cooler, and tall experimental musicians don't grow on trees****. Surely I don't need the lingering scent of rock star jizz in my nose just to have a good time?
Probably not. I'm hoping to get people out again next Friday, and busy as I am it's not likely that I'll pick anyone up before then. Which probably will intensify the urge to meet someone at the club, but if not? Hopefully I'll be able to remember what it was like on Saturday to have a great time with my friends and feel hot regardless of what the guys around me were doing. Maybe it's unfortunate that I needed the armor of recent screwing not to end up in a pout, but that's life--one step at a time. Soon enough I won't even need skinny jeans to feel cool.
Preferably: REALLY soon. Those things are kind of scary.
*It's all very "The Good Life" by Weezer.
**Of course, I've said this before, and taken people home with me nonetheless. Yeah Party Night Trifecta!
***Yes, I'm trying to make that a thing.
****But imagine such a tree!
Monday, April 7, 2008
More Sexually Explicit Fun-Time!
There are always firsts. For example, the first time you get semen in your nose.
Let's say, hypothetically, a guy is coming in your mouth. And that having permission to yknow, spread it around, he hypothetically accidentally lands a drop right at the gateway to your left nostril. Well, then you have a problem, because guess what, he's still coming in your mouth so you can't breathe that way, and you can't breathe through your nose because then you will be actually inhaling semen*. So all you can really do is hold your breath and hope it won't take too much longer.
Fortunately it doesn't, and, being a gentleman, the hypothetical ejaculator is quick to find you a tissue. And once you are cleaned up you can't help but chuckle because it's good to know that there are always firsts.
*Hypothetically.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Royal Pain
I spoke a bit before about the combination of violence and sex. The inspiration came from this poster that's been all over Manhattan lately:
This is the kind of thing that always makes me wonder: is this bad for society? I think if I say that this poster sexualizes violence against women, I will not have to explain why. It's pretty obvious once you think about it.
I can't say it offends me, but maybe it should. The reasons it does not offend me are two-fold: one, The Tudors is higher-brow than, say, Captivity,* and whether it should or not that makes me slower to attack. The more-to-the-point reason is that, as discussed, consensual violence is sometimes sexy. So how do we separate sexual violence from violent sex? Is it wrong to find images like the above a little sexy in a kinky way? Obviously, the violence suggested by the poster is not consensual, but the image suggests sexual enjoyment--on the woman's part even more than the man's, really. Doesn't this suggest that you can beat and murder women and it's okay because they're kind of into it? The image is clearly supposed to excite us, titillate us, but as we know from knowing who these characters are historically, the "taking" that the text describes entails, or at least presages, the woman's decapitation.
So the overall question is: Should I be pissed? Or am I complicit because I too find it a little hot?
*Which in part inspired the Joss Whedon essay I mentioned back in the day. Also I should mention that the poster depicted is not even ACCURATE--I read the plot summary on wikipedia and--spoiler alert!--she doesn't actually die. What a rip-off!
Monday, March 17, 2008
What Would Tyler Durden Do?
So, here's the thing: I like to punch boys. Consensually, of course--I have never struck anyone in anger, but occasionally I'll say to a guy friend, "Wanna fight?" and then we step outside. Bareknuckle boxing, if you will. Always below the neck--my friend Chris wanted the face to be inbounds, but I said, “There’s a pretty boy I’m trying to mack it to.” And he understands that kind of thing.
The first part of my pugilistic impulse is: I like violence. I mean…in order to fight I have to be in the right mood. A very specific mood. The first time, you see, I was bored. Restless. There was a party going on at my house and I’d snuck off to someone else’s, suddenly feeling itchy somehow, like something was rattling around inside me. As is often my problem, I wanted to feel wild, like an artist, a Hemmingway type, a lion. By this point I was done with binge drinking and was taking a serious break from random sex. A physical fight suddenly seemed the way to feel less…trivial. More primal. Less bourgeois. It's exhilarating, really.
There is the therapeutic part, where I can get out all my anger and frustration, both at myself and others. It's definitely cathartic.
And then, of course, there's the part where I identify with male roles, and want to believe I can roll with the boys. But I don't want to win. The reason I fight boys and not girls (aside perhaps from girls not seeing getting pummeled as a good time) is that with boys I don't have to hold back. I don't have to worry about hurting them and I don't worry about them hurting me. That's the point.
I want to know how much I can take. I want to know I'm tough.
I tend to play the Strong Woman role, and sometimes I feel guilty because I'm worried it's all just a front. So yeah, getting "beat up" (but not really) by a guy proves that I can handle getting beat up. Basically: There's no fear he let me win if I don't win.
However, I do walk around acting as though I could take just about anyone. The really good fights (which are 3 out of the 5) had carefully chosen partners, and two of them in particular were the kind of guy who in general looks like he'd win a in a fight.* But this weekend I somehow, drunkenly, ended up in a faux-wrestling match with a guy who does not come off as particularly butch. I not only lost, I ended up on my knees, hitting his arm and croaking "Safeword! Safeword!" because I did not think he actually wanted his headlock to make me pass out, especially as the party was otherwise quite civilized.
[Okay, I'm going to get sexually explicit and reveal some stuff here, so if you think that kind of thing should be embarrassing then please don't read. Really, I'm only embarrassed to reveal things about myself when I think that other people think I should be. People tend not to like casual TMI. So be gentle.]
This reminded me of an occasion on which a guy had me, well, tied up. I'll spare you the details and skip ahead: afterwards, I said something about how I could've gotten free if I'd wanted to. My gentleman friend, almost offended, argued that had he actually wanted to restrain me against my will, he would've been able to. This gave me pause. Powerlessness is, of course, the fantasy...Dan Savage says we fetishize what we fear. But I suppose that integral to that, for me, is the idea that being forced couldn't happen to me for real. And the unsuccessful wrassling with my friend this weekend (he was gay, so don't mistake it for foreplay) bummed me out slightly because part of me wants to know that I could fend a guy off if I had to. Of course, there's a difference between hitting an attacker and running and actually sticking around for a fight. But I still sometimes think about the fact that most of my guy friends could easily beat me to death, could easily kill me with their bare hands.
So if you'll excuse me, I'm going to head off and buy a gym membership. Maybe some kickboxing classes will cheer me up.
*As much as theatre folk can look that way.
**Probably accurate.
Monday, March 3, 2008
The Bare Necessities Of Life
Seeing as I'm now "funemployed"*, I've gotten lazy about a lot of things, and one of those is healthy eating. It's occurred to me that I could stand to lose a few pounds--not necessarily from an objective aesthetic standpoint (cuz no one wants to hear that), but because some of my underwear doesn't reall
y fit anymore. Apparently the extra pounds go to my hips and ass, and now I can't even think about anything in the g-string or French bikini family.
However. What with the funemployment, I just cannot bring myself to watch what I'm eating. As I've said before, I think guys should be fine with my body even if I know they won't be, which kills the motivation. And I like boyshorts better anyway. But this has gotten me thinking about food. Namely, that I love food. I enjoy food. And I wonder if an enjoyment of food is related to an enjoyment of sex.
In high school I had an idle interest in palmistry, read a few books on it, found it interesting. One book categorized my "hand type" as Romantic. (I think, this was like 10th grade.) It characterized my ilk as sensual, to the point that we might be a little overweight because we so enjoy the acts of eating and drinking. (I am aware that most people enjoy these acts, but the diet idea of viewing food as nothing more than fuel actually horrifies me.)
There's a minor cliché that fat girls are better in bed. Some people go with the "because they have to be" angle, others go with "because skinny girls DON'T have to be." There's also the idea that conventionally hot ladies, caring more about their physical appearance, are more self-conscious when nude**. BUT, what if it's that, assuming that slightly chubby girls are slightly chubby because of their food intake, and that their food intake is due to their enjoyment of the taking-in, both the love of food and the love of sex are two results of one root factor--their attunement to, and enjoyment of, sensual experiences?
And yes, this is possibly just my excuse to eat lots of cheese. Mmm. Cheese.
*Credit to Sojourner at Diary of a Mad Blacktress for the phrase. I'm unemployed and lovin' it.
**There's also the theory that none of this is even true, but bear with me.
Monday, February 4, 2008
MythENFORCER: Ribbed For Your Pleasure!
Rather than busting any myths today, I'd like to whole-heartedly endorse one: ribbed condoms are awesome.
I know, I was skeptical too. But that is the magic of RA bags, and of dating someone who works for Health Services so you get one all to yourself--variety! I did not imagine that those little ribs would actually make a difference, but I happened to pull one out of my stockpile one day, and...wow. I'm now sort of addicted.
I'm guessing they don't work for everyone. If what's INSIDE the condom is on the small or large end of the spectrum, you probably won't feel much, and if lubrication is scarce, they can be a little uncomfortable--but then if lubrication is scarce, the whole enterprise is gonna be a little uncomfortable, so that's hardly the condom's fault. These days my ideal condom is the combination ribbed-and-thin variety, so everyone gets a little something extra.
Hooray! That is all.
Burning With Desire...To Pee
Can I tell you how much I hate uriniary tract infections? Yeah, I got one the first time I ever had sex, which is I think a testament to how much I like sex that I ever even bothered again, because UTIs FUCKING SUCK BALLS. AND NOT IN THE GOOD WAY. Ahem.
I don't have one right now, since I did a lot of 100% Pure Cranberry Juice chugging after my last rendez-vous. But I was expecting one, as this guy almost always gives me a UTI. It's probably because we tend to do it like 6 times in one night/morning (after all, we only see each other twice a year), and I just don't have enough pee to flush things out after each time. I learned the hard way that if I don't pee within about 20 minutes after sex, I'll spend the next few days popping AZO until I finally have to cave and get some Cipro.
Once I got a (minor, Cipro-less) UTI just from masturbating. Honestly.
There was a study awhile back about how cranberry juice is just generally awesome, especially for women. The pure stuff is kind of nasty, but makes me feel butch so that's ok. I like to swig it from the bottle as though it's whiskey and I'm a grizzled old man in a Sam Sheppard play. The inevitable question, which the poser always pretends is a joke: does mixing it with vodka make it any less effective? Because that's quite the spoonful of sugar.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Formal Apology
Writing this blog (and, probably, reading Slut Machine's blog) has instilled in me a nigh irresistible urge to tell all my friends every detail of my sex-slash-love life. Usually on gchat, while they're at work. Usually the stuff that I don't even feel comfortable posting here. As I've said, I have no idea if they're actually interested. Sometimes they do not respond at all and I go, "I am totally boring this person." And then I go, "Unless they're just distracted by the JOB for which they are getting PAID and thus do not have time to say 'HA' and 'cool' in between every three things I write."
So, if I am in fact burdening anyone out there with the blow-by-blow* of my sex life, I officially apologize.
*Tee hee!
Oh The Conundrum
Repartee with my flirting buddy about his penis size has got me trying to plan something witty to say for when* I actually see his penis. "Witty" meaning clever, sexy, and preferably complimentary. Mae Westesque, perhaps. This is a totally moronic thing to be thinking about, but I feel we've set the bar high and I want to live up to any expectations we may have formed.
Suggestions are welcome.
UPDATE: "Your problems are not like other people's." ~My friend Alden
*Shit, I'm jinxing it!
Posts
