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, April 7, 2008
More Sexually Explicit Fun-Time!
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.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Drunken Blogging
Well, not actually. In fact, I wish. Tonight was beyond a let-down. I went to the Usual Bar with, literally, condoms in my back pocket. I WAS PREPARED FOR BATHROOM SEX. I was expecting to see Guy I Shouldn't Fuck--there was a small event, supposedly--but he didn't show. He'd Facebook RSVPed for chrissake! Is nothing sacred??? I hadn't decided it was full-on Sexy Time, but I was cruising for at least some covert smooches, and I'd made the bed and done some "personal grooming" just in case. All for naught. Not only was GISF not in attendance, my usual go-to barflies had been there 'till 4 a.m. the night before and were understandably not answering their phones, and everyone else in the area was either working or in bed*.
So I'm nursing my Newcastle, when the cute AWOL dude's onerous roommate walks in. Of course. The last time we were both in the bar together, my roommate attested that he was totally making eyes at me the whole time, which means he is a ridiculous social retard with whom I want nothing to do. So, obviously, he sits down next to me and we chat. I'm half-hoping he'll make a move so I can be mean to him, but if he had his act together enough to make a move we wouldn't even be in this situation, so no luck there**. I take two sips of my second drink and go home to watch my cat have an awesome fucking time with a piece of wire and some cardboard. I wish I were so easily satisfied.
I'm sure there is some lesson or moral here. Actually, I'm not sure of that at all, but I feel guilty writing about myself without having a larger point. Perhaps it is that some people just don't know how to behave themselves, and one is better off without them. Perhaps it is that one should only get pedicures for one's own enrichment, and not in anticipation of a non-guaranteed hook-up. (Fortunately, a pedicure is pretty much ALWAYS self-enriching.) Perhaps it is that one should never restrict one's dating pool, and I need to find a new bar.
Or perhaps I should just try fuckin JDate. Oh woe.
*At 10 P.M.! That is an outrageous hour for both of those activities.
**To be fair, I was making a conscious effort NOT to touch my hair or send any other IOIs, and mostly had my hand over my mouth, which I'd heard on the radio once was body language for "Do Not Enter."
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!
Monday, January 14, 2008
But More Importantly, Let's Talk About Me
Enough of this politics crap, am I right? You all want to know what's going down with Susan B. So, a recap:
-I'm leaving my job at the end of the month. Which totally means I should finally ask out my workplace crush, and I totally won't.
-Goddamn he is dreamy. His smile is Obama-calibre, but with the addition of crinkly, twinkly eyes.
-Due to the anxiety caused by quitting my job, I've been smoking pot every night just to fall asleep. Which basically works, though I am kept up an extra hour by the fact that the pot makes me really horny, and I am visited by visions of the non-sugarplum variety. Last night it was S&M fantasies of surprising ferocity.
-Karaoke birthday party was this weekend. My dad got adorably trashed, took the mic, and sang along with every song. Even ones he didn't know. Even "Let Me Blow Ya Mind." I've discovered my new jam, and it is "Special" from Avenue Q.
-I'm mentally preparing myself for a party two weeks from now at which way too many Guys I've Slept With will probably be present. I attempted to secure a female beard*, to no avail. So instead I'm going to re-wear my birthday party dress, which should honestly do the trick in terms of not feeling like a self-conscious tool.
-My longish-distance friend and I have vowed that we will not see each other again until we once again look as skinny as we do in my Facebook profile photo. I have yet to formulate any strategies for achieving this goal, but Time Out New York recommends chasing pigeons.
-Having been blown off by that guy I made out with has for some reason awoken the old urge to have sex with someone random in some bathroom somewhere. And the night I started having these thoughts, the Guy I Flirt With But Should Totally Not Hook Up With made a joke about us having sex in the bathroom, so I'm seriously in trouble. Also, he is the first guy's roommate.
-It occurs to me that the reason the encounter has triggered these thoughts is that this guy was supposed to be a fix-up and total Boyfriend Material, and since that was a flop I'm kind of going, "Screw you, guys who are Boyfriend Material! This scene is lame-and-a-half! I'm out of here!" And the roommate, I'm told, doesn't date Jews, which is maybe what makes him appealing because I know upfront how things would go**.
-Also, after a disturbingly long time not doing so, I've started masturbating again, and I realized I haven't posted much on masturbation so I should probably get on that.
-This guy I hooked up with forever ago, and hate for various reasons (I NEVER hate guys for simply not wanting to date me, but there were some serious Circumstances here) found out that I hate him, and now doesn't want to be around me, and at first I felt really bad and pathetic about this but then I learned more about how he discovered I hated him and I felt better because it was sort of exactly how I hoped it would happen. I am SO not used to these long-term vindictive feelings but I guess it happens to plenty of people at some point.
That's all for now.
*Cuz a male beard would just be pathetic!
**Not to imply that I could actually get this guy's pants off. Let's not jinx things.
Monday, January 7, 2008
I Know My Calculus
Neighbors Kim & Scott introduced me, the other day, to a Columbia math grad student. He was nice, et cetera, not the point. At brunch on Sunday, Kim was telling us all about hanging out with him and his other Math Student friends. The particularly interesting part was the girls. Apparently, from spending so much time in a male-dominated field, a girl becomes "one of the boys." Meaning that these ladies talk about their sex lives as openly (read: brazenly) as the guys do. Kim's example was a girl talking about some spring break trip and saying, "And remember that time I had sex with three guys in one day? That was awesome!" Her male friend said, "Yeah, that was awesome!"
I was about to say, "Is it weird that I think that sounds great?" But my roommate beat me to it--"You know Susan B. would totally talk that way if we did." She was totally right, and I totally appreciated it.
Two things. One: this maybe supports my family's belief in co-ed education. I dunno. Two: It's funny that I've basically never been able to just gleefully spill all my details to anyone without fearing it was TMI. I came closest with my flatmate in London, mostly because we were two American Broads Abroad and that's what you do. I don't even know for sure that my guy friends talk that way to each other. But then I wouldn't, would I? They don't seem like the types, but that's probably a Naive Girl thing to say.
So if anyone wants to be my Kiss-and-Tell buddy, applications are now available.
Monday, December 10, 2007
Rainy Days and Mondays
Anyway, my birthday's coming up, and this exists:
Which, in case you couldn't tell, is woman-oriented porn. And is about PIRATES. Though it's probably a little girl-on-girl for my tastes.UPDATE: Apparently it's mostly straight. I did not mean to misrepresent a film I have not seen
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Mythbuster: U.S. Off Of My Clitoris!
I just now went on a bit about Betty Dodson. One aspect of her Bust column that particularly irks me (other than an aforementioned anatomical nick-name) is her dismissal of vaginal orgasms. Maureen Dowd, too, talks about women trying to have "male orgasms"--ie, vaginal orgasms, achieved purely through penetration. Dodson, more so than Dowd*, seems to have flipped things over, implying that if vaginal orgasms are "male," clitoral orgasms are "female."
I'll tell you a story. Freshman year I separated my shoulder (yay rugby!) and went to the hospital. I think this put me on some kind of list. Two separate times, I got a call from a man claiming to be from that hospital, wanting me to be part of a Kinsey-esque survey about my sexuality. Honestly, I have no idea if he was legit, and he said one or two things that seemed unprofessional or weird**. But I realized I didn't much care--you may not have realized this about me, but I don't mind talking about sex. (I have to actually think someone is interested, but if there's no fear of TMI I can go on about such things forever.) One thing annoyed me, though: he made me choose between clitoral and vaginal stimulation. At first I refused to make Sophie's Choice, but he pressed and I reluctantly had to go with clitoral. Which I guess is true IN THAT I can get off from solely-clitoral play more reliably than solely-vaginal play. BUT I think I maybe prefer penetration, once I've been warmed up. (TMI? Just checking.) On the subject of how to tell a guy how to get you off, one Six Feet Under character put it pithily: "Lick my clit while you finger me." And few people can argue. But how many women are content to stop there? Don't most straight women still want some train-in-tunnel action?
Thus, the myth: that ANY kind of orgasm is superior to ANY OTHER kind of orgasm. So, it's a myth that, in every case, oral pleases the woman while penetration pleases the man, and it's a myth that a woman who can't come from penetration is somehow sexually remedial. Come on, people, we gotta depoliticize this shit. One of the reasons feminists tend to hate on Freud is that he derided clitoral arousal as neurotic (his thinking being, the clitoris is like the penis, so women who prefer clitoral stimulation just haven't resolved their penis envy). But is it any less tyrannical to flip that around?
To return to Bust, every issue contains a "One-Handed Read," ie a short piece of erotica intended as masturbation fodder. Sometimes, these stories involve a man going down on a woman and asking nothing in return. Which is the fantasy of many, to be sure, but it leaves me cold. "Needs more cock," I say to myself, as though tasting a soup. I mean, I've got lady parts on hand at all times--have clit, will travel. If you're painting me a word-picture...you gotta throw me a bone.
(Badum-ching.)
*Quoth Maureen, "I think it took a really long time for women to realize that the superior kind [of orgasm] is the kind you can actually have."
**For example, upon learning I masturbated regularly, he concluded that my sex life "wasn't doing it" for me. Which is bizarre coming from a guy--don't y'all famously masturbate no matter what? And I believe statistics show that people in relationships jerk off more than single people, regardless of gender, so you'd think someone doing a survey would know that.
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