Author Archive

Craigslist Agrees to Curb Sex Ads

November 7, 2008

craigslut SAN FRANCISCO — The online classifieds company Craigslist said Thursday that it had reached an agreement with 40 state attorneys general and agreed to tame its notoriously unruly “erotic services” listings.

Prostitutes and sex-oriented businesses have long used that section of Craigslist to advertise their services.

Early this year, the attorney general of Connecticut, Richard Blumenthal, representing 40 states, sent a letter to Craigslist demanding that it purge the site of such material and better enforce its own rules against illegal activity, including prostitution. The two sides began a series of conversations about what Craigslist could do to prevent such ads.

“They identified ads that were crossing the line,” said Jim Buckmaster, chief executive of Craigslist. “We looked at those ads, we saw their point, and we resolved to see what we could do to get that stuff off the site.”

In March, Craigslist began asking its erotic services advertisers to provide a phone number, which an automated system calls. The system reads a series of digits, which the advertiser types into a Web page as verification before the ad will appear on the site. Craigslist said that ended most of the illicit material.

Under the broader agreement announced Thursday, Craigslist is going further, asking that advertisers provide valid identification. It said that it will charge erotic services vendors a small fee for each ad — $5 to $10, Mr. Buckmaster said — and require that they use a credit card for the payment. This, theoretically, will let the company confirm users’ identities. It will donate the money to charities, including those that combat child exploitation and human trafficking.

On Wednesday, Craigslist also sued a variety of companies offering services designed to circumvent its protections.

Mr. Blumenthal said the new measures would discourage many sex operators from using Craigslist. “The mere act of authentication will be a very significant deterrent,” he said. “There are very few prostitutes who want to be called by Craigslist and asked to give additional identifying information.”


link to article


The Day Was Good

March 28, 2008

female objectifying and/or plain funny?

Sweet Fucking Dreams

March 25, 2008

I want to thank Marilyn Manson for being part of the rawest sex session of my life- the song, not the video.

Sex, Lies and Casper tapes

February 16, 2008


Charges target sex taping in dorm
Yale sophomore arraigned in case

How in the world we missed this story is beyond us. But more pertinently, how can anyone named CASPER be bad? Well you can judge for yourself, although our first impression at least from the photo and the initial storyline is “..much ado about nothing..” We are still trying to obtain HER side of the story, since the assumption is that she filed the compaint in the first place. How long before we see more copycat cases like this from those craving 15minutes of fame? YAWN..

NEW HAVEN, Conn. by Associated Press- A Yale sophomore is facing criminal charges, including voyeurism, after showing his four roommates a video of himself and his former girlfriend having sex, according to an arrest warrant.

Casper Desfeux, a Copenhagen native and sophomore who lived in Davenport dorm, told police he recorded the incident without the woman’s knowledge using a camera on his Apple MacBook, according to the arrest warrant affidavit. The woman, who is also a Yale student, found out about the video from one of Desfeux’s roommates, according to police.
Desfeux, 20, said he activated the camera because he just “wanted to see if it worked,” according to police. Police say the woman brought the charges to prevent the sexually explicit video footage from being disseminated around the university or on the Internet.
Desfeux was arraigned yesterday in Superior Court on voyeurism and dissemination of voyeuristic materials, officials said.
“This is a misunderstanding involving two young college students,” said his attorney, William Dow III. “There was absolutely no distribution of anything on the Internet. We’re confident this will be resolved to the satisfaction of all parties.”
Desfeux told Yale police he never sent the video to anyone because, at 45 minutes, it was too lengthy to process. He also said he did not make still photos from it. Yale police have seized the laptop, camera, and other items, which are being held until they can be delivered to the State Police forensic laboratory for examination, according to the affidavit.

and we thought Vanier was vanilla…

February 13, 2008

February 13, 2008 — The kinky college professor who was almost strangled during an S&M session at a NewYork city club said yesterday he’s deeply ashamed and is finally through with the double life he’s lived since he was kid.

“I don’t want this to spoil my marriage,” said Robert Benjamin, 67, still disoriented from the three days he spent in a coma but sitting upright in a chair in his room at St. Vincent’s Hospital.

“I don’t want my wife to leave me, but I have to tell her the truth,” he said. “I’m going to share everything with her. I think my family will forgive me,”

Benjamin said he’s desperately trying to break his addiction.
“It’s like when you crave a turkey,” he said. “You eat it and you eat it and you eat it, but you still want it. But now I’ve had enough. I don’t want turkey anymore. I’m full.”

His life was saved last Friday by a dominatrix at the Nutcracker Suite on East 33rd Street, who was assigned to check on him after her colleague left him with a dog collar around his neck and a leather mask over his face, suspended a few inches off the floor.

She realized his foot was turning blue because one of his high heels had slipped off.

“I don’t want to go to the clubs anymore,” Benjamin said.

“I’m trying to learn to control myself and my emotions. I’ve seen doctors to help me,” he said, adding that he’s been unable to control his desires “from very early on in my life.”

Benjamin managed to keep his shameful secret from his wife, his two kids, who are now adults, and the students he taught at Montreal’s Vanier College until his recent retirement.
He never indulged his “dirty habit” in Montreal, where he fooled relatives, neighbors and colleagues into thinking he was a respectable family man who enjoyed outdoor activities.

Benjamin would make regular trips to New York where he’d stay at a “Y” and spend his time indoors. He’d tell his family he was cross-country skiing upstate, then visiting the city “to take photographs” and eat pizza at his favorite Italian restaurants in Brooklyn.

“My biggest fear has always been that someone would find out. That’s why I come to New York and never do this in Montreal,” he said.

Hours later, Benjamin’s wife, Lynn, arrived at the hospital from Canada, but declined to comment. Benjamin, who came out of a coma Monday and is still recovering from his ordeal, struggled to remember numbers and dates, but guessed he’s been married for “30 years or more.”

He does not remember putting on the handcuffs, nipple clamps, dog collar, high-heel shoes or hood, vowing “I’m going to seek professional help to get over this dirty habit.”
“The doctors told me I was passed out, but now I’m awake. They saved me, they gave me the confidence that I will be OK.”

Benjamin attributes his recovery to his excellent physical health.

“I’m in really good shape,” he said. “I bike, I ski, I take care of myself.”

He vowed never again to risk his life during his retirement, saying he’s relaxing, enjoying his time and “doing all the things I never had the chance to do.
“Now that I’ve almost died, I can’t see myself going back to S&M,” he said. “If you gave me $100,000 to spend there, I wouldn’t. I’m not crazy.”
Taki Noriko, the dominatrix who trussed up Benjamin and left him alone – as he’d requested – was relieved to hear of his recovery.
“Thank you,” she said, with a long sigh. “Thank you very much for telling me.”

yes but can she cook..?

January 30, 2008

Whether you want to call it robot fetishism, technosexuality, or just perversion, having sex with a robot or a sexual technology device is a fantasy for some. It’s also a solution for those that have trouble convincing a real live human to have sex with them. Whatever the reason, there are a number of robots and robotic products out there that can satisfy sexual desires, and we’ve profiled a number of them here.

Repliee Q1Expo: This “female” android has very human looks and senses. She has high-sensitivity tactile sensors that react to differing pressures, and can follow human movement. Her creators note that some people forget that she is an android while interacting with her. While there is no official report on the existence or absence of sexual organs in the Repliee Q1Expo, you can program the android to simulate movements.
Andy: Andy is very human, with functions like breathing, kissing, and yes, even sex. She can move into any position and will take part in movements. Her body is very realistic, as she has body heat and a heartbeat that pulses faster during sex. You can even install a video system in her eyes and play back encounters from her perspective. The manufacturer custom-makes each Andy model, and offers a variety of upgrades and adaptations.
Moaning Lisa: Moaning Lisa is a sex doll that doubles as an interactive game. To play the game, you have to touch one or more of her sensors to arouse her, but they’re on an unknown pattern of sensitivity, so it’s not always obvious which ones are the best. Ultimately, you win the game when you give her an orgasm.
Japanese Blowjob Machine: This machine certainly doesn’t look humanoid, but it’s designed to get the “job” done. The Japanese Blowjob Machine houses a motor and orifice with different textured interiors.
DER2 Fembot: Kokoro, a division of Sanrio, has created the Actroid DER2 fembot, which delivers expressions in a lifelike manner. She’s controlled by pneumatic pressure in her limbs, torso, and face, and her movements can be choreographed. The fembot is not for sale, but can be rented for 5 days.
CybOrgasMatrix: This sex doll is anatomically correct and modeled after model Pandora Peaks. She’s supported by an articulated skeleton and covered by a realistic elastomeric gel. This doll’s senses are advanced, so she moves, looks, feels, and even smells real. The CybOrgasMatrix’s robotics offer pelvic thrusting.
Simroid: Simroid is designed for dentist training, but honestly looks more like she was made for oral sex. She has a realistic appearance and human-like behavior, even featuring a gag reflex when objects are inserted too far in her mouth.
DIY Sex Robot: Check out this guide to building a robot for sex, and you’ll be able to customize a sexbot of your very own. Highlights include detailed instructions for senses and programming.
Robosapien: Although not designed for sex, a few creative people have modified the Robosapien to have sex using a dildo.
Rubbot: The Rubbot is a male sex machine. Essentially, it offers hands-free masturbation using “inch worm” technology.
Roboho: The Roboho is not a robot you can have sex with in real life, but that shouldn’t deter you from becoming her Cyber Pimp. In this game, you’ll configure a sexbot, guide her to high paying clients, and expand your harem of robotic prostitutes.
Alpha the Mechanical Man: In the 1930s, San Diego created a number of exhibits, one of which was Alpha the Robot. According to stories, this “robot” kidnapped a nudist and the two spent days in an amorous embrace.
Fuckzilla: Showcased at Arse Electronika, Fuckzilla is a “fucking machine” that has attachments including a multi-tongued “Lick a Chick.”
How to: Make Your Own Bionic Babe: Fleshbot offers a loose guide to creating your own sex robot, offering blueprints and other points of inspiration.
Robospanker: The Robospanker is just what it sounds like-a robotic spanking machine. It uses a small motor, trigger device, and spring-loaded paddle to deliver spanks from light to painful.
Robosex: The same people who made the Robospanker have made a sex machine for men. It looks like a footstool, but is made with a plastic cylinder that offers vacuum suction and pumping action.
Dita Von Teese: Burlesque performer Dita Von Teese is a real babe, but she’s done a photoshoot dressed as a robotic pinup. So if you’d like to satisfy a robot fetish, she’s about as realistic as you can get.
Vanessa Fembot: Vanessa, the Fembot from Austin Powers, was once up for auction on eBay. She may be sexy, but be forewarned-her chest is packing heat.
Dion: Dion has a very realistic looking body, but the focus is on her singing and lip motion. She’s lauded as a robot that can sing and look sexy at the same time.
Valerie, the Domestic Android: Valerie has a speech synthesizer and is equipped with proprietary AI software. She can perform visual imitation and learns through rote memory.
Sybian: This autoerotic machine for women is made of a saddle seat and a motor, and can be used with a variety of phallic objects. It’s made of quality construction and offers variable speed and vibration.
Robotech Thruster: This sex machine comes equipped with a high-speed piston and stabilizer. It’s essentially a sleeve with external thrusting controls, and you can mount it on a tabletop or similar surface.
Sexbot V2.0: Like Dita Von Teese, this robot is a real live human, but presents an option for satisfying a fantasy. Sometime in the summer of 2005, this “Sexbot V2.0″ offered free robot sex on the side of the road. There’s no word on what happened to the 1.0 version.
Zoltan’s Robot Girlfriend: This guy has cooked up his own robot girlfriend using a combination of a chatbot, teledonic device, and a sex doll. He can talk and type with her in English, and perform sexual acts simultaneously with her life-sized body. On his site, you can get instructions for building a robot girlfriend or boyfriend of your own.
Deep Throat: This “robot vagina” is billed as a device that will do “everything you wished your girlfriend would do,” offering a deep sucking sensation, slurping sounds, and vibrations that rival a real deep throat experience.
thanks renee 😉

Sexiest message ever heard from a computer

January 25, 2008

Scientology has been attacked. Not just attacked. The hacker cohort known only as Anonymous has published a Youtube video declaring war. Finally some good old fashioned kick the bad guys where it hurts… Anyway, heres the link… its the sexiest message I have ever heard coming from a computer.

redlight channel anchor auditions, take 1…

January 15, 2008

Sex Vocab!

January 4, 2008

Some of you might have heard these terms before, some from my own mouth. If you haven’t, spread them like STI’s.

Peen – Penis
Vag –
Jilling it –
The feminine of jacking off. Also, looking at your right hand, it spells the word, JIll.
Grower or show-er – If a man’s peen is very small but then grows a lot during excitation, he’s a grower, otherwise he’s a show-er. Basically, you get what you see.
Cleaning someone’s room – Having sex with someone
Sweater – A very hairy torso. This one was often used when I worked in a resort in Cancun to describe certain guests. Hey Sweater!
Bic-it – To shave body parts using a razor.
Vagina boogers – Do I really have to explain this one? An ex lover used it while talking about a girl he knew: “I couldn’t go down on her she had vagina boogers!”.
Nintendo week – When a girl is on her period, she’s on Nintendo week. First coined by NB punk band, Romeo Retarded. Basically, her partner plays Nintendo instead of making love to her.
Rando – A random person, a stranger.
Beej – Blowjob
Heej – Handjob
To joff or joffing – Jacking off. This one I first heard from my pal in Toronto.
Dills – Testicules, also from my pal.
S my d – For men that are somewhat shy.
Pocket bf – A cute boy under 5’7. For a girl to be a pocket gf, she should be less than 5’3.

These next ones are from my friend Mike from the band Risky Business, he’s always had a rather colourful way of describing sex:

Shwing shwong Penis
Bajingo – Vagina
Railed Fucked
Tagged – Fucked
Stick your wiener in her vageener – Self explanatory

Other contributers added:

Stink ditch ie; Tongue plowing the stink ditch.
Baby chowder – ie; The end product of romping in bed
Cumishment – Punishment involving cum?

Do you have any interesting expressions you wish to share? Let us know, comment below!

happy new year…!~)

December 24, 2007


College Sex Myth: Going Home Alone

October 25, 2007

One year, shortly before graduation, the mother of a friend came to visit him at college. As they walked across campus after dinner, a young woman he knew stopped to say hello and ask where he was going. “He’s going home,” his mother snapped. “Alone.”
Has it really come to this? Has adult obsession with college sex reached such a pitch that a parent assumes that every cordial conversation will, without his or her intervention, end in frantic intercourse?
Actually, we understand parents’ alarm. College today is portrayed almost exclusively as a sexual free-for-all, where undergrad action is effortless and frequent, where randy young things not so much leap into the sack as never leave it in the first place.
Rolling Stone calls it “the booze-fueled culture of the never-ending hookup.” In her book “Unhooked,” The Washington Post‘s Laura Sessions Stepp sniffs that hookups are as “common as a cold.” Bill O’Reilly airs furtive footage on Fox News of “pure debauchery” at Brown University’s annual SexPowerGod party. And of course, in Tom Wolfe’s impossible-not-to-cite novel “I Am Charlotte Simmons,” set on a campus where sex is in the air — sorry, where the air is “humid with it! Tumid with it! Lubricated with it! Gorged with it!” — students practically major in “herky-jerky . . . bang bang bang.” One envisions RU-486 available at the dining hall salad bar, next to the croutons.
But as the Class of 2011 settles in on campus this month, we’re betting that the students are discovering the cold-shower truth: The type of action they’re likely to get is more hanky than panky.
We say this at our own peril. As the editors of IvyGate, a blog that dines out on all that is base and scandalous about the Ivy League, we have written about students and sex once or twice. It’s hard not to, when even the smallest incidents get hyped to the max.
This year, two weeks before Valentine’s Day, we posted an e-mail that the beleaguered master of a Yale residential college had sent to his charges — subject line: “Shower Stalls are for Showering” — asking an unnamed intimate couple to please stop clogging the bathroom drain. Hilarious? Absolutely. (The man has a PhD!) Did we give it a second thought? Nah. Not, that is, until a New Haven newspaper got wind of the professor’s plea. And then the Associated Press. And then about 130 news outlets worldwide, including the “Today” show.
It wasn’t the first time, obviously, that a campus sex story had been blown out of proportion. Last fall, the New York Daily News ran a thoughtful, nuanced article with the headline “WILD SEX 101: S&M Clubs, Nude Parties, Porn, X-Rated Romps Rule at Columbia.” Having gone to Columbia, where we had experience with only the third item on that list, we read eagerly. Had the school really become a “playpen for sexual hijinks” in the months since we’d graduated? By e-mail and instant message, we canvassed some friends for our blog: Forget the kinky part; how often are you having sex at all? Here are some of the responses:
“Once every six months. Columbia is a rough world for single people.”
“The average in the engineering school is probably like once a semester.”
“Either I missed out or everyone else in college isn’t having sex at all.”
“Random hookups do happen, but it is probably rare for most students. At night people just go back to their rooms and finish their homework, or maybe heat up a Hot Pocket.”

Tantalizing! Having eaten a Hot Pocket or two ourselves, we will vouch that there’s a lot more truth to these kids’ answers than what you see on Statistics bear this out. In a 2000 Zogby poll, 40 percent of students nationwide reported that they were not “sexually active” — a term left vague enough to include everything from kissing to soliciting strangers in a Minneapolis airport men’s room. At the country’s top schools, the dry spells approach levels not seen since 1930s Dust Bowl Oklahoma. Harvard‘s health department reported last year that 47 percent of students there said they had not yet had vaginal intercourse. (Numbers not adjusted for homosexuality, apparently.) At the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, a 2001 survey found that only 51 percent of undergrads had lost their virginity; at Princeton the same year, the student body was 44 percent pure.
Parents and other interested parties often confuse having had sex with having sex regularly. One landmark 2000 study found that kids have an average of 10.8 hookups in college. That seems like a lot. But the math works out to only 1.35 hookups per semester — and remember, some of these incidents are merely make-out sessions. This is what we’re getting so worked up about?
More devastating to the idea that everyone is constantly hooking up is the evidence that students hugely overestimate the notches on their classmates’ mortarboards. In 2005, a survey of four universities found that while 80 percent of students had had one sex partner or fewer in the previous year, only 22 percent thought that the average number of partners was that low. In a similar survey in 2002, most guessed that three or more was the norm.
Even the MD/PhDs of college nookie — sex columnists at student newspapers — often talk the talk rather than walk the walk (of shame). At Yale, prototypical sex-scribe Natalie Krinsky parlayed her “Sex and the (Elm) City” column into a prominent profile in the New York Times and a book deal. “Chloe Does Yale,” a peek into “what goes on behind these proper ivy-covered walls,” was published in 2005.
Funny thing about that sex column, though: It contained very little sex. Krinsky’s topics included first dates, shopping for vibrators and even a saucy question about oral sex, but never explicit material from her own life. Her skills were playing reporter and confidante, not exhibitionist. Krinsky knew that her scandalous material was mostly talk. “You are young, you are hip, you are beautiful, and you are smart,” she wrote in one column, a letter to incoming Elis, “and if you’re anything like any one of your classmates, you are ready to bonk. You are ready to bonk a lot. Well freshmen, you have come to the wrong place. At Yale, it seems we discuss sex far more than (admittedly) we actually have it. This is essentially the reason for my job. I talk about sex. A lot.”
Some people will no doubt be thrilled to hear that college chastity levels remain high. A new book by Wendy Shalit, “Girls Gone Mild,” follows up on her 1999 tract, “A Return to Modesty,” which argued that the sexual revolution of the 1960s has overshot its original goals of liberation and turned into its own kind of oppression. Instead of feeling empowered, Shalit now writes, young women feel pressured to act “bad” and sexy at increasingly early ages. The solution: good old feminine purity. Not the repressed, Victorian kind but a new, deliberate sort. A student group at Harvard called True Love Revolution has a similar goal: premarital sexual abstinence. The group made headlines earlier this year for merely existing, and commentators — mostly conservatives — greeted it as evidence of a backlash against college “hookup culture.”
Indeed, chastity is as rampant as ever — at least at the more privileged schools, where for the most part, it’s not intentional. In 2001, David Brooks profiled “The Organization Kid” — the happy young workaholic who, between hockey practice, a cappella rehearsal, problem sets, SAT tutoring, Model U.N., AIDS research, human genome mapping, clerking for appeals court justices and cutting a debut solo album, has little time for the “character building” that used to occupy university life.
Brooks touches on the social repercussions of this omnivorous lifestyle, such as friends penciling in appointments with one another. But what he doesn’t mention is how the hyper-commitment of college life means that kids end up doing everything but “it.” For one thing, there’s the time factor. As one male friend told us, in response to our query about the Daily News expos¿, “I’ve kind of got a girl right now, but we’re both too busy to actually have sex. I think a lot of people are in my boat, and they deal with it by commoditizing and scheduling time for sexual pleasure as they would a meeting with their adviser.”
Improbably, it’s a recent comedy — a movie whose plot turns on vomit, penis art and a fake ID issued to one Mr. McLovin — that gets it right. Next to “I Am Charlotte Simmons,” “Superbad” is nothing less than a documentary of our time. The story of two best friends on the eve of college, it nails how our generation’s culture really is based on drinking and hookups — but also how at the end of the night, even with girls who are eager and boys who score booze, sex remains elusive.
Sometimes it doesn’t happen because the guy is uncomfortable; sometimes it’s because the girl doesn’t like the guy. And sometimes sex does happen for dweebs who’ve just ridden in a police car, fired a Glock and been punched in the face by a robber. (Okay, that last one may be unique to the movie.) If there’s a sequel — “Superworse”? — all of these characters will hook up in short order at college, and then every now and then until they graduate.
In other words, they’ll be gettin’ some. Literally — some. As in, a medium amount.
By Christopher Beam and Nick Summers
Christopher Beam and Nick Summers co-founded the blog IvyGate.

For sale: One (1) orgasm … Cost: $1850.00

May 23, 2007

Okay, so I came across this news story a few days ago. Basically, women around the world are supposed to rejoice, for illustrious doctors have come up with a new type of surgery, called … wait for it … the G-Shot! They can inject collagen into your pussy, thus plumping up your G-spot area, with the ultimate goal of increasing your sexual pleasure. Brave reader, awaiting you are multiple orgasms and a reinvigorated sex life! Er … thank you, science?

Sure, yeah, orgasms are super. Multiple orgasms? Even better. But still, my reaction to the G-Shot is still a big Blech!

First, there are health risks: There are 68 risks that are associated with the G-Shot. Orgasms are sexy, sure, but for some reason, nodule formations just don’t get me hot and wet.

More seriously though, I feel the G-Shot’s major turn-off is the extreme importance that it is placing on the female orgasm. The fact that a woman reported that getting the surgery increased her self-esteem just kind of illustrates that unpleasant implication of the G-shot: So if a woman can’t orgasm at all (or can’t have multiple orgasms or ejaculate or whatever), then does this mean that she’s a sexual failure and should be terribly disappointed in herself?

Don’t get me wrong, I think the female orgasm is important. In fact, I love that female sexuality and sexual pleasure and orgasms are now discussed in relatively mainstream settings and are taken seriously. After all, one of the goals of the Women’s Liberation movement was in fact to promote women’s sexual satisfaction, hence the rise of Our Bodies, Ourselves and The Almighty Clitoris, and the fall of the man who would pump the woman for four minutes before collapsing and falling asleep. That the female orgasm is acknowledged and is even put on a pedestal in some circles is a huge improvement on the silence that used to exist.

However, I’m starting to think that we’re taking things a little too far. Don’t get me wrong; I love fucking and I fucking love orgasms. However, I don’t think they’re the be-all and end-all of sex. That cheesy saying about the journey being just as important as the final destination applies here, I think.

There’s something very lovely (to put it lightly!) about orgasming, but there’s also something very appealing about fooling around for hours upon hours, exploring the body of another person, teasing him or her, playing with different spots and positions. Sure, in the end, perhaps no one’s orgasmed, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. You can’t equate four hours of sexual exploration with an orgasm or two, but you can’t rank one above the other either.

I think that in our time-crunched lives, sex has become in a way almost standardized and institutionalized. There exist books telling us the best ways to have sex, maybe to save us the time and “trouble” of figuring it out ourselves. Plus, with so little time, we actually have to schedule sex. In this kind of setting, no wonder why sex has become painfully goal-oriented! I’ve experienced that myself, and it kind of sucks to pressure yourself to “succeed” and make your partner come. So no, the G-Shot isn’t really helping, because it just tells us that indeed, you actually can fail at sex, and its idea of a cure to this “problem” is by offering to insert bits of extraneous protein into your pussy.

God, with all the pressure to “win” at sex, no wonder why I see so many sex advice columns inundated with women looking for tips on orgasming. It’s telling that the columnists usually respond by counselling these self-tortured souls to masturbate in a low-pressure, comfortable setting, to just forget about orgasming, and to just go with the flow.

I try to keep this perspective when it comes to sex. Sure, it’s difficult and it doesn’t always occur, but I’m trying. Truthfully, right now, my only “goals” when it comes to sex are the following: To have fun and to do it often. Sure, orgasms are important too, but hell, I’m also pretty happy just gettin’ some.

– Yun

Go Forth and Fuck

May 15, 2007

My biases for rock, metal and punk may be completely over the top, irrational and unyielding, but when I read about all the good that this kind of music presents the world, my spine tingles.

Enter Fuck for Forest, a Norwegian eco-activist porn organization. What do they do? They fuck each other’s brains out in order to raise money and awareness against deforestation and other environmental catastrophes. This is all sorts of awesome in a world which could seriously use a daily dose of awesome. It is now common place to “give” to charities through consumerism (Product Red, celebrity adoption, anything Oprah comes up with), which makes FFF all the more refreshing.

To start out, one reason I immediately love them is that I discovered FFF because they had sex on stage during a Norwegian metal festival. Ah, metal, annihilating preconceived notions of normative behaviour since 1970. The two main protagonists, Leona and Tommy, gave a brief talk to an audience of more than 5000 at the music festival about ignoring dwindling reserves of nature at our own peril. After the quick chat ended, the couple shed their clothes as the aptly named metal band The Cumshots began to shred their way through “Go Forth and Fuck.” The two were there, front and center, she perched on a main speaker, he standing behind her, the band growling all around them, the audience stunned and excited, all surrounded by a serene, picturesque mountain lake scenery. Awesome!

Sex sells, definitely. Ironically, FFF’s biggest problem is moving the funds once they receive them. So far, they’ve raised over $100,000 but because they are essentially a porn organization, groups such as the WWF in Europe refuses to take their money for environmental causes. Tommy and Leona are, understandably, utterly fucking bewildered. “What is morality when people are destroying the world?” retaliates Tommy when the WWF black labels their organization. Mainstream organizations are much, much too prude to accept tarnished, pornography money. Meanwhile, across the ocean in the USA, the porn industry is a multi billion dollar a year industry which puts its money God knows where. So, like the very metal they fucked alongside, they turn to less mainstream, less orthodox venues. They have turned their attention, and checkbooks, to Brazilian indigenous people and Costa Rican deforestation problems, hoping that their cumshots will be able to make a difference in the world.

In 1969, Yoko Ono and John Lennon made headlines when they stayed in bed for peace during their honeymoon. Their hotel room was constantly crowded with reporters and other media goons – sure, the Beatles were still the biggest band in the world and Beatlemania had yet to fade from anyone’s memory, but in reality, they just wanted to see John Lennon and Yoko Ono consummate their marriage. But now, when two activists consummate their passion on-stage, they get a hefty fine, they get ostracized from mainstream activism (the feeling is mutual, I’m sure) and are forced to basically beg larger organizations to take their money for a good cause. Echoing Tommy’s words at the music festival, “how far are you willing to try and save nature?”

Dude, where’s my (good) porn?!

May 14, 2007

“Friends, Romans, fellow porn-watchers, lend me your Internet browsing histories.”

Okay, all bad attempts at literary references aside, I’m serious: Readers of this blog, help a person out. Give me some recommendations for porn. Please.

Oh, wait. First, a disclaimer: I don’t want to delve too deep into my feelings on porn, on my stance on the never-ending “porn is pro- or anti-woman” debate. The truth is, I’m still in the process of figuring this out myself. I haven’t yet decided where on the spectrum I stand; all I know is that sometimes, for better or for worse, there’s nothin’ that hits the spot better than a good self-lovin’ session with some good porn. (Pun intended.)

The problem I have is … Where’s the good porn?

Of course, everyone’s taste in porn varies. I’ll tell you what I like, and you’ll see why I’m so goddamn frustrated about the lack of my “good” porn. Let’s start off with the good ol’ hetero porn. Usually, this stuff doesn’t cut it for me. This type of porn simply mirrors exactly what I see in our heteronormative society every day.

Sure, there are different faces, different body shapes, and different variations on power structures during sex (“Oooh! He’s waiting for her to come before he does anything to pleasure himself – how revolutionary!”), but essentially, I still always see the same two actors in everyday life as I do in my hetero porn. Thus, why would seeing a porno featuring a girl seducing a guy (or vice-versa) turn me on? I can find that same old routine in one of the many billboard ads or TV commercials that hawk low-rise jeans or some “exotically-named” perfume.

My gay roommate tried to help me, by sharing his prized collection of the “hottest gay porn out there”. Unfortunately, I just wasn’t turned on by all of the double-penetration and anal-stretching and circle-jerks that I saw. But I guess I’m kind of self-centered because sadly, when I watch man-on-man porn, my poor little ego ends up crying out plaintively, “But where do I come into the picture?” I guess part of me needs to live vicariously through porn, and I simply can’t do that when the principal actors in a porno can survive and thrive on cock alone.

So that leaves me with just girl-on-girl porn. You’d think that I’d be happy with the selection; there’s a lot of that stuff floating around, after all. Unfortunately, I’m not pleased with my choices, and to be honest, I don’t think it’s because I’m “picky”.

I think that a lot of the “lesbian” porn that circulates is primarily aimed towards men. Why? To be frank, it’s in how the women look: They all look so damn … straight. Long hair, fingernails that look like they’d rip vaginas into shreds, half a pound of makeup on the face, spray-on tans … I could go on.

Yet, to go on a brief tangent, at the same time, I actually kind of dislike this sort of thinking of mine. I dislike knowing that I’m placing these women on a Lesbian-o-meter. Who am I to judge how “queer” a person should look before I decide that she’s “authentically queer”? Who am I to presume that lipstick and long hair makes a woman any less of a lesbian than a motorcycle and a crew-cut? Again, this is something that I still have to work out for myself. Until then, I’m a little sad to say, the truth is that this is how I feel.

Anyway, back to my point. For better or for worse, most mainstream lesbian porn out there strikes me as ersatz and tacky, pandering more to those in the Girls-Gone-Wild fanbase than to people like me: a horny queer girl looking for some, well, to put it bluntly, some hot dyke action.

So that’s it. Please help me out. Surely I’m not the only person who finds the sex scenes in The L Word (which can be found on primetime tele-fucking­-vision, of all places!) to be ten times hotter than the stuff from And surely I’m not the only person kind of frustrated by this!

– Yun

How to Come Out to your Doctor

May 8, 2007

In order to get quality health treatment, our doctors or health care providers need to know our sexual orientation and our sexual practices. But coming out to your doctor can be an intimidating process. Here are some tips for coming out to your doctor.

Difficulty: N/A

Time Required: 15 Minutes

Here’s How:
1. If it’s time for you to get a new doctor,
try got get a gay friendly one.
2. Be aware of the
health risks for lesbians.
3. When you check in at your doctor’s office ask for a
“health care directive” form. On these forms you indicate what kind of end of life care you want and you can appoint a Health care representative. The health care representative will have the power to make decisions for you if you are not able to. You can also indicate who you want to visit you in the hospital.
4. When filling out the new patient information form, leave blank any questions about birth control if you are not using any birth control. When your doctor asks about birth control, this can be your opening to come out to her.

5. Don’t write your sexual orientation on the form. It’s best to disclose that information face-to-face with your doctor to see how she reacts.
6. If you can help it, meet your new doctor for the first time fully clothed. You will feel more comfortable and less like there is a power-imbalance.
7. Come out. If the doctors asks you about birth control, simply say, “I’m a lesbian, I don’t sleep with men.” Or if you are bisexual say, “When I’m with men, I use XX birth control, but with women I practice
safe sex by using latex barriers.”
8. If the issue of sex doesn’t come up, tell your doctor that you understand the importance of open communication with a health care provider for quality health care and that it’s important that she know you are a lesbian. Notice what her reaction and comfortability are.
9. Remember the reason you are coming out to your doctor is so that you can receive the best treatment possible. In order to get good care, you need to have a good relationship with your doctor. If your doctor seems at all uncomfortable with your sexual orientation,
look for a new doctor!

Thanks Kathy

April 25, 2007

Aw…. isn’t that sweet! Try explaining THAT one to the kids…

To crush or not to crush?

April 10, 2007

Crushes are great and , in my opinion, necessary–especially when you don’t have a significant other to crush on–.

For me it pretty much always went (I haven’t had a “real” crush in ages) like so: eye candy (“damn she’s hot, I could look at her and think about what I’d like to do to/with her all day”), the first words (most likely awkward since I’m so freaking shy), the slap in the face (this slap refers to the moment when I find out that she is not into women). There’s a fourth step to this that I rarely take into action but it is to tell this girl that I like her. Why would I do that? Well…just for the hell of it or in case there’s any doubt in her mind that she might like girls.

For entertainment purposes and for anyone that wants to find out how some crushes end up, please read on…

. One of my best friends’ sister that moved about a block away from my apartment two and a half years ago. Because of the “non-distance” between us, we ended up seeing each other every day. Of course (duh!), I just had to develop a crush on her. Therefore, six months after we started hanging out, I sent her an email (you think I would actually do this face-to-face? Pfffff.) telling her I was smitten with her. That was right in the middle of a trip of hers so I waited for a couple weeks before getting an answer. She finally replied with what I expected: thanks, but no thanks. She eventually came back to Montreal and I realised that for some reason, just writing her “the” email, made my crush disappear. She kind of started taking advantage of the fact that I liked her in that way and I became quite annoyed with her. Annoyance continued for about 4 months, or until she moved back to Toronto. We never ever talked about me having a crush on her. Goodbye Renée.

Isabelle. Not much there. She was in most of my classes in CEGEP…she had pink hair…she was hot. I actually never talked to her while in CEGEP but we became friends after and i never told her about the crush. And that’s it….some people.. . you just don’t have to tell them about your crush cause it’ll fuck things up royally.

Ruth (name has been changed). AAAAAHHHH Ruth! (this really doesn’t feel the same since the name change, hehe). She arrived to this wonderful city about 2 years ago and the first moment I saw her I thought she was really cute.. hot…damn fine. My trusty best friend encouraged me to “do something” because she “might” be bi. Well six months later I learned that YES she was bi and had been dating a girl friend of mine(damn it!). Halloween of that same year I told her about my little crush on MSN (again.. you think I’m going to do this face to face? pfff). Turned out she wasn’t interested but she wanted to be friends. GREAT! pffff. So we started hanging out way more and then I got threatened by her now ex-gf for stealing “her girl”. Story’s done. Ruth and I are really good friends now and we still talk/laugh about this crush I had. No awkwardness. It’s perfect.

Moral of the story is that it’s usually so much fun crushing on someone even though it won’t necessarily work out. Just being in “that world” is fun enough. Thinking about it…the two girls I’ve been with, I never actually had a crush on. Bizarre.

Gender (in)equality: Rescuing the issue from Page A27

April 5, 2007

As mentioned in my post last week, today is Blog Against Sexual Violence Day. (Pssst: It’s not too late to join in!) Basically, you blog about anything related to sexual violence in a collective effort to raise awareness.

So for today, I’d like to blog about gender inequality (which can and does lead to violence). I was talking to another girl today, and we were both complaining about the complacency surrounding gender equality that we seem to see quite often in today’s society.

We agreed that it annoys and frustrates us when people, especially other women, claim that gender equality is here and here to stay. Likewise, it’s even worse when said women, believing the fight for gender equality is over, try to distance themselves from anything remotely resembling the word feminism. (It’s the new F-Word, I’ve been told.) Sorry to break it to everyone, but … gender equality still doesn’t exist, and feminism is still just as important as fucking.

Sure, women can vote, but why is it that in the House of Commons, only about 20% of the seats are held by women? Sure, rape is treated more seriously now than before, but would you want your best girlfriend walking on St-Laurent at 4 am … alone? Sure, there are more women in the military, a traditionally male-dominated field, but what’s up with the prevalence of sexual harassment and the subsequent lack of punishment?

Don’t get me wrong, I definitely don’t want to be pointing fingers at anyone. It’s pretty easy to get complacent about any issue these days. We’re all busy people suffering from information and sensory overload. News reports that make it to the front page get a fair bit of attention from the public for the first couple of days. But after a week or so, the subject slips from page A1 to page A27 and ends up getting squished between the margin and the Bell ad with the talking beavers. The same thing occurs to us, as an issue that seemed so unjust and outrageous two weeks ago now slips away to the backs of our minds.

This is especially true in the case of gender inequality and people of my age. Hell, I wasn’t even born early enough to see the first fights and victories for women’s rights. And so, by the time people in my generation were old enough to read our ABCs, it seemed that such issues were already considered back-page filler fodder.

Gender inequality is not old news though; the fight for equality for all genders has taken new forms. For example, it’s gone international, manifesting itself in the modern-day slave trade. Last year, the first human-trafficking charge in Canada was laid on a man who smuggled Chinese women into Canada and forced them to become prostitutes. In fact, the revelation that 80% of modern-day slaves are women speaks loads about the unequal status of many women around the world.

Want more stats about non-Canadian women? In Afghanistan, 40% of all marriages are forced arrangements. At least 33% of all women have been beaten, abused, or raped at least once. I have to wonder, how many people who fall into the second category are also part of the first? Though technically not slaves, these women are still enslaved, by virtue of their gender.

The fight for gender equality has also moved to challenge the general lack of respect towards anyone who isn’t part of the gender binary and doesn’t follow its prescribed roles. Keeping that in mind, I see homophobia and transphobia as proofs of present gender inequality. Cases of homophobia are well-documented, but transphobia, not so much. There are some well-publicized stories, though, such as those of of Tyra Hunter or the Michigan Womyn’s Music Festival. Even simply by skimming Facebook discussion boards, I see people insisting that anyone besides men and women simply “can’t exist”. If it’s so difficult for some people to even realize and accept the fact that more than two genders exist, then how can we say that equality between all genders is present?

I guess the point of today’s post is to just remind myself and anyone else reading this that gender equality is not universal, nor is it even 100% present here in Montreal. It’s hard to be aware of everything all the time – or at least, it definitely is for me – but when it comes to gender inequality, I’d like to see it brought back to Page A1.

– Yun

Sex and crafts

April 3, 2007

It’s no secret that I’m an Etsy addict, so here are some of my favourite sex-inspired finds this week…

Who knew a penis could be so darn cute? Spend those lonely nights cuddling up to this Billy Boner Amigurumi Penis for only $15. Read about the crafty 22 year-old seller here.

This print sums up my life philosphy! I want it. My boyfriend tells me I’m banned from buying any more gocco from Etsy, but what he’s actually saying is, “Only get ones that you really, really like, baby!” (he called me an “inveterate spendthrift” yesterday – I don’t know what it means, but isn’t that just the sweetest pet name?). Evil Vices is available for $15 from Olive47, who may or may not be the bastard daughter of Tammy Faye Bakker…crazy televangelists.

Take the role of Officer Kinky to a whole new level with this red hot necklace, available for $14 from Seattle-based Melissa of Chuckles Central. I imagine it offsetting a black dress with wicked fire-engine stilettos.

Enjoy the slight perversity of storing your birth control pills in this little wallet stolen straight from Strawberry Shortcake, $5 from Plastichearts.

When I’m Sixty-Four

March 28, 2007

I have ambivalent feelings about turning old. Like 60 years old. Part of me has no doubt that I won’t even make it – dumb luck can only carry you so far. However, what if I do? Then I can look forward to going senile – not that it’ll be a long trip. I look forward to that. I’ll be able to say and do anything with total impunity! The only downside is that I may not realize what power I have. It’s like being a baby: you don’t realize what you have until you’re too old to use it to you full advantage. Except, instead of tiny and cute, I’ll be medium-sized and wrinkled. If I make it.

Hopefully, by the time I’m sixty-four (the new forty, really), matter transporter thingies will be commonplace. Why such a vested interest in this technology, you ask? Well, a couple of weeks ago, this article popped up in my Gmail links bar. If this technology hits the mass market, whenever I please I’ll be able to nip over to Germany for a little midday romp in the hay, 50% off that is.

It’s all good and dandy for an old fart like myself – I’m sure as hell not getting any (in this scenario, I am not married). I get to take full advantage of Germany’s aging population, and thus growing niche market, and get to diddle some 20 year old. That would be awesome. Old guys always date young, pretty girls. In this case, however, I won’t have to worry about poison in my drinks. Heart attack from physical exertion notwithstanding, this seems to be a sweet deal all around. It assuages all the politically correct (read, intellectually mundane) people who believe everyone should have everything. The old guys are getting some. The owner of the brothel just tapped into an penetrated market. The only people who lose, really, are the 20 year old hookers. But, who cares about them? They’re marginalized, young women whose lives are dictated by the great dick-tator: their pimp.

I can’t even imagine what these girls must think when an old lump of flesh hobbles into the brothel. First of all, people who frequent brothels aren’t the most upstanding bunch of individuals the planet has to offer. Second, these people are old. Third, if they didn’t go to the brothel before the discount, you know that they’re taking advantage of cheap sex, which somehow sullies even the most noble of the intentions. I’ll bet that the discounted brothel is like the discounted airlines: no frills. No foreplay, no talking, no lights, and definitely no happy pills.

Apparently the website promotes this new tactic by proclaiming that “life begins at 66.” I wouldn’t ride these old guys too hard – we don’t want Germany’s infant mortality rate to skyrocket.

"You look so exotic": When sex and ethnicity collide

March 28, 2007

So a couple of weeks ago, I found myself nearly sleeping with a guy. We clicked. I wanted to do it. He wanted to do it. But in the end, we didn’t. What had gone wrong …?

He told me I was hot and sensual and sexy. That was kinda nice. It’s always nice to get compliments, right? But then he pretty much ruined it by saying four fatal words that extinguished any chance of anything happening between us: “You look so exotic.”

His words made me think of sex tourism, an industry pretty much fueled by the promise of “exotic” people to sleep with, and supported by an underlying mindset of colonialism, racism, sexism, and classism. His comment on my “exoticism” made me feel cheapened and objectified, not to mention angry and completely turned off.

However, things aren’t that simple. This incident made me really reflect upon my Chinese heritage, something that I don’t do often or in much detail. As the first person in my family to grow up and spend my formative years in Canada, I’ve often had identity issues.

When I was a kid, I tried to renounce my Chinese background. My eight-year old self cringed when I saw what my grandmother had packed in my lunch box, and I’d look longingly at Sam Joyce’s Lunchables snack kit instead. I went through a phase where I wanted my mom to call me “Amy” instead of “Yun”, my birth name. I stiffened when the kids in my mostly-Caucasian elementary school spoke Chinese-sounding gibberish (“Ching chong shee shaw”) and would ask me what they just said.

I gravitated towards other Asian kids like me, kids who grew up in Canada and were also trying to navigate the path between fitting in yet accepting their ethnic and cultural backgrounds. However, despite our mutual experiences, we never quite discussed our Asian heritage, possibly because we were ashamed of it. We, the first and second-generational Asians, even shunned the “new” Asians. These were kids who had come to Canada more recently, and thus were “more Asian” than us, whatever that meant. Looking back, I feel ashamed by that, though I can sort of see the reasoning behind it too. We were just trying to compensate for our differentness by distancing ourselves and refusing to acknowledge it at all.

I thought long and hard about this stuff while I was walking home, still slightly horny, though no longer for that guy. Yeah, I took issue with his words because I found them to embody ideas and mindsets that I found intolerant and colonial. But at the same time, I wondered: What if I was so bothered by his comment more because I was once again feeling that shame of being Chinese? How much of my anger was fueled by my disgust towards the beliefs that lay beneath his statement, and how much of my anger came from that underlying fear and shame of my childhood, of being associated with my heritage?

And to take it even further, the type of life that I lead right now – one that involves casual sex with and attraction towards people of all genders – isn’t exactly one that garners approval among traditional Chinese families. It’s just not something that “good Chinese girls” do. But why do I do it? Is it subconsciously just another way for me to distance myself from my heritage?

Until that incident, I’d believed that I was no longer ashamed or embarrassed to be Chinese. Sure, I knew I hadn’t yet developed to the point where I could fully take pride in my Chinese background the way I’d like to, but I’d previously thought that I was on the road to doing so. That comment from the guy really threw me off, because it led to me questioning just how far I had developed after all. But I guess self-evaluation isn’t a bad thing; it’s just a damn hard thing to do.

– Yun (not “Amy”)

PS: By the way, for those who are interested, next Thursday is Blog Against Sexual Violence Day. To participate, all you gotta do is write about anything having to do with gender-based violence, be they experiences you’ve heard of, links to further resources, or your own thoughts. Even small gestures count, yeah?

Pills and patches and sex, oh my!

March 26, 2007

Viagra Pill-ohs, a sculpture by artist Trek Thunder Kelly

We’ve talked about pharmaceuticals before, and here we go again: the Earth Times reports that over twenty female sex performance drugs will be released in the U.K. this week (!). One drug, developed by Procter & Gamble-owned Intrinsa, is in the form of a patch and releases testosterone through the skin into the bloodstream. Club bunnies searching for a new sexual high, take note: Instrinsa’s tasteful salmon-pink website and graphics of gracefully aging women scream, Not for recreational use! (although the ET article cites sexperts who claim it could become a “lifestyle drug”). Instead, it has been developed for women undergoing premature menopause or hysterectomies. Trials with 500 women found that using the patch led to a 74% increase in “satisfying sex”. How do scientists even define such a thing – attainment of orgasm? Overall enjoyment? I love that older women are getting some attention in the bedroom, but is it the right kind?

From the womb to the tomb: Female sexuality as a weapon

March 26, 2007

The vagina dentata, or toothed vagina, is a myth that exists in some cultures. The belief is this: behind a pussy’s lips lie rows of razor-sharp teeth, ready to chomp down on whatever comes their way. Vagina dentata can be seen as a metaphor for men’s (and society’s) fear of female sexuality. Women are sexual predators, temptresses, and seductresses. Men should steer clear of their wickedness and women should be branded with a warning label: Danger! Sex may result in your death or castration. Whether the myth is part of an ancient Chinese folk story or an Aboriginal tribal legend, the concept of the vagina dentata is also present in our society (albeit in many altered forms).

The anti-rape condom, or Rapex, is a new product which has a design guaranteed to perpetuate the vagina dentata myth. After hearing a rape victim state, “If only I had teeth down there,” Sonette Ehler, the inventor of the product, was inspired to create the condom-shaped device lined with sharp hooks. Any man who tries to rape a woman and inserts his peeper into a Rapex will be unpleasantly surprised and momentarily incapacitated. While it currently awaiting patent approval before it can hit the shelves, there is already objection to the device on the basis that women could seduce their ex-boyfriends or other assholes while wearing Rapex in order to get back at them. Pricks beware.

Femdefence (or the “stabby tampon” as I fondly call it) is similar to Rapex, except instead of a condom with hooks, it’s a tampon with a sharp pin attached to the end. However, this product is imaginary, and was only designed to help spread awareness about sexual violence against women.

Beyond product design, the vagina dentata can also be found in representations of female sexuality in pop culture. Possible spoilers for uh, GoldenEye, Dracula, and Hard Candy.

Consistently ranked amongst the top 5 best Bond Girls, Famke Janssen’s over-the-top performance as Xenia Onatopp in GoldenEye demonstrates that female sexuality is dark, dangerous, and deadly. Onatopp is hands-down the most original Bond babe with her legs up. Like a true black widow, Onatopp kills her victims during sex by squeezing them to death with her thighs. Not only a psychotic killer, she is supposedly the first girl in the whole Bond franchise to orgasm.

above: see Onatopp in action, courtesy of youtube

Lucy Westenra, the virgin-turned-vampire in Stoker’s Dracula, demonstrates the phenomenon of vagina dentata. While this time around our femme fatale’s fangs are in another place, Lucy’s sexuality is still deadly. As a vampire, Lucy is evil and impure. She’s also quite the seductress and described as being more beautiful than she was when alive. Lucy proves to be a danger for society and her actions beg for Van Helsing and his friends to plunge their stakes into her and nail her…in her coffin.

Not quite a femme fatale, Haley Stark in the 2005 film Hard Candy is nevertheless an example of how female sexuality can result in male castration or death. Haley is a teenager who, after meeting an older man over the internet, decides to go home with him. As the plot unfolds, it becomes evident that Haley suspects the man to be a pedophile and had planned their meeting in order to wreak havoc upon his life (and his manhood). The poster of Hard Candy is proof of the vagina dentata phenomenon as it shows Haley standing in a bear trap as bait. The pedophile is attracted to young girls (who he sees as helpless) and only later finds out that Haley is using sex to reel him in.

Let’s Spend the Night Together

March 21, 2007

I would sleep with Slash, Mick Jagger or Steven Tyler in a heartbeat. In that order. Slash is just plain cool; perhaps I could receive some of his coolness like an STD, but the good kind. Jagger and Tyler transcend any gendered normative behavior – I have a sneaking suspicion not only would it not be weird, it would be awesome as well. Curiously though, I would not sleep with any of the Beatles, definitely no one of the punk inclination, or Kurt Cobain. The Beatles lack any depravity (Lennon’s obsession with Yoko Ono notwithstanding), punk people, to quote Mr. Vicious, “don’t even like sex” and I couldn’t be paid to touch Cobain, even with a disease-ridden diplodocus at the end of a ten-foot pole. These categories are not all-inclusive. Chances are though, my not-that-there’s-anything-wrong-with-that list would not grow quickly.

Sleeping with someone as a plainly visceral reaction to puberty still requires a significant amount of brain power, regardless of the troglodyte behind the humping. So many factors get inputed into an as of yet unknown Sex Equation. If the number pops out positive, get your humping cap on; if it comes out negative, bring out the standard fake phone number with six digits; if it comes out neither (ie. zero), the convincing factor will be amount of alcohol consumed. Scientists say gravity is the most unifying force in the universe – they obviously have yet to discover fermentation.

It doesn’t really matter how sexually advanced someone is, the people they diddle serves one purpose alone, pleasure notwithstanding: it defines them. Like anyone who’s ever talked about the Beatles and the Stones in the same sentence, when comparing the two, it all boils down not to what their respective cultural and musical impacts are, but who you align yourself with. The Beatles make love (though perhaps somewhat obsessively and mostly subvertly as the 60s wore on) and the Rolling Stones fuck (if that Pierre Trudeau story is at all true). The same goes with sleeping partners – I’d do Slash in an instance because, let’s face it, I’m trying my hardest to replicate some of his cooler aspects – my hair is getting there, length-wise, and his top hat is stunningly difficult to find. Likewise, Mick Jagger and Steven Tyler are my sort of cultural role models – they can do no wrong. Punk, as much as I love it, is not something I would want to devote myself to; as for Cobain, why would I want to define myself like the man that obliterated rock with 4 minutes of distorted, angst-ridden, self-depreciating bullshit? Not even I am that heartless.

The thing about cliches is that somewhere, sometime, they were true. So, for example, when a girl stumbles from guy to guy during her first year of university and “she’s lost” or “she’s trying to find herself in her newfound freedom,” there’s a modicum of truth in that. The more people you sleep with, the harder you are trying to define yourself concretely in a manner that, not only will it yield a personal sort of satisfaction, and not only will it look good from the outside, but it will also lead to many more partners and situations where any self-definition is obviously superfluous. And that’s really the point of life – to know thyself so well, you no longer need to know thyself.

On Post Coital Cuddling

March 20, 2007

One of my best friends is a girl who will kick her one-night-stand out of her bed as soon as the fun is completed. As she has many times re-iterated to me the frustrations that come with having to physically repel someone who wants to hold you after you’ve just has sex with them and whisper sweet nothings in your ear. Poor darling, she just wants to sleep after sex and this stranger won’t stop hugging her. I’m similar in a sense, I don’t enjoy having sex with strangers and I will beat a person down if they touch me and I don’t know them (ye have been warned).

Yet when it comes to sex I’m really just a kitten. Treat me well and listen to me, and I will do anything to make you happy. And after sex? kiss me a couple of times, stroke my hair and then go to sleep! I don’t want to hold your hand and talk about my feelings. Not unless I’m in a particularily euphoric mood, and we actually have something worthwhile to say.

On that note here is a particularily crude flash video for you all to enjoy;
Bang Bang Bang
– Jehan

Spotlight on sex slavery

March 19, 2007

Clicking on the links will take you to a full-length news article.

" I’ll have what she’s having."

March 17, 2007

On promiscuity … and Sudoku

March 14, 2007

Trying a new Sudoku puzzle is like sleeping with a new partner. Every person is a puzzle, and every puzzle is different. For me, the fun part, the challenge, is the exploration of a new puzzle. I love trying to figure out what makes each and every person sexually tick. And even if I don’t figure out the puzzle completely, that’s okay. I don’t feel “robbed” and I’ve learned to not take it personally; I gave it my best shot and above all, I had a great and fun learning experience. Besides, there’s nothing that absolutely guarantees that I can’t try the puzzle again a week later.

I love learning, and therefore by extension, I love sleeping with different people. I’ve often wondered where I got this casual attitude about sex from. It certainly wasn’t something that was instilled in me when I was young.

I grew up in a rather average suburban family. I was raised mostly by my mother alone. She wasn’t a stereotypical Chinese mom, but still, sex, having sex, and talking about it was quite taboo in my family, until very recently. I went to a typical high school. Maybe it was a little more artsy and liberal than most, but it certainly wasn’t the Gomorrah of Fred Phelps’ nightmares either.

The first time I had sex was exciting and funny and awkward and cute and fun … but it was not serious. I wasn’t in love with or even loved the guy. We had sex because it just felt right at the time: We enjoyed each other’s company, had chemistry, and were eager to explore each other more.

I don’t quite know when, why, or how my outlook on sex changed. I just know that one day, I realized that I no longer saw it as a purely emotional act between two people sharing a deep connection. The somewhat Disney-fied idea of sex – that sex was only for someone you thought was The One – no longer appealed to me. Instead, I saw sex as simply being great as a source of sheer, mindless, fun. Casual (safe) sex was not something to be frowned upon; in fact, it made perfect and logical sense!

Such is the mindset I generally bring with me to any new sexual encounter: If we’re attracted to each other, if we click, if it doesn’t hurt anyone, then why not do it? If it goes over well, then why not do it again two days or two weeks later? If it didn’t work, well, that’s okay too. We can let it go and stay friends only, or even stay as strangers.

Does all this make me promiscuous? Probably. I’m still young and discovering myself, but I feel no shame in admitting that I may very well be sexually promiscuous. According to’s primary definition, I am merely “having sexual relations with a number of partners on a casual basis”. That’s not such a bad thing, if everyone’s getting off and no one’s getting hurt, right?

There are some people who see promiscuity as a completely negative characteristic. No doubt, my actions would be looked down upon. But after a lot of contemplation, I’ve come to realize that I really don’t care.

It’s their prerogative to believe what they want, but I know myself. I know that being sexual is not synonymous with being depraved, perverted, stupid, lonely, or lazy. More importantly, I know that I am not depraved, perverted, stupid, lonely, or lazy. And the people I care about, the people who know me, are aware of that as well.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a new Sudoku puzzle I’d like to try tackling.

– Yun


March 12, 2007

I find this HIGHlarious! Since I bought my friend a cute pack of gum at MultiMags with this quote on it, instead of using one of my most hated words, I say “I just killed some kittens”. Fine, it’s disturbing but then you think about the fact that it’s not actually TRUE!

On pleasuring one’s self

March 12, 2007

Ok So I can say the word “vagina” all freaking day long but “masturbation? Can’t do it. It’s like “menstruation” and “moist”: I just HATE those words.

Getting back to the point, I know people that almost never (or never, but that must be a lie!) pleasure themselves. I don’t get it. I mean, you are alone, you are horny, do it! Even if you are NOT alone but can do it ‘under the radar”… DO IT!

How many people here masturbate 5 times a week? How about five times a day?

What’s the weirdest place you’ve ever done it (with yourself…) ? Ok, I’ll tell you mine and then you tell me yours! I was on the bus to D.C. (a 13 hour bus ride), bored and horny, with no one sitting beside me. Put my long jacket over myself and voila! And then I was relaxed enough to sleep for a couple hours. I would have loved a cigarette though… hum…

On Thin Walls and Avoiding Poisoning

March 12, 2007
You might think your sex life is great. Things might be just fine in the sack, all sexy breathing and pounding bedsprings, but did you ever think about anyone outside of the sack—namely, those roommates of yours? Have some consideration, you animal! Those hot, sweaty sessions under the covers affect them too, so here are some steps you can take to avoid being poisoned by disgruntled roommates:

Take preventative measures. When you’re looking for an apartment, avoid those that have adjacent bedrooms, no matter how great the rest of the apartment is. Test walls, close the doors and yell, but make sure you know what you’re getting into.

Shut up. You might enjoy the theatrics, but it’s doubtful that someone trying to eat dinner will feel the same way. Save the heavy moans for when they’re out.

Turn up the music. This one is debateable. On the plus side, it will probably help to cover up the aforementioned moans – but there’s a chance it won’t, and then your roommates will just hate you more for ruining a good song (“Let it be” met this fate in a friend’s apartment last year).

Keep out of the communal areas. Sure, it’s hot and spontaneous to test out the couch or the kitchen table, but refrain. People have to use the furniture when you’re done.

Lock the door. Good roommates knock, but there’s no point in leaving it up to chance.

If all else fails, make it up to them. Baking cakes and cookies seems to be a good way of appeasing my roommates, and nothing says, “I’m sorry I kept you awake with incessant thumping all night long! Yeah!” like breakfast in bed—with earplugs on the side, of course.

thermometer rising

March 12, 2007

people are showing just a bit more skin around our fair city these days. things are heating up. with our new ahead-of-time schedule in place, spring is taking root. finally. so let’s participate. it’s time to start breathing in some of that out door fresh city air. mmm.
recently, i had the pleasure of chatting with one of those quintessentially-montreal cabbies that are seemingly bred here and only here. our conversation, although it was mainly mr cabbie talking and me listening, bordered on creepy. i won’t hold it against him though, we’re all entitled to make observations. and what’s more, we all know the girls of montreal are, by some twist of genetic good fortune, some of the hottest per capita around the country. and the men, for the most part, are not half-bad either. and this particular cabbie was insistent. he let me know just how much he loved the women in this city. i could practically sense his impending boner and, as my luck goes with cab drivers around this city, i couldn’t help but wonder, why me? again. but those are tales for another time. i’ll just say he likes it when the clothes start to come off in the spring time too. one slow layer at a time. first the gloves come off, then scarves are shed to reveal faces that are more than just eyes again, and bare legs with skirts become the new norm. needless to say it’s his favourite time of year.
and now i’ll agree. the cabbie was right. spring is skin. so let’s all enjoy, do our part and give the man something to pick up his day as he tours the streets. surely it will pickup someone else’s day as well. this is a call to all of those hot ladies and men alike to get out and start moving. let’s breath some more love into this air. and if love’s not in the cards, i’ll settle for some good old-fashioned lust. let’s go.

On Sex Without a Relationship

March 10, 2007

I have never ever ever had sex outside a commited relationship. I don’t mean a commited relationship in which we’re going to get married but one in which I have not heard the words “will you be my girlfriend” pronounced. Hence, now that I find myself in such a relationship-less sexual relationship I don’t really know what to do with myself. In fact, I don’t even know if I am capable of separating my emotions from the act of having sex, and if I cannot do that that what right have I to be in this sexual entaglement to begin with?
I would love to know if men feel the same, do men get this emotional attachment, or is this purely a female problem?
– Jehan

Music Memoirs of A Shag once upon a time ….

March 10, 2007

I was listening to “Stormy Weather,” and got all nostalgic, thinking about past relationships, and the music I associate with moments frozen in time: image => people, props and positions. Indelibly printed into my mind, those songs send me over the sentimental edge every time I hear them. Its amazing, how only within the auditory presence of these songs do those particular mixtures incite my weak spots; those intoxicating potions made of feelings, smells and touches…

Its cheesy, yeah I admit: be prepared to eat a whole jar of cheewhiz. But fuck that, I’m the one shagging/making love/fucking, and the only other person subject to my fixation on playing music, is well, fucking me, so they (usually) don’t complain.

I chuckle a bit to “Ghettomusic” (Outkast), get a bit teary to “Dinner Bells” (Wolf Parade), and am overwhelmed by the power of past loves and longings- and shagging. (And I say shagging because I’ve picked up that silly term from my silly British boyfriend). By far the best shag I’ve had to music was to Antonios Carlos Jobim: Brazilian bassanova, yes, the musical antithesis to appropriate fucking music. No, I made love to his music, maybe that’s why it was so incredible, in that special “only you my love!” kind of way, where you’re gone in the moment, and the world blacks out.

When you listen to Ghettomusic by Outkast while doing a 69, its like Aphrodite and Ares having sex, and by that I am not likening myself to the goddess of beauty, I am pointing out the personification of war and sex fucking, hate and love fucking: opposites attract. Boy, that was um, interesting sex.

“There’ll be no more dinner bells, left for you to ring.” – Wolf Parade. Sad. People come and go, and sometimes we never see them again, and you think wow I could pass that person (whose touched me down there) and not say a word. But things lighten up. And with the passing of time, new music and new people are born.

Quoi? Dating?

March 7, 2007

Dating. I say “fuck dating” and as my best friend said to me a couple days ago: “Dating is way too overrated, who even dates anymore?”

Well, I tried this dating thing people speak of and turns out, it ain’t my cup of tea. I got shafted after three “dates” and lots-o-sex. Thank the Lord Jesus up above(i like to be dramatic sometimes…) we had sex because if not for that, these three “dates” would have given me NOTHING (bitter much?).

After the girl called me and told me that she wasn’t ready for a relationship and the whole shabang, I started thinking: perhaps I was too used to being in a relationship that I just didn’t know how to date? Then, I started thinking about my “mistakes”.

First mistake: I talked too much about my ex. I’m very well aware that the subject of the ex is a big nono usually but she’s a very good friend so I couldn’t NOT talk about her. Also, as the girl was going to attend a party of mine, she was actually going to meet the ex. I don’t think that helped.

Second mistake: Introducing her to almost three quarters of my friends present at my party. I believe that was a bit too quick. Again, I didn’t really clue in.

Third mistake: Now, this mistake wasn’t mine. While chatting during my party, my good friend declares that when “Marie comes to Toronto next time, you should come too!”. Alright, even I knew that was wrong!

Fourth mistake: Calling her the day after our first date and emailing her to tell her how much fun (fun=good sex) I had with her. Apparently I came on too strong. I say “pffff” to that.

So basically I suck at dating. I just want to meet someone that I get along with and chill and not necessarily have to go have drinks and go out and ask questions about each other… We can do that step by step…. while watching tv, smoking a joint or playing Nintendo.(Okay I didn’t list “playing Nintendo” as a mistake because she really did like that idea, hehehe) It’s so comfortable to be in a relationship and dating is the opposite I find. I never actually dated my ex; it just happened!

There goes another rant from Marie. If anyone has anything to say that I should know about the world of dating(especially lesbian…or bi), go right ahead. Stay tuned for more ramblings because I’m full of them.

Thank you, Bill and Monica!

March 7, 2007

Okay, so maybe it’s old news, a little bit, but I just can’t not share it. A friend of mine sent me a link to this news article: Apparently, some theatre in the US was forced to change its marquee from The Vagina Monologues to The Hoohaa Monologues, because some parents found it “offensive”.

Okay, skipping over the sheer idiocy (and the irony) of the name change, because that’s just too easy to make fun of, I’ll ask instead: What is it about vaginas that so often gets people’s goats?

Strangely enough, I think this situation actually can find its parallel in Harry Potter: You know how everyone’s afraid to say Voldemort’s name, because he’s such an all-powerful wizard? And how they have to replace his name with You-Know-Who instead because they’re so scared of him? I think that’s what’s going on with vaginas.

People are scared to death of vaginas, because vaginas are representative of sex, an act that traditionally is seen as dirty and forbidden and terrible. Thus, they must resort to veejayjays or down theres or hoohaa instead. Vaginas are the Voldemorts of this world. (They even start with the same letter! ‘Nuff said?)

Furthermore, why is it that the word anal, as in anal-retentive, is used relatively often and without fear? There doesn’t seem to be a stigma attached to anal the way there is with vagina, even though an anus strikes me as a body part that’s a hell of a lot dirtier than a vagina can ever be. So really, it’s totally the sexual aspect of vaginas that gets people scared.

You know, it’s stuff like this that makes me wish for another huge Bill Clinton/Monica Lewinsky sex scandal. In the ensuing media explosion, we were constantly bombarded with stories of sex and sex and even more sex. Over the space of a couple of months, we heard all the gory details about Bill and Monica’s sex lives: their sexual intercourse, their “I did not have sexual relations with that woman“, their oral sex, and if you were lucky enough to hear it, their “kinky” use of a cigar as a sex toy.

It’s not that I bear any ill will towards Bill Clinton or any other hapless politician following his pecker. In fact, I don’t believe that what goes on in a person’s bedroom (or on the expensive mahogany desk in the Oval Office) should be exhibited for public judgment and scrutiny. No, but just pause for a minute, and imagine what would happen if George Bush was caught bangin’ his intern while in office …

… The world would undergo a temporary sexual renaissance of sorts: For a glorious few months or so, their sexploits would be splashed across newspaper headlines and blaring from primetime newscasts. For those wonderful few months, sex would be completely demystified and stripped bare. For those liberating few months, there would be no stigma placed on sex, and people would actually be unafraid to talk about it in public.

And maybe, hopefully, it would be during those few months that The Hoohaa Monologues could regain its rightful name again.

– Yun

Descartes, porn style

March 7, 2007

I fuck, therefore I am. We all know people like this. Their entire sense of being is totally wrapped up in their ability to get laid eight days a week. And this applies to girls as much as it does to guys, what’s more, stereotypical representations notwithstanding, I’d say that girls, while not as vocal about it, are far guiltier than guys. Let’s face it, it is much easier for a girl to go up to a guy for a good lay out of the blue than the reverse is possible. As a tangent, I was at a power metal concert on Friday night at a small ex-strip club on Parc, and the opening act had a female lead singer. This made me think of other metal bands with female leads, like Girlschool, and it made me wonder what the groupie situation is like backstage. See, male metal leads apparently have a plethora of women waiting to place themselves in compromising situations while their boyfriends wait patiently. But the power here lies with the women – they come up to the metal star, they are much better looking, and save for what actually gets done, groupie sex is totally feminist. But, when the lead is female, I’m not sure exactly how this works. People who go to underground metal shows, myself included, aren’t usually the best looking fuckers on the face of the planet – metal is dirty, raw, and heavy, and you won’t see the latest fashion in the pit. Regardless, at this point we have ugly men approaching powerful women at the head of a metal band seeing if they’ll score. I really do wonder what it’s like backstage.

ANYWAYS, getting back to my original point. The power of girls to define themselves in terms of their latest conquest is incredible. The new woman, present since the sixties, lives in the city alone, gabs with her girlfriends freely on sex and by and large treats men almost as if they were disposable, which, I’m sure many guys don’t mind too much as long as they are throwing it in fairly often. These people fuck to be. The most interesting point about this statement is that it stands to contrast with the original, ostensibly more intellectual, statement. The comedy lies in the dichotomy between fucking and thinking and popular lore tells us that those who fuck to be cannot think to be.

So, what does it mean to fuck to be? What exactly does a sense of self wrapped in latex create? It could mean that these people are unhappy and vapid, looking to fill their vacuous life with senseless pleasure. But that is way to simple an explanation. Descartes thinks, therefore he is, and because he is, through philosophical meanderings, proves that God exists. And this is what people who fuck to be do as well. Maybe God doesn’t exist, but god definitely does. And that shift key makes all the difference.

If one fucks to be, one is firmly rooted in the sensible, pleasurable world. Though there are emotional and intellectual levels to sex, it is primarily an activity to feel. And fucking is nothing more than the path to the best orgasm possible, and while there are religions and traditions that espouse the greatness of the orgasm as the medium to communicate with whomever, I’m much more interested in the post-coital coma that follows as a result. Lying there, naked, sweaty, blank. Even if it’s just for a couple of seconds, you don’t feel anything. After that may come the pleasure, the guilt, the anger, the instinct to flee, but for a couple of seconds, the feeling is blank. It is a feeling of nothingness. And this nothingness is not a nothingness of negation, but a nothingness of otherness. During the small coma it’s not that you feel nothing, but it’s that you don’t feel something. This not-something is the not-something of death, which is nothing of life. And so sex is a birth that leads to the blank post-coital coma, which is a death. And in this death, there is a boundless freedom, for it is not-life, not-bound. What is death? It’s not life, that’s all we know. And since we know life and we can put limits on life, we have no limits on death. In that state of blank nothingness we are limitless, we are everything, we are god, and so we are ourselves.

Greener sex

March 5, 2007
Image from Ecobabes calendar

My roommates and I try hard to be green. We use public transport, recycle, compost, reuse plastic bags, put plastic sheeting on our windows, and buy organic and fair trade food…but sex hasn’t really entered the environmental equation. Until now! I came across this great article called How to Green Your Sex Life at – it offers advice on everything from sex toys (try to use toys made from glass, metal, silicone, hard plastics, or elastomers and watch out for the disclaimer “for novelty purposes only”) to vegan condoms. The website also has a lot of cool advice on everything from buying green furniture to using green cleaning products.

Also worth checking out is this article about Eco-porn.

When You Want To Know Who Has An STI

March 4, 2007

This past week, one of McGill’s student newspapers, The Daily, ran a story about CheckTonight. CheckTonight is an online “informational tool” that enables people to send in their health information (specifically their STI tests) and see the results from other members on the website. The site was created to help people look up potential lovers in order to ensure that they don’t have the clap, the syph, or whatever other names the cool kids are calling VDs these days. The benefit of the website is two-fold: users can practice safe sex and yet avoid that “unpleasant talk” – and mood-killer –about having an STI. Hmm, a website with a purpose to facilitate guilt-free hook-ups…I won’t be surprised when this is incorporated into Facebook profiles.

CheckTonight is not the only online network which revolves around STIs, but unlike CheckTonight (which denies membership to those who tested positive for an STI), these sites are created for people who already have one. Online dating sites for people with STDs (such as and the herpes-themed are more than just a way to look up hotties with um, something in common, but are also outlets for sharing frustration, embarrassment, and the sense of feeling like a social leper. The sites also simplify the otherwise complicated issues that surround dating with a disease. By registering on there’s no need to worry about the opportune time to enlighten your partner of your condition, or how they will react to the news. There’s also no need to worry about infecting your partner (seeing as they already have the STI), making it easy to tell them that you burn for them (both literally and metaphorically)…now that’s truly guilt-free dating.

To the Sleep Deprived

March 3, 2007

“Thump! Thump!- Thuuuumpp, thump thump, thump, thumpthumkp!! Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump!”

And those are the incessant sounds that bellow at me from my bedroom ceiling, right before I’m sleeping, – EVERY SINGLE FREAKING NIGHT. So it leads me to wonder, loud bass from some house beat, or relentlessly long humping? Or jumping jacks???

I’ve thought multiple times to go straight upstairs and declare that their ruckus is of an intolerable volume and frequency, and must cease. But every time I think to do this, I flash back to when I first met them: two Muslim girls living together, seemingly quiet, about their own business, private people. And honestly, the loud bass house beat hypothesis is really not persuasive; it doesn’t sound anything like music. It sounds like fucking. But then I think, they’d never have such rudely loud sex. People like that don’t ‘bang.” And then I admonish myself for making the same presumptions on others, that I hate when others presume those ‘nice quiet prude little girl” traits about me.

Alas, I must find a way to tell them, in a non-intrusive, friendly neighbor who just wants to get to sleep so she’s not cranky in the morning. I was thinking a note instead,

“Dear neighbor,
Plz crank down the fucking volume.

Thnx, sleep deprived 2nd floor .”

Okay not exactly like that. But one of these days I’ll puck up the courage to tell them something along those lines.

"To fuck" is "to have sexual intercourse with"

February 28, 2007

I don’t know about you, but one of the most satisfying words in the world to me is the word fuck.

Say it. Fuck. FUCK. F-U-C-K. Fŭk. FUH-kuh.

It starts off strong and aggressive and angry-sounding, yet it ends with a soft, cute, little kuh sound. It’s sort of endearing. Sort of like March entering like a lion and leaving a lamb, but I digress.

I love that fuck can have a very specific meaning, when used as a verb. When you say that “we fucked all night”, it’s very different from the romantic-sounding “we made love all night” or the preteen-sounding “we did IT all night” or the goofy Bridget Jones-esque “we shagged all night” or especially the “we had sex all night”, which sounds so clinical that it evokes images of hospital-bed sex.

Let’s face it, there’s nothing quite like the word fuck to get your point across. To me, fucking implies passion and strong emotions and spontaneity and … great sex. From my own experience, when you tell your partner how much you want to fuck him or her, there’s very little else that you can say that will incite such a strong sexual response. Whether you’re on the giving or the receiving end of an “I wanna fuck you so bad”, there’s a pretty good chance that such usage of the word fuck will awaken the animal in you. (Pardon the cheesiness of that statement.)

I’m not a fan of using fuck in non-sexual situations. For example, you’ll never catch me saying “fuck George Bush!”. I’m no fan of his, but why would I make a statement implying my willingness to “fuck him” if I really don’t want to fuck him? Likewise, it’s very rare that you’ll hear me say “fuck this [insert inanimate object here]!”

My reasoning behind this might be a little irrational, and will probably make me sound like a huge dorky loser who worries too much. But I’ll confess anyway: Somehow, I’m afraid of saying fuck too often in non-sexual and day-to-day situations, for fear that using that word so freely would somehow diminish its power as a sexual aphrodisiac.

If I say I want to fuck Stephen Harper and Big Tobacco and corporations and Montreal’s metro system and my imminent term paper and the patriarchy and the system and the police … well, that’s a lot of metaphorical fucking of a lot of rather unpleasant things.

And what would happen when the lights are low, and all parties involved are horny, and then I tell someone that I want to fuck him or her, and I sincerely mean it? What if I’ve associated so closely the pleasure of fucking with such unpleasant entities like George Bush, that I’ll no longer be able to enjoy the same strong passionate effects of that word on myself?

So what do I say instead then, when I wish to sincerely express my hatred for something or someone? Screw works well enough for me. It carries the same meaning as fuck, but without the same effects of lust and passion.

Am I irrational? Overly cautious? Worrying too much? Most likely. But as my mom said when I was a kid, “It’s better to be safe than sorry.”

– Yun

PS: Upon rereading and counting, I see this post used the word fuck (and its variations) 25 times. Huh. You think that’s a little excessive?

Old Dog, New Trick

February 28, 2007

I’m back in the game. After last week’s post about how I have nothing to write about, I return triumphantly with a strong card: a 60 year old sex change. That’s right.

I was working last night (and by working I mean staring dumbly at the ticket machine in a dead bar) when an old friend from high school whom I haven’t seen since last Thanksgiving showed up with my girlfriend. In the midst of our hurried catching up she mentioned that, given that I was writing about all things sex related, she had a story for me. Apparently, her grandpa knows some other old guy who, after 60 years of walking around with a penis, decided that he was tired of all things to do with shrinkage, chafing, spontaneous erections and whatnot; he got himself a lovely pair of blouse bunnies with a new name to boot.

This is nothing if it’s not odd. Why would someone go through the surgery, the hormone therapy, the legal process and the whole ordeal of getting a sex change so late in life? I mean, it’s not like he has much more to go – at best he’s got 25-30 years, and when you’re 60, it’s not that much. Plus, it’s not like he’s at the pinnacle of his sexual life and can pursue countless of previously unaccessible romances. Granted, I know nothing about this guy – my friend half yelled the story from across the hot table under the din of the blower struggling to keep the bar warm. My knowledge is minimal at best. Still, it’s under these conditions that my awesome powers of snap judgments thrive.

Let’s start with the obvious: he realized he would be happier as a girl than a guy. That is way too simple of an explanation when someone is 18, let alone 60. Why now? Conceivably, he’s been with lots of women, several long-term relationships, maybe even was married. And just now he realized he wants to be a girl? I can’t really think of any other reasons why a relatively old guy would want a sex change, though, I can’t think of a reason as to why this would be the only factor. Sure, I guess he could have been thinking about it for decades and just now there’s the technology, or just now he has the money or the courage. But still, from what I gather, there haven’t really been any other symptoms – I doubt he spent lots of time doing all he could to portray a woman.

I guess it’s really not that big of a deal – I’m all for people doing what they want when they want. This just seems somewhat capricious to me. If he’s lived this long, why not play the entire game and hope that overtime sees him better off? This is why modern medicine is such a bitch – it gives in to people’s whims at the drop of a hat. We’ve got medicine under our thumbs, and in this case, there’s a girl who just changed her ways. Sex is definitely not gender – people can feel a variety of ways with a variety of equipment. But, to me, this is a case of giving people too much rope. Today’s accelerated culture gives us what we want when we want it. This old guy either spent the last 40 years thinking about this or the last 40 minutes. Personally, I hope it’s the latter.

Some like it hot (and sweaty).

February 27, 2007

What do really intense workouts, almost unbearably hot saunas, and amazingly passionate sex have in common? The sweatier the better. There is nothing like the feeling of cold sweat dripping down your stomach and feeling it mix with someone else’s as you both get hotter and hotter. Thanks to an experiment conducted by researchers at UC Berkeley, there is now an explanation for our appreciation of sweaty sex. Androstadienone, a derivative of testosterone found in male sweat, saliva, and semen was found to elevate women’s mood, sexual arousal, blood pressure, and heart rate upon inhalation. Women who smelled this musky scented chemical reportedly experienced all of the above reactions as well as increased cortisol levels. So far, this is the only component of male sweat that has been tested and the reverse experiment has not been done, nor has research been conducted in relation to homosexual couples of either gender, but researchers are confident that there may be more to the sweat – satisfaction correlation.
So, it might mean doing more laundry and a higher hydro bill but for a change of pace, try turning the thermostat in your room up as high as it can go and experience a little more of what your partner has to offer!
Check out the article here:

Yet another excuse…

February 26, 2007

Some holidays are limited
To a particular nation or state;
But here’s one that’s followed
By all who masturbate.


If your agenda is anything like mine, the next few months are filled with boring, stressful events underlined twice in red – midterms, job interviews, papers and so on and so forth. So here’s a little something that might brighten up your calendar: May is Masturbation Month (alliteration and self-loving – does it get any better than this?).

How to celebrate? Research a few new techniques (check out The Big Book of Masturbation) and spend May 7 with Palmela. Those of you searching for a more adventurous way to contribute to charity can participate in a Masturbate-a-thon – to date, worldwide Masturbate-a-thons have raised $25,000 for charities like Stella in Montreal and Maggie’s in Toronto. The British version is a <!– D([“mb”,”Wank-a-thon, the best means of finding out "if the only things allowed to be stiff in Britain are upper lips"). \n

Not related, but kind of funny – The New York Times declares Paul Bunyan a \nModern-Day Sex Symbol.

\n”,0] ); D([“ce”]); //–>Wank-a-thon (apparently the best means of finding out “if the only things allowed to be stiff in Britain are upper lips”).

In past years, the Canadian co-operatively run sex shop Come As You Are/Venez tels quels has sponsored events around Canada, but I couldn’t find any new information on their site. I’ve e-mailed them and will be sure to post any details. In the meantime, stock up on a good lubricant and don’t forget to pencil it in…

Chinese Mothers: Sex and Morals

February 25, 2007

I’m supposed to be a good chinese girl. I”m supposed to do my homework, get good grades, find a reliable job and a good reliable husband whose emotionally (and financially) stable. Oh and btw, no pre-marital sex. but that goes without saying, cause being a good Chinese girl, I don’t think about sex. Period.

Well, little does mummy know about all my extracurriculars. Shag Shop, this blog/magazine, and my future goals to become a sexual health educator and sex therapist.

“So tell me about your life. We haven’t talked in awhile.”

“Well, I’m volunteering at a health promotion store.”

“What kind of health promotion?”

“Ummm, toothbrushes, and general er hygiene, student stuff…..”

“Oh I see. What else are you doing?”

“I’m writing for a magazine. Its just starting up.”

“What kind of magazine?”

“Er um, a magazine for school.”

“Oh okay-” and then she quickly switches the subject.

How the hell do you balance, wanting to share with your mom all about your life, yet not being able to tell her, MOST of it, because it has to do with sex? How do you tell your mom that her tenants wouldn’t keep irresponsibly having babies if they knew how important contraceptive protection is? I know its traditional values. But I’m talking about reality, that and the possibility of NOT being afraid of talking about or displaying sex. I mean, its everywhere, yet we censor and fight with millions of dollars to endorse ‘abstinence programs’ to preserve the sanctity and purity of our modern day amercian youths! (and unwanted pregnacies and STIs are just myths) These abstinence programs dramatically distort scientific facts, ie. stating condoms only work 31% of the time. (its actually closer to around 80%). Not saying my mom endorses these programs, she wouldn’t say it out right, but she certainly wouldn’t talk about it. But then again I think, well, her life was so incredibly different from mine. I can’t blame my mom for that, just like I can’t blame her for a lot of other cultural gaps between us. Her sex-ed, growing up in communist China, was limited and restricted, to say the least; huddled around a book called “Sex Knowledge” that some of the kids read. She said that the ones who refused to read it, were secretly, the most sick- and she pointed to her belly for some reason. I still don’t know why.

Yet, all utterances of “sex education” go completely ignored. So tell me, all the anthropologists and cultural brokers out there, is it better that I never tell her about this then? To keep my relationship with her running smoothly? But is it really smooth if I don’t tell her what Im doing with my life? And the worse possibility, would she just reject it? or perhaps, reject me.

So how do I be a good chinese girl who likes to fuck? And this is where my identity crisis begins. Chicken or the egg? Both please.

Kama Sutra – An Indian History

February 24, 2007

The art of Kama Sutra has become a popular reference for partners to add excitement and adventure into their sex lives. But little do many of us realize the ancient-dated history behind Kama Sutra.

Kama, meaning pleasure or sensual desire, comes from the name of the Indian God embodying the sexual nature of man. And Sutra means short books or aphorisms.

The first Kama Sutra book, ‘Kama Sutra of Vatsyayana’ was written by the Indian sage of Vatsyayana not as a lover’s guide for the public, but rather for one wealthy city man.

The contents of the book were assembled around the third century BCE, based on nearly three thousand years of writings on various sexual topics. These include not only lovemaking, but also kissing techniques, dating practices, treatment of your marriage partner and recipes for aphrodisiacs.

The original version was written in Sanskrit, translated into English for the first time in 1883.

Today the Kama Sutra of Vatsyayana is not only the oldest and best-known Indian sex manual, but also the most famous of all books published on the ancient art of desire and lovemaking.

The explorative and sensual nature of our ancestors is captured in this old text. With its insight into the ancient sexual mysteries of the far east this early Hindu love-manual has powerfully fascinated generations of people and inspired many versions of Kama Sutra.

See original article at:

On aging gracefully

February 23, 2007

I am currently in desperate need of continuous internet service and such and this is why I have been incognito as of late. However I did get the opportunity to catch the following advertisement for Dove on late night television last night. Click Here to see it. I thought it was great! Beautiful and classy and demonstrating that no matter what our age might be beauty remains despite (or perhaps because of) age spots, wrinkles, and a little tummy fat. Although, out of curiosity… why is it that all the advertisements for beauty and such never have Arabs in them… makes me wonder if advertisers are afraid of backlash or even if we aren’t considered as a separate entity in this realm of humanity. hmmm… food for thought.
– Jehan

Ramblings from a bitter lesbian

February 22, 2007

I also find myself in this situation: I haven’t had any contact more than a couple kisses with any girl in the past, pfff, let’s say, 3 weeks. I feel like I shouldn’t even be writing about sex if I ain’t doin’ it!

I’m getting to that bitter state that annoys every person that IS having sex: “damn you for having someone to FUCK when I don’t!” It’s true, I’m bitter. Too bitter for my own good. I know I’m rambling here and you have my permission to skip this post.

I broke up with “the girlfriend” in November and since then, apart from a few booty calls with her, I went out with another chikidee three times. That obviously didn’t work out because I’m now writing about this. I just want to add that it’s way too hard for me to be able to find ANYone in this city. As mentionned in a previous post, there are plenty(perhaps TOO many) hot girls in MTL. The thing is, they are mostly straight or bi(but let’s face it, they’ll end up with guys). OH, they might be gay but who the hell knows. As I’ve been told countless times before, I look as straight as the next girl so no girls ever hit on me (OH, except butch lesbians: just my luck). Nope.. I always get hit on by guys. And when I kick myself in the ass to actually go out in the Village, I get hit on by… the only straight guy in the place! When I tell them that I am gay they jump back and practically ask me for “gay ID”.

Therefore, for me to actually find (and keep) a lesbian, I would need to either go to all those “gay activities” organized by universities i don’t go to, go to clubs where everyone thinks I’m straight, meet someone on the net who will perhaps turn out to be a psycho OR make myself look way more “gay” which will not happen.

What would guys say to this(in my experience)? GO BACK TO DUDES!

And to that I say “do you even KNOW how hot it is to be with a girl?”

So thank you for listening. I swear my next post will be more… bearable!

At Last There’s Nothing Left To Say

February 21, 2007

Ah, my creative well has finally run dry. For the first time since I started posting in this blog, I have no idea what to write about. And it’s really not my fault. Sex is a dead horse. But, I still like talking about it, reading about it, thinking about it… if sex is a dead horse, I don’t want to be a live horse. Regardless, my thoughts on equines and their lives has nothing to do with this blog, at least not until I can figure a way to slide them into the conversation like a guy trying to slide in through the back door “by accident.” Anyways, back to the topic du jour: I really have nothing to write about. I wrestle with this particular demon every week as I rack my brain during the week to come up with something barely comprehensible to post, and so far, I think it’s worked pretty well. I suppose I could just post a link or a picture, but I like to think. I like mental challenges. I’m awful at Sudoku. And so, here I am, trying to exorcise this bitch of a writer’s block.

I’ve already written about sex as the most universal experience. The most universal taboo is incest, which is also about sex. Sex is interesting to read about because everyone has their own experience which is instantaneously related to by millions. Having a “unique” experience in the sack is like buying your punk t-shirts at the Gap… it just doesn’t happen, and if it does, everyone has one. Writing about sex is ridiculously easy and the hardest thing I’ve ever had to write about, and that includes splitting hairs between popular and mass culture in Dracula. It’s easy because just about anything passes for a conversation on sex and sexuality – just look at this post for a prime example. It’s hard because, well, look at this post. I’m trying to come up with something original. But, original is hard to come by in this line of work. Or perhaps I’m a mediocre writer, which is a strong possibility. What is original? It seems to me that coming up with something original between the sheets is like trying up to think of a fantasy with absolutely no basis in reality. Every dirty word can be said has been said, every position humped into the ground, every fantasy realized. Sex has probably been postmodern since about two weeks after Adam and Eve found out how to insert slot A into tab B (and C and D). All that’s left for us 21st centurians is to re-piece the puzzle in different ways – not necessarily original, but different enough so that it stands on its own.

And so, I leave you with a comical ad. Incidentally, diamonds are not forever, that’s a scam. I wonder if that’s a real blowjob or they just used shadows to eliminate depth.

Queefing: The beginning of a love story

February 21, 2007
My vagina makes noises.

It makes noises during sex. It sounds sort of airy: A hiccup escaping, a bubble popping. Luckily, this phenomenon that my vagina exhibits isn’t rare. In fact, it’s common enough to warrant a name: Queefing. Conjugate it: I queef, you queef, we queefed, they are queefing …

I discovered what queefs were when I was in high school, fooling around with my then-boyfriend. When it happened, we both paused and sort of stared bemusedly at my vagina. He pronounced with much hilarity, “Your pussy totally just farted!” Needless to say, it was a little hard for me to resume our activities with the same eagerness.

Luckily, this embarassing incident didn’t scar me and turn me off sex permanently. It did, however, instill me with a certain sense of wariness before having sex with a new partner. Will I queef? Will it be loud? Will it – oh god! – occur while my partner’s face is right by my crotch, so that he or she receives the force full-blast?

I was just speaking with another girl who queefs not during sex, but up to 24 hours afterwards. I haven’t yet decided if I should feel envious of her. Is it better to queef in your partner’s face in bed, or to do it while quietly standing in line at the bank or while in Downward Dog pose at yoga class the morning after?

All that being said, despite the suckiness of queefing at inopportune times (like there’s even a right time anyway!), I’m starting (or trying to) get used to it. It’s something that most women have to deal with, so I might as well try to laugh it off.

I’m trying to be grateful: If I’m queefing, well, at least it means that I’m having sex. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, right? I’m trying to be pragmatic: The body makes all sorts of weird noises. Stomachs gurgle, jaws crick, throats gulp. Why is it that any sound that goes on below-the-belt automatically gets demonized? I’m trying to be optimistic: Hey, at least queefs don’t smell!

I’m really trying to embrace the queef. I guess I’ve already taken the first step, which is admitting that I queef. Maybe next, I should search for a t-shirt that says QUEEFING IS CUTE, in an effort to give it some positive publicity?

– Yun

PS: By the way, if you’re like me and you do happen to queef during sex, you can try to take preventative action. Before having sex, try pressing down on the area right below your stomach and above your pubic bone. It might expel some air lurking inside your pussy.

Art of the Nude

February 21, 2007
Every year, first-year students flock to the McGill poster sale and pick up the same tired images (that photo of Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s, say, or the Periodic Table of Mixology) to decorate their peeling, spartan walls. I think the money would be better spent on these handmade, affordable and very sexy works of art available on Etsy (all prices in U.S. dollars):

Original nude female painting in watercolor, for $30 by Clive Lennard

In the Woods, a photograph for $33 by Vanessa Ruiz

Vintage Nude no. 7, for $5 by Elizabeth

Lust, a limited edition linocut for $15, by Frau Matilda

Art Squared Nude with Lace, for $6.50 by Kimtedrow


February 19, 2007

Photo by Ben Lee

And who said Valentine’s Gifts had to be Boring? (or from Hallmark )

February 17, 2007

I was sending off my care package to my partner, and part of it was going to be red and silver kisses and a pair of panties. Then the picture you know see before your eyes- occured to me (sorry, thats taken with a webcam, I don’t have a camera, the color is pretty off, its supposed to be red edges with sheer pink cloth and red polka dots.) If you’re into mixing food, clothes, and sex, (and gifts), which I totally am, this is a sexy present to give, with a personal and naughty touch. Instead of the regular heart shaped metallic box full of chocolates that your partner will probably won’t like, try this.

Panties/Boxers/whatever you like to wear on your tuche!
A lot of saftey pins
Individualized Candy/Chocolates

Get a sexy or fun pair of panties (or boxers) that you are nice looking, but perhaps uncomfortable to wear or you don’t wear that often, and pin up the thigh holes with coloured (I used gold, it matched nicely with the pink and red) saftey pins. Then fill the panty/boxer pouch with whatever candy your parnter or whoever you’re giving it to likes, (I used red and silver kisses cause I already bought them, but you can use virtually anything thats got individual wrapping). Then simply pin up the last largest opening of the panties with the rest of the saftey pins, making sure your spacing between the pins is small enough so the candy doesnt’ fall out. You don’t have to do this, but I did it to make candy pillaging easy, I took one saftey pin that was larger than the rest and put it in the center of the panty edge, so that the person could undo just that part, which creates a nice little opening for the candy to come out.

Sorry, but this doesn’t work with thongs. Thongs suck anyway. I feel like self-induced wedgies are just unnecessary.

Happy Pantieging!

Sexy People in Music

February 14, 2007

And no, I don’t mean anyone in the Pussycat Dolls. That’s not music – that’s a couple of prostitutes wearing what can only be described as “used-to-be-clothing” dancing around in a manner that would suggest they hang out on St Catherine way too much. Sexy people in music is more about people whose sexuality is totally enhanced by music. An excellent example of this is Miss Petra the violinist in the Foo Fighters’s latest DVD, Skin and Bones. Not only is the DVD totally fucking awesome (Best of You, Everlong, Razor, Next Year…the list goes on and on), but it also blew my mind the first time I watched it. See, amidst all these ex-grunge-era-turned-full-out-rockers sits a completely unremarkable woman. When you see her before the concert, she doesn’t look particularly good nor bad – she just looks. But, a couple of songs into the concert and I couldn’t help but notice that I kept focusing all my attention on her, rather than the ridiculous antics of Dave Grohl on stage. She was just sitting there so demurely shredding her violin to pieces as she kept up effortlessly with Grohl and Co. And she was hot. Not just good looking, not just interesting, she was blowing my mind. Now, perhaps I’m weird, perhaps I’ve turned into a George-like character and can no longer differentiate between sex and food (or in my case, music), but I think that there’s something else at play here rather than raging hormones. The music totally transformed this previously aforementioned totally bland woman into quite the object of my desire. It could be because she was wearing red in a sea of black and blue. It could also be because she was wearing a foxy dress. And those are all at play here, but the biggest reason, I think, is because she was completely surrounded and involved in music that I loved, so, I just displaced my love for music into my momentary love for her.

I was reading Klosterman IV for the umpteenth time the other day, when I got to the article where he talks about Lez Zeppelin, the all-female Led Zeppelin tribute band. The lead singer, whose name escapes me now, keenly pointed out the psychology behind her band…it was something along the lines of how Jimmy Paige and Robert Plant were always good looking men, and now that they were being played by women, men in the audience could un-repress their sexual feelings for them. This makes total sense to me. A similar thing happens in glam metal – you’ve got men dressed up as women on stage prancing about in hypersexualized moves, tight pants, and heavy make up while threatening to pummel your skull in with their bass lines. There has to be some variety of homoerotic undercurrent at shows like this.

Anyways, back to Miss Petra. After conferring with my girlfriend, she confirms this feeling, but with a guy: apparently John Mayer is ridiculously hot on stage (who knew?), but off stage, he’s just another Joe Dude. So, this phenomenon works both ways, for both sexes. I’m not sure about gay men or women, though…do they get turned on by Jimmy Paige or Bret Michaels? How bout other artists? I’d like to hear from our audience – is there anyone you think is totally smoking on stage, because of their music, not their tiny bra and huge breasts, yet completely boring off stage?

Sexually Dsyfunctional, or Sexually Defunct?

February 13, 2007

So as I was sitting in my Intro to Abnormal Psychology class, eagerly listening to my professor give his lecture on sexual dysfunctions. Yay! Okay, honestly its a nice change from dry empirical biochemistry and bullshit. Mental disorders are all categorized and filely neatly away in the latest version of the Diagnostic Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, fondly referred to as DSM IV-R, a book whose new diagnoses and disease creations (and eliminations) have further widened the gates to neurochemical phenonmenon and linked arms with the pharmceutical industry, basically: EVERYONE TAKE DRUGS.
The sexual disorders are a recent addition to the book, making its debut in DSM III in 1980. Just to give you an idea of the way they describe these disorders and justify their diagnoses, heres the full definition for Female Orgasmic Disorder:

“Persistent or recurrent delay in, or absence of, orgasm following a normal sexual excitement phase. Women exhibit wide variability in the type or intensity of stimulation that triggers orgasm. The diagnosis of Female Orgasmic Disorder should be based on the clincian’s judgement that the woman’s capacity is less than would be reasonable for her age, sexual experience, and the adequacy of sexual stimulation she receives.” (DSM IV 302.73)

Right. So the description acknowledges that women can experience orgasm in a multitude of ways, hurray! -Oh but wait, someone else actually gets to decide whether her orgasm is good enough? Last time I checked, I, the woman experiencing the orgasm, knows whether my orgasm is good enough- thank you. Ultimately, this psychiatric bible is determining what a normal orgasm should be like for women, and (big surprise) men too. Except I find the male one even more infuriating. Not only does the description ignore the reality of variability in experiencing a male orgasm, but it also assumes that all males’ should be able to get off “following a normal sexual excitement phase during sexual activity” (DSM IV 302.74). Seriously, I’ve known guys who can only get off (in the ‘normal way’) if they have their nipples sucked or during simultaneous anal stimulation- and I doubt thats the normality that psychiatrists are referring to.

To say the least, I’m not impressed.

Now, just to make this clear, I am not in any way trivializing people who feel they have sexual problems (hah, don’t we all). What I’m critiquing is the wholehearted weight put on the clinician’s judgement, rather than self-report from the person themselves; as well as the preassumptions that orgasms are necessarily acheived by these simple standardized plug and chug formulas.
On another note, I am highly suspicious of a controversial issue that arises with the creation of new disorders, namely how many people think they have these disorders as a result of heavy mongering by one track minded pharmceuticals, whose fat vats of profit have been the financial backbone of much research and studies. And of course, these are the same studies that claim existence of disorders like Sexual Dysfunctions, and then go on to publish in the latest DSM. Just some food for thought.

And the cherry to top off this pile of shit, we’re paying pharmacies so much for drugs that don’t really work. Take Viagra for example. More than 50% of men who are prescribed Viagra never re-new their prescriptions. Why? When you’re feeling nice and horny, your brain stimulates the release of a chemical called Cyclic guanosine monophosphate (cyclic GMP), which causes muscles in the spongy erectile tissue of your penis to relax- and the arteries to expand (Pihl 8). What Viagra does is block the enzyme that takes up cyclic GMP, which in turn changes the arterial flow going to and from your penis; blood is not taken up and the erection remains. So Viagra doesn’t actually change your sexual desire, it only maintains your erection: you have to get an erection first in order to maintain one. Looks like we’re back to base 1. Damnit.

Model Behavior.

February 12, 2007

Home to more than three and a half million people of all different shapes, sizes, races, religions, and sexual orientations – half of whom, theoretically, are male. In a city as diverse as this, with 70% of the population between the ages of 18 and 64 and a (rarely enforced) drinking age of 18, how is it possible that it is so hard to find a guy worth falling for?
I think the answer is pretty simple, there are just too many pretty girls in Montreal. Everyone talks about it, even people who have never been to Montreal know about it. For whatever reason, the women here are gorgeous. It’s not possible that they were all born naturally beautiful, and it’s definitely not the clean air that does it for them; but it’s something about the way they carry themselves, they way they walk, talk, dress, and laugh. It’s not easy to look stylish when it’s -30 outside but if there is one city in the world where it can be done, it’s here. Trying to compete with women like this is almost as futile as trying to find deeper meaning in reruns of the Simpson’s. Try as I might, I will never be mistaken for a Québécoise; nor will I ever look good while walking to class in the middle of winter, or make stilettos seem like appropriate breakfast attire – and this is probably a good thing.
Sitting in the lockerroom at the gym the other day I overheard a group of attractive women – both Québécoise and Francophone, lamenting the lack of cute guys in the city and complaining about how hard it was to find a boyfriend. I’m not sure whether I should be comforted by the fact that they too have trouble meeting guys or even more disconcerted about the prospects for the rest of us. Either way, all I know is that if it is this hard for me to meet guys I can’t imagine what it must be like for a guy to meet another guy – I mean, at least my selection pool is bigger.
Although it doesn’t provide you with a wealth of cute and available men, this city certainly can keep you entertained. The prospect of meeting that one guy is just tangible enough to keep you entralled, and perhaps this is Montreal’s real charm.

The second kind of woman

February 12, 2007
This is a picture of my best friend Kiki with some special ladies in Phuket, Thailand. It cracks me up for several reasons: one, I find it hard to tell my friend apart from the others; two, I love the wordplay on every American child’s favourite store; and three, I have no idea what Kiki is doing on a stage in Patong with a group of kathoeys.

Kathoeys are an integral part of the party scene in Phuket, Bangkok and Pattaya. On nights out, my male friends in high school always complained about kathoeys crowding them and grabbing at their crotch (a common pickpocketing tactic), but the sao praphet song fascinated me. I’ll never forget my disappointment when, stuck toiling at the local newspaper for my school’s work experience programme, I found out that a friend had been able to stand in on a sex-change operation at the hospital.

The kathoeys in Patong dress up in over-the-top ball gowns or skimpy bikinis, feather headpieces, several pounds of makeup, clear plastic platforms and more sequins than Liberace and Cher combined. Most of the time, they just looked bored – dancing apathetically on a platform, posing for pictures, talking to this or that sleazy sex tourist. What’s really interesting about kathoeys – especially for Westerners coming from supposedly more liberal and “advanced” societies – isn’t their sex appeal, but the degree to which they are accepted in Thailand. This isn’t to say that kathoeys don’t face discrimination (even after genital reassignment surgery, they can’t change their legal sex), but they are generally regarded as an unexceptional part of society. While many work in the sex industry, there have been kathoey kickboxers (check out the exceptionally hot Nong Thoom), beauty queens and volleyball players.

So, in the spirit of McGill’s recent V-Day festivities, I’d like to applaud Thailand’s famous ladyboys for being brave enough to take a highly visible stand in society, and good-natured enough to pose with my friend and other obviously inebriated foreigners.

Valentine’s Day, the honest way

February 12, 2007

Sexy cards like this are available courtesy of V-Day, on sale for $3 in the Shatner Building. All proceeds go towards grassroots charities working to end gender-based violence.

How About You Stick With What You Know?

February 9, 2007

I present to you the perfect example of how not to further the productive discourse on sex: men talking for both genders.

Cory Silverburg from attempts to inform me about “Ten Ways to Screw Up Your Sex Life.” Lists in general tend to bother me. They’re trendy and usually present me with nothing inventive. Still, I’m always willing to give them a try as they are popular in publications for a reason: we always get sucked into reading them. So, ten ways to screw up my sex life, eh? $50 says I can name at least 8 of the suggestions. Pay up as I got ’em. Take care of your body? Let your own experience be your guide? Be aware of the risks? Be open to experimentation? Oh, Cory! Where would I be without you?

So here are the two that really burn me. Cory enlightens us on two ideas that are “sure fire ways to not get what you want sexually, and to screw up your sex life something awful.” They are: “grow up, and get serious” and “act like sex is something special.” Now, Mr. Silverman, I know that most men are able to compartmentalize sex. Sex to the majority of men is like a nice steak; really good going down but after it’s done, they’re already thinking about dessert. Women are a different breed. Now ladies, don’t think I’m setting back the “cause” here by applying some form of a double standard. Men and women are different in many ways. Your objections will only cause me to yawn. I have met very few women who are able to have casual sex. Even the ones who make this claim I immediately doubt. Women have an overriding tendency to associate something more to the act of sex. Is it in our natures? Was it nurtured? I don’t really care, but the truth of my experience is it is what it is. When a woman gives over her body, she gives over a hell of a lot more than just an opportunity for “a rollicking good time.” Women are culturally forced to live up to different standards in regards to their reputations. Do I detest the idea that when men sleep around they are called studs and when women sleep around they are called sluts? You bet, but culture hasn’t changed as much as I’m sure many of us would like from those prudish Victorian days.

Maybe one day the majority of women will have the luxury to say “sex isn’t really anything special” and I will believe them with all my heart. Until then, gentleman, speak for yourselves.

On Vanity

February 9, 2007

Vanity is a strange thing, it walks the line between confidence and arrogance and more often than not it tends to find itself veering towards the latter. I think vanity in and of itself is a hard thing to define…Nietzche wrote that “vanity is the fear of appearing original: it is thus a lack of pride, but not necessarily a lack of originality” and I tend to disagree. I think that true vanity is a mixture of extreme confidence and tempered arrogance. We all have to be a little arrogant because the society in which we live (and I’m referring to North America here) is not one in which the meek are rewarded. In this sense vanity could be defined as a tool, used to defend ourselves against those who would have us, in a sense, diminished.
I am for the most part a confident person, I like who I am and I like how I look. I will also freely acknowledge that I wouldn’t kick myself out of bed even if I covered it with crumbs due to my penchant for crumpets… does this make me vain? I think not, I think it simply demonstrates my confidence in myself… or so I intend to believe. As my friend M told me today, she enjoys looking at herself naked, is there anything so wrong in that?

Of course, where vanity matters the most is in the bedroom. If your partner is self-centered then he or she is less likely to try and help you enjoy yourself. I mean, if I was truly vain I would dispense entirely with men and self-pleasure instead. Luckily for mankind I have not quite reached this point yet.

That’s EXACTLY what my horny self was thinkin’

February 9, 2007

Valentine’s Day Massacre

February 7, 2007

So, next week is Valentine’s Day. Inevitably, thousands of blogs and columns will be filled with pieces either celebrating a romantic holiday or decrying a materialistic, arbitrary, hypocritical day. It’s becoming harder and harder to write on topics like Valentine’s Day or even the topic of this blog, sex. Sex is, to no one’s surprise, probably one of the most universal experiences in humanity. Coupled to the fact that it is infinitely interesting to read about, the two most talked about subjects in modern discourse must indeed be sex and death.

So, with all this historical pressure on me, what I am to write about Valentine’s Day? Should I be popularly counterculture and decide that Valentine’s Day is a rosy day created by capitalism to fuel our desire to prove our intangible worth through materialistic means, ie. candies, chocolates, bears, lingerie, etc? Or should I take a traditional route and try to convince everyone to embrace this holiday for what it is, namely, an excuse to spend time with one’s partner in a day historically created just for loved ones? Either way is infinitely unsatisfying and vacuous. Espousing either point of view just seems to be a pointless exercise in the literary equivalent of masturbation. Yet, how to stand on both sides? Or, better yet, neither side?

I still have no idea what I’m going to do for Valentine’s Day. My girlfriend seems to just want to keep it simple and go to a movie and then have a fancy dinner. That’s a little boring. I just want to hang out, essentially ignoring the holiday. That’s a lot clichéd. Perhaps I’ll take her out to dinner for the hell of it, given that we haven’t really been on a date in forever. That would be nice. But then there’s the question of the gift…what to get her? Candy? No, I’ll eat it before I get to her house. A bear? Why? I’d sooner get her a puma…but where am I going to find a stuffed puma? Flowers? No way, they’ll die in the cold on my way over, or they’ll die within a week at her place. A card? Nope, I’m not going to allow other people to tell someone how I feel about them. I think this is where the crux of the holiday lies – either people aren’t creative enough to tell their boyfriend/girlfriend how they feel, so they use this holiday as a thinly-veiled excuse to let someone else profess their love, or people are too indignant that other people can so aptly describe their “most personal feelings,” and, moreover, that these feelings are perfectly transposable to any other person in the world.

This is where the genius for Valentine’s Day really lies – in the assumption that humans are empty vessels originally, clean slates, yet they’ve all been impressed with the same stamp by culture. Thus, your unique feeling is not really unique at all, but a carefully calculated response to whatever text is available, already encoded into the message, already taken care of. Hallmark doesn’t care that you found “the love of your life”; instead, they know that their unabashedly cute card will still fit the bill, whether it’s your soulmate or someone you’ll dump in a week, just to not seem like too much of a bastard for doing it during Valentine’s Day.

Seemingly, there is no solution to Valentine’s Day – every nuance has been taken care of, every angle has been covered. Even the most zealous of rebels or the most zealous of pundits, take your pick, there’s no difference, will still feel different on Valentine’s Day. No one will wake up the 22nd of March and say “You know what, I totally missed Valentine’s Day this year – totally flew right over my head.” Valentine’s Day is not just another day, in this year’s case, not just another Wednesday – we’ve deemed it long ago that this day halfway through February would be different. So, next week, be different.

This will be great when my parents visit…

February 7, 2007

Selling safe sex

February 5, 2007
Much has been made of McGill’s Shagalicious Shop – it’s been lauded for promoting safe sex by, The Globe and Mail, Macleans and The Mirror, among others – but what I really love about the Shag Shop is the clever packaging:

Eat out and enjoy!

It follows the same kind of logic as the Rabbit; make a sex product cute and fun, and it’ll sell itself. Box up twelve condoms (for a mere $2.99) in a mini Chinese take-out container and suddenly durex isn’t something you shamefacedly pick up at the pharmacy; it’s approchable and even trendy. At a time when the Quebec government is cutting out sex education in high schools (in spite of rising STD infections among Canadian youths), it’s more important than ever to sell safe sex. The Shag Shop, with its candy condom bins and lubricant samplers (flavours include strawberry cheesecake and melon), is a sexy necessity.

For ladies seeking alternative menstrual solutions, the shop also carries the Diva Cup. The Shag Shop is located at Student Health Services Clinic (Brown Building), 3511 Peel St. (at Dr. Penfield).

It’s a Good Thing They Made That Clear…

February 4, 2007

The Greeks had Nothing Against Naked Athletics…

February 3, 2007

I’ve always stared with envy at small-breasted women. Dress doesn’t work with a bra? No worries! They’re still perky and cute as hell. Industrial-strength sports bra? No need! Amsterdam seems to be testing those who can endure unsupported jiggling for all sexes with the introduction of ‘Naked Sunday’ at Fitworld gym.

The gym’s owner, Patrick de Man, was inspired by two of his customers who are ardent nudists as well as other gyms that offer ‘pole-dancing’ as an activity.

Nudist exercisers are required to place towels on weight machines and use disposable seat covers for riding bicycles. de Man assured all that the machines will be disinfected afterward as is the usual procedure.

“We recently conducted a large survey among our members, and most prefer to exercise with their clothes on,” he said. “The most popular activities (for nudists) are things you do outdoors, like walking on the beach, or swimming in a lake, or maybe gardening.”

I’m self-conscious enough at the gym as is, so having everything exposed to God and Country might not be my cup of tea. For those who enjoy the sight of flesh, sweat, and straining, the inaugural ‘Naked Sunday’ is set for March 4th.


Ann Summers: Vibrator Heaven

February 3, 2007

Clothes off.
Lights out.
Orgasm for one- or two if you’re lucky.

Sex can easily become such a formulaic process that we don’t think twice about it. It becomes routine, predictable and boring, making sex seem obligatory rather than what we want it to be: exciting, fun, and orgasmic! Finding time for elaborate role playing fantasies is difficult, and dealing with the messiness of chocolate syrup and whipped cream after a long day, can seem unappealing and maybe too sticky for some. But there are lots of ways of putting some spice into your sex life.

I’ve recently had the pleasure of receiving two lovely vibrators that have done wonders for me, and I have two people to thank: my boyfriend, and Ann Summers, a racy sex shop that has franchises all over the United Kingdom. (Seriously, vibrators have reached a new dimension.) Their most popular (and highly rated) sex toy is the Rampant Rabbit Vibrator Series. Their basic design is a silicone covered dildo with a smaller rabbit head attached to its bottom side, whose famous ears are where the vibrator gets it name.

Depending on what you like, there are several different off shoots of this basic design. The Rampant Rabbit Thruster is the most popular one, making its debut on “Sex in the City,” and breaking sales records for Ann Summers the day after the episode aired: 1 million of them sold! Its design fits its name. Covered in bright sparkly blue silicone, the vibrator contains metal beads that move up and down at six different speeds, creating a wonderfully fluid and sensual thrusting motion. Meanwhile, the rabbit’s ears are tickling away at your clitoris, buzzing in four different styles. The first one is like an appetizer, its gentle steady vibration arouses and prepares you for more. The second one, vibrates in a musical like rhythm, with two short gentle vibrations and ending with a long accentuated vibration. I found this style to be particularly delightful medium between the really light and strong vibrations, one that you can linger on and pleasure yourself for ages, right on the edge of orgasm. The third style has quick detached (almost like the rabbit is hopping!) strong vibrations, and the fourth style is a steady, powerful vibration that satisfies that craving for a strong and fast stimulation seconds before orgasming. Great invention. Complaints? The first line of these that came out had a few faulty mechanics, rendering the thrusting motion dysfunctional. But apparently, they’ve fixed that now. Go figure.

If however, you are feeling more adventurous, the Rampant Rabbit Thriller is a one of a kind experience. “6 ½ inch shaft covered in 93 soft arousing nodules, 5 inch girth, with 5 speed metal ball shaft rotation.” says Ann Summers. The thing looks closer to a battle mace. I thought at first, “no fucking way is that going anywhere near me, let alone inside me!” But appearances can be deceiving. You just need to relax, breathe deeply and use generous portions of water or silicone based lube. The “arousing nodules” (just get the battle mace image out of your head for a minute) feels a bit strange at first, but once you get a few inches inside, it feels remarkably wonderful- and subtly different from the thrusting motion many of us are used to. This Rampant Rabbit swirls around, giving a deep, sensual massage, while its 5 speeds of clitoral stimulation add additional pleasure.

So if you’re looking for spice, these vibrators are like cayenne pepper. And by that, I mean hot and tingly, not er- spicy vaginas (or butts ^_^).

Check’em out here:

Starbucks meets Victoria’s Secret: Not your average cup of coffee.

February 2, 2007

Starbucks has never really appealed to me, but I’m told that in the region around Seattle (the powerhouse coffee chain’s birthplace and a city known for its high levels of coffee consumption) customers not only bastardize the Italian language to indicate cup size but use a special “Starbucks-lingo” to order their drinks. For example, if someone asks for a wet latte with legs what they mean is a latte high on milk, low on foam, to-go. However, due to the new crop of “sexpresso” coffee shops springing up in the same area, ordering a mug of java might never be the same again – but rest assured that it will still come with legs….and a large cup size.

Sexpresso kiosques are a new twist on the drive-thru window, with scantily clad baristas winking mischievously at clients as they hand out morning cups o’ joe. The girls who work the counters are often seen sporting tanks and hot pants (à la Hooters), lingerie, bikinis, or fetish outfits depending on the day’s theme (a popular choice is the schoolgirl look).

It’s certainly not a new idea to use sex
to sell, particularly in the food and service industry. Bosomy waitresses, servers, and barmaids have repeatedly profited from their, uh, assets, and let us not forget the tradition – and now stereotype – of the attractive flight attendant. Having flirtatious sexpots brew coffee pots is just adding flavour to the fierce caffeine-competition in and around Seattle, with an added perk for the men. However, these sexpresso chains may be onto something new that could give Starbucks a run for their money: coffee and sex appeal partnered together as the ultimate (full-body) wake-up in the early morning.

check out the seattle times and some of the coffee shops natte latte, cowgirls expresso

On Being a Shy Girl and Dressing Up

February 1, 2007

Being an innately shy person naturally I wasn’t going to blog about this particular event. BUT this magazine is all about pushing yours and my sexual borders and so I shall tackle a rather embarrassing topic for myself. I am a cute person, with a pretty face and great legs… I wear short skirts and tight trousers to demonstrate this to the best of my ability. Because of this “confidence” (or vanity, call it what you like) I am not used to people, teasingly or otherwise, requesting that I hide my best assets under a heavy layer of clothing. So, when the guy with whom I would currently very much like to sleep with suggested I wear something akin to a pair of men’s trousers when I go to bed with him I was bemused. And then I questioned why he would like me to dress like a man, and then I called my best friends… all 10 of them.

Hence it was during one of these many phone calls that ate away at both my Friday and Saturday study hours that I made the following self-discovery; I am not as open-minded about role-play as I thought I was. I don’t know if this stems from the fact that my own sexual fantasies involve locations and not dress-up or if I’m just exceedingly uncomfortable with this aspect of sex. Mayhap it was the actual costume itself that threw me off. I understand schoolgirl outfits (again, I love my legs) and I understand naughty nurses, maids etc. so why was it that I simply could not grasp the fascination with baggy trousers with nothing worn under them.

I’m not even capable of fathoming this interest… perhaps it’s this rough and tumble like outfit that really gets him going. Perhaps it is the idea of a girl seeming sort of unkempt and untamed on the outside and obliging and ingratiating on the inside. I don’t really know, honestly… although I do think I’m nearing the truth here.

What I realised halfway through conversation with best-friend number 6 was that it wasn’t even the costume itself that through me, it was this idea that I was just going to show up in a uniform when I wished to sleep with him. Listen, buddy, the first time I sleep with you is not going to involve me in a pair of men’s dungarees. The first time I sleep with you is going to be MAGICAL (okay, maybe not so much) but it will be for the most part unplanned. I hate the presumptuousness that would be me showing up in a predetermined outfit when I felt the need to have sex with him. I’m not being paid and so I’m not wearing a bloody uniform!

And so, finally when I had reached this firm conclusion somewhere between conversations with best-friends number 6 and number 9 best-friend number 10 made this insightful comment; “The first time you have sex with someone is best done without planning and without assumptions on either side. Also, Jehan-sweety just be happy he didn’t ask you to wear a diaper and baby costume.”

She’s right, atleast when it comes to what I desire, a little bit of impulsiveness goes a long way. Indeed I am also quite grateful that he didn’t request the baby outfit, it’s all a bit too Freudian for me. I am not saying I won’t dress up for him, I will… I enjoy it. I’m just going to wait a bit before I tackle androgynous clothing in the bedroom… everything needs to be worked up to. Or maybe I just need to redefine what I think “sexy” is.

Exploring Sexuality

January 31, 2007

As a guy, I instinctively know that when girls join sororities, their initiation must include some variety of lingerie-laden pillow fights. I mean, you see them on television, read about it in magazines…it’s become a popular myth alongside perpetual sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll during first year residence. Thanks to the guys who are in charge of encoding and disseminating culture, we see girls, especially in early years at university, as the avant-garde movement within sexual exploration. Ironically enough, these girls always explore within the same set of restrictions, namely homosexual and masturbatory endeavors.

What strikes me the most about women being in charge of exploring something as amorphous as one’s sexuality. In popular culture lore, it is often the men who go out into the public sphere and conquer new and foreign territories, while women are the ones who stay within the same private sphere, keeping it tidy for the exploring man to come home to. Examples of male explorers are plentiful – actually, off the top of my head, I can’t think of a single female explorer, except for the saucy sorority gals.

So, what does this mean for men who enjoy pontificating about the goodness of sorority exploration? Well, in a sense, it just ends up agreeing with Green Day’s frontman, Billy Joe, when he said that, deep down, we’re all bisexuals, and it is only heteronormative cultural processes that make us dig foxy girls. This is evident throughout closer analysis of the Pillow Fight scene, so prevalent in popular lore and fantasy. As men, we enjoy this scene because we identify with the women in it, though at a safe distance. Much like we identify with the Final Girl in horror movies, and through her, are able to satiate our masochistic tendencies (who wants to watch a killer beat on a guy? That’s just weird…), we are able to play out our deeply homoerotic fantasies by watching women beat on each other with pillows in skimpy bras and panties. In addition, should the exploration and experimentation go well, it is not men who are being gay. Popular culture would never allow for two phalluses to touch – however, were to women to touch, we can just chalk it up to penis-envy. So, if women are allowed to touch, and more importantly, feel good because they are touching in “new” ways, it is culturally ok. It is only through women that men can explore their homoerotic instincts.

Lost in Transition

January 31, 2007

Since the 1950’s when women were allowed to frequent bars without a male escort the lesbian community has grown in prominence and become more widely accepted. At the time, the typical lesbian couple consisted of a clearly identified butch with a femme counterpart, essentially mimicking a heterosexual couple in matters of dress, actions, and customs.
This trend has slowly started to die out as we try to rid society of such rigid stereotypes, and lesbians today identify as everything from butch, to sorority sister, to suburban housewife. Why is it then, in this seemingly more enlightened world that some members of the lesbian community condemn their predecessors as sell-outs?
A recent article in the New York Times raises the issue of “butch” lesbians who opt to transition into males, thereby identifying as straight. This trend has not been met with great support in the lesbian community that feels that by “crossing over” you are betraying your lesbian identity. Some have even gone as far as to raise the question of whether or not someone who transitions was ever really a lesbian to begin with. The criticism however is not only reserved for butch lesbians who transition to straight males; their femme counterparts have also been accused of not being truly gay if they are attracted to a masculine persona.
In a community that has struggled for acceptance for so long it is unfortunate that some of their harshest criticisms are coming from within, is selling out really such a bad thing if everybody gets off?

Would you trade sex for money?

January 31, 2007

No, this isn’t about prostitution. A study by women’s rag Company and Durex condoms discovered that 3 in 10 men would rather roll in riches than roll in the hay. 30% of the British men taking the survey confessed that they would give up sex for life if paid $2 million…with 1% pledging the celibacy oath if offered a lifetime supply of alcohol. The study fails to mention whether “no sex” would include masturbation or not, a factor that would clearly influence the upshot of the commitment.

Surprisingly, these results contradict another study recently undertaken, with research showing that sex makes people happier than money does. Economists David Blachflower and Andrew Oswald found sex to be a strong determinant of happiness; just increasing sex from once a month to once a week produces the same effects as gaining $50 000!

It then seems odd that some men would pick money over sex, but I think the choice is largely personal. Who wouldn’t pick money if they’re not getting any (anyways), or if their past experience has been, well, dry? Which leads me to the question: cash or ass?


No Need to be Ashamed of Self-Love

January 31, 2007

Review: The Guide to Getting It On!

January 29, 2007

I mean it as a compliment when I say that The Guide To Getting It On! is the ultimate coffee table book. While it doesn’t have glossy, full-page photographs or even the requisite hard cover, everyone wants to flip through it. Even when inconspicuously placed on a bookshelf, my visitors can’t help but be drawn to its cheerful, neon-green lettered spine. They tend to pick a chapter – say, “Orgasms, Sunsets and Hand Grenades” – and sit for the next twenty minutes, pausing occasionally to laugh or read out a particularly fascinating excerpt.

The best little sex guide in the whole wide world?

Its refreshing premise is that “humour is the sexual lubricant for the soul”, and although Joannides’ writing might be too glib for some (in his “Gnarly sex germ” chapter, he asks, “Do you really believe that the cute fraternity guy you are about to go to bed with is going to say, ‘Oh, by the way, I’m totally low-risk except for that little butt-fucking incident last month with the captain of the wrestling team’?”), he does take pains to be accurate and instructive. Rather than selling you sex secrets guaranteed to drive your partner wild, his point is that you need to work hard at communication (verbal or physical) and learn to approach each partner with different expectations.

One major flaw is that it is heavily biased towards heterosexual couples, and there is often the implicit assumption that the reader is in a committed relationship, or wants to be. It’s clearly marketed towards the demographic of straight college students and young professionals (if the title doesn’t make it obvious, the fact that Urban Outfitters stocked it certainly should), and only discusses issues of race, poverty and culture in passing.<!– D([“mb”,” The\ndecision to relegate same-sex relations to a separate chapter instead of taking\na wholly inclusive approach also seems to imply that queer people belong in a\ndistinct category, along with bondage freaks and men who ejaculate prematurely.



This isn't to say that it completely fails to\nthink outside of the box – the "Sex when you are horny and disabled" chapter is\na great start, and left-wing soccer moms might find the "Explaining Sex to\nKids" section useful. I understand the\nneed for brevity – as it is, the guide clocks in at 854 pages – but surely hot\ntopics like abortion deserve more than two pages. Then again, this might be a bit much to\nexpect from a coffee table book; after all, it is a fun, mostly insightful look\nat sex, which definitely beats worn issues of People and Cosmopolitan.

\n\n\n”,0] ); D([“ce”]); //–> The decision to relegate same-sex relations to a separate chapter instead of taking a wholly inclusive approach also seems to imply that queer people belong in a distinct category, along with bondage freaks and men who ejaculate prematurely.

This isn’t to say that it completely fails to think outside of the box – the “Sex when you are horny and disabled” chapter is a great start, and left-wing soccer moms might find the “Explaining Sex to Kids” section useful. I understand the need for brevity – as it is, the guide clocks in at 854 pages – but surely hot topics like abortion deserve more than two pages. Then again, this might be a bit much to expect from a coffee table book; after all, it is a fun, mostly insightful look at sex, which definitely beats worn issues of People and Cosmopolitan.

The Guide To Getting It On! is available on ($17.33) and Indigo Chapters ($18.15).

Jay’s History of Sex – Part I

January 27, 2007

Sex in Antiquity No one can say with certainty just when people started having sex, but it stands to reason that it must have been quite early-on. A more interesting question might be, ‘when did we start jerking-off?’ To answer that question, one need look no further than the woman who first discovered that she didn’t need to have sex every time her partner grew a stiff one.
Little is known of this important historical figure; her name might have been Eve, or possibly Lilith. This Eve or Lilith (Lil Eve?) appears to have been the first woman to discover that withholding sex from her partner could be a useful and productive tactic. Scholarly sources suggest that it is here, in ancient antiquity, that the term ‘pussy-power’ finds its origins. According to the same sources, the first act of this original ‘liberated woman’ was to demand that her mate, before he could go anywhere near her ass, “Go and pick me one of them apples!”
Of course, upon passing her the apple, he proceeded to flip her over and ‘give her the banana’ as a bonus. Nevertheless, Lil’ Eve’s experiment constituted a roaring success for womankind; gender relations would never be the same.

Further Along in Antiquity It wasn’t long before men realized that, if they were going to get any pussy at all, they were going to have to work for it. Suddenly, with everyone ‘working for it’, a sort of competition-based culture began to emerge. For more information on this ‘competitive sexuality’, look for my forthcoming article, ‘Jay’s History of Warfare’.
It wasn’t all about fighting for it, though. Men quickly understood that being the last man standing (“If I were the last man on earth and you were the last woman, then would you…?”) wasn’t the only pre-requisite to getting laid. He learned that, while ‘getting some’ was one thing, ‘getting more’ posed greater challenges. For example, if his performance was lacking, not only would his woman refuse to fuck him, but she would invariably tell her friends about his sexual ineptness, thereby hurting his chances at getting laid outside his cave or hovel.
This ‘kiss and tell’ strategy employed by the industrious women of antiquity gave rise to many new challenges for sexually inept men. Eventually, these challenges birthed a whole new way of life. For more information on these unfortunate souls, see my forthcoming article called “The History of the Nomadic Tribes.” It is a harrowing tale of lackluster sex, boredom and anguish; don’t miss it!
Luckily, not all men were as quick to despair as were the ‘nomads’. In fact, a large number of men decided that they should instead stick it out and adapt to the new sexual climate. This resulted in the birth of two new great movements: ‘The Search for the Female Orgasm’ and ‘The Golden Age of Homosexuality’. Stay tuned for more exciting history…

© 2007 Jay M. Smith

The Four of Us

January 26, 2007

Did I ever think I would ever be in a situation like this one?No.
Did I ever think I could?No.
But I did.
I spent ten months(uh, and four days) in, most likely, the oddest relationship I could have ever imagined.
I “came out”(ok, I was never really “in” the closet: I basically told all my friends I was gay the moment I realized it!) about four years ago and due to my extremely shy side(or so I think), I spent the first three years being single. One day in November I hooked up with one of my good friends. It was great and marvellous and wonderful but only one thought came to me: “Uh, isn’t she married?”
So this is how it started. I began going to her place five times a week and soon enough, my girlfriend’s husband also hooked up with a girl friend. It was the four of us. We brought in a second twin matress in their room and made it as cozy as possible for all of us.
I know it must sound weird, all of this, but after a couple months, it stopped being bizarre or out of the ordinary. Waking up to people having sex beside me became a regular occurence and making out with my girlfriend in front of her husband became totally normal.
To answer your question, no, we didnt all have sex with eachother; we were like three couples. There were some times when the husband was there but all the attention was directed towards the girlfriend(hello, I’m gay!).
It worked really well for a while–way longer than I could have dreamed of–but at some point it had to fizzle. The husband was totally infatuated by the other girl and my girl didn’t want to hurt her husband the way she was hurting her. Then there was me, in love with my girlfriend who was forcing herself not to love me. Sure, it hurt, but I understood. My “goal” was never to break them up and I knew my girlfriend was feeling hurt by her husband. Nevertheless, I had to think about my mental health and on a rainy day in november, I broke up with her. It was terribly hard for the both of us–all of us, really–but it had to be done. We cried and hugged and slept together one last time. After that we talked on the phone but I made a point of not seeing her for at least two weeks to kind of try to get her out of my mind. The thing is, I always knew we were going to stay good friends because this wasn’t a normal breakup: I didn’t break up with her because I was sick of her or I hated her. I did it because I loved her too much and it hurt too much. She was well aware of it so she gave me the time I needed. She was wonderfully understanding.

It’s been three months since we are no longer together and things are still great, maybe even greater than before. I go chill with them(the ex and the husband–the other girl got herself a “real” boyfriend) at least once a week and have occasionnal booty calls; just enough to keep ourselves satisfied without actually going back to “that place”.

So that’s the story of the four of us–or a small fraction of it anyway.

I Hope Montreal is Next!

January 26, 2007

The ‘City that Never Sleeps’ just got one more reason to keep playing. New York City’s Mayor Bloomberg is about to reveal the city’s own “NYC” brand of free condoms.

“The condom packets will be modeled after the New York City subway system. Every foil will have a color,” said Carol Carozza, spokeswoman for Ansell, the firm producing the NYC condoms and also the parent firm of LifeStyles condoms.

“Brands work, and people use branded items more than they use non branded items, whether it’s a cola or a medicine even,” Health Commissioner Thomas Frieden said, “Brands add value and they increase use.”

The city distributes 1.5 million free condoms each month adding up to about 18 million a year. This allows hundreds of organizations the opportunity to receive free condoms that they then distribute at various locations such as health clinics, advocacy groups, bars, nightclubs and even prisons.

According to health officials, New York negotiated a deal with the maker of the LifeStyles brand for 4 cents per condom, putting the expense to the city at just $720,000 annually.

When you’re the AIDS capital of the United States, I suppose it only makes sense that you would sponsor an opportunity for free lovin’ to all.

The Ride (part 2)

January 24, 2007

“We’ll be late for work”

“It’s our last day here!”


“No more talking. Let’s do…. other things now,” teased Emma.

“Good idea. Come here, then”, whispered Sophie, while she pulled on Emma’s jeans.

“Wait! How long do you think we have?”

“I thought I just heard someone say ‘no more talking’! Was that you?” Sophie curled her lips into a very sexy, irresistible half-smile.

“OK, I’ll shut up now.”


Sophie reached over and tugged on Emma’s jeans with much more force this time.

Feeling exceptionally aroused, Emma reached inside Sophie’s sexy, black lace panties and cupped her round ass.

Sophie jumped and said: “Cameras?!”

Emma flashed a big smile, pressed her lips against hers for a mere second, and said: “Let them have their last party. We’re never setting foot in this building again!”

“Oh my, you’re right again!” Sophie let out a little giggle.

“Now, you know I can’t resist you in these panties,” Emma said while she oogled her barely- there panties. She repeated the phrase she had uttered countless times before: “You’re way too hot!” With that, Emma leaned in and licked the contour of her lips lightly. Her hands slowly moved up Sophie’s shirt without giving too much away to the unseen men watching the security footage. Emma’s wandering fingers played with Sophie’s erect nipples while she anticipated the moment her tongue would be doing the playing instead.

She heightened Sophie’s pleasure by gingerly licking and sucking on her earlobes. Once again, as she’d predicted, Sophie purred with pleasure. Emma smiled at the thought that she could make her feel so hot. Lips were sucked and bit with an intensity that alternated from passionate to tender, and culminated into a frenzy of dizzying kisses. Both girls were now feeling very hot in their winter jackets. As they made a move to shed their wooly layers, they heard a loud beep, followed by another a mere two seconds later. The girls turned to the doors just in time to see them spread wide open. They instantly noticed that one of their managers was standing right in front of them.

As the girls sheepishly stepped off the elevator, Emma loudly exclaimed: “I can’t believe I actually elbowed that stop button by mistake! How ridiculous!” Sophie quickly turned, and raised an eyebrow.

Having successfully avoided any awkward confrontations, both Sophie and Emma fixed their slightly dishevelled hair with mischievous grins on their guilt-ridden faces.

“Pfff…work”, sighed Emma, with a disappointed look on her face.

“Actually, not for another seven minutes and…twenty seconds”, said Sophie as she looked up from her cellphone’s glowing screen.

“OH, you are bad! Just the way I like it!”

Sophie shrugged playfully and, with her smile spread wide, whispered: “I know”.

They headed to the door leading to the vacant part of the eighth floor. As they were about to close the door, they peeked out to make sure that no one was in sight. Relieved, the girls knew they were about to enjoy a short but very intense end to their interrupted elevator ride!

I Want to Have Sex with Music

January 24, 2007

I love music. Spending five minutes around me will make that painfully obvious. I love my iPod simply because it does what it does – provides my entire library at my disposal whenever my capricious nature craves it, which basically means that I am always plugged in to something. This proposes an obvious problem when engaging in more intimate activities, where I may be plugged into a more organic form. I have yet to meet a girl that would let me have sex while I listen to my own earphones. That’s not to say that they don’t want to listen to music while doing it; what’s more, they too agree that it often creates a mood way better than any combination of flowers, incense, candles or lingerie. The right song can turn a faltering moment into a touching orgasm, or it can just as easily turn the best sex of your life into a cheesy, third rate porn knock-off.

Yet, in spite of the endless possibilities of a shared musical experience, I really just want to listen through my earphones – at least once. I have spent a lot of time and money in turning my little white box of joy into something that is both high-fidelity and intimate. For instance, my earphones attenuate the world around me by various decibels, to the point where I can’t hear any extraneous noise when in my own personal world; all I hear is my personal playlist with beautiful clarity. This kind of perfect intimacy is what I want to transpose into the sexual realm, and, so far, have failed miserably. Also, my musical tastes, as restricted as they may be, are mine alone, and what sets the mood for me may not set the mood for my partner.

When goofing around the internet one day, I happened to stumble across the answer to all my prayers. This little toy is nothing if not a miracle. It basically allows me to listen to my own music while avoiding the pitfalls of stereotypical male selfishness, so prevalent in the minds of hyper-sensitive post-feminists who believe that sex is more a chore than a pleasure. Well, get ready to have your panties blown right off. This combination headphones/vibrator is just what everyone who likes music really needs. The guy (or girl really, let’s not draw gendered lines – we’ve got attachments galore here) can listen to his favourite music while the attachment vibrates pleasurably, keeping up with the tempo of whatever the iPod happens to be channeling.

Now, I have yet to personally try this; it’s a little out of my very limited student budget for something which may have limited approval under the sheets. Plus, I can just hear my girlfriend now: I know I’m going to get distracted from one aesthetic beauty just to look at another, admittedly smaller, thing of beauty, as I decide which track to play next, you know, all in the name of providing a pleasurable experience.

Who wants to drool?

January 23, 2007

If anyone else here is involved… nope.. oops.. i meant in LOVE (hehe) with Scarlett Johansson, here’s a link that will most likely occupy you for many hours, days even. Just make sure no one’s around 😉

The Ride

January 23, 2007

As soon as the elevator doors closed, Sophie and Emma looked at each other and
smiled. Their smiles quickly faded though, as a foot suddenly wedged itself between the elevator doors, forcing them to open once again. Emma, unable to hide her irritation, mumbled under her breath. A big smile lit up her face, however, upon noticing that the obtrusive stranger was set to get off on the first floor. Ten seconds later, the man stepped off the elevator and onto an artificially lit floor, with light too harsh for the eyes. The two girls were quick to recover from the brief interruption though, as the elevator doors shut behind him.
Emma, being the one closest to the doors, turned around and faced Sophie, who was resting against the mirrors at the back of the elevator. With wild abandon, she lunged forward and pinned Sophie up against the wall. She transferred her weight to her toes to get herself a couple inches closer to Sophie’s lips. She quickly glanced back and noticed that they were already heading for the third floor. There was no time to lose; precious seconds were being wasted.

“We’ve got five floors”, she said almost breathlessly.

“Ya?” said Sophie in a convincingly demure tone.

“Yeah,” she huskily replied.

Emma’s lips softly touched Sophie’s as her hands reached for her ass under her bulky winter jacket. “God I love your ass,” she whispered in her ear. Sophie simply smiled and gave her a knowing look. With one hand on Sophie’s small, but fantastically round behind, Emma reached up with her other hand until she felt her tight ponytail. She gave her long mane a hard tug knowing full well how much Sophie loved that. As Emma predicted, a little moan escaped Sophie’s perfectly shaped, pouty mouth. The mere sound drove Emma mad with desire.

“Crap! Only one more floor left to go”, Sophie exclaimed.

She leaned in for one last urgent kiss before the elevator delivered them to work. While it was their very last day at this place, Emma didn’t want this moment to end. These devious escapades with Sophie in the elevators, and even in the empty stairwells before work, had been her salvation. They ultimately provided her with some goose-bump inducing daydreams – many of which she had grown to count on to help pass the workdays. She glanced over at Sophie and saw that they were both having the same wicked thought. “Fuck it,” she thought. Without a moment’s hesitation, she threw herself at the big red emergency “X” button, and felt the elevator come to an abrupt stop. A big smile lit up her face once more as she turned to look at her accomplice.

“Umm, I tripped?” she said with a devilish grin.

“You naughty, naughty girl!” replied Sophie, returning the grin.

Emma pulled Sophie by her jacket pockets, looked into her deep brown eyes and said:“We should have some time now.”

(to be continued)

On Nudity With Politics

January 22, 2007

At the turn of the first millennium Lady Godiva rode naked through the streets of Coventry to demonstrate the sincerity of her convictions; namely that her husband Leofric, the earl of Mercia, was overtaxing his peasants. In an act of defiance, she demonstrated that her body, stripped of all modern coverings was a powerful socio-political tool. Lady Godiva, strikingly beautiful and confident, is rumoured to have caused the first voyeur (aptly named Tom) to become instantly blind and in certain extreme cases of the legend die on the spot, so overcome is he with the intoxicating loveliness of her naked body as she rode astride her horse through the town square.

While this is perhaps not the first case of nudity being used to further subversive political views, it is certainly one of the widest circulated legends on the matter. What’s especially interesting to note is that Lady Godiva is by no means presented in a promiscuous light, or even a particularly sexual one (remember that this is the early 1000s and thus this is quite an event onto itself). To a certain extent she stripped her body of its sexuality while using it as a political vessel. What I mean to say is that Lady Godiva’s act of contrition was one in which her role as a woman and her sexuality came secondary to her beliefs (although, the blind Tom might argue this point, having lost quite an important sense at her unwitting hands… or breasts).

I love the idea of nudity and sexuality as a form of political protest. Stripping down for a cause is daring, original and extremely effective. The animal right’s activist group PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals) has more that once demonstrated it’s willingness to “bare skin rather than wear skin” and whether or not you agree with them and their occasionally aggressive tactics you have to admit that when Pamela Anderson goes topless in front of a store-front you sit up and take notice. PETA takes sexuality as a form of protest one step further in their “State of the Union Undress” in which a radiant young woman outlines PETA’s past and present goals while slowly removing her clothing until she stands, wonderfully naked, in front of the camera. All this goes to prove that nudity and intelligence do not necessarily have to cancel each other out.

In case you go looking for PETA’s “State of the Union Undress” you won’t find it on YouTube, it was banned due to the nudity. Also, just so you know directly after she gets naked you see a bunch of injured animals, so if that’s not your thing you might want to skip that.
P.S. note the old men cheering her on

Watch more PETA videos at

What’s in a name?

January 19, 2007

According to a study by M.I.T., the first name of a person has a large influence on their perceived sexiness. The attraction associated with names is said to be determined by the vowel sound – so before you go changing your name to popular strippers’ personae like Candy, Paris, and Valentine; you should first verify whether your name contains a “front vowel” or a “back vowel.”

Names with front vowels (tongue positioned to the front of the mouth, such as “a” in Matt) are most appealing to women, while back vowels (think “aw” in Paul) were displeasing. For men, results were much the opposite with preferences tending towards back vowel names (Jordan and Rachel), while front vowel names like Katie or Emily got the cold-shoulder.

Linguist Amy Perfors examined name-sexiness by showing pictures of people labeled with different names on the “Hot or Not?” site, and consequently measured how attractive strangers thought they were (as determined by ratings).

If you’re a Katie or Paul out there now feeling like a hideous ogre, don’t despair. Perfors’ name-game was carried out using the same picture of a person and how their name influenced their own desirability – ignoring that the person’s appearance formed the basis of the ratings to begin with. As stated by Perfors, “An attractive person with a bad vowel name is still more attractive than an unattractive person with a good vowel name.” This explains why celebrities such as Nicole Kidman and Kate Beckinsale (both front-vowel first namers) are still not considered ugly.

So unless whoever you’re dating is blind, or has a vowel fetish -hey, never underestimate the importance of tongue-positioning! – rest assured, this study should not in anyway influence your sex appeal.




September 12, 2006

“Having a pump is like having sex. I train two, sometimes three times a day. Each time I get a pump. It’s great. I feel like I’m coming all day.”

August 28, 2006

frank talk sells…

August 28, 2006

never too late to catch up…

August 28, 2006

perfect fit…

August 17, 2006

Posted by Picasa


August 15, 2006

illustration for Redlight by Georgie

I remember discovering this position for the first time on a hot summer day in high school. While I should have been in Math class, my nervous teenage boyfriend clumsily tried to convince me that this was the only way we could do “it” in the tiny back seat of his Irok-Z. Now, if marijuana is considered to be the gateway drug, then perhaps it can be said that “Doggy style” is the gateway sex position, opening up a world of possibilities and exploration. As a budding sex kitten, I decided to say my farewell to missionary position, and took an inaugural step into the world of kinky sex. As I bent over with forearms on the leather interior, I presented him with two very clear choices. Perhaps that is one reason why this classic is still a favorite.

Let us take a closer look at Doggy style…a.k.a. Union of the cow, Levrette, Pecorina. Coitus more ferarum (sex in the manner of beasts). You know the drill. She bends over on all fours, and he puts his Tab A into her Slot B from behind. This positioning provides sturdy, deep, tight penetration, as well as great G-spot stimulation (no the G-spot is not a myth people!) and plenty of control. Some consider the woman to be in a submissive position, but this is not so. Any confident woman can take great command of this position by lifting her knees up a little (think Yoga pose “Downward Facing Dog”) and shifting the weight to her legs. The woman has great control of motion, and can use as little or as much gusto as she prefers, taking rhythm and depth into her own, um… hands. While she’s happily busy, the man has two free hands for which the possibilities are endless. In the style of “Milking the Cow”, one hand is used to squeeze her breasts together while the other is used to stimulate her clitoris. The woman can also reach through her legs, and stimulate him by massaging his testicles, or playing with his perineum (the small region between the testicles and the anus). If SHE is more adventurous, one hand can be used to stimulate her anus which if done properly (i.e. gently, and at her discretion) is very sexy and stimulating. For increased depth, try The Dog with the man standing up, and the woman bent over touching the floor in front of him. And finally, let’s not forget about Slot C! All variations of the Dog can also be taken to a new plateau by changing up the point of entrance. Ultimately, either party can gain control of this versatile position, and the variations are limitless.

So as we prepare for another hectic school year, lets remember those easy breezy dog days of summer, and pay homage to this tried and true favorite “gateway” position. Reinvent it, make it yours, and let me know how you like it.


Eve Z

(Traditional version)

Difficulty: 2/5

Tightness: 3/5

G spot stimulation: 3/5

Clitoral stimulation: 1/5

Depth: 4/5

no he’s not the redlight film critic…

August 11, 2006

Redlight Personal Profile 0011

August 9, 2006

Turn Ons: brunettes, no make-up (i.e. natural beauty), smarts, modesty, petite

Turn Offs: fake tans, double D’s, anyone who looks like Pamela Anderson &/or Britney Spears, poor taste in music

Fav. Sexual Position: Doggy

Fantasy/Fetish: doing it “risky business” movie style

Famous Person to do it with: Sophie Marseau

Horoscope Sign: Sagitarius Chinese Sign: Rooster

About me: smoker, sorta religious, Croatian

REDLIGHT premier issue…

August 8, 2006


August 8, 2006

Redlight Personal Profile, Mcgill student, 006

August 6, 2006


Turn Ons: erotic movies

Turn Offs: unkind/ugly people

Fav. Sexual Position: lying face-down

Fantasy/Fetish: group sex

Famous Person to do it with: Brad

Horoscope Sign: Gemini Chinese Sign:Sheep

About me: homosexual, lots of allergies (i.e chocolate), versatile but prefer bottom

Redlight Personal Profile 0024

August 5, 2006


Turn Ons: glasses, literacy, eloquence, zeal

Turn Offs: Stilt walking, Self pitying, unibrowed types

Fav. Sexual Position: flying above, tumbling through clowds in sublime sexual union

Fantasy/Fetish: clowns

Famous Person to do it with: James Joyce in his twenties

Horoscope Sign: Gemini Chinese Sign:Tiger

About me: I will serenade you, all the time. I sing badly.

Redlight Personal Profile, McGill PhD Chemistry, 0012

August 5, 2006


Turn ons:
Tummies, backs, bellybuttons, short black hair, sweat, light eyes, Eastern Europeen accents, small well shaped boobs, big well shaped boobs

Turn offs: girls with a “great” personality, hair anywhere but head, floppy boobs, big bums, really big legs, Gunts!!

Fav. sexual position: girl on top facing away, girl on couch, kneeling over back, me behind, fun!

Fantasy\Fetish: all fantasies have been satisfied (up to 5 ways that is)

Famous person to do it with: Mandy Moore with short black hair, or Angelina Jolie but only in “Hackers” (short hair)

Horoscope Sign: pisces Chinese Sign: Boar

About me: You’re on a “need to know” basis

hey just add a little imagination…

August 5, 2006

but only just a little…

August 5, 2006

redlight Personal Profile 0037

August 2, 2006


Turn-Ons: brains, backs, accents, hip curvature, quirkiness, teardrop-shaped breast

Turn-Offs: stupidity, BO, jocks, “bacne”, cheesy pillow talk, saggy testicles, fat.

Fav. Sexual Position: queen riding horseback (on top facing away version)

Fantasy/Fetish: using a strap-on on him, sticky sex inside a pumpkin

Famous Person to do it with: Johnny Depp/ Fairuza Balk

Horoscope Sign: Libra
Chinese Sign: Rooster

About Me: I “sing and dance” in front of my mirror when he’s not home

redlight PersonalProfile, McGill Post-Doc, 0021

July 30, 2006


Turn-ons: intelligence
Turn offs: ditziness

Favourite Sexual Position: depends on the situation

Fantasy/Fetish: to be discovered

Famous Person to do it with: Scarlett Johansson; Winona Ryder

Sign: Gemini
Chinese Sign: The most vicious rabbit you have ever seen

About me: everybody loves an italian boy.