How Obama and Palin redefined political sex appeal.

by Tina Brown

There was a photograph in The Times Sunday that showed a rumpled David Axelrod slouched wearily in a chair wearing an old green sweater—with Barack Obama perched in the background, checking the display of his PDA. The room reeked of the pizza box weariness of a campaign in its last days—except for the candidate. For the millionth time the picture served to show how mesmerizingly crisp Obama always looks.

I can’t say if those hand-pressed looking shirts are made of the finest Egyptian cotton or not—maybe they’re from Costco—but the point is they suggest it. The simplicity of Obama’s lean, monochrome suits and solid blue ties makes every other pol appear porky and plebeian, old school glad-handers in oversize watches. It’s not just the clothes, of course. It’s the wearer—his carriage, the loping grace of his walk to the stage.

It’s also that the way he’s put together works simultaneously south of the Mason-Dixon line and south of 14th Street. When Obama works a rope line to most people he just looks neatly dressed. But to others he looks as stylishly minimalist as one of those Meatpacking District boutiques where a few shirts are piled artfully on otherwise empty shelves. It’s a little like the Republicans’ dog-whistle rhetoric, in which routine-sounding words like “worldview” and “wonder-working” convey a special, coded meaning to Christian conservatives. Obama’s look conveys the message of a new world order to the young.

It must be hell for John McCain and Bill Clinton, both alpha males who were always the sexiest guys in the room and have now been outpaced by this new kind of charisma. McCain was a heartthrob when he came back from Vietnam, with his hell-raiser smile and hair turned fetchingly white. One sentence of his backstory and the job was done: he had you at “my plane got shot down.” On the Straight Talk Express he was still an irresistible charmer. And Bill? Well, I’ve been in rooms when every woman he passed in the line was left with a deep burning blush of surprised conquest.

Hence the rage on both Clinton and McCain’s parts. McCain hates being deprived of his flyboy glamour as much as he hates being bested by a cool political novice who hasn’t paid his dues. He wasn’t looking old until Obama came on the scene. He was craggy, he was devil-may-care. He could still get the girls. As for Bill Clinton, Joe Klein’s biography was rightly titled The Natural. Bill always knew there was one phrase set aside for him in political retrospectives. The words “preternaturally gifted” belonged only to him. Until now. And that doesn’t even take in the galling fact that the younger man stole his wife’s exceptionalism. Obama’s glamour didn’t just eclipse Bill it made the first serious woman running for president look passé too.

What’s interesting is the androgynous quality of the Obama appeal. He’s almost like an avatar sent out dressed as himself to turn red states into blue. There are no “jumpers” at his rallies like the girls who jumped up and down at Kennedy rallies in the sixties. It’s significant that the Obama girl who lipsynched about “having a crush on Obama” in the YouTube clip during the primaries was immediately assumed to be a viral Internet plant. Obama is too contained to have the kind of sex appeal we are used to in public men whose drive to seduce sometimes becomes literal when it comes to the opposite sex.

Sarah Palin is now almost as large a celebrity as Obama but her appeal is as tactile as Obama’s is abstract, as Dionysian as his is Apollonian. She is genuinely gorgeous, with that thick, cascading soap opera hair, generous mouth, and beauty pageant legs. (If the Republicans really wanted Joe the Plumber’s vote, they should have blown some of that 150 grand at Victoria’s Secret.) The notion that after the campaign they’ll make her give the new wardrobe back, by the way, is palpably ridiculous. Don’t we want Sarah Palin to look hot?

Besides, no woman who has worn a $2,500 dollar silk Valentino jacket is ever going to return to wearing bargains from Out of the Closet, or desert the glossy standards of the new hairdresser who travels on the campaign plane for the Beehive in Wasilla. Palin may fish out a few old outfits for spin control to show she’s still real on the trail but she is more likely to trade in Todd than give up her new A-list look for long. She fought too hard for it. Her raw, striving quality is one of the qualities that makes her so compelling to watch. Are we now surprised that she’s campaigning for her future rather than the ticket?

She’s tasted the big time now. Go, Sarah! Obama versus Palin in 2012 sounds like a pretty incendiary reality show. The two stars from the same generation have redefined charisma and sex appeal for the multimedia age. Meanwhile, when the governor of Alaska returns to Anchorage after the election she is going to be about as content with her old life as Madame Bovary in Yonville. That’s the movie I really want to see.

Its never to early for Christmas/hanukka, …

Extra Nipples (please note these are on sale)

Oral Pleasure Chocolate

Sex addiction: not just for men

Anita Chaudhuri

Any time I met a guy who didn’t respond to me sexually, it would make me determined to have him,” confesses Valerie, 35, a human-resources manager in the City. “It became a challenge, a game, regardless of whether he was married or with someone. The lowest point came when I tried to seduce my best friend’s fiancé. I couldn’t bear the fact that, when they were together, he wouldn’t so much as look at me. It was an itch I had to scratch.”

“Sex addict” is the last phrase that would come to mind if you met the demure and sober-suited Valerie. Yet she is in 12-step recovery for that very issue. “Everyone used to tell me how lucky I was, as I could get any man I wanted. I’m quite a competitive person and it was important for me to know that, in my circle of girlfriends, I was viewed as the hottest.”

That sex and, by extension, love are highly addictive is no longer up for debate. Comparative brain scans of the love-struck and cocaine-addicted show almost identical areas of brain activity. And, for the first time, people are starting to talk about sex addiction. Russell Brand has owned up to having treatment and David Duchovny recently outed himself as a sufferer. Next month sees the release of a Hollywood film, Choke, devoted to the subject.

Experts say the number of sex addicts is rising — and, contrary to popular opinion, they are not all men. “In America, 30% of people coming in for treatment for sex addiction are female,” says Don Serratt, director of Life Works, which offers sex-addiction treatment in the UK. In this country, few women present themselves as sex addicts, but that doesn’t mean the problem is less prevalent. “They’ll come for help with alcoholism, drug addiction or depression and, in the course of treatment, the sex addiction, the root cause of the other addictions, will be uncovered,” Serratt says.

Valerie was unaware she had an addiction, even when her friend’s fiancé rejected her advances and threw a drink over her, telling her some unpleasant home truths for good measure. It was only as she got older and her friends started to settle down that she began to question her behaviour.

“I was embarrassed to find myself aged 35, with the longest relationship on my romantic CV lasting only three months,” she says. She went to counselling because she wanted to stop going for the wrong men. “That’s when I realised that I’d been living in a fantasy world. What I loved most about sex wasn’t the act itself. It was lying in bed together afterwards, talking into the small hours, feeling that sense of connection. I often convinced myself I was in love with these guys, but it would soon wear off.”

Susan Cheever, a self-confessed sex addict who has just written Desire: Where Sex Meets Addiction (Simon & Schuster), agrees that this blurring of the lines between the compulsions of love and sex is common among women. “If there is a difference between sex and love addiction, I don’t know what it is,” she says. “Sometimes people say they just fall in love too frequently. Are they saying they don’t want to have sex with those people? Love addict sounds nicer for sure.”

As Cheever recounts in the book, there were times when every man who crossed her path was fresh prey, from removal men to bookshop reps — taking in three husbands and her mother’s oncologist on the way. “Whenever there was a crisis,” she admits, “I found a man to take the edge off the feelings of helplessness and pain” — regardless of the upheaval she risked unleashing on her husbands and two children. “Adultery is the drink-driving of sex addiction,” she observes.

A bleaker story emerges, however. “My parents spent a great deal of time telling me that I was unattractive and would never find a husband. Perhaps proving my parents wrong was one of my motivations. If so, I didn’t realise it at the time. It’s tricky, because addiction to other people, specifically addiction to a sex partner, is the only one that is applauded and embraced by our culture, despite the fact that there is more collateral damage than with drugs or alcohol.”

It is a pattern Serratt is all too familiar with. “Female sex addicts crave intimacy, ” he says. “They’ll use sex and seduction to create that closeness with a guy — but, once they get it, they freak out and move on to the next one.”

Yet, although they crave intimacy, Serratt believes female sex addicts are subconsciously terrified by it. Because of their low self-esteem, they are scared of a man getting to know the “real” them. “Sex addicts will often say, ‘Oh, I can never meet the right man’, but that’s because as soon as a guy turns up who is everything they want, it scares them and they kill it. Once they’re in a relationship, they’ll begin to find fault and start saying ‘Oh, he’s lazy/he’s fat/he’s broke’, then dump him. Sex addicts also have poor discernment skills for choosing boyfriends. They tend to go for superficial qualities, because what they’re attracted to is a fantasy.”

Certainly for Justine, a 38-year-old mother of two, fantasy was the driving force behind a habit that nearly wrecked her life. She was married to a rich entrepreneur for 18 years, and her life appeared enviable, yet for two decades she had a string of affairs, taking crazy risks to spend time with her lovers.

More…

When Markets Fall, So Do the Big Swinging Dicks

A blow-by-blow guide to the four stages of market-related sexual dysfunction.

Decades ago, during the era of takeover kings and junk bond traders—long before the tech boom, the hedge fund boom, and the private equity boom—Michael Lewis’s 1989 classic, Liar’s Poker, labeled Wall Street stars the “Big Swinging Dicks.” The common if optimistic assumption has always been that these guys perform aggressively in the bedroom, too. Remember Dennis Kozlowski’s babe-shaped birthday cake, with sparklers for breasts?

Whenever times are good, few people stop to wonder whether the converse might also be true: BSDs—or Masters of the Universe, or whatever they are calling themselves now—get less virile when the market crashes.

Most of the information on this topic is anecdotal, if consistent: bad economic times pretty much guarantee bad sex. But with every crash the debate on recession sex reemerges. Earlier this week, Bonnie Fuller sent out a well-circulated questionnaire asking her contacts about their post-crash sex lives. Gawker has laid out a theory on the 5 types of recession sex, as told through craigslist. And numerous bloggers are espousing their own theories.

Now, it’s our turn to weigh in. The Daily Beast’s news shrink, clinical psychologist Stephen Josephson, says sexual performance and the stock market are often closely related. He recently saw a man who ran a trading desk and complained of “inconsistent erectile difficulties.” He was, says Josephson, “a handsome big guy, sleeping with hotties.” Further investigation revealed that the client couldn’t separate his work from his play. “I had him chart how much money he made each day to his sexual performance,” Josephson says. “When the market went up, so did he.” In fact, the stages of market related sexual dysfunction (Let’s call it MRSD) can be tracked, just like the market itself.

Stage 1: Volatility.

You might think that people under a lot of pressure might have a lot of sex, and you would be right. Initially. Pressure is an aphrodisiac, as long as it doesn’t continue for too long. People had sex in bomb shelters during WW II for instance, and there was that baby boom after 9-11. But during the Great Depression birth rates fell.

As Dr. Pepper Schwartz, Seattle-based author of Prime: Advice and Adventures on Sex, Love and the Sensuous Years explains, in the face of imminent death, people go at it thinking, “This may be the last time we make love.” But, she notes, that’s different from the slow-motion worry of “not being able to make your minimum payment or being foreclosed upon.”

Stage 2: Decline.

Sexual desire and anxiety are inversely proportional. The wife of one Wall Street player, who wishes to remain anonymous, told me that her husband rose at 5 a.m. to check on trading in Japan, only to find that it was National Fitness Day, and the market was closed. That didn’t help.

And as the bank account shrinks, the second-guessing begins, accompanied by intensifying cycles of doubt, fear and self-loathing. Significant others get snippy, asking why the 401-K wasn’t diversified and all the private school tuition money went to a personal trainer. One investment banker joked darkly that this market crash “is worse than a divorce: I lost half my wealth but I’m still married to my wife.”

Infidelity can increase during this period—strip clubs, prostitutes, one-night stands, anyone who isn’t a critical or anxious spouse. Elaine Calaway, a Houston psychologist who works with the well-heeled explains: “When finances are pinched, wealthy men feel super vulnerable with a wife or partner. Having a side-treat props them up, feeds that need to feel powerful and virile.”

Alas, the mistresses who are attracted to moneyed men aren’t very interested in hanging around once the money disappears, and the ones who do are put on short rations, one wife of a Texas oilman says. In turn, they are cutting back, too: way fewer triple process blondes, no more hair extensions, and they’ve put their Hermes bags on eBay.

Stage 3: Depression.

This is the period when, as Houston psychologist Andrew Gol explains, “Sex goes out the window.” Too many negative thoughts are death for the libido. Viagra, which needs the trigger of desire to send blood flow to the sexual organs, isn’t much help, if any. Heavy drinking, which might have lead to more illicit sex in earlier stages of financial distress, doesn’t help either, when things get really tough. “It makes it worse,” the sex deprived wife of one trader told me.

Stage 4: Rally.

In this phase, people will come to understand that money won’t make them happier, and they learn to enjoy life’s simpler pleasures. “America’s Sex Therapist” Ian Kerner showed that flag recently on MSNBC: “As we struggle to save our dollars, we allow the currency of our communication to become devalued by stress, anxiety and fear. It’s not just the state of the union we need to be worrying about, but also the state of our unions. So why not go home tonight and have some good old-fashioned sex?”

No word yet on what kind of bailout will be required to put that plan into effect.
by Mimi Swartz

Make your own sex toys… hot or not?

Make Your Own Sex Toys: 50 Quick and Easy Do-It-Yourself Projects
and
Make Your Own Sex Toys

Now… im all about DIY but making your own sex toys?!

This book includes things like how to make your own leather leash, lotions and potions, and crochet collar. Granted bringing in some random foriegn objects in the mix might be interesting but CROCHET COLLARS?? I actually know a girl who would more than likely make this and probably do it openly while watching a hiphop show and its totally amazing… but personally I can’t imagine being on the bus and crocheting a collar for a future sexual adventure.

Personally I am not attracted to “cheap”. I don’t like my date being cheap and I don’t want my sex toys to be cheap either. Granted if i was stuck on an island with no shops perhaps my mind would change a little.

How would you introduce that into your sex life? Oh hey there boy.. “I made you a leather collar snuggle puff!” or perhaps “hey buttercup I made you a willy warmer”.

Probably of my favorite parts of finding this book is that Amazon sells it USED!!!!! for just a little over three dollars and they only have one left in stock of the new versions. Why in the world would you want someones used sex toy book? But I suppose if you are going to try and save money on sex toys you might as well save money on actually buying the book. You think the sell is just selling it to fund their sex toy purchases from actual sex toy sites?

Has anyone ever tried anything like this? Any experience stories? Anyone have their own DIY sex toy ideas?

Male Enhancement Procedures Part III

For Do-it-yourself type of guys… I found this thing on the Internet. You can judge by yourself of its worth.

Warm-up exercise:
– Obtain a small hand towel, wet this hand towel using warm/hot water.
– Place the hand towel around your penis.
– Wet the towel again to keep the warmth. Leave the hand towel on the penis for 2-3 minutes.
– Temporarily discard of the towel and perform workout (below)
– When workout is finished re-heat the towel.
– Apply the towel to the penis for another 2-3 minutes.
– Always use the same towel for hygiene reasons. (What hygiene reasons, I don’t know…)

Doing this exercise for the first time, it may be a little strange and slightly painful in the onset of application but will disappear in a few seconds. This warm-up exercise is IMPORTANT and should be done before and after the main exercise that will be given below.

The Long Shlong Basic: The Stretching Exercise
– Grasp the tip of your penis firmly, below the head.
– Pull it out in front of you and hold for 15 seconds.
– Repeat for the desired number of reps.
– Relax and gently massage head of penis.
– Stretch penis to right and hold for 15 seconds.
– Relax and massage head of penis.
– Stretch penis to left and hold for 15 seconds.
– Always repeat for desired number of reps.

A few reminders for this exercise:
If you have a foreskin, you should pull it back before pulling your penis. Remember that it is the penis that we want to stretch not the skin. After completing this exercise once, repeat the steps only this time, pulling your penis to the left instead of pulling it to the right when stretching. You should have a detailed workout plan or get a custom workout plan so you can organize your activities well. Feeling a good amount of stretch on your penis after this exercise is normal and healthy so there is nothing to worry and it’s a sign of penile enhancement. This should be done accordingly without exaggeration, as it could lead to penile damage. Though this is a natural method, we are not liable for any danger that may occur if you don’t follow the procedures carefully. Responsibility should be carried out at all times during this exercise.

I don’t know…personally, I don’t pretend I’m making my vagina grow bigger when I masturbate.

Talk Nerdy to Me?

Many people have written books on dating and romance. How to meet someone at a bar, How to romance the pants off of a significant other and many many others.

Recently I discovered a book on Amazon called “I Can’t Believe I’m Buying This Book: A Commonsense Guide to Successful Internet Dating ”. The best part about amazon is that you can buy them used for $5. I almost can’t remember what dating was like before the Internet. How would you get to know someone? Talk to them in person?…HA! Our world has evolved from giving out your phone number to giving your MSN contact and adding them to Facebook with an ever so ironic and clever “poke”.

The magical world of the Internet has opened a Pandora’s box in the dating world. It can be the worst thing for relationships and hearts or it can be one of the greatest tools in the history of flirting.

The e-world is filled with all kinds of Internet relationships. From single serving sessions of love to people getting married over IRC (believe it or not but that couple is now celebrating their 12th wedding anniversary). We are a world filled with all kinds of lonely people. Some more than others, but granted we are all looking for some sort of connection… romantic or not. Hiding behind a screen allows a safe and secure place to be yourself or who ever you want to be. Craigslist personal connections or word of war craft are two great examples. They say the Internet was originally created for the military… well I think that’s a lie. I think the Internet was created for all the awkward people of the world to unite. Eventually it evolved into not only a tool for the awkward and nerdy but a place for our entire generation to socialize virtually.

With a tool that allows people to interact in such an easy fashion comes huge problems. Dating websites, pay cam/internet porn, and online networking sites have developed into a billion dollar industry because we’re constantly searching for a greater connection.

Facebook, Msn and Myspace seem to be three of the most popular forms of communication for my age group. I’ve seen many relationships grow and some of them crumble using these tools. It all starts with some casual flirting and maybe a comment on a picture or something of the sort. It then eventually grows into messages everyday and comments on profiles. Their friends add you and eventually you start to spend more time in person together and going out on group outings. Before you know it a relationship has evolved. Then the greatest event of the modern relationship happens “The Status Change”. These days nothing is really official until its announced to the virtual world you are “now listed as in a relationship”. Every thing runs smoothly until there are other interesting people that get added to the friends list. More comments happen, more messages and before you know it the poison of the Internet sets in. It comes in the form of jealousy, uncertainty and curiosity. These new people are coming into your partners life the same way you did. Do you trust them?

Relationships are more and more easy to find online, whether it’s long distance, in your home town, or by the minute… anyone can feel like they are special to someone from the comfort of their own home. Is the temptation too much? Can the modern relationship survive modern technology?

Sue Johanson

Sue Johanson has been educating our vast nation about sex for over 30+ years in a very straight forward and direct manner. She is truely a great Canadian icon and will be missed by many in the wee hours of the morning. She has finally decided to end her tv career but will still continue to make public appearances. Watch her last episode will air on May 11th 2008. (tonight).

http://www.cbc.ca/mrl3/8752/news/features/graham-sex-sue-080509.wmv

http://www.cbc.ca/arts/tv/story/2008/05/07/talk-sex.html

Summer Camp part II

We were three counselors and a head counselor for the subgroup of nine mentally and physically challenged female campers from age 25 to 69. From a previous post, you’ll remember that the head counselor was also my summer love. Seeing her lately reminded me of everything that I learned during those weeks which made me the physical being I am today.

 

See, I didn’t just fall in love with L-. My sexual attention was devoted to her, and she knew it, but my heart was all over the place.

 

At the camp, you have three categories of subgroups: autonomous, semi, and multi. Multi campers require constant attention. There’s a ratio of one counselor to one camper. Our nine campers were semi: they weren’t able to express their needs, but once you got to know them, you learned to anticipate them. Along with the simple but magical activities that we invented for them (theatre, crafts, bals- we danced with them by pushing their wheel chairs) we also provided daily care. I lost a lot of weight and had back aches: several times a day, we performed transfers: for example, from the bed to the wheel chair: you have to bend over the person while she’s lying on her bed, put an arm under her back and the other arm under her knees, lift her and place her on her wheel chair, and the maneuver is different for each camper because most of them have different skeletal deformations, so you have to make sure you don’t hurt them. Other transfers were from wheel chair to toilet seat (many many times a day) and back, but the hardest were transfers to the bathing tub because they required us to bend even lower. Those transfers made me love my body for what it had the strength to do. These simple acts made me realize how much I love the human body. It’s so far from what you could think- that I was ever interested in seeing naked women in a position of vulnerability and total dependency. No, never, and you could only understand if you were there. It’s the bond that we created. It’s not because they are mentally challenged that they don’t realize that you are stepping inside their intimacy when you are changing their diapers or giving them baths. And they let you in. And you have to deserve it and prove yourself up to the task.

 

During those moments, I learned to adapt myself quickly like never before. My favorite camper was the eldest: she was 69. Every morning I would wake up earlier so I could pick the camper I would provide morning care for, and I always picked her. See, she probably didn’t remember my name or didn’t really understand the words I spoke to her, but we had the simplest and most pure friendship. Every time I bent over her, she would stick her tongue out and lick my nose and laugh hysterically like if she just caught me off guard. Anyone who would stick their tongue out in direction of my face would probably get a slap before they even got near. But with her, I always felt it coming, and the other counselors laughed every morning- it was our little thing. Campers are not booksmart, but their communication skills are unique. The one morning that she didn’t lick my nose, I knew something was wrong. I didn’t hear her laugh once that day, and it worried me. I brought her to the doctor on the site and she found nothing was wrong. I gave her extra attention for the rest of the day, I played in her hair, I danced with her, and when we went swimming, I was the one who held her. The next morning she licked my nose and I knew it was better.

 

The human body is capable of so many things, and communicating is the most precious. Every counselor could tell you this; your body is a tool you have to use to make campers feel better. What happened with the campers had nothing to do with sexuality, yet, it was tender and affectionate. They looked forward to bedtime when we would stroke their hair and talk to them. For no other people I would climb on stage and pretend I’m a lion while I’m pushing a wheelchair and pretending the camper who’s in it is a mosquito I’m chasing while singing camp songs.

 

The heart is a muscle; once you use it, it grows bigger, it hypertrophies. And when you get back to real life, even if you ignore it for a while, it’ll never shrink back to the size it was before. I carry these women everywhere with me. That’s probably why I’m still so attracted to L-, the head counselor. Because she reminds me of everything I am at my weakest and strongest. And even though I’m not an emo lover anymore, even though I’m sometimes cold and act like a heartless bitch looking for clients, she knows I care. She’s the only one who knows me and sometimes I hate her for it.

sex, religion, advertising

freedom of expression allows provocation
FLIRT VODKA CAMPAIGN
http://www.peshtera.com/?lang_id=3&prm=products&cat_id=4

translated from Bulgarian:
‘She said she would need a longer time to choose’

 

‘Keep the Memories’
 

 

‘Are you ready for your angel?’

 

alcohol and religion…
The Bible says that Noah planted a vineyard after the flood. Then got drunk. Later on it says that Noah lived for 900 years.

 

Self-destruction part I

 

Step one : pick the one guy who won’t have you
Step two: wait
Step three: forever

Alternative

Step three/plan B: switch to girls and pretend you’re in a homosexual phase anyway.

 Step three/plan C: apologize for something you didn’t do… for that you have to have a heart, and offer it in a gift wrap, and be prepared to have it ripped open, torn in hard but mushy pieces that will never fit together again and will probably bleed all over the place and drown the sorrow you thought was already drowned in tears. That’s if you have a heart.

How plan B did not work:
So this girl I was in love with, like, way too long ago, sent me a horny email.

So I’m thinking: can’t have the penis, try other penises. When great penises don’t come with OK brains, spend time with friends (uh, which also happens whatever health of sex life), and also answer horny email.

Which I totally misinterpreted. Coucou, j’ai rêvé à toi hier soir was more like I’m in town and I want someone from the past to come play with my hair while we talk about the past and maybe drench the pillow with tears and other liquids of non-sexual nature. Geez, you’re already testosterone-challenged, work and make up for it. It’s not that I don’t love breasts and firm butts, because I do, but maybe mine are enough for now. I’d even choose pretty metrosexual boys over that. Seriously, the messed-up version of a female brain is not the reason I dropped in your hotel room wearing the little black dress and no bra or underwear. Girl, suicide will never be an option, stop making people consider it.

Ghosts from the past, no matter how hot they’ve gotten, and how many hours you spent masturbating to the thought of them/having sex with someone from the opposite sex to the thought of them, should stay in the past. 

I still felt this involuntary primal response that makes the heart race and palms moist. But I had to suffer the whole ‘I don’t recognize you. Why don’t we click anymore. You changed. And you’re not even attracted to me anymore’ gna gna gha gha brrr Oh did you say anything? So sorry, I was too busy waiting for you to undress. And after all that emo soup, she asked if I was in the mood. Anything but. Sex is like air; it’s not that important, unless you’re not getting any. I waited for her to freshen up, I kissed her and left. Which leaves me the option to come back later. With tape, earplugs and other goodies. Once she’s cooled down with her lesbian expectations.

      
Plan C… not happening. I do have a heart, it’s just that I like to think that my brains and vagina pump most of my poor anemic blood. Thus it leaves my heart, well, working full-time for useful organs.

daily confession

Speaking of desensitization (previous post); well, it does not happen. In a week, the long P and I have covered more than I ever have with previous partners. I don’t know what he’s going to teach me next.

So I don’t know/care to what level he thinks we’re close, because we’re not, but he started talking during sex. I guess it’s his way of keeping my attention in between orgasms. He’s good. If anyone can ask me to cum again, it’s him. And he did. Hot and confident, but not too much. But it made me start to laugh hysterically, with his face so close to mine. Like, I could not stop laughing. He pulled off and I sat upright to laugh. His ‘come again’ made me think of the old asian guy working at the convenience store close to my place. Tank you, come agayne?!  Try to explain that to a new lover. I skipped, and proceeded to come again, while I kept my face buried in the couch arm so I could continue laughing. He tried to ignore it and thrusted harder. Daaaamn, the guy is long and patient. I felt ridiculous so I gave him head a couple of minutes later, but I had to stop because I couldn’t stop hearing the voice in my head. Pleeease, come agayne?! I think my body won’t vascularize the brain and the v at the same time. Of course I went on. At least leave a good last impression… If I ever see him again, I’ll just smile from afar. if I ever hear from him again, it won’t be while doing it. Anyway, I think we’ve had enough for a whole month.

He must think I’m a very happy person. mouths should be kept too busy to talk/laugh when getting busy. I hope he doesn’t think I’m retarded. I know I would.

What is up with Tom Ford?

Truly a man’s man, Tom Ford is ex-Gucci now running his own design shindig. That isn’t half as impressive as appearing on the cover of Vanity Fair with Scarlett Johanssen and Keira Knightly (Well dressed, while the actresses were butt naked). If that weren’t enough, his website is perhaps the most impressive I have seen in a while. Although, I must admit it has seen better ad campaigns in past. I was wondering if anyone wanted to venture someone more impressive in the field of sexy? Chuck Norris must be excluded as he is obviously incontestable.

Sweet Fucking Dreams

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

My friend told me she cuts herself after sex.

And she’s been getting a lot lately.

I kept thinking about her when I was getting my own sexual healing late tonight. EmotionallyRetardedPartner did not notice. Unzip, come, zip. My phone lost his number.

Euphemism: I am worried about her. If only she could see herself the way I -and everyone- see her.

”I wish I had known as a teenager what I know today about my body; that whatever the shape or size, it’s perfect” (Felicity Huffman)

I, The Gympho

My attention span never lasts more than two hours when I study- the urge to go to the gym always creeps in. Sometimes, more than once a day. It’s the most superficial place I know, and yet I’m always back for more- it’s a love/hate relationship. Like when I keep calling the guy who won’t get hard for I-dunno-what-reason-but-it-hurts-the-heart-i-don’t-have.

Yeaya I got for the health benefits, to feel happy inside and out.

Aaaaand, for The eye-fuckers: make me feel like I’m standing naked just with a quick look. And somehow it feels great. The fuckables: I undress them with a quick look and am always very satisfied. The blasés; I don’t even get a look, and that makes me stare even more. Oh and also the personal trainers- you know they’ve worked out with more than one woman.

You also have the potentials friends, for example, yesterday, the gay guy on the spinner who’s in top shape and is bored even though he’s at max speed/max resistance: gossips about the magazine he’s reading. So friendly. Twice the new friend’s size: the Ginos. Everytime I go, I feel they got bigger. Now, I know some girls like to feel safe around their man. But for certain (other) parts of the body, bigger is not better. When I could fit two (very-healthy-sized) thighs of mine in one of your arms… you might want to stop spending your weekly check on Weigh And Egg Weightgainers. And finally, the sweaters: almost make me feel guilty of not sweating the 45% of water my body is made from. Dude it’s called an antiperspirant and most importantly, deodorant. I still like watching them though! I dunno, it’s just totally addictive. Oh and by the way, I also work out while at the gym.

Bonus: tips for gymers *I love it when guys look like they don’t really care how they look- guys and sweat pants… worth sweating. *Stop staring at girls wearing skanky ‘gym clothes’. They know they’re hot.*It’s not because you stopped staring at the skanky girls that you get to stare at yourself in the mirror for like…so long you forgot when was the last time you blinked. *Beware of the geeeerms

I wish my gym crushes actually led to some actual working out, you know, if only I could stop staring and actually do something. maaaaah the only thing I don’t work out at the gym is my brains. I don’t mind

Public Apology

if you haven’t read my previous posts: in a few words, the sex has been… not happening because the partner’s instrument was not hard enough.

Hello BabyCarrot,

There is something you should know about me. Until 2008, I lived in a cucumber field. You know, where the stuff is hard on the outside, hard on the inside, always ready for appreciation (have you ever had a cucumber that doesn’t taste ready? I haven’t) and uhm, well, geometrically interesting. And then I met you, BabyCarrot. Or should I say BabyBanana? is there something softer than a banana?

A wise friend of mine enlightened me today-

W: Jules, cupcake, we’re all bananas. It takes more than a kiss to be ripe and ready.
J: Nah, Honey, I think you should only speak for yourself and all other (ethnicity that I won’t name)
W: Actually, cupcake, it’s probably because your cucumber plantation were all uh, what do you call them… (scratches his head) VIRGINS. Virgins get hard like… sitting on a bus.
J: Nooooo you did not just throw that in my face

And then W-the-wise informed me that I looked deliciously Tomato-like. And a lazy one at that. Fine, BabyCarrot/Banana-would-be-Eggplant-if-I-weren’t-so-lazy-and-impatient. I sincerely apologize, and rrrrrrr (scratch my head, nose, right ankle, look elsewhere) I miss you.

Looking forward to not being lazy with you,
J.

three things

First, there are no good reasons for a guy not to be hard enough for sex.

Second, why does porn-sperm stick on face as if life-or-death matter, you know, too much like Spiderman’s web on buildings?

and what’s up with mature women porn (like 75+)? The only thing I like old and crusted is cheese, and even then- too dry

Sexiest message ever heard from a computer

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.

Shower Sex

Often I see shower sex in film and on t.v. I was wondering if this works for anyone. Stories that I have found from people seem to point towards fear of slipping and difficulty with respect to mechanics. Anyone experienced in this field? Care to share your mistakes or even a success?

Go Forth and Fuck

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?”

How to Come Out to your Doctor

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

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

Sex and crafts

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

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.

Pills and patches and sex, oh my!

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?

Let’s Spend the Night Together

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

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

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

• While current Prime Minister Abe continues to deny that the Japanese military forced women to work as comfort women in wartime brothels, Japan’s ex-Prime Minister says Japan was responsible for wartime sex slaves. Read three women’s accounts of their brutal treatment at the hands of the Japanese here.

• Sex slavery isn’t in the past, and it isn’t limited to Third World countries: it’s a problem in Vancouver, where sex slaves are trafficked from Asia to work in “massage parlours”. First Nations women are also frequently victims of sex abuse – and it isn’t reported in the mainstream media.

• It’s also a growing problem in Britain, where young women from impoverished countries (especially Lithuania) are imported and forced to work in brothels. It’s estimated that 4,000 women are forced to work in Britain’s sex trade at any given time – and if they manage to escape, they are often deported back to their home countries, where they face the same cycle of violence. The Telegraph reports that women can be bought for as little as £1,400. Read one Nigerian woman’s account here.

• What’s being done? Britain has set up a task force to combat human trafficking, and has signed the European Convention on Human Trafficking. The Protection Project works to “to influence policy and practice in the war against trafficking”. The V-Day movement discusses sex slavery here. PBS features the world of sex trafficking here.

" I’ll have what she’s having."

meow?

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

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

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

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

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 ….

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.

Descartes, porn style

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

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 Treehugger.com – 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.

To the Sleep Deprived

“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.

Old Dog, New Trick

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).

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: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/17045070/

Yet another excuse…

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

– Tricia

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

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

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: http://www.thatsweird.net/history1.shtml

On aging gracefully

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

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

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.

Art of the Nude

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

Rachel

Photo by Ben Lee

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

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

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?

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.

Montreal.
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

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

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.

On Vanity

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’

Valentine’s Day Massacre

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…

Selling safe sex

Much has been made of McGill’s Shagalicious Shop – it’s been lauded for promoting safe sex by Canada.com, 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…

The Greeks had Nothing Against Naked Athletics…

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.

Link.

Ann Summers: Vibrator Heaven

Kissing.
Clothes off.
Lights out.
Missionary.
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:
http://www.annsummersuncut.com/main.asp?gid=6&cat=1&scat=1
enjoy!
Evelyn

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

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

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

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

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?

No Need to be Ashamed of Self-Love

Review: The Guide to Getting It On!

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.

\n\n

\n\n

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 Amazon.ca ($17.33) and Indigo Chapters ($18.15).

The Four of Us

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.

The Ride (part 2)

“We’ll be late for work”

“It’s our last day here!”

“True.”

“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.”

“Good!”

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

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?

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 😉

http://www.kontraband.com/show/show.asp?ID=5198&rtn=index-topten

The Ride

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

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 PETATV.com.

Govenor?

“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.”

frank talk sells…

never too late to catch up…

perfect fit…

THE DOGGY DAYS OF SUMMER

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.

Thanks,

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…

Redlight Personal Profile 0011

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…

oops…

Redlight Personal Profile, Mcgill student, 006

Derick

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

Marisa

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

Aaron

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…

but only just a little…

redlight Personal Profile 0037

Mandy

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

Giorgio

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.

redlight Personal Profile, McGill student, 0015

Paul

Turn-ons: nice butt, geeks (or affinity for them), boundless energy.
Turn-offs: ditziness, whining, yelling an ex’s name in bed, clinginess.

Fav. Sexual Position: girl on top, doggy style.
Fantasy/Fetish: Light bondage? Sure. School girls? Can be fun. Feet? ehhh …. dunno. Unicorns? No.

Famous Person to do it with: Jennifer Connelly

Horoscope Sign: Virgo Chinese Sign: Pig

About me: computer game addict and geek extraordinaire…love it or hate it kind of thing.

whats the fuss…

warning… long and risque… :)

WBAM FM Chicago – Mate Match

On the WBAM FM morning show in Chicago, the DJs play a game where they award winners great prizes. The game is called “Mate Match.” The DJs call someone at work and ask if they are married or seriously involved with someone. If the contestant answers yes, he or she is then asked 3 random yet highly personal questions.

The person is also asked to divulge the name of their partner (with phone number) for verification. If their partner answers those same three questions correctly, they both win the prize.

One particular game, however, several months ago made the City of Big Shoulders drop to its knees with laughter and is possibly the funniest thing I’ve heard yet. Anyway, here’s how it all went down:

DJ: “Hey! This is Edgar on WBAM. Have you ever heard of ‘Mate Match’?”

Contestant: (laughing) “Yes I have.”

DJ: “Great! Then you know we’re giving away a trip to Orlando,Florida if you win. What is your name? First only please.”

Contestant: “Brian.”

DJ: “Brian, are you married or what?”

Brian: “Yes.”

DJ: “Yes? Does that mean you’re married or you’re what?”

Brian: (laughing nervously) “Yes, I am married.”

DJ: “Thank you. Now, what is your wife’s name? First only please.”

Brian: “Sara.”

DJ: “Is Sara at work, Brian?”

Brian: “She is gonna kill me.”

DJ: “Stay with me here, Brian! Is she at work?”

Brian: (laughing) Yes, she’s at work.”

DJ: “Okay, first question – when was the last time you had sex?”

Brian: “She is gonna kill me.”

DJ: “Brian! Stay with me here!”

Brian: “About 8 o’clock this morning.”

DJ: “Atta boy, Brian.”

Brian: (laughing sheepishly) “Well…”

DJ: “Question #2 – How long did it last?”

Brian: “About 10 minutes.”

DJ: “Wow! You really want that trip, huh? No one would ever have said that if a trip wasn’t at stake.”

Brian: “Yeah, that trip sure would be nice.”

DJ: “Okay. Final question. Where did you have sex at 8 o’clock this morning?”

Brian: (laughing hard) “I, ummm, I, well…”

DJ: “This sounds good, Brian. Where was it at?”

Brian: “Not that it was all that great, but her Mom is staying for a couple of weeks…”

DJ: “Uh huh…”

Brian: “…and the Mother-in-law was in the shower at the Time.”

DJ: “Atta boy, Brian.”

Brian: “On the kitchen table.”

DJ: “Not that great?? That is more adventure than the previous hundred times I’ve done it. Okay folks, I will put Brian on hold, get his wife’s work number and call her up. You listen to this. (3 minutes of commercials follow.)

DJ: “Okay audience, let’s call Sarah, shall we?” (touch tones ringing)

Clerk: “Kinkos.”

DJ: “Hey, is Sarah around there somewhere?”

Clerk: “This is she.”

DJ: “Sarah, this is Edgar with WBAM. We are live on the air right now and I’ve been talking with

Brian for a couple of hours now.”

Sarah: (laughing) “A couple of hours?”

DJ: “Well, a while now. He is on the line with us. Brian knows not to give any answers away or you’ll lose. Sooooooo…do you know the rules of ‘Mate match’?”

Sarah: “No.”

DJ: “Good!”

Brian: (laughing)

Sarah: (laughing) “Brian, what the hell are you up to?”

Brian (laughing) “Just answer his questions honestly, okay? Be completely honest.”

DJ: “Yeah yeah yeah. Sure. Now, I will ask you 3 questions, Sarah. If your answers match Brian’s answers, then the both of you will be off to Orlando, Florida for 5 days on us. Disney World. Sea World. Tickets to the Magic’s game. The whole deal. Get it Sarah?”

Sarah: (laughing) “Yes.”

DJ: “All right. When did you last have sex, Sarah?”

Sarah: “Oh God, Brian….uh, this morning before Brian went to work.”

DJ: “What time?”

Sarah: “Around 8 this morning.”

DJ: “Very good. Next question. How long did it last?”

Sarah: “12, 15 minutes maybe.”

DJ: “Hmmmm. That’s close enough. I am sure she is trying to protect his manhood. We’ve got one last question, Sarah. You are one question away from a trip to Florida. Are you ready?”

Sarah: (laughing) “Yes.”

DJ: “Where did you have it?”

Sarah: “OH MY GOD, BRIAN!! You didn’t tell them that, did you?”

Brian: “Just tell him, honey.”

DJ: “What is bothering you so much,Sarah?”

Sarah: “Well, it’s just that my Mom is vacationing with us and…”

DJ: “She saw?”

Sarah: “BRIAN?!”

Brian: “No, no I didn’t…”

DJ: “Ease up there, sister. Just messing’ with your head. Your answer, please?”

Sara: “Dear Lord…I cannot believe you told them this.”

Brian: “Come on, honey, it’s for a free trip to Florida.”

DJ: “Let’s go, sister. We ain’t got all day here. Where did you do it?”

Sarah: (short pause) “In the ass.”
(long, long pause)

DJ: “We’ll be right back after a word from our sponsors.”

So Hooked They aren’t even Interested in the REAL THING!

Now that’s what we call ‘remote control’…

We have no idea who this woman is, but she does understand one thing very good. If you want to make an impression on television, you have to get the attention of the people who hold the remote control. And who is generally the one with that thing? Right, a man. And how do you get attention from men?rrrright..

welcome

redlight vol.1 no.1

McGill’s Magazine about Sex

Welcome to our inaugural launch issue of redlight. We hope that you will be as delighted by the baby as we are…

Room with a View

custom made…

my first RedLight Article