Choosy gentleman, ain't he?

This link was on Something Awful and it's priceless:

Man For Young Girl To Become My Wife

Polly wanna OH GOD YES IT'S SO BIG DADDY?

My roommate has a pet African Grey Parrot that replicates sounds in its environment with stunning fidelity. In addition to the usual "pretty bird" and whatnot, it also sneezes, rings like the phone, barks like the dog, and gurgles like the tap.

I can never, ever have sex within this bird's hearing.

Feeding trolls is fun!

They're baaaack.

Dear God, I should never have used the word "feminist." All it's brought me is grief and the attentions of people who are apparently very much morally superior to me. Y'see, when I started using that word, I thought it meant that I favored equality of the genders and opposed set gender roles. But no, apparently it's a very exclusive category that only applies to people who are pure of word and spirit and deed--and who, as befits saints, suffer for their purity.

Perhaps you should stop seeing sex as your path to worthiness - then you wouldn't feel so awful when that option is unavailable.
Feminism should surely provide you with some basic ideas about this.

1) Oh, it's that beloved old sexist canard--men have sex to get their rocks off, but vaginas have no nerves so women will only have sex for an ulterior motive. I don't get frustrated because I'm a horny motherfucker, but because I'm a sad little girl desperate for approval. Christ, man, this isn't my whole life, I have an education and a job and I've saved human lives, I have a few more ways to feel good about myself, it's just that none of the other ones will give me an orgasm.

2) And yet. You know what? Sex does make me feel better about myself. It's not the only way, but yeah, being sexually desired does raise my self-esteem. I don't understand why this is a bad thing. If my whole ego rested on it, it would be, but having your entire self-image based on any one thing is destructive. Liking yourself more when you get laid and less when you can't is human.

So. You've never been groped by someone you didn't want to touch you? You've never been taken advantage of at a party whilst you've been drunk? You've never been told that you can't read a map, play a computer game, drive a car, argue rationally, do maths or tell jokes? You've never wondered why all your favourite bands have male guitarists, and all the gigs that you go to are full of men? You've never wondered why all women on adverts are overtly sexual, whilst the men are just... men? You've never wondered why it is ok for men to talk about wanking in public as a joke, but if you bring up your body it immediately becomes something to make sexual comments about?

I cannot be bothered to go on. To conclude - why even bother to call yourself a feminist, if you can't even see why feminism is needed?

1) Well, to a lot of these things, no. I've never been more than fleetingly groped against my will, I've certainly never been drunkenly raped, and although I'm sure it's happened, I don't get my map/game/car/etc. competence challenged on a regular basis. Do I get treated with perfect equanimity by everyone? No. But I don't live in a jeering Rapeland either. And I believe the same is true for most women--we face challenges, but we aren't in Gender Hell, and it's dishonest and obnoxious to talk like we are.

2) I never said we were living in a Gender Utopia. Yeah, our society is sexist. I never denied it. I just said it was somewhere in the middle, man! That neither victimhood nor complacency is warranted! There aren't enough grrrl guitarists! You're absolutely right! But stop tearing my ass like I said otherwise, coz I didn't.

3) Uh, I'm pretty sure men (over the age of sixteen, at least?) don't get much more respect for talking about masturbation in public than women do. I can't really remember the last time I saw a guy on the street yelling "I LOVE JERKING OFF!" and passerbys heartily congratulating him--in a nonsexualizing manner!--for it.

Transference.

The other night I went out to a party (you know, a party) with my friend J. I was hoping to get him laid, but J is a rather shy and awkward man and a big hulking galoot to boot, so he just chatted and watched. I stayed with him like a good faithful friend for several whole entire minutes, then got swept up in conversation with a new guy and we ran off and fooled around. Not quite sex fooled around, but fun times.

So I came back out, all flushed and mussed, and hopelessly cheerful, met back up with J, and I suddenly started getting really friendly with him. Not sex or even fool-around friendly, but unwarrantedly affectionate. I was touching him way more than I touch a friend, hugging him, ruffling his hair, trading backrubs. I felt like I'd fooled around with him. It was strange, a very chemical feeling.

I really do get high on sex.

(And I worry a little that all this was kind of cruel to J, but I made it very clear to him at the outset that I didn't bring him there to fuck him, so... ah well. I shouldn't be so damn sure he would've wanted my pity sex anyway.)

Using my grown-up words.

Rrrgh. I'm having angst, and I've been trying to write a post, but I couldn't quite articulate myself. The problem was, basically, that I'm having trouble articulating myself. I pride myself--or used to--on being disgustingly frank in sexual matters, but the last couple weeks I've been an "I want you to um my um... no I don't! Wait, yes I do! Wait, no!" girl. Which is terrible.

I think it's an unfortunate side effect of really liking Tommy. With Benny, or random strangers, I could easily voice my desires to cheat and be beat, because I didn't give a crap what they thought--with Alan, I didn't need to voice them because he didn't want to hear about it. But liking the same guy that I'm practicing wacky sexuality with requires that I talk about sex to someone whose opinion I care about. And that's scary. It makes me terrified of his disapproval. Not that he's a disapproving guy. I just get afraid to say things like "I'm gonna go pick up some random dude to fuck" or "I'm not comfortable playing this way, here's how I'd like it"--not because he'd get angry, but because he wouldn't be happy.

The stupid catch-22 is that these things have a chance of making him unhappy, but horrible communication will definitely do that.

At least I've figured out what's going on. Knowing why I'm having an attack of the mealymouths, and how fundamentally pointless it is, will hopefully help me get over it. Tommy's a pervert, dammit! He likes to slap me around and he wants us to fuck around on each other! The things I can't talk about are things we've already freakin' agreed on! This shit is like being embarrassed to tell a butcher that you want meat!

Resolved: to just not be embarrassed. Shame leads to dishonesty and it's not worth it. Um my um? I want you to fuck my ass. And I want some other dudes to do it too. And it'll be awesome.

TMI... uh, Wednesday.

My Internet's being very on and off, but while it's on, some silly meme-questions stolen from figleaf...

1. Are you truly politically correct? Be honest.

Not really. I try to be a good person, in the ways that count, and I try to be at least sort of aware of the political implications of my words and actions, but... I also like to be sarcastic and use mean words, and although I don't want to be a total jerk I also don't believe in a right to not be offended.

2. Will you ever streak in public during rush hour?

Will, or have? I've run the Naked Mile, buddy. That was a group event though; I'm not sure if I have the nerve for solo-streakery. I probably do though. I hope so.

3. Would you ever do something sexual in public (more than 20 people around)?

Would, or have? I've literally had sex up on a stage in front of people. I'm, um, not shy. (Actually, I kind of am shy. But not about my body.)

4. Do you ever not have good table manners?

I know how to have good table manners, but a depressing number of my meals are eaten off a dashboard or my lap; when I'm at a table I have manners, at least.

5. Do you ever fantasize about a public sexual act? Describe.

I always wanted to sit out in the park with a guy on a warm sunny day, me in a skirt with no panties and him in pants that unzip. And I'd sit in his lap and wiggle and grind and there would be people around us who wouldn't even know what as going on.

In a bind.

On the one hand, it's nice to have a boyfriend who reads the Pervocracy, because it means I'm not keeping a secret from him. On the other hand... it makes it sort of hard to write frankly about the things we do together. I can't very well give a detailed description of his sexual performance in front of him, can I? Even though I'm entirely pleased with it. Just don't feel right to share that amusing analogy I always use for his penis.

I will say, though, that one of the things I really really like about sex with Tommy is that he wants to hit me. It boggles my mind, in a good way, that he gets turned on by exactly the thing that turns me on. That shouldn't feel so novel, but it does. He's not hitting me as a favor while he taps his foot and waits for me to be ready to fuck. He seriously gets off on it. That's so cool.

Also, I really, seriously, not-just-a-favor get off on sucking his cock. That's pretty damn cool too.

Cosmocking: September '08.

Pink background! Blake Lively dressed weirdly like a blackjack dealer on the cover! The word "sex" appears four times on the cover!

I'd just started a new job at a reputable marketing firm. It was a stuffy working environment, but I'd befriended a few of the young female associates who worked there. On the Thursday of my first week, I sent an email to the Associates Listserv that read 'Hey, do you girls want to meet up with some of my guy friends at happy hour tonight? Hopefully, they'll bring other attractive, employed men. I'm actually in love with one named Tom, so he's off-limits. Anyone want to go? I'm still going even though my makeup is smudged, I got pen on my boob, and my pants keep falling down."

A minute later, I got a reply from one of the girls. She gently informed me that the listserv I'd used sent emails out to the entire company, including the partners.
This story illustrates two features common on Cosmo's "true embarrassing stories" pages:
1) I think someone just made this shit up.
2) If it is true, the writer is such a colossal airhead (like it would've been okay to babble about your schoolgirl boy-crazies and "my pants keep falling down" on your first week at a job, so long as it was just the associates?) that I have trouble feeling sympathy.

Will He Turn Out to Be a Cheapskate?
...He announces what he's ordering at dinner before asking you what you're getting.
Huh? How the heck is this cheap? I thought the purpose of this was to make conversation and avoid ordering the same thing, but clearly I'm a naive sucker not getting the full monetary value from my men. I guess the idea is that if he says "I'm having the green salad" you'll feel dissuaded from ordering the steak, but that's really stretching it. Call me a clod, but I think my answer would be, in all innocence, "oh, if you're still hungry then, want to share some of my steak?"

Of course, I usually split the check, which I'm sure is unthinkable to Cosmo, because then it's like I'm having sex with him for free or something, jeez.

Q: My guy always slips out when we change positions. Are we doing something wrong?
A: Nope, but he can try tightening his butt during transitions to help him stay in.
Um, you expect him to stay in when you change positions? I guess maybe if you're changing from "missionary" to "missionary... with legs up!", but seriously now. Also, I don't see how tightening his butt would help, unless your idea of a position is... OH. I see. Good times. Carry on.

Q: I am self-conscious about my tummy but don't want to keep my shirt on. How do I hide it during sex?
A: Lie on your back and let gravity do its work, lie on your stomach, or do it doggystyle.
Or you could just accept that the point of sex is to be naked. You're trusting your partner--even a casual one--with your body, so trust them or don't do it. Anyway, it's not like you're going to fool him into thinking your body's a different shape if you arrange yourself very carefully; all you're going to do is put your insecurity on display. Trying to have sex without showing your tummy is like trying to go on a date without showing your face.

Q: I want to be spanked! How do I tell him without sounding weird?
A: Spank him first.
Um, no. Sometimes the spanky thing just doesn't work like that. For example, if I ever tried to signal Tommy in this way, I would draw back a stump. (Also, I note that the answer isn't "ask him if he wants to be spanked," and the concept of using your words like a grownup is right out, so I guess she's supposed to just bust it out and go WHAP outta nowhere? Great plan!)

Q: I don't swallow, so is there a way to get rid of "it" gracefully?
A: Keep a box of tissues handy, pretend to wipe your face, and nonchalantly spit it into one of them.
"It"? You mean his SPERM COME SPOOGE SEMEN EJACULATE? If you can talk about it, you can use a freakin' word for it, sheesh. But more to the point, why pretend? If you're a spitter, spit! He's already come, he's happy, you don't have to put on a ridiculous little charade.

Q: How do you tell him you don't want him to finish inside you, even with a condom?
You put a condom on him and then you man up and take it, little lady. I'm sorry, but this is just not a reasonable request. For a magazine that talks about how men should do as much oral sex and foreplay as it takes to get a woman to her happy place, it's goddamn inconsiderate to just toss a man's orgasm aside like that. This isn't a health concern and it isn't a reasonable limit; it's just a show of cold, prissy contempt for your partner's body.

Self-Discovery Tip
Strengthening your willpower helps you achieve goals. One exercise to amp up determination: brush your teeth with your nondominant hand for two weeks.
Welp. I'm glad I don't have to exercise or study or anything like that. Just the toothbrush thing. That'll do it.

FInally, there's The Reprehensible Article Of The Month:
Scope a Guy's Size... Without Getting Busted
Yep. A full page on how to "discreetly" try and figure out how big a guy's cock is. Of course you're only looking at the flaccid size, which doesn't really mean diddly, but more importantly, all the tips in this article are creepy as hell.

Look up absentmindedly, pretending to try to remember something you've forgotten. Next, cross your arms, and put your head in your hand (it gives the illusion of deep thought) as you turn to spy on his package. Then glance away again, looking perplexed.
If you're doing this shit, I'm pretty sure you're not giving anyone the illusion of deep thought.

While within 6 inches of him, slide your hand down as if you're about to put it in your bag but accidentally graze his groin. Offer a casual "Oops, sorry!" if he seems taken aback.
Cosmopolitan Magazine: advising you to commit sexual assault since 1886!

Back from Tommy.

We had a lot of sex and also kind of a lot to chew on relationship-wise. Mostly good. I might be having my Tommy and eating my random sex, too! Which, weirdly, makes me a little nervous, but... also a little horny. My angst and my perversion are good at canceling each other out like that.

The last time we had sex (out of nine total in two days, we're freaking bonobos) he cut my ass with a knife. It felt like he was making a shape but I couldn't tell what and his apartment didn't have a mirror at the right level for me to see. Now that I'm home I have a full length one, I can pull up my skirt, look over my shoulder and see...

The sign of the Z.

CURSE YOU, ZORRO!!!

Cosmocking: Random Stuff Off The Cosmo Website!

Because my grocery store only had CosmoStyle and CosmoGirl, and I'm just not a dedicated enough blogger to go to two stores.

3 Kinds of Sex All Men Crave
After your man whups his pals on the basketball court or nails an important deal at work, he's likely to crave an uninhibited quickie against a wall or a lusty shag anywhere there's a smooth surface. The reason? His alpha instincts are taking over.
Gosh, sports and business and sex, those are such man things that they make men be manly manly man man man men mans men MEN. (Not women.)

"Verbally boosting his ego can help build orgasmic intensity for you both."
"Oh, Frank, you're the best, you're the champ, you're the master." You know, I'm quite happy to compliment a guy when it's truthful, but I'm not going to deliberately stroke off his ego for the sake of orgasmic intensity. "OH GOD BABY THAT'S RIGHT I'M THE BEST URRRGH."

"Having novel experiences with your man releases dopamine, which triggers lust and desire,"
Actually, dopamine functions as both a hormone regulating the sympathetic nervous system (which actually suppresses erection) and a neurotransmitter performing a staggering array of functions which include the pleasure/reward system but also include functions related to the control of movement and attention among other things. Rat experiments bear out that dopamine may be linked to sexuality, but it's also linked to psychosis, and anyway what I'm really trying to say is it's just not simple like that.

Chances are, if your guy's been placating annoying relatives, wigging about finances or dealing with a demanding boss, stress is likely to make him crave low-maintenance sex (where all he has to do is unzip his fly, if that).
Okay, but why exactly am I supposed to go along with this? Don't get me wrong, I'm not an ungenerous lover, I've happily given guys low-effort dude-centric sex many a time, but it's not my goddamn duty.

Man, a woman following this advice would be a great girlfriend, huh, stereotypical dudes? She'll boost your ego, then fuck you with nary a thought for her own needs! Dude high five!

"Break away every now and then to drag your tongue along the crease between his pelvis and inner thigh, which will flood his lower body with increased sensation,"
But it tastes like funky. :(

"As you move forward and back in this position, his member will directly stimulate your clitoris with minimal effort on his part,"
Yes, we wouldn't want the poor dear to have to literally move a single finger. He's been through enough already, what with supporting the household and killing the mastodons.

God dammit, remember that 72-hour week I mentioned in the last entry? It's the goddamn twenty-first century, I've out-earned and out-houred almost every boyfriend I've had, and I don't just sit around on a chaise lounge all day waiting for the chance to reward him for his hard work with my body. (Nor do I say "I worked harder than you, so please sexually service me." I'm not trying to reverse the roles, I'm just saying it doesn't work like that.)


Sex is not a present women give men. Sex is not a reward for men who please women in other ways. Sex is a way for men and women to both get hot and squirmy and feel those deep pelvic contractions that drive us both so crazy. It's how we fuck each other.

So soon!

Tomorrow I'm working a 24-hour shift. (For a total of a 72-hour week... I may be decadent but I'm not lazy. And, I think, it's a testament to the ferocity of my sex drive that I even have one at this point.) At the end of that shift, on Saturday morning, I'm going directly to the airport. Then I'm sitting on a plane all day.

And then... TOMMY! I'm going to see TOMMY! I know I already posted about this but I am so excited! I like Tommy so much and I missed him and now we're going to be together and yay and schmoop.

It's certainly been weird, not fucking other people. I think I'm doing it more for Tommy's sake than my own--in my scheme of the world, sex doesn't have to be exclusive for a relationship to be sincere--but my world-scheme also allows that if I like someone enough, and I know that me having random sex would hurt him, I can restrain myself. So apparently I like Tommy more than I like random sex. That's a lot.

Of course, it doesn't hurt that Tommy is really, really, really good at nonrandom sex. I don't know if I ever made this explicit, but the last time we saw each other it was for four days and we had sex twenty times. Each one a keeper. He beat the shit out of me. It was awesome.

I could go on about how much I like Tommy--so smart! so funny! so cute!--but you get the picture, right? I'm infatuated. I'm almost scared by how infatuated I am, because this seems too good to be true, but it's sustained itself for quite a few months now. I keep half-expecting the other shoe to drop, like I'll suddenly learn that he has five abandoned children, or he's a convicted terrorist, or a Scientologist, or something, but no. Apparently the other shoe is that he's just a really great guy who likes me back.

Hm. Apparently I did go on about it. Well, at least one person will enjoy this entry.

Next entry: Cosmocking!

Curse you, Mara Jade!

It's sort of queasy to imagine Luke Skywalker having sex. Han Solo, certainly, the man must've gotten around. Lando Calrissian, even moreso. Leia... well, Leia had the bad fortune to look like Carrie Fisher which is no doubt prejudicing me here, but it doesn't disturb or surprise me to imagine Leia having sex.

Darth Vader (original trilogy Darth Vader, in costume) is sexy as hell.

But Luke Skywalker can't have sex because he seems like a symbolic child. Not just that he's boyish but that he's too closely entwined with my own childhood. I watched Star Wars for the first time when I was very young and I identified with Luke. Now when I rewatch it (which, despite how this entry sounds, isn't that often, I swear) I don't see a twentyish space adventurer--I see a five-year-old Holly.

Halfway related: I have a pair of stuffed animals, a horse and a cow, that I've had since birth. I've always slept with them in my bed; when I was little they kept away monsters. But I've developed a sort of superstition that Horsie and Cowie must never "see" me having sex or masturbating. They have to go under a pillow or into a drawer every time.


Nearly everyone involved with BDSM is a huge geek. The reasons why deserve their own entry. But in case you weren't aware: the correspondence between BDSM enthusiasts and sci-fi/fantasy/Ren Faire/anime/"graphic novel" enthusiasts is essentially one to one. The debauched, naked, bruised-ass underbelly really digs on Firefly.

Hard Limit.

I have, as time goes on, a lot fewer limits than I ever would've guessed. There was a time when I couldn't have dreamed of having any kind of casual or kinky sex. Admittedly, that time was around fourteen years old, but still. And then again there was a time only a couple months ago that I swore I would do anything in bed except the bathroom functions, it went without saying I wasn't that sort of girl.

I'm still pretty damn sure about poop.

The amazing thing about breaking through limits, though, is that I've enjoyed it. I didn't break, say, my limit against being hit in the face because I could just barely tolerate it; I broke it because it's hot as hell to be slapped across the face mid-cocksucking and told just how bad and naughty I am. Tearing down limits means finding pleasure in more places. It just means that increasingly, they're places I just can't tell my regular friends about. "He spanked me" is good ol' girl-talk; "he put clothespins on my pussy and made me pull on them and call him Daddy while he fucked me" is somewhat less so.

In conventional girl-talk the script is for the boy to make bizarre requests and the girl to act as the voice of reason and deny him, then laugh that he even asked. "And... get this... he wanted me to call him 'Daddy' and let him whip me with a belt and make me piss myself!" The story becomes much less shareable when it's followed up with "So I did, and I fucking loved it."

Anyway, the current limit-I-will-never-break is the stun gun.

I'm pretty scared of electricity. I panic a little bit even from doorknob shocks. I hide under the covers during thunderstorms. Just the sight and sound of the stun gun are fucking terrifying; the idea of actually allowing it to cause me pain is beyond me for now.

Why do I say "for now"? It's entirely possible that I will never have 300,000 volts routed through my ass, and yet somehow manage to live a fulfilling life.

But... I know me.

Yeah, by the time I'm thirty I'm going to be doing something that one-ups 2Girls1Cup, I can pretty much see that coming. I'll probably enjoy the hell out of it though.