"...A dry one?"

Alan and I were in bed together under the covers, with me stroking his cock. He closed his eyes and started to groan and move his hips into me, and then grabbed my arm hard and his body tensed and he threw his head back and moaned.

But we looked under the covers, and... nothing. There was no semen and his cock wasn't getting soft. He'd felt an orgasm, but he hadn't ejaculated.

Sadly I can't tell you that I kept going for the gold, because he kind of freaked out and asked me to stop. But I wonder, if he'd let me, what might've happened. It's possible that was just a slightly dysfunctional orgasm, but it's also possible that he was on the verge of multiple orgasms.

And how goddamn cool would that be?

:)

Very often, when we're just starting to have sex, Alan and I will smile at each other. Or flat out laugh. Later on stuff will get serious, we'll wear our tight-set determined faces or our pleasure/pain grimaces or wide-eyed gasps, but in the beginning we can realize how silly the whole thing is.

There's some strange mix of joy and embarrassment and hilarity that washes over us. "Goddamn, I've got part of another person's body inside me and we're ass-naked and making ridiculous noises... and I love it."

What can you do but smile?

Taken in Vain.

"Oh Jesus, Alan. Jesus. Oh Jesus Jesus Jesus Alan JESUS CHRIST!"

sigh

kiss

"You're Jewish, doofus."

David Reuben, M.D., on the Evil BDSM Agenda.

A while ago, I read the original 1971 book Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex (But Were Afraid to Ask), and found it hilariously homophobic, kink-phobic, and generally inaccurate. Then I got my hands on the all-new, totally-rewritten 1999 version, opened to the chapter on "Sexual Perversion", and... wow.

BDSM, the King of the Perversions.
Awesome! I'm King Perv!

These innocent initials stand for an immense shadow world that exists in every city and suburb in America and probably reaches right into your own neighborhood.
Shadow world. Whoa. It's pretty cool being part of a Vast International Conspiracy™. (Actually I'm Jewish so I'm in two. I get a great rate on UFO rentals.)

These letters translate to "Bondage-Domination-Sado-Masochism.
And that right there tells you how much research this guy did.

Here are some selections from his attempt at a BDSM glossary:

Asphyxia: A "game" in which the "Bottom" is deprived of air by ropes, gags, masks, plastic bags, etc. See Edgeplay.
What's with the scare quotes? And, um, I hope he doesn't think this is a standard BDSM activity, what with the dying and the brain damage and all.

CB/T: Penis and testicle torture. (The actual words are more graphic.)
This is a book entirely about sex. It has 23 pages devoted to the male sexual organs. I don't think the words "cock and ball" are going to scandalize any innocents.

Edgeplay: These are dangerous D&S "games" that are looked upon with some trepidation. They can bring the victim to the "edge" of death.
Edge of your limits, not edge of death! Christ, he must think we're all psychotic. Knifeplay is edgeplay when you're terrified of knives, not when your top sticks it in your jugular. Sheesh.

Sadist: An individual who enjoys causing pain in a nonconsensual manner or regardless of the presence or absence of consent.
Now he's just being a jerk. (I suppose some people take this book seriously--it's a famous title after all--and God help me if they ever find out I'm into BDSM.)


But how does BDSM actually work?
The basic arrangement goes something like this: The "Top," who is "Dominant," hurts and punishes the "Bottom," who is "Submissive." The "Bottom" has a "Safe Word" if things get out of control--which they often do. When the "Top" hears the "Safe Word" he or she is supposed to stop--which they usually do.
The scare quotes and random capitalizations are going wild. And that fucking snideass "often" and "usually"...

Have you ever seen a headline like this one:
YOUNG GIRLS ESCAPE FROM HOMEMADE JAIL--TORTURED
Could that have been BDSM out of control?
No. No it couldn't. Would you please stop calling me a child rapist?

Sometimes a "Top" will choke a "Bottom" during sex or masturbation to try to increase the sensation. But choking someone is a delicate business, and squeezing can quickly turn into "Squicking" and send your "Bottom" to the Next World. Then you go to jail--which may not be a totally disagreeable place for a devoted Masochist.
Oh yeah, because masochists (sorry, Masochists, or maybe "Masochists") are crazy backwards people who think all bad things are good things! You give them a birthday cake and they cry, you hit them with a chainsaw and they laugh! So you know they'd looove prison rape because that is just like SM sex!

(Also, he doesn't know what "squick" means.)

But there's still a real problem because the outer limits of BDSM are rape, torture, and ultimately murder. When you read about people who kidnap and torture little children, who rape infants, who cut their victims into little pieces and/or eat them, you are seeing cases of BDSM far beyond the Play Party stage.
Darn, he's got me there, I do eat babies.

This BDSM stuff makes me nervous. Why do I have to know about it?
Because it is much closer to you then you ever imagined. If you have children, if you have coworkers, if you have employees, if you have relatives that you care about, you need to know what BDSM is all about--because it is all around you.
In recent years BDSM has become big business and part of the "cultural scene". Children as young as three and four years old are being exposed to it, and older children are being bombarded with it.
Wow. This is like the new "gay agenda."

He goes on for two pages talking about ways that kids are exposed to "BDSM" in the media, from animals being comically killed in cartoons to basically any movie scene featuring restraint or violence. Apparently all media violence was planted there by the Evil BDSM Cartel to convert the innocent to our baby-rapin' ways.

The BDSM message is in clothes as well as actions. Black leather, iron and steel jewelry, piercing jewelry, big boots, chains and more chains--all transmit the message:
"BDSM is OK! We want you--and your child!"
Is that what you want for your child?
Holy fuck, man. We really are the new Gay Agenda. We're taking over the media. Corrupting the youth. Eating the youth.


This is actually kind of upsetting me. I'm a nice person, dammit. I give blood, I put money in Santa's kettle, I work with senior citizens. I just like to get beat up and bossed around (by another very nice person) in my free time. And here's a bestselling sex author--whom at least some people are going to believe--calling me a menace to society.

I am, at worst, only a Menace II Society.

Make a Wish.

There's nothing I like more than finding out what someone's sexual fantasies are and doing my damndest to fulfill them. To learn that a guy's always wanted to be tied up, or never had a proper blowjob, or always wanted a girl to do him up the ass... I love that I'm being trusted with his fantasy and I really love when I can make it come true.

In many ways, probably more deeply than bondage or pain or anything, that's my ultimate fantasy--to give someone exactly what he's always wanted. I'd make some snide comment about being a one-woman Make-A-Wish Foundation, but really, it's not pity or even generosity, it just makes me hot to see a guy getting something he's wanted for years. Maybe it's a submissive thing, maybe it's an insecure "if it's his ultimate fantasy I know he won't hate it!" thing, but more than anything it's a goddamn, the look on his face thing.

(It's also a teensy bit of a superiority thing, because I can do things that women who aren't as open-minded or determined to please won't, and I get to hear the guy talk about how none of the other girls ever did that for him.)

It's sure as hell not the only reason I'm kinky, but one of the benefits is that kinky men know exactly what they want. Vanilla guys who just want "really good sex" with a "really hot girl"... I can try my best but it's not the same as "I want you to force me to lick your toes" where I know I can do it just the way he likes. Guys who won't admit any fantasies at all are horribly frustrating.

It's an honor to know someone's fantasies and a huge goddamn thrill to make them happen.

Breasts.

I have breasts. They're awesome.

Breasts are pretty. All sorts. Even man-breasts, usually. The good-looking ones are usually called "pecs," but they've got fat and they've got milk glands.

Mine are exquisitely sensitive. Not just the nipple but the whole damn thing, from the corner up in my armpit down to the base. My nipples have been bitten so hard they bled and liked it; they've been barely brushed with a fingertip and liked it.

They're slightly scarred from being bitten and clamped and fingernailed too hard, but you'd have to look very closely to notice. Maybe breastfeeding will be easier for me, someday; there certainly won't be any "just wait til they toughen up" period because after having unpadded alligator clamps yanked straight off, my tits are pretty fucking tough.

I have average-size breasts, I think. They're not well matched; Righty's a B and Lefty's nearly a C, which probably doesn't meet anybody's beauty standards, but I've noticed that once men actually get them in their hands they don't tend to criticize. Maybe they're just being polite.

Because of his smallness, Brandon can suck my nipples while he's fucking me. Jon can only pinch them--but he does, and hard, and I love it. Having my nipples pinched really hard (nope, harder than you're thinking, seriously, hard, if you aren't a little worried they might come off it's not hard enough) just as I'm coming is one of the best feelings I know.

They sell ridiculously "enhancing" bras at the lingerie shop, enough gel and padding to make me a believable D, and to be honest they look great with a shirt on, but I don't quite see the point, because if the aim of the things is to get me laid... it would be pretty damn embarrassing to pick up a guy with my "enhancements" and then take them off in front of him.

Of course there's another way to enhance but I don't much like the idea of general-anesthesia prosthetic surgery as a cosmetic. I've felt fake breasts and they're not all soft and squooshy like mine; they feel like something swollen, like a giant pimple that you hope to God doesn't pop. And you're risking loss of sensation. I wouldn't give up the feeling of lips (or alligator clamps) on my tits for anything.

Also, fake boobs tend to look absolutely bizarre to me; to say that the ideal breast is a taut sphere is as unnatural as saying it should be shaped like a firetruck. I've read that there are natural teardrop-shaped implants on the market but they don't sell as well because women want people to know that they've had the surgery done. It seems sad that someone would have a sexual preference for a look that can only be created through major surgery.

Several women in my family, including my mother, have had breast cancer. I'm supposed to get tested for the gene but I keep putting it off. My breasts are so great I want to have them forever. I guess wanting it doesn't make it true though.

Chicks dig scars.

I used to cut myself. I stopped when I started getting laid regularly. It's not that sex instantly changed my psyche so much, but it gave me nowhere to hide marks. My partners and I see each other fully nude with the lights on, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Saying "I was chopping vegetables" is dishonest and unconvincing; so is saying "yeah I cut myself, but just for fun, it doesn't mean anything."

Fortunately my skin heals well and even as an angsty teenager I was careful to never do real damage, so I don't have stripes on my arms or anything; the only self-inflicted marks on me are my pierced ears and the heart-shaped scar on my belly, and those aren't exactly mutilations.

Jon has an enormous scar across his chest. He was born with a serious birth defect and had emergency surgery. It's kind of funny to think that the incision must've been just a couple inches at the time, but the scar grew as he did. Now it's a broad slash across his ribs with a strange hollow dimple on one side. When we're lying in bed together I have a habit of running my finger along it and sticking my finger in the dimple. What's more intimate than feeling your friend's guts through his missing rib?

Brandon has a scar on one leg from an ATV accident--he severed an artery and needed a transfusion--and a scar on the other from having sex with me. (I didn't flip out and claw his skin off or anything, I just shoved him up against a rough wall too hard during sex and he didn't say anything until there was blood running down his leg.)

I'm at once embarrassed and proud that I, very literally, made a permanent mark on my lover.


I used to work with a guy who had his girlfriend's name tattooed in giant frilly letters on his neck. He was seventeen. It's possible to take the romance of permanent marks a little too far. At least when Brandon and I break up he can claim it's from the ATV accident or something.

The Cabin.

"If we ever grew old together--and I know we won't--but if we did I know exactly where I'd want to retire. There's an empty plot near Ocean Shores that I'd buy."

Alan shows me a map. The plot is tucked back into the woods on a little hill, and a meandering stream flows down the hill to the sea.

"I'd build a cabin facing to the west. You can smell the sea in the breeze and every night we could watch the sun set over the ocean. There's wild salmon and trout in the stream and sometimes you see seals on the beach.

"Of course it's never gonna happen. I'll never be able to move there and you wouldn't be with me if I did.

"There's no air pollution there. On a clear night you can see all the stars."

Smoochies.

I love kissing. Being face against face, literally tasting a man with eyes closed and my whole being somehow living in my lips and tongue and slightly unsure where my mouth ends and his begins.

Everyone has a different taste. Semen's all the same, far as I can tell; sweat and saliva are intensely personal. I only kissed my friend Clark once, years ago, and if I tasted him again I'd instantly know. There are no good words for the scent of a man's mouth--instead of a thought it's a feeling and the memory of all the times I've kissed him before.

Kissing before sex. Arousing, maddening, a single kiss sometimes enough to make him hard and me wet. Kissing during sex. Tender, passionate, connecting bodies on a solid line from thighs to foreheads, sweaty. Kissing after sex. Sealing in the bliss.

And "making out"--something I wish I could do more--just kissing and kissing and kissing and for its own sake and not letting it end.

Out in public, a peck on the cheek. No great sensual pleasure, but we know what it means. There's electricity in the lips and a promise of what will happen when we're alone.

There's no masturbation for kissing. Kissing your hand just makes you feel like a dork. There's no good kissing in porn and there's no kiss fetish community. Kissing on screen, even the kind of kiss that shoots straight to your groin and makes you gasp and clutch the back of your partner's head, is G rated.

I like it when a man's kiss is a little slobbery, a little uncontrolled. Being a "good kisser" isn't half so important as forgetting to care whether you're good.

Mars, Venus, Bullshit.

I got the book Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus out of the library purely so I could hate it. (I have a bad habit of seeking out things I know will make me angry. It's a sickness.)

And to make this review even more worthless, I didn't actually read it. It's over 300 pages, it's really boring, and between work, school, and better books, I don't have the time to slog through. I just skimmed for the gist and the most ridiculous quotes.

The gist of the book is that men and women are so very different. Women are emotional and talk too much; men are tough and reserved. Women are demanding and nag, and they don't respond to reason. Men want sex and women want men to earn sex. Basically, if I suddenly jumped in your face and yelled "QUICK! THINK OF SOME STEREOTYPES!", you'd write this book.

The whole concept of gender differences--particularly gender opposites--is so overblown in pop psych. I am officially sick of hearing statements in the form "Men go hoody hoo, but women go haddy ha!" Men are rational but women are irrational. Women are sensitive but men are insensitive. The idea that male and female personalities are opposites is dumb, condescending, and makes truly respectful relationships impossible.

So most of the meat of MafMWafV is extremely patronizing suggestions on how to live with someone who's irrational (don't try to reason with her!) or insensitive (don't expect affection from him!). The phrase "talk about your problems in plain English like two adults" does not appear in this book.

Some ridiculous phrases that do appear in this book, under the cut. Bear in mind that this book has sold 14 million copies and built a self-help empire, so this isn't some fringe fruitloop I'm picking on, this is stuff that millions of people have read and most of them probably believed.



[This story is several pages long so I'll summarize.]
Imagine a knight in shining armor traveling through the countryside. Suddenly he sees a princess being attacked by a dragon. He pulls out his sword to slay the dragon, but before he does, the princess hands him a noose, saying "use this instead, it'll work better." He kills the dragon with the noose and saves the princess, but afterwards he feels useless and depressed and leaves town.

He runs into another princess menaced by a dragon. Same story; he pulls out his sword, she gives him poison and says "use this instead," the poison works and the day is saved, but the knight feels all bad and ashamed and again returns to his wandering.

Finally he encounters yet another princess-dragon-standoff, but this princess doesn't give him any advice. He draws his sword, slays the dragon with the sword, feels great, and marries the princess. "But only after making sure his new partner knew nothing about nooses and poisons."
If the moral of this story is anything other than "damn, that knight was a dick," I don't want to hear it.

Just as a woman needs to feel a man's devotion, a man has a primary need to feel a woman's admiration. To admire a man is to regard him with wonder, delight, and pleased approval.
Yipee! A man! Woo hoo! Isn't that amazing! Hip hip hooray!

This is one of those things that's not wrong in itself (except for the implication that a woman wouldn't like to be admired), but seems to recommend a crazily doormatty and dishonest course of action. Of course I express positive feelings about my partners and of course I say good things when they're nice to me or successful in life, but... I don't do it to feed their emotional needs, I do it when it's true. Trying to express the emotion you think your partner wants, rather than the one you're actually feeling, isn't going to work out well for either of you.

Remember: when you offer unsolicited advice he may feel mistrusted, controlled, or rejected.
Okay, I can see how "advice" like "You should use your football nights to exercise instead!" could have that effect, but surely there are some situations in which he, not being an omnipotent power, would actually appreciate some help? I mean, there are things I know that my partners don't, and I'm not going to play dumb and let him drive 20 miles in the wrong direction because I was nurturing his delicate ego.

When a woman keeps score, no matter how big or small a gift of love is, it scores one point... A man, however, thinks he scores one point for one small gift and thirty points for a big gift.
Women: a game you can win! (Also, bullshit. I appreciate small gifts, but believe me, when I get a big one, I know the difference. It's not like "aww, you loaned me your jacket... that's nice" and "aww, three carats... that's nice.")

101 Ways to Score Points With a Woman
Whee, a big numbered list, I love those! About half of these are "perform your basic household obligations." Apparently a man who cooks or cleans occasionally is doing his partner a big damn favor. (It makes me realize how lucky I am in my relationships. Of course we don't live together so maybe that changes everything, but we cook together a lot and it always goes without saying that we'll take turns or work together on the chores.)

35. Wash before having sex or put on a cologne if she likes that.
Okay, washing before sex is not "scoring points." It is "being allowed to have sex."

37. Be patient when she is sharing. Don't look at your watch.
You know, when words are coming out of a woman's mouth, sometimes they're actually specific words that form sentences. "Talking" isn't some sort of uniform white noise women produce.

63. Offer to sharpen her knives in the kitchen.
Her knives? HER knives? If we're living together, they're our goddamn knives in our kitchen where we cook. (I've realized by now that he's mostly speaking to couples where the woman is a full-time housewife, and that entire way of living is so socially and financially unthinkable to me--and most other women in the real world--that it's hard for me to even envision how that would work.)

65. Offer to change lightbulbs as soon as they go out.
"Oh honey, you didn't sit in the dark pretending nothing had happened, you're the best!"

80. When listening to her, reassure her that you are listening by making little noises like ah ha, uh-huh, oh, mmhuh, and hmmmm.
See 37.

How Women Can Score Big With Men
The majority of these are "he does something wrong and she shuts her yap." I understand that over-criticizing your partner is wrong, but I don't like the idea that silence is point-scoring for women.

19. She feels disapproving and instead of expressing it she goes in another room and privately centers herself and then comes back with a more centered and loving heart.
Sacrificing your own feelings for the sake of your partner's incredibly fragile ego is a recurring theme here, isn't it?

21. She really enjoys having sex with him.
Well, if he's any good at it. God, it's just... that's not something I do to "score points!" I enjoy it or I don't! I can't make it all about him!

Next time you are frustrated with the opposite sex, remember men are from Mars and women are from Venus. Even if you don't remember anything else from this book, remembering that we are supposed to be different will help you to be more loving.
No. Remembering that we are fundamentally alike, that I should treat my partners as I want to be treated, that I should speak to them honestly and respectfully, and that I should neither commit nor put up with crazy bullshit just because "my gender always does that," is what helps me love.

I don't love Alan because I understand that men are egocentric fucknuts; I love Alan because he's not an egocentric fucknut.

This post is neither erotic nor insightful.

Both boys have simultaneously and inexplicably developed a fascination with cracking my joints.

"Hey honey, give me your hand for a second."

"Okay, what are you..."

*CRAAACK*

"I hate you."

Comfy.

Alan and I are becoming so... comfortable. The way we talk to each other, the way we touch each other--it's not all that affectionate in the "honey sweetie" and cuddles sense, but it's becoming--automatic. Not in the bad "rut" way, but in the good and (to me) novel way of just not being awkward, not constantly needing permission/clarification/reassurance. We're able to be quiet together without it being weird.

The last time we had sex we didn't have to talk about it. In the past there's always been some level of "um, so do you wanna...?", a few moments of "is this working for you...?" and such. Last night we just touched each other and kissed and lay down and fucked. Or... ergh... I hate to say it... "made love." It's hard to call something so slow and quiet and intimate fucking. When you're staring into each other's eyes, stroking each other's faces, kissing and caressing the whole time, is it "fucking"? (Yeah. It is. There's still the whole cock-pussy-orgasm-dealy going on underneath all the fuzzywuzzy.)


I feel like the cultural expectation is that you create this kind of connection by not having sex, by fostering the romance through a courtship period and only getting naked when you really know each other. But Alan and I did the opposite and it worked the same. We had lots of sex--awkward sex, first-date sex when we barely knew each other's names, unsatisfying sex, whoops-it-keeps-falling-out sex, and tons of hot-but-unromantic sex. Having sex early didn't freeze our relationship; the sex simply evolved as the relationship did.

Maybe the slow chaste courting would have had the same result; I've never had the patience to try. All I know for sure is that if you want your wedding-night sex to be really romantic and special and perfect, one way to get that is to have absolute heaps of sex beforehand.

Diff'rent Strokes.

Benny (and every other partner I've had) has woman-on-top sex in the "normal" way--man holds more or less still, woman moves back and forth or up and down. If the man wants more control, he grabs the woman's waist and guides/shoves her movements.

Alan does it differently. He wants me to get on top, leave an inch of space, and hold still while he thrusts up from the bed. It looks terribly strenuous to me, but he seems to love it and if I start moving he'll tell me to stop. Just let him do his thing.

It feels fine to me, but I always think it's funny that he doesn't know he's weird. There's no awareness that "It's weird but it works for me;" as far as he's concerned, that's just how you do it. The first couple times he was amused that I didn't instantly understand what he was trying to do.

Sex is such a private thing that if you're straight and don't watch or read hardcore porn you never really know how your gender "normally" participates in sex. I'm sure he got hints from other girlfriends and whatnot, but in a sense, Alan invented sex himself.

It's amazing he got as many things right as he did. Coulda ended up in my bellybutton or something.

Where are the mudflap boys?

I'm becoming increasingly aware that the female body (or a pinched and bulged caricature thereof) is used as a shorthand for "sexy." I'm sure as hell not opposed to hot women, but I wish they were balanced with hot men. Nearly the only time male bodies are presented in sexy caricature is when they're aimed at a gay male audience.

This becomes really obvious in sex stores, where any item not explicitly marketed at gay men will have a hot woman on the packaging. Vibrator that's clearly designed for female body parts? Hot woman. Realistic dildo that looks exactly like a big damn cock and will only be bought by people who are comfortable with big damn cocks? Hot woman. Generic packaging logos that are supposed to convey "sexiness" in the abstract? Always, always, always a hot woman.

(I don't even like the sexy-male caricature, I'm so used to having sex with regular human guys that it's hard for me to associate any kind of arousal with cut muscles and square jawlines, but at least it would be better than the "sex consists of a hot woman observed by an invisible man" imagery.)

I suppose one reason for this is that men are stereotypically more homophobic than women. That's probably true, but I don't think we should be doing anything to honor it, and anyway it's a self-fulfilling stereotype--if straight men don't see men publicly sexualized, of course they won't be comfortable with it. (I've never heard a woman react to an image of a sexy woman with "that's so lesbian.") Another reason is the male gaze, the tendency of our culture to always cast viewers in the role of a straight male.

And there's a third, even worse reason: the assumption that women don't like titillation just as much as men do. We should want to be the sexy lady on the box, in order to arouse men, but apparently we shouldn't care about being aroused ourselves. That's a very weird message to get from a vibrator manufacturer.


Precipitating event to this post: hearing that Lifestyles Condoms was giving away free sexy posters. Well... they are. But if they're trying to offer a variety of types of sexiness, I think they're missing something.

The Red Cross hates my freedom.

I am no longer technically eligible to donate blood.

"Have you had sex with a man who has had sex with another man since 1977, even once?"

There's no box for "Have you had sex with a man who had protected sex with another man and subsequently tested negative for HIV and STDs?" Apparently all male-male sex is assumed to be high-risk, no matter what, and permanently dirties the blood.

Dammit Benny. You gave me dirty gay blood.

Facial.

Benny actually did the porn thing. We were having sex and he suddenly pulled out and told me to kneel on the floor. I did and he stood over me and came on my face.

It was hot while it was happening and hilarious three seconds afterward.

I don't think we're gonna do that again.

Taking Control.

Benny was tied spreadeagle, blindfolded and gagged and his nipples clamped, and I was fucking him. Suddenly his hands pulled out of the cuffs, he yanked the gag out of his mouth, and I felt his hands grab my ass and force me into a harder and faster rhythm. In an instant we weren't playing, we were fucking. Or he was fucking himself with my body.

And he started to moan. I love it when men make a lot of noise during sex and I don't get it often, but Benny was gasping and groaning with each thrust. His hands on my hips, he shoved my body down on his cock and he was literally writhing under me from the feeling. He'd gotten control of the sex just to lose control of himself.

"Baby, I'm coming!" he actually screamed, and he did. He didn't let go of his deathgrip on me until he finished and collapsed completely. I lay down next to him, my head on his arm.

There were four bright red fingermarks pressed into each of my hips.

"Happy Valentine's Day," he said, and kissed me.

Sweet Seventeen.

I just found out that a couple I used to know, the man 22 and the woman 24, are exchanging sexy pictures with a 17-year-old they met on an anime forum. They're planning to cross state lines to meet her before her 18th birthday. She's a virgin and they've told her that they're in love with her.

I realize this is within months of legal and to be honest if it were a 17-year-old in a real-life relationship with one twentysomething I might be able to write it off as "kinda messed up but their own business." But the fact that they've never even met her, they want her first sexual experience to be a kinky polyamorous threeway, and they're constantly feeding her stories of unconditional love and of moving in with them and escaping all her problems in a dream poly family... that's sickening. (This couple is also scummy and insane in other ways, but none that hurt anyone except themselves and their families. They're not exactly role models, though.)

I don't know the kid's last name or have any proof beyond a scattered handful of wink-wink nudge-nudge Internet posts that anything illegal is happening.

The couple is constantly emailing me their crazy justifications ("She's so mature!" "We're in love!) without ever explicitly writing out what they're doing. It's driving me insane.

I hope this girl's parents find out, or that this turns out to be just another of their crazy plans that they never follow through on. I wish I could do more than hope.

Bad things.

Okay, the Pervocracy is back online after some Internet harassment. People are mean when they're anonymous. And even though I've made some efforts to disconnect this from my other online personalities and my real-life identity, I'm never 100% confident in my anonymity. I always want to be open and trusting and pour out my vulnerabilities when I write, and this doesn't work well in the face of a bunch of goons screaming "LOL FATTY HAS SEX LOL" and posting pictures of my face.

The good news is that I got up from the computer and had very nice real-life sex with a man who is big and fat and also dead sexy while these people were still typing angrily at me (on Valentine's Day evening no less!), so I don't feel too hurt. :p

I know it's fun to be mean on the Internet and God knows I've done it myself, but those guys suck. (Especially with their use of "fat" as a freestanding insult.) Anyway I think they've lost interest.

If this blog suddenly disappears again for a few more days, I was wrong about that.

The Best of the Stranger Valentines.

The only good paper in town, The Stranger, has published its annual reader-submitted Valentine blowout. (Jon put one in for me, yay!) And I'm going to break with my tradition of relentless grouchiness and criticism and post some of the best valentines in there.

After ten hard, wet, squishy Valentines days, you still please me greatly. Shall we have another?
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I like rice noodles and I dig you. I love you more than pineapple upside down cake at Da Vinci's. Do you love me more than orange spice cupcakes?
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My affection for you is like a Dalek: tough on the outside, squishy on the inside, and vulnerable to certain Time Lords...
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You sexy goddess. You shaver of the head. You searcher of the library. You gulper of the wine. You do it ALL right.
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Arrrr! Ye'll ne'er get me buried booty, just me married booty! AharharAhoy! Will ye be mine agin' & agin'?
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You know you are my hero / My love for you is 1/x / as x approaches zero
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I kissed your lips/Your fins, your eyes/I did it on porpoise/In case you thought otherwise. Let's make love on the back of a sea turtle.
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Babe, I love lying in bed with you in the morning, while the tall trees sway in the wind outside. Let's sleep under the trees together forever.
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HEY POOPBUTT
Will you marry me?