Sunday, August 30, 2009


I love Buffy The Vampire Slayer. I'm a little too old for "fandom" in all its weird Internet forms, but I love Buffy. The "vampires, and the woman who slays/fucks them" (or in Twilight's case: "vampires, and the woman who stands around not doing much") genre is well-worn, but Buffy brought something new--agonizing emotional realism. The joy and pain of Buffy is that it's not a show where killing the bad guy makes it all okay. The heroes are in way over their heads just going through the normal transitions of adolescent life and dealing with the frictions within their own side; supernatural monsters are often the least of their worries. The fact that Buffy's much older boyfriend who breaks her heart when he turns ugly after they have sex is also a vampire is nearly irrelevant.

So is Buffy feminist? Oh yes, of course. But not for the obvious reasons. A physically strong female hero is nothing new and often crops up in utterly Neandersexual drivel. (Joss Whedon's tendency to depict waifish girls kicking ass has given me the same worry I have about Randall Munroe's tendency to draw female scientists--at first I thought it was feminist, now I think it might just be his fetish.) There's more than that separating Buffy from Lara Croft and Anita Blake.

Often, the vampire-fucking genre is used as code for the whole "women want bad boys" thing. In Buffy there's some of that, but more often it seems like she sleeps with vampires (especially Spike) because they're the only men who understand her life. Even if she could tell other men about it, they still wouldn't share in the underground, embattled world where she spends much of her time. In other words, she doesn't fuck vampires because women like that sort of thing, but because she does.

Maybe the most feminist thing about Buffy is the near-total lack of a male gaze. Buffy, Willow, and Anya are all very attractive, but they are never ogled. Their clothes are casual and practical, and the camera doesn't linger on their bodies. There's no particular effort at modesty, but you know how when many shows introduce a particularly good-looking female character, there'll be a little "va va voom, fellas" shot, a sweep up her body or a shot of her flipping her hair in that apparently irresistible way? Buffy doesn't go for that shit. Not that Buffy et al. aren't sexy, but they're sexy in that unconscious way that men on TV so often are. They're sexy while they go about their lives, rather than stopping to be sexy at the camera.

The feminism in Buffy also comes off as somewhat unconscious (although listen to Joss Whedon talk, and it's clearly not). Buffy doesn't see herself as a champion of women but of Sunnydale. There aren't any strawman sexists telling her she's just a girl. She's not prickly toward men in the way overt "feminist heroes" sometimes are and she (and the show) never rejects or resents the help of strong men. Buffy isn't out to prove she's as good as any man, she's just out to be the best she can be.

What I like best about Buffy is the strong and real personalities of all the main characters. You watch a few episodes (or, okay, all of them in a marathon can't-sleep-can't-eat spree) and you know how Buffy thinks and what sort of person she is. She's no paragon, she's not perfectly rational and she's not unfalteringly strong--but she's a person. She's not "a girl", not "a woman", not "a heroine." She doesn't exist to titillate or educate or symbolize. She's Buffy Summers.

That's feminism for ya.

Friday, August 28, 2009


Something I see quite often on the Internet and occasionally in real life: the people who are the biggest beggars (in terms of sexual partners) are also the worst choosers. Men who never get laid pontificate about how every gorgeous actress and model just isn't thin and busty enough for them to be attracted; women who are chronically single lay out ridiculous "he should be a PhD. and have a six-pack and also blue eyes" requirements for men they'd want to date.

Not that people don't have the right to be choosers. Don't settle for someone who won't make you happy because you think they're the best you can get. And if you're committed to waiting until Dr. Blue Eyes PhD. comes along, have fun with that. But it often seems like there's something more going on here.

It's partly sour grapes, of course, but it's also preemptive sour grapes. If you are afraid to approach men or women, saying "I like girls, but the ones around here just aren't good enough" allows you to pretend you're not a wuss while justifying your behavior. I've seen it used to justify PUA nonsense too--PUA works great for me, but I only use it on 10s. Other times it's part of the same ego-overcompensation complex that drives pudgy nerds to claim they're masters in martial arts--only the best women are good enough for an 18th-dan ninjitsu black belt!

It's always amusing to see a group of Internet dorks declaring that Alyson Hannigan is really showing her age these days and they'd never lower themselves like that, but it's also sad. There's little difference between raising your sexual standards sky-high and giving up on sex entirely.

(Another weird, possibly related PUA phenomenon that I've seen: the inability to acknowledge the existence of average women. I was reading a thread on their goofy 1-10 rating system and every photo they posted was either seriously physically flawed or Photoshopped-model gorgeous. There were no 5s. Shit, if I thought models or trolls were the only choices I'd hold out for models too.)

Thursday, August 27, 2009


One of the few signs that I've grown in recent months: I've finally stopped critiquing my own appearance in front of potential or actual sexual partners. Which is more difficult than it sounds. But I learned from seeing other people do it; when someone says "ugh, I'm so fat" or "yeah, I'm hairy, sorry", it doesn't make me think any better of them. I already know you're fat, I'm not blind, and if it was a deal-breaker then I wouldn't be here. Now I'm obligated to produce the fished-for compliment, to notice the worst parts of their appearance, and to reframe my attraction to them as reassuring rather than hot.

I still can't help thinking "am I too fat? tits too small? hair too messy? earlobes displeasingly shaped?" But at least I've learned not to say it out loud.

Because if the answer was yes, I wouldn't get the chance to ask.

(And they still wouldn't tell me most likely, because what kind of asshole turns someone down for a date, then enumerates the specific physical flaws that drove their reasoning? That would be harsh.)

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

The Magical Butt Clench.

If I clench my glutes together very hard, it causes a really pleasurable sensation. It's too tight and awkward a contraction to sustain for long, and clenching and unclenching doesn't really have a useful effect. But god damn that moment when it works is good. It's weirdly like being penetrated, a very deep feeling somewhere I definitely can't reach with my fingers.

Can anyone else do this? (For me it seems to work best if I'm standing with my legs about shoulder width apart, it doesn't work as well when I'm sitting in a chair.) Does anyone know what's going on anatomically?


I've got a few vanilla friends who don't know all the details of my sex life but have gathered that it's somehow unconventional. And I was startled yesterday to hear two different people assume that I'm a "dominatrix." Which means, I believe, that I wear black leather and call guys "worm," or something.

I guess that surreal as the image of me as spike-heeled dominatrix is, it sits better with people who only know me nonsexually than the idea that I might like to get beat up myself. Femdom seems to be a lot more visible and "sexier" in the eye of the vanilla public than maledom. Which is sexist.

Partly because it's about the girl dressing up pretty. Clothes are a generally uninteresting area of fetish to me--I can appreciate some nice stompy-boots or a tight t-shirt, but costumes? Eh. Top or bottom, I'm a lot more used to being in my undies or naked or even just in my street clothes. But it seems like the public stereotype of a dominatrix is at least 75% a costume. (A black costume, because black is the scary color, and being kinky is kind of like Halloween.) It's just another way to dress women up in something revealing and slutty, to make them into eye candy even when they're supposed to be on top. And men can't be eye candy of course, they'd just look silly in a leather corset, so it's inconceivable that men would be, uh, Dominatrixos.

And partly because it assumes girls are hopelessly vulnerable. A woman hitting a man is safe, even silly, because everyone knows women can't really hurt guys. But a man hitting a woman--that's how abuse works. That's scary. Can't mess around with that. A man who wants to be beat up is a perv, and that makes him funny and gross; a woman who wants to be beat up has real emotional damage and is saddening. The implication is that men can be in control of their sexuality from any angle, but a woman giving up control can't be doing it on purpose, the poor dear. That couldn't be sexy.

I'm not one to get off on shocking the mundanes, I don't go to the mall in a collar and leash and I don't think vanilla people need to be educated on all the intricacies of BDSM if they're not interested. I don't think it's repression to refer to a Dom as a "date" or a "boyfriend" rather than getting into nitty-gritty--it's just polite. If my vanilla friends don't want to know, I don't want to tell them.

But if they really don't want to know, I wish they'd stop making stupid guesses.

Saturday, August 22, 2009


Today I met Figleaf and I'm about to go out but I just wanted to mention that he is a fascinating person and runs a fascinating blog and you should read it.

(Also, unrelated to anything: I got my ears pierced a second time today, specifically so I could wear two rings in each ear like Buffy. Because I'm that kind of geek.)

Friday, August 21, 2009

TWIFI, The Inevitable Sequel: Comments!

Twisty Faster's commenters are always way, way more than half the fun, and I just can't do a TWIFI without scrolling down into the comment section and being amazed by the progressive, well-reasoned, and thoroughly feminist attitudes displayed therein.

Pelicanh’s also been guilty of the, “I just find women’s bodies more attractive than men’s, so that’s why I only photograph women.” Of course, if that were the case, you’d see him photographing a range of body colors and sizes, wouldn’t you?
He's an artist, he doesn't work for you, and he can photograph nothing but dogs' elbows if he wants. (Also, about half the photos are of his girlfriend, who only comes in one color and size.) He's under no obligation to turn his work into an 80's cartoon show with exactly one black kid and one kid in a wheelchair and one kid with the power of Heart.

Whenever dudes try to make women feel ‘beautiful’ they manage to talk down to them the whole time.
The kind I hate the most is the “men like curves” talk whenever any woman in the media gets too skinny to be of sexual use to most dudes. As if the way dudes think we should feel is a replacement for the way that women actually feel.

I care how dudes feel, though. I don't use it as a replacement for my own feelings, but this is kinda how it goes:

Me: Aw, I'm fat and Media Lady is skinny, guys must like her more than me.
Guy: No, you look great, men like curves.
Me: Yay, my perception that guys don't like me is corrected! I feel better about myself without feeling like I have to change! I now feel less bound by male expectations than I did before! Yay!

Urgh, Deviantart. Anyone here a member over there? Because the site definitely needs more feminism. Recently one of the “Daily Deviations” was a photo of black woman’s nude body in chains. Not problematic at all apparently, just a nice “fetish” photo!
Yes, black people shouldn't be allowed to do anything that makes me uncomfortable. If only there were some sort of law about this.

(I think it's also interesting how this person seems to sort of assume the photographer must have been white. If the photographer was black, or the photo is a self-portrait, doesn't that change the problematicism quite a bit? Regardless of the race of the photographer, I think it's somewhere between bigoted and just plain dumb to think the model herself didn't know what she was doing, and requires our protection.)

If he were smrt smart he would realise that having to justify his work means that the work isn’t what he thinks it is.
Total and epic fail.
Rationalising one’s own objectification by celebrating that objectification doesn’t change anything. It is still exploitative crap.
No, I haven’t seen the actual pictures. I don’t need to. The artist himself doesn’t think they have enough merit to stand on their own.

I show you a painting of a great eagle breaking the chains that tie it to the earth. Ignoring for the moment what a tacky fuck I am, I tell you "this painting represents freedom."

Now, apparently, it must represent something else, because I talked about it. It's like Heisenberg's Painting.

And I love that "no, I haven't actually looked at the thing I'm condemning." That's how you keep the mind and spirit pure, sister!

But no matter how many feminists are on dA, magically few of their submissions are popular enough to make it to the front.
I'm sure that's not true. I'd bet you've looked at a feminist's abstract digital rendering, a feminist's painting of songbirds, a feminist's photos of Rome, a feminist's sketches of the female form... but it's true, magically few pictures of men being violently humiliated and destroyed make the front page. Guess it's a conspiracy.

A man needs to know his parts. Clearly we should make porn showing men getting their members cut off and ripped apart. Clearly we need to show men getting my hot period blood across their face when I get off, because that’s porn. High class porn. Fresh cut off dick, that gets me hot damn it.
Twisty has a pretty iron grip on what feedback she'll allow to appear on her blog. It's the only blog I know where you can watch the comment number go down over time as it is winnowed down to only the worthy. Opposing arguments get zapped right off, and check the trackbacks--no opposition there either! But people who agree with her in psychotic, disturbing, and violent ways: hunky-dory.

(Also, there's really no use in pointing this out to a psychotic person, but have you seen any porn lately? Women don't get chopped up, for shit's sake! They take their clothes off and sometimes have sex! That's much more comfortable!)

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Twisty Faster Shares Definition of "Porn" with Anthony Comstock! Film at 11.

The flap over "cuntalina" caused Twisty Jill to explode over the course of several posts, change her name, and then retreat into silence and cutesy dog posts for weeks. Just the kind of resilient scrapper spirit we'd need in a revolution.

But she's baaack, and I haven't done a TFIFI in so long. Today's brilliance: "your so-called 'artistic' photography is a horrible affront on decency!" Because, y'see, we will never liberate vaginas as long as people can go around looking at them and stuff.

The evil pornographer in question is just some random DeviantArt guy with a slick and fairly tasteful portfolio of artistic nudes. His stuff ranges from the kinda porny to the more restrained to the definitely not porn at all. Oh, and this clearly raving misogynist also has pictures of himself naked, which just shows you how he equates nudity with dehumanized worthlessness, or something. He also posts in the commentaries about his friendly relationships with the models and which shots were their ideas, which shows the sad depths of this pornographer's self-delusion.

But Twisty cares not for your "art." What she sees is naked, and naked always means exactly the same thing to all people in all contexts. PORN! Which is an alternate spelling of "rape."

This amateur pornographer, known on the website as “Pelicanh,” snaps photos of naked ladies, stands back, basks in it, and calls it art. Furthermore, he puts it on the World Wide Web and gets thousands of hits a day.
THOUSANDS OF HITS A DAY! I'm sure he's becoming a billionaire.

"Anyone taking even a casual stroll through my gallery will see a lot of pussy photos. Let’s just call them what they are, OK? NO….they are NOT photos of “vaginas” - learn your anatomy, people.
I’d LOVE it if there was a sweet and endearing name for them, ya know. “Pussy” sounds pretty “Playboy-ish” to me but it is the best I can do because it ISN’T a vagina photo and that sounds waaaaayyy too medical to me anyway. There are at least a billion names for that part of a woman’s anatomy but that’s not what this journal is about. SO - get over it, I’m gonna call it a pussy."

Well, sure, you’re a pornographer. This means you think “pussy” is “anatomy.” But even if you didn’t, obviously you’d have to call it “pussy,” since degrading women and telling them to “get over it” is one of the Inalienable Rights of Man.

Fuck am I supposed to call it, lady? "Vulva" is a detached, ugly, medical-Latin word; "pussy" is indisputably English and ground-level and kind of cute. Degrading? Acting like a woman's anatomy is too sacred, obscure, or disgusting to describe in ordinary language is degrading. "You have an abnormal growth on your vulva"; "I think your pussy's beautiful."

I'm not a man, but I think that being comfortable with women's bodies is part of being comfortable with women. If the pussy is always hidden, always referred to in precise and hushed tones, it's up on some kind of fucking pedestal. A pussy that's part of a human being, that gets used and revealed and exercised and loved, is going to get called a lot of things and seen in a lot of ways, and that's a good thing.

It might also dawn on you that a “sweet, endearing name for them” would be useful only to you and your efforts to distract their owners, through some kind of phony sympathetic display, from the fact that you are a dehumanizing, exploitative prick.
So if you say bad things about pussies, you're obviously a jerk; but if you say good things, you're faking, Twisty can tell. Win-win situation here. (The solution, of course, is for men to never speak or think about pussies, which will undoubtedly give them a very healthy attitude toward people who happen to own You-Know-Whats.)

It doesn’t occur to old Pelicanh that a vulva might have aspirations that rise above being photographed by some perv for public display on his perv web page, where viewers are “made” to look at “beauty.” Aspirations, for example, that do not involve complicity in dudely “art” projects, dudely perceptions of “beauty,” or perpetual availability for pornsick voyeurism. A vulva might want to just hang around. Hit the links. Go to a museum. Menstruate. Enjoy a taco. Chillax on the chaise with a marg and a copy of I Had Trouble in Getting to Solla Sollew.
Or a pussy--or rather its owner, sheesh, I'm up here, honey--might want to be photographed. Why is it beyond conceivability that a woman might think her pussy was beautiful enough to share, or even that it was just fun to be photographed that way or even--really stretching the limits of what's possible in Twisty's reality here--that as a paid model she didn't mind accepting money for artistic nudes?

Give me the choice between being part of a well-crafted, beautifying, even kind of worshipful photo or sitting around menstruating, fuck, I know what I'd choose.

The “It’s beautiful so it’s art, not porn” argument always hilarifies me. Haw!
The "It's a crotch so it's porn, not art" argument always hilarifies me. (Although, really, most of the guy's photos are of women's entire bodies, so when you call those crotch-shots, well, tells me where you're looking. Who's reducing women to their fun bits now?)

What could it be about a vulva that makes it the universal Holy Grail of a certain species of male shutterbug? Why must these vulgar specimens insist on its unique “beauty” when, in fact, a vulva is precisely as “beautiful” as an elbow or a nostril? Why do they so vociferously declaim that they are not pornographers even though their “work” depends entirely on the gross imbalance of power between dudes and women, specifically on flattening women into 2-dimensional sex graphics?
Is it really bad to say that pussies are nicer than nostrils? Sure, there's a sexual attraction; why is that wrong or exploitative? Sex is part of life and art addresses life. It's not like the models are being kept in his basement and have no say in the matter.

And as for gross power imbalance--OH NOES NOW HE IS OPPRESSING HISSELF

A photograph of a disembodied vulva is not, as is one of an elbow or a nostril, a politically or socially neutral concept. It is the graphic representation of the universal belief that women = sex, and a symbol of male dominance in a rape culture.
It's the graphic representation of the truth that women include sex, and a symbol of our fundamental humanity. A woman who's nothing but pussy is problematic; a woman without a pussy is messed up.

I have a pussy. I love it. As a practical matter I don't hang it out in public, but I refuse to be ashamed of it. I refuse to be told that it is somehow a tool of my own oppression. My pussy is mine--mine to hide, mine to show, mine to protect, mine to offer up.

Shit, at least when this guy tells strange women what to do with their pussies he has the decency to pay them.

Time Management.

Man, lately I just don't have time to be a slut.

I get off work at 6:00, but recently there's been at least an hour of overtime every day, so it's really 7:00 or 7:30. I'm not exactly in man-killer shape then; I'm hungry, tired, smelly, covered in sweat and infectious diseases, dressed like a mall cop, and 45 minutes from town. It'll likely be 9:00 before I'm presentable, and I need to get home by 12:30 to get a decent amount of sleep.

Three and a half hours is plenty of time to have sex. Leisurely, really. But when your task isn't "have sex" but "meet a man, determine if he passes your gut-check, determine if he likes you, seduce him, find a place to go with him, then have sex"--that's a tall order. Even assuming I can find any appealing and willing man, it's still a daunting energy investment to fuck a new person on a weeknight.

I think this is a lot of the reason I fuck Benny so much, even though I'm not all that fond of him--he's there. I can call him when I get off work and have a sure thing by the time I'm done showering. A night when I'll definitely fuck Benny can be worth more than a night where I'll maybe fuck someone better.

I've got to admit, this is a little bit of the appeal of relationships. Christ, that sounds boorish, I'm not saying that's a reason to date someone or it's all dating is. I'm a big fan of emotional connections and support that include but go way beyond sex. I'm just saying--promiscuity's not immoral and it's not unsatisfying, but fuck, it's difficult.

Why scrounge all over town for free milk when you could have a cow at home?

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

On BDSM and the Butt.

In practical terms, the butt is probably the best place to hit someone. It's thickly padded with muscles and fat, contains no vital organs, the bones are sturdy and deep, marks on it won't show in public, and there's no exposed nerves or blood vessels. It's a sturdy piece of anatomy, and it can take a lot of pain without ever turning it into that "oh fuck, something's being damaged" sensation that's a lot more disturbing than pain.

And it's sexy. The upper back is also resilient, and it can be sexy in its own right, but let's face it, there's not a lot of porn of people wiggling their trapezii at the camera. Asses are round and squeezable and they're strong and soft in just the right proportion. They're sensitive enough to stroke with fingertips, erogenous enough to clutch during sex.

And it's humiliating. It's likely where you got spanked as a child--and bent over a knee or the edge of a table you're little more than a child again. It's something you cover in public; to uncover it is impudent, or slutty, or intimate. It's one of the places Cosmo is always telling you isn't good enough. (Which means that hitting it is an act of acceptance as well as dominance; an ass that's good enough to spank can't be so bad.) It's where you poop from, for Chrissake--it takes nerve to let someone see and touch you where you poop.

Because at the center of the ass there's the asshole; one of the body's most vulnerable parts nestled within one of the strongest. It's what makes the ass not just touchable but fuckable. It can receive far more pleasure and pain, and cause far more humiliation. Cruelty or ineptness here would be disastrous. Being fucked in the ass is an act of submission because it's dirty, yes, but more because it's an act of trust. You have to (well, should, anyway) know that your top wouldn't and won't hurt or embarrass you any more than you want.

Although if you want a lot, well... that can be arranged.

Just turn around and stick out your butt.

Monday, August 17, 2009

Hard to get.

(Jesus, no posts for almost a week! Eeek. I'm a naughty blogger. It was also a really bad week at work.)

A friend of mine has been interested in a girl who keeps giving him come-ons, then rejecting him. Not just rejecting him but doing it in a condescending, "aw, too bad, better luck next time" sort of way. It happened several times and then he finally gave up. He decided that either she really didn't want him, or she was so devoted to game-playing that he didn't want her.

I've never done this even a little. Partly it's because, honestly, although I'm in slightly better physical and way better emotional shape than I was a few years ago, I still don't think of myself as so attractive that I can push boys away and have them stay attracted anyway. And part of it's because I often want guys so strongly that I couldn't stop myself from leaping at the first chance. But it's more because I just don't like the idea of a pursuit. Pursuing is frustrating, being pursued is creepy, and it's all unnecessary and couterproductive if the pursued likes the pursuer anyway.

This isn't some utopian/socially-clueless "we should just immediately agree on our relationships" thing because I know people don't work like that, but there's a difference between pursuit and courtship. Courtship is the good-faith development of a relationship, taking time to learn more about each other and to create a connection. Pursuit is trying to make someone attracted to you. It's one-sided and it's an invitation to manipulation.

It also assumes that the pursuer isn't questioning their own desire, which is the appeal of playing hard to get; a guy who's busting his ass to impress you would suffer cognitive dissonance if you didn't turn out to be All That.

But I don't want cognitive dissonance in my relationships, and I don't want to make myself the prize in some bullshit contest. I want to date guys who are cute and awesome and not date guys who are not, and spend enough time with intermediate cases to tell the difference. But when I say I don't want someone it's because I don't, and when I do want someone, shit, they know.

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Cosmocking: September '09

Yellow cover! Kristen Bell! I had her mixed up with Kristen Stewart and couldn't understand why she looked so different and was confused for a bit there! Biggest headline: "Lose Weight While You Eat"! Apparently we will be eating antimatter! (The only way in which one can literally lose weight!)

When I get a new issue of Cosmo, I go through with a pen and circle the parts that I want to Cosmock. Sometimes people will find the magazine and see what I circled and not understand that those are things I don't agree with. It's very embarrassing.

Dirty sex means going against the idea of "proper" sex[...] It's inching into a taboo zone... and whatever feels taboo to you qualifies. Try pretending someone is watching you get it on or sharing fantasies midact. Consider buying bedroom gear like blindfolds or a bullet vibrator. [...] Just talk to him before whipping out adventurous new material. You could murmur "this really turns me on" and describe something you want to try.
"Murmur"? Sheeeesh.

You know, it doesn't really bother me when Cosmo's idea of taboo is so vanilla you could make ice cream with it--hey, that's their market. But it weirds me out when they list things that wouldn't offend a maiden aunt in Utah (who is probably into rubber and piss, because you'd be surprised) and then act like extreme caution is needed in such an edgy area. I don't care how conventional your sex life is, no one needs to have a delicate "honey, I want to try something... different" heart-to-heart about a freakin' blindfold.

In bed, slap his butt and then move him into the position you're craving--this will really nail home that you're the one who's in charge.
Oh, so I need to sit him down for a serious conversation before buying a bullet vibe, but I can just whip this shit out on him out of nowhere?

Why you should check his E-mail:
Never read his e-mail, but a glance at his in-box can give you some insight into the kind of person he is.

No. No no no no no. The inbox is up there with the medicine cabinet and the diary on the list of places you are just not invited. You creep. And "oh, of course reading is wrong but it's okay to just skim" ...really? Come on.

Not sexy: shoulderpads. "She looks manly, like she could kick my ass."
I agree with the fashion judgement, but if kicking ass is wrong I don't want to be right.

Q: How can I make unwashed hair look less greasy?
A: Wash it.

(It always amuses me when Cosmo acts like their readers are all super-glamorous fashionistas whose biggest beauty problem is deciding between cream blush and powder blush, and then something like this crops up.)

Try this "shallow throat" trick: press the tip of your tongue to the roof of your mouth to protect the back of your throat. Bring his penis into your mouth; when the head hits the back of your tongue, it will give him a feeling similar to when you deep-throat.
I know Cosmo doesn't field-test, but this is ridiculous. I'm trying it on my fingers now, and doing this sends them straight into my teeth with every awkward half-inch thrust. If you don't want to deep-throat, here's a suggestion: give him a freakin' regular blowjob. If he complains about that, he might not be the One.

Manatomy Explained
Meatu: The hole at the tip of the glans through which he urinates and ejaculates

Meatu: A region in Tanzania.
Meatus: A really tricky word that only really smarty-pants geekface editors could be expected to know about, and no one likes them anyway

Take Cosmo's Color Sex Test!
This one is great. They have a swatch of orange, of green, and of purple, and you pick the one you like best and they tell you exactly what kind of sex you should be having. Orange-liking people need to have more intense sex, y'see, and green-likers need to look out for their own pleasure, and purple-likers, well, they just aren't getting that intimate connection from their sex. See, it makes perfect sense really.

When you're trying to orgasm, the random thoughts that pop into your head--like whether you remembered to DVR "The Real Housewives"--are a buzz kill.
Like ohmigosh, I know! When I'm getting laid, I always want to think about high heels and babies and cooking! It's so distracting!

If you're veering away from orgasm, briefly holding eye contact with your partner helps to pull you back into the moment.
This is probably just me, but I don't know what it feels like to veer away for orgasm. It's either towards, towards, OHHHH; or sometimes towards, towards, towards.... oh, he stopped.

We get that lights-on sex can make you feel, well, naked. Luckily, there are a few easy adjustments to make you feel sexier [...] If there's a body part you're not totally comfortable about, choose positions that won't make you obsess: missionary will hide your tummy, and side-by-side takes the focus off your butt. Another idea is to leave on a piece of clothing, like a lacy camisole, to keep you a little covered.
You really don't trust your boyfriend, do you? You think he doesn't know what shape your body is? You think that he's dating you but the sight of your uncovered stomach would horrify him? This is likely one of the closest relationships in your life and you don't want him to even see all of you?

Have a little faith, take that camisole off, trust him, and for once, freakin' relax.

Q: My boyfriend occasionally likes to incorporate food like strawberries or whipped cream when we're having sex. I, on the other hand, think it's gross. Eating isn't erotic, and when I'm doing it naked, it just makes me feel fat. Is there something slightly more normal I could suggest substituting for his fetish?
Reading this question gave me a sudden flash of insight into the Fat Acceptance movement. (Which I'm not totally behind because I think they deny the health and lifestyle risks of morbid obesity, but when it comes to regular-fat I can respect the cut of their jib.) It's not just about being decent to fat people; it's also about keeping thin people from thinking that if they became fat it would be the end of the world. When the prospect of gaining weight, or even feeling like you're gaining weight, makes you afraid to eat a freakin' strawberry in front of your lover... yeah, your perspective might need more help than your waistline.

Also, I tried to think of things that were "more normal" than whipped cream in bed, but the best I've got so far is whipped cream on waffles, and that definitely won't help your problem.

To be connected to a customer-service rep when you're on hold, drop an F bomb. Many systems are designed to channel you straight to an operator if you curse.
If they mean automated systems, I reaaaally doubt it--as soon as people knew this it would be useless. If they mean getting a human operator to transfer you up a level, that'll probably work, but there's a spot in Hell reserved for people who abuse service-industry workers for their own convenience.

Fun, fearless way to meet a guy:
The best thing about a cute guy in a Laundromat? He's not going anywhere for a good hour.

Yes, but bear in mind that as a prisoner he is protected by the Geneva Convention.

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Fakin' It.

I've faked orgasms. Not in recent times, but as a teenager I'd fake them to get him to stop.

The problem was that I knew how to turn down sex from someone I didn't care about, but I had no script for rejecting sex right now but not forever, or rejecting someone sexually without rejecting them emotionally. "No means NO" is easy; "not right now, honey, no offense" took some learning. And for his part he never forced me into anything, never intimidated me, he did something much more sinister: he'd whine. He'd mope and pout and say of course he respected my decision but whhhhy.

It was always about pleasuring me, too. He didn't get like this if I wouldn't suck his dick or fuck him; he'd do it when he wanted to finger me or eat me out. 90% of the time I just enjoyed it straight up, I'm not exactly a hard woman to please, but when it wasn't working for me or I was tired or just not in the mood, I found that a quick "OHHHH... ohh, that was great baby, you wore me out" was faster and easier than having to pat his hand and reassure him and explain myself for thirty minutes. It ended the discomfort and made him happy, win-win!

The most annoying was when he found out I could have multiples, then started insisting I produce them on demand. "I want to make you come three times, baby." Aw fuck, man, just making the noises for that is going to be exhausting!

But the saddest thing is that there were a couple of times I didn't know the difference. When something would feel really good but I'd start moaning because I knew it was expected, and I couldn't tell the difference myself between the moaning I was doing to placate him and the moaning I would have done anyway. And when you've become a little too skilled at the art of moaning and clenching and writhing--there were times when I genuinely don't know if I had an orgasm or not. Or if I would've had one if I wasn't so busy putting on a show.

I haven't done this in years now. (Certainly not with you, baby.) The irony is that I really am ridiculously orgasmic and ridiculously showy about it, no faking required. But I've gotten better at saying no, and that doesn't mean I'm having much less sex or treating men worse; it means that when I say yes I mean it.

The five basic Pervocracy posts.

1. This person on the Internet/in a magazine is a jerk and a moron! It's pretty obvious from the start, but let me explain exactly why in a ranty and condescending manner.

2. I found another thing that gives me orgasms! Let's add it to the list right after "the scent of bookbinding glue" and "accidentally elbowing a stranger in an elevator."

(2a. Hey look, my sexual organs! LOOK.)

3. Waaah, I'm not pretty enough, I haven't gotten laid in like an entire week, wahh! Comments from people who haven't been laid in 28 years are inevitable on these.

4. I like a guy romantically, and it's making me just a little insecure! Or just a little clinically insane.

5. I have an extremely popular political position that 98% of my readers will share! I shall argue my case as if this were a pitched debate.

(Edit/Explanation: When I started this blog, there was a lot of newness in my sex life--not necessarily in acts or partners, but in ways of thinking about it. I was able to see a lot of different angles on fucking, and that was what I really wanted this blog to be about. So although I won't stop it entirely, I'm a little frustrated by the way the snarky/livejournaly cheap posts have come to predominate. Cosmocking is funny, ranting gets interesting comments, but I want to think and write things that are constructive and new. This is kind of my little note-to-self about that.)

(And what is it but a livejournaly snark on myself? Sheesh...)

Monday, August 10, 2009

Sometimes the Internet makes me angry.

Sometimes the Internet makes me so mad. There's a blog post that pisses me off and it just sends me down a chain reaction of posts from other idiots, a never-ending idiot spiral and I read it all and I just want to physically fight the authors. Proving them wrong would be pointless, it's trivially obvious that they're wrong and that they'd never listen. Even linking them is pointless; their writing is too blatantly wrong to learn anything from and hostile comments would only give them self-righteousness. Hell, even punching them would just give them a nice martyr complex and a good post on "clearly she couldn't make any logical arguments against me..."

As I said, it's no specific idiot that's bothering me here. This guy, I guess, but I got to him via a link from an idiot and I left him via a link to an idiot, so he's not that special. Just sort of slightly more egregious, I guess? (Only one comment: he wants a woman who loves anal but who doesn't swear? Seriously now.)

Anyway, I'm no longer annoyed at what these guys say; I'm annoyed that I wasted my own time. I pay for my Internet connection, and I have limited time to use it, so I really shouldn't waste it on things that don't make me happy and don't teach me anything.

I should waste it instead in reporting that Benny (not a new character, but I'm revamping my pseudonyms; I'll fix up the archives soon) gave me an orgasm just from my breasts! Which is not precisely new because it happened once or twice when I was a teenager, but it's been a few years. He'd just fucked me the regular way and I was in that ecstatic state where my whole skin is hypersensitive, where I'm desperate to cuddle and kiss not just for fuzzyhuggy reasons but because skin contact feels so fucking good.

He put his whole mouth over my breast, not teasing but fucking eating it, his mouth hot and wet and not holding back on the teeth, and I moaned. He rolled me over onto my stomach and lay on top of me with his hands reaching around to my breasts and just squeezed and worked them, not gently, and it felt amazing. More than amazing, he kept at it forcefully and the feeling reached a peak and then I couldn't even tolerate any more and I realized I had just come. I was panting and my breasts were flushed and tender as I rolled back over, and I think he was a little amazed.

Thursday, August 6, 2009

I don't like sex, so I guess no one must!

Bruno sent me this rather depressing link on a woman who doesn't have sex with her husband and is here to spread the word that not having sex is faaabulous.

Now, I've got nothing against sexless marriage if both partners agree, to each your own and if that's your kink. But the article has some hints that this situation is, ah, not entirely straight up.

She admits she stays in her sexless relationship for the sake of her children, aged nine and 11, and will remain celibate until the day they are grown up and she feels able to leave. At which point, she confesses, she will probably abandon her husband and begin a sexual odyssey to find the satisfaction that eludes her.
Okay, so she doesn't have a low libido--she just doesn't want to fuck her husband. (And is saying so in a place that her husband and kids can read.)

"In the meantime, I want to tell other women that they are not alone in not wanting to have sex with their long-term partners. I don't think it's possible to maintain the passion of the initial chase. But it doesn't mean you won't experience those feelings again with someone else."
Hey, she's certainly not alone in being unable to have long-term sexual relationships. I wish someone would tell her that the entire world doesn't think that way, though.

But Carrie goes one step further. She believes that marriage and motherhood are simply not conducive to having a sex life at all.
"Providing a stable home for children is totally incompatible with having an exciting sex life. The two things are violently at odds," she adds.

I don't have kids, but what? It's incompatible with having an unlimited sex life, obviously your days of doing it on the kitchen table every morning are at an end, but Jesus, I'm pretty sure you can still figure out how to have sex occasionally if you want it.

Also, "a stable home"? I understand people saying kids tire and stress them too much for sex, but it's not like having sex is going to make you lose your job or get evicted... is it? Jesus, what kind of sex are we talking about here?

Well, sex with someone besides her husband, clearly. Which means her situation isn't unique, but it's not one of disappointment with sex itself, just with poor Hal. "I wanted a divorce but didn't for the sake of the kids" is a pretty common situation, she's right, but it's really not about sex.

The couple still share a bed, though physical contact is strictly off limits. "We've never discussed the demise of our sex life," she says.

Unbelievably, her poor, unsuspecting husband is not only unaware of her plans to leave him. He also, she insists, has no idea that she has written a book or posed for these pictures. She seems as confident of him not finding out as she is that he is understanding of her feelings.
OUCH. This is either a publicity lie or it's going to end really, really badly.

"Children need to be brought up by parents in a monogamous marriage. I wouldn't want to blow that apart, and I certainly wouldn't want the burden of being a single parent. I know from taking the kids on holiday on my own once when Hal was working that having sole responsibility for them is exhausting."
Jesus, that's lazy. I can understand wanting your kids to have two parents, or not wanting to separate a father from his children, but she seems more concerned about all the work she'd have to do otherwise.

So what of her sexual history? It seems that Carrie wasn't always this uninterested in sex. She admits to having 23 lovers before she married. "Ten were proper boyfriends," she recalls. "I regretted having sex with six of them, loved three of them but only one of the 23 ever gave me an orgasm.
Digression: I've heard other stories from women who only orgasmed with a tiny percentage of guys and I don't entirely understand it. It seems like if you're capable of orgasm you'd be having them all over the place, right? Maybe if you take a lot of work some guys will never bother, but more than 1/23rd will put in the effort. Is it some mystical connection that sloppy old anyone-orgasmers like me can never understand?

Carrie admits that part of her envies those authors who claim to be having lots of sex and, more significantly, love it. The other part of her just doesn't believe them. "I do wonder if they are just writing what they think the audience wants to hear," she says. "I read their accounts of wild sex lives and then ponder my own sexual encounters and wonder: 'Where was the fun, the screaming ecstasy, the fireworks?'"
Well, honey, you're sexually dysfuctional and kind of a terrible person. But trust me, the entire world isn't. You think no one has screaming ecstasy from sex? Just ask my downstairs neighbors. (Hell, ask my neighbors three blocks away.)

I have no problem with someone being in a sexless marriage. Someone being in a sexless, communicationless, desperate-to-cheat marriage with absolutely no remorse or insight... that's a little more unsettling.


Unless I'm flat exhausted or upset about something, I almost always masturbate right before I go to sleep.

The funny part is, if I had sex that day, if I had sex that night even, it doesn't reduce the urge at all. I've lain awake next to men I just fucked, wondering if it would be weird if I snuck in a quick wank. Not because it was unsatisfying, and not really because I'm superhumanly horny either. It's just no reason to break the habit.

Wednesday, August 5, 2009

Sexy and sex.

More on the total independence between sexy and sexual: compare these four websites. (All but the first are fairly NWS.)

Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab - Selling nonsex without sex.
Yves Saint Laurent Parfum - Selling nonsex with sex.
Hustler Lingerie - Selling sex with sex.
Blowfish - Selling sex without sex.

It's the last one that's most interesting to me. Blowfish sells sex toys, porn, lube, condoms, and they do it without a single eyelinered model pouting at the camera. They just tell you what they've got and why you might like it; any titillation is going to come from the products, not the advertising.

I don't want to say the Blowfish's marketing is better than Hustler's, somehow more moral; that's Puritan thinking. But it's more comfortable for me that to no one's trying to engage me sexually while I'm just trying to shop. And it avoids the awkwardness of looking at something that's supposed to be sexy but is aimed at different preferences from my own. And the pressure to be sexy in the same way as the models, which would never work for my body and personality.

I think the confusion between sexy and sexual impedes public discourse on sexuality; we get the feeling sometimes that the discourse itself is a sexual act. That teaching, talking, voting about sexual issues might turn people on, and that would make it wrong and creepy even to have the discussion. I'm taking an anatomy class and on Reproductive System Day a room full of grown working adults collapsed into awkward giggles multiple times--not because it's that funny but because talking about private parts in public feels uncomfortably close to airing out your own sexuality in class. With hearts we measured each other's pulse and output; with penises and vaginas we tried very hard to talk as if none of us had anything like that. Admitting I have a vagina is a little too close to showing it to everyone, and that would be icky.

Sexy has its place and it's not just the bedroom. Sexiness livens up entertainment and socialization and dancing and dating and life. And even advertising sometimes. But sexiness doesn't need to follow everywhere sex goes. Being able to separate sexiness from sexuality is crucial to talking about our... tee-hee, you know, thingies... like goddamn grownups.

Tuesday, August 4, 2009


I was at Jamba Juice on a lunch break and these three teenage girls came in. They were clearly under 18, probably 16 or 15, and judging from their manner of speech, their total freedom in the middle of a weekday, and their general attitudes, seemed to be from a pretty crass-wealthy "moooom, I wanted a red BMW, I hate you mom" social class. (Seattle readers: they were from Bellevue.)

And their outfits. I've seen girls out under the streetlights on Pac Highway who left more to the imagination. It was all nice, new-looking, designery stuff, but Jesus. Two of the skirts were up ta here and the other one was thong-revealingly sheer. All of the tops showed more cleavage than I even had when I was that age and one of them performed the amazing feat of showing topboob, underboob, and sideboob all at once. I don't mean to be "you kids get off my lawn" about this, but these outfits gave me the uncomfortable feeling that I was looking at porn in public. And kiddy porn at that. The girls had no boys with them and were pretty much wrapped up in chatting with each other, I'm not sure if they even intended to meet boys that day or they just wanted to go out looking snappy.

The funny thing is, when I was their age, I was having shit-tons of sex. I was wearing t-shirts and jeans and knee-length skirts and unisex sweatshirts and getting laid all the time. (With geeks, sure, but geek sex is the best kind. Boys can be sexier than they look too.) I was starting to become a real freak in bed, but to look at me, to hear me talk and the way I acted at parties and meeting guys, I wasn't a slut. I was a geeky, practical, rather plain girl who loved to fuck.

Not that looking and acting slutty is a bad thing, necessarily. With girls so young I do worry a bit if they know exactly what they're doing, but eh, they probably do. It's their choice, it's how they have fun, and dammit, it's their right as women and as humans to go out in public looking like tacky sexbots.

I just find it ironic that the appearance of "sexiness" has so little to do with actual sexuality. It's easy to look at them and worry about the kids these days, but I'm only a couple years since being a kid those days, and I know damn well that churchgirl skirts pull up just as fast as micro-minis and just as often.

Saturday, August 1, 2009

Literotica boobytraps.

So there's this site Literotica that's a pretty huge repository of free, somewhat sorted filthy stories and, in that way, a great wanking resource. (Protip: they give out that little "honors" icon for anything sort of resembling English. Your browsing will go faster if you pretend the non-honors ones are invisible.)

But you have to be careful, because many of the stories are boobytrapped. You'll be going along enjoying the story and then...

"...Then Jane's mom walked into the room."
Oh no no no. I know where this is going. It's the second largest category on Literotica after their catchall "general sex" one and I don't know why. Close that one. Pick another.

"...Then Jane said 'I want you to taste me, lover,' and squatted over John's face and started to squeeze out..."
OH GOD. Close it. Try again.

"i love my Master so much He is the only One who knows what is right for me and i spend all day worshipping at His feet and i only breathe at His command and there is no actual sex in this story just so much deliriously capitalized F/fawning."
Well, whatever floats your boat, honey, but I can't wank to it.

"Then he started to fuck my pussy! Oh my god! It was so exciting! It was like the sexiest thing ever!"
Like, OMG, sex! OMG!

"then he fuked huer in teh pusy and tehn the as and it ws sexy cus shw was a re\l hrny biatc"
Sometimes these have "honors" marks. It's unsettling. And possibly randomly generated by machine.

I should write my own Literotica stories if I have such high fancy-pants standards, I suppose. Maybe I will. It's kind of discouraging adding your story to a pile 50,000 deep in mompoopsex, but I don't really know of any other major, free, web 2.0-y, topic-sorted Internet sex story venues. I'd appreciate any recommendations.