Saturday, October 31, 2009


I'm getting a jump start on my NaNoWriMo project today. It was supposed to be an erotic novel, but four pages in it's turning into a grimdark existentialist erotic novel. "Kae paused and wondered if her real body had been forgotten and was rotting away at that very moment, then took another slurp of pussy."

I think I've expounded upon this idea before, but it's basically the Sex Matrix, which enables a hooker to service clients from all over the world without any risk to her real body, but then things... get weird. (No, she isn't The One. There is no One. There is only an endless procession of the helpless many. Just because there is no spoon doesn't mean you can bend it. Are you turned on yet?)

I can't pretend to be distressed by this. I like being weird! I'm excited to see where this goes!

Small Circles.

Sometimes I feel like half of the population is perverts. It's really amazing how many people, once you get to where they're comfortable talking about it, turn out to be into some form of BDSM.

And sometimes, on the other hand, I feel like there are only about twelve perverts in Seattle.

(Context: last night I went to a party I haven't been to in months. I originally stopped going because it was getting taken over by this weird little clique that would literally try to assign play partners to other people--"Oh, you're new here, you should play with Joe! Go get 'er, Joe!"--and imposed their view of the One True Kink on everyone and generally soured the vibe. But I figured people always come and go from these things, and after six months the population should've cycled some, right? I show up and it's the same damn people. It's deeply weird to be away from a place for six months and still know everyone by name.

But I met a nice new guy anyway, once I extricated myself from the tentacles of the Kink Dictators, and we had fun times, so yay.)

Friday, October 30, 2009

On Stereotypes.

I can always find my jacket really easily when I leave a fetish meetup, because I wear a brown leather jacket.

Thursday, October 29, 2009

Keeping it in the bedroom.

I had a Very Bad, No Good, Horrible Terrible day at work today. I don't mean "late on TPS reports" bad, I mean that I was spat on and slapped and punched multiple times. And contrary to unnervingly popular opinion, liking that sort of thing in bed has fucking nothing to do with how I feel about it in the real world. (I feel somewhat negatively about it. Thanks for asking.)

It really bothers me when people draw this kind of connection between the real world and the sex world. I was almost as weirded out when a person at a kink meetup talked about her daughter chasing around and hitting the boys at her daycare, and remarked "she's turning into a little domme!" I know it's a joke, but ew. Ew, and also wrong because that's not what dommes do. Unless they're psychopaths, dommes don't run around hitting boys; they run around asking boys "can I hit you?" Kind of an important distinction.

Even when it's not violent, people saying things like "ooh, you work at a shoe store, you must have a foot fetish" and "ooh, you have a foot fetish, do you work at a shoe store?" ook me out equally. Again, I know, joke, but it's a much creepier joke than intended. Somewhere up there with "oh, you work at a morgue, are you a necrophiliac?"

Of course it's not really sex that draws the hard line between "ha ha, hitting" and "OH FUCK, hitting"; it's consent. If a foot fetishist indulges their fetish at work, it's not cute, because the customer didn't consent to foot-molestation. Seeing sex where there's no sex is déclassé; seeing sex where there's no consent is mega creepy.

Very important tip.

Brush your teeth. Not just right before dates but all the time. And use mouthwash. And mints.

I can't count the number of times I thought I was attracted to a guy, got within the breath radius, and WHOOOF. A whole evening's worth of flirtation undone in a single pungent blast. Now all I can think, no matter how good-looking or charming he is, is "if I had sex with him, I'd have to breathe that for like a half hour."

Tuesday, October 27, 2009


The other night, I had dinner with witches and goddesses, masters and slaves, 40-year-old little girls and human dogs. It was really just chance that there wasn't a goddamn dragon present.

Of course I didn't. I had dinner with a bunch of middle-aged software developers who own a lot of cats. Why dignify their delusions?

Because they'll dignify mine. My delusions may be modest in scope--I'm pretty sure I'm an ordinary adult human--but I certainly have notions about my place in sex and the world that might not be perfectly objective. Who I am is a mix of what I am, and what I say I am. I was born female, but I'm a woman on my say-so.

Of course it's silly. Of course it's a game, and someone saying they're a dog is probably not as serious, deep down, as someone saying they're a woman. But it's not "wrong" for someone to identify in ways that don't fit physical reality. The only times I've had a right to bristle were when someone tried to impose upon my self-concept--you can be a goddess but you can't make me your worshipper. And honestly, once I get over my Internet-conditioned "ewww a furry" reaction, a dog-dude is a barrelfull more fun than your average dude-dude.

Why does this flexibility of identity seem to cross over with sex so often? You don't run into dog-dudes who just want to play frisbee nearly as often as you run into dudes who want to be dogs during sex or BDSM play. Maybe it's because sex is the only arena where adults really have a license to play. There's rules for frisbee, even when you're just tossing it around, it's not true play the way children play. Even supposed "RPGs" tend to be more about leveling up and phat lewtz than really roleplaying. Whereas "roleplay" in sex is a free-form and accepted thing.

It makes me a little sad sometimes. Not that play has become sexual, but that play so often seems confined to sex. I can get people in bed with me playing like we're the naughty policeman and the seductive suspect, but I can't get them to go play cops and robbers with me in the park. That would be weird. You have to outgrow these things. Life has rules now, so fun has to have rules now. Even when I find someone game to play Calvinball with me, it feels awkward and hollow. I don't know if that's because we can't play anymore or just because we can't stop feeling that we're not supposed to. But I see dog-dudes and guys who call themselves Lord Ravenblood as precious evidence that it's the latter.

So you know what? Fuck you, I'm a dragon.


Monday, October 26, 2009

Why I'm not a hooker.

The difference between sex and. prostitution isn't just that money gets exchanged. A prostitute accepts money in lieu of having his/her own desires met in the sex. If your hooker is any good, you're not just paying for consent, you're paying for sex that's all about you. You don't have to go down on a prostitute unless you happen to love going down.

I don't think this is inherently wrong--you don't pay a massage therapist to trade backrubs, after all--but it's an important thing to keep in mind when discussing prostitution. Prostitution isn't some women doing for pay what other women do for free, despite what the Freakonomics guys seem to think when they say things like:

Who poses the greatest competition to a prostitute? Simple: any woman who is willing to have sex with a man for free.

I don't know about you, but I've never had sex with a man for free. I've had sex in exchange for getting my sexual desires--partner choice, specific kinks, sometimes emotional closeness--met. Prostitutes, especially high-class ones, do have some say in which acts and which men they'll do, but not to nearly the degree a woman fucking for "free" does. I'm fairly sure that any prostitute who only slept with men she found panty-soakingly attractive and insisted that they fulfill her fantasies would go broke.

I'm also not a sucker for giving it away for "free" because prostitution in our current society involves a lot of risks unrelated to the sex. I like my day job, but I might do a couple paid fucks on the weekend now and then for extra cash, the way I work on festival event crews now and then--except that if I ever got caught at the fucking I'd lose my day job and a whole lot of possibilities in life. The money may be worth the sex (i.e, the dude-centric sex with ugly dudes), but unless I want to commit myself to the lifestyle it's not worth the sex and the risk.

And I don't want to commit myself to the lifestyle because odds are I can't be a $500 whore. (Also because I don't want to choose between lying to my dad and horrifying him.) I like sex well enough and I've got a decent work ethic, but I'm not conventionally gorgeous, I'm not great at mustering up enthusiasm for sex acts and partners I'm not into, and I'm downright terrible at the whole charming-sexy-manner thing that separates the "courtesans" from the Pac Hiway hookers. (I don't think I'm Pac Hiway material either, by the way, but somewhere on the Craigslist midlist. I could probably get somewhat more than my current salary, but not enough to compensate for the risks and sacrifices.) Just because a woman can get $500 an hour for sex doesn't mean any woman would get that if she played enough pricing games.

Certainly, prostitution isn’t for every woman. You have to like sex enough, and be willing to make some sacrifices, like not having a husband (unless he is very understanding, or very greedy).

Most hookers do have husbands or boyfriends; there are plenty of "very understanding" men out there. But me, I like sex enough to not be a hooker. Because it's sex that I like, not hooking, and no disrespect to hooking but those are two very different things.

Sunday, October 25, 2009

10 tips for having sex with women.

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

I started writing a really thoughtful essay, but I got stuck, so.

If you've had sex with everyone your partners have had sex with, I've had sex with a chinchilla.

(Making it even worse: I learned this before I had sex with the guy.

Making it slightly better: The chinchilla wasn't harmed--its soft fur, rather than any orifice, was the object of my lover's ardor--and he characterized its state afterwards as "confused, but not upset.")

Wednesday, October 21, 2009


Kinky people habitually refer to themselves as "perverts"; it's sort of a half-joke, a bit of reclaimed persecution, the "queer" or "bitch" of the hittysex crowd. But what does "pervert" really mean?

The dictionary (Merriam-Webster) definition for the noun is "one that has been perverted; specifically : one given to some form of sexual perversion." That's a little circular, so look up "pervert" as a verb and we get "to cause to turn aside or away from what is good or true or morally right." From the Latin pervertere, to corrupt or literally to "thoroughly turn."

My personal morality, and I hope this isn't too idiosyncratic, is that it's bad to hurt people without cause. "An it harm none, do what ye will" comes close but doesn't include the catch that sometimes a small harm prevents larger ones. "An in harm none unless you gotta, do what ye will," anyway.

I don't find anything in there about having weird sex. Not that consenting-adults sex is always harmless--having adulterous sex harms the cuckold, having unsafe sex harms yourself and your partners, and so on. But what you actually do in bed is the least of your worries. The butt is not eviler or falser or wronger than the vagina. Receiving a footjob from a woman wearing a gasmask while you bark like a dog and call her "Mommy" is kinky--but it's not perverted.

Language evolves. Because "cunt" was once a neutral term doesn't mean you should use it in fifth grade sex ed. Maybe I should only worry about what "pervert" means now. Except, as the dictionary entry suggests, the language isn't quite done evolving in this instance. Often it is a straight-up expression of disgust. The usage of "perverted" as "wrong" is very much alive, with "pervert" commonly used as a term for pedophiles and other sexual abusers. If a guy who gropes women on the subway is a "pervert," should I be sharing that label?

Oh shit, I literally forgot the name of my own blog while writing this entry. It's way too late to change it to "The Unusual But Ethical ...ocracy." I guess I'm committed now. I gotta reclaim this thing unless I want to make this into a blog for subway creeps.

So I'll say that "pervert" is one of those words, like "moral", that reflects more on the speaker than on the person described. The difference between "ugh, that's perverted" and "mmm, that's perverted" is what matters, not the difference between "pervert" and "kinkster." Someone who thinks I'm gross can call me "kinky" or "a BDSM enthusiast" and still mean a slur by it.

This particular word may be in an awkward point in its evolution, but that doesn't even matter. It's all in what you mean by it. If by pervert I mean someone neutrally different in their sexuality, and I can make my listener understand that I mean it that way, then yeah, I'm a pervert. What of it?

I'll know that the word has finally changed when I see an internet asshole referring to my kind as "so-called 'perverts'..."

Tuesday, October 20, 2009


I love seeing my own blood. Not because it's the life being drained out of me, but because it's a tiny fraction of the life that's still in me. Bleeding and still being alive gives me a crazy little thrill of how strong I am, of what my body can withstand without even getting dizzy.

Blood is proof. Feeling a knife is one thing, that's subjective, but if blood comes out, that means that I was really cut, that my pain is real. If I don't have marks I don't have a way to prove to myself that I was touched with anything more than bunnyfur, and a mark that breaks my skin, that's the most serious mark of all. I can't be completely a poser if I'm bleeding.

Blood is drama. Interest in BDSM is partly rooted in the love of drama that elevates sex into something more mysterious and powerful than ordinary life, and what's more dramatic than flowing blood?

Blood is beautiful. To me at least. Even a little smear of it is a thrill, a flowing line of it a frightening rush, a single drop a single of so much power and terror. It's so red.

Blood is me. It's my life flowing through my veins, and it's my life to do what I want with--to throw away if I see fit, to give to those who deserve it, to spend on sex and fun as well as "worthy" pursuits.

I'm not completely crazy. I don't want to bleed a lot, I don't want to risk even a scar, much less real injury. But that single shining red drop of it. That's sexy.

Straight Pride World Wide!

Shorter Atomic_Fungus: "Straight pride is no better or worse than gay pride... EXCEPT IT'S WAY BETTER BECAUSE GAYS ARE DISEASED PEDO PERVS."

(I wrote quite a screed of a comment, which I'll repost here if they delete it there.)

EDIT: His head a splode.

"No, you see gay people really are DIRTY DISGUSTING MOLESTING PERVERTS... but I'm very tolerant of them, so what are you even complaining about?"


Shit, I'm going to be twenty-four in a few weeks. I went to a bar the other night--a classy place, nice neighborhood pub, not some dive where they don't care--and they didn't card me.

According to a disturbingly large portion of society and of the commenters on the eighteen post, I'm mostly used up already. I mean, I don't have wrinkles or gray hairs or anything like that, so I'm not quite dead, but I'm clearly adult and that's a pretty big turn off, better face it honey. My sexual street value--an objective and universally agreed number--is plummeting. Appearance aside, at this point I'm already too old to get off to a really good start in professional acting or modeling or porn. "Hollywood has three ages--Babe, District Attorney, and Driving Miss Daisy" and at 23, I think I'm reaching the end of my District Attorney phase.

Being so elderly, I'm no longer as fertile as I once was, and evolution naturally drives men away from my barren, near-menopausal womb. Men look for signs of health, you see, and the incipient heart disease and osteoporosis wracking my fragile, bent frame are unattractive. It's all very well to be politically correct, you know, but if you want to be honest with me, you have to admit that I'm no longer worth as many goats as I once was.

Ah well. Maybe I can be a cougar.

Or maybe creeps who want to fuck teenagers because they're creeps can't fucking own up to it.

Sunday, October 18, 2009

Breasts want to be free!

The controversy over breastfeeding in public weirds me out a little. Of course I'm for it--do we really want to make women feed their babies in gross bathrooms, or impede women with babies from leaving the house?--but I'm also bothered by the idea that exposing breasts is only okay if they're doing something "useful." Why does my body require an excuse? Why can't "it's nice out and it's my day off" be just as much of a reason?

In fact, how about "I don't have to give you a reason, it's my body"?

To be honest I'm not entirely sure about public genital exposure, I'm for it in the long run but I don't think society's quite ready to be mature about issues like boners and bus-seat hygiene, but I am 100% for the decriminalization and destigmatization of the female chest. If you want to mark out one little patch of my body and say "this bit is naughty, it's only for sex and the rest of the time you have to act like it doesn't exist," that's a little annoying, but extending that rule to a large nongenital area that men don't have to hide is sexist and stupid.

Men get turned on by tits? Yeah, and I get turned on by pecs. I've learned not to make my arousal someone else's problem, and I think most men can do the same--the ones who can't are already harassing women anyway. More importantly, I should have the right to take my chances. If your concern is safety, I think we should make it illegal to assault a topless woman.

Women will be pressured to go topless? Women who walk around in long skirts or headscarves really don't get that much guff about how they could be in tank tops, and on European beaches plenty of women still wear swimsuit tops.

Breasts are offensive to some people? That's their problem. There's no right not to be offended--if Nazi t-shirts are legal (and I agree they should be, even though I'm infuriated by the sight), so should be titties.

What about the children? They don't have to deal with arousal or cultural baggage, they'll get used to it faster than anyone. And if you want to keep kids from getting weird ideas from porn, demystifying the female body--yeah, sometimes people are shaped like this, no big deal--goes a long way toward that goal. It'd probably do adults some good on that front too.

I suppose a bandeau,or electrical tape if I'm really playing letter-of-the-law, isn't too much hardship, but it really draws attention to the Forbidden Zones in a way that simple toplessness doesn't. It signifies my agreement with the idea that I have a nice upper half--except for the two Horrible Deformities of Horror, of course.

This isn't about public sex or exhibitionism. I don't want to flaunt my breasts or offer them up. What I want is just for my body to be free. When summer comes again, I want to go down to the beach park, lay out a towel by the lakeshore, lie down with a good book, and feel the sun on my skin.

Saturday, October 17, 2009

Straight Pride.

I saw a little girl today wearing a "Straight Pride" sweatshirt. She was maybe 10 or 11. Shit, you don't even know if you're straight at that age. I hate to think of how Mom and Dad explained it to her and convinced her to wear it in public. I kind of wanted to confront the family, but shit, what do you say? They'd write me off as a crazy dyke and consider their worldview confirmed. Sigh.

(I support straight pride in the strictly literal sense that I think you should take pride in whoever you are. But I don't think it was intended as a statement of joy and inclusivity.)

EDIT: Rrrgh. The more I think about it, the angrier I get. Not just at the whole homophobia thing, but the superiority thing, and the impossibility of talking to someone with an "us vs. the world" mindset, knowing that there's literally nothing you can say--they'll only class you as part of the debauched world that they're better than.

Thursday, October 15, 2009


There's a referendum in Washington State right now about whether to extend "everything but marriage" rights to same-sex partners; they'd get all the benefits, but it wouldn't be called marriage, because we as a culture are six years old. I'm mature enough not to get all worked up about magic words, though, so I'm still in favor of it.

And in a way, I'm sort of gobsmacked that anybody is against it. This seems like one of those things we should've gone through in the 80s maybe--it seems a rather obvious extension of human rights to gay humans. Yeah, yeah, of course they can marry, weird that it has to be a whole separate law from the one for straight people, let's pass this thing and move on.

But no, there are serious-acting grown-ups spending actual money to oppose this. Their talking points are... weird.

Senate Bill 5688 will redefine terms such as "husband" and "wife" to be interpreted as gender neutral.
And if husbands and wives were treated differently under the law, that would mean something! (Something bad. We would have to fix it.)

Marriage is between husbands and wives so children can have fathers and mothers. Thousands of studies show that children raised in a family with both a mother and a father are healthier emotionally and physically than those raised in a non-traditional family.
This one upsets me because it's a deliberate lie. The "non-traditional family" here contrasted is a single-parent family! Children raised with two parents of any gender do quite comparably.

And on another level, who gives a shit about the statistics? What if kids raised by gay parents did do worse on average? It still wouldn't affect the human rights of the parents. Children of poor parents definitely do worse--let's ban poor marriage!

Criminalization of free speech and "anti-bullying" laws follow the legalization of same-sex "marriage". In a few short months after legalizing same-sex "marriage" in Canada, activists there successfully passed C-250, a bill criminalizing public statements against homosexuality, punishable by up to two years in prison!
Yeah, we should vote against that law if it comes up. But let's vote on the issue that's actually on the ballot right now, kay?

If same-sex marriage becomes the law in Washington, public schools K-12 will likely be forced to teach that same-sex "marriage" and homosexuality are perfectly normal.
Oh noes. We can't have that! This is one of those statements I just want to unpack on so many levels. Legalizing marriage doesn't mean schools will teach it; but even if schools taught it it wouldn't make kids gay; but if it did make kids gay then mazel tov for them.

It always weirds me out when people talk as if gayness ("homosexual" seems like almost a hate word at this point) were not just a decision, but a really tempting decision. Like they can see the appeal of the carefree and pleasurable gay lifestyle, but they chose to shoulder the responsibilities of heterosexuality. Like being gay was a mistake anyone could make.

And it further weirds me out that the same people could have stereotypes of gay people. How can you associate gayness with being lisping, limp-wristed, faaaabulous, etc, if you think a gay man is nothing but a straight man taking the easy way out?

Homosexuals have the right to live as they choose. They do not have a right to redefine marriage for all of us. Marriage is not a special interest!
Damn skippy it's not. And this bill doesn't change straight marriage one iota.

Hey, I can understand why bigots are against gay marriage--they're idiots, they hate everything that's not them, they're not thinking through the logic anyway, some people are just subclinical sociopaths and that's that. But it's hard for me to understand why a statistically significant number of seemingly reasonable adults would agree.

I suspect it's got a lot to do with buttsex being icky.

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Spot the Cosmo: Answers!

BAAC. Braaaiiiins scared me by getting it on very first comment, but no one else had a perfect score.

Lessons learned:
-It was far more difficult to imitate the Cosmo house style than to come up with ridiculous unresearched "facts" that could pass as Cosmo's ridiculous unresearched "facts." I kept forgetting to write in cliches and girlyisms.

-I also didn't want to write anything that was true or even plausible, because that would just prove I could match Cosmo's style--I wanted to prove that I could match Cosmo's style with complete bullshit and still be indistinguishable.

-I was pretty much busted on question 2. I guess an imaginary dog is going a little too far, and reading a book--any book--is not nearly far enough. (Also, I forgot that Cosmo readers can't be expected to know the term "YA." Shoulda said "books on the Young Adult shelf" or better yet scrapped the concept entirely and recommended brushing your teeth with your feet or something.)

-The sack-squeeze, on the other hand, fooled a lot of people. Does that actually do something? In true Cosmo tradition, I don't know that it doesn't, I just didn't test it or even ask any men. (Also, does Cosmo say "sack"? It seems undainty, but I couldn't think of another way to indicate "scrotum" in girlyese. His "pleasure purse"? Ew. Dunno.)

-I wish I'd been more sexist and unethical. The fact that some people thought 4B was plausible tells me that I could've gone farther with the sexism, and I should've slipped in at least one "how to defraud and/or abuse customer service personnel, tee hee" item.

Ultimately, this was a success: I tried to be even stupider than Cosmo, and I could not.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Spot the Cosmo!

November Cosmo is out, and this month I'm Cosmocking a little differently. Each of the following segments will have two fake quotes that I wrote to be deliberately ridiculous, and one quote from the real Cosmo. Your challenge: spot the real one!

On Body Language
A. Watch your guy's lips when he's sleeping. Even dudes who don't talk in their sleep may mouthe words that give you a hint about his true feelings.

B. Even if your guy hasn't dropped those three little words yet, his fingers might have. When a man feels a strong connection, he'll subconsciously create the "love" sign-language gesture while doing random things.

C. The way to your guy's heart is through his... feet? Believe it or not, watching the way his feet point during romantic moments can tell you whether he's being honest with you. A liar reflexively turns his feet inward; a man who's confident and relaxed turns them outward.

On Self-Improvement
A. Sleep on the opposite side of the bed than you're used to. You'll have a fresh perspective as soon as you wake up.

B. If you can't commit to a pet, get yourself the props. Just having a dog dish and collar around the house can provide a powerful pick-me-up.

C. If you've never been much of a reader, try the YA section of the bookstore. The books there are easy-to-read and have gripping stories--if you get busted, just say it's for your niece.

On Anatomy
A. Okay, so you know how to kiss. But what you probably don't know is that there's an undercover pleasure transmitter, the buccal nerve, surrounding the edges of the mouth.

B. Move aside G-spot; the newest hot zone is the L-spot! To find your L-spots, stroke the little creases between your outer and inner labia; there's a little strip on each side that's packed with supercharged nerve endings.

C. Another superhot place to touch your guy: right at the spot where his boys join his body. Form a ring with your thumb and forefinger around the top of his sack and squeeze gently. He'll think he's died and gone to heaven.

On Relationships
A. Research shows that men who take charge in the real world are most likely to give it up in bed. So if your guy's been complaining about stress at work lately, he's most likely to enjoy it if you tell him to call you "Ma'am" and break out the fuzzy handcuffs.

B. Presenting your man with a long list of honey-dos will only remind him of his mom. Go down your list and for each chore, ask yourself if you could do it instead. Then only pass along the ones that he absolutely has to take care of.

C. Listening to your guy go on about how hot starlets like Jessica Biel are is beyond annoying. Resist the urge to poke out his eyes with your stiletto, and say "I don't want to hear how sexy you think other women are--unless you want my analysis of which male celebs have the best abs."

Wow, that was a ridiculous amount of work. I have a newfound respect for Cosmo editors--making up bullshit out of thin air isn't easy!

Monday, October 12, 2009

Nappy headed ho.

You may have noticed from my photos that I have lovely thick, wavy red hair.

Yeah, that's basically horseshit. What I have--really--is an Afro. I have ultra-curly, tightly kinked dark brown hair. It grows out rather than down in nearly a perfect sphere. It's highly unprofessional and wacky-looking and there's no way I could work in my current job with the kind of crazy rebel hairdo that my scalp naturally grows. It's also been a source of considerable social distress; when I was in school I was bullied mercilessly for my weird hair, and even as an adult I've been embarrassed on morning-afters when my sleep-messed hair partly reverts to craziness.

When I wasn't working such a "conventional" job, when I was in college or working on indie films, I shaved my hair or cut it very short. It was so comfy! But that made me look like a lesbian, which had nearly as many social drawbacks as looking like a genetic freak. (It's amazing how many people will ask "are you a guy or a girl?" to a five-foot person with B-cup breasts and curved hips and a girlish face, if she has short hair. It's amazing how many people would ask that to anyone, but really now.)

So now I do stuff to my hair. I perma-straighten it with lye, dye it a sexier color with ammonia, flat-iron it every morning, tie it up, pin it down, and pour in a metric buttload of sticky junk to make it stay that way. I'd whine about having to have whitey's hair--but I am white! Blue eyes, freckly sunburny skin, Afro. Genetics just isn't a package deal.

I don't mind having the option to change my hair so drastically (and the red really is more vanity than oppression), but it bothers me that I have to do all this just to look "normal." That I would be perceived as deliberately rebellious if I didn't process my hair ten ways from Sunday.

I don't know if my hair wants to be free--it really was pretty tough to manage--but I wish I could at least try it out without being treated like I had a giant "I AM WACKY AND IRRESPONSIBLE" sign on my head.

Sunday, October 11, 2009

A quiet Sunday afternoon on craigslist.

Looking for crazy on craigslist is like looking for D&D players at a fetish convention. Of all the easy targets, this is the easiest, and I know it. But it's still amusing. (Shout-out to the You Suck at Craigslist person, who does this every day.)

i want a baby - w4m
lookin for a black man only please that want to have a baby right now

I wonder if there's a document you can sign that's the equivalent of a pre-nup but for child support.

And hepatitis treatment.

And the baby's hepatitis treatment.

I want you to frisk me and make it hot.
I don't know if it's an unusual euphemism or if she got really turned on at a traffic stop once and wants to recapture the magic.

We're the slut trainers, for lack of a better name.
We consist of five Black men, all well-endowed, all drug and disease-free, and all easy-going, well-mannered people.
Put simply, we're looking for willing women who want to explore themselves and let out their inner freak/slut/whore, or whatever you want to call it.
Basically, we're providing a service, for free. We provide you with a clean, safe environment and the space with which to enjoy and explore yourself, us and the deepest recesses of your sexuality and some perversions you probably wouldn't admit to your closest friends.

This ad went on for about four pages detailing their "service" (they will have sex with you) in great and unsettlingly professional detail. This isn't a bunch of horny guys, this is a serious organization dedicated to bettering humanity. I don't know if I want to fuck them, but I feel like I should at least send a donation.

I'm looking for a woman who loves showing it off in her tight and shiny spandex. Do you have a great ass that deserves to be noticed. Big tits that stretch your Lycra top. Do you love the feel of wearing painted on leggings with cute little hiking boots and a short jacket. The perfect look on a cool fall day. Want to walk around Green lake holding the arm of a tall handsome Daddy.
Please fulfill my fetish for free. My extremely specific fetish. In public, in one of the most heavily foot-trafficked areas of the city.

you--- still got your need of NSA relations...not in a trailer park or nursing home....
It's good to have standards.

36 year Italian seeks Asian or Younger
Asian, or younger. The logic here is blowing my mind.

'm looking for a BBW who feels like talking dirty and cumming nice and hard over the PHONE with a strange guy ASAP.
If it's on the phone, why do you need a BBW? Can't get enough of that thick curvy, um, voice?

I NEED HEA?????? - m4m
You need what?

I am 22 years old and with very much sexiness all around my sexy figure I want a man who can be my soul mate!
There's very much realness all around this real woman, I can tell.

hey i want to have a baby no strings attached at all if you want to help out email me i am a bbw
This is a different person from the first posting. Well, sperm banks are pretty expensive.

(I wonder if these people realize you don't generally get pregnant from having sex once? Even if you're timing it carefully--and I bet you anything they're not--a one-shot encounter really isn't that likely to produce a baby.)

I can trade or barter for house cleaning, repairs, cleaning, cooking, I am a jack of many trades. Contact me with what you are looking for and like to find like minded woman or CPLs.
So it's like prostitution, except instead of money, I get this guy sweeping my porch? What a... great deal.

There are always a few people on "casual encounters" who didn't get the subtext and post painfully earnest personal ads about how they like dogs and long walks and want to take it slow with someone who has a spiritual side and values family. I always feel bad for those people.

Piercing Bleg Followup.

Salt water helped dramatically. Thanks to everyone who suggested it! Check out my ear being not-gross!

(The tacky mystery-metal Piercing Pagoda earring is in an old piercing; the one that was giving me trouble is the one with the stud. So don't go "there's your problem.")

Saturday, October 10, 2009

Why women have sex.

Because, dude, have you ever tried it? It's, like, amazing.

It's difficult to expand that to book-length, though, so instead we get this kind of bloviation.

"We do bring in men occasionally by way of contrast, but we wanted to focus exclusively on women so that the complexity of women's sexual psychology was not given the short shrift, so to speak," said Buss, a leading evolutionary psychologist.
No, I think you wanted to focus on women because:

A) The reader is assumed to be either a heterosexual man interested in unlocking the secrets to those mysterious creatures, or a functionally asexual woman interested in navel-gazing pop-psych


B) It goes without saying that all men need is a warm hole and thirty seconds, right? There's no need to do any research to confirm something that's obvious, duhh.

(I'm fascinated by how many men I know who've told me this, then gone into months-long girlfriend dramas where they expressed very subtle gradations of "I'm still attracted to her, right, but it's a different kind of attracted and there's someone new in my life now and I don't know if I would just hurt her at this point..." So much for warm holes.)

It turns out that women's reasons for having sex range from love to pure pleasure to a sense of duty to curiosity to curing a headache. Some women just want to please their partners, and others want an ego boost.
Humans engage in an incredibly common but societally meaningful activity for multiple reasons, stop the presses.

I'm going to write a book, "Why Women Have Lunch." Hunger is the obvious reason, but as my highly scientific survey reveals, women may also have lunch to socialize, to take a break from work, or even simply out of habit. Some women want the opportunity to try a new food, and others may want warm food on a cold day. Wow, women sure are complicated!

There is also evidence that sexual arousal is more complicated for women than for men, the authors report.
A study from Meston's lab showed a strong correlation between how erect a man's penis is and how aroused he says he is. By contrast, the link is much weaker between a woman's physical arousal (as measured inside her vagina) and the arousal she says she feels, the researchers found. This is why drugs to treat erectile dysfunction such as Viagra don't work as well in women, the authors said.

It's a two-way street, though; the man can see his wiener and go "oh, I guess I'm turned on now," whereas it's harder for a woman to know exactly how her vagina's reading to a photoplesmograph or however they're measuring it.

And Viagra doesn't work in women not because they're nebulously "complicated," but because they don't have wieners. I'm pretty sure you can have a raging little clitoral erection and still not be ready for sex if the rest of your system isn't up for it. It's analogous to saying "application of lubricant to the penis failed to ready the man for sex--men sure are complicated!"

That makes sense from an evolutionary perspective, even though men and women may not consciously think about their choices that way, the authors said. If the goal of a man is to spread his genes, he would need to look for signs of fertility in a woman, which are historically associated with physical cues, Buss said.
"The adaptive problem that women have had to solve is not simply picking a man who is fertile but a man who perhaps will invest in her, a man who won't inflict costs on her, a man who might have good genes that could be conveyed to her children," he said.

Oh God, "evolutionary psychology," my favorite fucking thing ever. My question this time around is, why is it subtle? Why would something so key to our fitness be subconscious? When I have a basic survival need--when I'm thirsty or cold or have an injury--I know it. The evolved desires for things like shelter and companionship are anything but subtle. Why would mate selection be the only one that's a wacky subliminal drive hidden even from ourselves?

And it's not like I select mates at seeming random and don't know why I felt that way until some smarty-pants psychologist comes and tells me. I like men who are intelligent, respectful, physically strong, have high sex drives, and share my geeky/kinky subculture--is there any mystery there? These are attributes that make them a better partner, not necessarily a better sperm-donor/investor, and I'm quite consciously aware of that.

(There are also some arbitrary ones, like my tendency to fall for blond guys or for Native American guys, but I don't see what these have to do with fertility or fatherhood either. More likely they're based on past experiences with men who were intelligent/etc. and also happened to look like that.)

A study from Rutgers University found that, during orgasm, women were able to tolerate 75 percent more pain.
I would've loved to be a participant in that study. (Which makes me wonder about self-selection of subjects, actually.)

A 26-year-old heterosexual woman wrote, "When I was single, I had sex for my own personal pleasure. Now that I am married, I have sex to please my husband. My own pleasure doesn't seem as important as his. I believe he feels the same way."
By "the same way," does she mean "the corresponding way," that he in turn values her pleasure more, or literally the same way, that they're both just doing it to get him off? Because the one doesn't fit the "women are so cooooomplicated" paradigm, and the other is a serious problem and shouldn't be looked at as the normal way of the world.

I'm sort of interested in buying this book, but I think it lacks context without a matched set, so I'll wait until "Why Men Have Sex" comes out. Should be soon, right?

Friday, October 9, 2009

Descriptive and prescriptive feminism.

We're lucky we're not anglerfish. (For those not biology geeks: the male anglerfish is a fraction the size of the female, and early in life he attaches to her skin and all his organs except the gonads atrophy. He becomes part of her body, his only function to emit sperm when she lays eggs.) It would be hard for a feminist anglerfish to argue for equal roles in society. Males can't even eat on their own.

Human males and females can both eat, are roughly the same size, and even come in the same range of colors. We got off pretty easy on the dimorphism front.

But not completely. For all we've got in common, there are some differences that can't be denied. Like, the babies only come out of one sex. And there may be strong women and weak men but for practical purposes men get a lot more muscle a lot easier. As for intellectual differences--there's no reason one sex couldn't be on average smarter. I'm not saying it's so, it's definitely not pronounced, but it's possible there's a statistically significant gap. The ideological repugnance of the idea that men are naturally better at abstract reasoning doesn't translate to physical impossibility.

(Yeah, says a lady.)

What I'm getting at is that it's useless for feminism to be strictly descriptive--to say that men and women are the same may not be true. It's useful to point out when gender dichotomies are false or exaggerated, but flatly stating that there can be no intellectual differences (or that all differences must be culturally conditioned) is dishonest. And it's a vulnerable viewpoint; if a true gap between the sexes is proven, does that mean we should go back in the kitchen after all?

It's a different matter entirely to ask whether men and women should be the same. Feminism can be prescriptive--instead of claiming to return to the natural order, we can fucking improve it! We've got technology now! And feminism is part of the technology that raises us above animals. Just as medicine frees us from our animal bodies' vulnerability to disease, feminism frees us from the biological destines of our animal bodies. The builds and "purposes" of male and female bodies may be hopelessly unequal, but as thinking humans we can repurpose those bodies to our own damn ends. A species that brought forth cities from the mud and fields from the desert would be pretty pitiful if it wasted the potential of half its population just because they're not built the same.

This silicon was meant to be sand but I'm using it to communicate with the world--my body was meant to be a baby factory but I'm using it to think and travel and save lives and rant on the Internet. It doesn't matter what I am; it matters what I can be.

Tuesday, October 6, 2009


I should really stop buying solo sex toys and porn. I always disappoint myself. I get all excited about the new Triple Whirring Butthole Stimulator With Real Grinding Action, and then I come in ten seconds. If I want to actually experience anything besides orgasm, I really have to stick to my hands and imagination.

Woe is me, huh?

(I've posted on this before, but: my sexual response cycle is completely different with a partner. I'm like another person. Still a rather responsive person, but with utterly different patterns of arousal and orgasm. I don't even want to be touched in the same places that I touch myself. The really interesting part is that if a partner is there psychologically but not physically--if he's ordering me over the phone or Internet what to do, or he's watching but not touching--my body goes into partner mode.)

Monday, October 5, 2009

A Strange Kinship.

The Kinky Crafters' Munch was, by far, the most enjoyable munch I've ever been to.

I think it's because it wasn't about sex. Everyone brought their knitting project or their sketchpad or their jewelry kit and had that as a point of grounding--at first you could work quietly rather than sit awkwardly, and the work became a neutral, natural place to start conversations that was a lot less painful then "hi, I just met you, let's trade details about our sex lives." I'm not a shy person, but munches that jump right into the "DEFINE YOURSELF, FRESHMEAT!" intimidate me--a setting where you can start out with "ooh, is that Byzantine chain?" is a whole lot more comfortable.

And comfortable really is the word, because Internet drama and play-party pressure can make me forget how much I actually like kinky people. Just to hang out with. They're geeks! I'm a geek! I can dig it! And when sex and relationships come up in conversation I don't have to self-censor, and nobody makes the assumption that everyone is straight/cis/monogamous/vanilla unless otherwise specified. The only thing that does go for granted is that everyone has the right to self-define--something that may annoy me when some dork decides to self-define as Master Darkblood Dragonrage, but that's a fair trade for the right to be taken seriously when I say who I am.

There was just a little bit of a sense of a weight off my shoulders, even when we were talking about yarn or radio stations, of being among people who wouldn't be shocked by anything about me. These were people who talked comfortably and openly about having a Daddy, about having a husband and a boyfriend, about being happy their girlfriend found someone hot to fuck--in short, about fucking and loving and living in ways not represented on network television.

Of course it's not my first experience with a kinky community but it was one of my most positive ones. I didn't get turned on, but I got a serious case of the warm fuzzies.

(Also, oh my God do I feel better about my body now. At a BDSM meeting I'm practically a little slip of a thing just by being under 200 pounds. I don't mean that as schadenfreude--I mean that if a 350-pound woman can talk about her body and show it off and have men admire it like it ain't no thing, what business do I have wallowing in "oh no, I'm not pretty like the ladies on the teevee" self-pity?)

Sunday, October 4, 2009

Pervocracy Stew.

How long has it been since I last posted fun pictures? Too long!

So for your brief amusement, my butt, my boobs and pinchy things and hooray for nakey!

And a brief link, which I won't try your patience by fully eviscerating: Twisty Faster on what the "revolution" actually entails. Basically that we'd stop having families and being feminine (because only men want that, we all really want to be hairy and alone) and therefore all of civilization would restructure itself and religion and economy and government would crumble. (We want that too.)

And a weirder link, to something that's probably a great idea but you'd look so painfully ridiculous: Fleshlight cushions! Just plug it in and go to town like you were really having sex with a small square mattress-person! I think it's brilliant.

And a programming note: I'll be at the Kinky Crafters' Munch from 3-6 PM at the CSPC today, so if you're in Seattle and want to meet a real-life Holly Pervocracy, come say hi. (There's a $5 suggested donation for the event, membership not required, 18+ obviously.)

EDIT: Durrr. Fixed Twisty link.

Saturday, October 3, 2009

Piercing Bleg.

I'm asking here because I--being some sort of stereotyping jerk--figure maybe perverts would know about piercings.

I got my earlobes pierced about six weeks ago. The left one has healed nicely and is now all clean with a tidy, well-defined hole. The right one got gross. It's reddened, swollen, achy, bleeds if I touch the earring, and is making no progress toward healing. (There's no pus and it's not SUPER swollen so I don't think it's badly infected, but it's not right either.)

Does anyone have any brilliant suggestions? I've been washing it with 0.12% benzalkonium chloride twice a day and otherwise trying to leave it alone. I welcome any advice on how to turn this from ear soup into a nice pretty piercing.

Inevitable, really.

Of course you can buy a pale dildo that retains cold and SPARKLES.

Friday, October 2, 2009