Reflections from Cinekink 2012: Part One

It's that glorious time of year here in NYC when the Cinekink film festival returns to the Anthology Film Archives to entertain, educate, and bring oft-hidden communities of kinksters and the curious together. I'm loving it so far! I've been chosen as a juror to help select winners from this year's short film offerings, which has been tough already given the quality of many of the shorts, and I'll be interviewing directors this Saturday after the Bring It! porn marathon, which is, of course, the most anticipated part of the festival for horny little me.

In the meantime, however, a few observations that will probably all get some more attention later on, when I have a bit more time for reflection.

1) Vajazzling. Cinekink has brought me my first-ever sighting of an in-porn vajazzlement! What's hilarious about this, besides the fact that vajazzling is even a thing, is that the film in which it glitters is one I had already seen. At home, on my teeny tiny little television. I even reviewed it--positively, because it's really a great film. But on my teeny tiny little television at home, I didn't notice the jewels where pubic hair should be because, weirdly, the woman's pubic region is hardly shown at all from the front throughout her sex scene. When I was watching Cabaret Desire on the big screen on Wednesday, however, I caught a glimpse of some raised bumps in the pubes region and thought, "Either that's a vajazzle, or he's eating stone-ground mustard off her private parts right now, and I REALLY don't think he's doing that." Now, reader, please understand that I was very hungry when that thought occurred to me, but also that the color scheme of the sparkly lumps on her pelvis did in fact fit with the idea of mustard seeds, ok? I am a little crazy, but I'm not that crazy, all things told.
But ok, back to vajazzling. This is a trend that I thought had a small upstart kind of flame that went out very quickly, but there it was, in a film that I happen to know was filmed last summer. Now, it was filmed in Europe last summer, and we all know that Europe and America operate on different time lines vis-a-vis trends, but still, I was intrigued. I have no issue, really, with vajazzling. I mean, I love vulvas. And I love sparkly things. So all in all, it seems like a win-win, except for this little nagging, ultra-feminist, "But vulvas are beautiful all by themselves" voice that keeps squeaking at me from the back row. But I mean, why not get some sparkles put in down there for giggles, right?
But then it occurred to me that this actress actually did it for a porno she was starring in. I wonder if that was a giggle. Like, was she so amused by the fact that she was doing something as out-there as performing in a porno? Or was she worried about the lack of inherent glitter on her pubic area, and she wanted to fix that before anyone saw it up close? Or is vajazzling like a thing in the Spanish porn community? I have no way of knowing. But... weird.

2) Anyway, the word "vajazzling" got me thinking about the word "vagina," because I was sitting there in a dark movie theater listening to wet, "slap-slap-slap" noises as the film was playing and thinking, "The 'g' in 'vagina' is pronounced like a 'j' because there's an 'i' after it. So when the 'i' is taken away, it would be pronounced like a hard 'g.' So that means you must have to turn the 'g' into a 'j' in 'vajazzling' or else it'd sound all wrong, but then you're changing the whole root word. This is WAY too confusing!" And it is. The word "vagina" is a huge pain in just about every way. It's super unsexy, as Eve Ensler pointed out. It sounds very medical. It's not a pretty word to look at, and obviously, trying to play with it to make it more fun, a la vajazzling, makes it even weirder. Like, now there's jazz somehow incorporated into lady bits. Because otherwise it'd be "gazz" and then you're just talking about the angry purple-haired girl from Invader Zim. It's ridiculous.
But then, do we want to settle for "pussy"? That's so inappropriate for many contexts. Or there's always "vulva," which is more correct, actually, in many contexts. The inside is the vagina. The outside is the vulva. But "vulva" is even less attractive. It sounds like a lace doily on your great aunt's dining room table. Just. Ick. There's got to be a way around this. There's got to be a better term. Anyone?

3) Asexuality and shame. This is a huge topic and one that I will revisit shortly, hopefully with an interview with the director of the documentary (A)sexual, which screened at Cinekink last night. So I won't get into too much detail here. But here's the gist of it: in clips from television interviews with the founder of the asexual movement, sexual people lightly mocked and also shamed asexual people for identifying as asexual. Asexuality--the state of being uninterested in sex, and a budding identification for about 1% of the population who don't experience sexual attraction--was discussed in the same voice that homosexuality used to be. There were stories of unaccepting families, worried friends, intolerance, and shame. This was mystifying. In the Q&A session afterward, Angela Tucker, the director, said that she was surprised by the vitriolic response a lot of people had to "something that doesn't affect them at all." The same could be said for defenders of "traditional marriage" and other bigots who routinely shame people living sexual lifestyles they don't understand, but that's the thing. Being shamed for one's sexuality is terrible, but commonplace. One could assume, then, that people who renounce sexuality for a life without it would be free from the cycle of fear and shame that centers around sex in our culture, but (A)sexual proved that assumption to be false. It seems that nothing involving sex, or the lack thereof--no lifestyle, no identification, no practice, no lack of practice--can be right. There is shame in every corner. What the hell are we supposed  to do?
The answer, I think, was in the short film by Courtney Trouble and Tina Horn, What Makes Us Queer, which screened directly before (A)sexual: just fucking do what the hell you want and be open, loving, honest, and fearless. And just do it. If you're going to be shamed and castigated for your choices no matter what--just do what works for you.

And that's it for now, folks. Stay tuned! I'll be returning to Cinekink on Saturday for the smutty stuff!

The Pre-Convention Jitterbug

I’m heading out to Exxxotica, NJ in a few days’ time to hang out with the crew of WHACK! magazine and all the adult industry people who flock to the unlikely hole-in-the-wall of Edison, NJ each year for the event. This will be my third time at the Edison convention center and hopefully this year I’ll have as much fun as the past two. I just have to get over my pre-convention jitters.

See here’s the thing. I am apparently pretty good at interviewing people. I’ve been doing interviews with adult industry people for over three years now, and I’ve gotten pretty comfortable with the process once it starts. Especially when face-to-face with someone, a conversation usually flows pretty easily. One thing I’ve realized is that generally speaking, porn stars love to talk. I just direct the flow. But the days and hours and minutes leading up to the talking? I panic. I get sweaty palms. I convince myself that this person will never want to talk to me and I’ll be an outcast from porn society for sticking a microphone in their face. It’s ugly. I convince myself that I’m ugly and can’t be on this video, immortalized forever on the internet with my weird voice and stupid hair and OHMYGOD!

And then the camera starts rolling, I say a contrived introductory phrase or two, and we’re off! And the interview goes on for a few minutes, and then we’re done. And usually I give whoever it is my card and we agree to do other interviews later on, and all is well. And then later when we post the video on WHACK! people compliment me for my interviewing skills and I feel like my hair was totally not stupid. It’s one of those strange things in life that turns out well almost every time and yet I still suffer the throes of anxiety for days beforehand. I used to get that way before my horseback riding lessons as a kid—I never wanted to go and would try to make myself get sick all day leading up to it just to get out of a lesson, and then as soon as I got near the horse I was riding I’d be so glad I was there I couldn’t stop grinning. Life is strange.

Anyway, everyone, wish me luck! I’ll be doing some live tweeting and maybe a blog post while I’m in the midst of the mania this weekend in NJ (and NYC on Saturday night for the Provocative Press media event we’re throwing with Lola from HedoOnline—it’s going to be ha-yuge!), but right now, what I need is positive vibes, people. I’m kinda stressing out.

The Shortest Question with the Longest Implications

I got this question the other day on Twitter:

@MissLagsalot does size matter?

Well. That's a hell of a simple question. But the answer is so not simple. And hey, if you ask ME a question do you REALLY expect it to have anything like a short answer? If so, you're sadly misled.

The answer depends on so many things, but let's get it down to two basic parts:

1) The person you;re asking, and what that person wants. If you're asking me personally, my answer is yes. Size does matter because--assuming we're talking about the male sexual organ, which I think we, are based on the way you asked the question--the size of the member vastly changes the experience you have with it. There is just no way that engaging with a long, thick something is going to feel the same as engaging with a short, slim something. They're different experiences. Just like sitting through a three-hour movie is different from watching an hour-and-ten-minute movie. They're just not the same. So of course size matters in that way.

But that isn't to say that one is inherently superior to the other. Not by a long shot. Again, if you're asking me personally, I'm a very delicate person physically, so big isn't always best for me. I get sore very easily, I'm teeny tiny, and I'm generally not made for big things. They look ludicrously huge next to me and it's kind of silly. So while a big ol' salami size can be fun, it's a lot more of a process to get it to work with my fragile frame. Sometimes smaller can be easier to manage, and present less of a challenge to giving me pleasure over pain. For isntance, I once dated a very "well-endowed" man, and it took me a full two months to even allow the thing near me when naked. I was terrified of it and what it might do to me if it were wielded incorrectly. In the meantime, he was good enough to learn how to please me orally, so that when we tried to get our down-belows together, I was more, shall we say, ready for it. Conversely, I've been with many guys who were more moderately sized and never had to go through the fearful phase, which was very nice indeed, and provided they were able to use their equipment to everyone's enjoyment, I had a great time with them.

And furthermore, as do many other people, I don't always find that the swizzle stick is the most important part of the experience. It's one of the items on the menu, but it certainly isn't always the main course. If you can use your hands and your mouth, sometimes the cock can be done without, or sampled as just part of the meal. So in that way, while the size makes a difference in the experience, it's just one of many variables that can add up to a good time. It's not the all-important ingredient that makes or breaks it.

As far as other people to whom you might put the question of size, I can't speak directly for them, but bear in mind that these answers are different for everyone. I know a woman who is so small and tight down below that she has serious trouble using tampons--her partner is on the small side, and thank goodness for that. She could never handle a bigger person.

But there are people who are built differently and who find bigger members suit them just fine, or in fact are all they're looking for. To each his or her or their own... cock. Impromptu rhyme: "Whether it's flesh or silicone, rubber or plastic/use what you like and you'll feel fantastic!"

....anyway. There are people who don't get sore easily, and for whom the phallus is the centerpiece of any sexual outing. There are others who are grossed out by phalluses and won't even touch them. It's a big world out there, and all sizes have a niche that works for them if they're willing to figure out which one that is. And personal preference is what it is--you can work with it, work against it, and try to change it, but it is what it is. People who like 'em big have their reasons, and vice versa.

2) The person whose "size" is under consideration is also a very important piece of how to answer this question in any particular situation. What does this person want from a partner? What does this person want for him/her/themselves? The truth is that for people who are smaller, wanting to be bigger is just not going to work out. Coveting a huge porno cock won't get anybody anywhere, because A) most guys who do porn are NOT normal. They do porn for many reasons, but one of those reasons is that big dicks sell more porn, so porn dudes have massive members that are way, way, way above average and would be really uncomfortable for your average woman to handle. That's why porn stars get paid to deal with them. And B) those pills they advertise online... they don't work. You've got what you've got, and wanting it to get bigger just won't help anything. So who's asking the question, and why? If they're curious as to how to use what they've got to please their partners, then that's utterly doable no matter what the dimensions of your diddler. It's all about knowing your own body and being communicative with the person or people you're using it with. Finding out what your partner wants and learning how to do it will always, always get you farther than just having a big battering ram and bashing away at it. 
Big dicks might give some people more instant gratification (if those people are built for larger logs), but instant isn't always the best kind, now is it? It's fun for those who like it, but I find that a lot of people--and women make up a large percentage of those people--are much more satisfied by a longer, slower buildup that isn't the result of merciless pounding by big boners, but rather the end climax of a long, drawn-out session with skilled and creative lover. In a way, I sometimes think that guys with large logs can actually get short-changed by their massive manhood. It's easy to get a loud verbal reaction out of a partner if you're stabbing them with a sizeable salami (sorry, the alliteration is just too easy to resist), but that shriek might be one of pain or overwhelming confusion about their insides being scrambled. A really good, really powerful orgasm can come after hours of foreplay, teasing, coaxing, and refined technique that people with massive schlongs might never feel they need to learn. But if they did, they'd be well served by their new skill set. So again, depends on the person whose size is being examined and what it is they want to get out of it.

So, here's the short answer to your question about whether size matters: it all depends who's asking, and who that person is asking. It's all relative, even rods.

Two Totally Terrific Questions, Part I

From various spots around the interwebz:

Wilson said: what do u think abt straight men who like women who enjoy lady sex?

I’m not exactly sure how to answer this question because I’m not entirely sure about what I’m being asked, but here’s a stab at it.

I’m not maybe the best person to ask for a subjective opinion on this because as a woman who loves ladies and ladysex… I can’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t. I mean, sure, I get the theories as to why some people aren’t turned on by it, and I know it varies from person to person depending on taste, but I can’t really get outside of my own head to really understand why ladysex could be anything but great. But more to the point, I know that straight men especially love ladies, having sex with ladies, and looking at ladies, so it seems to stand reason that they’d also love watching ladies have sex with each other. Double the fun, right?

But that’s answering as if we exist in a cultural vacuum, and sadly, we don’t. The issues that this question raises are multitudinous. For instance, there’s a gigantic double standard in our culture that while it’s acceptable for straight men to unabashedly adore watching women go at it, it’s decidedly less acceptable for straight women to gush over how hot it is when men get it on. Frankly, I can see no good reason for this, but there are certainly enough not so good reasons for it. 

Women who have sex with women can easily have ladysex without being branded “gay” or even bisexual in a lot of ways, because female sexuality is considered (and may well be, but the jury is still out on that one) more fluid than male sexuality. Because a lot of ladysex is viewed as undertaken (especially in porn) primarily for the pleasure of men, watching it happen can be a turn-on both physically and mentally for a man, who feels little of the territorial sexual jealousy that he might get from watching a woman with another man. He can also watch a woman be sexy without comparing himself to another man, feeling nervous by the possibility of homoeroticism, etc. It’s fine for a guy to watch ladies get it on. But the opposite? Bah! A man who even touches another man in the wrong manner, or god forbid kisses him, is automatically labeled “gay.” There’s virtually no wiggle room for most men.

I think because the long-standing relationship model (which, by the way, is steadily being routed but still persists in rarely-examined corners of our lives, like this one) relies on the idea that the male partner in a heterosexual couple is the “important” one, I think that the idea of a husband or boyfriend hooking up with another man is potentially scarier than a woman doing the same with another woman. In gross generalizations, men tend to assign more importance to the physical act of sex than to the emotions behind it, whereas women (again, gross generalizations here) do the opposite. And for straight women who fall in love with men, the overriding idea in relationships is that male attention is more important than female. So for a woman to have sex with another woman, from the man’s perspective, is hot but not emotionally important. Whereas for a man to have sex with another man, even within the context of a relationship (threesome, voyeurism, etc), the fear that an emotional attachment might be made is a problem for the woman. And, of course, there’s that deal-breaking terror: “What if he’s really gay and drops me?” 

So on these many levels, I think the idea that ladysex is a turn-on for men makes sense, culturally, where mansex doesn’t always do it so much.

Most porn does very little to temper these erotic dreams with sometimes-less-sexy realities: sometimes when women have sex, they’re in love. Sometimes they like it better than sex with men. Sometimes they run off together. Sometimes, if there are two women with a man, it’s not ALL ABOUT THE MAN. Gasp! I love threesome porn, don’t get me wrong. And I love threesomes. But I find that in most pornography, the idea is that a man will be watching and therefore the man must be the focus of the action: the cock is fought over, coveted, and worshiped. Sure, this could be fun in a real threesome situation, but ladies having sex is often NOT ABOUT THAT at all. So I sometimes find that men who “enjoy ladysex” in their porn might not get a very well-rounded picture of what ladysex is all about in real life. Just a disclaimer.

Then of course there’s the ancient bias that the female body is more beautiful than the male, which persists to this day and which I find distasteful. I mean, they are beautiful, those lady-bodies. I love them. But to say they’re more beautiful than man-bodies… That’s just silly. I believe that because women are taught from an early age that one of their biggest goals—if not the biggest goal—in life is to be beautiful, women carry themselves that way. They know they’re gorgeous. It’s not hard to notice when someone is projecting attractiveness. So naturally, when we see women together, we think: double-whammy of attractiveness. But the flip side of the coin is that men, and people of other genders who have way more obstacles to accepting their appearance in the first place, are not taught to think they’re attractive. Or, if they are, the attractive factor is rated below aggressiveness, intelligence, money, etc. So while I don’t think the male body is inherently less attractive than the female body, men just don’t project sex appeal in the same way that women do. When they do, and do it well, you get superstars: George Clooney springs to mind. That guy KNOWS he’s hot and boy does it ever show. Women are on him like… women on George Clooney. But the cultural bias that exists in all of us until we confront it tells us that male bodies together are not attractive by virtue of their maleness. But fuck that—I know plenty of women who LOVE gay male porn and erotica. I do. Watching men get into their sexiness is a huge turn-on, even to a queer like me. If the men actually think they’re sexy, we will too!

But then there’s also the idea that a friend brought up to me recently, which was that for him as a straight man, watching lesbian porn was a big turn-on, but he couldn’t quite get himself the whole way there unless there was a cock in the scene, too. And while at first I was confused because…well, that’s not how it usually is for me… I realized something. The reason amateur porn, and gonzo and POV pro porn is so popular is because the whole idea of pornography for those who aren’t hardcore voyeurs (ie, don’t get off just on watching but in taking part) is that you imagine yourself in the action. If your mode of having sex involves your penis, well then, it makes sense that the porn that gets you off would feature a penis you could imagine as yours. And furthermore, even for those who get totally into girl-porn but can’t quite reach the mountaintop of arousal…

So, I guess the short answer is: I think there’s absolutely nothing wrong with enjoying people of the sex/gender(s) you like getting together for a little sexytime.

Reflections on Going to the Gyno

I wonder what it's like to be a gynecologist. I'm sure the experience varies wildly depending on your type of practice, geographic location, specialization, and so on, but every time I go to visit my gynecologist I just can't help thinking that the job must be joyful and joyless at the same time. Joyless because there you are, consigned to look at female reproductive bits all day almost every day in the most sterile, clinical environment imaginable, which to me is kind of the opposite of when those bits are at their best. But then again, the knowledge that you are doing much good for many women by keeping them reproductively healthy and counseling them through the difficult terrain of womanhood must be a source of much pride, too.
I mean, as a woman who's knee deep in smut and butt-cheek deep in constantly thinking about sex, and also neck-deep in loving women, I find vulvas, vaginas, and all that goes along with them totally awesome and fascinating, but just like reviewing porn for years left me a little "meh" on actually watching it for personal pleasure, I can't imagine that looking at the least sexy possible version of those parts on exam table every day wouldn't put a bit of a dull pallor on your feelings about womanly goodies.
But then again, being an expert on some of the most mysterious parts of the human anatomy must be very empowering. Helping women navigate the numerous confusing twists and turns of having internal sex organs isn't just a job--it's a moral calling. There are few things in our world we know less about than how to understand the female body--I think we probably know more about the surface of the moon and the bottom of the Mariana Trench than we do, collectively, about why our bodies do what they do on a daily basis. "Does it look funny?" "Is it supposed to smell like that?" "Is that supposed to be this color?" "Is something wrong with me?" These are questions I find myself asking about my own body almost every day and having almost no way of answering on my own... and I know a LOT about human sexual anatomy, biology, evolution, and etc. I imagine for women with less research under their belts, the things going on under their underpants are even more confusing and sometimes terrifying.
Going to the gynecologist only once or twice a year for the most part, a lot of women end up sitting around worrying about their private parts for months at a time, and the visit itself ends up being less of a physical examination than a laundry list of anxieties and paranoias. Gynecologists are less MDs than therapists for a lot of us, and especially when the news isn't good, they're witnesses to, I'm sure, numerous spectacular emotional breakdowns, tears, and fears. They deal with the results of sexual trauma, lost and unwanted pregnancies, emotional dysfunctions, and countless other difficult-to-navigate areas of what goes into being a woman in this world. And all while smiling, nodding, and trying to make the speculum as comfortable as a device designed specifically to be uncomfortable can possibly be. The best of gynecologists can make a visit into a warm, rich, educational, and safe experience--a feat not to be underestimated, given that it's constituted of a nervous waiting room experience, embarrassing gown malfunctions, breast groping, and all sorts of unpleasant pokes, prods, and insertions. People lie to you, get embarrassed, blurt out things you don't need or want to hear, cry, giggle uncontrollably, over-prepare, under-hygiene themselves... God.
It's got to be a thankless job. I wonder if there's a National Gynecologist Appreciation Day. There damn well should be.
That being said, I just got back from mine. She's great. But I am SO going to take a shower and wrap myself up in a bathrobe and feel quietly, mildly, uncomfortable for the rest of the evening. Where'd I put my favorite tea cup?

Interview Success and Silicone Sadness

Well, I'd like to report that the interview I last posted about went beautifully. Lisa Ann is not nearly as intimidating in person as she seems she might be, and we had a lovely late lunch and very successful interview. It'll be up tomorrow on WHACK! Magazine.

The evening of the interview, Lisa invited myself and my publisher, j. vegas, to a party she was hosting at Sapphire Gentlemen's Club in Manhattan. I was reluctant to go, as sometimes "porn parties" can be... well... awkward. There have been a few where, despite press credentials and all the best intentions, all attempts at interviews and mingling have been crushed by throngs of fans and a lack of organization. But I then learned that there was an open bar and free food at this party: I've been to Sapphire before, and the drinks are normally upwards of $18. Any opportunity to stick it to such a stingy-ass bar seemed worth it to me. And so I trooped up to the East side with several friends in tow to take advantage of Lisa's hospitality.

And take advantage we did! We got premium seats, table service, and a great view of the dancers. Sapphire really is a nice club, and the free drinks helped me appreciate it more. Some of their dancers, notably Rosa and Victoria, are talented and--best of all--enthusiastic about what they do. So many exotic dancers seem to take their time on stage as an opportunity to slouch on the pole and wiggle, as if it's a cigarette break with music or something. And trust me, I understand that dancing is tiring: I was a go-go dancer myself for a while, and shaking your ass for twenty minutes at a time really is exhausting. But, come on ladies, that's why you're there. It's your job. So I like Sapphire, because there are few of these phoning-it-in types, and more women who seem to really enjoy what they're doing, love showing off their talents with the pole, or their bodies, or what have you, and don't even seem to care so much about the tips. It makes me feel good to see women getting down with themselves like that--and the crowd loves it.

One thing, however, that I do not love: really bad implants. They seem to abound in the NYC strip club scene, perching atop otherwise normal bodies like hyper-inflated beach balls that never bounce. I just can't abide them. The whole point of a gyrating female body on display, as far as I'm aware, is that it jiggles a little. It shakes. The squishy parts get to show their squishiness. Right? That's the appeal? Or am I just out of the loop? Cause if so, I should be told. I just don't enjoy the sight of breasts that don't jiggle at all. And it makes me wonder why on earth the women who got them didn't go back to their plastic surgeons and demand a refund. I know that breast enhancement surgery isn't all that pricey, but I'd damn well want my $3,000 for a pair of sweater puppies that look more like torpedoes than breasts! And the thing is, there are very nice-looking implants out there. I've seen a lot of them. Many porn performers have breasts so lovely and natural looking that I don't believe them when they tell me they're enhanced. So I know it's possible to get an enhancement without looking as if someone grafted particularly firm squashes onto one's torso. Why, then, the sub-par boobies? Why settle for less?

Ah well, life is full of mysteries, and I guess badly-done breasts are just one of the many. But does anyone out there agree with me that real breasts, even if floppy or saggy or small, are sometimes nicer? Anyone?

On Penetration

I kind of squealed when I read Max Levant's article, "How I Learned to Get Pegged and Like It," on Jezebel. I have to admit, I went into it with low expectations. The title seemed to connote the idea that this was some "dude, brah" fist-pumping type who was absolutely amazed that something so "homo" could be enjoyable, and I fully expected to write an angry diatribe about it after reading. Instead, I got this: "I never realized the incredible amount of bravery it takes to let someone inside you. It's asking someone to stab you in the back, but lovingly. Masculine courage is throwing yourself headfirst into danger, like jumping out of a plane, but feminine courage is letting danger throw itself headfirst into YOU. It's even more badass."

Aside from some problematic assumptions about what constitutes "masculine" vs "feminine" strength, and a comment about how he sees older women as "retired" generals (what, they have to stop being actively brave in bed when they get older?), Max's sentiments made me sigh and go, "Thank GOD someone else sees this!" It's a very simple idea, so basic that I haven't even bothered writing it down before because it seems inevitable that some feminist writer already wrote The Book on the topic. But it's worth mentioning now that someone else has reminded me about it. 

I mean, look, we're a little past the "men are strong and women are weak" days, but when it comes to overwhelming generalizations about female vs. male and penetratee vs. penetrator sexuality, there's still a trend toward the idea that as the receivers, penetratees are the passive ones. The meeker ones. Given that penetratees are overwhelmingly women, it's safe to say that this has expanded into an idea about women being the weaker ones. And, though there are too many examples of how women don't really deserve that classification much of the time, the idea is still out there, informing many about how women "are" about sex. After all, the logic might go, penetrating someone is a masculine tendency: the desire to push oneself into another person is a mark of power. The ability to passively receive makes women the less active, the less powerful sex. And there's a certain weird truth in that: the penetrating man is the "adventurer," seeking out new territory. He's the British Empire of the sex world, whereas the woman (or, duh, anyone else who's penetrated) is the pillaged New World. Or something. But enough trying to explain a reasoning process I don't fully understand. Because I don't get it.

And I don't get it because it makes sense to me to appreciate the power inherent in penetration, but to equally value the strength it takes to open oneself up to being penetrated. As Max said, it takes courage. And to those who have never been penetrated (except of course in prostate exams) sometimes I'm afraid it seems like the easiest thing in the world. Of course, anal sex, which Max is talking about, does take a measure more courage for most; it is, in reality, an "out" hole that the body has to be coaxed into relaxing enough to become an "in" hole, and that's a very conscious battle one must pit between mind and sphincter. Vaginal penetration is a more natural bodily function, one that, for most women, doesn't require as much concentration or determination. But at the same time, especially for the many of us who have undergone sexual trauma, letting someone into either hole can be difficult, even terrifying. Not only must one be prepared to get close to someone on an emotional level, but one must actually open one's body to another human being. Our most private parts. Our most vulnerable, pink, tender, squishy parts. The ones that are so easily hurt, so often abused, so sadly un-understood by so many. And not only must the penetratee open up, but he/she must also expand inside. Make room for not just him/herself, but for another person's body. Another person's penetration. Expand, grow, accommodate to become not just one body, but two. Sex does bring people together on many levels for both partners, but the one being penetrated is literally making this combination of two in one happen in his or her own body. In the dark, secret places inside us. And that takes, well... balls. Heh. Women have balls. Hehehe...

And... it appears that little middle-school level joke is the end of my brains ability to make anything like a decent point, so, it's also the end of that little tirade. But hey, worth thinking about, no?

Scrumptious and Sexy in S Magazine

Prrrowr! I just got a glimpse of some images from Daniel Levitt's recent feature in S Magazine, courtesy of my daily Bust Magazine newsletter, and... prrrowr! These images are, to coin a high fashion term, "fierce" as hell. Curvy ladies in super high fashion accessories and classic erotic poses, sometimes with yummy food nearby, mostly nude, totally sexy. I like it way much. Take a peak!

Bust points out that the issue of food in high fashion and women's ideas about their own sexual acceptability is, well, one that's so omnipresent it's always thought about but never featured. I think it's way brave of these women to not only say "fuck the status quo" as per bodies in fashion, but to also say "fuck what you think about me eating" by posing with sumptuous feasts like the above. This is ballsy and flat-out gorgeous.

Body Hair Announcement

Hello darlings. The news is making me too upset to coherently talk about what I think these days. I have a lot to say but it's all to jumbled and angry right now to be written down. So, while I'm bubbling and boiling and trying to get to a point of coherent argument... I would like to make an announcement.
About a month ago, I stopped shaving my legs. I've been shaving them, and my pits, and depending on my sexual activity level, my nether regions, since sometime in early high school. And this winter I suddenly realized, after having gotten lazy for about a week, that you can't see my damn leg hair. I'm a sweaty, stinky, hairy Celtic/northern European mix, but I got lucky in the leg hair department. The follicles down there put forth light, almost clear, downy hairs that can only be seen if you're really looking for them, or if I'm standing in front of a dark background with backlighting. Then they look like they have halos, as the above picture illustrates (no, that's not me; I stole that from DailyMail.uk). But aside from that, they're almost imperceptible; I had to inform both my boyfriend and my girlfriend that they were there. And they're almost an inch long at this point!
I just wanted to let everyone know that. Because, honestly, it's kind of awesome to have leg hair. Not only do I feel somewhat more macho, but I feel very empowered. Kind of like: nobody can make me do this if I don't want to. And even kind of sneaky--if I didn't announce it, nobody would even know I was going against a societal norm. I'm very subversive over here.
And the coolest thing? If I don't have any leg garments on, I can feel the breeze in my leg hair when I turn around! The hairs are so downy they kind of blow around in the wind. And if I'm wearing baggy pants I can feel them moving against the material. It makes me feral, like a cat with bushy whiskers. And really, I guess that's what body hair's all about. It doesn't really keep us warmer, but it can serve as a very late warning system if something weird is going on nearby. I'm digging it.
Lag out.

Map of Tasmania

Also, Amanda Palmer's newest, mind-blowingly cool song about bush hair, "Map of Tasmania," now has a video! Ever see a bird's nest in a lady-bush before? How about Legos? Starry Night? Well now you will. Thanks GeekPornGirl for posting it; I shall now shamelessly steal and repost it! You must watch it! MUST.

The Christmas Spirit in DADT Legislation and World Orgasms for Peace

2 More Things:

1) President Obama signed the repeal of DADT this morning, thundering that, "We are not a nation that says, 'Don't ask, don't tell.' We're a nation that says, 'Out of many we are one.'" Damn skippy! The cynical part of my brain wants to make a quip about how it's great that the people putting their lives on the line over wars we can't possibly win against unseeable, unknowable enemies who have more oil than us can now be open about their sexualities. Good that we can all be sure that the soldiers fighting for no good reason in countries we didn't even know existed ten years ago are now able to fully express themselves in their daily lives in whatever terrorist-ridden region we've sent them to.
But then, I think of what John McCain's too-pale, overly-make-up-ed, puffy face must look like right now. The Grinch of All Things Gay must be pouting like a champ at this very moment. I'm imagining a lumpy, bright-red tomato with steam coming out its ears. And that makes me happy. Also, it makes me happy that SOME kind of legislation that favors the rights of gay people in our country has finally passed at the Federal level. We're not nearly as far along as we should be in giving gay and queer and trans people the equal rights they deserve, but we're inching closer at a high level. And that makes me feel good, too.
I'm happy that this happened right before Christmas. It's putting me into a slightly more giving spirit, which has been slow in coming for the past few weeks. I've felt very un-Christmas-y as my 3-months-at-a-time birth control reaches an end and PMS has plagued me for the past THREE WEEKS as my hormones gleefully announce that they're ready for bleedy holiday fun. The stress of trying to host out of town visitors who always show up this time of year, maintain my blog and other projects, and finish Christmas shopping and shipping, and wondering where the hell all the presents I ordered online are (cause they're damn well not here yet)... It's been a lot. But knowing that President Obama and Congress just gave gays in the military their first open recognition EVER makes me feel all gooey inside! I think I hear sleigh bells...

2) As I already mentioned, my stress level has been keeping me from getting into the holiday spirit. The DADT repeal has helped, but I've been a little miffed by all these photo sets I see of beautiful porn stars in Christmas outfits, on bear-skin rugs in front of warm fireplaces, being all sexy. I feel the opposite of sexy when I'm stressed, and I don't have a bear rug or a fireplace, OR a porn star, so how am I supposed to work off all this tension?
Well.
I just found an answer, and it's giving me the warm holiday gooey feeling like crazy. Although I missed it by a day, I just learned that the 21st of December, the Winter Solstice, was also Global Orgasm Day for Peace! What a GREAT idea! According to their website, you should participate because: "To effect positive change in the energy field of the earth through conscious dedication of orgasmic energy to the vibration of Peace. Our minds and our biology influence Matter and Quantum Energy fields, so by concentrating our thoughts before, during, and after orgasm on peace and loving-kindness, the synergy of high orgasmic physical energy combined with the power of positive visualization could help reduce global levels of violence, hatred and fear. Orgasm is the largest possible instantaneous surge of human biological and spiritual energies. It is a biological gift! What better way to achieve your resolution for Peace?"
Well, hot damn, I can agree with that! I don't know exactly how our minds and biology influence quantum energy fields, cause I'm not very science-y, but if you really think about it, how could they NOT? And how could a whole day full of joyful, peaceful, proactive orgasms all over the world NOT be a good thing, whether it actually affects world peace in a meaningful way or not? And really, it seems like it's GOT to affect it. How could a bunch of people who might otherwise be busy thinking about and doing other, less positive, things turning their thoughts and energies to something that is specifically NOT hurting anyone, be anything but a way to affect peace?
I like it. I may have missed The Big Day--and yes, I did; I was so busy yesterday and so PMS-y that I didn't have ANY orgasms at all, alas--but I think I can make it a day late. Hey, one orgasm for peace a day late can't hurt anything, right? Oh man, I feel so giving right now, so filled with the spirit of peace and holiday cheer... I think I'll go turn on some CrashPadSeries.com and give Orgasms for Peace a go.

Merry merry!

Pubes and Other Considerations

First of all, I apologize for the several days without a blog post, everyone. I'm trying to keep up a daily update schedule but the past few days have been a bit bananas what with the heat and gas leak and all. Just FYI, the man and I did attempt bed sex again, this time while fully clothed, which was kind of fun and giggly, but didn't warrant a blog post. We didn't get any toys out, as wrangling the junk out of sweatpants while working around heavy sweaters and socks under covers was quite difficult enough, so I have no product review for you. I will soon, though, and I dare say it will be a good one... Stay tuned!

In the meantime:

Image borrowed from Fleshbot.

I find the subject of pubic hair, and body hair in general, very conflicting. Don't you? Today on Fleshbot, a new American Apparel ad featuring a big, black, unrepentant bush on a line drawing. While it's somewhat beyond me how a black-and-white line drawing of a mostly-naked woman holding a daisy is supposed to advertise a clothing purveyor (I've had this confusion for years now; ever since Calvin Klein started advertising his clothing by showing almost-naked models in his ads, I've been puzzled--on the one hand, I see how these brands are selling an image and a lifestyle along with the idea, "If you buy our clothes, you will have these abs and this starved-cheekbone look and this model chic contour and be this effortlessly beautiful," but on the other hand, how am I supposed to know if I want to buy the clothes you sell if you don't show me what they look like? I'd totally buy one of those sexy models if you were selling them, but even Abercrombie's Man-Meat flagship store on 5th Ave notwithstanding, you're not selling human beings...), the point here is that American Apparel is once again, and once again mind-numbingly obviously, trying to get a reaction out of people. And bushes on ladyfolks do seem to do the trick.

I'm sure you all remember when, a few months back, Sasha Grey had the audacity to show a full, dark brown, luxurious bush on an episode of Entourage. I hope you all remember the complete freakout that ensued on the interwebz. Online commentors were by turns pissed off (that a PORN STAR could have a bush! We all know that PORN STARS are supposed to be hairless Barbie knock-offs! That woman is a menace to the established order of pornographic ideals!), grossed out (by the idea that women can not only have pubic hair if they don't shave it off, but that some of them can have a LOT of it--that landing strip and soul patch you've seen on waxed or shaved into pubic areas is CONTRIVED! Pubic hair can grow in OTHER places! Dear god, I'll never eat again!), and confused (but... but... I thought... that all women were required to shave their body hair in this day and age... Isn't it 2010??) Sasha is a rule breaker in every sense of the word and always has been; as an intelligent and well-spoken young woman, she decided to go into porn instead of a "respectable" career, even though she's pale, lanky, skinny, and atypically (for porn valley) dark-haired. She then proceeded to break most of the rules about how women in mainstream porn are supposed to act--rather than being the typically submissive slut, she spat in men's faces, owned her own degradation and fed it right back, and tore up her scenes with a blistering, raw sexuality that took no prisoners. Then she started branching out, making music, releasing photography books, and crossing over into several major mainstream acting roles, all the while still making boundary-pushing and strokeworthy porn. So obviously the girl's got no problem breaking yet another hard-and-fast rule: that women, particularly those in the sex industry, shouldn't have pubic hair. Well, she did at that moment when she showed it to the world, and she showed it off... and people FREAKED OUT.

Image borrowed from Jezebel.

It's no secret that American Apparel, the most unrepentantly hipster-tastic of modern American clothing stores, run by a megalomaniac whose hiring practices, choices of possibly-underage models for ad campaigns, and squirm-inducingly sexualized ads often seem to take things one step too far, has as little compunction about making people's jaws drop as does Sasha Grey. And on the one hand, much as I loathe most of their clothing and business model, I have to hand it to them this time: this ad probably will send a lot of people into hysterics, just as Sasha's bush did. Sometime between the inception of pornography as a major industry in the United States in the early seventies and today's crumbling institutionalized pornographic ideal, the female bush has gone the way of the dodo in the popular imagination. Despite the unavoidable and glaringly obvious (at least to anyone who is a woman or who spends a significant amount of time with a woman) fact that women do in fact have body hair, the advent of Barbie dolls and the normalization of the image of nude and hairless women have convinced the public imagination that pubes are no longer an issue.

But, dammit, they ARE an issue. I mean, shit, every day I'm faced with the choice between spending around $50 a month that I really don't have to go have a stern-faced Eastern European woman do mildly sadistic things to my pubic area involving hot wax and tweezers, or devoting myself to a strict regimen of taking a terrifyingly sharp razor dangerously near my most sensitive bits... Or just letting the jungle boogie on its own terms down there. This, friends, is an issue. The $50 a month for waxing is just not an option right now. Shaving gets easier the more you do it and get used to the contours of your body, but I don't care if scientists tell me the "it grows back in faster and heavier the more you shave it" thing is a myth till they're blue in the face: in the summer, when I shave as often as I need to to keep my bikini line free and clear, or in any season when I'm having a particularly (and gloriously) busy sex schedule and want to clear the path for anyone who wants to get past the fuzz, I have to shave every other day to keep things cleaned-up down there. Every other day, with a razor near my clit, not to mention some major veins in my legs, either sloppily done in the shower or painstakingly performed in front of a mirror, adopting ridiculous and hard-to-hold positions to get every last nook and cranny of my fanny... It's a lot of work.

So why do I do it? Why not just let the follicles have their way and sprout a wild, bright red forest of lush curls? As a caucasian of mostly Northern-European ancestry, despite my pale skin and slight frame, I'm not afraid to say that I'm a pretty hairy individual. Though I'm lucky enough to have very fine, blond, downy leg hair that can go for weeks between shaves, my pubes and my pits are pretty thickly carpeted with hair if I don't remove it, and that thick carpet can get in the way of some of my favorite things, like tongues and exploring fingers. Plus, nobody expects to see it; it's a shock and, for those of us who've been raised on hyper-sexualized images of almost creepily young looking "women" devoid of body hair, it can be a deterrent. We've gotten so used to the idea that women remove their body hair that we simply can't fathom how someone could go so against the grain of the modern sexual ideology that pornography and fashion magazines have fed us as to actually not remove their pubes. It's become a scary prospect: as if the clit isn't hard enough to find in the first place, when the whole area is obscured by fuzz, it becomes even more difficult to locate; what else could be lurking in there? remember that movie Teeth? oh my god, what about crabs?; what if I go down there and I get pubes stuck between my teeth? how embarrassing!; uh-oh, does this mean she's a hippie? does this mean she doesn't shower very often and things down there might be muskier than I'm used to? ...the mystery a bush provides for the vulva it's covering can end up striking us like a mysterious blanket hiding much more important issues from us. It can be intimidating: if this woman is ballsy enough to grow out a bush when everyone damn well knows women aren't supposed to have bushes, then maybe she's really some kind of super Type A personality butch dyke or something! Maybe she'll be way into BDSM! Or maybe she just has personal hygiene issues. Or maybe she doesn't shave because she never gets laid cause she's terrible in bed, or has some sort of weird emotional baggage that causes her to cry during sex and so nobody ever comes back for seconds, or maybe she's just a total FREAK...

I guess, really, what it comes down to is that because the bush is not the norm, it intimates that other things about the woman (or the man, really; male body hair is becoming less and less prevalent as time goes on, especially in the idealized body arenas of mainstream pornography and modeling) might also not conform to normal expectations, and, woah, we might be dealing with a whole lot of other unknowns aside from the size and shape of her labia. And I guess I don't really have a stance, per se, on the whole issue. Because I definitely support a woman's right to pubes, and a man's, too: if you want luxurious locks on your nether regions, well, hell, go for it! Rock what god gave your groin! I think a bush, particularly on a woman, shows a lot of courage and willingness to do what she wants, and confidence is hella sexy. But I also have to admit that I'm gonna keep on shaving down there, mostly because I don't want to hear the gasps of first-time lovers or returning favorites seeing it for the first time, and I certainly don't want to freak anyone out; my down theres are a matter of pride for me, and I don't want their flaming bush to elicit a negative reaction. Being naked in front of someone is a vulnerable enough position without the prospect of turning someone off with the presence of pubes; a blow to the bush could be a real blow to the old ego, and I guess I'm just not there personally yet.

We'll see if this American Apparel ad manages to shock anyone, or if it will be one more reason for the savvy to roll their eyes and complain about hipsters before going inside to get those awesome striped hoodies they love so much. But I think the bush debate will rage on, probably until the robots have killed us all...