Dec 11, 2010
Syd Blakovich is the Damn Coolest
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Dec 10, 2010
The Cumshot: A Discussion
As you may be aware, I watch a lot of porn. I see a lot of people having a lot of orgasms, and even though I'll admit that never really gets old, I've gotten to a point where I can honestly say I have certain amount of emotional detachment from it. Orgasms are fantastic, but I see so many of them that rather than getting all gooey in the pants every time I see one, I can think a little more critically about them. I'm sure many people in the porn industry can understand this perspective.
And I've been thinking critically about those orgasms. Specifically the men's. The ubiquitous cumshot, pop-shot, etc. It's such a standby of almost all porn that it hardly even makes a blip on my radar anymore. It does little more for me these days than signal the end of the scene, with maybe a few minutes afterward spent focusing on the woman as she greedily slurps up whatever the man, who almost always disappears after leaving his contribution, has deposited on or near her. He's finished; he's gone. Probably off to shower or get a sandwich, now that he's done and so is the scene.
But, let's think for a moment. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm keeping in mind that porn is meant as a fantasy and is most often intended for a male audience, and I realize that for many men, fantasy is finishing, walking away, and getting a sandwich. I can't blame them. I also crave sandwiches after sex. Who knows why. Particularly ham. But the point is that, while it's not a stretch to figure out why the cumshot is almost always the end of scene, it's kind of boring. Even though it's kind of the climax of the scene, and ostensibly signals the climax of the viewer as well, it's just a little too easy sometimes. Kind of misleading, even. Of course, in fantasy land, the woman who's been pleasured before the cumshot has reached at least five orgasms herself by the time she's showered with her partner's appreciation. And that might even be true on a lot of porn sets; those guys know what they're doing. They're professionals.
But for most of us, who are dealing with non-professional partners and who might have more trouble getting to orgasm, or who are maybe just not as much into the mood sometimes, the cumshot-and-done construction can be a frustrating reminder of how final a man's orgasm often is for the sex being had. I'm not always finished when he is, goddammit, and I don't appreciate it that almost very straight porn scene ever has signaled to its male viewers that when they're done, I'm necessarily done, too, and it's tuna melt time! It's not tuna melt time until you've sufficiently melted my tuna!
...ok, that analogy was all wrong. It does NOT smell or taste like tuna down there, people, I swear.
But still, the point remains. It's kind of unfair that nature constructed our bodies so differently, that women can take forever to come sometimes and then be able to come again and again in quick succession, while men are more once-and-done, at least for a while, creatures. But it's also unfair that we women are so often expected, via bodily differences and societally/pornographically-reinforced ideas, to be done the moment the jizz has stopped flowing. Sometimes we're not done, and though many of us don't hesitate to point that out and make the mister get back down there and finish us off, it's a pretty standard concept that most the time, we're already finished for he is. It's a shame for both parties, really. The idea that it's snack time immediately after the guy has shot his wad leads to a lot more once-off sex sessions than all-night sensual feasts of flesh, and who wouldn't rather have those more often?
Not that we always need to keep going when the man is done, but sometimes it'd be nice to see my not-there-yet-ness represented in a movie. I'd like to see a woman demand more gratification, or--I might be dreaming here--a man give it without being asked! I'm calling for more post-cumshot porn! Show me more guys going down on ladies after they've left their love batter elsewhere! Show me women getting off after their men are done! Show me men getting turned on again after pleasing and re-pleasing women, and going back in for round two! Show me more, in general! More thoughtful post-cumshot choreography, more pleasure, more willingness to think outside, or after, the pop-shot! Let's go again, and again, and again...
And I've been thinking critically about those orgasms. Specifically the men's. The ubiquitous cumshot, pop-shot, etc. It's such a standby of almost all porn that it hardly even makes a blip on my radar anymore. It does little more for me these days than signal the end of the scene, with maybe a few minutes afterward spent focusing on the woman as she greedily slurps up whatever the man, who almost always disappears after leaving his contribution, has deposited on or near her. He's finished; he's gone. Probably off to shower or get a sandwich, now that he's done and so is the scene.
But, let's think for a moment. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm keeping in mind that porn is meant as a fantasy and is most often intended for a male audience, and I realize that for many men, fantasy is finishing, walking away, and getting a sandwich. I can't blame them. I also crave sandwiches after sex. Who knows why. Particularly ham. But the point is that, while it's not a stretch to figure out why the cumshot is almost always the end of scene, it's kind of boring. Even though it's kind of the climax of the scene, and ostensibly signals the climax of the viewer as well, it's just a little too easy sometimes. Kind of misleading, even. Of course, in fantasy land, the woman who's been pleasured before the cumshot has reached at least five orgasms herself by the time she's showered with her partner's appreciation. And that might even be true on a lot of porn sets; those guys know what they're doing. They're professionals.
But for most of us, who are dealing with non-professional partners and who might have more trouble getting to orgasm, or who are maybe just not as much into the mood sometimes, the cumshot-and-done construction can be a frustrating reminder of how final a man's orgasm often is for the sex being had. I'm not always finished when he is, goddammit, and I don't appreciate it that almost very straight porn scene ever has signaled to its male viewers that when they're done, I'm necessarily done, too, and it's tuna melt time! It's not tuna melt time until you've sufficiently melted my tuna!
...ok, that analogy was all wrong. It does NOT smell or taste like tuna down there, people, I swear.
But still, the point remains. It's kind of unfair that nature constructed our bodies so differently, that women can take forever to come sometimes and then be able to come again and again in quick succession, while men are more once-and-done, at least for a while, creatures. But it's also unfair that we women are so often expected, via bodily differences and societally/pornographically-reinforced ideas, to be done the moment the jizz has stopped flowing. Sometimes we're not done, and though many of us don't hesitate to point that out and make the mister get back down there and finish us off, it's a pretty standard concept that most the time, we're already finished for he is. It's a shame for both parties, really. The idea that it's snack time immediately after the guy has shot his wad leads to a lot more once-off sex sessions than all-night sensual feasts of flesh, and who wouldn't rather have those more often?
Not that we always need to keep going when the man is done, but sometimes it'd be nice to see my not-there-yet-ness represented in a movie. I'd like to see a woman demand more gratification, or--I might be dreaming here--a man give it without being asked! I'm calling for more post-cumshot porn! Show me more guys going down on ladies after they've left their love batter elsewhere! Show me women getting off after their men are done! Show me men getting turned on again after pleasing and re-pleasing women, and going back in for round two! Show me more, in general! More thoughtful post-cumshot choreography, more pleasure, more willingness to think outside, or after, the pop-shot! Let's go again, and again, and again...
Dec 9, 2010
Justine Joli: Lost
JUSTINE JOLI: LOST Triangle Films
Directed by Kathryn Annelle
Starring: Justine Joli, Ariel X, Claire Adams, Kimberly Kane, Nina Hartley, Sasha Grey, Syd Blakovich
We all know one of those girls. You know, that one who's so goddamn beautiful, so smart, so sexy, so capable of so much... and yet she just can't seem to get her shit together? Just can't manage to get her head on straight? Justine Joli, in Triangle Films' Lost, has an especially hard time with the head straightening thing because she's only interested in pussy, anyway. And pussy follows her wherever she goes, falling all over itself to get her into bed and falling in love with her once her legs are spread.
On the heels of a bad breakup (with Claire Adams, who caught her literally fucking the plumber, Syd Blakovich in the hottest predictable porn scene I've watched in ages), Justine embarks on a depressed journey into the arms of woman after woman, trying to get back to some kind of normalcy.
But, here's the thing. You know what the real issue with those girls is? Those girls you fall so desperately in love with because you think they're so under-appreciated, just never given a chance to shine? Who you eventually realize you're only in love with because of their perfect tits and sky-high libido and sweet smile? Here's the thing: they get plenty of chances to make their lives better, most of them. But they're just too busy fucking everything that moves to worry about it; when you're gorgeous enough to get by on someone else's charity because that person also mistook lust for love, just like everyone else you're fucking, you don't really need to work hard, do you? Or live up to your potential? No, you don't. You can just keep on being pretty and sweet and sexy in turns, and it all works out. But, fair warning: you might get beat up with a dildo (by Kimberly Kane), scorned for boning the wrong person (Sasha Grey), and maybe even whipped with a belt by Nina Hartley for your slutty behavior. Which, all things considered, could be a hell of a lot worse. And, for those of us just watching, it doesn't get much better.
I'll come right out and admit it: I have a huge crush on Justine Joli, and I'm pretty sure everyone else in the world with a penchant for pussy does, too. If they don't, they just haven't seen her movies yet. I have, as you may have noticed, a soft spot for pale redheads, so Justine is right up my alley, and after watching her blaze her way through scene after sizzling scene in Lost, I would really like to be up in her alley, if you know what I mean. The woman is not only possessed of one of the most beautiful bodies this side of Eden (although it occurred to me as I watched Lost that she's so skinny right in the middle that I wonder where she keeps all her organs), but she's also skilled at using it for everything from taking a delicious-looking hate fuck to finger-fucking Sasha Grey within an inch of her life to riding a strap-on like a rodeo cowboy to bringing Syd Blakovich to a screaming orgasm. She's like a cooch chameleon, this girl.
But Justine wasn't the only one ripping up the screen in Lost: her encounters with some of the lesbian porn community's hottest performers brought me face to face, at last, with my borderline-obsessive lust for Syd Blakovich, my slightly uncomfortable appreciation of Sasha Grey's beauty and intensity, and my utterly obsequious worship of Nina Hartley. I discovered Ariel X's beautiful cheekbones and a whole new appreciation for visually stimulating scissoring, and was wowed by Claire Adams' quadruple pussy piercings. I swooned over Kimberly Kane's ability to own a scene, and a girlfriend who's gone astray, with raw girl power. And while I won't say that Lost is exactly a modern masterpiece of cinema--the movie follows a mostly-understandable plot but falls into its own inability to explain what's going on from time to time, and it has really no ending whatsoever other than a satisfied Nina and Justine grinning at each other after an intense strap-on sesh--it was, I'm willing to say, more engaging than your average blue film. Justine can act, and she's joined by a cast of other proficient performers (and of course writer/director Kathryn Anelle) who put together a series of sex scenes that made me slobber with a storyline that made me go, "Yeah, I know that girl! I don't pity her misfortune, but I have always wanted to watch her get fucked." I'm going to go ahead and mention that it's a rare thing, even for a connoisseur of porn like myself, to identify with a fuck flick, but Lost got me there. Oh, and it got me there, too--and by there I mean to orgasm--several times over.
Dec 8, 2010
Hung Like Horses: Rural Guys Have Huge Dicks
The world just recently turned over a new leaf: more than half the world's population are living in urban centers (aka cities) these days, and the exodus has had wide-ranging effects. Here in the US we're seeing an ever-higher incidence of country vs. city cultural divide. (See: Sarah Palin, Cracker Barrel, and hipsters.) For a country fueled very largely on the hard work of rural areas, where food is grown and factories are located, America has long given city dwellers more credit for brains, sophistication, worldliness, culture, and sex appeal.
But NO MORE! A study from Bulgaria (ok, admittedly that's far from the US, but bear with me), has found that rural boys and young men have bigger schlongs. Not a whole lot bigger, mind you--the numbers are only about .2 inches apart in length on average--but statistically significant. Fucking weird. Take THAT, urban superiority! Hang your tiny heads in shame and behold the behemoth genitals of the Bulgarian bumpkin!
The study itself was aimed at the idea of boys hitting puberty earlier in life, and so the scientists involved don't have any data on why country boys might be hung like their horses, but I think it's high time we start speculating! Having absolutely no way to back up any of the following wild generalizations and silly ideas, here are my hypotheses:
Maybe it's the average amount of exercise a boy on a farm gets versus an apartment-dweller in the city. Perhaps people in the country (in Bulgaria, at least) eat a healthier and less-processed diet. Could be that the population over there is slightly less mobile than here, and for some reason the genes that have stayed in the country just happen to be passed down from a long line of long dongs. Or maybe exposure to horse and donkey cock at an early age psychosomatically affected the boys on farms. Then again, perhaps the air quality in cities is bad enough to have a negative effect on penis growth. Or mayhap being packed into small spaces with more males during daily life triggers less testosterone during growth to prevent aggression (a trait which can get you in more trouble in a crowded subway car than out in a field), which in turns affects sexual development. Or perhaps the tight jeans of the aging hipster community have just damaged their sperm enough by now that their kids are suffering the consequences... But then again, I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen a hipster in tight jeans and been impressed by the size of his bulge... Maybe hipsters move to cities in the first place because cowboy-style tight jeans are too embarrassing for them: the other cowboys have wild west wangs and the hipsters have to escape the anonymity of American Apparel, where all the bottom bits are itty-bitty, and where they then pass on their tiny-tadger genes to another generation of moustachioed, red-wine guzzling dweebs...
Could be anything! And I think we've established how I feel about hipsters. But the point is that, now that we've got this information from Bulgaria, I'm hoping that similar studies will follow suit in more countries. If the big-dicked bumpkin is a worldwide phenomenon, I wonder if the world may soon see its first female- and gay-male-exodus. From the cities where the brains are big, the sniffling sophistication sky high, and the jeans far too tight, perhaps those who love a lengthy lovestick will see fit to repopulate the countryside, sending back the finest erotica and amateur porn, along with artisinal cheeses and organic produce from the expat hipsters, to us poor, puny-peckered city dwellers.
The future is looking bright!
Actually, it's not. I mean, .2 inches isn't much to crow about, and once you factor in how impossible it is to tell what all those Bulgarian boners would look like erect versus flaccid, all speculation goes out the window. We've all known some guy whose bulge was impressive during conversation, but barely ballooned at all when he got aroused. And we've all known someone with a laughably small package that sprouts into a redwood when he gets randy. It's a crap shoot, and I dare say I don't find a fraction of an inch difference pre-wood to be much of a promise of better sex in the country: city boys might not have as much to swing around in a wine bar, but they might have been exposed to a few more ideas about positions and foreplay. Then again, country boys may have more free time to go for a romp in the hay or in the back of their pickup and may have learned a thing or two even without sex clubs and seminars. I think, if I decide to move back to the country someday, I'll do it for the love of fresh air and leave the hope of better straight sex out of it. And anyway, my boyfriend here is from the country. Hah!
But NO MORE! A study from Bulgaria (ok, admittedly that's far from the US, but bear with me), has found that rural boys and young men have bigger schlongs. Not a whole lot bigger, mind you--the numbers are only about .2 inches apart in length on average--but statistically significant. Fucking weird. Take THAT, urban superiority! Hang your tiny heads in shame and behold the behemoth genitals of the Bulgarian bumpkin!
The study itself was aimed at the idea of boys hitting puberty earlier in life, and so the scientists involved don't have any data on why country boys might be hung like their horses, but I think it's high time we start speculating! Having absolutely no way to back up any of the following wild generalizations and silly ideas, here are my hypotheses:
Maybe it's the average amount of exercise a boy on a farm gets versus an apartment-dweller in the city. Perhaps people in the country (in Bulgaria, at least) eat a healthier and less-processed diet. Could be that the population over there is slightly less mobile than here, and for some reason the genes that have stayed in the country just happen to be passed down from a long line of long dongs. Or maybe exposure to horse and donkey cock at an early age psychosomatically affected the boys on farms. Then again, perhaps the air quality in cities is bad enough to have a negative effect on penis growth. Or mayhap being packed into small spaces with more males during daily life triggers less testosterone during growth to prevent aggression (a trait which can get you in more trouble in a crowded subway car than out in a field), which in turns affects sexual development. Or perhaps the tight jeans of the aging hipster community have just damaged their sperm enough by now that their kids are suffering the consequences... But then again, I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen a hipster in tight jeans and been impressed by the size of his bulge... Maybe hipsters move to cities in the first place because cowboy-style tight jeans are too embarrassing for them: the other cowboys have wild west wangs and the hipsters have to escape the anonymity of American Apparel, where all the bottom bits are itty-bitty, and where they then pass on their tiny-tadger genes to another generation of moustachioed, red-wine guzzling dweebs...
Could be anything! And I think we've established how I feel about hipsters. But the point is that, now that we've got this information from Bulgaria, I'm hoping that similar studies will follow suit in more countries. If the big-dicked bumpkin is a worldwide phenomenon, I wonder if the world may soon see its first female- and gay-male-exodus. From the cities where the brains are big, the sniffling sophistication sky high, and the jeans far too tight, perhaps those who love a lengthy lovestick will see fit to repopulate the countryside, sending back the finest erotica and amateur porn, along with artisinal cheeses and organic produce from the expat hipsters, to us poor, puny-peckered city dwellers.
The future is looking bright!
Actually, it's not. I mean, .2 inches isn't much to crow about, and once you factor in how impossible it is to tell what all those Bulgarian boners would look like erect versus flaccid, all speculation goes out the window. We've all known some guy whose bulge was impressive during conversation, but barely ballooned at all when he got aroused. And we've all known someone with a laughably small package that sprouts into a redwood when he gets randy. It's a crap shoot, and I dare say I don't find a fraction of an inch difference pre-wood to be much of a promise of better sex in the country: city boys might not have as much to swing around in a wine bar, but they might have been exposed to a few more ideas about positions and foreplay. Then again, country boys may have more free time to go for a romp in the hay or in the back of their pickup and may have learned a thing or two even without sex clubs and seminars. I think, if I decide to move back to the country someday, I'll do it for the love of fresh air and leave the hope of better straight sex out of it. And anyway, my boyfriend here is from the country. Hah!
Dec 7, 2010
Miley Cyrus Makes Me Yawn
I don't have much in the way of time today to blog, so I thought I'd just mention that Miley Cyrus, and the controversy swirling around now-allegedly-faked nude pictures of her that surfaced immediately after her 18th birthday, and Hustler's slobbering eagerness to release a Cyrus porn parody in the same time frame, is all frightfully boring. We all know, from the years of overexposure we've had to this young starlet-thing via her obnoxiously over-advertised and over-appreciated careers in "music" and "acting" as both Miley and Hannah Montana, that the girl is an example of Hollywood ego inflation to the Nth degree. We all know she's been unrepentantly farmed out by her achey-breaky-hearted and washed-up Dad. We all know that she's cute as hell. We all know pretty much EVERYTHING about her. So Jesus jumping Christ on a trampoline, why do we care if photos of her naughty bits come out? We've seen her in skimpy outfits on stage for years now. We've seen video of her giving a lap dance at a party. We've seen her open her mouth wide near a mic. Our imaginations, I'm sure, can take care of the rest for us if we really feel a burning need to see her boobs and bottom. And, if the media keeps up this kind of frothing feeding frenzy, sooner or later some REAL photos will surface.
Big. Fucking. Whoop.
I'm sorry, but I just can't be interested in yet another totally predictable child star's fall into infamy. Lindsay Lohan was the last time I found myself mildly interested in a meteoric plunge into drugs and public nudity, because we share a name and natural hair color, and because Lilo's boobs are simply stunning. Also, I like her "fuck you" attitude and willingness to make fun of herself. But I've been bored by her repeated trips to jail/rehab/out-for-the-day-and-on-Rodeo-drive. She's as predictable as the next Britney Spears by now, and I can't see Miley Cyrus, no matter if she goes the batshit-crazy or the good-head-on-her-shoulders route, being any more interesting.
Remember the insanity that surrounded the Olsen Twins' coming of age? I remember there being a website devoted to counting down the days, minutes, and seconds until the pair was legal. I was in college, and the excitement was palpable: would they take off their clothes? would they do porn? would they do porn together?? Nobody could wait to see what these two child prodigies would do when the magic moment happened.
And you remember what happened? They went to NYU, one had a drug/eating disorder problem. They both were relentlessly followed around by the media until they took to wearing ridiculous clothes and... yawn... starting their own fashion line. I actually kind of enjoy the Olsen twins for their quirkiness, and because they've thankfully resisted the urge to release fragrances and heavily Auto-Tuned pop albums, but... Seriously, guys, are we not over the "Some Celebrity Just Turned 18" mania? When's the last time it was interesting because of the celebrity and not our own creepy obsession with "Barely Legal" porn?
I could go back to bed just thinking about the whole thing. Bleh.
Big. Fucking. Whoop.
I'm sorry, but I just can't be interested in yet another totally predictable child star's fall into infamy. Lindsay Lohan was the last time I found myself mildly interested in a meteoric plunge into drugs and public nudity, because we share a name and natural hair color, and because Lilo's boobs are simply stunning. Also, I like her "fuck you" attitude and willingness to make fun of herself. But I've been bored by her repeated trips to jail/rehab/out-for-the-day-and-on-Rodeo-drive. She's as predictable as the next Britney Spears by now, and I can't see Miley Cyrus, no matter if she goes the batshit-crazy or the good-head-on-her-shoulders route, being any more interesting.
Remember the insanity that surrounded the Olsen Twins' coming of age? I remember there being a website devoted to counting down the days, minutes, and seconds until the pair was legal. I was in college, and the excitement was palpable: would they take off their clothes? would they do porn? would they do porn together?? Nobody could wait to see what these two child prodigies would do when the magic moment happened.
And you remember what happened? They went to NYU, one had a drug/eating disorder problem. They both were relentlessly followed around by the media until they took to wearing ridiculous clothes and... yawn... starting their own fashion line. I actually kind of enjoy the Olsen twins for their quirkiness, and because they've thankfully resisted the urge to release fragrances and heavily Auto-Tuned pop albums, but... Seriously, guys, are we not over the "Some Celebrity Just Turned 18" mania? When's the last time it was interesting because of the celebrity and not our own creepy obsession with "Barely Legal" porn?
I could go back to bed just thinking about the whole thing. Bleh.
Dec 6, 2010
The Not-Doctor Is In: Too-Speedy Splooge Strategies
Well, it's about time I got around to that "advice columnist" thing I was tooting my own horn about a while back. Unfortunately, it appears that the majority of my readers are incredibly well-rounded sexually, because despite my possibly-overblown statements about my vast knowledge on all things sexual and free giving out of my personal e-mail address (C'mon, not even one titty pic? You guys are LAME.), I only got ONE sex question to answer. One! And it was on twitter, so it was short and very un-detailed and possibly made in jest.
But I am a good sport, and I am determined to be a sexpert as well, so here goes nothing. Ahem:
From Daniel Woah: @MissLagsalot i cant last morre than 10min, what should i do?
Dear Mr. Woah,
I wish I knew a bit more about your situation; as with most things in life, sexual problems are as varied as the people and situations in which they arise (and apparently fall, too quickly for your taste). I wish I knew if you were in a steady relationship with regular sexual contact, or rarely getting the chance for intimacy. I wish I knew if you were talking about having oral, anal, or vaginal sex--or some other variation. I wish I knew if you were including masturbation or only genital intercourse. I wish I knew if you were talking about ten minutes of actual penetration/sexual stimulation, or ten minutes from the moment you get going. I wish I knew if you were young, old, or in between...
But alas, Twitter is not the most informative medium for intimate question asking, and my request for more information returned nothing. So, allow me to make some sweeping generalizations and very likely less-than-useful suggestions.
First of all, I think it's important to keep in mind that ten minutes, on the general scale of male human sexual stamina, is really not bad. As a matter of fact, it's pretty damn good.
If you're a fan of pornography--and, given you're reading my blog and catching my tweets, you probably are--you may be under the impression that men are supposed to be able to have sex for a half hour at a time with only minor breaks between positions, and that women expect men to keep a raging, rock-hard boner for the duration. I'm sure you're aware that porn uses a bit of "screen magic" to trump up the performance of male performers, but few people who aren't regularly on porn sets (myself included) realize just how much time is spent between takes, during which the male star may lose wood, hang out, get some coffee, possibly get fluffed, and only then go back in for more. Rare indeed is the porn star who can keep his cock at full attention throughout the hours it can take to complete a scene. Not that what these guys do is any mean feat; they still DO have sex for at least an hour, even if it's spread out, and male performers are a rare and randy breed to begin with. Depending on who you ask, the numbers vary, but several porn veterans I've talked to put the percentage of men who can even muster wood on command in front of lights, camera, and crew in the first place at between 1% and 5%. Being able to KEEP that wood for long enough to finish a scene and ejaculate on command, after the woman is done or the director is done or both, is an even more elusive skill.
So don't sweat it if your performance isn't equal to James Deen's. He's something of a freak of nature, in a very grand way. But, depending again on who you ask, so are YOU, dear Mr. Woah.
As far as science-minded experts are concerned, you're right up there in the sexual stratosphere. In a 2004, British sex physiologist Roy Levin published that the average amount of time between penetration and male orgasm was between two and five minutes (100 to 500 thrusts),* and "premature ejaculation" is considered by experts to take as long as one and a half minutes, which, considering two minutes is "average," your ten minutes is practically Herculean. I'm impressed, now that I'm looking at the numbers.
And furthermore, Mr. Woah, consider that longer does not always equal better. While it's undeniable that most of us idolize the hypothetical all-night lover, the prospect can be much more attractive in Fantasy Land than in real life. I don't know who it is that you're having sex with for ten minutes at a time, but I can honestly say that as a lady, sometimes ten minutes is plenty. Sometimes ten minutes is too long. The amount of sexual pleasure derived from a partner is rarely a matter of how much time has elapsed; although it's true that pleasure can mount as time goes on, it can also wane as any number of things happens: Your partner could be preoccupied by other thoughts and anxieties and lose his/her hard-on; he/she could lose lubrication and get sore; he/she could just be very sensitive and get sore regardless of how much lube you're using or she's producing.
Being able to last longer doesn't necessarily mean you're a better lover. I can say from personal experience that as a woman, having sex with a man who takes forever to get off can be heavenly, but it can also be frustrating. I've been with a few all-nighters, and even when they're fabulous at what they do, somewhere between the ten and twenty minute mark (far above the average duration, mind you) I find myself thinking: "Am I doing something wrong? Why hasn't he come yet? Am I not sexy enough?" This line of thought can bring on all kinds of anxieties that can turn me off, regardless of how well my partner is performing. And, after hour one has elapsed, I'm almost always ready for a sandwich and a nap. I don't really need a marathon session every time. While I'm sure there are plenty of women who might disagree with this assessment, I'm equally sure that there are plenty more who agree with me. I can't speak for male partners in gay sex relationships, as I'm outside that community, but if any of you are reading and have words of wisdom for Woah here, please feel free to comment.
But, ah, now that I've give you a nigh-unreadable list of reasons not to worry yourself about your ten-minute average, if you're still reading, allow me to offer some tips for changing the situation. If, despite the above reassurances, you really want to keep on trying for fifteen, twenty, or more minutes of mounted bliss, here are some things you can try:
1) Practice. Again, because I don't know about your situation, I don't want to assume too much about your sex life. You may be having sex five times a day and simply get off quickly and easily every time: I hope that's true, because that would be great for you! But if you're not having sex very frequently and are therefore more aroused by the situation when it comes about (har har har... comes...), try to get a little more accustomed to arousal. Of course, having more sex isn't always the easiest prospect to achieve, but if it's an option, by all means take advantage of it and bone away till you feel less rushed. Or, alternatively, just masturbate more often. Seriously. Masturbation is actually very good for you (so say scientists who study the virility of new vs. old sperm; the newbies are usually much healthier, so the more often you get rid of the old stuff, the better your reproductive abilities), and when you're the one in charge of the action, you can try different techniques for prolonging your own pleasure. You might discover that taking a break now and again will keep things going down there, or that varying the speed and intensity of strokes can slow you down. Perhaps the pressure you're applying can be modified, and if you're with a skilled partner when the two-person-tango is performed, your partner may be able to mimic the variations in pressure with mouth of pelvice floor muscles. The idea here being, the more you try it, the easier it will be to figure out what makes you splooge versus what only makes you smile, and then work your knowledge into your bedroom boogie repertoire.
2) Foreplay. I know, everyone has heard this a billion times, but it's true. Whether you're with a woman, a man, or a trans person, everybody can hold their orgasm off for longer, and feel pleasure for longer as a result, if they've spent some time getting themselves and their partner worked up before penetration. From a female perspective, if my partner's gone down on me or fingered me or used a toy on me or even just spent enough time tantalizing me with neck kisses and skin-on-skin contact, by the time penetration happens, I don't care nearly as much if it lasts for five minutes or forty-five minutes. If I'm satisfied and/or horny going into it, the experience will be fantastic no matter what, and I'll probably be able to get off quickly enough that even a two-minute bout will be ok.
3) Post-play. Particularly if your partner is female, if you've bust your nut before she's climaxed, there's no need to worry. NONE. Whatsoever. Because you can always head back down south with your hands, mouth, toys, or any combination of the three and keep her going. While there are women out there who prefer a cock to a tongue or a toy, I don't know of any who will turn the latter two options down if they're still turned on and ready to rumble. Even if practicing and foreplay haven't given you a more-than-ten-minute edge, you can make the pleasure last much longer for her and be the best lover she's ever had for your troubles. And if you keep her going long enough, you can be ready for round two by the time she gets where she's going!
4) Bedroom aids. There are lots of toys, trinkets, and tiddlywinks specifically designed to help you last longer before your load is blown; I have a feeling if you google a few key words on this topic you'll be inundated with possibilities. There are condoms with mild numbing agents on the inside that will keep your sensitive bits from being as sensitive as usual and therefore less likely to reach a climax quickly. There are pills (although their varying degrees of efficacy are debatable) that supposedly can keep you hard for ages. And there are cock rings, cock rings, cock rings, which have a much longer history than pills and a much more widely accepted ability to keep you hard longer.
5) Breaks in banging. It works for porn stars; it can work for you. Take breaks during your boning bouts. When you feel yourself getting close to coming but you don't want it to happen just yet, pull out and kiss your partner, or finger him or her, or cuddle, or caress, or, hell, go get a snack. Come up with a wild new position that takes a while to get into. If you're with a multi-orgasmic partner, you can use your hands or mouth to get him or her off several times before you go back in for the grand finale. Just give your boner a break and some time to cool down before you heat things back up.
6) And, of course, the measure of last resort: diversionary tactics. We've all heard this one before, but I swear it works. If you feel an orgasm coming on before you want it to happen, think about the least sexy thing you can imagine... within limits of course. You don't want to kill the mood by running out of the room clawing your eyeballs and screaming about worm-infested zombies. But you can think about something abstract: "Hm, do we have any milk in the fridge right now?" "I wonder what the temperature is outside." "Did I remember to turn the oven off?" Mundane little side-tracks can keep you physically present but less focused on what's going on with your junk and give you a few moments' reprieve from the intensity of the situation, leaving you with a few more minutes to wind yourself up to a state of ecstasy when you've focused back on the bliss to be had.
I hope these multitudinous bits of info and suggestions have helped, Mr. Woah: my hands are tired and I'm exhausted by all this thinking! I sure am knowledge-y!
I'd love to hear if anyone found this helpful, or has other advice to offer, in the comments section below. I think I've proved myself a worthy Not-Doctor, so please, peeps, tweet me (@MissLagsalot), comment me, or e-mail me (misslagsalot@gmail.com) more questions!
*Info gleaned from Mary Roach's fascinating and funny tome, Bonk. W.W. Norton, 2008.
But I am a good sport, and I am determined to be a sexpert as well, so here goes nothing. Ahem:
From Daniel Woah: @MissLagsalot i cant last morre than 10min, what should i do?
Dear Mr. Woah,
I wish I knew a bit more about your situation; as with most things in life, sexual problems are as varied as the people and situations in which they arise (and apparently fall, too quickly for your taste). I wish I knew if you were in a steady relationship with regular sexual contact, or rarely getting the chance for intimacy. I wish I knew if you were talking about having oral, anal, or vaginal sex--or some other variation. I wish I knew if you were including masturbation or only genital intercourse. I wish I knew if you were talking about ten minutes of actual penetration/sexual stimulation, or ten minutes from the moment you get going. I wish I knew if you were young, old, or in between...
But alas, Twitter is not the most informative medium for intimate question asking, and my request for more information returned nothing. So, allow me to make some sweeping generalizations and very likely less-than-useful suggestions.
First of all, I think it's important to keep in mind that ten minutes, on the general scale of male human sexual stamina, is really not bad. As a matter of fact, it's pretty damn good.
If you're a fan of pornography--and, given you're reading my blog and catching my tweets, you probably are--you may be under the impression that men are supposed to be able to have sex for a half hour at a time with only minor breaks between positions, and that women expect men to keep a raging, rock-hard boner for the duration. I'm sure you're aware that porn uses a bit of "screen magic" to trump up the performance of male performers, but few people who aren't regularly on porn sets (myself included) realize just how much time is spent between takes, during which the male star may lose wood, hang out, get some coffee, possibly get fluffed, and only then go back in for more. Rare indeed is the porn star who can keep his cock at full attention throughout the hours it can take to complete a scene. Not that what these guys do is any mean feat; they still DO have sex for at least an hour, even if it's spread out, and male performers are a rare and randy breed to begin with. Depending on who you ask, the numbers vary, but several porn veterans I've talked to put the percentage of men who can even muster wood on command in front of lights, camera, and crew in the first place at between 1% and 5%. Being able to KEEP that wood for long enough to finish a scene and ejaculate on command, after the woman is done or the director is done or both, is an even more elusive skill.
So don't sweat it if your performance isn't equal to James Deen's. He's something of a freak of nature, in a very grand way. But, depending again on who you ask, so are YOU, dear Mr. Woah.
As far as science-minded experts are concerned, you're right up there in the sexual stratosphere. In a 2004, British sex physiologist Roy Levin published that the average amount of time between penetration and male orgasm was between two and five minutes (100 to 500 thrusts),* and "premature ejaculation" is considered by experts to take as long as one and a half minutes, which, considering two minutes is "average," your ten minutes is practically Herculean. I'm impressed, now that I'm looking at the numbers.
And furthermore, Mr. Woah, consider that longer does not always equal better. While it's undeniable that most of us idolize the hypothetical all-night lover, the prospect can be much more attractive in Fantasy Land than in real life. I don't know who it is that you're having sex with for ten minutes at a time, but I can honestly say that as a lady, sometimes ten minutes is plenty. Sometimes ten minutes is too long. The amount of sexual pleasure derived from a partner is rarely a matter of how much time has elapsed; although it's true that pleasure can mount as time goes on, it can also wane as any number of things happens: Your partner could be preoccupied by other thoughts and anxieties and lose his/her hard-on; he/she could lose lubrication and get sore; he/she could just be very sensitive and get sore regardless of how much lube you're using or she's producing.
Being able to last longer doesn't necessarily mean you're a better lover. I can say from personal experience that as a woman, having sex with a man who takes forever to get off can be heavenly, but it can also be frustrating. I've been with a few all-nighters, and even when they're fabulous at what they do, somewhere between the ten and twenty minute mark (far above the average duration, mind you) I find myself thinking: "Am I doing something wrong? Why hasn't he come yet? Am I not sexy enough?" This line of thought can bring on all kinds of anxieties that can turn me off, regardless of how well my partner is performing. And, after hour one has elapsed, I'm almost always ready for a sandwich and a nap. I don't really need a marathon session every time. While I'm sure there are plenty of women who might disagree with this assessment, I'm equally sure that there are plenty more who agree with me. I can't speak for male partners in gay sex relationships, as I'm outside that community, but if any of you are reading and have words of wisdom for Woah here, please feel free to comment.
But, ah, now that I've give you a nigh-unreadable list of reasons not to worry yourself about your ten-minute average, if you're still reading, allow me to offer some tips for changing the situation. If, despite the above reassurances, you really want to keep on trying for fifteen, twenty, or more minutes of mounted bliss, here are some things you can try:
1) Practice. Again, because I don't know about your situation, I don't want to assume too much about your sex life. You may be having sex five times a day and simply get off quickly and easily every time: I hope that's true, because that would be great for you! But if you're not having sex very frequently and are therefore more aroused by the situation when it comes about (har har har... comes...), try to get a little more accustomed to arousal. Of course, having more sex isn't always the easiest prospect to achieve, but if it's an option, by all means take advantage of it and bone away till you feel less rushed. Or, alternatively, just masturbate more often. Seriously. Masturbation is actually very good for you (so say scientists who study the virility of new vs. old sperm; the newbies are usually much healthier, so the more often you get rid of the old stuff, the better your reproductive abilities), and when you're the one in charge of the action, you can try different techniques for prolonging your own pleasure. You might discover that taking a break now and again will keep things going down there, or that varying the speed and intensity of strokes can slow you down. Perhaps the pressure you're applying can be modified, and if you're with a skilled partner when the two-person-tango is performed, your partner may be able to mimic the variations in pressure with mouth of pelvice floor muscles. The idea here being, the more you try it, the easier it will be to figure out what makes you splooge versus what only makes you smile, and then work your knowledge into your bedroom boogie repertoire.
2) Foreplay. I know, everyone has heard this a billion times, but it's true. Whether you're with a woman, a man, or a trans person, everybody can hold their orgasm off for longer, and feel pleasure for longer as a result, if they've spent some time getting themselves and their partner worked up before penetration. From a female perspective, if my partner's gone down on me or fingered me or used a toy on me or even just spent enough time tantalizing me with neck kisses and skin-on-skin contact, by the time penetration happens, I don't care nearly as much if it lasts for five minutes or forty-five minutes. If I'm satisfied and/or horny going into it, the experience will be fantastic no matter what, and I'll probably be able to get off quickly enough that even a two-minute bout will be ok.
3) Post-play. Particularly if your partner is female, if you've bust your nut before she's climaxed, there's no need to worry. NONE. Whatsoever. Because you can always head back down south with your hands, mouth, toys, or any combination of the three and keep her going. While there are women out there who prefer a cock to a tongue or a toy, I don't know of any who will turn the latter two options down if they're still turned on and ready to rumble. Even if practicing and foreplay haven't given you a more-than-ten-minute edge, you can make the pleasure last much longer for her and be the best lover she's ever had for your troubles. And if you keep her going long enough, you can be ready for round two by the time she gets where she's going!
4) Bedroom aids. There are lots of toys, trinkets, and tiddlywinks specifically designed to help you last longer before your load is blown; I have a feeling if you google a few key words on this topic you'll be inundated with possibilities. There are condoms with mild numbing agents on the inside that will keep your sensitive bits from being as sensitive as usual and therefore less likely to reach a climax quickly. There are pills (although their varying degrees of efficacy are debatable) that supposedly can keep you hard for ages. And there are cock rings, cock rings, cock rings, which have a much longer history than pills and a much more widely accepted ability to keep you hard longer.
5) Breaks in banging. It works for porn stars; it can work for you. Take breaks during your boning bouts. When you feel yourself getting close to coming but you don't want it to happen just yet, pull out and kiss your partner, or finger him or her, or cuddle, or caress, or, hell, go get a snack. Come up with a wild new position that takes a while to get into. If you're with a multi-orgasmic partner, you can use your hands or mouth to get him or her off several times before you go back in for the grand finale. Just give your boner a break and some time to cool down before you heat things back up.
6) And, of course, the measure of last resort: diversionary tactics. We've all heard this one before, but I swear it works. If you feel an orgasm coming on before you want it to happen, think about the least sexy thing you can imagine... within limits of course. You don't want to kill the mood by running out of the room clawing your eyeballs and screaming about worm-infested zombies. But you can think about something abstract: "Hm, do we have any milk in the fridge right now?" "I wonder what the temperature is outside." "Did I remember to turn the oven off?" Mundane little side-tracks can keep you physically present but less focused on what's going on with your junk and give you a few moments' reprieve from the intensity of the situation, leaving you with a few more minutes to wind yourself up to a state of ecstasy when you've focused back on the bliss to be had.
I hope these multitudinous bits of info and suggestions have helped, Mr. Woah: my hands are tired and I'm exhausted by all this thinking! I sure am knowledge-y!
I'd love to hear if anyone found this helpful, or has other advice to offer, in the comments section below. I think I've proved myself a worthy Not-Doctor, so please, peeps, tweet me (@MissLagsalot), comment me, or e-mail me (misslagsalot@gmail.com) more questions!
*Info gleaned from Mary Roach's fascinating and funny tome, Bonk. W.W. Norton, 2008.
...break in service...
So much to do, so little time! Once again, service is briefly on hold... Stand by for Dr. Lagsalot's first advice column, coming to you this evening! Stay tuned!
Dec 3, 2010
Jenna Haze; Legs Up, Hose Down
Jenna Haze: Legs Up, Hose Down Jennaration X Studios/Jules Jordan Video
Directed by: Jenna Haze
Run time: 5 hours 18 minutes
Starring: Jenna Haze, April O’Neil, Tori Black, Lily LaBeau, Lexi Belle, Faye Reagan, Zoe Voss, Marie Luv, Scott Nails, Voodoo, Mick Blue, Toni Ribas, Mark Ashley, Prince Yahshua, James Deen
Thank you, Jenna Haze. No, really, thank you. I mean it. You are setting an example for other performers to follow and you are doing it in stunning style. Not only are you one of the most exquisitely beautiful women to have ever made her way into the world of pornography, but you've done it completely on your own terms, worked your perfect little ass off, won every award there was to win, and used your power in the industry to start your own production studio where you make the porn that you damn well want to make. I hope that more talented and beautiful young women like you, with good heads on their shoulders and clear visions of what they want out of their careers, will become the driving forces behind movies like Legs Up, Hose Down.
I'm serious. It's not that Jenna Haze is the first female performer to ever become a powerhouse on the sweat of her own brow and using her own business acumen, but she's done it in a way that I really fucking respect. She makes movies, and performs in them, because she loves doing what she does. And she makes them the way she wants to: dirty, deviant, and delicious, with a heaping portion of beautiful thrown in for good measure. I wouldn't call most of Jennaration X's movies necessarily artsy, but that's part of their beauty: Jenna's not trying to make artsy sex cinema, she's just doing what she wants with makeup and costuming and cinematography, and in the process coming up with a lot of new aesthetics that are, without even trying to be, absolutely gorgeous.
All that being said, I hope that you readers appreciate the hard work I do for you as much I appreciate the hard work Jenna does for all of us. I sat down for an evening with Legs Up, Hose Down without realizing it was a double-disc set spanning over five hours of fucking. I wasn't prepared for the marathon I'd gotten myself into. I came too soon and then spent a few hours lolling around on the couch wondering if I went to the kitchen to get a snack if I'd miss something, then came again. And again.
Jenna told me at Exxxotica NJ this year that she thought Legs Up, Hose Down, was the best movie she'd ever directed, and while I can't say if that's true because I haven't seen all of her work, I can say that it's got to be up there. Legs Up, Hose Down is a stockings movie, but not purely and simply. Jenna experimented with dramatic makeup, wild colors, and fetishes ranging from stocking ripping (predictably enough) to foot worship (works with the stockings) to leg shaving (huh...) to things I don't even know how to name properly. She uses opening tease scenes heavily to showcase every one of the beautiful women she cast in varying lights, from soft and subtly sexy (in the cases of Zoe Voss, April O'Neil, Lexi Belle, and Faye Raegan) to 80's-tastic athleticy (i.e. Tori Black and Marie Luv) to I-want-to-bang-your-brains-out hot (a la Lily LaBeau and Ms. Haze herself).
Jenna and Zoe Voss start things up along with a delighted-to-be-there Scott Nails. Both the ladies are in patterned fishnets and ready to eat each other up before Mr. Nails steps in and helps them out with a few more digits and a dick to aid in their penetration needs. Jenna Haze has always stunned me in threesome scenes, because a more helpful third party you'll never see: she goes the extra mile to make sure everyone is having a good time by providing dirty talk, extra lubrication, and even hand-jobs when the dick is a little too big to fit the whole way in. She's intense, she's filthy, and she's fine.
Tori Black and Prince Yahshua take over the screen next, Tori in a teal stocking, head-band, and bra getup that is so eighties it's almost off-putting at first. Personally, I've never been a fan of teal, but Tori's stunning beauty and charisma on camera put my color preferences to rest, as did the scorching randiness that Prince brought to the scene. There was, it was obvious from his licking, biting, and kissing, absolutely no part of Tori he did not want to lick. For that matter, there's no part of her that I don't want to lick, either. The only issue with this scene was that Tori and Prince didn't seem very anatomically compatible: during their anal romp, his cock kept popping out, so often that it became quite distracting after a while.
And then God said, let there be sexy, and there was April O'Neil. I don't know how this successful performer has stayed largely off my radar for so long, but... WOW. This little lady is a leggy masterpiece of feminine perfection with a mind-blowing rack the likes of which are rarely seen, even in porn. Jennaration X only hires all-natural women, and had I not known this I might have assumed April's tatas were fake, they are so perfect. Full, round, and heavy on the bottom, with perky nipples sticking up at the ultimate angle, her thin waist and long, lean legs, along with her round bottom, add up to the perfect figure. I'm talking Jessica Rabbit stacked. I'm talking mud-flap stacked. I'm talking jaw-dropping amazingness. And that's all before James Deen came in to join her in the bathroom. If anyone out there doesn't love James Deen, and/or envy him, they haven't watched him perform; he seems to bring out the best in his co-stars, and for lovely April, the best is the cutest series of gasps and giggles and squeals you can imagine. Had I a load to blow, as does a male, it would have been gone halfway through this scene, and again at the end, when those lovely all-natural nubbins wrap lovingly around Deen's dick.
Faye Reagan, Lexi Belle, and Jenna rip up an old-timey antique couch in a randy three-way so full of tulle it's sometimes hard to see the action in the next scene, but from their screams, gyrations, O-faces, and the flapping and bouncing of their breasts (and their tutus), they turn from pixie-colored ballerinas into intensely dirty bitches. I have a feeling most real-life ballet dancers might take issue with their form, but these ladies aren't going for delicate dance; they're here for the orgasms, and they each get their fill.
On Disc 2 (oh yes, dearest reader, I watched both discs because that's how much I love you), things get started with Marie Luv and Mark Ashley, who go through a series of slightly less-than-athletic positions which could be somewhat disappointing after the posturing of Jenna's last scene, if it weren't for the fact that Marie is getting off so intensely and so often that she appears to be literally unable to move her limbs on her own. There is screaming, there is groaning, there is militant groaning, and there is so much lady-juice flowing that what could be a boring scene is transformed into a riveting romp.
The penultimate scene is a doozy: the lovely Lily LaBeau takes on Mick Blue and Toni Ribas with a perverted gusto that drove me to the brink of insanity. Lily is swelteringly hot as always and she knows how to kink up a pair of black stockings like nobody's business. I'm talking using them for all kinds of purposes that only the most seasoned of nylon nuts would even think of, and even though it's kinky as hell, it's still sexy even to the non-nylon-maniac like myself.
Last but certainly not least, Jenna dolls herself up in a beautiful, old-fashioned looking brown leather-and-silk-stockings getup that could probably get the job done for most at-home cock-jockeys, but then she spends a good half hour doing all manner of dirty things to Voodoo that will leave most viewers drained and happily exhausted.
Even after almost five and a half hours of hardcore porn, I can honestly say I'm still excited by what I've just seen. Jenna Haze is a masterful director and a hell of a lady, and my pants and hat are both off to her!
Dec 2, 2010
A Product Review for You, and You, and You and You and You-uu!
I am in a musical kind of mood today. Probably because I woke up to my neighbor's pounding bass downstairs as he painted his apartment. Annoying, but now I'm all sing-y. So please forgive me for linking you to a product review I did for WHACK! Magazine of the Tantus Feeldo Vibrating Double-Ended Dildo with a Sound of Music reference. I know it's a rather dirty misappropriation of a childhood favorite, but hey, if the Feeldoe doesn't make you and your partner both cum alive with the sound of... music... or moaning... there's something seriously wrong. A highlight: "Even after all the wine and my typical sweaty-palmed excitement, figuring out how to use the thing didn't take me more than a few seconds. And the Feeldoe's slender shape and smooth feel helped make the process easy for both partners, but the design is so brilliant that, when things moved from sweet and romantic to wild and spank-ass-ing, the Feeldoe kept right up with the motion of the ocean. I mean it. Just because we're both ladies does not mean that my lover and I don't get crazy; bottle(s) of wine notwithstanding, I seem to remember some spanking, slapping, dirty talking, and lots of "Look at me I have a cock!" posturing going on while I was the anchor. It was... ahh... divine." Go read it, leave comments, leave love! I'll be back later today or tomorrow with a DVD review, my lovelies.
Dec 1, 2010
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...
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...
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