seems i've always got something on the tip of my tongue.    ©

Monday, October 31, 2005

The Waiting Game: The Better Way to Play

My apologies, but this posting has been relocated to my new site. Click here, and you'll be taken to its new home.

Saturday, October 29, 2005

The Joys of Masturbation

Without getting into it, "things" are confusing. The sex I thought would be regular thus far isn’t. Geography’s a bitch. So’s reality. It is what it is, baby. But that's all right.

I can always count on myself.

So, without adieu, the reasons I love to masturbate -- the many, many reasons:


  • I never have to schedule a visit. I always know when my hand is free.
  • Rolling over and sleeping is exactly the right move, every time. Unless you're surf'n'satisfyin' on the tube/'net.
  • No concern about who gets the wet spot. I do. (In theory.)
  • Doing laundry isn’t an automatic repercussion of experiencing the Big O.
  • I can always meet my own expectations.
  • Enthusiasm is a given.
  • I don’t have to dress up in order to get off.
  • The ultimate quickie: Satisfaction with a minute or so of effort.
  • It’s free.
  • It’s portable.
  • It’s fun.
  • When I can’t afford to pay for a massage, I can masturbate. Often.
  • Keeps me in touch with myself.
  • Reminds me that Catholic Church, for me, is like home: I can never go back. Sin is simply too damned fun, and remembering them all for confession would be far too labourious.
  • It’s a healthy outlet for all my repressed societal angst.
  • Nostalgia: The many, many times I’ve revisited that very same Happy Place, and every time I smiled.
  • It’s better than watching golf on a Sunday morning.
  • Stress management. They claim one orgasm has the neurological benefits of 10 Valiums. And cheaper.
  • Because my carpal tunnel syndrome hasn’t crippled me yet.
  • Because I can.
  • Because I get to play with toys.
  • Because.
I’m sure there are more reasons, but that would involve investing more time, and I could be masturbating instead. Priorities, right?

Thursday, October 27, 2005

Call for Questions... and Discipline

I've been very, very bad.

I ordered cable. I've been burning out on a lot of fronts in my life, despite really enjoying how it's all going. I copped out and ordered cable. Last night, what a wonderful thing: I was surfing channels and happened upon a very arousing sex scene in a Latin movie.

And this was what I was missing: Spontaneous masturbation. Gotta love the cable.

The Cunt needs your questions. Comment with a question or email me a question, but either way, bring it on.

(Oh, and no, I'm not really into spanking. It amuses me, but hey.)

Monday, October 24, 2005

Penis Enhancement: A Chick’s POV

One of my regulars sent me an email a dog’s age ago, asking for me to take on the subject of penis enhancement. He didn’t ask for information about the procedures, but commented that:
The more I talk with guys either from my gym or circle of friends the more I have found out that some really would seriously consider undergoing surgery if it meant a larger penis. Perhaps you can provide a female-centric view on these procedures as well as any experiences you have had with men who have underwent procedures.
Well. There’s a can of worms, isn’t it? First of all, I know no men who’ve experienced such a procedure. If you have, and you want to go on the record, feel free to email me. (See sidebar for the address.)

There’s a couple cliches we’ve all heard:

“Size does matter.”
“It’s not how big it is, but how he uses it.”

I wouldn’t want any larger than 8 inches, and that’s a personal preference. Some chicks want guys who are as big as they can get, and other chicks want small men. Enter another cliche: It takes all kinds.

The last guy I was with before this one was guilty of false advertising. This is where it’s probably good to point out that *I* check out a man’s package as soon as the opportunity presents itself. I doubt I’m a minority, as I think that most women have done this.

There’s nothing like a good pair of jeans to give you an idea of what the future holds. That said, I’m also aware that a number of guys are “growers” not “show-ers,” so I don’t let my first impression colour my opinion... just my anticipation.

This dude, the false-advertising guy, seemed to have a nice package. A really nice package, which was somewhat surprising considering the well-known rumour about Asian men and their offerings. I saw him wander off to the washroom after we had begun to fool around, and when he returned, he had something in his back jeans pocket and his "package" seemed considerably less... um, inspiring.

In the end, “hard" (a misnomer in itself), the guy was four-inches long. In his back pocket? Socks.

If you’re the kind of guy who will stuff socks down his cock to “impress” a date, let me save you the hassle. You’re so gonna get busted. If she doesn’t laugh you out of the bedroom, you can expect to never hear from her again. Fact is, if you have a small cock, that’s just how it goes. Don’t build shit up or pretend to be more man than you are, because it always gets outted. (For this same reason, I think chicks are fools to wear padded bras.) And if you thought your situation was embarrassing before such antics, think again.

But it's still not something guys should be sweating as much as they do.

There are chicks called “teeny queens” who are looking for small men. They just prefer that. There are “size queens” who think anything less than 6” is unthinkable. Then there are the rest of us. The ones who love what you do with your cock, no matter what size it is, so long as it’s eager to play with us, and you’re talented at what you do.

There are chicks who will walk from a guy because of his dick -- too much, too little, too unenthused, whatever. Hell, I've known chicks who've left men because they were too endowed. I knew one chick who was almost in love with a guy when she discovered how large he was erect. She never let him enter her, and she walked from the relationship because she was too scared to allow him to penetrate. It broke her heart to do it, but there's some things some chicks won't allow.

There are men who have actually chosen to reduce their cock size because they've experienced that one time too many. (I don't endorse that site, but am simply providing anecdotal evidence.)

Average size, I’m told, is five to seven inches. Most men I’ve been with have been in that range, and this man (and the last one) are the first who have been outside that range. Have I ever wanted a larger guy before now? No, actually.

What’s another reason a lot of chicks like average-sized guys? Well, if giving head’s something you want us doing, it’s more likely to happen more often when you’re average-sized -- or at least happen for longer. Getting a large cock in a mouth can be a pretty challenging thing, and for any chicks with jaw disorders or neck problems, it can be daunting and painful.

Finally, another plus to not getting an overly enhanced penis? Anal. If you want your lover to try anal for the first time, she’ll be less likely to do it if you have a large cock. Face it, that’s just a little freaky for some of us chicks.

This fear, this paranoia men have about their cock sizes is really just the Cosmos’ way of getting even with them for all the fucked-up shit women think about themselves: Is my ass too big? Is my hair too flat? Are my breasts weird? Does my vagina taste funny?

Personally, I’m sick and fucking tired of this new trend we’re seeing in our society, inspired by Brazil, and perfected by Barbie of Beverly Hills, in which everyone is trying to surgically correct their “flaws.” So, the best "you" that you can muster is a certain “someone” you’ve paid thousands of dollars to create under a scalpel and too-bright lighting? Whatever gets you to sleep at night, baby.

If you can’t handle who you are, and you can’t get past what you are, then maybe, yeah, you need to do something about it. But before you let a perceived problem become a real problem, maybe you’d better check the facts. The facts tell you that the majority of women are satisfied by their man’s cock size, that the majority of them don’t want anything that can’t be solved by a cock ring or some Kegel exercises. (For more on those topics, you can read a posting I did not so long ago on NYHotties and another I did here.)

Said simply, knowing what to do with your tongue, what to say, how to touch her, how to finger her, how to do all those things that add up to a wonderful night in will almost always put her in her happy place, whether you’re “average” or not, and will save you lots of bucks, grief, and maybe even a little pain.

In short? Get over yourself, boys. It’s not all about your cock.

Sunday, October 23, 2005

Photographic How-Tos on Positioning

My apologies, but this has been relocated to my site. Click here, and you'll be taken to its new home. Thanks.

Saturday, October 22, 2005

Addicted to love: When do you stop?

A reader contacted me recently to ask what had to be a very, very hard question to ask. To protect them, I have removed all reference to their identity.

Dear Cunt--
I have a major cheating problem. I love sex so much that it's almost compulsive, almost a disorder. My love for sex has ruined every relationship I've been in. I can't stop myself from cheating. Even if I'm completely happy in a relationship, my eyes are always wandering. Naturally I'm a sensation seeker, and I don't know how to stop it. I know that it's wrong and hurtful to cheat, yet I just keep doing it. I think maybe there is some type of psychological reason for this behavior. I've dated a few scumbags, but I've also dated some really good guys before. Either way, even if I am passionately in love, I still cheat. A friend gave me some advice recently when he said he thought that maybe I don't feel like only ONE man can truly love me, and that is why I look to others. Have you ever heard of this situation? I feel like there is something wrong with me, like I don't have control over it.
-Unintentionally Wanting

I’ve already responded to Unintentionally’s email, but I think it’s an important topic, and something people don’t like talking about.

Sex can be an addiction. Yes, there are folks out there snickering and saying shit like, “I’ll show you addicted...” But yes, it can be a compulsion, a life-affecting disorder. There are support goups for sex addiction, too.

I’m not a shrink. I don’t profess to have an inner Freud who can unlock the mysteries of the mind for my masses, but I’m at least a pretty with-it chick.

My speculation? Yeah, maybe, all right, maybe there are pangs of “no one man can ever love me enough,” kinds of sensations going on. Or maybe it’s something deeper, darker, like “no one man will ever love just me, so I need to protect myself and keep others on the horizon.” Or maybe it’s much more intense and buried than that. As Toucan Sam would say, "Only the nose knows. The nose always knows!"

The reasons for addictions of any kinds come from some pretty dark places. Places it takes more than just a flashlight and a curiousity to find your way around. Getting to the bottom of addictions takes courage, unflinching examination, and relentless studying. It’s hard work. It’s paralyzing at times, when you’re jumping without the only parachute that’s ever kept you insulated from the world. I don’t see why something like sex addiction would be any different.

Are you addicted? Well, has it negatively impacted your life? Have you chased away someone you love as a result? Has it ever affected your job? Has it ever affected your friendships? If you can answer yes to any of those, you might have a problem. But if you click here, you can answer a basic quiz that'll give you a better notion on all 'o this.

Like I says, I ain’t no shrink. I’m not some sorcerer of the psyche who’s able to wave a wand and make a diagnosis. This is my gut reaction, and the limit to which I feel comfortable commenting.

Sex Addicts Anonymous offers a support network that includes more than 750 meetings worldwide. There are online chat systems so you can talk to others like you. There are books, tapes, meetings, everything you need to have for an assessment of where you stand. Hell, there’s four or five groups that meet in my city, Vancouver, including one for gays and lesbians.

I’m betting there’s a few dickheads out there thinking, “Oh ho! Now there’s where to go when I need to be gettin’ a little somethin’-somethin’...” And if so, then it’s important to note that yes, you are indeed a dickhead. It ain’t a singles bar. These are people trying to eliminate unhealthy sex from their lives. Don't fuck 'em, and don't fuck with 'em.

I haven’t heard back from Unintentionally. I imagine she’s doing some soul-searching, or else she thinks I’m a twat. Either way, here’s hoping it comes together. What a shitty thing to be mired in. I'd like to hear back from you, chickie.

Friday, October 21, 2005

One pill makes you smaller

(If you're thinking, "Hey, wasn't there a sex-addiction post earlier?" A-yup, yeah, and it'll be back later on the weekend or something. This is more personally relevant and I'm hoping to get some feedback from the women of the world on their own birth control experiences, so, speak up, ladies.)

A couple weeks ago, I started back on the birth control pill after five or six years off of it. There've been times when I've been on the pill, but I've never taken it for extended periods. That's just because I’m the kind of person who’s hesitant to get into chemicals of any kind. (Herbs, though, I’m down with.)

It’s been about two weeks since I started, and it went all over the place at the beginning, since I’m shitty at following a regimen. But in the last week I began to notice some mood swings happening. Stress hitting me harder than it should, and things bothering me more than they should.

I think I should be over the moon. I had an incredible let’s-stay-in-and-fuck-all-day kind of weekend last week, and at the end, felt pretty damned smug about it. Then he walked out the door, I received a depressing email, and for the rest of this week, I’ve been riddled with fears and paranoia. For several days now, I’ve been mired in a depression I can’t shake, that’s causing me to move towards some pretty intense agoraphobia.

There was a time in my past when I dealt with depression... for a long fucking time. With it comes that total lack of desire to live, the lack of energy, the lack of passion. Depression is lack. That's all it is. Overwhelming lack. It’s when nothing brings a sense of value to you, and it is one fucking horrible thing to dwell under.

And it’s coming back. The only thing I can point my finger at are those pills. I have lost weight in the last month, since my jeans fit me snugger in all the right places, so that’s something to be pleased about. My dire financial cloud is lifting, again, a thing to be pleased about. And I’ve been laid time and time again in the most divinely delicious ways in a long time, so, yeah, that’s a good thing, too. But here I am, short of breath, panicking, and freaking right out. Over what? A phone call? A missed client appointment? A little rain? What the fuck’s under my skin? Some questions don’t have answers. Others have pills. But my pills are bringing the questions on, and that just ain't so cool.

I had an email, coincidentally, from a male reader concerned about whether his girlfriend should go on the pill since they have a history of condoms coming off. Honestly? That’s not something I’m qualified to answer. So, I won't.

I will, however, say that educating yourself by reading up on the internet is a must-do before you make such a change in your lifestyle. Know all the negatives, all the potential mishaps that may arise, before you move in that direction.

Personally, these kinds of things have never really affected me a lot -- pills, drugs, et al -- so I’m somewhat surprised to have fallen prey to this so damned thoroughly and quickly.The pill can come with any number of side effects, from serious health issues like blood clots all the way through depression and lack of sexual appetite and headaches. This is a great thread on a discussion forum about women’s health, and it really illustrates one pill-user’s experiences on the birth control pill.

Me, I think it increased an already-active sex drive, but has caused very serious depression. Fortunately, I know the signs of depression and it’s only taken a few days to realize that Something Isn’t Right. I have booked an appointment with my MD for Monday, and intend to discuss the issue in detail. I'm confident that getting off the pill will lead this Steff back to the land of sunshine and bliss. Or I'm as confident as feeling depressed will allow me to be, at least.

If you already suffer from depression, you may want to rethink the pill. If you’re susceptible to chemicals of any kind, you also may want to rethink the pill.

HOWEVER, if you're aware of what might happen, you know the signs to look for, and you monitor any changes that arise, and you discuss all those changes with your lover, so they're watching out for you as well, then why not try it? If it doesn't affect you, being on the pill can really contribute added security and enjoyment to your life. Just don't go into it blindfolded, is all I ask.

Allegedly, the side effects tend to quiet down in two to three months. The question is, can you live with them that long? Depending on the severity, it's entirely possible it'll be but a blip on your life. Not so for me. Personally, I spent too much of my life in the dark to go back in it again. I’ll be looking at other options or trying other brands.

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

Decoding Feminine Desire: Yeah, Right

Okay, so supposedly you’re all here ‘cos this girl knows her shit, right?

I gotta tell you, though, I’m stumped. Seems a reader who simply goes by “Regular” wants to know how a man can then get his woman all riled in response to the posting below this one, A Few Ways To Get Your Man Rock Hard.

Would that it were so easy, my friend, but we all know women are complicated. Them's the facts. Anyone who tells you different is full of shit. There's no Magic 8-Ball easy-peasy decoder ring to turning women on. We're a chore.

Women talking about how hard it is to understand men sometimes strikes me as laughable. The truth is, we got it easy. Your buttons are so goddamned easy to push. Whether it be stuffing your suit pocket with our panties after a ritzy meal out, or dropping our clothes in front of you, it seems like that’s all it ever takes.
Excepting the occasional so-called “dysfunction” episode, of course. I hate that word because it implies that guys should have a money shot every time a thought about sex occurs to them. What kind of fucked-up expectations are we encouraging here? Can’t they just be aroused on a different level for a change? Not if you listen to the goodly folk like Pfizer pushing a Viagra-sized solution on the masses. “A man needs a manly response,” seems to be the spin of the decade. Seems we missed the memo explaining intimacy sized up to a lot more than just seven inches rigid, or whether a chick comes.
Chicks, though, our hot buttons come from a world full of different places. For us, it’s not as visual as it is for men. It’s something almost intangible. A expression, a phrase uttered, that way you’re sitting all cross-legged and peering at us like you can see right through us as we regale you about our childhood, or any other number of absurdly impalpable means of getting stimulated. Or at least it’s that way for those of us in touch with our sex drives. We all know there’re some pretty fucking androgynous folks out there.

I’m turned on by everything from the way a guy sits with a guitar to how he focuses in on me in conversation. He can make me insane by delivering a hard kiss against the wall, or by lightly tracing a finger up my jeans as he approaches from behind, or by tugging me down to the ground for a hard massage that soon goes awry. I'm so fucking turned on by earnestness and honesty in a guy that I wish it could be bottled. Often, it ain't nothing he does... it's how he is that'll draw me in.

I don’t know what the margin is for chicks who initiate sex, but I’m pretty fucking sure I’m somewhere near the head of the class. I like sex, and in a relationship, I’m not afraid to express the want to have it -- in any number of ways and often, very often. This means I’m pretty in touch with my sex drive, and as such, I probably get turned on by more with a man than your average chick might. Maybe. I’m speculating.

I really want to hear from the chicks on this one. What do the boys do that really get you hot? How can they best press your buttons?

For me, it’s a guy that strokes my legs or ass in a really nice, intimate, gentle manner, just as we’re watching television or something. Over and over and over again. The longer he does it, the more I move towards Meltdown Mode. It’s a guy who shows absolute interest in me. Who leans towards me whenever I begin to speak, who hangs off my words, who drinks me in. If I get that, I’m absolutely fascinated. It’s about intensity and intimacy, and it’s no one thing a man does that makes me want to jump him. It builds, escalates, then implodes on me, and I attack.

In general, guys have all the tried-n-true methods at their disposal: massages, surprise candlelit dinners, a good pair of jeans that advertise your goods, a blanket and a bottle of wine on the floor before a fire, love notes hidden in her purse, biting her neck, and so on. As for specific make-her-want-me-now moves, I can't really help you. I'm an odd duck.

So now let’s hear about it from the Cuntettes. Well, girls? In what ways can a guy best delicately manipulate his fuckability factor with you? Hmm?

And guys, you could add a little more to the posting below, so we know what else we can do to/for you. Before you begin to feel transparent and all, just think, what’s the worst that could happen? You’ll give more chicks more means for knowing how to spell out “Fuck-me-now,-please” for your benefit. So, a little cooperation? Thanks.

Tuesday, October 18, 2005

A few ways to get your man rock hard

Send him a very, very dirty note. He must receive the note when he’s not in your presence and can’t be for several hours. If you know his company isn’t too strict on emails received at the office, or he has a public email client like gmail or hotmail, then send him an email. If that’s not an option, before he leaves one morning, slip a printed note into his wallet. Tell him those dirty little thoughts you’re nursing about him -- doing you from behind, soaping you in the shower, taking you on the floor in front the television -- whatever gets you hot. Tell him how badly you’re wanting him to have you, and most guys will be getting hot at just the thought. But you have to describe the position and how hot it makes you in order for him to get really, really riled up. Then tell him you’ll be ready for him at a time when you know he’ll be able to be there. Tell him you’re touching yourself just thinking about it now.

Greet him naked at the door. (Or maybe in a man's dress shirt or lingerie, with nothing else.) It’s so easy to do this inconspicuously. Get naked, and when answering the door, hide behind it as you crack it open and peer coyly around at him. As he sets his stuff down, he’ll clue in quickly. Just don’t expect small talk.

When you’re naked in the bed and he needs to leave to relieve himself, stretch out on your back, pull the covers off you, spreadeagle your legs, and start massaging your clit before he returns. When he returns, reach out as if to slip your finger insider yourself, then groan in frustration and tell him “it’s itchy and I can’t reach...” or something else as preposterously girlie-girl and grin like the bad girl you know he wants you to be.

Or just masturbate as per normal when you know he’ll be entering the room. There are few men strong enough to overcome this sight.

While watching nothing special on television, lean over suddenly and take his soft cock in your mouth. Gum and suck him as you massage his inner thigh and/or prostate. This kind of oral is just like gardening... just add moisture and warmth and watch it grow nice and big and strong. I've had reports that blowjobs from the soft state are incredibly hot.

Be really, really obvious about what you want. Initiate sex. All you really need to do, if you’re not sure how to be obvious, is stand up and take your clothes off and sweetly say, “Fuck me, please.” Really, is there a guy who wouldn’t enjoy such a proposition? It may seem crass to you, but to him, it's hot, hot, hot.

You’re possibly thinking how easy it is to get guys hard anyhow, so why go through the effort? Because when you really, really want to fuck someone, you usually fuck better. Don’t you want to be fucked better? This goes back to the “pounded like a cheap steak” question I asked last week. If you’re wanting to be the cheap steak, then this will help, and it’s a great boost to his ego. To his way of thinking, it’s by being a bad girl that you’re being such a good girl.

Leave your hang-ups behind, girls. You’ll be surprised how fun breaking down your old boundaries can be. Try one of these out, and have a fun evening in.

Works for me. ;) What do you think, guys? Anything else she can do to further her agenda?

Saturday, October 15, 2005

Bondage on the cheap?

Are you, like me, a fan of light bondage, but not into the sorts of high-end bondage bed sets that cost an arm and a leg? Do you lack an old-fashioned headboard to bind your lover to? Have no fear. Here's a two-dollar bondage hijinks tip from yours truly.

Visit your local dollar store and pick up a couple cheap steel drawer pulls like these. Screw them into the top of your bed frame for the arms, and if needed, the bottom for the legs, at a "spread-eagle" width. Grab a rope, bind your lover, and let the games begin.

(I'm excited, this blog should click past 45,000 hits tonight, in less than 10 weeks. Very cool. If it's you, you'll let me know, won't you?)

Friday, October 14, 2005

The struggle to love one's self

I am imperfect. Maybe it's a newsflash to you, but it’s something I’ve been far too aware of for my entire life.

As a kid, I was plagued with health problems. It wasn’t until my early teens that my epilepsy went away and we discovered that the causes of my endless troubles ultimately stemmed from a rare kidney disorder.

Nearly two decades later, my health issues are things of my distant past, but I’m still a member of the bonus lover plan. I’m not some svelte sexy thing who’s able to squeeze into a size six, and some part of me doubts I ever will be. No, like my personality, my body’s larger than life, and it suits me fine.

I'd rather not ever be thin, despite struggling to lose nearly 20% of my body weight these past two years. During that journey to toneness, I’ve gained a better sense of self than I’ve ever known. Who I am, though, is larger than life, and that'll never change. Presumably, my body will remain the first clue of my nature for others.

On that same journey, I’ve discovered something else. The “ideal” beauty is seldom our “real” beauty in the eyes of the everylover. While we all lust after our glossy magazine celebs, when it comes to having them as lovers, day in day out, we wouldn’t be interested. Why is that?

I’ve been trying to understand the seemingly incongruous nature between lust and desire. I’m more than able to lust after nearly any man I see, since sexuality for me isn’t a formula, but rather something almost impalpable. You have it or you don’t. When it comes to desire and attraction for the longterm, though, I find myself zeroing in on men who carry a little extra weight on their large frames, provided they dress well and groom well. What is it that makes me want them? I'll never know, but I know they're what's in my mind when I touch myself in the dark.

The point is, we all have a certain make and model that drives our desire, and it may not be worthy of a glossy magazine spread, but they’ll spread just fine for us, thank you very much.

Until this past year, I was always aggressive in my interpersonal dealings, in an attempt to mask my everpresent insecurities. Somewhere along the way, probably when I escaped death last August in a scooter (think Vespa-ish) accident, I realized the insanity of not loving myself for who and what I was, since I had almost ceased to be and had another chance at this merry-go-round called Life. Loving myself then became my number one goal.

After all this time, all this work, I can say it’s true now. I’m a vixen in my own right, in my own way. I’ve also discovered something I’d forgotten: No man has ever complained about my body size to me. The contrary. Back in the day, though, I thought they were trying to make me feel better. I didn’t want to believe they could want me or love me for who I was... because what would that say about them, then?

Now, what it says about a man is evident to me: They understand passion, desire, and they know it when they see it. They see me for all of what I offer -- intelligence, wit, charm, stylings, deviousness, sensitivity, romance, dominance, submissiveness, all wrapped into one package that’s just the right size to hold the dynamism of what I bring to the bed and to life as a whole.

A few years ago, I read a study that revealed those who were carrying a little extra weight generally had better sex lives. The scientists were at first stymied by this discovery, until they realized a very simple truth: Food, when done the way food ought to be, is as erotic and sensual as anything we can experience. Those who were overweight were in touch with their sensual selves and sought to enjoy all the delectable goodness offered by life, in whatever form they came, be it bed-bound, baked, or otherwise.

I have found myself besieged by young women of late, all of them emailing me about their inabilities to orgasm. I find myself having to keep explain to them that they got to love themselves -- physically and emotionally -- before they can handle the Big O. The odds are against them, though, and it's largely why we sexually peak in our 30s. As young women, we suffer through the most inexplicable expectations from society and the hang-ups we develop are legion. There was a good mainstream example last year in the form of a short-lived TV show called Life as We Know It, with Kelly Osborne in it. A guy fell for her, but admitted he couldn’t handle having her as a girlfriend, because what would his buddies think if he was slapping thighs with a tubby girl?

We live in a society that’s so hung up on appearances that we’ve forgotten the beauty that comes from within. We’ve forgotten how incredibly hot and sexy it can be when someone simply digs themselves for who they are, regardless of their appearance, and can bring that passion and goodness into play in every thing they do every day.

I recall once being asked why I wanted to lose weight. I bit my lip, looked at the ground, thought about it, and responded “Because I want my inside beauty to match my outsides.”

These days, on a good day, I know I already match. In the last decade of my life, I have overcome enormous obstacles -- the death of a parent, massive debt, illnesses, a couple near-death experiences, and writer’s block that hounded me for half a decade. But my greatest accomplishment is this: Loving myself.

One of my all-time favourite quotes is Oscar Wilde’s. “To love one’s self is the beginning of a life-long romance.” What can I say? I’m a romantic at heart, and now it shows.

Thursday, October 13, 2005

A morning quickie post

It made my day to get an email this morning that said, “It's such a treat to read a feminist who loves men!” She went on to say that my approach to sex makes it “sound so wholesome and natural yet deliciously kinky.”

These are the emails I love. When it comes to the bedroom, I’m able to balance being sensual, doting, and romantic with being pretty wicked and dominant when I feel like it. Sex is supposed to embrace all aspects of our personalities, and it’s the one time in our lives when we really have the chance be the person from our fantasies.

The trouble is, some of us require a person we really trust before we can be that uber-alterself. And trust isn’t all of it, either. We need to know things will be free of judgment. After all, if we will be judged for our behaviour, then where’s the incentive to perform?

Leave your hang-ups at the door, kids. Forget what society says is right or wrong. Just love the feeling of all you do, live in the moment, and forget what the preacher from the pulpit’s gonna think if he walks in.

The reader who sent me the above comments has made me giddy. I do try to be a feminist in the way I live my life, but I really, really resent women who seem to believe they have to hate men in order to be a strong woman. That’s bullshit. Let the men in your life be the men they are. There’s a lot to love about the strength and machismo found in today’s man, especially if they also bring empathy and passion into the mix.

Both sexes have wonderful things to offer. Being proud of our genders is something both sexes need to stop apologizing for. I want my men strong, assertive, and sometimes macho. It doesn’t make me any less of a feminist -- maybe it makes me moreso, because it doesn’t threaten me.

Tonight or tomorrow, I’ll be posting some links to articles I’ve written in the last month, off-site. Stay tuned.

Wednesday, October 12, 2005

Baker’s Dozen: Yeast Infections

Once upon a world, a reader asked me to write a little something about yeast infections. Uh... know what? I don’t wanna. What a topic.

But here’s the deal. It’s important to know about them, so I’ll say a couple things.

First off, they’re a sexually transmitted disease, people. Yes. They’re not just an inconvenience, but are a sexually transmitted disease. If you have one, you shouldn’t be having sex. It’s pretty much that simple. But if you’re a horny mofo dying to get laid, then be intelligent enough to wear protection.

If you have frequently recurring yeast infections, it can be a sign of more serious things going on inside you -- like diabetes -- and getting assessed by a medical professional is a smart way to go, and I encourage visits to naturopathic professionals as well.

Any number of things can cause yeast infections -- from having a sexual “binge,” ie: having sex many times in a short period after a period of abstinence, since it can cause bad fluctuations in pH levels, through to a bad diet with too much alcohol, or just being stupid enough to work out or swim and keep your sopping clothes on for an extended period. And sometimes skankiness just happens to good people, and that’s the way it goes.

But read here for more information if you just want an overview. Read here if you’re a man. Read here if you’re a woman. Seriously, read it. This shit's too common to remain ignorant about it.

Monday, October 10, 2005

Cuntact Information

Hey, kids. PiuPiu wanted to email me. I have a hyperlink on the sidebar, and I'm always open to receiving questions. I may not respond to them all publically, but I do try to respond to everyone. Click here to go to email land. The most interesting or most applicable Qs will result in postings. :)

Saturday, October 08, 2005

Quote & Question of the Day:

I wonder how many of you have ever read a book about sex. Not something erotic, but an instructional how-to type book on gettin’ heavy. Me, I’ve delved into a few over time. Right now, I’m jumping through different chapters of Paul Johannides’ classic sex tome, “The Guide to Getting it On.” Whatever question you have about sex, it has likely been answered by Paul.

This chick gives it five stars. It's one of the best out there. Here’s a quote Paul cites from Clean Sheets, the online erotica magazine:

“Why is it that some men just can’t deal with the idea that a smart, together, professional woman like me can actually deserve their respect and still want to be thrown down on the couch and pounded like a cheap steak now and then?”

Heh. Well, that’s a very good question, honey. We all like a little steak now and then. Mm. I think guys are more hip to the duality of today's woman than they've ever been, but maybe I'm an optimist.

Can the guys out there comment on whether knowing a chick likes it a little rough and dirty compromises how you perceive her in the “real” world? Chicks, can you comment on whether you feel this is less the case now than before, or whether you've noticed a change in perception of you after your sexual preferences have escaped?

(the photo isn't from The Guide. the images in there are all cartoons, this was found on the web by moi, taken by photog David Perry. I think it's kinda hot, but it may bother some of you. Feel free to comment.)

Writer's / Reader's Etiquette

In checking my webstats, I've discovered a reader has posted all of my guides on oral IN ENTIRETY elsewhere on the 'net.

Since I'm a writer by profession, I must remind people: THIS WORK IS COPYRIGHTED. Please, do not post it in entirety. EVER. You may excerpt it in little bits, but you must give me my due credit. The law is in my favour, as it is with anyone who publishes anything on the web. Please remember that, not only for my work, but for anyone's work that you enjoy.

Otherwise, people like me will start withholding our "A" game in order to cover our commercial asses. Don't wreck the fun for everyone else.


Wednesday, October 05, 2005

The Cunt's Take on The Fuckable Friend

I was asked a while back to address the issue of The Fuckable Friend. You’ve been friends for years. You tell each other everything. Now it seems like sex could be a fun indoor sport to play with each other. And hey, with winter coming on, don’t we all need more of those?

We’ve all had those friendships -- the ones where innuendo comes up far too often for our comfort. But it’s just so darn fun, that innuendo.

I personally have always caused grief in my friendships that way. I really enjoy the toying, but it’s become a problem a few times in the past. It has never worked out, regardless of how great the sex was. (And it always was. Can’t beat “friend sex.”)

The important thing about fucking a friend is this: If it works, are you ready for a commitment?

Fact is, if the sex is on, the friendship is on, then you’ve got no excuse to avoid a commitment, have you? What a great predicament to be in... a fuckworthy friend you can tolerate in the morning. Stop the presses. Ride that ride a while and see where it takes you.

One of the wonderful things about having sex with a friend is that you’ll be able to laugh about it without having to apologize. You have that synergy where you’re both in on the joke. The thing that sex with a friend always tends to offer is the ability to have fun and be intimate simultaneously while fucking.

“Yeah, but isn’t that what having sex is?” Well, most of the time, not really. How many of us can truly say we’ve been involved with our best friend? It’s a pretty rare experience. But sex with friends offers that rare look at true fun intimacy.

If you can get over how fucking weird it is to be schtupping your friend, that is.

Odds are, you’ve had all those great accidental “friend” moments. The bad burps, the stupid things said, the idiocy displayed, the utter humiliation, the total hurt. And it was always okay, easy to handle, ‘cos you were always just friends. It was voluntary.

Now, though... choice is the first thing to go. It becomes obligation, and that can be a real problem. You sit there and think, “Oh, I wouldn’t be that petty.” It ain’t petty, it’s human nature. Few of us are conditioned to like other people having any control over our lives. It’s asking a lot.

Let’s put this simply: It’s really, really, really hard finding good friends... And it’s so fucking easy to lose a lover... But loving a friend can be a truly awesome experience, and sometimes that’s worth the risk.

If you’re gonna take that risk, you need to be able to commit to ‘em if it works out. Otherwise, you’ll not only lose a lover, but a friend. Will I fuck a friend again? Current selection, no. But I wouldn’t rule the behaviour out in the future, either. Will not rule it out.

It’s always been fun, and the friends I’ve lost, well, one is regrettable. The others are still worth a smile. Good people, but expendable. Incredible sex.

There aren’t many friendships able to overcome a not-right-for-a-relationship, but-let’s-still-be-friends foray into fucking. Most of the ones that do try to resume the friendship will invariably realize how strange it has become after the sex. You don’t feel comfortable talking about crushes, you avoid movies with sex scenes in them, you get awkward talking about physical problems. It’s a lesser, less fulfilling version of your old relationship, fraught with stilted strangeness and abbreviated exchanges.

The few and the far between are in fact able to transcend all that shit and become stronger friends as a result of it. What lucky bastards.

Do you fuck your friend? Your call. Your gamble. If you secretly think, “I bet she’d still be fun in five years, and man, I never get sick of hanging around her...” then maybe sex might be the way to get something real started.

Or it might just be a great lay.

Just so long as you know the cost.

I'm sure that if I asked, my wonderful readers could share some of their experiences on the matter with you, as well. Have at 'im, kids.

Tuesday, October 04, 2005

An interesting thread

Viviane posted this link in response to my posting a while back regarding the 30-year-old virgin question.

Virginity is maintained for a variety of reasons -- morals, issues, inopportunity, lack of other-sex appeal, and so forth. The issues surrounding the particular male who has asked the question about whether there's any hope for him, and how he should proceed, happen to include all of the above, thus making it an interesting and involved exchange of ideas.

Check it out, if it's interesting to you.

Monday, October 03, 2005

wishing otherwise

wistful jazz wails in the background. the drive bustles with beatniks and bohemians, baddies and babes. stale cigarette smoke wafts towards me. i see the source. you.

i only glance at you for the briefest second, but you catch my eye. that smoldering look you got’s really something else, i think, returning to my book. while i reread the same passage, i sense you watching me. this time, looking up, i slowly take you in.

you’ve got crumpled olive green cargo pants on, but they’re just tight enough around your round bubble ass. you’re wearing two tanktops, layered, one white and one black, and a leather jacket’s slung over your forearm, obscuring some of your tattoos. surprised at myself, i openly admire your breasts as i continue up you and meet your glance.

“glance” is too light a word for that look of yours. your eyes are locked on me like a fighter plane acquiring a target. so brazen, so bold. so intimidating.

i find myself wishing i had that in me, but today i don’t. i smile weakly, then break the gaze, dropping down to my book, back to my safety zone.

out of the corner of my eye, i see you shoot me a final glance as you join up with your approaching friend. sad to see you leave, i at least watch you go.

now, days later, i revel in my regret for the courage that came too late, and for the chance squandered so quickly.