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

Monday, January 30, 2006

My Day

These are the kinds of guys I find hot. The ones who know how to relax, who seem to have enough grasp on what's important that they find their way here on a rare sunny winter's day in Vancouver. I mean, if you can't find your way to seize moments like these when they're so far and few between, what kind of life are you leading, right?

Oh, so, of course, I made my way there, so it says something about some of my values. I sprained my ankle, though, and had to cycle another 4km to the bus station, which wasn't very much fun, but geez, this day was worth a little pain. The good things always are, n'est ce pas? And the first hour and a half rocked my world, so, hey, there's that.

And I'd like to talk about photography for a second. This one is one of my photos I took today. I enjoy photography and have been known to snap a pretty pic or two, days like this, I love it, but I need to take a moment to say that every single photo you've seen on here (the Cunt), besides this one, belong to other people. They've been found on the web. I don't make money off this site, so, it's kinda fine.

But I just can't help it, they're all such hot and great images. I love 'em to bits. Makes for a nice look, yeah? Anyhow, I have a good eye, but they just ain't mine. I've mentioned it before, but not for a while.

Hi. I'm Steff, And I'll Be Your Pilot

You have those nights sometimes, the nights before a simple kind of day, a your kind of day-day, where the only thing you really know is this: You’re calling the shots.

The man? Fuck him. The woman? Her too. And everyone in the sub-genres? Them too.

It’s 12:24 a.m., and I’ve decided that whatever it is I do when I roll my lazy ass out of bed, it’s okay. Tentative plan: A fine breakfast, a little South Park, a trip with the bike and the camera downtown to play tourist, for kicks. That’s it.

Before, I had these grandiose plans of, oh, I don’t know, accomplishing something, or something. I’ve come to my senses. Partly sunny. Dubious, you think? Fuck no. Partly’s sounding like it’s from God’s lips, man. Yep. A fine day, whatever materializes. With the last 45 or so days being filled with 40 or so days of rain, well, I’ll take drizzle, man. Just get me the hell out.

Though I feel like keeping to myself after my crazy past six weeks, I am going to force myself to be social. A tad. But only to cute men.

The women, they’ll get nods and grunts. Yep. Balance. It’s all about balance, isn’t it?

Oh, I’m joking. I play well with all others. My folks brought me up with manners, etiquette, you know, and that makes me the mostly charming young thang before you. I say “mostly” because having a mouth like Susan Sarandon at her time of the month is really not doing me any favours. But it feels so damned good, and the hedonist in me, that’s all she really needs, ya know.


Hopefully the following applies to none of my male readers, but, guys, I’ve been hearing some horror stories.

See, I’ve heard all these things through regular conversations with real, live guys, not through this blog. So, I’d like to just say this right now, that there’s a little too many instances of this sort of thing. You want chicks to feel all right about touching themselves and such, then we need to get on page about this.

Chicks, we’re sensitive, right? Estrogen: License to Pill. It’s rough, yeah, baby. Real rough some days, and you guys, you’re so lackadaisical and oblivious. Normally, it makes us chuckle, but sometimes, y’all leave scars.

These conversations I’ve mentioned, have all included guys, who, upon going down on women they were with, reacted in one or more of the following ways:
  • Gasped
  • Retched
  • Dry-Heaved
  • Actually vomited between her legs
  • Groaned, grabbed his clothes, ran, and proceeded to dress in her apartment’s exterior corridor
I mean, my GOD, guys. If you’ve done this, you are such an ass. Even if it was totally unintentional, oh, lord.

Don’t you ever get the sense that some people are the needing the emotional form of toilet training? Instead of just blurting out every fucking thing you feel in the split instant it hits, try something incredibly nouveau and cutting edge: Hold your goddamned tongue until you’ve let the stupid idea rattle around yer skull a moment.

And that doesn’t go out to just guys, there’re so many women that applies to, and we all know it.

If a guy reacts like that in one of those moments, it’s akin to a woman snickering at the size of a man’s cock. “You’re… not cold, are you? Oh, sorry, yes, that was optimism. I was hoping I could at least turn the thermostat up. Sadly, though… there might be little point in— Oh, I made a punny! (giggle)”

I just find myself wondering what such an experience would do to a woman’s future sex drive, considering how much more governed by emotions (and estrogen, sigh) we happen to be.

I’ve only had one real experience of issue with a bit of a foul odour, and it was after an eight-hour car trip with a guy I really, really, really wanted to sleep with when I lived in the North. He had a girlfriend at the time, and I had shit going on long distance, so I constantly felt the hopelessness of that, too. He paid me the most incredible compliment that day, too, that would sound totally cheesy to say here, but probably the greatest thing a guy ever said to me. It was his tone of voice and the way he stared through me as he said it, though. I melted. A couple hours after that, and needing a washroom for a bit, and I was conscious of my scent. Nothing too intense, mind you, but it was there, perceptible, a little, and I became hyperaware. We arrived at a washroom within five minutes of my noticing it, and I was able to wash up and feel great again, and I’m pretty sure he never picked up on it.

But if he had, it probably would’ve been a source of pheromones, not offense. Since that time, I kind of started to quiz the guys I’ve been with, and have been remarkably surprised at what was, I perceived, an offensive odour, and what guys have found attractive. They seem to have a more accommodating standard, I suppose. We chicks, we get bombarded by media ads about “feminine freshness’ on a daily basis. Hell, they have “feminine wipes,” which are the female equivalent to the baby’s-dirty-ass-alcohol-soaked-wipe. Unfortunately, there’s a market for them. It’s called “being single.” The Age of Paranoia.

I’m just saying, guys need to be empathetic to the issues that chicks sometimes have to deal with, and being nice and delicate about the fact that she needs a shower can go a long, long ways. How about, “God, I bet you’d be incredibly hot all lathered up. But mostly, I wanna do the lathering. Get you wet. Dripping. In the shower.”

That way, you get to play with a bar of soap. (Dove is nicely contoured. Ever notice that?) You get a nice shower. You get a clean chick. And you get to get laid after all. Everybody wins. She keeps her pride, and you get to enjoy the perks.

And though there’s not such an amenable conclusion for chicks who are usually stupid enough to blurt out a comment about a man’s penis size, really, they just ought to bloody well know better. I mean, Jesus. A little empathy. Just like God gave you that flabby bit on your inner thigh that no amount of working out can resolve, the small-penis thing wasn’t likely a request, and surgery ain’t no walk-in-the-park boob job, either.

Anyhow, thanks for coming on my tangential walk this evening. I’ve clearly been sort of colouring by numbers on this posting, but hey, it’s been fun for me. Come again.

Sunday, January 29, 2006

The Cunting Poll v2.0

In honour of masturbation:

What is
the sexiest thing
you have
ever, ever

Saturday, January 28, 2006

Hey, Got A Cam? Cybersex and Masturbation.

Hmm. It could just be some weird moon phase thing (new moon tonight) or something, but nearly 20 hours has passed, and no comments? How odd. Is everyone too embarrassed to 'fess up to cybersex? Too polite to tell me to get stuffed? Humour me, and comment.
-r u hard yet?

-show me ur tits. squeeze em.
oh, yah, baby. ur so hot. hard now.
Ah, the internet: Where the flame of romance never dies.

I’ve been talking about masturbation for the last 10 days or so. How can I possibly ignore cybersex?

The butt of many jokes, cybersex is still vastly overlooked for its potential to destroy the modern relationship as we know it. But that’s changing. Mental health pros are finding themselves inundated with sex addictions these days – more than ever before. It turns out that cybersex is the crack cocaine of sex addiction.

It’s changing the dynamics of human relationships. Communication was already doing pretty shitty before this, but now it’s plummeting to all-time lows.

Now, I’m not trying to be an expert in double-speak here, but I gotta revisit earlier claims that masturbation wasn’t addictive. Let’s qualify that. In the same way that marijuana is not addictive, so too is masturbation not.

Dope, you can get pretty compulsive about. Hell, I’m first in line to admit to marijuana compulsions. It’s “not really” addictive because it can be kicked with a little self-control. I think masturbation’s the same. You can be compelled to do it far more than you should be doing it, yeah. Absolutely. But that ain’t addiction, that’s a user malfunction. It’s a user with an addictive personality, someone with lacks somewhere, who’s trying to fill the need with a substitute of choice.

Hell, that’s life, most days. That ain’t a candybar, honey, that’s a need for affection and someone’s lovin’ arms around ya. Same deal. The only thing is, masturbation’s so much easier to paint with that brush of judgement than, say, having a second helping of pasta. “Oh, but’s a cream sauce, I get it. I can relate.

Needs are needs, and sometimes we fullfil ‘em the wrong way, but we all got the needs, and we all got compulsions.

I’ve done cybersex. Sure. I masturbated when I did, sure. But he had it better at his end, ‘cos after all, cybersex is all about the verbs. Me, I got verbs. Girl’s got vocab, baby. So, I was left a little unquenched, but thank god I was in good hands: Mine.

And that’s the beauty of cybersex. It’s sex on demand, and you know it’s gonna deliver – every single time. With every click, every page, appeasement, baby. You get to fill your own needs, so you get off, fully, completely, each and every time. It leaves everything up to you, it’s more selfish, intensely personal, voyeuristic, and ultimately, it’s all in your head.

Just like every drug I’ve ever had. Personal. Selfish. Imaginative. Voyeuristic. All me. That’s drug use for you, whether you're into cocaine or Jim Beam, so when anyone tells you cybersex ain’t just like a drug, tell ‘em for me that they don’t know shit.

I think there’s nothing wrong with a little cyber-dallying. Do I? No, I don’t. It’s not my bag – repetitive, uninspiring, and has the feel of those dirty jeans you find on the corner of the floor in a jam – does the job, takes care of the moment’s needs, but a little too loose’n’easy for a real good fit. However, if the right lit man came ‘round with a suitably sexy repertoire of vocab, I’d find myself curious how he’d play through words, sure.

Cybersex worries me, it does. I see dire times ahead for human relationships. I see a time when we’ll be unable to ask for sex in a healthy, seductive kind of way. I see romance and foreplay taking wrong turns. I see communication growing increasingly truncated, and I see us becoming far too introspective and inward-driven to really know how to interact in a meaningful way anymore. In that way, the masturbation is the enabling act that makes it feel "real" when it's so not.

It’s freaky. I heard about Isaac Asimov’s Robot series and how, in one of the books, he predicted cybersex would transpire – in 3500 AD. Here we are, only 50 years later, doing exactly that -- communicating through screens, performing for each other instead of being real, using shortcuts for dialogue instead of fully expressing what's on our mind. As science fiction, it's interesting, as reality, it's disconcerting.

I think it all comes down to balance, really. Masturbation’s awesome, but if you’re sitting around your apartment masturbating all day (must be nice to have such resilient skin and tissue), you might want to consider if it’s doing as much for you as you’re letting yourself believe. It’s about reality checks and knowing when too much of a good thing’s too much. It’s about remembering that your home comes with a door, and when you open that door, a world is at your heels. This virtual shit, well... “Virtual” says it all, really: Nearly real, but, like, not.

I always love to say, “It is what it is.” In this instance, cybersex, masturbation, remember, it ain’t what it ain’t. I ain’t never gonna be what you want it to be. If you're aware of that, then you're fine. If you forget that, or lose the desire for the real deal, then you've got to take a look at yourself.

*I plan to look at cybersex in awhile, but my head’s not wrapped around the topic yet, and like I say, I need to look up research et al, since I want numbers and stuff to back me up. I'm not saying it's gonna be the end of the world for relationships as we know it, but let's at least be aware of its potential before we saunter blindly into the future. Remember how IBM said there'd never be a market for home computers? Remember how they said television was a fad, that radio would never lose its popularity? Let's not kid ourselves. We know not the beast with which we tangle.

And yes, you'll be treated to the vast responses I've received from guys on the topic of jacking. Early next week.

Thursday, January 26, 2006

Rape Fantasies & Masturbation

Please, read the questions listed in the posting below this, regarding male masturbation (questions are applicable to both sexes) and answer, if you can. As a result of those questions, I've just received what I think is an important email from a very articulate young man, on masturbation. He writes:

This is going to sound really disturbing to women but I think a lot of men fantasize about rape. I think that rapists are the lowest form of life. Rape is the single most disturbing and horrible thing you can do to a person. Someone that is raped is scarred forever. My best friend was raped and I would kill the man responsible if I could. That is why it bothers me so much that I have fantasized about it. I don't want you to think that I'm a potential rapist because I have fantasized about it but I think most men probably do. If they can admit it to themselves. The fantasy part of it isn't about hurting her or scarring her. I think its just about taking something that youre not supposed to have. I guess something thats extremely taboo is sexy to us. Thats why there are movies about rape, incest, pregnant women, etc. I think thats why guys are so interested in anal. We want what we cant have.

Whew. Rape Fantasies. Yeah. Well, I've had 'em. But I'm also a strong girl who can take care of herself, and I pity the bastard that tries it.

That said, this is an topic that needs more discussion. It says a lot about human nature, doesn't it? Here's the response I sent the guy, word for word, so I can jam and go back to bouncing around to those ponces, Oasis:

I was just playing with some photography and you emailed me as I finished up, so curious, I read it. I'm deliberately not responding to people, but you're young and clearly disturbed by the rape thing.


The thing is, I think it's a pretty sterilized fantasy -- like, nothing too explicit, you know? With guys, I think it's a subliminal desire to feel like they could have permission to demand and take what they want -- but not necessarily through violence. Just a primal thing, like the caveman dragging his woman by the hair. Whereas with women, it's more a notion of wishing someone would feel that height of desire that they need to take us then and there -- but we'd want to kill any man who'd try it.

It's a really difficult fantasy for most people to come to terms with because the real act is usually outside our ethics, but we are, at heart, animals, and every now and then I think the notion of being true to that, without all these complications of civility and social correctness would be appealing to us all -- the sexual equivalent of a cabin in the woods: basic, bare, free of bullshit.

But the reality of rape is something horrific for a lot of people, in both sexes, to come to terms with. So, instead, we never talk about the fact that most of us have thought about it in that faceless-stranger-in-the-night-this'll-never-happen kind of way.

Thanks for bringing up an important topic. I was ironically thinking of this this morning, so your timing was stellar.

Male Masturbation

On second thought, if I can't post for a couple days, let's get the ball rolling on the topic of male masturbation. Obviously, being female, I can't really input a lot on this topic, so I need reader help. I'll have a fabulous guest writer for this main posting, so let's see if we can give him a little direction in regards to what he ought to share. I also plan to do a posting in which I'll take snippets of my male readers' comments and paste them in one nice compendium of male input.

So, some questions for you.

For the Females: What is it you want to know about male masturbation? Does any of it weird you out? Why? What's your reaction to it? Do you find it hot, or not? Why or why not? Have you had any negative experiences with it? What's your reaction to finding a lover doing it when he thought you were asleep / not around? What'd you do about it? Do you regret your actions, or are you satisfied with your actions?

For the Males: What's your process for masturbating? What or who do you think about? If you think about your lover or an ex-lover, are you thinking about specific things she'd do to you, or things you wish she'd do? Are you ashamed if you're caught by a lover? Do you masturbate when a lover's asleep next to you? Are you wishing she'd wake up and help, or would that feel like an invasion of your privacy? If you're involved in a relationship right now, do you find it bothers her, or does she support it? At what age did you start? How long did it take to get the hang of it? How often do you do it? How long does it take to come? What do you wish more women would know about it? Where's your favourite place to do it?

If you'd like your privacy, email me. I will be using your statements in a comprehensive post, but your anonymity is guaranteed.

Quickie Post.

There won't be a new posting until Friday night, probably, and who knows about that. I have a busy few days coming up. I've written a couple things, and I'm not sure how to tweak either of them. One's on cybersex addiction, a depressing topic, but the one I want to write is another perspective on why women might be hesitant to touch themselves in any meaningful way. Unfortunately, I have to spend time trying to find a few particular writing examples to take in to a certain notorious magazine seeking a copyeditor. Not sure I have the skills for their level of publication, but shit, I can give it a go. I really need to invest some time in finally amassing an actual portfolio. I'm far too laissez-faire about all this.

ANYHOW. An update on Canadian politics. We have a new Prime Minister -- a religious in-search-of-morality-for-the-masses Conservative Prime Minister.

They have a minority government, though, and unlike the US, we have four major parties. The Liberals can band with the NDP for any vote and easily vote down the Tory (Cons.) agenda, so I doubt there'll be five years of Conservatives at the helm -- we may have another election in a year. Let's hope. Their minority gov't is even smaller than the Liberals' gov't that suffered a vote of non-confidence, so, I'm optimistic on that count, but I know Harper (the new PM) is the kind of man who'd rather impact things HIS way and only serve one term, than toe the line, not put his own policies in place, and serve three. (We have no limit on how often a Prime Minister can serve the country. Trudeau was our PM for much of 16 years. I like this aspect of our politics -- consistency can be a virtue.)

For those who know little of Canadian politics, we don't elect a leader -- we elect a party. We vote only for our local Member of Parliament, and based on the number of MPs voted from any one party, the leader of the party with the most votes becomes PM. I wish we could have a separate vote for leader, but oh, well.

Interesting point? The Conservatives never won a single seat in any of Canada's largest cities -- Vancouver, Toronto, or Montreal. Figures, you gotta be a hick to buy that shit. (No offense to the country folk.) But enjoy your sex clubs in Montreal while you can -- if anyone tries to take that away, it'll be Harper.

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

Fishies: Wake up and smell the pheromones

(Curiouser and curiouser, I'm surprised at the lack of comments on this one so far. Are the guys afraid to speak up for fear of being thought as sexist or something? You're allowed to comment, you know. We all know this exists. Funny how the women are so keen to speak up against guys, but not vice versa. Speak, oh, silent majority.)

I’ve been on a masturbation writing tear, and I’ve got more to say about it, too, from a couple different points of view, and both will be a little tricky to say just exactly what I want to say, so I’m biding my time on those – but later this week, they’ll be up.

In the meantime, I apparently opened a can of worms when I posted the rant found below without having the add-on disclaimer at first. I agree, it might’ve been a little harsh for some of the men in my audience. I stand by what I say, though, because it applies to a good deal of men who are oblivious to appeasing their partners’ needs.

But what about the women, then? All right, to the women we go, then.

Everyone has heard the phrase, “She lies there like a dead fish.” This is where you got to realize that stereotypes and clichés exist for a reason. You can get all huffy and say, “That’s not polite!” but hey, the truth hurts.

If you’re lying there, and do nothing but a little groping and kissing, as your man does his thing, you have NO right to complain about lousy sex. You have no right to say he doesn’t know how to get you off. You have not one iota of justification to piss or moan – at all.

Sex is only good when both partners get involved, when both partners do what it takes to appease the other. If you’re one of the Dead Fish among the female population, then you’re doing a few things:
  • Making the rest of us have to make the stereotypes go away so that it’s known that sexy, vivacious women who like to get hot and heavy do in fact exist.
  • Making the rest of us feel like rock stars because we leave the men quaking in our wake, after they’ve been stuck with underwhelming partners before they happened on us.
  • Causing your sex life to be as unfulfilling as it is.
  • Denying yourself the knowledge of how bloody incredible it is to discover your inner vixen.
The interesting thing about both male and female lovers who are unfulfilling for their partners is they have two things in common: Ignorance* and laziness.

But it’s a lot more than that when it comes to the chicks. So many chicks have so many hang-ups. I’ve talked about it before, becoming that “vixen” I’ve mentioned means learning to accept that saucy behaviour in the bedroom doesn’t mean you’re some morally compromised individual – particularly if you’re behaving in that way while in a relationship.

Women get terrified, sometimes, of behaving “badly” in the name of feeling “good,” because they know their boyfriends/husbands/lovers feel that there are certain qualities in their women that they absolutely adore – how kind they are, all of that. A lot of women can’t come to terms with being that character-filled individual, and then being a sexually skilled “bad girl” in the bedroom. They don’t realize that it’ll usually enhance the relationship, not hurt it.

But seriously, girls, get the hell over yourselves. Don’t assume you know how your man’s gonna react. Show him the respect of letting HIM decide how he feels about such a notion.

The fact is, you’re having bad sex in part because you refuse to do your part of the job. If you spice it up, odds are damned good your man’s desire will up in quantities you couldn’t have imagined. Even in the boring old missionary position you can spice things up by wrapping your legs around his waist and clenching your vaginal muscles with every thrust and digging your nails in his buttcheeks or something. If you encourage him to take different positions, that’ll help, too. Here, go to this site and take a look at all the pretty pictures, and then promise yourself you’ll try a few. Oh, and if it makes you all tingly, don't hesitate to touch yourself as you look'em over.

Every position changes the sensation. If you’ve never orgasmed, and you don’t masturbate, and you’ve never tried any of these positions, it’s no wonder you’re a lousy lover. Sex isn’t something that’s just instantly good when you add one genital to another. It takes skill, spontanaeity, a willingness to try new things, a dedication to educating yourself, it needs a level of fitness, specifically endurance, and a commitment to being open and honest with your lover.

And most of all, it needs a voice. You need to express your wants, your desires, and most importantly, your concerns and/or fears. If you’re not comfortable talking to your lover, nothing’s gonna ever reach a plateau for you. Conversations about sex can be as arousing as any kind of touch or tease you do. Sitting there on the couch with a lover and talking about all matters of sex – and not touching each other – can be a really arousing kind of foreplay. Then, you do everything you talked about, and it’ll be hotter than it’s been before, guaranteed. The conversation as foreplay was one of my earliest sexual lessons, and transformed me as a lover. And now, here I am.

Your first step is being comfortable touching your own body. Once you do that, you have to start taking chances with positions, props, whatever. But you got to come to play, baby.

Otherwise, you deserve the lack of orgasms, the lack of passion.

There ARE men who will not respond to a vixen, and don’t let anyone tell you different. There are men who are intimidated by a strong lover. They’re uninspired, they’re not confident, they’re not willing to do what it takes to appease you, and you will need to decide if an unfulfilling sex life is something you can live with. I’d vote no, but hey. When it comes to lovers like that, I like to remind folks that our actions speak volumes about our character. An unwillingness to really learn how to please your lover is indicative of hang-ups, pettiness, insecurities, whatever, but it's indicative that something is off, and don't forget it -- after all, it's indicating the same thing about you. You really want that?

It can be hard transitioning to a sex goddess, but hey, the view’s great from that lofty perch, baby.

I think everyone – EVERYONE – needs to read good books on how to perform sexually. Hey, worked for me. For the women out there, most decent sized cities have women-only bookstores. Check’em out. You’ll be surprised what you can learn just by visiting their sexuality sections. Sure, you can order books online, but it’s better to examine ‘em in real life. Better yet, ask a qualified clerk for help. I was very generous back when I worked in a bookstore, and just loved having a woman come back a month later to thank me. One brought me flowers, once.

The last word? There’s too damned many women who think that lying on their backs is all it takes to have sex. It’s selfish, it’s boring, it’s uninspiring, and it’s flat-out wrong. Sex, done right, is an incredible experience that is seldom surpassed in life. Don’t you want a ticket to ride?

*Ignorance is defined as:
The condition of being uneducated, unaware, or uninformed.

Monday, January 23, 2006

Steff Rants: On "Letting" Women Masturbate

All right, I read a comment this morning from “The Dating Master” on my posting about why 40% of women don’t masturbate, and I’ve been a little riled ever since.

I should be cleaning my house before my friend arrives for a barbecue later, but he’s seen the mess before, and I’ve got a groove on with some classic Verve playing, so fuck it, let’s tackle this.

The guy, and I can’t be entirely sure of whether he’s serious or not, but I’m leaning towards “yes,” based on his own blog, said: “the problem is if we let women masturbate then they will say hey why do we need guys we men are sexually starved as it is.”

The thing IS, though, that even if he's NOT serious, there are men out there who think like this. So, I'm gonna take 'em on!

Normally, I’m kind enough to fix people’s grammar, but his stays as-is. All right, rant mode ON. I just voted, I feel EMPOWERED, baby. And I feel like swearing a lot -- I am one with my inner-trucker tonight. (This is NOT an anti-man bash! It's an anti-sexist-guy/anti-lousy-lover bash! There are good guys out there. I know it!)

First response: What the fuck?

Second response: "LET" us masturbate?

Third response: Why, you…

All right, no one needs to LET US do a goddamned thing. This is why I’m telling women to talk charge of themselves and get to know the fine act of self-love. It’s 2006, buddy.

If you men are “sexually starved as it is,” maybe it’s time everyone stop, sit the fuck down, and think about why that might just be. Here, I have a few ideas. Let me share.
  • Almost every guy thinks he’s some kind of stud when he gets in bed. The guys are thinking, “Nah, that’s not me,” and the women are thinking, “You fucking tell ‘em, sister.”
You do not just insert your penis and see us crumble into ecstasy. You can’t just rub our clit for 30 seconds and think we’re done. You can’t just work us for the average 14-18 minutes that statistics say the average man lasts. There’s a reason foreplay exists – it’s so that WE orgasm, too.

You may be sexually starved, but you ain’t getting the fucking job done when we do let you at us, in most cases, so why the hell should we bother? Seriously. I’d rather read a fucking book than have lame sex. You want to underperform? Go masturbate, I’m having a bath. Yeah, seriously.

Educate yourselves. Learn what the hell the g-spot is, where it is, and why it works. Learn that less than 30% of women orgasm every time they have sex – and their partners have a good deal to do with the low results, but I’m not suggesting a woman NEEDS to come every time she’s getting laid, but men NEED a reality check on the matter. Learn that less than 40% of women are capable of having an orgasm vaginally. Learn that our BODIES are one giant erogenous zone – not just three regions of it. If you don’t work it, we won’t want it. Period.

You want us to want you more? Learn how to make us shudder. Learn how to tease us, deny us, prolong us, then satiate us. And learn how to have better longevity with your erections. I mean, Christ, it’s a MUSCLE, and very few men ever do exercises to strengthen it, other than masturbating and deflating.

  • And the other part of the problem? Women who are still being fucking subservient to the men in their lives, and completely disrespectful of themselves, who aren’t putting it on the table and saying, “THIS IS WHAT I WANT. This is what I enjoy, and THIS is what you need to do to make me orgasm.” And why not? Because they’re ashamed to talk about sex, they think they’ll hurt their lovers’ feelings by being honest, or they think they’re not entitled to say anything, or worse yet? They’re as fucking ignorant as the men they’re fucking.

Men, it is in YOUR interest to educate your lover, to educate yourself. By simply having sex in the standard formation – missionary, whatever, for 15 minutes – you’re denying yourself. You’re making your woman apathetic. Women NEED to be titillated or they just won’t care. Men are hardwired to have their dick inside something, we all know this, and that’s a good day out for just about any guy, really, but women, most of us can cope without sex and without you, just fine, and you really, really want to avoid having us feel that way.

When you take the apathetic way out with sex, you’re essentially dining at the sexual taco hut. Sure, it’s a great thing now and then. But there’s a big world out there – homecookin’, upscale, little quickie snacks, and you’re relegating yourself to the same goddamned thing every time.

Women, they’re BORED. And you’re doing nothing to affect it.

The butthead who made this comment, he’s blaming his woman for the lack of sex drive. Take a long, hard look in the fucking mirror, first. And then ask yourself why you’re so damned threatened by the notion of having your woman actually understanding her own sexual organs.

And women, speak the hell up. Why in god’s name do you not?

I was exposed to something at work today that just makes me shake my head at the state of the sexual union. God, things are fucked up in the world of sex these days. I’m not really into the whole reading-erotica/surfing-porn thing. I’m concerned about sex, and that’s why I write all this and seldom visit sex blogs. I’m on a mission, really. I think it’s time we deserve good sex, all the time. I think it’s time we learn to communicate about it.

Masturbation is the starting point. Then talking. Then practice. Then experimentation.

But guys like the above, they just want the third step. All the goddamned time. Unfortunately, these are the men (specifically the sexist breed above, I mean) who will NOT respond to a woman saying what she needs or wants. He thinks he knows, and that she’s just asexual. A good portion of men become excited when their woman wants to actually talk about sex, so don’t let this guy deter you. And if you’re with a man like this, you need to seriously consider whether or not that’s something you can live with – you sure as hell deserve better, but can you live with it? Better yet, why should you?

Jesus, I hate sexism. Thank god most men are smarter than that. You guys, I love, love, love. This guy, I wanna slap.

Someone thought this was an anti-male bashing. It's not. I've been fortunate to have mostly wonderful, considerate, thorough lovers, and I've repaid them in kind -- like it should be. There are women out there who are lousy, lousy lovers, and they piss chicks like me off, because they lower men's drives to learn more about pleasing us. Sex takes two, and every position can benefit from mutual involvement. If you're guilty of the "dead fish" lay-there-and-love me sex, women, smarten the hell up. You're getting the lousy sex you deserve. I'm gonna rant on YOU on the weekend. I got something else up my sleeve next, to get back on the masturbation topic.

Sunday, January 22, 2006

Thinking Too Much, Too Late

This isn’t really off topic… it’s masturbation of a sort. Literary masturbation.

Tonight, I can’t stop thinking of how I got from point “A” to this point of my life. I don’t know when this mood struck me. I made a comment in response to one of my readers earlier today, “It’s amazing, the footprints left when people walk out of our lives.”

It got me reflecting on some people I’ve known, experiences I’ve had – all that profound shit that shakes down from the tree of life.

I get a lot of emails from this site, people wanting to connect, forge something, interact, I don’t know. Sometimes it seems they want to know more about me, I get questions. They divulge deeply personal things to me, profound problems, fears, experiences. It can be daunting, but it’s very rewarding. I try to respond to everyone, to share a bit of who I am in trade for their confessions.

Another reason I’ve been thinking about myself is that I had this email sent to me about “Stop Internet Censorship,” a new-ish blog formed with a mission, that has a number of esteemed contributors. I was asked to join it, and have, because I think censorship’s bullshit. But it has had me thinking. How does this concern me?

Really, I’m not sure it does. Not yet. It probably will. But I’m pretty open about who I am, thus why I get really personal things sent to me, I guess. I leave myself vulnerable here, only because I feel invulnerable.

Everyone in my life knows I write this. They all know I do everything from sex advice and tips to ponderous deliberations. From my father and family to my employers to my friends, they all know. They accept that this is just who I am, and I’m not ever judged for it. I couldn’t much care if I’m outted tomorrow. It would impact my life little, I suspect. I’d flinch and grit my teeth because I’m a control freak and would rather decide on my terms when to let my identity be known, though.

A reader commented (on this posting) last week, and for all I know, hasn’t been back, that I was, essentially, a hypocrite. It pissed me off. It really, really pissed me the fuck off. So, let’s go with that for a moment. You know what you know about me because of my grace, generosity, and openness. It’s my gift to you, this intimacy with this stranger you may never know. I’m not being arrogant, I’m being honest. That is, in its essence, what blogging is. Allowed voyeurism, by we, the brave provocateurs.

Those of us who do this, who put ourselves out here in the raw – with the hurts, with the reality, with the insights – we do so for our own reasons. We have gracefully allowed you, the world, to be players in our mix. You’re the voyeurs we’re humouring by leaving our blinds up. You owe each of us the very simple respect of acknowledging we all have our stopping points. There are things that, for whatever stupid reasons we have, we do not wish to share. That is our right. When it comes to what it is we divulge, you have no say.

Those are the facts.

It doesn’t change much for me. I still plan to tell you a little more about who I am and how I got here. But just keep in mind that I have a line in my sand, and if you cross it, I’ll mince no words in telling you so. What I choose to tell is always going to be my choice. Fortunately for us all, I love to take requests. It's just so spiffy and interactive, like a game. I do so enjoy games, after all.

Anyhow, most people treat me wonderfully around here, and I love it, and love those of you who it applies to. I do love to please a crowd. There’s just the occasional twit, and I wanted to say something this time.

But I do digress.

I think it’s safe to say we all know I’m a pretty introspective individual. My life has made me that way, through a variety of experiences. I’ve had a lot of strange encounters with death, a lot of struggle, a lot of experience, in all ways, shapes, and forms.

I guess it’s part of why I’ve been riding the masturbation topic this week. I’ve spent a lot of time alone in my life – I’d have to, to write as much as I do these days. But I love being alone. I can be the life of any party, and my personality, when I turn it on, can win over just about any person, any time. And though I love people, I’m protective of my space. That space is precisely what has seen me through all the struggles and hardships I’ve had. It’s also what makes me an engaging person to befriend and know.

Over the next week or two, I’ll be wanting to spend a little time taking a look at myself, and I hope to have an interesting post of how a girl like me gets formed. Not necessarily because it’s been a request, but because it’s my blog and I’ll do what I wanna. (Oh, I’m just playing. It's actually something I do every spring... a stop-and-smell-the-self or something.)

I said earlier about the footprints left in our lives when people walk on out, and there’s been no bigger tread than that of the one left by my mother. Six-plus years have passed since her death and the loss still finds me from time to time, and this week has been no exception. Some sad topics came up when talking to my father the other night, and I’ll be expounding on that another time, but tonight it’s too much for me to think on.

I will tell one story, though, of one day spent with her that has profoundly affected the way in which I live my life today, something I hope the parents out there can learn from.

My mother wasn’t well educated, and I remember her getting her GED (high school equivalency) when I was in Grade 3, but she had the most common sense of anyone I’ve ever met. My father made me flush with pride the other night when he said that, then told me I got mine from hers, and took it further than she had managed. I’m proud I had her as a role model.

Something she forgot how to do as she got older, sick, and tired of the struggle in her life (the result of a bad menopause), was how to stop and smell the proverbial roses. But she taught us how to do it in our youth. I remember being in Grade 2 at a Catholic elementary school. We’d take the bus all the way from White Rock, out into the valley, and the whole thing would be a 45-minute ride, up and down the streets in the valley, before ending at that small school by the church.

I remember this morning in particular – a spellbinding onslaught of spring. One of those days after a warm rainy spell, when the April sky explodes in blue and light, and the world just comes alive. The birds sang, flowers bloomed big, the air was rich and aromatic. We couldn’t have been in class for more than a half-hour, when what should happen?

My mother arrives, tells the principal we have doctor’s appointments, picks us both up from class, and makes a beeline to Vancouver’s famous Stanley Park, which was carpeted with baby daisies and little purple flowers I’ve never learned the names of.

She took our shoes off, bought us ice cream before it was even lunch, and told us to play nearby after she hugged us both and told us it was a day made by God.

She then sat down on the grass with a sketch book, and began sketching as we ran wild all over the grass. I remember nothing of that day except the happiness and freedom I felt.

I learned then that life comes with a pause button. To this day, I never let things get too hectic without remembering I can say fuck it and stop it all. I did that again today, the second time in a week. I went for a long bike ride in the rain and just felt incredible.

That day, my mother just sat there, watching us. She looked so damned beautiful, but then, she always did.

Never underestimate the power of spontanaeity – not in life, not in love, not in sex. There’s nothing more spell-binding than a well-chosen change in plans. My life is richer today as the result of a seemingly innocuous little day at the park, spent at the whim of a woman who loved to hear birds chirping, and who’d been overwhelmed by a shitty streak of rain.

And never, ever underestimate the impact it might have on those along for the ride.

In the next couple of weeks, I’ll choose a couple more things that have profoundly shaped who I am, and maybe share with you the lessons I’ve come to learn as a result. Self-indulgent, but perhaps a couple people might find it interesting.

It’s fitting I end this post in the middle of the rousing chorus of Pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here.”

Saturday, January 21, 2006

Here's to the Forty Percent

Masturbation is a sin. If you do it, you will never be able to be satisfied by your lover. If you do it, you will become addicted to it and will never be able to control yourself, even in public. If you do it, you will be a dirty woman. If you do it, everyone will be able to tell. If you do it, you will never be forgiven in God’s eyes.

If you step on a crack, you’ll break your mother’s back. If you cross your fingers, it’s not really a lie. If you kill a spider, it will rain.

If you believe in the above misconceptions about masturbation, you might as well believe in superstitions, myths, and anything you read in Harry Potter, for it’s all equally grounded in fiction.

Do you really want to know what masturbation is? It’s the physical manifestation of the search for your own inner beauty. It’s relying on yourself to provide yourself with the pleasure that you may never receive from anyone else. It’s about developing the kind of self-knowledge you need in order to really become a lover of any consequence. It’s a tool for discovering what works and doesn’t work in the love department for you, because every single body responds differently to touch. How does yours respond, do you really know?

But most of all, it’s okay. It’s all right.

What’s shameful isn’t the act of masturbation. What’s shameful is that you’re being made to feel as if you’re still subjective to men, that you still need a man to be the woman you deserve to be. What’s wrong is the flagrant abuse of power and authority these people have committed when they’ve told you these lies about what masturbation is. What’s disgusting is this endless sense of embarrassment you’re expected to have about your body, and the lack of knowledge you’ve been provided.

What’s empowering is the realization that all we’re talking about is the sense of touch. That’s it, that’s all. There is no deity from on high that will strike you down for a stroke of your own flesh. I know, because I’ve yet to be turned into a lightning rod for the Almighty’s wrath, and the Lord's had as many opportunities to smite me as I've had to wash my hair. I kid you not.

You will never get “too good” at masturbating. You will never exceed your limit. It will increase your ability to orgasm with your lover, no matter how many times you come alone. You will not be stigmatized if the world ever finds out. You will not get so addicted that you lock yourself in your room and never come out.

You will, though, learn to feel better about yourself. You’ll be better at managing your stress. You’ll be more confident when you’re displaying affection for your lover. You’ll develop curiousity about more sexual experiences. You will have a more open mind. You will better know how to be satisfied, and if or when you’re ready to share that with your lover, you might be astounded at how happy he (or she) is you’re able to help him (or her) better please you.

This lack of support, in the media or otherwise, for the notion of a woman pleasing herself is one of the last major hurdles we, as a sex, must overcome. It is time we demand what we deserve – a sense of self, and a sense of satisfaction.

If you don’t ever want anyone to know, then they don’t have to find out. You can keep it to yourself, and maybe one day you’ll want to share that with your lover, or maybe you won’t. But don’t deny yourself, not one minute longer. Don’t allow shame to control your life. Don’t allow others to make you feel you need to be judged by a higher power. Don’t allow them to tell you that you must continue labouring under the insecurity you’re so clearly feeling.

There are those who tell us that it’s a sin. Is it? Really? Is your perception of your god one that would leave you believing that he/she/it wants you to be less than completely in love with yourself? Do you believe he/she/it wants you to not feel beautiful, attractive, desired? Why would the creator have made the clitoris within arm’s reach? Why not just have the vaginal canal, instead, which isn’t exactly a convenient distance to reach with ease? You want to talk Intelligent Design, then let’s talk about how much we’re designed to please ourselves. Let’s talk about how masturbation and orgasms are the best kind of physical releases, best outlets for stress, that anyone in any condition can engage in.

In the movie Pleasantville, Joan Allen hears about masturbation for the first time in her life in her 40s. She runs herself a hot bath, gets in, starts to stroke herself, and she suddenly changes from a black & white character to a Technicolor character (literally). She explodes with pleasure, feeling the first orgasm of her life, and is overcome with waves of love – for herself. It transforms her as a woman. She awakens to her female desire and learns that she can be her own everywoman, that being subservient to the men in her life isn’t making her who she wants to be, that what she’s been looking for all these years has really been inside her for all that time. She learns that she has entitlements to her own happiness, and that she can now ensure that happiness by just showing a little tenderness towards herself.

It’s a sad thing that we’re taught, as a culture, that happiness comes from the people around us. It can’t. We can’t wait for others to enrich our lives. We can’t hope that the things they do or say will contribute to who we are to become. We must achieve that on our own, and if masturbation is a tool towards that, then I’m all about me.

As a society here in North America, we’re suffering from an all-time high touch-deficit. Meaning, more people than ever before go for days, weeks, months, and sometimes years without touching another person – be it a pat on the shoulder or a kiss on the lips. We’re so deprived already, that the notion of not allowing yourself to be personally pleasured through masturbation is nearly cruel and inhumane, and self-inflicted, at that. No one deserves to be alone, and no one should have to live without having that feeling of coming alive through an orgasm.

It’s not dirty, or shameful, or sinful. It’s a beautiful, empowering act. And sometimes, it’s just a damned nice thing to experience.

Take back control of your sexuality. Learn about yourself. Live a little. Ditch the shame. Embrace your femininity. Push the magic button that’ll change everything you feel about yourself. It’s the first step to becoming the woman you always wanted to be: Strong, sexy, confident, and self-aware.

For first-timers, instructions are here.

Friday, January 20, 2006

Why 40% of Women Don't Masturbate

Every now and then male-female relations seem like a bad day at the UN. Understanding the issues is imperative, but no one speaks the same language.

John Gray got rich off the chaos that exists in that weird little world of relationships, by telling us that men were from Mars, and women from Venus. It’s true. We have so many differences it’s a wonder we ever crawl under the covers together. But we do, and still, we speak entirely different languages. It’s a pity we don’t have those interpreter-on-the-fly headphones in our ears like they do at the UN – it’d make hooking up a hell of a lot smoother, don’t you think?

I sometimes wonder who my audience is comprised more of: men or women. The chicks who read me tend to like my feminist attitude that doesn’t get clouded with antagonism towards men, and that’s awesome.

But the men who seem to read me tell me they’re here for, I don’t know, a different take on sex, but most importantly, the fly-on-the-wall perspective of the modern female’s mindset.

So, it’s no surprise I’m getting asked a lot of questions by those guys right now about why women are resistant to masturbating, why some (a staggering 40%) just flat-out won’t masturbate. I’m saddened I’ve heard nothing from the women who don’t, but perhaps the notion of lacking the sexuality and curiousity it takes to be a masturbator is incongruous with reading sites like these. Let’s hope not.

That said, I’m going to tackle that question here and now, but from a point-of-view directed to the men in my audience. There are some commonly accepted reasons for why so many women are hesitant to touch themselves, but I’ve got a few perspectives on my own. I think this topic’s far more complicated than most people allude to. I think it’s a societal problem that encompasses everything from religion to upbringing to media.

Let’s start off with the commonly accepted perceptions of why these women resist the urge, and my take on them.
  1. Dirty Girl Syndrome: These are the chicks who think that if they touch themselves, it means they’re dirty or slutty. This is one of those things I think we can lay the blame for squarely on the media, and on our parents. In the media, even now, it’s only the promiscuous women that are portrayed as masturbators, whereas every guy is commonly accepted to jack off, like it’s a male right of passage. Kim Catrall’s character on Sex & The City is an obvious example. “Of course she masturbates. She’s a whore.” God forbid we ever hear about Oprah owning an assortment of vibes. It’s almost as if we’re still left with the impression that sexually desireable, successful, independent women don’t need to “Jane off,” as one of my readers has dubbed it. And oh, do I beg to differ.
  2. Addicted to Self-Love Syndrome: There are those who can’t help but think that if they get into the mode of masturbating, they’ll become addicted to it and won’t be able to stop. Unfortunately, these testimonials we get of women who masturbate twice a day, for half-hour stretches, etc, aren’t doing a lot to change the Resistors’ mindsets. These are likely the women who do have strong sex drives, who are scared at the intensity of their desires, and who fail to realize that not masturbating is making it worse. They don’t realize we’re sexual volcanoes, and without a release, we tend to blow – or just shut down entirely, which is more often the case. They don’t learn how to regulate that pressure, how to cope with it, and that the more familiarity they acquire, the better they will be able to handle the pressure mounting in times of arousal. Instead, they feel the intensity, get scared, and everything shuts down. They don’t experience orgasms, and don’t know how to get there, and are scared of reaching one.
  3. All Or Nothing Syndrome: “If I masturbate, I won’t be able to come any other way.” These are the people who fail to understand balance. I’m amazed at the number people who ask “Is it possible to get too good at masturbating?” I don’t know the answer, and maybe it is possible, but we have to take into consideration that your touch isn’t ever going to be the same as someone else touching you. This is why it’s not only nice, but smart, to masturbate for your partner. They can learn how you make yourself come. You can take it a notch further and make them have their hand over yours as you do your own “dirty work.” The thing you never, ever have in masturbating is the element of surprise, and that’s the element a lover brings to the table. This mode of resisting is essentially a lack of faith in their lovers. Nothing more. These might be the people who obsess about things and get really intense about anything they commit to, and they might just not know how to achieve balance. Instead, they avoid trying masturbating so they don’t need to find out if, in fact, they can balance masturbation with partner sex.
  4. Obligation to Partner: These are the ones who think they have to save their excitement for their partner. They know they have issues with orgasms, and they think that if they pursue one alone, they’ll never get to come with their lover. They’re also the people who don’t understand that orgasms take skill, take developing. The more you learn about sex, about yourself, the more pleasure you’ll find. They don’t realize that the human body doesn’t have a quota for pleasure. This is as much borne from ignorance as it is fear and bewilderment.
  5. It’s a Substitute for Sex: These are the women who don’t realize that masturbation influences a lot of who we are as lovers, what we’re willing to try, what our confidence level is with ourselves, our bodies, and our performances.

And that is that, some will tell you. That’s all that’s preventing women from touching themselves. But they’re just whack if that’s what they believe. Like I’ve said before, there’s so much more to it, whether we want to accept the blame as a society or not.

Let’s take one example. I’m sure every man who reads this has, at some point or another, had someone say to him, “Suck it up. Be a man.” How did that make you feel? Unable to express concerns or fears? Ashamed to be weak? Forced into the stereotype of being Manly Man when, for once, you just wanted to be human and feel whatever was hitting you?

It’s no secret, vulnerability isn’t exactly encouraged in men. And let’s face it, no matter what you want to say about the media today or the modern woman, sexuality is NOT encouraged in women. We should be pretty, alluring, gorgeous, but God forbid we be overtly sexual.

Chris Rock said it best, as a father, your ONLY responsibility is to keep your daughter off the pole.

Men may want a woman who likes to fuck, who will do the things that are borderline dirty, sexually experimental, but ultimately, we’ve all been raised by fathers who shared Chris Rock’s POV: We have to stay off the pole.

So, we’re raised with hearing tidbits like, “That’s not ladylike.” Personally, I’m not Fluffy-Miss-Feminine. I’m in touch with my femininity, but as a kid, I hated Barbies. I disliked dresses, and I heard, all my life, “That’s not ladylike.” When it came to sex, I believed there were certain ways I had to behave. Masturbation was my secret shame until I was in my early 20s, when I learned my boyfriend loved the fact that I did it, when I heard him tell me how much he admired my confidence and my ability to admit it. He told me it made me a strong woman. I began changing my perspective then.

For women, we have to battle so much bullshit we’ve been fed about what a woman is. Until the media begins embracing the idea that masturbation for women isn’t something exotic that only promiscuous chicks do, that stereotype is going to prevail. The fear and shame and apprehension will remain.

And you can’t tell me that men, when they were boys first discovering their sexuality, didn’t also feel like they had a secret, like it was a sin. We’ve all heard the stories of boys playing under the blankets, hoping not to be caught. It’s the same deal with women, but we’re on a different timeline. Men peak at 18, we peak at 32. Of course it’ll take longer to reach the point of comfort with masturbation. Many women don’t get there until their 20s. Hesitant women need to feel like their lovers aren’t trying to get them to perform like a porn star when they’re asked to masturbate. They need to know they’re not being perceived as someone dirty because they’re touching themselves. Unfortunately, that support isn’t as common as we’d like to think. And also unfortunately, a lot of guys are pretty lousy at requesting things from their lovers without making it sound too dirty or risqué. And that, again, becomes a communication issue.

Like I said, this is a huge, huge topic with vast implications, and it’s not a problem that will go away overnight. The media is responsible. Parents are responsible. Lovers are responsible. And the women, in their ignorance and fear, are responsible. So how does it get fixed?

I haven’t a clue. With time, I guess, and with the media, and parents, and lovers, and women all getting on the same page.

Just a second here, I need to glance out the window and check if pigs are flying yet. Hmm, not yet. So, yes, the problem persists. I’ll give some thought on how a woman might be persuaded to learn the fine art of self-love, but I honestly don’t know where to begin just now. It’d be interesting to hear feedback on whether anyone’s had success on that front. Care to share?

Thursday, January 19, 2006

Female Masturbation: Part one, an intro to newbies

I should be sleeping, but I’ve been lying in bed as visions of my potential new job dance in my head. If I get this job, it will change my life – profoundly. In so many ways. And you, dear readers, would get more of me – not less. I’d be working from home for far more than I’d imagined I’d make. I’d have the slow life, I’d have life on my terms, and I’d still be able to respect the people I’d be working for. Think good thoughts for me. They can’t do better than to hire me, but you just never know.

And I’ve been thinking about masturbation. Not doing it, writing about it. I still want to hear more results and comments and emails based on the letter down below, but I think this topic is growing in importance for me.

Yes, guys need to understand more about female masturbation – but so do 40% of the female population who never, ever do it.

Why don’t they? You got me. Hang-ups of every kind, from social perceptions of what masturbation means, to fear, to religious implications, to good old-fashioned second, third, fourth generation shame.

Honeys, listen to me when I tell you this: Get over yourselves.

Oscar Wilde once said “To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance.” Yes, it is, in more ways than one. Let’s put it this way: The orgasm is the ultimate in human sensation. It’s every nerve ending in the human body shuddering its way to absolute ecstasy, then collapsing upon themselves in spent euphoria.

Orgasms, though, don’t just fall out of the sky. The ability to come isn’t just something a woman wakes up with overnight. Female masturbation doesn’t get talked about, aside from jokes about vibrators, and that’s very misleading for a lot of women who have no experience in this area. Masturbating yourself is far less complicated than having to screw up the courage to spend money on a potentially embarrassing sex toy that you may not wish to have found.

If your courage lacks, it shouldn’t. We hear that we need lube, we need vibes, we need all this shit, and that’s all wrong. All you need, girls, is a happy little thought, and the soft pad of your fingers. Shorter nails helps, so you can get more variety of feelings, but so long as you’re working with your soft finger pads, not the tips, but the bit down closer to the first skin folds on the top joint. Like the photo below, you just slide your hand over your mons (that bit below the bottom of your belly, the mound) and into the first recesses of your vulva, the home of your clit. And massage around it at first, not on top of it right away because you might be too sensitive when you begin, but as you massage more, start increasing both the speed and the pressure, and begin going right over the top of the clit. And just keep going until you finally orgasm.

Any female who has not yet orgasmed, who’s approaching it for the first time, might feel fear and confusion. Some strange things happen to the body. At first, you might think you’re experiencing pain. Maybe you think you need to go to the washroom. But there’s a million different ways it might feel, and you need to relax and get past that point.

Then, there’s the issue of moisture. When you finally do orgasm, you will probably produce some form of ejaculate. You will be wet, lubricated, and you might even squirt some out. This is normal. There should be no shame with this, so try to be aware of it being an absolutely common occurrence. If it bothers you, one little visit to the bathroom will make it all go away. But you’ll become comfortable with this as you experience more orgasms and learn to let go.

I sort of discovered masturbation at about the age of 13. I remember being really excited about some George Michael photos I’d found – shirtless, tight shorts, that kind of thing – and I found myself dry humping a pillow. I kept getting up and running down the hall to go “pee” because I kept thinking I had to. Nope, that was approaching orgasm – something that never did happen for a few more years. I went from dry humping a pillow to them putting something solid and round under a pillow so I'd get more pressure, then I, well, let's leave that one out, but the point is, it took a while to get the nerve up to start rubbing myself. Years, really. As for touching myself “under the panties,” well, that probably didn’t happen until I was 19 or 20. I was only comfortable rubbing over my panties because I thought it was dirty, wrong, and strange to touch my vagina on purpose. It was that moisture, it baffled me for a long time.

Fact is, being uncomfortable with masturbating is normal when you’re a woman. It’s sad that that’s the case, but it’s true. This generation coming up now, they’re the first ones to ever hear about female masturbation, really. My generation, and I’m 32, we never talked about it. Sex and the City has changed that. It’s suddenly okay for women to self-serve. But there are still so many hang-ups that interfere with our ability to orgasm.

And that, my friends, is another program. But here’s a great site with neat statistics on the female orgasm (and some on the male’s).

Come to think of it, I’m a little tense. Maybe I’ll go tend to something. Ahem. More comments on the question/answer poll below, people. Keep 'em comin'! And to those who’ve send me all those awesome emails I’m getting, thank you. I hope to respond to you each in the coming days. There will be more to come on this topic (hardy-har, love a pun) from male perceptions on it, why it gets men off, how to use it in a relationship, and resources for women who can't get over the above fears and need a direct guide. There might be more than that, too. It's a big topic. Stay tuned!

Wednesday, January 18, 2006


(If you've been following my blog rabidly, you could swear this post keeps moving. Yes. It does, and Tuesday, it will disappear. Because of the IMPORTANCE of this election, I've been keeping it within one post of the top, and since election day is Monday/Today, I think it's imperative people get off their apathetic asses and vote. It's your COUNTRY. SPEAK. BE HEARD.)

Anyone who reads this knows I am a passionate Canadian, and this is addressed to my fellow country(wo)men.

Canada has a proud legacy of personal freedoms and social compassion. Don't fuck that up by voting for the Conservative Party TODAY (Monday).

Gay marriage deserves to stay just as it it. My dear friend GayBoy has it right. Harper's wish to change it to a "civil union," to appease the religious types, means gays will NOT be equal. Changing the name isn't just a technicality, it's a statement. "You're (not really) equal. (We're placating you, you silly faggots and dykes.)"

Harper wanted us to go to Iraq. He has gone on record in front of American Republicans telling them their accomplishments are "admirable." Take a look at the so-called "moral compass" of the United States right now, and decide if that's who you want your nation's leader to be emulating. I sure as fuck don't.

I am Canadian to my fucking core. I live and die with the Maple Leaf. My life will cease within the borders of this hallowed land of mine, though I want to see the world around me, because this is my land. I'm proud of our human rights stance, I'm proud of the things my country stands for. I will not, cannot vote with my wallet. I abhor the idea of people voting the Conservative agenda in because they want a tax cut.

Tell me, those tax savings of yours -- are they worth the price you'll pay when it comes to saying you no longer live in one of the most free nations in the world? Certainly we have greater freedom than our American friends.

Harper wants you to vote the Liberals out because of the "corruption" scandal. Oh, and that always works. When will we fucking learn? Are we children? "We're mad at them. FUCK them. We want the other guy!" The other guy comes in, and fucks us over worse. The Conservatives wrote the book on corruption scandals. "Airbus," anyone? How about a side of Pot/Kettle/Black?

Yeah, the Liberals proved to be corrupt, but that's because Chretien was an arrogant prick. I think Martin's learned his lesson, was exonerated, and now they, as a party, have something to prove. Let them prove it.

Or vote NDP. Or vote Green. But Liberal is more likely to defeat a possibility of a Harper minority government. I don't want the Conservatives ruling my life, I don't want to lose freedoms to a guy on a crusade to be the moral arbitrator of this nation.

Whatever the fuck you do, EXERCISE DEMOCRACY. Get off your ass, park your apathy, and have a fucking voice. Democracy isn't something that just happens. You don't get to piss and moan unless you get involved. Earn your voice. Flex it. Check the goddamned paper box, and be a citizen. I'm sick and goddamned tired of people thinking voting is an inconvenience. It's a privilege. Embrace it. Christ. Is it really so fucking hard? (/end rant)

Little Lovin' For the Feminine Self: Questions?

Hot pic, huh? Love Google images. I need to write something about sex, and I'm told from time to time that guys like the insight into a chick's mind that I try to provide. So, I'm not feeling like thinking of topics, so being spoon-fed one is just fine. As a result, I was asked about women masturbating. Apparently it's all a little mysterious to the men. You poor, clueless boys. Let's shed a little light on this topic -- and it's a big one. Maybe two parts, possibly three? So, my questions are:

For Women: How often do you go to it? If you don't, why not? If you do, what's your pleasure -- your hands, battery-operated toys, manual toys, or have you gotten creative? Do you always orgasm when you do it, and if you don't, why do you stop? Are you unable to reach that point? If/when you do orgasm, how long does it take? What triggers the need to reach out and touch yourself? Obviously, if you do it, you masturbate at home, but where else have you done it? Publically? (I have a tale I could tell. Hmm. Will I, though?)

For Men: What do you really want to know? Has a woman ever masturbated for you? Do you notice a difference between women who do, and women who don't, as lovers? (That's a no-brainer, but let's hear it from you. What kinds of differences do you notice? Do they do more for you, in what way? Are they more open? Do they orgasm easier? Are they more experimental? I'd have to guess yes to the last four questions, but expound, please.)

Me, lemme say this: Every woman should masturbate. If you don't, you're selling yourself short as a lover. If you don't, your repressing your femininity. If you think you're a modern, strong, independent woman, and you're afraid to touch yourself, or you're squeamish about it, then I bet you could be doing better in all three of those departments. Let's get over the shame and the apprehension about our bodies, and just GO there. Orgasms feel good. Stop fucking waiting for a man to make you feel the way you should.

Yeah, I'm a feminist, and I masturbate. Often. Atwood said a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle, and most days, she's right. We've got Duracell and Haagen-Daaz.*

*Needs, though, ain't got a lot to do with it. I don't need men, I just like them. ;)

If commenting freaks you out, email me. I likely won't respond in the immediate future, but I'll get around to it eventually, but I'll use it as inspiration for the posts, which I hope to start off early Thursday, but use the input for, say, Friday, but the sooner, the better.

Tuesday, January 17, 2006

Slowing Down The Speed of Life and Love

This is more of a fantasy than anything I’ve written in awhile – slowness, that’s all I want right now. I’m about to stop reading everything, and I’m on the verge of radically trying to change the life I’m living. I’m stick of the manic pace, I’m sick of the demands on my time, and I’m sick of feeling like I’m stretched in a million directions, just like my pal Gumby. I’m about to re-read Carl Honore’s In Praise of Slow (or In Praise of Slowness for you Yankees). I read it before, and it helped me make choices that got my life into a place I loved, but that was a while ago, and my world’s been turned upside down for awhile now.

There’s a movement out there in the world that has no flash, no PR, no glory, and it’s called Slow. The movement embraces everything from real cooking with real ingredients and long, relaxing meals with real conversation, right through to Tantric Sex. It’s about finally deciding this world around us just doesn’t make any sense anymore, and taking back control over your life.

We’ve drunk the Kool-aid, man. For the last 100 years, we’ve been told that every new piece of technology would help us better our lives. Cars would get us there faster, cellphones will mean you can get your work done on your time, your portable laptop computer will mean you can work anywhere you want.

It’s bullshit, of course. All it’s done is made it possible to get ahold of us anywhere, anytime. I have this nightmare, you see. I dream of one day doing a trek through the wilds of Africa, and there on the Savannah floor, the tall grasses of the veldtland blowing in the plains’ winds, the distant sounds of elephants trumpeting their majesty, lionesses roaring with pride over their conquests, and some fucker’s polyphonic GPS-ready cellphone starts to ring to the tone of Softcell’s “Tainted Love.”

I’m sick of this. I’m sick of being a yuppie in the middle of all this crap. But I left the commune a while ago, honestly. But they pulled me back in, just like the fuckin’ mob. Now, I work almost daily, my cellphone’s always charged, I do everything I can to fit as much into my week as I can, and I can tell you this much: The only thing I really know is that I’m beginning to feel soulless.

A year ago, I was living the Slow life. I’d opted to work three hours less per week, and as a result, wound up with three-day weekends weekly. I worked on my terms, my way. I had a little less money, but I couldn’t have cared less. I looked at my friends with their new houses, new cars, and the bags under their eyes and the need to do overtime, and I laughed, sat on beach, read a book, and couldn’t have cared less.

I took the time to cook from scratch, which really doesn’t take much longer, or much more effort, than a lot of the packaged shit in the world. I turned my cellphone on deliberately, not automatically, not 24/7. I let my answering machine get my calls if the phone rang during a meal. I’d take the slow, long, scenic way home. I’d do whatever it took to enjoy the moment I had. My home and my self, both were oases away from the world.

And now? I feel like I’ve been bought and sold by The Man. I got to the beach on Saturday, and did some photography, which I absolutely love to do, and it was the first time since the early fall I’d done so. There was a time when nary a week would pass without the taste of salt air coating my throat.

Slow means doing everything you can to enjoy the moment. It means not rushing to the orgasm. It means exploring Tantric Love. It means rolling over in the morning and actually deciding what you want to do, instead of feeling like the world’s got demands on your time. It’s about knowing that sometimes, a quickie’s exactly what the moment calls for – whether it’s sex or some McDonald’s fries – but that it’s a choice, not a necessity.

It’s about turning off your daytimer, your cellphone, and realizing that you have control over your world, and that you can say “no” to others.

I’m looking for work now, sick of this hodge-podge of jobs I’ve been doing, the complications needed to keep all the shit straight in my head. I’m tired of feeling like I need to apologize for not having any time, when the fact is, the world’s made me this way… but only because I let it.

I had actually gotten an email yesterday that asked me, “Why are you working so much, do you like it?” No, fuck no. An ideal life for me is books, a beachside home, and the ability to travel and live on my terms. I’ve hit a cosmic hiccup that has left me maxed out for six months now, and the time is here to put a stop to it.

Fact is, modern life is bullshit. There are aspects I love, (iPOD!) but our lack of time, lack of independence, lack of control… it’s really tearing us apart. I remember a guy on a ferry saying to me once, “Cities are built for distraction… to distract you from where you’re not, and who you’re not.” And it’s true. I get comments sometimes about my “insight” or whatever it is people like in my writing, and I have to tell you, you too can be your own little guru, but only if you come over to the Slow side. My writing, I guarantee you, will improve if I stop all this shit that’s pulling me apart. My Slow time spent living in the Yukon, and my travels, and my lifestyle I had a year ago, these are the things that plug me into my cosmos. It keeps me happy, makes me in tune not only with the world around me, but with myself.

Being sucked into this vacuous existence of stop-and-go-and-go-and-go has left me feeling like my soul’s long gone. I know it’s not, it’s just on pause, but I remember the feeling I had last year. I was single, my life was entirely on my terms, my schedule, and nobody but nobody could take it away from me. Until they did, and now, here I am.

I’m not worried about it, though. Now I know the problem, I also know the solution, and I know I’ve been able to make those life changes before, and I will again soon. And then, then it will be summer, and life will again be all blessed out.

Every now and then, a person needs this anger and frustration, because it reminds us what we want, and urges us to aggressively seek it.

I gotta get Slow. Fast. And you do, too.

(Photo's by a dude called Mike Verna. It's exactly what I wish to be doing today. I've cancelled all my work today, just have one appointment, and I'm finding my way to the water today. Rain's back. Oh well. I'll be writing about sex soon, I promise. I just need to deal with some things on my plate, first. Thanks for staying tuned.)

Monday, January 16, 2006


It's Monday morning, and a thought occurs to me. I need to get laid. I'm really frustrated at this topic of marriage that I've been on for the last couple of days. It's been a Pandora's Box of sorts for me. I had no idea my parent's divorce bothered me this much. Honestly, I just had no clue that all these years later, it was an issue. I think we do this to ourselves sometimes, just shut the box, and walk away. You know, save ourselves mentally/emotionally.

I'll be doing some thinking on this myself, but for myself. I always thought I was happy they split, but I never saw the connection between a few things that happened then, and some feelings I have about the world now. I won't be discussing it anymore for awhile, but that's just how it goes. Ultimately, a good thing to be aware of, no doubt. I pride myself on being hyperaware of myself emotionally, being able to get a grip and self-analyse, but whew, once in a while a shock rolls along and this is that. There's probably some dead-mom issues rolled up in it, hence why I've been getting kind of militant on the topic.

I'm not too crazy about acting militant, either, so.

However, the real world beckons, in far too many ways. Right now, I'm staring down the barrel of another couple weeks of work without reprieve. I may cancel something this coming weekend if my sanity continues to deteriorate, but I live the kind of life right now where work comes in droves, or not at all, and the notion of "time management" is as ironic as it is impossible. It's time to end this shit and get back into the 9-5 for mental stability and, hey, maybe even a social life! But obviously one doesn't snap fingers and see a presto-chango-better life result. That said, finding work has never been that hard for me, just a matter of whether the job I want is out there. Fact is, I know I'll have a job I like before summer rolls around -- and that's all that matters. Summertime Steff needs stability and lotsa cash in her pockets.

I'll probably post something tomorrow about a conversation I'll be having with a doc about getting an IUD. I've been on the pill for a few months now, having quit it a few years back when it was doing strange things to me, and I've been unhappy with it ever since. In fact, I went completely nuts when estrogen sent me into la-la-land back in October, and I'm longing to be back to my old self. Granted, it's been a lot better since October, when I switched to low-dose Alesse, but I have to confess: my sensitive regions aren't as sensitive as they used to be. It's wrong to lose sensitivity on the vagina or any other place. What fun is masturbation? Anyhow, I'll report on the conversation and maybe share some enlightenment for those considering the same move. The pill sucks, man. Jesus.

Sunday, January 15, 2006

Marriage: I Still Don't, But...

Oh, the can of worms I’ve opened with yesterday's posting. Part of my thing on marriage was tongue-in-cheek, but the other part, probably far too ground in my own past.

First of all, it’s not too often that I don’t explain myself clearly, but I guess I didn’t want to get too into things in that posting. It’d been a long night of insomnia, too many thoughts racing in my mind, and those little words, “I don’t” popped into my mind, and I thought, “Hey, let’s have some fun with that.”

Unfortunately, that “fun” has left me lying in bed for the last couple hours, thinking about just how wrong my parent’s marriage was. How much they lacked, and ultimately, how long it was all so bad. I hate the marriage that my parents had. I hate the way its demise wrecked both their lives. My father's still a shell of a man all these years later. I've seen what a bad marriage can do, and even this morning, I'm left awash in sadness at the thought of it.

I often remember being in grade 7, on a cold, dismal morning, and my father was supposed to drive me to the schoolbus, which would drive me all the way out to my private school in the valley. An argument had begun just after breakfast, and it never really resolved before the drive was supposed to begin. Those fated words, “Go outside, I’ll be there in a minute,” were spoken by Dad, and the good girl I was, I went out on the frost-covered porch and began the wait.

In those days, I was in my Catholic school tunic and long socks. I must have stood on that porch for nearly an hour. The bus? Missed that. Dad had to drive me all the way to school that day, and he himself was late for teaching. I remember the anger and uselessness that seemed to emanate from him on that drive. But mostly, I remember the shame and bewilderment that 12-year-old girl felt as she stood out there in the frozen morning, listening to the angry shouting and the hurtful words being hurled in that house. It’d been that bad for three years, and would stay that bad for another three, but honestly, it was never, ever good.

No, I never witnessed a healthy relationship. I remember being aware, as young as grade four, of just how pathetic my parents’ marriage was. They never touched each other, never joked, and never seemed romantic. That said, they were both people with troubled pasts and generations of distant family behaviour before they set foot in that marriage.

The legacy of hurt, I think, tends to be established long before the rings land on the finger. It’s not marriage that’s bad, and I’ve not meant to suggest that. But this notion of saying “love, honour, and cherish,” and that will somehow be enough to get the ball rolling, that, to me, is a joke. It’s laughable. Marriage will be – and should be – the hardest, most challenging thing for a person to commit to in their lives.

We hear lip-service to that effect all the time, but that point needs to be driven home. People need to understand all the challenges they’ll face in relationships. Most people enter the “institution” with ignorant, idealized perceptions of what it is, and the vows and ceremony do sweet fuck all to affect that.

Honestly, I’m a romantic, I want nothing more than to dedicate my life to a guy who deserves it, and I want to know I deserve all that goodness to be repaid in kind. I believe in karma, I believe in respect, I believe in sharing, in trust, and in faith.

What I don’t believe is that one general definition of what marriage is, is the right way for our society to operate anymore. I don’t believe the vows say enough. I think we need to expand our perceptions of how marriages can operate. These days, there are new commuter marriages and even “open marriages.” Me, I’m more traditional than that. Yeah, I’d like to maintain separate bedrooms, but that’s because I’m at heart a pragmatic woman… and I can be a real night-owl and I suffer insomnia. It’s pragmatism, not cynicism.

Maybe if I’d been raised in a house where love ruled, maybe I’d be a different woman today. I know I would be. But let’s face it, I’m not the exception. I’m an average girl who was raised in an average marriage that fell apart in an average length of time. I’m a statistic. I’m the mean and the median, and I’m here to tell you, it just ain’t working.

But then, what today is? Relationships of all kinds need better guidance. People everywhere don’t know how to communicate. Whether it’s with a business client, a boss, or a lover, we really need to get our shit together. We need more respect. We need more understanding. But we also need to set a broader, more encompassing groundwork in all those relationships. We don’t know what the words “honour and cherish” mean anymore. We can’t even commit to buying a fucking cell phone, for god’s sake, and you want to talk lifetime commitment?

No, marriage as it stands today is not something I would enter into. Its recent history is one that is predominantly uninspiring. Love is all you need, right? Right, sure. It’s too bad, but most marriages detonate like a time bomb. People enter into marriage based on the models they know – the vows they speak, the parents they’ve had, the little they see in the media – thus, so many end so poorly.

I’m not saying a pledge of undying love is cheesy or antiquated – I’m just saying that marriage needs more. It needs much, much more, and none of that is suggested by the ceremony of old.

And I couldn’t even begin to suggest how to fix it. All I know is, the marriage I see around me is not the marriage I’ll have. I probably will marry in some way, but it sure as shit won’t be the routine marriage the media wants us to believe is still laden with love and affection. THAT is the anomaly, and yes, its rare occurrence is worth defending and fighting for. The few of you who have that, speak loudly, because the rest of us do indeed need to see it’s possible. We need to see something more real, more lasting than the bullshit like Bad/Jen/Angelina that the media wants us to idolize.

Love will never, ever be dated. Commitment will never, ever be antiquated. But the societal rules and the ceremonial approaches can be, and are, out-of-touch with the world at large. Marriage is broke. When 60% of them die on the vines, it’s time to find out where the fuck we’re going wrong. This is no time for romantics. There’s nothing sadder than watching a marriage die, especially when you’re a kid in the mix with front-row seats.

No kid needs to stand in the frosted air outside their house and hear the reality of a failed marriage, its insults and coldness, being hurled back and forth inside. No kid needs to write in their journal wondering when in the hell the yelling and name-calling is finally going to end, wishing for a divorce. Society needs a reality check. Kids deserve something better than the average marriage and the pettiness most marriages dissolve into.

And I wish I could suggest what that might be, instead of pointing my finger at the obvious. But just don’t tell me that marriage is a slice of pie. I’ve seen otherwise, and I know there’s a hell of a lot of people who can empathize with my experiences. That, in itself, is every bit as tragic as all of what I’ve had to write on this topic, but seriously: Ain’t it time we get to fixin’ this mess?

(This is long, but I just don't have the heart to edit it. My folk's marriage devastated me as a kid, and I suppose I'm still a little too in touch with that reality. But fuck this, I'm gonna have me some breakfast and coffee and pretend it's not on my mind anymore.)

Saturday, January 14, 2006

Marriage: I Don’t.

(This could go on at length, I assure you, but I cut it down to just a few key points. Trust me, I have many more thoughts on this matter, but I'm sparing you.)

I don’t have anything against others’ marriages, I just don’t think the “institution” is right for me.

Love, undying love, lifelong commitment, sharing a bed, these are not things I resist, not in the least. I might even see myself living with someone, though I do prefer the idea of maintaining separate bedrooms, if not separate (but nearby) homes.

Carol Burnett once said something to the effect of her notion of the perfect marriage being one with a best friend who was a great lover, and who lived next door. I couldn’t agree more.

Too many people lose themselves in their marriages, and we’re supposed to think it’s beautiful and wonderful when people “complete” each other, but it’s not. It’s childish and stupid. Being a whole person is the greatest thing you can achieve in your life. To be absolutely certain of who and what you are will be something you can never, ever regret. Our goal should be to find someone who accepts and embraces that, all of that.

I imagine the married lives of friends – the chaos and demands of everyday life, how overwhelming it all is. And yes, climbing into bed with someone who makes it all go away for just a little while, that can be an incredible feeling. But sometimes, having the option of rolling out of bed and walking away to your little corner of the world, where all the noise and craziness can bleed away into silence and space… it can be the tether that keeps you bound to reality.

I don’t want to upset the masses by declaring marriage, as it stands today, an antiquated notion, but let’s face it. It is.

Chris Rock has a skit he does on marriage where he mocks the notion of marriage today being held “sacred.” He lambastes the resistance to legalizing gay marriage by saying that a country that makes “The Bachelor” and “Who Wants to Marry A Millionaire?” a national phenomenon doesn’t even begin to hold marriages as sacred. He is, essentially, calling it hypocrisy. Again, I couldn’t agree more.

I agree with all these things. I think the institution of marriage, with its “love, honour, and cherish” vows is, I hate to say it, absolutely bullshit in this day and age.

If only devoting your life to someone could be as pathetically simple as that.

What we need is a reality check. Nowhere in the marriage vows, for instance, is the subject of sex even mentioned. Nowhere does it say, “I promise to keep giving you head, so long as we both shall live.” Nowhere does it say, “I promise to always keep seeking new ways to make you feel like I value you.”

Nor does it discuss communication. Nor does it mention learning complete vulnerability with your spouse-to-be. Nor does it mention anything at all about working together to ensure financial stability in the relationship. In fact, it says the opposite – that you’re obligated to stay, in richness or poorness. Right. You put me in the poorhouse, baby, you’re out the fucking door – that’s the reality.

If the “love, honour, and cherish” bullshit was working, maybe we wouldn’t have a divorce rate that has climbed steadily for the last three decades.

I have no doubt – none whatsoever – that I will eventually have a relationship that consumes me with passion on every level: intellectual, sexual, emotional, and possibly even spiritual. I’ve been there before, I’ll be there again. But I will never, ever insult them or what we share by submitting to marriage as it now stands. If I do “marry,” it will be in a civil ceremony that’s likely not going to be legally binding, and the words will be of my choosing.

I’m a product of divorce. I’m the product of a marriage that disintegrated over its 22 years. Money, food, and a lack of sex drove them apart. That’s not an anomaly. Hell – that’s the modern way, baby.

Everyone’s all so up in arms about standing in front of a crowd of family and friends and declaring their love for one another. What about also declaring the pursuit of a healthy life together, and demonstrating that passion in take-it-to-the-bank raw physicality – and often? What about promising to stay on the same page financially, to maintain open and honest communication in every single way, from dollars to doubts? How about making trust and vulnerability not only ideals in the relationship, but also required?

Some people will say, “Hey, well, that’s implied.” And implying it is working so fucking well, isn’t it?

Yeah, I’m opposed to marriage. Frankly, I’m holding out for something better.

For those counting, that's 30 consecutive days with rain here on the Wet Coast. The sun's lingering for a minitease this morning, tho. Praise be.