It’s time to share some linkage. No, not that kind!
This first link… makes me so very sad. Apparently, the Australian Ratings Board is having an effect on the rates of certain plastic surgeries in the country. Some actresses are essentially having their labia minora removed in order to fit the Board’s definition of “discreet genitalia” for a film to qualify as soft core porn. This is an example to me of the profound damage that can happen when crass commercialization in porn intersects with a body-negative culture. (Sociological Images is a site I’d generally recommend as thoughtful and thought-provoking, though the main blogger is, for the most part, anti-pornography.)
The second link is a lovely photo. I came across it stumbling, and it’s a great way to cap off May as National Masturbation Month:
Lastly, I’m a big fan of weddings that are a unique and inspired reflection of the parties getting married. Here’s what can happen when someone in the family is circus royalty (LOTS of large photos):
I wonder if others would find it odd that my attitudes toward sex work often relate to my experiences as a janitor. I’ve drawn parallels before between people saying that prostitutes sell their bodies and the wear and tear on my own body doing manual labor. Mine was my back, not my dick, but so what. Earlier today I was talking with the woman that cleans the building where I work. We’ve had big events in here the last couple of days, one of which brought the campus bigwigs over to our humble facility. Because of these, she’s been busting her ass not only getting the place clean, but dealing with authority figures constantly sticking their noses in to tell her what hasn’t been done right. I told her that the college where I worked that we weren’t even supposed to be seen if there was something like a board meeting going on. Oh, we had to have the place spotless for the bigwigs, but god forbid they have to actually see the poor people who wipe their asses for them.
So then this afternoon, with this still on my mind, Ren writes this:
Prop K did not making trafficking legal. Prop K did not make the sexual abuse, rape, or exploitation of minors legal. Those things are and would have remained illegal. Prop K would not have ended sex worker outreach or exit programs. Yet those were the arguments you used to shoot down Prop K. You worried about your precious neighborhoods, which apparently mean more to you than the lives of sex workers and prostituted people. You used the lives and stories of the very people you then threw to the lions to make your case and defeat something that would have meant so much to all of us, even those of us who live in places where things like Prop K are just a fanciful dream.
Your exit programs and assistance- for those who even want such things- includes arrests, jail time and criminal records, which are so helpful when trying to find a legitimate job. Your concern includes relegating these people to the shadows, after all, if you don’t see them in your little neighborhoods they don’t exist, right? Your vote has insured these people do not have the same rights and protections that you do; they do not have the same status as human beings as you do.
Yeah, my experiences didn’t involve the same level of danger or of dehumanization. But I know all about being told you don’t matter. I know about being forced into invisibility until someone wants something from you. Why does this matter so much to me? Because if those experiences affected me so much without the threat of attack, or rape and murder, then how much more so can they affect those who San Francisco just threw under a bus in the name of property values?
I’ve only recently become familiar with porn star Sasha Grey, at least as far as I knew (I actually saw her on Tyra Banks’ show some time ago). Someone posted a photo of her on a message board I frequent and I had to look her up. I found her series of video diaries on YouTube and found myself intrigued. Then today, thanks to Violet Blue I found a series of videos of her being interviewed while being photographed by Richard Kern. Now I find myself a bit smitten.
Videos behind the fold.
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Ahhh, the sequins and shiny fabric I would never wear in any other circumstance. The old school high heels. The yummy curves of a boob with the nipple hidden away in plain sight. The smiles, the humor, the fun. I heart burlesque. A lot.
That’s why this calendar looks positively delicious.
The New York City Sexbloggers 2009 Calendar will benefit Audacia Ray’s Sex Work Awareness Project, and will provide you with much gorgeous eye candy. If you’d like to buy a day, head to the calendar link and take a look. You could name your blog! Or give a personal message to commemorate the day! Lots of possibilities. And don’t forget to buy yourself a copy of the calendar. This promises to be a fabulous set of photos.
Big Momma by Altered Aperture (http://alteredaperture.com)
Phone sex operator continues to be the MOST alluring job that I just can’t decide whether I’m suited for. I really like the idea of helping people get off, of making up stories, of roleplaying. On one hand, I tend to be challenged being verbal when I’m getting sexed up with Gabe… but on the other, I’ve really enjoyed writing and making up erotica in other contexts, when I’m not in that very personal, receptive zone. Maybe working with language will either distance my work from my own sex life, or increase my skills at integrating language into my more personal interactions. Even between us, we did get into some wonderful grooves over the phone when we were long distance. I really like the idea of reading cues from somebody else and looking for ways to build long-distance sex with them.
I considered it when I first came to town looking for a job, but it was too far outside my comfort zone at the time. Now I’m not so sure. I came across this site on an ad at FetLife — it looks like a rather appealing possibility, and it’s got me wondering again.
Anybody with phone sex experience – what questions should I be asking myself? What do you think are the most important qualifications for the job – both doing it well and taking care of yourself while you do it?
It’s always been really important to me to create space for vulnerability. All of the healing, all of the true connection in my life has come from someone being vulnerable… from offering up to others something that is tender and not yet ripe. Something that may make us feel silly or weak. Something that may be hard-won self-awareness. Something that may be ripe, that we may be certain of, but is still so central to who we are that it’s threatening to say it out loud. Something that we know is important, and is risky to show to another human being.
Stories are a most important part of that something. The ways we make meaning in the world are literally who we are. Others may advocate for fundraising or political change or broader awareness of critical issues in the world. I advocate for vulnerability, for sacred space, for time to speak and ears that hear the power behind stories. Listening – true listening, deep listening – is a lost art, and there are very few places left to learn it or witness it being done. Listening is hospitality, it’s making space for another person to be themselves. Listening has brought me such amazing gifts. Listening was the primary appeal of the last job I had, a job I quit (for reasons too complicated to relay here). I miss it. I’m glad for the chance to do it online, when I find blogs that offer up sacred stories. I’m so glad when writers – especially bright, reflective writers – open themselves up to being vulnerable, and I’m thrilled when they quiet themselves enough to make space for others’ vulnerability. Intelligence is valuable, but hospitality to vulnerability is the real jewel.
Gabe’s already mentioned Ellie’s questions about masculinity over at Lumpesse.com. I’m really enjoying them.
I tell him it’s eighty to touch, and he hands me a hundred, his last hundred. I tuck it into my stockings quickly and slide into his lap as the song starts.
“You don’t have to,” he whispers. “You don’t have to do this.”
I sit in his lap and play with his hair, stroke his face, make faces like I’m going to kiss him, until tears come to his eyes. Yeah, God has some human in him. So I snuggle up and wrap my arms around him and pull his arms around me. “You don’t have to,” he whispers again.
“Hush, I want to,” I tell him.
When we emerge from the VIP room he’s smiling.
Go read the whole thing. It’s beautiful.
Before the furor over the Open Source Boob Project, one of the things that struck me was when the Ferrett wrote, “It was as though parts of me were being healed whenever I did it.” He experienced healing through being given (and giving himself) permission to ask to touch someone, and to actually touch them. Given our uneasy relationship with bodies, our own and others, it didn’t seem surprising to me that overtly making touch okay would be a deeply spiritual experience. When the only generally approved contexts in which we can experience other bodies is commercial, in conquest or in romantic relationships then the boundaries between us, necessary though they may be, become too rigid, too dense. We become isolated. We experience brokenness. Touch is a step toward healing that brokenness. Dismissing taboos against touch is a powerful action, as was evidenced by the backlash the Ferrett got from his post.
The responses he got that bothered me the most were the ones which dismissed his sense of healing. One commenter says, the experiment “doesn’t seem to be a way to make people healthier sexually.” Another commenter said, “live in a fucking woman’s reality with a gropey boss for a fucking week before you decide that a woman’s body is a tool for some kind of fucking mystical healing experience for men.” See, I think bodies are tools for healing. I think that’s part of what we are. That doesn’t mean that people have a right to use others for their own healing. No one has the right to say “But I’m broken and you can fix me” and demand action of another. It does mean, though, that people can choose to make use of their own bodies as instruments of healing. Healing isolation. Healing sexualities. Healing fears of intimacy. Healing fear of touch. Healing desire. We can do that.
That’s part of why I was so happy to see this post. Just as the Open Source Boob Project was experienced both as the delight of “Wow! We’re touching breasts, butts and other bits!” and “parts of me were being healed,” i-muse‘s experiences as a stripper are described as
You’re just shaking your ass.
One doesn’t negate the other. They both happen in the same moment. What are the motivations of those involved? What are you aware of in the moment? What are you open to? Because you can see an ass so gorgeous you just want to bite into it, and at the same time feel an joyous ache at your core that you’re able to experience such beauty, such validation of desire. You can heal and be healed and turned on at the same time.
In light of recent activities, I thought it was awesome that I ran across this today. A reader asks Grace what to do to be a good strip club customer and she responds at length.
Disclaimer: I make no promises that anything in this entry is in chronological order, or that anyone else would remember that this is how it happened.
For a while now Elizabeth’s been wanting to bring to a strip club and buy me a lapdance (or whatever I wanted once I got there) and I told her a few weeks ago that when she got her first check from her new job that she could take me out. Well, a few days before she got her check I was looking at the website for the closest club and saw that the special guest dancer was going to be Katarina Kat. Now, I’d never heard of her, but she’s damn cute and apparently used to be a circus performer. Watching the preview video on her website gives a clue as to just how bendy she is. Yeah, I thought she’d be a great to see, so last night we headed out to the club.
It was my first time ever going to to a strip club, and it took a bit to get warmed up to the vibe of the place. The dancers were gorgeous and varied (within limits of course) and after a while I started to get into it. Elizabeth went up to the stage to tip one of the girls (who was dancing to a song we’d heard the night before at the “fetish night” which I now know to be “Tear You Apart” by She Wants Revenge) and got a delightful looking boob-rub before coming back to our table smiling.
When the slender girl with the lovely curves and hips and the long curly hair and schoolgirl outfit got up on stage my interest was piqued. Toward the middle of her second song I went up to the stage. She danced for me a bit, and I saw a Hebrew tattoo on her lower back. I tipped her a $5 (I didn’t have any ones at the moment, plus I really liked her) just as her song was ending.
After her set she came out and sat with us for a bit. Her name was Sasha and she was really sweet and bubbly. It was her second night dancing, she said, and she was enjoying it so far though walking in the platform heels was challenging. I’d not have guessed that from her dancing. I asked about her tattoo and she let me see it. I don’t remember what it was at the moment, unfortunately. She said she didn’t read Hebrew, but her grandmother did, and that’s why she got it. Elizabeth asked how the “table-side dances” work and she explained the different ones. She headed off, but said to let her know if we wanted a dance.
Another dancer came out while Elizabeth was in the restroom, and this one had a lovely soft belly, a round, amazingly shaped ass and tits much like Elizabeth’s. We admired her quite a bit, and on her second dance we both went up to the stage. She shimmied and shook for us before crawling to the edge of the stage. For me she arched her back and ran her tits up my chest and planted my face between them before giving them a shake and pushing my head into her chest. Elizabeth she worked over much more slowly, brushing her cheek against hers, running hands up Elizabeth’s sides before finishing off with the same boob-to-face move. It was a delightful thing to watch, especially when Elizabeth’s mouth parted just right and she breathed in and suppressed a shudder. I know that look pretty well, though she rarely actually suppresses the shudders with me.
Soon Sasha came back out and we went back up to the stage again. She grinned and came over. On her hands and knees she shook her ass in my face before turning around and working over my face with her breasts too.
You counting here? That’s 4 new boobs on my face so far. And it gets better.
I honestly don’t remember what she did with Elizabeth. I was just stuck in smile mode as I slid some ones under her garter.
Then something amazing happened. She was tall, with red hair and delightful porcelain skin. She walked out onto the stage (to some horrible, forgettable hip hop) and I was smitten. She was a pretty good dancer, but it was her overwhelming beauty that just blew me away. I mean, my heart still aches a little bit thinking about how exquisite she looks. We made our way up to the stage yet again, and despite having only a few dollars to compete with the guys who watch too many rap videos and were just throwing ones at the girls we still got a delightful amount of attention from her. I had though she kept looking right at us from the stage, then Elizabeth said the same when I suggested we go forward, so maybe she was happy we came to see her up close. She gyrated delightfully, shaking and slapping her ass in our faces, twisting and moving her torso shaking her tits in our faces. She took off Elizabeth glasses and moved in close, rubbing her chest slowly against her face, brushing her breasts against Elizabeth’s cheeks. Next she moved over to me and did the same.
I had been skeptical about the lapdances (or rather, “table-side dances” as they’re called when done by a stage dancer). Despite all my pro-sex-work talk, I still felt weird about paying someone to run their body against mine. Not any longer. I wanted her however I could get her. Have I mentioned she was absolutely exquisite?
Katarina Kat finally came out to do her first set, and she was amazing. Not only was she wearing stripey socks with skull on them (*swoon*), but the things she could do with her body were astounding. I think most of what I said during her dances was “Holy Fuck!” Half-naked controtionists for the WIN! Watching her on the pole was astounding, both because it was just pleasant and about she is amazingly strong! Her legs, her arms, her abs. I’m pretty sure she could kill someone just by thinking about it. I do wish the MC would have just shut the hell up while she was dancing. It was distracting.
And that reminds me… When a dancing girl takes off her top, I for one feel like I oughta applaud. I mean damn, that’s what I came for, right? But that didn’t really seem to be the way the place works. In fact most of the dancers took off their tops backstage or on the corner of the stage between songs. But when Katarina was dancing the MC kept trying to get the crowd to cheer. I was a bit confused, as I’d put aside my natural instinct toward “Boobies! Yay!” behavior, but then they changed their minds and wanted it.
But that’s not what you came to read about, is it? You want to know about the lapdance. I really do wish I remembered her name. I even looked on the club website to see if I could find pictures, but I couldn’t. But we did catch up with her while she wasn’t sitting in the lap of one of the rap video dollar shower guys and Elizabeth asked for a dance. She asked who it was for, and so did Elizabeth. I wasted little time say, “Oh, this one is for ME!” She took off her top and untied the little wrap she was wearing and when the next song started she stood right in front of me and started dancing. She leaned across me arching her back and running her entire torso past my face. Do you have any idea how hard it was to keep my tongue in my mouth. I just wanted to taste her skin, and a slight move would have had me running my tongue down her septum and down to her navel as she slid up me.
As much as am awed by the sight of naked women, and as much fun as I’d been having nothing had really just turned me on. It was hot being able to watch gorgeous, naked women dance. Yes. And I appreciated it right down to my core. But it didn’t make my dick hard. But when this girl turned around and began grinding her ass into my lap I was hard. As a fucking rock. And she worked it, sliding her ass up and down my hard cock. Then she turned around and climbed fully in my lap. She ran her hands up my sides and grabbed the back of her chair as she started to press her little g-string into my now throbbing erection. she took my glasses off and pressed herself into me and my eyes just rolled up in my head. This. Was. Bliss.
She decided to share some of the time with Elizabeth too, giving her much the same treatment, but running her hands up and down over Elizabeth’s belly and breasts too. Elizabeth took on much the same look as I had a moment before, seemingly relishing the dancer’s touch.
Table-side dances are $15. I gave her $20. Yeah, I’m not the big spending rap video guys, and I’m certainly not the successful middle-aged business man, but it’s what I could give for a few minutes of sheer delight.
I can see how easy it is to spend lots and lots of money in one of those places. We were there for a little over 3 hours, and it certainly didn’t feel like it. Drinks are pricey, and when a pretty girl gyrates for ones they tend to disappear quickly. So we left after catching our breath and seeing another dancer or two on stage. It was money well spent, and I can see making that a regular outing. Of course now I want to go check out the other clubs in the area. That was the only one in the city, but there are more across parish lines. Field trip? Oh I think so. Or, as Elizabeth prefers, scientific research in sex work.
I found some of my reactions to be fun. I’m quite the music whore, so the songs the dancers chose affected my enjoyment a good bit. I really don’t like most hip-hop, and I despise most nu-metal, so Disturbed and Korn make me not like people. And I was happy when I heard the Chili Peppers, Big Head Todd and the Monsters Nine Inch Nails and She Wants Revenge. We asked Sasha to make sure that the dancers pick out their own music, and they do. Because I’m a snob, that will probably affect my tipping in the future. Of course, it also may not. I didn’t tip the dancer who had Big Head Todd playing, because I just wasn’t attracted to her. And I didn’t tip the dancer who had the Chili Peppers because, well, there were too many people up there with whom to compete. She was quite gorgeous, though. And Elizabeth tipped the dancer who danced to She Wants Revenge, but I never did make it up there for her. So who knows.
I also noticed that I was disappointed that there was so little tease in the striptease. The outfits were sexy, yes, but there was so little buildup to them being taken off. I know they’re working the crowd for tips, and I don’t begrudge that. I just wish there was a little more burlesque style dancing involved. Just my preferences, I suppose.
I was also very aware of the sad hypocrisy of certain body parts and sexual acts being okay, while others were very much off limits. The dancers here have to keep a g-string on. We talked to Sasha about the different rules in different places, how in nearby towns the dancers have to wear pasties as well. And there’s a “fully nude!” place not too far away as well. And a dancer grinding into my cock is okay, but touching her arm while she does it is not okay. It makes me want to start up a sex club even more, a place where the rules aren’t set by politicians, but by the participants.
Not surprisingly, Elizabeth and I were in bed not long after getting home. I started sliding some of the remaining ones into her undies as she giggled. Soon I’d abandoned the money and was just sliding my fingers in and out of her. I’d told her on the way home that I wanted to eat her, so I laid down on the bed and she straddled my face, reaching down to hold her lips apart. I latched on to her clit and felt her dripping into my beard. I sucked and licked, circling and flicking and sucking again, teasing her, never staying with one thing too long. Then I hit a stride and she started a breathy, punctuated “Yes. Yes. Yes.” I stayed with that, flicking her clit up and down until she came screaming and fell down at my side.
I’d been stroking my cock as I had her cunt on my lips, and I wasn’t feeling at all patient, so as soon as she caught her breath I had her climb on top of me. She’d said on the ride home she’d like to go cowgirl, and as she threw one leg over me I reached down to slide right into her. It felt like we were fucking forever. She’d sit straight up and rock her hips to and fro for a while, then she’d lean forward, swinging her tits above me and I’d start biting her nipples while she fucked me hard. When she got tired I moved my legs a bit and started fucking her hard from below. When I came it was the most intense in recent memory.
Elizabeth’s arms and legs were jelly, so I helped her roll over and she nestled nicely in my arms. She started playing with herself, telling me that my coming makes her so hot, and she felt so close to another orgasm, so I held her close and traced my fingers over her chest and whispered in her ear as she came for the second time.
She went to sleep not much longer, having to get up this morning for work. I was tired, but also wired. And still horny. I tried to read a bit, but the tiredness took over after a little while. Still, I woke up this morning still horny as fuck. I slept on and off this morning after Elizabeth left for work, and I dreamt of naked women.
This could get addicting.