Last week I went to UW-Bothell to catch the keynote speaker, Dr. Pepper Schwarz, at the Sex Ed Health Fair, held by students. I have seen Dr. Schwarz on a multitude of TV talk shows, news, etc. and was excited to meet her in person and pawn off to her our smut rags!

Her talk was really interesting and she got good feedback and participation from the attendees, who were mostly women.

Her topic was: Why Are We Afraid of Sex?

She says that you’d think in a society where 80% of people have sex before the age of 18, our commercials sell sex at every turn and the internet is saturated with any kind of porn that you can dream of, we wouldn’t be afraid of sex. Well, along with that, we have a lot of confusion about sex; mainly due to misinformation, piggy backed onto the guilt people (primarily in religious families) have grown up with about sex.

Here are her points as to why we are so afraid:

1. National Abstinence Programs.

This ties into the misinformation category aforementioned. We are spending over $1 Billion in Washington state alone to TRY to teach kids to practice abstinence. These programs spread false information in hopes of scaring the kids out of having sex. Well, come to find out, however many billions later, that this isn’t working. Kids are still having sex in their early teens and the STI rate is on the increase due to kids not being taught about condoms-how to use them and where to buy them. What they do say about condoms is that it only protects up to 31% against HIV. In actuality is 98%. They also are passing out information saying that you can get pregnant by just touching each other’s genitals. (I can’t even comment on this stupidity.)

Pepper says that we are letting this happen due to our own discomfort of our youth having sex. Swedish and American families were asked if their kids were going to be sexually active would they prefer them to be under the safety of their own roof or not. In the Swedish count, 4 out of 5 said “yes,” they would rather have them doing this in their house so they can be sure that the kids are safe.  Meanwhile, 4 out of 5 Americans, said absolutely “no way.”

2. Our society has a problem with acts carried out for pleasure.

Dr. Schwarz has had to testify in court a lot for varying things related to her “sexpertise.” For example, she found herself in Texas where they were trying to outlaw the sales of dildos. The reason being was that there was no necessity for them. (Sorry, cumming IS a necessity in my life.) How they eventually won the case was by claiming them as medically necessary for women who couldn’t have an orgasm. However, no one even bats an eye at the surge of Viagra in our society, oh, but I suppose that’s not for anyone’s pleasure.

I hadn’t realized the lack of masturbation talk on the TV since I don’t have one, but Dr. Schwarz said that on all the shows she’s been on she usually has a little list of words she can’t say. Everyone on every show, however, is prohibited from talking about masturbation.

Hell, even one of our Attorney Generals was fired for mentioning that kids would be better off masturbating than having sex. Fired! What is everyone’s deal with that? People are scared of masturbating, or just talking about it? Something is going on there. I blame the bible.

3. Homosexuality.

We know this freaks a lot of people out unfortunately. Again, stemming a lot from religion and using “religious doctrine to talk of social policy.” Did you know that the US is the most religious country on Earth? Think about all of that shame and guilt embedded in their minds about sex, and fear, tying back into that topic.

People are afraid of other sexually independent people; look at what the Muslim religion has done to their women, covering up every inch of them.

I guess there was a Papal statement once upon a time stating that women are more sexually charged and in turn dangerous because the vagina was seen as a vessel for the devil to get in. I think the devil could just as easily crawl into someone’s ass.

4. Darker side of Sex-Death and Disease.

Yes, death and disease is scary when it comes to sex, but even more so do to the lack of accurate information, or the spread of it. Condom companies are not allowed to advertise on network television. Think of how much sex is discussed on TV, but you can’t mention condoms, something that could save your life when it comes down to doing the deed. Sad.

5. Incompentence.

Since sex is under discussed (in a healthy format) people aren’t really sure how to have great sex. We have all these messages about it and mainly messages about boobs and dicks being too small and what NOT to do to your lover, we feel insecure and incompetent when the time arrives to be intimate. This year there was a 30% increase in plastic surgery operations and most of those were from women under the age of 25.

6. Fear of our own sexual orientation

Many people are afraid to open up to their desires about intimacy because they are afraid they might not be “normal” or even worse might find someone of the same sex attractive. People feel as though things need to be highly defined as black or white when in actuality most things are a shade of grey. This applies to our sexuality as well. She mentions a book called, “Dude, You’re a Fag” by C.J. Pascoe which discusses this issue with high school boys. Here’s a little link for more info: http://www.ucpress.edu/books/pages/10671.php

Dr. Schwarz is a highly intelligent individual who started sex education classes in her basement at the age of 11, along with her mother’s help. She left us with a few lovely words, saying “we need to talk about sex together to enrich our lives in health and heart, both individually and as a community.”

http://www.drpepperschwartz.com/

It’s that momentous First Hot Day Out in NYC for the year and from the looks of it folks are taking full advantage. How strange it feels to step outside with skin exposed to the air- how light and giddy. During heavy coats-n-layers season it’s near-impossible to believe that anyone has ever exposed their toes to a subway car, ventilated in flip-flops, or bared their ENTIRE LEGS in public. Spring makes me feel like both a puritan and a pervert (as the two tend to go hand-in-hand.. or fingers-on-fly, maybe, ha ha), leaving me shocked and delighted to be part of enjoy viewing the display. And this is just the beginning- it was only in the seventies today. Just wait ’til summer is in full flush, when some brave-lady types wear little more than glorified bathing suit bottoms on the street. It will be hard (that’s what she said) not to stare. Yep, a day like this makes me feel bad for the denizens of always-temperate locales. I imagine the difficulty of remaining un-jaded from year-round flesh parades. THIS is the true reason to appreciate winter- not for hot cocoa or sledding hills, but because it causes us to stay so covered up for so long, resulting in a slow sensuous buildup for the ultimate striptease of spring and summer.
No matter what you’re wearing today, strut your shit out there- you’re HOT!

Here it is, ladies! (See photo of author in post below.) Our first male poet blog post!

Enjoy: 

Inflaming the mind in prayer, in grateful anticipation;

invoke the fantastic feminine flare into physical creation.

Bring her in sexy robes of silk, or an ultra-hot bikini;

breadfruit breasts as milk, delicious, dazzling dakini.

Intelligent with compassion & spicy like Paprika;

skilled in the arts of making love, I call you forth tantrika.

Voluptuous body of passion with sensually strong thighs;

lotus-soft skin of seduction, arched in orgasmic cries.

Shower you with roses, masterfully massage you for hours;

twisting in our tantric poses on a bed of perfumed flowers,

kissing all your sensitive spots, softly nibbling your nipple-ness;

playfully pleasing in aureole action as your firm ass I caress,

your throbbing yoni beckons, woo, firm phallus to slide in;

pouring lush-full Amrita dew, sacred lovers to confide in.

Soaring like angels in our bliss, the passionate perspiration;

no longer two but one, the kiss, of ecstatic infatuation,

overflowing like a waterfall, floating in this joyful pleasure;

waves of ecstasy overwhelm us as we unlock the sacred treasure,

Samadhi, orgasm after overflowing orgasm, pulsing in pure delight;

dissolving into the universe as reverberating rays of rainbow light!

-Sir Mark Bruback C.2008

Our first male blog post! Here’s a photo by Lydia Goolia to tide you over until we put his poem up…

Hellooo kittycats!
Did ya miss me? (Shh.. just say “yes” and nod vigorously to make mama happy. Good kitten.)
What have you been up to since I’ve been out of the action? Or should I say, who have you been up in, hmm?
Now- enough catch-up; it’s business time.
Oh wow.. that just makes me want to add- how hot is Mr. Jemaine Clement of Flight of the Conchords superfame? So much more so to me than his pretty-faced bandmate Bret. Is it the glasses? The meaty lips and heft of brow? The broad shoulders with tartan shirtsleeves coyly rolled to mid-forearm below, adept at surprisingly agile wiggly dances? The monotone robot voice? The way his jeans seem maybe a bit too tight across the groin?
Yes, but I think personally I’ve just always had a thing for sidekicks.. I mean, not to say that Jemaine is the sidekick.. but he kind of is, wouldn’t you say? Maybe I mean the slightly geekier/less “traditionally handsome” of a duo. On the giant Wayne’s World poster on my door in 7th grade, Garth stared out from under a thick layer of my nightly Lipsmacker smooches. I dreamed he was a real person close to my age and not actually 30-something Dana Carvey in a wig. I imagined myself as sexually advanced and highly skilled (instead of a shy 12-year-old who would remain unkissed for three more years and had just recently had the phenomena of “blowjob” explained to her by a giggly junior high classmate)- a slut with a heart of gold who’d deftly pluck the sweet, slightly overwhelmed dweeb’s virginity from him like a ripe tangerine. (I’d get to live this scenario eventually, though with a real live nerd, not a Saturday Night Live character.)
I’ve grown out of this fantasy though- don’t worry. The picture of Dwight from the Office on my refrigerator only bears one lipstick kiss.

An Acquired Taste

PART I

You know how some foods, like olives and beer, are supposed to be an acquired taste? I guess this means that if you try them often enough, you’ll learn to like them. I’ve always been baffled by the idea of eating something you don’t like over and over again in the hopes that someday, after an unspecified length of time, you’ll develop an affinity for it. Because what are the benefits of it, really? You’ll have a new food you can enjoy, yes, but what about the countless other foods you can enjoy that you liked the taste of right off the bat? Why should you have to “acquire” a taste for anything?

My ex-boyfriend Wolf often complained that I didn’t give things a fair chance; he thought it was appalling that my gastronomical choices didn’t include fungus, olives, and certain organ-related substances: head cheese, for example. Liver. My mother used to eat liver, and I once told her, “Why don’t you just eat the chicken hearts too, while you’re at it?” I have a mental image of her, at sixty-four, with blood dripping down her wrists, holding the still-beating heart of a chicken in the air before bringing it to her mouth and ripping off a chunk, thereby consuming the soul of her enemy. Or something.

Wolf forced me to eat things I didn’t like, mostly because he had weird control issues, but I also believe truly out of genuine concern for what he perceived as the narrowness of my life. He really feared that if I did not enjoy Gorgonzola, I was missing something. I cannot count the number of assorted olives he held enticingly before me, sometimes making airplane noises and telling me to open up the hangar. And I still don’t like olives, not really. They’re too bitter. I don’t like overly stinky cheese, although a good extra-sharp cheddar sends me into paroxysms of delight. I don’t like beer because it tastes like horse piss.

It’s the same with sex.

An ACQUIRED TASTE - PART II

I have experimented a very great deal in my sex life. There are a few things I absolutely will not do: shit, vomit, children, dogs. Other than that, I’ll try almost anything once; I’m far more adventurous with sex than I am with food. But in our world of abundance, of wild sexual proclivities and exploration and permissive lesbian experimentation, the idea that some sex play might just strike you as boring seems taboo in and of itself. You’re a womyn, the world shouts. You’re free to do as you please, to dress up like a schoolgirl or order someone to crawl at your feet! You can do anything or anyone! The implication is that if you don’t try everything and love it, randy little sex kitten that you are, you’re repressed and in denial, buying into patriarchal ideals or not allowing your sexuality a chance to blossom.

In a world where women have to take control of their own sexuality and that means being down with their bad selves and up for anything, being damn bored with kinky sex leaves you with nothing. My husband and I went to a private party with some friends of ours a while back; when we first walked in to the attractive little suburban row house, we saw a girl dressed as a cat being masturbated by a man in leather pants. Not allowed to speak, she frantically called out, “Meow, meow,” as she came. Downstairs, a woman tied to a large wooden cross grimaced and moaned as a bald man thrust into her from behind while twisting her nipple rings. “It’s her birthday present,” someone whispered. “Jason’s upstairs as a human toilet for the evening,” our hostess said, graciously taking our coats. “He’ll eat anything. He just wants everyone to know that he’d prefer no menstruating women because he keeps kosher.”

Cosmopolitan tells you to spice up your sex life with a little bit of bondage, maybe the occasional racy tryst in a public park or front seat of your car, a quick nooner standing up against the kitchen wall. But how do you spice up your sex life when even the most taboo of topics are standard fare?

There’s a lot of sexual research about what we find exciting and why. Everyone, scientists and independent researchers alike, seem to agree that what titillates us most is the taboo, the forbidden, the naughty. We get a sexual thrill from doing something we’re not supposed to do, whether that’s dipping our hand in the jar of penny candy (and getting away with it) or licking our lover’s asshole. The forbidden varies from person to person, which is why the range of sexual experience is so rich and varied; one person’s “slightly taboo” is another person’s “no way, not in a million years, and if you’ve ever done that I’m leaving you.” While one partner might be okay with pretending to be your daddy, for another, that might be crossing a line.

Catholic guilt aside, as long as it’s consensual and doesn’t lead to disease, there’s no real reason not to perform any individual sexual act; there’s nothing intrinsically wrong with anything. There is nothing morally despicable about having a threesome, as long as you are conscientious and not pushing for something that makes someone uncomfortable (that should be covered under the “consensual” label). There’s nothing morally wrong about fucking your boyfriend in the ass with a strap-on—or being the boyfriend. There’s nothing morally wrong with whispering dirty fantasies into your partner’s ear. God never said, “Thou shalt not come on her titties,” although even if he had, that wouldn’t make it wrong.

TO BE CONTINUED… 

An Acquired Taste Part III

But some things just aren’t fun for everyone. They might not be disgusting, or aversive, but merely right up there with eating oatmeal every day for the rest of your life. They might be olives, which you’d try to make someone happy, but never eat on your own time. So when are you allowed to stop trying and just admit that you’ve discovered something you really don’t like all that much?

I don’t like being dominant. And yet, since my main partner for the past seven years had a deep-rooted need, literally need, to be submissive, by default I have been dominant in bed for seven years. At first I was fine with it; not really fun for me, but I liked seeing what made him squirm, what made him happy. Turns out, what made him happy was for me to enjoy it, and that got harder and harder as the years ground by, because he had a very specific idea of what worked: the outfits, the words that had to be said, the orders that had to be made and how they must be spoken, the fantasies that worked for him. He was very self-aware, knew exactly what got him off, as most guys do. It just happened to be something that didn’t get me in the pit of my stomach; that warm, fluttery sliding feeling when something really connects with your brain as well as your genitals.

I felt stupid most of the time, like an actor not comfortable with a part. “Oh, um, I want you to lick my boots,” I’d say, and he’d happily comply, only I didn’t really want him to lick my boots. I didn’t care if he licked them or not. It didn’t do anything for me, certainly. He was pleased, so eager to do anything I wanted him to do…except I didn’t want him to do anything. I mean, it was nice to order him to do the laundry and mop the floors, but it wasn’t something I felt was missing from my life; it wasn’t like I really needed him to do those things. I was only ordering him to do them because he wanted to be ordered to do something. I could order him to please me sexually, but it was like playing with an animated blow-up doll: he had to be told specifically what to do, not because he didn’t know, but because that was part of the process for him. He was happy to do it, whatever it was—from going down on me to licking my ass—as long as I told him what to do and how to do it. Every time. No instigation, just eagerly asking how he could please me tonight, mistress? Stifling a sigh, I resisted the urge to say, “Think for yourself.”

TO BE CONTINUED…