Beyond the main course

I recently bought a copy of the original 1972 Joy of Sex from one of those guys selling used books and porn magazines along Sixth Avenue. Walking towards the table, I recognized the cover immediately and nabbed it for $4.00, hardly breaking my stride. My favorite thing about it, besides those great line illustrations of hairy hippie chicks in knee high boots, is the terminology. So if we have sex at some point and I shout out "You like buttered buns* don't you, baby!" you should know what it means. There's also…

feuille de rose: tongue stimulation of the anus
mouth music: extended pussy-kissing (also known as gamahuche)
goldfish: two naked people tied and put on a mattress together to make love fish-fashion, i.e. no hands
postillionage: putting a finger in or on your partner's anus just before orgasm
Serbian intercourse: mock rape (kind of sounds like a bad joke)
motorcycle: considered a "venue" for sex. It "combines the symbolism of the horse (which also has an entry) with leather gear, danger and acceleration."
viennese oyster: woman lies on her back and crosses her feet behind her head
cassolette: the natural perfume of a clean woman

There's also this very complicated garment developed by the Scandinavians called a grope suit. I don't know where I can get one, but I want it.



* a woman who has recently had relations with another man.

Toy Review: Hello Kitty Vibrator

Hello Kitty is an icon that doesn't stand for anything at all. Hello Kitty never has been, and never will be, anything. She's pure license; you can even get a Hello Kitty car! The branding thing is completely out of control, but it started as nothing and maintains its nothingness. It's not about the ego, and in that way it's very Japanese. — Tom Sachs


Bronze Collection / Lever House, New York City / 2008
Artist Tom Sachs often references contemporary icons of popular culture and consumerism in his work: McDonald's, Prada, Hello Kitty. I saw him speak at a conference years ago with Ikuko Shimizu, the original creator of Hello Kitty (let me tell you, when she took the stage the whole audience stood up and roared with applause. She's a rock star). She had never seen any of his work and was genuinely surprised that her creation had such a huge cultural impact. She said humbly, "Well, I knew it was a very popular character."

I was a fan of Hello Kitty back when I was a 3rd grader collecting stickers and miniature colored pencil sets and I love her to this day. "Teen Angst Hello Kitty" (I'm not making that up, that's what it's called) hangs above my computer:




On my wall is a piece from artist Michael Paulus who draws skeletal systems of cartoon characters:



I love Hello Kitty for her minimalist lines, her over-sized head, her expressionless, speechless gaze (She has no mouth, but there's no deep meaning behind this. When asked, Shimizu said she could never get the drawings right so she said, forget it!). Her adorable blank stare is like a template inviting you apply anything you want to her surface. And Hello Kitty is most definitely a she. You don't need DD sized boobs or long blond hair and a dream house. She's got that sweet, little bow placed at a cocky angle just below her left ear. And, or course, the name. How can you resist? The awkward, broken English name that is both generic and completely unique. You can not help but love her.

So we want her little face on anything and everything that can be bought instantly transforming the most mundane, utilitarian, "grown-up" object into something kitschy, fun and cute taking us back to a more innocent time in our lives when we carried Lego pieces, secret notes, and glitter glue in our little purses instead of iPhones, credit cards and tampons.

So along with the obligatory and age appropriate tiny purses and diaries, you can buy Hello Kitty kitchen timers, license plate frames, toasters, stainless steel sauce pans, golf bags, digital cameras, coffee makers, diamond jewelry, a Fender guitar and makeup . Then you can fly to Japan on a Hello Kitty jet.



















So why not a vibrator? It's marketed as a "shoulder massager" (so is the Hitachi and all those hand vibes you get at Brookstone) maintaining the illusion of respectability. Sanrio has always maintained that it is a "health-care product". It was their best selling novelty item before it was discontinued when it ended up being sold in sex shops next to much more obviously adult toys. But since it's back, perhaps the company has loosened up, re-evaluated it's consumer and decided to innocently look the other way.

After all, anything that vibrates is a vibrator: an electric toothbrush, the dryer, Tickle Me Elmo. I remember, while vacuuming the living room rug as a youngster, curiously pressing the buzzing handle to my crotch. Part of the fun is the pervertability of the object, the sacrilege of taking a beloved childhood character and using it to get off.

But long story short, it's basically a "Pocket Rocket" with a Hello Kitty head on top. So I started with her little face respectfully turned away from my clitoris. The back of her head is round and smooth, with just the slightest, embossement: © '76/97 SANRIO MADE IN CHINA. But I was curious about all those bumps of her cocky pink bow, her yellow button nose, and that little teddy bear nestled safely between her legs. So, with a little hesitation, I turned her over rubbing her face over my clit until I came. Then I lifted her up from between my damp thighs and looked into those tiny, little black eyes that seemed to be looking into mine saying, Why Tilda? Why?

And it takes one AA battery.

The birds and the bees

First published in France in 1973, Good Sex Illustrated gleefully deciphers the subtext of a popular sex education manual for children produced during that period. In so doing, Duvert mounts a scabrous and scathing critique of how deftly the "sex-positive" ethos was harnessed to promote the ideal of the nuclear family.






I've been reading this book and it's been it's been interesting to see what was considered "sex-positive" in 1973 versus what we consider the term to mean now (whatever that term means now). But the book is an angry exploration of how even when trying to be forward thinking, open and honest with children about sex, they still end up teaching that masturbating too much is bad, female orgasms aren't worth mentioning, homosexuals aren't normal, you aren't really a woman until you have had a baby and no one needs to know what a vulva looks like.

It's also interesting how the same discussions happening now about gender stereotypes, patriarchal privilege and heteronormativity were happening 36 years ago.

Two of my best friends have recently had kids and I've been thinking a lot about pregnancy (like a lot) and I remembered how I first learned about the birds and the bees. I technically never had the "talk" with my mom. She handed me a copy of Our Bodies, Ourselves and said "Let me know if you have any questions." I also recall a hippie book on natural childbirth that included a recipe for Placenta Stew. Between that and sneaking peeks at my mom's Joy of Sex, my dad's copies of Juggs, and lying next to Zac during nap-time (Zac liked to spontaneously stand up and take off all his clothes. Zac was awesome.) I pretty much figured it out on my own. I also recall a book called Them (or maybe it was Us?) by Anonymous that was always by my mother's bedside table, in which I learned dicks can be put in ladies' butts.

But before all the visual aids and stories about affairs with tanned pool boys, my first understanding of sex started with a man and a woman getting married and in my head it went a little something like this:

A man and a woman lie side by side on a bed. The woman is wearing a wedding dress and the man is wearing a tuxedo with a top hat. Then the man puts his penis in the woman's vagina. Somehow.

I hadn't yet figured out the logistics of how this would work. The whole, lying on top of each other concept didn't occur to me, so I didn't have a clear idea of how he got his penis all the way over there. Did it grow really, really long and kind of bend over to it? How did it get through all the clothes? Did it go up underneath the dress? I think my concept was that a penis was a lot like a plumber's snake.

If only...

I found this old book my folks must have given me when I was little. Or maybe it was the lamer book my older sister got stuck with. This was from 1953. They spend more time talking about how the small-mouthed black bass gets knocked-up than how people do. There's lots of information about what happens once the baby's in there, but before? The actual mechanics of intercourse (Chapter 3: The sperm and how it finds the egg) takes up about a page and describes how horses and dogs and lions get it on. What, you want to talk about humans? Well, it's kind of like how horses do it, only "more lovingly" and you can lie face to face.

I haven't seen the 2009 equivalent of these books. I'm guessing there are additional chapters on deep throating, female ejaculation and how to supplement your allowance with a webcam.

I like you so much better when you're naked

Ida Maria - New Music - More Music Videos

Despite a threat from Islamists, two Pakistani brothers stealthily manufacture fetish and bondage wear, earning more than $1 million a year from their Western customers.

Room Serviced

I have been waiting for this building for the past 4 years. I stayed at The Standard in L.A. years ago and wondered why wasn't there one in New York City? I cheered when I heard that there was finally going to be one built. I delighted when I learned it was going to be built over the High Line. When I first saw the renderings, I may have gotten a little wet.

My first thought was, "I have to have sex in that building."

I've realized that place has become something of a fetish for me. Some people like feet, some people like food, some people like corsets and stockings. I like having sex in architecturally significant buildings.

If you want to talk about architecture as a dialogue with it's natural environment, this is New York City's Falling Water. While part of one of the oldest commercial districts in the city, The Standard is a mere whisper. At street level, it's nearly invisible and completely unobtrusive to the pedestrian. But at a distance, it adds to the shinning beacon that is the New York skyline with such refreshing drama. It straddles the High Line with a polite bravado as if to say, "I'm so sorry, excuse me. Would you mind terribly if I built a luxury hotel here?" It seems like an engineering impossibility, but there it is. It has the slightest bend to it, like parted legs.

We checked in around 4:00 or so leaving just a couple of hours before the first guests were scheduled to arrive. When I opened the door I gasped at the wall to wall window with a view overlooking the High Line under construction, the Department of Sanitation, the rooftops of meat packing companies and ever flowing traffic of the West Side Highway. It was perfect. It never occurred to either of us to ever draw the curtains.

I hadn't packed a single item of clothing (except for a robe that would go unused) so there wasn't much unpacking to do. But first thing first I needed a long, hot lingering shower. I re-shaved my legs and bits and pieces, but still felt a little stubbly. I called to J. "Can you do me a favor?"

I bent over and spread my ass cheeks. He smoothed a thick layer of shaving cream over my asshole and shaved me smooth. "There's a first." I thought. I rinsed, dried and put on some lipstick. I wouldn't be needing any other makeup.

The first guest arrived right on time. I knelt on the bed, faced the wall and closed my eyes, eagerly shifting my weight from side to side. I felt him put the blindfold on first, then secured it tight with Vetrap. I couldn't see a thing but I could hear the familiar sound of zippers being unzipped, the shuffle of pants coming off and then the feel of cool hands on my tits, a mouth near mine, fingers on cunt, a cock pressed against my lips.

Some sucked my nipples tenderly, some mauled my breasts like they were trying to rip them off. Some ignored my clit preferring to get right to it, some went down on me for a while, licking and fingering my cunt while my hand searched for their hair to grip.

There was little speaking. I'm always surprised at how quiet men can be during sex. Through out the evening his phone would ring with a guest requesting the room number. I'd hear someone new walk through the door to find me on my knees, one man fucking my cunt from behind pushing the cock in front of me further into my throat.

The man in my mouth asked politely if he could come on my face. "Of course," J. said and just like that he did. I felt it dripping over my cheek, down my face and on to my chest. I sighed with gratitude as the next man took him place in front of me. He led his cock to my mouth and I paused a moment. I reached up with one hand. "My god," I thought, "This is huge." I wrapped my lips around the thickness and went down as far as I could. I don't usually use my hands when sucking cock (I'm a skull fucking kind of girl), but in this case there was no choice. He took over and with a little encouragement went a smidge too deep a tad too quickly and almost instantaneously a sample of that mornings scrambled eggs, grits and corned beef hash made a come back.

"Oops. Sorry about that."

Apologies were made between the two of us. Quickly and efficiently, sheets were stripped below me, a towel was handed to me and a glass of water. The man who's cock was responsible for all this confessed to the other guests that he actually had a couple of videos of just this very thing. There was some light hearted chatter to ease the tension and I knelt there, my lips parted wondering when everyone was going to stop talking so he could resume fucking my face.

Like the last time, I never really had a clear idea of how many there were. Sometimes I was on my knees, sometimes I was on my back. I moved where they moved me, I opened up what ever they needed opened up. My body took over and did what it's made to do. I wrapped my legs around what I assumed to be the man with the monster cock. I gripped the sides of the bed, my eyes clenched behind the blindfold as he slammed into my cervix. I could have asked for more lube, it was right there by the bedside table, but I didn't. I gritted my teeth and let him pound away as hard as he wanted. I didn't want it to be nice, I didn't want it to be easy, I was there for him to fuck, my comfort wasn't the point.

As they finished up one by one, there were Happy Birthday wishes and the sound of zippers being re-zipped. I didn't know how many were left but I always knew when it was him. I laid back and felt the first two fingers, then three, then four. I arched my back and screamed into the comforter as he slid in up to the wrist. He gave my insides a few minuscule knocks now and then making me press the blanket to my mouth and groan. I didn't know if this was just between us or if there was an audience and I didn't care. He pulled out and pulled me up cradling me in his arms. We kissed and cuddled and I thought we must be alone at this point, but I would hear the sound of someone shifting across the room.

When the last person left, I stood up and he took off the blindfold. I gasped once more at the view. Now it was dark and the night was lit up with the sparking lights of the traffic and the Jersey skyline. We kissed and hugged and I squealed with satisfied glee. He volunteered to run out and get some wine before we ordered dinner and just as I was about to wash up, there was a knock on the door. There was one more guest and an extremely cute one at that.

The same thing happened last year. First the anonymous group and then the lone handsome late comer. I had rung up housekeeping to have them replace the linens on the bed and the two of us waited patiently and made awkward small talk while the maid replaced the sheets. When J. returned, wine was poured and the party resumed. They both stripped down. I was obviously still naked. J. sat in the chair watching while the young man had his way with me. It was nice seeing his smile. There was an attempt at a DP, but the lad needed a little help so down I went. I knelt as he stood. I gripped his waist for support as we switched back and forth from me sucking him to him fucking my face. By my request, he came on my face and I rubbed it over my face and my chest, my eyes drowsy, my body sated. But he was still hard. I bent down and gave the head a little lick expecting that little twinge, but he was steady as a rock.

J. put a pillow next to the chair for me as our guest took a seat to relax. I was slowing down. My jaw was aching at this point. I hadn't slept the night before and it was starting to catch up with me. I would go down, come back up and rest my head on his thigh for a moment. Slower and slower I sucked like a battery wearing down until I couldn't go on anymore. I rested my hand on his leg, gasping for air, laughing softly.

The three of us sat around, drinking wine and chatting about sex and fetishes and bdsm. I was a little chilly, so I propped up some pillows and got under the covers while the come dried on my face. Finally our guest had to be on his way, he thanked me and wished me a happy birthday and the door was closed on The Standard gang bang. It was time for hi-fives, room service and SNL. By the time it was over I was officially a year older.

We woke to a hazy grey morning and I gave myself a couple of long Hitachi induced orgasms, gripping his arm and biting his shoulder. He reached down to feel the wetness between my legs. His eyes rolled, "Oh my God" and he slid into me. He did all those scary, nasty things I love that weren't meant for an audience. If I had any complaint about the night before, it would be that everyone was so damn polite! He fucked me and spit in my face and wrapped his hands around my throat until the need for coffee and Nutella became too great for both of us.

Room service would bring us a big bottle of Mr. Bubble and we spent the rest of the morning soaking lazily in the tub until we were properly wrinkled and there was less than 5 minutes until check out. Before I dressed he gave me a few good wallops with his belt and we were done. It was time to say goodbye to my glass, concrete, steel and wood paneled lover.

We took a walk around the block to get a full view of the building and paused at a good point around the corner. He pointed up. "Look, there's our room! See the towel on the chair in front of the window?" I followed his finger to the sixth floor until I spotted it. My god, that was a good view. Oh, the spectacle we must have made.

"Hey, naked lady!" I pointed to the room below our room and there was a very sexy woman getting dressed in front of the window. Like us, she probably never thought of closing the curtains. You can't see the sidewalk below from the view above and even if you could, if there is any hotel that encourages exhibitionism it would be this one. It takes moxie to stand naked in front of floor to ceiling windows and not care. It takes some gumption to build a building like that. It takes trust to allow yourself to be helpless, to know that you're going to be cared for and know when you don't want to be in control there's someone who will take control for you.

We watched the windows for a while looking for more indiscretions until we both started feeling a little perverted, even for us, and headed for the subway.

Toy Review: Ballsy Supercock

I have four dildos. Why do I need another one? Because I do, alright. I just do. Like the real, warm blooded one all fake dicks are a little bit different and have their own personality and one just isn't enough. The Ballsy Supercock is the newest addition to the family. It's shiny, black and long ( 7" x 1-3/4") and a lot vein-ier than my other ones, which was a nice touch.

It's also stinky! I've gotten used to the pricier silicone and Vixskin dildos so when I opened the package that blast of chemical smell hit me like a ton of bricks. I washed it a few times and left it out to air for a few days and the smell eventually died down somewhat.

I tend to be rather rough with my dildos. I'm not very gentle with myself and maybe because I didn't invest $100+ on it I was a little rougher than usual. I like a dildo with balls. I like feeling that extra slap against my asshole and it gives me something to hold on to. I turn it around inside me so it's facing the other way so the balls are hit my clit over and over. It does what it's supposed to do.

The smell reminded me of the first dildo I ever bought and I think that's the idea here. It's a good firmness, but still soft and a pretty good size for the price. If you can't afford a silicone dildo, the Ballsy Supercock will work just fine.