Do you ever have those moments when clarity comes up behind you with a baseball bat and beats the hell out of you?
You get up, groggy, woozy, disoriented, but shit, you know better now, man.
I’ve been avoiding getting into this Vixen thing. The problem with procrastination is that you avoid things so much that you fail to even become aware of why the avoidance is there in the first place.
But then clarity comes along with that fucking bat and, sooner or later, you clue the hell in. Like I did about 30 minutes ago. For some reason, today I feel like I’m Frodo walking across that marshland with all the corpses under the surface of the pondwater. I feel like I’m about to go under, like there’s some kinda tether wrapped around my heart and strung to the reeds below the surface, tugging me down and trying to seduce me into the dark.
It sounds really intense, but it’s not as bad as it sounds. Sure, it feels like that, but it’s a really surreal feeling, like there’s a bubble around me, like there’s all these dead little faces floating around me of people who think they’re alive, but really just aren’t. That I’m sitting around in utter silence on a freezing day in February might be adding to those Dali-esque proportions, so maybe I’ll just browse my iTunes here and stoke up a change of pace. When in doubt, go with the Butthole Surfers, that’s my policy.
This week, the week that follows Valentine’s Day, is the least favourite of my year. In a span of six days falls the anniversary of when the docs found a grapefruit-sized tumour in my mother’s belly and her birthday. Yes, that’s been on my mind. She has been on my mind an awful lot, particularly in relation to this topic. I, more than anything else in her life, am my mother’s legacy, and that’s not arrogance, that’s the admiration of a daughter who had a mother deserving of it. I am my mother’s daughter – in most ways.
If you met me in real life, you’d see a lot of similarities to the person on these pages. I’m boisterous, brazen, demure, open, scathing — whatever you want to call me, I’m an awful lot of those things. But my mother blazed that trail, baby. She was a model in her youth, she was hot when she died, didn’t look over 50. She had red hair, green eyes, and she was a risk-taker and a daredevil. She sold real estate, raced yachts, and wasn’t afraid of a fucking thing (most of the time).
She was never open about sex. I doubt she ever became a vixen. I bet she never trusted a man enough. I don’t think she ever got past the shame of what sex symbolized in her demented little worldview on the subject. My father and I were recently talking, musing about whether she had been sexually assaulted at age 12. My father grew up in her neighbourhood, they were friends all their lives, and he remembered when she changed, as if she just broke. He said something was never the same after she was 12, that day they came home to find her scantily clad, rocking barefoot under the farm’s kitchen table, shaking and sobbing.
This Vixen thing… it’s a personal mission for me, really. I’ve been the legacy of dysfunctional views on sex. I’ve seen what a loveless marriage does not only to the participants but the children involved. I’ve seen what happens to men (including my father) who get neglected and taken for granted, what happens to women forgotten by their lovers, and it all breaks my heart. It’s a really sad thing to behold, the loss of someone’s sexual side.
When I was young, I fell for that fascist Ayn Rand, and one quote stands out after all these years, that “avoiding death does not equal living life.” We’ve somehow fallen into this trap of “surviving” life. Yeah, you go right ahead. Survive. I’m gonna live, thanks.
And that’s the problem, most of us are content to merely survive our jobs, survive our relationships, whatever it takes to make it to the other side with the least resistance.
Being a vixen, or in the case of the men out there, an attentive, daring, open lover who’s receptive to his lover’s needs, takes guts. It doesn’t happen from just thinking it’d be nice to go there. It’s about actively pushing your fears and apprehensions. It’s about saying you’re not scared about being judged. But mostly, it’s about trusting this lover of yours you claim you trust. It’s about putting your money where your mouth is, baby.
It’s too late for my mother, and I caught the bus last decade, man, so I’m good, but there are a lot of folks out there who must learn how much more fun life is when they learn that being vulnerable doesn’t necessarily mean becoming hurt*, it means sucking the marrow out of life and taking the chances you’ve been resisting.
Mostly, though, it’s about really having great new experiences. So, you know, like they says, you better get busy livin’ or get busy dyin’, but make your fucking choices and stop just letting life happen to you. Being a dead fish is simply the personification of all those other little fears you have inside. Confront them.
Me, being a vixen underlies EVERYTHING I do in my life. I take chances, I go with the moment, and I may not have the fancy car and the retirement package some of my conservative friends have, but I’ve got experiences. Very cool experiences. So far, dying tomorrow, I’d have few, if any regrets, and knowing that is the greatest thing I can say about who I am.
*And even if you get hurt occasionally by becoming vulnerable, I’ve discovered firsthand that the richness of everyday experiences far outweighs those occasional bumps and bruises along the way. Like mountain biking or something, sometimes you fall, sure, but at least you’re out there having the experience most of the time… and hurts always heal. I take my lumps and go again.
Category Archives: dysfunction
Unleashing Your Inner Vixen: Breakout Moves Pt. 1
I bet Isaac Newton was the bomb in bed. I bet he was sitting under that tree, fantasizing about hiking up Mathilda’s knickers the night before when that apple came toppling down out of that tree.
After all, Newton’s famous Third Law of Physics, “Each action must have an equal and opposite reaction,” should be every lover’s credo.
Recently, I wrote a little piece I playfully called “Fishies: Wake Up and Smell the Pheromones,” about “dead fish” lovers who lie there. Woman On Bottom wrote, asking:
So… the chick is on bottom, the dude is on top and they’re having sex. He’s thrusting like nobody’s business. The age-old question remains: what is she supposed to be doing? Scratching his back? Moaning? Wrapping her legs around him? Rocking against him? Talking dirty to him?
How does she avoid this whole “dead fish” syndrome guys always complain about? What skills should she posess? And, is there a difference in the “woman on bottom”‘s job from fucking to lovemaking?
Well, Bottom, it was funny you should ask. I was kicking this idea around for a few days before you asked, and since then, I’ve just been giving it some thought.
See, the problem with a lot of women in your position (hardy-har) is that you simply fail to realize the potential that being on the bottom offers. What, you can’t move your legs when you’re under there? Sure you can. You ask about scratching – hell, yeah!
The normal, healthy, sexually active male will be in his glory if he thinks he’s inspired you to become this sexually insatiable beast who just can’t get enough of his lovin’. If you’re digging your nails into him, moaning, and locking your legs around his hips, well, he’s gonna think you’re having a good time. More importantly, he’s gonna think he’s The Man, and that’s gonna get him more involved too.
Being on the receiving end of true desire always, always feels incredible. If your man’s never felt that desire, it might explain away a lot of changes in his behaviour, or a reduced focus on his appearance or attention to you.
I’ve encountered what happens to men when their women fail to get involved sexually, and the outcome is always this sad, seemingly fractured man who simply seems to have ‘something missing’ in him. Sure, passion.
It’s really, really, really important women learn how much they can offer sex, even if they’re stuck on the bottom. By changing that up, showing you’re interested, it’s likely you’ll take it to the next level and learn a whole schwack of new positions.
Before any of this goes anywhere, you’ve got to understand Newton’s Law. Every little thing he does to you should provoke a reaction to him. If not, then why’s he bothering? Every little thing you do to him will also provoke a reaction. This is the sexual circle. One reaction gets another gets another gets another gets an orgasm. Something like that, but there’s a few more moves in there, I think.
Your first step in releasing your inner vixen? Kegel exercises. Now, I just don’t care enough to keep looking until I find a site that agrees with my views, so keep in mind, that site thinks men don’t really have to do Kegels, that women offer more by learning them – WTF? YES, MEN HAVE TO DO KEGELS. Shit, man.
Yes, guys, learn to do Kegel exercises because we want you to be able to break the mold and enter into the 15+ minute zone of loving, thanks. We want every one of you to be a rumoured super-lover-man that Sting is, and HE does HIS Kegels. Jesus Christ. Oh, the work I have yet to do!
But I do digress. Every time you squeeze your vaginal muscles, he’s going to feel it. More importantly, every time you squeeze them, you know you’re contributing, you’re impacting things a bit. Most importantly? Great exercise for the abs.
If you want the best reason of all for being a rockstar lover – it’s the exercise. You’re supposed to get 30-minutes of exercise a day, right? Well… what if I told you that you could have better abs, a tighter ass, a stronger lower back, tight inner thighs, and improved endurance, all from 30 minutes of exercise every day, without ever, ever having to leave your bed? You’d call the FCC and try to bust my ass for fraud, I’d bet.
But it’s true. Fuck your way to a better ass, says I. Hell, it might even help your bust if you do enough with your arms. Yep, Tony Little can take his Gazelle and shove it, man.
The next step towards Rockstar-Loverness:
Put on an aural show. Start moaning and gasping a little. It’s interesting, I think there’s enough fodder to do a couple postings on the importance of moaning. You go back and you look at this site, you’ll find the second or third posting I did was about moaning and such. It annoyed me. But then, right after posting that, I was talking with a lady I know and she told me about the bad old days when she was in an sanitarium in the Czech Republic for “sexual dysfunction.” There was a woman there who’d used to be a real tiger in bed. She and her husband moved into the city, and her sexual enjoyment went to nil, and it’d been years since she orgasmed.
What did they discover? She had to scream when having sex. They moved from a quiet countryside farmhouse into a small, thin-walled apartment, and she went from screamer sex to silent sex, and lost the orgasms to go with it.
It got me thinking. I started to wonder if the silent sex I was having was somehow psychically reinforcing any of the old hang-ups I had from my Catholic youth, et al. Since then, during the sex I’ve had (including masturbation, actually), I’ve made myself be much more vocal, and oh, my God, it’s just so much hotter! I was really surprised that I’d feel less self-conscious as a result of it, but that was the case. I started feeling more dominant, confident, and willing to do what it took to make myself really enjoy the moment — moreso than ever before. It was a conscious effort for the first five minutes, but then it became natural, just putting a voice to all those things I’d already been feeling.
So, here I was, always championing the “shut up and fuck me” approach, but I’m a big girl and I can admit my personal discovery that moaning audibly, inserting dramatic gasps that really convey my surprise or delight, muttering a bit to my lover, etc, really allows me to get into the moment and be a player. I think it’s the conscious shunning of all that repression and backwards sexual thinking I’d had foisted on me since my youth.
I think you really need to open your mouth a little and get involved. If you just lie there, silently, every single time, you’re going to find it easier to slip into a rut. But if you groan, moan, or gasp whenever your lover changes a move or something, it’s the early warning system to your pleasure or pain. It clues your lover in: “She wants more of that. Wow, I’m hot.”
Unleashing your inner vixens & rockstars will continue next time around, and I’ll divulge a few specific newby moves for converting the boring old Missionary Position into the start of a whole new thang for you. For now, really focus on the Kegels and the notion of having a voice during sex. They’re small things, but they’re huge, huge foundations for this thing, this new lover, that you’re building here.
NOTE: The photo is of a position some call the Bamboo. It’s a slight deviation from the Missionary Position, and, uh, a real good time, if you know what I’m sayin’. There are a couple other slick positions like this for the starting rockstar to engage in, starting in the Missionary, on bottom. That’s next time.
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…
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.
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.
Female Masturbation: An Intro For Newbies
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.
Sigh.
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.
Penis Enhancement: A Chick’s POV
One of my regulars sent me an email a dog’s age ago, asking for me to take on the subject of penis enhancement. He didn’t ask for information about the procedures, but commented that:
The more I talk with guys either from my gym or circle of friends the more I have found out that some really would seriously consider undergoing surgery if it meant a larger penis. Perhaps you can provide a female-centric view on these procedures as well as any experiences you have had with men who have underwent procedures.
Well. There’s a can of worms, isn’t it? First of all, I know no men who’ve experienced such a procedure. If you have, and you want to go on the record, feel free to email me. (See sidebar for the address.)
There’s a couple cliches we’ve all heard:
“Size does matter.”
“It’s not how big it is, but how he uses it.”
I wouldn’t want any larger than 8 inches, and that’s a personal preference. Some chicks want guys who are as big as they can get, and other chicks want small men. Enter another cliche: It takes all kinds.
The last guy I was with before this one was guilty of false advertising. This is where it’s probably good to point out that *I* check out a man’s package as soon as the opportunity presents itself. I doubt I’m a minority, as I think that most women have done this.
There’s nothing like a good pair of jeans to give you an idea of what the future holds. That said, I’m also aware that a number of guys are “growers” not “show-ers,” so I don’t let my first impression colour my opinion… just my anticipation.
This dude, the false-advertising guy, seemed to have a nice package. A really nice package, which was somewhat surprising considering the well-known rumour about Asian men and their offerings. I saw him wander off to the washroom after we had begun to fool around, and when he returned, he had something in his back jeans pocket and his “package” seemed considerably less… um, inspiring.
In the end, “hard” (a misnomer in itself), the guy was four-inches long. In his back pocket? Socks.
If you’re the kind of guy who will stuff socks down his cock to “impress” a date, let me save you the hassle. You’re so gonna get busted. If she doesn’t laugh you out of the bedroom, you can expect to never hear from her again. Fact is, if you have a small cock, that’s just how it goes. Don’t build shit up or pretend to be more man than you are, because it always gets outted. (For this same reason, I think chicks are fools to wear padded bras.) And if you thought your situation was embarrassing before such antics, think again.
But it’s still not something guys should be sweating as much as they do.
There are chicks called “teeny queens” who are looking for small men. They just prefer that. There are “size queens” who think anything less than 6” is unthinkable. Then there are the rest of us. The ones who love what you do with your cock, no matter what size it is, so long as it’s eager to play with us, and you’re talented at what you do.
There are chicks who will walk from a guy because of his dick — too much, too little, too unenthused, whatever. Hell, I’ve known chicks who’ve left men because they were too endowed. I knew one chick who was almost in love with a guy when she discovered how large he was erect. She never let him enter her, and she walked from the relationship because she was too scared to allow him to penetrate. It broke her heart to do it, but there’s some things some chicks won’t allow.
There are men who have actually chosen to reduce their cock size because they’ve experienced that one time too many. (I don’t endorse that site, but am simply providing anecdotal evidence.)
Average size, I’m told, is five to seven inches. Most men I’ve been with have been in that range, and this man (and the last one) are the first who have been outside that range. Have I ever wanted a larger guy before now? No, actually.
What’s another reason a lot of chicks like average-sized guys? Well, if giving head’s something you want us doing, it’s more likely to happen more often when you’re average-sized — or at least happen for longer. Getting a large cock in a mouth can be a pretty challenging thing, and for any chicks with jaw disorders or neck problems, it can be daunting and painful.
Finally, another plus to not getting an overly enhanced penis? Anal. If you want your lover to try anal for the first time, she’ll be less likely to do it if you have a large cock. Face it, that’s just a little freaky for some of us chicks.
This fear, this paranoia men have about their cock sizes is really just the Cosmos’ way of getting even with them for all the fucked-up shit women think about themselves: Is my ass too big? Is my hair too flat? Are my breasts weird? Does my vagina taste funny?
Personally, I’m sick and fucking tired of this new trend we’re seeing in our society, inspired by Brazil, and perfected by Barbie of Beverly Hills, in which everyone is trying to surgically correct their “flaws.” So, the best “you” that you can muster is a certain “someone” you’ve paid thousands of dollars to create under a scalpel and too-bright lighting? Whatever gets you to sleep at night, baby.
If you can’t handle who you are, and you can’t get past what you are, then maybe, yeah, you need to do something about it. But before you let a perceived problem become a real problem, maybe you’d better check the facts. The facts tell you that the majority of women are satisfied by their man’s cock size, that the majority of them don’t want anything that can’t be solved by a cock ring or some Kegel exercises. (For more on those topics, you can read a posting I did not so long ago on NYHotties and another I did here.)
Said simply, knowing what to do with your tongue, what to say, how to touch her, how to finger her, how to do all those things that add up to a wonderful night in will almost always put her in her happy place, whether you’re “average” or not, and will save you lots of bucks, grief, and maybe even a little pain.
In short? Get over yourself, boys. It’s not all about your cock.
Addicted to love: When do you stop?
A reader contacted me recently to ask what had to be a very, very hard question to ask. To protect them, I have removed all reference to their identity.
Dear Cunt–
I have a major cheating problem. I love sex so much that it’s almost compulsive, almost a disorder. My love for sex has ruined every relationship I’ve been in. I can’t stop myself from cheating. Even if I’m completely happy in a relationship, my eyes are always wandering. Naturally I’m a sensation seeker, and I don’t know how to stop it. I know that it’s wrong and hurtful to cheat, yet I just keep doing it. I think maybe there is some type of psychological reason for this behavior. I’ve dated a few scumbags, but I’ve also dated some really good guys before. Either way, even if I am passionately in love, I still cheat. A friend gave me some advice recently when he said he thought that maybe I don’t feel like only ONE man can truly love me, and that is why I look to others. Have you ever heard of this situation? I feel like there is something wrong with me, like I don’t have control over it.
-Unintentionally Wanting
I’ve already responded to Unintentionally’s email, but I think it’s an important topic, and something people don’t like talking about.
Sex can be an addiction. Yes, there are folks out there snickering and saying shit like, “I’ll show you addicted…” But yes, it can be a compulsion, a life-affecting disorder. There are support goups for sex addiction, too.
I’m not a shrink. I don’t profess to have an inner Freud who can unlock the mysteries of the mind for my masses, but I’m at least a pretty with-it chick.
My speculation? Yeah, maybe, all right, maybe there are pangs of “no one man can ever love me enough,” kinds of sensations going on. Or maybe it’s something deeper, darker, like “no one man will ever love just me, so I need to protect myself and keep others on the horizon.” Or maybe it’s much more intense and buried than that. As Toucan Sam would say, “Only the nose knows. The nose always knows!”
The reasons for addictions of any kinds come from some pretty dark places. Places it takes more than just a flashlight and a curiousity to find your way around. Getting to the bottom of addictions takes courage, unflinching examination, and relentless studying. It’s hard work. It’s paralyzing at times, when you’re jumping without the only parachute that’s ever kept you insulated from the world. I don’t see why something like sex addiction would be any different.
Are you addicted? Well, has it negatively impacted your life? Have you chased away someone you love as a result? Has it ever affected your job? Has it ever affected your friendships? If you can answer yes to any of those, you might have a problem. But if you click here, you can answer a basic quiz that’ll give you a better notion on all ‘o this.
Like I says, I ain’t no shrink. I’m not some sorcerer of the psyche who’s able to wave a wand and make a diagnosis. This is my gut reaction, and the limit to which I feel comfortable commenting.
Sex Addicts Anonymous offers a support network that includes more than 750 meetings worldwide. There are online chat systems so you can talk to others like you. There are books, tapes, meetings, everything you need to have for an assessment of where you stand. Hell, there’s four or five groups that meet in my city, Vancouver, including one for gays and lesbians.
I’m betting there’s a few dickheads out there thinking, “Oh ho! Now there’s where to go when I need to be gettin’ a little somethin’-somethin’…” And if so, then it’s important to note that yes, you are indeed a dickhead. It ain’t a singles bar. These are people trying to eliminate unhealthy sex from their lives. Don’t fuck ’em, and don’t fuck with ’em.
I haven’t heard back from Unintentionally. I imagine she’s doing some soul-searching, or else she thinks I’m a twat. Either way, here’s hoping it comes together. What a shitty thing to be mired in. I’d like to hear back from you, chickie.
Getting Stiffed By the Stiffy & Happy Birthday to Me
I’m 32 today, folks. That being the case, I’m a little busy being busy and birthdayish for the next couple of days. YAY me.
I wrote this posting over on NYHotties for you kids to read in answer to LabBoy’s question about the “five-minute” rule — you know, how guys tend to blow their wad the first time they have sex with a broad in about all of five minutes of steamy action.
You can read the original comments here. The posting is in full below, though:
Here’s a conversation I had with a reader:
How do I get over the “5-minute” rule when it comes to doing it with someone for the first time? Whatcha mean by the 5-minute rule?
5-minute rule: All the dates before “the” date have been foreplay. I’m turned on beyond belief, so when we get to “the” moment, I can only last for 5 minutes. I can “reload” and “reset” fairly quickly and go back to my usual 30 minutes or so of long-lasting action… But it’s always very fast that first time!
Well, have you done the jack-off-before-date routine when you know you’ll be getting some? Is a cock ring out of the question?
That’s just it!!! I never know if I’ll be getting some… So should I just, ahem, service myself regardless? Just in case? Always be prepared? What am I? A boyscout?
A cock ring? Somehow I think this doesn’t have to do with rooster fighting in downtown Guadalajara…
I sometimes wonder if guys are given the short end of the shaft thanks to the fact that they reach their sexual peak in their late teens, but chicks don’t reach theirs for a decade or more after their first sexual experiences.
Most younger women live under the delusion that there’s “something wrong” with them, so they do everything they can to try and maximize their sexual experiences. For instance, women almost always know about the wonders of Kegel exercises.
What are Kegels? They’re an exercise through which the pelvic floor is strengthened and empowered. What does that have to do with sex? Better orgasms, kids. You have better control over that region of your body, and thus can prolong your experience before orgasming.
The problem is, a lot of guys don’t realize they can — and should — do these exercises, too. Like one resource on the web says, if you’re a guy with an erect penis, and you can’t squeeze your pelvic muscles and cause your dick to jump substantially, then you need to do these exercises — more than you know.
Guys often snicker and laugh at the notion of some men “lasting for hours” in bed. The rockstar Sting is known for his passion for Tantric sex and his claims that he can have sex “all night long.” Why guys snicker and laugh at this is beyond me, but I suspect it’s largely insecurity along the “that’ll never be me” kind of lines.
No, not without work, it won’t be. If guys were to do Kegel exercises regularly, the odds are good that their newly healthy, strong penis could have a towel hung over it when erect and still be able to little lifts and lowering at will.
So, Reader, first of all, do your exercises. Every single day. Second of all, learn that your “regular 30 minutes” isn’t really much to write home about either, but it’s unfortunately become the almost-accepted norm for men.
You can do better, and when you do, you’ll wonder how you ever managed to be complacent with the sex life you once had.
I was speaking with a man I know and he told me how yoga was “the best thing” he ever did for his sex life. I asked him if it was because of the stronger abdomen helping his erection, and he said yeah, that, but also because it taught him how to breathe right, and that did wonders for him.
In his late 30s, the man’s experiencing the best sex he’s ever had, all because he’s lost his inhibitions and learned how to control his body like he’s never done before. Through yoga he has learned to focus on his abdomenal muscles and their role in his ability to withhold his orgasm for hours. The breathing techniques he has learned have allowed him — with his partner — to slow down his breathing and thus find greater control over his bodily sensations.
And if all this sounds like too much, then I suggest taking the easy way out and jacking off before your dates. Even if you don’t get laid, at least you’ll be relaxed and more willing to let the evening happen naturally, rather than being concerned about getting yours.
Finally, there’s always the option of a cock ring. There are important considerations when choosing a cock ring for yourself, particularly in regards to size. Too small and it could really cause you problems, and may get stuck on your cock. Not good. Too large and it’ll do nothing. The safest way to go is a strap-on cock ring, since you can adjust the tension in case you’re unsure how tight to go, and sensation is your best guiding force. You can even get cock rings that have a vibe attached to really give your partner her bang for your buck, too. But if you’re a man on a budget and you still want to have that upscale ride, then visit your local hardware store and buy a few little rubber seals/gaskets and see which works best for you, at a fraction of the cost.
But what does a cock ring do, you ask? It traps blood in your cock and makes your erection both larger and last longer. When you finally do come, it’s a more explosive orgasm, so to speak, since the blood has made the orgasm more difficult and lengthy to achieve, thus heightening your end experience.
The “first time” you do it with a chick will probably always leave a little to be desired compared to your regular endurance ability, but maybe it’s time to up the ante all the way around. A little extra dedication to your dick will help you become the man of your dreams — and hers.