Lifestyle

He wanted to hear me orgasm. Not just the superficial moans and feminine whimpers. He wanted guttural screams and earth-shattering grunts. He wanted to feel the ground beneath him shake. He wanted to the roof above him to crack and rain down rubble. He wanted his life to be forever changed by my vocal pleasure.

This task was hard to perform because I was one of 20 women sitting in a darkly lit room. I didn't want to impinge on the other operators. So, I cupped my mouth and held my mic as close to my face as possible.

This month's Playboy magazine has a 5 page article on "Traci" - The Woman Who Could Think Herself Off.  Becky Chalker brought it up last night over dinner and, knowing I had the latest issue, I couldn't wait to finish the Times and get into my Playboy.  Suffice it to say Betty wasn't amused by women feeling even more pressure to orgasm - this time without even touching their bodies.  I tried to keep an open mind.

"Traci" is a 30 something career woman who discovered her talent while her marriage was falling apart.  One night chatting online she revealed that she was so horny that she could orgasm if someone even touched her arm - surprise surprise - her male friend rose to the occasion and cybersexed her to orgasm.  She claims that she couldn't touch herself because she was still married *sigh* and that she got off chatting about her fantasies.

To quote a friend, sex is "physical, psychological, emotional, aural and olfactoral". This episode is dedicated to sex smells.

Being a Fetish Coach is fun by definition and... (un)surprisingly, fun by practice as well. So far, with the few clients I have accumulated, it seems that these modern-day people feel as though they can lead their private lives out of the darker recesses of insecurity and shame; they can bring their perversity out into the open with acceptance and gratitude. Why gratitude? Well, haven't you felt some hint of grace when impacted with that first passionate kiss, that untimely touch, that insatiable surge of sexual madness, as if you've been afflicted by some terrible disease? Weren't you utterly happy to realize that your body, essentially, did not give way to civilized codes of conduct, that no matter what you've been taught, it still couldn't help but drop a bit of genital dew when exposed to impassioned incidents and people? You know what I'm talking about. Backseat mischief, a subtle slide of the hand in a crowded restaurant, necking in the basement of your parents' house?

As we waited for our Persian feast to arrive, Betty told me that she was given the ol' Dirty Sanchez during a sexual encounter. However, at that time, such an act was never given an official name.

This made me consider the endless list of terms that have gone unnoticed, monikers for sexual encounters that can turn rather bizarre, violent, unusual, and/or just plain alluring.

So I present you with some pretty cool sexual situations and their creative names.

Dirty Sanchez: Already explained.

Naturally, my pussy was pulsing, beating its warrior drum. It needs satisfaction. Quickly, I pulled out my drawer of sex toys. I got out my three favorite vibes who, like The Wise Men, each tendered to my baby clitoris. Unfortunately, the visit yielded no miracle. The batteries died in each vibrator within minutes.

This was when I broke my "in case of emergency" rule and used my fingers.

I was rusty from a year's worth of neglect. The bothersome ache returned to my fingers and wrists.

I love this short film by Gillian Robespierre starring Jenny Slate of SNL f-bomb fame: 

Obvious Child from Gillian Robespierre on Vimeo.

It was my first client. And he wanted to see me. I only had one outfit to wear - a skintight shiny black PVC dress and 6" spiky stilettos.

When the headmistress saw me buckling the straps of my shoes, she stopped me. "You don't need to worry about that," she said. "He really isn't into what you're going to wear."

"Oh." I paused, disappointingly. "What is he into?"

"Your feet," she replied.

I smiled. "Oh." I imagined this new client would be on his knees, caressing my tense arches and licking the soft gaps in between my toes.

A new study concludes that carefully crafted informed consent laws, rather than discouraging women to forgo an abortion, have zero impact on the amount of abortions performed in the states that choose to mandate these "scary briefings."  While the purpose of informed consent laws is to educate women considering an abortion, they apparently do little to dissuade them from proceeding.

Those of us who are still around from the early feminist days of fighting for the right to have abortions will have to remind our worthless government once again that women own their own bodies! They do not belong to those sexless old men with white hair in congress.

When I moved into the city, I wanted to learn how to make dolls. I studied the meticulous process of sculpting little parts out of polymer clay (the only material I could afford at the time), baking these little limbs in the oven (or kiln if i could find one), and painting little lips and eyes onto the heads. Tufting the hair. Sewing dolly outfits.

I can't wait until we roll out our Sex & Disability section here on the site (we have to get skyping, Marylou).  I'm reposting here David Steinberg's piece on Sins Invalid a multi-media presentation being performed this week at the Brava Theatre in San Francisco:

Who is sexy? Who is sexual? Who is sexually desirable? Who is sexually vibrant?

Are the people that society designates "beautiful" really sexier or more sexual than the people who get labeled "plain"?

What about older people, heavier people? What about people with disabilities? Are these people fully sexual human beings even though they don't show up in movies, on tv, or in advertising? What happens to all of us when we write off huge sections of the population as non-sexual or sexually undesirable?

I spent the morning in my doctor's office learning that I have to have a non-cosmetic (I can't breathe) nose job. Here's what I missed:

The Sun did a cover story on a female sex surrogate. It was all about the 1,500 men she had vaginal penetration sex with...I wanted to hear about her therapies for the other 10,000 clients she's worked to heal.

Harvard's "Abstinence Girl" has pressured the school administration to ban sex in your dorm room if you're roommate is also present (God, that was so much fun back in the day).