Betty Dodson with Carlin Ross

Better Orgasms. Better World.

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It's been so long since I sat down to do this that I feel like I've lost my writing chops. However, I had to get back in the blogging saddle because I have some exciting news. I - for the first time ever - masturbated to orgasm using only my hand. Yes! The whole way there!

Okay, I'll admit, there may have also been an empty beer bottle involved, but other than that, the biggest vibe addict of life came from her own fingers! I'm so totally proud of this.

My friend (let's call her P) left an intriguing message on my voice mail the other day telling me that she had some fun news she wanted to share. I called her back later in the day, and she told me with breathless excitement that she "had been having the best sex of her life!"

That very morning, while I had been blissfully slumbering (I'm a night owl), she had been going at like gangbusters. P, little orgasm machine that she is, cranked out at least three or four toe curlers in quick succession.

When they lick the chocolate off each other's bodies....I wanted more!

Vintage misogyny via Vintage Ads

If you can believe it, I didn't see a condom in real life until I was a senior in high school. Not even just a senior, but a mere few weeks before graduation. Apparently, people were familiar with condoms long before high school, so I was behind.

Anyway, I have a friend who was accepted to Yale (yeah, that bitch is smart). She flew all the way up to Connecticut to visit during "Sex Week". She texted us and told us all of the goodies she was getting. She had gotten two vibrating rings and was giving one away. I was the only one who was openly masturbatory, so I didn't think I had to voice how badly I wanted it.

I stood behind her in the line at the Krispy Kreme. She was big, and dressed like it, wearing an outfit that contained a large percentage of manmade fibers, and the pieces clung to her body in a way that was less than flattering. She stood hunched over, in an apparent attempt to be smaller. Or just disappear altogether. She spoke nervously.

"These aren't all for me. I'm taking them to some friends who moved to the country. They don't have Krispy Kreme out there."

The woman behind the counter ignored her words and waited; box open, tongs at the ready, for her to order.

"I just didn't want you to think I was eating all these myself. They're for friends."

*Drum solo*

In the past month or so, I've hit some huge emotional walls. Some of which were broken through, others are made of absolute steel. Art needs from me the passion and madness that was evident in work I've created in the past. WALL. Sex work... needs me to have a life. WALL! My writing needs me to do this too. WALL! Although I've been able to slip away from my cave to hang out with friends, at the end of the night I need to get laid!

When I say (or type) this next sentence, I am being completely serious. I am not being facetious, and no, I'm not excessively horny: I want to be a mother fucker. Not in the figurative sense of the phrase that is so commonly used today, but in the absolute, most literal sense possible... I sincerely, wholeheartedly, and truthfully want to fuck mothers. Lots of them.

Now, I wouldn't fuck my friends' moms. Wait... I lied... I would TOTALLY fuck some of my friends' moms, but not the majority of them. If I know you and I've seen your mom, about six times out of ten, I have pictured her naked.

I was having dinner with a friend on her birthday, and we stopped by a bar that had outdoor seating. Anyway, we were just two single ladies minding our own business when a group of people, including this guy, sat down next to us.

My friend and the man spoke briefly, and then he turned to me and commanded that I "smile". Practically, the first words out of his mouth. The guy didn't know me from Adam's house-cat.

Now, I wasn't frowning or anything, just sitting there with a neutral expression. This has happened to me over and over and over again. Usually, I will be minding my own business, and some strange man (and it is always a man) will order me to smile.

Over the years, this has grown to piss me the fuck off.

In a recent article published in the journal Psychological Science, researchers discovered that how we see the world depends on what we want from the world.

The study points to the underlying evolutionary trait that we see desirable objects as being physically closer than less desirable objects. The data also suggests that differences in our physical actions are accentuated depending on how badly we want something.

For example, in one test, participants were asked to guess how far away they were from a water bottle. Thirsty people guessed the water bottle was closer to them than non-thirsty people.

When I'm writing, one o'clock in the morning seems to be about the time when inspiration plus insanity equals comedy gold. Or not. But it feels like gold because, well, it's 1 a.m. and everything is funny.

Last night/this morning (1:25 a.m., for those keeping score), I thought "Why don't I have a website where I post a daily pic of my ladybusiness? Not in a pornographic way (not that there's anything wrong with that) but in a curious way where people can just drop by and check in on my cooch. Like Vagina Of The Day." No, really. I actually thought that. And it seemed like a SUPER good idea. Also, I was sober.

So, I've seen myself as a feminist for quite a while. But, I don't take it so seriously. And to me, that's okay. If I can't let other opposing thoughts sink in, I won't know if what I'm being told to believe is actually worth believing. Plus, I miss believing in something for the sake of just... well, fun. When I began with my writings, and even with sex (even as far as masturbation), I felt like I had ridden through most of it with a very childlike attitude. Not so much immature... just imaginative, curious, both absorbent and rebellious.

Nude cycling in San Francisco

This is the surprising conclusion to "Heather and the Dog". Read part one of this exciting story.

"So what was that shit about?" Marcus slammed the door. It woke up Reggie, who had been taking a nap on the couples' bed. He knew Marcus hated this, which is why Reggie chose his side of the bed to sleep on. But, as soon as the dog heard his owner's voice, he immediately jumped down and ran into the closet.

Reggie listened to the couple. He heard Heather toss her pocketbook on the sofa. The dog had waited for hours, which didn't mean much to him anyway.