She didn’t deserve to be harassed for being drunk on her birthday.
Her friends didn’t deserve to be attacked for looking after her.
The cabbie didn’t deserve his broken window.
When we called the cops, I didn’t deserve to be asked: “Then why do you have blood on your knuckles, huh?”
That cowardly little wanna-be rapist, however, thoroughly deserved his twisted arm.
We all deserve to be taken seriously when it comes to consent.
Just needed to get that off my chest already.
Every word of the following is true:
1. Whenever possible, remain silent.
2. When asked about your past, give vague open-ended answers.
3. Have a great name.
4. Look fantastic in a suit, look fantastic in casual wear, look fantastic in anything, sound good, smell good, kiss good, strut around with supreme confidence, be uncannily successful at your job, blow people away anytime you say anything, take six hour lunches, disappear for weeks at a time, lie to everyone about everything, and drink and smoke constantly.
Sometimes the teevee forgets that it’s not art.
More: Humor | Seduction | Saturday Night Live
If the radiance of a thousand suns were to burst at once into the sky, that would be like the splendor of the mighty one. Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.
You would think we’d done something wrong, sociopathic even. I had to check my calendar to verify that it was indeed 2008 and I hadn’t come unstuck in time. I had to check my surroundings to be sure I really was in New York and not Topeka.
Our date was a handful, that’s true, but our canoodling, I think, wasn’t shocking enough to warrant anything more than a slightly raised eyebrow. The straights, after all, flaunt their straightness at every opportunity. Turnabout is fair play.
Oh but the ladies and their dagger eyes; the gentlemen and their creepy stares.
My girls, bless their big hearts, didn’t seem to notice. But it was the Bad Man’s local watering hole and he was getting a lecture from one of the staff (who so obviously wanted to fuck him she may as well have been wearing a sandwich board covered in bright bold lettering: PLEASE BANG MY BOX BAD MAN!).
Later on, when I made an innocuous remark about Chemistry, one of the aforementioned leering gentlemen turned to me. “Dude, you have to stop talking… you’re killing me.” He went on and on about how I was harshing on his Weltanschauung.
Maybe Madonna had been right about New York. Maybe this town has lost its edge. I know I didn’t come to this glittering, boozy playground to surround myself with the kind of people who think a wild night out is having one strawberry daiquiri too many at the Times Square Applebees.
But I also enjoy doing normal things — watching sports, playing sports, hosting civilized cocktail parties, drinking too much and going home with my wife — so I’ve tried to tone myself down around normal people. Not that they make it easy. Civilians, you see, love to talk about sex as much as they loathe to admit they have sex. Civilian females love to flirt with married men. One slip of the tongue and now I am become Sex, the destroyer of worlds.
More: Dating | New York | Civilians | Polyamory | Sexuality
As many of you may already know, the Exotic Erotic Ball (& Expo) came and went last weekend. Les and I had been excited about attending until about two weeks beforehand, when it became clear the organizers weren’t very, um, organized. It didn’t help that my and Viviane’s polite inquiries concerning VIP/press passes met with utter indifference—way to reach out to the community guys!
Les and I chose to spend our night elsewhere. Others were less fortunate, but every cloud has a silver lining: people’s frustrating EEB experiences made for some funny and trenchant observations. We’ll begin with Dacia’s incisive post mortem:
But anyway – the Exotic Erotic Ball. Speaking of awesome – it really wasn’t. Being immersed in my little bubble of people who are highly critical of the sex industry while also loving and embracing parts of it in a rabidly idealistic way, I forgot that there are lots of people who aren’t totally jaded by it and are in awe of porn stars and whatnot. We call these people “civilians†in a slightly derisive tone – (the royal) we are not very nice. There wasn’t dress code to the evening, so people like me were dressed to the nines, but there were also many, many dudes wandering around in tank tops and shorts. Not to mention the high numbers of people in Halloween costumes – and not in a fetishy way, either. Peculiar and sort of amusing.
What was not sort of amusing, but probably something I’m going to have to get used to (diva-on-the-rise alert), was the way that said civilians acted around me and mine – there was lots of “stealthy†photo taking. Dude – I can see you, especially when you are dressed like a viking and the flash on your camera goes off when you are pointing it at me, and it is only polite to ask “Can I take a picture of you?†This is a little thing called objectification – and I felt it cut me like a creepy knife last night.
Dacia’s right on here. Reading sex blogs and such, it’s easy to forget that the porn world—and the average rabid porn fan—isn’t as (to put it delicately) liberated and sex-positive as we might like. I have nothing against porn conventions per se, but when your event caters to compulsive wankers rather than hedonists you’re going to end up with a room full of shut-ins and creeps. A New York Press article on the Expo paints a vivid portrait of the kind of people I’m talking about:
... A swarm of eager men gathered around the booth, flush from being so close to their favorite girls, and feeling safe in their sympathetic community. In that, it wasn’t unlike a Star Trek convention, or perhaps a Harry Potter book signing.
Whether it was the expo or the ball itself, the same people were in attendance. The men who bought tickets looked like they worked out too much or not at all, and wandered around in tight packs with their camera phones ready to fire. The women came with their hair dyed and their bodies modified, and their tattooed boyfriends stayed close by. Wherever they came from, not enough of them showed up.
At the ball on Saturday night, maybe a thousand people were there, made smaller by the voluminous, empty space in Pier 94 that echoed around them. ... The crowd surrounding the main stage was subdued, and many of them came to the costume ball without any costume. With no mob to get lost in, people refused to abandon their inhibitions. Instead, most were content to remain mere spectators, searching for anybody they could stare at.
Yikes. On a lighter note, Joe Brandi takes the prize for the funniest writeup:
I arrived Sat night at approximatley 9:30 PM and left at close to 2 AM out of boredom. The most exciting part of the night was watching some drunk guy with maskara and a pot belly get slapped in the head by a guy who knew that the drunk wouldnt slap back, then having KSEX’s Wankus with stripped pants on looking like a Ice Cream man stand in between and trying to get the guy who wasnt going to do anything anyway to walk away.
I basically stayed for the time I did waiting for something to happen….anything! After 3-4 hours I decided to leave and go to a regular bar. When its 12:00 on a Sat night and people are leaving who flew in from California to go back to their hotel rooms you know it sucks.
At the end of the New York Press article, someone opines that perhaps New Yorkers are “weird about sex.” It sure doesn’t seem that way from where I sit: I know of at least four other sex-themed events that were taking place on the very same night as the Exotic Erotic Ball.
Nevertheless, I do hope the organizers learn from their mistakes and give it another try next year. Maybe next time they’ll get to know the locals first.
More: Exotic Erotic Ball | New York | Sex Party
In Wednesday’s entry I mentioned Leslie’s forum post about her problems with the male of the species. I think it bears amplification:
I tend to take control with most (not all) girls that I meet, at least in terms of making the first move and often the second and third move. It’s as if they’re always waiting, no matter how much they like a person. And if I don’t make a move, nothing will happen. It’s actually a lot of pressure sometimes. And I hate to feel forced about it. Luckily, overall, I’ve gotten used to the idea that I won’t get what I want if I don’t take action. Of course, sometimes it works, sometimes it backfires, but I never know unless I try. I don’t try to force it, because that just makes me feel awkward and I’m not really good at faking being ready. But as soon as I see the window and if my nerves aren’t totally paralyzing me, I know I’m the one who will most likely jump through so I take my destiny into my hands. I think that’s one thing that girls tend to like about me. I’ve always thought of myself as being either the least shy “shy person” or the shyest “un-shy person”. Anyone who knows me is used to hearing me say I’m shy (because that’s how I really feel). I think I’m not usually intimidating to girls so they can usually appreciate my boldness.
Unfortunately, that same philosophy often gets me nowhere with men. They can really be such idiots sometimes. They don’t want a woman to be too aggressive with them. Some have told me that “a man is supposed to be the one who takes charge,†but then they just stand there holding their dicks in their hands wondering what they should do. So, I’ve been told sometimes I come on too strong with men. I mean, what’s my deal? Am I just asking for trouble? No, certainly not. Yes, I do enjoy sex, but no, I’m not just looking to get plowed. I guess I’m just a woman who likes to put myself out there when I like someone. The thing is that it seems to bother a lot of men and they shy away from me. That may be my downfall in terms of attracting the kind of people in whom I might have an interest.
I used to work in sales and I remember the grizzled veterans of the trade had a term for accounts won without the usual prospecting and arm-twisting. They called them blue bird sales, as if a little birdie flew through your window and landed on your desk. No matter how much the sale might have been worth it didn’t prove the mettle of the sales guy and was therefore viewed with bitterness and suspicion, even, at times, by the lucky prize-winner himself. There’s a similar attitude at work in the gritty world of mating and dating—if she’s into you from the start, the thinking goes, then there must be something wrong with her.
A culture that views pussy as a prize to be won places little value on aggressive females. Sex that is freely given doesn’t do anything to validate the self worth of the lucky guy. And even if men don’t actively buy into it, the pussy-as-hard-won-prize mentality is so prevalent in our media that men unwittingly internalize it. Turn on the teevee, go to the movies, read a popular book or magazine article and it’s all about a hapless dork scamming his way into the pants of some impossibly top-heavy and tight-bottomed generic hottie. The aggressive female is usually depicted as a nutcase, or else, OMG, she’s fat.
I don’t really have an answer to Leslie’s conundrum other than to say putting yourself out there is, in my opinion, never a bad idea. The men who cannot appreciate this—the men who are in the game to bolster their fragile egos through conquest—probably aren’t worth your time anyway.
More: Dating
Pure 18
Fresh-faced 18 year old lasses
Skinvideo (GUBA) Amateur Videos
A tasty trail mix of hot amateur smut
VideoBox - Peaches
Top porn video downloads
Sapphic Erotica - Foursome
Girl-on-girl threesomes, foursomes and orgies
Lez Cuties
Explicit lesbian ass play. Fucking hot!
*click on g for galleries
Copyright © 2003 - 2008 the original authors · Powered by Textpattern
