Naked Sex (and) Politics

On the Verge

2007-06-30T14:20:00.000-07:00

nakedsexpolitics (NSP)
will be evolving in a few weeks to include more reader participation--a daily gauge of YOUR sex life-- guest columnists, podcast (dare I fantasize) and better links and categorization of posts-- so you can find the political/ family/highly sexual/outright silly. If you'd like to be a guest columnist, please email or comment below about how your particular political/ sexual "posturing" will add zesty provocation.

>> image, -c 2006; halves of me

"steering" and "anchored on" the symbolic "verge",

standing on a Philly roof top, plane passing by left hip >>

--------------- ------------------ - -------------------
Wordplay is almost as exciting as sexual play-- combining the two together can be quite smoldering. So, when the word "verge" seemed to mantra my shadow here in LA, I was tickled to discover--in all the right intellectual and sensory places--that dictionary.com defined "verge" with a few personally serendipitous paradoxes--- the penis, the tenant's staff of feudality, possessing leadership, and the threshold/limits/ radius/slant/merging of possibilities. origin,Latin, old french- rod,ring,strip

cocky satisfaction for the reborn virgin head

1) Virge----- a wand; abbreviation for virgin [dictionary.com's archaic
spelling, though the "virgin" usage is my loose interpretation]
2) Verge -- Earliest attested sense in Eng. is now-obsolete meaning "male member, penis" (c.1400); male organ of copulation in certain invertebrates

I haven't had real sex for over 8 months, becoming officially as shy about indulging as I am hungry. Will I be hurt/not respected with the next encounter? Will he be any good? Will our styles match? An available sex life is not a thing to waste.

Over the past few weeks I've expectedly encountered my ex-live in-boyfriend at a conference, bumped coyly into a still gorgeous, yet tired-looking, decade-ago one-night-stand at a mutual friend's party, miraculously avoided even the sight of my ex-husband, twice, during his family's events. I've kissed and embraced seven male friends newly acquainted (one in Philly) and shared various degrees of intimate touch with 2 caring, long-known gentlemanly pals. I've talked with a man from my past by phone-- who for unknown reasons seems always so disinterested (even when he originally appeared to be attracted to me), and I've confronted, by voice message, another deep-down good guy, who recklessly told me it was "unbecoming" of my personality to not want to bed with him. (he kind of, sorta, apologized in his reply vm)

Monogamous, as I've always yearned, nonetheless, each new nuance adds to my complicated lexicon of the primal male essence. The penis, revered and often a protective camouflage to its owner's heart, is omnipresent, whether assertive or quieted for me. Incredible, as it is bewildering, is this many destinationed voyage into man, that I don't remember ever seeking.

On the verge of -- when the head of the cock almost touches the inner lips, the long/short seconds of anticipated tightening,opening, pulsing, absorbing into the simultaneous, separately experienced merge of the familiar/unknown two.

steering the scepter of almosts

3)Verge- the bishop's staff; a scepter of authority; a stick held in the

hand of a person swearing fealty to a feudal lord on being admitted

as a tenant; the spindle of a balance wheel in a clock; the grassy

border along a road; the shaft of a column

4) Verge- edge,rim or margin; limited room or scope; to slope or tend

toward; to come close to or be in transition to some state, quality, etc.

--on the (con)verge(ance) of:

integration--success/blending of UnconventionalWorks-- political- American Dinner, community- DayOne365, socio-erotic- Three (III)
persuasion-- getting renewed radio coverage; landing interactivity; launching resolutions; making and forgiving amends; wrapping men around my finger (nah.. that last one's not in me)
stability - homelessness vs renters rights advocacy vs finding a rental
courage to write professionally vs paid work as a domestic floor scrubbing goddess
feeling sensual and feminine vs downtrodden
my leadership, and also of giving fealty, only as deserved
intimacy-- friendship and family to love--bike rides to "being there" to sex
perseverance and patience and support
womanhood--finally, empowerment while maintaining the openness of the girl within
re-cyclo-evolutionary, what was, is, to be .. or else is something, somewhere, anyway

Woman On the Verge of Getting It On (and enjoying taking it off...when she so chooses)

Full Moon Oyster Viagra

2007-06-01T23:00:00.000-07:00

Oysters weren’t the original pick for tonight’s tie-in to yesterday’s double blue-moon ’07 post. (Did you catch the smiley faced buns?) Sure, there’s a preponderance of Full Moon Oyster restaurants and there’s the unknown reason why Blue Öyster Cult (Moon Crazy), was umlauted and named “after a poetry collection about aliens who secretly guide Earth's history,” but what’s making the news today are oysters infused with Viagra.

A misguided bunch of Australian oyster farmer have been doing their capitalist best by patenting their Viagra infused oyster tanks. A marketing exec partnered the idea with them after he sprinkled crushed Viagra on his oyster dinner for a double stiffy delight (we can only assume). The oysters don’t need it—their “soft”-bodies can get it on quite naturally, in hermaphroditic sperm and egg spray fests, thank you—but George May and team are fondling themselves over the profitably uplifting double-entendre it could be for consumers to get their “spoon full of oyster to help the medicine go down”... and up. The Australian NSW food authority said license would not be given to sell the oysters in Australia. But the farmers feel it would have a huge (unregulated) Asian market. Patented under the name ViagraOysters, Pfizer is planning to sue for a name change.

On the other side of aphrodisiacs in the news today, 25% of Italians surveyed wo uld choose a zesty salami and a hearty cheese to get their sex juices flowing.

One favorite is Nduja, a fiery ( though none too pretty, pictured at right )

salami from Calabria, that especially is known to increase blood flow.

The article doesn’t state how or when the salami is best pleasured…

As for the man on the moon's influence on Italian cheese, like the

song goes--

when the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that’s amore…

Blue Moon Commitment

2007-05-31T20:16:00.000-07:00

It's the last day in May, with an hour to go EDT, and it dawned on me that not a single post was made the entire month--- that after last May's unbroken NSP monthly record of seven entries, amazingly with 2 sets of back-to-back days ( including scintilating topics of genuflection and ecologically masturbating trees, no less).

Since tonight's full moon is the second of the month for the Western hemisphere and the first full moon of two in June for The Eastern hemisphere, I'm making a once-in a-blue-moon commitment to

post 2 days in a row , tonight and tomorrow, between moon months.

That gives you 2 days to commit to something "luna", too --no matter which hemisphere(s) you glow, shine,

walk and beam. Til tomorrow (enjoy the cheese).

Bite of the Banana

2007-04-23T11:18:00.000-07:00

Admittedly, I was bored when I decided to google-image "penis"the other day. (Alright, truth be told, I really wanted to remember what one looked like.)

While Photo #1 was a young, healthy, very strongly erecting human specimen
(....oh, sigh, I remember when..... ),

Photo # 5 was this curious embriotic yin/yang
(Turns out the page was on moderate-safe search. The other images on the first page were neither sexy or sweet-- to my tastes-- but, go ahead and look, google images change frequently; one never knows what might show up next.)

This ever-so cuddly banana slug pair is hermaphroditic, and their dual genitals are located just below their heads.

But kiss-kiss and mirrored-penetration are not the only thing this convenient oral-penal-vaginal positioning allows. Seems there's a little bit of aggresive "sexual conflict" -- a survival of the fittest progeny competition, perhaps -- because part of their luvvy-duvvy includes biting off at least one of their penises -that's right- it's non existant for a full year, or maybe forever.

If that's not enough to shock your manhood into protective mode, the doctoral student who studies them caught one slug doing solitaire--biting its own erect penis off.

Moral of the story -- don't get your head too close to your other head? Or make sure you AND your mate eat BEFORE you play? Dr. Tatianna might have an answer for slug and human alike.

Now, I don't tend to eat slugs, the banana variety, their cousins, or even those aphrodisiac giving escargot, but I do happen to really like bananas; I eat them usually daily. And in times like these, when it's been a while since I've had sex, peeling a banana, readying for my first bite, sometimes conjurs imageries that prompt my tongue's exercixe. (I've tried cucumbers, too, unsucessfully, for another kind of tactile quiz).

The feel of banana girth and firmness isn't quite the same as an arduous lover's, but it manages to make my tongue almost as satisfied, swirling around the pale yellow shaft like it's a soft vanilla ice cream cone. I deep-throat, of couse (reminder--they do come in different curves and sizes) and then devour the rest-- of the banana, that is, but never, ever have I eaten the peel, even if I would've washed it first, as I heard a recent safe-eating expert advice, so the germs from the outside don't slip into the inside. (Does licking the pulpy inside count?)

But according to a whole other kind of expert, there's now more reason we shouldn't only be washing, but placing those synthetic covered peels on our human bananas, if we choose to indulge at all. In Philadelphia and Southern California--gee, the two cities I live most at-- drug resistant gonorrhea seems to be all the rage, jumping 25% in Philly and 13% in Southern California over the past 2 years. Those of you in other parts of the country aren't far behind -- what happens in Vegas won't be staying there...

I've had my own share of scares and horrors, including scabies and crabs from a Rosarita Beach hotel bed during college spring break-- go UCLA-- and most gynecologists will tell you, if you're not a virgin sleeping with a virgin, you've shared more than you thought with those you've enjoyed.

Like other body parts, often our sexual organs quietly heal (or battle the invading germs) before we know we encountered something. But as a long-time condom-hating woman, this new scare nudges the come-back possibilities for Naked Gun style-lingerie.

Moral of this part of the story---sheathe up, don't clap?

image copyrights--
banana slug s © 2004 ,see website above;
condom banana © Andrew Taylor

Taking-Off; Coming-Up

2007-03-27T10:51:00.000-07:00

Take-off

Not sure why, but when I saw this image in a recent e-travel spam, the underbelly angle of this jet stirred something very primal in me-- a pre-coital preying mantis, the hard-as-a rock steel, engine thrust, flying to new heights… add your symbolism—man or woman, straight or gay—does this image “move” you? Or did I just have a strange fetish-fantasy admission-faux pas?

Minnesotans like sex!
Just finished the KQRSs morning show with Tom and Teri. Tom’s smooth, open interview, got
us over 1400 hits so far today. Orders were coming in online while I was still on-air. Here is their link about us, featuring Christine Ott’s sexy shoe menagerie photo (c 2003). Thank you fans of the show, for all the hits you’ve made to this blog, too. Come back for some more naked sex, anytime.

Other radio appearances -- Still waiting for photos and audio link from Kidd Chris and Jersey Guys. Will post them here and on our book site when they come in.

Flaming HOT
“Buy-to-Burn" the Book or “Adopt-to-Donate” to your favorite library OR selfishly indulge yourself with your private collector's copy? --- As of this moment-- but no telling how excited those Minnesotans (above) might get--- there still are a little over 200 copies remaining of III (THREE). We’re deciding on our last promotional campaign. As sexy as our coffeetable is, it is also an important contribution to sexual understanding in America, so the idea that library collections all over the US will have 1 of our 1000 copies is very exciting. But then the publicity we could get, if we invited the religious right to buy-to-burn all the copies could fire up another storm. As the proud momma, I’m very heavily leaning on adoption. Ask your favorite library or religious right activist to look at our site.
Who do you think is more passionate about getting their hands around III(THREE)?

Coming Up –some future posts planned over the next few weeks—

Date Rape-- an essay on four current trials, from my own date rape perspective; how might they apply to your sexual encounters?

-- Supreme Court-- is there a point of no-pull out when she says stop?
-- Nevada-- when a decades-later apology to rape can get you in jail;
-- Gang-bang boys --Teens and young adults; my thoughts on Duke, the Greg Haidl case (most likely a distant relative), adolescent sexual culture and the part of the brain that doesn’t mature until you’re 25

The Personal this and thats of my past 2 weeks— the "sweat-suckled" fantasy I had on St Patty's, while digging labored chunks of ice off the driveway under a hot sun; searching for a paying job (in the face of public sexual google-ness), and dating again (in the face of public threesome google-ness)
YOU-- Do you have “it”--- are you ever an “it” girl or guy, where is your “it” spot ?
Another “Sex Short”—my simple on- the- spot penis- measuring technique to the tune of "My Hat, It Has Three Corners”
Vote on my Pics from my recent photo shoot. They'll be posted mid-April. How should a "sensu-able matriot" look? say what, you say?

April Fools!!! is just around the corner—shall we roar like lions, be gentle like lambs, or you're just not into the animal-play thing?

Support Sex and Feel Threesome Good

2007-03-02T09:58:00.000-08:00

top photo and book cover photo-Philip Isaiah Katz; front book cover

design-Christine Ott; 2nd phot0-Jason Laub;last photo- Sandra C Davis.

Please check out our site for a few of the 156 images in the book.

March 3rd is International Threesome Observance Day (go check this cached wikipedia link--cached, because it was only up for 2 days and then removed. Sexual speech RESTRICTIONS on Wiki?).

Anyway, back to some sex---I made the event up originally for our book III (THREE):The Fantasy And Experience Of Threesome Sex's pre-launch in 03/03/03-- a smashing success— thanks to syndicated radio shows ( Don and Mike and Bob and Tom, one in Australia, and in Canada) pre-selling over 200 copies of the book.

And this month and last, I welcomed listeners of NJ101's The Jersey Guys, Miami’s WBGG Paul and Young Ron, and San Diego’s FreeFM Dick and Skibba.

Look out for something wild-- I’ll be on Philly's WYSP Kidd Chris @ 4pm today and on Minnesota’s KQRS 3/7 @ 8:30 am Central (post script-- just did the WYSP show, they totally toyed with me; will post photos in a new entry). Hey, after 4 years, NPR still isn't returning my calls, so shock jock radio is what we get--

But I need YOUR help....yes, you....give a girl's work some attention, now...

150 of the 250 remaining copies of III (THREE) need to be sold during March. There simply isn’t any more storage for them, and after seven years from pre-production to promoting the sale—after battling a 5-year internal law suit from one of our own photographers (now settled), no money to distribute or promote, and Internet and FCC restrictions and bans (go ask PayPal and MeetUp and even Nerve.com why they restrict sexual speech, affiliates, ecommerce and hosting)— it’s time to place my sexy threesome costume in the closet (or in my own private bed, if the timing is right)

About 30 to 40 of you look at this blog each day. (Wow, thanks to Kidd Chris we got 89 of you looking on 3/2.) I thank you that you’re intrigued by my thoughts (and my bod? )

Please look at our Threesome site, it gets over 100 hits a day, but people seem to look at all the pages we've posted -- and come back again and again-- but don't order. Can you do me a big favor and e-mail and blog your friends and listserves to support III , with a purchase—for yourself, for your wacky friends, for your lover(s)--for anyone who likes sex, is open to reading about other’s threesome experiences or who just want to support struggling artists or sexual free speech?

All sales go to the wonderful team who helped make the book. I don’t get a penny. But I will give you much thanks, and I’ll get much satisfaction that the book sales were completed and my team was finally, after a very patient wait, paid. Each copy is hand numbered from 1-1000 ( #556- #799 are still available.. a few other in the #900 range are reserved for media).I sign your copy, anyway you like it, too-- within reason, now. (One guy wanted me to write how much I loved the taste of his -----, with my signature. Since, I never even met him, a little too much fantasy for me to place my john hancock for him, you think?)

Want a phone call? I’m happy to talk with you about threesomes or sex in general…send me your phone # and best time to reach you, with your order—

III is only available on our website—not in any book stores or Amazon. It’s a beautiful Limited Collector’s edition, no more to ever be made. A coffee table book with 14 true stories, written by people who had real threesomes, describing in detail, why they wanted a threesome, step-by-step how the sex went, and what happened afterwards— the amazing, the bad and the wish I can do it again.

The book also has 156 nude fantasy images, from artistic nude dancers in pas de trois to bodies enmeshed in full frontal touch – a few of the less risqué—posted here. All of our models and writers are just regular people. Our photographers are mostly young, upcoming artists—including Justin Mongroo, Jason Laub, Nicole DeGeorge, Philip Isaiah Katz, Scott Miller, and some beautiful and fun object/landscape images by Christine Ott and Sandra C Davis. (I'm not allowed to reference the other photographer who sued us. ) But III is an honest, sexy grassroots exploration for men and women to share.

So, what do you say? Support sex, help out our team, and have a collection of sexy good night stories to share with your love(s). As always, tell me what you think, right here on this blog… I triple-dare you!

Happy Threesome Observance Month,

XXX (that's in kisses)

--Crystal

It’s Our NSP’s Anniversary— Where's the Statue?

2007-02-11T20:25:00.000-08:00

February 11, 2006 --Naked Sex (and) Politics was born. Lots more growing room, most fundamentally some tech navigation skills, to start.

We’re celebrating with the GRAMMY’ s tonight-- go Chili Peppers, Mr Wonder, Mr Bennett and the Bush-bashing Chicks. And my birthday this year falls on the Oscars (last year my birth was commemorated with 6.4999999999999 billion others, but the infamous West Hollywood screening party I went to for the Oscars the week after wasn’t ½ as grand as my dress.). The two swag-glam awards shows do set a suggestive pattern for an NSP statuette, you think?

Awarded to the Person Most Politically Sexy and Exposed, after our year two? You have a year to think of your candidates. Imagine what the trophy would look like (hopefully the AVN trophy doesn’t already look like it)? And what to call it-- a phonetic “Aunt ESPEE?” ? Too sports like?

Well, here are our stats:

over 1400 hits (we made 1506 today; about 100 of those are me self-checking, not daily, but I do have needs).
Only 2 comments all year (why is everyone so quiet?) The first—a sex spam site— appeared in September. It wasn’t until last week’s post, that NSP was christened with an actual real comment. Thank you AV. Your timing and your sites are impeccably gorgeous. (Sorry, I don’t know how to get Blogger to show comments automatically under the post, without a popup window.)
We’ve got good blog listing presence after spending hours on day signing us up on every blog search portal possible.

Before we blow the one-year candles (or anything else :) my wish list for the coming year:

more naked
sexier sex
accomplishing equalitarian politics
—and did I say someone to help with design, blog rolls and buzz?

(the specific plans are safely wish-secret, for now.)

Ummmm, the frosting is yummy. Try some.

My Bare Back IS Banned and Hats Off to Wil in Miami

2007-02-03T21:52:00.000-08:00

I was getting really riled up tonight. That typical bull-headed passion I get when I see injustice, and then I was getting a completely different kind of riled a few minutes later, after getting a glimpse of the handsome hunk of studdly, intellectual, well- traveled, dance-loving, spiritual, family-loving, and did I say gorgeous, gentleman (at least in his photos and profile) who let me know he was glancing at me….

All right, online dating sites are an on-again, off again thing for me. Like them/ hate them, but I find myself every few months looking at them almost daily until I tire of it all again. I’ve met ( and dated) some really terrific men—and the jury is not out yet on my end of the knowing these great guys—but for all the complexities, including my instability over career and housing, and their politics or my quirks, either I’ve pulled back, or one or two have pulled back on me. (This blog is filled with a couple of the episodes in 2006).

But I was online tonight—yeah, another Saturday night and I ain’t got nobody----and thought I’d add a few images from a recent photo shoot to my profile (Photographer’s name will be edited in here, after I get his permission to use his name on this site). And just as soon as I had posted them, four of the tasteful images were REMOVED by Love Happens due to NUDITY restrictions--- that is my BARE BACK (see the image above, stopping at the hipline), another with a beautifully draped red shawl completely covering my breasts, another with just an exposed waist and unbelievably a black jacket- dress that revealed some gam. Love Happens states it bans NUDE and sexually explicit imaes--- I can understand their reasoning for that on a mainstream dating site--- but a back, a covered chest and belly and high-heeled legs???
You tell me if the image above and these below aren’t artful and tame?

Surprisingly they did allow free speech in my profile ranting against their image restrictions. It was even APPROVED with this revised headline —“why was my back banned?” So, some sort of kudos for them. (yup, this image below was removed, too!)

I’ve been wanting to do a political post on this blog (NSP) about MeetUp’s and PayPal’s and quite a few other e-commerce, forums, and hosting companies bans on sexual free speech (more on that another day)… But a “bare back” image removed on a site that advertises images of girls in the teeniest of bikinis--- get’s me mad all over again, even with the free speech allowance.

So, you can see why an unexpected “ice breaker” from a man named Wil was so eye-turning when it popped into the same mailbox that all the photo rejections were hitting me. Six-foot (way too tall for my 5’1” frame), dark Latin mix with a giving smile, a strong frame that I could already feel myself simultaneously melt and entangle with. My body hurt bad ---just looking at this fully clothed, but noticeably naturally strong, protective man. And, oh yeah, he’s a dozen years younger than me. Totally would break all my rules— but Wil from Miami, you took my breath away, sir. And if by some quirk, we actually ever meet—lordie, what a night it could be.

(Now, you other men I've met. C'mon allow me this fantasy, without getting your feelings hurt.

I'm still amazed at the number of 5o year-olds that salivated over themselves to try to get in on Paris Hilton's 21st bithday party)

As for all of the other men who go to Love Happens—if we online meet, or not, do me a favor, and send them your nude backs, bared bellies, a hint of thigh and a nudge of shoulder and chest. Send them to me, too. And all those other online sites—you all better watch out, too. (I confess- I'm registered on two others.) Maybe we should start a Flicker group about the new online-dating site definition of nudity—my god, look his toes are exposed!!—foot fetish is lurking in the shadows.

IN the NEWS: a handy spare penis (no more), protecting virgin vaginas, convicting a politician's uninvited tongue

2007-01-31T20:25:00.001-08:00

Decapitated Member— RIP 1/30/07
How lyrical will Mozart’s surviving hemi-penis be?
PS: what is an earwig? Why is it called that-- when it already has the other two-headed peculiarity?

An Oral Appeal-
Politicians, beware of where sticking your tongue might get you...

Shielding Young Vaginas--
Maybe some parents prefer a life-long chastity belt for their daughters?

What sex news will YOU create in our world, tomorrow?

Wet Dreams

2007-01-16T00:15:00.000-08:00

I get very wet, still. There’s no telling what will do it. Sometimes, during a serious discussion with a man, I’m simultaneously aware of the moist warmth completely saturating my crotch. Other times, it’s as much a surprise to me, as it is to the man I’m with, when we both discover how super-flushed our libidos must be getting me.

It’s extraordinary when my entrance ISN’T perfecting primed for the expected incoming visitor. So much so, that I remember exactly the one time last year it happened, and the other solitary time it “went” missing in 2005, too. It made me understand just a bit of how a man must feel when his tank just didn’t launch as he wanted it to.

I felt compelled to tell my partner each of those times, that—

a) this just rarely, rarely happens (err it does not happen) , and
b) yes, you are totally doing all the right things, and
c) just give me a minute, maybe, if you caress my ____ just right there, for a second…

---but to no avail.
So, disquieted I was, when he reflexively reached for the Astroglide.

Usually, though, my wealth of lubrication is an ever-reassuring sign of my still available vibrancy, as a woman closing in on 47; a credit, to all that natural yogurt eating, which I can attest promotes clean, sweet taste and silky texture, as well.

I’ve been wet like this, as usual ---but--- without any sex—well, intercourse— since mid-October, I think.

A man I know has been indulged by me during some of the frequent business consultations we’ve had, over the past half-year. It was always mostly oral on him, with some touches or rubbing on me. My choice, I guess, I wanted to play the servant girl archetype. We started out with him good-naturedly insisting he lick my lips, when on our first meeting in years, we reminisced about our sexual past together, and I reminded him I had always been rather shy with oral receiving.

He had me sit, then lie down, on his desk, with our work all around us. It felt a little clinical at first, my buttocks at the edge of his coldish desk, he sitting on a wood chair, placing his hands on my inner thighs with his head focusing on my catch (Oh, Dr. Gynecologist, what are you doing down there, sir?). He did an admiral job of licking and sucking, nibbles on my lips, around my perineum (which is a real tease-turn on for me), flicking in and out of my hole (ahhhmmm, another enticement) and all over my surprised clit. He made me very juicy, of course. But all that motion made me want to lick him, and have him inside me—partial as I was to PHALLUS as my satisfaction. He was well qualified there, too. A pretty cock, we both agreed. And what man would refuse supreme attention to his manhood?

And, so, we continued over the months. Five times out of eleven, we went for his Full Monty into two out of my three crevices—if you’re into stats, that is. (I stayed shy still, with the oral return.)

Then, for a bunch of reasons, mostly his, we skipped everything for a few visits. Getting myself resigned to no-sex (with mild flirtations), the oral rekindled for him just as suddenly. As far as my recollection goes, it was that way for the last few months— with some visits, still, purely business, without any added curriculum. Two of the times he DID want inside me (any other silent fantasies, unknown to me)—once, he called me with his desire, after I was already home. But each time, and for different reasons, I thought better of it. Last week, we agreed to stop, all together. He had his reasons, I had mine. It was good to lay it out in the air. But disappointing, too. He is my friend. And I was still wet when I saw him this week.

And so, here I am, again, all moist, tonight. I am. I checked. Just now.
Naturally, I have ways to self-gratify.

But I wonder, a lot, when (and if) I’ll ever again have a nice hard, hot, trust-worthy, talented cock to play with (for at least months at a time) -- yes, dear friends, even women who write about sex and talk about sex on the radio, don’t always have the sex life they aspire to. My married friends—many of you, will say, what’s the big deal? Some because you never have sex anymore, others because it’s so frequent, you forget its absence. And you single folk, some of you have given up sex for a set amount of time--for all the many reasons we convince ourselves that’s a good thing to do—or, maybe, you’re a wild (male or female) horn dog.

But there’s enough of you out there-- married or single--who this moment know exactly, what I feel. It’s all pumped and fancied and got no receptive door to knock.

It is said dreams have a way of becoming true. “Lucid dreaming" subliminal delta, REM , or a collective primal slow wave -- in a few minutes, I’ll close my eyes, hold my lonesome little breasts under warm covers, and coax my juicy nether lips to dream up a real- life erotica come- true.

Some might wish upon a star. Others might rub a rabbit’s foot ( on the small and too furry side?). But, I’ve got my bets on my wet and loving chalice. Dream me up a strong, hot man who will whet my flowing rivers to bathe his rhythmic oar inside me for hours.

And if it just stays a dream? At least a wet one it will be…

auld lang sex

2006-12-31T20:12:00.000-08:00

fill in the blanks with your choice:

Should auld lovers be forgot
and never brought to mind?
Should auld lovers be forgot
and days of auld lang syne?
And here's a _________, my trusty friend
And gie's a __________ o' thine
We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet
For auld lang syne

I’ll be promising four entwined '07 resolutions on my new blog DO365-- to self, family, community and world. Join me there.

But the overtly sexual component is posted only here.

And it’s a simple one—
To be honest in my sexual needs. To expect men to give me —yup, expect— by ensuring, as best I can, that those I touch in the new year, be he one or a few more, be worthy of valuing
the beauty
and
wonder
and
silliness
and
passion
and
humbleness
that is laced within the power of sex.

And peace. Bravo to the exhilaration of tease and chase (I smile and get tingly remembering all the many moments—) but let my lovemaking, and even fucking, always end soulfully sated with continuing physical after glow, both for me and he both. It's time...

Have a sexy year, everyone!
And what’s YOUR sexual resolution? Post if you dare…..

XO MMVII

Christmas Red and a Lullaby of Love

2006-12-24T21:21:00.000-08:00

This Christmas Eve, a tribute to nurturance of babes, birthing ourselves and our loves. Two very beautiful poems by women that touch the depth of male and female humanity through the symbolism of mothering bodies-- woman’s blood versus that of war; and the vulnerable innocence in our most honest of lovemaking. Peace, so the babies of the world will know it in their lives better than we.

“We Need A God Who Bleeds Now”
by Ntozake Shange, from A Daughter’s Geography, St Martin’s Press 1983

we need a god who bleeds now
a god whose wounds are not some small male vengeance
some pitiful concession to humility
a desert swept with dryin marrow in honor of the lord

we need a god who bleeds
spreads her lunar vulva and showers us in shades of scarlet
thick and warm like the breath of her
our mothers tearing to let us in
this place breaks open
like our mothers bleeding
the planet is heaving mourning our ignorance
the moon tugs the seas
to hold her/ to hold her
embrace swelling hills/ i am
not wounded I am bleeding to life
we need a god who bleeds now
whose wounds are not the end of anything.

Your Fingers Have So Slightly Felt
by Dorothy Pucay, published in Saje, Students Art Journal,Etc of Cal State Fresno, 1982

Your fingers have so slightly felt
The spot you may rest your head upon.
Feel it…
In clouds so feathery,
You’ll sink euphoric
And never ache for solid ground.
For I am mother to you and the present.
But your fingers have only slightly felt
This spot you may lay your body down.
No...
You are much too young for weariness
And much too old for sleep.
(Am I mother enough to leave you,
And enough to cause you pain?)
I wake and watch through infant eyes,
This play of hearts.
Are you in it?
Are you with me?
And can I take your hand and lead you
Deep down into the labyrinths of the night,
Where we shall lose ourselves in panic and fright,
And like babies, we shall scream for the breast
And for the milk?
Your fingers have so slightly felt
For an answer.
And I am enough, but only enough to be here.

Give Thanks & Take Home the Well Comes

2006-11-23T12:25:00.000-08:00

Sometimes the in-the-moment sensation of a simple thing can jolt a joie de vivre that makes everything previous and future-unknown converge to a conscious physicality of ecstasy.

As fleeting as it is— catching a double rainbow in the rain, the life-scent of a flower at a funeral, an unexpected kindness given or received by a stranger, hearing a familiar voice reassure you—
can last a lifetime of appreciation. On this Thanksgiving, I contemplated giving personal thanks to everyone who has, knowingly or not, given assistance to me over the past year, or alternatively, to wax political this holiday on the American Way of Life (never enough thought on either of those subjects, and will continue so, in various ways in this blog).

But, today, forget the politics and gushiness-- a laid-back ode to the sexual body wins out.

Largely driven by fantasy, sex’s reality of the physical doesn’t always mesh with the urge (or the porn flick) it’s true. We’ve all experienced moments of sexual expectation that the physical exploration somehow failed us.

Like Andy Warhol’s

“ fantasy… is much better than reality…Never doing it is very exciting,”

it’s sometimes easier to just fantasize—even while with someone-- than to be fully there with them, working hard for something we think should just come naturally.

“Ooops, sorry,” too soon?
"Will (he/she or I) EVER come???"
"Ecchhhh, wish she'd get that tongue out of my ear"
Or
"oooohhhh , if only he'd give me just a little more right there ???"

But there are times ( some of us more naturally inclined than others) that the ease of letting go of /immersing into our senses surprises. To taste, smell, hear, and see our sex, and those with whom we’re with, are an epicurean delight beyond and yet deeply within us. Touching to feel. Feeling to touch, be it a carnal fuck or the intent of making love. Ahhhhh, do I hear a tantra coming on?

So, on this Thanksgiving Day, I give thanks and your- welcomes to my own sexual discovery. To the (rare, and usually humorous) relative calamities and the equally rare absolutes of pure euphoria. To the times I’ve yearned for so much more, that didn’t happen, and for those moments I shouldn’t have, but in fond hindsight, glad we did anyway (and those pleasures that just were as they were).

For all it gives, and will provide more of, when ready, I curtsy a simple and profound thanks to the sexual body. Now go, let our taste buds savor that stuffing…

Sex Shorts— a cock introduction manual

2006-11-09T17:42:00.000-08:00

Pondering sexual meaning, both personally and as a universal, are essential to my sense of sexiness and the raison d’etre for this blog. But what’s sex without the steaminess, the folly and the spontaneity of a few impulsive quickies? Come blithely frolic and interlude with me on this series of Sex Shorts—no more than 2 paragraphs each, often silly, sometimes sarcastic, and always sexy. (I’m hoping this blogger in beta can be set up to categorize and label the Shorts, too.)

First up—The Penis—is one of my favorite subjects to imbibe on. Its power, utterly bewildering as it is enthralling. That gorgeous, hunky, yuummmy, so incredibly exciting, throbbing, mechanically charming pied-piper to my mouth and hands and vagina (and sometimes ass). What will I ever do with cocky’s mesmerizing control over me?
Desire—to snake charm the chivalric force from the fireman’s hose into my femininely authoritative well. I’m ready for the man-u-al(l) training, are you?

Other Furture Shorts:
Round Things:Breasts and Balls; Coming and Going; For Play; My Vagina

Mid Term Erection Hopes

2006-11-08T23:07:00.000-08:00

The dems won-- gubernatorial majority, house and maybe senate!? Did the Cosmic Trigger Event really do something, afterall? Ortega in power, Palestinian kids slaughtered …what else topsy-turvy happening in the world?

For the record, I am so glad that Santorum is gone! His politics and beliefs, especially over sexuality and life issues, so grossly arrogant.Though the disgust many liberals stated over his and his wife's decision to bring their dead baby home to their children, was wrong. It was their private, family choice to bring comfort to each other in the way they felt best. That should have been honored, and not for any of us to judge. His and his wife's later politizational use of that family decision, to prop his stance against abortion however, was another example of his arrogance.

The night before the election, I wanted so much to post another HufPo entry . Getting off the plane, sitting on the train, it just came to me— Mid-Term Erection Eve—what a fun header, right? It would have meandered – citing the need for pre-voting night levity over this year’s political ad posturing ( the dueling, politically Napoleonic penises on the sexual hypocrisy theme) artificially brought to you by Levitra, a little non PC Japanese pronunciation of “l” to “r’, with the orgasmic face of “I’m turning Japanese, errrr the Republican hara-kiri self-torture” side bar, closing with the feminine Eve of the night ( not the douche –or maybe that would’ve been good) -- a vote for Matriotism-- if only we all would cuddle and make love with whomever we choose right before we vote—to instill the love for our fellow American, unlike athletes who are supposed to hold back until after the big game to crush their opponents—make love, not war theme. I know it was funnier in my head than in writing. But sometimes crazier thoughts pull together. My first HufPo posting last week got 5 responses. Yeahhh! Encouraging enough to try another, maybe next week.

Personally, the middle class homelessness in my life, still has left me feeling like a spider on drugs (remember that commercial years back of the fried egg ilk?). I worry that my projects for National Renters Rights Advocacy, New Years’ Day Volunteerism recognition and Sexual Free Speech projects including Ladies for Liberty will never see the light of day, because of the difficulty in surmounting my own obstacles of re-organizing and moving my possessions every few months-- and the technical bit of getting website help, my lack of money, energy and even, after so many efforts, an extinguishing hope.

Even renting a place is proving a little hard. I was already told my application for an LA apartment manager position was not appropriate since I believed in renters rights ( my professed concern for rights and responsibilities for both landlord and tenants fell on closed ears). And the liberal leaders I’ve approached for my campaigns haven’t even returned e-mails or phone calls. And the book is still not selling—I’m thinking of a new promotion—the sex book that tastes better than the notorious holiday fruit cake. What do you think?

My sex life is nil again, my good friend letting me know, as gently as he could, that his ex and he are getting back together. Maybe he should have waited to tell me after one last hot visit? He was right, and he's a good man, who was there for me in many ways the past few months. I wish him the good love he deserves.

For me, the next 4 weeks are pivotal for everything. Oh yeah, I still need a job, if anyone knows someone who will hire a sexual rights non fiction, renters rights, volunteerism civic advocate who can clean houses and almost anything else --on her hands and knees, of course!!! And please, Santa, some advance asking, find me a new Erector Se(x)t Man to pleasure with before any High Noon cock-fighting commences for the new Congressional 110th.

3 Hundred Million, a Cosmic Trigger, Donald’s Casino Makes Somewhat Good on a Promotional Offer, but Does He Trump a Man Who Bedded Me 6 Months Ago?

2006-10-17T20:53:00.000-07:00

A national milestone, a new age celestial planetary convergence, good gambling customer service-- all loosely and linearly segued into why a personal gripe of mine, about a certain man’s intentionally ignorant post-bedside service, actually, really, really does matter. And YOU think THAT was a mouthful?

Today—

Statisticians magically marked 7:46 a.m. EDT as the welcoming moment for the unknown 300 millionth US resident (born or immigrated-- legal or illegal). Unlike, Bobby Woo, the 200th million on November 20,1967, no one (not even a reality show) is attempting to find out who the lucky # 300,000,000th could be. (What do you want to bet, it’s like most lotteries with a thousand people sharing the winning ticket at the same time?)

Holy karmic synchronicity, today’s date is also all the rage among the tribes.org/new age social network types with something called a Cosmic Trigger Event. An email and many web links are being circulated that Mission 1017, said to last from 10:17 a.m. - 1:17 a.m, (a purported but mis-totalled 17 hours) effecting all 6.55 billion earthlings, believers or not, is peaking at 17:10 p.m. (get the 1s,10s and 17’s theme?) no matter what time zone in the world you’re at. (Time is, of course, an earth-bound perception, but best harmonized for new US resident # 300,005,008 ‘s arrival, give or take.)
Vibrations, good or bad, are apparently intensified a million-fold among all of us, from a non-detectable bluish UV light emanating from universe 2 to our own universe 1. One forum commenter asked: “doesn’t 0 good thoughts (x) 1million=0?” And come to think of it, shouldn’t it be 3-fold in honor of the aforementioned ego-centric US milestone, not to mention in salute of my book? ( As my birthday this year converged with the estimated 6.5 billion people mark, I can’t weasel out of this symbolism, especially with a new age, stone name like crystal…)

This first trigger is supposedly the first of many triggers and events to happen by 2013… the Mayan’s, by the way, ended their calendar at 2012…as every host knows, there are always those revelers that linger along way past the end of the party…

The “Sex Manners DO Matter” Segue

While cosmic triggering and terrestrial demographical power-playing wreak the unknown future, Donald Trump and Robert Kiyosaki’s new joint treatise, Why We Want You to be Rich, reaches out god-like to evangelize the astute half of us onto the Noah’s Ark of prosperity. The other half of us will be at their mercy, it seems, as the middle-class dissolves into the economically un-disciplined masses. And in true capitalistic charity, Trump previewed this Noblesse Oblige on me. That’s right, he gave me $50 of my own money back just last night, from a poorly executed Free Slot Day promotion a few months back. And that his staff made some-what good, is why the Donald is my winner’s choice for today’s counterpoint to the poor sex etiqutte servicing from a man I had sex with 6 months ago.

Let the comparisons begin:

The Promotions: Gambling Refund vs Post Sex-Bedside Manners

Trump Marina Casino, on a billboard I passed daily, Free Slot Day, August 26
Interpretation—Play Slots, get money back, if you lose
Reality before Playing— Only up to $50 was guaranteed, and only between noon and midnight
The Event— I got there at 11:00 pm, was up $70, decided to play more, since it was guaranteed, then lost it all with my original $50, before the pumpkin turned (hey, I’ve only played slots maybe 4 times in my life)
Reality after Playing— you had to come back to the casino after Sept 5th to get your maximum $50 losses back
Reality, one month later, by mail— oh yeah, you also have to return before October 4th
My gripe— I didn’t get the mail on time, but shouldn’t they have posted all this BEFORE people played the promotion that day, anyway? Not everyone, can just hop on over to Atlantic City each month.
The Resolution— I called them on Oct 16th, got one lame customer service person, who told me “tough patooties, in casino speak. I told him to get me a supervisor, who went to the promotions department, who said they had extended the deadline to the 15th, because of other people’s concerns… see I was not the only one, who saw the unfairness… and they would extend it just to ‘lil ‘ol me for one more day, since I was in town.
The Bonus—the valet let me park for free, when I told him I’d be parked for 5 minutes (yes, I tipped him $2).
Final Cost— 10 minutes time/gas back and forth, plus the $2

VS

A man I knew and really liked, by phone when I called him, sushi dinner, W. Hollywood, April 24
Interpretation— he would pay for dinner (he had much more money than I, and I drove ½ hour/gas cost), maybe we’d have first-time sex afterward, if we mutually agreed, though he had been hesitant the previous time when I had suggested it, and I was not expecting it that night
Reality Before Playing — the shared bottle of wine at his house, would postpone the planned saki outing, as a first kiss and lots of very sensual touch guided our very connected bodies to the bedroom
The Event—He pumped me hard, flailed me around, rocked the bed about 6 inches away from it’s origin. I had fun, but mostly was trying to show him how flexible I was to his creativity, and was disappointed in the lack of tenderness;
Reality After Playing— he knew all along, but failed to inform me beforehand, that he had to stop at 10:00 pm for an international conference call; and had no plans of having me stay; he didn’t even walk me to the car, but he did hug me, and warned me of a bump in the driveway
Reality the Next Day-three Months Later— I got a chafed chin and a misaligned lower back, along with some other personal concerns, which he handled well; I called and emailed him once a month, with little more than courteous response from him
My Gripe— at myself, for demurring, that night. I didn’t let him know I wanted gentler sex while the sex was happening; I didn’t tell him that I wanted to spend the night, when he was implying I needed to leave. My gripe at him—hey, he was 52 years old (a very sexy, young 52, nonetheless) and he controlled the whole night, without letting me know his rules for the night.
The Resolution—I wrote him a funny quirky, good bye card mid-August about his ungentle- manliness after a particularly disappointing phone conversation. He didn’t respond. Then just last week, I decided I needed to press the sex manners question to him. He basically recommended that I should tell men before I have sex that I expected to spend the night. That it was no fault of his to not think about my needs. No apologies. It seemed spontaneity from him meant he called the shots, unless otherwise intervened.
The Bonus— I learned I didn’t like him very much, after all.
Final Cost— my trust and a slightly damaged psyche/heart

So, who was better? A Trump who had an unclear promotion, with many people never getting their money back, except the few like me who complained, OR a man who didn’t think enough of his sexual partner for the night to apologize to her, if he had not been thoughtful to her, when she brought it to his attention that she was hurt?

For my own preferences, sex trumps gambling, anytime. But lucky be a kind love for this lady, and for the rest of the shared humanity of 6.55 billion and growing, way before 2013, me hopes.

Free Speech: first comment to this entire blog is an ad

2006-09-19T14:27:00.000-07:00

So, our first written comment for this entire blog came in today, along with the Hustler article.
I was excited to see there was finally a message. It was a spam advertisement for “sexy girls” in response to my homelessness and renters rights "Warrior Princess" entry back in June.

Free sex ad on my free blogger-enabled sex blog. Do you think they'd have been better served if they had attached the ad to one of my more sexy entries?

Hmmmm, since it’s the first comment, I’ll let it stand, but might have to exert some free-ad banning on my free blogger blog, if more ads come in, especially if they come in without an e-mail to reply to them. Bad manners, sex ad man/woman.

So help me out, dear readers. Stamp out the "out-of -subject" spam comments by commenting something really profound, funny, sexy or confusing. I’ll look forward to you, my #2....

Hustler Threesome and Radio Chick Brave Sex

2006-09-19T08:08:00.000-07:00

We were working on the book's website September 7 and all of sudden a dozen orders for III (THREE) came in, after months of no activity. Turns out our Radio Chick threesome guest interview from March was re-aired. Got me reinvigorated and finally could pay off the settlement agreement to the photographer who sued us (the settlement states I can’t mention his/her name). Only 300- some copies of the original 1000 Advance Limited Edition left to sell. And today… we’re in Hustler. Their December issue hits newsstands Sept 19th, sort of like Christmas before Rosh Hashanah. Except the actual holiday issue comes out in October.

Hustler did an amazing presentation of the “How To Get Your Girl to Have a Threesome” article, page 86-87, featuring our own Philip Isaiah Katz’s images from the book and even our cover by Christine Ott.

For the record, the text was edited and re-focused a bit— what the folks at Hustler call “hustlerized” for their audience— so it’s not my most prestigious (or ironically, Mr. Flynt, the most free sexual speech) piece of writing. But it does address the sentiment that fantasies (and trust) go both ways. If a man wants his favorite fantasy, the best way to get his dreams fulfilled is to honestly discover and cater to her fantasies, too (and that’s more than picking up his own dirty socks off the floor.. she might LIKE dirty socks…). Doesn’t matter if you’re gay, hetero, bi or S&M, it’s not what you THINK your partner wants, but what desires they maybe hide deep inside their wish list that gets them appreciative of your skills. And trying is definitely almost as good as succeeding… (Just like Hustler and I compromised on our desires for the article.. give a little and get a little puts a smile on everyone's face.)

Pick up a copy of Hustler and tell me what you think (crystal at threesomebook.com.)

Hustler also did a terrific job of promoting me and the book on their Contributors’ Page 9. This issue has my photo by Becky Kingman-Gros, along with pics of cartoonist Bob Muleady, AdviceGoddess.com columnist Amy Alkon, Hustler’s own assistant managing editor, Mark Johnson. And they posted our website, very unexpected and appreciated!

Corrections—No, a manage a trois is not a threesome, necessarily; Yes, I am a big free speech advocate wanna be; My apologies, but “safe sex”— is not my best attribute. I hate condoms. I used them in my threesome story and a few times this year. Like Andrew Sullivan's love of gay bareback, I so love the feel of sexy, wet, messy, flesh-on-flesh cock-to- vagina contact, ahhhhhh). But I do happily cop to advocating sexual honesty and openness, and my next book is on monogamy? Maybe? True admission: I did get turned on by some of the Hustler pictorials.

We’ve been featured in Nerve.com (Nicole DeGeorge and Justin Mongroo photos) and Penthouse Forum (6 page feature article) in the past, so Hustler was a nice last finale piece for the book.

Hustler noted I was a popular radio show guest. They were right, in the past. But getting radio this year has been like getting turn downs for a hot hand-job. Maybe I should just be thankful for the radio I did get in the past. which I am. But we have books to sell! Radio,be brave, and talk sex again—

Air America, NPR, can you get over your politically incorrect PC and promote real free sexual speech? Howard Stern? Opie and Anthony? Am I not celeb or skanky enough? I can kind of understand, but not agree with FCC controlled radio’s fear of threesomes , but why Satellite isn’t biting is beyond my comprehension.

With a track record of 36 shows so far, I’m no pro, but I’m also somewhat proven. And I’ll talk sex and even clean a house doing so…Can sex get any cleaner… and stranger??? Stay tuned, and better yet… buy one of our last copies fast so our other photographers, writers, models and designers can get paid (the photographer who sued me was breathing down my neck last month about deadlines his/her attorney misinterprets) Tell your favorite radio show about III (THREE) and why you want sex back on the air. Oral is good!

Midsummer Night’s Year of Living Wanderlustly

2006-08-20T17:45:00.000-07:00

Start with flirty Shakespearean Midsummer’s plot confusion, add some timely Mel Gibson (Living Dangerously) and you’ve symbolically summarized (without the wedding, drunk driving or ethnic slur) my past year of no-mad(ic-Max) fumbling for domestic/career/relationship stability. (OK, I’d settle for a habitual, mundane sex life, as an appetizer, after a year of this seductive desert).

I’ve been looking forward most of July to write a blog entry for midsummer’s night as a symbolic title for how this summer and the past 365ish days were going. Aug 4th -5th seemed to be the mathematical fit between the solstice and equinox. (Much love and pleasures to Annemarie and Chris who blended their very sexy love-knots into wedded bliss that weekend.) But lo and behold Midsummer is celebrated on the solstice (roughly June 22nd—paradoxically the in between of May 1 and August 1st—the cross-quarter days between the equinox and solstice, which traditionally was the European summer. Who would have thunk? Farmers were already starting their first harvest and the women were already readying themselves for all those bacchanal festivals, and our own midsummer’s blockbuster Snakes on a Plane wasn’t even yet out?

But then again, making assumptions continues to be the source of my continued erring ways of wandering.

August 11th is the anniversary of my final moving away from my past relationship—the inopportune, but truthful, decision that has kept me drifting and unfocussed, still a year later. I had estimated back then it would take a year to recover, but it looks like my finances (and overall neediness) might be entering into a second year. But there’s always a valuable lesson. And like Midsummer’s use of pansy juice to put young lovers under a spell, while steering away censorship under the guise of “life as a dream” (freespeech was questioned back then, too), actual life is maybe the most legitimate reason to dream (relaxing, though messy, wet dreams, most especially). In The Year of Living Dangerously, Linda Hunt’s gender-reversed surreal character Billy Kwan, opened his eyes and camera to his political hero’s true motivations, too late. “If it's in focus, it's pornography, if it's out of focus, it's art.” But like Midsummer’s Bottom character, or the TV series Dallas’ “Lost Season” where the entire “84-’85 season we learned in ’85-’86 was just Pamela’s dream, or ZhuangZi questioning which was the dreamer— him as butterfly or him as human— there’s a time in one’s life that fantasy is the only way to make sense of reality.

So what did I learn from my Summer ’05 through Summer ’06 dream-like vacation?

#1. You love me. Like Sally Fields learned , but in my real life. I discovered my friends and relatives gave their hearts and homes for me. Wow. Whenever I’ve been ready to display the white-flag of defeat from everything else, I remind myself that their love and understanding held my raccoon-puffed eyes looking outward.

#2. Strategist, I’m not. Leading way too much with my heart—to my own detriment. My size 5 foot fits too easily into my mouth, leaving footprints on paper and websites. Yet being emotional is Not the opposite of rational, but tell that to any man.

#3. Balance between isolation and being social is a wonderful thing. Everyone does load a dishwasher differently. And that’s OK.

#4. I need sex. And Freud was mostly right for all of us (see #7). Though it’s kind of nice to be shy about it with first touch or kiss, it sucks (that’s OK, too, if done pleasantly) to not feel that knowing of someone in you life. My former love and I did it way too much for my choice, as routine as brushing one’s teeth, but every 4-5 months, with someone new, isn’t cutting it either. I miss knowing a regular lover, flowing playfully into his arms, with some degree of trust and comfort. Did I ever truly have that trust? Probably not, but “playing” house is worth something.

#5. It’s good to re-connect with men from my past. We appreciate each other so much more. An average absence of 3 to 5 years seems to put the last time in its place. Not romance, but caring friendships (with mutually agreed levels of touch, of course) makes the past grievance worth the learning curve.

#6. Honesty is truly the best policy, but timing is definitely everything.

#7. Women are crazy. Men are stupid. And the reason women are crazy is that men are stupid.
Thanks to George Carlin; CJ, for helping me feel sexy and flirtatious again, too.

#8. Grassroots, though valuable for it humbleness and passion, is overrated. Though it’s a very cool name for a landscaping service ad I saw in South Jersey.

#9. The liberal men in my life are mostly unsympathetic to females in need. The conservative men in my life want much more to be protective. But then I have to deal with their politics….

#10. Self Discipline is necessary for freedom. I learned that in Catholic elementary school and even Bill Maher agrees. September, back- to- school, now, I need to confidently seek a good paying job, or maybe gambling is indeed one of the classic virtues?

Dream on and erotically.

My Sunday Morning Decadence

2006-07-23T15:06:00.000-07:00

The Decadence—
Diversions of daydreamed desire (stemmed from some reminiscence), rather than time spent prioritizing: solutions to personal/business predicaments, sympathetic ponderings about war-killed innocents (Lebanese and Israeli children, again), glacial holes, economic injustices et al, or expending already procrastinated labor on repair and clean-up of ordinary day-day-living.

The Foreplay--
An early morning newspaper read, enwombing classical violin or world beat soul; a champagne brunch religiosity with friends— politics, the arts, science, business, family and feeling (the injected quatro-- travel, the famous, food/wine and sports-- obligatory, of course; real estate adding the thumb to the handful); wearing something relaxed, yet smart and sexy (as is everyone else in their own way); more champagne (a Schramsberg Cremant); followed by an early afternoon jaunt on the beach, a hike to points discovered, a sail, a biking, the side-splitting volleyball. Camaraderic flirtations, give-and-take, intellectualism and silliness equally forgiving and welcomed. Sunset, blues at the park, piano bar tapas; sliding into preparation for e-mails to answer, lists for the week and goals and misses to achieve.

The Sex—
Just with one. Before the newspaper, between last night’s dreams and eyes’ first open, a muscular sleep-warmed limb’s reach, cause-and-effects the nuzzling of my leg- to- waist, twisting an opening-moistening pelvis to him. Love make, sustained continuance between engagement and re-engorgement.

Encore—
In the bathroom, excused, the both of us a few minutes closed door from our guests; Maybe a quick pounding from behind, leaned over the sink, his rowdy cock in full mirror-performance, flushed my face and him; or the door, a peek gaping, me leaping into his arms, dress-heaped legs wrapped around his only-unzipped jeans, my hands bracing the wall, allying his confident rhythms into my space. And day’s end, in bed or on the hammock outside, mouth on mouth, mouth on head, tongue’s length playful tease, hard, hot; His lips on my lips, fingers playing my well; sweet, tangy, the juices of another champagne, a blend of his and mine. Lullaby into tomorrow’s awaits.

Recycled Boners

2006-07-21T23:33:00.000-07:00

[originally written June 28, posted today]

Got sex ? Use it or lose it …or are you saving it up for that special occasion? If you won’t have the inclination to indulge, or polish it up for window-display, at least once this season, recycling (or even loaning it out) might be the option for you. Did you think that consignment shop rule was just for last year’s Fendi Spy Bag, those strategically peek-a-boo flesh-exposing bell bottoms or Xbox’s Ninja Gaiden Black ( say what, E3? And shouldn’t the word “fashionista” itself be so last year)

Recycling has “re-imaged” itself over the decades from the flower-child, nature-loving/ uni-tear-splashed, anti-pollute, anciently wrinkled Native American in the 70s, to the entrepreneurial going-through- the- neighbor’s -trash to pick up some spare change in the 80s. This century it’s either an almost patriotic under-municipal ordinance mandate in some neighborhoods, or a “yeah, whatever, I- can- if- I- feel- like-it” individual empowerment for many other communities. While the Good Will and Salvation Army are synonymously branded with used apparel and household goods, the Lions Club asks for used eye glasses, and many new foundations, and as many scams, have gotten on the donate old cell phone to the used-car band-wagons.

But like most anything--sex was the original. Recycled sex began right after humping between humans consumated, 35,000 or 6 million year ago, depending on if you believe in evolution or intelligent design creationism.

My friend Sylvia, sent me a card a long time ago, when either she or I were going through one of our many breakups with men. It unfolded into countless, indistinguishable cartoon hetero and gay couples, each wrapped in each other’s arms with one hand reaching out for one hand of the couple next to them. Remember, the old anti-“venereal disease” -- VD? -- public announcements, cautioning that you slept with everyone your partner slept with prior to you? Taking in account six- degrees of separation, it’s very plausible that you and I, dear blog reader, have Bill and Hillary’s passed-on love juices somewhere in us. (They did it at least once, you all.) Probably GW’s and Laura’s (and Condi? if those Internet rumors had any merit), your favorite celeb sex symbol, and Bin Laden, and your next-door neighbor, too. We all breathe a statistically connected lust imprint—fantastical or genetic.

Not just in airplanes, either. And our genitals and asses, concealed with permeable fabric, sit in the same public chairs. Educator’s often explain “one earth” ecology to children by illustrating that we’re all drinking and eating dinosaur’s #1 and #2 (that’s pee-pee and poop; #3 is still open to your imaginations). Reconditioned sex – from our thoughts to our serial-partners— makes it an it’s-a small world continuum, my fellow kissing-cousins to Charlemagne, Ghengis Khan and genetic Eve. Politically correct or germaphobe-protective condom users, it’s not just semen and vaginal secretions that a good reusable make, though that makes it’s sensorially more interesting; it’s about the given-away emotion, as well as the fucking.

Don’t feel that special something for your lover anymore? Don’t worry about having to repair the worn-out feelings, just “move on,” he or she will be picked up curbside, barside, or bedside by someone new, sooner or later. And you, too, can have opportunity for improved, retro-fitted sex. If a virgin is your new love, she/he would probably be a product of two recycled sex persons (RSPs ), unless the parents were virgins themselves when they did the deed. Since we all came from sperm and ovum, recycling can’t be avoided, as we have some generational connection to our biological parents. That is, in some ways you’re having incestuous sexual instruction with that vivacious blonde’s great grand-dad/mom and your own aboriginal ancestral cave dwellers. (In ancestor worshipping traditional Sri Lanka, a tenth-year ritual burial-clothes cleansing coincides with those same linens blessing a wedding bed, if that doesn’t creep the sex right out of the honeymoon!)

A man I recently met told me his ex-wife married an old friend of his with his approval. He had dated that friend’s ex-wife before he had married his own ex-wife, and the now adult children from each of the original marriages had dated each other a few years before both sets of parents had gotten divorced. The friend’s ex-wife asked the man if it wouldn’t be great if they, too, got it on again. Love Boat meets Brady Bunch was a smidge too retro for him, even though the sexual connection had already been previously established.

Personally, I try to hold on to people, just like my things. I wear my mom’s Fifties' fashions every few years, and even showcased my ex-mother- in- laws Sixties' styled dress to an extended family event recently. I find myself re-visiting my old lovers’ lanes in between relationships, rather than add another notch with someone new. There is something about the passage of time blending re-kindled remembrance that emotionally seasons an energetic coming home. So, long as we don’t wear out the visit.

But mostly, my own sex waits in the closet a bit more than the clothes, or more aptly biding time in a holding pound for yet another recyclable adoption. Part bitch and part pussy (I know, I know, but those words work here), my cat-dog self pants-purrs for a loving home with a strong fido-lion for mutual licking of coats, sniffing of scents, clean water, and a really hard bone for me to play with. We can take turns protecting the house, be finicky about the litter box, and entertain each other with rolling-over and sexy pet tricks (passed down from the supply of mutually linked two billion past adult sex partners.) And if the time comes, ungrudgingly, "hand me-down" each other’s paw to someone’s new claws, unless we choose, finally this time, to mulch our mingled sex the way of those dinosaurs-- to death do us part.

Solstice Blossomed Breasts—Sexual Free Speech #1

2006-06-25T00:39:00.000-07:00

I missed noting the solstice by 3 days. But I thought of Cindy Violette’s past ritual gatherings and family-safe naked pool parties in Galloway, Michele Haytko, who helped me get this blog started, and a wonderful writer and lesbian--the Ms. Devine, who each celebrate the sun’s rite of passage in their own ways.

The blossoming of flowers and heat bring a fecundity, an animal-mimicked desire by wearing less clothes, exposing flesh, moving our bodies with intentions of playfulness and to tease the soul risqué. Even if you’re not so erotically- open, the sprite must be on your mind just a tad.

I’ve been naked in public, of course. But always in quiet settings, where I felt still a little naughty. And my son was often nursed in public (hey I had a “C”-cup for a good many months), even on an airplane sitting next to an evangelist minister, who looked at the undertaking with quiet uncertainty. (Public breastfeeding is rumored to be illegal in some states, but LaLeche League says that it’s more a lack of laws affirming breast feeding, than outlawing it.)

My breasts, long ago stopped blossoming, are usually described as cute, wavering between a full “A” and a just-made-it “B” depending upon how five-pounds gained/lost are distributed. They are cupped nicely on the underside, but could use a little muscle on top, to get them securely in the “mid-B” range (“breast strokes” at the pool this summer?).

My nipples, documented in photo and in text, are long, and plump easily with temperature or excitement. Yet, men rarely suckled them, with a few wonderful exceptions, and I was always too shy to guide the just right caress or lick or kiss. Sadly, being small breasted, I bowed to society, feeling my mounds were mere hills not deserving of Mt Everest climbs. (Even I couldn’t believe my sometime playmate in the late 90’s, John DeG___, who swore he got most excited when he saw a slim, small-breasted woman. He is the guy who creatively threaded my nips through CDs, in a kind of tech-art tassle, much better than twisting them in the old “radio knob dials” teen boys used to think was sophisticated. How we girls survive?)

Playright, performer and political activist Sherry Glaser’s exposing her breasts on the streets for decency’s sake. Her one-woman play Oh My Goddess opens this week in San Francisco. And her Breasts not Bombs Campaign picketed this past Friday outside the Oakland Military Recruitment Center, in support of GI Suzanne Swift’s refusal to return to Iraq in the face of sexual abuse that she experienced in the military. Five women bared bosoms and none of the attending cops arrested them. (A case of breasts arresting cops?)

Sherry’s been in front of the White House and in a bunch of other states, is seeking legal action against one of her arrests, and plans many more protests.

From the SF Chronicle:

Glaser is on a mission to use her activism and her art -- and even her naked torso if need be -- to draw attention onstage and off to how our society has lost its way on the road to equality, dignity and true decency. ...."Two of my friends were threatened with arrest for indecent exposure after taking off their shirts and dancing topless during Mendocino's Fourth of July parade two years ago," Glaser says. "Their bare breasts were called 'indecent', so I thought, let's use this incident and our equal protection under the 14th Amendment to show what real freedom and decency look like."

from various other sources:

Breats Not Bombs mottos:
Titties Not Tanks
Mammaries Not Missiles
Nipples Not Napalm
The issue is Soft Tissue

“…the founding mothers intended the 2nd amendment to be
the right to bare breasts, not the right to bear
arms. They knew that if women were safe to walk bare breasted that we would all
be much safer,”says Glaser.

Sounds good to me. We’ll all just need to get some more sun block. Happy Ninety-Four Days of Topless Summer (minus 4 days and nights already gone)!