Sunday, December 31, 2006

auld lang sex

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
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…..


Sunday, December 24, 2006

Christmas Red and a Lullaby of Love

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.
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.

Thursday, November 23, 2006

Give Thanks & Take Home the Well Comes

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"
"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…

Thursday, November 09, 2006

Sex Shorts— a cock introduction manual

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

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

Mid Term Erection Hopes

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.

Tuesday, October 17, 2006

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?

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?


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 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


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.

Tuesday, September 19, 2006

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

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

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

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, 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 (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!

Sunday, August 20, 2006

Midsummer Night’s Year of Living Wanderlustly

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.

Sunday, July 23, 2006

My Sunday Morning Decadence

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.

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.

Friday, July 21, 2006

Recycled Boners

[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.

Sunday, June 25, 2006

Solstice Blossomed Breasts—Sexual Free Speech #1

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 b
reasts, 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)!

Sunday, June 18, 2006

Fathers' Day Lesson 101

On behalf of children and mothers, and toward a more loving world, an immeasurable toast of appreciation to all the dads out there who try to parent the best they know how. Conservative, Libertarian, Liberal, Gay, Straight, Polyamorous, Religious Right to Atheist— being a caring dad requires a difficult balance of strength and gentleness— with a learned acceptance, that wisdom inevitably comes— usually after the fact.

The son is father to the man. And a rare man there is who is a father without benefit of (and dents from) a mother (of invention) somewhere effecting his life. Not some tales of Oedipus, but a reality that we are what we are because of who grew us as children, who we choose to love, and how we interpret how we are loved to ourselves and others.

Aside from some fruitfully orgiastic petri dishes, sex is the way most of us got our stork-delivered or co-manufactured bundles of joy. Somewhere between “Sins of the Father” and “Father Knows Best,” is there a correlate between a man’s experience as a father and his ability to express himself givingly as a lover? And how does a father’s repartrois in sexual feeling communicate to his children’s sensual dexterity?

22% of the men I’ve flung sheets (or sand) with were dads. I can’t say these men were more or less experienced in amore than the non-dads. Did it matter if they fathered girls, or boys, or both? Maybe, slightly more of the guys who had daughters, but no sons, did the tender touches— verbally admiring my non-sexual body parts, calling the day after, thanking me for being with them. But not so much more that I’ve been prone to select men for their progeny and gender thereof. (Now, my non-scientific N isn’t anywhere near the 2,000 or so that could be considered legitimately statistical – scout’s honor!!! )

Fathers, mothers, children and sexual statistics. Chest pounding and clucking over two recent reports by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, and in conjunction with other U.S. Departments of Health and Human Services.

Conservatives aimed on one finding for their “family values” stockpile, from the CDC’s June 2006 report, Fertility, Contraception, and Fatherhood: Data on Men and Women From Cycle 6 of the 2002 National Survey of Family Growth .

"Men who did not live with both parents at age 14 were more likely to have had sexual intercourse during the teenage years (19 or younger) compared with those who lived with both parents at age 14 "(figure 9, table 14)

And liberal women ranted on about April’s CDC’s Recommendations to Improve Preconception Health and Health Care --- United States that suggested health practitioners consider all pre-menopausal women below 44, as pre-pregnant mothers, in regard to medical advice given them.

Now, I’ve been known to perform segues that wander into territories never to be discovered. But both the ultra-conservative editor Mark Alexander and the uber-liberal Sunsara Taylor are two examples, from both sides of the political spectrum, who need to take a major look at basic logic 101 for their lines of rationalization.

Granted, the CDC (and its overseer, the USDHHS) can become tools of politics, like most any US department, but it does deserve applause for attempting to understand the cyclical effects of individuals and family on society and visa versa. (It also is promoting a healthy teen dating initiative against emotional/physical relationship abuse “Choose Respect,” reminders that most of us adults could look at in our relationships, too.)

Of the 100 detailed tables in Fertility, Contaception and Fatherhood, including those that tackle heavy societal perceptions—
“… is (it)… much better for everyone if the man earns the main living and the woman takes care of the home and family(?),” to, “ (is there) almost certain chance a condom would reduce physical pleasure(?)”

--two findings especially caught me by surprise:

Most Fathers did want to be dads,

“Based on reporting from fathers, available for the first time with these data, only 9 percent (of births) were unwanted at the time of conception. "(figure 7, table 8)

There are Men who actually sometimes wish their first sexual encounter didn’t happen when it did,

“Between 59 to 72 percent of men reported that they really wanted their first intercourse to happen at the time it occurred.(figure 10, table 16). And there was no correlation “between age at first intercourse and wantedness status for men.”

Even that last provocative idea that men (of any age) might have regretted their first encounter, didn’t get the conservative “feather in the cap” gander like that of the stats for boys living in mom-only directed households having a higher incidence of first sexual encounters as teens, than boys in two-parent households.

Mark Alexander states in’s "Fathers linked to healthy families"

“Of course, many moms have no choice but to do it all. This is because many biological fathers have abdicated their responsibility for proper love, discipline, teaching, support, moral guidance and protection of their family. (Memo to divorced dads and assorted victims of feminist rage and unfair family courts: Please hold your mail -- we know that women file almost 70 percent of divorces, most without any claim of abandonment, infidelity or abuse.)”

Gee, could it be most people don’t have to legally “claim” a reason for divorce, or maybe “emotional” abandonment would be way up there for both genders. AND, perhaps, men are afraid of filing due to the financial ramifications to them. I don’t know, but substantiate your claim, Mark. You are an editor. Don’t leave us guessing with your assumptions.

“.. Tragically, the pages of history -- especially 20th-century history -- are rife with the terrible misdeeds of those who were raised without fathers, or with abusive fathers: Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Mao Zedong, Saddam Hussein, Osama bin Laden and many others of lesser infamy.”

Sure, two parents are usu ally better than one. But how well reared by GH and Babs will history feel that the two-parented GW was coddled? Last count, how virtuous are the Bush twins by their, oh, so, god-fearing mom and dad? You kind of make us feel sorry for the childhoods
of those bad men you mentioned. Who raised Karl Rove, Kenneth Lay, Jack Abramoff, oh yeah, and Dick Cheney, by the way?

“Never let it be said, however, that the Left allows the facts to get in the way of its agenda. Indeed, a strong case can be made that liberal social policies are directly responsible for generations of fatherless children -- particularly black children. And democrats, as we have noted many times previously, have a vested interest in keeping blacks and other "victimized" constituencies dependent on the state.”

How do we even touch that piece of miss-jointed diatribe? Who’s calling whose “agenda” the kettle (and black, no less?)?

On the way far left, Sunsara Taylor’s piece, CDC to Women: Prepare to Give Birth! is an embarrassing tirade against the biological reality that women’s bodies are designed to give birth and planning for the possibility is a good thing. Harping adolescent-like herself under the auspices of individual rights to privacy and a woman’s right to choose, she refuses to address individual and societal responsibilities as a necessary condition for all babies’ health. She jumps from the CDC’s recommendations for women (and men’s) lifetime-health planning by way of practitioner’s “interventions” (e.g., the Five A’s [Ask, Advise, Assess, Assist, and Arrange], to some sort of part and parcel of a grand governmental scheme to Nazi-like gynocide, that is in direct lineage with South Dakota’s anti-abortion legislation and the bunch of religious right pharmacists refusing to fill birth control prescriptions. Scary precedent, those two latter things, but a big leap away from consumer –patient education in eating well and consciously maintaining a healthy womb.

Taylor says we should shout back to the CDC with outrage that “Women are not fetal incubators.” Guess, what? biologically, that is part of how our bodies were designed. And if a non-irreversibly infertile woman ever has sex, there is always the chance she can get pregnant. Not every woman chooses abortion if the pregnancy was unplanned. Nor are most women 100% certain if and when they might desire a baby after thinking she would never choose to conceive.

Some of Sunsara’s big- bad- wolf fear-mongering:

“…get prepared for the religious fanatics who terrorize women at the doors of abortion clinics to broaden their harassment against women who enter bars, smoke cigarettes or eat at McDonald’s. Get ready for the prosecution of women who engage in these activities for crimes against their future fetuses. And get ready for calls to weed out and even sterilize women who are deemed by the state to be unfit to bear children.

And when you get right down to it, this report has potentially genocidal implications. By formalizing the idea that certain women chronically put themselves at risk of being less-than-perfect potential mothers, the CDC paves the way for acceptance of the idea that certain women are unfit to reproduce.”

Come on, Sunsara, give it a rest. If you had a basis for a point, it’s been blown out by your mis- directed wind. Would you rather that babies continue the higher rate of birth problems in the US as compared to other industrialized nations? Seminal health is important, too. So, non-liberterian, cum social welfare advocate, that I am, guys should be encouraged to take care of their reproductive and general health, as well. And that was mentioned, though lighter than it could’ve in the CDC report. (Crystal’s health hint for men— a little celery, along with giving loads of health benefits for your man juice, extracts a delicious flavor for those you’d hope would imbibe.)

To Mr. Alexander’s credit, he at least ends in a non-partisan, unbiased inclusive wish:

“…how … fathers might extend their roles in outreach to fatherless children: By mentoring through Boy Scouts, Girl Scouts, Big Brothers-Big Sisters, youth groups, Boys Clubs, and Girls Incorporated; or by coaching little-league sports, or teaching in Sunday school, or becoming a school tutor, or volunteering to work with high-risk kids through inner-city ministries, to name just a few.”

Says the CDC:

“The majority of men (94 percent) and women (94 percent) 15-44 years of age strongly agreed or agreed with the statement, “The rewards of being a parent are worth it despite the cost and work it takes.” Among fathers, 98 percent strongly agreed or agreed with the statement, as did 97 percent of mothers."(figure 25, Tables 79-80

More than anything, children— be they infants, adolescents or even adults themselves— want to know their parents love them and did their best at guiding them. Regardless of political belief, that’s the legacy for true fatherhood and motherhood that counts the most.

Father’s day sports? Now, go play with pals and your balls of choice, everyone. And be nice.

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

Warrior Princess

This morning is my last quiet one in Atlantic City. I didn’t take advantage as much as I should have the beauty of the casino evening lights twinkling on the bay, the mornings, like now, where birds of all sorts swoon over the water. Nor even the sliding glass door, and windows' view opening out into it all, though daylight, reminiscent of my home in Manhattan Beach overlooked the Pacific in quite the same way. And being a Piscean, both homes with all that water should have instilled a calm in me, a baptismal of rejuvenation.

I’m boxing and suit-casing my things again, seems like a dozen times since last August’s eviction, deciding what joins the New Jersey storage unit, what goes to Pennsylvania (and did I leave that summer halter in Los Angeles?). Career and even my focus is as divided as my scattered things.

National Renters Rights And Homelessness Awareness Week was soft-launched this week. It is only a naming because all things need a name to give it possibility. What does housing advocacy have to do in a sex blog, you ask?

Courage to talk about it. Courage to openly desire both the self-pleasure and fair play of it. And
mixing the two, if any notoriety occurs (other than found on Google :) makes me an easy target for name calling and being made disreputable. (Hey, Lynn Cheney and Newt did sex in their fictions, and the Republican Guard didn’t blink, need more be said?) Who would have thought sexual dialogue (and increasingly dildos) is more contraband than guns?

But renters rights may well be more controversial than sex. If you’re not buying a house or flipping it, you just aren’t living the true American dream. Complain for your consumer rights as a renter? Maybe you don’t think it quite fair to be displaced against your will? Well, you are lazy and irresponsible and should just save your money and buy a house. That landlord owns that property and should be able to do whatever he or she wants. Never mind that renters help that landlord afford that property, or that the 30% US renter population helps that 30% of housing economy exist. And if you are homeless… what kind of incompetent are you?

Courage. A warrior, is supposed to hold his or her power inside, and use it when the timing is right. That according to Carlos Casteneda and probably in Sun Tzu’s Art of War. From Macchiavelli all I can remember is “noblesse oblige.” Author and Huffington Post blogger Kathleen Reardon says, liberals “On the whole … lack adequate comprehension of the scheming side of human behavior.” We need to fight tough and unpredictably like Republicans do, even if we won’t play dirty, she adds. I’ve known some sleazy liberal-leaning people, in my time, so don’t know if that’s always true about liberals taking the high-ground. But, personally, I for one, can cop to her generalization, successful strategist, I am not. However, counterpoint of sorts, Robert Redford today says that “substance” must regain its backbone over the cult of strategy alone. I ask all the housing advocates to join common strength on that point.

Naked sex and Politics is Naked for a reason.

The facades we all wear, and the pain we all cause each other, intentionally or not, perpetuate more masks. I’ve been no-fault evicted twice; sued thrice -- home, book and car. Bottom feeders climb on the backs of littler ones, because the powerful have too many lawyers.

Feeling the outcast, like the misunderstood Wicked Witch of the West (and the East, since I’m bicoastally nomadic) in Gregory Maguire’s Wicked , I can’t help but wonder how I landed here in such an isolating world (Bush’s regime, as an OZ wizardship, with iPods, errrr, opium fields under our spell? I’d love to dance as poised as Bebe Neuwirth, though).

But my courage, like the cowardly lion, is instilled from fear of yet more injury. I don’t bare in silence and acceptance like Jessica Clements, a young soldier who braved her massive brain injuries from Iraq, still proud to be a soldier. Mine is a whiny courage.

Standing here, neither Ms. Joan of Arc nor Lady Godiva (who earned me a scholarship to UCLA when I was eighteen writing about her), but just a person, silly enough, stubborn enough, or maybe truly courageous/worried enough to take a stand. Okay, a little exhibitionistic— but always doing it for real causes— and, dare I add any labeling of the overly misused “patriot”— for democracy and for the integrity of self.

Wave the flag, expose your nudity and shout for what’s right. Now, if I could only find a great pair of ruby slippers, click my heels and get a home of my own. (Maybe the five, new aesthetically gorgeous, fully functional windmills added to the Atlantic City skyscape can generate a giving breeze.) A brave King Charming would be welcome, to share with me “the bed" people say "I've made” and can someday hope “to sleep in.” Fairy Tales can eventually have happy endings and so, too, one must believe, our life paths, and our society, when we speak and follow our truths.

Wednesday, June 07, 2006

Love Is In The Air

It’s got that summer feel everywhere, and the birds, and the bees and lots of new couples are doing it.

In the past month two different planned first-dates were cancelled a few days before getting together with me. Each because they already were dating someone who they decided to become exclusive with. And a male friend, who I cuddle with from time-time, informed me when we got together yesterday, that he was on a new one-month-trial commitment with a woman he knew for years that just last week became romantic. We hugged as he gave me sexy but gentlemanly compliments about our previous cuddle-ability. He was proud that he could be sexually committed to one woman for a time, and that we could still hang out as friends. And I was happy for his happiness, but told him he could have told me before we got together, so I’d have dressed with a little less anticipation. (Thankfully, I had pleased myself in preparation earlier.)

Bravo to all three of these men. They were honorable to their new women and to me, flattering by thanking me for the allure I had originally enticed them with, and (being men and pragmatists) each implied the door may re-open, just in case. But you could tell they were smitten by their women and wanted these blossoming relationships to keep growing onward.

Oh, well, timing and location is everything and it’s my summer to look out through the window— not pursue or be pursued, it seems. All my friends say I should just find a nice young stud, just let him give me a series of good times. I crave a domestic relationship, a man who is my compadre-amour, at this time of my life, but what the hay, maybe a light-hearted frolic, might give me the after-glow I need to go out there and slay the dragons.

Because of the book, I have met many polyamorists, swingers, or just people open to sexual experimentation with others. Some are single, others in committed relationships. For many of them, their choices truly have provided them emotional and spiritual expansion, along with the physical fun. Personally, I really prefer to be monogamous. But my own experience with a series of threesome encounters with the same two men, allowed me to discover my inner queen. I always performed for men, and not that I didn’t do my share of special treats for these two guys, but they were devoting their attentions to me, more than wanting for themselves. My sensuality became reveled in myself, with all their simultaneous touches and kisses on my body.

I need to remember those experiences more. Welcoming a man’s “giving” to me, in ways I need him to, not only the ways he fantasizes that all women will respond to. It’s a tough lesson for many women. Many of us have been indoctrinated on how to catch a man, how to please a man, how to keep a man etc, etc. Yet men always tell me their priority and their main satisfaction is in knowing they pleased their woman. It should be a matter of equal give-take, but first many of us women need to be brave enough to let guys know what we want for our bodies and our relationships. It’s the most honest and self-powered way.

In the meantime, rather than ponder the depth of Mar’s and Venus’ sexual meaning, I’ll just relax in the wonderful companionship of my platonic males friends.

Later, last night I had dinner at Julio and Jeff’s place with our friend John. We cooked and laughed and talked. And John walked me home from the short bus ride. I love walking at night, and as John said the same feel is also “in the rain”. Both bring magic in the air, a kind of hush, pregnant with future knowing of what the sunny, day lit –world will be bring.

It had been another good day. One filled with many kinds of waiting, but with the comforts of sharing the little moments with friends.

Monday, June 05, 2006

Family Values (JUST IN: Bush as Caligula—coming soon to a theater near you?)

Saturday night I attended my nephew’s bar mitzvah. My ex-husband’s kin has always been all-embracing, a living example of extended family. We are a motley grouping of many sub-tribes— Asian, Jew, Afro, Latin, Euro-Anglo, Middle Eastern, West-East-Mid Coast, WASP, Catholic, Mormon, recent immigrant to 5th generation American, and everything in between. We are, married, living-together, long-ago divorced, mostly straight but also one or two openly gay. Friends have attended so many family events that they, too, have become family; aunties and uncles often indistinguishable of how they are connected. And there are caravans of kids. My 22-year-old son is the eldest grandchild of the central clan, and I held one of his thirty younger cousins, a pre-two toddler, for a delectably cuddly 15- minutes. There’s nothing like the feel of an (albeit) happy baby or toddler, wide-eyed trusting in your care, to remind you of what this life is all about. The point is we are a definition of American familia—no matter our many differences of age, politics, religion, income or (usually) undisclosed sexual proclivities.

MARRIAGE RESOLUTION: tax-saving initiative
Yesterday Bush had again announced his (pre-mid-term- election- timed) attempt to pass a constitutional amendment defining marriage: (Sidebar: please see below for the new Bush sexual scandal allegations. )

"Ages of experience have taught us that the commitment of a husband and a wife to love and to serve one another promotes the welfare of children and the stability of society," said Mr. Bush. "Marriage cannot be cut off from its cultural, religious and natural roots, without weakening this good influence on society."

Agreed. Marriage does promote the welfare of children and stability of society. That’s the very reason why there should NOT be an amendment restricting it. What Bush and the religious right miss is that “marriage” runs much deeper than the committed union of two people of opposite genders. The nuclear family (illustrating Bush’s favorite much war-mangled pronunciation of that word, with a tad different meaning this time) is for most of us reassuring, intimate, but delicate, and is oft-cited to be endangered by society’s dysfunctions. This traditional notion of a mom and dad with their offspring, has without question expanded in real life, never was universal and many sociologists claim is a modern phenomena away from the truly traditional extended family.

The change away from the nuclear family is not the dysfunction, as the conservative right fears. It is the inflexible adaptation, the desire to control with hate-fear-goaded restriction against embracing each person’s, and each family’s, rights to take its equal place in society; and with it, our society’s refusal to honor all our children, and those who raise them, with equal dignity and care. That is the “family values” dysfunction.

Above the alluring symbolic romance of courtship and wedding, marriage is a legal and economic construct, in which the spouses willingly obligate each other in a “family unit” with bound intentions to care-give and share financial cooperation for their mutual benefit. There are some archaic male-female polarities, which in transitional societies like ours will sort itself out in time. But its very legal standing is supposed to give pause to a couple’s breaking of that bond when times are difficult. For Government this is a financial protective. Like child support, marriage laws guide provisions for children and spouses when divorce does happen, so they are less prone to be dependent on the state. On an economic self-interest level alone, a tax-saving conservative government should be pro-marriage for anyone and everyone, be it polyamorists, gays, or traditional units. (Yes, you naysayers, under our current systems business will have increased health insurance costs and there’d be a dip in tax revenue with married folk filing together, but no fear, laws change to favor business and taxes, inevitably.)

In a democracy, each individual and family should be sacrosanct, the building blocks, and very reason for nation. Hillary Clinton, who has not of recent date shown belief-consistency with many issues, was right-on with the knowing experience of mother and First Lady, as much as lawyer-politician. It DOES take a village to raise a child. But it is the village that needs to reassess its priorities, first. Rather than restricting families’ attempts to create meaningful contracts of marriage and obligation to each other, Americans should be putting our energies into being a true pro-child society. Not by indoctrinating our children as patriotic consumers, a crime that can be levied at both republicans and democrats, media and business, but with an emphasis of real education for our children, enabling them to choose individual thought and be informed and involved citizens. Instead of endless back-and-forth about the morality of abortion, we should be working at ways to help families in need to belong in our economy so they can better guide their children. If we need an amendment, America, it should be a profession of family— its dignity for each American’s right to create his/her definition of family in support of our children, above all. (Childless by Choice singles and families, chill. You were kids once, too.)

The Condi- George W. Bush Sex Scandal AND Bush as a Bi-Sexual American?

As family is about love, acceptance and support, this week’s very edgy news gossip-items might give us clue to an ulterior motive for Bush’s lip service to his re-use of the “compassionate conservatism” theme.

"As this debate (Marriage ) goes forward, we must remember that every American deserves to be treated with tolerance, respect and dignity," President Bush declared."
Perhaps Mr Bush has been asking for coded forgiveness all along to save his own (somehow unimaginable) sex -craving ass. According to a few emerging sources we might be seeing headlines that would make Clinton’s overtures tame—

The Wayne Madsen Report

“June 3, 2006 -- WMR can report that a Mayflower Hotel staffer has confirmed that First Lady Laura Bush spent at least one night this past week at the hotel, which is four blocks north of the White House”
Citing Leola McConnell, Democratic candidate for Governor of Nevada and former Professional Dominatrix (hey, it's Vegas, and the Republicans have a former porn star running)

“June 4, 2006-- In 1984, I watched him perform (with the enthusiasm of homosexual male who had done this many times before) a homosexual act on another man, namely Victor Ashe. Victor Ashe is the current Ambassador to the nation of Poland who should also come out like former Governor McGreevey of New Jersey and admit to being a gay American.”

AND, there's this from April of 2004:
Condoleeza’s publice declaration of Bush as almost-husb(and) during a media-attended party.

Are these bits:
a) malicious rumor b) none- of- our- business anyway or c) further proof of Bush’s Moral Self-Hypocrisies’ of Everything (aka Bush as Caligula, coming soon to a theater near you)

The Political Spinning of Time will tell.

Tuesday, May 30, 2006

The Good Sex Fairy's Top 10 List For Your Health

To prove to you that not all my entries are deep, here are 10 fun reasons why sex is good for your health. (Comments appreciated, sil vous plait: what's your favorite health reason to co-mingle your bod with another's? )

Committed to journalistic integrity, as I am :), I must note that though I've heard of these benefits before, and experience a lot of them myself, I can't attest that they've been double-blind researched. The original SEX FAIRY List is said to be hanging at the Dwight House Pub. I did google the establishment for their number. There was a biker club by that name in Illionois. No matter the time of day called, there was no answer. Maybe the Sex Fairy has everyone otherwise occupied? (Do you think she is like the tooth fairy, leaving a little money under your pillow, too?)

Go to the Link on our website to see the pictures in motion.
And, no, bad luck probably won't happen to your genitals, if you don't pass this on ( as it commands you at the end). But if you do send it to someone you fancy, you just might have, and be giving him or her, the most fun, yummiest, nature-endowed, health tonic out there ... Bon Appétit!
The Sex Fairy
Be sure to read the warning at the bottom.
Don't be messing with the Sex Fairy!

1. Sex is a beauty treatment. Scientific tests find that when women make love they produce amounts of the hormone estrogen, which makes hair shine and skin smooth.

2. Gentle, relaxed lovemaking reduces your chances of suffering dermatitis, skin rashes and blemishes. The sweat produced cleanses the pores and makes your skin glow.

3. Lovemaking can burn up those calories you piled on during that romantic dinner.

4. Sex is one of the safest sports you can take up. It stretches and tones up just about every muscle in the body. It's more enjoyable than swimming 20 laps, and you don't need special sneakers!

5. Sex is an instant cure for mild depression. It releases endorphins into the bloodstream, producing a sense of euphoria and leaving you with a feeling of well-being.

6. The more sex you have, the more you will be offered. The sexually active body gives off greater quantities of chemicals called pheromones. These subtle sex perfumes drive the opposite sex crazy!

7 . Sex is the safest tranquilizer in the world. IT IS 10 TIMES MORE EFFECTIVE THAN VALIUM.

8. Kissing each day will keep the dentist away. Kissing encourages saliva to wash food from the teeth and lowers the level of the acid that causes decay, preventing plaque build-up.

9. Sex actually relieves headaches. A lovemaking session can release the tension that restricts blood vessels in the brain.

10. A lot of lovemaking can unblock a stuffy nose. Sex is a natural antihistamine. It can help combat asthma and hay fever.

This message has been sent to you for good luck in sex. The original is in a room in the basement of the Dwight House Pub. It has been sent around the world nine times. Now sex has been sent to you. The "Hot Sex Fairy" will visit you within four days of receiving this message, provided you, in turn, send it on.
If you don't, then you will never receive good sex again for the rest of your life. You will eventually become celibate, and your genitals will rot and fall off. This is no joke! Send copies to people you think need sex (who doesn't?). Don't send money, as the fate of your genitals has no price.
Do not keep this message. This message must leave your e-mail in .5 hours. Please send ten copies and see what happens in four days.


Sunday, May 28, 2006


The American Roman Catholic church is undergoing a core theological controversy.
One with much less painful examination and victimization than the sexual abuse scandals, or even that of the Opus Dei’s battle for its reputation against the DaVinci Code’s book and movie portrayals.

But the recent positional change from “kneeling to standing” during the Eucharist, though seemingly inane at first glance, is primordially symbolic to how humans communicate our most basic interchanges with each other, in support of our beliefs, through the messages of our bodies. It’s calisthenical thought, for all of us, on the meaning of gesture.

Long the subject of Protestant giggles as testament to the impersonalized feudalistic Christianity that Roman Catholicism embodied, the rote, ritualistic “stand- sit- kneel” instructional during the liturgical Mass, is both comfortable choreography and reminder of willing group obedience for adherents, a deference of self to belief and community.

The church has since Vatican II in the 60s been known to accommodate its rituals to democratize its traditions: a universal Latin- language Mass gave way to each country’s native speech, the elimination of female head veils, taking communion by hand as opposed to outstretched tongue, and the almost hippie-like hand-shake of “peace be with you” now prescribed (uncomfortably for many) to be exchanged between all fellow-congregants within each other’s pew’s reach.

Apparently, this latest issue concerning genuflection was generated four years ago during the US Church’s Revised Adaptations to the Institutio Generalis Missalis Romani. While kneeling has long been regarded as a respectful display of awe in belief of Christ’s transformation, the new adherence to “not kneel” is a return to the earliest centuries of the Church, seeing Jesus as a man-God, and linking our individual mortal roots from devine origin as possibility of achieving our own acts of goodness. A cyclo-revolutionary stance that Christians can choose to become “Christ-like” in their actions to others and a union of sorts akin to the Hebrew Jehovah’s original YHVH origins of godhead, meaning “to move from that which is, to that which ought to be.

But at least one priest is getting down-right ‘fire and brimstone’, forcing his congregation to comply with this stance of equality under threat of excommunication. The LA Times reported today that Huntingdon Beach’s Father Martin Tran, a new pastor at St. Mary's by the Sea, told his flock in a church bulletin that
“Kneeling is clearly rebellion, grave disobedience and mortal sin.”
Rather than guiding his flock in the spirit of loving Sheppard of the church, he is old-school ruler-berating them as transgressors against his holy lead. Turns out the doctrinal change by the US Bishop’s Committee on the Liturgy is not mandatory, but meant to be a flexible choice for American Catholics. Father Tran’s obsessive flagellative posturing reminds one of Bush’s neo-cons buddies’ self-decreed manifest destiny of forced world democratized dominion, no matter the human cost or reason.

To kneel or stand or bow. To kiss or hug, to wave or shake someone’s hand; to cover one’s face or head, to greet cheek- to- cheek, or maybe rub noses. Moslems prostrate, Buddhists and Hindus meditate in the lotus. Americans applaud after their anthem, while other nations regard silent after-thought as more reverential to their anthems. Every culture— and animal in the natural world, in fact— chooses its physical phylum of respect and decorum, and its degree of offense when not observed; a fine line to which manifest gesture is revered or penalized.

Those who follow the libertine, aka much of Howard Stern’s generated in- your- face anti-censorship non-methodology, may say “kiss my ass.” But to those of us who revere the creative there is a courtly beauty in, at least , occasional submission to ritualistic (e)motion, be it with a lover, to a faith, or a nation. (The missionary position is included in the Kama Sutra, after all.)

The danger is not in agreed rules of order themselves, so much in their process and created intent of ordained abuse against individual freedom. The US, like the political Catholic Church has much to apologize for, in its historical laws against human dignity. In America, the FCC, the Supreme Court and Congress, are mandated to maintain the balance of open individual freedom of speech, while ensuring rules of order benefiting the nation, as a whole. The failure to recognize this duty of protecting free speech, while bending-over to special interests, is the crime perpetuated against We the People, our Constitution, and Bill of Rights.

In love and sex, life and politics, sometimes the way we touch or nod our head or utter a word, metaphorical or actual, can make all the difference. True sin is in the dehumanized intent against the body, mind and soul. Quoting HBO’s Ali G character, it’s all about “Respec!”— how we show it and how we earn it, while we move about the world we create.

Saturday, May 27, 2006

Evolutionary Salvation

Spent the day not-ing: not–writing, not-cleaning, not-rambling, around the house to and fro. Some sits ups here, a few googles there, holistic tea-totaling (and last night’s wine) gave way to coffee drinking self-indulgence, contemplating my navel ( a moderate innie) on how to create a stiff upper lip toward worldly success (or just mere survival). Way of the dinosaur, I hear of today’s catastrophes, a devastatig earthquake in Indonesia, alleged Camp Pendleton Iraqi civilian murders, and the daily routines of my family and friends. An online magazine called Failure (hey, I’m in a mood) mentions the Voluntary Human Extinction Movement’s annihilistic approach to saving the world (an apparent one-upping of the zero-population growth sustainability movement of the 70s). Blindly or courageously, ala the lemmings, and earthquakes, we should go.

I close my eyes. Only a fantasy can save me today.

A mysterious lover appears behind me. (Do I know him? Is he the protective Angel Damiel ? Or a reality from my future?) Chills of promising rapture greet the left side of my neck with the first gentle stroke of his confident fingers’ caress, followed by strong slow kisses tracing my shoulder and over both my arms. He guides his potent body around me, a girder enveloping my frame; holding me securely, sheltering me with care. He is there for me, now and later, unquestioning of who I am to be. He knows my strength is just in wait for him, for me, for the world.

Ahhh, Calgon, do tell those guys who think their cunnilingual offerings of the moment make them king, what a woman really craves. Perhaps then, dear Darwin, conservatives, the religious right and even liberal men will have "come" full philogynous- phylogenical circle to the mysteries of our mutual salvation. Oral desserts, are a well-deserved topping.

Thursday, May 18, 2006

Hot Monkey Sex

Recent anthropological research has been finding evidence that Homo sapien mated with other Homo species. A prehistoric child's skull was discovered in Portugal's Lapedo Valley in 1999
with both Neandertal and H. sapien features, and an adolescent skeleton in Romania's Carpathian Mountains found in 2003 is also hypothesized to be a hybrid with a different, but another intriguing combination of both species.

There also is some evidence of intermingled communities with sharing of arts and tool-making.

But today's article in the The Boston Globe, "Humans,Chimps May Have Bred After Split" is going to really shake Christian conservatives.

"... researchers, working at the Cambridge-based Broad Institute of Harvard and MIT, used a wealth of newly available genetic data to estimate the time when the first human ancestors split from the chimpanzees. The team arrived at an answer that is at least 1 million years later than paleontologists had believed, based on fossils of early, humanlike creatures.

The lead scientist said that this jarring conflict with the fossil record, combined with a number of other strange genetic patterns the team uncovered, led him to a startling explanation: that human ancestors evolved apart from the chimpanzees for hundreds of thousands of years, and then started breeding with them again before a final break"

Will this get us closer to solving both the Neandertal Schwarzenegger and G.W. Bush monkey riddles?

Wednesday, May 17, 2006

Shake that Butt and Save the World

Being a regular woman super-hero, you know, fighting for liberty, justice and the pursuit of a slice of my own and others’ rights to happiness, in the words of the Erin Brokovich character -- makes me “really quite tired”. (Contradicting the rest of that quote’s punch line-- I haven’t had opportunity to perform 634 sexual blow jobs, as of late... .) Getting ready to attend two conferences in DC this weekend, Book Expo and Michael Lerner’s Network of Spiritual Progressives , I find myself energized by deadlines, yet lagging, with a general “just-one- of- those- days” funkiness.

So, in a symbolic homeopathic Law of Similars what better way to conquer a funk than with a funk of another kind? Turned on the Cable Music channels and the first thing that came on was Old School rap. Now, I’m not a big rap listener. (Sorry, Tim McGraw-Faith Hill-NASCAR fans, Country’s not my speed of mojo, either. ) But Grandmaster Flash and Treacherous 3 vibrated just the right kind of repetitive beat and underlying jam that rolled my body and soul back to the deep-down joy- loving “ain’t the world grand” kind of real-me.

Fabric gets in the way when I dance—guess the old burlesque background from college days permanently exudes from my skin whenever there’s music – so I changed from my mid-spring, long –sleeved, computer- anguished, baggy shirt into a crop top. Started with firm, jolting diagonal rib and pelvic thrusts, very primal-powered; playing alternating speeds with more seductive arm sways, I moved over to a full length mirror (ballet-training posture check) and found myself sweating enough to strip the clothes. Sir Mix A Lot’s “Baby Got Back” hula-gyrated my hips. And then returned to torso-shifting, foot-working to the Mr.Clean genie-pants jiving MC Hammer’s “Turn This Mutha Out”. Not too shabby for a 46-year old ma’am, eh?

Last week driving on the Atlantic City Expressway, I was mesmerized by the Chili Peppers’ trippy tongue-trilling “Give it away, GiveItAway, GiveItAway, GiveItAway, GiveItAway, now.” While Gangsta rap’s misogynistic phrasing and culture are an infantile defecation, not a cathartic tool (Law of Similars--like the nationalistically sanctioned war monging mantra “weapons of mass destruction” jargon), this Old School rap talks the God-given body human.

But let’s not “give it away” rather “give it with.”

What would happen if Congress had to vote law in a dance-off? Or couples had to dance divorce court in a show-and-tell display of their anger-love-confusion-power-needs? Iraq—Bush vs Sadam: Round One: Arthur Murray School of Dance , Round Two: the French Foreign Legion waltz scene in Marty Feldman’s 1977 parody of The Last Remake of Beau Geste . In schools and on the job— the controversial Moment of Silence (what is wrong with taking time to ponder or pray?) could be paired with a moment of Sir Mix’s recommendation to “Shake That Butt”.

Take a moment, stop whatever you’re doing, right now, and just shake that butt…feels good doesn’t it? Yeahh, it’s good to be alive in a physical body.

Signing off, my mid-day break— with Kool Moe Dee’s “I Go to Work” – a lot bouncier for the rest of this day. Tomorrow, perhaps a touch of Vivaldi?

Sunday, May 14, 2006

“Mother, May I” and How Male-Tree Sex and Masturbation Month Affect Your Health

It’s Mother’s Day, a well intended tribute to our moms, and in many ways, all of womankind, for the essence of healthy feminine spirit, love and nurturance in our lives. (Ladies, should we include the “all-out” bitches, in our midst, as well?)

My own mother, who taught me early-on to stand up for what is just and for those who need help, is always there when I fall from my many travails. (I’ve given her more cause to distress in my adult years than in my quieter adolescence.) My ninety-four year old maternal Granny did grandmotherly things with me, like sharing a pizza “with the works” when I was a teen— we understood together with the first bite why anchovies got that reputation. I met my paternal Oma, only once, with distance and language a barrier, the shy-loving way she placed her gift of a dainty crucifix necklace in my hand, when I was eight. In photos from that visit, I see her adoring gaze on my father and my brother and me. How her heart must have ached to see these two grandchildren for the first time, knowing it might be never again. And her youngest child, my father, that this, too, was fated to be the last time they saw each other. My womanhood has been influenced, by so many of my female relatives, special moments with my aunts, ex-mother-in-law, and more recently, conversations with my ex-boyfriend’s aunt. Male family members in my life have affected me, of course, but that’s for another day’s writing. Except, acknowledging that my mothering of my son was shaped (and sometimes mis-shaped) with him, as all children intuitively dance that dance of co-parenting of, and with, their parents. Thank you, my son.

Much of my sexual writing stems from my own life-long desire for male partnership and union (anyone who meets me or reads my blogs knows that I love the virility of men, even platonically). But I haven’t written enough about the love I’ve gotten and given with my female friends. I’ve long wanted to thank in writing all of my girlfriends, some of whom are mothers, others with whom they and I have mothered each other during crisis, small and large. Thanks to Becky, Helen, Nora, Cory, Leah, Annemarie and Flora for reaching out to me, for housing me, for making me go out and circulate again, for understanding my distress during the past year of difficult personal and career transition. And about 50 others of you girlfriends over the decades, who have understood sister-sister what it means to feel, listen, give advice, share tales, cry with each other and giggle like school girls. Even women I’ve met for a short time, or once, have often left a touching memory with a shared thought, in ways men can’t.

The truth in my life, and many women’s lives, is that most men, especially lovers, have disappointed, emotionally, in their lack of even momentary protection when we are in need. I think American men aren’t sure where to place themselves in the role of protector, so they over-control or abandon us. And maybe we women are unclear of our roles in that regard, of supporting and protecting our men, as well. There’s been an unnatural division in our grasp of defining equality.

Robert Bly’s mesopoetic movement, caricatured in the media with men bonding by roaring and running naked in the woods, was actually on the right track, as is feminism, when defined in its attempt to humanize for all of us, not in its extreme to make woman anti-male. Robert Bly names “shame” as the reason for male emotional impotence. Riane Eisler’s classic The Chalice and the Blade names the “dominator” society (be it male or female) which needs to give way to a “partnership” society, to value our differences and compliment the integration of them for our mutual benefit. It’s about respect and value and appreciation and giving each other support.

Our natural world mimics our society and visa-versa. The estrogenization of nature due to chemicals in our water and food supply (xenoestrogens) has been documented in everything from male frogs developing eggs in their testes to young girls starting menstruation at ten. A faux feminine bath regulates us by food and drink. Paradoxically, there is artificial masculine influence from tree pollen in the air we breathe. Urban and suburban planners decided in the 1950s that since female trees were messy— bearing fruits and seeds— that male trees would be more economical for municipalities to maintain. ( In some human societies, men also decree that menstruating women should be isolated away from the village , and girl babies are killed because they are not as valuable as boys). Scientists now say that the 33% increase in allergies and asthma over those many years are somewhat related to the over-abundance of pollen (male seed).

Metaphorically, like the preponderance of male trees, more men seem to flounder out of fear, or ego, or who knows what (as we women estrogen-flagellate you for your inability to give or commit) and end up “spraying their seed”(emotional and physical) in the wind (or tissue).
On the bright side, if you’re gay – man or boy-tree— all this musky tree pheromone talk must be heaven-scented.

Which all leads in a circuitous way to another holdiday in May —Masturbation Month.
Good Vibrations designated this month in 1996, and seems to have not commented much on it for 2006. But Dr. Susan Block added it to a blog comment to a Gay Talese interview in Truthdig.
Our own International Threesome Observance Day celebrates March 3 for the sexual and scientific combo of “threes”, and Valentines Day, of course, and most of February, is devoted to couples ( Big Love aside, and not against polyamory, traditionally couples of “two”, not four, for our example of “two”).

So, Bravo and Salute, to an entire month dedicated to the solo-sexual adventure. Makes sense that the sexually explorative Greeks in Delphi “knew” that the biblical “to Know” was best demonstrated by “know thyself” first. Applause to Betty Dobson and Jocelyn Elders for courageously guiding us to American self-touch acceptance (and, no, it doesn't make you blind or hairy- palmed unless that's your fetish. The animated Comedy-central cartoon, Drawn Together, even shows the healing and commercial wealth potential of masturbating-created clum babies)

As Susie Bright says, “Clits up! ( and a celebratory wish for penises, too; They can both be up – and co-ejaculating together, at the same time, how about?)
And for this one, on Mother’s Day, the month of May or any of the remaining 334 days, you need not ask mom-- “Mother, May I”.