Thursday, August 30, 2007

Vengeance & Rage- Jealousy Un-masked- Part II

:Woman Scorned, by Maram McWilliams:

“The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the iniquities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he, who in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who would attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee. “-Samuel Jackson, as Jules, heard in the film "Pulp Fiction"

Samuel Jackson was already one my favorite actors when this speech solidified my Sam-worship. Jackson’s character, a hit man with a spiritual side, would deliver the monologue above in a chilling executioner-like manner before he pumped his captive full of lead.

His monologue is actually based on Ezekiel 25:17, a Bible verse stating, “And I will execute great vengeance upon them with furious rebukes; and they shall know that I am the Lord, when I shall lay my vengeance upon them.”

Similar, no?

And if that's not enough, other examples can be found throughout the Bible where acts of retribution and “eye for an eye” theories flourished. “God” gets ticked off when we worship other deities, and He hates it when we disobey orders. In fact, during the entire length of the Old Testament God is smiting, destroying, and pillaging because he’s one jealous, angry, bitter old dude.

The problem with this belief system is the lust for revenge is endless. You smite me, and I smite you right back, and so the cycle goes. Until, that is, someone finally breaks the circle with forgiveness. Unfortunately, human beings bear the genetic imprint- a retributive stamp of pain- accumulated from ancestors, heritage, and if you want to go there…past lives too.

These primal feelings (cell memories) remain lodged in our subconscious and affect our relationships. Thus, when faced with a partner’s infidelity (or imagined infidelity) instinct kicks in. Once jealousy is aroused the tendency is to revert to our primal nature when threatened. Rational thought processes are discarded and the animal is released. Extreme examples of this type of behavior would include crimes of passion and half the bar fights I’ve seen over the course of my life.

Now, readers, let me just say, I’m a nice girl. However, some of the things I’ve done to my lovers in the past in the name of revenge have been really mean, if not outright horrible. Lovers were surprised by my malice because I seemed, on the surface, laid-back and uncomplicated. I told lovers, “I’m the most non-jealous person in the world!”, but was thinking, “I don’t care if you flirt with her, I’ll hook up with 10 guys to your one girl, Ha!” It didn’t matter if I actually did it (which yes, sometimes I did!) but the threat was there. Clearly, I wanted to have my partner by the balls. Do This or else. Do This or I will (insert consequence). Obviously, I am a jealous person, but was masking my feelings with revenge/control/manipulation tactics instead of admitting it. As one can imagine, this attitude has caused a lot of unnecessary pain in my relationships with others and internally as well.

For instance, my ex-girlfriend is a flirt AND she’s incredibly cute. I’d cringe each time a pretty girl would even walk in her direction. However, on one particular night I was especially worried. A tall dark-haired, tan, exotic-looking sexy grrl had been eye-fucking her for at least an hour when she finally walked over and struck up a conversation. I stomped off in the other direction, looking for some poor unsuspecting girl to flirt with while she talked. Eventually, sexy tan grrl and my girlfriend parted ways, and I was relieved, but still pissed.

I grabbed a twenty dollar bill out of my wallet, and made my way across the room toward tall tan girl. I took the $20 bill, marched up to the table she was sitting at with her friends and said, “Do you see that girl over there (pointing to my lover)? That’s my girlfriend. But, I’m soooooo tired of her, I’ll give you twenty bucks if you’ll take her home.” I threw the bill down on the table and walked out of the club with my pride in tow.

Evidently, insults of that caliber are enough to kill a relationship.

In hindsight, my behavior was clearly motivated by jealousy. This, strangely, coming from the girl who said she didn’t have a jealous bone in her body. However, that was then and this is now. It’s never too late to bring our negative behavioral patterns into our field of awareness. It’s never too late to learn the art of self love, healing, and forgiveness. And, it’s never too late to try again.

Stay tuned for Part III, when a guest blogger makes his mysterious presence known to weigh in on the jealousy factor.

Monday, August 27, 2007

Ownership, Control, and Possession- Part I

“I cannot make the changes smoothly, from one relationship to another. Some parts of me tear off like a fragment, fly here and there. I lose vital parts of myself, some part of me stays in that hotel room, a part of me is walking away from this place of haven, a part of me following another as he walks down the street alone, or perhaps not alone: someone may take my place at his side while I am here, that will be my punishment, and someone will take my place here when I leave.”
- A Spy in the House of Love, Anais Nin

Subversion in the House of Love

When I was in college, my boyfriend worked the night shift.

There were nights when I counted the broken paint chips on some stranger’s wall long after the passion waned, my bored eyes darted back and forth between the indentations while he slept, satisfied, next to me. And then, the next morning, I’d fly off of his couch in a frenzy, my back drenched from the summer heat and the smoky stale humid air. I longed to reach my destination so I could start the detoxification process. The fitful restless sleep the night before did nothing to squelch my mounting guilt.

First, I would remove my clothes, carefully depositing them in the hamper, wrapping the soiled fabric in clothes from the bottom of the pile. His cheap cologne saturated it and the new scent would be easily discernable to a suspicious nose. Next, I’d wash myself, soaking in a lavender sea salt bath. Depending on where he left his seed the night before, I thoroughly scrubbed each area of my body clean with a wash cloth. Standing naked in front of a full length mirror, I inspected my neck, arms, breasts, back, and ass for any dubious markings and then applied a generous portion of lotion to all the sensitive parts. And last, but not least, the removal of the spunk-filled taste from my mouth assisted by rigorous brushing, flossing, and rinsing.

“I fake it so real, I am beyond fake.” *

All of my “preparations” for his arrival did nothing to erase the guilt from the night before, I was a cheater, and my careful physical cleansing could not change it. In fact, it actually increased my anxiety at the thought of being “discovered”. What was I hiding from? Why was I lying? Did the relationship mean that little to me? And if not, why was I deliberately deceiving him?

I know my boyfriend was under the impression he was in a monogamous relationship. And, I, for the first time in my life, was entertaining thoughts of forever. Yet, internally, I was a fragmented woman, living a double, if not quadruple life. But still, I felt the pressure to be “the woman he wanted me to be” - monogamous, possessed, and contained. I was his woman. The container was air tight and even though it was safe, I was suffocating because I wasn’t able to truly be myself.

“The Fox Confessor Brings the Flood” **

My ‘true self’ was an adventurous, young twenty-something who needed and craved sexual freedom. And even though I was desperate to protect the relationship and my investment in the relationship at any cost, I had a rebellious, independent, willful streak, which refused to be tamed. I saw other women my age gradually lose themselves in relationships that did not honor, support, or nourish them on a soul level. Tremendous effort and energy were infused into these toxic pairings at the expense of their personhood. Dreams were abandoned or put on hold “indefinitely” each day until there was only a shell remaining. Individuality discarded, these women embodied the exact opposite of what I wanted.

“You’re such an inspiration for the way I would never ever choose to be.” ***

At the time, I didn’t understand why or how I might live differently, but I knew then traditional monogamy was not for me. However, I was at a loss as to how I might explain these startling revelations to my sweet, intelligent, amazing, sexy boyfriend without losing him. Certainly, at the first hint of infidelity he would be out the door sooner than I could get a word out.

“I want to be the girl with the most cake.” *

For two years, I continued to flirt with disaster and sabotage the relationship with my subversive behavior. Eventually, it was an intense relationship with another woman which ultimately killed it. Losing him, even though I’d been fucking around for quite sometime, left me no less devastated than if I had been faithful the entire time. Because what I really desired was his acceptance and absolution. If I could’ve admitted each transgression to him, while he held me and loved me anyway, it would’ve been bliss.

“I begged the moon and the stars above for sacred love.” ****

We can never “own” anyone, regardless of how hard we push ourselves on them. Each person is like a vast universe unto themselves and trying to possess another is a futile attempt to play God. Recognizing there will be parts of our partners we never will have access to, or be able to touch is key. And, hell, even if you could own, control and posses all aspects of your lover, would you want to? Observing and uncovering the mystery of another human being is half the fun.

Jealousy strips us of the opportunity to learn from one another. It clouds our vision, confuses, and yes, it fucking burns. Owning and controlling another is not love and attachment is not love. Allowing our partner the freedom to be and to become is the highest order and the most honest way to love someone.

However, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t fucking burn.

Sally Sunshine may look pretty evolved from where she’s standing right now…but just wait…. Stay tuned for Part II, when I examine my own jealous attempts to control others.

Let the burning commence.

*Lyrics: Doll Parts, Hole

**Lyrics: The Fox Confessor Brings the Flood, Neko Case

***Lyrics: Judith, A Perfect Circle

**** Lyrics: Sacred Love, Sting

Wednesday, August 22, 2007

Water from the Well

Readers, a good fantasy is a terrible thing to waste. I should know- I haven’t had a decent one for weeks. Had I known the landscape was so barren, I would’ve packed a book. Or a movie. Or hell, even some cheesy straight porn. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

In the past, my fantasy life was rockin’. There was a multitude of fresh scenes and people to draw upon. But, as all artists know, to ignite the flame you need water from the well. And people, the ‘well’ isn’t gonna fill itself. We need to be relentless in our pursuit of new ideas, activities, and sources of inspiration so we don’t dry up.

Listed below are examples of fantasies that used to get me off starting with the tame and then gradually building towards the vile.

1) Its late summer/early fall and I’m wearing a short cotton sun dress. My lover finds me lying down on my back in bed of flowers. I look up and see him/her (gender changes frequently, of course) standing in the sun light. Him/Her does not utter a single word. As I begin to pull up my dress, inch by inch, it starts to rain. But, it’s not a cold rain, it’s a hot rain. The ground is wet, and the dirt under me turns to mud. I can feel my body sinking into the earth as he/she bends down to touch me. My lover fucks me, first slowly and then fast. I reach for something to grab hold of, as my body descends farther into the Earth. Finally, with my finger nails digging into the ground and mud between my toes, I cum.

2) Pretending to be unconscious while he fucks me.
I’m not feeling particularly well, my body is sore and I’m tired. Before my (male) lover comes over I swallow two sleeping pills to take the edge off. As I’m drifting off, my lover quietly enters my house and shuts the door. He finds me on my bed laying face down and floating in and out consciousness. He doesn’t say hello or wake me up. He starts to rub my back lightly while I sleep. His touch brings me out of my dream world, but not completely. When he places one hand on his cock and the other one on my ass, I’m barely aware of it, yet I know he’s getting hard. Eventually, he withdraws his hand from his cock and starts to finger me. Even though I’m sleeping, I’m responsive and wet. He pulls up on my hips and fucks me from behind, slowly but forcefully. Even the excess movement doesn’t wake me and almost immediately he has the urge to cum. He pulls out and while holding his cock, cums all over my ass. I can feel his cum, wet and cold, sliding down between my ass cheeks. He reaches over to grab a towel and wipe it clean while I drift off into a deep sleep.

And last, but not least… the gang bang.

Surprisingly, many women I know have also had this fantasy, and will admit it, as long as I do first. It’s like, “Hey girls, have you ever fantasized about getting fucked by a lot of men at the same time? I have.” Then, it’s on.

Gang bangs have actually been a reoccurring fantasy for me as I have pictured it in many different situations with a variety of people. I started to realize I had a fascination with it about a year ago when I purchased the book, “The Sexual Life of Catherine M.” Her frank discussion of gang bangs, orgies, and anonymous pairings with strangers really got my juices flowing. I used to read passages from her book at night while I got myself off. Talk about water from the well! Feed me!

There were two passages in particular that never failed to get the job done. The first takes place in a sex club in Paris. She is lined up with a few other women on top of a bar/ wooden table. She has no clothes on, just knee-high black boots. There is a long line of men who are waiting to fuck her. Sometimes she let’s them fuck her in the ass, but either way, she cannot see them because she is facing the wall with her ass in the air. She can hear their hushed conversations, but does not know any of them. She lets each one fuck her until she physically cannot sustain it any longer.

The next passage involves an outdoor/public gang bang. She is completely naked except for a flimsy rain coat. She’s pulled out of the car by two burly men who each grab hold of her body, one at each side. Her legs are spread apart, as she faces a small crowd of men who will fuck her. They all take a turn while she “is pinned up against the wall like a butterfly.”

Uncomfortable, but fun, indeed.

Even though these are great fantasies, I’m growing tired of them. I need new situations, people, and places to stimulate my mind (and *ahem* other areas.) If anyone has any suggestions, I’m open to them.

Until then, I’m praying for rain.


Monday, August 20, 2007

Sex, Drugs, and….. Performance?

If we could sniff or swallow something that would, for five or six hours each day, abolish our solitude as individuals, atone us with our fellows in a glowing exaltation of affection and make life in all its aspects seem not only worth living, but divinely beautiful and significant, and if this heavenly, world-transfiguring drug were of such a kind that we could wake up next morning with a clear head and an undamaged constitution-then, it seems to me, all our problems (and not merely the one small problem of discovering a novel pleasure) would be wholly solved and earth would become paradise."

When I was a teenager, I would stuff anything up my nose, smoke, inhale, absorb, or drink anything I could get my hands on. For example, in 8th grade, I would sit in the bathroom stalls inhaling shoe polish between 1st and 2nd period and then after lunch return to my favorite stall. In ninth grade, at my private catholic high school it was worse.

Whether I was smoking dope behind the school yard fence or attending mid-day mass tripping on acid, I wasn't sober very often.

Naturally, during my quest for peak experiences during my wonder years, I spiced up my sexual encounters with drugs. Some drugs blend well with sex , others are not as user-friendly , while combinations of different drugs and/or alcohol may produce mixed results.

For instance, after a long night of dancing and debauchery, my boyfriend and I, both in an altered state, returned to my place for some after-hours fun. He tore his shirt off quickly as I carefully climbed on top of him and started bouncing up and down on his cock. His eyes rolled back into his head as he clutched my hips, and even though I felt numb, I was having the time of my life. It wasn’t until the bed (and his cock!) started to vanish from under me that I began to panic. Only the air between my legs supported me as I turned around to look back at the dark corner in my bedroom. Then, from of the floor boards, he rose. His green eyes flickered in the black corner while his gaze narrowed down the barrel of gun pointed straight at my head. I screamed, “No, don’t!”, before I rolled off the bed and back into reality.

It was then I discovered, hallucinogens and sex don’t mix.

Bad girl, no cookie.

So, when I stood in the middle of a crowd in my leather pants on Saturday night submerged in the neon lights, and someone offered me the poison pill, surprisingly, I almost swallowed it. I found my thoughts racing back and forth between the pros and cons of ingesting it. And honestly, my first thought was, "mmmmm, yummy, sex on drugs with a hot girl", as caught my lover's gaze from across the room.

The pill was not a hallucinogen like the one I took on Gun Night, but I have an over active imagination and it probably would’ve induced the some hallucinatory effects anyway. So, I politely declined.

Granted, Gun Night is a pretty extreme example of how drugs can negatively impact one’s sexual life. But, what about the positive examples, there has to be some, right? We all know alcohol lowers our inhibitions, but if we are in a safe environment with a partner we trust, what’s the problem? I can‘t count the number of times a partner has told me, “Gee, Sally S, I’d love to do “xyz” with you, but I’ll need a couple drinks first.”

Well ok.

I’ll pour the wine if you get the glasses.

It’d be dandy if we were brave enough to follow our heart’s desire without the aid of substances, pills, and/or powders. Because that, readers, would be damn close to the “earthy paradise” Aldous Huxley aspired to--- minus the drugs, of course.

Friday, August 17, 2007

Charity Fucking and the Search for Meaning


Venus is retrograde, and don’t I know it…

$50 pedicures end with a blotched big toe

All my favorite sex toys are broken

Taking out the garbage has become a monumental task


I haven’t been able to get myself off for a week now!

Can anybody relate? This is incredibly frustrating for Sally S, who NEEDS to get off at least twice a day.


Further, my fantasy life has taken a turn for the worst…nothing “GETS ME THERE” anymore. There aren’t any spaces in my head left to go. Funny, last week I was writing about female sexual dysfunction. Hey Sally… how ‘bout a dose of your own medicine?

It’s often assumed that sex writers are incredibly liberated and have Thee Best Sex Ever. This is simply not true. We all hit a brick wall from time to time. However, w hen I hit a brick wall with my partners or myself, it feels like my entire life energy has been cut off. Fucking for sport suddenly isn’t enough when we’re craving something more. Although I’m not necessary referring to being immersed in a “serious monogamous relationship”, it’d be nice to connect/merge with someone on a soul level, at least for a night or two.

Without the connection, aren’t we just charity fucking? I first heard the term “Charity Fuck” on the show, “Queer as Folk”, a few years ago. During an episode, one of the characters meets a guy who he would never consider a relationship with and was only marginally attracted to. Yet, he screws the poor fellow because he feels sorry for him and wants to help him. The charity fuck had just been dumped and was in a sad state of affairs when the charity fucker stepped in to save the day. Well, you get the idea.

Charity fucking was, for me, a way of life for a considerable amount of time. As in, “gee, you helpless little bird with a broken wing, come here and let me make it better.” And even though I know I have genuinely helped many people release their inhibitions and climb out of their shells sexually, it’d be great to live on the opposite end of the spectrum for awhile to experience some serious role reversal.

Please, by all means, teach me.

*“I have only come here seeking knowledge
Things they wouldn’t teach me of in college
I can see the destiny you sold
Turned into a shining band of gold”

All humans have a tendency to want to re- experience the primary bond they lost and give themselves over to the tender loving care of another- even the hardest of the hard. As adults, we don’t acknowledge this enough because we must project an image of self-sufficiency. Yet, we expect others to notice when we need to be held, cuddled, or…hell, rocked to sleep with cup of warm milk and fuzzy blanket.

If you need me I’ll be in my fuzzy robe on the couch eating bon-bons, drinking Diet Mountain Dew, and watching Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.

But before that, I’m going shopping.

We will return to our regularly scheduled tortured ass-spanking program in the near future.

Happy Friday -SS

*Lyrics: Wrapped Around Your Finger, Sting

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

Game On, Part III

Read Part I

Read Part II

An old flame visited in me during the wee hours of the night. It was humid, and I had been burning eucalyptus incense for hours. And even though the air was heavy and I hadn’t seen him for months, he was hot…hot under his shirt, his face, his ears. I complimented him, told him I missed him, and got down on my knees by the chair in front of him. I kissed his stomach, bit his nipples, and pulled him off the chair and into my bedroom.

To be certain, I was ready for it-- hardcore humiliation and violent slapping, PLEASE.

There is a certain amount of sexual rage inherent in the BDSM scene. Some of us want a loud, screaming, fist-pounding fuck fest. And I must say, writing about it has not helped matters. I want it more. Images of electric red and black bodies slapping hard against each other in the darkness have been creeping into my psyche for weeks now. Along with the music (think Marilyn Manson on Acid x 100), the soundtrack in my head hasn’t been pretty either.

Am I mentally ill? A sexual deviant? Should I be committed to an asylum? Maybe given electro-shock therapy?

Not that long ago, I would’ve been labeled as such- a psychotic lady in need of some serious therapy. Sadomasochism was considered a psychiatric/sexual disorder until the DSM IV (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders) reclassified “consenting adults” as exempt from this label. Seems as though adults are allowed to engage in whatever activities they’d like to in the privacy of their homes. And since the psychiatric community now considers us “normal”, we have all been healed! Great! Woo hoo!

We are no longer treated like outcasts, “weirdos”, freaks, or referred to as mentally ill.

Or not.

There still are a lot of misconceptions about those who practice BDSM. The opposition will suggest reasons like childhood abuse, improper bonding with a parental figure, addiction, and the old,“we think you’re just plain crazy.” And to an extent, it may be true. Alternative lifestyles attract those on the fringes of society (radicals), which could increase the presence of victims and/or perpetrators of past abuse. Notice I said “could.” In any given group, you will find victims/abusers, which is not all that shocking really. The main issue involves classifying all BDSM’ers as “victims” or “abusers”, ignoring that there are normal folks who enjoy a good ass slap every now and then. Hey, it happens.

So, why? Why practice BDSM? Society definitely does NOT support it. Even worse, it shuns those who participate in it. Also, doesn’t it hurt?--- as in... my, those nipple clamps are mighty tight. Well, yes indeed, they are. However, the point is to move outside of the ordinary and challenge ourselves physically and emotionally. We all live in a world that thrives on social order where we must maintain our polished image. This is the face we show others like our colleagues, bosses, children, and students. Where, then, can we REALLY be ourselves? For some, the beast is released sexually- with partners and/or alone. Others may channel their soul energy into different aspects (art, music, service ect..) of their lives. We all need somewhere to land, a place where we can see ourselves being ourselves.

For some, BDSM does just that. Of course, there are other reasons such as:

1) Empowerment, self-expression, and self-gratification
2) To create or allow for a new form of gender expression (female dom, male submissive)
3) To impress/stimulate one’s partner
4) To get lost in a fantasy (i.e. escapism)
5) To explore power structures outside of the normal realm of experience (a dominant personality in “real” life versus a submissive personality in sexual situations or vice versa)

If you have engaged in any form of BDSM (from the most basic to the advanced acts), and feel comfortable leaving a comment either anonymously or otherwise as to your reason why, please do so. Sharing is caring.

Stay tuned for an upcoming post about practical user-friendly BDSM toys and possible “scenes” for beginners to integrate into your sexual life.

Also, as an added bonus for you history buffs…

Check out this site.

There is an especially intriguing piece of art on the right hand side of the page called The Binding and Flaggelation of Christ.

Until next time, SS

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

Let the Games Begin, Part II

Read Part I

“Poor is the man whose pleasure depends on the permission of another.” ~Justify My Love, 1990, Madonna

I dare you to watch this video and not feel a least a little bit turned on. Hell, I’ve been watching it all night and the throbbing between my legs hasn’t stopped. The Wiki page for the song states, “The video depicts images of goings-on at a bizarre party in a Parisian hotel. The video featured scenes of partial nudity, homosexuality, mild sadomasochism and other overt sexual situations.”

So, what exactly is “mild” sadomasochism as compared to say, extreme sadomasochism?

First of all, a simplistic delineation between sadists and masochists is in order. Sadists inflict the pain, and masochists have pain inflicted upon them. Thus, the term sadomasochism (S/M or S&M) actually refers to a power exchange. One wields the power while the other one submits to it.

Most people have engaged in mild forms of sadomasochism without even realizing it. Ever been spanked by a lover? Bitten? Blindfolded? Tied-down? Handcuffed? If so, surprise, you’re a masochist. Well, maybe not, but you’ve at least dabbled in it. In fact, even simply telling a lover to “don’t move an inch” in a commanding voice while you control the situation counts. Welcome to the wonderful world of S&M.

Still confused? Want more information? The You Tube video below is an informative three minute intro to BDSM. (bondage, discipline, and S/M) and is presented by professional dom, Mistress Morgana.

BDSM Intro

Sadomasochism should be practiced amongst consenting adults who’ve agreed to specified limits, boundaries, and interactions before hand. Moreover, some of the more advanced S/M situations require training and knowledge of the human body to avoid injury and/or permanent damage. Examples of the more advanced S/M acts include, but are not limited to, breath play, flogging, body alteration/modification (branding, piercing), invasive medical situations, and my personal favorite… mummification.

Yes, you heard me, mummification.

If you want learn how to wrap another human being in saran-wrap and you live in a metropolitan area, you should be able to find a class/seminar explaining technique, method, and safety precautions. I’d love to take the class myself someday. Those who engage in the practice often talk of “feeling one’s self within yourself” and the complete helplessness and vulnerability it produces. Lovely.

The YouTube video attached shows how the mummification process is executed. The dom (i.e. top or sadist) has placed shaving cream between the layers of saran wrap. The commentary starts about 45 seconds into it and is quite educational once you get beyond the initial silliness.

Mummification (sensory deprivation)

Doesn’t that look like fun? I’m guessing one would want to carefully consider what kinds of liquid/materials they put between the layers, as some items may potentially burn or damage the skin. Think of the possibilities! Ouch!

So, why do people like a little pain (or in some cases a lot!) with their pleasure? What’s the appeal? And where did all these freaks come from?

Questions to be answered, until next time...

Sally S.

Monday, August 13, 2007

Let the Games Begin, Part I

“She has many guises
She’ll do what you want her to
Playing dead and sweet submission
Cracks the whip deadpan on cue” - Peek-A-Boo, Siouxie and The Banshees

“It’s all fun n’ games until someone gets hurt.” This was the phrase on my mind this morning when I woke up. Of course, naturally, my curiosity was aroused. Was I on the receiving end of a good hard flogging during dreamtime? Or, were the teeth marks left on my arm from the night before finally beginning to bruise? Because Ms. Sunshine was in pretty bad shape as she stumbled out of bed bloody, beaten, and well… you get the idea.

Pain can affect us on many different levels and impair our functioning. However, there are those who delight in pain, or even thrive in a painful environment. There is a reason people say tattoos/body modifications are addicting. Pain can make you feel brilliantly alive, hell, at least you’re feeling something, right? In a world that thrives on numb control and emotionless execution, the endorphins that pain produces are indeed a tasty treat.

In my most recent homage to pain, I got yet another tattoo. The whole process only lasted about hour, not nearly long enough for me to enjoy the delicious morsels of agony. While the girl in the chair next to me cried and wriggled around in pain, I sat calmly with a satisfied grin on my face. Even the tattoo artist remarked “you didn’t flinch, not even once.”

Obviously, tolerance levels vary from person to person. Pain can manifest through many different channels (physical, psychological, spiritual, emotional and sexual) so it’s important to understand where our thresholds are in each area. Some people can tolerate mass amounts of physical pain, but are unable to endure emotional pain (hello, welcome to an addicts world) or vice versa.

In the bedroom, the same rules apply. Whether we’re talking about a mind fuck or an actual fuck, tolerance levels are taken into account on individual basis. There is not a one-size fits all approach. Are we aware of our partner’s boundaries or possible aversions to pain? Are they comfortable with ours? Special requests and/or “safe words” should be respected. If my girlfriend wants me to slap her in the face while she’s climaxing, so be it. I can do that.

I, on the other hand, like to be degraded verbally. In some cases, lovers have been uncomfortable laying the smack down vocally. And while I really really really would appreciate it if they did, there’s no pressure. This is where sexual compatibility comes into play. Wouldn’t it be great if you knew your partner liked wearing a rubber body suit during foreplay before you walked down the aisle or made that long term commitment? Sure, sexual flavors/styles change over time, yet, we want to be with lovers who are in step with us, at least to start with.

So, it is with great pleasure that I declare in a very guttural voice, “Let the games begin.”

Stick around for more…

Friday, August 10, 2007

Sexual Dysfunction, Part II

Read Part I

I finally got her off. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the girl who was only a few nights ago “too tired” and “not horny”, let me have my way with her. After she let go of her inhibitions and relaxed it was, as they say, “smooth sailing.” Well, ok, sometimes it was rough, hair pulling and what not, but that’s neither here nor there.

One would think amongst lesbians/bi girls you would find women who are immensely comfortable in their skin, loving women that is. Yet, in my experience, it’s the lesbians who are often the most bashful, reserved, missionary position types. Why, in the land of women, are we not all gorging ourselves at the table?

The medical community and the APA (American Psychological Association) call it Female Sexual Dysfunction or FSD. FSD actually represents a group of specific diagnosable female sexual problems. The four basic categories of female sexual dysfunction include:

1) Sexual Desire Disorder
2) Sexual Arousal Disorder
3) Sexual Pain Disorder
4) Orgasmic Disorder

Do you see a pattern here? A flow, maybe? One step leads to the next. If you’re not turned on (desireless), surprise, you won’t get aroused (wet), which results in pain (hey, pass the lube!), and sadly then, no orgasm. Boo. Hiss.

Further, what if we are able to successfully navigate our way through steps 1-3 but still can’t orgasm?

Is it psychological? Physical? A little of both?

Once it took me five months to achieve an orgasm with a woman I dated. (Hangs head in shame.)

It wasn’t because she did not have superior oral skills, because she did. However, there was something in me that would not release. We tend to forget orgasm is the release of tension. The fact is, I really needed it at that time. I needed someone to push down on the release valve- hard AND fast.

It’s hard to say why I felt so inhibited then. I had just came out to my mother and was dealing with her critical negative attitude, plus a death in the family. All those factors add up and make it difficult to get out of our heads and into our bodies.

Yet, right inside our bodies is where we need to be- comfortable and free, full of life and ready to release.

It’s Friday!

Enjoy the weekend--go get some. ~ Sally S.

Thursday, August 09, 2007

Sexual Dysfunction, Part I

Here at Revolution is Not a Dinner Party, your girl Sally S. spends a lot of time waxing on & on about her raging libido and late night trysts. But what about those who don’t share my enthusiasm, are they repressed? Shy? Tired? Have a headache? Haven’t hit their prime? Suffering from a bad case of the clap?

Traditional myth would have us believe women hit their sexual peak between 35-40 and men between the ages of 18 and 22. The sad fact is many women adhere to this foolishness, but the question we need to be asking is why. Why do women self-police/guard themselves against experiencing pleasure?

Because last night, a little tipsy and feeling frisky, I went to see this sexy grrl, and guess what…..she wasn’t “in the mood”. She also added, “Frankly, Sally, I’m just not as horny as you.” Well then.

I need answers, people.

First off, let’s all admit, yeah, sometimes we’re tired, cranky, stressed out and maybe aren’t feeling “it”. However, when we get stuck in pattern of orgasmic denial, it’s time to re-evaluate our priorities because the dishes can probably wait.

From a very young age, most women were taught to keep their desire in check. Maybe our mothers told us, “Little Billy will try to get to second base with you, but good girls don’t do that” while fathers slapped a condom in their son’s hand with a gruff, “Boy, be careful.” And that was that. Hell, maybe we didn’t hear a peep from either of them and instead heard the old “sluts and studs” speech in high school from our peers. Either way, for women, the prognosis didn’t look good from the start. (Hello Eve, eating the apple.)

This, of course, doesn’t even consider the damage beyond the damage. What about women who’ve been sexual abused? Or, even just those who’ve comforted friends/sisters/mothers/daughters who’ve been raped? It does kick up some anger and rage in the dust storm, does it not?

And, true, in this day n’ age, an open sexually healthy partner can be hard to come by. Let’s face it; the world still isn’t exactly a safe place for women in many ways. One can understand why these attitudes persist. The message women get is, “W-H-O-R-E, you asked for it.” Since most of us aren’t willing to stomach the judgments, emotional and/or physical harm just to achieve the Big O or venture into new sexual territory, here we are, stuck.

*“Clowns to the left of me,
Jokers to the right, here I am,
Stuck in the middle with you”

Sorry, I just had to…

Stay tuned for Part II….

*lyrics: Stealers Wheel

Wednesday, August 08, 2007

A Delicate Porny Veneer

so last night *Peter North came over…..

He was quite respectable size-wise, but not the most exciting guy in the world. Still, I thought what the hell, I’m bored, why not give it try. I should’ve known better. Half-assed attempts to amuse myself never work. Encounters, in order to satisfying, should be loaded, heavy, and intense physically AND mentally. This particular encounter left me in somewhat of a flaccid state.

First of all, the man is delicate. Not in regard to size, obviously, but he is at difficult point in his life. His parents are both recently deceased, his options career-wise are not exactly stellar (I’m not sure if he’s finished high school), his love life is in shambles, and he has a pre-disposition toward depression. Then, he meets me. Actually, when I met him I was only trying to bum a cigarette, and I don’t smoke. So there you go.

Even so, I felt a little sorry for the guy and genuinely wanted to help him whether it was through a sexual channel or otherwise. Sometimes a person needs a fuck, and sometimes a person needs a hug. Mr. North, I’m sure, wouldn’t mind both. However, last night I was reluctant lead him down another dreary path to disappointment. It’s like, “Hey Mr. North, around here the highs are too high and the lows are too low so don’t get too attached.” Wouldn’t it be great if people came with warning signs, especially for those who are delicate?

When I was a little girl, my mother told me, “Sally, there are two types of people in the world, those who kiss the cheek and those who turn their cheek.”

or for variation, try Annie Lennox:

“Some of them want use you and some of them want to be used by you.”

In the same vein, when you know someone is far more attached than you are, should you tell them? Will they listen? In the past, when I’ve given the “enter at your own risk” speech to the more conventional types they have ignored my warning.

You can say, well, these people are learning and they need to figure out how navigate their own dreary path, but it still doesn’t take the sting away for either party. Plus, the Taurean in me wants to build things, not destroy them. Hurting people to help them isn’t exactly the most productive use of one’s resources.

Yet, sometimes you have to Go There to Get There.

Go figure.

*Mr. North’s identity has been changed to protect Mr. North’s identity.

Tuesday, August 07, 2007

Role Play: Mother Mud and Father Law

“Girls can wear jeans
And cut their hair short
Wear shirts and boots
'Cause it's okay to be a boy
But for a boy to look like a girl is degrading
'Cause you think that being a girl is degrading
But secretly you'd love to know what it's like
What it feels like for a girl” ~ Excerpt from The Cement Garden, and also as heard on Madonna’s cd, “Music”

Men who want to be initiated/assimilated into the female experience have always fascinated me. Typically, it is these types that find me with startling frequency.

Keep in mind, I’m not talking solely about drag queens or transsexuals, folks. I’m including straight, gay, bi, monogamous, and poly men alike. Bear with me as I expound....

Prescribed gender roles have been around since the beginning of time, and were generally used to organize society in order encourage efficient resource allocation. Men do this, women do that, and everyone lives happily ever after. So it would seem.

Fast forward a few hundred years and now women can own property, vote, manifest our own respective financial destinies, and reap the benefits of reproductive freedom. On a superficial level, at the very least, women have entered and been assimilated into the male experience. And yes, for some women, the door is open to move toward an even deeper level of masculinity. Women who stand at this threshold may face societal pressure to step back, but still, the door is there.

Men, on the other hand, from what I’ve witnessed, find it far more difficult to submerge themselves directly in feminine. Not only has society, with its rigid structural permanence, enclosed men in air tight gender roles, but there are internal barriers in place as well. The basic idea of a “woman’s role” has clearly shaken to the core. But, what about men?

Here’s something: Men crave, I mean, CRAVE, experiences/encounters that allow them to surrender their masculinity. I’m not sure how I figured this out because it was not within the intellectual realm. My first experience with this happened when a lover and I were fucking, me on top, him looking adoringly up at me…and he gave himself over. Psychically, I felt him let go of his “maleness” while I fucked HIM. Even his facial expressions took on a very feminine quality, while I observed the transformation right before my very eyes. He climaxed almost immediately. And that, dear readers, is how I got involved with energy experiments. I’ll take back my femininity if you take back your masculinity.

In other words, I’ll show you mine if you show me yours. hell. yeah.

Now, how does this work with two women? oooooo….. I knew you’d ask, more to cum, I mean come….

Monday, August 06, 2007

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

ATTENTION: Sluts, Trannies, Dykes, Queers, Fags, Leather-Daddies, Womanizers, & Wanderers, and all you Lust-Filled Souls with no shame…

Question: In order to have sex (or good sex) with someone does an emotional attachment need to be present?

I think this question is fairly ambigious..what kind of an emotional attachment are we talking about here and who defines what sex is good?

My ex-gf and I had great sex, but frequently harbored feelings of hatred towards each other. It was like, yeah, slam me against the wall, and baby I’m yours. heh.

I realize this kind of intensity isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. So be it. Others need may need gentle loving embraces sprinkled with good intentions and modesty. Well, sorry, that’s not for me. However, what’s really is frustrating is when others try to impose their moral/sexual ethics with no regard for individuality. This is intolerance at its finest.

Women, especially, are forced to reckon with their own internalized shame, plus the judgments of every Tom, Dick and Harry out there. It isn’t fair! Think of how much fun we could have if we all ditched our Victorian hang-ups and defenses. Good-by Purity, Hello Freedom!

It is no secret; I dig a sex-positive attitude and have a healthy respect for fantasy, masturbation, and experimentation. This often is mis-interpreted as being selfish, crass, and/or immature. As in, “Hey, why can’t you just conform and be a “normal” person?”- whatever that means.

The thing is, people were not made to live with the level of severity sexual repression requires. It’s hard enough to live on this planet, yet we make it more difficult with these ridiculous rules about morality, and truthfully, most of this bullshit is religious in nature. These out-dated views we hold on to today represent the accumulation of all the shame, brainwashing, and control under the guise of preserving the social order. Call me crazy (indeed many people have) but I’m not a dog.

As one of my favorite musicians would say, “You could try to train me like a pet, you could try to teach me to behave, but you know what…

I’m not gonna sit, I’m not gonna stay.”