Friday, March 28, 2008

Charity is a Slut


Do you think whoring comes naturally, or is it a learned behavior one cultivates over years of arduous practice? For instance, if a friend experiments with her own Threshold of Sluttiness, and has a random tryst without any expectations for future contact or relationship, would she be able to disconnect without any emotional attachment? Or, would her experiment be foiled by feelings of shame, regret, and guilt?

Many of women within my circle have marveled at Sally's ability to, as they would say, "Fuck like a man." (On a side note: what is fucking like a man? Plenty of men need an emotional attachment to fuck.) For the most part, friends are amused but remain skeptical. They are not convinced they could offer up their sexuality, or vagina, in such a laissez-faire manner. Most are protective of their sweet nectar, and, at the very least, require a verbal connection or promise of a future commitment to really seal the deal. Thus, when other women evaluate Ms. Sunshine's penchant for screwing strangers, their basic judgment involves either admiration from a distance or repulsion from a distance.

Since, we have a tendency to surround ourselves with people who support our life philosophies rather than challenge them; there aren’t many who will express outright disgust, if they love you. As a result, I’ve found admiration from a distance is far more prevalent than other reactions amongst friends.

In fact, in some cases, curious female friends have experimented with their sexuality by sloughing off tradition and fucking a stranger or two. In one situation, immediately after fucking Mr. Nameless, my friend called to report the details. Her voice was higher than normal and she sounded positively thrilled. Originally, I encouraged her, delighted by her big leap in the direction of freedom.

Unfortunately, later on when she ran into Mr. Nameless in public, her bubble burst. He avoided her until the energy grew increasingly awkward. And she, while appearing to maintain a brave front, was dismayed by his lack of interest and the festering uncomfortable silence between them.

Instantly, I recognized her remorse and felt responsible. Did I mislead my young friend? What if I touted my slut pride and deeply felt whore convictions with far too much zeal and inadvertently made whoring seem effortless and common place?

After a few shots of Captain Morgan and careful contemplation, I resigned to the fact that my friend was not on the fast track in my Master Whore Course. She was merely a dear sweet companion along for the ride on our journey toward our respective futures. Finally, I decided to gently speak to her about whoring with a wider perspective in mind. Alone in her car, I explained that although I loved being a whore and all it entails, it can be dangerous emotionally, physically, and psychically.

For instance, there is a possibility one might become ensnared in weird emotional space during the seduction process. Others may find themselves at the mercy of the whore, in love with what she represents, but unable to seize her power or claim ownership over it. Usually, the seduced becomes infatuated with the idea of "saving" the whore, in a deliberate effort to retool her psyche. The seduced may use a multitude of methods to manipulate the whore for their benefit in ways that pale in comparison to just a plain old fuck. As a whore, one’s "leg spread open" energy, is often interpreted as "open" in all other categories, inviting a whole slew of riffraff with their own agendas. Basically, whores must have top-notch boundaries, like a shield made of steel.

Whoring is also physically dangerous. What about diseases? What about abuse? Those are all valid concerns. Even if safe sex is practiced with vigor, one still leaves themselves open to a variety of "what ifs". The AIDS crisis in the 1980’s cemented this new paranoia in our minds. Notice, I do not advocate sleeping with each and every person one’s genitals happen to graze. If one is squeamish, there are other ways to be with one another erotically, for example, masturbation. Masturbating with others is a great way to avoid the messy implications of fucking in a post-AIDS society while getting your rocks off at the same time.

Lastly, psychically whores must raise the shield, not only collectively, but interpersonally. Because sluts are embracing a traditionally negative label, they must be ready to withstand and flourish under the hateful stare of conservatives, religion, and in general, society.

My ability to detach and give myself in deep surrender to the collective was not harvested over night. The lessons I learned fucking random strangers as a young Lolita have come to fruition, and now I navigate the rocky slut terrain with expertise. But it was not always this way. Sally Sunshine has had her moments of weakness on her knees alone on the floor with a bottle of bourbon and a mascara-smudged face. Yet, still I come back to the thrill. The thrill of another’s hands running down my body, hot with the freshness of exploring another crevice. I still yearn for the seduction, the powerful art of attraction and the wet drip between my legs.

Yours in genuine pursuit of pleasure,

kiss kiss,

S.S.

Monday, March 24, 2008

Doing it for dollars and a fancy man

I once knew a man who was obsessed with his own reflection and all the things I would do to further his ambition. And even though he promised not to zap my life force, I was nourishment for his nocturnal feedings.

And so, we made the deal.

The cock squad promptly revoked my self-will card. And I bowed. And so did every other woman who was captured in his mirror.

I spent hours there, but I don’t think he ever saw.

Now, listen to the money talk.

~S.S.

Wednesday, March 19, 2008

The Reality of Five Years

It was five years ago today the Bush Administration began its Shock & Awe Campaign in Iraq. That night in March of 2003, I watched from my living room as an eerie blue light descended upon central Baghdad while the sky erupted in flames. Inside, my stomach turned as I fell on my knees in front of the TV and cried.

The scene resembled a video game, so surreal, and disconnected from the average American’s life. Yet, it was not a dark scene from Grand Theft Auto or Second Life. We weren’t imagining it. Even though, the bull’s eye target on the TV screen flashing, “War on Terror” would have some of us believe otherwise.

The next morning, in Baghdad, when the hot sun burned over the piles of rubble and the cement-dusted bloodied faces, we recoiled in horror.

In the months that followed, more Americans woke up to the massive media and government-sponsored campaign to brainwash its citizenry, but, by then, the damage was done.


Five years later, the suffering and destruction continues.




Light a candle.

Pray for Peace.

Or get pissed and start a fucking riot.

~S.S.

Monday, March 17, 2008

Ocean City

Here’s the whole bloody story with its guts emptied out.

Venus goes diving.



Love,

The girl on the hill with the grass growing around her eyes.

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

Robert De Niro Sit on My Face

If, and I’m not saying that I am, but if I was in love, it would sound like this.

Notice the ass in the white pants. Try not to bite.


Lady Libra, Polly Jean

In love, (and I know I must be the foremost authority on the matter!)

Sally Swoonshine

Thursday, March 06, 2008

Survival Tips for the Hungry Love Struck



This is the House of Sally Sun. The house music pounds hard. The needle jumps off the record and skips a beat. Confusion follows a moment of silence, and then, a startling thud when the loud speakers are whipped into the wall.

Welcome.

Hang your hat next to the half-assed flute playing riddlers.

Tape their fucking mouths shut.

Place your shoes on top of Billy’s pathetic fifth grade crayola homework.

Smear dirt across the page.

Sit down.

Wait.

Wednesday, March 05, 2008

Philosophical Whoring: An Ethical Approach



Have you ever used esoteric knowledge or a thinly veiled “spiritually” to get laid? Or maybe you used it to pique another’s interest, which would, in turn, lead to an inevitable fuck? If you’ve enticed others with an intuitive prowess that matches, or even exceeds Miss Cleo’s talents, then, have you misused your gifts?

There are many astrologers (both professional and amateur) who I know, first hand, employ the use of many different magical tactics to secure ass. Predictably, their loyal subjects (i.e. na├»ve unsuspecting virgins) open their ears to receive “inspired” knowledge eagerly. During the process, the befuddled maiden begins to hold her Prince in high esteem. After all, doesn’t he hold all the secrets and universal truths not yet discovered?

The Magician , naturally, is invested in maintaining his “holier & more sacred than thou” image. Because, lest we forget, the Prince & his Snake are not completely altruistic in their motivations, they require, at a minimum, at least a blow job. And, fair maidens, if you’re really blessed you could (golly, gash, darn, gee!) occupy a full-time position in his Court of Pretentious Pseudo-Spiritual Crap. As a newly appointed member, you will be forced to give his blundering ego twenty vigorous strokes per day while mastering your best “doe-eyed” child in awe stare.

Practice hard dear ones, his solemn philosophical dictates come at a high price- in essence- your obedience. That is, if he deems you worthy enough to exist within his world in the first place.

Yet, since Sally studies astrology, psychology and other ancient arts AND is a sex-starved slut, I understand why one would use any resources or talents available during the acquisition of booty. We're taught, “If you’ve got it, flaunt it!” encouraging an "all is fair in love and war" mentality. For example, Sally has a great set of tits. If I bring out the big guns during a beautifully orchestrated seduction, and my intended victim falls prey to my charms, am I to blame? Have incurred undue karma and acted unethically?

First of all, the two aren’t entirely comparable. I would argue in any type of a spiritual profession, be it a conventional minister/pastor or, unconventionally, an astrologer, intention is key. Also, keeping a careful karmic eye on spiritual abuse and the many forms it takes is also advised here. A teacher, in any respect, has certain responsibilities to honor. A true teacher should actively work to learn something from their student while acknowledging their progress. At some point, a highly-skilled student will surpass the teacher, and may, in fact, be privy to knowledge and experience outside of the teacher’s sphere of influence, even prior to encountering the teacher. All of these factors need to be acknowledged by the teacher for a relationship to flourish.

Basically, kids, spiritual snobbery is fucking ugly.

You may be wondering why I feel compelled to write about this topic. In the past, I have been rather outspoken against those who manipulate others from their Ivory Tower. Yet, I’ve taken my own detour down the halls of hypocrisy.

Philosophy

I once royally fucked up by initiating a passionate relationship with an actual student, and, then there’s last night.

Whoops.

I met the good Captain a few weekends ago at the local tavern. Evidently, I intrigued the poor fellow by sucking whipped cream off the top of a jello shot suggestively. He responded by striking up a conversation with yours truly. Little did he know, he had effectively wandered into the lion’s den- without armor. Halfway through our exchange, he mentioned he born in June. Without realizing, he gave it all away. Next time we spoke, I shocked him with my intuitive genius and called him a Gemini. Perplexed, Captain Twin curiously prodded to find out how I knew. And I, Sorceress Sally, refused to explain myself.

Sensing the Captain’s interest in philosophical matters, I tackled the subject with him full boar, revealing just enough, but not too much. Finally, Captain Good Fuck acquiesced to my advances and found himself balls deep in Esoteric Wisdom, or, Sally Sunshine. As fate would have it, last night, a three hour long power outage shut down the entire block while candles burned. My bed, incidentally, was also on fire. For the first time in months, I felt the rush. It has been eons since someone asked me to sit on their face, thus, I was happy to oblige, amongst other things.

In the end, though, I had to ask myself about the mask I wore. Was I befuddling the fair Captain to get ass? Or, was I merely playing the cards I was dealt?

We shall see.

Yours in esoteric ass-slapping hegemony,

S.S.