REVOLUTION IS NOT A DINNER PARTY

Looking for me?

2010-10-17T11:16:00.001-07:00

I see a few random people have stopped by this blog asking for the site admin (Mark?) (Thomas?) Hey guys what the hell do you want

SS

Massacre

2009-04-12T19:47:00.000-07:00

We sat together in study hall and wrote our love notes. Girls, we told our secrets to strangers and hoped they’d kiss back. Some of us were Sirens. We spoke with authority about God and The Universe and spread our legs for lesser beings.

Happy Easter

SS

Angel Boy and the Purity Ball

2009-01-30T14:33:00.000-08:00

Just call me angel of the morning, angel
Just touch my cheek before you leave me, baby
Just call me angel of the morning angel
Then slowly turn away from me
~Angel of the Morning, Olivia Newton John

We are all impatiently waiting to fuck. Whether it’s getting the fuck out of here, or getting the fuck in there, there is almost no time to waste. I told Angel Boy he was too young and I didn’t believe in fairy tales. He asked me if I harbored resentment toward my mother, came on my bed sheets, and was out the door.

Every time I see Angel Boy, he handles me like I am hot metal, cautiously, like he is trying to avoid injury. He knows I am a hunter, I carry a sharp spear. But still, he stands next to the fire/flame and cums almost instantly before he even touches me.

Part of the reason Angel Boy cums so quickly is because he has been seriously deprived of the sex he wants and deserves. His ex-girlfriend viewed sex as an annoying chore. Angel is not an alpha who scores with a babe every Saturday night, so I recognize his need for release. In fact, I empathize whole-heartedly with his lack of lusty fucking. Yet, he holds back each time we are together and I cannot understand. I work diligently to draw out the fuck. I am like Vulcan with my hammer and blow torch laboriously shifting and shaping the fuck. I am desire’s faithful servant, chipping away at his stone.

Still, he never fully consciously releases, it’s like a wet dream, with my tits and ass playing the role of young starlet. If he is at all engaged in my personhood, it almost certainly is only an idea/ideal, which after years of developing alter egos and secret double-lives, I suppose it’s logical the only Sally he sees is a cartoon character. Yet, there are foreign territories to transverse, like my pussy. He has not yet heard the diving bell, so I wait.

Angel Boy is not a pussy-eating type of man. He is albino fresh, white as white can be, and his body is perfumed with the same steady scent each time. His crisp starched clothes and clear blue eyes indicate he would’ve been an excellent boy scout. If Angel eats pussy at all, it’s probably done out of drunk half-unconscious obligation. I know I am no special exception, but still, I don’t stop waiting.

Angel said he would fuck me in two weeks, after the purity ball. I can’t decide if he waits to fuck because he is a brainwashed Catholic who believes women are dirty, or he has a demanding work schedule. Either way, my Virgo does not fuck. I wonder if the robot was assembled incorrectly. If there is a malfunction, it happened during production (childhood) at the factory.

In this cryptic mess of gobbledy- goop, I wait for Angel to dole out some clarity. I want a clean fuck, a break from the past and a super-cosmic orgasm. But, Angel is just a boy, and his offer is subject to limitations. I understand. I do not hold his immaturity against him; he could be any man on any day.

Angel traces the lines around my face at night, and I am close to him. He doesn’t realize there is a microscope in the corner and I am closest to myself when I reach for it. I crack the code and look for signals in the dark with my magnifying glass and little note pad.

Girls, when you look at your attachments and see yourself you know you are almost home. When your sex life no longer resembles the Slaughter of the Innocents, you have almost made your way back to yourself safely. You are moving beyond the polarizing situations, male versus female, good versus evil, and innocence versus guilt. If you can see your truth, you hold the mirror, not him.

Look at the men standing next to you, girls, and consider yourself informed.

Straight from the shark’s mouth,

this is Sally Sunshine signing off.

Oh January, you old whore!

2009-01-12T08:48:00.000-08:00

“And some days I get caught stealing
And then I hear the sirens blow
And the church bells they let me know” ~ Donavon K.

The days are short, nights are long, and there is impending doom and a cloud. January, you’re a cold motherfucker, with your days of mourning and grieving. I could wear black for the rest of this month and no one would notice there is no joy. They will spend this month manufacturing happiness to avoid The Crone. The Crone wants you alone and on your knees, to strip you bare, so you are her child now. And, as such, you will obey.

The Crone demands that you approach life with maturity and awareness. No naked Twister parties. No unconscious drunk fucking. No blurry-eyed Saturday nights.

Just work bitch.

SS

Lesbians Who Fuck Men

2009-01-08T13:36:00.000-08:00

“Cause nothing stands between us here
And I won't be denied” ~ Possession, Sarah McLachlan

Dear Sally Sunshine,

You are crazy.

Ok readers, I will refrain from addressing myself in the process of addressing you. It just adds extra layers to the crazy. I will, however, admit my lizard brain has been on a long sojourn, i.e. the creative force has not been with me. You’ll have to excuse me, removing the moldy structure at the crux of my existence was more difficult than anticipated.

After having my sexuality snacked on like a bag of Doritos, today, humbly I walk toward you with only one candle left burning- an empty vessel, formless but on the verge of a discovery. Lovers who’ve basked in my sexual duality (bisexuality) beware. I am wandering into the oblivion. I’m all up in your face and fucking up the game.

When I came out to my family and friends in 2002, I came out as a lesbian. I had a serious girlfriend, I was active in the LGBT community, I had been to Gay Pride and the Gay Church, I took communion with other queers, and I had gay books, movies, and crushes. I was eager to move from my hometown to step further, publicly, into my sexual identity without the threat of being “outed” professionally. I could not foresee myself being deeply in love with a man in the future.

There were some men who I slept with in the spirit of charity. I remember driving to meet Mercy Fuck Mark who was nursing some raw wounds surrounding a brutal break-up with his lady love. I took up a Venus mantle and touched him (read: screwed him) with tenderness in an attempt to release him from his tortured thoughts. My good deeds did not go unnoticed. A cute little blonde thing flirted her way right into my arms the night before I left Mercy Fuck Mark in the fetal position sucking his thumb.

If there were men, then, I did have the unfortunate habit of falling for their lady friends. Maybe it was the hug that lasted a little too long or a flushed-faced conversation that pushed me over the edge. This is not to say I haven’t enjoyed certain men and their cocks and/or companionship at different intervals in my life. Over the last few years, I have mainly been involved with men, but that wasn’t a conscious choice I made. There just simply weren’t any women in my area code that I had more than a passing interest in.

Overtime, I took to calling myself a bisexual- it seemed like the most ambiguous label given the cold stark reality of who I was fucking (both men and women). This theory of defining one’s sexual identity by gender preference at a given moment is misleading. The truth of our sexual identity is far more complex than who we go to bed with.

Within our erotic identities, we also contain emotional identities and transpersonal/political identities. There are infinite possibilities. Coincidentally, during the time of my feminist “coming of age”, my sexual desire for the same-sex intensified. Now, this is not a defense of “political” lesbians (i.e. women who only have relationships (sexual or otherwise) with other women as a form of protest against the patriarchy), but, it is an acknowledgement of the subtle nuances between the personal and the political. It might be fair to say, my politics (women’s rights) was working in tandem with my desire. Yes, one could exist without the other, but they blended quite well in the same vein. Lest we forget, still, beyond all the intellectualization, I wanted to eat pussy.

Since there are plenty of lesbians who are not feminists and have no interest in “woymn’s lib” and there are plenty of straight girls who are feminists, political lesbianism has been dubbed a thing of the past. Yet, the label still has societal relevance. When a lesbian is told by parents she must be a lesbian because she was molested by some family pervert (even if this is not true) or she has a huge load of resentment toward men in general they are invoking the old “the personal is political” view as an explanation for their daughter’s same-sex attraction. This is offensive for a number of reasons. The parents are basically not acknowledging their child’s identity. They are inferring that the child’s an eternal victim, unable to sort out their own desires or identity. This is an effective way to devalue a child’s sense of self, unless, of course, she is willing to call bullshit and has the language available to express it.

In a sense, all labels are ludicrous attempts to contain the very complex structure of personality. Because, all identities have a certain finality associated with them, we become prisoners of the stamp. The term “bisexuality” represents a valiant effort define the indefinable- a free-flowing sexuality with a willingness to experience deep feelings of love and desire for either gender.

Sally Sunshine, alone on your own little journey, who do you love? That is the question of the hour. Or, more precisely, who will you fuck?

In the words of Lisa Loeb*, “Do you fuck girls anymore? Do you fall gracefully into bed with the same sex? I don’t know and I don’t care.”

Well, maybe, that wasn’t her exact phraseology, but, world, listen up, I’m still a lesbian.

Your faithful hermit/servant,

SallyS

*Lyrics: Do You Sleep? : Lisa Loeb

Puny Hells = Small Minds

2008-11-12T13:17:00.000-08:00

“So we shall walk barefoot on walnut shells
of withered worlds, and stamp out puny hells
and heavens till the spirits squeak
surrender: to build our bed as high as jack's
bold beanstalk; lie and love till sharp scythe hacks
away our rationed days and weeks.

Then jet the blue tent topple, stars rain down,
and god or void appall us till we drown
in our own tears: today we start
to pay the piper with each breath, yet love
knows not of death nor calculus above
the simple sum of heart plus heart”

~Love Is a Parallax, Sylvia Plath

Hello World.

What is it like today?

America, a country known for its embittered past with regard to race, has elected its first black president. The news programs summed it up nicely when they stated, “Americans have issued a mandate on race” after the election. We did, and it was beautiful. It is beautiful to see our country, once painfully divided, come together in the spirit of healing. On November 4th, the rest of the world noticed and cheered with us. The dark years of the Bush Presidency are nearly over. (68 days left!)

Some of scars of those dark years still remain. Who can forget the patient neglect at Walter Reed Army hospital, US attorney firings, the outing of a CIA agent, the “axis of evil”, an ill-conceived war based on lies, Osama bin Laden roaming free, Military Commissions Act (torture and the loss of habeas corpus), Hurricane Katrina, Patriot Act, warrantless wiretapping, budget deficits and greatly increased national debt, the nationalization of banks, loss of US prestige, Unilateral Executive Doctrine (presidential dictatorship), and the many attacks on women’s reproductive health?

President-Elect Obama promised swift change and Americans agreed. The election, personally, was a great relief. It’s been a long eight years. When Bush won the election in 2004, I left my parent’s house exhausted and in tears. During this election cycle, I left with tears streaming down my cheeks, exhausted, but vindicated. I walked a little taller the next day, proud of my country and our identity as a place where hopes, dreams, and opportunities are realized. Comments such as, “If could ride my bicycle to America, I would.” were heard around the four corners of the world.

Yet, in the wake of this historic election, Americans in California voted by a 52% margin to revoke a civil right already held by gays and lesbians- the right to marry. The California Supreme Court had ruled earlier that this fundamental right was to be granted to homosexuals. In response, the conservative movement in California introduced Proposition 8, an amendment designed to change the state constitution to define marriage as a bond between a man and woman only. This proposed amendment was designed to overrule the earlier California Supreme Court decision. Supporters of Prop. 8 included politicians of the “far-right” variety, and of course, most of the churches. The Mormon Church went as far as too encourage its members to do anything and everything to make sure Prop. 8 passed in church-sponsored letters/materials.

Although I was giddy as school girl when President-Elect Obama gave his acceptance speech in Grant Park, I was also deeply disappointed and angry about the Prop. 8 vote. Prop. 8 passed and on November 5th, this new amendment was added to California’s state constitution- an amendment that, I must point out, “takes away rights from others”. Readers, since when did it become acceptable to create laws that support inequality? Minority groups/oppressed groups have fought bravely and tirelessly to combat the assault on their rights for decades, and this is where we are now? So, we ask the question again,

“What is it like today?”

Today, we still battle the narrow-minded fools of yesteryear. We battle the conservative agenda which has its roots firmly entrenched in fear. Fear, which has been handily handed down from generation-to-generation in the form of hate disguised as out-worn religious values, is the enemy. The conservative movement has used religion as a shield, a reason to discriminate against and abuse others.

And readers, I’m fucking angry.

The very spiritual philosophy that these folks aspire to (treat others as you wish to be treated, love thy neighbor etc…) has been polluted by a faulty ideological prospective that requires the exact opposite. I would challenge any decent human being who voted Yes on Prop. 8 to stand in front of a gay couple and look them in the eye and tell them they deserve fewer rights than you. Tell them they are less of a human being than you. Tell them they are free to do whatever they want in the confines of their home, but to hide the rest. Show them your engagement ring, talk about your wedding plans, and the next day, go cast your vote. Check the box next to Prop. 8. Gay people aren’t worthy of the same rights as you are.

Prop. 8 received a lot of its support from churches. Unfortunately, the House of God is where these horrendous assaults against the rights of others (women’s rights/reproductive health/gay rights) are waged. This is unacceptable. This is more than unacceptable; it is hypocrisy and dark fucking shit at its finest. Spiritually, I am disgusted and disappointed with conservatives who bask in their self-righteous “light of God’s love” while demeaning and condemning others.

There are deeper issues at hand here. In places where intolerance is bred and these negative attitudes persist, it is often rationalized that I am too hard on these god-fearing conservative Christians. If they were raised with this bigotry, I am further encouraged to grant reprieve. It’s like, “Brian’s parents were such assholes. They instilled these hateful prejudices in him. Can’t you just let it go? He doesn’t know any better.”

No!

I cannot.

Brian get your shit together. You are an adult. Wake up. Are you a decent human being or not? Are you going to live under the umbrella of your parent’s/grandparents ideas forever? This intellectual and spiritual laziness coupled with an extreme lack of self-awareness create new generations who will carry the torch of fear and hate.

Recently, the Republican Party has been moaning n’ groaning about how they have no clear leader or agenda. The GOP is in serious trouble. The party, at this point, must do a significant amount of soul-searching. They have allowed the Democrats to become the party of “unity, change, and hope”, while certain small minds within the Republican Party have dominated the political arena with their puny ideas. (Ann Coulters, O’Reilys of the world, beware!) These ideas cater to and energize the politics of division, hatred, and fear all wrapped up in a neat little bow called the conservative far-right agenda.

Hopefully, in the next few years, these regressive GOP tendencies will become a thing of the past and what will emerge will be a newly transformed Republican Party- The Republican Party that Abe Lincoln belonged to- the Party that freed the slaves.

Indeed, there is a lot work to be done. But, I am confident. It is to our benefit, as citizens, to have a two-party system. With the Republican Party in such bad shape, it will be interesting to see how the Democrats use their new found status. As Rahm Emanuel said many years ago to Tony Blair, “Don’t fuck this up.”

Yours in lefty yummy equality for all,

SS

Listen Up!

2008-08-17T06:41:00.000-07:00

Earth to Moon in Aquarius:

A Full Moon Reflection: Think about the one who's stripped you of freedom and rip off their balls.

Ummm...

2008-08-02T09:47:00.000-07:00

shhhhhhhhh.................

Today's Little Ditty

2008-05-28T19:00:00.000-07:00

Suck it.

An AmBITCHous Slap Back

2008-05-02T11:20:00.000-07:00

Commenting on the Comments

A friend emailed Sally about my previous post, "Blowing a Load in the Face of Misogynists" where he questioned my claim that ambitious women are not regard in a negative light. He asked Sally Sun to verify the hypothesis with research or statements of fact.

His comments state:

"I beg to differ, I have never once heard a human deem a womens' ambition, for any purpose, to be a poor trait."and

"What research, if any, is involved in the above statement..?"

First of all, hi John!

*waves*

Let me address your comments. This is huge topic. Here's the skinny.

For hundreds of years, there has been a little thing in place called the patriarchy. The patriarchy is rooted in traditional gender roles and economics- the economics of ass, and you guessed it- religion. The basic view of humanity (with the exception of a scattering of a few rebellious souls) is women are naturally inclined toward motherhood and the qualities "mothers", as an archetype, emulate. Women are "sensitive, nurturing, and doting" while men are "initiators, action-orientated, and less emotional" beings.

Now, this, in and of itself, isn't always negative. However, it IS negative when, as a society, we place more value and respect upon "leadership, initiatory, Type A personalities",- qualities TRADITIONALLY associated with "maleness", when, in the same breath, giving lip service to how "satisfying" a woman's secondary role as dependent caregiver is.

No doubt, in society, men AND women are punished for deviating from this mold. Men who are sensitive and emotional (and plenty are!) are seen as effeminate and subordinated- "girly men", so to speak. Women who are driven, goal-orientated, and non-emotional are "bitches" and ridiculed for not conforming to their gender norm.

See an article on MSN Money.

The tag line from the article reads:

"Today's talented, ambitious women are staying single in droves. Are they too busy, too picky or -- horrors -- too awesome?"

There is, and has been, many articles and books written about how women who are successful will have a more difficult time finding a mate than women for whom their career is secondary (i.e. non-threatening).

See an article called "Smart Women are Scary".

These beliefs and gender roles are deeply entrenched in society. If you want proof, try the bible. Lots of people read it and believe it.

For example: God assigns the particular role to each person:

(1) The Christian wife's role
(a) Glorify God

In the order of creation, man was created first.
a) Gen. 2:7,18,21-22
b) 1 Tim. 2:13
c) The husband was created to rule over the earth, the wife was created to be a "helper" suitable for him.
d) Both were created in God's image
e) Each was created to carry out a different role.
f) Who was created first, Adam or Eve? Regarding the role of the husband and wife, what is the significance of who was created first?

(01) Adam was created first. The order of creation has significance in the role of the husband and wife in that the husband was created to rule over the earth. The wife, later was created to be a"helper" that would be suitable for him.

3. Woman was created for the man, not man for the woman.

. The husband was and still is to be the head of his wife.
a) Eph. 5:23
b) The husband is the one in charge.
c) The husband delegates responsibilities to others, including the wife.

d) The model of Christ and the Church.

(01) The wife is to act out the church being submissive to and glorifying Christ.
(a) Eph. 5:22,24,32

(b) Christians are to submit to Jesus 'authority and use their energies to glorify Him

(i) Therefore, the wife should submit to her husband's authority and use her energies to glorify him.

If all my energy is spent "glorify and submitting" to my husband while acting as primary caregiver to my children, as the Church requires, then, I have succeed in my role as a "woman".

But exactly where is MY ambition addressed?

Oh, that's right! I'm not supposed to have any! And if I do have a strong drive, or just any drive at all, I am the proverbial "bitch on wheels" who will never be happy or find a mate.

Even if I manage to buck tradition and embrace ambition, I have a host of other challenges ahead. Forbes Money, in 2006, posted this piece on the glass ceiling and some of the unique problems women face.

From the article, a direct quote:

"Even before The Wall Street Journal coined the term "glass ceiling" 20 years ago, researchers debated why women seldom reach the highest ranks in business.
Do women choose less stressful jobs so they can enjoy life more? Are they shut out of golf games and other informal networks that help men make crucial professional contacts?

"A new study adds fuel to the fire. About 70% of women and 57% of men believe an invisible barrier--a glass ceiling--prevents women from getting ahead in business, according to a study of 1,200 executives in eight countries, including the U.S., Australia, Austria and the Philippines. Consulting firm Accenture released the study on March 8 in conjunction with International Women's Day. "

Even in the U.S., some experts say the glass ceiling doesn't affect job satisfaction. Women make sacrifices at work in exchange for greater happiness in their lives as a whole, says Warren Farrell, author of Why Men Earn More.
His book offers 25 reasons for the pay gap: Women work fewer hours, for example, and they don't stay at jobs as long as men do. Whether its nature or socialization driving their decisions, women tend to choose lives that allow them to spend more time with their families, Farrell contends.

Even ambitious women don't measure success in high salaries and fancy job titles. Relationships with colleagues and giving back to the community are more important to women than salary, according to 'The Hidden Brain Drain: Off-Ramps and On-Ramps in Women's Careers,' a study by the Center for Work-Life Policy, which was published in the Harvard Business Review last year. "

As you can see, this is a complex issue with layers of bullshit to sift through. But, for women, economic self-sufficiency is Thee Path of Freedom---the freedom to make life choices that are in line with our values and needs.

For instance, lately, a close female friend has been floundering financially. She is a very ambitious talented woman, but she focuses the majority of her energy on the obsessive involvement and care of others. Professionally, this fabulous woman is in a career slump.

However, a month ago, she met a very special man. He has a big house, and promptly asked her to move in, after her landlord raised her rent. Even though she likes this guy, she is not certain it would be good for her, or the relationship, to move so quickly.

Yet, her financial situation is dire and she is seriously considering his offer.

Some women, like my friend, may make poor relationship decisions based on survival. Because she is compulsively nurturing everyone around her, she is not taking care of herself. In the end, she must depend on another for survival. Now, this might work, if the breadwinner is a damn good person (i.e. not controlling, selfish, or abusive) but, if not, the lesson is clear- take care of yourself first (AMBITION!) and you will not be at the mercy of another's hands.

Then, the choices one makes will truly reflect one's values, which, in the end, is a key ingredient to a happy fruitful life- or destiny fulfilled.

Ambitious drive is the heart of success and this woman is fucking hungry!

Go Go Ambitious Whore!

With love, (and brains that I use daily)

~SS

Blowing a load on the face of misogynists.

2008-04-28T14:42:00.000-07:00

A friend sent this email to Sally S. today: Read Below:

I just heard this song again and it reminded me how important it is to do what you are passionate about and be surrounded by people who love and support you. My family and friends are my foundation and I am grateful everyday for them.

A big house and fancy cars mean nothing if you don't have people around you to share it with. Whether it is with your family, your friends or your significant other, make that your foundation and you will excel in everything you do.

Material things bring
temporary and short-term happiness...family and friends are priceless. That is the definition of success...not the passionless love for material things.

Be grateful everyday, have integrity, love and support those around you and it will all come back ten folds.

Measure Your Success:

* Rich in friends—A person who cultivates friendships and who is a joy to be around can have hundreds of good friends and can be rich beyond the wildest dreams of others.

* Rich in health—A person who spends time eating and drinking right, exercising and relaxing from stress can be extremely healthy, and this health can be far more valuable than any amount of money.

* Rich in strength—A person who works out with weights every day, runs, swims, etc. can be rich in strength and will have an attractive body.

* Rich in family—A person who devotes time to his or her spouse and children will have a strong and happy family that is rewarding throughout life.

* Rich in knowledge—A person who reads and studies will become rich in knowledge.

* Rich in skill—A person who practices anything daily (a skill, a sport, prayer, whatever) will become excellent in that skill area. Excellence has its own rewards.

* Rich in character— A person who works hard at being honest and truthful in all situations will become rich in character and will be trusted by everyone.

See my response below:

It is possible to do what you are passionate about AND have money- and lots of it, actually. I realize there is an obsession in our society with the material. Possessions are pursued at the expense of other important things- there is no balance, for some.

On the other hand, I vehemently disagree with an overly humble attitude toward money, possessions, and material success. Ambition, especially in women, is shunned.

Shouldn't we just be satisfied with good friends, a gym membership, and family?

Maybe. If it pleases you.

Yet, there are some of us, women included, who are tenaciously pursuing our material goals- because we want to make a difference in the world, professionally, and be able to support ourselves, AND make boat loads of money if our ambitious little hearts desire. We are not any less "evolved" or "spiritual" than one for who those values don't apply.

There is a rather sexist imprint in this philosophy. For example, I may feel, as a woman, the need to justify my ambition with statements like, "I just really want to help people, and that's why success is important to me." Very few men are called upon to justify their ambition in this manner.

It is considered poor form for a woman to be restlessly driven- just for ambition's sake. Even in today's society, it's relatively rare to hear a woman openly admit to being a capitalist of the highest order, that is, placing ambition/success (of which material items are a natural extension of success) at the top of their list.

Parting Observation:

Oddly, it was not a stay-at-home mom who posted the article above; in fact, it was a young female entrepreneur at the prime of her earning potential- (30-35 years old).

How intriguing.

~S.S.

O' Cum All Ye' Faithful

2008-04-24T08:46:00.000-07:00

Has your birth control method ever failed? Or, maybe you had unprotected sex with your lover. If so, what did you do to stop his seed from finding a permanent home in the soft lining of your uterus?

Did you fall to your knees and pray for a miracle? Please God, Please. No children. No baby. I'll be a good girl, I promise!

Or, what if, in a moment of proactive self-protection, you participated in the holiest of all sacraments, the Eucharist.

I traveled the winding road to Mecca (i.e. Planned Parenthood) on Monday to renew my faith. And, when I walked through those Golden Doors of Heaven I heard the angels singing God's praises. After I made my contribution to the offering plate ($44), I felt the Holy Spirit descend upon me. Before receiving Holy Communion, I passionately sermonized (sperminized):

"Take this, all of you, and eat it:
this is my body which will be given up for you.
When supper was ended, he took the cup.
Again he gave you thanks and praise,
gave the cup to his disciples, and said:
Take this, all of you, and drink from it:
this is the cup of my blood,
the blood of the new and everlasting covenant.
It will be shed for you and for all
so that sins may be forgiven.
Do this in memory of me."

Thank you Lord. You truly are a kind and benevolent God.

Peace be with you.

Amen.

In Between Mary's Legs

2008-04-02T12:37:00.000-07:00

On my father’s headstone it reads, “Loving Father and Son of God.” Jokingly, then, my mother asked my sisters and I if she, by association, was Mary Magdalene. Everyone laughed while I continued to draw my own conclusions about her admission. Mary Magdalene was, lest we forget, according to Christian tradition, a whore. Yet, even though Mary was whore, Christ embraced her with open arms.

I should’ve known I was headed down The Path of Whore. As a young never-been kissed sixth grader, I dressed up as a prostitute for Halloween. Equipped with my skull n’ bones earrings, stocking, black boots, and mini, I was ready to hit the streets- in sub-zero temperatures. Determined, I walked through the neighborhood without a coat and my bag of tricks. When I finally returned, I ate every last piece of candy in a sugar-induced frenzy. Whore training was about to commence.

Over the next year, I got my period, brought on an orgasm with a shampoo bottle, and read through my mom’s entire copy of “Our Bodies, Ourselves” at least ten times. I started talking to my peers about sexuality. I found more books and kissed a boy. I pulled a Playboy magazine out of a pile of trash with my best friend, Stephen, and disappeared into the woods with him to look. I can still recall the woman’s face and how she sat with her legs spread. I thought she was beautiful and imagined myself touching her.

Fast forward a few years, and I’m pulling down my skirt at my Catholic high school. Strange men fuck me, and I revel in their sweet release. I declare war on religion and fuck myself into a rebellion. I write the words, “I am in touch with my Mary Magdalene energy” in red lipstick across the mirror and rub one off in the bathroom with a picture of Christ hanging above me on the wall.

Would Christ, if living today, hold contemporary whores in the same esteem as he did then? Would Mary sit at his right-side at the Last Supper as an equal? And, if she did, how would the Church react?

Sadly, modern day Christianity views Christ’s affection for her as a by- product of his compassionate nature while denying the possibility of any actual real attraction or mutual respect between the two. Now, this in and of itself, is not a fantastic revelation. Artists like Tori Amos, for example, have been exploring the Christ/Whore creative territory for quite some time. Through her music, she explicitly links sexuality, religion, and revolution in one breath.

Thank you Tori.

As any tried & true whore knows, religious rebellion is a natural extension of fucking. Religion has given humanity specific instructions about how we are to conduct ourselves sexually. Masturbation is a sin, procreation is the goal, within, of course, the bounds of a little sacrament we call marriage. Anything outside of that very limited scope is deviant behavior and is shunned menacingly. From Sunday School Day 1 to Church Sermon 5,061, our heads become the dumping ground for every last shame-fueled thought.

Children are indoctrinated into this faulty belief system. Then, they are expected to move out into the world, interact, and form relationships with others based on the poison they’ve swallowed.

Many people are satiated with knowledge they’ve inherited. They have no other model and no desire to discover. They accept their fate easily.

Are we even aware of the cycle we’re stuck in? How do we “undo” all of the damage we’ve sustained? And what about this new model?

I have often said how we approach our sexuality is a metaphor for how we view life. If the source of life (sex) is dirty, humanity, as a whole, is in trouble. We’ve dimmed the light of The Source (God/Sex) down to practically nothing. This is dark space, indeed.

Just gimme the light,

Love,

S.S.

Charity is a Slut

2008-03-28T14:45:00.001-07:00

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.

Doing it for dollars and a fancy man

2008-03-24T09:32:00.001-07:00

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.

The Reality of Five Years

2008-03-19T09:04:00.001-07:00

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.

Ocean City

2008-03-17T12:55:00.000-07:00

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.

Robert De Niro Sit on My Face

2008-03-11T12:15:00.000-07:00

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

Survival Tips for the Hungry Love Struck

2008-03-06T14:30:00.000-08:00

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.

Philosophical Whoring: An Ethical Approach

2008-03-05T12:08:00.000-08:00

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. naïve 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.

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.

The Legend of Sleepy Whore Hollow

2008-02-27T07:58:00.000-08:00

It no secret, Sally Sunshine has been severely impoverished in the casual sex department lately. Friends are, understandably, confused. Miffed in the extreme, Sally’s girls are wondering, is Sally the same slut we knew months ago? Did our wayward diva completely fall of the Fucking Map? Or has she been slowly withering away in the midst of a Sahara desert dry spell?

Well, rest assured, dear ones, I've not. However, I have found, being "out of the closet" (i.e. identified) as a woman with a loose moral compass has not helped score any new ass. Old ass, conversely, has been very adamant in expressing their desire for second helpings. Ex-boyfriends/girlfriends, prior fuck buddies, and one-night oopsies have besieged Sally with requests for more, which is, naturally, flattering. At the same time, it's very difficult to conquer new territory while the same smelly old diaper of the past is wafting in the wind.

Still, there has been a few mounting prospects. Captain T of the United States Air Force and Mr. M&M, who is twenty some years older than yours truly, are currently in hot pursuit. Yet, I find myself oddly engrossed in the past. Killer K calls and I immediately drop the new one for the old one. The old one fits like a comfortable leather shoe, supportive and predictable. I know if KK drops by, the next morning bruises will form because my poor perineum will be slammed with incredible force. Sure, I'll have trouble walking the next day and possibly a little rectal bleeding, but hell, at least I know where we stand and there is no need to play the "pretend I'm a virgin game".

The problem is, over the last year or so, I've developed zero tolerance for the traditional mating tap dance. Instead, I am prone to hitting others hard & fast with my truth. For example, last weekend, a friend introduced me as, "Sally Sunshine, sex writer", while fascinated blubbering fool collected his thoughts. After composing himself, we continued on to "talk shop" as I launched into a rousing theatrical performance called "Cocks of the Zodiac." Thrilling as it was, Mr. B.F. was not impressed.

Or, in the words of a sweet-pie Libra boy I know, after I spit a mouthful of ice at an unruly buffoon, "You're kind of tough, aren't you?"

Perhaps.

Perhaps I have become, over the years, a hardened she-monster ravaging slut bitch seven-headed Medusa. I have been told the way I pin the hair on the top of my head resembles horns and my eyes spew forth a destructive wish. Put succinctly, rage coats my aura and produces the unmistakable scent of "not one to fuck with."

Just call me Hillary Clinton.

Or not.

I can't stand her attitude. Although she carries herself with an air of absolute authority, if you look down far enough in her moldy Scorpio hole, she sees herself as a victim who's entitled. And, because of her suffering, she is entitled to the throne and the steam roller she uses to flatten opposition. This warrior stance, although a necessary evil in battle, is not entirely conducive to maintaining relationships in the civilized world.

Even so, admittedly, I am a big fan of breaking out the beast. Let's get primitive and plunge a sharpened claw into some virgin skin, now. It is at this point, I strongly identify with the plight of the caveman, or, just your average beastly upright man. Unsurprisingly, women and young female children/adolescents are strictly socialized and monitored to weed out any traces of a base animal behavior. We are taught to feel shame about our basic bodily functions, and, during puberty, our sexual proclivities. Young women are forced to enter the world of social niceties, manicures, and Pampered Chef Parties. Young men, on the other hand, at least get to wrestle around in mud for a few more years before they become "respectable" citizens.

Thus, when Sally Sunshine, mud-dwelling monster, is confronted with fake perfumed hypocritical shit- in female OR male form, it's nearly impossible to wipe the sneer from my contorted Medusa face. The fact is, although it's becoming increasingly difficult to find men who are open to truth and a deep willingness to explore, I haven't given up faith. I know there are some brave souls out there who get it. And, I know there are some standing at the cliff who are ready to jump off and get it.

In the meantime, please hurry. My bed is oh-so very lonely.

Yours in total whoriffic commitment,

Sally Sun

New Age Fucking

2007-12-21T09:02:00.000-08:00

“Hey Lloyd, I’m ready to be heartbroken
cause I can’t see further than my own nose at this moment.”
- Camera Obscura

Recently, I had the pleasure of merging with a kindred under a bright Pisces Moon. The connection, although erotic, was not necessarily of the ass-spanking variety. Our interactions were peppered with longing glances, soft caresses, and words of adoration. Eventually, due to my extended absence, suspicious friends begin to inquire about my apparent disappearance from the universe while puzzled lovers collectively scratched their heads as I ignored their calls.

Can love stand up against the bright light of the day? Or, are we just milking the dreamy glaze of fantasy with each passing face? How much “togetherness” can we tolerate before the dream is shattered and the veil is lifted? Does bliss fade when lovers physically separate? Will love withstand the separation?

These are all interesting questions that I will not answer. However, in not answering, if you pay attention, I have also answered. But, rather than play a rousing game of, “Riddle Me This”, let’s discuss fucking, in broad terms. As many of you know, Sally is in the business of nailing strangers without much ado. In some cases, names may be murky or even missing in their entirety. Since the most satisfying sexual escapades gratify anonymous gang bangs and forced sexual slavery, a deeper connection is not typically required or even desired.

What’s seriously funny (or not!) is Sally does not orgasm with strangers. Now, I think we can all agree sex is enjoyable whether you finish the job or not. But, if I know for a fact my random sex with strangers will not result in the Big O, why am I behaving like a mute fuck hole? Reader, I’m so glad you asked! But, I’m not going to answer this question either.

So, what else is there?

We cannot move through this Earth experience completely untouched and self-contained. Thus, once in a great while, a magician appears with his or her bag of tricks to pull the rug out from our feet to watch our knees hit the floor. Lucky for Sally, she is a dirt dweller. So, when one of these kindred spirits appears, clawing at the ground with bloody knees and palms does not faze me in the least.

We fall hard at these teachers/lovers/mentors feet because they have a special knack for “seeing the wound” and healing it. They know they’ve got it, the ambrosia; we need to swim in their cup and drink from its waters. Usually, there is a strong mutual recognition and acknowledgement of a soul connection under these conditions.

Unfortunately, serious emotional bonding, in my experience, rarely produces a fast & furious ass pummeling. Even if I politely request “whore treatment”, it’s unlikely to be granted. Soul merging and face spitting are generally not done in the same space. In fact, we may abandon the kinkier aspects of our nature, in order to focus the majority of attention on what is being emoted at the moment.

Tantric sex, although Eastern in origin has been westernized, pre-packaged and sold to the masses to promote emotional harmony and balance with partners. For example, there are thousands of workshops, instructional videos, and books published to demonstrate proper technique when performing a Lingham Massage. One is taught to “honor” their lover (or self!) through sacred sexual acts involving yoga and meditation.

Short Tantric Yoga Video

Here, we risk entering even more pristine territory, the holiest of the holy- the New Age Fuck. Before I continue, I must say, I am New Age girl. I read tarot cards, study astrology, and wholly embrace concepts like reincarnation, karma, and synchronicity. However, New Age Fucking is extremely offensive when it produces very little in the way of actual fucking. When we are required to treat our lovers as sacred deities rather than fellow human beings in order to fuck, I call bullshit.

I dare you to watch the video below without laughing.

Please note, I am not completely writing off the tantric movement as a whole, I am sure there are many benefits to its practice. Even so, this girl can only take so many “sacred yoni” references before lunch starts to rise in my throat. Sex can be an incredibly breath-taking soul affirming experience, but it also can be revered in the spirit of sport, physical challenge, and base animal lust.

Enough with the breathing and on to the fucking!

Happy Holidays!

Get ripped to shreds.

Love, Sally

Sex in the Soil

2007-12-14T14:02:00.000-08:00

Autumn in Moldova

“When it’s missing then you want it more
It isn’t right
Turning out the door
And back to this
Leave it like it was before
And let me out”
-Warrior: Yeah Yeah Yeahs

We've all been subjected to abuse in some way, shape, or form. Whether it's a broken heart, a parent's abandonment, death, disease, poverty of the soul, or poverty of the mind- it's all there. We've walked down our quiet roads of desperation, swallowing anger, resentment, guilt, and toxic shame. And mostly, the grief is contained in our own private hell. It is in this hell, that we divide from other people and dive deep into our own cosmic experience.

There is an inner division too. Splits occur. Fragmentation sets in. We cannot see the truth in someone else’s experience because we are locked down in our own pain. We cannot gain any benefits from their experience because of our stubborn refusal to examine another’s journey outside of ours. We need open recognition of what our wounds are and the wounds of those around us, before we can embrace an enemy with compassion, or hell, even ourselves.

To make matters more difficult, we forget, the Earth is our greatest healer. We spend an obscene amount of time chasing plastic, only to forget the dirt under our feet and what it feels like. We disconnect and then make excuses for our collective sickness.

"Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord”

I am not a devoted religious scholar, or even a “believer” in the fucked up sense believing entails in modern day society. However, this old hymn runs through my brain every time I ponder the meaning of healing through the Earth. After we come to terms with our own wounds, and can clearly see and put into perspective the wounds of others, we may wonder how to proceed next with the process of, as one of my favorite writers would say, “Getting over thyself.”

Healing requires we get intimate with the Earth. Traveling, then, in a larger sense, represents a quest for release and the movement toward passion and love, as we acquaint ourselves with the Earth. For the thrill of letting go and for a sweet moment of peace, we move, with authority, out into the world.

When I started to realize what my eyes had seen, and how damaged my vision was (literally 2400/20, legally blind eyes!), I knew I had to learn to “see” differently, in order to heal. To see the world and myself differently, I flooded my psyche with imagery in brand new landscapes and sat with it. In essence, I went straight to the Earth for healing.

This naughty little sex writer, then, is taking a few moments from her ass-pounding, fist-fucking world to share, in orgasmic delight, my favorite places. These are the places I must go. I must see them with my eyes open so wide they pop from my head. I must sit on the Earth at each place and run my fingers over the soil and breathe. I must, belly to the ground, lay my ear down and listen.

Vintgar Gorge, Gorjie, Slovenia

Krka National Park, Croatia

Machu Picchu, Peru

The Blue Church- Chisinau, Moldova

Bran Castle, Romania

Lucerne, Switzerland

Travel it all away.

Love,

Sally.

Perverted Subconscious Space

2007-12-11T10:11:00.000-08:00

“You come out at night
that's when the energy comes
when the dark side's light
and the vampires roam”
-Building a Mystery – Sarah McLachlan

Have you ever had a dream you were so ashamed of you wanted to crawl in a hole and hide? Then, did you punish yourself by playing the role of both victim and perpetrator? After all, it's your subconscious mind creating- not his, hers, or it. Shocking thoughts are like a whirlwind in our brains, taking root in the deepest corners of one’s psyche, pushing us to think twice about the direction of our life. Others might not be privy to it, but, make no mistake; a subconscious revolution is taking place.

Naturally, for Sally, the most shocking dreams have been deeply disturbing sexual dreams. Incestuous red-faced embarrassments tempered with uncomfortable silences color the dreamscape and demand I decipher their meaning.

First, I must point out, this topic may be triggering for those who have been subjected to incestuous abuse. My intention is not to further enhance the pain many have experienced. Next, I should reiterate, I, personally, am not a victim of sexual abuse. However, I wouldn’t be paying proper respect to the topic if I didn’t mention that incestuous relationships are not entirely bound to the physical- psychological/emotional/psychic rape can be present with or without physical contact. Nor are all sexual relations between family members harmful to the people involved, obviously, it depends on the situation.

Being a human being, incidentally, is trait many of us share on this planet. But, as I am writing this, I cannot believe that I am. The old Sally never would’ve shared the intimate details of her subconscious with the general public. However, it is my hope, in the honesty I offer, others will be inspired to do the same. Even though different experiences shape our inner world and define us, we are all, as one of my favorite musician’s would say, “citizens of the womb before we divide into sexes and shades, this side or that side. “ Thus, it is in the spirit of shared awareness that I reveal the details of the dream.

The dream sequence starts in my dwelling during my teenage years. My dad, who I haven’t seen in years, suddenly appears with his new wife. She is not the monster I expected. She is a young woman with pretty ringlet curls and a soft round face. She smiles at me, radiating warmth and positive energy. I smile back, say a few words to her, and enter another room.

I wait in the room for my father. When he enters the room, I’m filled with anxiety. I ask, “Why are you here?” His message is complex and I am horrified. I know he’s angry because I don’t understand. He removes his clothing, lies down beside me, and announces he’s returned to perform an initiation. He is suspended above me, dick hard, and ready to penetrate. I want it, but I will not let him do it. I’m deeply immersed in pleasure, when suddenly I’m whipped back into a new reality loop with force.

As my alarm sounds, the sickness stays with me. I feel disgusted, angry, and violated. The feeling persists through the day as I’m unable to shake the dream sequence from my brain. I cannot quite escape the literalism of the dream, but I am not completely bound to it either. I begin the process of slowly sifting through the tangled layers of my friendships, romantic involvements, and family relationships to uncover any hidden pretenses and find peace with my discoveries.

What I find, however, is not strictly literal or metaphorical. It does, but also does not, have much to do with the actual relationship my dad and I shared. In my dream, I will not fuck my father. In fact, I am terrified of who he is and what he’s trying to do to me. I resist, even though, my body clearly desires otherwise.

Through analysis, I realize I've stumbled upon a deep resistance to masculine energy and influence. You may have noticed my relationship with the feminine figure in the dream. I was relatively comfortable with her, perceiving her as soft, sweet, and tender. The masculine figure, however, was speaking in complex riddles and performing uncomfortable initiations on unsuspecting virgins. Unsurprisingly, I find myself, staring back at myself, in both masculine/feminine dream figures.

Further, since Sally often refers to herself as an “initiator of the highest order”, being initiated (i.e. taken back to school- sexually or psychologically) is extremely painful for this whore. But this is where I stand before you today.

Pay attention to any dreamtime shock waves you may be flooded with lately. Dreams of this magnitude represent a turning point in our mentality at the apex of an important revelation. But, before we cross that bridge and consciously integrate this “new material” into our lives, we must dive down into the abyss and recover. Eventually, synchronicity steps in to remind us we’re on path, when we are ready to process and put to use, our individual lessons.

Pluto and Jupiter hit the Galactic Core today, hold on to your metaphysical asses, friends.

Love & light in your direction,
Sally.

**Album Cover: Fatherfucker
Artist: Peaches

Bisexual Barnyard Classics

2007-12-07T11:45:00.000-08:00

“Mule-bray, pig-grunt and bawdy cackles
proceed from your great lips.
It's worse than a barnyard.”
-The Colossus, Sylvia Plath

From sea to shining sea, mis-education and misrepresentation regarding bisexuality permeates across the land. The ignorance encountered daily could leave one’s heading spinning for weeks. From trite expressions of support from men- those drooling fools! - to predictable attention-seeking kisses from straight girls, bisexuality is routinely misunderstood.

However, because of its infiltration in popular culture, bisexuals no longer shock, amaze, or even perplex the most conservative person anymore. Many examples of canned pop culture bisexuality exist in modern day media presentations. So, when “A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila”, premiered this fall I was interested to see how society, at large, would react. Tila, a bisexual wild child, started the show with sixteen men and women, who were seeking a “shot at love.”

Tila gives granny a lap dance, Episode 8.

Tila, a sexy Scorpio vixen, charms her way into each person’s heart, but must eliminate a contestant each week until only one remains, the one who win’s her heart. Ironically, there aren’t any other “bisexuals” on the show. It’s lesbians against the straight boys and Tila’s the bi prize.

But, as we know from Alfred Kinsey’s published research, the majority of people are not strictly hetero or homo. Kinsey’s point is demonstrated on the second episode when lesbian Rebecca has “naughty relations” with straight boy Steven. Rebecca is sent packing and Steven remains after Tila finds out, which, my friends, is also very interesting.

Rebecca is viewed as a traitor while sheepish Steven is forgiven. The reasoning being, what guy wouldn’t try to bang the hot lesbian chick lying next to him? Hell, if she’s offering! The hot lesbian, on the other hand, has declared her sexuality, signed it in stone, so, fraternizing with the male species is forbidden. I suffered a similar fate when, out and proud, I announced to my girlfriend of two years that I would be fucking men again. Then, my girlfriend and the lesbian community shouted, in traitorous rage, “Off with her head!” and shunned poor Sally.

Conversely, our culture also emphasizes the glamour, sexiness, and popularity of bisexuality, as long as a careful eye on male approval is maintained. For example, compare the two sets of song lyrics below. The first set belongs to big time playa and rapper, T-Pain.

“My girl gotta girlfriend
I just found out but its aight
Long as i can be wit her too
My girl gotta girlfriend
It really is not a problem
Cuz imma make it do what it do
Cuz havin 2 chicks is better than no chicks
I'd rather just join in
Keep my girl and keep the other one too”

The first time my friend had me listen to this song at the gym, I almost threw up on the treadmill beneath me. T-Pain is free to join in anytime with Sally and another woman as long as I get first crack at his ass. In contrast, compare the lovely lyrical stylings of bisexual singer-songwriter, Ani DiFranco.

“He looks me up and down
like he knows what time it is
like he's got my number
like he thinks it's his
he says,
call me, Miss DiFranco,
if there's anything I can do
I say,
It's Mr. DiFranco to you.”

Obviously, there are conflicting views in our society regarding bisexuality. Men would like to politely remind us that there are rules, constraints, and dicks to consider. Girls, do not forget about the dicks!

Rule #1- Only women are allowed to show excessive affection toward their girl friends. Men, on the other hand, must remain stoic in their interactions with other men.

Rule #2- Men control the vast Empire of Female Ass. If a man wants a threesome with his girlfriend, another woman will be solicited, pending his approval.

Rule #3- Women must include men in all their sexual exploits with other women.

Rule #4- Cock is still the main star. Men are allowed to watch, intervene, and fuck either partner at will.

It’s under these predetermined societal conditions women must discover and nurture their sexuality. And we wonder why the inhabitants of our society are sick. We may also wonder why female sexuality must cater to male satisfaction. Sadly, in a system where men hold most of the resources, power, and the power of approval, women will always be poor. As women, we must consciously work to break free from this desperate need for male approval.

Frustrating “fake bi girls”, then, are just another natural sickness of the current system. These “fake bi girls” vie for male attention by pretending to fuck other women, but only in public, when men are watching. This is a very disappointing development because, in the past, bi/lesbian women could truly be counted on to eat pussy- with gusto. Now, Sally must field random advances from seemingly straight women. These naughty little teases, who have no interest in bringing it down South, make out with Sally in front of curious on-lookers, but disappear when the lights go down. I have no problem with bi-curious women, if you are, indeed, bi-curious. Unfortunately, some these women get a high from piggy-backing off of Sally’s sexual energy. Physically, my body loves each and every one of those playful attention-seeking straight girls, but, my mind is telling me, Sally, be careful.

Nobody wants to deal with a salty blue balls Sally.

Happy Friday, y’all. Peace and Love to my bisexual freaks. ~ Sal.

Ego Games & the Affect on Sex

2007-11-29T11:22:00.001-08:00

“if we were our bodies
if we were our futures
if we were our defenses
if we were our culture
if we were our leaders
if we were our denials
I’d be joining you”

-Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie, Alanis Morissette

The other day, as my lover pounded my ass, he informed me that I, Sally Sunshine, have fallen victim to one of the Seven Deadly’s. Excessive Pride. In his opinion, my sinful narcissism was interfering with my listening skills and respect for him as an individual. Flabbergasted, I pulled back and demanded an explanation. He gently removed himself from my hind quarters, and attempted to shave off some of my inflated ego.

According to him, I have an unfortunate habit proclaiming my slut status loudly in mixed company. The guy, predictably, corrects me in public and frowns disapprovingly every time I utter a profane word. Evidently, Sally’s “I’ll do what I want, when I want” attitude has offended him in epic portions. When confronted about my total lack of disregard for social convention, I dismissed it and continued on with my behavior. He used this example to demonstrate how my “excessive pride” was hindering our interactions and any hope for future liaisons.

Now, even if my new lover’s head is inserted in his ass, being prone to belly button examination, I decided to investigate my relationship to ego and pride. Is my ego over compensating for another inadequacy? Am I using my proud stance on sluttiness as purely an ego tool or am I a honest to God slut?

My eagerness to question myself was compounded after a strange experience with a different lover early last week. I found this other lover at the local tavern during Thanksgiving break. A spirited-ballsy Leo, this dude began his formal “how do you do” by throwing a belt around my neck, tightening it up, and pulling me close for a big sloppy kiss. Now, Sally isn’t often overtaken with such brazen force, so, understandably, I was surprised. And sold. I departed with him to an undisclosed location about twenty minutes later.

Upon arrival, I discovered my feelings for my spirited Leo had shifted. He immediately started bragging about how much money his family had, and then, his own materialistic success coupled with his aptitude for nailing bitches. I stifled a yawn, hoping he would at least shut up so I could enjoy the belt without any distractions.

He had stated his intentions to dominate earlier, but I knew I wouldn’t hand over control that easily. When we finally made it to the bedroom, the psychological dynamic was competitive and ego-ridden. Both of us were trying to “one up” the other, in order to be recognized as the most fancy free freak of the pair. Like two lions perched on our thrones, neither one of us were budging to crawl down. Oddly enough, in reality, neither one of us were dominating, our egos, or false selves were instead.

Frustrated, I marched my half-naked ass out of the bedroom to collect my things. Here was my chance to have the sex I really wanted with a perfect stranger and I was throwing it away because of an abundance of ego energy. My spirited Leo, a bit deflated, pleaded with me not to go. Then, he asked an outrageous question. Was my sluttiness just an act, or was I the real deal?

Readers, imagine my disgust. I was offended. Me, not slutty? Sir, I beg your pardon! I quickly responded with my favorite whore-riffic fantasy and relayed all the gory details. Suddenly, my Leo was “filled with the spirit”, and was ready for action. He kindly responded with a sexy secret of his own, and finally, my pussy was wet too. After we discarded any fake pretenses, we ravished each other like lions, barely aware of the throne we jumped down from, but nonetheless, thankful for the renewed burst of psychic energy.

I left my exhausted Leo at 5:30 am, sleeping soundly in his jungle-themed bedroom, to lick his wounds. I also had wounds of my own to consider. Undeniably, I am a first rate slut, but I’ve used my promiscuity as a shield. This shield has been hoisted up against my heart for a long time and it’s served its purpose. However, as I begin to unravel the many layers of my “false self”, I’ve realized ego and pride have no place in the bedroom. And, since what happens in the bedroom is a metaphor for life, ego and pride, when taken to the extreme, will destroy any shot at happiness in life.

False pride, along with fake interactions, and bullshit posturing belongs in the trash can with all the other garbage. I know it’s easier said than done, but, I’m hauling my over-flowing trash bag to the dumpster tonight.

Will you?

Sally Sunshine

Mergers & Acquisitions: The High Price

2007-11-20T13:48:00.001-08:00

As I’m pounding out miles on the treadmill at 5:45 am, I often reminisce about how delicious sex is when it’s the kind I want. Yet, when I compare the scrumptious fucks to the many worthless fucks I’ve had, my strides get longer, harder, and meaner. As I clench my teeth, visions of wet bodies snapping on and off of each other carry my legs through the air. And, I ask myslef, is the sex I actually want to have an unattainable dream, or is it just different than before?

Years ago, Mr. Meathead and I would spend hours fucking in dirty post-gym clothes. We’d work ourselves into a frenzy, grab at each other with malice, and anger fuck into complete oblivion. Typical and acceptable expressions of affection between us included throwing each other into walls and slamming an open throat down on a perched cock or protruding pussy. Delicate, we most certainly were not, and, at the time, our stamina-filled sessions were satisfying.

Sex, like working out or playing sports, can be experienced as a strictly physical act. But, a simple physical act isn’t always good enough. Now, I cherish a good old fashion anger fuck as much as the next girl. But, let’s not neglect the fact, sometimes we need the stable presence of a kindred spirit- toes touching, naked bodies trembling next to each other, hearts pounding out of our chest- to create some orgasmic surrender with. Most people, unfortunately, only associate soul merging sex with a monogamous relationship. After years of cultivating a loving supportive partnership, one is finally ready for true intimacy. Or, in the absence of a secure foundation, strings are attached. When and if the soul merging occurs, the thought of losing the other after it is too overwhelming, so people get clingy. At this point, most of us, in some shape or form, “Get Owned.”

Ownership, then, is the struggle to possess the “other” when our pussy is not stuffed with their cock, or their cock is not nestled in our pussy. (Lesbian & Gay folk- stick with me.) For the ladies, after your guy cums, his cock still inside of you, have you ever wished it could stay forever? Same goes for the guys, have you ever wanted to find a long-term parking spot between her legs and rest? I’ve had the urge. In fact, I’ve told ex-lovers, “Don’t move, I want you to stay here forever”, while I basked in the glow of the merge.

Ownership, unfortunately, exacts a high price on soul expanding orgasmic fun, which is what stops a lot of us from pulling out the little black book on those lonely nights. (Hello Sleepless in Seattle!) Plus, to complicate matters further, soul mergers don’t happen on a superficial level.

I can call Bob over to stick it in, which, in the business world, is tantamount to an acquisition. He acquires my pussy, but afterwards my pussy, as a separate entity, is discarded and forgotten. A merger, in contrast, has a completely different energy attached to it. In the event of a merger, two separate entities join forces to experience each other deeply and form a more versatile stronger entity.

Personally, I find myself teetering back and forth between acquiring and merging. Simple ho-hum fucks are lovely when we’re not in the mood to think or feel- when we're in a “doing” mode. Mergers, on the other hand, introduce the world of art, creativity, and psychic connections into our sexual landscape. And, even though it pains me to admit it, there are times when I crave a soul connection. Today I can say (although tomorrow it could change!) with sincerity, I would welcome it.

I feel uneasy admitting it- like I am implying I desire a relationship. This, however, is not the case, at least not in a traditional sense. I want a soul-on-soul sex merger without any claims of ownership or control. I want the same person who fucks me lovingly to also watch strangers fuck me brutally. And, I want to move beyond the trite definitions of love we’ve all been forced to swallow into a more satisfying experience for all.

Let’s work on manifesting the dream this week. The sex we really want is just around the corner.

Yours truly, Sally.

Whore Manifesto

2007-11-16T09:27:00.000-08:00

We wish you a whorey Christmas ..
…..and a fuck-filled New Year!

Read the story below found on yahoo.com yesterday as one of their "featured" articles:

SYDNEY (AFP) - "Santas in Australia's largest city have been told not to use Father Christmas's traditional "ho ho ho" greeting because it may be offensive to women, it was reported Thursday.
Sydney's Santa Clauses have instead been instructed to say "ha ha ha" instead, the Daily Telegraph reported.
One disgruntled Santa told the newspaper a recruitment firm warned him not to use "ho ho ho" because it could frighten children and was too close to "ho", a US slang term for prostitute.
"Gimme a break," said Julie Gale, who runs the campaign against sexualising children called Kids Free 2B Kids.
"We are talking about little kids who do not understand that "ho, ho, ho" has any other connotation and nor should they," she told the Telegraph.
"Leave Santa alone."
A local spokesman for the US-based Westaff recruitment firm said it was "misleading" to say the company had banned Santa's traditional greeting and it was being left up to the discretion of the individual Santa himself."

This article reeks of sanctimonious shit.

Can you smell it?

Poor women, we wouldn't want to subject your delicate ears to such a distasteful word. Oh, the horror! Whores everywhere! What will we do? And how will we protect the defenseless little children from this assault of slutty nouns?

Forget about the kids for a minute, and let's just consider that this article was written for adults by an adult. And, the actual reason for stopping these naughty Santa's from saying "ho" was done in the spirit of "not offending" us sensitive women folk.

First of all, ladies and gents, since I have no experience in the paid sex-work category, I am speaking from a strictly free pussy stance. I'm not, however, discounting the work paid sex-workers do. They certainly have filled a necessary niche in the market place. Someone pays, they fuck, they suck...whatever. I'm the last one to judge. Get your dollar dollar bills, girls. Again, to clarify, I am not speaking to those who are trafficked/sold into prostitution either , or those who want to leave the sex industry- this a different topic altogether.)

Now that we've cleared that up, this Free Whore has two words for all the whore-haters.

Slut Pride.

When Margret Cho first coined the term during her stand up act, I was floored. She said, "At first I wondered.. am I gay, am I straight? And, then I realized, no, I'm just slutty. Where's my parade?"

I laughed so hard I cried when I heard it. Indeed, Margret, slut pride.

Even so, upon slut admission, many naïve women and "concerned" men will pull the “don't you have any self-respect--- don't you love yourself?" card. What the naysayer's don't realize is I do love myself. In fact, I love myself too much to fall for the lie.

The Big Lie.

The Big Lie forces women to pick a side. Virgins versus Whores. Good girls versus Bad Girls. I believe Tori Amos also used the term "the split of the two Mary's" (i.e. Mary Magdalene versus Mother Mary). The nature of the split is ancient and deep.

The split exists in society and within each individual woman’s psyche. This system was designed to reduce women’s power as a whole by dividing us into separate camps. Women, in essence, must heal this polarization and rescue and recover both images of the mother and the whore from the collective. I have been working diligently at this during my adult life. Part of my teenage years were spent as a secondary mother to my little sisters, and the other part as a carefree slut. Can anyone imagine Sally in a maternal role? It’s difficult, I know, but that hypocritical Moon in Cancer at the top of my chart says otherwise. I’m capable of embodying both roles simultaneously, and I am very blessed in that regard. Are you?

If you aren’t, it could be because you’ve given too much attention to one side of the spectrum. Now, I admit, I’m a little heavy on the whore side. I love whores. A whore won’t judge you and she’d give you the shirt off of her back (both literally and metaphorically). Courtney Love, a whore, mother, and Sun in Cancer, is a perfect example. I’d be honored to hang with Courtney, minus the heroin, of course.

So, what does society gain from the spilt?

Women are supposed to put another's satisfaction and comfort above their own. Women are also trained to be the primary care givers, the nurturing presence. This was no accident, my friends. The system placed women in a position of servitude with little reward and told us we should be thankful for it. And, they sold us Cinderella stories in a neat forever-after package to seal the deal. Those who will not conform to the "Mother Mary" role risk being labeled a big Mary Magdalene Whore. Then, violators are punished accordingly. Since whores always "deserve it" and get almost no protection or acceptance from society or the legal system, they are forced to go it alone.

It is in this space, in holding the very unpopular position as an underdog with women and men alike, whores must gain self-love, acceptance, and strength, in spite of the cruel judgments of others. Whores (paid or unpaid) are human beings. We love, we cry, we carry on like the rest of you, but we are able to be sluts and embrace it because we love ourselves enough. We intuitively understand other women need our love and acceptance too, and, it is through our example that others are able to get free.

And, that, my dears, is one of the most important lesson's in life...love will set you free.

Sprinkling love everywhere,

Ho, Ho, Ho

~Sal.

Equality & Male Desire

2007-11-15T06:03:00.001-08:00

Pigs and Science
by Mike Dubisch

Some men stand at the edge, look out over the horizon,
silently wish for more, but never go for it. By the
time they get to be adults the spirit of adventure and
curiosity from their youth has been eroded. These men
have repressed and trapped themselves in a life that’s
void of desire- a hole which could possibly take at
least two more lifetimes to work their way out of.

As a woman who’s stood at the end of the edge and
jumped, I find myself in the role of an initiator.
Men come to me because they need the animal within
them released. And, they need to replace shame and
guilt with a new model of acceptance.

In my richest fantasy, my lover and I would be like
sculptors, carving each other out of the stone,
working tirelessly and losing ourselves in the detail.
Standing naked together in the light, we’d examine our
bodies and take pleasure in each and every curve.

My Scorpio, however, got very uncomfortable when I
caressed his body the other night in this manner. When
my mouth lingered at his hips and I cupped his ass in
my hands, he sensed he was being seduced by his equal.
He knows it, and I know it. I touched him, not with
anger in hyper masculine form or in the softness of
the eternal feminine, but with the delicacy of an
equal, one human to another, appreciating and honoring
his body.

Although most would be hard pressed to admit it, men
need this healing touch, badly. To date, many men
have fallen down in front of the Temple of Sally to
touch my body like I was a Goddess- and it feels
fucking amazing. Why wouldn’t men need this too?

Men fear surrendering their masculinity. And, in
truth, I probably haven’t been completely honest about
my intentions either. I told bashful Leo my favorite
sound was his knees hitting the ground. Statements
like these make Sally sound like a real ball crusher
instead of a ball sucker. There is also an element of
trust involved, which, I assume will be a difficult
bridge for my Scorpio and I to cross. His jealously
is activated each time I even mention another man or
woman, so, emptying out the contents of his psyche in
front me really isn’t an option...yet.

Unfortunately, I’m not sure I have what it takes
to nurture the type of relationship his surrender
would demand. Scorpio boy and I, if given
enough time, trust, and confidence in one another
could definitely move mountains with our lust, but as
it stands now, there is no foundation. The only
comfortable energy between us is quick, hard, and
completely physical. No talking, no touching, only
fucking. Tell me, when will there be drinking?

~Sally S.

Rectal Ruminations

2007-11-07T10:40:00.001-08:00

Today, someone alerted me that the tail light on my car is out. So, in this strange and often synchronous universe, I’ve also begun to suspect something is wrong with my ass. It’s been a little itchy and well, to put it plainly, bloody. That’s right, folks, Sally’s got a bad case of rectal bleeding. Now, I should make it clear, it’s not a lot of blood, but it’s enough to cause a re-evaluation of the joys of anal sex.

Sally has been a supporter and willing participant of ass play since day one. However, over the years, I have determined there are simply some men who should not fuck anyone in the ass, ever. Men who aren’t trained in Assology 101 should not run around sticking it where the sun don’t shine. Butt *ahem* But, the problem is, I run into ass novices with starling frequency. And unfortunately, with ass play, it’s often a “learn as you go” experience. Parents don’t sit down with their curious teenagers to discuss ass. It just doesn’t happen. In fact, I don’t remember talking about the “how to” aspect of anal sex once with friends either, which is odd because we talked about everything else.

Thus, when I started experimenting with anal sex with my boyfriend when I was twenty, I was still pretty ignorant. We both wanted to go that route, but were unsure of how to proceed with it. We never used lube, sex toys, and god forbid the day we’d be forced to say the word “anal” to each other. Yet, there were days when his hard cock pushed up against my ass for hours teasing it slightly and grazing it ever so lightly. My boyfriend, a naughty Libra/Scorpio cusp-er, was too nice to admit it, but I knew he wanted to fuck me there. Hell, even I had grown tired of the grazing game. I knew it was time. But sadly, we parted ways without fully experiencing the intensity of our longing.

My most memorable experience with anal sex happened only a few years ago. Ron* was a sexy farmer with a body from hell and the face of a god. Still, to this day, when I see him my pussy buzzes with yummy. Farmer Ron also had a healthy scattering of planets in the 8th house and a lovely uncircumcised penis. I was sold. Anal sex it was. So, one fateful evening after a long night of drinking and debauchery, he grabbed my ass and told me to spread ‘em. Having been educated on the virtues of lube during my lesbian days, I reached for the KY and my favorite vibrator immediately.

Fuck me, Farmer boy, please fuck me.

Because of the massive quantity of lube I applied, he slid in effortlessly. Also, the steady vibration on my clit had increased my pleasure tenfold to the point where I had to stop. I didn’t want to cum that soon. After about ten minutes of ass heaven, he switched holes- without so much as a warning. Readers, I was livid. Farmer Ron had just violated the first rule of Ass Fucking Courtesy. Do not, under any circumstance, switch holes without washing the cock in question or applying a new condom. Two days later, I had the worst yeast infection ever and was formulating a plan to terminate his life. Ladies, mark my words, men who do not honor or understand this simple Hole Rule should be avoided at all costs. Farmer Ron lost all future rights to my ass after that night.

My anal experiences after Farmer Ron were, thankfully, quite pleasing until recently. Last week, another naughty Scorpio fucked my ass with no lube. Now, keep in mind, I could’ve stopped him and asked for the lube, so it’s partly my fault. But, I was horny and wanted to feel some pain. I told him to pull back on my hair, wrap it around his fist, and slam my head into the headboard. Scorpio boy eagerly pulled my hair at the root and slammed his cock into me. I was, in that moment, enjoying the inherent forbidden quality of ass fucking while gobbling up the pain in large doses. My pleasure receptors were flashing off the map. Eventually, and much too quickly, in my opinion, he came. His warm liquid stained my back and sheets beneath us as we both moaned in release.

Scorpio boy gave me a good run for my money in the pleasure department, but I was unprepared for the consequences that followed. My ass ached for days afterward, plus, the bleeding. But, it’s a little late to cry over spilled milk (torn assholes), so I will accept my ass bleeding fate like a champ. I did, after all, have anal sex with no lube and even asked him to “fuck my ass harder”, which, in retrospect, was probably not the wisest request.

The reality is, when anal sex is performed correctly, it should not be intensely painful and your ass should not bleed. Anal sex can be very enjoyable, if these basic rules are followed:

Rule 1: No ass fucking without lubrication. Please apply generously.

Rule 2: Toys aren’t required for the job, but extra pleasure is double the fun.

Rule 3: Hole Switching is not permitted unless all hygiene interests are protected.

Evidently, Sally Sunshine failed Assology 101 and could probably use a refresher course, along with a new tail light.

Yours in unified pursuit of healthy ass, Sally S.

**artist: Thinking Nude, State I: by Roy Lichtenstein

Speaking of artists: The lovely talented Eric Francis of Planet Waves had this to say about the recent strike of the Writers Guild of America.

"A note of solidarity: As a member of two writers' unions (the National Union of Journalists of the UK and the National Writers Union of the United States) I would like to express my solidarity with the Writers Guild of America, whose members are on strike. Writers work hard, and most of us have to work longer than it takes to go to medical school followed by law school before we earn a living wage. In particular, the writers want a bigger piece of new media: iPods, the Internet, and whatever is to come. I am all for that. Writers are the people who make you laugh, the people who make you think, and the ones who show you the world beyond your mother's garden."

Eric is a 100% correct. Writers work incredibly hard to produce meaningful inspiring content for their readers with, in most cases, very little appreciation, monetarily or otherwise. Eric is a writer and astrologer who has tirelessly shared his gift with the world over and over again. If you have not subscribed to Planet Waves yet, you are missing out. Do so today.

Love you all, Sally S.

Mistress Power

2007-11-05T10:59:00.000-08:00

Mistress Maybe: Clive James

“Is that your wife
your girlfriend
or just your main bitch?”*

Imagine a bunch of frat boys standing around high-fiving each other while they stroke egos. Visualize them recounting one of their random exploits. Then, witness as a witty member of their whore-hating posse declares with a clever smile, “Guys, you can’t turn a ho into a housewife" and the maniacal laughter that follows.

Their intelligent phraseology is meant to insult women of a morally bereft disposition while they wipe their ass clean of any responsibility for the encounter. But what these poor misguided frat boys don’t realize is most whores would rather choke on a fully erect cock than be their one and only, or hell, even just their “main bitch.” Erroneously, they assume every woman wishes to inhabit girlfriend/wife territory.

Well, gee girls, aren’t I a lucky duck? He picked me!

Unfortunately, now I’ve got another job (i.e. the care and feeding of a bottomless pit). Men have been programmed to expect the servant feminine because their mothers either engrained an attitude of entitlement in their psyches, or because of a lack of nourishment in their primary bond. Emotional vampirism runs at full throttle for those men who assign all of their emotional development to their partner. They want to be fed, nurtured, comforted, and consoled- constantly.

It’s not a surprise, then, why one would gladly pawn off this responsibility on another woman. Who wants to (metaphorically) wash socks all day? As appealing as it sounds, some women instinctively understand this is not a position of power. Not only does one lose value sexually, the interest factor is reduced considerably. Nobody wants to bang the maid, although, modern day Cinderella stories would like to convince us (women) otherwise. Realistic sluts, on the other hand, understand the maid/servant is the most unnoticed, under-appreciated, powerless woman in the tribe. So, she would rather slip into the less demanding of the two roles- the mistress.

There are people in the world, like mistresses, who defy tradition. They challenge society’s notions about love, sex, and relating. Mistresses embrace another brand of “being”. However, it wasn’t always so. Mistresses of the past were used as concubines, still dependent on the support of their lover. The unspoken agreement was, “I’ve got my normal life/wife, but she bores me and I’d like to fuck you.” The mistress accepted the offer under the conditions that financial support would be provided, but no emotional support. Unfortunately, the mistress’s survival was still hinged upon the male dollar (power).

Fast forward a few hundred years, and now, women are beginning to recognize the Cinderella story is a big fucking lie. Additionally, there is no need to barter our security for sex anymore, if you’ve got a little ambition and aren’t afraid of some hard work. However, there is a particular Brand of Pathetic out there who falls into the mistress role expecting her fellow will eventually ditch the old model and upgrade. But this, my friends, is a gross misuse of mistress power.

“Tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies.”

Mistresses who embrace power know they have it when the illusion is sparkly. When the glitter fades they are nothing more than a girlfriend in waiting. And, since “girlfriend in waiting” is almost as desperate as a “bride in waiting”, one needs to guard against the onset of reality.

Mistresses are able to maintain their air of mystery and intrigue precisely because they have no desire for love in the mundane. They allow their lover to escape from the heaviness of their primary bond to a “wonderful land of make believe.” The mistress guides her lover into a new state of fluidity. Lovers lose themselves in a sea of passion and release, while idealistic fantasies about fusion and unconditional love are exchanged without expectations.

Any savvy mistress knows, internally, she has the upper hand. He will return to his regular life craving her body, her scent, and her lips. He will dream of her, unable to capture the beauty of the bond during normal waking hours. But, who will wash the floors? Who will scrub the dishes clean? Who will care for the children? And, most importantly, who will deal with his moods, temper, smelly feet, and long-winded repetitive speeches about nothing? She will!

The mistress is not expected to assist with maintaining a functional reality, and really, why would she want to? Reality is a cruel taskmaster and isn’t compatible with beautiful visions of adoration. As long as the mistress harbors no illusions about the bond, she is able to freely fuck as she chooses.

Fuck me, put your pants back on and kindly leave, sir.

As most of you are aware, Sally is one bitch who enjoys a good power play. Thus, the mistress role fits like glove. Even if the dude has no other woman he’s fucking, living with, or married to, one can still create the dynamics of a naughty mistress-like tryst. It’s not terribly hard to do. Men have Prince Charming fantasies of their own and will eagerly fall off the edge of the Earth with you for a few hours. It’s very important, however, to quickly pull back afterwards. A smart mistress understands human reflexology and uses it to her advantage. Leave him with a wistful feeling, like he almost had it, but it slipped right from his fingers.

Whimper.
Feed.
Release.

It is the pattern we adhere to.

And so it goes.....SS

*Lyrics: Rollout: Ludacris

The Economics of Ass

2007-10-31T10:29:00.000-07:00

Businessman in Water: Chuck Carlton

“Her good looks could've sailed a ship
but her will alone could've sunk it
Funny thing about money for sex
you might get rich, but you'll die by it”
~Close Call: Rilo Kiley

Hello my little goblins, Happy Halloween. It’s been a few days since my last confession, and I’ve been very sinful. Losing one’s soul is exhausting work. And, in true Sally Slut form, my favorite holiday did not disappoint. So, even though the light in my eyes is just a flicker and my skin is still on fire, I come bearing gifts. I’m your supplier, your dope dealer, or, should I say... sex dealer. I’ll sell myself to you for practically nothing and ask for very little in return. I’m an economist’s nightmare. I’ll offer you my ass for free. I’m the girl who won’t say no.

In a capitalist society, the law of supply and demand dictates the cost and availability of scarce resources. Men demand the booty, and women supply it. However, most men have the distinct feeling booty is not bountiful. And, if they do have a chance to fuck, they often retreat because of the emotional entrenchment (i.e. drama). Women expect something for their effort, which is why sex with a woman who doesn’t charge is relatively unheard of. Even though the cute little hottie you met at the bar is probably not a paid slut, one should not assume there won’t be a price to pay. There is no free lunch. If you take hottie home and fuck her like a call girl, she will most likely demand remuneration whether it’s emotional (a new relationship!) or actual money (dinner n’ a movie- reverse courtship style.)

It’s very seldom, then, that one finds a whore, whether she’s paid or not, who will fuck you for free. It screws up the system. If you don’t believe me, analyze the failure of Regan’s “voodoo economics” (supply-side economic theory) in the 1980’s. The idea was the wealthy, who received the benefits of the tax cuts, would eventually share their bounty with the less fortunate. The benefits, thus, would “trickle-down” to average folks and we’d all revel in our richness. The crux of the failure revolved around the concept of the “Free Share.” Were the rich (booty plentiful) really going to share with the poor pathetic (men) folk out of the kindness of their hearts?

Those who have lordship over resources (the booty) have the power. Since history and economic hardship has taught women to bargain with their bodies, power is not surrendered easily. And, if it is surrendered, it almost always has a price. Demand may increase when a woman offers her body at a discount until a certain point is reached. High quality shoppers will have moved on a long time ago, and, even the low-end buyers will scratch their heads in confusion when a seller gives away their goods for free. What’s the point? Where’s the value? Is this a liquidation sale?

Essentiality, this is the power struggle men and women find themselves in. Men want the booty to be more available, while women instinctively understand demand drives price standards. Whores who willingly spread themselves out under random strangers for nothing undermine the system. Radical sluts understand the system is fucked up. They know men & women would enjoy each other a lot more if the market crashed. Yes, some stockbrokers may plummet to their death from great heights when the structure collapses, but, a new freedom will surface in its place.

We are constantly told there is a shortage of resources on this planet. We cling tightly to our treasured possessions. Whether it’s our bodies, partners, or standard of living, it’s difficult to let go of the power associated with acquiring. Yet, it’s the ability to relate to ourselves, partners, and the world at large which ultimately suffers if we do not. Sex doesn’t have to be a means to an end or another bargaining tool laid flat when we reveal our hand.

Sex can be offered freely as a healing gift to others in service.

Fuck the markets. This ain’t no exchange. ~SS

Screwing Strangers

2007-10-26T12:46:00.001-07:00

Thank you, Drive thru.

“Look at me, I'm skinny
It never stopped me from gettin' busy
I'm a freak
I like the girls with the boom
I once got busy in a Burger King bathroom”
-The Humpty Dance, Digital Underground

Anonymous sex fascinates me. Typically, we at least learn a potential partner’s name and a bit of their history before we jump in the sack. Now, within the context of an orgy when one is participating in a free-for-all fuck, anonymous sex is the norm and histories aren’t required. For instance, my girl friend is heading to Manhattan this weekend for some Halloween fun at a swinger's party. She may engage in some stranger screwing, which, in the sexually liberated atmosphere she’s in, will be perfectly acceptable. Regretfully, free-for-all fuck situations don’t present themselves often unless it’s in a “promoted event” type format. We don’t expect to meet a stranger at Blockbuster and fuck their brains out in the parking lot. Hell, forget the fact that it’s a stranger, and instead consider your significant other. Would you screw your boyfriend/girlfriend in the car during broad daylight at Chucky Cheese?

The fact is a large majority of us wouldn’t. Most of our sex on this planet is done at night, with lights off, under a mound of covers. We know our lovers, we know what they taste like, we know their histories, and even if the lights are dimmed, we can still find them in the darkness. In contrast, with a stranger, there is no familiarity, and no sense of “home.” We park our body on someone for a few hours and move on. Luckily, I’ve been able to experience both sides of the coin during my life time. I’ve had some loving moments buried deep in the sheets, and I’ve fucked strangers on bathroom floors under the florescent light. And, really, both are illuminating experiences.

So, last night, at the mall, when a complete stranger/store owner approached Sally with a few good lines and sales pitch, I was smitten. I didn’t buy his product, but, I did lick his balls in the bathroom under the bright light of retail. I knew very little about stranger boy before I ran off with him. He told me he:

A) had a girlfriend
B) was a Freak Boy
C) thought my daddy was an Israeli

Physically, stranger boy was right on point. Tall, skinny, longish dark hair, and foreign. Yummy. So, while I waited for him to finish closing down shop, I examined my options. I could walk out the door and never talk to him again, offended because he had a girlfriend, even though he was obviously turned on by our energy. Or, I could follow him to the nearest bathroom, and get down on my knees. Sex was out of the question, neither of us had a condom and I was ovulating. So, knee pads it was.

Alone with him the bathroom, he tasted my mouth first, lifted my shirt, and begged for my pussy. He wanted to eat it like its never been done before. He reached over to shut off the light and pulled me down to the floor. I sprung right up, turned the light back on, and let my pants fall to the floor. The guy had an amazing mouth, soft lips and thick tongue, just the way I like it. Before I climaxed and lost interest, I implored him to remove his pants so we could suck on each other simultaneously. He had such a lovely cock, and when he said, “I’m gonna cum in your mouth, you little bitch”, I melted even further into the cement floor.

During our bathroom bliss, his phone rang a couple hundred times. His girlfriend was on the line, impatiently wondering when he would return. We dressed quickly, gathered our possessions, and shut the door behind us. He nervously inquired about my intentions and pleaded with me not to reveal his infidelity (which is impossible since I don't know his girlfriend). I promised, smiled sweetly, and turned on my heel. I was almost out of shouting distance, when he yelled, “Hey, you forgot something!” Alarmed, I looked back at him, and he replied, “My name! You forgot my name..it’s....” I laughed, shot him the peace sign and continued on.

I’d probably fuck stranger boy if I saw him again. And who knows, maybe I will see him. I’m not at the mall that often, but I do know where to find the dude, after all. Yet, these kinds of encounters are geared toward never seeing one another again. I’ve had little rushes of lust running up and down my spine all day, and I wouldn’t want to ruin it by placing it within the confines of a routine.

Because, as we all know, it's better to have loved and lost then to have never loved at all.

P.S. For those weekend party animals who are enjoying their Halloween festivities this Saturday, make it a good one. I, for one, plan on losing my soul Saturday night. Anonymous random pairings, here I come. See ya on the flip side.

~Little Ms. Slutty Sunshine

Sex, Weight, and Fuckability

2007-10-24T13:05:00.000-07:00

Beauty and Porcelain: Drew May

“Boys are cute, but food is cuter.” – Tori A.

Heaviness plagues me. And no, I’m not talking about weight. I’m talking about responsibilities. Last night, I had plenty of work to finish and was not in the mood to play “loving parental figure.” My lover was dead set on a night with Sally even though what I craved was a night in complete silence with incense burning and music playing. Reluctantly, I agreed to see him as long as he shut his mouth and lay next to me respectfully. All the lights were already off when he entered my apartment, loudly, slamming the door.

He ran into my bedroom and leaped on the bed at full speed. Then, he rested his head on my chest like an adoring child, while he wrapped his arms and legs around my body squeezing me tightly. Had I been in a lusty mood I might’ve responded to his overtures with some enthusiasm, but alas, I was not.

Sally, for once, was not “in the mood.”

Now, for a girl with a sexual appetite the size of Texas, this was strange situation, indeed. Yet, a number of factors about this “quasi relationship” are irritating. First of all, the dude, an overly-excitable Sagittarius, has been grating on my last nerve. His incessant talking and pontificating is driving me up the wall. Secondly, stress.

For Sally,

more stress=less sex

It’s not the physical act of sex, which I enjoy immensely, but the unbelievable amount of energy (and money!) it takes to maintain one’s fuckability.

So, what exactly is fuckability?

A tight ass and slammin’ outfit on the right night?

sell it, Sally, sell it!

Apparently, Venus is not only the Goddess of Love & Beauty, but she’s also the goddess of tanning, shopping, pedicures, manicures, and waxing. There’s nothing inherently wrong with pampering, but there’s time, money, and practical matters to consider. If all of our time is allocated to increasing sexiness, what other areas of our lives suffer?

For example, on a typical Saturday, Sally rises around 9:30 or 10:00 and begins her beauty regimen. I’m off to the gym for at least a two hour work out followed by a short tanning session, eyebrow waxing, and lastly, a pedicure. Afterward, I spend considerable amount of time scouring clothing racks for an appropriate outfit. Outfit choice is crucial. One should have an idea of the theme they’re going for. Slapping on an old tee-shirt and a pair of jeans is not an option. Then, it’s back home by 6:30 for a quick costume check. Accessories and undergarments are selected, then, it’s on to shoes. Boots, flats, and heels are examined to determine the best fit. By 7:30, one can embark upon the “getting ready” process.

Shower, lotion, make-up, hair, perfume.. in that order.

By 9:00 pm, twelve hours later, Sally is finally ready to see and be seen.

Certainly, dedicating the entirety of our energy to The Pursuit of Bootie, can be exhausting. Coming from a girl who’s been in hot pursuit since 1992, it doesn’t get any easier as we get older. Our bodies’ fail (hello Viagra!), careers and/or children demand our attention, and the pressure to conform to societal tradition mounts. We need another to share the burden with, or at least to take out the trash.

Is this the reason people get married? Do we eventually tire of the sexy charade?

Relationships do have a way of eroding the sexy right out of us. Ever notice those people who work out and "primp until they can primp no more" when they aren’t in a relationship, and then, after they’ve attracted their mate, they slip into physical neglect mode? And, to add insult to injury, people are never quite as hot as they were when you first met. Intrigue wears off. Secrets are uncovered and mysteries are solved. Now, some would say, this is where “real” relationships are formed- in the boring practical reality of day-to-day activities.

We may long for the inspired enchantment of our early days, and fondly remember when our fuckability was on the rise. But surprisingly, it’s the ebb n’ flow moments in life that’ll get ya, not the heaviness of the daily grind. Each one of us has to carry water, it is expected and we are programmed for it. We may even find another to assist us (husband/wife/long-term partner), which can be a very stabilizing experience. However, change and chaos still surrounds us. Waxing and waning feelings of interest/disinterest are much more challenging than the weight (responsibilities) of everyday living

Sally wants to remind you (and herself!) this week not to crumble under the heaviness, as my one of favorite musician’s would say, “The weight is a gift.”

Let’s live it like it is.

~SS

Slut Guilt

2007-10-19T10:36:00.000-07:00

Guilt: Anthony Guerra

“I don't know why
you want to follow me tonight
when the rest of the world
with whom I've crossed and I've quarreled
let's me down so
for a thousand reasons that I know
to share forever the unrest
with all the demons I possess
beneath the silver moon
maybe you were right
but baby I was lonely
I don't want to fight
I'm tired of being sorry” :: Tired of Being Sorry: Ringside

Sally has fucked, left, and destroyed quite a few people in her short life on this planet, which has led to various accusations like:

“You have no heart.”
“You’re dead inside”
“You’re a scandalous whore.”
“You ripped my pretty red heart in two.” (tribute to Sylvia Plath)

and the old stand by:

“You’re a player.”

What these malcontents don’t realize is during my younger years, I was a nice girl, a people pleaser, in fact. Often times, I would lose interest in relationship long before I broke it off. Even when relationship no longer honored self-discovery and growth, I continued on with the person at my expense. Hell, I spent two and half years with one ex-girlfriend when it should’ve been a one-night stand. But, the girl would flip out, threaten suicide, and stalk me to the ends of the earth until I relented. In order to protect her feelings I soldiered on, half-heartedly, to appease her. This relationship is only one example of how I traded the truth for a lie to protect someone’s feelings. I had many more relationships over the years that followed this pattern.

A part of me felt an obligation to help my partners maintain their emotional balance. Oh, you’re unhappy? Here, let me help. So, you hate yourself and feel weak and misunderstood? Come here, then, my little bird with broken wing. Let me stitch you up and put you back together.

The problem is, once you’ve helped someone in this capacity (either sexually or psychologically) the subject (i.e partner) yearns for fusion and wholeness with their guide again and again. In many cases, the subject becomes addicted to, what they perceive to be, their “savior’s” attention or presence in their life. The subject, then, feeds of this strength while taking what they need for themselves. When the “savior” finally attempts to gracefully bow out of their role or let’s the projection expire, the subject is, naturally, enraged. They want more. We don’t especially like it when our faith or image of someone is destroyed. But as Tori Amos sings, “I was never the vision of what you wanted me to be.”

Readers, I realize this scenario makes Sally sound like a real bitch. Who does this chick think she is? God? a Savior? a freakin’ saint?

My father had a severe Jesus complex, so I am particularly sensitive to being viewed as anybody’s savior. It disgusts me. However, Dad was a charismatic preacher, people wanted to believe him. They needed to believe him. When he spoke his “followers” listened in awe, the man was damn inspiring. Growing up hearing him and seeing him certainly affected me and the way my communication with others is received. Further, since ancestral imprints run deep through our family heritage, daughters and sons carry the strengths and weakness of those who have gone before them. In other words, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

It’s also important to realize human beings are hard wired to seek out meaning in their encounters with others and are prone to projections. For every savior out there, you’ll find someone in need of saving and vice versa. Saviors need their followers as much as their followers need their saviors. This is, essentially, a karmic situation and a sticky one at that.

I wish those who’ve felt slighted by Sally could understand the deeper impact of their perceived abandonment. They were learning something beautiful, and I was too. Nothing is ever lost. People get what they need from one another, even if it hurts. Important lessons do come through our pain and disappointment. And those who have crossed paths with Ms. Sunshine have learned about self-reliance. I can pick you up and dust you off, but in the end, each person must develop their own inner resources, their temple of self, or strong core.

So, here ends Sally’s Slut Guilt.

When we start to understand ourselves (i.e. “birthing” ourselves) we recognize radical honesty is the only way to go. This blog is dedicated to the pursuit of radical honesty, and as we all know, revolution is never a dinner party. It’s tough.

Telling a lover,

“Hey, I’m sorry; I just don’t do relationships right now. “
“I’m sorry, I can’t see you anymore.”
“I’m falling in love with you”
“I’ve fallen out of love with you”
“I want to fuck your best friend”
or “I’d like to fuck you again.”

all requires balls (or ovaries!) of steel. It may be embarrassing, the other person may feel like shit, or you may end up losing them, but we must commit ourselves to the highest order in life...truth.

So be it.

Love you all immensely, Sally.

E- Dating: Finding love (or sex!) on the Internet

2007-10-17T12:58:00.000-07:00

Is there a shortage of available sexy man candy in close vicinity? Do you struggle to find a decent relationship within a 100 mile radius? Are you so bloody sick of the specimens in your neighbor hood you’re considering a move to Siberia? If so, on-line dating could be viable option. Now, it may seem like Sally is just overflowing with applicants, but readers, I live in a small Midwestern city. Interesting men/women are not the norm here (think football Sunday at the nearest sports bar with beer & hot wings and topics ranging from who scored the last touch down to NASCAR.) In this environment, a girl could feasibly go crazy. In order to avoid the asylum, I’ve dipped a couple of toes in the on-line pool, mostly out of boredom or curiosity. And, I’ll admit, once or twice to indulge in a wildly inappropriate long-distance relationship.

My first on-line dating experience started back in my lesbian days on yahoo.com. When I signed up, I was a lonely heartbroken lesbian searching for quality ass. I had, what I thought was, a relatively intriguing profile. However, I got almost no action from my witty “about me” section. But I didn’t have a picture posted, and in retrospect, I probably just sounded haughty instead of witty. A few women sent me “ice breakers” and commented on my profile, but it wasn’t the girl pile I was expecting.

Eventually, after thoroughly exhausting my lesbian options, I decided to join Match.com, again, with no profile picture. However, this time around the gods smiled favorably upon Sally. It may be worth noting, Match.com does have a “woman seeking woman” alternative, however, there were very few women in my area…slim pickings, as one would say. Slightly defeated, I went hunting for boys instead. Men started appearing in rapid succession out of nowhere. My inbox was flooded with requests, so I started picking ‘em off one by one.

Match. com Guy Number One was a long-haired Pisces Painter with a pierced cock. We exchanged a few flirty emails before he gave me the digits. Anxious for my first Internet hook-up, I called him that same night. We agreed to meet at a well-lit public location. Twenty minutes later, cruising the isles of my local bookstore, I ran into Mr. Pierced Cock in a black trench coat. We talked spiritedly for another hour before I left with him. Upon arriving at his house, I discovered, in true starving artist fashion, the guy lived in a complete dump. But, I was horny and willing to overlook the piles of dirty laundry. The guy continued to call me for weeks afterward, but the memories of dirty laundry and garbage strewn about still haunted me. I never spoke with him again.

Match.com Guy Number Two was lanky young Piscean with a fondness for anal sex. He lived about two and half hours from me, so on New Year’s Eve, after a few weeks of phone calls and emails, I drove to his hometown. I should’ve turned around when I walked into his mother’s house and saw some lanky goofy guy beaming back at me. But, readers, I was already committed. I made the drive, hadn’t I? He took me to a local bar where I met half the members of his family while I gritted my teeth and feigned interest. Finally, we left the bar and returned back to mom’s house. Too drunk to care, I sat down the air mattress quasi-bed and started to undress him. After all, tall skinny boy did have some fuck appeal, in an awkward kind of way. Much to my surprise, the guy had a relatively large member AND used it well. I fell asleep in his arms dreaming about mom. The next morning I left with promises to see him again soon, and with a cock of that magnitude, I meant it.

After exploring my local options on Match.com, I decided to continue my search beyond borders. As my Capricorn/Virgo sister often declares smartly, “I’m writing my thesis on International Cock”, thus, eHarmony seemed perfect for vehicle for a foreign merger. eHarmony “daters” are required to take a personality assessment and then all your matches are delivered straight to your inbox. Daters are unable to cruise profiles or contact those who don’t match their criteria. This, in theory, eliminates those who aren’t compatible.

Additionally, eHarmony maintains they have a “Scientifically Proven Compatibility Matching System.” Now, Sally knows animalistic passion isn’t derived from a “scientific system”, but I’ll tell you what is…. marriages. eHarmony states on their website that “90 eHarmony members get married every single day!” eHarmony, evidently, is Thee Place for desperate 30 somethings to met and slap a ring on a finger. Since marriage is a disgusting social institution with zero appeal, I should’ve realized from the beginning, eharmony was a little too science-y for me.

eHarmony Guy Number One was a boring Libra with too much respect for authority. The guy lived far far away from Sally, which, in the end, was a blessing. The courtship (on eHarmony it is a fucking courtship with “steps” and all!) was, again, rather short. I started emailing him in July and was on a plane to visit him by the end of August. The guy was a decent enough human being and we had excellent phone conversations (think creamy smooth Venus voice) but, physically, he was not my cup of tea. He was hairy with a flabby tummy and small wee-wee to boot! I was disappointed but not completely devastated. I figured we could still have some fun. However, the dude was a like a long trip to dullsville for Sally, plus he couldn’t give decent head to save his life. I wasn’t impressed. I packed my bags and headed for the hills.

At this point, I was a bit disillusioned with on-line dating, but still hungry for more. And true to form, shortly after my Libra Mishap, I met eHarmony Guy Number Two. This guy was an intellectual Aquarian with a freaky side…perfect. However, he’d never been with a white girl and he was, as far as I could tell, still mourning the death of his mother. He invited me several times to come see him, but my days of plane hopping were coming to an end. I could not exchange anymore sexual misadventures for a $400 ticket. My bank account wasn’t havin’ it. I never met Mr. Big Brain in person, but I wasn’t too distraught, I’d had my fill.

Yet, one cannot wrap up any discussion about on-line hook ups without mentioning the proverbial King of On-line Fucks, myspace.com. There seems to be a wide array of folks who get a considerable amount of myspace ass. I, on the other hand, have been disappointed by the lack of friendly fuck invites. Currently, I’ve been taunting a slightly repressed Virgo with naughty thoughts, but nothing has manifiested. We’ll see.

My ex-girlfriend, on the other hand, pimps harder than any other woman I know on myspace. She is constantly fielding fuck invites from women. She also uses another site for on-line lesbian dating at Tangowire.com. I asked her to write a few paragraphs about her on-line lesbian dating experiences and she had this to say…

“The lesbian site I use is Tangowire.com. I don't care for it, and I have honestly gotten more play on Myspace than any dating site I have ever been on. I have new people contacting me daily on myspace, after either looking at my pictures or reading my blog. Most of them have no chance ..not into fat and/or butchy.. as you know. But there’s been about 4 girls I have gone out with, and a few more I am supposed to hang out with sometime soon.

I guess the experience has been just fine. However, I have had a few girls either edit their photos or not show certain parts of their bodies, so when I meet them, I definitely got some things I wasn't expecting. One of the girls was only about half as attractive as her pictures are. Another date stared at me fanatically for almost the entire time and still continues to border-line stalk me. Pathetic, really. I will say this, I'm convinced that this *Midwestern City* is just lacking. Conversely, I have so far put no effort into meeting or responding to anyone who lives very far away (don't see the point). I am very seriously considering moving to a land where attractive lesbians really do exist.”

Tangowire is an interesting site, it isn’t just for lesbians, but there is a “women only” area one can join. One can also hook-up based solely on zodiac signs, which is a fabulous idea. Pisces chat room, here I cum.

Also, with respect to friendly fucks @ Revolution..please don’t hesitate to fuck back…leave a message or send an email about your next plane hop. I hope it’s in my direction.

xoxo, Sal.

An Announcement from the Republic of Shaved Pussies

2007-10-10T11:53:00.000-07:00

Do you shave, wax, or pluck your pussy hair? Concerned Citizens for the Removal of Pubic Hair (C.C.R.P.H.) would like to know. Actually, a reader emailed me with a few questions about pussy grooming, and I, with his permission, have published his email. He writes:

"Do you think pubic hair serves any real purpose?

The last few girls I dated were in their mid to late 20's and kept hardwood floors (i.e. shaved pussies), which I actually liked a lot. My ex wife and previous girlfriends, who were a bit older, were more on the shag carpet or au natural side, which I guess I didn't really mind, but I got sick of sticking my tongue in a brillo pad.

I asked my ex wife to clean it up a little bit, which she begrudgingly agreed to do. However, she insisted on keeping something because that was more adult-like and being fully shaved was disgusting. Apparently she hasn't gone down on another girl with a huge bush. Ick. We found a compromise that worked, which was about the only compromise we ever had in our short marriage, but I digress.

I'm not too hung up on it, but it’s interesting and I'd like to hear your thoughts on the subject, since you've probably seen more variations of shaved and unshaved or somewhere in between than I have.

Do lesbians or bi-sexual girls typically have a preference of shaved or unshaved? Do you think age is a factor if a girl will shave or not?

What do you think about guys who shave or do you not pay attention?"
- C.C.R.P.H.

See my response below:

Dear C.C.R.P.H.,

You are correct, Sally has sampled a wide variety of pussies in her day, plus I have one of my own I’ve been meticulously grooming since day one.

Or not.

Pussy up-keep can be girl’s worst nightmare, especially if you are prone to shaving rashes, in-grown hairs, or yeast infections. Sally has horrible eyesight, so, shaving in the morning without contacts is out of question. Thus, every couple of days, I laboriously grab my razor from a shelf on the tub while I’m bathing and do the deed. However, all those little hairs, regardless of how careful I am, end up stuck to the bottom of the tub. Now, it’s fine if you live alone, but if you have roommates, it can be an embarrassing discovery. When someone screams, “Ew! Who left their pubes all over the place?!” during your semi-formal dinner party, you know you’re the guilty offender. Please be careful with those pubes, folks.

In my experience, it’s the girls you would least expect to have immaculate clean-shaven pussies that do. Lesbians, especially, are surprising. The butchiest of the butch will have Thee Most Beautiful Pussy Ever while the Sexy Siren’s is only mediocre. Yet, I don’t subscribe to the school of thought, “Bald is Beautiful”. A pussy doesn’t necessarily have to be hairless or even shaved. Pussies with a rough texture, however, should come with a warning sign. Stubble is not sexy. I love giving head, but when razor burn threatens to remove the first layer of my epidermis, it’s time to revaluate.

Lucky for Sally, the ex had a stellar pussy. She shaved often, which, I too, like the reader above, appreciated. The only complaint I had was when she first shaved. She’d go completely or almost all the way bald, and it was usually on a Fri/Sat. night before we went out. Later on in the evening when we returned home, I’d rip her pants off and stick my tongue in her only to discover a little hair left over…like the pubes in the bath tub hair…hanging out. Usually, these stray hairs would end up in my mouth, or lodged in the back of my throat, but that’s nothing a glass of water can’t fix. I never did tell her about the strays, she was still one beautiful bitch in my mind.

But, to answer your question, reader, there is no hard n’ fast rule in the world of lesbians and bisexuals regarding pussy grooming. Even so, I consider it good form to shave mine at least once a week if I’m fucking a woman. I haven’t been as considerate when I’m going through a "man phase". Currently, the dude I’ve been nailing, much to my dismay, isn’t a huge fan of pussy licking. Thus, I admit, I’ve been lazy lately. But, if I’m spending an evening with a pussy enthusiast it will be groomed to perfection.

I’ve have also found age to be an equally surprising element in the whole “bald pussy” phenomenon. The oldest woman I’ve slept with was thirty-nine and the youngest was twenty-one. The twenty-one year old had nearly a full bush while the thirty-nine year old was as well-groomed as they come! Go figure! Reader, I see your point about the older generation being resistant to the prevailing trend. It happens. However, asking our lovers to do little things (like trimming) to increase our pleasure/their pleasure should not be out of the question, and I like the idea of compromise.

Do I notice when men shave their crotch? Yes, I think so. But with men I’m more likely to remember shape and size rather than hair presence. Some men are incredibly hairy, which makes dick sucking not only dangerous (choke!) but unpleasant. Men with big bushy pubic areas are probably also hairy-back gents and should consider a trip to the salon. There are men who are, for whatever reason, pretty hairless, so, for those boys, hair removal isn’t necessary.

Pubic hair, or hairiness in general, is probably a matter of preference more than anything. I have friends who “love them some hairy gorilla men”, and I imagine there are some men out there who (gulp) like hairy women, brillo pad and all. I lust for men who are tall, thin, femmy types with delicate hands, thus, hairy macho boys need not apply.

Tangentially, since we’re on the topic of pussies, ladies, which sign do you think gives the best or worst head? I’ve had terrible luck with Gemini men. Gemini men do know how to give a good fingering, but head, no thanks. Air sign men, typically, I’ve found are not well-trained in Pussy 101. Pisces men, on the other hand, give excellent head and are well-behaved slaves. Just kidding.

Well, maybe not.

Yours, Sally S.

Tis’ the Season for Sex & Death

2007-10-05T10:33:00.000-07:00

“In the Leaves” : Carrie Bagalio

“With every opening
carving a rough history
of bedroom scenes
the plot hard to follow
the text obscured
in the fields of sheets
slowly gathering the stains
of seasons spent lying there
red and brown
like leaves fallen”
- The Slant, Ani DiFranco

The fall season feels like death. It’s partly because my health is so poor during fall due to my allergies and the harvest. The humid moldy air is quite oppressive. So, in typical cyclical fashion, The Cold of Death has descended upon me. Between the combination of allergy meds, sinus meds, sleeping pills and occasional dose of Nyquil, Sally hasn’t been feeling too sexy these days. Plus, I’ve been awfully cuddly and romantic, which has put a damper on any potential hard core Fuck Meetings.

I blame my romantic cuddly mood on the season's changing. Fall discards the frivolousness of the summer and replaces it with a serious approach. We are more prone to engage in a stable partnership during the dead of winter. Curling up by the fire place, rolling around in the sheets until 2 pm while the wind whips against the walls, or hot chocolate on the couch with a good movie, are all appealing during the winter months. By spring, we’re ready to escape the heaviness of the relationship to frolic and flirt with fresh meat.

Even so, the impending freeze is not the cause of my melancholy like it is for most people. The freeze kills the toxins in the air, spiders and the bugs. In addition, naked bodies rubbing together cause friction and heat, and, readers, that can’t be bad thing. Driving through the brightly colored foliage in the fading light of a fall evening does, however, produce feelings of sadness.

His Death Fits like a Glove

I kill.
I burn.
I wrap my arms around him till the fire is gone.

I mourn.
I forgive.
I soar with wings out stretched again.

Can you recall how the Earth looked during an intense moment of grief? What was the sky like? How did the air seem? Grief causes time to stop. I can recall exactly how the sky looked the day my best friend’s mother lost her battle with cancer. I remember the pattern the clouds formed that day and the texture of the chilly fall air. I can see, like it was yesterday, the leaves blowing across my windshield in the eerie yellow light on the day my dad died. And lastly, I remember sitting on my knees, staring out my window across the street at the red and brown trees, sobbing, when I heard my dear friend Brian had committed suicide.

“I don't know what takes hold
out there in the desert cold”
~A Sorta Fairytale~Tori Amos

Brian was a slightly depressed young man who’d fallen into a deep depression during the height of his drug use. Faced with expulsion from the university he attended and the loss of his love, he shot himself on a peaceful archway above a park we frequented. Brain’s funeral was difficult. My friends and I huddled together in a circle and cried on each other’s shoulders. No one said a word. There were no words just hugging and touching.

Later that night, I went over to my boyfriend’s house. Exhausted, I collapsed on the bed next to him. He woke up, put his arm around my waist, and whispered in my ear, “Are you ok?” Instinctively, I kissed his mouth while his hand slid under my skirt. I swung my leg around him, and got on top to undo his pants. I rode his dick hard, but it wasn’t a simple emotionless fuck. It was comfort sex, much like comfort food: rich, filling, and pleasing.

It felt good to hold him close, to feel alive, and moving. Sex is life-affirming because we release and surrender to our primitive nature. Death is the ultimate mystery, but it’s also life-affirming to go home after one has lived. In death, supposedly, we merge with the divine. During sex, we also merge to experience the “other” deeply -to step into their shoes for a moment and see their life as they see it. Through sex and death we experience the intensity, the bliss, and yes, on the opposite end, grief, all wrapped up in a ball of chaos called the human experience.

As I finished writing today, this song popped on.

Still Lost- Cowboy Junkies

Here we stand at the end of paths taken
guiding light inspiration, the slow decline
crumbling foundation, the stations, and now the cross
we're still lost, we're still lost

Settling now, once again
what was begun, will meet it's end
running now, time to hide
go inside, it's time to hide

Here we stand at the end of paths taken
guiding light inspiration, the slow decline
crumbing foundation, the stations, and now the cross
but we're still lost, we're still lost

Waiting now, dull root twinning
keeping watch, for new roots shining

Here we stand at the end of paths taken
guiding light inspiration, the slow decline
crumbling foundation, the stations, and now the cross
but we're still lost, we're still lost

There you stand at the edge of salvation
guiding light inspiration, the slow decline
crumbling foundation, the stations, and now the cross
but we're still lost, we're still lost

Beautiful song- perfect for a nice reflective walk along the river. I think I’ll go.

~Sally S.

The Mighty Sword

2007-10-02T13:16:00.000-07:00

Have you ever wanted to fuck your lover with a strap on? Bend him (or her) over and give it to ‘em hard? Women are supposed to be docile, like flowers. They aren’t supposed to act like men, want to be men, or interpret their experiences through a male lens. Thus, women who dominate, control, and posses their lovers are often the subject of controversy. No stranger to controversy himself, Sigmund Freud first popularized the term, “Penis Envy”, a psychological state which he said plagued female children at the age of four, when a female child realizes she does not have penis. Of course, feminists and other analysts have been highly critical of Freud’s hypothesis, so, “penis envy” is still a debatable subject.

Yet, many women I know (straight, lesbian, and bi) have wistfully trailed off in thought, “If I only could have a penis for one day…” Ladies, I couldn’t agree more. My desire to covet the penis has, over time, only grown stronger. For example, those incredibly lucid dreams about sticking my penis into Her. I’m not sure who She is, but I’ve felt her insides with my Throbbing Member more times than I care to admit. In my last dream, I felt more attached to my penis than I ever had before, which begs the question, where does the strap-on end and the penis begin?

Many curious folks have asked why I fuck with a strap on. As in, what’s in it for you, Sally? First of all, being on the other end of the stick is a refreshing change. One is released from the prison of gender. Strict conformity to gender roles is horribly oppressive and monotonous. Stretching ourselves (both literally and metaphorically) will open the door to new energy and discovery within our partnerships. Next, it fosters trust and allows for greater intimacy. For example, on Friday night, I fucked my lover with a dildo. It was our first experience with anal sex together as a couple. Since the first time with someone new is always a little tricky it’s important to ask the right questions. Does it feel ok? Tell me, how hard and fast? And, should I pull out before or after you climax? This, along with the lube, should be broken out immediately before you begin or you risk this unfortunate reaction:

Luckily, it was an extremely pleasurable experience for both of us. After he climaxed, we laid together wrapped up in the sheets while he trembled in my arms and we laughed quietly. Have you ever noticed how a really good orgasm will make you laugh? Anyway, eventually he nuzzled up close to me and fell asleep breathing deeply while his head rested on my chest. It was, dare I say, romantic? The next day we both looked at one another with renewed interest as the power dynamic shifted

She’s a Man, man

Two of my girlfriends, pointed out the other day that I was ‘no ordinary whore’- meaning I don’t fuck for validation, love, money, or to cement a relationship in stone. In fact, they went as far to tell me, “You fuck like a man.” Both of them expressed their desire to acquire a similar mindset as well. However, I’m not sure it’s a trait one can learn, at least not at this stage in the game. And yes, some women are docile flowers- emotional, naïve, and easily destroyed, but not this bitch.

Why are some women unable to access their inner bad girl and make the Cocky Guy cry? Well, first of all, not everyone is as ruthless as your girl, Sally S. And secondly, some people actually want to fall in love, which requires a high degree of vulnerability. Vulnerability, evidently, is not compatible with search & destroy missions.

Even so, as a woman, contact and comfort with one’s masculine side is important. It helps ward off unhealthy/abusive relationships and inserts a certain appeal and richness in the personality. Too often, women, desperate to connect, will fall for a rebellious man with a penchant for wandering and infidelity. For women who actively seek marriage or serious relationship, men who “won’t commit” are their worst nightmare.

For instance, last night, a girl friend relayed a story about some Divorced Dude she was dating. They started to get close, and then suddenly he stopped calling her. She was, understandably, hurt. Readers, it is extremely difficult for me to see women let men get the best of them. I could feel my horns rise and the steam pour out of my ears as she shared her story. In the back of my mind, I was already coming up with an intricate plan for revenge.

But evil plots & revenge aside, I felt horrible for my friend. I wanted to infuse in her a sense of self-worth, strength, and power. I could talk to her until I’m blue in the face, but she’s the one who’ll have to pick herself up from the floor in the end. It’s no secret, my friend could benefit from a more masculine approach in her life. Identification with “masculine traits”, regardless of whether you like to fuck people in the ass or not, to the extent that it represents the balance of experience, is healthy

Therefore, the $30,000 question is what constitutes acting/fucking like a man? And, can women legitimately inhabit male territory?

Stay Connected. ~ Sally S.

Got Game? Part II

2007-09-28T11:00:00.000-07:00

The Hare and the Tiger, Uffe Christoffersen

Read Part I

The Dating Game is notoriously competitive. For those of us who are in it, we know It’s a Jungle Out There. The Pick-Up Artist (PUA) teaches men how to navigate this rocky terrain, but it's not rocket science, folks. Women have been using similar methods in a different form (i.e. feminine wiles) most of their lives. Same tricks, different trade. What Mystery and other pick-up artists have done is turn the game around. Now men are playing while we sit back and watch them, for instance, “peacock” (i.e. dress to impress).

Seduction Theory became increasing popular among men during the 1980’s. I don’t believe this was accidental. If we look at what was happening in the world, especially in the United States, women were finally starting to see the benefits of the activism and energy the Women’s Movement commanded during the 1970’s . As an oppressed group, women finally gained greater sexual freedom and status with court decisions like Roe v. Wade and the passage of the Equal Rights Amendment. The affect of these impressive strides on our society should not be underemphasized.

Because women enjoy more freedom in their new position and have far more options available than before, it was inevitable; our relationships with men had to change too. Men, who were ill-prepared, encountered this new framework of relating and were understandably confused. Hell, to a point, they still are. Should I open a door for her? Should I offer to pay for the meal or share? Should I make the first move or not? Mystery’s method has been successful because he is teaching men what their father’s never did, but should have. (minus his stance on Sluts, which I whole heartedly disagree with)

Mystery and other Pick-Up Artists clearly have found their place in the market place of ideas because there is a demand for it. The boys are hungry, they are willing to devour any information throwin’ their way like a pack of ravenous dogs. Even if the information is incomplete, faulty, or just plain foolish assholery, it helps them relate to women, and of course, score with the babes.

Yet, some men still can't get it right. Last weekend, I was chatting with a new boy when he started to thoroughly bore me. From his, “Can I come over and tuck you in?” to his “One night with me and you’ll see, baby”- I almost threw up in my mouth. Hello, gross. Needless to say, that won’t be happening anytime soon. His stunning wit and impressive verbal skills reminded me of all the cheesy one-liners I’ve been exposed to over the years. See examples below:

Game that’s almost destroyed my faith in humanity:

All you need is a good dick!

Can I watch?

Guy in too-tight sweater leering with Cosmo in hand: “Hey ladies, you from around here?

"This is Tony, my business partner." (referring to the fat old guy to his left) "Can we buy you a drink purtty lady?"

Here’s my card, sweetie, call me. (wink, wink)

Nice Tits! Wanna dance?

And how bout’ the old “Feelin’ On Your Booty” move-
I walk by and he grabs my ass, and I, unfortunately, break his wrist.

And a few other extremely offensive one-liners:

“Do you wash your pants in Windex? Because I can see myself in them.”

and

“Your Daddy must’ve been a thief. Why? Because he stole the stars and put them in your eyes.”

God save me. I’m sorry to subject you to those, dear reader.

Sally’s Tricks of the Trade

One trick I have been using for many years, although admittedly somewhat unconsciously, is to enter a room/dance floor/bar with more energy than others around me. I am, by nature, a high energy person, so when the music’s pumping and I’m in the mood, I hit the dance floor with vigor. I’ve danced in clubs in Paris, Budapest, Prague, New York, and Las Vegas- to name a few- and it never fails…approach with high energy and a bit of sass, and you’ll have a crowd of on-lookers assembled in no time.

Peacocking, or dressing for attention, is highly effective as well. Some critics may say if you have a decent personality you should be able to Work It wearing a burlap bag. Yet, dressing for attention doesn’t have to involve displaying all your naughty bits n’ pieces, there are subtle ways to showcase your style. Be interesting, be captivating, but most of all, be yourself. This is called developing your “inner game” which, when done in tandem with peacocking, is an appealing combination.

Next, don’t forget to activate The Gaze. Since most of my hook-ups have been initiated through eye contact only, Sally has perfected this skill. The trick to a good "fuck me gaze" is to remain mysterious, but penetrating. Size up your object like he’s your next meal and then pounce on him. Men have to deal with an enormous amount of pressure to approach, start a conversation, and make the first move. Most are relieved to let you take the driver’s seat for once.

And last, but not least, Ball Busting. Ball Busting should be done in a flirty relaxed way. A secure man with a sense of humor will appreciate your forward approach. However, if he's a little intimidated by you, that isn’t necessarily a bad thing, it’ll keep him on his toes. On Wednesday night, when I was out with three of my most deliciously hot girl friends, I spotted Thee Sexiest Guy in the Room. Sexy Guy was lurking around our circle when I grabbed his arm and asked him what he was drinking. It seemed like a rather girly cocktail for such a burly stud, so I called him out. We joked about it for a few minutes and then moved on to other provocative topics. Although I was definitely not Thee Sexiest Girl in the Room, Sexy Guy was eating out of the palm of my hand.

And that, ladies, is how it’s done.

Happy Friday. ~Sally S.

Got Game?

2007-09-25T14:16:00.000-07:00

After a weekend of sexifying myself in preparation for a number of erotic encounters, I’m ready for break. Sunday is good day to be boring, lazy, and reflective. So, last Sunday, out of either morbid curiosity or procrastination, I flipped on the TV to watch Mystery’s “Tricks of the Trade” on VH1. For those who are oblivious to pop culture references or find pop culture disgusting, bear with me.

The show centers around eight loveable dorky socially inept dudes who have been enlisted to learn the “methodology” of a Master Pick-Up Artist (PUA). Basically, the boys, who at the beginning of the show have no confidence in themselves are, in theory, transformed and should be able to pull their fair share of pussy (or find a serious relationship- *wink wink*) after Mystery’s instruction. At the end of each show, a contestant is eliminated until only one remains. The winner is handed 50k, the title “Master Pick-Up Artist”, and gets to hang/tour with “Mystery”… guru, magician, Libra, and well-known artiste of seduction.

The Kings of Game Throwin’, Spittin, and Tossin’: Matador, Mystery, and JDogg

The Art of Attracting Women

We’ve all heard of the “ladies man” stereo-type. Pick up artists/seduction specialists have been around for a long time. In the past, this closely guarded social network of men resembled a “secret society” of sorts. Now, the public is finally starting to gain awareness about this underground community and it’s becoming relatively main stream.

Some of the techniques Mystery teaches men are basic Tricks of the Trade one should’ve learned early on such as the old “people want what they can’t have”. Mystery advises his protégées to use “time constraints” during their interactions with women, which conveys High Social Value and is apparently what ALL women seek in a mate. By simply stating, “I’ve got a party to go to in a few minutes, I have to leave”, you’ve demonstrated you are in “high demand” and therefore, have High Social Value.

Other tricks of the trade involve giving a beautiful woman a backhanded compliment to knock her off her pedestal and then “stacking” bizarre stories on top of each other to keep her attention after the fact. If she’s not responsive, then one always has the option to “roll out”.

So, do women really fall for this?

According to Mystery and his Wingmen, they do, in droves. The question I was curious about was WHY. In order to find some answers, I logged on to the message boards at Venusian Arts.com (Mystery’s site) under a male pseudo name and started to investigate.

Upon logging on, immediately potential clients are informed they will learn…

• “The fundamental attraction switches in a woman's brain - and exactly how each one can be activated through verbal and behavioral cues. “
• “A precise model of the body-language and hidden verbal cues that people use to convey interest, social value, dominance, sexual receptivity, and more. “

Mystery has posted several times to the boards, along with his cohorts, JDogg and Matador (his Scorpio wingmen). The board is full of advice about baiting, hooking, releasing, running sets, negs, time constraints, and high value body language in order to.. you guessed it, get laid. (or find a Serious Relationship- winking profusely again here.) You can also find charming topics like, “What to do if your girlfriend’s pussy stinks”paired with advice like, “use a cough drop”, if you’re really interested in some high quality wisdom.

However, what I was looking for was The Theory- Game Theory to be exact. What is their basic theory about women? Because in order to claim a title like “Master Pick-Up Artist”, one must at least have a clue about how women function.

What Women Want

The basic premise is women must engage in “plausible deniability” to avoid being labeled.. *gasp*….a Slut, there by reducing their social value. This means women will naturally play the coy little virgin while the stud chases them. The stud, in order to chase effectively, needs to have, in her eyes, High Social Value too. Women pretend they don’t know they are being viewed as an object while The Man allows them to believe it. Eventually, the woman will let her guard down and The Man fucks.

Lovely arrangement, no?

Below are quotes from one of the boards where Mystery’s Wingman instructs wanna-be Pick-Up Artists on Sluts and plausible deniability.

“Sluts Chase. Women will avoid being labeled 'sluts' at all costs because they are at the bottom of the social totem-pole. Sluts in the traditional sense are women whose need for validation is so great that they have gambled away all their buying power trying to fill it. A woman who is perceived as slutty has a hard time finding quality ass because quality ass is likely to screen her. She is a last resort fuck. Not only that, but other women (and men) on their way up the social ladder will step on her, on the way. They will use her to reinforce their own superiority. The 'slut' is a lightning-rod for the 'cement someone's position as below you' method of gaining status. Sad, but true. Some of this seems ruthless; be aware that women aren't thinking about it, when they do it. For most women, this is all pure instinct.”

and

“Because womens' attraction must be sublimated below the level of conscious awareness in order for the plausible deniability system to have any prayer of ending in a lay, women aren't necessarily aware of their own attraction as a sexual thing. When a woman is attracted to you, she feels it as a fascination - even a compulsion - that doesn't necessarily involve any direct thoughts of sex; this is not to say that it has nothing to do with sex, or that she doesn't want sex, simply that practical necessity requires her to cram that undercurrent of sexuality down below the level of conscious thought. Make it a conspiracy, instead; a conspiracy between you and your girl. Hide her from her inhibitions, and your rewards will be many and hot. Be the man. She's not going to.”

As you can see, the whole concept revolves around the old virgin/whore dichotomy and a woman’s “perceived value" as an object for sale in the marriage market. Women increase their value by marrying/partnering up with a High Social Value Male, and therefore, instinctively will seek a man who demonstrates high value.

Is anybody in the mood to start lacing up the old corset? It’s starting to feel positively Victorian around here!

But, do all women want the same thing?

Quick, strike up the chorus for a resounding, FUCK NO!

First of all, not all Sluts are ashamed. And, not every woman wants to get married. Some women, like this one, are just fine on their own and don’t need Virgin Validation from every pathetic self-loathing Tom, Dick n’ Harry. Also, self-proclaimed little Ms. Slutty Sally Sunshine has never been short in the Fuck Offers Department and certainly has pulled some quality ass in her day. So, last resort? I think not. Further, if you’ve got your own wallet and it has money it, Sluts can buy their own shit. We don’t need yours, or your “high social value”, thanks.

Stayed tuned for an upcoming post about “Sally’s Tricks of the Trade” and the ridiculously Lame Game that’s been throwin’ in my direction over the years.

Peace Out, Ya’ll,

Sally S.

DIVINE SEX: SUCKING THE NECTAR DRY

2007-09-21T14:26:00.001-07:00

The Orgy: Boris Vallejo, 1980

"My vulva, the horn,
The Boat of Heaven,
Is full of eagerness like the young moon.
My untilled land lies fallow.
As for me, Inanna,
Who will plow my vulva?
Who will plow my high field?
Who will plow my wet ground?"

:Inanna to Dumuzi as repeated during Hieros Gamos

SEX AS RELIGION

Orgies have always fascinated me. The reckless abandon with which people give themselves away to others without a trace of regret- the claw-like nails dragging over tense muscular backs, and the loud slapping noises…bodies hitting one another with intense force, sweat running in and out the folds of skin, and the moaning crescendo coming from the mixture of male/female participants echoing down a long hallway- all suit my fancy.

During the Hellenistic period, those naughty Greeks sure knew how to party. Prostitutes were revered and “wife swapping” was common place. Hedonism was sacred in nature and orgies were a religious rite- rather than the morally depraved event they’ve become today. For example, during the sacred sex ritual, Hieros Gamos, a man (often a ruler or king) offered himself up to a High Priestess to join in divine union with her. The union was both for practical and esoteric purposes. The pairing was said to bless the land and people with abundant fertility and was typically enacted during the spring. In a spiritual sense, the ritual induced both participants, especially the male, to reach a higher level of awareness and experience a deeply satisfying religious experience.

All praise the holy vulva!

Auguste (Maurice François Giuslain) Léveque (1864-1921)

ORGIES, I WANT ONE... OR TWO

I have, in a half-joking manner, invited groups of hot singles over for an “orgy on my cement floor” many o’ nights after last call. Maybe it’s the granite walls or the hard floors in my loft apartment, but my offer has never been accepted. What does it take to conjure up a group for some orgiastic fun around here?

Free cookies and punch?

A few weeks ago, I had the pleasure of attending an all-girls getaway at a lake cabin. All in all, there were seven people in our group- a perfectly off-balance number to incite some sexual rebellion. My evil plan was craftily constructed to include a drunken Bacchanalian orgy of sorts. Booze, Seclusion, Sex and Song- just the right ingredients. However, I fucked it up, readers. First, as Master of Ceremonies, I should’ve resisted the first ten or so shots of Hot Damn I was offered. Then, in error, I zeroed in my affections on one particular lady, which divided the group. Shortly after, all the couples were tightly locked into their own conversations in their respective relationships. I had to abandon my mission and channel all my seductive energy in one direction.

Bummer.

Eventually, lake cabin girl and I stumbled into an adjacent bedroom. With her on top and me on the bottom I started removing clothes, throwing them in the air and giggling loudly. At some point, another drunk girl jumped on the bed with us. She had just removed lake cabin girl’s shirt and was rubbing my pussy when her girlfriend opened the door.

Busted.

The Girlfriend yelled her name and she quickly climbed off the bed and ran out the door after her to do some damage control. Although, I was excited to fuck lake cabin girl, as soon as our third partner in crime left, my pussy all but dried up. Wouldn’t it have been great if Girlfriend would’ve stripped down and jumped in bed with us? One can always dare to dream.

However, I do realize non-stop frolicking through The Garden- touching, touching, touching -everything in sight can be tiresome, which is why periods of rest or abstinence are necessary. Even those crazy Greeks knew when to give their chapped lips, engorged pussies, and sore dicks a break.

Happy Friday~Sally S.

“Inanna, your breast is your field.
Your broad field pours out plants.
Your broad field pours out grain.
Water flows from on high for your servant.
Bread flows from on high for your servant.
Pour it out for me, Inanna.
I will drink all you offer."

:Dumuzi to Inanna as repeated during Hieros Gamos

Throw away your tampons today!

2007-09-18T10:26:00.000-07:00

Poison Skull: Camille Rose Garcia

Attention: Tampons are associated with Toxic Shock Syndrome (TSS). TSS is a rare but serious disease that may cause death. Read and save the enclosed information.

This was the message found on the generic box of tampons I bought last week. I looked through the box for the “enclosed information" on TSS, but could not find it. I probably threw it away without realizing it. In fact, in the fourteen years I’ve been menstruating, I’ve never read that damn insert. But really, who has?

I’m not sure how I first heard about TSS. It certainly wasn’t during sex ed or from some other authority on the matter. But, I do remember as a teenager how terrified I was upon discovering I had accidentally left two super absorbency tampons in my pussy overnight. TSS was somewhat of a urban legend in the early 90’s, most young women had “heard of it”, but were far removed from it, as in “that’ll never happen to me.” Yet, in the early 80’s, it was reality women faced.

In 1975, Procter & Gamble introduced a tampon brand called Rely. The tampon brand was made from compressed polyester beads and was supposed to “catch” more blood than the average tampon by gradually forming to the vagina’s natural shape. The tampon could absorb more than twenty times its own weight in menstrual blood. However, upon removal of the tampon, it was said to dry out the vagina by eliminating its natural humidity AND creating microscopic tears in the lining of the uterus. TSS is a bacterial infection and thrives in this type of environment, thus, cases of TSS increased dramatically among women who used the Rely brand.

“It even absorbs the worry!”

Procter & Gamble chose to market their product with the slogan above for a reason. Since menstruation is a taboo topic and a source of shame for women, psychologically, they played on our fear. The message society sends women is, “Ladies, lock it up (plug it up), keep your bloody twats out of our sanitized world.”

Harsh, no?

But anyone who’s spent the night at their boyfriend’s apartment while menstruating knows what I’m talking about. Have you ever sprinted to the bathroom in the morning because blood was seeping through your underwear only to bleed all over his toilet seat, bathroom floor, and your fingers? Did you thoroughly check each tiny crevice to make sure you wiped up every spec of blood? Did you wash your finger nails meticulously so all signs of “the red” were gone? And finally, did you wrap your cardboard applicator up in a piece of tissue paper and hide it in your purse, mentally noting to remove it before work?

Been there, done that.

Although super absorbency tampons are evil, I must say, they allow me to experience my period relatively hassle free. There’s nothing worse than walking out of your office to meet a client while warm gooey Niagara Falls runs down your leg because your heavy flow is not suited for a “lite day” pad or tampon. The problem is, however, TSS has been associated with the use of super absorbent tampons. Yet, some days I would prefer death to standing in a room filled with thirty college students while my panties and inner thigh are soaked with blood. Wouldn’t you?

But, ultimately, I would like to avoid death, at least until my first lunar return, so, what are my alternatives?

1) The Diva Cup- a silicone cup that catches blood in-flow, the cup can last for 10 years and it eliminates the risk of TSS!

2) Re-usable cloth (hemp) pads (aka: crunchy granola hippy method)

3) Sponges

Since I’ve only used regular old tampons, I asked a friend, who recently purchased a Diva Cup, to expound upon the virtues of The Cup. Thanks friend! ~ Sally S

I’ve always despised pads. I find it quite horrible to have a damp (large) lump of cotton wool stuck against your pussy and have to walk around like that for hours on end. I mean, OK, I’ll put up with having my period every Eff-ing month of my life, but please let it be as comfortable as possible. As you’re all probably very aware, it’s often quite painful so if I can avoid it being messy on top of that, I’ll sign up right away.

So, I quickly switched to tampons. But, honestly, I don’t really like those either. They have a tendency to absorb every soupcon of liquid, leaving your pussy feeling like a dried up prune and it takes days before your natural lubrication is back on track.

All in all, pads are out (even though, I’m back there – read on) and tampons… well, they seemed like the only alternative.

By the way, I saw a program on TV about “flushers”. Ha, what are flushers, I hear you inquire? They are men (yup, no ladies in that line of business) who shovel poo in the bowels of the city. Honestly, they do exist!! Their main problem seems to be women’s menstrual products. I’m sure most women flush their tampons down the loo, but it seems like quite a number of us also flush the cardboard inserters down there as well. I’ll spare you the details but the flushers aren’t happy about this situation… and I’m sure mama earth ain’t too happy either.

While I was living in the US, I discovered something reminiscent of the Diva Cup, “Instead Softcups”. Like the Diva Cup you can wear them for up to 12 hours, but the difference is that they aren’t very durable. In fact, they aren’t meant to be used over and over again, like the Diva Cup which can be kept, it seems, for up to 10 years!

So after some internet searching (What, Oh what would we do without the internet, I ask you?), I finally discovered the diva cup and even though I haven’t gotten the hang of it yet – which means I have to use the dreaded pad as a security measure – it is definitely a lot more sensible in all respects. If correctly inserted, (that’s where the getting-the-hang-of-it comes in) it really is as comfortable as a tampon. Now… bear with me… by correctly inserted, I mean, not leaking. Even if you don’t insert the thing properly, it’s still comfortable, despite it being rather huge. The problem is finding the right positioning. The leaflet explains exactly how it must be done and in theory it doesn’t seem very complicated. I have been using the diva cup for two cycles now and I think I’m slowly but surely starting to understand how it’s supposed to be done. I might still have to resort to pads for a few months to avoid having a bloodstained chair at the office, but I’m sure practice makes perfect.

The part which most if us fear, is the removal of the diva cup. You’re meant to empty it in the toilet, rinse and then reinsert. So, what do you do when you’re in a public toilet or at the office? I haven’t found this to be a problem because you can safely leave it where it is all day, so you insert in the morning and remove it in the evening. It can all be done in the safety of your own home! It isn’t half as messy as you would imagine, anyway. And if you really run into an emergency, you can wipe it with toilet paper and reinsert too.

The beauty of this thing is that you can keep yours for a long, long time. Reusing it over and over again… for years on end. It’s made of surgical grade silicone. Non-irritating and very durable.

Funny thing is, it seems like the concept has been around since the thirties!! It’s the pharmaceutical industry that aggressively pushed tampons/pads into the public realm and the diva cup, or whatever it was called at the time, simply lost the battle.

I’d like to recommend this clever little device. It’s good for you, your pussy, and mama earth.

One bit of advice though. Do not leave your diva cup lying around if you have cats. I had to order a second one after my cat got hold of the first one. He thought it was a great toy, chewed it to bits and I found its remains on the living room carpet.

The Miracle of Menstruation

2007-09-14T09:20:00.001-07:00

“There is another kind of death that is pregnant with more viable meditations- if you’re a woman. It typically occurs once in every orbit of the moon around the Earth. When you menstruate, a specialized cell in your body, the only type of cell capable of spawning a new creature, begins a quest for a larger life- only to fail in its mission and disintegrate. This is a death that is more shocking to the body than digestion and oxidation, and therefore more palpable to your imagination. It even generates a symptom that in any other situation is a dramatic sign of rapidly ebbing vitality: loss of blood"
-The Televisionary Oracle, Rob Brezsny

Readers, today I got my period.

I feel buoyant, optimistic, and ready to take on the world. Really, I do! Every month I look forward to menstruating with the renewed excitement of a little girl on the first day of school. And, it’s not because I’ve been having unprotected anonymous sex with strange men, contrary to popular belief. I just enjoy reveling in womanhood, contemplating the strange efficiency with which our bodies operate, and yes, feeling about five pounds lighter after the fact.

For me, menstruation represents the connection to my innate femininity and trust in it. As women, we are often told by doctors, nutritionists, fertility specialists, gynecologists, and yes, society, how our bodies should look and what we should feed them. Yet, there is a simple truth vibrating in each one of us and that is our body’s own natural rhythm.

Over the years, I began notice the subtle patterns and fluctuations during my cycle. I usually follow a regular 27-28 day schedule, so on the twelfth day I start to feel the beginning stages of ovulation as my body prepares itself. My dreams intensify and my appetite increases. I also experience quite a few of the physical signs of ovulation. For instance, my body temperature rises a few degrees, which is usually accompanied by a hot flash or two. However, the most obvious sign of ovulation, and when the likelihood of a pregnancy is highest, is when vaginal mucous secretions resemble snot- sticky, rubbery, stretchy, and goopy. If you’ve ever pulled a long string of it out of your vagina during ovulation and let it slide between your fingers, you know what I’m talking about. This is the moment when fertility is at its peak. Cervical Mucous Monitoring is actually a pretty good way to keep track of the fertility “window of opportunity” if one is diligent.

Finally, about fourteen days after ovulation, my period arrives with fanfare, drums, and celebration. The few days right before my period are always interesting. Typically, I have dreams which are psychologically taxing but necessary. I’ve entered the shaman’s territory here. The dreams are vividly clear, lucid, in fact, and they hold the key to a problem or question I’ve been stuck on. Subconsciously, during dreamtime I receive, in abundance, the wisdom and direction I’m seeking. It’s at this time; I know I’ll shed the first few drops of blood soon.

One of the most beautiful experiences with a female lover I’ve ever had has been the times when cycles synch up. Our bodies have truly touched one another’s. Our chemistry has been altered and now our bodies move in unison. Ladies, even if you've never slept with a woman, you know how it goes. If you live with a group of women long enough cycles have a tendency to mirror each other. With my last lover we experienced this phenomenon, although we didn’t live together- we fucked- a lot. Juices mixed and mingled often, so it was no surprise when I got my period two weeks early on the same day she did. This is the magic chemistry of our bodies in action.

Now, don’t get me wrong, it’s not all howling at the moon and tasting menstrual blood fun. Many women have indicated if given the choice they would gladly stop menstruating if it was medically possible. Now, I realize not every woman is in love with their body’s natural functions. In high school, I had a friend with a severe case of endometriosis. For her, menstruating was a “curse” and not a beautiful reflection of womanhood.

I’ve also had some not so nice experiences during my period as well. For example, when I accidentally inserted a second tampon in my vagina, forcing the first one so far up I had to claw it out with my free hand while I held my leg back with the other. It didn’t help I was only fourteen years old at the time. I had slept with both tampons in overnight and was positive I had toxic shock syndrome the next morning. You’d think I would’ve learned my lesson, but when I was sixteen, I had sex with tampon in. It’s not that I forgot I had my period or was drunk, I have no excuse. I was sober and can only claim that I was horny. I spent the next hour in the bathroom fishing for the string under a fluorescent light. Needless to say, I finally learned my lesson, take it out first.

Hey, Happy Friday.

Cheers! (raising a metaphorical glass of menstrual blood to my lips)

~Sally S.

Masturbation, Self Love, and Relationships

2007-09-10T14:16:00.000-07:00

Nu Allonge by Jean Berque

There’s no limit to my love.

Last week, The Green Man elevated our discussion about jealousy to another level when he revealed his feelings about compersion (compassion for another’s pleasure).

Compersion is the opposite of jealousy, or the soothing balm one can apply to confront and heal jealousy. The root of a compersive relationship with another is self love. Self love is a term that is thrown around in psychiatric communities and within “new age” movements and spiritual practices. Yet, when we attempt to move beyond the clichéd expressions, we are at a loss

We've all heard saying, "You cannot love anyone else until you love yourself." And even if we intellectually agree with it, we see people (and maybe ourselves!) who don't have a healthy concept of self love moving from one relationship to another in serial monogamy type secession. Many of these people are so wounded and vulnerable; they throw the entirety of their broken selves into relationships, which, in the end, becomes a collision of dysfunction. And so it is, without self love we constantly submerge ourselves in one unhealthy fixation after another.

An Infantile State of Dependency

Yesterday, I babysat my niece while my sister was out. And since she was a little fussy before mom left, we decided to do everything in our power to calm her down. We fed her, changed her diaper, gave her a small dose of children’s Tylenol (she’s teething) and rocked her for awhile. However, when mom left she still cried, wailed, in fact, while I looked at her with a desperate expression and mumbled out loud, “What do you want kid?”

Anybody who has children understands this situation perfectly. The child wants something, they are obviously suffering, but what do they want? Unfortunately, even with parents who are incredibly nurturing and positive, there will be times when the needs of the infant/young child are not met. This, of course, doesn’t account for toxic environments where physical, emotional, spiritual, or sexual abuse is present. Also, there are varying degrees of need. Some children require a lot of tender loving care and some require less. We’ve all heard stories about babies who are “good sleepers” while other are “excessively fussy” or colicky.

Then, look at the flip side. Some parents are comfortable showering their children with love and affection while other parents may be cold and remote, much to the child’s dismay. The child’s needs may not match what the parent(s) are able to give/receive and vice versa. These mismatched patterns of relating lay the foundation for dysfunctional relationships later in life.

The Masses of Disillusioned Lovers

We remember, on a physical and soul level, our experiences as infants, both inside and outside of the womb. For some, the umbilical cord is tied tightly for their entire lives. They are mother-bound, unable to cut and heal the ties from their past, so they turn to romantic interests/partners to fill the gapping hole. “The gapping hole” in adult relationships sits wide open as we submerge and isolate ourselves desperately trying to fill it up (heal it up). We ask our partners anxiously, “What do you want?” and hope we can be everything they ever needed. Eventually, the bottom falls out. We discover our partners aren’t the evolved/loving/nurturing models of perfection we thought they were.

So, where does self love flourish and compersion begin after the disillusionment sets in? Is it in these needy black holes of emotional relating? Or, does it come from within ourselves, our connection to the divine? I remember awhile ago taking a survey and one of the questions’s asked, “Are your parents still together?” And my brain immediately fired back, “I am my parents.” This is the space we must occupy. We cannot expect as adults that lovers, friends, or family be “quasi-parents” by filling each passing need, sexually or otherwise. First, we must be a self-contained loving entity within our own right.

In other words, “I love myself, and want you to know it.”

Sexually, self love cannot be discussed without paying proper respect to masturbation. Masturbation, we are told, is now healthy. However, anybody who grew up in the Catholic Church may have been shamed into believing differently. I know a guy, who, at the age of thirty still experiences considerable agony and guilt after pleasuring himself and he isn’t even Catholic!

Personally, I’ve always been a chronic offender. I have many early memories (5-6 years old) of the extra long baths I would take with my legs propped up against the bath tub’s edge with my clit angled right under the water stream. Another friend explained how she got off on her “blankie” using the buttons on it as friction to rub one off around the same age. If we look far enough back into our histories, we can probably all find some evidence of these early experiences. One would assume, then, by the time we reach adulthood, we’d be relatively comfortable with masturbation, both on our own time and with partners. However, that may not be the case if we weren’t raised in a supportive environment and felt we had to “hide” it from others.

I remember the first time someone busted me masturbating. I was in 9th grade, and by then, I was a pro. I even had a little massager, which I used religiously, until the thing broke- probably from over use. Anyway, on this rare occasion, the small apartment I shared with my mom and sisters was empty after I returned home from school. It was warmer than average for April, so my sister had propped the window open, even though the blinds were drawn shut. I pulled off my pants quickly and grabbed my vibrating toy.

Now, my toy was not that loud, but evidently the fifteen year old neighbor boy walking by my window heard it. Oblivious, I continued to pleasure myself. Ten minutes later, I was on the way to my second orgasm when I heard the sound of hushed laughter and tapping outside my window. I threw my toy under my bed, put my pants back on, and ran outside to survey the damage.

It was bad.

A group of three teenage boys stood next to window pointing and laughing at me. The neighbor boy, upon hearing the dull buzz emanating from window, called over a few friends to witness the spectacle. Readers, I was horrified. Not only did I have to see these boys in the hallway of my apartment building regularly, but at school as well! They showed no mercy, and promptly spread the word to every available ear.

Today, I still sporadically see Mr. Peeping Tom and his cohorts around town, and each time I have the urge to disappear or die, which just goes to show how powerful and persistent these attitudes are.

Too often in our relationships self love takes a back seat to humiliation, shame, and abuse. Since self love is the cornerstone of compersion and non-jealous attachment, we need actively seek partners for whom self love is a priority. If mutual self-loathing and desperation are the only reason we find one another and stay together, I’d say we need a better map. And soon.

Stay tuned in for a rousing discussion about mutual masturbation in the near future.

Eroticism & Jealousy -A Radical Perspective, Part III

2007-09-05T12:50:00.000-07:00

Readers, I have a special treat for you. The Green Man has decided to bestow some of his blessed wisdom upon us as our jealousy discussion continues. I asked The Green Man to shed some positive light on the subject, since I’ve got the negative end covered. Mr. Green, who is no stranger to suffering, offers a new paradigm to contain our jealous feelings while practicing a loving philosophy called compersion.
Listen and Learn. ~Sally S.

The idea of my lover fucking someone else turns me on. It's a sure-fire way to get my attention and get me off, hot and heavy, on a soul level. Knowing your lover, or former lover, is fucking someone else, perhaps right at that moment, is to indulge in a state of surrender. Surrender to loss is one of the deepest emotions humans face. It is during these moments that I have learned to eroticize jealousy.

It was a discovery I made in the process of exploring sexuality with different lovers, often in polyamorous situations, that is, situations where more than two lovers were involved. There were situations where I was the party causing the jealousy in my partner; other times, I was under the spotlight, showing the face of my feelings, my hunger, my ripping loss not only of another being sexually unavailable, but craving her knowing she was craving someone else. There were some difficult times.

Yet, if art has in some way romanticized agony, one of its sweetest forms is accepting the penetration of my lover by a different person.

I say it was a discovery; one that was made when my female lover became lovers with a mutual friend of ours. I spent many hours witnessing what only women can give to one another. The agony was I could not be them, and I could not feel their journey from the inside. But I could see, and feel, and smell, and I could also cum in front of them solo, which is an incredible release. At other times, I would fuck one, or the other, as her partner watched. This is taking jealousy and slipping into it like a natural hot spring bath. What made the water even hotter was that they were falling in love. It was not merely about sex. I was confronted by their passionate adoration of one another, expressed as an erotic friendship.

In place of jealousy, it was in this situation with two women that I learned compersion directly. Compersion is when you get off on another person's pleasure and love in a deep way. It is part learned skill and part natural gift. It’s what I felt when their being together was SO beautiful, no matter how jealous I may have felt, the erotic satisfaction of my longing made the beauty even deeper.

Now, maybe I make it sound easy. In a sense it is, but that doesn't mean it's not challenging to learn. Jealousy is primal and directing it creatively is a little like riding a dragon.

A lot of the story is how we handle the jealousy of others: can we stand it, for instance? If you live on this planet and have any fun, people are going to be jealous around you. Thus, you have to understand how to handle jealous people. The method is "carefully," and personally, I choose to avoid people for whom jealousy is an unconscious or seriously unresolved issue. There are two kinds of jealous people: those who use the word and those who don't. If someone is using the word, they are holding the key to freedom, which is awareness.

Last night was my final night with my lover before she went to visit another lover, whom she has only seen three times before. We did not so much have sex as a sex ritual. I masturbated in front of her, while we talked about how they were going to fuck, how she wanted him, and how I encouraged her to let go with him. I penetrated myself as we talked openly about how he would penetrate her. She studied me curiously and compassionately. And when I went deep into my pleasure, she was a steady witness. I finally ejaculated into her cupped hands, kneeling up and seeing myself in a large mirror. She saw my face as I was looking. I knew from this she was starting to feel the first hint of compersion for me.

As I write now, they are together. I feel good; I am curious, I miss her and it's also very nice to be alone. She and I have played the fantasy scenario of her with him a number of times, and reached some beautiful places.

This morning when I took her to the bus, we parted in joyous love with a hint of sadness. I knew how horny she was for him. I whispered in her ear, from my heart, "Have fun." Secretly, we both knew she could fall in love with him.

Yours in sweet agony,
The Green Man

Vengeance & Rage- Jealousy Un-masked- Part II

2007-08-30T19:11:00.000-07:00

: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.

Ownership, Control, and Possession- Part I

2007-08-27T13:22:00.000-07:00

“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

Water from the Well

2007-08-22T11:57:00.001-07:00

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.

~SS

Sex, Drugs, and….. Performance?

2007-08-20T12:20:00.000-07:00

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."
-ALDOUS HUXLEY

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.

Charity Fucking and the Search for Meaning

2007-08-17T09:55:00.000-07:00

THE DEATH OF VENUS
1986, by CALUM COLVIN

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

AND

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.

whine.

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

Game On, Part III

2007-08-15T19:03:00.000-07:00

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

Let the Games Begin, Part II

2007-08-14T10:23:00.000-07:00

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.

Let the Games Begin, Part I

2007-08-13T09:47:00.000-07:00

“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…

Sexual Dysfunction, Part II

2007-08-10T10:55:00.000-07:00

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.

Sexual Dysfunction, Part I

2007-08-09T13:48:00.000-07:00

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

A Delicate Porny Veneer

2007-08-08T12:04:00.000-07:00

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.

Role Play: Mother Mud and Father Law

2007-08-07T09:59:00.001-07:00

“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….

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

2007-08-06T10:47:00.001-07:00

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.”

Please, Make Yourself Comfortable

2007-07-31T09:32:00.000-07:00

.....lay down on the couch

It’s been a long time since I’ve met any women who’ve “done it” for me. And in the small city I live in, the pool of available sane sexy smart les/bi women is more like a wading pool, there’s no deep end and definitely no waterslide. (Bear with me, I’ve been at the pool for the last couple of days!---in more ways than one if ya know what I mean *heehee* *wink wink**) There is one singular gay bar in this godforsaken town, so if you do hook up with a new girl, everyone knows it. Usually, I can’t even frequent a drinking establishment without running into two-three ex gfs. Luckily, most of my exes and I are on good terms.

So, this weekend when I was out, I was shocked to see a multitude of hot girlies running ‘round. Some were more of your garden variety lesbian types (butchy, softball players galore!) with even fewer femmy types lurking about. Now, I would definitely align myself, at least style wise, with the femmies. And yes, I’ve been known to vamp it up with the best of ‘em. For example, Friday night: red mini, red heels, black halter.. ect, ect….

Yet, in attitude I’m far more *masculine* than one might expect.

For example, a table of younger “soft butch” women were congregating by the bar watching me on the dance floor. One of em’ in particular kept giving me the eye. You know, the eye, the smile, the big grin, and the head nod to friend in my direction type of thing. I also sent flirty smiles her way and made it a point to return her gaze several times. Still, at the end of the night, she had not uttered one word to me. Nothing. As the night progressed, it became clear there was no way in hell she was going to approach me.

So, Sally had to pull out the big guns, folks. I walked straight over to her table stuck my hand out, said “I’m Sally…and you are…????” She immediately picked up on the vibe and struck up a conversation with me. About five minutes into it, she asks me if I’m straight. And, in her defense, you really can’t blame her, as I’m fairly sure the term “passing” may have been invented for me. Passing is an interesting topic of it’s own, really. For instance, when I saw her I thought, “Yep, that’s a lesbian”, which definitely gives me the advantage as far as making the first move goes. So, yeah, butch ladies, I understand why you may be reluctant to hit on girly girls.

In my experience, however, I’ve also noticed the old saying “Butch on the streets, femme in the sheets” to be quite accurate. Therefore, in almost all of my encounters/relationships with butch women I have been instigator. I’m the first one to fire up the conversation, and take the lead in the bedroom too.

Ok, back to Friday Night Hottie.

Later in the evening, Friday Night Hottie said, “You’re a top, aren’t you?” And then proceeded to comment about my aggressiveness- funny thing is, in my earlier days, I wasn’t necessarily a top. Or maybe I was just a top in disguise. I often noticed then how the butchies were uncomfortable in their own skin, unwilling to let their femmy girlfriends *ahem* service them. I always found this to be strange, and lords knows, I have helped many butchies get over this fear. Then again, I have many straight female friends who are similarly uncomfortable. So, obviously, it isn’t just a butch/femme phenomenon in gay/les circles. I’m more inclined to think it’s an f-ed up cultural attitude women have been indoctrinated into and, as a result, experience shame with regard to their bodies. It takes a lot of work to undo all of the societal conditioning imposed, but it can be done.

Before the evening ended, Friday Night Hottie introduced several of her friends and one of them said, “Hey, aren’t you a sex therapist? I could swear that was what I heard you did for a living.” Astute observation, my friend, indeed.

Souls on Parade

2007-07-25T10:08:00.001-07:00

“It's about you and the sun
A morning run
The story of my maker
What I have and what I ache for

I`ve got a golden ear
I cut and I spear
What else is there?"--- Royksopp

I have been involved in exceedingly long drawn-out emotional conversations about nothing lately. Maybe that’s why I haven’t written anything of substance. I used to be a much better blogger when I knew nobody read this page. Now, I have no idea who see’s this, much less, who even cares about it.

And yes, lately, too, I admit I’ve been intellectually lazy. Anybody else ever feel that way? (shouting into the void!) Maybe it’s the summer heat, hell.. I don’t know anymore and I’m out of excuses.

Also, has anyone else been feeling utterly uninspired by what’s happening out there in blog land? I’ve become highly disillusioned by the internet feminists. I have never seen so much drama, hatred, and monotony spewed forth in such a methodical fashion. Blah. and Barf.

The radical feminist versus this person and that person has become a little predictable.

What else is there to say?

Also, sex.

So, you like it rough? So, you have a rubber crotch? (tribute to Sylvia Plath), so you like come fuck me boots, so you don’t like any of those things and eschew all items of that nature? What else is there?

If you’ve given away every secret in every conversation you’ve had, what else is there?

Last night, at a lovely Piano Bar in the company of my sister and three not so lovely gentlemen, my sister’s date said..

“Yeah, I agree with the War in Iraq, it’s a good thing….” or something to that effect. I honestly quit listening after the first line tho’, looked at him menacingly about three sentences into his diatribe and said, “yeah, if you don’t have a soul.”

I’m just done with it, ya know. Convincing these fuckwits that their opinions are wrong isn’t really important anymore. Once upon a time, Sally would’ve dueled verbally with this gentleman to the death, but no. Even if I could convince him to, oh, I don’t know, get a soul… “Hey, buddy, go pick up a fuckin’ soul, they’re on sale down the street!!” what difference does it make?

It doesn’t help matters that on Friday night I ran into a killing machine. Not yet, mind you. He’s not a killing machine quite yet- until he finally gets to go to Iraq and kill some people, he’s still a double-d douche bag with a small dick in the old U.S. of A.

Seriously, at a party on Fri. night I actually over heard the guy talking about how excited he was to “go kill some people.” Again, fuckwad, souls are on sale down the street. He also spoke about basic training and how his superiors degraded and humiliated him, physically, emotionally..even sexually? Straight out of the killing machine’s mouth.. he told us about how his commanding officer made him jerk off in front other men in big room. Sounds like a scene straight out of G.I. Jane to me, but nonetheless, true or false, this guy felt it necessary to recount the experience.

I found it hard to muster any compassion for this fellow. Yet, at the same time, I felt this young insecure lad probably was being or had been brainwashed by the government. Weird, huh? It was just the vibe I got. A shy self-loathing boy doesn’t turn into a killing machine overnight, you know. Or maybe they do.

A sexy piece of Scorpio man meat

2007-07-19T10:38:00.001-07:00

For your inspection…

“It's off with the jeans, the jacket and the shirt
How'd I end up feeling so bad?” – Ryan Adams

What does everybody think of Ryan Adams?

The first song of his I heard was, “When the Stars Go Blue”, a few years back on a cd my ex-girlfriend made for me. It’s a lazy, melodic, melancholy love song, which seems to be Ryan’s style. A lot of his music is tortured and somewhat depressing. Aye, just what I like, Ryan.

There’s no doubt he has plenty of nasty emotional experiences to draw from, some self-inflicted and some imposed upon him. His dad left when he was 9 years old, so he was basically raised by his mother and grandmother. He dropped out of school at 16. He’s also a bit of a drunk and invokes the self-destructive artist image often. Maybe it’s not an image, as I get the feeling the guy is a little bit raw, if not temperamental and emotional in nature.

He’s been accused by critics as being manic in his drive to create. In 2005, he released 3 cds with all new material. Who does that? The guy seems to draw from an endless pool of inspiration. Plus, he’s a Scorpio, which means he will approach most activities in an extremely focused driven manner. He likes to work it, and honey, I don’t have a problem with that.

His newest album, Easy Tiger, was released in 2007. The only track I’ve listened closely to so far is “Two”. In the song, he talks about wanting to go home and being fractured from the fall. Ryan is insinuating or allowing the listener to draw on a much deeper image than presented on the surface, in true Scorpio fashion. The fall, meaning incarnating on Earth, and the disillusionment one faces while here- having a physical body and what not. In Two, he sings, “It takes Two when it used to take One”, which implies that once we get here, we have to depend on others for our survival. Talk about a lesson in surrendering.

It reminds me of when an old boyfriend, who was usually the sober responsible one, got out-of-his mind drunk, curled up in the back of his car, floated in and out of consciousness and then started mumbling about wanting to go home. Return to the primordial soup from which you came, earthling!

My all-time favorite song of Adam’s is from his cd “Gold” released in 2001 called “La Cienega Just Smiled.” Romantic, haunting, and lovely...reminds me of a boy I used to know....

Sleeping Beauty

2007-07-17T13:55:00.000-07:00

"Pretending to be unconscious while he fucks me……"

I

have

lived in a cloud

with the fog and humidity

packed inside my brain.

And when I try to think clearly

all I get is more density

What is Purity?

2007-07-11T09:27:00.001-07:00

Repressive

Sexual

Standards

Model

Behavior

Regressive

Tendencies

Shameful

Morally

Pure

Is stuffing your sexuality, desire, and pleasure beneath the surface in order to control it natural? Is it pure? Does it result in pureness? Or is the water just as dirty below the surface?

Notice that I said, “in order to control it.”

Picture this.

A young lad, with a strong desire nature who is sexually adventurous cuts himself off from all sensations, pleasurable or not. Control, Control, Control.

Now, imagine waking up one day consumed with lust. The young lad spends the entire day caving in, catering to his weakness. The next day, shame. And more shame. Self- punishing behavior ensues.

The cycle continues well into the young lad’s thirties until he realizes….. purity is not self-deprivation.

He realizes he has been brainwashed by a social system put in place by the ruling class to control the masses. He realizes the system requires a dirty, ugly, repressive, tainted, unnatural view of self to maintain strict compliance with their ideology.

But now, he knows purity comes from genuine self- awareness and self-acceptance. He lives free from structure imposed upon him on his own terms. He understands and respects feelings, desire, and sexuality in himself and others.

It’s a long road to get from here to there. It seems so simple, standing at the end of the road over here. Just come, just jump across the threshold, will ya?

Of course, I’m talking about Dr. Dude. We’ve been working so hard.

Hard.

Work.

Yeah.

Seems As Though I'm a Little Ass Happy

2007-07-05T14:30:00.000-07:00

Mingle² - Online Dating

This rating was determined based on the presence of the following words:

ass (9x) hell (4x) shit (3x) fuckin (2x) slap (1x)

Oh gosh, where to start…

2007-07-05T09:24:00.000-07:00

Ok, so, I’m in major blog post arrears, I know.

BUT!

Budapest! Prague! Berlin! Yippee!

The trip was absolutely amazing. It was very surreal. Like standing on the moon, and going, “Am I really here?” The curiosity factor was high, and I did learn so much. I was able to keep a travel diary through out the trip and took so many pictures, which, will coming to a future blog post near you.

Until then, just a short note to say, hello, hope you are all well and in good spirits. ~ Sally S.

P.S. A naughty story about twelve unnamed Italians looking for a good time is definitely in the cards.

Hello From Budapest!

2007-06-29T14:48:00.000-07:00

Hey Everybody! Sorry I haven't posted lately! I'm in Budapest! I've been on the road for about a week now. First to Berlin, Prague, Bratislava (which by the way is a charming city), and now... Budapest! Buda and Pest are actually two cities joined together by bridges which span over the Danube River. The beauty of the city is breath-taking. The Castles, the Churches, oh the fun! I even hit the club scene pretty hard in Prague, and let's just say...it did not disappoint! I'm so looking forward to sharing my "on the road" stories with you all! Sending ya love from every corner of the globe~~ Sally Sunshine

Playing Doctor

2007-06-15T10:02:00.000-07:00

No, this post will not be about fairies. I just liked the pretty picture.

I often like pretty pictures whether it’s a person viewed as an object, or an actual piece of art.

Hence, Dr. Dude.

Dr. Dude is an ICU nurse who I happened to meet walking down the streets of a strange city late at night in my cute multi-colored summer dress, heels slung over my shoulder, a little tipsy, but, nonetheless, feeling conversational. Dr. Dude recognized me immediately and called out, “hey, I know you, you’re from _______ right?” To which I replied, “Why yes, Doctor, I am.” Turns out, he was staying at the same hotel as I was, so, we continued to chat in the lobby while he checked in.

Dr. Dude is 30 years old, but looks all of 23 years old (Damn Gemini’s and their anti-aging superpowers!) Anyway, he’s a pretty sexy boi, and was very interested in conversing with moi, so naturally I was all ears. At the last minute, I gave him my number, leaned over, kissed his cheek, and left him standing in the hotel elevator.

Dr. Dude is prime catch, ladies. Good job, sexy bod, smart, witty, fun… BUT…………and a big BUT at that…. he’s a devout Christian, wants marriage AND kids. So, what in the hell is he doing hanging out with likes me?

I feel a little more than selfish snatching this guy up for my own personal enjoyment while some people struggle to simply get a date. I guess I’m just a gluttonous lust-filled pig. I want, I want, I want!

The thing is, Dr. Dude has decided to save himself for marriage. Although he is not a virgin, it’s been a long time since he’s engaged in the horizontal mambo.

Like 12 years or so.

Seems Dr. Dude is a bit of a freak boi, yet does not engage in any type of penetration, save anal. And folks, anal is not for the faint of heart. The guy really fascinates me. Being an artiste of seduction, I have formulated a plan to see how far I can carry on with the lust until I break him down. Yes, it’s an evil plot and the characters are actual people, but doesn’t it sound fun?

And did I mention he has the best ass I’ve ever seen?

Even if he has tendency to read bible verses to me at 12:30 in the morning, I can over look it. Because. That Ass. Heh. Makes me sweat just thinking about it.

Someday I will actually post about something relevant like Hamas and Fatah, or The Up Coming Primaries, or hell…ending poverty. Someday I may even return to my feminist roots and write something on the subject or any subject other than my own self-indulgent pleasure-seeking indecent activities. It could happen. Just not today.

Body Goals: 2007

2007-06-14T09:55:00.000-07:00

Hey y'all,

As you know, Sally does enjoy her many hard core hours spent sweating it out in the gym. Here is the new workout plan (nutritition, cardio, and lifting) I devised for myself. It's pretty intense, but hopefully I can kick start this old mule. Heh.

Diet:

1) breakfeast: 2 servings, low calorie egg beaters with a sm. serving of fresh fruit

2) snack: whey protein shake

3) lunch: Soy burger, low fat, 2 servings of vegetables, low fat yogurt

4) pre-gym snack: Quaker Rick Cake with Peanut Butter

5) dinner: Salad with low cal dressing, fish (protein), and tomato

Other snack options: banana, apple, no sugar added: granola bar or pudding

Limit all caffeine, alcohol, and juices with high sugar content and increase water intake by 2 times the regular amount. (16 glasses per day at 8 ounces per glass)

Work out Plan: (based on a 6 day rotation, one day off)

1) Monday: 45 minutes of cardio: spin class (600 calorie burn)

Lift: Back and Biceps

Back rotation:

1) Assisted pull-ups (wide-grip) (3 sets, 10 reps)
2) One-Arm Dumbbell Row or Sitting Cable Rows (3 sets, 10 reps)
3) T-Bar Row (standing) narrow over-hand grip (3 sets, 10 reps)
4) Lat Pull Downs (3 sets, 15 reps)
5) Shoulder Shrugs with Isolation (2 sets, 10 reps)

Biceps:

1) Alternating Dumbbell Curls (2 sets, 20 reps)
2) Standing Straight Ez Bar Curls (2 sets, 15 reps)
3) Standing Preacher Curls (Ez Bar or Dumbells) (3 sets, 10 reps) or until failure

2) Tuesday- off-

3) Wednesday- 45 minutes of cardio (kick boxing and step class)

Lift: Legs

1) Leg extensions (2 machines, 3 sets of 15 on each one) warm-up
2) Squats (3 sets, 15 reps)

3) Leg Press (3 sets, 15 reps) wide stance

4) Sitting position with 25 lbs of weight on lap- hold for 2 minutes

4) Thursday- 40 minutes of cardio-Running

Lift: Chest and Triceps

Chest Rotation:

1) Incline Dumbbell Press (3 sets, 10 reps)
2) Wide-Grip Push Ups (3 sets, 15 reps)
3) Flat Bench Dumbbell Press (3 sets, 10 reps)
4) Cable Crossovers (3 sets, 8 reps)

Tricep Rotation:

1) Close-Grip Push Downs (3 sets, 10 reps)
2) Lying or Standing Dumbbell Tricep Extensions (3 sets, 10 reps)
3) Lying Tricep Press using EZ Bar (3 sets, 10 reps)

5) Friday – 30 minutes of cardio

Lift: Shoulders and Abs

Shoulder Rotation:

1) Behind the Neck Military Press (3 sets, 10 reps)
2) Seated Dumbbell Press (sitting straight up on bench, palms facing out) (3 sets, 10 reps)
3) Side Lateral Raises with dumbbells, keep palms facing down (3 sets, 10 reps)
or Front Dumbbell Raises for variation

Ab Rotation:

1) Cable Rope Crunches (3 sets, 20 reps)
2) 30 Degree partial sit-ups with Swiss Ball (3 sets, 20 reps)
3) Ball Pass (3 sets, 10 reps)
4) The Plank (2 sets, 60 seconds)

** Abs can be done every other day besides this day only

6) Saturday- 60 Minutes of Cardo, Abs and Glutes

Cardio (stair stepper and running)

Glutes

1) Walking Lunges with Weights, (3 times around the track)
2) Glute Kickbacks (3 sets, 25 reps)
3) Dumbbell Squat or Squat Lunges (3 sets, 10 reps)
4) Dumbbell Lunges (2 sets, 10 reps) or until failure

7) Sunday- cardio only with Abs (45 minutes of cardio, 15 minute abs)

Karma, 101

2007-06-06T14:35:00.001-07:00

Everything I touch breaks.

At least today.

My car, the toilet in our community office bathroom, the toilet at the house I used to rent with my sister, the door which the cops kicked down at the old house I used to live at, and for fuck’s sake, my favorite Channel lipstick, and the end of my living room table (baby toe, meet table, AGAIN…), ect…

Eh.

Similarly, my little sister claims everything in her life rots, i.e. grows mold, from the fridge to possibly her personal life, but I’m not judging, no, of course not.

Conversely, everyone in my office is having a grand old day. So-and- so’s pathetic excuse for a son just bought a house and blah, blah, blah… suck it people!

Do I sound like a five year-old today or what? Maybe someone should just put me on a leash. After all, with my tendency to break shit and what not…..

So, why the rude smart-ass overtones? Readers, I have been feeling somewhat emotionally numb the last few days and cannot be bothered to find one iota of compassion for others in my cold dead lifeless heart.

Also, money people, that’s right, money. I’ve been spending an obscene amount of it lately and found I am somewhat disgusted with myself about it. I received a rather large inheritance over a year ago and I have basically bought a lot of shit. Needless shit. So much for that "conservative with money" accountant stereotype, you won’t find that here, no siree.

And each week it’s a game, isn’t it? We say, I’m going to change this and this and this about my life, next week, yeah, sometime next week. But that time never comes, and well, why should it? When we’re doing just the minimal amount of work in our lives to get by and keep others off our freakin’ backs, there’s not much incentive to achieve, is there?

I the problem is, I was a nose-to-the-grind stone hard core achiever for many years, and managed to make some pretty impressive strides in my life. But now, it’s just enough to get by….heh. How did it come to this, I ask myself often. And each week I make impossible promises to myself about how dedicated and service-orientated I will be and how much joy I will experience because of it, and then… fuck…. it’s pedicures, shopping, tanning, excessive gyming (is that a word?) and martinis on a Tuesday night.

Key lime pie martinis.

Who does that?

Some people my age have 2.5 kids, the house, The Job, ect, ect, ect..
Yet, I cannot be bothered with such humdrum. I’ve been catching flack from friends lately about being more “adult-like” and “stop all that partying girlfriend!” which is actually ironic, because 5 years ago with my nose held to the stone, they looked awfully frivolous in my eyes.

Well, Justin Timberlake, you just might be on to something there, what goes around does come round’. Funny, I thought I told ya.

I wish you would step back from that ledge my friend.

2007-06-05T13:04:00.001-07:00

AND IF YOU DON'T WANT TO SEE ME AGAIN, I WOULD UNDERSTAND.

On Saturday night, as my back slammed against the granite on my living room floor, in the midst of a short but pleasurable threesome, I contemplated the meaning of life.

Just kidding.

Well, not really.

If I had more time for blogging these days I would post more about my nefarious sexual misadventures. But no. With the move, the strangeness of this life experiment, and the apparent increase in naughtiness, the words have been failing me. And that really is shame. So, I apologize.

I’d like to end this before I go influence young minds (not exactly, more like college-aged minds) with three weird things… (besides the hasty 4am cold hard floor orgy in my loft on Sat. night)

So, here you have it…

Weird Stuff

1) Leaving for work one morning and seeing a crowd of senior citizens with “Impeach Bush”, “Peace First”, and “War No More” signs. Their “Impeach Bush Now” van was parked in plain view across the street. I honked at the old folks, gave them a thumbs up, and was on my merry way to work- not the first thing I expected to see leaving my apartment at 8am.

2) Waking up to the sound of jack hammer inside my second story loft, eh, not exactly, but it was right outside my window on the roof. With curtains wide open, I made the trek from my bed to shut of my alarm, without one spec of clothing adorning my body. I hope the construction guys got a good look at my ass. Lord knows, they couldn’t have missed it.

3) Walking with a friend down the bike trails we came to impasse, so, we stood for a moment while we, and fellow walkers, enjoyed the view. Coldplay was blasting on my iPOD and I was feeling a little nostalgic and emotional when I looked to my right. A child, probably 4 or 5, had been restrained by a harness while his parents held him on a leash. That’s right, a fucking leash! My friend and I both happened to see the kid at the same time, as we watched the parents pull the leash back while the kid pushed forward with all his might. We immediately burst into laughter as the somber moment was replaced with disbelief. A fucking leash!!!!!

That is all.

More Weirdness to come, in the near future…

Sistas' are doin’ it for themselves…

2007-06-01T10:25:00.000-07:00

“Standin' on their own two feet.
And ringin' on their own bells.”

If you haven’t done so yet, go read Cassandra’s post about women-only spaces.

My experience with women-only spaces was a little different. I grew up in a family of women (powerful women at that) with no male influences. I saw the women around me kicking a lot of ass..doing it on their own and what not… both my mother and aunt were staunch feminists. In fact, the very first book my mom ever gave me was called “Eve’s Revenge”, a collection of feminist stories, jokes, etc… so I remember identifying with feminism at a pretty early age. Although my paternal grandmother never identified herself as a feminist, hell if she didn’t raise 3 boys on her own and run an entire franchise with little or no help. So, yeah, women-only spaces, not a bad thing in my book.

I don’t know that my mom ever told me “Sally, you don’t have to fear anyone, especially men.” But, it was communicated to me through her actions. She, in my mind, was doing the impossible (single parent, 4 kids, in law school) which taught me a lot about self-preservation and kicking ass, overall. Typically, I’ve approached dangerous situations with somewhat of a reckless attitude. For example, the time I caught a burglar in downtown Minneapolis in the process of robbing my best friend’s car. I simply told him to get his ass out of the car and start running because I was going to call the police, so when I screamed, “FUCKIN MOVE IT!”, he got out of the car and ran. Fortunately, he wasn’t able to pry her stereo system free in time.

Sure, there were instances when I was younger where disgusting men helped themselves to my body. Three situations in particular stand out. The first one was in the 3rd grade when nauseatingly perverted older boy grabbed my crotch on the play ground at school and taunted me, “Sally, watcha’ gonna do, huh?” “Huh?” Had I been a little older n’ wiser, I would’ve beat his sorry ass to the pavement, but no, I just sorta stood there with a dumb look on my face. My pelvic area burned for the next week, I could still feel his fat meaty hand there.

The next incident was when I was in 8th grade. Keep in mind, I, er, developed early. I started wearing a bra when I was 10 or 11. By the time I was 13 I was a full D-Cup, on a 5’3, 110lb frame. Let’s just say it didn’t go unnoticed. Anyway, it was the summer before my 8th grade year and I was at the state fair with a few girl friends. As we walked by the various displays n’ games, the old carnie guys with missing teeth would leer at us with their various cat-calls and what not. At one point, a particularly gross toothless excuse for a man reached over and grabbed by boob. Again, I was speechless. It was during the bright light of day and I had several others with me, so I wasn’t worried for my safety, but like Cassandra said, found myself enraged and a little bit shocked.

And lastly, as the girl from the wrong side of the tracks at the good ol’ Catholic high school, I found issues like class, religion, and sexism were alive n’ well. And don’t even get me started on race and sexual orientation. Anyway, I spent a lot of time bucking the popular paradigm. Refusing to be confirmed, openly questioning authority, standing up for other fellow outcasts who were teased by girls who made “Mean Girls” look like fuckin’ tea party…eh.. well, you know how those catholic girls are. But, the guys were even worse, specially’ the jock guys. Seeing how I had “developed early” I was often harassed in the hallways by the junior/senior guys. For example, on one particular day, an unruly jock guy grabbed my ponytail, threw me against a locker, and said to his buddies, “Hey guys, look at my little freshman sex toy.” Not the most welcoming environment for an insecure teenage girl. But, eventually, I grew out of my shell and started kicking a little ass, just like my mom… the apple doesn’t fall from the tree…

Over the years, I’ve become much more assertive and aggressive about protecting my boundaries. I no longer stand speechless when some uncivilized slob grabs a body part, I also feel like if I was attacked, I could defend myself, and hell… like I said before, maybe even kick a little ass. After all, those hardcore body building training sessions at the gym have to count for something.

There was an accident on my front lawn and the boogie man was there with his twisted machete smile asking questions about how I got here

2007-05-30T09:36:00.000-07:00

“I was just guessing at numbers and figures
Pulling the puzzles apart.
Questions of science, science and progress
Don't speak as loud as my heart.
Tell me you love me, and come back and haunt me,
Oh, when I rush to the start
Running in circles, chasing tails
coming back as we are.” - The Scientist, Coldplay

Last time he left I was just a little girl, and I was terrified he’d never come back. I woke up with tears stuck to the back of my throat, eyes heavy and red. True, it was winter and the daylight was long gone before he left and I never had the courage to say I love you, but it was late baby, and I was sad.

In the crossover space in my head, I turned the dial, and crawled back into bed. There was no light coming from my window, there was no soft breeze to graze my skin, and there was no you breathing down on my neck.

The Lust Lizard of Melancholy Cove

2007-05-25T10:02:00.001-07:00

Dear readers, I have a problem. I like to fuck my friends.

Eh.

It doesn’t always produce the most positive results, especially when certain friends aren’t as sprinkle-happy with their own sexuality. For many o’ moons, I have teetered back and forth on the issue. I’m usually very honest with my lovers the majority of the time. It wasn’t always that way. When I was younger (the teenage angst years) I often balanced three-five relationships at one time, PLUS making pretty decent grades while working 40 hours a week. Let’s just say I didn’t sleep very much as the whirlwind of faces through the revolving door didn’t stop.

Occasionally, I may've become smitten with one person, but it was always peppered with late night trysts with others. I’ve tried to force myself into “one-on-one” relationship models, but, in the end, come back to the same old place. The seduction.

Add a little bit of impulsiveness and idealism to the equation and you’ve got a die-hard sensualist. Once the energy of the encounter has been depleted, I often ponder how I might channel my lust-filled libido into other mediums.

A person can only give so much of themselves before they start to feel the affects elsewhere. I’ve never been one to neglect my responsibilities in a mundane sense, but I often miss out on opportunities for self-reflection, writing, or helping others in a more pure (heh) capacity because I’m busy chasing the feeling.

Ah, the ecstasy of a temporary high. Those moments are few and far between in this life, aren’t they? I mean, that really is the nature of an addiction. I know there are love addicts, sexual addicts..hell, there are all sorts of addicts out there. Yet, I’m not sure that’s the issue in my situation.

Over the years, I’ve attempted to explain my behavior to myself with the following reasons:

1) I am a fundamentally flawed individual with absolutely no moral compass. I am a bad, bad, bad girl.

2) I have a deep fear of commitment and will go to any and all lengths to protect my freedom in the name of self-preservation.

3) The purpose of my life is not to form romantic attachments with others, as it depletes my power and lowers my effectiveness. I’ll have fun for now, but eventually will discard my obsession with physical to help others in a more evolved fashion.

4) I like sex. Period. There is nothing wrong with me. It is who I am. I should not waste energy trying to conform to society’s expectations of moral virtue. As long as I am honest with partners, I have no reason to change my behavior.

5) I’ve learned many important lessons regarding power and relating as a result of my sexual conquests and will continue to do so in the spirit of adventure, growth, and self-awareness. And that, is nothing to be ashamed of.

At various intervals during my life, I’ve often felt drawn to one of the above reasons, or sometimes, a multitude of em’ at once. Maybe all of them are true, to an extent.

The fact is, I’ve seen the ugly sides of symbiosis, along with the beautiful. When I say symbiosis, I mean in the sense that the parasite feeds from the host. Sex mimics the symbiotic process in a very natural way. And even on a greater level, symbiotic relationships color our human experience. In the womb, we engage in this very basic primal act before we’re even born into this world. It is our first experience. Relationships continue to evolve within the realm of symbiosis for better or worse during the course of a lifetime as well.

Wiki lists several classes of symbiosis, all of which apply to our relationships in this life:

1) Mutualism - a relationship in which members of two different species benefit and neither suffers

2) Commensalism- a relationship in which one party gains some benefit, while the other suffers no serious disadvantage

3) Parasitism- one member of the association benefits while the other is harmed

4) Amensalism- the association is disadvantageous to one member while the other is not affected

5) Competition- both organisms are harmed

6) Artificial symbiosis- the mutually beneficial integration between a live part and an artifact.

Many biologists concede that symbiosis has been a major driving force in the evolution of humanity. On a psychological level, I couldn’t agree more. As one of my favorite musician's/poet's would say, “I am trying to evolve”, which isn’t done within a vacuum. We need to experience relationships fully (even negative or painful attachments) to move forward with the task at hand, doing what we came here to do.

This post started off with fucking friends and turned into a lesson in biology.

Well, ya gotta start somewhere. Happy Friday, SS

Secret Agent Man

2007-05-23T12:55:00.001-07:00

Going Incognito……

It’s time I change my look.

I’ve moved into a new loft downtown, reconnected with old friends, made peace with ex-girlfriends, and even changed my blog. Change is in the air people!

As far as the blog goes, I was becoming aesthetically challenged with the old arrangement. Thus, reorganization was in order. When I changed templates it erased all of my previous blog links, so hopefully I’ve remembered to add everyone back on. If not, let me know.

Apart from being stylistically bored, I’ve also been a little sketched out about all of the recent media focus on bloggers/my spacers losing their jobs because of the content posted on their blogs. Then, there’s the issue of other bloggers threatening to “out” other bloggers in order to silence them. Hence, there will not be anymore personal/identifying information shared, or if it is shared, it will be kept at a minimum.

With that said…. hello freedom!

As Nasty as I Wanna Be, SS

Cum-Guzzling Whores: Take One

2007-05-22T13:23:00.001-07:00

How come the permanent spunk-filled taste in my mouth hasn’t left despite numerous rigorous brushings?

Could it be all the unnecessary head I’ve been giving recently?

I mean, it really makes a girl wonder how much money she could make if she turned her talent/hobby into a huge money-making pornified scheme. Seriously, if I had two cents for every blow job I’ve given on my knees in the dark.... well, let’s just say my college debt would’ve been paid off long before it was.

Sex workers, I can understand. Why not make money from a fun hobby you’d do for free anyway. An extra $400 bucks a month from sucking a couple of cocks would be a pretty nice cash prize indeed. Instead, I’m scrambling to complete all my work & responsibilities while pursuing pleasure. Wouldn’t it be easier to combine the acquisition of material resources with the sins of the flesh? Talk about two birds and a stone….......

I feel extraordinary guilty for writing about my sex life while everyone else in blogdina land is writing about actual important issues. Which, mind you, I have been pondering as well, but I can’t say that I feel compelled to write about it. A foggy haze has settled square in the middle of brain and now all I can do is touch, touch, touch.

You know, the “I want, I want, I want” mass consumption practices our society engages in on a day-to-day basis. I’m not exempt from this behavior either, but find it creeps into my life in more of a cannibalistic way. I'm like a rotating door, one in and one out, then repeat.

There once was a day when I attempted to maintain some sustainable from of celibacy, but have found I’m far too physically-orientated to proceed with any kind of solemnity regarding a sexless state of existence. It just doesn’t work for me.

And, that’s all I have to say about that folks. (In my best Southern accent, of course.)

~SS

There Goes the Neighborhood

2007-05-16T13:22:00.000-07:00

“Hey let's party, let's get down, let's turn the radio on,
This is the meltdown.
Get out the camera, take a picture,
The drag queens and the freaks
Are all out on the town.
And cowboy Jane's in bed
Nursing a swollen head.

Sunshine Sally and Peter Ustinov
Don't like the scene anyhow.
I dropped acid on a Saturday night
Just to see what the fuss was about.
Now there goes the neighborhood.” - Sheryl Crow

I’m moving. Tomorrow.

Actually, it’s not the death sentence I thought it’d be. Turns out, a good friend lives three doors down. And, of course, the chair. OMFG. The new chair. This chair is leading me to new orgasmic heights. It’s $600 chair, so it ain’t cheap, but it’s so well worth it. The chair is very difficult to explain, it’s circular in nature with a deep back one can sink into quite nicely. The chair also fits two people easily, hell, even three if you’re up for it. I’m thinking it will be The Primo make out chair, and why not? I’m living alone again so I’ve got no reason to avoid making out all over the place.

When it finally arrives on the Magical Day (May 18th) of Sally’s birth I shall take a picture of it and post it here for your viewing pleasure. In the meantime, here is a chair/small couch that is somewhat similar to what I got, minus the red color.

My place is mostly earthy tones, except for the bathroom which is an interesting shade of fuchsia. I’ve contemplated changing my bathroom colors for some time now to progress with a more evolved theme than simply “fuchsia, it shall be fuchsia.” Any ideas? The jungle theme is outworn and trite, and so is lavender or lame shades of blue. I’m looking for something with a little one-two-punch, that leaves you going “huh” in a disturbingly strange yet quizzical manner. Sorta like if I had this piece by Frank Walls hanging from the wall in my bathroom after choosing a hellfire and damnation theme.

heh.

Well, I never said it would be remotely tasteful. I think I’ve moved beyond that point, in more ways than one.

The Subtle Magnetism of Nature

2007-05-09T10:09:00.000-07:00

I was going to do a post about nature worship/pantheism today, but fuck it, let’s talk about boot fetishes instead. Notice I did not say “foot fetish”. I have no desire for a man or woman to lick my bare feet or toes. It’s not that I don’t have cute feet. They are, in fact, quite shapely and painted nicely at the moment. However, a good boot licking done with the right amount enthusiasm could really turn this girl out. Once, in a room full of people, I had the pleasure of receiving a brief but sloppy boot sucking. Even so, I did feel little shock waves of desire as the boot dude got down on his knee in front of me, wrapped his mouth around my stiletto heel and proceeded to suck it off.

Nice.

I was never intimate with the boot guy, we only kissed once and truth be told it was, like his boot head, rather sloppy. Yet, it was at that time I started to research various fetishes, BDSM activities, and dom/sub relationships. I found a lot of things turned me on that I never even gave a second thought to before. I started watching alternative/fetish porn to figure out what types of fetishes did it for me and what did not. I also started to do “energy experiments” with the men I was intimate with by consciously putting out my own masculine energy during sex rather than “being done”. It was fascinating. I found myself touching my partner differently and I was able to appreciate other parts of his body I had previously ignored or skipped over. When I looked down at my partner’s face, his expression took on a very feminine quality.

In order for a sexual relationship to be satisfying for me there has to be some sort of energy switch where feminine becomes masculine or vice versa. I'm bored with sexual experiences that do not allow for a range of gender expression. The standard missionary position “you are the man and I am the woman” fuck does not hold one ounce of appeal for me. First of all, being bi-sexual, I couldn’t follow those rules anyway. Next, for the love of God!, what a boring lesson in relating! I couldn’t imagine a world where we are stuck in some predetermined roles just waiting for the interesting stuff to come (or cum?). How stuffy. And did I mention lame?

Men/women who are afraid to get dirty, gritty, nasty, ect.. are definitely not my cup o’ tea. Even as a child, I reveled in the dirt, literally. After a session of playing outdoors, my hair, clothes, and toes were often covered in mud and dirt, and I loved it! The experience of being intimately tied to (or tied up?) with the Earth felt very natural. In adulthood, I’ve carried some of those same concepts into the bed room. See, I started out writing about boot fetishes, but ended up coming (cum-ing) back to nature anyway. heh. And so it goes…

Shiny Happy People Holding Hands

2007-05-07T11:39:00.000-07:00

This was my horoscope for May penned by one of my favorite astrologers:

“As you make your way in the world, consider the men who have influenced you the most. What troubled them? What did they come up against that prevented them from enjoying life and from living up to their sense of their own potential? If you find yourself being confronted by the same things, I suggest you take a chance and dare to go beyond them. Too often, one generation after the next inherits the limitations and blocks of their forebears, and we typically attract people who help us make sure the patterns stick. New things are happening in your life now, which are thrusting you into the present, which could not be further away from the past.”

So, in the spirit of analysis I thought about the questions above and came up the following:

What troubled the men in my life?

An unhealthy attachment to their mothers, over identifying with a powerful mother figure, a connection to life that was mostly spiritual in nature, avoiding the physical or being fully present in the “NOW”, escapism through drugs and religion, The Searcher or the Journeyman who is lost looking for redemption, dissatisfied with the physical aspect of incarnation, neglect of their health and emotions for fusion with the divine, inability to form strong attachments in human relationships, avoiding responsibilities in favor of freedom, self-deception, impulsiveness, Jesus complex, a martyr energy being channeled in the wrong direction, defeatism, hopelessness followed by periods of self-aggrandizement.

What did they come up against that prevented them from enjoying life and from living up to their sense of their own potential?

Fear, laziness, addictions, lack of self-awareness, perceived or real abandonment of their father/father figures, rigidly adhering to a poisonous belief structure, suffering in silence, servitude displaced, loyalties misplaced, searching for the easy way out without doing any of the work, guilt for failing as a parent the same way their parents did, investing everything into a lie and not having the strength to change.

Now, think about the men who've influenced you in your own life. After you’ve done this little exercise take a look at what you’ve written. I’ll be damned if you don’t see your partner (or if not a partner, your own issues) staring you in the face. People tend to go for what they know. If you look closely at relationships you can see the underlying archetypes operating.

For those of us consciously trying to change, it presents a unique dilemma. I have to admit, I felt a little depressed answering the questions above. There are positive and negative sides to these family patterns, yes, some of our greatest individual strengths emerge from it, but you also get the bullshit too. Obviously, the archetypal pattern represented above is Neptunian in nature. Since I do have a tendency to draw Neptunian/Piscean people (especially men) to me it’s quite fitting.

I was talking to a dear friend during lunch on Saturday. He was reflecting on his own relationship woes, explaining that certain kinds of women with “issues” or “excess baggage” were often attracted to him. Basically, he found himself puzzled that these types of women kept seeking him out. I pointed out that this isn’t a one-way street, that we are, in fact, making relationship choices that validate are own archetypal patterns whether we realize it or not, and that he is “finding them” as much as they are finding him. Both people learn something from the exchange. It’s not to say that this is necessary healthy. It may be that one has to bang their head against the wall a couple hundred times to work through the archetype to find the positive side, or, the positive woman in his situation.

Relationship choices reflect our inner dynamics or patterns whether it’s through work situations, friendships, or romantic partners. Through momentary flashes of truth in seemingly meaningless interactions we come to awareness. The synchronicity is astounding, and in those situations it does feel as if the universe is working with us rather than against us. Truth is waiting to be discovered, examined, recovered, and connected.

Last night on my deck with an old friend at midnight, I had one of those sweet moments of clarity, hence, my flower-sniffing,dress-twirling, love-fest today.

Goin’ all Budda-like on yo’ ass, SS

The cops kicked my door down last night, and how was your night?

2007-05-04T10:01:00.000-07:00

I was sleeping soundly in my bed, all safe n’ warm, when my sister and her boyfriend burst into my room yelling, “Someone’s breaking into our house, call 911!” I sprang out of bed, grabbed my cell phone and dialed 911 as my hands were shaking. I could hear a loud banging noise coming from the upstairs. Someone was trying to get in. I told the 911 dispatched, “They’re pounding on the windows, and they’re coming in now!” A loud crash was heard from the basement. My sister and I were both screaming when they said, “Police! Police!” Still unconvinced, my sis asked for the officer’s badge, then my sis’s boyfriend opened my bedroom door and let them in. The cops said, “Where is *______* (insert name of my youngest sister)? I said, “She’s at her boyfriends, what’s going on?” To which they replied, “Your sister was on her cell phone with someone when she said “Oh my God, I’m going to die” and then her phone hung up. Her friend then called the police. We traced her cell phone to this address, how can we find her?”

The next ½ hour was spent frantically searching for her boyfriend’s address in a neighboring town. Her boyfriend, now in jail, has a history of violent and abusive behavior. Also, his friends are somewhat questionable. This, of course, increased our anxiety levels. I called my mom, who immediately left her house. As she was backing out of her driveway, two cop cars pulled up behind her questioning her about my sister’s whereabouts.

Eventually, my other sister tracked down the boyfriend’s address and officers were sent to the house immediately. It turns out that my sister was having a bad dream when she answered her friend’s call and said “Oh my God, I’m going to die.” She honestly does not remember saying any such thing to her friend, or even talking to her. My sis has been known to talk in her sleep and sleep walk, especially when she was younger, but hasn’t any incidents since then. Anyway, needless to say, it took a long time before we all calmed down and were able to sleep.

The lesson here is to make damn sure you have all the contact info of your loved ones plus numbers of close friends to call in case of an emergency. Since we all hate my sister’s boyfriend with the fire of a thousand suns we made no effort to find out where he lived or even his last name.

Also, as I tossed n’ turned trying to sleep after having my front door kicked down by the police, I thought about all the families in Iraq and elsewhere who live with the day-to-day fear that their loved ones could be abducted from their homes and killed during the middle of the night. The horror and helplessness that I felt, even in just believing for a couple of minutes that someone was trying to break into my house, was downright terrifying. I can’t imagine going to bed every night with that fear. Sally’s gonna get herself a gun, or at least a freakin’ can of mace.