Got Game? Part II

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?

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

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!

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

“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

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

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

: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

“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

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Sex, Drugs, and….. Performance?

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

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

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

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

“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

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

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

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

“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….