Charity is a Slut

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yours in genuine pursuit of pleasure,

kiss kiss,

S.S.

Doing it for dollars and a fancy man

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

And so, we made the deal.

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

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

Now, listen to the money talk.

~S.S.

The Reality of Five Years

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

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

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

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


Five years later, the suffering and destruction continues.




Light a candle.

Pray for Peace.

Or get pissed and start a fucking riot.

~S.S.

Ocean City

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

Venus goes diving.



Love,

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

Robert De Niro Sit on My Face

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

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


Lady Libra, Polly Jean

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

Sally Swoonshine

Survival Tips for the Hungry Love Struck

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

Welcome.

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

Tape their fucking mouths shut.

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

Smear dirt across the page.

Sit down.

Wait.

Philosophical Whoring: An Ethical Approach

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

There are many astrologers (both professional and amateur) who I know, first hand, employ the use of many different magical tactics to secure ass. Predictably, their loyal subjects (i.e. 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

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

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Sex in the Soil

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

“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

“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

“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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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