Tag Archives: sex

Whew! After the heavy processing of the last two posts…

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…some lighter fare, about kitties and about social dynamics.

First, the kitties. My kitties love John Woo movies!

Every animal that exists is bequeathed by God with a unique gift. Human beings are bequeathed with an amazing hubris that tells us we’re the chosen of God, for example, as a sort of “sorry, my bad” for the whole hairless-ape thing we’ve got going on. Dogs are gifted with boundless, enthusiastic optimism to compensate for the eating-off-the-floor thing.

But cats have the greatest gift of all. Cats are granted a special and limited immunity from the law of gravity.

Three nights ago, S was over late, and the kitties were feeling frisky. In a beautiful and stirring tribute to the Great Director, the two of them faced off against the vast expanse of the living room hallway, then charged each other in a stirring reenactment of that scene in “Mission: Impossible” with the motorcycles. About three feet apart, they both leaped high into the air, and collided with all four paws outstretched several feet off the ground, whereupon they fell heavily to earth in a ball of savage mock fury.

The performance was somewhat marred by the fact that they were both purring madly, but it was amazing nonetheless. I’d give the right arm of a crippled child with leukemia for a photograph, as long as it was a reasonably patient child who wasn’t using the arm for anything and liked cats and John Woo.

In other, and also amusing, news, I recently left a post about transhumanism on one of the Macintosh technical forums I read. I’ve been a member of this particular technical forum for many years, and I’m usually quite prolific. Another member of the forum told me that there was a conversation on transhumanism on a different forum he belonged to, and did I mind if he quoted me? I said no, not at all, and he sent me a URL to that other forum.

I went over, took a peek, and discovered that I have a fan obsessed freak. She used to use the Mac technical forum, disappeared around three years ago…

…apparently because of me. Seems I’d posted a comment in a conversation about using digital cameras with a Mac, and she’d said “Oh, a fellow photographer!” and visited my Web site, and read my polyamory pages, and, well…

“Creep” figured prominently in her comments on the other forum. “Depraved sexual appetities,” too. And other, even less flattering things.

She quit using the Mac technical forum because she couldn’t bear to use a message board I belonged to, and has over the past three years spent a great deal of time and energy talking about me on this other forum. For the sake of curiousity, I did a search on that other forum for my name. Thirty hits, in all, representing messages about me this woman has left.

In the most unkindest cut of all, she said something about how she can’t understand how I get all these women, because she’s seen pictures of me and I’m “sure not easy on the eyes.”

“Depraved sexual appetites,” that’s cool. “Sick pervert?” Hey, it’s a dirty job but someone has to do it. “Dedicating an entire Web site” to my “unnatural perversions and lusts?” Well, hey, it’s something to do on a Saturday afternoon. But “not easy on the eyes?” Man, that just hurts. 🙂

Y’know, the funny thing is, I barely even noticed when she stopped posting on the Mac forums, and I don’t think I’ve ever actually had a conversation with her. The emotional energy she’s invested in me is kind of flattering, in a peculiar way, but damn…

Some thoughts on partnership

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A couple of weeks ago, I got an email from someone who’d read my BDSM pages on my Web site. He said he’d been married for twenty years, had always wanted to explore and experiment with BDSM, but had never shared this with his wife or told her about any of his fantasies.

Now, I get a lot of emails like that, and my response is always the same: “Tell her! You can’t expect to get what you want if you never ask for what you want.”

About three days later, I got another email from the same person, who said “I told my wife I wanted to explore BDSM, and she said that she had always wanted to do the same thing, but never told me. In fact, before we met, she was active in the BDSM community.”

Now, I get that response rather often, too–you’d be amazed how many people, after finally working up the courage o share their deep dark secret (whatever it may be) with their partners, hear “Oh, yeah? I’ve always wanted the same thing!”

But still. Twenty years. Twenty years these people were married, and they never told the other person about their fantasies and interests. Twenty years. Twenty… YEARS.

Jesus Christ. Twenty years???!! What the hell have these two been talking about for the last two decades? The weather? The TV show “Friends?” How do you spend two decades in an intimate relationship with someone, and never once talk about what you want your sexual life to look like?

Some thoughts on being lucky

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“Oh, you’re so lucky.”

I hear it all the time–in emails people send me, in conversations, in feedback on my Web site. “Oh, you’re so lucky.”

Why am I so lucky? For reasons that have nothing to do with luck. You have a girlfriend who likes bondage? Oh, you’re so lucky.” “You have more than one partner, and everybody is OK with that? Oh, you’re so lucky.” “Oh, you own your own business? You’re so lucky.”

It’s profoundly annoying. No, I am not so lucky. I have the partners I have, and I live the life I live, because i sat down and made conscious, deliberate decisions about the way I want my life to look and the people i want to share it with. Luck has nothing to do with it. I own a business because I chose to start a business, and accept the risk that comes along with that. I have the partners I have because these are the people who I have chosen to share my life with, and they are with me because they have chosen to share their lives with me.

“Oh, you’re so lucky.”

It seems as if people actually do believe that their lives are all about random chance. The job they have? Luck. The partner they’re with? Luck. The shape of their lives? All random happenstance; luck of the draw, that’s just the way it turned out.

I cannot rightly apprehend what would make someone feel so profoundly disempowered in his life. “Oh, you’re so lucky”–this is the cry of someone who sees something he wants but feels utterly powerless to have it, someone who goes through life seeing only a random collection of unrelated events, driven by pure chance, with no connection between them and no hope of comprehension. The person who feels empowered–the person who feels like he can have the things he wants, if he just puts his mind to it–does not see luck.

“Oh, you’re so lucky.” I live with a woman who enjoys being tied up because I share with my partners the things that interest me, and the things that I like; I communicate with them, and build a foundation of honesty and trust and mutual respect. This is not luck. I have received countless emails from my BDSM Web site that are variations on one of two themes–“I want to try this stuff but I’m afraid to tell my partner, what should I do?” and “I have always wanted to try this stuff, but I didn’t tell my partner, and after we’d been together for fifteen years he told me that he’s always wanted to try it too.” Well, see, there you go. If you don’t ask for what you want, don’t expect to get what you want–luck isn’t going to help you.

Of course, a person who does not believe it is possible for him to have something is not going to feel empowered to seek it. I wonder, though, what does he see when he sees other people living the way he wants to live, but believes is impossible? What is it that makes him feel so disempowered? Why should these things be accessible to others but inaccessible to him? “Oh, you’re so lucky.” We make our own luck. A person does not start a business by accident; it’s not like you’re walking down the street one day and you see a busines lying on the ground that’s fallen out of someone’s pocket and say “w00t! Lookit that–wow, I’m lucky!” And the conduct of a romantic relationship is no different. One does not choose a partner by luck; one does not have an exciting and rich sex life by luck. “Jeepers, you got Betty Sue in the Mate Lottery and I got stuch with Sally May–I hear Betty Sue’s really kinky. Boy, you sure got lucky!”

So a person who feels disempowered in his life, who believes his life is nothing more than a series of random unconnected events–how does he choose a partner? What does he say to his partner–if he does not see any hope of controlling his life, and does not see any way for him to effect any control over his destiny, what does he talk about?

“Oh, you’re so lucky.” Every time someone says that to me, a part of me wants to grab him by the shirt collar and scream, “Do you have the faintest idea what you’re saying? Do you even realize how much it says about you and the world you live in? This is your fucking life, and nobody is accountable for the way it looks but you! If there are things you want in your life, then for God’s sake, why aren’t you going after them??! What’s holding you back? This is your fucking life, man! It’s the only one you’ll ever have! DO something about it, already! Don’t insult both of us by telling me how lucky I am because I have something and you want it, go and get it already!”

“Oh, you’re so lucky.” It’s insulting and baffling at the same time. Insulting, because it totally misses the decisions I’ve made that have made me who I am; baffling, because anybody can make these choices, and indeed people do, every day. A person who wants something but chooses not to pursue it turns his back on what he wants, and then is surprised when he doesn’t have it. What the fuck? Your life, every day, is shaped by the choices you make. Don’t like the music? Change the tune!

And one more quick link before I head off to bed tonight…

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Stone age pornography unearthed.

The statues, which are approximately 7,200 years old, seem to shatter the idea that sex was a forbidden subject in that time. Until now, the oldest sexual scenes found by archaeologists were on frescos that date to the time of Christ.

And finally…

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Not surprising, really. I’ve actually taken a much, much more exhaustive version of this quiz, with the same results:

Your Kinsey Number is 0.0
Exclusively Heterosexual

What’s Your Kinsey Number?

More Great Quizzes from Quiz Diva

Some fun stuff, and a quiz!

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We’ve been spending a lot of time with phyrra and nihilus lately; the Lingerie LAN Party was a blast, even if everyone did play World of Warcraft and Matrix Online exclusively. I was hoping for the opportunity to crush datan0de in my iron fist in Tiberian Sun, but perhaps next time. (I can only crush him at Tiberian Sun when we’re at a LAN party because it doesn’t work directly over TCP/IP; it works over IPX, and Git doesn’t seem to work with it.)

Also been spending a lot of time with S lately. We went clubbing with her and some of her friends last night (which might account for the fuzzyheadedness today), and had a blast.

True conversation with someone I met there last night:

Me: “I’m sorry, I’ve totally forgotten your name. What was it again?”
Her: “Nikki. It’s easy to remember. Just think of the Prince song when you think of me.
Me: “Hmm. Now that leads me to another question…”
Her: “Yes.”
Me: “Is that the answer to the question?”
Her: “Yes.”

So, on a completely unrelated note, here’s the quiz:

Sex is interesting only when it’s dysfunctional. The procreation part is boring; what makes it compelling is the fucked-up stuff it does to our heads.

Prejudice is expensive

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Last week, I was on-site with a client of mine I haven’t seen in quite some time. My client was complaining to me that she and her husband are planning to move, and the two of them can’t afford a house that’s even as good as the one they’re living in now. They’ve lived in their current house for quite a number of years, but a combination of changing property values and the recent Florida hurricanes, which have made insurance for houses near the coast impossible to obtain at any price, have created a situation where they can’t really get much from their house and moving into a new house of similar size, age, and condition will cost them three times more than their current house is costing them.

The reason they’re moving? They’ve discovered that one of their neighbors down the street runs a porn Web site. It’s “disgusting,” she says, to have to live in the same neighborhood with one of those kinds of people, and “who wants to live in that kind of environment?”

Now, what’s interesting about that, aside from its inherent silliness (“that kind of environment”? What, is he shooting porn flicks in the middle of the street?) is the way I responded emotionally to it–my opinion o fthis particular client as a person immediately dropped through the floor, melted its way through the Earth’s crust, and now sits at the center of the planet’s molten core, where it can’t get any lower unless the earth is swallowed up by the sun. I responded exactly as if she said they’re moving because there are Negroes living in the neighborhood, and “who wants to live in that kind of environment?”

What she probably doesn’t realize, though, is that there’s no neighborhood she can possibly move into where her neighbors aren’t doing things behind closed doors that she disapproves of. The other thing she doesn’t seem to grasp is that the proclivities of her neighbors really don’t have anything to do with her at all, and are None Of Her Business.

Key West Part II: Fantasy Fest

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The nominal reason for going to Key West was FantasyFest, an annual celebration that’s kind of like a mini Mardi Gras with more humidity.

For the most part, I wasn’t terribly impressed with FantasyFest. It had the things you’d normally expect to see at such an event–too few PortaPotties, a parade, throngs of people competing for cheap plastic beads and flashing their tits, that sort of thing. What was interesting was the number of people in elaborate body paint, some of which was quite beautiful.

I got quite a number of pics of people in body paint, hidden beneath the cut… …and NOT safe for work!

No, not the Necronomicon photos yet…

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…I’ll post those later today.

Instead, i want to complain about silicone.

The distribution of stress inside silicone rubber is fractal in nature. What that means is that silicone rubber tends to fail in unpredictable ways when it’s stressed. It never cleaves cleanly in the way that most solids do. It will rip or tear, always roughly and sometimes not at the point of greatest stress.

What that means is that carving, boring, and drilling a silicone dildo is exceptionally difficult and frustrating. It’s virtually impossible to get a clean hole through a silicone dildo, and the silicone can rip even when being sliced by a razor knife. It also deforms under stress, of course, so the cuts and holes assume an irregular shape when the stress is relieved.

Frustratin’.