Monday, December 9, 2013

Things I Found in Naomi Wolf's "Vagina"

Let's see, I looked in Naomi Wolf's Vagina and found:  an Adam Ant Album, a Bag of Bacon and...I'm sorry. I'm a child.

No, what I found was information--completely fascinating, mind-blowing information. Naomi Wolf's book Vagina: A New Biography--seriously--gave me a whole new Vaginal Worldview. Which is good because I previously held no Vaginal Worldview. So I can tick that off my "to-do" list.

Anyway, here's the story:

1. The basic premise.
Women are wired in complex neurological ways that make sexual touch blend with emotional experiences, creativity, and the experience of connectedness with the world. "Women are designed to receive pleasure, and experience triggers to orgasm from skillful caressing and rhythmic pressure of all kinds over many, many parts of their bodies. The pornographic model of intercourse--even our culture's conventional model of intercourse, which is quick, goal-oriented, linear, and focused on stimulation of perhaps one or two areas of a woman's body--is just not going to do it for many women, at least not in a very profound way, because it involves such a superficial part of the potential of a woman's neurological sexual response systems," writes Wolf.

2. Release the hounds.
When a lover stimulates a woman properly, it sets off all kinds of chemical fuckery. A lover who suckles a woman's nipple for example, will set off a release of the bonding love chemical oxytocin and she, perhaps without quite realizing why, will favor that lover over another. If a man* gives his lover a deep, deep orgasm, the kind where it feels like his cock is hitting some deep emotional/physical/spiritual place within, a woman can have a profound experience. Some women will feel an exquisite rapture, some will burst into tears, and 100% will take that dude's call next time around.

3.  Truly great sex is a spiritual experience.
Yeah, I said spiritual. When a woman is fully relaxed, open and receiving pleasure she can enter sort of a trance state. And when a woman comes, she gets a heavy dose of opiates, and the regions of her brain involving self-awareness and inhibition go dark. "This can feel to the woman involved like a melting of boundaries, a loss of self, and, whether exhilaratingly or scarily, a loss of control," writes Wolf. This blissful state is a transcendence, a falling/melting into something Divine.

4. Well fucked women get bombarded with all kinds of delicious sexual chemicals and get cranky when denied.
The heavy dosing of all these lovely chemicals--the bonding love squishiness of oxytocin, the rewarding high of dopamine, the sublime bliss of opiates--means that yes, love is a drug for women, and we can turn into fucking addicts. Our pleasure/chemical hit is potentially greater than a man's so we suffer more, biochemically, from withdrawal. Edith Wharton wrote that her lover's touch left her with "je n'ais plus de volonte": "no more will." "Addictedness to a lover who is 'right' for the autonomic nervous system in women is hard-wired," writes Wolf. "...If this is the person with the right touch to activate your unique neural network, you will go into withdrawal if he or she is not around you to do this again, and fairly soon. Actual, painful, real withdrawal." Uh, yeah. (See also: Elliott Smith, excessive playing of)

5. Maybe it's okay to go with your crazy?
The addictive force of sexual chemistry has such a tempting, strong pull--just an open-hearted leap into ancient currents of Passion and Life--but it also feels kinda...anti-feminist, weak and possibly unhealthy. Being so raw and open to someone is both frightening and wonderful. Especially since men might be experiencing the chemical bath on a less heady level. But Wolf spins this longing for connection as something important and essentially female : "Are we masochists, are we pathetic, or trivial minded? No, to the contrary. Rather, we are subject to a force that is extremely powerful--one that perhaps no man can truly understand. I think that what drives us is rather noble," she writes. "I believe we should respect the potential for 'enslavement' to sexual love in women; to our place with Eros and love."

6.  The optimum ways to fire up a women's sensuality look a lot like Tantric sex.
A lot of Tantra--at least as far as I can tell from studying it exactly zero days---has to do with setting the scene, enjoying the process, relaxing the woman and coaxing her to open up gradually--literally and metaphorically, until she is sort of bursting with ripeness. A lover offering reassurance and admiration will affect what's going on between a woman's legs, reports Wolf: "If he or she keeps talking along those lines, watch how readily your vagina responds to the touch--as the Tantric masters say, it should literally yearn toward and open for the lover's hand, to draw it closer, or do the same for a lover's penis."

A slow, non-goal oriented touch will take a lover over the contours of a woman's body, kissing, stroking and coaxing each one to open up before moving to another. After going through each "gate," a woman will be fully receptive--probably pretty fucking blissed out--and only then it is then okay to enter her. Wolf describes this Eastern model of vaginal opening as "akin to an 'unfolding' or an 'unfurling,' a 'coming alive,' or an 'expansion'--more like a time-lapse photograph, like a lotus expanding in the sun."

7.  Whether you think it's a G-spot or not, it needs to be stroked.
"Find her 'sacred spot,' then hang out there far longer that you think is necessary." While scientists are still dithering about whether there is a G-spot or not, Tantric masters have been in there stroking said "sacred spot' and making the ladies come. Carefully, slow stroking of the spot--which is part of the whole neural tangle, but can also be considered to be sort of a back end of the clitoris--is highly effective at making women purr for you. In one study researchers gave 89% of their female subjects orgasms by "systematic digital stimulation of both vaginal walls." This despite the lab conditions and calling it "systematic digital stimulation of both vaginal walls." Considering 43% of women report sexual desire and response problems, the results are truly stunning.

8.  The usual idea of tensing and focusing to reach orgasm might not be optimal for women.
"Many women--and Tantra gurus--report that while clitoral orgasm involves bodily tension and release (a lot like male orgasm), 'sacred spot' orgasm involves relaxation. Many women learn to have sacred spot orgasms, those Tantric four-star never-ending orgasms, by actually directing themselves to relax and lose consciousness during sacred spot stimulation--to their surprise, this can make the orgasm come in sequential inexhaustible waves--rather than tensing up and focusing on sexual thoughts or fantasies, which women then to do to secure clitoral orgasms (and which Western images of sexuality model.)"

So yeah. There you go. I am still kind of processing it all but am curious what you all think.... Do tell.

xoxox
jill

p.s. I also found the object below in Naomi Wolf's Vagina.**




* I'm going with some hetero language here today b/c I am hetero. For now.
** Statement is untrue.

(photo source: Lady Cheeky)

Tuesday, December 3, 2013

"For purposes of example, this is the best fuck of my life"--Nicole Daedone in "On Fucking"

"Rule number one. You are not going to enter her until her pussy is dripping, until the walls have caved in because they are so swollen and fat. Until you can no longer hold your body away, where it feels like there is this undertow so strong that you cannot resist."

So advises Nicole Daedone in On Fucking, a piece on how, exactly, to enflame a woman's desire. (Note: "pussy is dripping" = you're probably doin' okay.)

Daedone, author of Slow Sex: The Art and Craft of the Female Orgasm, is a proponent, instigator and teacher of OM, or Orgasmic Meditation. Here's the Wikipedia entry, but basically, OM is a practice in which clarity, mindfulness, in-touchness with the universe and all that is reached through extremely focused touch. Specifically, the touch of a partner's hand slowly and rhythmically stroking a woman's clitoris in a particular way. Sessions last 15 minutes and the goal is not orgasm, but rather heightened sexual awareness. And, as it turns out, having someone lavish attention on this particular body part for 15 minutes is extremely effective at heightening sexual awareness.

Daedone seeks to whip up the kind of desire that's not just "Sure, a quickie sounds good," but rather, "I want you so bad I can't see straight and if you don't fuck me this very instant I might possibly die."

OM practitioners can experience intense, deeper, more fuckier fucks, with fat, swollen body parts (see above) coupled with equally fat, swollen desire, a finely tuned awareness of...oh...god...how damn good it all is, plus your general transcendence and whatnot.

"I can fuck and have it feel like not only is his cock moving inside of me, but something deeper, like this magnetic cock is fucking me. Ultimately that is what I am looking for. Anything less is disappointing," writes Daedone.

Magnetic cock, eh? That sounds pretty good....I think. If nothing else, it would certainly come in handy were I to be vacuuming in the nude, trip and accidentally lose something metal up the wang.

But perhaps we should hear some more. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Ms. Nicole Daedone and this excerpt from "On Fucking":
I am going to tell you a story about a perfect storm of sex.
Remember I am a crazy immersive kind of person, you do not need to try this at home, but my teachers suggested that I just om. No sucking, fucking or stroking cock.
There grew to be this attraction with this guy that was like iron shards to a magnet. When he entered a room my body just moved to him. It had reached the level where it was chemical. He was actually fairly what at the time I considered cruel. He would do things like sit down to stroke my genitals and then say, nope you aren’t turned on enough. What? Yep. Just not feeling it. First I wanted to kill him. Then I wanted to eat him.
At the same time when I really was turned on he would walk up to me and say now, lie down.  And he would stroke me into the deepest places I had ever been in my life.
He had this kind of attention that was so attuned that – whereas I normally would be yelling at a guy, no a little to the left, to the right! – with him I would think it and he would move there, or exceed my expectations and go to a place I hadn’t even realized existed. And all he did were these little strokes and I was like a ducking, are you my boyfriend.
For two and a half of those three and a half years I was dying for it. I needed to have sex.  He’d say, I am sure we will…but only when you have made it irresistible. Irresistable? Irresistable? So I would beg and plead and demand and cry and every time he would say…almost. I’d threaten to have sex with someone else and he would say I wish you the best.
I hated him. I wanted him.
At the same time, it was funny, there was this background chatter. It’s embarrassing to admit. He was not the right guy. I was totally ambivalent when I would be rational.
And so my mind screamed no, my head screamed yes.
And there was this element of power. I was always accustomed to being in control. I would put out the “sex is in” sign and they would line up. Not him. I felt oddly at his mercy. I would find myself actually begging him.
I would lie in bed and yearn for him.
And then one day, something overtook me. It overthrew my rational mind. I didn’t care how tall he was, I didn’t care that I would be breaking the rules, I didn’t fear that it might not be as good as I dreamed, I didn’t care that I felt like a desperate animal.
This thing inside me was going to fuck him and that was that.
At the moment I realized it he entered the room. I simply said “now” and he took off his pants.
My body was a live wire. His hand brushed my stomach it I felt like 10,000 nerve endings fired. When he kissed me, it felt like the end of two wires came together and sparked. Everything was heightened. I could smell the detergent on the sheets, the Casablanca lilies, his saliva had this sweet salty taste, the sound of his breath sounded like an ocean.
And then he entered me and it was like he was entering every single cell of my body. I could feel him in the tips of my fingers, in my hair follicles there was no part of me that was not being penetrated by him.
Prior to oming, to having all this blood rush down to my pussy, my pussy had been sort of concave. It was like this. But having this much blood pushing down on the walls made it convex. The walls were rubbing up against themselves. Where it had felt quite honestly like a man was kind of batting around in there beating up against this cave it now felt like my pussy had become this velvet glove that wrapped around his cock. My clit had also dropped down from the weight, so that however he stroked, wherever he stroked with his cock, my clit rubbed up against it. It felt like there was no part of me that was not being fucked. And because of this, this feeling of what I can only call orgasm wrapped around both of us like we were in this honey blanket. Like I could lick this feeling off his face like nectar. It was that thick.
That was my first totally surrendered fuck. After that there was a line permanently drawn in the sand between what I had thought fucking was and what I  discovered what sex really is.
Well, gentle reader, have you have lickable honey blanket sex like this? Whole mind/body fuckery, magnetic cocks and so forth? Any other general thoughts? (And for further learnin', you can check out Daedone's TED video, Orgasm, the Cure for Hunger in the Western Woman.)

xoxoxo
jill

* p.s. It gives me undue pleasure that my computer has a file labeled "On Fucking."

~~yeah, it's a rerun. just cuz. 

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