Wednesday, April 26, 2017

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.

This is a rerun. Please adjust expectations accordingly.

(photo source: Lady Cheeky)

Thursday, April 13, 2017

Best Sex Ever Contest Winners! (Plus a l'il patriarchy smashing).

Clean up, clean up, everybody do their share.
The winners of the Best Sex Ever Contest have been notified and if it wasn't you, fear not, there's always tomorrow for dreams to come true (Clarice, 1964). And to dry your tears, I'll share two entries with you that I especially liked.

The first is from "Wilma" not her real name, nor near as I can tell, anyone's real name.

I could not pass up entering your cool contest because it involves a subject near and dear to my heart. Very sadly, for me, the best and most profound and powerful sex was with a man who destroyed my heart and soul so thoroughly, I haven't wanted to have sex with another man for several years. And goddamn it! I'm a woman who LOVES SEX!

I never should have gotten involved with him in the first place, as I was (very unhappily) married with two daughters. It was a simple and completely innocent Facebook post asking if any of my many musician friends happened to have a pair of bongo drums that I could borrow or buy to use at a middle school Earth Day garden party. Wouldn't you know, Mister Great Cock-Heartless Lover answered. From that moment on, I was in thrall to him, ultimately destroying my already wrecked marriage, shattering the trust between me and my daughters and spending the next 4 years in total, self destructive despair. Even after years of therapy, countless suggestions and support from friends and far too much journaling and self reflection, I am still pathetically addicted to this man.

It was because of That Moment, the first, single moment when I finally opened up, became totally and terrifyingly vulnerable and allowed my self to meld mindblowing sex with Love. I had never allowed it before out of fear of intimacy, and here I did it with the one man who would use it against me over and over and over again. But man, I still remember That Moment, and the power and beauty of it all and for that, I am grateful. Because at least now, I know what I am capable of. I still believe, after all these years of self afflicted misery, that I'll experience That Moment with someone worthy and who I'll feel worthy enough with.

Jill, going against all my better judgment, I'm shooting this email off to you without taking one moment to re-read, proof or edit what I've written.

Goddamn! It feels fucking great to get this off my chest! Thank you for offering the opportunity for your readers to participate in this endeavor.

Love you.

And this from Sky Roy, which actually is his real name. I love this because it's so outside what I've ever experienced. Also he used the phrase "sexual compersion." (Compersion, n: A feeling of joy when a loved one invests in and takes pleasure from another romantic or sexual relationship.)

One time myself and two women I am involved with decided to have a threesome. We all got tipsy and/or high, and sat on the couch together. We started talking, electricity just crackling around us, and finally somebody started touching in a way that was erotic. Suddenly everyone's clothes went flying into the air and we started having the most natural, effortless, astounding sex. We moved from room to room trying every configuration you can imagine, extending the session over about three hours.

The best parts of the experience were me having four mindbending orgasms, which given that I am male and pushing forty is pretty rare over that timespan, as well as two separate occasions where we had a simultaneous three way orgasm. We were so in tune that we were able to get each other to come just by proximity somehow, and the people just touching on the sidelines of the current action were able to climax just from sexual compersion. It was magnificent.

People talk about threesomes full of jealousy and and possessiveness, but I have never experienced that. It has always been good, and this one in particular was wonderful because we were all so happy watching each other be happy.


Thanks for your entries, loved reading them.  And if I could, I'd be mailing each and every one of you something to stick up a favorite hole.

****
I've been tossing around the idea of a post The 10 Most Humiliating Things About Being the Chick Who Writes Cosmo's Sex Positions, Ranked, with both #1 and #10 being "I am the chick who writes Cosmo's sex positions."

However, my 12-stepping friend says "Don't go pain shopping" which is the exact opposite of how I've spent my entire life. So in that spirit....

There is actually a lot I love about the gig, mostly that they pay me, unlike most of you cheap-ass motherfuckers (not you dear Ada, IBWMW Minister of Making an Automatic Monthly Donation), but also that I can use the sexual bully pulpit to tell younger chicks the Very Important Information that would have been VERY nice to know in 1989 that if they can't come via P-in-V (that is, practically everyone) then just getting on top or angling themselves just right isn't gonna make them start spewing rainbow colored orgasms. (Clean-up on Aisle 3.)

Filmmaker Trisha Borowicz of Science Sex and the Ladies and a huge inspiration to me saw through my secret plan. "The sacred institution of the Cosmo sex position list is breaking up the patriarchy, bitches," writes Trisha who says cool shit like that all the time. Check out her post "Cosmo Sex Position Lists Will Bring the Orgasmic Equality Revolution!"

To hear me talking me more on this, or just to deepen your stalking routine, go to iTunes and have a listen to the "Who Invents Cosmo's Sex Positions" episode on The Cosmo Happy Hour Podcast. 

Next time I will tell you the one easy trick that will make you come like a race horse every damn time.

xoxox
jill

PS Thank you Sarah and Aneros for the Helix Syn and the Evi!

Thursday, April 6, 2017

The Best Sex Ever Contest!

This, alas, is not the prize.
I've been thinking on what amazing sex really is.  For me, it's not about positions (shh!) or anything like that, but elements both subtle and sublime. It's seeing or feeling raw desire and being willing to follow that whether it takes you. It's fleetings moment of incredibly deep connection, like when you look in someone's eyes as they slide inside you and you think you see the universe there. (More likely just dilated pupils due to arousal, but still. Allow me my poetry.)

For me, the best sex is also about filling up the hole inside. Not the obvious one, though that goes a long way toward doing the trick, but more the metaphorical hole. The one where you don't feel quite whole or at peace. Some people fill it with God, but my brain didn't come equipped with those religious receptors, so my God hole is more like a sex hole. Which sounds plenty dirty, not to mention probably highly blasphemous.

In discussing the "problems" of sex in How to Think More About Sex, School of Life co-founder/semi-depressive Brit Alain de Botton writes, "Great sex, like happiness more generally, may be the precious and sublime exception. During our most fortunate encounters, it is rare for us to appreciate how privileged we are. It is only as we get older, and look back repeatedly and nostalgically to a few erotic episodes, that we start to realize with what stinginess nature extends her gifts to us--and therefore what an extraordinary and rare achievement of biology, psychology and timing satisfying sex really it."

Most sex, then, is just about filling your regular old biological holes. And as it happens, I have something for you today that does just that. That is:

The Best Sex Ever Contest
Your task: Tell me what your best sex ever was and why. You can write a big ol porny essay that may or may not gross me out or just a sentence like "the look on his face the first time I put my mouth on him" or whatever. Winning entries won't be chosen on "quality" (we're all different), but just chosen by a random drawing.

Your (Possible) Prize
Two choices!
--A Helix Syn, a hands-free prostate/male G-spot massager, courtesy of Aneros, who kindly sent me two of them. It's a training tool to encourage super deep prostate orgasms. It's like an $80 value and looks like this:
Hello, Sailor

--An Aneros Evi, the female counterpart that is a hands-free g-spot/clitoral stimulator. Again, battery free and you squeeze around it--kind of an exercise, kind of a way to get off. The idea is strengthening your responsiveness rather that just blasting your nether regions with vibrations. It's about $55 and looks like this:

Put me in your God hole
How to Enter
Send me your best sex ever and tell me which prize you're gunning for via comment below or super secret email to jillhamilton001@gmail.com. If you do send me something via email that's good and doesn't skeeve me out, I may post it, but I will give you a pseudonym so no one knows you really really liked it that one time someone put a wee bonnet on you and called you a filthy little whore. Get your entries in by April 12, 2017.

Bonus
You'll get an extra entry for sharing this contest on social media or just telling someone via old school conversation. Just let me know, and I'll put you in extra.

So get thinking about your best sex ever, as though you weren't already doing that, and enter and share.

Love you. Not in a creepy way.*

xoxox
jill

*possibly in a creepy way


(photo:  the dreamy Pinterest of Wendy Rose Watson)

Tuesday, March 28, 2017

What People Have Down Their Pants

That's me.
Yes, I know the whole fucking world is going to hell in a hand basket, whatever that means, and what follows here today is just silliness, but my present coping mechanism of staring at my social media feeds, impotently pressing the mad face emoji is not really doing the trick today.*

Anyway there's lots to tell you. Walk with me, will you?

My Weird Job
--I was on the Cosmo Happy Hour podcast! Which would be more exciting if I could tell you how to listen! (Try iTunes or Play.It) It's the Who Invents Cosmo Sex Positions episode and--spoiler:  It's *sigh* me. I come in about the 8 minute mark and talk without pre-thinking anything for even one second, as is my way.

Things People Saw and Thought of Me:
 --Matthew saw this underwear with a built-in camel toe and quite reasonably, thought of me. Not because I am known for anything camel toe related (...yet. though I do get an oddly high amount of traffic from the search terms "Jill St. John camel toe") but because I am a little obsessed with the stuff people put down their pants.

I'm guessing they're probably for people in various stages of transitioning because beyond clearing up painful front wedgies due to 1970s time travel/wardrobe problems, it's hard to see the appeal here. Like any of these body "enhancement" deals, why would your try to attract someone with the very thing you lack? If some dude/lady is into big-ass vaginas**, they're going to be mighty disappointed when you disrobe and that camel toe of yours is lying next to you, still puffed up and ready to go. Do they then fuck you out of politeness or go straight for the panties they really wanted to fuck? Do you really want to know? 

In any case, there's also a camel toe blocker (because no matter what you have going down there, somebody is gonna tell you it's not right. See also Naomi Wolf's The Beauty Myth.) The blocker, of course, creates the opposite problem of the enhancer. Someone who is into you because of your unobtrusive little cooter will likely be shaken when you unleash your formerly-contained camel toe, and it expands like an air bag, possibly putting someone's eye out. 

If you're undecided, maybe just buy some pants that fit and see who comes your way.

--Anne sends the important news of crystals dildos designed to "quiet the mind in order to feel subtle energies, develop emotional intelligence, strengthen self-awareness, and accepting every aspect of who you are." It seems like an awful lot to ask of a dildo--guess that's why it costs $149. 91. Anne, who is from a foreign land signed off, "Hope your vagina is feeling magical" which is the way they sign off in her country, I think, but it did made to pause for a second to consider if my vagina was feeling magical. Answer: sorta? I think?
 
Things People Saw and Didn't Think of Me, But I Looked Anyway:
--My friend Janet saw Disney Dudes' Dicks: What Your Favorite Princes Look Like Naked and cruelly did not think of me. But I looked anyway, bc pervy, and beheld some waaay over-Imagineered cartoon prince nudity. I'm showing you to purge myself, in the same way that you tell someone when there's an annoying song playing over in your head. Take this:

Gaston
 Gaston likes to take nude selfies. He has a small dick—very tiny—pube-less and uncut.
 

Which seems about right.  As for Prince Charming, I've never given it any thought, but if for some reason I were forced to speculate--which could totally happen--I would guess that Prince Charming is asexual down below and has just a smooth flap of skin, like Ken. But clearly I am wrong.

Prince Charming
Obviously, the perfect guy has the perfect dick: like eight or nine inches, thick—but not too thick otherwise it's painful—rock hard with a nice throbbing vein. He's groomed perfectly in a way that's considerate of lovers without being too gay porn-y about it. He's standing in front of the fireplace that Cinderella no longer has to rake, arm draped over the mantle.


Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go and try to grow the fuck up. 

Contest coming!
Stay tuned. Have the prizes. Need to think of what I'm gonna make you do.

xoxo
jill

P.S. Tell me what's on your mind. I miss your ass.

*Don't worry. I'm still all about the #resist and will be back on my mad face emoji pressing duties soon enough
**I know. LABIA. Piss off.. 

Monday, March 13, 2017

The Blow Job as Path to the Divine

I am not a religious person. I don't even know that I want to be. I have sort of tried, a little, but for better or worse, I don't seem to have the God gene. The closest I ever get to the sublime feeling of connection with the universe that religious people describe is generally through music. Walking at night, the wet smell of the evening mist, a full moon hanging overripe in the sky, and Pandora radio seducing me with exactly what I want to hear before I know myself (Damn, Pandora, I will tell you again, I would so fuck you if I could) is the closest I get to experiencing the Divine.

Except for sex. I think what's appealing to me about sex is not the actual friction between body parts-- although that's pretty damn good, too--but the out-of-body, out-of-your-fucking-mind, brain/body explosion that happens during the best sex. Good sex is just somehow...beyond. You're extremely focused on the Now, the line between you and other is blurred, and, in the best moments, you feel like you and the Universe are sort of throbbing together as one. Which sounds a lot like religious ecstasy.  (Other times it's just you and your partner, or your hand, or your vibrator--you get off, then go about your day. Which is fine as well.)

In an oldish issue of Playboy, Samantha Gillison wrote a wonderful essay "The Platonic Ideal" on this idea of sex as route to the Divine. I would link to it, but-- incredibly in this day and age--it is not available on-line! Well, unless you pay. That's why this month I am a member of iPlayboy.com, for you, dear reader.

In Gillison's piece, she describes the moment she became illuminated on the joys of giving head. It was after a Bad Brains concert, and in the darkness of the parking lot, she knelt before her date.

We could have been strangers--we almost were--and somehow the darkness, the anonymity of the situation liberated me from worrying about doing something wrong or feeling self-conscious. I allowed myself to sink deep into the fantasy of what it must feel like for him--the pressure, the warmth, the wetness. All of a sudden the only thing in the world was that cock and my connection to it.

Previously, Gillison had thought of blow jobs as something you gave, like a gift, or something you did as a favor. Plus there was some fear and uncertainty.

It was just that I was unsure of cock when I got up close to one; it contained unreadable male mysteries. I might hurt it or maybe just do nothing right. Maybe I looked ridiculous. I didn’t really know which parts of it wanted to be touched, or how. It seemed to be its own creature, almost uncannily separate from the man who owned it. Perhaps simpleminded but authoritarian and judgemental. 


This time, however, she had a revelation.

But starting that night in the parking lot, I began to understand the profound, dirty pleasure of giving blow jobs. It isn’t just that I discovered how much I like being in control, how much I like giving the kind of pleasure that makes someone helpless, and how intoxicating it is to be on the receiving end of hurricane-levels of desire. But, that night, it was also the revelation of the particular male smell you get up close with a cock and balls that turned me on in ways that are almost beyond description. It was like being inside sex.


"Being inside sex." Dear God. 

Plato said that human beings can only truly access the divine through sexual ecstasy, Eros. This has always made so much sense to me. When else are humans as rapt by feeling as when they come and when they touch God? That feeling of connection to the universal, the feeling of having exited my own body as I orgasm is nothing other than touching the infinite.

Yet I have never been able to get close to that Platonic, out-of-my-mind kind of sexual ecstasy unless I can satisfy a primal hunger: Whether in fantasy or reality, I need a connection to another equally raunchy human being. It has always been the case with me, since I was a teenager, that I have to see someone else’s horniness in order to feel horny. What I happily realized on my knees in the parking lot is that an erect cock in my face is among the most blatant ways of experiencing the realness of someone else’s desire I’d ever encountered. And every time, it spurs a response in me, hot and dark and if I’m doing something transgressive in the best possible way.


Blow jobs! Philosophical talk! The phrase "erect cock in my face"!  Gah, I am a goner! LOVE this $%$#!

I'll add a little bit more of her essay, because I want to make sure I don't stray from "fair use" territory to "stealing" and "copyright infringement." Here's Gillison on the experience of blowing a long time friend and feeling, then overcoming, the awkwardness inherent in that particular situation.

But then a supple communication started between me and his penis as I began to suck, a communication beyond words and much deeper than any we had ever had before.

His cock felt so sexy in my mouth, hard and hot and aching with desire. But I could also feel how much of this man was being revealed to me: his sexuality, his vulnerability, his musky smell.

Soon the connection started to feel like a merging, as though I was experiencing that blow job too. It felt crazy, off-the-charts raunchy, to fantasize that I was not only giving head but getting it. All of a sudden I was overwhelmed by pure animal pleasure. I was so turned on that I came.

Since that night’s discovery I always revel in the double fantasy of giving and receiving. And I honor the wisdom of the old Greek philosophers who pointed out that although the Divine is inscrutable, it is easy to find while sucking on a dick.


And there is no better way to end a post than what Gillison ended with right there, so I will leave you to your day.

xoxoxo
jill

* Afterword:  Do NOT do a Google image search for "penis public domain." Hideous medical photos!  "Lesion on the glans"! Holy crap! Look away! Look away!

photo: William M. Rattase

Sunday, February 19, 2017

The Lush Sexuality of a Woman in Full Bloom

I've been writing about vaginas a lot lately.

Which is weird, because I can barely even say the word "vagina." (I'm even a little iffy on "angina," though rest assured, if there were a medical emergency, I'd probably manage to choke it out.*) I'm not alone in this. Even Eve Ensler, Little Miss Vagina Monologues said: "Doesn't matter how many times you say it, it never sounds like a word you want to say."

True that. However, I think I am going through some sort of vaginal consciousness raising which, I know, sounds completely horrible, like it would involve attending meetings, holding hands with caftan-clad strangers, and answering dreadful questions like "What is your vaginal song?"

But you see, vaginas don't just exist as they are--well, I mean, they do--but they're also subject to the Prevailing Attitudes of the Day. In the 19th century, for example, girls who learned how to masturbate were considered to have a medical problem. Writes Ensler: "Often they were 'treated' or 'corrected' by amputation or cautery of the clitoris or 'miniature chastity belts,' sewing the vaginal lips together to put the clitoris out of reach.'" Which, I imagine, certainly did the trick.

It was only a few hundred years ago that the existence of the clitoris was still a matter of serious scientific debate. And even today, we're still sort of iffy on some pretty major issues such as the G-spot's validity, what the hell a woman's ejaculate is, and whether or not there are different types of orgasm. Science, it seems, doesn't quite know what to make of female sexuality, and by association, vaginas.

So, yes, vaginas are mysterious and hard to figure out. But guess what? That's what so good about them. What fun would it be if you solved it all at once?

I think that's why the Prevailing Attitudes of the Day re: vaginas and the stupid bleaching and plastic surgery are bothering me so much. Because all of those things are about making the vagina chaste-looking and less, well, womanly. Like a beginner vagina that doesn't know anything. The lips of a vagina that has birthed babies and been well fucked are lush and flushed and swollen. They are not tiny and pink and virginal. They are full and open and just...so ripe.

I started thinking of them as being ripe, like a rose in full bloom, after reading this passage from Michael Pollan's Into the Rose Garden on roses and female sexuality. (Yes, I said "like a rose in full bloom." And yes, I know I sound like I'm talking about singing your vaginal song and all that, but hear me out.) In the piece, Pollan writes about his Maiden's Blush rose, also known as Cuisse de Nymphe Emue which means "the thigh of an aroused nymph."

Maiden’s Blush...seems to press her sexuality on us. Her petals are more loosely arrayed than Madame Hardy’s; less done up, almost unbuttoned. They are larger, too, and they flush with the palest flesh pink toward the center, which itself is elusive, concealed in their innumerable folds. The blush of this maiden is not in the face only. Could I be imagining things?

No, Maiden’s Blush is certainly not the old lady I expected when I planted roses. And though Maiden’s Blush bears an especially provocative bloom, every one of the old roses I planted, and all I’ve since seen and smelled, have been deeply sensuous in a way I wasn’t prepared for. Compared with the chaste buds and modest scent of the modern roses, these old ones give freely of themselves. They flower all at once, in a single, climactic week. Their blooms look best fully opened, when their form is most intricate; explicit, yet still so deeply enfolded on themselves as to imply a certain inward mystery....More than most floral scents, the fragrance of these roses is impossible to get hold of or describe “it seems to short-circuit conscious thought, to travel in a straight line from nostril to brain stem." Inhale deeply the perfume of a Bourbon rose and then try to separate out what is scent, what is memory, what is emotion; you cannot pull apart the threads that form this . . . this what?...

If the allure of old roses is in the frank sensuality of their blooms, then what are we to make of the development and eventual triumph of the modern hybrid tea? Maybe the Victorian middle class simply couldn’t deal with the rose’s sexuality. Perhaps what really happened in 1867 was a monumental act of horticultural repression. By transforming the ideal of rose beauty from the fully opened bloom to the bud, the Victorians took a womanly flower and turned her into a virgin, "a celebrated beauty when poised on the verge of opening, but quickly fallen after that."

Deeply sensuous? Frank sensuality? Short-circuiting conscious thought? Oh, Michael Pollan, this is why I love you so! (Oh, also for your excellent points on monocultures, sustainable farming techniques, and whatnot.)

But I wonder, are we doing the same thing with our bodies? Will we keep trying to bio-engineer chaste-appearing closed-up girl vaginas, forever "poised on the verge of opening," while foolishly missing out on the best damn part--the extreme fuckability and lush sexuality of a woman in full bloom? 

xoxo
jill

*This is a lie. Instead of "angina," I would say "chest pains."

(photo source)

Tuesday, February 7, 2017

Did You Marry The Best Sex Of Your Life?

As though you didn't already have enough damn stuff to worry about, now two surveys have come out saying that if you're a married and/or olderish person, your sex life probably sucks ass. And not in a good way.

According to a survey in the Telegraph, three-quarters of people over 45 think sex became less enjoyable after they turned 40. The average 45+ person has sex once a week and this Sex of the Week--which is generally done in the missionary position, in a bedroom, with the lights off--rarely lasts more than 22 minutes, including any sort of foreplay.

And if all this weren't enough, 31% of people had cut a session short because as the Telegraph so Britishly put it, "They were too exhausted to carry on." "Simon, I do say, I am exhausted and can no longer carry on. If you've not come, perhaps a nice wanking off for you, old fellow?" (In marginally-related wanking off news: I was looking up British slang terms for masturbation and discovered --to my horror--that "jill off" is a vulgar term for female masturbation. How is it that they know?) But anyway, these Brits are so out of shape they can't even manage a boring session of weekly dutiful sex. Brits, mind you! Not drive-thru window-using, cheeseburger-eating, WalMart cart-riding Americans. I can (all too easily) see being too tired to start sex, but too tired to finish sex? Man, how crappy would you feel if your partner just stopped mid-thrust and said, "Eh, I'm too fat and lazy to continue banging you"?

The good news in a study from iVillage was that nearly half of the women surveyed married the person with whom they'd had the best sex of their lives. But it gets more confusing from there. Two-thirds of the women said they'd rather do something else like read a book, go to a movie, etc... than have sex with Mr. Supposedly Best Sex of Their Lives. A huge majority, 81%, described their sex lives as "predictable," but then they go on to report than most of them are quite happy with their sex lives.

I was confused by the whole survey until I saw that only 62% of women "admitted" they had fantasized about having sex with someone other than their spouse. Oh, come on! Clearly this survey is bogus. Never fantasized about another person ever? What are these 37% of women fantasizing about?
Mmm, my husband comes into bed for sex because it's Saturday. He is wearing black socks and turns off the lights. We discuss who will take the kids to the Brownie meeting, then with little to no foreplay, we get into the missionary position. After far less than 22 minutes, we have to stop because we are too tired to carry on. Oh, God, is anyone else totally hot right now? 
As you might have guessed, this is all leading to some questions for you. Namely:
1.  Did you marry the best sex of your life?
2.  Have you ever fantasized about someone other than your partner?  If so, who?
3.  If not, go back and answer question #2, this time telling the truth, and tell us who.
4.  Do you thinking jilling off is a really bad name for masturbating? Mark "yes" or "definitely yes."

xoxo
jill

(note: this is totally a rerun. Data may now be completely wrong so do not attempt any Major Life Changes based on information obtained herein.)

Tuesday, January 31, 2017

The Wisdom (?) of the Cunt

You pass
I think men have their relationships with their cocks all worked out. An understanding, of sorts. They know that their dicks react to certain people and they've pretty much decided how much credence they'll give to the input coming from their pants. Yes?

With women, it all seems a bit more nebulous. There is no female equivalent to the phrase "thinking with the little head." Women don't have such a strong, obvious sexual reaction--no big ol' boners--and besides, our emotional, intellectual and physical selves seem to have only rudimentary inter-communication skills.

In the Meredith Chivers experiment that I slightly incorrectly cited the other day, the sexual visuals that women reported being aroused by (i.e. naked man walking on the beach) were completely different than what their genitals reacted to* (homo and hetero sex, men or women masturbating, even a chick doing calisthenics).  As my beloved Daniel Bergner, put it in the New York Times, "...with the women, especially the straight women, mind and genitals seemed scarcely to belong to the same person."

This is so intriguing to me because it seems that rather it being a case of the women being embarrassed, and just saying they were aroused by naked beach dude because thought that's what they should be aroused by, they truly had a disconnect between mind and body. Like they actually did not know what their bodies were aroused by.

But then reader Unknown (Unknown actually has a Blogger profile with that name) wrote this genius comment which threw my mind off-track (unfortunately, no genital reading was recorded to corroborate):

Whoa wait a second, though, let's not conflate "things a woman's vagina does in a laboratory" with "the final word on what turns women on." Sometimes women are turned on by things and don't exhibit a vaginal response. It's called non-concordance and it's a thing.

It's an important thing to keep in mind, because valuing a woman's physical response over what she actually
says she's enjoying sexually paves the way for shit like "well she was wet, so she must have wanted it." Nobody's vagina has a better idea of what they want than their brain does. 

So where does us leave us?

What is the biological point of our bodies and minds having such different agendas and poor inter-networking skills? 

I think I've always ascribed a greater wisdom to the body--like "This guy seems wholly unsuitable and not even horribly attractive, but my body sure as hell wants him. Clearly it has access to some sort of magical/evolutionary Greater Wisdom. Let's do it!"

I mean, this is beyond TMI, but I have literally checked my panties to gauge how wet they were to determine my level of interest in someone. Was the panty-check smart thinking/working with nature or just worthless (and graphic) voodoo?  Does the cunt provide Greater Wisdom or does it just shoot out random misfires to fuck with us?  If it's the first case, should it take precedence over rational thought? And, should I maybe not have mentioned that whole bit about the panties?

Or how 'bout this: what if there's someone who is wildly good looking, smart, intriguing, sensual, way sexy to your brain--all of it--but doesn't actually moisten your panties? Is your body just...wrong? Or is this something to pay attention to?

When your body has an intense sexual reaction to someone--or lack thereof--how much do you listen to it? How wise have its decisions been? Please report back with your findings.

xoxox
jill
 
p.s.  Just checked my panties. And you're good.

p.p.s.  This is a rerun and upon rereading, I regret using the word "moisten" a little bit.  Also when it ran, some people didn't like that photo, even though it's a mannequin, a seemingly sexual aroused mannequinm but still.  Also some people didn't like that I said "cunt."  This was in the days before certain public figures "bragged" about grabbing pussies.  (Note: I think Justin Trudeau doesn't need to resort to grabbing them--not that it's ever right, of course--because pussies just float into his hand, like butterflies.)


 * As measured by a sexy, sexy vaginal probe.

Wednesday, January 11, 2017

A Lover's Moan and Other Sounds of Sex

Jesus, that was good.
Really amazing sex gets you from every direction. Besides the whole crazy love/spiritual intoxicating chemical dump that's happening in your brain, truly great fuckery involves all your senses as well. I think that's why it's all so damn heady. I mean, all these completely intense inputs are hammering you at once. The particular delicious smell of your lover's neck, the sight of a body part swelling with desire for you, the taste of their upper thigh...oh god.  Plus the wild array of touches-- the slow sliding, out-of-control violent thrusting, fierce whole body throbbing ride that marks a really good fuck.

What I've been thinking about lately, though, are the sounds of sex. The sighs, the wet smack of a woman's arousal, a rasped plea, a lover's moan (is there anything better than the sound of your lover's moan?*), a primitive growl of lust, a passionate whisper or shout of your name**--all these sounds convey sublime feelings and pleasures that are literally unspeakable.

I once had a lover leave me a phone message of his orgasm. (If you are as into sound as I am, do this. Do this at once. God, it would kill me to listen to it even today!) He started off talking me through it, explaining what he was looking at (picture of my boobs, you nosy motherfucker) and how close he was to coming. But the catch in his voice told me how aroused he was much more than what he was saying. He described riding the edge of almost coming, as his voice became raspier and his breathing more ragged. His words grew incoherent, as he went toward, then through his orgasm, completely conveying the experience through sound alone. I could hear (and almost feel) the tension, the inevitability, the blinding orgasm, then the strong aftershocks. It was pretty fucking amazing.

Sex sounds are a whole other language, made of groans and gasps and breath patterns and non-verbal...I don't know...emoting. We might "mmm" a bit over food, or grunt as we hit a tennis ball, but it's nothing like the extended, intricate, primal aural communication we have during sex.

So why do we make these sounds during sex?

The science on the sounds of sex is pretty scant. British primatologist Stuart Semple recorded 550 baboon female "copulation calls"--which is not at all a weird way to spend one's time--analyzed their acoustic structure and found that the calls contained information about what point the female was in her reproductive cycle and the status of her partner. Humans might be subconsciously exchanging similar information. A 2008 study found that women's voices--as judged by impartial listeners--changed during their cycle, becoming "more attractive" during ovulation and "less attractive" during menstruation. (Insert bitchy period joke here.)

A 2011 study found that women often made "copulatory vocalizations" (this is really what they called them) to accompany their partner's orgasm. Why? Politeness and/or trying to get it over with. Reports Salon's Lucy McKeon in A Nation of Moaners:

Sixty-six percent reported making noise to accelerate their partner’s ejaculation. Ninety-two percent believed these vocalizations upped their partner’s self-esteem (87 percent reported vocalizing for this purpose). Other reported reasons included speeding things up, “to relieve discomfort/pain, boredom, and fatigue in equal proportion, as well as because of time limitations.”

I don't particularly care for this study because 1). they only used 71 women, and just asked them questions instead of measuring them during real sex with sort of scientific Copulatory Vocalizationometer. 2). Those results are depressing.

I dislike the idea of calculated sounds, designed to spur someone to orgasm or worse "relieve boredom." I much prefer the unbidden moan, the deep rich moan that rises spontaneously from some primitive place of dark-red wanting.

I'll leave you today with these words from a lawyer-turned-dominitrix describing her love of "finding" this moan in her lovers. Or as she puts it in The Vagina Monologues "Discovering the key, unlocking this voice, this wild song."

"I made love to quiet women and I found this place inside them and they shocked themselves in their moaning. I made love to moaners and they found a deeper, more penetrating moan...It was a kind of surgery, a kind of delicate science, finding the tempo, the exact location or home or the moan."
 
xoxoxo,
jill

*answer: no, there is not.
**Why is it so delightful to hear your name on your lover's lips during the throes of passion? Egotism, pretty much. From Dale Carnegie's How To Win Friends and Influence People: Principle #6 –Remember that a person’s name is to that person the sweetest and most important sound in any language.

(Alfred Noyer, Paris 1920s)
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