On Orgasm and Beautiful Agony

The site Beautiful Agony exists in a space somewhere between art and porn. It's a collection of short films featuring close ups of people's faces as they pleasure themselves, falling into, then through orgasm. It's a celebration of la petite mort* and it's...beautiful. (It's a pay site, but there are some free samples.)

Explain the Beautiful Agonistas on the project's inspiration:

Beautiful Agony began as a multimedia experiment, to test a hypothesis that eroticism in human imagery rests not in naked flesh and sexual illustration, but engagement with the face. We wondered whether film of a genuine, unscripted, natural orgasm - showing only the face - could succeed where the most visceral mainstream pornography fails, and that is, to actually turn us on.

Considering porn has had a few thousand years to evolve, alongside other streams of culture - you'd expect it to be refined and sophisticated. Yet instead of developing in sophistication and nuance, it has become a brutal and charmless rendering of human sexuality. It's like the people who make it, don't really understand it.

Yes. 

What's also interesting to me about these faces contorted in orgasm is the realization that orgasm does come with a bit of agony. If you didn't know the experience yourself, to see someone moaning and grimacing in orgasm's throes would look, well, you probably would not want to "have what they're having."

The experience of going toward and riding the throbs of orgasm is so outside the realm of our other experiences. I mean, what other thing gets us to this place, this place of incoherence and liquid, sweet strokes leading to the deliciously inevitable?  It's so animal and primal and raw and very vulnerable.

Which brings me to this. Beautiful Agony will pay you $200 for an accepted submission. There are qualifications--you need a decent camera, you have to answer some questions and whatnot--but I wonder how many among us would do it. I could see doing it. The arty veneer makes it seem less porny and I like the idea of contributing real sexual experience to the well of collective sexual consciousness. Plus, hey, 200 bucks.

On the other hand, maybe 200 bucks is not nearly enough for the...gift, I guess is the right word, of something so incredibly personal. I think what makes sex so intimate is not the actual nudity but the sort of metaphorical nudity of letting someone see and hear and feel and smell and taste you as you come. When women have an orgasm, portions of their brain controlling anxiety and alertness go dark.  So to let someone be present with you and for you when you're in that space--bearing witness, as the Quakers say, though certainly regarding other things entirely--is a huge gift of trust.

In a nice twist, the primitive, earthy rutting of bodies, flesh and fluids, leads us to a state of transcendence somehow both grounded in and sublimely beyond the physical. Which is pretty fucking beautiful. (Thanks, life!)  To be able to jump into this void while grasping onto the back or ass of someone else, well, it's a bit of magic, really.

xoxox
jill

*Here's Google, waxing oddly poetic--oh Google, what do you know, really, of melancholia?--on the subject:  "La petite mort, French for "the little death"...describe(s) the post-orgasmic state of unconsciousness that some people have after having some sexual experiences. More widely, it can refer to the spiritual release that comes with orgasm or to a short period of melancholy or transcendence as a result of the expenditure of the "life force," the feeling which is caused by the release of oxytocin in the brain after the occurrence of orgasm."



(photo via Beautiful Agony)

"Women Happy Medicine"

I was Googling "sex patents" because -- well, I don't have a good reason for it --and came upon this enchanting piece of history, a 1930s Japanese sexual aids catalogue which purports to provide the "Key to the Sex Question." Whatever this "sex question" is, the answer seems to involve mysterious ointments, finger puppet-looking condoms and a variety of pointy marital aids. But I especially like it for the ad copy, which is charmingly poetic and, often, entertainingly non-illuminating as to what the product actually does.

Consider this:

The copy for the, well, whatever the hell those things are on the right, reads: "This is a blessing to men feel and get young by using this wonderful thing. We particularly recommend it to elderly men." Whatever "this wonderful thing" is (and from the sound of it, even the copywriter is unsure), it appears to come in Big Pointy style or Little Pointy style. I can't read the little booklet in the picture, but I presume it explains why a nice elderly man would want to festoon his wiener with bristles. As for me, if elderly penis is being presented to me, the addition of bristles isn't going to improve the situation. However, I welcome your hypotheses. (And, please know that if you possess elderly penis yourself, I'm of course not talking about your particular elderly penis.)

And speaking of bristles:

More spikes! Why so many spikes? Explains the copy: "If you this (on penis) and love her then she will never separate from you." Because, judging by the photo, she will be permanently impaled (on penis). Which I guess is would be the "unexplainable feeling to women" mentioned on page 6.

And, please, take a moment to enjoy the found poetry on this page:

Like:

"Age lady who has too big organ must use this then she will become condition of virgin."

"If you use this powder putting on female organ then will take off bad smell and increasing her organistic feeling very much."

It doesn't mention how you explain putting powder on your lady's female organ (note: "I'm taking off bad smell" will not go well for you) but "organistic feeling"? That sounds good, doesn't it? Yes, I know these products are overhyped, based on bad science and probably involve banned and/or highly flammable chemicals, but I find myself being lured by the bewitchingly odd prose. If I ever find myself back in 1930s Japan, I am definitely buying the Sexual Stimulants (only 2 yen!) because I am simply unable to resist this sales pitch: "A certain cream and tablets, if used, will make the whole business a real pleasure." And if the whole business can be a real pleasure and provide organistic feeling as well, then damn it, that's 2 yen well spent.

Hysteria

(Before)

I hadn't had a really good fuck in months. And I'd been a bit of a mess, if you must know-- agitated, unduly short-tempered and had taken to drinking obscene amounts of Diet Pepsi (a vice I supposedly kicked years ago). My work suffered and I was prone to random outbursts of weeping. I was, in short, hysterical. In both the current understanding of the word and, possibly, the 19th century sense.

Yes, hysteria.

Sure, maybe it was hormones, maybe it was a chemical imbalance, maybe I needed more Vitamin B or something, but I really do think it was/is hysteria. Something related to my body and my passion and my heart.

“Your pussy is your pilot light. It is your central life force energy,” says Pamela Madsen, a woman who says "pussy" a lot and someone I interviewed for an AlterNet article. “If our pilot light is lit and we're turned on--that's were we write our books from, that's where we bake from, that's where we decide to be farmers or artists. We can learn to use that power and put it out into the world."

And as Naomi Wolf writes in my well-fingered Vagina (haha, yes, I know, I am a child) "Female sexual pleasure, rightly understood, is not just about sexuality or just about pleasure. It serves also, as a medium of female knowledge, and hopefulness; female creativity and courage; female focus and initiative; female bliss and transcendence; and as medium of a sensibility that feels very much like freedom. To understand the vagina properly is to realize that it is not only coexistence with the female brain, but is also, essentially, a part of the female soul.” 

It feels like they're on to something big here (as are Anais Nin, Erica Jong, etc...)--something primal and true. In my own life, I've discovered this amazing passion which is, for better or worse, wholly connected with sex, my creativity, my body and my heart. When my passion is engaged, it is beautiful, sublime and yeah, scary as fuck. When it's not, all is meh, or worse (see above: hysteria.)

And while it pleasingly tragic to haunt your own life like a specter, or as Billy Bragg puts it "a little black cloud in a dress," after a while weeping in the car to Joni Mitchell's "All I Want" grows tiresome. So I did stuff to heal* and my humours, or whatever, seem more balanced now.

And yet.

In Madsen's fascinating book Shameless: How I Ditched the Diet, Got Naked, Found True Pleasure...and Somehow Got Home in Time to Cook Dinner, she talks about seeking sensual touch--something similar to a "happy ending," but for women. She ends up with a gay male bodyworker named Tiger who, despite his semi-repellent name, sounds quite amazing. He tends to her body and psyche and, like a human Pandora, knows what she wants before she does. He's like the best lover ever, but also not a lover. He's somewhere in between lover, therapist, massage therapist, and magic fairy godmother.

Sexological bodyworkers give whole body massages to help you get....wherever you need to get. And I mean that in the prurient way--if you want/need to cum, you are certainly welcome to and will be aided in that way--but it's mainly about exploring issues in your life, your sexuality or general spirit. In a way, it's a more loving and aware descendant of Ye Olde hysteria treatment.

I put out the call on the IBWMW Facebook page (Now 97% less tawdry since I purged it of weirdos!) and Matthew told me he did Tantric Bodywork. I'd met Matthew years ago on my blog, which is probably a horrible place to meet anyone--not as bad as the Facebook page, but still... I knew him, but didn't know him, which seemed just about right for this kind of thing.

He gave me the password to his secret web page (email him and I'm sure he will be happy to do the same for you). Writes Matthew:

Tantric bodywork is a beautiful and brave act of care and self-care. If and when you decide to receive this type of touch and attention it is an acknowledgment of yourself as a sexual person regardless of your sexual preferences or the level of sexual activity in your life. This choice shows an openness to be present with yourself and your body in a space it may not always have a chance to inhabit. I think that's pretty fearless choice, and it's a pleasure and privilege for me to be a guide, facilitator and space holder for you or you and your partner.

I love doing this work and am moved to do it because I adore the deep humanity of it. A chance to deeply see people and be seen at their most raw and most tender and to show up the same way. I am moved by the power of sexual energy in all of its forms and wild expressions. I am captivated by the mysterious and sacred power of sexual energy to shift what longs to be moved inside us and in so doing heals and connects us.

Um...yes. When women go to spas, shop, drink too much, inject fillers into their face, etc...this is what they actually want.

So, I am going to meet with Matthew and for two hours he is going to talk to me and touch me in a present, sensual way.** I have no idea what's gonna happen. I think I will probably cry or come or maybe just be in my head and be anxious. Female desire can be scary. When you tap into it, it's such a huge overwhelming life force—intense, emotionally overpowering and not something you can manage. You're not in halfway. And the only way to work with it is to ride it and see where it takes you, accepting that it may take you places you didn't think you wanted to go.

I don't know what the fuck will happen and that's part of what's so good about it. I want to be in that space and see where it takes me. I feel completely confident that whatever does come up, Matthew can handle it.

So yeah, I'm meeting a virtual stranger, alone, and I will be completely naked. In all kinds of ways. It may be the smartest thing I've ever done or the dumbest.

And I can't fucking wait.

xoxo
jill

*Stuff I did to heal: Ate well, swam, started seeing a therapist (a delightfully masturbatory activity--I highly recommend!), took long walks with my daughters, talked to my husband, read good books (next up: Erica Jong's new book Fear of Dying!) and got down with my new toy thing (we are now going steady. If it had a varsity jacket, I'd be wearing it.) I've started looking for connection and depth in my encounters with whoever I come across in my day and I got the best fucking kitten in the world.

**The amazing thing about being a writer--you get to do whatever the fuck you want under the pretense of it being a story! It's total racket!

Jack the kitten, consulting the Oracle

Here's Your Absent-Minded Pat on the Head

Hanna-Barbera's probably cool with me using this, right?

You know that part of The Jetsons where George gets so overwhelmed by the treadmill that he gets sucked under it, winding around and around in a fashion that probably wouldn't stand up to more rigorous standards of physics? I am so a George right now, just in life.

You're my favorite thing in the world though, and I want to give you...something, so let's just get to it.

Stuffed Animals--Fuck or Be Fucked By? 

While working on that story about weirdly specific sex toy accessories (Lube called "Best Soup Japan"! Sex doll aroma spray--scent of "clumsy girl with big breasts"! Fake hymens--comes in multi-pack for "practice"!), I discovered Teddy Love, a Teddy Bear that provides “direct clitoral and vaginal stimulation” via his 10 speed vibrating l'il Teddy nose and tongue. That was all fine enough--I guess--and I only mention it to pass along this accompanying bit of chilling and/or reassuring bit of advertising prose, “the tongue can touch the taint.” Which, you know...finally!

Teddy led me to Jumbo Wolf, a large stuffed animal with a SPH (strategically placed hole) “for extra cuddling fun." I do not mean to pick on eternally beleaguered plushies—yay sexual freedom and all that--but was so struck by this auto-generated message on JW's page: “Customers who bought Jumbo Wolf also purchased MaxSize Penis Erection Enhancement pill.”

Not just one customer--customers. Is it that buyers want to make sure it's extra hot for Jumbo Wolf? Or is it the more curious situation of being a plushie yet worrying about not being able to perform for it/him/her? (In which case, perhaps you're not actually a plushie and maybe it's time to come out the closet about that...?) Anyway, it seems like Jumbo Wolf would totally understand an off night-- perhaps he might even be relieved to close up the old SPH for the night. So, you're probably good. On that at least. 

Things People Bought From Amazon Last Month Through the IBWMW Link That I'm Gonna Erroneously Assume Are for Sexual Purposes 

--Princess Leia costume wig

--Something called an Ultra Probe

--"Dandy Blend" tea

--A tenor ukelele

--The Ambrosia Vibe Bionic Strap-On With Purple Dildo

Thank you! (And thanks for the rest of the purchases that you'll presumably be using in a non-sexual "just friends" manner! I know it's that one little bit of extra arduousness to use the link--Huge love to those who made the effort!)

"I Saw This And Thought Of You"
Among the things that people saw lately and were reminded of me (which is not horribly flattering, but my cross to bear) include: 

--A business that will turn your enemy's logo into a penis. Although I'm not sure than anyone over 10 still has "enemies." 

--A Fuck Me Silly torso-only fuck doll which, according to one reviewer, was "not delivered discretely!" making me desperately want to hear the back story on that one.

"Hope I get a pair of X-ray specs!"

 --News of a "robotic butt" for med students to practice their prostate exam moves on/in. I like this for so many reasons (not the least of which is that awesome photo. Is that guy putting his whole damn hand in there? Slow down, sailor.) but would especially like it if the teacher put surprising/alarming things in there--whoopi cushions, old timey wooga-wooga horns, a fish head, that sort of thing.

--Stillman, also the bearer of the robotic butt news, sent word of a vibrator/camera selfie stick that you insert inside yourself so you can FaceTime from where things are actually going down. "The device offers the unprecedented opportunity to be on the phone with someone's genitals," reads the sub-head. ("Mr. Henderson, there's a pussy calling on line two.") Wrote Stillman, who is the best #weirdfriend I could possibly ask for: "I'm going to get an inter-urethral FaceTime catheter so our genitals can communicate from the insides." Which, if you must know, is by far the best offer I've had in a while. 

The Best Porn For Women 

My Cosmo piece on the 15 Best Porn Sites for Women has been shared almost 20K times, and mutated on Esquire into a piece on what "women" like to watch. This is kinda insane because I am just one chick sitting around my house without proper porn-watching credentials, but there you go, modern journalism.Yes, me and a few of my pervy friends deciding what "women" like. On the upside I discovered James Deen, who, dear GOD, is so fucking hot, I can barely stand it. 

Not Learning My Lesson

Still, I'm pretty bossy ('cept when I'm not) and am quite happy to keep telling you what I think is sexy. Which today is this video of St. Vincent and Andrew Bird doing "What Me Worry?" There's no actual sex, and anyway St. Vincent's dating some hot model/actress, and yet it feels so so sexual to me, at least in the sense of what good sex is (to me--and, you know, women). It's their unspoken communication, their close close attention to the moment and each other, the push and pull of action and reaction, the contrast between her aggressive slash of her guitar with his insanely delicate way of  sloooowly drawing his bow gently across his violin's strings, and their sense of delight and discovery throughout. And I swear, they both look flushed after, as well-fucked people do. I don't know--perhaps I'm reading waaay too much into it, with my porn-addled mind. Have a look and tell me what you think.



What do you think is sexy that's not actual sex? Tell me!

xoxo
jill

Dopamine, The Cruel Bitch Mistress

If you'll open your books to where we left off the other day...we talking about the exquisite agony of The Crush. The crush, as you recall, is where we basically become dreamy fuckheads, walking ids powered by the hideous/delicious combo of single-mindedness, spaciness, magnanimity to your fellow humans ("Everyone is so awesome!"), hateable neediness, and general giddiness alternating with sudden despair--all set to the constant backdrop of the throb of unquenched sexual desire.

As reader can't keep anything to myself put it:

Crushes are torture, but the most delicious kind of torture. They make you realize what a masochist you really are. It's such a fun feeling though when your insides are squirming and you're smiling at random people like an idiot because you're thinking about them again and your jaw hurts from smiling so hard/much.

If you are suffering thusly right now, please know that you're not acting like such a pitiful lovesick idiot because you're inherently weak or out of your fucking head, but because cruel, cruel dopamine is totally screwing with you. Dopamine is a neurotransmitter, "a kind of natural drug associated with the expectation of a reward that brings us pleasure," writes Sheril Kirshenbaum in The Science of Kissing. Dopamine can start fucking you up even during a first kiss. Writes Kirshenbaum,

Spiking during a passionate kiss, dopamine is responsible for the rush of elation and craving, and can also result in obsessive thoughts that many of us experience in association with a new romance--almost like an addiction.

I'm sorry, did she say "almost like"? Because dopamine is involved with stimulating the mesolimbic reward system (Mmmm, you like it when I talk to you all scientifically, don't you?), the part of the brain involved with virtually all of the addictive drugs. Wheee!

It primes us to make us want more, making us feel energized. Some people pumping lots of dopamine even lose their appetites, or feel that they cannot fall asleep--not surprisingly, the same 'symptoms' commonly described when "falling in love."

So maybe you're not in love, maybe you're just high on dopamine, you friggin' junkie. Which can go either way, depending if your ardor is returned. Writes the delightful Helen Fisher in Why We Love:

Because romantic love is such a euphoric "high," because this passion is exceedingly difficult to control, and because it produces craving, obsession, compulsion, distortion of reality, emotional and physical dependence, personality change, and loss of self-control, many psychologists regard love as an addiction--a positive addiction when your love is returned, a horribly negative fixation when your love is spurned and you can't let go.

If you don't get your love fix, well, it's not good. The suffering includes all kinds of sucky withdrawal symptoms like "depression, crying, spells, anxiety, insomnia, loss of appetite (or binge eating), irritability and chronic loneliness," reports Fisher.

Fisher continues, and I suspect she based her research solely on my diary entries from 1987: "Like all addicts, the lover then goes to unhealthy, humiliating, even physically dangerous lengths to procure their narcotic."

Which is not good, either. (Well, it's sorta good.)

Our takeaways from all this?  Hmmmmm, I guess, if you're going to get all hepped up on dopamine over someone, at least try to make sure that they might be someone who'll like you back. Which, you know, is totally easy. (Helpful hint: After years of painstaking research--ahem, Nobel committee--I can say with a fair degree of certainty that emotionally unavailable, meanish, and your basic garden-variety insane dudes are not, to my great surprise, good choices. You're welcome.)

Anyway, after awhile nature finally gives us a break. Because even a good dopamine ride can be, well, a bit much. I mean there's only so much time you can spend in a state of constant arousal, contemplating such uber-focused matters as the insanely lickable curve of a loved one's particularly enchanting body part. "Our biology places a limit on how long the 'high' conferred by dopamine can last," writes Kirshenbaum. "Studies have shown that levels of this intoxicating neurotransmitter decrease as we become more accustomed to a romantic partner, which might be why sexual desire tends to wane with the same person over time." (See also: the Coolidge Effect in "Our Genes Can Be Heartless Puppeteers").

On the other hand, it also doesn't seem reasonable, or at all fun, to avoid excessive, stupid, sexy, out-of-your-fucking-mind passion, for fear of getting the dopamine monkey on our backs. As "Slow Sex: The Art and Craft of The Female Orgasm" author Nicole Daedone's current, possibly grammatically problematic, Facebook status says, "Desire is there to be lived inside of."

I will await your tales from the front....

xoxo
jill

[addendum: As the unrelentingly brilliant and hilarious Betty Fokker points out below in the comments, the sweeter, more mellow high of attachment and bonding chemicals conveniently kick in just as the harsher high of the dopamine fades.]

[addendum 2: My dear friend Tricia sent me this bad-ass article on the fleetingness and horrible unsustainability of such passion.]

(photo: Marlo Broekmans, Photo extraite de la serie "Autoportraits")

What I Do When I Leave You

Hey gorgeous,

Even though I've been away hustling words to afford enough Lexapro so I don't harm myself or others, I'm still thinking about you. All the damn time.

Let's just get to it then...

Disembodied Labia

I was working on a story about sex toy accessories* and came upon something that wasn't technically an accessory, but I had to tell someone (you!). I'd already seen a dick casting kit that you use to make a vibrating dildo out of your favorite penis (oh yeah) but what struck me was the ad for the Clone-A-Pussy Molding Kit.

Clone-A-Pussy seemed good for equal opportunity reasons (ERA Yes!) but apparently pussy-casting technology is not yet as advanced as for their dicky brethren. In fact, it kinda sucks. Mentions the site in not nearly bold enough font:

"Please Note: Your new pussy replica is a shallow likeness, without a hole, and not designed for ...ahem.... insertion."

So you can't even fuck it. It just sits there, like a homeless dried peach, but even less functional. Perhaps sensing the complete uselessness of such a product, the site offers this weak plan:

"Use the mold over and over again and create your own treasured collection of life-like vaginas."

(Warning: displaying "treasured collection" of disembodied labia pretty much insures you will never get in anyone's panties ever again.)

In quite related news, Clone-a-Pussy is now on clearance.

Disembodied Labia, Part 2:

Speaking of disembodied labia, as one does, I found this unsettling photo of the RealDoll labia repair kit.  I both love and hate how the labia is just sittin' there all unsexy and out-of-context, next to the tongue depressors and glue. It also makes me a bit cringey, maybe how like men feel when they see another man being kicked in the balls.

I showed this pic to my husband, because I cruelly enjoy making him uncomfortable, and he said "I kind of don't want to know why you might need that." Which is a pretty reasonable point.

My Cheatin' Heart
Here's some stuff you might like that wrote for other people (don't worry, they mean nothing to me and I was thinking about you the whole time.)
--An AlterNet story on the delightful dick pic judging site Critique My Dick Pic.
--A Cosmo piece I wrote on how to give a corkscrew blowjob, including the word "fucking," a possible suggestion to stick a sparkler up your bum and/or suck off household vegetables and a random Rankin-Bass reference is now running in friggin.....Redbook magazine. Yes, 70s mom mag, Redbook. I no longer understand the world.
  
Need You So Bad
I am working on a piece about the best porn sites "for women" and wondering what you'd recommend. I'm not entirely sure what constitutes a womanly site, but I guess to me it's something where--if there is a woman, or women, involved--they are doing things an actual woman with normal sexual responses would do, or at least would want to do. Where would you send me? (And don't tell me about that book Porn For Women where men are vacuuming, unloading the dishwasher, etc... cause that it's not actually that funny--or sexually arousing either. There's a big difference between "sexy" and just "nice things to do.")

~~~~~~~~~

Okay, lovey, I'm gonna leave you here for a bit, but here's a new bowl of water and a nice fresh leaf.  And don't forget to tell me about your girl-friendly porn!

xoxo
jill

*Hey, reader who bought Taming My Teddy Bear--An Erotic Story (Plushie Fetish Book 1) via the IBWMW Amazon link in the right margin (thanks!), you may enjoy the part about Jumbo Wolf with a SPH.