"Her Swarthy Snatch" that is, Reader Mail Week, Day 1

(I found this...somewhere. It was the first (!) time I'd read the glorious Lindy West. In honor of Shrill returning, her 'tis.)

 "This made me think of you," wrote reader Cathya, as *sigh* they all do when they see some fucked-up article about people falling in love with lawn chairs, having sex with toasters or whatever. (To Cathya's credit, I believe she meant it ironically. See also: "I saw this and thought of you".)

If you haven't already received your own copy of Jezebel's Your Vagina Isn't Too Big, Too Floppy, and Too Hairy--It's Also Too Brown* from your cool feminist friend, do take the time to click over, it's well worth it. (And if you don't have a cool feminist friend, I suggest you get one at once. Might I suggest Cathya?)

The article raises the possibility that the next thing on our To-Do List of Societal-Created Bodily Problems We Must Eradicate Immediately Lest We Become Unfuckable (note to self: think of shorter To-Do List title) may well be bleaching--not only our buttholes--but our vaginas** as well. (And God forbid if you become addled by bleach fumes and accidentally put anal bleaching cream on your vag or vice versa. Can you imagine the others--oh, how they would laugh and laugh!--if they saw that your vag was anus color or your anus was vag color? Whatever colors they are supposed to be. This week.)

The article, written by my new hero Lindy West, was so damn good, it made me feel like giving up writing and just throwing away my 10 year old Mac (or, less dramatically, responsibly disposing of it at the next city-sanctioned e-waste collection). I mean look at her opening paragraph!

Good news, ladies! Society has discovered another new thing that's wrong with you, which means another opportunity for you to make yourself more attractive for your man. Score! Turns out, the color of your vagina is gross and everyone hates it. So bleach that motherfucker. Bleach it right now!

West goes on to describe an ad running in India for a vag bleaching cream that makes your vag, well, non-vag colored.

In this commercial for an Indian product called Clean and Dry Intimate Wash, a (very light-skinned) couple sits down for what would have been a peaceful cup of morning coffee—if the woman's disgusting brown vagina hadn't ruined everything! The dude can't even bring himself look at her. He can't look at his coffee either, because it only reminds him of his wife's dripping, coffee-brown hole! Fortunately, the quick-thinking woman takes a shower, scrubbing her swarthy snatch with Clean and Dry Intimate Wash ("Freshness + Fairness"). And poof! Her vadge comes out blinding white like a downy baby lamb (and NOT THE GROSS BLACK KIND) 

I was so sold on West with "bleach that motherfucker," but when she got to "his wife's dripping, coffee-brown hole" I was beyond in love.

Here's the ad, if you want to be angered and/or develop a new and exciting insecurity. (In due credit to the collective wisdom of the YouTube viewing public--a phrase I have never once used--"thumbs downs" are beating "thumbs up" by a ratio of 3 to 1.)

Vag bleaching is yet another one of those "body enhancement" products--like bras with built-in nipples, vaginal rejuvenation, shapewear for sex, mints to hide the taste of semen, etc...--that, in the quest for "beauty" screw with basic biology.*** Screwing with biology, as in, how we experience pleasure (i.e. a boob job making a woman lose sensitivity in her now For Display Purposes Only rack) and screwing with biology in how we communicate sexual signals to each other. A highly aroused woman, for example, will get a vivid dark flush of color between her legs. This indicates, "Hey, you're doin' fine. Please proceed at once." (If it's really really dark and very flushed, it indicates, "Oh, god! Please please please proceed at once!")

An artificially light vag indicates...what?
"I am an Indian woman possessing an improbably Caucasian vagina."
"I may be aroused or I may be thinking of stocking up on cereal when it's on sale."
"I'd better not pee because, as I vaguely recall from chemistry, ammonia and bleach mixed together create a toxic cloud."

So why do we need this product? Let's let the ad copy explain:

Designed to address the problems women face in their private parts, Clean and Dry Intimate Wash offers protection, fairness and freshness. To be used while showering, its special pH-balanced formula cleans and protects the affected area, and even makes the skin fairer. Life for women will now be fresher, cleaner, fairer! 

To restate, you have problems in your private parts. All women do. The problem, as we now know, is having "private parts." So bleach that motherfucker! Bleach it right now!

xoxox
jill

*If you are the cool feminist friend, please be aware that the horribly unflattering subject line automatically generated for your dear friend's email will be Your Vagina Isn't Too Big, Too Floppy, and Too Hairy--It's Also Too Brown. Might want to change that...

** Yes, yes, I know that the term "vagina" refers to the hole part and that "vulva" is the proper term for part I'm actually talking about. And if you correct me in the comments, I will come to your house and punch you.

*** We are not the only society that does crazy-ass junk to...well, our junk. According to Mary Roach, in Bonk: The Curious Coupling of Science and Sex, in parts of Africa, Haiti and Indonesia, moistness between a woman's legs is considered to be a turn-off. So to facilitate the "dry sex" their men want, the women use drying agents, including shredded newspaper, cotton, rock salt, detergent, bark and--ack!--dried animal poop.

Thus, if we combined these two regional traditions in sort of a vaginal melting pot (I think there was a Schoolhouse Rock song about the vaginal melting pot), instead of a lover confronting a wet, deeply flushed, obviously-aroused pussy, they'd find a vaguely bleachy-smelling white vag, festooned with dry bits of shredded newspaper and animal poop hanging out. Viva progress!

(photo source)

RIP Critique My Dick Pic

(Since Tumblr has made ridiculous new "anti-pornography" rules that make zero sense at all, I'm re-running this to memorialize the work of my favorite Tumblriste ever, Ms. Maddie Holden, whose labors (oh, you'll see) might soon disappear forever.  You can read her own eulogy of the brief shining moment that was her righteous blog, Critique My Dick Pic here.  

And for the record, fuck this shit. Facebook is cracking down, or whatever, too. I was just banned from Facebook for a month for the very photo that is, ironically, still running as the photo for IBWMW's Facebook page and has been there for years. (I suspect I was reported by a stranger who took offense at some political thing I wrote. It will not surprise you that I'm kinda outspoken on social media. And yes, I'm working on it.) 

This insane prudery isn't helping any of us. We need to be able to talk to each other about sex and our orientations and share what's really going on. Shoving it down, banning it--all that stuff takes away access to real, decent, information, connection and so much art and beauty. 

This doesn't help "the children" either.  When they can't see a sex educator showing them what a vulva is, then their most easily accessible sex ed is gonna be porn.  Which, porn is fine and you know I love it, but there is a whole lot of really crappy porn with dudes spitting on women or even just not fucking them in a decent manner. That's not helping the kids, my friends.

For the rest of us, we should be allowed to freely talk about so-called adult matters.  Because we are fucking adults.   

Anyway. We were talking dick pics. Let's do it WHILE WE CAN, shall we?

xo
jill 



Consider the courtship practice of the Sending of the Dick Picture.

Men like sending them, but few women -- and only under very specific circumstances -- like getting them. (I think they're sexy, but I get that impression that I'm unusual in that regard.) In any case, it seems like a bit of messed up evolutionary mating economics--all supply, little demand.

Supply's not going down any time soon, so it seems the best solution is to create more demand. In this case, creating a better quality--hence possibly better-received--dick pic.

This is the mission of Critique My Dick Pic.  Writes site creator/judger of peni, Madeleine Holden:

this is a tumblr with a simple premise: send me your dick pics, & i’ll critique them with love.
'with love' is an important addendum. i'm never going to shame you about the size of your dick or what it looks like; i'm not about that life. i will, however, be ruthlessly honest when it comes to things like angles, lighting & general tone. i'm trying to help you improve, because in all likelihood your dick pics are artless & dull.

The girl is ruthlessly honestly and is against "Porky Pigging," that is, wearing a shirt but no pants, and photos featuring "the log," (says she: "the log" is when you take a bird’s eye view, close-up shot of your enormous dick, with your dick taking up most of the frame & with very little surrounding detail. dudes, they’re boring. they’re ~so~ boring. they say "look at my fat cock" & fuck all else.") She ends each review with a letter grade. In bold.

Consider this poor guy who sent in an uninspired shot of his dick hanging over the edge of a kitchen sink. (You'll have to look yourself b/c as Holden puts it, this site is "Not! Safe! For! Work!")

um no this is definitely not very good.
your dick is unceremoniously flopped out of your pants & you look like you’re about to piss in the sink. your right arm is hanging limply & the top right hand corner of your pic is straight blur. sender, this is very bad? you didn’t try very much here? it is extremely unlikely that this picture would arouse anyone?
if i were you, sender, i would scrap this entirely & start again, with 100% less sink, 100% less blur, & 1000% more effort.
thank you for submitting to critiquemydickpic.tumblr.com. your dick pic gets a C-.

I am completely in love with this site and wish I could just run a bunch of the pix here so you don't have to be clicking around, but Google gets a little peevish when I get too racy.  Do hop over, then tell me what you think. I welcome any and all dick pic stories you might send me as well.

xoxox
jill

ps yes I do appreciate the absurdity of kowtowing to Google's prudery while running afoul of Porky Pig's copyright holder.  Though I give part of the blame to him for not wearing pants.

Hey. Been drinking?  Leave a little tip today. 

"Don't You Fucking Move," Letter from a Feminist Submissive

Didn't I tell you not to strive for
equality in the workplace?

(Hey gorgeous, found this in the backwaters of the blog today and I loved it all over again. Just ignore the highly untimely Fifty Shades of Grey tie-in, and you'll be good.)

Today's letter came in response to a Newsweek cover story on Fifty Shades of Grey, the insanely popular S&M-y mommy porn, unpromisingly spawned by, of all things, Twilight fan fiction.

Reader Submissive and Truly Fine With That was but one of the people pissed off by the article, which tied (yes, and I'm too lazy to think of a better word) working women and feminism to S&M. You can read her response below.

If you are unfamiliar with Fifty Shades of Grey, see this Daily Beast article on the book's 14 Naughtiest Bits (a genius idea!) Here, you can witness Perfectly Good Smut being ruined by a few ill-chosen words. For example, when heroine/virgin Anastasia (she would so be named that) watches Christian's (same deal) "erection spring free" (so far so good), she thinks--unlike a young woman would, but exactly like a middle-aged fan fiction-writing author might--"Holy cow!"

Later, when she takes him in her mouth (again, a good start...) it's described thusly: "He's my very own Christian Grey-flavored popsicle. I suck harder and harder...Hmmm...My inner goddess is doing the merengue with some salsa moves."

By the time Anastasia's "inner goddess is doing the dance of the seven veils," my own inner goddess is "confused, slightly icked out and ready to go to the kitchen and get a cup of coffee."

But I digress. Please give a warm welcome to Submissive and Truly Fine With That:

Dear IBWMW;
God bless you for being the one place I can send this email. I just finished reading an article in Newsweek about how (or why) today’s feminists have a more-than-passing interest in S&M, or more to the point, being sexually submissive. Now I feel the need to rant because of all the sources they consulted, they neglected to ask one of us, ie. a feminist who craves domination. (To be fair, they did quote Simone de Beauvoir, but, last time I checked, she’s dead.) I thought, what better venue to rant to than this column? (Actually, there is no other option. I really don’t want to disgust any of my friends with details of my sex life beyond relative wang dimensions or whether a guy was “orally efficacious” or not.)

For starters, I have to admit I believe I was born into this desire. My first sexual fantasies all involved bondage; usually, some guy I hated or found grossly unattractive would tie me up and have his way with me. In retrospect, I think it had to be someone I didn’t like for the submission to feel “honest”.  

If I go backwards in my life to my first physical sexual feeling, it was this: a happy little tingle between my legs while watching a TV episode of "Batman and Robin." The boys were tied up in a hot air balloon that was continuously ascending and their ultimate demise was imminent. I didn’t recognize it as sexual excitement at the time, but I do now. The numerous episodes of “Electra Woman and Dyna Girl” that followed elicited the same phenomenon. And they were tied up or trapped at least once per episode. No wonder that was my favorite show.

On the Benefits of a Smaller Penis by Blue

Oh god, please tell me I didn't send an email last night to
 IBWMW about my lover's ruddy, noble, well-formed penis

Reader Blue sent in the following missive. When I asked her what pseudonym she'd like, she answered, "I can't believe I sent that! I wrote that while drunk a few weeks ago and sent it while drunk last night."

Don't worry, Blue, lots of people write to me when they're drunk, which is probably not at all flattering, but I'm just gonna decide that it is actually highly flattering and be done with it.

Besides, the whole drunk Internet/texting/sexting possibilities available to Today's Modern Drunk makes me so so so happy that my own drunken days were pre-all of that. I can't even fucking imagine the hideousness of waking up all bleary-eyed and hung over and having to face my Sent Mail folder to see what horrors might lie within.

To her credit, Blue is not the incoherent mess of a drunk I was, so I reprint her story here in its full glory. Enjoy.

a few weeks ago i saw your invitation to "Just sit down at the computer, rip your heart out, and jot the results down"  and started writing this.  i don't know if this is what you want, and that was awhile ago but here's my story: 

i started writing this because of the part of dusky's letter where she writes "the idea that naturally the greatest sex of your life will be with the love of your life."  for me sex was indeed "a litmus test of the true inner feelings of two people" although love has always been a Big Deal for me, sex had never been the highest on my list of priorities.  i had attributed my lackluster sex life to my complete disinterest, not the other way around. it had kind of escaped my notice that the way people feel physically and the way they feel emotionally have a lot to do with each other.  there is no aphrodisiac like love... 

so i didn't know this but not everybody is ...you know... anatomically compatible.  there is such a thing as too much of a good thing.  sorry guys, but now you know.  it CAN be too big.  but i didn't learn this little secret until i cheated.  and let me tell you, for those lucky people out there who have never cheated on anybody: it a repulsive experience, don't do it!  but then, the marriage sucked and sometimes you don't know the grass is greener until you get on the other side of the fence.  sure it looks greener, but.... now i know.  

there are people in the world who are really good at having sex.  just like mozart was a great composer, da vinci was a master painter, and stratavarius made the best violins ever, some people are really REALLY good at fucking.  

Reader Mail Week: Give This Guy Some Advice

Today's reader mail comes from "J" who is in a newly sexless marriage and so upset about it, he's willing to take advice from random strangers on the internet. That is, you. So go to town.

Bear in mind that when people ask for advice they want good ideas that sound pretty much like what they already wanted to do in the first place. Oh yeah, and don't be mean.

Here's J:

My wife has been depressed and is menopausal. She's 56 and has lost all sexual desire. Before we were pretty active. I'm 61 and going insane right now. I will not have an affair. Any ideas?

I have tried kissing, hugging, and just loving her and being there for her. I've tried giving a her sensual massage--not going anywhere else--and trying to build something up.

I'm ready to jump out of my skin. So tired of doing myself.

*****

Well? What do you have for him?

xoxox
jill

(photo)

What happened that day Mrs. Dolphin was away...

Sex is good. Nature is good.  The sea, marine life--good as well.  But something about this particular combination of those elements (below) totally skeeves me out.

See this cute dolphin?  Know why he's so happy?  And yes, I know he's a "he" because he is masturbating.  Which is fine.  Right?  Masturbating is healthy.

So, yes, I guess it's good and natural that the dolphin feels free enough in his sexuality to not have to hide behind some kelp or something to jerk off.

But in a way I kind of wish he would.  Because you know what he's jerking off to and/or in?

A decapitated fish.

I don't know what it is that gets me about this:  the sexual frankness, the fucking of the headless, dead fish (could there be any greater fish humiliation?) or that fact that the dolphin looks so damn happy about it, like he's just living the life.

I feel like I'm missing out somehow.

xoxox
jill

ps Thanks to the dear, longtime reader who sent this in.  I'm guessing you don't want me to name you, but you're welcome to out yourself if you'd like.

Reader Mail Week, Day 1: Maurice on Infidelity.

Ahoy!  It's Reader Mail Week, which...well, you're pretty bright--I don't think I have to explain it to you.

First off, is this response from Maurice in which I asked readers where they were lately on the topic of infidelity: 

Infidelity?

Even the word sounds, I don't know, like it has to be spoken by someone in his/her 80s with a rasp and a heaping helping of holy indignation in his/her voice.
We called it a marriage, even without the ceremony, cake and small appliance gifts. It went over 25 years.

If she had cheated? I would have been majorly pissed, not because she cheated, but because she told me over and over again and in many different words and ways over the course of 25 years that cheating is the black side of a black-and-white situation — the purely wrong side. That such a thing was unforgivable. That it would be a betrayal of her, of her love, her dedication and commitment. Et cetera, et cetera. I didn't agree, but (for once) was smart enough not to say it.

I would have stayed with her. To me, sex with another person — "infidelity" — is not the end of a relationship. It is sex with another person. The reasons behind it are the key. Did she cheat because she was bored? Looking for an adventure? Because she saw an incredibly hot guy, had an opportunity and went for it? Or was it because she resented me in every conceivable way? Despised the way I thought? Hated the sound of my voice?

Oops. Okay, I sort of take it back. Towards the end, her cheating would have been a demonstration that she wanted out, or wanted me out. But early on, when we were solid and also young and horny? Her cheating would have just been sex with another person. It's sort of like when I went on motorcycle trips with the guys. Those were not demonstrations that I didn't want to be with her, just that I liked being with the guys sometimes, too. You know, not mutually exclusive.

I think too many people still think sex = love, that they're mutually inclusive (is that even a term?). I'm one of those guys who thinks love = love, and that sex should be a part of it, but that there can be sex without love and, unfortunately, love without sex.

Okay. Today? If my present partner banged someone else, I'd need to know why. Was it a caprice, or was it a sign of something deeper and more ominous? And if it turned out it was just a walk on the wild side and that she still loved me and only me and wanted our relationship to continue and grow, well, then, she's going to have to tell me everything. Slowly. And don't leave anything out ...

*****

So there you go.  Feel free to chime in as well.

In other business, if you can use the word "business" regarding a blog that generates a three figure annual income:

--There is a new "Refer a friend" button on the IBWMW Facebook page. Feel free to make use of it.

--IBWMW was named one of the Top 14 Sex Blogs and Websites to Follow in 2014 by A Good Woman's Dirty Mind. If you are practice infidelity in your sex blog reading choices (how could you?), pop on over.

--I have still not discovered what I meant when I emailed myself this now-mysterious note: "vaginal decor."

I most decidedly did not mean this, sent in by Janet, in which an Australian artist makes a statement about informed parenting (???) by knitting a long scarf-ish thing from yarn that she stuck up her wang. Besides the parenting statement (again, I say "?????"), she is also trying to show that one not feel "fear and revulsion" about the vulva.  Which, perhaps, is best not mended by pulling out seemingly endless mystery steins of yard from where none should live, but perhaps that is just my fear and revulsion talking.



xoxoxo
jill

Coming tomorrow:  Reader needs your advice regarding the marital bed...

(photo: Lady Cheeky, another of the 14 Sex Blogs to Follow. If you're gonna cheat on me with another blog, choose her.  Totally hot.)

Reader Mail Week, Day 3: Underrubbers, reader has sex with a U-shaped device, and the newest IBWMW Minister

The new IBWMW Minister of Angsty Posing

Yesterday the reader mail was about an exceptionally dickish dude, a sort of Master Ninja of Psychological Abuse, who told his (thankfully now) ex-wife that her vagina was "ugly."  It was all too much. I mean, "Of all the nerve!" as people were often exclaiming in the out-of-date used books I read as a pre-teen. I tell you, that fellow could have used a smart slap across the face accompanied by a richly deserved, "Fresh!"

Today let us return to a happier place in which men and women don't psychologically torture each other. Except, you know, in the fun way.

To that end, here's a review of the We-Vibe couple's vibrator by Sabrina who, with the pluck and aplomb characteristic of all IBWMW readers, bravely got down with the vibe and a guy.

"Meh." That's my whole review. It vibrates, and I suppose it'd work for some women. Alas, I must have "funky vagina" because I couldn't get the rotter to stay in when not actively getting dirty (my vagina muscles of steel would just slooooowly push it out), and DURING sex the stupid thing would torque to the side making it pointless. If I wanted to hold something in place I'd just buy a bullet that has REAL power.

In summation, I think what Sabrina is saying is that a) she has a funky vagina, b) with muscles of steel and c) in foreign lands, "rotter"= sex toy. If you are in England and someone says "rotter," they mean "sex toy" so just make the translation in your head.

If anyone else has tried it the We-Vibe, please feel free to send in a review of your own. I'm especially curious if you've tried the next gen model, the We-Vibe 3 (note: both funky and non-funky vaginaed reviewers welcome.)

Meanwhile gentle reader Ciana Pullen, who I think I might be a little in love with, raised some Very Pressing Issues regarding the post about the Bikini Condom:

I'm a little late to the bikini condom party, but I suppose in the year 2012 we all are. I'm confused. I have so many questions.
--So, the tubal part is automatically inserted into the vagina upon "coitus." Where is the tube *before* coitus? Is it scrunched up like a bendy straw fresh from the package, then the penis stretches it out? When one re-uses it does it scrunch back up or is the tube all stretched out? Does the tube hang down (does it wobble to and fro) like an inside-out jacket sleeve? Sometimes when I shove my arm into my jacket sleeve and the sleeve isn't completely right-side-out my arm gets stuck. It seems an analogous problem might occur with the bikini condom?
--Is it one size fits all?
--To me the term "pouch" suggests something in which a baby marsupial might dwell, and that is truly the most positive connotation, and even then those pouches are only cute when they're in cartoon form. As alternatives I suggest "pussy pocket" "pocket protector for her" "underrubber" "safety knickers" or, if you continue with the marsupial pouch idea, "underoo's."

Ciana, as usual, I have few, if any, answers. But I like your style. "Pussy pocket" is an incredibly excellent name. It's spunky, naughty, kinda cute. (I am also quite smitten with "underrubber.") I am quite certain that today you have discovered your Superpower. Too bad it's thinking of spot-on names for obscure and unloved contraceptive devices. We don't all get to have X-ray vision.

And finally, we have a new IBWMW Minister of Grammar. I'd tell you a little more about them, but I have no idea who it is. They gave themselves the title and, as their first official duty, promptly corrected the grammar in a comment from the IBWMW Minister of Science. I sense some tense moments at the next IBWMW International Summit in Helsinki.

If you need a title of your own, feel free to grant yourself one and start making decrees and such. Why the hell not? Seems I lost control of this thing a long time ago.

xoxox
jill

And btw, IBWMW Minister of Grammar, don't even bother telling me that "vaginaed" isn't a word.  I just made it up and I love that motherfucking word. Love it! So back off.

(photo: "Moments before, during and after sex," Daido Morivama, c. 1970s)