Oh....Oprah.

This week I was fortunate to catch Oprah's special report on the porn industry and how its consumer demographic is changing to include far more women.

Actually, I'm not normally a big Oprah watcher, and the only reason I caught it was because a friend texted me thinking that the title "Why Millions of women are using Porn and Erotica" implied a touch on erotic literature. Unfortunately this didn't turn out to be the case. However it still made for a very interesting, albeit not exactly surprisin--for me--hour of TV viewing. The guests included Violet Blue, a sex educator and the "foremost expert on sex and technology." Uh...Pardon? Not sure what that means, but based on her website, she's now in my sidebar!!

There was also  the owner of the G Boutique, a Chicago sex shop with merchandise geared to women and couples and which stocks more "female friendly" porn. Female friendly porn? Really? That means porn that has more of a story. Porn that is more sensual. And porn with men whose merits are based as much on  on their abs and the strength of their jawline as on their penis size. Ron Jeremy's glory days are over. Finally!

And, of course, the main feature on the show was super-star porn queen Jenna Jameson. Nope...I had never heard of her. But apparently, for many, she's a household name. And one of the richest, most successful and most savvy of her ilk.

Numerous little tidbits came out of that show. Things like the fact that women in porn are much more highly paid than their male counterparts. The fact that Jameson, despite the number of movies that she has made, has really only had a scant few half dozen or so partners--the vast majority of her scenes having taken place with her husband! And the fact that showing your blood test results before filming has become standard practise. And, perhaps the biggest, most significant statistic, and the one that spurred Oprah to do this show, is the fact that women now account for one in three of those perving the websites and doling out their hard earned cash for porn and erotica.

To me, none of this was a huge surprise. I found it all fascinating and, to some degree, empowering! I think it's awesome that women are moving in, and starting to have an influence on the single most lucrative and arguably influential industry in North America.

Oprah, however, did not share my enthusiasm. Her expression throughout the show could, at its best, be described as uncertain. And, at it's worst resembled that of a constipated camel. Oprah was not impressed by either Jenna Jameson's testimony, or by the G Boutique's invasion of her pristine vision of her hometown. Even my youngest son who was sitting at the computer and glancing up at the show occasionally commented on how unhappy she looked. She never smiled. Not once.

So, I'm sorry, Oprah. I'm not sorry that women are finally taking ownership of their sexuality and moving into one of the last completely male-dominated industries in the world. I'm not sorry that women are feeling free to watch erotic movies with their partners...or alone for that matter, and pleasure themselves as they feel the need. I'm not sorry that women are even feeling free to watch and enjoy gay porn! What I am sorry about is the fact that for all your "empowering women" rhetoric you seem to be out of touch with the fact that part of that empowerment is to take ownership and find freedom in our own sexuality. I'm sorry that all this new information has burst your pristine little "women should represent the purity of the race" bubble.

Purity is overrated, I'm afraid. Purity is more about oppression than "goodness."
In fact sex is good. And good sex ain't just for men anymore, baby!

OMG: A review

Oversized Male Genitalia. What did YOU think that stood for? Hehe.

I just thought it was time to sing the praises of this awesome book. Actually...the book isn't anything to write home about. Well...unless your mother is a smut-writing Sex Diva like moi! And if so...aren't you lucky! But otherwise, you may not want to mail this home to Grandma. Or give it to your priest. Or even nominate it for a Pullitzer. It's a goofy, tongue-in-cheek poke at the ultimate male fantasy. And it's a riot.

What really struck me about it, however...what makes it worth mentioning for me... is the story of how I came across it. It wasn't like I found it while perving Amazon for some cheap thrills. (Not that I do that. Ahem.) I didn't even find it hidden in the dusty back corner of the local sex shop and porn store. I came across this little gem as I stepped into the local Chapters store (For those of you unfamiliar with Chapters, that's the Canadian version of Barnes and Noble. An enormous bookstore and Starbucks chain for the literary and latte lovin' league.)  I walked down the main aisle and there...there...THERE in the middle of one of the largest, most in-your-face, most blatantly publicity-seeking table displays of books sat this brilliant red and gold tomb, shamelessly declaring the word "PENIS" for all to see. I was...astounded. Flabbergasted. And amazed. I just thought this was the best thing ever. Even better than when Ottawa University students managed to run Anne Coulter out of town! Oops...this blog isn't supposed to be about politics. But then again Anne Coulter is kind of like the sexual Anti-Christ. Hang on...where was I?

Oh yes...the table display at Chapters! I was just so impressed at this blatant display of such a naughty word that I had to stop and pick it up. And after reading a few bits and pieces here and there, decided it would make the perfect birthday gift for my husband! No...he's not excessively endowed, and despite all the spam in his in-box, has no wish to be. However, I thought it would provide us with a good chuckle over chocolate birthday cake and ice cream. Ironically, our oldest son was much more enthusiastic about covering the book fromn cover to cover. And, no...we don't have that book sitting out when grandma and grandpa come over to visit. Shame, really.

So, anyway...if you know anyone who has issues with OMG...or who wishes they did, or who would just get a kick out of having the word PENIS emblazoned in gold letters across a book on his/her coffee table, I highly recommend this book! I mean...if you can't have fun with an enormous penis...what CAN you have fun with?
Ummm.....

Feelin sexy... Part Deux

For years I didn't feel sexy.

When I was in my teens and twenties I did...sort of. In my teens it was dicey because I couldn't seem to get a boy to be interested in me. I wore the tight jeans--the kind that forced you to slide into your desk sideways and stick your legs out in order to avoid being cut in half--and I had the 80's hair. I smiled at a few boys, and even managed to get one to kiss me. But for the most part the boys in my age range weren't interested in a rather outspoken Sci-Fi freak whose abilities in math could shame even the nerdiest pocket-protector-toting geek. Let alone the star of the volleyball team. Apparently teenage boys don't like girls that are smarter than they are. Who knew?

So, not until I met my number one hunny at the tender age of 19 did I really start to feel like I had the kind of sex appeal required to lure all those good little Mennonite boys into temptation. Alas, however, the very first boy I dated was so perfect that I never needed to look any further! Therefore my exposure to the opposite sex, and hence the affirmation of my sex appeal, ended up being very limited.

So, through the years of marriage, home-ownership, pregnancy, lactation and motherhood...my wonderful hunny continued to always tell me how beautiful and sexy I was. And that is wonderful! However...I confess that after 20 years it started to lose it's...zing. And I confess that through those years of pregnancy and looking after toddlers I pretty much gave up on the whole sex appeal thing. What's the point, after all when you spend much of your free time wiping up poop and mopping up puke? But then...suddenly...and yes, I do believe it was right around that proverbial female sexual peak...I decided it was time to get off my ample butt and start to feel like a woman again! And I did. I lost 30 pounds, grew out my hair, and bought my first pair of low-rise jeans. I looked in the mirror and liked what I saw. But I still didn't feel sexy. Not...really. And at the time...I couldn't really say why. And then it happened--the epiphany!

I had gone out to a bar to meet some girlfriends for an evening of dancing. However...arriving at the ridiculously early hour of 10:00 pm....left me waiting for my girlfriends all alone. Not being particularly shy I got a drink at the bar and sat down to wait. The first to approach was a college age boy with a rye and coke and a goofy smile who sat down beside me and proceeded to inflate my ego exponentially. I'm not sure if he...flirted exactly, however I did come away from that table with a perpetual invitation to keg parties at his house. (I have yet to take him up on that.) But it was upon walking away from that table that the real fun began.

I heard my name called and was startled to discover two of those volley-ball playing jocks from my old highschool...two men who in 1982 barely knew I existed, and who had, on occasion teased my geeky friends and myself to distraction. Well...it seemed that NOW the distraction was on the other foot. These two divorcees on the make had eyes that were so big, and jaws that had dropped so far that I almost thought I was going to have to start mopping up their drool. I confess it felt good...damn good to turn away their advances with a little flick of my wrist. "Sorry boys. I am sooooo out of your league."

Okay...I didn't say that. Not out loud, anyway. But the way that little experience made me feel was...beyond description. It was the boost and the affirmation that I had been seeking...and I hadn't even known it. Of course I came home and told #1 hunny all about it. He was fine with the flirtation, but I think he was a little hurt when he said, "I've been telling you you're beautiful and sexy for years. Doesn't it mean the same coming from me?" And I replied bluntly, "You know I love you, but...No. It doesn't." Sad, perhaps...but true.

This is a man who looked at me during the bloating and pain of childbirth and still TRULY believed I was beautiful. That means something, of course. It means everything! But there is a part of me that wants to be seen as sexy just because of the way a pair of jeans hug my ass, and the way a push up bra sets off a low-cut top. It's about walking down the street and FEELING sexy. Feeling like you stand out. Feeling superficially special, I suppose.

I guess it is superficial...and probably somewhat sad, but I don't think I'm alone in that feeling. FAct is I've put a few pounds back on again, and I'm not quite as sveldt and toned as I was five years ago, but I still have that feeling. When I do myself up, and put on those low-rise jeans, I feel good about who I am. I feel confident and sexy, and when I walk down the street I feel good about myself. And if it meant I had to crush a couple of old highschool bad-asses to get that feeling...then too bad for them. And YAY for me.

I think we all have to take that feeling wherever we can get it. Whether it's by spending $150 on a kick-ass hair style, or picking up a sexy pair of thigh-high boots....Whether it's by lacing yourself into a corsette until you've got "bum back" and your waistline has been cut down by a third....Whether it's by getting your nails done  or treating (hmm...not sure THAT's the right word) yourself to a Brazilian wax....
It doesn't matter. 

Do what you gotta do to find your inner Diva...and make no apologies for it!

Gay germs threaten prom!

Yes, it's true. Apparently two girls were planning on dancing together at a prom...hence proof that the Apocalypse is at hand! Uh..."Pardon," you might say? "Girls dance together all the time! At age 18 few boys have the confidence, let alone the rhythm, to risk shaking their booty in public, so girls take to the floor together in droves!" Ah...but the difference is... they're typically all in dresses, right? Normal, average, god-fearing girls deck themselves out in cleavage-baring, body hugging, bow-laden, taffeta-rustling gowns that are destined to embarrass them in photos for years to come!

 The fact that one chose to wear pants is...abormal. Unseemly. And...well...scandalous. Right? Umm...didn't we get over that issue around 1969? So the true issue here is, obviously, the fact that the two girls made their relationship public by asking permission first. Don't they know the simple golden rule of, "It's better to ask forgiveness after than ask permission first"?

So, thankfully it's all a happy ending, the day being saved by a well-meaning humanist organization with a few thou to throw at the problem and make it go away. So YAY for the fact that a good group of kids got their prom and the fact that the word "private" didn't turn out to mean "exclusionary" as well. But after reading the comments on this story, I have to agree with one person who observed that this is not really a solution. It doesn't really tackle the problem. While this is a happy ending for this particular group of kids, it does nothing to tackle the basic, inherent problems in this situation: bigotry, intolerance, ignorance and, yes, homophobia.

It's too bad the community didn't stand up and rally for their kids, insisting that the school board reinstate the prom and stop their ridiculous self-righteousness and posturing. But perhaps that's asking too much of a state that only gave up segregation a mere 50 years ago. I mean...what if one of the girls had been white and the othe black!? I shudder to think.

We have come a long way. I mean...I have so many reasons to be grateful for the school system that provides for my children. My sons have had some awesome teachers--teachers who have asked some really tough questions, and laid down some really tough lines when it comes to attitudes and how kids are to treat each other in their school. My son's highschool even has an organized group for gay kids, their friends and their family. I can't imagine that something like this would ever be an issue here...and for the most part I think North America's tolerance level has improved greatly over what it was fifty years ago. But that doesn't mean it isn't still an issue that merits our attention and that needs to be talked about. Loudly!

And on that note...I'm thinking my next blog post will discuss bicuriosity in women. I'm thinkin' Katy Perry knew what she was talkin' about...

Lights on...Lights off?

Sounds a little bit like a quote from The Karate Kid, doesn't it? Wax on...wax off! Actually that sounds a bit like an ad for a Brazilian waxing operation! But that was last week's topic. Now...where the heck was I?

Oh yes...LIGHTS!

This past week I heard a little tidbit of info on the radio that had me absolutely reeling. According to the DJ's who are, no doubt, iron-clad sources...20% of men have never seen their wives without makeup on. Uh...excuse me?

Having lived with the same man for more than 20 years, experienced childbirth, along with various other indignities, together. Having showered together and...oh yeah...woken up together, it is very difficult to conceive of a relationship where this is even possible! However...I suppose, with enough obsessive compulsive mascara and blush applications, anything is doable. However, upon thinking about it, it leaves out a couple of obvious scenarios...

Showering together--unless, of course you have all waterproof makeup and/or never put your head under the spray during fellatio. (There IS innuendo in there. Make no mistake.)
And my other stab in the dark at here is would be to postulate that many of these women always, always make love at night, and with the lights off! I mean, seriously...that seems like a much more feasible scenario than someone who never, never, ever takes their makeup off before bed, or who manages to keep it intact during vigorous rubbing against the sheets and pillows. To me, keeping the lights off is the most viable explanation for this startling number. Not that the thought of millions of insecure women never allowing their spouses to see them in their full, beautiful, unaffected glory isn't equally disturbing. It just seems more...doable, I suppose.

Personally, while I do enjoy a little ambiance, now and then--a darkened room does have a sense of romance and mystery, I'll admit--for the nost part I like to see my partner, and I rather like him to see me. Although in recent years I have tried very hard to keep my body in reasonable shape, I am by no means perfect. But really...what I actually look like is beside the point. I know full well that it's my perception of myself and my perception of how he perceives me that is important. Having the lights on or off has little to do with all that. My body and my face, and how I perceive of myself in my head isn't affected by whether I'm wearing makeup or whether the lights are on and off. It's all in my head...and that's where the changes have to take place for someone to become truly comfortable inside their own skin and with their own sexuality.

I'm really not sure how to teach that, or help people with that. All we can do is talk about it, I guess. Get it out there. So, here I am, doing my small part to make the world a brighter place. ;-)

Hedge trimming

I am a product of the current day porn culture. No...I don't sit in a darkened room, blinds drawn, scouring the Internet for images of naked men doing unspeakable things to each other. Well...okay...I HAVE done that, but for research purposes only. Really! Ahem...At any rate,  I don't do it on a regular basis. But that is beside the point.

When I say I'm a product of the present day porn culture, I am referring strictly to today's standards of grooming. And today's standards of grooming are, in fact, pretty strict! Hair on a head or on a chest, and even on a sinewy pair of forearms is quite acceptable...even sexy. However...hair just about anywhere else is generally considered rather...unsavory. So, yes I shave. Every other day or so...and pretty much everywhere. Save for the "landing strip" nod to the fact that I am, in fact, a mature adult female, there's little to no evidence of the waist-high hedge that was once was. And I demand the same of my partner. My hubby began his new grooming ritual about the same time I did, about six or seven years ago. And we haven't looked back since.

Sure, it's a pain. But since I choose not to go the waxing route, that's a figurative statement, rather than a literal one. (btw, from what I hear the laser option ain't exactly a stroll on the beach either)It's time-consuming and somewhat finicky, but other than my time and the anguish of the occasional ingrown hair (life's a risk) it costs me nothing.  And, for me, the benefits far outweigh the deficits. I mean who likes to floss during fellatio? Or cough up hair balls during cunnilingus? I shudder to think of the days when such things were an actual issue! Just as I still shudder on occasion when I read erotic novels that still make mention of that traditional "nest of curls" or "silken thatch." As I recall there wasn't anything silky about it, more closely resembling steel wool than the down of a milkweed plant. But maybe that was just me. lol

I know there are those who still balk at it. Who see it as a twisted reversion to the look of a "little girl", or who just simply don't see the need. And to them I say to each their own! But I would advise anyone who is considering returning to the dating scene after a lengthy absence to think long and hard about this issue. The strippers and the porn stars may not exactly be the icons of a generation...but I fear their genitals just may be. They've set a certain standard of hygiene and personal grooming, and if your choose to ignore it...you had better be prepared for the reaction when your hedge pops out of your yard for the first time!

It's all about geOh-graphy

Men fake orgasms? Huh? Really? If that's the case, then the next logical question is...with whom? Obviously not with women--or men for that matter--who are big believers in empirical evidence.

But yes...this is just one of the juicy little tidbits of information that caught my eye from this survey, based on info from Dr. Phil and the Kinsey Institute: The Female Orgasm: By the numbers. (Just scroll down a bit to see the majority of survey results.)

A number of things jumped out at me from this survey...almost all of them disturbing, although truly not overly surprising. Things like the fact that women's orgasms--or lack thereof--are 90% psychological, and that we can typically achieve it in a fraction of the time all on our own, rather than with help. Maybe it's not as much fun...but it doesn't seem to be as much work either! Especially with the help of some well-placed batteries. ;-)

But what I did find truly disturbing is the number of women who are unable to identify their OWN "points of interest" on a map. And the fact that men beat us out on this one is...well...it's humiliating. However, again, perhaps not all that surprising. And is, no doubt, a huge contributing factor to the difficulty that many women have in achieving orgasm at all.

I come from a religious background that was--when it came to sex, at least--very conservatively skewed. I remember vividly having the feeling that "down there" was a bad place, and not something that should be explored too thoroughly. My first trip to a gynecologist was somewhat traumatic, to say the least. So once I met my future husband, and we started experimenting sexually, it was much easier to allow him to do the "dirty work" rather than to do it myself. And much less scary. Luckily I was open-minded and curious enough to eventually overcome some of those barriers and explore things on my own, but I'm pretty sure I was well into my twenties the first time I picked up a mirror and went....oooohhh...so, that's what that looks like! And then I went directly to the internet looking for pictures to confirm that what I had wasn't a hideous aberration compared to what the rest of the world possessed.

So, am I unique? Obviously not! And can we blame it on the old-world mentality that existed in the 50's and which just lingered a little longer but that we are now well on our way to overcoming? Well, judging from the fact that I recently met a 20-something-year-old who told me that she had never used a tampon, let alone actually looked at herself "down there"...I suppose that's not true either.

I think the internet and the the new world of information and sharing and sexual freedom has brought us a long way...but we've still got a long way to go, people! And it starts with our kids and our friends. We need to talk about it more. Maybe even look at pictures. Explain, discuss, question. And make sure people know that it's OKAY! It's okay to be curious, and to explore, and yes, even to touch. They're OUR bodies, for God's sake! Being ashamed or afraid of them is not an option!

So to the celibate--and I highly suspect orgasm-free--"friend" who once warned me that my writing and my books are a bad reflection on me and an evil influence on my family and my readers...I say...Go out and get a Pocket Rocket and learn how to use it! THEN we'll talk!

Feelin' sexy

As I write this I am sitting in a vinyl and chrome chair staring at my goofy-lookin' self in the salon mirror. I look a little--who am I kidding--a LOT like a character from "Signs" who is hoping to receive communication from the aliens through the elaboorate array of tin foil on my head. Or is it BLOCK communication from the aliens? Maybe I have to watch that movie again. lol

But bottom line is, I was having a lousy week. An emotionally draining week with friends who lost loved ones, and other friends who...well, let's just say they didn't really act much like friends...and feeling a bit tattered and torn and like I deserved a boost. So I made a frantic emergency phone call to Johnny. To my stylist--my Romanian accented, silver-tongued, washboard abbed, Judo-blackbelt, UFC fighting, raging heterosexual...stylist.  Sorry...what was I saying?

Oh yeah... It must have been karma or kismet or something equally ethereal...but he had a spot for me...TODAY! So, here I sit waiting for my color to set, watching Johnny stride (the word "walk" just doesn't do him justice) away in a pair of FANTASTIC jeans... and anxiously waiting to see the result of my frantic plea for something different. Something unique. Something DRAMATIC! Something to make me feel...special and sexy and...renewed.

There is just something so uniquely feminine, uniquely female, about being primped and pampered, looking in the mirror and thinking...there. THAT helps. That's better. It's almost as good as eating a quart of Haagen Das chunky monkey ice cream. Or maybe it's better, because at the end of the day, you feel better about yourself, rather than worse. You feel empowered. Like you've got the world at your feet...and just a little bit sad that  that boyfriend or girlfriend or bff who wasn't... or whoever you just dumped or who just dumped you, is never going to see how fantastic you look. There's healing in there. It's the power of sex. Of feeling like you have just a little more control over yourself and your body and your world.

It doesn't matter who sees you or who doesn't. It just matters that YOU know you're that sexy. You're that good. And, well...I gotta admit...it's kinda nice getting a scalp massage from my personal demi-god.

(The pic was taken in the evening after a loooong day at work, so I am NOT looking exactly perky!)