Sexeteria

His Addiction (onaniajournal.blogspot.com)
Love Conquers Some But Not All (realadultsex.com)
Pussy on the Loose (taratainton.com)

Funny / Sex News / Grab Bag
10 Lies Pornographers Tell (sugarbank.com)
Angelina Puts Collagen Rumors to Bed (tgp.com)

I Bet You Didn’t Know the Ancient Greeks Had Strap-ons… (tirepaddle.com)
Last Night Dick Slipped… (janeluvsdick.com)
Sex in the News - Celebrity Sex Tales (seskuality.com)
Shit Week (nakedloftparty.com)

Sugarjoy Review: Xervious Anime Labs (sugarjoy.com)

BDSM and Fetish
Always Ready… (seanandmel.blogspot.com)
Bath Time (ropegirl.blogspot.com)
Daddy’s Little Girl (redvelvetropeburn.blogspot.com)
Edging (sheenv.blogspot.com)

Learning the Ropes (avaadora.blogspot.com)
Missing the Kink (mnsss.blogspot.com)
Put in Place I (lifeashis.com)
Recurring Springtime Fantasy (aliferestarted.blogspot.com)
Redemption - Part II (nyc-urban-gypsy.blogspot.com)
Tied Down and Spanked (auntyagony.net)

Ariel X Again and Again… (eroticandy.blogspot.com)
Christine Young Review (internetisforporn.com)
Free Pics (seska4lovers.com)
Maddi and Rene on Sapphic Erotica (simply-sapphicerotica.com)
Mim shot by Penelope for Abby Winters (iloveabbywinters.com)
Mirrors (pspporn.com)

Misato by Yousoudo for Met-Art (sensualarousalblog.com)
Naughty, Nasty HNT! (sexblogthis.blogspot.com)
Sunshine (lumpesse.com)

Erotica/Erotic Experiences
Between the Biker & the Wall (bikersballsandteacherstits.blogspot.com)

Cock Tease (sexyukgirl.blogspot.com)
First Meeting (secretsofadirtygirl.blogspot.com)
Hard Fucking (everythingoze.blogspot.com)
I Saw. I Came. I was Conquered. (theholidaylife.blogspot.com)
Last Night (whatsexmaycome.blogspot.com)
Magically Delicious (fourstate.blogspot.com)

Masturbating in the Car (alwaysarousedgirl.blogspot.com)
Masturbation and Memories (philosophyofbeing.blogspot.com)
Please, I Would Love A Kiss (suburbansexpot.blogs.com)
Secret Reads: The Roommate (secretbrain.blogspot.com)
Shhh… Do You Hear That? (v-boat.blogspot.com)
Snatched Moments (gentlygently.blogspot.com)

Sunday Sweetness (antisojo.livejournal.com)
When He Watches (tangysweet.blogspot.com)

Experiences
From Fantasy to Reality (emergingontheotherside.blogspot.com)
Kicking Myself In The Ass (stilettodiaries.blogspot.com)
Life with an Easy Girlfriend (hotcouple.co.uk)

Packing for a Spanking Shoot (adelehaze.com)
Wearing Your Inner Vixen (tinastrangeworld.blogspot.com)

Announcements and Sex Politics
Britney Spears Pro-Life Statue (spiritsex.blogspot.com)
Jorge Rivas (sugarpit.com)
New Book Review (cakenyc.com)

More Sugasm…
Join the Sugasm

I've been thinking of all the odd euphemisms people come up with for our private parts. And then thinking about the combinations you can make with those nicknames that can really take you out of the moment and make you think, "huh," rather than "ooooohhhh." Terms that don't quite mix right when you put 'em together. Or that sound funny. Or that sound just scary, scary wrong.

For instance:

• Put your snake in my pussy (yrrooowwwl..."No animals were harmed in the making of this porno; only kitties over the age of 18 with no gag reflex were used.")
• Wiener in a hair pie (dare you to bring this one to the office potluck)
• His ding-dong between her chi-chis (Charo lives!)
• He took his heat-seeking missle and aimed it straight at the man in the boat ("Department of Homeland Security, we're at Code Red")
• The one-eyed wonder worm invades the Mound of Venus (think I actually saw this one once on "Mystery Science Theater 3000")

Don't be afraid to be creative. Complex sentences full of perverse sexual deviance and freaky nicknames of all varieties are heartily encouraged. Nothing is too bizarre. Wow me.

The challenge is raised! Don't let me down, people. I could use a good laugh.

But I do have a personal dream theory. The theory is that I've never really "accepted" something or someone as an integral part of me or my life, or as something I belong to, until I dream it. Often when I move to a new place, I don't dream it at all for quite a while. Instead I dream of other places I've lived. But when that place finally shows up in my dream world, I know I now belong there. When I dream a friend, or a lover, I know they've crossed over the threshold from being just someone I know to being someone who's truly important to me.

(As an aside: I've just suddenly realized I've never dreamed where I live now, despite living here almost six years. That should tell me something, huh?)

Anyway, last night, I had a dream about my blog. A very surreal dream, but clearly about my blog nonetheless. So I guess that means I now feel it's a part of me. I'm a blogger. How odd.

The dream relates to all of you too, though, so I figured I'd share.

In this dream, it was apparently possible to "feel" the essence of a blog. Each blog had a different "environment" or "atmosphere" assigned to it--and instead of reading it, you stepped into that atmosphere and felt it all around you, and that's how you absorbed what the person was saying to you in it.

Turned out in the dream, if you clicked on my blog, its atmosphere was a bed of fresh, green spring grass. You know, that vibrant, new, thick green carpet you just want to throw yourself down on. And as you lay down on it, you feel it crunching underneath you as it gives way, cool, and slightly moist, taking you in, absorbing your shape. Smelling clean, new, full of promise. And you just want to lay there forever. It was actually like a bed of grass, come to think of it. When I woke up in the middle of the night after dreaming this, the first thing it made me think of was that grass bed they had in the film Secretary. It was just like that; both something you've felt before, since you were a kid and therefore comforting, but also something new, not everyday, and very sensual.

So, not too bad, if that's what my blog's atmosphere would be like if it came alive. Nice dream. I've been imagining lying down in my blog grass all day. It's really nice. And I just wanted to say, feel free to come lay down next to me any time.

"...every motion and every spear of grass and the frames and spirits of men and women and all that concerns them are unspeakably perfect miracles all referring to all and each distinct and in its place. It is also not consistent with the reality of the soul to admit that there is anything in the known universe more divine than men and women." --Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass

I packed up my car. I wanted to stock it full of everything that had meaning to me, so I would be able to surround myself with the things I loved when I arrived at my new home. Turned out a lot of things had meaning to me. My whole car was filled up, and then I had to attach one of those bubble things to the roof to add more. My family helped me pack. When I was done, I went happily on my way, watching them get smaller and smaller behind me as they waved goodbye.

I drove from daylight into evening, and then when it had been dark for a good number of hours and I'd started to get tired, I pulled into a budget motel for the night, in a place I'd never been before. I'd call it a big town, but the people who live there call it a city. I went to a chain restaurant next door for dinner. I grabbed my travel case and headed in to my room for a good sleep before heading out the next day.

I woke up in the morning, got dressed, and went down to the parking lot. I stood there for a minute, unbelieving. My car was gone. Everything I owned and loved was gone. Everything.

Try to imagine this. You're standing there in an empty parking lot, and all you now own are about four pieces of clothing, a pair of shoes, and a toothbrush.

ALL your clothes are gone. Your photographs. Your favorite music (hundreds and hundreds of cds), and your stereo to go with it. Your favorite books. Your favorite earrings, rings, or what have you.

I lost that, and more. All my favorite clothing, both the comfortable and the sexy. Letters from old friends and lovers. A stuffed animal I'd had since birth, that my family had chosen specially for me while I was still in the womb. Special gifts from friends that meant everything in the world to me. Keepsakes from family members who had passed on. Every single journal I'd written in from grade school through adulthood, documenting every memory and emotion I've ever experienced in my life. Every non-human thing I have ever loved, gone. Things I could never, ever get back or replace.

I couldn't even process it. I went blank. I started shaking uncontrollably. When I got that somewhat under control, I went to the front desk. I told the hotel manager what happened, and he laughed at me. He laughed. And he said, smirking, that he was sorry, but he had no control over what happened in his parking lot. It became more than evident from his attitude and responses that he was probably involved in some way. I suggested the least he could do was refund my money for my night's stay, given my inconvenience and my extreme financial loss which had occurred on his premises. It couldn't have been more than $30. It wouldn't have broken him. He laughed at me again and refused. When I got angry at his behavior, he called the police and had me forcibly removed from his property. When the police came, I told the them what had happened. They didn't care. They made me leave, and didn't say a word to the hotel manager. They protected him, not me. They treated me like I was the criminal.

The police couldn't have cared less about my theft, but they suggested I wait 24 hours in town after that, just in case the car showed up abandoned somewhere in town. I went to another hotel and sat there, with my four pieces of clothing and a toothbrush. I called home to let them know what had happened. And when I finally got someone, I found out my father had just been rushed to the hospital for an emergency quadruple bypass, and no one was sure whether he was going to make it or not.

What was your reaction when you just read that story? If you were going to say something back to me, what would you have said?

I've told this story numerous times over the years. It no longer affects me. It's just a story that's happened in my past. But it affects the people I tell it to, every time. Everyone is always instantly horrified. They tell me it's the worst thing they have ever heard. They tell me they can't imagine how I got through that day. They ask me how I ever got over it. They ask me if it still bothers me now. They often look like they want to hug me, even though I don't look upset anymore when I tell the story. Some do hug me. They shake their heads in disbelief and say they can't figure out how they would ever get over something like that. They spit venom out at whomever the person or people were who stole my belongings, and at that asshole of a hotel manager. They get extreme about it. They call them names, they suggest all kinds of cruel punishment for them. They ask me if I ever got any of my stuff back, if the theives ever got caught. And back when it had just happened, everyone asked me how they could help. They also ask me about my dad's surgery, if he survived (he did), and how I got through dealing with that when I was all alone, with nothing, in a strange state.

Was your imagined response similar to any of the above?

When I was a teenager, I was sexually assaulted.

What was your response to that?

Because it should have been the same. But I bet for some of you it wasn't.

When I tell random people about my car, they react as described above. When I tell people about my assault, they generally act nothing like this. They most often try to run away, or make me shut up about it. It's "too much information"--it's stepping out of the comfort zone. It's letting a dirty secret out into the light. You get the sense the person wants to say, "Why would you tell me this? What can I do about it now? What do you want from me, telling me this?"

I'm going to say this now for myself. And maybe I'll take a little liberty and assume I can say it for all sexual assault survivors. I'm saying it to any of you out there who have had or will have someone tell you they were sexually assaulted.

What do we assault survivors want from you when we tell you this information? Read carefully:

All I want is to be able to talk about my assault openly, the way I can about my car story. All I want is for you to respond to me about it the same way you would about my car story. Show sympathy for me. Show outrage for the crime committed. Ask if I'm okay, and if the crime has been very recent, ask if there's anything you can do to help. Ask how I managed to recover. Ask any of the things I listed above for the car story.

With the car story, people believe me right away. No one ever even stops for a second to wonder if I've possibly made it up. No one asks me pointedly why I stopped at the motel for the night in the first place. No one suggests I'm tellng the story to tarnish the reputation of the motel chain I stayed at. They never suggest that the fact that I walked into that motel of my own choice meant that I was asking to get robbed. They don't ask why I didn't yell a little louder at the hotel manager or the police officer. They don't ask me if I am sure my car was stolen, rather than merely misplaced. They don't ask for in-depth explanations of every item that was stolen and then question whether my theft "counted" as much as other thefts where more expensive cars and belongings had been taken. They don't ask if I had done something to deliberately piss the theives off, so that they stole my car over someone else's. They never push me to describe exactly what inflection the hotel manager used when speaking to me, or exactly how tightly the policeman put his hand around my arm when he escorted me off the property--it doesn't even occur to them that those details were necessary--it's simply enough for them to hear that it happened. They don't wonder if the way the car looked made it my fault that it got stolen. They'd never think to tell me that because I only got robbed once, it wasn't such a big deal, and that I shouldn't make such a big case out of it. They never say because it happened years ago that it shouldn't affect me anymore and I should just get over it and forget about it. They don't suggest that because I wasn't held at gun point when the car was stolen that it didn't count as a theft.

And certainly, whenever I walk up to someone and say, "A while back my car was stolen with all my stuff in it," they never look freaked out and don't want to talk about it. They never say or act like, "Whoa, too much information, there!" They're not at a loss for how to respond. They're not afraid it's something that's "too sensitive" to talk about.

So, again, when I tell you I've been sexually assaulted, let me. And just treat me the same as you would if I told you about the car.

Because when boiled down, they are both the same, you know. Some fucker took advantage of me, and committed a crime while doing so. Period.

So why is it my car story considered appropriate and acceptable to tell any time, anywhere, while my assault story is not? Why should the loss of my car receive more spontaneous expressions of sympathy than my assault? Why should it be so difficult for people to treat both the same way?

***April is National Sexual Assault Awareness Month.

In recognition of that, I'm going to (probably) do a number of posts on the topic this month. I know it's not your standard sex talk, but it's relevant and it's important. I'm only just learning myself how relevant and important it is to have a voice on this issue.

So, despite it not being a "sexy" sex-related topic, I'm going to be talking about it. If that's not your thing, there's plenty of other good reading on my links lists on the right. But I hope some of you will stick around and read it.

If not, well, if it helps just one person who's been assaulted to deal with their own experience, or helps even one person learn how to step up when someone who has been assaulted confides in them, then that's all I care about.

And if you read any of these posts and find it brings up any upsetting memories of your own, please don't struggle with those alone. Go talk to someone--preferably a professional in your local area with expertise in working with assault survivors, but if not, call the National Sexual Assault Hotline at 1.800.656.HOPE. It's free, confidential, and open 24/7. (Sorry, that number is in the US only. I wish I knew ones for other countries, but maybe readers can share hotline numbers for their own countries.)***

In the meantime, I confess that I'm just too obsessed with personality tests. I blame Artful Dodger for sucking me in to this one (and he blames Evil Minx for sucking him in).

So, according to my PersonalDNA, I'm a "considerate inventor."

And, in case you ever sat around wondering, "Hm, I wonder what Miss Syl would look like if I were to take her, suck out her very life essence and then pack it into little wee boxes" well, stop thinking about sucking my essence and get the hell out of the house, you perv today you're in luck. You can roll over each of the boxes below to reveal all my little secrets. At least, what all my secrets are according to this test.

Heh. It says I have "very high femininity, openness, and empathy." Man, that makes me sound way too girlie, doesn't it? Well, maybe openness makes it a little less so...

Oh, and I got very high spontaneity. Which is both true, and good (in my opinion).

All the rest:

You are a considerate inventor

You are an Inventor

Your imagination, self-reliance, openness to new things, and appreciation for utility combine to make you an INVENTOR. You have the confidence to make your visions into reality, and you are willing to consider many alternatives to get that done. The full spectrum of possibilities in the world intrigues you—you're not limited by pre-conceived notions of how things should be. Problem-solving is a specialty of yours, owing to your persistence, curiosity, and understanding of how things work. Your vision allows you to identify what's missing from a given situation, and your creativity allows you to fill in the gaps. Your awareness of how things function gives you the ability to come up with new uses for common objects. It is more interesting for you to pursue excitement than it is to get caught up in a routine. Although understanding details is not difficult for you, you specialize in seeing the bigger picture and don't get caught up in specifics. You tend to more proactive than reactive—you don't just wait for things to come to you. You're not afraid to let your emotions guide you, and you're generally considerate of others' feelings as well. You tend to do things on the spur of the moment, not sticking to a set schedule. You do your own thing when it comes to clothing, guided more by practical concerns than by other people's notions of style. Generally, you believe that you control your life, and that external forces only play a limited role in determining what happens to you.

You are Considerate

You trust others, care about them, and are slow to judge them, making you CONSIDERATE. You value your close relationships very much, and are more likely to spend time in small, tightly-knit groups of friends than in large crowds. You enjoy exploring the world through observation, quietly watching others. Relating to others so well, and understanding their emotions, leads you to trust people in general, even though you're somewhat shy and reserved at times. Your belief that people are generally well-intentioned contributes to your sympathy regarding their problems. Although you may not vocalize it often, you have an awareness of how society affects individuals, and you understand complex causes of people's behavior. You like to look at all sides of a situation before making a judgment, particularly when that situation involves important things in other people's lives. Your close friends know you as a good listener.

Hm. Does it sound like me?

Minx and Art got different kinds of creator. Somehow that sounds more interesting to me than inventor. Though I suppose the two words aren't all that different, really. Except "inventor" to me sounds like I'm holding a test tube and standing next to a Bunsen burner.

If you want to try it yourself and tell me what you got, you can try it out here.

So let's say you're a woman, the intended readership for this magazine. The model is in lingerie, draped over a bed, staring directly outward.

Now, women, answer this question: When you first looked at the photo, who did you think she was looking at? You? Or someone else?

She's clearly sexy, and in a vulnerable position. She's waiting for something. Did you think she was waiting for you?

The largest audience for women's fashion magazines is made up of straight women under 45 years of age. So why the titillating, submissive images? Does W want to seduce straight women with other women? Is it a plot to subject all women to subordination? Or is there something else going on?

There's a fascinating (and fun) online essay by a semiotics professor at the University of Vermont called "This is Not Sex" that puts these questions and images under the magnifying glass, and his end analysis may be different than you'd think. I'd summarize his conclusions here, but given the nature of how he sets up the essay with photos and text, I'd be ruining a lot of the effect. The points are far more effectively made if you click through the essay from start to finish.

Check it out, and let me know what you think.

(And thanks to Metafilter for turning me on to it.)

You know, I was having a day. Walking around, thinking, why the hell am I writing a blog?

There was the usual writer's fear involved. You know that "I reached the end of the Internet" joke? It's like that: what if some day, some week I finish some post and realize, "That's it." I don't have a single original thought left. I got to the core, and the core is empty. You know now that your entire brain and creative being has a shelf life of...(fill in any time frame here).

And then there was the issue of wondering if I really have anything to say that's worthwhile to anyone else. I'd started meaning to make this a discussion group on more theoretical issues related to sexuality. I hadn't meant for this blog to include anything personal, but now sometimes it does. Does that diminish its purpose? I hadn't meant for it to have a post like this, either, but now it does. And I worry about the tightrope I've now stepped out onto--does it mean that the blog is just themeless and unstructured? Am I straddling the line between giving too much of myself to be comfortable and too little of myself to be useful to anyone? Am I just a frigging coward?

I wasn't going to post any of this, even though I was thinking it all day. I wasn't going to post anything. I get kind of annoyed when bloggers post those "maybe I'll just bag it all" entries. It always feels like they're begging for compliments--please, someone, love me. I'm not posting this to beg for compliments or to get you to beg me to continue (if anyone even would do that, which I have no reason to believe, of course).

I'm only posting because it turns out now it makes a good story. There I was, having a day, wondering why don't I just stop, is this thing of any use to me, or to anyone, really, etc., etc. Thinking maybe the wisest thing to do would be to stop hiding in the electronic world behind a pseudonym and just get out there in the trenches and work solely on my outside life, which lately has needed some serious repair work, and which I am doing, though slowly.

So yeah, I was walking around like that, feeling the whole endeavor was useless. And then I looked at my stats and came across this post someone wrote today.

Sometimes timing is everything. Thanks, Amber.

___________

And, for what it's worth (if it's worth anything), here are just some little snippets that are also on my mind, because I can't seem to focus on more serious topics today:

• I've been blogging for 3 months now. I've had 22,000-plus unique visitors. I am actually so new at this, I have no idea if that's an impressive number or not. I mean, it's impressive to me, but is that a lot for your first three months? Some of you more experienced bloggers might be able to tell me.
• I took a "restorative yoga" class today and it was...actually restorative. Which is a very good thing. I'm going back.


• In the food porn category: I've discovered a new cheese passion that I need to proselytize about. Lemon Stilton (it's the one on the lower right). It's white Stilton cheese, with pieces of lemon peel infused into it. White Stilton is not like the more famous Stilton blue cheese (it's immature, and I'm guessing mold-free, and hence not all bluey-tasting). It's creamy and sort of tangy, but has a mild smoothness to its finish. And the lemon rind adds all this pungence and sweetness to the cheese that makes it taste exactly like an amazing piece of lemon cheesecake, but without all the sugar. Mmmmm. You must, must, must try this.


• Remember how in this post, I chose an orchid for myself? I recant. I was passing a whole bunch of orchids on my way into Whole Foods (where I found the Lemon Stilton, by the way), and man, those things are all flowery stanky. I hate perfume-y flowers. So if I'm still going to be an orchid, it has to be a vanilla orchid. That, I like.

>>Testify, Lili!<<

The woman speaks the truth, people. ("Right, girls?")

So, more significant stuff tomorrow, I think. Happy Friday night, all. Go get some of whatever it is you want, and gimme a little bit of that, too.

(Photo credit: HDR Birdgate from Automatt. And thanks to The Man Himself for the musical hosting bail-out.)

According to Scientific American, in the continuum of gayness (and yes, Virginia, there is a continuum of gayness), I am "heterosexual, with homosexual tendencies." Though I will comfort any of my (many, many, oh SO many) disappointed lesbian readers with the fact that I scored a five, which means I am just one tiny point away from being "equally heterosexual and homosexual."

How gay are you?

And thanks to the equally heterosexual/homosexual guy at ThinkNaughty for pointing the way.

I’m also sure that when those cases come up, you've often heard people ask, “If this really happened to her, why did it take her fifteen years to step forward? Why didn’t she report it right away?” If you’re really honest, maybe a few of you will even admit the thought has at least crossed your own minds from time to time.

This is not a statement of blame. Because I thought the same thing about those women.

It wasn’t that I didn’t necessarily believe their stories. I would defend these women publicly, insisting no one would go through the agony of exposing themselves to court proceedings, having her sexual history become public record, and facing public scorn and ridicule just for financial gain, or to "get some attention." But secretly, I wondered: Why had it taken her so long? And I often got frustrated about how much more of a liability these women were to the getting people to take “real” (read, immediate) sexual assault issues seriously.

Yes, I thought somewhere deep down that an immediate accusation of assault was more “real,” or deserved more merit, than an accusation decades after the fact.

So, again, this is not a statement of blame. It’s an explanation.

Because, I find now that I am one of those women.

I mentioned in this post a few days ago that I was sexually assaulted as a teenager. Would you believe me if I told you I had no idea this was so until almost 20 years later?

It’s true.

For years as an adult, I would go to “Take Back the Night” protests. I did it to support other women who had been raped. That’s what I thought. I would read or hear sexual assault statistics in the news. And I would think, with no sense of discomfort or irony, “I’m just so lucky that has never happened to me.”

You might think it was because I had blocked the memory. Not true. I hadn't forgotten or buried the events of what happened to me in my subconscious. I remembered the entire thing. I just didn’t give it a name. It was a small, gnawing, uneasy spot of memory with no label affixed.

And hence, I was completely, utterly clueless. Even long after I should have known better.

So, now I’m one of those women I wondered about. The one who’s only able to name what happened to her so far after the fact that everyone around her wonders why she's even bothering. And I now understand who that woman is, and why she waited, and why she's even bothering.

But this piece today, I’m writing just to tell you and everyone out there that the woman isn’t lying because she brought it up so late in the game. And she isn't bringing it up "at her convenience" for some kind of dramatic effect or gain.

Like me, she may simply not have realized what happened to her.

Sexual assault is almost never as cut-and-dry as people think. We have our friend Senator Napoli telling us in that now infamous news clip that assault means being "brutally raped, savaged...sodomized as bad as you can possibly make it." Though we'd prefer to vilify him and call his view an aberration, and though he was certainly disturbingly extreme in his description, in truth, his viewpoint is not so far off the mark from what many people unconsciously define "real" assault as. Because despite what we’re told over and over again, that’s what people usually think makes it "real," what counts as proof. If there are marks, if there are bruises and scratches. If there’s an alley, and a stranger, and a weapon, and a struggle, and a penis forced into an orifice, then, and only then, it counts as a "real" assault.

And so if you’re assaulted, and none of these things happen to you, often no one will believe you were really assaulted. And more to my point today, often you won’t even believe it yourself.

Of course, real truth is that that list of conditions above is RARELY the case in most sexual assaults. Only a tiny percentage of assault survivors sustain serious physical injuries. Weapons are rarely present. The assaulter is rarely a stranger in an alley. Far more frequently the assaulter is someone the person knows, making the victim less guarded, and more confused about how to respond when things suddenly turn ugly. The situation is rarely 100 percent spontaneous. It's often deliberately set up ahead of time, so the person who is assaulted is less likely to be believed.

But these details, while not completely unknown, still don't loom large in the public consciousness. In the end, it's only the victim who's been beaten mercilessly by a stranger and reports it immediately that gets our full, unquestioned belief.

And then there are those who are assaulted not only by people they know, but by people in roles that most others have difficulty believing could be capable of perpetrating such an act. A priest, for instance, or a parent, or a lover, husband, or wife. Or, in my case, a well-respected doctor.

If, for instance, a parent tells you what he or she is doing to you is a good thing, that he or she loves you for doing it—well, is it any wonder that the person who’s being assaulted may not be able to put a label on what has happened to her or him until many, many years later? Or let's use an example of a sexually active adult. Let's say you're getting physical with someone you actually like—someone you’ve chosen to be with, maybe even someone you’ve had sex with before--and suddenly a boundary is crossed before you had time to figure out what was going on. Might you not possibly convince yourself what happened to you wasn’t what it actually was? Might you not put a blank spot on the event, the way I did?

In all these cases, might it not take you years before you realized what had really happened? Might it not take even longer for you to get brave enough to stand up and tell it to the world, knowing you are going to face the same doubt, denial, confusion, and even anger that you've used against yourself for all this time?

Something to think about the next time those questions at the beginning of this post come up, in any context.

More another day.

(Photo credit: day goes by by Simon Pais)

Pornocracy: Government by harlots/prostitutes.

Yes, it's real. And yes, there's actually a historical precedent to the term, though it's somewhat misleading.

But I mean, hell...who couldn't get behind that kind of government? And under it, and over it, and...

And then there's also strumpetocracy. Rule by strumpets.

I'm dying to make a joke about the Whorehouse of Representatives, but that's just too damn awful, isn't it?

By the way, if you're looking to figure out what government you're going to have when you rule the universe, you can pick from a handy selection here.

I'm torn between whether the US is currently a diabolocracy or a foolocracy. Hm.

_____

Update: And speaking of harlots--

Your Lucky Underwear Is Red

You're confident and bold, and your lucky red underwear will only make you more sure of yourself. You have a great zest for life, and you tend to take on impossible goals - and succeed. When it comes to love, it's hard for you to take the time to open up. You're too busy conquering the world. So if you're looking for a little more romance, put on your red underpants. And see where their passion takes you!

Brought to my strumpet's eye by that brazen hussy Blue Gal. I must stop falling prey to these damn test-taking impulses! (As if that's going to happen.)

SUGASM #29

The best of the sex blogs by the bloggers who blog them.

Sex Toy Reviews/Sex Advice
Featured Article - Hit Me With Your Best Shot (part 2) (seskuality.com)
How To Ejaculate - For Women (shayssexcolumn.blogspot.com)

XTC Pleasure Curve (sin.typepad.com/shauna_by_night)

Solo Girl
The Incomparable Beauty Of Marketa Belonoha By The Sea (thesexblog.com)
Kele Ward Sexy Cowgirl (eroticandy.blogspot.com)
Kyla shot by Abby Winters (iloveabbywinters.com)
Oh My - What has Annie done (sensualarousalblog.com)

Bridgete, Darlene and a strap-on on Sapphic Erotica (simply-sapphicerotica.com)

Hardcore
She Got Pimped Review (internetisforporn.com)

Personal Porn
HNT - Damn Good Weekend (sabrinainstockings.com)
Performing (sexyukgirl.blogspot.com)
Where Did the Weekend Go? (drtycplinva.blogspot.com)

Sex Work

Happy Blogaversary (I’m Baaack…) (talkingdirtyblog.com)
Top Ten Lies Strippers Tell (tinastrangeworld.blogspot.com)

Erotic Writing
Cum Machine (Part 1) (rendezvous-romance.blogspot.com)
The Floor, the Fireplace, and the Fuck (taratainton.com)
Fruition (mydreams02.livejournal.com)

It’s Been Seven Years (bikersballsandteacherstits.blogspot.com)
Just A Quickie (stilettodiaries.blogspot.com)
Lost in the moment (gentlygently.blogspot.com)
Retreat. (domequeen.blogspot.com)

Disgraceful, Disturbing, and Plain Bad Form (vagueboy.com)
Don’t shit in my mouth and call it a sundae (ethnorotica.com)
The Passion of the Artist (And the Lover) (cuntinglinguist.blogspot.com)
Room 11 (theholidaylife.blogspot.com)
State of Sex (erotiterrorist.blogspot.com)
This isn’t supposed to happen at Duke, is it? (tgp.com)

V for Vendetta (sugarpit.com)
Violent Porn - Three Perspectives (sugarbank.com)
Women can be sick fucks, too

BDSM and Fetish

BDSM
Complexities of relationships - Choices 6 (masterenigma.blogspot.com)
Enjoying a Spanking Shoot (adelehaze.com)

Half-Nekkid Homemade Flogger (alwaysarousedgirl.blogspot.com)
HNT (spiritsex.blogspot.com)
My New Toys (radicalvixen.com)
Naughty in Florida (thoughtsformymaster.blogspot.com)
Stress Relief (darkside-journey.blogspot.com)
Yummy (angelbrat454.blogspot.com)

Strange? (v-boat.blogspot.com)
The Whisper of Nylon (easilyaroused.co.uk)

Funny
Though he tries to be quiet… (janeluvsdick.com)
You Want to Play With My Laffy Taffy? (4dirtylaundry.blogspot.com)

My Story (thetastetester.com)
Perverts Saloon (nyc-urban-gypsy.blogspot.com)
Tiny Sadists (thegooseandgander.blogspot.com)
Ultimatum (aliferestarted.blogspot.com)

Join the Sugasm

It enrages me when I hear about women whining that a man couldn’t get it up. It happens, honey. Get the fuck over yourself.

You may want to weigh in on whether this theory is in fact true, though in my personal experience, it seems to be so. Men feel they haven't succeeded unless you've come.

Contrast that against the many studies that show that a large percentage of women have trouble orgasming all the time, and some can't orgasm at all, ever. It makes you wonder if, similar to men, women also feel a lot of pressure, and if this is the reason why a "2000 Orgasm Survey" (cited in this article) found that 72 percent of women said they fake orgasms.

Obviously, it's easier for women to fake their arousal than it is for men. Men can't "cover" to avoid hurting the women's feelings. I wonder if they would if they could. And also, it makes me wonder about the pressure to orgasm in the reverse of Steff's discussion. Things like:

• Do straight women these days feel a significant amount of pressure from their men to orgasm during sex? Do they feel guilty if they don't?


• Is this the primary reason orgasms are faked?


• Do men feel a lot of pressure to bring a woman to orgasm? Do they feel a sense of failure if they do not? Do they secretly (or not secretly) feel disappointed, resentful, or less manly if they don't? Do they take it personally?
• Have any women out there experienced a lot of pressure or had the moment totally ruined by a guy's insistence on her having an orgasm, and his pouting and taking it personally if she did not?

What do you think? Is the pressure on both ways now?

For the next few days (until Tuesday), I will be out of town visiting with family and friends. There's pretty much no guarantee of consistent internet connectivity; and even if there is, I may decided to take a rest for a few days anyway. This will probably mean few to no posts. My guess is that I will mostly log in to check email and comments, but won't be writing much on the blog...but you never know. I might surprise you. You'll just have to check back and see.

In the meantime...

1) There are lots of fabulous people in the blogrolls on the right who I encourage you to check out.

2) I'd love to get your opinion on something. The lovely, talented, and always brainy Artful Dodger has generously offered to help me update my blog template if I want to. He's designed a number of blogs lately and does some amazing work.

I think it would be nice to get out of standard blogger template purgatory, but I'm not sure what direction I want to go, exactly. I often admire the fresh, clean look of blogs that are primarily white in background, but I also often think they don't quite "feel" like me. So I'd like some opinions. I tend to gravitate toward the color black. I kind of like the dark, telling secrets kind of mood it gives the blog. And I like the burst of color effect the photos have against the background. But sometimes I think the whole white-on-black thing is too hard on the eyes. What do you think? If I changed color scheme radically, would you feel you weren't "home" anymore? If not, any ideas what you think would make for a nice change? Given my content, what colors do you think I am? Would you like to see a fancy-schmancy banner? Any ideas for the banner? What image reflects a "sexeteria," anyway? How do you embody "food, sex, and spectacle" in a template?

Right now where I live there are loads of magnolias, cherry blossoms, and wisteria in bloom, and it keeps making me think I want a cherry tree on my blog. Pink and white against sky blue, like I see out my window every morning. But that's just SO not like me most of the time. Must have spring fever. And really, thematically, it has nothing to do with this blog. But do I care?

So anyway--ideas and suggestions for either the design or the blog in general? What about the current design do you like/not like?

And if you feel like it, in terms of what you're reading/seeing here every day, what could I be doing better?

In other words, fill in the blank(s):

When I look at your blog, I wish _________________.

or

This blog could use more ______________________.

or

Miss Syl, please, please, please give me _______________________.

I'm still on the road. Things are good (if you don't count the usual annoying things that crop up when part of your visit involves interacting with family). Of interest:

I WON a raffle for two orchestra seats to see Avenue Q last night. At least 100 people's names in a bucket, and they pulled out mine (and five other people's).

I DID NOT WIN the $220 mil Mega Millions jackpot last night. However, no one else won either, so I have decided not to take it personally.

Anyway, on to my question.

Turn out my access to the 'Net is even less than I'd expected, but I found myself just now with a very short pocket of time to check my email, and also peek at my Technorati results, where I found this. Now, she's copied my entire post, word for word, including the graphic AND some of your comments. She's even titled her post my post's title. However, before she did this massive copy-and-paste, she does at least mention my blog, and link to the original post.

Because of that last thing, and because I'm kind of new to blogging, I don't know if this would really "count" as a breach of etiquette or not. Maybe some of you more experienced bloggers can tell me what you think? I mean, it's not plagiarism. She hasn't claimed it's her work, like that chick who was stealing AlwaysArousedGirl's and others' stuff. But is it generally considered okay to copy an entire article AND comments and post it on your own blog? Seems to me I've only seen people take a small excerpt at most and then link to the original post.

Mind you, I'm always pleased to have someone refer to something I wrote as interesting, and to link to it. That's not what's bothering me. But this feels like it's crossing some kind of line to me. Am I overreacting?

Estimated time of arrival 9:30 a.m. Been up before the sun and now I'm tired before I even begin. (Now you're flying)

I got so much work in front of me,
(Really flying)
It stretches out far as the eye can see.
I can see.

Spend half my life in airports doing crosswords and attempting to sleep,
And when the bar is open then you'll often find me warming a seat.
(Now you're flying)
I never find a place where I can stay

(Really flying)
I'd rather be a thousand miles away.
A thousand miles away.

So, yesterday I spent most of my day driving back to where I currently live. Driving away from people from my past.

I do a lot of that.

I moved to the city I’m in now about five-and-a-half years ago. That’s a record for me—it’s the longest I’ve lived in any one locale since I was 18. But even so, I've moved house three times. And even now, I think about moving away from this place entirely at least once a day.

When some people want a change after a few years, they get a new haircut. Me, I move.

There are benefits to having a strong tendency toward wanderlust. You see things others never even knew existed. You learn new ways of seeing, speaking, tasting. Your personal lexicon continues to grow. You gather good stories. You meet people who make your life more than it once was. You grow more open, more sensitive to the world around you, and to its needs.

And you get to start over, again and again.

I’m the queen of beginnings. I love the start of everything. Opening a hardcover book and smelling that new book smell. Hearing the opening strains to your favorite song as it comes on the radio at just the right time. The first swell of the orchestra as it hits you at the in a theater. The feel of getting into a bed made with fresh, crisp, new sheets. Staring at a beautiful, mouth-watering dish that’s been placed in front of you, placing that fork into it for that first cut, raising it to your mouth, waiting for how good it’s going to taste. A new notebook, full of clean, blank pages to fill. The first rush of attraction to someone. The first time he touches you in a way that’s more than just a touch. The first time he moves toward you and you know that, after all the imagining, in only miliseconds you’re going to know exactly what his mouth feels like against yours.

And of course, I love moving. There’s something so amazing about packing up everything you want to keep, getting rid of all the crap you don’t need, and moving toward something new, light and hopeful, with new things to look forward to.

My family have never been big movers. When my parents chose to move an hour and 15 minutes away from the city of their (and my) birth, the rest of my extended family responded to the news like they’d announced they were moving to Siberia. Needless to say, my own mobility around the country and the globe is not genetically programmed. And most of my friends, though many were travelers at one point, have now decided to settle down and have families, and stay in one place. I don’t see this as a bad choice at all. Just not a choice I’ve been able to make myself so far.

Why do I keep moving? I’m not sure. Maybe I’m just into change, and as I’ve always told others, “I have a high stagnation rate.” I get bored quickly. I want new things, new sensations.

Or maybe I keep looking for the perfect place where I “fit.” I’ve not really found that place yet. I’ve found places where I fit with the people, but not the surroundings or my job. Places where I fit with my job and my surroundings but hate the people. Places where I fit in the spring and summer, but not in the fall and winter.

When I’m in a small town, I want a big city. When I’m in a big city, I want a small university town. When I’m in America for too long, I miss the rush of living in a new country and learning the culture. When I’m in a new country, I eventually feel I need to go home to be not so far away from other friends and family.

So I keep moving, and leaving places and people behind. I wonder if my friends who have chosen the long, long middle instead of the many beginnings are happier or feel more settled than I do. I wonder if I’d just decided to bite the bullet and stay still in a place that wasn’t perfect, but wasn’t horrible, if I’d be more or less happy than I am now. I honestly can’t say. The people I know who have stayed in place don’t seem unhappy, necessarily. They certainly have more sense of permanence and security, at least in terms of accruing property and possessions, than I do. But most don’t seem to be decidedly happier than I am, either.

The irony is, of course, this: You might travel to find that place you “fit.” And yet, as you’re doing that, you’re continually leaving all that is familiar to you. And while you’re away, those familiar places and those people change, too, even though they’re staying in place. So when you get back, nothing is exactly the way you left it, or exactly the person you remember. Which means you don’t quite “fit” there or with them anymore, either.

But still, even when you know this; even when it’s become perfectly clear to you that you’re exponentially increasing the list of people and places you will love and miss; and that when you go back to visit those people and places, you’ll end up missing the memory of them that you thought you were missing…even then, you will still yearn for the new beginning. Something new, something that won’t stagnate.

So you keep moving.

And sometimes you’re sure your life will be richer for it.

And sometimes you think maybe you’re just not built to fit anywhere, and that’s your fate.

(Now you're flying) I'm told I'm going places - who can say ? (Really flying) I might arrive but I'll be gone the very next day.

I must be on my way.
A thousand miles away.

Promised to myself someday I'd take the time and try to make sense
Out of all those opportunities I've lost from trying to sit on the fence
(Now you're flying)
But right now I've got no time for yesterday
(Really flying)
Yesterday's a thousand miles away.

A thousand miles away.

The tiny, dark, dive of a club is filled, even though it’s a Wednesday night. No one knows it exists, except for everyone who matters. It exists only for us. It is our home away from home. We know every corner of it, every doorman, bouncer, bartender, DJ, musician, artist, writer, eccentric. We know the taste of every bottle glowing out at us from the bar. We know who to talk to to get certain things that will lift us up in certain ways. We know who to avoid to keep us from getting down in certain ways. We know every record and CD that can spin in this world, and we know every emotion that lies behind ever live guitar riff. We feel every opening note, every shake of the bass, every swell of a bridge with our very souls. This place, it’s our escape, our true family. Our refuge of freaks, our inner landscape made corporeal, full of sound and desire and madness and movement. And in it, we are safe. Safe from the outside world, the stares, the disappointments, the normalcy, the mundanity, the cruelty.

Dina and I walk up to the bar, which is three-deep in people waiting for drinks, but which somehow parts for us as the bartender gestures. Men shift their bodies to let us through. And they watch us, the men. And we know. We can feel it, all the eyes, pressing in, but we’re choosing not to acknowledge it. We know they’re watching as the bartender walks past others with their $20s fully extended and waving, watching as he ignores them all in order to bring us two free glasses full of expensive, hard something-or-other. They’re watching as we look knowingly at each other and lift our chins up to the sky, extend our sleek throats and pour the fire into us. They watch as we look back down, faces flushed, smiling radiantly—but never at them, only at each other—as the bartender comes back with two pints of something-or-other else to let us smooth it all out inside.

And then the song starts up. We hear the first little-girl/grown-woman wail, like we’ve heard it so many times before.

And Dina grabs me and we run, following the girl’s voice to the dance floor. We push into our little spot, the one that always is there for us, and the girl/woman is singing:

feel it burn you stick in the knife and i feel it turn but i will laugh sooner or later it’ll pass

it.
makes.
no.

difference.
oh it makes
it makes no difference to me.

i…
feel nothing at all

how many times
do I have to say

this is not for you
i push and i shove
without a hint of love,
this is not for you.

it. makes. no.

difference.
oh it makes
it makes no difference to me.

i…

i…
feel nothing at all.

i’m watching you

there’s good and bad in everyone
and what I see
it makes no difference to me

What we do is pretend the eyes aren’t there. What we do is pretend we’re safe and that the whole world is like it is in here, where if anyone tries to hurt us, an enormous bouncer will be at our side in an instant, throwing that asshole across the room and banning them from our lives forever.

In here the staring, the cruelty, the status quo, the things that have made us into the freaks we think we are…in here, none of it matters. In here, we burn and shine so hot, no one can look at us for long. In here, we are Maenads, beautiful and dangerous, the drink and the music and the dance filling our bodies with an ecstasy so fierce that any man who crosses our path will be ripped to shreds.

And so they watch; they can’t look away. But they dare not approach. And as long as we are in here, as long as we keep dancing and the music keeps going, we know we are untouchable. We are fierce and formidable, we love no one and no one can get in, get under, or get inside. We are safe here, and strong, in the dark.

And we are mouthing the words together as the singer chants with us…

i…
feel nothing
feel nothing
feel nothing
feel nothing…

Now there are loads of love songs out there. And there are a lot of good breakup songs, too. But what about "I'm stuck in a miserable relationship" songs? You just don't see a lot of those. Guess it's not something that inspires most people to sing. Go figure.

But there actually are a few excellent examples of this rare and elusive musical genre. For instance:

Luna's "Slash Your Tires"

No point in screamin'
Cause I'm only dreamin'
That you came to pieces
And I came in peace
[...]
And in my dreams I slash your tires
And in my dreams I set these fires
And all your fears, it's nothing new
And all your tears, they won't help you

Dynamite Hack's "Anyway"

So here we are stuck in hell
Same old game we know it well
I don't mind...anyway
Spark it up and numb me on and off again

Oh what the hell
I don't mind...anyway

Been sittin' here have another beer
I'm drunk but I want some anyway
I just don't care enough about you
So fuck you anyway

[...leading up to the brilliant line...]

I just don't care enough about this to make the effort to show you that I care enough to try to get you back in bed with me

Blur's "Fool"

Sorry
But I'm not really listening
I've got my mind

On something else
And sometimes I wonder if I'm here
If I'm here at all
I know that you want me to go
Don't you
But it's not as easy as it seems

I know that you think I'm not here at all
But I'm just as fed up as you

And the absolute, stunning topper of all "miserable fucking relationship" songs:
The Mountain Goat's "No Children"

I hope I cut myself shaving tomorrow
I hope it bleeds all day long

Our friends say it's darkest before the sun rises
We're pretty sure they're all wrong
I hope it stays dark forever
I hope the worst isn't over
And I hope you blink before I do
Yeah I hope I never get sober
And I hope when you think of me years down the line
You can't find one good thing to say
And I'd hope that if I found the strength to walk out

You'd stay the hell out of my way
I am drowning
There is no sign of land
You are coming down with me
Hand in unlovable hand
And I hope you die
I hope we both die

Ah, sweet, eternal love...

But that's about all I could come up with. Any others you can think of?

Sixty-nine facts about me:

1. I’m a book junkie. If you were to walk into my home, you’d be hard pressed to say which I have more of at this point: books or sense. (Certainly, though, if I had any financial sense I wouldn’t have bought all those books.)

2. Some favorite authors: Don Delillo, Dostoyevski, Jane Austen, James Joyce, Irvine Welsh, early Tom Robbins, Margaret Atwood, Francesa Lia Block, Roddy Doyle

3. I also like graphic novelists/cartoonists. Some of my favorites: Daniel Clowes, Adrien Tomine, Neil Gaiman, Jessica Abel, Andrew Martin & Jaime Hewlett, and Art Spiegelman.

4. When I feel like things in my life (or my home) are getting too messy or too out of control, the first thing I do is cut my nails. I have no idea why.

5. I have the world’s greatest bed, and the best bedding in the universe. And no, you can’t have proof of this unless you earn it…and that is no easy task.

6. I’ve had a drag queen straddle me, press my face into her false bosom, and sing Prince’s “Sexy Motherfucker” to me in front of a live audience.

7. I am also a film junkie. I tend toward indie films, but not exclusively. It’s almost impossible to pick favorites but here are a few I never tire of: Trust (Hal Hartlely), Magnolia, Withnail and I, Harold and Maude, When the Cat’s Away (Chacun cherche son chat), Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Head, just about everything Jim Jarmusch has ever made (until Coffee and Cigarettes), a bunch of early stuff by Mike Leigh and John Waters, Rock ‘n’ Roll High School (the original with the Ramones), London Kills Me, Hedwig and the Angry Inch.

8. At a show of his I was at, Iggy Pop once randomly stopped singing in the middle of a song and said, “Hey, how ya doin’?” to me and waited for me to answer before he started up again.

9. I like my wit like I like my vodka martinis: dry, dirty, and with a whole hell of a lot of olives.

10. There is no predictable rule for who I'll find sexy. In general, the more I like what you've got going on inside, the hotter I'll find you on the outside. Brains, quick wit, passion, a good heart, and a slightly mad-genius glint in the eye beat out stereotypical magazine good looks with none of the above every time. A tiny little dash of well-directed sarcasm and/or irony never hurt, either.

11. So, obviously, I would date Gene Wilder as Willy Wonka in a heartbeat. Assuming he wasn’t fictional.

12. I also have a thing for cool geek boys with glasses.

13. I could read books by the time I was four. Before that, I used to memorize the content on each page of my books and then recite it back exactly page by page, so people thought I was reading when I was much younger.

14. Before I could read, I thought “elemeno” was a letter of the alphabet. You know, sing it: H, I, J, K, Elemeno, P.

15. I also thought that in that old TV show Wild Kingdom the host’s name (Marlin Perkins) was “Mutual of Omaha,” because the voiceover always said “It's Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom,” and immediately Marlin Perkins came on the screen.

16. And, when they started saying “safe for the ozone layer” in deodorant commercials, I thought “the ozone layer” was that animated, pulsing layer of stank lining your underarm that they always showed the aerosol bottle spraying into oblivion.

17. For years I was terrified to drive through graveyards at night because of a scene I saw in the movie version of Fiddler on the Roof.

18. I read Salem’s Lot as a teenager and still have trouble keeping the shades up at night as a result.

19. I’ve run into three people from the original “Real World” series; one of whom seemed to have been really traumatized by the experience.

20. My secret shame: I love lame '80s and '90s teen flicks. I can quote just about every line from Sixteen Candles and The Sure Thing.

21. I am at least partially responsible for helping a now relatively famous comedian-turned-actor get his start at a nationally-recognized level.

22. At one point, I used to believe that long-term passion was not critical to (or even possible in) a mature, very long-term relationship, as long as continual, comfortable affection and respect was there. I now think that’s bullshit. And I also think it is possible to have all three.

23. I’m reasonably relaxed about misspellings over IM and email, but for some reason can not STAND how many people seem to be unable to spell “definitely” (Defanitely?!?!? Argh!), or who don’t know the difference between “loose” and “lose.”

24. This one never used to get to me, but now somehow it now makes me insane when people misuse “literally.” No, your head wasn’t going to literally explode, though if you say “literally” one more time, I’m going to wish it had. And it isn’t necessary for you to literally want to slap me for my snide attitude about your incorrect usage of "literally." Just want to slap me, period.

25. If it’s really true that when you have sex with someone, you are having sex with anyone he or she has ever had sex with, then I have had sex with Sinead O’Connor.

26. I have only one sibling, but a very large extended family.

27. I can’t stand really perfume-y flowers, or really flowery perfume. If I wear a scent at all (and I rarely do), I only like things that smell subtly spicy (vanilla, cinnamon/clove) or really fresh and clean (cucumber, grass, linen).

28. I see no need for a man to wear cologne, but I simply can not get into him if he doesn’t smell right to me. And that includes his saliva odor, not just his body odor. I've got a sensitive nose, and if I'm going to be smelling him on me all day after a good session, I want to enjoy what I'm smelling. On the other hand, if I really like your smell, I'm done for. You can pretty much make me your sex slave.

29. I have lived in seven states and one other country, and have traveled to 11 other countries outside of the US (not counting a one-hour transportation switch in Brussels), and visited a huge number of US states--but never Hawaii or Alaska, both of which I'd like to see.

30. My toes are really flexible. I can pick stuff up with my feet.

31. I actually like the sound of bagpipes.

32. I can sing the entire score of just about any successful Broadway musical from the 1940s-1970s, making me the perfect gay man’s companion to the theatre.

33. I like hard liquor better than I like wine or beer. I also would rather have single malt scotch or a martini over a frou-frou girlie umbrella drink. Alcohol and fruit don’t mix, as far as I’m concerned. The girliest I usually get is vanilla vodka on the rocks.

34. If you’re the entirely shy or silent type during sex, we’re not going to get along.

35. Of all the animals lovers have compared me to, the most frequent one is a cat.

36. The next places on the top of my travel list are Iceland, New Zealand, Japan, the Czech Republic, and pretty much all of Central and South America.

37. I have a goal to have set foot at least once on every continent except Antarctica before I die.

38. I spoke to Maya Angelou on the phone once. She was genuinely as nice as she appears to be only pretending to be in the media. I wanted to hug her in two minutes.

39. Most embarrassing concert confession: Chicago (dragged by friends), followed closely by Flock of Seagulls (an opening band for another, cooler band I really wanted to see).

40. I’m often more attracted to the sidekick than the leading man in films.

41. I’m a good cook, and can make all kinds of dishes, from fancy to plain, but in terms of my simple best: I make some wickedly good Indian food, amazing omelettes, and a kick-ass lemon cheesecake.

42. But it’s my guacamole that has made grown men fall to their knees and beg for more.

43. Oh and for all you MOTs (Members of the Tribe) out there, my mother’s noodle kugel (and now mine) will kick your mother or grandmother’s noodle kugel’s ASS. Don’t challenge me on this one. Others have and have been humiliated.

44. My name is on the acknowledgements page of several books.

45. I’ve listened to the Howard Stern show for over a decade and a half. Everyone I mention this to seems to be entirely shocked by this.

46. My all-time favorite children’s book growing up was Miss Twiggley’s Tree, a story told in rhyme about an eccentric recluse who lived in a tree house and was snubbed by the townspeople for her nonconformity until she saved all their asses in a flood. (No, it wasn’t strangely prescient. Ahem.)

47. I think of all TV couples ever, the most exemplary model of a functional marriage was that of Gomez and Morticia Addams.

48. I’ve actually been called "Morticia" as a nickname (see #52). Which is cool with me, because she’s been one of my role models since I was a kid (along with the Julie Newmar version of Catwoman). On the non-fictional front, I also admire Mae West (read up on her, she was amazing), and work every day to achieve Maevanna.

49. If I could be any female literary character, it would be Molly Bloom. (Or, on a slightly less literary bent, Death from the Sandman series.)

50. Fictional film/book character I’ve been compared to most by friends: Enid from Ghostworld.

51. TV character I think seemed most like me growing up: Lindsey from Freaks and Geeks.

52. I wear black far, far more than the average person, and have been doing so since I was a teenager.

53. I played piano from grade school through high school and then haven’t played it since.

54. As an adult, I’ve experienced what it’s like to be both small- and large-breasted (due to natural means, not surgery). And ladies, neither is better than the other.

55. I’ve always thought Santa was an asshole in Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, and I could never understand why everyone wanted to work for him so badly. I thought Hermey had the right idea. But then I've always been a squeaky cog in the corporate machinery.

56. Though I'd read the book and been fine, I was so terrified of the animated Grinch the first time I saw The Grinch Who Stole Christmas on TV at age six that I never watched the cartoon again until I was 22 years old. And that old NBC retro Christmas special intro jingle they put on before the cartoons every year still gives me the creeps when I hear it.

57. Chocolate is my heroin.

58. Joey Ramone stood next to me at a bar once. I was too intimidated to say anything to him.

59. My voice has been recorded for radio and video.

60. Unusual things I’ve eaten: frog, alligator, snake, buffalo, chicken’s feet/heart/neck/gizzard, sweet breads, uni (not so unusual these days), emu, ostrich, some kind of animal testicle (I’m not sure which, it was in a country where the translation wasn’t clear, although the testicle part was made quite clear), cicada, squab, venison, various kinds of liver, haggis, snails, shad roe.

61. I liked all of the above better than I like green peas, the only vegetable I find repulsive.

62. I also don’t like beef. Not for any health or polticial reasons. I just don’t like the taste or texture of it.

63. I’m also a music junkie. Some favorite bands (though the list could go on forever): Bright Eyes, Radiohead, Pixies, Blur, Ride, Stone Roses, Suede, Jesus and Mary Chain, My Bloody Valentine, lots of other britpop, Ramones, Sigur Ros, Clash, Magnetic Fields, NY Dolls, Tom Waits, The Beatles, Patti Smith, Spiritualized, Luna

64. I’ve lived in a convent, though I was never even close to Catholic, and most of my housemates were male.

65. I’ve worked in a castle. It was less glamorous than it sounds.

66. Beatles ranked by preference, from most favorite to least: John, George, Ringo, Paul. Some days lately Ringo and George switch around.

67. Songs that always cheer me up: “She’s Got a New Spell” and “Sexuality” by Billy Bragg, “She’s Tight” and “Surrender” by Cheap Trick, and “Starfish and Coffee” by Prince.

68. The only song I’d be willing to sing karaoke to: “Papa Was a Rodeo” by the Magnetic Fields.

69. Song I’m most ashamed to admit I like: “Who’s Your Daddy?” by Toby Keith. (Yeah, the man’s a stupid, reactionary, right-wing asshole. But damn, does he have the whole unapologetic, come-hither, honky-tonk, alpha-male, mating call croon down. I can’t help myself. And hell, it’s just a damn catchy tune…stop looking at me! Okay, fine, fine…kill me now.)

Just a little scary.

And I mean, I'm clear on how all these googlers get to me from searching things like "cunnilingus tips" and "blowjob techniques," but how the hell does my blog get referenced as the eighth highest google hit for that?

Back to more regular posting later today.

It is absolutely stunning where I live today--the perfect spring day--sunny, not too warm, not to hot. It rained all day yesterday, so the grass smells fresh and moist, but everything is dry enough to walk and sit on, and everything is temperate and green and scented and full of vibrancy.

I live near a river, in a very old the part the city that can only be described as “Quaint,” with a BIG-ass capital Q. I'm sure the word "Charming" gets thrown around a lot, too. It's the kind of Quaint and Charming tourists flock to in great numbers. And to pander to the tourism, the town council has also generously decided to make the main tourist centre a free and open wifi hotspot.

So picture if you will:

Your bloganatrix, sitting on a park bench with her very sleek silver laptop, surrounded by low hanging leaves, tour boats, red colonial brick, and sluggish, smiling, overfed and overcharged tourists. They walk by her, encouraging her to smile at their precocious progeny as they run around her, while she types a piece about the foulest, most disgusting thing anyone has ever said to her in bed.

Bad, evil, woman, me.

The things I do for you people.

Anyway, just setting the scene. Here's the real post now.

(Click the image to get a larger, clearer version.)

Some things you just don't want to hear in bed. Which brings me to my point--talking dirty. Where's your line? What could someone say to you in bed that would turn you right off?

For me, well, it would be a very sizeable understatement to say I’m comfortable with dirty talk in bed. In fact, I don’t think sex is nearly as good without it.

Okay fine, I love dirty talk.

And there's very little you can say to me that would freak me out or that wouldn't turn me on. I love the basic, affectionate dirty talk (“I love how wet you are,” “You’re making me so fucking hard,” “Just hearing your voice in my ear makes me want to come,” “I can’t wait to be inside you,” “Oooh, yeah, just like that, that’s so gooood,” etc.) And given the right person and the right circumstance, I love something a little more hardcore, too. Want to tell me (or have me tell you) that I’m such a bad (or good) little girl? That you’re going to fuck me so hard the only word I’m going to be able to remember is your name? That you want me to swallow every inch of your hard cock? That I’m your dirty little slave-whore, and you’re going to show me what happens when your will is disregarded?

Please do.

You don't need me to go on, do you? You get the picture—you can say just about anything to me, and if I’m into you, it’s going to get me hot. And I’ll have no problem talking dirty to you, either.

But even an aurally fixated person like me has her (or his) limits. There’s going to be something someone says to you in bed that just grosses you out, or stops you cold and makes your libido come crashing down faster than the Bush administration’s credibility polls.

So I put the question out to all of you. What has been said to you in bed that made you cringe? Or, if it's easier or more fun, take it out of the personal context and just answer theoretically. What words or kinds of sex talk drive you up the wall and turn you off immediately? What would be the worst thing anyone could say to you during the act that would make it nearly impossible for you to recover and get back into it?

I’m going to tell you mine. But I’m still so cringingly embarrassed by it that I’m too shy to even say it in my main post. So I’ll do the equivalent of blushing and hiding behind my hair as I tell you by hiding the story in my own comments window. Click the comments link below if you want to expose me.

But if you do read it, you’d better to share your worst-ever sex talk stories/opinions with me!

It's my personal wedding fantasy.

They say every woman fantasizes about her wedding. I suppose this confession lumps me into that stereotype. And yet...

I've never been especially marriage-centric. I'm not against it; I'd do it if I found someone I wanted to do it with. But I was never one of those little girls who wanted to play bride. I was one of those little girls who wanted to be Catwoman. My Barbies never went bridal--they went out for spins in their convertible, wore funky vintage clothing, had lengthy make-out sessions with Ken (sometimes in a threesome), and then killed Ken off when he got boring (a cliff was usually involved).

And as I got older, things didn't change much. "A diamond is forever" ads tend to fill me with rolling-eyed, sarcastic disdain rather than make me sentimental or wistful the way they're supposed to. I've never even had a passing thought about flower arrangements, or coordinated tablecloths, or china and silver patterns. I've never once dreamed about my perfect wedding dress, or what kind of setting the ceremony would be in. To tell you the truth, I've never even really fantasized what the guy would be like.

But there's one thing I've dreamt about for years, and if I ever get married, I want it, dammit, and no one had better tell me no.

It's my wedding song.

I have the whole scene in my head. The wedding ceremony is done, there's some kind of party just getting started, and then some guy with a microphone announces the entrance of the bride and groom to great applause, the way they always do. And then we go on to the dance floor, the way brides and grooms always do. And then the guy with the mic announces very meaningfully and sentimentally, like those guys always do, that the bride and groom are going to dance their first dance together as a married couple, they way they always do. And then everyone hushes up and waits for the moment of ultimate romance to begin, the way they always do.

And then they play our song.

(Lyrics here)

(Photo credit: Francis & Angie by kieron)

(Update: Apologies if the music link above isn't working right--will someone let me know if they're having any problems with it? If so, you can try the castpost link below as an also not great alternate. I really need some better hosting for audio. Any ideas?)

This is one of the few online spaces where people from all aspects of the sexual spectrum, vanilla or kinky, amateur or erotic artist or adult professional, can come together and grow, network, and explore sexuality.

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The Delight Of Sexual Tension (thetastetester.com)

The Driver (pleasinglydebauched.blogspot.com)

First Time - Steaming the Windows in the Backseat of a Car (thestoryofrose.blogspot.com)

Five Minutes (barbiebaby09.livejournal.com)

How Would It Be? (easilyaroused.co.uk)

Illicit Liason (gentlygently.blogspot.com)

Low-Carb Foreplay (realadultsex.com)

masculine/Feminine (damnjezebel.com)

Stairs (alwaysarousedgirl.blogspot.com)

Tara’s Private Diary: Sucking Him Dry (taratainton.com)

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Maenads’ Mantra (sexeteria.blogspot.com)

BDSM and Fetish

Just because you're paranoid
Don’t mean they're not after you...

Despite having written some fairly serious posts this month which may have led some of you to think otherwise, I'd been feeling fairly optimistic for quite a number of weeks. Call it spring fever, call it naiveté flashback, I don't know. But it resulted in me being restless, hopeful, smiley, ready to forge ahead...once I figured out what the hell to forge ahead into. Things seemed on a constant upswing; getting a little higher each day.

Anyway, whatever it was, I could feel it going into a flaming nosedive today, leaving me in a whirring blender of doubt, frustrated helplessness, and repressed anger. Not that there was any one, big event that caused this to happen. More just a collection of little, petty things that I let get to me. With the little, petty thing that frustrates me the most being--I don't know what to do about any of it. It's all there, I can delineate the problems, but the actions to resolve them are so fucking unclear.

I'm not going to get into any of the more personal stuff that contributed to this feeling of frustration, but I will get into a whole bunch of media-influenced stuff that got me there. The below all fell into my lap in the last 24 hours, and so, I present it all to you now, and I will let you look at it all yourself, and then, at the end, I'm gong to ask you a question. And I want anyone who's reading to start talking together until we figure out some kind of answer.

So now, in the case of Syl vs. Universe, I give you:

The Bush Administration, its allies on Capitol Hill, and the religious base of the Republican Party are opposed to mandatory HPV vaccinations. They prefer to rely on education programs that promote abstinence from sexual activity, and see the HPV vaccine as a threat to that policy.

"I never thought that now, in the twenty-first century, we could have a debate about what to do with a vaccine that prevents cancer," David Baltimore [a scientist who has spent much of his life studying the relationship between viruses and cancer] said. "...this is religious zealotry masked as politics, and it runs against everything that I as a scientist believe in, that I have devoted my life to. We are talking about basic public health now. What moral precepts allow us to think that the risk of death is a price worth paying to encourage abstinence as the only approach to sex?"

Extract:

"...religiously based social conservatives have direct lines to the powers that be within the U.S. government, the administration, Congress, and are influencing public-health policy, practice and research in ways that are unprecedented and very dangerous," says Judith Auerbach, Ph.D., a former NIH official who is now a vice president at the nonprofit American Foundation for AIDS Research. In fact, Glamour has found that on issues ranging from STDs to birth control, some radical conservative activists have used fudged and sometimes flatly false data to persuade the government to promote their agenda of abstinence until marriage. The fallout: Young women now read false data on government websites, learn bogus information in federally funded sex-education programs and struggle to get safe, legal contraceptives—all of which, critics argue, may put them at greater risk for unplanned pregnancies and STDs.

An Indiana mother recently accompanied her daughter and her daughter's boyfriend to one of Indiana's Planned Parenthood clinics, but they unwittingly walked into a so-called "crisis pregnancy center" run by an anti-abortion group, one that shared a parking lot with the real Planned Parenthood clinic and was designed expressly to lure Planned Parenthood patients and deceive them.

The group took down the girl's confidential personal information and told her to come back for her appointment, which they said would be in their "other office" (the real Planned Parenthood
office nearby). When she arrived for her appointment, not only did the Planned Parenthood staff have no record of her, but the police were there. The "crisis pregnancy center" had called them, claiming that a minor was being forced to have an abortion against her will.

The "crisis pregnancy center" staff then proceeded to wage a campaign of intimidation and harassment over the following days, showing up at the girl's home and calling her father's workplace. Our clinic director reports that the girl was "scared to death to leave her house." They even went to her school and urged classmates to pressure her not to have an abortion.

The anti-choice movement is setting up these "crisis pregnancy centers" across the country. Some of them have neutral-sounding names and run ads that falsely promise the full range of reproductive health services, but they dispense anti-choice propaganda and intimidation instead. And according to a recent article in The New York Times, there are currently more of these centers in the U.S. than there are actual abortion providers. What's more, these centers have received $60 million in government grants. They're being funded by our tax dollars. (emphasis blogger's)

Exhibit D[Update: The article is now archived and inaccessible. Here's a blog post that summarizes it.]

Extract:

The South Carolina bill, proposed by Republican Rep. Ralph Davenport, would make it a felony to sell devices used primarily for sexual stimulation and allow law enforcement to seize sex toys from raided businesses.

[...]

Other states that ban the sell of sex toys include Alabama, Georgia, Mississippi and Texas...

Extract:

Pick one day, (Saturdays are best) and go to the abortion clinic of your choice. Just stand there 1 or 2 hours as a silent witness for yourself, your country and God[...]

The alternative if you don't is...watching more girls riding in limos, wearing high heels and short skirts marching into abortion clinics killing the next generation of our America. Tea anyone?

And that's just a 24-hour smattering of stuff that's been coming my way for many months now. And so, my questions:

Is it not clear yet we're in crisis territory in this country? How many more examples do we need? Glamour magazine is writing about it, for christ's sake.

It's been incremental, sure. You might not even feel the water's temperature rising on a daily basis. But do the math. Add it all together: There are zealots in the government, controlling policy, sending out false and dangerous propaganda that will harm a portion (if not all) of our population, posing threats to public health, scientific advancement, sexual freedom, and privacy rights.

Is this description starting to sound familiar? Does it remind you of anything?

Call me paranoid. I don't care. You know, last week, a whole bunch of bloggers were doing one of those meme quizzes called "The Would You Have Been a Nazi Test." I have my doubts about the validity of measuring your tendency toward fascism on OKCupid.com, but the test supposedly showed whether you would fight, leave the country, stay and do nothing, or actively support the Nazi regime.

No, I don't think any of you reading would be a Nazi. On all the blogs I was reading where people did it, almost everyone came out "the expatriate." (Perhaps not surprising for bloggers, who tend to be outsider types.)

Well, I'll tell you what. Getting my papers in order and lining up a few potential single guys I know in other countries, just in case, sounds mighty appealing some days, and far easier than figuring out a plan to stop what's going down. But here's the thing:

I don't want to become the expatriate. It's my fucking country. I shouldn't have to leave in order to get to wear any fucking thing I want when I buy my birth control pills. I shouldn't have to leave to get factual health information from my government. I shouldn't have to leave to protect myself from dying of cancer.

And I don't want to leave this country just before the axe falls and leave all the people behind me to suffer who, unlike me, aren't privileged enough to have the funds or the resources to get out. I don't want to watch from a distance as people I know and love have their civil and human rights trampled on.

What I want is to do something to make this country change course from its current trajectory before it's too late.

So here's the big question. What do we do?

Yeah, yeah, I've been writing to my congresspeople. I've been volunteering for Planned Parenthood and anti-right-wing organizations. I've been marching. I've been calling people to get them out to vote. I've been posting stuff on my blog to raise awareness. I'm sending in my donation to the ACLU this week, damnit.

But I've got to tell you, none of that feels like very much. And you look back on history, and you think, when the water started rising, was there anything that those people could have done before it was over their heads? What could they have done?

The Nazi era and other repressive regimes have been studied ad nauseum. We all know what happened, how it escalated, how no one "did anything" until it was too late. But has anyone, anywhere, actually analyzed what "anything" could have been done to stop the wave of an extremely oppressive regime from crashing over the everypeople's heads?

Speaking out individually seems not enough. I feel something more concerted, something more powerful (and I'm not talking violence here) needs to happen.

But I don't know what. And I feel so fucking helpless. And pissed off.

Help me find ideas. What can be done?

(And don't think you can't answer this if you live in other countries. Ideas from anywhere are useful for troubleshooting solutions.)

Anyway, I was in the midst of writing responses to the very thoughtful people and mischievous scalawags (yes, Tory darlin', that means you) who left me responses to Tuesday's post. But my response was getting too ridiculously long to fit into that little box, so I'm making it a new post.

Comment 1, on "just keep speaking out/using your blog as a forum/voting":

Many of you have said the only thing to do is to keep speaking out, using our blogs, etc. As this is the only solution I currently have, I do continue to do that. However, this doesn't feel like very much anymore. I've been speaking up for years, and things are getting worse. My ability to make my own, informed health (and other) decisions based on medical fact and scientific development are waning, despite myself and even large organizations screaming for people to pay attention.

As I said in my post, identifying the problem is not the same as creating a venue for change, or even a concerted attempt at one. The vast apathy of those who know these things are happening and say, "Just wait it out" or even those who, like me, just keep saying to others "Isn't this awful? Look how awful!" Simply isn't enough. It's a sad but true fact about humans that most people will not act simply because they heard a disquieting fact, even if they disagree strongly with it. Most people are lazy and don't want to think up a solution on their own to combat the problem. They want someone to say, "HERE is the fact, and HERE is what you have to do to change that fact." They wait for their Gandhi, or Martin Luther King, or whom- or whatever. Until then, they all talk to each other about how awful it is and sit around wondering who's going to do something about it. A bunch of us running around just saying "HERE is the problem, LOOK!" may build paranoia and less positive opinion polls, but it doesn't do shit in terms of change.

Ergh, I know my tone sounds like I'm angry at the people who said "just keep talking." I'm not. I'm just frustrated at the general malaise of the people in this country (and everywhere). And frustrated that the only solution that's ever given to me is to write my congressperson.

Comment 2, on religion/conservative religious convictions:
Though not particularly religious myself, I do align myself with a religious group--I am Jewish. I have absolutely no problem with people holding whatever religious convictions they have, and exercising those convictions for THEMSELVES in THEIR daily life, so long as they don't try to put them on me or into my government. This expectation I have for others is the same one I have for myself. I am able to understand my faith is not appropriate governance for others.

I am highly suspicious of any public official (or candidate) who feels the need to emphasize how his or her faith influences his or her political views--whether that person is of another faith than mine, or shares a similar religious faith to mine. This is why I would have never voted for George W. Bush. It is also one of many reasons why I didn't vote for Joseph Lieberman in the Democratic primary he ran in, and was very disappointed when Al Gore chose him as a running mate.

(And just for the record, despite having voted in the Democratic primary, I do not consider myself a Democrat. The state I live in does not require you to register with a particular party and also allows you to vote in any party primary if you want to.)

This country's founders, despite being both religious and mostly all of the same religious faith, understood the vast importance of the need for separation of church and state, and why emphasizing that couldn't just be lip service, but needed to be written in as a basic tenet of our constitution. If they could see it, at a time when religion played a far greater role in daily life than it does for most people now, and when they really didn't have any motivation to notice or be considerate of the needs of the tiny minority of people of other religions that existed in their world, it really ought to be even more evident to people in the modern day, with a greater amount of religious diversity in greater numbers around them.

Comment 3, on Tory:
Tory is a naughty, naughty little scamp of a troublemaker who is quite aware of what he was doing and the reactions he would get when he used the specific words he used, and for this he needs a good spanking. ;-P

Yes, Tory, I could feel you laughing when you wrote the first post. Be cognizant, though, that often for many people tone doesn't come across in print. Though I suspect you're well aware of that, and this is exactly why you wrote it the way you did. Now bend over and drop 'em.

Comment 4, on deceivers and the deceived:
However, Tory's point is well taken about the example I chose to excerpt from the Planned Parenthood action alert. This example was an extreme case, and whether you want to argue that the people who went in the wrong door were "stupid," "naive," "confused," or whatever, the more important point I wanted to make got lost by using that particular example. The real point is that these clinics do use more insidious, less obvious confusion tactics to lure women in, and which would make it hard for anyone to understand the center's agenda walking in the door. The names of the clinics imply they are health care centers, when in fact there are no health care professionals there. They often list themselves in phone books and other resources under faulty headings, like "women's health services" or "abortion services." They often claim to provide a full list of medical services that they do not provide. So, if, for example, you are a young woman with not a lot of experience or money who doesn't want her parents to know she's considering getting birth control or having an abortion or whatever, and you look in the phone book under "women's health" and see a center called something innocuous like "The Women's Center" that says it offers free medical and contraceptive services to women, you might just call that place and think it's legit.

The point is not who got fooled, and if they deserved to be fooled, but the deliberate use of behavior designed to mislead and get women to hear their point of view under false pretenses. If these people want to label themselves as an "abortion alternative center" or whatever, then I have no problem with them existing. Okay, I have a problem with them existing, but I recognize their right to exist. I just don't think they have a right to try to deliberately TRY to fool people with completely false information, even if those people happen to be the types naive enough to fall for it. That's like saying the mastermind behind a pyramid scheme, due to his/her brilliant ability to deceive, and despite breaking the law, shouldn't be prosecuted if he/she gets caught because he/she was smart enough to fool enough people. If being smart enough to fool or harm people invalidates crime, than there is no crime.

There's just simply no validity ever to saying if the person is a GOOD enough liar that someone believes him/her, that this then renders the lie acceptable.

Comment 5, on HPV:
Commenters made a number of both correct and incorrect assertions about HPV. I think I'll do an individual post on this topic, so won't go into great detail now. However, I will point out a couple of misconceptions or unclarified points that were made:

• The only widely used method for detecting the strains of HPV that cause cervical cancer is the PAP test; however, this test does not always effectively detect HPV in women, as HPV can be latent for many years. Any woman who goes for a gynecological appointment gets a Pap. So they would not be "stupidly not asking for the test"--everyone gets one.
• There is another test that has come out recently that in some cases can confirm pre-cancerous HPV infection. It is not regularly used in examinations. Doctors will usually not conduct this test unless the Pap results come back as irregular, indicating there is a need for further confirmation. See above re effectiveness of Pap as detection. Most women would not ask for this test, because doctors tell them that if the Pap looks okay, there is no need for follow up. Asking for this test would be like randomly asking for a chlamydia test, "just because." Of course, sometimes people will ask for random STD testing, but in general most women--and men--don't ask for it unless they are experiencing symptoms or, if they're responsible types, are about to begin having sex with a new partner. And even if they do take the latter preemptive approach, they certainly don't ask for a new round of testing every time they go to the doctor.
• Both of these tests for women can only test for infection--the tests can not be used to proactively prevent HPV infection. So whether the woman was "smart" enough to ask for a test or not, all that test can confirm for her is whether she doesn't, may possibly be on the way to having, or has cervical cancer. So, therefore, though many strains of HPV do not cause cancer and may go away on their own, IF a woman takes the test and finds a particular strain of HPV has created cancer in her body, the test is not of much help. Therefore, a vaccination would be the only proactive way to successfully prevent infection. Right now the only potential vaccination that could be available for women is one that must be given pre-infection for it to be effective. In short: the pre-infection vaccination, as of now, would be the ONLY "cure" available--if it were available. Which it is not. Because religious lobbys are affecting the ability of the vaccination to get quickly tested and approved by the FDA.
  
• Even if a man wants to be responsible in STD testing, there is no publicly used test for detecting HPV in men. The only way HPV is diagnosed in men is if their lesions or warts are visible to the human eye. Many strains of HPV are not visible to the human eye. As such, many, many men are infected with HPV and have no idea, no symptoms, and no visible signs. Therefore, in most cases there is no reliable way for a woman to verify if her male partner might transmit HPV to her until after the fact. It's a total crapshoot.
• Penile cancer as a result of HPV is extremely rare. Men are more likely to get anal cancer as a result of HPV. But overall, the dangers of contracting cancer via HPV are far higher for women than for men. (Which, in this blogger's personal, paranoid opinion is one signficant reason that fuck all gets done about this STD in the medical community, and when something does get done that can help, it's so easy for certain groups to try to get it suppressed. If men were getting penile cancer from it in ANY percentage, even a tiny percentage, I think the response to preventing it and finding cures for it would be FAR different, financial pluses or minuses be damned.)

• Money is certainly a prime motivator for policy. But as another commenter pointed out, it is not the only one. Along with Kochanie, I also would like to see the evidence that abortion is a "billion dollar industry." (I have heard other rationales for why it is beneficial for the right-wing to NOT de-legislate abortion, despite always pretending to want to, but I'm not sure I've ever heard that one as being one of them.)
• I am not a hippie, and I will bitch slap the living daylights out of whomever calls me one (so much for your "peace-and-love" theory, Mr. T)
• You don't have to be a hippie to hate hypocrisy, stupidity, and extremism
• I voted

However, I realize that mentioning the "Would you have been a Nazi" test may have implied that I was saying these people were Nazis. This is not why I mentioned the test. That test was mentioned specifically to make my point about people who might choose to leave the country rather than fight the measures that were being used to change their country and limit their freedom.

And though I will not call anyone a Nazi, I DO feel perfectly fine in pointing out things that are happening that are similar to the political developments, legislative control, and disinformation campaigns that happened at the early stages of (to quote myself) "the Nazi era and other repressive regimes." If the word Nazi is the issue, well then, fine, delete that word. Replace it with fascist or totalitarian or just "other repressive." The one thing we've learned from historical analysis of the rise of these regimes is what the early warning signs were, and the importance of putting those early warning signs together and noticing what is happening EARLY, before it is too late to do anything. I see my civil liberties being taken away in a slow, quiet stream. I see my right to informed, unbiased medical information being taken away. I see my right to have control over my own body, health, choices, and voice to be in grave danger of being taken away. And, though I know this was not implied in the comments, I am not going to be concilliatory about having those things taken from me in any degree.

I don't believe in name-calling. I do believe in the power of calm, rational discussion. But I also believe in saying something when I see extremism beginning to get dangerously indistinguishable from government policy.

It may be true the "other side" sees me as an extremist. They are wrong. An extremist tries to block people's right to express any view or take any action that disagrees with theirs. An extremist tries to legally deny others personal choices and options that do not affect the extremist in any way, except for offending his/her personal religious or moral grounds. An extremist believes in limiting options.

I am not an extremist. My belief is that options, wherever possible, should be as open as possible, for people to exercise as their own lives dictate. I fully support an anti-abortionists right not to have an abortion, and to practice AND preach whatever religion she (or he) feels the need to practice or preach. I expect anti-abortionists to respect my right to have an abortion if I want or need one, and to practice AND preach whatever I feel the need to. And I expect ALL of us to not deliberately subvert and distribute deliberately erroneous public health or education information to serve our own personal agendas.

Comment 8, on Democrats, Republicans, whatever...they're all the same anyway
Okay, first let me indulge myself for a minute, as this thought reminds me of a joke that I heard Jon Stewart say once when I saw him doing the standup in his pre-Daily Show days:

You know, there's really no point in voting anymore. I mean, let's face it, the Democrats and the Republicans are pretty much the same these days.

...Except for the Republicans are evil.

...But other than that, eh, not much difference.

Now, onto our regularly scheduled rant.

I understand the impulse that inspires people to make this comment. I hear it all the time. In recent years, the lines on both sides have certainly gotten blurred. Old-school Republicanism is no longer the prime directive of the Republican party. Old-school Democratic liberalism is disappearing from the Democratic party in support of more middle-ground candidates who won't seem "too extreme" to the moderates out there on both sides, and who might pull in more mainstream voters (good god, how I hate that rationale; show some fucking backbone--despite how much I hate the Bush administration, you can never say they don't have some major cojones.)

However, I don't think the statement is quite true. There are certain policy platforms you can still be certain one or the other party is going to keep solidly in their court.

Nonetheless, I don't think when people say this comment they REALLY mean there's no difference between the parties. What they're really saying is they're both letting us down. We're unhappy with how little they are paying attention to the REAL needs of the REAL person-on-the-street. We're sick of how incredibly partisan they've become so that nothing constructive can ever be accomplished. We're tired of all the corruption getting exposed all the time. We're tired of hearing the same old spin bullshit to cover for what's really going on. I think both parties are guilty of all these things. And I think it's no wonder that people are bitter and want to throw up their hands and say, "Who cares? They all suck, anyway."

Which brings me right on back to my original comment in the original post. If we think this is true--that our political options are so limited as to not guarantee us any satisfaction either way, why do we keep saying it and not DOING anything about it. And what should we be doing?

Comment 9, on my brilliant, gorgeous, sexy, luscious readers:
I adore you all. Reading your comments, and watching you engage in discussion with each other instead of only talking straight to me, makes my day. Thanks for being the, smart, expressive, thoughtful, opinionated, exceptional individuals you are. May we always live in a country that allows us to remain so

With all the evol in my heart,

Syl

Rant over. Someone c'mere and gimme a massage.

For the same personal and selfish reasons, I am turning off comments on this post. It is what it is. It wasn't written to foster group discussion, to garner sympathy, or provide anyone with any personal gain except myself. If it happens that you get something out of it or relate to it on an personal level, that's cool, but that's not what it was put here for.

If you feel compelled to share something with me in relation to this, you can use the email address. However, I don't want to hear any potential solutions, negations, or expressions of concern or sympathy related anything I wrote below. The only thing I'd really be interested in hearing is if any of it looks similar to the stuff you keep in your own "secret room." If it's anything else, please don't bother to write. Thanks.

...I don't really want to talk about it. If we go out drinking after work, if I end up spending the night with her, maybe I’ll say more, as we talk afterward, as a way to explain something about myself, why I'm the way I am…

I don’t know you at all, she will say, a few months into our affair, but if you ever want to talk...and I’ll smile a skull’s smile and one by one the lights will go off inside me.
--Nick Flynn, Another Bullshit Night in Suck City

What is to give light must endure the burning.
--Viktor E. Frankl

• At the same time, I’m incredibly narcissistic.

• My body is imperfect.
--I am fat
--I’m not pretty enough
--I am getting gray hair
--I am too hairy in general
--My skin is all wrong. It’s marked and scarred, but not in a sexy way—in ways I think everyone thinks are disgusting. When I was an adolescent, and not anywhere near pregnant, and a size 0, my skin gave me white stretch mark scars that will never go away, and now look like thin rivers embedded in the skin of my hips, stomach and breasts. And then to counterbalance, as an adult, my skin began to break out as if I were an adolescent.
--My breasts are big and have never defied gravity the way they’re “supposed” to
--No matter how skinny I’ve been, or how much I exercise, my stomach has never been totally flat.
--My feet are really big.

• I think too much.
Here’s how it will go. When you first meet me, I’ll tell you this; and you will tell me that’s impossible, that how intensely I think is what’s great about me. And then you will know me for a while, and then you will tell me I think too much, and that it’s bad and I should stop it. I won’t be able to. You won’t be able to keep up. If you manage to stick it out a little longer, you’ll get to see how I deliberately entrap myself with my own mind. You’ll see how I can deliberately trap you with it. You’ll hate it. You’ll probably grow to resent it. You’ll give up trying to “help” me with this. You’ll get tired and leave.

• I will verbally agree with you when you tell me that I think too much, and that this is a bad thing. But I won’t really agree with you. What I’ll really be confirming is you’re right to think there’s something—anything—wrong with me. But I won’t really think that thinking less is a good thing.

• I can’t accept a compliment graciously. Even when I pretend to, I don’t really believe it.

• Whenever someone tells me they like me, are fascinated by me, or love me, the first thing I think to myself is, “Just wait.” (Interpreted as, “Once you really know me, you’ll see.”) The second thing I think is, “What are they trying to get from me/get me to do by saying this?”

• I tell people I like them, am fascinated by them, or love them, and though it’s never completely a lie, it also somehow always feels like a lie, or that I mean it but only “to a point.” I say these things because I want to feel these things. And because I like how it makes the other person feel good. In other words, I’m saying it to get something from them. Generally affection. Sometimes other things.

• Therefore, I am selfish and manipulative.

• I’ve told people I was in love with them. But in truth, I have no idea what really being in love feels like.

• I worry I’m kind of dead inside.

• I can never fully give myself to anyone. Fear makes that impossible. I’ll only give you so much of myself, no matter how much I like you. I believe if I give you everything, it means you will use it to destroy me.

• I want to find someone who will push me to give everything to them and who won't destroy me afterwards. I'm too afraid to take the chance to find that person.

• In my public life, people tell me I seem completely together and almost intimidatingly competent. That’s because I’m terrified they’re going to hurt me or my feelings. I’d rather scare you away with my fake competence than take the chance you discover my real vulnerabilities.

• I secretly believe (suspect?) all men take at least some pleasure in hurting or manipulating women, particularly emotionally. I think it makes them feel powerful and sexy, even though they don’t like to admit it.

• I secretly believe no one—especially a man—can love (or even see) ME (whomever “me” is). At best, I think they can only love my love of them.

• I secretly believe all men think I am the “good enough” type one bides his time with until the “real” or "someone better" woman comes along.

• I am too selfless. I put everyone’s needs in front of my own. This may make you happy for a time. Then, you will find I am giving you so much of what you need that it will be overwhelming. You’ll never be able to match it in its intensity. This will make you feel guilty. It will eventually make you resent me, or just not want to deal with me.

• I am too selfish. I want everyone to give me too much of what I need. And even then, it won’t be enough. I’ll want more.

• I will resent you because you can’t match my level of giving. Even though I know it’s unfair.

• I think anything I do that is solely for me is bad and selfish.

• I’ll do things solely for me anyway.

• You can easily manipulate me and completely fuck with my head by telling me that my words or actions are hurting you, even if I know it’s irrational that you feel that way.

• I have an uncanny ability to intuit what you’re really thinking or feeling underneath what you’re saying or doing up front, without you telling me. Even when you don’t want me to know. This will bug the shit out of you. Sometimes I will tell you I know what’s going on. Sometimes I won’t, but will use it to my (or your) advantage, anyway.

• I’ll want you to intuit what I’m thinking even when I don’t tell you. I’ll know you can’t do that, but I’ll be disappointed and let down every time that you can’t.

• I’ll also think it means you don’t care to know.

• I will be able to tell when you’re lying most of the time. I will call you on it, question you on it. This may tempt you to lie to me just for the challenge of seeing if you can get away with it.

• I believe you will lie to me. I will always be on the lookout for when it will happen.

• Even though I will never say it, I secretly believe people lie to me not because there is anything inherently wrong with them, but because they think I’m not worth being honest to.

• I’m too proud to ask for help. I would rather suffer alone than ask for help. If I ask for help, I’m really, really far gone.

• I’m proud that I’d rather suffer alone than ask for help.

• I’m ashamed that I’m proud that I’d rather suffer alone than ask for help.

• If I hint around that I need help and you don’t pick up on it, I will think it means you don’t care about me. I won’t ever ask you again.

• I will never fully believe any compliment you give me, but I will want you to compliment me constantly anyway. I will fish for them in a way that makes me feel ashamed and disgusted with myself.

• I will fully believe any insult or criticism you ever say to me, big or small. I will pretend it didn’t hurt me, or that it didn’t matter. And it will hurt me and it will matter to me forever, and the rawness of its first sting will never decrease.

• I’m completely brimming over with love and emotion that I desperately want to give someone, but have no outlet for, and that I can't seem to let out even if an outlet shows up, for fear of overwhelming the person. It's a painful way to live.

• I’m terrified of being boring. I suspect I am.

• I’m terrified of being mainstream. I suspect I am.

• I’m terrified of being an untalented writer. I suspect I am.

• I’m terrified of being weak. I know I am.

• Even though I like solitude, I’m also terrified of being lonely. I fear this makes me come across as desperate.

• Because I’m terrified of being lonely, I keep people at bay so I don’t have to end up watching them abandon me.

• I’m certain I’ll always be alone.

• If you want me, and I like you, I will try to make you go away. Repeatedly. To see if you will come back. I don’t expect you will. If you do, I will be pleased for a spell, and then will get insecure again and will try to test you again. I have absolutely no idea how long it would take for me to feel there were enough tests. No one’s ever stuck around long enough to find out.

• I’m terrified of being manipulated by people.

• I was too stupid to understand that I was being sexually assaulted when it happened.

• I have had an STD.

• I think I’m beautiful, and that makes me ashamed of myself.

• I also think that I’m the only one who can see, or who will ever see, that I’m beautiful.

• I believe anyone who tells me I'm beautiful has an agenda.

• I deliberately uglify myself so no one will see me. And so I don't have to feel like someone's only paying attention to me because of only my looks or my body. And so that I can continue to confirm for myself that I truly am disgusting and unlovable. I may even be using this post right now to do this.

• I think any positive statement I make about myself in public, even if actually true, will be perceived as arrogance.

• I have not had sex with another person for somewhere around three years. This started out as a self-imposed choice. Now I don't know if it's still because it's my choice or because no one would want to ask me.

• But I have had phone sex occasionally in the past three years. Some of it with complete strangers, some of it with an ex-boyfriend who I know I won't get emotionally attached to again. I know that's probably not constructive. But I've done it, anyway. (See next item.)

• I am attracted to (I deliberately choose?) men who will leave me, cheat on me, or who can’t fully be there for me, whether emotionally, geographically, or both.

• I find men who are completely, overwhelmingly into me to be frightening, stalkerish, unattractive, and/or clearly lacking in judgment. (As in, I would never be a member of a club who would have me. As in, if you really like me, there must be something wrong with you.)

• I choose men who are unmotivated or emotional pushovers because I’m afraid of being controlled.

• What I really, really crave is someone powerful who can take control, who can call me out, and who is smart enough to see through my bullshit and diversionary tactics so that I am forced to break down and surrender myself in trust. Someone who has the power to break me, but chooses not to anyway. I’m dying for this person. I’m also terrified of this person.

• I’m jealous and needy. Not in the “I want to know where you are every minute of the day” way, or the “you can’t have any other friends” way. In the “I want you to tell me I’m the one you like best and I want you to show and tell me that constantly” way.

• Obviously, re the above, I’m totally insecure and often feel out of control of my emotions in relationships.

• Whereas, I’m rarely insecure or out of control of my emotions when I’m alone.

• Therefore, I choose to go through long stretches of “recuperative” aloneness.

• They never feel particularly recuperative.

• In the words of another woman of around my age: “I was punk; now I’m just stupid. I’m so awful.”

• I was born with a particular talent that I’m letting rot and go to waste because I’m too afraid to use it and fail.

• A good majority of the time, I feel like I’m playacting. Or faking somehow. Saying what I know people need to hear. Taking on roles and responsibilities that will make others feel comfortable, while I feel completely detached from them.

• I care way too much about what other people think about me.

• I can only judge my relevance or importance in the world based on how I affect other people, or what other people think about me.

• Other people’s responses dictate my actions and behaviors, rather than my own needs or any true sense of self.

• I’m not sure I have any true sense of self.

• I think you knowing these things will be the end of you wanting to know me.

• I'm terrified that maybe these things are all I am, or all I ever will be.

You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, "I have lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along." You must do the thing you think you cannot do. --Eleanor Roosevelt

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Update: When this post was first written, I had faulty information and mistakenly attributed the second opening quote to the wrong person. It's been corrected now. Sorry about that.