Always Aroused Girl

The scene: Intrepid interviewer approaches Catholic priest during NOM’s summer bus tour; Catholic priest spends seven minutes in increasingly convoluted justification for the church’s opposition to marriage equality.

Watch along, or just read this particularly fun sound-bite:

“If you want to get to the nuts and bolts of it in the male homosexual world, I think the most heinous act is anal sex. Now, if anybody were to think about that in truth, they would say one person is being harmed by this act, which is why there are so many gastrointenstinal afflictions that come to many homosexuals that do this, and other kinds of afflictions. When you look at that individual act, you say, ‘Did God create that? No way.’ And would you ever want one of your children or grandchildren to be submitted to that kind of act? No.” (transcript via Joe. My. God.)

Make sure to watch at 6:05, when he talks about how the interviewer’s friend looks gay. Brilliant.

For the record: This mostly-straight mother has no opinion on whether or not she would want her children or grandchildren to try anal sex.

However, if they should decide to partake I feel almost entirely certain that God won’t care one bit about it.

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This post, “God Did Not Create Anal Sex”, originally appeared on aag on Friday, July 30, 2010. Tweet This Post!

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Just look at what my pals at BatteryBliss sent me:

Tonight we fuck with ceramics.

Thanks for sending along this awesome vibrator, Battery Bliss!

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This post, Look What Came in the Mail!, originally appeared on aag on Thursday, July 29, 2010. Tweet This Post!

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Our findings challenge received notions about the importance of children having both one female and one male parent. In this sample, regardless of whether they had one mother and one father, two mothers, or two fathers, children were thriving. Our findings are also at odds with the notion that only heterosexual adults make capable parents and that lesbian and gay parents are somehow ineffective or harmful. Inasmuch as there were no significant associations between parental sexual orientation and child adjustment, our results are consistent with notions that two parents of the same gender can be capable parents and that parental sexual orientation is not related to parenting skill or child adjustment. [...] From a policy perspective, our results provide no justification for denying lesbian and gay adults from adopting children. Indeed, barring adoptions to prospective lesbian and gay parents seems likely to produce a number of undesirable outcomes.[...] In jurisdictions that bar same-sex couples or lesbian and gay individuals from adopting, fewer children were adopted from foster care. Thus, it appears that more children could potentially benefit from having permanent homes with capable parents if lesbian and gay adults were allowed to adopt in the U.S. and elsewhere.

— Researchers Rachel H. Farr and Charlotte H. Patterson, of the University of Virginia, and Stephen L. Forssell of George Washington University, writing in Applied Developmental Science and arguing their research doesn’t simply conclude gays make great parents, but that any policy prohibiting it is utter nonsense [via; PDF]

–via Queerty

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This post, “It appears that more children could potentially benefit from having permanent homes with capable parents if lesbian and gay adults were allowed to adopt in the U.S. and elsewhere.”, originally appeared on aag on Wednesday, July 28, 2010. Tweet This Post!

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After sex I immediately brought up the topic of money.

You know. As one does.

I learned that he was working on paperwork to refinance his house. “Interest rates have dropped so much that I’m going to save a ton of money.” Interesting, I thought, but my sex-addled brain permitted no further rumination on the topic until a few weeks later when the notice that property taxes were due arrived in the mail.

Goodness, I thought, reading the numbers which have swelled every year since I purchased the house. It certainly would be nice to save some money on this whole “shelter” thing! And then the naked-refinancing conversation popped back into my mind. Maybe I should look into that, I thought, and now, just days after filling out an online application, I am well on the way to becoming the owner of a shiny-new mortgage, one which will save me over $100 each and every month.

This is awesome.

I just have one issue, one itty-bitty little issue.

What’s the appropriate thank-you gift for awesome after-sex financial advice?

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This post, After-Sex Financial Advice, originally appeared on aag on Wednesday, July 28, 2010. Tweet This Post!

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We went to high school together but would have remained ignorant of our proximity — a mere mile apart! — but for the convergent powers of Facebook.

As an unmarried woman with few compunctions against dropping trou as the spirit moves, I hide my light beneath the proverbial bushel when faced with married folk, especially married folk to whom I once was fiercely attracted. So I’ve watched this man going about his Christian, Republican, I-vote-the-Bible-no-matter-what way from a distance, never commenting on his Glenn Beck-inspired posts or his photos from the family trip to the Creationist Museum — a trip which, by the way, handily extinguished any residual attraction I might have felt for him.

But when this friend wound up home-bound for weeks following emergency surgery, I politely requested his address so that we could send him a card. That he gave; we also exchanged phone numbers and the promise that if he was in need of so much as a jug of milk he would call on the Mom Taxi to run him past the store. In good time I mailed off the card with a small surprise tucked inside: a gift certificate from a restaurant close to his house. Given my economic circumstances (read: tolerable, but hardly lavish), this would have purchased a sufficient but humble meal for his family, and given that “putting food on the table while sick” is one of my least favorite tasks, I hoped it would be well-received by his household.

It was. Imagine my surprise to come home to a message that rambled on so long that it finally was cut off by the machine. In it he thanked me again and again for the card and gift, explaining that it was the only one he’d received thus far during his illness. The only one, I wondered? How could that be? But the message was still running; he invited my family to visit him one day soon. “If you and your husband are up for it,” he gushed, “we could even hang out some night and play cards!”

And now I’m left wondering if it can possibly be true that ours was the only gift; also, would the invitation to his house have been so generously extended if he’d known of my divorced, leftist, agnostic, polyamorous ways?

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This post, Short a Hand, originally appeared on aag on Tuesday, July 27, 2010. Tweet This Post!

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It was a beautiful evening in June when we walked NYC’s High Line with Figleaf of Real Adult Sex discussing our ideas for a new sexuality conference.  Diva and I had been mulling it  over ourselves for a while, motivated and inspired by Amber Rhea’s Sex 2.0 and the Sex in America panel at NYC’s Open Center.  We knew we were close but had not quite nailed down what our concept would be and how to combine these two amazing events.  When Figleaf suggested what was missing was relationships, all the pieces came together.  After all sexuality and feminism don’t exist in a vacuum but amid a myriad of relationships.  And so, Tied Up Events is  now happy to announce MOMENTUM: Making Waves in Sexuality, Feminism and Relationships Through New Media, a conference taking place on April 1st to April 3rd, 2011 in Washington, DC.

MOMENTUM explores how the phenomenal growth of online communication has given rise to an amazing amount of sharing, learning and experimenting with different expressions of sexuality, relationships and feminism. MOMENTUM provides a safe place to listen, discuss and learn about the ways the web has impacted our sexuality without the fear of reprisal or shaming. It is a space for acceptance and appreciation of diversity, including for those in the LGBTQ, sex-work, BDSM and non-monogamous communities.

During MOMENTUM we will discuss ways to bridge the baffling dichotomies our culture creates around sexuality. While on one hand we have unprecedented sexual freedom, on the other we continue to police sexuality with a frightening vigor. Abortion laws, restrictions on gay marriage, abstinence programs, medicalization of sex, fear of pornography and prosecutions for teenage sexting are examples of one side of the spectrum. The discomfort that strives to make us keep our sexuality hidden conflicts with the use of sex — especially the female body — to sell everything from food to cars to “performance enhancing” products.

Each participant will leave the conference with new perspectives, new connections, and a plan to carry the MOMENTUM forward into 2011 and beyond.

We’re now calling for presenters to submit their ideas for sessions at MOMENTUM.  Please explore the official site, MomentumCon.com, where you’ll find all you need to know, including how to submit a proposal for a session, how to register to attend, and how to take advantage of early bird pricing.

Fascinations has generously agreed to be the primary corporate sponsor of MOMENTUM and we want to thank them very much for their support of this event.

If you think the site absolutely rocks as much as we do, that’s only because of the help, guidance and technical know-how of Dangerous Lilly and the website design skills of AAG.  We’re indebted to you both.*

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*Aw shucks! –aag

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This post, MOMENTUM, originally appeared on aag on Monday, July 26, 2010. Tweet This Post!

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During the last ten minutes of the final day of swim lessons the manager turned on all the pool’s assorted water toys and let the children run free, a combined celebration and break from the ceaseless toil of never-ending bobs, floats and dives.

My son raced away from his instructor and spent the time at a row of some half-dozen jets designed to shoot water head-high to the grade-school set. At first he was content merely to run through them, but once an instructor showed him how, by blocking one of the jets with his foot, he could make the rest rush ultra-high, he did nothing else. If one blocked jet created a four-foot tower, he pondered, how high would three blocked jets go? He enlisted a friend when the span of his own feet fell short and the two created a geyser that loomed as high as a dinosaur and no doubt just as thrilling.

He was, in short, in heaven.

In contrast, his sister hardly budged from the side of her teacher, a seventeen-year-old slaving in the pool before commencing her senior year come September. My child idolizes her; she chatters incessantly about her hair and assortment of swimsuits when we’re not at the pool and hurries to sit next to her as soon as we are. This young woman wobbles on the very precipice of adulthood, one moment speaking to me clinically about my child’s progress, the next tugging on the top of her suit and flipping her hair as another swim instructor, a young man, saunters by.

These two teach next to each other in the pool, and while lessons themselves are carried out with the nothing but professionalism, the few moments between lessons allow for a just an inch of hijinx. Then the two surreptitiously splash at each other and whisper quietly. There is much gazing into eyes.

It is very sweet.

I watch, all but invisible due to age, from beneath a huge umbrella. I watch because I can so clearly remember being seventeen and enveloped in love and lust. I watch because I can’t remember being so effortlessly beautiful — though photographic evidence says I was.

And I watch because my child watches. She grins right along with her teacher as they splash the boy, and if he splashes back she gets wet too. “Do it this way,” the teacher demonstrated during the one class I spent with them in the water, and I watched my little girl’s eyes shine as she got a response from the young man. She beamed and laughed and I could so clearly picture her assuming the teacher’s place in just a decade.

“It’s a class in swimming and flirting all at once!” I said to the teacher, and she agreed that it certainly seemed so.

Two classes for the price of one? I’m happy with that bargain.

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This post, Extra Value Swim Lessons, originally appeared on aag on Monday, July 26, 2010. Tweet This Post!

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Heather Corinna’s started a new project on Scarleteen which seeks to bring together pairs of people — one under twenty, one over forty — who are dealing with various aspects of sexuality, gender, reproduction, or abuse.

I had the opportunity to talk with a young person name Tien, who recently experienced sexual abuse by a family member. Read a portion of our conversation:

AAG: How are you dealing with the emotions? Do you find yourself angry? Hurt? Missing whatever good parts of the relationship you had?

Tien: My emotions are random right know. Sometimes I am fine, then the next day I am depressed. When people found out about the relationship I was angry at myself because he was someone I thought I was in love with and I did not want him to get in trouble. I do not feel hurt, just confused since he is someone who should protect me but instead hurt me. I do not miss the good parts of the relationship, the good parts were essentially the talks we had together and when we went out to restaurants.

AAG: How do you relate to your cousin now? Do you still have to see him at family functions? How have his parents and/or siblings received the news of his abuse?

Tien: Right now if I saw him again I would probably slap him and tell him how he hurt me. I am in the process of writing a letter to him stating just that. I would not be seeing him at family functions for a very long time, since not only did my mom report him, she pressed charges. From what he told me the last time I talked to him, his parents hate him.

Read the rest of the piece here.

And as always, if you can part with five or ten dollars to support sex-ed, I know it would be very much appreciated.

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This post, Building Bridges on Scarleteen, originally appeared on aag on Friday, July 23, 2010. Tweet This Post!

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When men talk they don’t ask each other questions; they have instead a free flow of opinions, comments, facts, stories, insults etc. Many of us men are bilingual: we can do woman-talk, we can ask the expected questions. But many are not.

Regardless of whether this guy is or is not fluent in woman-talk – and whether he can be taught – it sounds like you are not fluent in man-talk either… –read the rest here

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We do not live in covens of women and come out, Jane Goodall-style, to study these strange and incomprehensible beings known as “men”. You do not have to explain them to us. We have talked to plenty of men who are perfectly capable of communication. --Elodie said it here

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This post, On “Male” and “Female” Modes of Conversation, originally appeared on aag on Thursday, July 22, 2010. Tweet This Post!

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“Both of you,” the General said to Messner and Gen, “Go lie down. We’ll discuss this.” He used his gun to point to the floor, someplace not too close by.

Messner did not try to resume negotiations. “I don’t lie down,” he said, but his voice was tired enough that one might have thought he would have liked to. “I wait outside. I’ll come back again in one hour.” With that he gave a courteous nod to Gen and simply opened the door and let himself out. Gen wondered if he might do the same, explain that he would be waiting outside. But Gen knew he was not Messner. There was no putting one’s finger on it exactly, but it was as if there would be no point in shooting Messner. He seemed like someone who had been shot every day of his life and had simply had enough of it.

–Bel Canto, Ann Patchett

After the second appointment, I feel as though I’ve been shot every day of my life, and I have simply had enough of it.

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This post, Someone Who Had Been Shot Every Day of His Life, originally appeared on aag on Thursday, July 22, 2010. Tweet This Post!

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Keep away from people who try to belittle your ambitions. Small people always do that, but the really great make you feel that you, too, can become great.

Mark Twain

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This post, Keep Away, originally appeared on aag on Wednesday, July 21, 2010. Tweet This Post!

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Here ends this public service announcement.

Carry on!

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This post, Find Me, originally appeared on aag on Wednesday, July 21, 2010. Tweet This Post!

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Before they were born I envisioned spending loads of quality time with my offspring. We would hike to the tops of mountains, swim in quiet waters and lie peacefully watching clouds roll by. Every so often they’d ask a question. I’d ponder mometarily, drawing together lines of thought from sources disparate as biology, the Bible, and Beatles lyrics before enlightening them with my erudite words.

“You’re so smart, Mommy,” I imagined them saying. “I understand now.”

“Also,” I heard their little voices intoning, “Thank you for bringing us with you on this adventure. It has been educational and enjoyable.”

Instead they grouse from the edge of the public pool, snarly because of uncooperative goggles and downright pissed at not being allowed to perform belly flops upon their siblings’ heads before spending the entire ride home wishing for more, something more, anything more, always more.

“Now that we’re done at the pool can we go to Chuck E. Cheese,” they wheedle from the back sea, bellicose and querulous in their damp towels. “I want some french fries! When can we go to the splash park? Can Nicholas come over for a slumber party? Can I have cookies for lunch? You should buy us some Moon Sand. Why can’t we order pizza for dinner? Can I have a popsicle? Are we going to take tumbling classes? We haven’t gone to McDonald’s forever,” and on and on ad nauseam, to the point that I’ve stayed mute to their plaintive requests until one of them parrots back the words I’ve said so many times before: “Mommy’s already spent lots of money on summer activities. We should be happy about what we have and not ask for more.”

Clearly I should have devoted more of my pre-motherhood time in fantasizing not about hazy-hued mountaintop scenes but instead about how to instill in them some gratitude. Eight weeks into this interminable summer it feels like all I do all day long is ferry these little ingrates from place to place, and you know what? The Mom Taxi is just about out of gas.

Help!

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This post, Thirty-five Days Before School Starts and the Mom Taxi is Running Out of Gas, originally appeared on aag on Wednesday, July 21, 2010. Tweet This Post!

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Secret Ceres, I’d like to introduce you to my readers. Readers, please meet Secret Ceres:

Copy pulled directly from the website, with my comments in bold:

The biological exfoliation of the callus inside of the vagina sensitizes, cleanses and regenerates the vagina as well as having a positive effect on the consistency and aroma of its secretion. Am I reading this correctly? Are they saying that the vagina develops a callus? Are they kidding?

Briefly wet the Secret Ceres under running water and insert it into the cleansed vagina. Cleansed? I thought Secret Ceres was supposed to do the cleansing!

Insert Secret Ceres up to two thirds into the vagina and hold it with your thumb and index finger at the end that sticks out to secure it. You certainly wouldn’t want your finger and thumb to touch the end that’s actually inside the vagina, because that is icky!

Leave Secret Ceres max 90 seconds within the vagina without tightening the pelvic floor. Translation: Do not squeeze because your already perfectly powerful vaginal muscles might break it.

4.    After the application rinse the stick under running water and carefully dry it with a towel. Right, because we wouldn’t want that nasty infected vag all over the stick, would we?

After the first few applications of Secret Ceres the dead skin cells inside of the vagina will peel off and leave the vagina in a tender, cleansed and regenerated state.  The fact that this product peels skin from the inside of the vagina is a selling point? But they’ve got one thing right — I’m sure the vagina is “tender” afterward.

An unusual smell coming from your vagina can be a sign of infection. Well duh.

Vaginal infections caused by bacteria often produce a fishy smell, as do sexually transmitted infections. If this is the reason behind the smelly vagina, treating the problem should eliminate the foul odor. Ya think?

Secret Ceres is a fantastic treatment method because instead of being specialized to one particular type of infection, it contains natural ingredients that neutralize all kinds of infection-causing bacteria and fungi. Do you have proof of this? No? Then no it doesn’t.

Wouldn’t it be convenient if there was an organic, natural treatment that covered all the potential types of vaginal infections? Yes it would be! Alas there is not.

One of the newest products on the market is Secret Ceres. This unique product contains soothing components such as white clay, pomegranate, and fine crystals of calcium carbonate. These ingredients are much more appealing than the unpleasant creams and pills that are typically used to treat an infected vagina. More appealing in your dishes, in your Lion on the Beach, or in your antacid tables, perhaps, but then again lots of things would be even “more appealing”  than those.  Unfortunately “more appealing” does not mean “effective.”

When choosing a product to treat any kind ailment, especially one this delicate, a big concern is side effects. Everyone has seen the commercials for medications whose side effects sound worse than what the product is supposed to be treating. With Secret Ceres, this isn’t an issue. Since the ingredients are all-natural, the risk of negative side effects is low. Poison ivy is all-natural too, and you don’t see me rubbing that on my cunt now do you?

Since many centuries Asian women have used Secret Ceres as a natural means to purify and tighten their vaginas as well as to rejuvenate and nurture their female organs. Could this product have been shilled without the Asian-women-have-exotic-sexual-superpowers meme? Of course not.

Secret Ceres’ cleansing and deodorising effect alleviates any insecurity women hold in respect to their vagina and leaves women feel entirely purified and fresh. No, see, it actually intensifies those insecurities. Thanks, Secret Ceres!

To everyone reading this who has a vagina: Let me assure you that your vagina is beautiful and perfect in its natural state. It requires neither sticks of clay nor pointless, overpriced creams. Do Kegels if you like, but buy “vaginal exercisers” only if you like how they feel.

And please don’t ever buy the kind of nonsense Secret Ceres is trying to sell.

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Thanks Minivan Libertine for sharing this abomination. Want to see the site? It’s MySecretCeres dot com.

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This post, It’s Really Pretty, If You Can Get Past the Part About Your Vaginal Wall Peeling Away, originally appeared on aag on Tuesday, July 20, 2010. Tweet This Post!

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Last week my favorite pervy dating site served up a man who could have been nothing short of spectacular. Recently divorced, he possessed suitable living arrangements, financial security, and all of his teeth; additionally, he could put two words together without criminal ignorance of tense and apostrophe.

Glory be!

In fact the final characteristic reported above excited me far more than any of the former. Nice cars don’t impress me much, nor do I require a potential partner’s employment to exist in the rarefied air of an upper-level corner office. Considering my work, how could I? But demonstrate the capability to place a semi-colon properly and my panties melt away like the flimsiest whisper of cotton candy. I’m so easy!

After the exchange of a number of emails — paragraphs long! with real information about who he was! and not just descriptions of how he’d like to fuck me any woman he could get his hands on! — I offered up the next step on The Ladder Into My Hearttm: the coveted IM handle.

Immediately began our first conversation, which should have been a pleasant back-and-forth information exchange, am I right? Isn’t that how it’s supposed to work? I ask you questions, you answer the questions, then lob back queries meant to elicit deliciously enticing information from my side of the net.

Unfortunately that did not happen. I lobbed — oh how I lobbed! — and he certainly answered my questions. He answered them and then wandered off on conversational tangents that left me more interested in the state of my cuticles than his next words. But did he ask for the same from me? He did not. Every time I interjected a plum tidbit about The Life and Times of AAG he dropped the metaphorical ball.

And it’s not like I made it hard for him! After hearing about his line of work (all about his line of work), I told him that I wrote and made websites. He asked for not a single specific; however, he did spend an hour volunteering details about the historical fiction he pens, during every free moment, in a tiny notebook, carried in his breast pocket for convenience, because he “just loves to create,” and someday he will be published, of that he is certain.

Me? Perhaps he assumed I write nothing more interesting than grocery lists. And perhaps he is right.

“I’m spending the evening working,” at one point I told him. “What in the world sort of writing must be done at 10pm on a Friday night?” should have been impossible not to ask! I mentioned the children I “bore or otherwise acquired,” which in any other human being would have set off a chain of questions designed to clarify that mystery. He asked nothing, choosing instead to prattle on about his children, who are, as you might have guessed, paragons of every conceivable virtue.

What say you, readers? Should I continue to allow this man to rattle on, or have we heard enough already?

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This post, Blow. Hard., originally appeared on aag on Monday, July 19, 2010. Tweet This Post!

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This post, Time’s Arrow, originally appeared on aag on Saturday, July 17, 2010. Tweet This Post!

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This post, Victim Blaming in the Checkout Aisle, originally appeared on aag on Saturday, July 17, 2010. Tweet This Post!

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***Trigger warning: Below you’ll find a description of an “almost” sexual assault.–aag***

I met him in a large, busy bookstore for browsing and conversation; this after a week or two of emailing and IMing. We got on well enough that we set a date for something more private. In the several days interim we discussed various minutiae of the upcoming encounter. “I use condoms every single time,” I told him. “Are you ok with this?”

He was.

“Shall I bring my own, or will you have some?” I asked this with the full intention of coming prepared no matter what he answered. He had his own, he said, and we moved on to other specifics of likes, dislikes and boundaries.

On the day we met I was bleeding, and uncomfortable with sharing that aspect of sex with a brand-new partner, we stayed on the couch and did, as the kids say, “everything but.” Panties on or no, it was enjoyable. I liked that he gave me the degree of roughness and domination we’d previously discussed. It worked well enough that we breathlessly scheduled another meeting the next week.

When the time arrived we drove in his car from the bookstore to his house. Not two minutes after pulling into the driveway we were naked and in his bed. He pounced even harder than the first time. I adore rough handling so of course I loved it. I loved the pushing and pulling and tumbling and ruthlessness until suddenly he was on top of me and his naked penis was between my labia.

I wiggled upwards. “Get a condom if you want to fuck me,” I said, imagining that he didn’t realize how close he was to entering me.

He followed me up the bed, the relative position of our genitals unchanged. “Let me put it in just once, just for a minute,” he said.

I wiggled upwards more, finally understanding how much taller, heavier and stronger he was. He matched my every move. “Get a condom,” I repeated.

His penis was still right there, nudging ever-more insistently against me. “I just want you to see what it feels like.”

I twisted my hips away. “You have to use a condom!” My voice was panicky.

He flopped away. It takes time to read, but you must realize that the time that passed between the moment he rolled on top of me and when we broke apart was next to nothing. Three seconds? Five?

“I don’t have any diseases,” he said in a voice dripping with disgust. “You’re not going to catch anything from me.”

“That’s not the point,” I said. “You don’t know me. You shouldn’t assume that I’m not carrying some disease.”

“Then you can call me when you get tested and you find out you’re clean,” he spat, and we still had the ride back to my car, full of seething silence and tire screeches to endure.

I wrote about this incident before but lost the post when I moved from Blogger to WordPress. It’s a shame. The comments were just astounding in their helpfulness, suggesting in dozens of different ways that I brought this episode upon myself for reasons as far flung as “You dated before you were divorced?” to “What did you expect with someone you met on that site?” to “You must not have gotten it through his head that he had to use a condom.”

Here’s the thing: While it might (might!) be appropriate to educate our sisters and daughters about “sexual assault prevention tips” and “sending messages” before they set foot out the door, once an assault — or “almost” assault — has taken place, it’s time to shut up and listen. Advice about what the survivor might have done differently or should do the next time amounts to nothing more than victim blaming.

Every single time. Sincere or not. “Just trying to help” or not.

People who don’t want themselves or their loved ones to be assaulted feel great comfort in handing out those tips because they give the illusion of control. “You should never have gone to his house!” they say, or “You should have said ‘NO’ more firmly,” but what they really mean is that they hope that those strategies will work for them if they should be so unfortunate as to be assaulted.

They are wearing blinders. While I’d like to feel pity for their sightless state I cannot, because every time they try to rationalize assault, they hurt the ones who have lived through it.

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This post, “Almost” Assault, originally appeared on aag on Friday, July 16, 2010. Tweet This Post!

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What started with a dream about Sherlock Holmes has grown so byzantine, so immoderate, so profligate that my body cannot contain it; it snakes out of my bed and down the stairs. It finds me regardless of where I hide.

Not that I hide too hard. I’m enjoying this salacious resurgence very much but no matter how many times I haul up the Wahl by its cord from beneath the bed or jerk off on the couch while watching Top Chef or how passionately a friend kisses my clit and fucks me at the same time I cannot get enough.

I could not get enough last weekend, and even after he left the image of him arched away while I blew him and the sound of his voice (“You got yours. Now it’s my turn”) in my ear made it impossible to work; twice before bed I went back to bed with the wish that he’d never left it, and even days later I can’t shake the unbearable lust that surged when I opened his palm to accept a drizzle of lube.

Today it could not be an more intense. I count the hours until the last child succumbs to sleep, hours that drag on through an age of afternoon and an eon of evening, hours during which, despite a closet full of dildos, I can’t stop casting lascivious glances at the produce.

Whether desire has returned because of one drug’s exit, the next’s entrance or some other heretofore unknown force I do not care.

It may never end. I hope it doesn’t.

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This post, Come Over Sometime. We’ll Have Salad., originally appeared on aag on Thursday, July 15, 2010. Tweet This Post!

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Human beings took our animal need for palatable food . . . and turned it into chocolate souffles with salted caramel cream. We took our ability to co-operate as a social species . . . and turned it into craft circles and bowling leagues and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. We took our capacity to make and use tools . . . and turned it into the Apollo moon landing. We took our uniquely precise ability to communicate through language . . . and turned it into King Lear.

None of these things are necessary for survival and reproduction. That is exactly what makes them so splendid. When we take our basic evolutionary wiring and transform it into something far beyond any prosaic matters of survival and reproduction . . . that’s when humanity is at its best. That’s when we show ourselves to be capable of creating meaning and joy, for ourselves and for one another. That’s when we’re most uniquely human.

And the same is true for sex. Human beings have a deep, hard-wired urge to replicate our DNA, instilled in us by millions of years of evolution. And we’ve turned it into an intense and delightful form of communication, intimacy, creativity, community, personal expression, transcendence, joy, pleasure, and love. Regardless of whether any DNA gets replicated in the process.

Why should we see this as sinful?

What makes this any different from chocolate souffles and King Lear?

–from Sex and the Off-Label Use of Our Bodies

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This post, Sex and the Off-Label Use of Our Bodies, originally appeared on aag on Wednesday, July 14, 2010. Tweet This Post!

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