Recently in sex Category

This isn't me.

I swear though, it could have been.

That there is an example of why I should never date or marry other doms.

I've been trying to write a screed on the utterly absurd concept of 'sex addiction', ever since several key celebrities (David Duchovney first, and then much more publicly, Tiger Woods and Jesse James) got caught with hands in various cookie jars.

But I can't quite seem to find the right words; I wind up in an angry rant, rather than a calmly stated argument.

Luckily, there are some very intelligent people out there who are finding the words I can't. One such, found on ErosBlog, is doctor Marky Klein, who says on his blog Sexual Intelligence:

"I don't treat sex addiction. The concept is superficial. It isn't clearly defined or clinically validated, and it's completely pathology-oriented. It presents no healthy model of non-monogamy, pornography use, or stuff like S/M. Some programs eliminate masturbation, which is inhumane, naïve, and crazy.

Oh, I observe people with obsessive-compulsive disorder, bipolar disorder, post-traumatic stress disorder, depression, and a few other exotic states. That accounts for some of what laypeople call "sex addiction."

What I mostly see instead of "sex addicts" is people who are neurotic or narcissistic. They can't quite believe that the normal rules of life ("tell the truth," "all behavior has consequences") apply to them. They make promises they intend to keep--but then they want relief from frustration, or loneliness, or anxiety so much, they are unwilling to keep their promises, even promises to themselves. And some "sex addicts" just can't come to terms with having one, relatively brief, life. They want several lives, so they can have everything."

Read the rest of the post here.

It's refreshing to see people out who actually have a fucking clue - who know the difference between personality disorder and addiction, and who can speak articulately about what this means. He has another post on the topic here, speaking about Tiger woods and the rush to call his misdeeds addiction:

"...But calling any of them "sex addicts" deprives them of a proper diagnosis and psychologically profound treatment. It focuses on the surface symptom--sexual behavior--while ignoring possible deeper dynamics. Don't tell me that "sex addiction" treatment eventually gets there. I start there. Too often, "sex addiction" treatment just doesn't get around to it."

Again, he distills my angry rant into something coherent and concise.

The entire topic, tends to reduce me to mute fury; I think that's part of why I'm having so much trouble with it.

I have close friends and relatives who've struggled with alcoholism, drug abuse. I've also seen and lived with mental illness. Seeing the term 'addiction', which has a very real meaning, tossed around causally infuriates me, both from a purely semantic viewpoint (the word has a goddamned meaning, and "i really really like this" isn't it), and from a real sense of the effect addcition has on the lives of addicts and the people around them.

The choice, then, to apply the word addiction to something as biologically essential as sex is utterly absurd. It's akin to calling someone a shelter addict, a companionship addict, a nutrition addict.

Are there people who take beneficial things to extremes? Of course there are. Drinking too much water can kill you, if you carry it far enough. In sufficient concentration, oxygen becomes toxic. But we don't apply the term 'addiction' to them. We're applying causation to the symptom.

But it's not the mis-use of terminilogy that really bothers me; that's a losing battle in the world. Words lose and gain meaning in an endless stream.

The bigger problem is the continued vilification of sexuality. Because, for all our enlightenment, for all our 21st century 24x7 porn stream, we still are fundamentally a puritan culture, who want to shake a stern finger at anyone who really, really, really likes sex.

It isn't news that our culture is still very sex-hostile. Violence is available on every television, every video game, every comic book. Yet sex is hidden behind closed doors, wrapped in plain brown wrappers. Soldiers and fighters are celebrated; courtesans and nudity are punished. Sex, still, is a source of shame. Never mind that it is more universal to humanity than any culture, any art, any food, drink, sport. Nevermind that each and every one of is here because someone had sex. It is still something we have to hide, something we pretend we're not doing.

The entire idea of 'Sex Addiction,' is nothing less than the vilification of sex itself. It is the product of a toxic cultural prohibition of sexuality. It is the product of a culture that celebrates crime and acquisition, yet fines and jails people who show off nipples.

When I read a headline about some celebrity entering 'treatmen't, I see a scenario of public humiliation and punishment. I imagine a spouse who feels cheated on, demanding a pointless gesture. "I'll take you back," he or she says, "if you prostrate yourself before me and the world."

What we see is an empty, symbolic gesture, a public humiliation. We don't brand with a scarlet letter anymore; we instead call press agents and fall upon rubber swords before E! and Perez Hilton.

For what?

For having 'too much' sex; for doing what is wired into our genes. For hearing the genetic imperative and passing on that code well and freely.

The funny thing is, we don't use terms like 'nymphomaniac' anymore. We've grown up enough to no longer use a derogatory term for women who actually enjoy sex. Yet we've only replaced it with a gender-nuetral idea of the same thing. Instead of 'mania' we call it call it 'hypersexuality' and honor it with an IDC number. Yet we don't label breathing or sleeping or taking a crap with the term 'mania', or give them numeric codes signifying them as disorders.

Sex, though; ex is still special. And too much of it, we still seem to think - at least when someone else has too much - is still a disease.

Are there people out there who need treatment? Absolutely, yes. And absolutely, sometimes the symptom we see is sexual. But sex isn't the disease, it's the symptom.

Unfortunately - inescapably - sex is also more interesting than disorders with odd names like 'borderline' or 'narcissistic' or 'obsessive'. Because it's so completely fundamental to who and what we are, we're always going to pay more attention to words like "whore" and "cock" and "orgasm" than we will to dry, confusing clinical terms. And that means those who want to sell newspapers, to draw us in to web sites, will always take excuse to use lurid, interesting terms, and accuracy be damned.

It's a losing battle, today, to try to explain why the notion of sex addicton is absurd. Almost certainly, average americans have read the term, and heard of some movie star getting treatment. That's proof enough for most of us; indeed, if it wasn't real, doctors wouln'dt be treating it, would they?

But this is all the more reason why it needs to be repeated, even after we all get bored with the idea. Sex isn't a goddamned disease; sexual addiction isn't a meaningful term. It is, as Dr Marty Klein puts it, a bogus concept.

I just ran across what I find to be a stunning collection of artistic erotic images (pretty porn), on a Tumblr blog called "Le Chagrin".

This site is decidedly NSFW, so don't click if your boss is standing behind you - http://chagrin.tumblr.com/

What I like about this site - aside from just pure hotness - is that it's a completely non-themed collection defined by one thing; beauty. Every single picture I've seen is artistically gorgeous. But it doesn't suffer from the tendency some 'artistic' erotica sites have, of mistaking demure and soft-core for artistic; many of these pictures are profoundly hard-core (there's plenty of fucking, plenty of pegging, plenty of cock-sucking and come). But there's also a lot of romantic imagery; that's one of the things I love. There are photos of couples kissing, embracing, and even sleeping.

There are images where the erotic content is implied, and many where it's front and center. The selections below are chosen because they're all work safe, but trust me, the first page you hit from the link above is a profoundly hot pegging image, so don't be fooled by these.

(Thanks to the beautiful and talented Monica for sending me a link to this site)

I absolutely love this blog: "guess her muff".

I love it because it's a game, AND becauseit's (good quality) porn (pictures of lovely real naked girls, not posed pros).

I also love it because it's exactly the sort of game I play. I look at women in various circumstances (at work, at school-related parent meetings, at various social gatherings) and wonder, what's she look like naked. I wonder, does she shave? If so, how? Does she wax? Does she use a razor in the shower? Does she leave a landing strip, or is she sweetly, wetly bare (which is not just a preference of mine, but in truth a fetish; it's been so since long before porn adopted it as a standard).

This site has kept me entertained, and distracted, for two days now. Were I keeping score, my score would be lousy, almost always guessing wrong.

The site itself is work-safe, but beware the 'See the Answer' links. They're not just naked, some of them are profoundly pornographic (buttsechs!). So open with care. And prepare to be distracted.

This is just so goddamn funny.

I wish I had a better quality copy of it, some of the best bits are obliterated. But still.

Details here: Eveready Harton in Buried Treasure

NSFW, but honestly, unless you're looking close you'd never notice.

(found on BoingBoing)

For some reason this video is oddly hot. I can't quite identify why.

(courtesy of Bikinirama)

(Click the pic - I'm sorry i can't embed that. I've yet to figure out a workable way to embed quicktime in MT posts. I've tried all sorts of voodooo and it never embeds correctly.

Who doesn't love a good sex dream?

Hell, without sex dreams, i have no writing career. My best work is all inspired by some form of sex dreams. The thing with sex dreams is, they let that part of the psyche free, let us savage or be savaged, romance or be romanced, do or be done unto, in ways we might not let ourselves in waking hours.

The funny thing, though, is often the whom; who gets into our sexual psyche in ways that percolate through the layers of strata and turn up in the watershed of dreams.

A blond star of a teens-in-beverly-hills teevee show; a composite character built of a Greg Rucka character and local tattoo scene people; game show hosts and small time stars, friends or relations or people we've never even met, yet know from afar.

Who knows why. I can't make heads or tails of what makes my sexual subconscious glom onto one particular person, nor why sometimes it will fabricate a person from raw material. God know i have no control over it, lest I'd have savaged many a starlet and schoolmate and co-worker and blog-reader.

In any case, last night i had a particularly vivid sex dream about Seska. And I have no idea why.

It isn't like I've been anywhere near her site in the last year or two (or three), though I'll admit to having been a big fan way back in the day when 'amateur' sites were generally free and wild and no one had yet figured out they could make money taking dirty pictures of themselves and their friends and posting them on line.

Yet there she was in my head last night, in a dream that's sadly now fading. I remember a large house, and many, many people, who seemed almost to be touring her house, as if they bused people in for a 'tour of the porn star's pleasure palace'.

And then i had her to myself and there was a great deal of kissing, though something seemed always to interrupt us, straggling tourists, calls, the usual series of starts and stops and frustrations one can encounter in dreams.

Finally though, I locked the bedroom door and we wound up not quite making it to the bed, and she opened her legs to me there on the floor as i pushed aside a filmy red nighty, and with the freedom of dreams, she guided my condom-free cock into herself, and showed me the sort of faces you can see on her site, and moaned by name.

Usually, almost always, my dreams end before penetration. As if the adrenaline and arousal form an internal alarm clock. Oh-so-many times I've woken with a start, a morphean coitus-interruptus, annoyed with myself for my dream's inability to consummate the act.

This dream was different; i can still feel the inside of her, smell the sexy-sweet girl scent of her. This is where in envy the women I know who can climax in dreams, because it's something I've not done since I was a teenager; and so I woke, unsatisfied, yet with my mind full of girl-scent and the bodies-merged feeling still lingering on my skin.

I still have no idea, though, why Seska. But I'm not complaining.

Oh, and let's hear some of your odd sex dream subjects. The weirder the better.

Songs about Sex and Candy. To suit a sweet new look for the Moronosphere:

     Hangin' round downtown by myself
     And I had too much caffeine
     And I was thinkin' 'bout myself
     And then there she was
     In double platform suede
     Yeah there she was
     Like disco lemonade
     I smell sex and candy here

Or we could try:

     The Candy Man can
     'Cause he mixes it with love
     And makes the world taste good

Or a little different feel:

     Candy asked me if she died
     if I could go on
     of course I said I couldn't
     and of course we knew that's wrong
     but candy, I said, candy no you can't do that to me
     because you love me way too much
     for you to ever leave

Or we could add a little chili pepper spice:

     Step into a heaven
     Where I keep it on the soulside
     Girl please me
     Be my soul bride
     Every woman
     Has a piece of Aphrodite
     Copulate to create
     A state of sexual light
     Kissing her virginity
     My affinity
     I mingle with the gods
     I mingle with devinity

     Blood sugar baby
     She's magik
     Sex magik sex magik

And we dare not forget:

     When you need a friend through thick and thin
     Don't look to those above you.
     When you're down and out, ain't no doubt
     Nobody wants you.

     But you're rock candy baby
     Hard, sweet and sticky.
     Rock candy baby
     Hard, sweet and sticky.

Sugar and Sex. Celebrate the the rites of love, my friends. Feed your love on sugar candy, and fuck him/her half to death.

Satin Slippers - one of the net's best erotic sites, is (temporarily we hope) off line. I'm trying to get details from the People Who Know about if/when it will come back.

This is the site where my stories (Wanton, Man with the Bag, etc) were hosted, though I've got 'em here now.

I had an oddly hot dream last night, after not being able to get to sleep until very, very late.

It has to have been inspired by an episode of Project Runway (and I'll have to put off talking about that show for a bit because of the promise I made myself not to talk about any more reality teevee).

I was dressing a woman up in lacy, pretty, elegant lingerie. She was a tall, stunning brunette with a perfect figure, and I was choosing things for her to put on while she modeled them for me; garter belts, bra and panty sets, bustier sorta things. Garters and more garters, and some other things that might have been nighties and might have been very suggestive evening clothes, I'm not sure.

The clothes are kind of a blur to me now, I just recall fancy, very lacy things in a number of colors, maroon, pink, black, jade green.

What I recall, though, is the feeling of dressing this woman up almost like a living barbie doll; the subtle dominant/submissive feeling it had, her doing what I told her, putting on what I chose for her and modeling it for me while I sat watching, directing her to pose for me, to show herself off for me.

I woke up with the image in my head, watching her put on a lacy, fussy garter belt at my direction. It's been with me all day, that image.