Sex Under a Microscope: Recording Your Encounters

Weird angles, muffled sound, poor lighting, grubby surroundings, lost erections. More and more people are posting their home sex videos on the Internet. If you’ve viewed any amount of porn lately you have probably seen at least one movie in this category. So is it good idea to film yourself having sex?

Any new technology is invariably adapted to serve some prurient purpose if it can be made to serve in that way. Early vibrators were steam powered and were readily adapted to run on electricity, speeding their distribution to homes across the world. No one really knows when the first of the newfangled movie cameras of the late 1880s was used to capture a sex scene but you can bet it happened quickly, possibly documenting the steam-powered vibrator. The porn industry decided the merits of Beta and VHS in the 1980s. Now millions of homes have low-cost, mega-pixel HD video cameras and each is a potential a porn studio.

There’s an old saying: Just because you CAN do something doesn’t mean you SHOULD do it. That advice applies here in spades. No doubt you’ve heard or read of any number of scandals that erupted when some celebrity’s phone or cloud account was hacked and their intimate photos and videos leaked online. Within hours, millions around the world had seen their favorite stars fellating, masturbating, and fornicating. These images and videos probably all started out innocently, seeming like a good idea at the time. The reality is that these victimized celebs are no different than the rest of us.

Home sex videos have been produced and swapped among individuals for decades. Unlike commercial porn stars, these are average people with average bodies performing generally average sex acts, with one difference: They usually intend to release their work into the public domain. These folks sometimes spend hours setting up, planning the scene, and creating the peformance. They watch themselves over and over as they edit their video. Chances they’ve watched at least some of their recordings again later, and some may share with friends or upload their work to an online portal such as PornHub. To them and hopefully to at least some of their audience, their work is of the highest erotic quality and content. They feel that it captures the essence of what they do, something really unique and special. They want to be seen and don’t measure themselves by what others think.

But what about the rest of us with a video camera, some free time, and a stiffy?

Having dabbled in private erotic filming, it can be damn difficult to do. It helps having feedback from your partner to know what they want to see and how to make it look better on camera. But sometimes things turn rocky and the train comes off the tracks. Be prepared for and sensitive toward these types of things and others, home porn directors.

“Is that what I really look like?” People may unexpectedly learn things about themselves from video, like that huge freckle inside their butt cheek they had never seen before or the true shape or coloration of their genitals.  Or their relative size. Or that flabby spot that just won’t go away. Or just how embarassed they would be if anyone else saw it.

“Do I do it like/as good/better than the girl/guy in the porn video?” A loaded question if there ever was one. Careful what you say here. Explain that it doesn’t matter what the porn star does or how they do it, that’s all acting and what you do together is uniquely yours and gratifying. No one is in competition with the porn stars, or at least shouldn’t be.

“Am I a good fuck?”Another loaded question. If this one is only just now coming up there’s probably other ground in your relationship that hasn’t been covered. “Except for the queefing,” is probably not a good answer.

“Fuck me, Daddy!” or “Take it hard, bitch!” Sometimes the camera influences folks to perform in ways they might not ordinarily. Outbursts like these may not have been present in the bedrooom before. Always watch your videos together a few days later, talk freely, make comments, ask questions, and most importantly, praise your lover. Unusual outbursts may point to a hidden desire or fantasy that might be the Next Great Thing or may reveal something darker.

“You won’t show this to anyone, will you?” Seriously? Why record things in the first place? Sure, sometimes it’s for private viewing only but the intent behind the technology was always sharing. Set solid rules for how your videos will stored, acessed, where, and by whom. Don’t be “that asshole” and share without your partner’s agreement. And never leave anything on your phone and never put such things in the cloud – these sources are where most home sex video horror stories originate these days.

“That’s really hot!” This is probably the most compelling outcome from home porn – seeing yourself fucking and how it looks during your favorite parts. You can now use this visualization with you partner in future encounters. And, with a little imagination, refine your on-camera performance to reap even more off-camera benefits, like experimenting with new activities.

“I don’t like it when you do that.” This is the opposite of “that’s really hot” and should always be heard and respected. If it’s a new complaint, consider that you may have been perfroming for the camera. Concentrate on your lover, not the product.

“If we split up, what will happen to our videos/photos?” This is related to “will you show anyone” and should be agreed upon in advance. Retention of such materials has the potential for causing new problems, even when assumed to be “safely” locked away.

“Have you ever done this before?” Like so many other questions, honesty is usually the best policy. You never know when an old video could come back to haunt you so be forthright.

Think about your actions and what could happen, weigh that against how cool it would be to have your own personal porn stash, and if it still seems like a good idea then go for it.

And if you make a really hot video, send me a copy! I won’t let anyone see it, promise!

 

Ghostly Narcissism

I still don’t believe it. I’ve been ghosted. Me.

Ghosting, for those unfamiliar with the term, is what happens when one member of a relationship decides to simply cease all contact without the courtesy of a “fuck you” or other indication that they don’t want to see the other one anymore. Not exactly a break-up, the spurned party is just ignored and left to wonder what happened. Did she die in a car wreck? Is he deathly ill? It’s been known to happen not only with lovers but also with platonic friends and business associates.  Why do some choose to treat others in this most selfish and cruel way?

There are many reasons. The best defense of the ghoster is self-protection. Some of you may have experienced “the stalker” or “the love-sick fool”, those that impart much more into a budding relationship than would be considered normal, perhaps even becoming obsessive. These people believe they have found someone special but the other party doesn’t feel the same way. Folks who fall in this category may generate an avalanche of communication featuring increasingly needy or shrill content. This causes the ghosting party to cut off contact in hopes that the unwanted admirer will simply tire of it and go away. If an honest explanation is not effective, this is basically a sound strategy. But if honest dialog is not offered or the ghoster believes their lover will psychically “get the message” it could actually encourage the unwanted attention, and that’s unfair to both. At least talk to the person and if they won’t see reason, ignore them if you must.

Then there are those who ghost without any apparent reason. Great conversation, a meeting of the minds, desire, lust, all of the elements are present and strong. Then one day, crickets. Reach out, wait, more crickets. Often, plans have been made by the couple for a date or event. The ghost may pull a no-show or show up for awhile but is never heard from again. What motivates this type of ghoster?

Any number of factors help us determine who we want to be with – and who we don’t. Perhaps the date didn’t go well, or something became apparent about the other that had not been obvious before. Maybe the ghoster realized that they found someone they really like but are afraid to allow the relationship to blossom naturally, opting for self-sabotage instead. It could be that the ghoster is just not confident enough in themselves to move forward. Or that they have not been honest with themselves or the new partner and guilt has set in.

Whatever the motivation, ghosting without providing some tanglible reason is one of the cruelest, most selfish, egotistical, narcisstic things one person can do to another. Having someone spurn another’s attention this way after investing time, energy, and emotion can do massive damage to both parties and set them up for a raft of insecurities with their next lovers, including trust issues and fear of abandonment leading to emotional neediness and co-dependence. Ghosting may seem harmless but a completely new apparition will arise from the ashes and forever follow both the ghoster and their victim.

Sadly, this intentional form of abuse seems to be on the rise with the advent of online dating. This writer was recently ghosted by a woman who seemed fantastic in every way. Enormous attraction on both sides, hundreds of e-mail and text messages (yes, we got a little carried away), her cancellation of our first date with empty promises of making it up next time then being embarrassingly late to the rescheduled date, promises made of sex dates and messages and phone calls, then nothing. Did I do something wrong? No one will ever know. I’m not heartbroken and can handle rejection just fine, though being left to wonder what went wrong with no explanation is much, much worse than honesty could ever be.

My therapist friend Jane was not so surprised by such an experience but by the fact that it had never happened to me before. She said that absent stalker-ish behavior, there’s often more to ghosting than a simple lack of attraction. There’s usually a certain fear the ghoster is responding to; perhaps they’re repeating an old pattern like choosing abusive lovers, or have fallen for the new lover in an unanticipated way, or are depriving themselves through some twisted logic only they understand. She said that such a person is also most likely a narcissist, believeing that their own happiness supercedes that of everyone else. And in an indirect way, the ghoster is sending a very direct message about themselves and their integrity: “This is what my lovers can expect of me.” It’s worse than a no-win scenario, it’s mutually-assured destruction, both bombing the bridge and poisoning the river when a simple detour sign would have sufficed. Jane explains these things so well.

Relationships I’ve been in, whatever their goals or lifespans, all featured some measure of distinct communication from start to finish. This could have been as simple as a smile that initiated a tryst or as complicated as a verbally violent argument that definitively says “it’s over.” Ghosting is truly sad to experience first-hand. Saddest of all is my ghoster, who does not have the confidence in herself or the respect for me to even talk about it. I can only send her my best hopes that she will figure it all out and allow herself to love again someday.

Please, folks, never ghost someone. It is not only damaging to the one ignored, it is detrimental to you as well. You will never forget how you treated that person and this knowledge will stay with you, slowly burning a little hole in your heart where those good feelings used to be.

Ghosting is abuse, plain and simple. Would you still want to be with the ghost, now that you see how they really are? Didn’t think so.

 

Your Brain on Sex

What do you think about during sex? Chances are, nothing and everything.

It’s all the things we think about before and after agreeing to sex that can be so debilitating.

Learn to let go. Just sharing a fuck doesn’t signify a relationship.

Anyone I would fuck once I would fuck twice. Otherwise I’d be over-thinking things.

 

The Root of My Polyamory

Humans are in a constant state of flux and development. Attempting analytical deconstruction of one’s psyche is like trying to hit a moving target. Feelings and perceptions are always changing. Decoding my own psyche to reach new realizations sometimes yields unexpected insights.

Polyamory is a subject I’ve taken up with a heightened level of interest after realizing that suppressing this aspect of myself had resulted in negative effects, as does suppression of most any need. Yes, “need.” We all need several things to survive – water, food, shelter, warmth, sex, and love are a few. Of all the needs we have in common, sex and love are perhaps the most perplexing.

And we need these things in varying amounts and degrees; for instance, some need warmer clothing than others while another has higher water intake requirements. These aren’t necessarily matters of choice – these are conditions that exist with everyone, and everyone has their own particular combination of needs.

Whither polyamory? Why not? Traditional dogma requires us to successfully select a single (opposite sex) life partner while suffering from the dual handicaps of being both young and inexperienced, just one person from a pool of approximately 3 billion, and somehow be completely compatible with the chosen one. Deviation from this “approved” approach is often met with disdain, with reactions ranging from gossip to name-calling to outright ejection from the family. Or even death, in some cultures. All this for trying to meet one’s basic, innate needs for love and sex.

Whither polyamory? Why? Look within yourself for the answer to this one. Do you have the capacity to love more than one person at a time? Of course you do. Most of us deeply love several individuals, usually relatives but often including a small number of close friends. Do you have the capacity to be in love with more than one person at a time? Of course you do. But this condition is verboten, taboo, off-limits to good little acolytes. Woe be to the person with more than one love.

And why should that be? What makes it “wrong” to feel authentic love for more than one other soul? It is within our capacity – why should anything we can potentially do be necessarily bad? Somehow the rest of the world manages to suppress, ignore, or simply stuff all that extra, unchanneled love they are capable of, and they do this as a matter of course lest they fall off the path and (gasp!) have an affair. How horrible it would be, to feel love with someone who isn’t your designated sole love beneficiary. What a sin!

It’s about what’s right for you, not about what conforms to others’ expectations of you. Fortunately for me, I’ve always been hostile toward societal norms and social convention. This made it easier for me to understand and embrace the state of polyamory. It used to almost tear me apart when I would find myself in love with two girls. I generally did not hide this – for amorous relationships, I believe in openness as a default policy, yet frequently the girls insisted that I choose between them – only one per customer, mister. And I, not understanding their possessiveness of me, would ultimately end up breaking up with both of them.

And while I never strayed during 12 years of marriage, I was still in love with at least one woman from my youth and, though not as frequently, I continued to fall in love with new women from time to time. My wife never knew. She would not have understood. I had to just stuff it.

Only in recent years did I begin to realize that I’m not a philanderer or womanizer, nor a slick seducer, nor a Stud Muffin from Pussy Pasture. When love comes over me it’s not because I went out looking for it, it’s because it found me. I don’t seek to be intimately involved in the lives of multiple women simultaneously and usually am not, but it has happened before. The problem wasn’t that I loved woman A and woman B and possibly woman C at the same time – the problem was that one invariably thought that somehow my love for the others negated my love for her or inferred it was impure in some way.

Jung suggested that our needs must be met or the creature suffers. I do not have a burning need for multiple lovers.  I do, however, freely admit to loving sex and wanting as much as I can get. My problem is that I can’t turn off the “love center” in my brain. When love finds me I recognize it and do not fight it any longer. It actually harms me to not explore that love and takes away from my life force, diminishing me as a human.

 

Special Needs Kids and Sex

One would think that the world of sex therapy is pretty mundane since there’s nothing new under the sun. Same old hang-ups, same old bang-ups. One would be wrong. The world is constantly changing.

Should you introduce your special needs child to sex at some point in their life, if ever? This question came to me recently from an unexpected source: The parent of a 14 year-old girl with cerebral palsy.

There’s been a few rumblings recently about whether the elderly have a “right” to have sex after befalling some arbitrary age or condition. There is actually no legal opinion on this topic unless there exists a judge’s order granting guardianship powers over the elder. But what of a younger person who cannot adequately conduct their own affairs?

In general, the courts agree that getting old or having special needs cannot deprive you of any rights. A guardian may be able to restrict a person’s movements or circumstances in ways that preclude sex, or sex could even be strictly forbidden based on the person’s medical condition or ability to consent. But one’s therwise inalienable human right to pursue and enjoy sex cannot be encroached nor their ability to reproduce if they so desire (forced-sterilization madness of years past not withstanding).

The mother agreed that her daughter should grow up with every opportunity and advantage and experience afforded to any other kid. She loves her daughter and wants all good things for her else she wouldn’t even be considering this question. But sex. It’s difficult enough to think about our little girls someday having sex but this girl is, well, handicapped and will never be able to take care of herself. How will she manage sex?

I thought about my older cousin who suffered mild brain damage during birth due to oxygen deprivation. She’s smart, funny, has loads of common sense, loves children and old folks, and has held several jobs. Then there’s things she can’t quite master: Money, friends, driving, relationships, value judgments. She is “high-functioning,” a term coined to describe people like her, though she always needs someone to guide her through life. Not that she doesn’t think about sex – she does, a lot, but it is more motivated by nature than the complex intimacy structures we create for ourselves. Her caretaker has been her mother, who ruled out sex for her daughter long ago. And I think it was the right decision, in that case.

This girl is different, however, having full mental capacity but not much capacity for physical movement and socialization. Pregnancy and childbirth are completely out of the question, though there’s nothing wrong with her that would preclude some level of sexual activity with effective birth control. Birth control was an issue that mom hadn’t even thought of, or that maybe she wouldn’t need birth control because she might prefer girls.

In the end, I had only to look to my experiences in surrogate partner therapy to realize the answer. There is a movie that addresses a very similar question, “The Sessions” starring Helen Hunt. An intelligent, personable 20-something confined to an iron lung desired intimacy and sex but had little chance of finding it on his own. Hunt’s character was an early sex surrogate who was referred by a therapist the young man had contacted. Everyone should see this movie to gain insight into part of what surrogates actually do.

This young lady also has the right to someday take lovers and enjoy another’s touch. Her capacity to experience orgasm is not diminished in any way. Her condition doesn’t stop her from having the innate need for love and carnal fulfillment. There’s no reason she shouldn’t have it when she reaches the age of consent.

Regrettably, her biggest difficulty will be in finding suitable lovers. Someone who can see past her disability, someone experienced or empathic enough to properly engage but not hurt her, someone insightful and emotionally mature enough to understand what a relationship with her will entail. She may choose to employ a sex professional like me, or she might place an ad on one of the special-needs dating Websites that have cropped up. She may just want someone to help her masturbate.

In this instance, it’s her call, Mom. You cannot allow her a greater gift.

Don’t construe this as advice for your particular circumstance. In all cases, consult a qualified sex therapist if you have questions or concerns.

 

Golden Energy and the Touch-free Orgasm

This is not an article about watersports or “golden showers” though golden energy can make you wet.

Many years ago, I had a lover who had mastered the nuances of energy exchange during sex. She had a way of making each act of union a sacred event, a rite in itself but not a ritual. There was intention and intent in each motion, each movement, each breath. This powerful woman, unbeknownst to her at the time, set the sensual standards to which I would aspire. She was a sexual goddess that I could never hope to please as fully as she did me, or so I believed at the time.

Not really a technique or style, Cheryl’s attentions could shuttle me to orgasmic plateaus that seemed to stretch for hours. It wasn’t anything about how she looked or felt or sounded or thought. It wasn’t something she had learned in her short marriage. It was about manifesting what she wanted me to feel, the ability to channel her sexual energy through me. We never talked about what she could do; I always assumed it was because she was just so darn good at pleasing me. It would be some time later that I discovered that I had this magical power too. And so do you.

It was at a house party in Preston Trails the first time I positively knew I could do it. There were about two dozen people present this night, mostly 20-somethings with too much time and money to be anywhere else. Many were somewhat jaded from years of traversing the North Dallas social scene where copius amounts of ecstasy and cocaine where tossed about as freely as cigarettes. Sex was the goal for many at these parties and usually amounted to pathetic, inebriated attempts at copulation that resulted only in frustration. This night would be different.

By midnight the party was in full swing. It was freezing out yet everyone had at least one nude dip in the hot tub. Several were already wasted and becoming boisterous. Two girls dropped their bath robes and began making out in the main room, loudly challenging each other to see who could cause an orgasm first. I remembered what Cheryl used to do for me, even catching her once when she thought I was asleep.

“I can!” Everything stopped. The girls looked up at me with surly stares that seemed to drip contempt. “No man has ever been able to make me come. That’s why I’m playing with her.” My mouth kept moving as though I wasn’t doing it consciously. “I can make you come without touching you.” This produced a round of laughter from the room. “OK, stud, go for it,” the second girl said, shifting around on the couch to fully show herself to me. The first girl was about to protest but reconsidered and moved to a recliner nearby.

Sitting on the edge of the sofa, I explained what I was about to do. “I’m going to move my hands around your body but not touch you. If I do make contact it’s accidental and don’t react. Close your eyes, blank your mind, let go as much as you can, ignore what’s going on outside and allow yourself to feel what’s inside.” Cupping my left palm slightly and allowing it float about a half inch over her skin, she began to relax as more of the others began to watch.

I made note of the places that seemed to radiate more heat and those with less. Some areas caused her to flinch, others squirm, another made the corner of her mouth curl. She began to breathe more deeply with short, forceful exhales. The other party-goers had fallen silent, in rapt attention after having seen the stark transformation in her demeanor from loud and aggressive to completely passive and submissive. The girlfriend was slack-jawed.

Her navel was very warm so I used it as a center and made circular motions radiating outward. Starting there again, I moved my palm up and down from the top of her head to the pubis bone and imagined the chakras aligned with the motion. Then focus was moved to the space from her belly button to the mons, an inverted triangle roughly tracing the positions of the vagina and uterus and ovaries. Moving slowly over and back, I could feel more heat rising from her body as she began to react with gentle squirming and moaning.

It was about this time that I tried to imagine what was going on inside of her, visualizing her vagina pulsing and twitching and lubricating as it passed through the stages of arousal. From that mental image burst a spray of golden light right from its center, like a fountain in a city square. At that exact moment, she drew up her arms and legs and began making a new sound, almost like pain. Her legs straightened and spread as wide as they could; I concentrated on the golden light and the mental image of her inside and thought about causing the golden energy to burst forth from her belly button, bathing the room and everyone present in the glow.

The orgasm lasted about three minutes. She clamped down one last time and a huge squirt of girl cum gushed forth, causing several of the watchers to gasp and whisper. I caressed her face and lips briefly then leaned back to observe everyone’s reactions.

I thought she had passed out and so did her girlfriend who had moved in to ask if I had hurt her. Groggy, she eventually came out of it and opened her eyes, astonished that she was spread wide open and a dozen people were staring at her. Feeling around the couch, she found her girl cum and glared at me, “What did you do?!” “He didn’t do anything. He never touched you,” the girlfriend reassured her. “He had to have. How did this get in me? What happened?” Several of the onlookers began asking questions.

It seemed like a good time to get a beer and take a dip in the hot tub. A few others followed me outside; one was the wife of a popular football player. “Do you think you could teach my husband to do that? He just pounds away like I’m a defensive tackle.” It might have been funny but for her sincerity. How can you lie about something like that when you’re naked with a stranger in a steaming tub in 20-degree weather? I wasn’t sure how to answer except to say that he would need to devote some serious time to learning about her body.

This experience has since been repeated many times, both in “I don’t believe it” settings and with my own lovers. I’ve learned that the essence of this energy transfer is also found in the practice of “touch healers” and reiki and several other disciplines. It’s not a sexual thing – it is spritual, drawing on our very essence as beings of light. I never conduct a transfer or try to sense anyone’s body without their permission. It can be a very moving experience, especially for those that are not fully in touch with their body or are not prepared for an all-consuming orgasm.

You can do this too. Practice openness, allowing the full range of your senses to inform about your lover, beyond the five obvious senses. Feel their energy centers. Try to visualize each area and what it will look like after your influence. See the area begin to glow with golden radiance, spreading outward and filling the entire room. Your lover should feel this and with practice will be able to identify when (and where) you are exchanging energy with them. Take time to know your lover, really know them. Their body isn’t that different from yours and it responds in the same ways, if not exactly to the same things. Share your golden energy freely and it will always come back to you.

As a how-to hint, when I want my girl to come during intercourse I visualize her from the inside with the golden glow radiating from the end of my penis, like a brilliant torch of shiny yellow fire. Works every time, and it can effortlessly extend her orgasms far beyond physical stimulation only.

It was very rewarding to share my energy with Cheryl this way when we reconnected after two decades. My dear lover wept quietly as we fell asleep. No one had ever done that for her before.

 

Virginity Lost and Found

Author Peggy Orenstein was a guest on NPR’s Fresh Air recently, discussing her new book Girls & Sex. The last paragraph in the synopsis on NPR’s Website really rang a bell for me.

The topic was virginity. After running through a list of possibilities, one young woman had concluded that females lose their virginity when they have their first orgasm with a partner. I can’t think of a better definition, though it differs greatly from the common standard and leaves itself open to interpretation.

Control of others through their sexuality is a topic that’s covered in several other posts on The Shaggist. The reader is probably already familiar with some of these heinous impositions: Shame, female genital mutilation, circumcision, monogamy, ostracization, imprisonment, ex-communication, eternal damnation. Here is yet another.

Virginity has long been prized as a near-magical virtue. Dogma ordinarily requires zero sexual contact with anyone until marriage, including one’s self. The measure of chastity in females has traditionally been the existence and condition of the hymen, the protective organ possessed by most – but not all – young girls. Unfortunately, boys possess no such physical determiner though circumcision and other penis-oriented practices can have some quasi-religious connotation regarding manhood.

The ideal of the intact hymen traces to the false notion that any vaginal penetration will result in the tearing of this tissue, normally with some amount of concomitant bleeding. Willfully retaining the hymen precludes both intercourse and vigorous masturbation, not to mention physical activity that could potentially strain or rupture the hymen inadvertantly. Thus young females are expected to not explore themselves, not get to know their bodies, not learn about the fabulous vessel in which they reside. All in the name of remaining a virgin and ideally carrying the resulting ignorance forward into marriage, after which virginity is lost forever.

So are there different types of virginity, as suggested by Peggy Orenstein? Does this suggest that there is a way to have sex and not lose your virginity? The short answer is yes and it’s not difficult to understand.

Standard virginity simply requires the lack of hetero-style penetration, regardless of gender. Very convenient to know when evaluating one’s limits while growing up, but what about all the other sex things one can do? Self-exploration, masturbation, penetration with fingers or objects, oral and anal sex, viewing porn, sexting other kids, riding the washing machine like mom used to do? How about hymen restoration surgery? Where do all these fall in the virginity spectrum? Nowhere and everywhere, according to our convoluted societal norms.

Virginity is only a concept. We are all virgins from birth, experiences and sensations flooding us as we go, each new encounter erasing our virginity in that one unique way. So, if one has never been a public speaker or driven a race car or gone skydiving then they are a virgin in each of those ways. Of course, these are just life experiences, not sex, right? Right?

I encourage each of you to lose as much virginity as you can in this life. Love and peace be with you.

 

Remarkable Insight

Every once in a while one encounters a person who is truly introspective of themselves and others. This week, it’s a young lady named Britta Love. Writing for Alternet in How Sex and Dugs Saved My Life (and Could Save the World), she had this to say about how healing can occur through indulgence in the title elements:

In order to achieve these altered states, the final requirement is surrender: a surrender of the ego, whether through orgasm (la petite mort) or an ego-death experience on psychedelics. Surrender is often a dirty word in our control freak and victory-obsessed culture. Perhaps this surrender, this loss of control, is what’s really so subversive about sex and drugs.

Herein we have the functional roots of our dysfunctional Western society and many others. The seeds were planted eons ago when tribal democracy gave way to lords, chiefs, and kings. Each progression brought greater need for control of the population, ostensibly for their own good. Many of these control structures have elements of truth and goodness in them while enshrining covert mechanisms to ensure domestic harmony and self-policing.

How was this achieved? By imposing suppressive terms on behavior that defy any chance of personal or spritual fulfillment. We’re not talking about laws against sexual assault or pedophilia, necessary and important functions of government. It’s the non-criminal things we are programmed to regard as “sins” consciously committed against a diety, others, and/or ourselves, sex being the most important among them. And then there’s abominable practices like circumcision specifically designed to rob us of our sexual potential before we ever get started.

Carl Jung held that unfilled passions block us from achieving our full potential, a truth that Ms. Love has discovered in her exploration. Rejecting the supposed reasons why we can’t get what we want and be successful too is the pathway toward everyone’s individual maximum. Reject what? Any and all thinking that says it’s wrong for you to succeed, to have a voice, to enjoy yourself, to enjoy your body and sex, that’s what. Anything that you really need for inner balance and completion should be at the top of your list, not held at the bottom because of some long-dead cult leader’s judgment of your actions today. That’s self-policing in action.

Embrace yourself for who you are and live that way! Don’t like minorities? Fine, don’t go around them – but never be a racist. Don’t like kids? OK, don’t have kids – make that a must-not-do in your life choices and act accordingly. Smoke weed? Then live somewhere that doesn’t see it as tantamount to treason – just don’t let it become a problem in your life for having pursued it. Love anal sex? Great, get all you can – safely and ethically.

Ah, ethics, where most folk’s ability to think their way out of this box breaks down. In every version of dogma each of the prior lifestyle choices are “wrong” and even thinking (or not thinking) about these things is sufficient to earn one eternal damnation or worse, yet we can easily observe how each happens in different ways on a daily basis and the consequences or lack thereof. And since we’re all trying to practice our own unique version of compliance with so many imposed psychological constraints, how can we possibly navigate to our spiritual destination?

Britta Love observes that an altered state of consciousness can manifest during intense sexual activity. For those who haven’t had this profound life event, it feels exactly like the ego-dissociation that can occur under ideal circumstances when using certain recreational drugs, notably nitrous oxide and LSD. You disconnect from yourself and float free, entering other realms that are always just under the surface but seldom accessible. You intuitively know that it’s the place you always struggle to reach, Nirvana, Eden, our perfect world, and all the answers we seek are in there.

Ms. Love relates that 1 in 8 people might experience an instance of that altered state of consciousness during sex. That means that 1 in 8 might experience it ONCE. Probably only in 100 can reliably reach such an altered state if paired with a suitable partner. And probably less than 1 in 100,000 have the conscious, innate ability to actually induce this effect in most any lover they are paired with. You may have encountered one of these precious few women or men. The venerable television series Star Trek featured the near-human Deltan race, super-sexual beings that could be compared to these 1 in 100,000.

By no means does this writer advocate the abuse of any type of drug to find themselves, though there is growing scientific evidence that judicious use of select chemicals can have unparalleled healing qualities, if not from the checmical itself then as a result of the psychological state it allows the user to produce. Sex can produce these same states without the detrimental side-effects, and it’s (usually) free.

Sex is available to us all, albeit in varying quantities. Finding quality sex with that “right” partner may happen your first time out or it may be a lifelong quest. In either case, pursuit of one’s true self through life-changing, consciousness-altering sexual encounters is our built-in toolbox that requires nothing more than being human to access.

Explore each other deeply and explore yourself completely, mind, body, and spirit. Employ a sex professional when appropriate to help reduce barriers to your fulfillment. When that little voice starts giving you reasons not to do whatever it is, learn to ignore it unless it’s making real sense. You know what you need most and only you can make it happen.

Britta Love has found the secret.

Austin, Sexas, Part I

Zen here.

No, that’s not a typo up there. I’ve decided Austin must be the horniest place in Texas. When I came here a couple of years ago I really thought Texas would be a lot like Moralton. I had heard about how it’s a big part of the Bible Belt and how it supposed to be so redneck and conservative and all. Well, I must have missed that part on the way through.

So much has happened lately, where to begin. After the burlesque show and finding Cindy at that bar, she’s been extra-friendly when I see her around the apartments. A few nights ago I came in a little late and Cindy popped her head out of the door to ask if I would like to have a drink, and that sounded good after meeting with my little ones’ parents that evening. Cindy handed me a glass of chardonnay and sat close to me on the futon.

“You’re so pretty, Zen. How is it that you don’t have anyone?” Cindy always leans in real close and stares right in my eyes when she talks. I didn’t know how to answer her question though it made me think. I remembered Dan and a couple of other guys I wished had shown interest in me but didn’t. There was Jane but I haven’t heard from her and Pete doesn’t count. “I don’t know, Cindy, I guess no one has tickled me that way yet.” This brought a giggle from my host. The conversation turned to her work as a pet groomer then to my teaching then back to relationships.

Cindy said she hadn’t had a steady lover in a few years and was tired of always looking but never finding anyone. She said her last serious girlfriend had decided she was straight and moved to Alaska to meet men, to which I said she was probably better off without her. Cindy poured more wine. Saying it was hot in the room, she took off her outfit and suggested I do the same. Whether it was that warm or maybe the wine was causing me to flush, it seemed like a good idea. We sat in our underwear, drinking and talking and laughing.

“You remember that night you fell asleep over here?” How could I forget? “I kept running my fingers through your hair and talking to you, and at some point you were starting to drift off. That’s when I decided to make you comfortable and just let you stay.” OK, that all sounds right. “After I got you settled in I just had to kiss you. I know I shouldn’t have and I’m sorry but I couldn’t help myself.” Is that all? She just kissed me? Hell, I’ve done worse than that!

“Did I like it?” was the first thing I thought to say only to hear this coming out of my mouth: “I want to see you naked.” Cindy looked surprised for a moment then siad, “I guess that’s only fair since I’ve seen you.” She removed what was left, took me by the hand and turned me around to take off my remaining garments. We stood staring at each others bodies for a few minutes, each doing a slow spin when prompted. I had never studied another girl this way.

Cindy’s B-cups are beautiful. I never noticed she even had boobs before because of the sports bras she wears. Her belly is flat and smooth, legs perfectly round and unblemished, back and butt detailed yet without lines. She has something else that I wasn’t expecting and that’s a bald cooch. I’ve never seen a completely hairless one before (like I’ve seen a lot) and it was fascinating. Returning to the futon, I asked for more wine and took a sip as she held the glass to my lips. She turned to set our glasses out of the way and leaned over and at that moment I could see everything. My heart fluttered a little. I wondered what I look like from that angle.

“Can I touch?” I asked as she turned back around. I couldn’t believe I said that but her body is so nice and I just had to know what she felt like. Cindy took a step closer and parted her arms and legs slightly. “This will be a first, getting felt up this way.” I let my hands run all over her, fingertips dragging slightly, pausing in spots that felt interesting. Her neck, bottom, and that place right under the arm (side boob?) caused me to linger longest.

“Lie down.” Cindy complied silently,  resting one leg on my lap and slinging the other across the back of the couch. I’ve seen pictures of girl parts before but never anything like this, right in front me, wide open, available to explore. And completely hairless. Hers is smaller than mine (I think, I’ve never seen mine from that angle) and symmetric and very pink in the middle. It was glistening from top to bottom with a slight trail beginning to trace along the taint. Love that word, taint. Thanks, Pete!

Her eyes were closed and neck bowed back in a way that she could not have seen what I was doing. After rubbing her legs and belly for a bit I decided to check out the glistening, running a knuckle from top to bottom so as to not penetrate her without invitation. It was so slick that I couldn’t even feel her skin at all, just the slipperiness. Cindy moaned and moved slightly, then squirmed and shreiked as my finger slid slowly along her asshole. This part felt different, slippery too but with much more resistance to pressure.

“Don’t tease me, Zen.” It hadn’t occurred to me until that moment that she had probably had plenty of opportunities to explore another girl this way and it didn’t have the same novelty for her as it did for me. And then I realized that Cindy thought we were going to have sex. I didn’t even see that one coming. What do I do. I don’t know what to do!

So I figured I would just continue to touch her and pay attention to what areas and motions brought the best reaction and concentrate on those. That seemed logical since that’s what I do alone. It wasn’t long before she was starting to orgasm. It seemed natural to slide my middle finger in her cooch and wiggle it around while rubbing her clitoris with my thumb. Cindy flopped around and howled like a bassett hound, ending up with her lower half completely in my lap. I took my finger out and rubbed around the outside some more while Cindy caught her breath, then stuck it back in. As she began to climax again I aimed my pinky into her bum, pushing inward a little deeper each time I’d feel it relax.

Her head thrown back and mouth open wide, no sound was coming out. Cindy’s entire body began to jerk in spasms like someone having a seizure. Her little pink butthole was so strong that I wondered if the circulation in my little finger was restricted. It was all such a big reaction that I figured she was just exaggereating or even faking it to make me feel not quite so unskilled, so to appear confident I kept up the same action until she finally stopped moving and let her breath out in a big rush. Cindy drew deep, raspy lungfuls, smoothing into a more regular rhythm as I stroked her belly and thighs. I thought she was asleep so I tried to stand without disturbing her. As I put a quilt over her slightly perspiring body she looked like angel at rest with a sweet smile, lips slightly parted, hair flowing along her shoulders.

I kissed her lightly as I knelt down, lingering until my lips had begun to dry and stick to hers. I remembered how Pete had tucked me in that time, and how I had learned tonight that Cindy had done exactly the same for me once. Except for the sex.

 

Kriss-Kross Kissing

It’s Zen! I’m back and better than ever!

I didn’t know how hot it would get in Austin but the locals tell me I haven’t seen real heat yet. I beg to differ. I recently saw something so hot it fried my eggs. (Like that one? Thanks, Jenny!)

Last time I told you about Pete taking me to meet his friend Fred and how he helped me put the Toy Party in perspective. I haven’t seen Jane again, darn it, but I wish she would find me. I bet she could have helped me with this post. Instead I had to figure it out for myself though maybe it was better that way. You be the judge.

I needed a new topic for Sandra’s underground sex mag and couldn’t think of anything to write about. The skinny article I managed to produce was about the benefits of sex lube, the one thing I felt that I did know something about after the encounter with Jane. I learned that some women never need sex lube, and that gay men always need sex lube. And there’s many types and nearly all of them are bad for you, with only a couple of brands that don’t destroy natural pH levels. And – yuck – some of them are flavored. Whatever.

Then it was time for another article and I had nothing. I’m a little afraid to go to 6th Street alone and Pete must get tired of me bugging him so I picked up a copy of the Austin Chronicle, another local underground mag that’s not so underground. There was all kinds of stuff to do and I found an ad for a burlesque show – cool! I had seen burlesque and loved it and thought this would be a great way to clear my mind. The club hosting the event was downtown and though it wasn’t on 6th it was near the police station and that made me feel better.

I got a drink and found a small table in the back, away from the stage. The place begin to fill up with a variety of different looks. Everyone was very friendly and smiled at me. One girl had green hair and tattoos, another must have been over 7 feet tall in her heels and dress, several guys carrying duffel bags passed through. Soon the lights dimmed and the little stage lit up. The 7-foot Amazon woman went onstage and thanked everyone for coming out. Her voice was strange, sort of deep and raspy, but I soon forgot about it as the first performer took the spotlight.

Wearing a blue cocktail dress and boa with a hat right out of the movies, she started to slink around and move with the music that was playing. She never took off a stitch of clothing but the crowd went wild anyway. Same for the next girl, except her dress was green and covered with sequins. The third performer was in a man’s suit even though she had on lipstick and make-up, like an ad in a fashion magazine. This time the clothes came off, tear-aways that came apart with a simple tug that made them easy to remove. But when the boxers hit the floor I couldn’t believe what I saw – she had a huge bulge in her g-string! This gal had the man-costume-thing nailed down, all the way. The crowd roared and I couldn’t stop laughing.

This continued for another hour with performer after performer occupying the tiny stage. Each was more popular than the last. A few didn’t seem very comfortable in their outfits (truthfully, some of them didn’t fit too well) but it was huge that they overcame their insecurities to exhibit themselves that way. The 7-foot woman returned to close the show; dance club music started and the crowd began to regroup.

I had just gotten another drink and was holding the empty glass in my other hand. A throng has assembled around one of the performers at the bar, blocking my path. As I stood there with a glass in each hand and arms out to avoid getting splashed, I felt a pair of hands circle around my sides and cup my breasts. My first thought was of Ronnie’s girlfriend’s brother back home, you remember, the one who grabbed my ass that time. Remembering the drinks, I turned around slowly as not to slosh the contents. Dressed in a black bustier and black leather hot pants and tall lace-up boots, it was my neighbor Cindy!

“Hello, Zen, darlin’. I never expected to find you here!” she said in her gravelly voice. I couldn’t believe my eyes – Cindy was stunningly hot, a word I would have never used to describe her before.  “Come over here and sit with us.” We made our way to a table with two other girls and two of the burlesque performers. “This is Sandy, Pat, Bill, and Richard. Everyone, this is Zen.” Bill and Richard immediately stood up and I realized they were men! I had thought the masculine names were a joke but there they were, bigger than Des Moines, men wearing womens clothes.

Conversation was brisk and lively. Cindy kept a hand somewhere on my body the entire time but it didn’t make me nervous. Several people stopped to say hello and some of those were also men wearing women’s items from the show. It was impressive how well they had been able to fool me into thinking they were female with their costumes, make-up, movements, and character. Bill told me that they gather for the show regularly and that Cindy was one of their biggest fans. It finally sank in that Bill and Richard are gay when they began openly kissing right in front of me! I had never seen two men do that before, but I saw it several more times that night. And I saw lots of women kissing each other and dancing provacatively with each other. A few even left together that had come alone.

It was a friggin’ gay bar! I was in a gay bar! A flood of realizations came to me, chief of which was that Cindy really is a girl and she is gay. I think. Oh no, did I make out with Cindy that time? I had never been sure about her before. Pete just laughed when I asked him, asshole. Then Jane and I had sex and if it happened with Cindy too that means for certain that I’m a lesbian. I think. And here I am in a gay bar, sitting with Cindy who has been feeling me up in front of her friends all evening. OMG.

Time passed quickly and soon it was time to go home. Cindy asked if she could catch a ride and I agreed. The trip home was filled with talk of the show and the performers and how much fun the night had been. Cindy’s voice was beginning to not bother me any more. She really is quite sweet and I felt closer to her than I ever had. The feeling grew stronger when we stopped at her door and she put her arm around my head to kiss me deeply. “I love how you taste, Zen.” She said that before. I almost asked her what happened that night but thought better of it.

All I know is that I really like kissing. Watching it and doing it. That night was the hottest scene I’ve ever witnessed. Not a single sex act in sight, just everyone kissing each other – girls with girls, boys with boys, girls with boys, and a few I couldn’t tell.

Sandra loved the article. I can’t wait to go back.