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Today's Featured Article:
| Killer Biscuits |
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Wednesday, May 21 2003 @ 04:38 PM UTC
Contributed by: Venus |
 I thought this was really funny and had to share it:
*This was actually a newspaper article*
KILLER BISCUITS WANTED FOR ATTEMPTED MURDER (actual newspaper heading)
Lisa Burnett, 23, a resident of San Diego, was visiting her in-laws. While they were at a near-by store picking up groceries, several people noticed her sitting in her car with the windows rolled up and her eyes closed with both hands behind her head. One customer who had been at the store for awhile became concerned and walked over to the car. He noticed that her eyes were open and she looked very nervous. He asked Lisa if she was okay and she responded by saying that she had been shot in the back of the head and had been holding in her brains for over an hour . The man called paramedics who were forced to break into the vehicle because the doors were locked and Lisa refused to remove her hands from the back of her head. When they got in, they found that Lisa had a wad of bread dough on the back of her head...apparently, a can of Pillsbury biscuit dough had exploded from the heat , making a loud noise like a gun shot and the wad of dough hit her in the back of her head. When Lisa reached back to see what it was, she felt the dough and thought it was her brain. She initially passed out and then quickly recovered to attempt to hold in her brains until help came. Lisa is blonde.
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| The Weekly Grind- Soul Mating |
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Tuesday, February 21 2006 @ 04:42 PM UTC
Contributed by: Venus |
"Darling, I love you, but you're a dud in bed."
Those are possibly the most dreaded words by people in loving relationships. You and your partner can have glittering conversations and oodles of fun going out with friends, but when it comes down to one-on-one action, the fire fizzles.
Or maybe it's the other way around: "I can't get enough of your freakiness, baby, but stop calling me during the day."
Physical and mental connections are not usually valued independently of each other, but what's the problem with enjoying a relationship that is purely one or the other?
When searching for a compatible partner, we often put body-rocking sex at the bottom of the list because it's viewed as base-a terrestrial pleasure far inferior to the laudable attributes of intellect, accomplishment and wit.
But do you really care about that stuff as you are launched into orgasm number four?
Why an intellectual connection should be valued above a physical one, I don't know. Mental stimulation is hard to find, but mind-blowing sex is just as rare. You can't exactly join a book club for that. You can talk to someone for hours on end and go home gushing about your soul mate, so why can't you fuck for hours and go home all gushed-out because of your sexual soul mate?
I don't mean to elevate the status of your "fuck buddy" to some divine creature sent to you by the powers that be, destined to be your partner in pleasure until the end of time. But there is something to be said about a person who you can truly express your sexuality with.
Maybe their knowledge of your favorite Russian writer wouldn't hold up in court, but Dostoevsky would agree, that's a crime you're willing to take the punishment for.
Why should you discard a person you enjoy being intimate with just because you couldn't see them meeting your parents or raising your children?
It seems natural that good love should lead to good sex and that hotness, hardness and wetness would indicate compatibility above the pubic line, but that's not always the case.
A divide between bodily and intellectual pleasure can cause angst in any type of relationship. Relationships are often propelled by sex until mental differences become too apparent to ignore. Or intellectual partnerships are marred by a physical relationship that just doesn't satisfy or feel right.
But the problem is in the way we perceive the role of our partners. Why should you expect the person you relate to intellectually to be able to tickle your fancy beneath the sheets?
Perhaps you've thought, "If only I could take that one person's brain and put it in that other person's body, then I'd have the perfect mate." But are we overlooking opportunity as we search for this Frankenstein of conversation and fornication?
The overwhelming vision of two people in lifelong cahoots seems to be impressed upon us as soon as we're old enough to understand. Physical attraction is supposed to lead to more than just pressing your naked bodies together. That's about as absurd as saying that you had always known your spouse would be great with your finances because she made your cock rise like stock.
The assumption is that love and sex will magically meet in a synergetic explosion of "happily-ever-afterness." But once we go through our first breakups or watch our parents get divorced, we know better.
Perhaps this trauma of disillusionment could be avoided by the acceptance of one simple idea: A solely physical or strictly mental partnership should not be discarded just because it doesn't span both sides of the love-sex spectrum. Platonic love and sexual soul mates can exist separately. This could indicate alternatives to monogamous commitment-you may get your mental fix from one person and your sexual kicks from another. I've found this can happen effortlessly if you aren't expecting both from one person.
Of course, there is nothing wrong with asking for two in one, rather than one in two or more.
Sometimes, it's hard to get hard for someone who doesn't tickle your cerebrum or for someone who tickles it too much.
If you desire a partner that stimulates both your brain and your privates, you should feel entitled to seek that person.
But don't let your lust for the whole package blind you to more discretely wrapped opportunities.
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| The Weekly Grind- In Love We Lust |
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Monday, February 13 2006 @ 05:16 PM UTC
Contributed by: Venus |
In Love we Lust
Think about your last Valentine.
When you're with this person, does your heart flutter or just your groin?
Without this person, would you be lonely or just horny?
What's love got to do, got to do with it?
If there's one thing I've learned in my university career it's to switch attention to semantics when you have no idea how to approach the actual question at hand.
To honor this noble tradition, I asked passersby, "What's the difference between fucking and making love?"
A collection of responses:
"When you're just screwing, it's all physical. When it's more than that, it's also about emotion."
"If you're in love, sex is about your partner's pleasure. When you're not, it's about your own."
"Love is about support, intimacy and affection. Sex is just about getting off."
"Sex without love is an empty experience, but, as empty experiences go, it's one of the best."
Oops, I forgot. I gave up plagiarism for Lent. That last one is actually Woody Allen.
I report no shortage of people who go on about how Valentine's Day was invented by Hallmark. This logic is flawed. 1-800-FLOWERS clearly makes more profit.
That aside, it seems some people must be in love to enjoy sex while others adopt Conor Oberst's sentiment: "I want a lover I don't have to love."
In this mass confusion of bumping into each other with our pants around our ankles, such contradictory logic seems to guide us young and restless.
We pass on such pearls of wisdom as "If it's just a hook up, go for it. But if you really like someone, don't sleep with them yet." Or "I can't date him, he's just too nice." Or, my favorite: "Don't call for three days because you can't let him know you're actually interested."
So don't sleep with "nice" people whom you're "actually interested" in? I'm not excluding myself from this observation, but we really tend to give each other some seriously dumb-ass advice.
It seems that the appeal of loveless sex to the average coed is its convenience. It requires the commitment of a sticker rather than a tattoo.
But would you rather study the social commentary in The Simpsons or the practical applications of nano-technology in the 21st century?
Does the "easy way out" mean it's less rewarding? That, ole chum, is up to you.
Another old professor trick: make all complicated questions rhetorical.
So love and sex are obviously related, and you can certainly have one without the other. But can both combine in profound synergy that will make you come even harder?
"I used to buy into the idea that sex was best when it was with someone you really care about," my friend Brie explains. "But then I had this New Year's fling with a guy I hardly knew, and it was the best sex of my life. If you use me for your article, you have to promise you'll tell me if anyone named Sammy writes in. I want his number." I promise.
But what if it was the lack of love that made the sex so good for those two? While many people can only fully enjoy sex when it's with someone they're "in love" and thus comfortable with, perhaps others only give themselves permission to really get what they want out of sex when it's with someone they're slightly detached from. Too consumed with the giving half of sex, they sacrifice all the receiving.
The one percent of the population that identify themselves as "asexual" are no doubt still capable of love. Meanwhile, there are plenty of others who claim it's impossible to share intimacy with someone on a purely platonic level. They hold that sexual affection is the natural expression of deep love.
Perhaps I'll add credibility to this camp by quoting TIME magazine's Jeffrey Kluger instead of another frat guy: "If it is hard to be physical with a mate you've stopped loving, it can be equally hard to get to that cold point with a person with whom you still share the intimacy, exclusivity and, especially, vulnerability of sex." Word.
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| The Weekly Grind- Pimp Your Ride |
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Thursday, February 02 2006 @ 12:55 AM UTC
Contributed by: Venus |
When you first remove a new lover's knickers, you know pretty much what to expect.
Or do you?
More and more, people are using the pubic region as a canvas to express their inner selves.
That, or they're getting really caught up in the extreme makeover craze.
Either way, crotch connoisseurs brave everything from Brazilian waxes to body modification on their quest toward sexiness. Below, you'll find some common pubic primps reviewed.
MAKEOVER: Bare Beaver
OUCH FACTOR: Zero if you shave (unless you get ingrown hairs), 7.6 if you wax.
TIPS: If you're going to shave, be sure to soften the skin first-a warm bath is best, and splurge on some fancy after-shave bikini cream. Razor burn is not hot. If you're going to wax, go to a pro. Meditative deep breaths help. So does pot.
TESTIMONIAL: "Being hairless, I feel more clean and confident. Oh, and my boyfriend has an easier time locating my clit."
DEEP THOUGHTS: Letting your partner shave you can make a shared shower even more intimate. This trust-building exercise has been brought to you by broadband porn.
MAKEOVER: Man Muff Maintenance
OUCH FACTOR: None.
TIPS: Keep in mind, it's a bit easier to take off more later than to insert hair plugs, so start with your trimmer at the longest setting. If you're using a mirror, take a moment to verify which is your right and left side. Stay sober during duration of makeover.
TESTIMONIAL: "I was trimming my sideburns, and just thought, why not? Now I trim my pubic hair every other week. It makes me look bigger."
DEEP THOUGHTS: Men are way more obsessed with their size than are the women who fuck them.
MAKEOVER: Clitoral Hood Piercing
OUCH FACTOR: What do you think?
TIPS: Do a lot of research into the type of piercing you want and the artist you want to do it. The good people at Ritualistics warn not to go for a shaft piercing offered at some dodgy establishments. You may risk losing all feeling in your clit. They suggest a triangle piercing (where the ring passes under the shaft) for ladies looking for more intense results.
TESTIMONIAL: "When I got mine, I thought I was going to be this multi-orgasmic woman who could come just from a bumpy bus ride. My hopes were a little too high, but it definitely made me more sensitive."
DEEP THOUGHTS: Hot soft vulva, cold hard metal. You do the math.
MAKEOVER: Prince Albert (Male trans-urethral piercing and super hot)
OUCH FACTOR: Confirmed.
TIPS: Drink a lot to pee a lot. You'll reduce the chance of infection. No sex for five weeks. Or in the champagne room. Ever.
TESTIMONIAL: "My first orgasm having sex with the PA was nothing like I'll ever experience again in life."
DEEP THOUGHTS: Some people are more turned on by the idea of having a hidden "jingle in their jeans" than they are about the physical piercing. The rush of this secret can actually be addictive to some. These types tend to have a bit of trouble getting through airport security, but there are worse addictions.
MAKEOVER: Circumcision, which has never in the history of time been classified as a "makeover."
OUCH FACTOR: My baby cousin cried a lot at his circumcision
TIPS: No tip, just shaft and head.
TESTIMONIALS: I couldn't find a man who chose to get cut. Maybe that's because of the 40 percent of men in this country who are not circumcised at birth (way fewer than anywhere else in the world, except maybe Israel) only one in 1,000 choose to have the operation as an adult. An intact man said, "I wish I'd had it done as a newborn. It's embarrassing to have to explain it to a girl."
I don't know which girl he's talking about, because every girl I asked who's had the pleasure finds foreskin rather erotic. "Hand jobs are so much easier," one explained, "we don't even need lube." Another fan commented that she didn't even know her man was uncircumcised until the third time they had sex because you can't tell when the penis is erect.
DEEP THOUGHTS: Funny how circumcision is the norm. It's like pierced ears on girls.
It's when you don't have something altered that people notice.
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OKAY OCDers,
Saturday, February 18th 2006 at Union Hall here in Edmonton I am throwing a huge sex toy party/ drunken night of debauchery as a fundraiser for my trip to Africa this summer. Tickets are only 5 dollars and that gets you a free drink, no line no cover, 1 dollar hiballs and sluttily dressed serving staff.
Plus, you get to hang out with the hottest sex columnist that this city has ever seen. (me, if you are unsure).
If you want tickets, shoot me an e-mail azreal99@shaw.ca
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| The Weekly grind- The Great Debate |
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Tuesday, January 17 2006 @ 06:45 PM UTC
Contributed by: Venus |
The Great Debate
The population is divided. Arguments ensue, opinions change, alliances are made and broken. I'm referring, of course, to the great -debate between cheese and oral sex. Haven't you heard the buzz?
Sitting around class talking nonsense, as is often the chosen activity of tired and overworked students, my friend Erica asked me a question which has thus altered the course of my life: if forced to choose one, which would I rather give up indefinitely, cheese or oral sex?
I couldn't help but put aside my massive paper in order to sit and ponder such a deep and probing query. After copious amounts of questioning among my lovely fellow students, we came up with some important points to help you make up your mind.
Yes, I know we can have both. But as your situation may be like mine and many others, in that one or the other isn't available at just this moment, just imagine if you had to choose.
The general trend is that people eat cheese much more often than they have oral sex.
With careful scheduling and the right partner this could all change. If I had someone around to pleasure me orally (and well)whenever I wanted, I would give up cheese faster than you can say fettuccini alfredo.
Some people have very severe allergies to cheese. And while I've heard of people who are "allergic" to and have had negative experiences with oral sex, I have yet to hear of anyone who flat out can't deal with it.
Health-wise, oral pleasure is much better for the body. Orgasms are proven to relieve stress, and the caloric intake that comes from oral pleasure is much lower than that which comes from eating cheese. More oral sex would lead to a healthier world. Oral pleasure is vegan-friendly as well!
While a good cheese is easier to find than good oral sex, we don't deserve to eat good cheese if we can't appreciate it. If given the right oral pleasure, most people would be more than adequately appreciative.
On the other hand, oral sex is just one means of reaching that magical end. In giving up oral sex, you lose only one of those means. There are several other ways that partners can please each other (or that you can please yourself), whereas cheese... well, let's just say those commercials commanding us to "behold the power of cheese" didn't come from nowhere.
If you have a craving for cheese, you can usually find some way to satisfy it. Most people have a cheese or cheese product in their fridge or cabinet or are in a position to find some. Oral sex is on a regular basis is much more difficult to find. If anyone out there has more oral sex than cheese, you'd better be lactose intolerant or I hate you.
For most people, cutting cheese out of their diet (yes all cheese, every cheese - cream cheese, cheesecake, pizza, brie and crackers) involves depriving themselves of a much larger part of life than if they were to cut out oral sex. Social functions don't involve fellatio or cunnilingus that often (unless you are people that I know), whereas if you brought an extremely fancy cheese to a party, people would crowd around you.
Spending a lot on cheese is considered classy, whereas spending any money on oral sex is considered just plain dirty.
When choosing a cheese, you generally know what to expect from the name of the cheese. If by some chance you encounter a bad cheese, you can simply spit it out and choose another. If only oral sex were so simple.
It's considered fine dining if there is mold on your cheese, but very poor hygiene if there is mold on your person.
My very torn friend, Sarah, brought up this final point. It's not a bad idea to ask a professor to go for pizza; it lets them know that you are proactive and interested in furthering your academic life. It is a terrible idea to propose oral pleasure. It lets them know you are a dirty ho. (However, I find it odd to be asking your teacher out to pizza as well, but maybe that's just me)
What is the purpose of this argument, you ask?
I kind of missed that part of the assignment, but it brought hours of conversation to me and my various other friends.
And please feel free to point out the utter cheesiness of these comparisons and the ultimate insignificance of this column.
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| Xanadu |
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Monday, December 19 2005 @ 11:20 PM UTC
Contributed by: Venus |
~Here is a poem written by Alisdair, a friend of mine and an all around cool guy~
XANADU
She stares up from the magazine
Dares him to take hold
A serpent in the centrefold
Head between her knees, eager to please
Part of her is still sixteen
Still chasing that glitter dream
And parts of her feel very old
Spread beaver, magic weaver
Fuck her hard and never leave her
To him she is a thing pristine
Steaming at a thousand degrees
But if he could touch her he'd find her cold
And drier than a desert breeze
Her name is Xanadu
Stately pleasure-domes but a cave of ice
Playing on a lonely voyeur's vice
This business is not about what's true
Perfect actor, wide receiver
Like God attacked her with a meat cleaver
She could swallow him whole, or so it seems
And she loves it that way
He knows, of course, but he needs to believe her
Those eyes tell him the truth is in there
Beneath that strip of curly golden hair
Lie the gates to paradise
The camera flashes twice
She blinks, then pulls on her jeans
That's a wrap for the day
It's a soft flesh palace fallacy he's built
He'd do anything to fill the hole
The sticky milk is spilt
Her image gently creamed
Through the suffering of guilt he'll be redeemed
While her destiny is bought and sold
She will go to her penthouse home
Crawl beneath the satin sheets
Searching for the way she used to feel
He will walk the streets
Searching for his fantasies made real
They are utterly alone.
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| The Weekly Grind- Have Sex For Communism |
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Wednesday, November 16 2005 @ 12:08 AM UTC
Contributed by: Venus |
We live in the crack between how we want to get off and what is deemed "OK" by the people around us. As if it weren't hard enough to simply find someone with mutual feelings of lust and to coordinate the climax of said feelings, you have to do it in a socially appropriate way.
The good news is that fucking is in constant fluctuation. The latest evolution has been away from dating and toward hook-up culture, with spin-offs like cuddle parties to provide commitment-free intimacy. Apparently, we're all just combating the empty isolation of our capitalist society ... by groping strangers for a couple hours in someone's random apartment after paying an entry fee. Right.
While academic standards are rising and free time is waning, your horniness is the only constant. When pornography leaves you chaffed and lonely, the logical solution is to have random, no-investment hook-ups.
When I talk to my mom about hook-ups she always assumes I mean intercourse. She's an optimist like that. But a hook-up can mean anything from a quick make-out to a full night's ball-out. The point is that you and at least one other person were physically involved beyond what you might do with a friend. This can be confusing if you haven't defined your limits. Brant, an interdisciplinary field studies major, describes the scene: "You hook up once when you're drunk at a party, you hook up drunk again. Then you hook up with the same person sober and you think, 'Oh shit, are we dating?'" It seems intimacy can get turned on its head and sex can lead to relationships, not just the other way around. You knew you were at risk for STDs, but what about a surprise attack of commitment?
Oddly enough, hook-up culture has not demolished intimacy, it has only changed the rules of the game. With new arenas for sexual experience come innovations for breaking emotional and physical ground, namely, first times. There is the first time you have sex, and there is the first time you demand it. There is the first time you give head, and there is the first time you let him spray it on your face. These are magical moments. With hook-up culture, you are no longer building on the foundations of a first experience you had with Joe/Jane Blow/Blowee, every time is the first time and every push of your personal envelope is a busted hymen.
A teenage prostitute posted her experiences last month at www.nerve.com, a Web site dedicated to tracking sexual culture. Her favorite thing about whoring was putting on a different face five times a night. She said it was like living inside other people's dreams. This is the intimacy of random interaction. There are no rules because there is no guarantee there will be another hook-up. You are free to try on different sizes to see what fits.
Columbia University's sex columnist Miriam Datskovsky pointed out, "You can keep recreating your ideals, which is maybe inevitably connected to not knowing what you want." Another symptom of our consumerist culture is the overabundance of choice and the anxiety of defining yourself while facing the wall of willie hats at Shoppers Drug Mart. But sometimes you do know what you want, whether it's all anal all the time, an exclusive relationship or both.
Hook-up culture has still affected those who like to come with consistency under the label of monogamy. Having sex without protection is always risky business but it's more admissible in a committed relationship. Disrobing the rod has become a symbol of exclusive love for heterosexual and male homoseaxual couples.
A friend of mine told me how she had sex with her boyfriend for a year before they did it without a condom. "It was like we were having sex for the first time," she said, not only because it felt better without a wall of latex between them, but because they were acknowledging that they trusted one another not to cheat and were willing to increase their risk of pregnancy. Some people would throw themselves in traffic for their lovers, others risk a lifetime of herpes and an abortion. This moving gesture of commitment wouldn't be possible without the advent of hook-up culture.
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| The Weekly Grind- Bedroom Blunders |
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Wednesday, November 09 2005 @ 12:36 AM UTC
Contributed by: Venus |
A guy walks into a bar. The guy meets a girl and after way too many drinks they head over to her place. In the middle of their sloppy, drunken humping, she reaches into a drawer and pulls out some shiny red anal beads. Eyes half open, the guy slurs, "What are those for?" The girl smirks, "Put them in my ass." He does. Then she says, "Pull them out." The guy is so wasted, he doesn't think twice before yanking on those beads like he's starting up a lawn mower. The girl screams, shit flies, the night is over. The guy grabs his things and heads home to shower before he gets typhoid fever. The girl's fate is unknown, although we can pray she recovered from the unexpected enema.
The moral of the story is: Know your sex etiquette. In this case, it would have behooved our guy to start slowly. But how could he have known this? We've got rules for dining, dating and weddings but sex is one integral part of our culture that Emily Post didn't pontificate on. Granted, there is no polite way to wipe poo off the wall, but there are ways to deal with awkward situations in bed.
Take for example, the enigma of the wet spot. This can be unpleasant, unless you're screwing on a Slip n' Slide, in which case, enjoy the ride. But normally, you have to deal with the spot, on the spot, or you'll end up with a collection of crusty zones. It's okay to set a towel underneath, especially if you are planning on a clean cuddle session in the sheets later. Some people don't mind a little latent liquid, but if it's your bed, you sleep in it. And for fuck's sake, change the sheets before you get down with someone else. Don't think no one will notice your hard-baked fluids if you turn the lights off.
Another opportunity for fluid foibles involves condom removal. Unfortunately, there's really no suave way to do it. It's not like you can study Fred Astaire as he kicks, spins, whips it off and smiles. Anyway, you already got yourself some, so who are you trying to impress? But, you don't want to pollute the ocean with your leaky barge by flushing it down the toilet. So be kind to your environment, take your bare ass to the trash can and safely dispose of your deposit before cuddling up with your partner. Nobody likes a limp, soggy one nestling against their leg.
There was no nestling last week for 21-year-old English major, Regina Filange. She fled the scene after finding out what it meant to be finger-lickin' good. As her partner removed the last little pussy-coated piggy from his lips, Regina went wee all the way home. She dared not stay to see what else this Hannibal Lecter had a taste for.
What Regina didn't realize was that many people of both sexes love the taste of a woman's wetness. Semen hasn't had such rave reviews, but what can you expect from a low-calorie protein shake? But just because you like your love juice a la carte doesn't mean your partner wants a taste too. So if your lover does the dodge when you lean in for a kiss after oral, grab some Altoids.
Mints near the bed will also guard against morning breath for an early-bird special. But there's nothing you can do about air release from the other end. Everyone lets it rip 10 to 20 times a day, according to Dr. Jim Mitterando at www.healthcaresouth.com-so even though it's more banal than eating, it's still hilarious and embarrassing. Queefing, an odorless vaginal release of air trapped during sex, is less common but just as normal. So when this happens in bed, give yourself and your partner a break. Laugh, open a window and get back to the good stuff. If your lover's breezy burst deflated your drive, switch gears by changing positions, sharing a kiss or giving a massage-do whatever you can to get back on the horse. You will both feel better and might become closer by overcoming, and coming over, an awkward moment.
There just isn't space to go over all the fornication faux pas; Bob Saget could have hosted a whole show on it and probably made better jokes, too. But this random enumeration of kinky kinks is an example of three maxims of sex etiquette: communication, courtesy and keep going.
FYI: "Muff" and "boner" are sexy words that also mean fuck-up. Proof that sex and error are intimate bedfellows.
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| The Weekly Grind- Eat It With The Wrapper |
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Wednesday, October 26 2005 @ 07:27 PM UTC
Contributed by: Venus |
Eat It With the Wrapper
In the long-long-ago, in the before time, humanity began asking, "Hey, what happens if I put that in my mouth?" The answer has not always been appetizing. Eve's apple and the loss of humanity's innocence comes to mind. But every once in a while something good comes from an oral adventure-take, for example, oral sex.
Sucking, licking, biting, blowing, spitting and all the wondrous functions of the oral organs reach their full capacity in the circus of cunnilingus, fellatio and analingus. (Enunciate that sentence the next time you find your face in someone's crotch.) Cunnilingus, or "eating someone out," is using the mouth to stimulate the vagina. Fellatio is the same for the penis. And that leaves us with analingus. Ah yes, rimming: the oral stimulation of the anus. You may cringe or grin slyly at the thought of it. Some of you would eat food off the DC floor before considering "tossing salad," which is not entirely off track if the proper precautions aren't taken. But protection should be a standard for all oral play.
Most people don't consider going downtown to be that risky, but I beg to differ. For example, you could get shot. An architecture student shared a shocking story involving a cum-shot to the eye. "It stings," she said, "I had mascara and semen all over the place. It was awful." Another informant, who goes by Caesar, reveals a story in which a woman 69-ing with a man accidentally let a ghost through the back door while his nose was in a compromised position. Hey, it could happen to anyone. It is even conceivable, although barely, that a pregnant woman could get an embolism if her partner blows hard enough into her vagina-yay for urban myths.
Embarrassing? Horrifying? Yes and yes, but not as bad as it could be. There are real risks to consider: Gonorrhea, herpes, chlamydia, HPV and HIV can scamper across the bridge between your lips and your partner's pieces (provided they have enough change for the toll). In addition, anus-to-mouth contact brings bacteria, worms and some types of hepatitis to the dining table. So just because you can't make a baby doesn't excuse you from using protection.
Flavored condoms create instant lollipops. Make it sexy by putting the condom on with your mouth. I saw a university health representative do this to a banana when I was a freshman-how's that for higher learning? Pinch the tip of the condom, as you normally would to get the air out, and press that between your pouters. Instead of unraveling the condom with your fingers, slowly push it down with your lips.
Everyone, and especially your mother, thinks they give great head, but the subtler techniques are lost along with sensitivity when a condom comes into play. The key to overcoming this cock block is pressure and warmth. Use extra force, especially under the tip, and keep his penis warm with your mouth. He can't distinguish the dirty dancings of your tongue quite as well, but vibrations from your moaning will still invoke his love song. To spit or to swallow is no longer the question, because the condom is there to catch his cum.
Facing an orifice? Dental dams are pieces of latex that act as a barrier between you and cooties. But, much like granny panties, dams aren't sexy and they seem old-fashioned. Instead, slice the side of a condom or a latex glove (be sure to rinse off the powder) to create a homemade muff-diving device. Gloves are enticing because you can keep the thumb hole intact for your tongue. Encased in a tube of latex, your licker will be free to roam the ins and outs of someone's eager pussy or untossed salad. The tongue is arguably the strongest muscle in your body, so maximum flexibility is a plus.
If you're not an artsy-craftsy person, ready-made dental dams do have their advantages: adhesive so that your hands are free and an array of lovely flavors like strawberry, vanilla, lime and mint. That's better than eau de glove or just plain ass.
Safer oral sex can seem complicated, but compare it to wearing arm-floaties in the pool. On the one hand you've got these awkward rubber devices inhibiting full mobility. On the other hand, you don't drown. So just dam it, dammit.
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| Celibacy and other lies |
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Tuesday, June 14 2005 @ 07:12 PM UTC
Contributed by: Venus |
You know what's totally overrated? Sex!
Hear me out on this one.
Not unlike Dave Eggers, marzipan, Redhook or the Postal Service, sex is touted among us hip college kids as one of those must do things. But having sampled a little of each, I declare that all are completely unnecessary. Dispensable, I say!
So is chocolate. And ESPN. And breathing. Who needs ’em?
Thus, mark today as the day that I implore the collective student body to reconsider the need to make nice with individual student bodies. This could be big … Crystal Pepsi big!
There is any number of reasons to avoid copulation. And I’m not talking about that fire-and-brimstone-Jerry-Falwell-sex-is-a-sin-Jesus-loves-you-for-who-you-are bullshit, either. (Turns out that no one, not even Jesus or your career counselor, loves you for who you are. Sorry.)
No, there are far more practical reasons than the judgmental gaze of some magical omnipresent invisible dude to deprive oneself of the most exhilarating activity on the planet second to winning an Olympic gold medal in air guitar.
The millennia-old deterrent, namely the potential for pregnancy, is still applicable in these modern times, but could stand to be updated. Back when potato famines were cool, unprotected sex meant another mouth to feed. Nowadays it means another body to drive around—and with gas prices the way they are, reproduction just isn’t fiscally sound. Especially if your baby ends up being a V6 with poor fuel economy. Fucking American-made babies.
Then, of course, is the grim specter of sexually transmitted diseases. They have been plaguing sailors and children dressed as sailors since the advent of sails, and given that there’s no sign of sailing falling out of favor any time soon, it’s safer to just stay at home and watch sailing on television.
Lastly, sex is simply too time-consuming, especially if it’s performed correctly—which, for the record, involves four tangerines, a VHS copy of “The Bad News Bears” and a squeegee. Until someone invents robo-schtupping, or power-poking, or a quicker alternative to dial-up, a busy student can’t possibly wedge intercourse into his or her schedule.
What? There is something faster than dial-up? Does it have a penis? I didn’t think so.
“But Jen,” I ask myself, “how does a hot lady like yourself, armed with a charming personality, an acclaimed weekly column and a nice ass, stave off all the entreaties you must receive each day?”
Good question, Jen. As you know, it isn’t easy to live in the Edmonton ghetto and have a functional vagina and not be bombarded with suitors. But like good sex, good not-sex is all in the brain. It just takes some creativity.
Before I hop into another person’s bed, I ask myself a series of questions: Will I regret this tomorrow morning? Would my mother approve of this? If a train leaves Pittsburgh at 5:43 a.m. traveling 56 miles per hour, and a second train leaves Newark seven minutes later at 49 miles per hour and makes a 13 minute stop in Lancaster, would my mother regret having sex on a third train leaving Boston at 11:00 a.m.? If the answer to any of these questions is “no” or “95.4 minutes,” I’ve clearly miscalculated and I usually spend the night alone, or drink so much that I don't care.
Failing that, I kill the mood by subjecting myself to a cold shower while chewing gum and thinking about my grandparents playing baseball naked. There’s nothing sexy about a “fielder’s choice,” if you know what I mean.
So now that we’ve achieved that elusive state of celibacy, how do we cope with putting our naughty bits on ice for a while? While someone else might advise you to get cozy in the bathtub, or befriend a Twice as Nice, I know better: Sit on your hand until it goes numb, then when you touch yourself it’ll feel like someone else. It’s called “the stranger,” and it beats real love any day of the week.
Of course the best technique for tolerating temporary abstinence is to never have had sex to begin with. Analogously, I’ve never gone water skiing on coke with Lance Armstrong right after winning the Lotto. I’m sure if I had, I’d want to do it again and again. And again.
So before you bemoan your dusty box, corroded comebucket, stifled shaft or flagging fish taco, think of sex as little more than a pint of good brew or a cool indie band ... or at least these are the things I tell myself to get me through the drought.
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