I don’t want to write this post.
I really don’t want to write this post.
I really don’t want to write this post because all the ways that Slate columnist/link-baiter William Saletan is wrong about BDSM are so numerous and so glaringly inaccurate that I have half a mind not to dignify it with a response.
Alas, here I go:
Saletan asks whether, between 50 Shades of Grey and various colleges starting their own BDSM clubs, kink is going “mainstream,” as if sexuality is like rap music or the Atkins diet which spreads around the country once it becomes “cool”. He quickly concludes no, BDSM won’t ever be accepted by your Great Aunt Myrtle in Iowa City, because it’s actually “dangerous” — actual quote — and actually “consensual domestic violence” — actual quote.
His viewpoint only serves to further stigmatize what’s barely even taboo anymore, promoting the Dark Ages/maybe-in-rural-Alabama idea there’s “right” and “wrong” sexuality between consenting adults.
To which I have to say, shut the fuck up, William Saletan. Keep reading »
The New York Times Style section has gotten the memo: 50 Shades Of Grey is a book the ladies be readin’. Cue interviews with various and sundry New Yorkers who are involved in the kink scene, from sexual submissives to fire players. Actually, this article was written by a friend of mine named Matt and even if he wasn’t my bud, I’d still think this article about issues pertaining to kinky sex was a job well done.
Take note, other journalists who write about sex! Here’s six ways the New York Times actually got it right on kinky sex (or, as much as they could in one article): Keep reading »
We all know from Cupid and Hallmark and Victoria’s Secret that Valentine’s Day is supposed to be the sexiest, sultriest, panty-droppingest day in existence.
We also know that’s not actually going to happen.
But you can try, can’t you? Your partner probably isn’t going to turn into Christian/Christina Grey for the night. But that doesn’t mean you can’t introduce a sex toy or three to spice things up. Here’s nine toys we think you might enjoy for a little something-something extra this Valentine’s Day. Let us know how it goes … if you’re willing to kiss and tell.
We live in the sexiest time ever. For most of history, condoms were hollowed-out sheep guts, “getting lucky” meant not contracting a plague, and the more insane religions insisted that even masturbation was a sin (despite the fact that jerking off is the literal fucking definition of “enjoying yourself without bothering anyone else”). Any god against that is both a voyeur and a killjoy.
Thanks to the Internet, the average modern teenager has seen more nudity than an orgiastic Roman emperor with X-ray vision. We’ve realized that human genitals are like LEGO: lots of fun to put together, and if you get bored with all the possible combinations, you can buy extra bits to connect. But this ability to screw absolutely everything has spilled over into, well, absolutely everything. For example: The ’80s aren’t just nostalgia, they’re subconscious urges that have been stewing in hormones for 30 years.
Sex has leaked into science fiction. And just like science fiction warned us, the real madness begins when this stuff escapes into the real world. Read more…
I didn’t physically prepare for my first orgy. My husband and I talked about boundaries and asked the friends who invited us about party etiquette. But I didn’t put much thought into what I looked like because I wasn’t planning to do a whole lot. I wanted to meet people, maybe kiss and fondle a few, and generally take in the experience as an observer in order to judge whether a second orgy was in my future. So I planned for comfort rather than beauty. I wore attractive but conservative clothing. My bra was snazzy, but my underwear was generic. And I didn’t even consider trimming my pubic hair.
I’ve never shaved my pubic hair. When I was a teenager, I read “The Vagina Monologues,” which features the harrowing account of a woman whose ex-husband shaved her bush without her enthusiastic consent. I decided right then that I never wanted to shave down there. The occasional hygienic trim, sure, but I’d never shave or wax or remove it in full. Pubic hair serves a purpose, and I like having it. (Plus, don’t let my kinkiness fool you – I hate pain. I don’t even tweeze my eyebrows because it hurts. So the thought of a bikini wax makes my toes curl, and not in an orgasmic way.) Keep reading »
When he wasn’t otherwise occupied writing poems about the president, James Franco has been busily producing a documentary about Kink.com, the premiere web site for BDSM porn. “Kink,” which is debuting now at the Sundance Film Festival, explores the production company that runs Kink.com and their film shoots in San Francisco’s Armory. Franco and his collaborator, cinematographer Christina Voros, showcase the various folks who are drawn to this quirky profession, like Maitresse Madeline, and get the scoop straight from the horse’s ball-gagged-mouth about how some people misunderstand sadomasochistic sex play to be abuse. I’m pleased to hear that “Kink” explains “safe words,” too. Can’t wait to see this when it comes out in theaters! Damn, James Franco, you are really making me like you.
[Black Book Mag]
[The Daily Beast]