Monday, January 15, 2007
Girl Bars
My first gay bar was in London, in the late 60s. You had to like do the little dance they made you do back then at the door, you had to "join" as if it were a private club. Which it was. Legally it made things easier. Thank God I walked in with another American girl from the youth hostal. A straight girl, but she was there in London studying at RADA. An actress, ergo, an adventuress. Gay bar? No problem for her, off we went.
It helps when you go there with someone. Otherwise I found hardly any of the women ever talked to me. This set me to wondering all sorts of strange ideas, ranging from my mouthwash isn't working tonight to maybe I am not defined enough, not butch or femme looking enough. But that has nothing to do with it. It's just the nature of the beast.
Of course I thought the problem was with me, until I started reading Camille Paglia, the social critic and literary maven. And self-identified lesbian. She writes about exactly the same thing - of walking into dyke bars and being pretty much ignored. Other than the one or two gay boys hanging around, because they WILL talk to you. What's that all about?
Camille was not a bad-looking woman, and neither am I. It's just women can be so...quaint with other women. Again, I am left marvelling that women meet up at all with each other. And again, I find myself saying, no wonder monogamy is such a crucial thing in lesbian life, because you realize how hard it is for ANYONE to hook up. When they do, they want it to be like Leavenworth. Lock and key and forever and ever till death do us part. Actual death or lesbian bed death. Whichever comes first one supposes.
On the other hand, I met one of my best female friends ever in a dyke bar in San Francisco around 1969. This was at Maud's, which was a classic hang-out for dykes. PBS even did a show on Maud's when it finally closed down. It was a fairly roomy place, with a nice pool table where I learned basically to play a mean game of pool. I did this when I discovered few women would talk to me.
The bars can differ depending whether they are in L.A. or San Francisco. I have only seen one in New York City, and that was mid afternoon on a Saturday, so probably not the best time to get a gander of what it's like. The bars in L.A. maybe have women who are a little more dressed, and they may be more into the beautiful look ticket. But not by much. The attitudes are still pretty clique-driven.
Boy bars were a lot more fun. I visited a few of those too with various friends over the years. The energy level seems higher, the dancing more animated. More people actually talk to you.
But try as I will, I can never remember picking anyone up in a bar. I met people there and we might meet later, but nothing ever panned out.
And that is probably why dyke bars can seem pretty forlorn places. I don't know if I would even want to walk into one, just to play pool. This past year I have met two women in bars. One was a fellow writer, the other was coming out of a long relationship. Neither one went anywhere.
The first bar was the Lexington in the Mission District of San Francisco, the only full-time dyke bar left in the city. The other was at Mecca, a more upscale dining place with an elegant circular bar.
Funny how the women don't seem any more secure from one place to the other. No wonder they make me so uncomfortable.
- - - - -
It helps when you go there with someone. Otherwise I found hardly any of the women ever talked to me. This set me to wondering all sorts of strange ideas, ranging from my mouthwash isn't working tonight to maybe I am not defined enough, not butch or femme looking enough. But that has nothing to do with it. It's just the nature of the beast.
Of course I thought the problem was with me, until I started reading Camille Paglia, the social critic and literary maven. And self-identified lesbian. She writes about exactly the same thing - of walking into dyke bars and being pretty much ignored. Other than the one or two gay boys hanging around, because they WILL talk to you. What's that all about?
Camille was not a bad-looking woman, and neither am I. It's just women can be so...quaint with other women. Again, I am left marvelling that women meet up at all with each other. And again, I find myself saying, no wonder monogamy is such a crucial thing in lesbian life, because you realize how hard it is for ANYONE to hook up. When they do, they want it to be like Leavenworth. Lock and key and forever and ever till death do us part. Actual death or lesbian bed death. Whichever comes first one supposes.
On the other hand, I met one of my best female friends ever in a dyke bar in San Francisco around 1969. This was at Maud's, which was a classic hang-out for dykes. PBS even did a show on Maud's when it finally closed down. It was a fairly roomy place, with a nice pool table where I learned basically to play a mean game of pool. I did this when I discovered few women would talk to me.
The bars can differ depending whether they are in L.A. or San Francisco. I have only seen one in New York City, and that was mid afternoon on a Saturday, so probably not the best time to get a gander of what it's like. The bars in L.A. maybe have women who are a little more dressed, and they may be more into the beautiful look ticket. But not by much. The attitudes are still pretty clique-driven.
Boy bars were a lot more fun. I visited a few of those too with various friends over the years. The energy level seems higher, the dancing more animated. More people actually talk to you.
But try as I will, I can never remember picking anyone up in a bar. I met people there and we might meet later, but nothing ever panned out.
And that is probably why dyke bars can seem pretty forlorn places. I don't know if I would even want to walk into one, just to play pool. This past year I have met two women in bars. One was a fellow writer, the other was coming out of a long relationship. Neither one went anywhere.
The first bar was the Lexington in the Mission District of San Francisco, the only full-time dyke bar left in the city. The other was at Mecca, a more upscale dining place with an elegant circular bar.
Funny how the women don't seem any more secure from one place to the other. No wonder they make me so uncomfortable.
- - - - -
Friday, January 05, 2007
Manly Men And Their Manly Protuberances
Guys may not always have it so lucky when the conversation turns to sex. Even though they probably want that to happen. It may not always reflect honor upon them. Their manliness more often than not ends up being examined under a high-powered magnifying glass.
Take for instance the public talk that goes on about condoms. We like to poke fun at the need for such contraptions, but in the end we are all probably using them. But the humor can fade from racy talk like this, particularly when we get a news story out of India that might make a guy - or two or three - think twice before making jokes about condoms. Not that Indian guys do that a lot. They are actually pretty inhibited in a country where sex is a rather conservative topic.
One night recently on the MSNBC ticker tape, I saw a caption of a story out of India, about how the men there were not buying American-made condoms after all. Not because they were inferior, or over-priced. But because the average sized American condom is too big for most Indian males.
Ooohh, I thought. I wonder if this story made headlines back in India. Probably not. Not the sort of story you want bandied about.
Did this apply to Pakistan too? After all, they are right next door, and they are all of the same historical family tree. But you probably couldn't report a story like this out of Pakistan. If they hate us now, just wait until word of their puny private endowments gets out. Al-Qaeda and the rest of the Muslims there won't leave us alone. Talk about your run-up to World War III! Southpark can make fun of the tiny pee-pees of Japanese men, and their skit one month after 9/11 about Osama and his small privates was one of the most hysterically funny and biting pieces ever to hit the airwaves, but this is getting serious now.
So this is why I think the reporting powers that be chose to focus the story on India. They are more likely to have a bit of a sense of humor about such things.
Sort of.
Men in our country would not be amused one whit if they were subjected to similar scrutiny. But it's ok to pick on the Indians I guess. After all, they're the ones now with the jobs. Our jobs, that is. Is this how we get our own back on them?
Men are sensitive about size. Many aren't, fed no doubt on hope generated from hearing women say, since time immemorial, "Well size really doesn't matter that much."
I'd like to find the woman spreading those rumors and give her a good smack to the side of the head! Actually, maybe it was a man who started that rumor, but he attributed it to a woman. I would not be surprised. Because most women I remember ever talking with about this subject felt like I did.
You may not need a salami as large as the Eiffel Tower, but you certainly won't ask it to leave the bedroom.
I must have more of a gay boy's head than I could ever realize. And one of the ways this is true is when it comes to sizes. I love big. It is part of what I like to look at in penises. Along with shape, thickness, curvature. General loveliness. I have been fascinated about male members since before I left the womb.
The horrible thought occurs to me: my childhood fantasy of becoming a man someday was really about my wanting to get close to more penises. If I were a man, I realize now, I wouldn't be boffing women. I would be chasing men like a flea chases the fur of a cat, looking for a place to land.
- - - - -
Take for instance the public talk that goes on about condoms. We like to poke fun at the need for such contraptions, but in the end we are all probably using them. But the humor can fade from racy talk like this, particularly when we get a news story out of India that might make a guy - or two or three - think twice before making jokes about condoms. Not that Indian guys do that a lot. They are actually pretty inhibited in a country where sex is a rather conservative topic.
One night recently on the MSNBC ticker tape, I saw a caption of a story out of India, about how the men there were not buying American-made condoms after all. Not because they were inferior, or over-priced. But because the average sized American condom is too big for most Indian males.
Ooohh, I thought. I wonder if this story made headlines back in India. Probably not. Not the sort of story you want bandied about.
Did this apply to Pakistan too? After all, they are right next door, and they are all of the same historical family tree. But you probably couldn't report a story like this out of Pakistan. If they hate us now, just wait until word of their puny private endowments gets out. Al-Qaeda and the rest of the Muslims there won't leave us alone. Talk about your run-up to World War III! Southpark can make fun of the tiny pee-pees of Japanese men, and their skit one month after 9/11 about Osama and his small privates was one of the most hysterically funny and biting pieces ever to hit the airwaves, but this is getting serious now.
So this is why I think the reporting powers that be chose to focus the story on India. They are more likely to have a bit of a sense of humor about such things.
Sort of.
Men in our country would not be amused one whit if they were subjected to similar scrutiny. But it's ok to pick on the Indians I guess. After all, they're the ones now with the jobs. Our jobs, that is. Is this how we get our own back on them?
Men are sensitive about size. Many aren't, fed no doubt on hope generated from hearing women say, since time immemorial, "Well size really doesn't matter that much."
I'd like to find the woman spreading those rumors and give her a good smack to the side of the head! Actually, maybe it was a man who started that rumor, but he attributed it to a woman. I would not be surprised. Because most women I remember ever talking with about this subject felt like I did.
You may not need a salami as large as the Eiffel Tower, but you certainly won't ask it to leave the bedroom.
I must have more of a gay boy's head than I could ever realize. And one of the ways this is true is when it comes to sizes. I love big. It is part of what I like to look at in penises. Along with shape, thickness, curvature. General loveliness. I have been fascinated about male members since before I left the womb.
The horrible thought occurs to me: my childhood fantasy of becoming a man someday was really about my wanting to get close to more penises. If I were a man, I realize now, I wouldn't be boffing women. I would be chasing men like a flea chases the fur of a cat, looking for a place to land.
- - - - -
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
Death Fucks
Years ago when I first read James M. Cain's classic noir potboiler, The Postman Always Rings Twice, I remember hearing shocked reactions, and feeling some myself, over the scene where the anti-hero, our insurance salesman hero, fucks the heroine in the car right after they've beaten in the brains of her husband.
Eeewww, I thought, is this possible? Is it right that people could do this? More to the point, is this NATURAL for people to do this?
Well, one thing about growing older is that your mind expands to allow for many more possibilities than when you are younger. Those possibilities extend to peoples' sex lives and practices.
Now I am of the opinion that these so-called "death fucks" are indeed the natural route for humans to wander down. Before the question I phrased in my mind was, "How could ANYONE remotely think of sex when you've just basically beaten the brains out of a guy and now they're all over we presume the front seat of the car?"
Now the question gets answered, "Oh, of course they would have sex, what else?" Because the intensity of the first act brings into being the possibility of the second occurring now. That is just the nature of the beast. When death is at hand, nature, human nature, has to step in and counter that wave. Getting a hard-on is a way of doing that in the face of people getting hammered right and left.
If you don't want to trust literature to see this effect, you can go look at the news stories that came out of New York City after 9/11. Statistics show that the birth rate shot up nine months later. Why? Because the night after the attacks people apparently went home or somewhere and fucked like rabbits.
We could say, well they should have been comforting their kids, or their friends, or they should have been doing a, b and c. But in the end, they were fucking.
The deepest parts of peoples' psyches cracked open, their survival mechanisms were nukked in some critical way, they responded in utterly logical, perfect unison.
In the face of overwhelming, vast numbers of dead, the only way forward is essentially by harnessing the urge to create more life.
Go Team Humanity!
- - - - -
Eeewww, I thought, is this possible? Is it right that people could do this? More to the point, is this NATURAL for people to do this?
Well, one thing about growing older is that your mind expands to allow for many more possibilities than when you are younger. Those possibilities extend to peoples' sex lives and practices.
Now I am of the opinion that these so-called "death fucks" are indeed the natural route for humans to wander down. Before the question I phrased in my mind was, "How could ANYONE remotely think of sex when you've just basically beaten the brains out of a guy and now they're all over we presume the front seat of the car?"
Now the question gets answered, "Oh, of course they would have sex, what else?" Because the intensity of the first act brings into being the possibility of the second occurring now. That is just the nature of the beast. When death is at hand, nature, human nature, has to step in and counter that wave. Getting a hard-on is a way of doing that in the face of people getting hammered right and left.
If you don't want to trust literature to see this effect, you can go look at the news stories that came out of New York City after 9/11. Statistics show that the birth rate shot up nine months later. Why? Because the night after the attacks people apparently went home or somewhere and fucked like rabbits.
We could say, well they should have been comforting their kids, or their friends, or they should have been doing a, b and c. But in the end, they were fucking.
The deepest parts of peoples' psyches cracked open, their survival mechanisms were nukked in some critical way, they responded in utterly logical, perfect unison.
In the face of overwhelming, vast numbers of dead, the only way forward is essentially by harnessing the urge to create more life.
Go Team Humanity!
- - - - -
Friday, December 29, 2006
The Loves Of Our Lives
Since re-entering the wacky world of online girlie dating three years ago, I have observed how nearly all the lesbian women I run across seem driven by one consideration. It is not about sex, unlike gay men, who not only seek that out but find it with alarming alacrity. Rather it is about finding the partner of their dreams. Hetero couples engage in this too, but with lesbians it has been elevated to an art form almost.
The Quest For Love. It ranks right up there with the Quest For Fire, one supposes. Well, how do the ladies make out generally? Generally, I would say not very well. Mostly because I think they are looking too hard. There is the scent of quiet desperation.
The real problems occur, lo and behold, when a gay woman thinks she has located Ms. Right. Now the best is yet to come. There are a lot of jokes within the community about how gay women, almost singlehandedly, support the U-Haul businesses out there. Because as we all know, once a lady finds her lady, a moving van is not far behind. Hhmm, as we check our watches we see the girls are right on schedule to move in with one another and start living on top of each other and, in essence, really really having fun together.
I am being quite sarcastic here, because I find so many of these living arrangements head south pretty rapidly. The intensity of the desire to nest really skewers everything, I feel. No relationship could survive with that hefty amount of expectations piled atop it.
As I go through the women's personal ads on Craigslist for the San Francisco Bay area, I notice a now-large number of ads of women who just want an NSA relationship. That's No Strings Attached for you. So maybe the times are a changin' and younger lesbians are no longer so hell bent to find the perfect lover.
But there is another larger group on Craigslist who are searching for that. Since I am partnered with a male, most of these women figure I am poor dating material. As one of my former lovers stated in her email when she blew me off, she didn't see "where this could go." Well, there are many places such relationships can go; all it takes is a willingness to explore the possible paths, which I thought this particular lover, J, possessed. But apparently I was wrong.
I tend to like the dyke crowd when I play with women. I am not so interested in other bi women, mostly because they all seem so one-sidedly femme. I need someone a little butch of center for life to work for me. But this narrows my chances of finding someone in the lesbian community.
So I get to observe them a lot instead. I remember noting, when Mayor Gavin Newsom in San Francisco allowed gays to marry last year, that there were a number of fine-looking women down at the courthouse. Dave and I commented about one early female couple in particular. The one woman reminded me a lot of J. The other one was very appropriate for her too, I thought. So I watched them and I felt jealous. They seemed so compatible.
Well, lo and behold, we find out much later that the pair got divorced three months after the "wedding."
These looked like smart, educated women who were old enough to know their own desires. How can it be that THREE MONTHS later things have fallen apart? This is mind-boggling to me.
Is this what the drive for monogamy does to people? Well, to lesbian people anyway. Maybe someone ought to whisper something nasty into these girls' ears, like "You don't need to buy the whole cow just to get a little milk from her." Of course I will get flamed for saying this in many circles, but you have to wonder. Because the desire to be monogamous obviously conflicts with the desire to be more sexual. And when these two elements butt heads, break-ups are almost inevitable.
Why can't the gay girls be more like the gay boys? For the one group, monogamy is etched in stone; for the other, monogamy means you can cruise with your male partner. The fact that, in the States, the two communities don't really socialize that much anymore makes this gap seem wider. This is sad, because each group has some valuable perspectives to offer the other.
- - - - -
The Quest For Love. It ranks right up there with the Quest For Fire, one supposes. Well, how do the ladies make out generally? Generally, I would say not very well. Mostly because I think they are looking too hard. There is the scent of quiet desperation.
The real problems occur, lo and behold, when a gay woman thinks she has located Ms. Right. Now the best is yet to come. There are a lot of jokes within the community about how gay women, almost singlehandedly, support the U-Haul businesses out there. Because as we all know, once a lady finds her lady, a moving van is not far behind. Hhmm, as we check our watches we see the girls are right on schedule to move in with one another and start living on top of each other and, in essence, really really having fun together.
I am being quite sarcastic here, because I find so many of these living arrangements head south pretty rapidly. The intensity of the desire to nest really skewers everything, I feel. No relationship could survive with that hefty amount of expectations piled atop it.
As I go through the women's personal ads on Craigslist for the San Francisco Bay area, I notice a now-large number of ads of women who just want an NSA relationship. That's No Strings Attached for you. So maybe the times are a changin' and younger lesbians are no longer so hell bent to find the perfect lover.
But there is another larger group on Craigslist who are searching for that. Since I am partnered with a male, most of these women figure I am poor dating material. As one of my former lovers stated in her email when she blew me off, she didn't see "where this could go." Well, there are many places such relationships can go; all it takes is a willingness to explore the possible paths, which I thought this particular lover, J, possessed. But apparently I was wrong.
I tend to like the dyke crowd when I play with women. I am not so interested in other bi women, mostly because they all seem so one-sidedly femme. I need someone a little butch of center for life to work for me. But this narrows my chances of finding someone in the lesbian community.
So I get to observe them a lot instead. I remember noting, when Mayor Gavin Newsom in San Francisco allowed gays to marry last year, that there were a number of fine-looking women down at the courthouse. Dave and I commented about one early female couple in particular. The one woman reminded me a lot of J. The other one was very appropriate for her too, I thought. So I watched them and I felt jealous. They seemed so compatible.
Well, lo and behold, we find out much later that the pair got divorced three months after the "wedding."
These looked like smart, educated women who were old enough to know their own desires. How can it be that THREE MONTHS later things have fallen apart? This is mind-boggling to me.
Is this what the drive for monogamy does to people? Well, to lesbian people anyway. Maybe someone ought to whisper something nasty into these girls' ears, like "You don't need to buy the whole cow just to get a little milk from her." Of course I will get flamed for saying this in many circles, but you have to wonder. Because the desire to be monogamous obviously conflicts with the desire to be more sexual. And when these two elements butt heads, break-ups are almost inevitable.
Why can't the gay girls be more like the gay boys? For the one group, monogamy is etched in stone; for the other, monogamy means you can cruise with your male partner. The fact that, in the States, the two communities don't really socialize that much anymore makes this gap seem wider. This is sad, because each group has some valuable perspectives to offer the other.
- - - - -
Friday, December 22, 2006
Sanctimonious Lesbians
Oh, happy day when one can wake up to the subtle strains of NPR on the airwaves, in this case to imbibe the personal accounts of people who submit various opinions on various topics.
Today I heard a lesbian woman waxing poetic about her relationship with her lesbian partner. It all sounded lovey-dovey hunky-dory, until I got to the bit where some moralizing crept in.
Why would anybody want to put themselves through a heterosexual relationship in an attempt to find intimacy, she argued. She spoke about looking out the window of her apartment and across the way in other windows she would see couples sitting across from each other. Men and women couples. Surely, because they are men and women, they cannot have the same level of intimacy that I, a lesbian, can have with another woman.
Well, ok, maybe they can, she goes on, but it is more of a struggle because they are innately different, therefore the chances of finding true intimacy diminish. In case you weren't paying attention, Mother Nature just drove a stake through your aspirations.
Darn! And just when you thought it was safe to go back in the waters of heterosexual dating! Bummer!
But wait a minute here, why should I assume that because we are identical, as she puts it, on "a cellular level," that we therefore have an inside track on intimacy?
Hhmm, let me count the ways...I've had about a rough dozen female lovers in my life (and mostly rough it was, ruff ruff). More than the male partners by a good distance. Yet I would never presume to say we had good intrinsic communication skills because we both happened to be female. In fact, mostly the opposite.
So what's the deal here that lesbians seem to have this need to claim the higher part of the mountain for themselves? Do they regard men as being so low on the genetic totem-pole that there is little good any woman can wring out of their bloody hides? Probably, in many cases. You see, for many lesbians, it is not enough that you claim you are lesbian, you have to rain on the parade of the heteros as well. Especially the men.
There is a lot of this rather gratuitous chat that goes on among lesbians, I find. It is very annoying. It would be more annoying if it were true, and even more so if what the women claim for themselves were actually true.
But I would argue that mutual understanding is arrived at, not because you have reduced points of conflict, but because you may, God forbid, have more.
I would argue that you grow more as a person when you have a certain adversity flung at you every so often.
From personal experience, I can tell you that living with a man gives you that, as a woman. It has made me a lot stronger, as a PERSON, to live with someone who is quite different from me, biology aside.
Think of it as something akin to a roaring good tennis match. Roger Federer would still be the supreme player he is because he's Roger, but he will become even better if he has a Rafa Nadal around to push him, to get in his face, to rattle his cage. To bother the lad the way Dave has bothered me over the years.
Men do that with me, there is conflict; women on the other hand don't, it's too easy. And because it's too easy, it becomes, for me, rather boring.
To translate it into sexual terms, I also think one's sex life can be very interesting when the couple has a lot of issues going on. You patch things up in the bedroom.
In some lesbian relationships, the intimacy can be so complete and soothing that it drowns those instincts that can lead to hot sex. You end up with a lot of what they call Lesbian Bed Death. Or to put it another way, I think familiarity does indeed breed contempt.
I am realizing now why that topic fascinates me so, why some part of me feels anxious when I write about it. Because I want to keep the image alive in my head that I COULD have partnered with a woman. But I realize I never could have, because I required something different. I required a situation that had many points of tension built in, not that I tried to create that, or that I even wanted it. But once there, I saw how it worked for me.
Somehow being woven into a cocoon of lesbian intimacy was just too claustrophobic.
Quick, how do I get out of here???
- - - - -
Today I heard a lesbian woman waxing poetic about her relationship with her lesbian partner. It all sounded lovey-dovey hunky-dory, until I got to the bit where some moralizing crept in.
Why would anybody want to put themselves through a heterosexual relationship in an attempt to find intimacy, she argued. She spoke about looking out the window of her apartment and across the way in other windows she would see couples sitting across from each other. Men and women couples. Surely, because they are men and women, they cannot have the same level of intimacy that I, a lesbian, can have with another woman.
Well, ok, maybe they can, she goes on, but it is more of a struggle because they are innately different, therefore the chances of finding true intimacy diminish. In case you weren't paying attention, Mother Nature just drove a stake through your aspirations.
Darn! And just when you thought it was safe to go back in the waters of heterosexual dating! Bummer!
But wait a minute here, why should I assume that because we are identical, as she puts it, on "a cellular level," that we therefore have an inside track on intimacy?
Hhmm, let me count the ways...I've had about a rough dozen female lovers in my life (and mostly rough it was, ruff ruff). More than the male partners by a good distance. Yet I would never presume to say we had good intrinsic communication skills because we both happened to be female. In fact, mostly the opposite.
So what's the deal here that lesbians seem to have this need to claim the higher part of the mountain for themselves? Do they regard men as being so low on the genetic totem-pole that there is little good any woman can wring out of their bloody hides? Probably, in many cases. You see, for many lesbians, it is not enough that you claim you are lesbian, you have to rain on the parade of the heteros as well. Especially the men.
There is a lot of this rather gratuitous chat that goes on among lesbians, I find. It is very annoying. It would be more annoying if it were true, and even more so if what the women claim for themselves were actually true.
But I would argue that mutual understanding is arrived at, not because you have reduced points of conflict, but because you may, God forbid, have more.
I would argue that you grow more as a person when you have a certain adversity flung at you every so often.
From personal experience, I can tell you that living with a man gives you that, as a woman. It has made me a lot stronger, as a PERSON, to live with someone who is quite different from me, biology aside.
Think of it as something akin to a roaring good tennis match. Roger Federer would still be the supreme player he is because he's Roger, but he will become even better if he has a Rafa Nadal around to push him, to get in his face, to rattle his cage. To bother the lad the way Dave has bothered me over the years.
Men do that with me, there is conflict; women on the other hand don't, it's too easy. And because it's too easy, it becomes, for me, rather boring.
To translate it into sexual terms, I also think one's sex life can be very interesting when the couple has a lot of issues going on. You patch things up in the bedroom.
In some lesbian relationships, the intimacy can be so complete and soothing that it drowns those instincts that can lead to hot sex. You end up with a lot of what they call Lesbian Bed Death. Or to put it another way, I think familiarity does indeed breed contempt.
I am realizing now why that topic fascinates me so, why some part of me feels anxious when I write about it. Because I want to keep the image alive in my head that I COULD have partnered with a woman. But I realize I never could have, because I required something different. I required a situation that had many points of tension built in, not that I tried to create that, or that I even wanted it. But once there, I saw how it worked for me.
Somehow being woven into a cocoon of lesbian intimacy was just too claustrophobic.
Quick, how do I get out of here???
- - - - -
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Heidi and Mike, Out At The Ranch
If you're a woman, and you're in need of some sexual refreshment, as it were, why something wicked your neighborhood comes. In the form of former Hollywood madam Heidi Fleiss, who is back in business, again, only this time she has set up shop in Nevada. Probably a good thing, I seem to recall she had a fair number of problems plying her trade in Hollywood environs a few years back.
But hey, she did her time, she paid for her crimes, such as they were. Now she has found a new partner in crime, boxing heavyweight champ Mike Tyson. Also a former ex con, as you will recall from even further back when he did time, among other things, for raping a woman who went to his hotel room one night.
The New York Daily News reported recently, with a certain air of amusement, the fact that these two are now in cahoots. Heidi wants to open a brothel in Nevada, for women customers, and Mike has been hired to be her Number One Stud Muffin. As she put it to reporters, "(He's)..going to be my big stallion," A name has already been picked out for it. Heidi's Stud Farm. How novel!
Mike chimed in with his two cents, saying, "I don't care what any man says, it's every man's dream to please every woman...and get paid for it."
Of course, since this is a brand-new adventure, we have no idea yet how it will play out. But let's hope it is an idea whose time has come. Once when I was in Bangkok, I heard about a brothel where women could go for their fun. It sounded like a neat idea, and I am sure there are such places scattered across the globe. I always figured if it were close I would go and try it out. I never did locate that particular brothel.
Nevada sounds close enough. I wonder who her clientele would be? Obviously women who are not only unhappily partnered, or not partnered at all, and well-heeled. What would it cost to go there? Will Heidi stake out a path of the places already in Nevada, like the notorious Mustang Ranch, now closed? Or will she try and make it a whole new concept, because women are the clients? Would she situate it close to Las Vegas, or would she be angling for a different crowd further away? After all, the women may not want their watering holes, pardon the puns, to be situated anywhere near where the men go. But maybe you start in Vegas and catch a limo from there. I smell limos in this equation, don't you?
Inquiring minds want to know. I also want to know who her other lads will be attending these women. Mike Tyson must be the sort of guy you want if you're into a Rough Trade type of evening. Mike always was a forceful kind of guy. Hopefully he'll appreciate the need not to give the girls a split lip on their way out. Some veneer of savoir fair, however thin, would still be required.
Will she have theme nights? Or theme boys? What "type" would I go for? Will it be a cabaret sort of theme, where guests and worker bees mingle happily, over nibbles and cocktails? Will there be group scenes, or is it likely to be one on one?
God forbid they should get girls like me, who want to pack along their strap-ons and whip them out for use on the appropriate boy. Will the appropriate boy be open for such dalliances?
The prospect sounds fascinating. I wish I were Heidi's personal assistant or bookkeeper or press person or something so I could get a gander of how something like this gets off the ground. And it will get off the ground, no doubt about that.
Times have changed enough, and women have enough money now, and the chutzpah to go with it, to utilize a luscious service like this.
Go Heidi! Go...ah...Mike...well, sort of maybe. Not my type. However, if she wants to install someone like Daniel Craig, the current new blond James Bond, why I guess I'll just have to break down and go.
- - - - -
But hey, she did her time, she paid for her crimes, such as they were. Now she has found a new partner in crime, boxing heavyweight champ Mike Tyson. Also a former ex con, as you will recall from even further back when he did time, among other things, for raping a woman who went to his hotel room one night.
The New York Daily News reported recently, with a certain air of amusement, the fact that these two are now in cahoots. Heidi wants to open a brothel in Nevada, for women customers, and Mike has been hired to be her Number One Stud Muffin. As she put it to reporters, "(He's)..going to be my big stallion," A name has already been picked out for it. Heidi's Stud Farm. How novel!
Mike chimed in with his two cents, saying, "I don't care what any man says, it's every man's dream to please every woman...and get paid for it."
Of course, since this is a brand-new adventure, we have no idea yet how it will play out. But let's hope it is an idea whose time has come. Once when I was in Bangkok, I heard about a brothel where women could go for their fun. It sounded like a neat idea, and I am sure there are such places scattered across the globe. I always figured if it were close I would go and try it out. I never did locate that particular brothel.
Nevada sounds close enough. I wonder who her clientele would be? Obviously women who are not only unhappily partnered, or not partnered at all, and well-heeled. What would it cost to go there? Will Heidi stake out a path of the places already in Nevada, like the notorious Mustang Ranch, now closed? Or will she try and make it a whole new concept, because women are the clients? Would she situate it close to Las Vegas, or would she be angling for a different crowd further away? After all, the women may not want their watering holes, pardon the puns, to be situated anywhere near where the men go. But maybe you start in Vegas and catch a limo from there. I smell limos in this equation, don't you?
Inquiring minds want to know. I also want to know who her other lads will be attending these women. Mike Tyson must be the sort of guy you want if you're into a Rough Trade type of evening. Mike always was a forceful kind of guy. Hopefully he'll appreciate the need not to give the girls a split lip on their way out. Some veneer of savoir fair, however thin, would still be required.
Will she have theme nights? Or theme boys? What "type" would I go for? Will it be a cabaret sort of theme, where guests and worker bees mingle happily, over nibbles and cocktails? Will there be group scenes, or is it likely to be one on one?
God forbid they should get girls like me, who want to pack along their strap-ons and whip them out for use on the appropriate boy. Will the appropriate boy be open for such dalliances?
The prospect sounds fascinating. I wish I were Heidi's personal assistant or bookkeeper or press person or something so I could get a gander of how something like this gets off the ground. And it will get off the ground, no doubt about that.
Times have changed enough, and women have enough money now, and the chutzpah to go with it, to utilize a luscious service like this.
Go Heidi! Go...ah...Mike...well, sort of maybe. Not my type. However, if she wants to install someone like Daniel Craig, the current new blond James Bond, why I guess I'll just have to break down and go.
- - - - -
Friday, December 15, 2006
A Birthday Orgy, Follow-Up
So Dave and I left the birthday orgy for E with the sense that we would probably not want to go back. Actually, more like we probably wouldn't be invited back, since neither of us consented to...well, let's say it this way, we chose not to honor our host on his big day. In fact, it was annoying to me especially that he was expecting everyone to service him in some fashion or another. I wouldn't go there because I do not find him attractive at all.
I have no idea how he landed his wife, B. She is attractive, fit-looking, maybe not quite the hot babe who was described to me before we met, but not bad in terms of the group we were in. Alright, he has a decent-sized dick I suppose, but he's one of those hairy guys who's really, really hairy, and that's where I check out. I'm not prepared to spend an evening doing defoliation work before I get to the main event. Thanks. I mowed the family lawn as a kid. That was enough.
Then about a week after the party we get an email from E, quite a friendly one, and he seems to harbor no bad feeling at all. In fact he's inquiring if we had a good time, he mentions how he wanted to play with both of us but he noticed we were preoccupied throughout the evening. He also wrote to pass along the names of a couple who apparently wanted to meet us. He encloses their email address. He says if we don't want to write directly to them, he can mediate and pass along our email to them.
Dave and I scratch our heads a bit before replying. Who the hell were J and L? And what's the deal that they are too chicken shit to talk to us DURING the party? Why after? Sorry honeys, the horseys have left the barn already. This sort of kid's stuff happens a lot in the lesbian world. You can go to a party of all-women and people seem hesitant to approach other guests, but then the week after on Craigslist you find the postings...."I saw you at the party and you were so hot, I wanted to approach you but....but...but..."(you can fill in whatever excuse here).
Well, couples can be scaredy cats too. We just don't have a clue who this couple is. But we are hoping it was the hot pair who walked in just as we were about to leave. In fact we had some brief interraction with them and we both seemed to feel things might develop had we stuck around. But we were whipped and somewhat disappointed, and in a mood to leave. So we did.
I write back to E and inquire of him who these people are. He describes a guy we don't remember at all, older, some grey in a long mane of hair. American Indian fellow there with his partner L. I have no recollection of them at all. But apparently we made quite a hit with them.
I ask E about the hot couple, the women was named O, but her partner's name escaped me over the noise. E tells me his name. Cute. I don't want to rain further on E's parade, but I want to indicate to him that the couple we really dug were this pair, not his pair. E gets that sense, he describes the boy as her "escort" for the evening, meaning I guess they aren't exclusively monogamous together. Good. E gives no indication he has played with them personally, but he seems to like them, he thinks they are hot too, they have been to a few other parties and E knows people who know the guy quite well.
It seems like E is setting us up to have to go through him some more if we want to get in touch with them again. I don't go there; I would rather just run into them somewhere else. If it's meant to be nice, it will be nice, no need to push the river. So I play nice-nice with E, letting him know we appreciated his efforts to entertain his guests, and hoped that he had a good time on his big day.
As for the email address, we decide not to write to this anonymous couple. What's the point in writing to people we don't remember ever meeting? We may run into them again too. Hopefully they'll have the balls to say something directly to us.
After all, you are at a sex party, aren't you? What's the point in taking off your clothes if your minds are still too inhibited to introduce yourselves?
- - - - -
I have no idea how he landed his wife, B. She is attractive, fit-looking, maybe not quite the hot babe who was described to me before we met, but not bad in terms of the group we were in. Alright, he has a decent-sized dick I suppose, but he's one of those hairy guys who's really, really hairy, and that's where I check out. I'm not prepared to spend an evening doing defoliation work before I get to the main event. Thanks. I mowed the family lawn as a kid. That was enough.
Then about a week after the party we get an email from E, quite a friendly one, and he seems to harbor no bad feeling at all. In fact he's inquiring if we had a good time, he mentions how he wanted to play with both of us but he noticed we were preoccupied throughout the evening. He also wrote to pass along the names of a couple who apparently wanted to meet us. He encloses their email address. He says if we don't want to write directly to them, he can mediate and pass along our email to them.
Dave and I scratch our heads a bit before replying. Who the hell were J and L? And what's the deal that they are too chicken shit to talk to us DURING the party? Why after? Sorry honeys, the horseys have left the barn already. This sort of kid's stuff happens a lot in the lesbian world. You can go to a party of all-women and people seem hesitant to approach other guests, but then the week after on Craigslist you find the postings...."I saw you at the party and you were so hot, I wanted to approach you but....but...but..."(you can fill in whatever excuse here).
Well, couples can be scaredy cats too. We just don't have a clue who this couple is. But we are hoping it was the hot pair who walked in just as we were about to leave. In fact we had some brief interraction with them and we both seemed to feel things might develop had we stuck around. But we were whipped and somewhat disappointed, and in a mood to leave. So we did.
I write back to E and inquire of him who these people are. He describes a guy we don't remember at all, older, some grey in a long mane of hair. American Indian fellow there with his partner L. I have no recollection of them at all. But apparently we made quite a hit with them.
I ask E about the hot couple, the women was named O, but her partner's name escaped me over the noise. E tells me his name. Cute. I don't want to rain further on E's parade, but I want to indicate to him that the couple we really dug were this pair, not his pair. E gets that sense, he describes the boy as her "escort" for the evening, meaning I guess they aren't exclusively monogamous together. Good. E gives no indication he has played with them personally, but he seems to like them, he thinks they are hot too, they have been to a few other parties and E knows people who know the guy quite well.
It seems like E is setting us up to have to go through him some more if we want to get in touch with them again. I don't go there; I would rather just run into them somewhere else. If it's meant to be nice, it will be nice, no need to push the river. So I play nice-nice with E, letting him know we appreciated his efforts to entertain his guests, and hoped that he had a good time on his big day.
As for the email address, we decide not to write to this anonymous couple. What's the point in writing to people we don't remember ever meeting? We may run into them again too. Hopefully they'll have the balls to say something directly to us.
After all, you are at a sex party, aren't you? What's the point in taking off your clothes if your minds are still too inhibited to introduce yourselves?
- - - - -
