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Adult News

Emotions are survival mechanisms

I can't give up my petty grudge against the guy at a local aquarium specialty store. I know I should, but it's eating away at me.

The store kept its bettas in tiny plastic bags. There couldn't have been more than about 4-5 ounces of water in those bags, and plopped on the counter, bottom flat, they didn't give the fish any room to move. Bettas in bondage! Bad enough to see them at pet shops in 8 oz. cups but this was cruel. I told the guy that I'd visited a site on-line that said bettas enjoy more room, and he angrily snapped, "That's ignorance!" He then explained that in the wild, a betta will occupy a tiny pocket of water trapped in mud, and is therefore adapted to minimal space. They never needed more than the tiny tanks they stocked (about half a gallon, if that much), he opined, and were quite content in the bags. His message was clear: fish don't really have feelings, so if you give them the minimum to keep them alive, it's all just fine.

Naturally, I came home and did a crap-load of research on the species. While it's true they can and do survive against astonishingly bad odds in the tiniest of puddles, that's an emergency survival technique. Just as their breathing system is adapted so that, worst case scenario, they can gulp oxygen from air. But that doesn't mean you should keep them trapped in their wild-life nightmare, in a tiny amount of water that is not adequately oxygenated, knowing they'll probably survive against the odds anyway.

I feel like going back to the store and pointing out that all over America, people are living in 6X6 cells with bars on the windows and filthy, fetid air to breathe. Would he like to live there too, knowing he too could survive that quality of life?

Some enthusiasts keep them in 5 gallons to give them the ultimate quality of life experience. I'm not a betta fanatic (or would that be a finatic?), but all the literature on them reveals the same facts: they adore stimulation, they appreciate plants and toys and interaction with their owners, and they LOVE SPACE TO SWIM. In other words: they have feelings that require some consideration of the quality of life they need to be happy little fishies.

I put my betta in a 2.5 gallon tank when I got home and I swear to you he was as depressed as a victim of PTSD still having flashbacks. He hovered at the bottom of the tank, a dark lugubrious creature unaccustomed to freedom. But after several days, he began swimming around, waving his fins, exploring the plants, and making bubble nests (a sign of a happy betta).

Whether they are conscious as we humans understand consciousness is debatable. Nor am I going to compare whether an animal's feelings are "as important" as a human's feelings. To the animal, I bet its feelings are every bit as important as our feelings are to us, and that's all that matters. Bettas blow bubbles when happy, get lethargic when bored. They enjoy solitude, yet like to interact with their keepers. In other words, they've got their own tiny little emotional lives and anyone who accepts the responsibility of caring for animals is cruel to neglect how an animal feels.

I've experimented with placing different ornaments and toys around Babaloo's tank and moving plants around -- every time I do, he has to check things out and soon there's a new bubble-nest to let me know he approves. Whatever he's feeling, he certainly seems to be delighted by change (the theory is that it makes him feel like he's in the wild to have new and different stimuli to deal with). This fish packs more of a personality than the average grocery clerk. He's swimming around right now, playing with his almond leaf and endlessly fascinated by a tiny Buddha ornament we put in there.

People don't like to think about it too hard, maybe because it would hurt, maybe because it would threaten their views on religion and evolution, but all species have feelings. Emotions are survival mechanisms. If you don't feel fear, you won't run from your predators. If you don't feel curious, you won't explore better foods and living environments. If you don't feel secure, you won't leave your hidey-hole. If you don't get horny, you won't make babies. And if you get depressed enough, you don't want to live.

Beyond the quality-of-life issue for the bettas at the store, maybe what bothers me most is that I came from a family where people constantly said "animals don't have feelings." To hear that sentiment from the mouth of someone who's profession is to care for animals is just driving me nuts.

To be alive is to have feelings. To dismiss the feelings of the creatures around us is true ignorance.

p.s. purely for grins, a site for fish-lovers which provides you with toys and instructions on how to get your fish to play with them. Shown below, one of their vids.
Fish School

Category: Pets and Animal Love
Posted on 9/9/2008 4:44:34 AM by Gloria Brame

FOUND: Unspeakable (but still funny) Ashtray

Gizmodo ran a fun piece last Friday called, 10 Gadgets That Turn Your Empty Kid's Room Into a Den of Depravity (NSFW)

Along with a custom bondage bed and kama sutra sheets, they offered up this sick sexist ashtray -- make that this hilariously sick sexist ashtray.

Category: Sex On-Line
Posted on 9/9/2008 4:43:43 AM by Gloria Brame

On being a sadomasochist

Just a quick thought, or a distillation of an evening of thought earlier this week on the subject of what makes me a sadomasochist . It boils down for me to one incredibly simple concept

No pain, no humiliation...no orgasm.

I've never in my life been able to get off without at least fantasizing about pain or humiliation.

Category: Sex and Sadomasochism
Posted on 9/8/2008 8:19:55 AM by Gloria Brame

Discomgoogolated sex addicts

When I heard that David Duchovny -- former X-files hottie-turned-FILF and star of "Californication," in which he plays a sex-addicted Hollywood writer -- was checking himself in to a sexual addiction rehab clinic, my first thought was that it was a PR stunt to get some buzz for the series' return this month. Whether or not he went in for PR or for a porn addiction (as his spokesperson claims), what really got me was the fact that there is a sexual addiction rehab clinic in the first place. Well, holy shit: a concept which is, at best, a theory proposed and then ruthlessly promoted by a psychologist (Dr. Patrick Carnes) now has all kinds of people convinced that sexual addiction is a legitimate diagnosis. It is not. You will not find sexual addiction in the sacred book of psychiatric diagnoses -- the DSM -- and, therefore, without the APA officially recognizing a disorder AS a disorder, we must embrace the simple fact that there is no such disorder. OM. For the APA is all-knowing. Or at least, that's what psychiatrists and psychologists are supposed to accept.

(Being a sexologist, I don't have to accept anything but the evidence of sexological research and clinical experience. Tra la la.)

OF COURSE there are people who display addictive (or more accurately, obsessive/compulsive) behaviors in their sex lives. OF COURSE people have difficulty with impulse control (particularly when they are in denial), and make poor choices (especially when they are guilty or conflicted about their needs). But none of that is the same as an addiction which, in simple terms, is an uncontrolled and uncontrollable use of a harmful substance. Since sex is not a harmful substance, not even in big doses, I tend to view the whole sex addiction movement as quackery, and further proof that some psychologists will do anything to drum up business, in this case treating people for imaginary conditions.

IMO, addiction is some real serious shit, not a term to throw around, particularly when it comes to sex. Indicators for sex addiction should parallel indicators for substance addiction: the behavior is destroying or preventing them from forming intimate relationships; it is directly jeopardizing their job or otherwise negatively impacting their workplace performance; it is draining them financially; it is alienating friends/family; it is changing their personality; they have black-outs, fugues, or other episodes where they forget who they are.

Some of my clients have significant problems controlling their sexual choices. Indeed, some have been drug and alcohol addicts, with profoundly serious problems controlling their needs for immediate gratification in all realms (sex, food, spending, etc.). But in eight years of counseling, I have yet to see anyone I genuinely believed was a sex addict. Sex obsessive? PLENTY! Sexually repressed person with a personality disorder that mimics addictive behaviors? Oh yeah. Along with depressives, people who act out sexually to compensate for other problems, emotionally immature people, and a whole host of others who, for one reason or another, make bad bad choices when it comes to their sex lives.

But sex is not by nature a harmful substance. Nor is libido, much less sexual orientation, a one-size-fits-all proposition. Some people are wired to be horny day and night: if they don't have numerous orgasms in the course of a day they get cranky. Some people, on the other hand, are wired to want sex once a week, even once a month, even less. You can take drugs to ratchet the libido up or down but you can't alter the fact that sexual diversity is biologically normal.

In my practice I work on the underlying issues that make people make bad choices. We figure out how to control obsessions, how to overcome compulsions, and how to come to terms with whatever one's natural sexual identity might be (whether it's perpetually horny or seldom aroused), and then make healthful, rational and, hopefully, more rewarding choices. I wonder what they teach at sex addiction rehab clinics, though. If it's anything like Carnes' and his followers' teachings, it's going to be predicated on the ideas that sex is bad and too much sex is horrible; that porn is evil; that masturbation is wrong; that so-called perversion (i.e., SM) is sick; and that there is such a thing as a "normal" amount of sex that every person should have.

Sex therapies like these are not just pointless, in my opinion, they're damaging. They destroy self-confidence. They warp self-awareness. They treat symptoms, not the underlying issues. They offer fake treatments based on phony diagnoses to vulnerable people in pain.

But that isn't stopping even well-intentioned, usually pretty smart people from buying into the idea that if you're making bad sex choices, you're an addict. I was bummed to read the following in a Dear Margo column since she often gives pretty good advice.

When "Normal" Swings into Abnormal

DEAR MARGO: I am a 23-year-old woman with an abnormal sexual appetite. I am currently dating five different men. I have one I refer to as "my pet" and one who is my "daddy." Sex consumes most of my thoughts most of my days. What was a minor interest when I was younger is now an all-consuming monster. I feel deviant and abnormal. I want to seek help, but honestly, I don't know what kind of help I should be looking for. Are there specific therapists for this, or would a regular psychiatrist be able to help? And I wonder if this all stems from not having a father growing up. I just need help.

--- ABERRANT AND HURTING

DEAR AB: The constructive part of your letter is that you know you need help. And yes, there are specific mental health professionals for your aberration, which is sex addiction. You can get a referral from your primary care doc, the American Psychiatric Association or the American Society of Addiction Medicine. There are also online support groups, which enable you to ask questions and also learn that you are not alone. As for your immersion in sex, it is seldom possible to pinpoint a single cause. I suspect growing up fatherless played a part in your dealings with men, but I can assure you that there are women who were raised as you were who are not "dating" five men and feeling as though sex is "an all-consuming monster." With guidance, you can become emotionally healthy, and I wish you luck.

--- MARGO, BENEFICIALLY

LINK

Where do I begin...first, no one can diagnose an addiction in the short form. See above for "addiction is serious shit." A person claiming to feel like crap about their sexual choices doth not make for a diagnosis. Second, see above: the APA doesn't recognize sexual addiction, so sending someone to the APA for diagnosis of a disease they don't recognize is not helpful. The online support groups she refers to are either run by Carnes and his followers or by people who have bought into Carnes' and his followers' beliefs. Most of all, however, Margo missed the most telling statement in the letter: "I feel deviant and abnormal."

Awwww. Give that girl a hug!!

If everyone who felt deviant and abnormal was a sex addict, I reckon we'd all be sex addicts in America, hurrah! (Sorry, British subjects, certainly don't mean to omit you from the Victorian brew of prudery in question.) I mean, who hasn't felt weird at least once in their sexual lives? Put another way, if you have NEVER felt dirty/nasty/weird during sex, you may have the world's most boring sex life.

Sounds more to me like what the correspondent needs is a little sexual enlightenment and perhaps a non-judgmental counselor, instead of one who assumes that there's something wrong with being a horny fuck-slut. Wake up and smell the pheremones, ladies: some of the happiest, most well-adjusted people in the world are horny fuck-sluts.

As if that wasn't demoralizing enough for a forward-thinking sex chick like me, then comes news that some twits have now come up with a new mental disorder:

Feel stressed if you can't get online? You could have 'discomgoogolation'

Psychologists studying the high stress levels caused by internet dependency have dubbed the phenomenon 'discomgoogolation'.

They define it as a 'feeling of distress or anxiety when unable to gain immediate information access'.

Stick a fork in me, I'm done.

Categories: Post-Modern Pop Culture Sex and Relationships Sexual Politics Sexual Science and Medicine
Posted on 9/8/2008 8:18:57 AM by Gloria Brame

Studies that make you go WTF?

Without a doubt, the dumbest study I've ever seen, conducted by the brilliant researchers at Johns Hopkins no less, just proved that women who get bassackward drunk are sexually stupid.

Really? You mean people who can't talk or see straight exhibit poor judgment in bed? Well, I'll be.

What makes this study even dumber is that it only surveyed drunk women. Hopefully next year, the corresponding study of men will prove that when they're too drunk to get up off the floor their dicks won't stand up either.

Then I'll feel complete.

Category: Sexual Health
Posted on 9/7/2008 12:08:55 PM by Gloria Brame

Hookers and Blow

In case you didn't hear this oddity, while Gustav roared, some conventioneers enjoyed Hookers and Blow. I mean the band, "Hookers and Blow." Ummmm. Two words I don't even want to hear in the same sentence.

Too bad H&B didn't use The Cunts as their opening act.

Category: Sexual Politics
Posted on 9/7/2008 12:07:58 PM by Gloria Brame

Double-Click your Dominatrix

I'm laughing on the outside, but I'm crying on the inside.

techPowerUp :: OCZ Dominatrix gaming Mouse Review

Categories: Post-Modern Pop Culture Sex and Culture Sex and Sadomasochism Sex and Technology
Posted on 9/7/2008 12:06:59 PM by Gloria Brame

SFP STFU

In 1970, at the ripe age of 15, I made what felt like the most natural decision in the world for any female to make: I decided to support the still-new feminist movement (or, as it was called at the time, the Women's Liberation Movement) by attending their first, historic rally in New York City. Even at that age, I wasn't new to organized politics: I'd marched (with my parents) against the American Nazi Party in Washington D.C. in the mid-1960s. I'd been active in the anti-war Moratorium movement (or at least as active as a kid can be) since 1968.

So when I showed up for the Women's Lib march, I must have seemed comfortable because someone selected me to join the ranks of the multitude of parade marshals. They gave me an armband, and tasked me with hovering at the edges of the parade to help defuse tensions between spectators (many of whom had come to heckle) and marchers. It was an exciting and empowering experience and although I've never been a joiner, or ever really felt so much a part of something as a free-floating observer of events, I've always been very happy that I participated in that particular rally. It meant something to me then and it holds the same meaning to me now: to be a patriotic American is to stand up for what you believe. In my case, that meant upholding our nation's fundamental and sacred beliefs in freedom from oppression and our guaranteed rights to participate as an equal member in a Democratic society, regardless of race, religion, or sex.

I've never made a big deal out of my feminism. Although I was raised in a time when many, if not most, women were still being pushed to embrace the "pregnant and barefoot" model of femininity-- or, in more urban and middle-class homes, the "wife, mother and homemaker" model -- I was raised in a family which believed, unquestionably, that men and women were equals. My parents always assumed that I would pursue a college education and have a profession of some kind. When I encountered people who thought women were somehow less than men, or that men by right had authority over women, I was surprised: they struck me as nutty Neanderthals with antediluvian politics, not unlike those weird white people in the South who actually seemed to believe they were better than blacks. When I was a kid, I marveled at the existence of such people: where did they come from and what were they doing in my beautiful America?

How anyone could oppose any group whose only goal was to demand the social equality promised to all Americans by the Constitution was beyond me. Similarly, how anyone could believe they were, by virtue of race, sex, or religion, born to be superior struck me, even as a little girl, as the kind of personal problem best resolved in a psychiatrist's office than on a public platform.

There were a lot of reasons why I drifted away from both the anti-War movement and the Women's Lib movement, but none of them had to do with their basic positions. Even though I still believed the Vietnam War was a terrible, mad war, and even though I absolutely believed that women were entitled to equal pay for equal labor, the right to have abortions, and equal opportunity in all realms of American life, God, I hated some of the publicity-grabbing, self-glorifying rhetoricians whose blather grew so loud they drowned out the basic message of each movement.

But to this day, ask me, and I'll tell you: I am 100% feminist. I am a feminist because I believe that, as a group, women should be as socially and economically enfranchised as men. This includes what you do with your body (whether it's having a bunch of kids or remaining childless by choice); being fairly compensated for work; and having all the same social and educational opportunities available to people-with-penises. Being a feminist is NOT about gynocracy or supremacy: it's about believing that women are entitled to the same socio-economic rights as men. Why is that concept so difficult to grasp -- or, for the right, so easy to hate?

Which is why I view the choice of Sarah F. Palin as the RNC's candidate for VP with disgust and nausea. While people may go on and on about how wonderful and remarkable it is to have a women running for VP, and standing in line to become (particularly given McCain's age and health) our future President, I can't help despising her for being one of a long line of Republican and Conservative women who, on one hand, scoff at liberal values while owing their entire careers to the political strides that liberals achieved.

Palin joins the ranks of flaming, loud-mouthed hypocrites like Ann Coulter, Michelle Malkin, Mary Matalin, and scores of other women who have risen to prominence in the post-feminist years: self-hating deniers of the very movement that made their careers and social status possible. Some of the above have even embraced the misogynistic hate-sprach of frustrated closet-cases like Rush Limbaugh, using the term "Feminazi" and otherwise ridiculing the very people who paved the way for their success.

As a feminist, I'd love to vote for a woman some day. But I'll be goddamned if I vote for a self-hating Stepford-wifean hypocrite. So the next time I see Palin in a public forum, embracing her conservative values and refusing to admit that she would never be where she is today without us leftie hippie chicks of the 70s who made her candidacy possible today, I'll be silently repeating the words her speech at the RNC convention evoked in me: Sarah Palin, shut the fuck up.

Category: Sexual Politics
Posted on 9/5/2008 4:44:22 PM by Gloria Brame

By your tit may you be known

Strange news of the day:

Police in Port St. Lucie are on the lookout for a cross-dressing man who snatched a 74-year-old woman's purse. As if that weren't odd enough, they're depending on a strange clue. The suspect left behind a condom filled with water he had been using as a fake breast.

Cross-dressing thief leaves fake breast behind

Category: Sexual Strangeness
Posted on 9/4/2008 8:14:15 PM by Gloria Brame

No fetish to sneeze at.

via "Exploring Intimacy," an interview with someone who says he has a fetish for tissues (of the Kleenex variety).

I have only encountered one person with this fetish, but boy does he love it. He agreed to be interviewed for this post, both to share his love of tissues (and other soft, flimsy sheets, like silk scarves) and in hopes of finding others who share his desires. Be aware that his interview gets pretty explicit! Read on after the jump.

My interviewee goes by Silkhawk and seeks relationships in which he and his partners can engage in sensual BDSM. In other words, he loves to take charge and lightly tie, tease and please his partners using tissues. At the same time, he adores it when his lady assumes the dominant role and does the same with him.

Link

It's new to me too, and very interesting. Is it a real fetish? Not sure. I guess that depends on how you define what a fetish is. If you've read my books you know I tend to take a kind of conservative approach to defining what makes something a fetish, as opposed to something you just really really like.

Category: Sex and Sadomasochism
Posted on 9/3/2008 10:04:21 PM by Gloria Brame

FOUND: Long leggy fields

Can't remember where I found this, and have no attributions...but the image is very evocative to me. Is she planted in the ground? Doing a "bicycle" exercise? Having sex with an invisible partner? Having sex with herself? Kicking her legs up for joy?

What do you see?

Category: Sex and Arts
Posted on 9/3/2008 10:03:24 PM by Gloria Brame

FOUND: pussy planter

OK. It's official: this is the tackiest planter I've ever seen. I mean...really! Gack.

On the other hand, it would be interesting to put it in my office so I could see the look on the faces of clients when they noticed it. But on the third hand...our poor maids already have enough to deal with.....

Category: Sexual Strangeness
Posted on 9/3/2008 10:02:25 PM by Gloria Brame

Condom cure for pimples

My question is simple: how did someone figure this out in the first place? Did she have ass pimples that cleared up after sex?

Condom lubricant popular acne cure for Cambodian women

A condom lubricant designed for sex workers and gay men has become a popular acne cure among female Cambodians, women in the capital and local media said Thursday.

Number One Plus, a water-based lubricant produced by health organisation Population Services International (PSI), is an excellent cure for acne, 29-year-old vendor Tep Kemyoeurn told AFP.

"After I used it for three days, all of my acne dried up and went away," she said. "Many people believe in it," she added.

Category: Sexual Health
Posted on 9/3/2008 10:01:26 PM by Gloria Brame

Nuts for penis enlargement

People are always sadly noting how women go to absurd extremes to improve or rejuvenate their looks. I've always figured there are probably equal numbers of men who are similarly obsessed with perceived imperfections, and particularly who worry so much about the size of their penises that they engage in secret and even painful rituals to enlarge them. I remember watching a documentary some years back and there was one fellow who had devoted years of his life to an elaborate system of stretching and weighting his penis to squeeze a few more millimeters out of it.

Now some working class guy in Malaysia, whose neurosis would never have been known to any but himself, has made international headlines for an enlargement effort that went terribly wrong.

Malaysian man gets nut stuck around penis

A Malaysian welder had to have a nut removed from around his penis after an attempt to lengthen it before he gets engaged next week went embarrassingly wrong, a news report said Sunday.

The nut got stuck on his penis following an erection, the Star newspaper said, forcing him to seek help at a hospital in southern Johor state.

Staff from the Sultanah Aminah hospital had to drain some blood from the penis and cut away a top layer of skin before the object could be removed, the newspaper said.

It said the fire and rescue department were also involved in trying to remove the nut from the unnamed welder, who is in his 20s and hoped the nut would weigh down his penis to make it longer.

I wonder how his fiancee feels about his new-found notoriety. Can you imagine if your husband-to-be achieved international fame for something so bone-headed?

Category: Sexual Health
Posted on 9/2/2008 2:17:35 AM by Gloria Brame

Non-consensual cat dancing

Ya gotta wait a little bit for them but it's worth it.

via Cute Overload! :)

MEG - Precious

Category: Pets and Animal Love
Posted on 9/2/2008 2:16:38 AM by Gloria Brame

FOUND: Lock her up

This image is from a postcard, so no idea if it's a real lock or some artist's fanciful rendering. But, wow, what a hot lock...and so perfect to secure a sissy, especially with that heavy chain. Yum.

Anyone ever see a real lock like this?

Category: Sex and Sadomasochism
Posted on 8/31/2008 8:17:22 AM by Gloria Brame

Extra long flexible spout and word sluts

I once knew a guy who claimed that hearing the word "delicious" uttered slowly by a woman gave him an instant hard-on. I totally understood. Since I was a young girl, random words or phrases have had an electrifying effect on me too.

I remember looking through cheap mail-order catalogues as a kid and fixating on some of the descriptions of girdles and trusses and other restraining undergarments, rereading the words and silently forming them with my lips. It's so unpredictable and strange how some words and phrases sometimes will still inspire a bizarre little thrill. I saw an oil can (of all things) on eBay, and, well, wtf do I need an oil can for? NOTHING. But it was the title that got me, and specifically the words "extra long flexible spout." I had to look. And, yep, it was just your average oil can. But it did indeed have an unusually long metal hose -- an obscenely long metal hose. An obscenely long sinewy flexible metal...*shudder* spout.

Words can sometimes do that to me. Even innocent words. The right place at the right time, suddenly even the most innocent phrase words can make my mind whirl into depravity. It's just a metal hose, for God's sake.... But wait. Ooooooooooooh! It's an extra long flexible spout. *pant*

Someone's orifice will have to pay.

Category: Sex and Sadomasochism
Posted on 8/31/2008 8:16:25 AM by Gloria Brame

Oy gevalt, I'm like an Evangelical?

Couple days ago, I blogged about the new study which claims that BDSMers are happier about life than other people. Personally I never trust studies that say "X is happier than Y" since happiness itself is undefinable in concrete terms. Happiness, like unhappiness, is subjective, plastic, and fluid throughout life.

As straights try to parse the study results, though, many are dismissing them of hand rather than deal with the underlying message that BDSMers are indeed as normal and well-adjusted as "regular people." Oooh. How can it be? We do naughty things AND we're functional. Imagine that. Well, apparently a lot of vanillas cannot.

Even seemingly more tolerant and enlightened quarters are issuing quirky theories. Not sure whether to laugh or cry at this Atlantic blogger's absurd conclusion. Suffice to say, though, I suspect more Evangelicals will be offended by it than BDSMers.

In which I explore parallels between evangelical Christianity and BDSM, though probably not in the way you're expecting

This popped up in my Digg feed this morning:

You might think that wanting to be tied up and whipped is a guaranteed sign of psychological distress, but according to a recent study, people who participate in bondage and dominance/submission play may be happier and less anxious than those with more conventional sexual tastes.

Public health researchers studied 20,000 Australians to determine that despite the stereotype that people with off-the-beaten-path sexual interests are somehow damaged, men who take part in BDSM score significantly lower on a scale of mental distress than other men.

The prurient mind immediately wonders if there is a difference between the anxiety levels of those who are beaten, and those who do the beating; being tied up and flogged does seem like the sort of thing that is supposed to make you anxious. But that's not really where I'm going with this.

My secondmost immediate thought was, of course, of evangelical Christians. Specifically, the fact that they report being happier than the rest of us. The article in Christianity Today argues that this is a function of the social support provided by an inclusive community. But I wonder if it isn't, in part, the decision to stand out from the community that leads to greater self-reported happiness. People who have decided to do anything so far outside of the mainstream are people who a) have a powerful preference and b) have satisfied that preference. The mainstream, on the other hand, contains all the people who have extreme preferences, but not the willpower to buck convention and satisfy them.

Category: Sex and Spirituality
Posted on 8/29/2008 8:14:21 AM by Gloria Brame

Desperate Fruit Flies

What is it about me that makes other species GLOM onto me?

I understand, all too fucking well, why I'm the only member of this household who has, repeatedly, been swarmed by red ants. I'm a klutz. "You don't look where you walk!" family members have been saying to me ever since, at age five, I walked into an upright girder on a subway platform and broke my nose. In my defense, it isn't that I don't look where I walk: it's that I don't see the things other people see. Like walls in my face or obstacles in my path. Or ant hills.

But why is it I'm always the lucky person who gets the first mosquito bite of the season -- and then is eaten alive while the person next to me yawns comfortably. Once I was sitting innocently in bed reading a book when a stag-horn beetle suddenly crash-landed on my skull. I shrieked and jumped like I'd burst into flames while Will (after assuring himself I hadn't actually done so), about died laughing. Sure, everyone has memorably horrible bug stories: still, facts are facts. Take three people, a random selection of insects and bugs, and vote me "most likely to dance like a chicken on a hotplate" before too long.

Not just insects. Before I lived with cats, I didn't care for them. That never bothered any of the assortment of friends' cats who took special delight in nesting on my face when I slept over. Indeed, once upon a time, I was not terribly keen on dogs either. At least not on a conscious level. Almost all the dogs I met, in their divine canine wisdom, decided to awaken me to the reality that we were fated, one day, to join hand in paw. A thousand disgusting dog-licks later, I saw the light and got my own pack of constant kissers.

Now that I've given up the fight against cats and dogs of the world -- along with the wild birds, squirrels, aquarium fishes and dwarf shrimp-- I feel like I should have worked off all my bad-animal karma and restored the cosmic balance. Like "Ok, guys! I feed hundreds of you now. No need to torture me into awareness of your existence. OM."

But clearly the insects still bear a grudge. Specifically the fruit flies. Or maybe they're drain flies. Or perhaps what we down here call noseeums (flies so small you no seem um). No matter where I am in this house, if I have a cup of coffee, there will soon be a tiny brown fly carcass floating on its surface. Will and I can sit side by side, drinking coffee prepared in exactly the same way (we both take milk and 2 sugars), and he will enjoy his cup to the last drop while, by my second or third sip, I am sure to spot a floater. It's maddening to brew a fresh cup of coffee and find a fly by the second or third sip. It's more maddening to go downstairs, repeat the process, bring the fresh cup back upstairs, pose it on the table while I sit, and then find another tiny bastard has snuck in for a final swim. And when -- as just happened a few minutes ago -- someone's spreading his limp wings in the third new cup I had to brew, I start wondering: why do fruit flies so enjoy committing suicide near me?

I may need to set up a scientific experiment to determine whether it's all a cosmic joke or just my own stupid fault. Do microscopic traces of lipstick or makeup migrate to the cup's lip, attracting flies with their fragrance? Is it my perfume drawing them to me (or, again, microscopic traces, since showering doesn't change anything)? Or perhaps I just naturally secrete some special stinky something that drives insects wild.

Meanwhile, I've resorted to Emergency Plan A for the rest of the day: keeping a lid on the cup between sips. The system's failed me in the past. One time, only seconds after removing the lid, a fruitfly kamikaze'd past my nose and drowned in front of me. Gruesome. If you can think of an Emergency Plan B, I'm all ears.

Categories: Autobiographical Urges Pets and Animal Love
Posted on 8/29/2008 8:13:25 AM by Gloria Brame

FOUND: Rock of Ages, Cleft for Me

Found this yesterday, went back to check on it today and discovered the eBay link is already dead -- most likely deleted for violating some policy or other. Pity. It's not every day that someone tries to sell an "erotic vagina rock." Asking price half a million bucks and there were already a few offers on the thing. Damn eBay (or the twit who complained): this auction promised to be one of the funniest.

Fortunately, I snagged one photo of this objet and some of his text before eBay censored it. The vendor wanted half a million for this oddity. A tad high, I thought. On the other hand, his narrative is priceless.

EROTIC VAGINA ROCK

THIS BEAUTIFULL EROTIC ROCK WAS FOUND IN THE RIVERS OF POLISKY N.Y. DURRING A SALMON FISHING TRIP. IT WAS A CHANCE MEETING AFTER SEPERATING A BAD RELATIONSHIP OF 12 YEARS. WHEN FIRST FOUND I TRIPED ON IT AND FOUND MYSELF IN VERY COLD WATER, WITH POLARIZED GLASSES I FOUND THE CAUSE OF MY DISCOMFORT, WET AND VERY APEALING I FOUND IT WAS A GREAT STROKE OF LUCK. IT FOR STRANGE REASON GAVE ME MORAL SUPORT TO ENJOY LIFE AGAIN, NEW RELATIONSHIP WERE EASY, CONFIDANCE WHICH ATRACTED THE OPOSITE GENDER WITHOUT ANY PROBLEMS.

AFTER ALMOST 4 YEARS IN MY OF OWNERSHIP MY LIFE JUST GOT BETTER IN EVERY WAY, AT THIS POINT I FOUND THE RIGHT PERSON AND I CAN SAY THE ROCK HELPED ME .. WHEN WET IT LOOKS LIKE A VIGINA, THE CENTER MOVES FREELY. 5.5 INCHES LONG, 4 INCHES WIDE AND TALL WEIGHING AROUND 5 LB.

YOU CAN BID ON A PEICE OF TOAST THAT LOOKS LIKE JESUS, OR A PIZZA IN THE SAME FORM--- LETS GET A GRIP THEY CAN BE ALTERED AS A PUBLICITY STUNT... BUT IN REALITY THIS WAS FORMED OVER YEARS OF WATER CUTTING A RIVER BED, WAY BEFORE THIS COUNTRY WAS ESTABLISHED, AND SITTING IN THE SAME SPOT, AT THE SAME ANGEL EVERY DAY... NOT A CONTROLED EXPERIMENT IN THE KITCHEN.

But wait! There's more! Wanted to see if the above had been relisted and discovered that another vendor is offering a much-discounted (a mere $169k) and far less exciting Vagina Rock! What in tarnation....?! Is there a market for rocks shaped like genitals?

Categories: Sexual Humor Sexual Strangeness
Posted on 8/29/2008 8:12:27 AM by Gloria Brame

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