“Kinky” Stats.

I don’t read magazines.  I used to, back when I craved light and superficial reading material and lacked Internet access.  Now, magazines are for dentists appointments and, I’ll admit it, bathroom breaks.

This past Saturday, however, I needed something mindless and glossy to entertain myself with during an extended hair appointment (I’ve never had one conclude at anything under the two hour mark).  Feeling indulgent, I picked up a Cosmo. 

I dislike Cosmopolitan magazine, I really do.  It’s a frivolous rag that replicates the same material every month under varying headlines.  It offers advice that is, at best, worthless.  At worst, dangerous.  Each and every article dedicated to helping readers enhance their sex life (Cosmo is a profoundly depressing read for the young, single, and involuntarily celibate crowd) simply advises women to grip a man’s testicles and pull them – hard –  away from his body right before he comes. 

I don’t know if that always goes over as well as Cosmo thinks it does.  Personally, unless asked, I’d never yank the boys in an unnatural direction to “enhance ‘our’ sexual experience.” 

You can’t provide “one size fits all” sex advice.  That’s why I loathe the “this position – and this position only – will get you off in 30 seconds” stories.  If there was a magical position that worked orgasmic wonders for every woman, no woman would ever have any need for a boring rag like Cosmo.  Yet it still flies off the shelves each and every month – and not for its insights on fashion and celebrities.

However, Cosmo headlines are cleverly salacious, and therefore intriguing.  I was intrigued by “The Shocking Thing 48% of Women do in Bed” headline. 

What was it? I wondered.

The article in question was a collection of “kinky” statistics that showcased the erotic proclivities of Cosmo readers.

Cosmois all about encouraging readers to be daring and sex-positive, so I expected to find a decent listing of illicit activities – all paired with percentages suggesting high participation rates, of course.  Imagine my surprise when the daring modern woman’s magazine showed that a mere 20-40% of readers engaged in mutual masturbation, bondage-play and anal sex. 

Ever since anal began sweeping the porn world several years ago, it’s become the new oral.  What once elicited gasps and shrieks and dropped-jaws is pretty low on the list of shocking sexual taboos.  Really, you need to reach pretty far to genuinely shock people these days. 

A penis in an asshole? Not that shocking.  It’s not even considered an exclusively ”gay” practice anymore.  It’s simply a new hole to play with.  Some like it, some don’t – much like any erotic activity.  Even if a sizable number of people haven’t made it a regular part of their coital repertoire, surely most have toyed with the possibility of incorporating that orifice into, at the very least, foreplay.

Cosmo, the magazine that encourages women to expand their sexual horizons, boasts of a very average, non-experimental reader demographic.  It looks like it’s mostly plain old missionary/cowgirl/doggy-style for fun, fearless Cosmo girls.

Other genuinely “alternative” publications actually ask their readers questions about traditionally “abnormal” sexual practises.  When I fill out surveys for The Stranger or Now, I’m asked if I’ve participated in activities that I probably wouldn’t even consider (or have never heard of). 

Not only does Cosmo fail at being a worthwhile read, it fails at being provocative and – by anyones standards – daring.  Call the world a sad and sordid place if you must (I’ll respectfully disagree with you), but assplay and handcuffs just aren’t shocking anymore.  That’s not to say people shouldn’t allot themselves time to consider whether or not anal sex or bondage are right for them, but the concepts themselves aren’t scandalous.

Cosmo certainly doesn’t represent a massive portion of women, but it does reach a hefty chunk of them.  Despite the fears of some conservative writers who work for sites like www.cwfa.org, it seems like today’s common grocery store “smut” magazine isn’t encouraging women to be all that deviant.

Lay your fears to rest concerned ladies, not every 20-something female is a serial-fellating, self-loathing trainwreck.  Some still like it on the bottom with the lights off, just the way God intended…or something.

Dickipedia, and Other Assorted Discourse

First off, here’s a website you all must see:

 http://dickipedia.org/index.php?title=Main_Page

It’s a small but poingnant listing of dicks, or rather men (and only men at this point, but that could change) who embody dickish qualities.  My favourite entry is probably Bill O’Reilly’s, mostly for its mention of his sexual fixation on loofahs (or “felafel’s”). 

Actually, if you’re not made too uncomfortable by transcripts of unwanted sexual advances made over the phone, search for Papa Bear on The Smoking Gun.  

The man who believes sexual immorality to be a scourge on America harasses female employees with awkward references to vibrators, “spectacular boobs”, and food inserted into incorrect orifices.

Actually, with the various outings of various “moral” persons, one is led to question whether a declaration of purity is an ironic way of saying, “I’m into shit you haven’t even heard of.”

On a less sexual/judgmental note, I have a confession to make.

I saw No Country for Old Men and did not enjoy it. 

Every once in awhile, a movie comes along that drives people wild – in a good way.  They declare it a masterpiece, a beautiful example of fine and intelligent cinema.  A profound display of artistry and brilliance.  No Country for Old Men is one of these films – and I did not like it.

Honestly, I thought it was boring.  I realize that the Coen brothers were going for understated and intense, and they succeeded.  The film is both of those things.  It’s also unbearably slow.  The more it meandered, the less I cared about the sluggish characters it trailed for two agonizing hours.  Watching the film was akin to be pulled, slowly, in a very old wagon attached to a very old horse clomping down a very long and narrow dirt road. 

The film contains clever (and in some cases, memorable) dialogue.  It feels natural, despite the fact that it was likely constructed carefully and diligently.  It’s the kind of dialogue that most (or perhaps all) screenwriters want to master.  It’s terse, laconic, and meaningful in a subtle kind of way.  It conveys, successfully, the fictitious thoughts of fictitious men who are vastly different from most fictitious action/western heroes and villains.  They’re hardened and eccentric people, but not pseudo-masculine like the Dirty Harry’s of old.

The preview had me at, “what’s the most you ever lost in a coin toss.”  Unfortunately, the movie itself lost me early on.

I will say this much, Javier Bardem’s performance is as good as his dancing is poor:

http://findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_qn4155/is_20050202/ai_n9504897

As far as entertainment goes, I highly recommend the unique rock/electronica music of Holy Fuck.  It’s all instrumental, and it’s all fabulous.  It’s sexy, in a soul-freeing kind of way.  It’s the kind of music that makes you want to embrace public nudity and celebrate the art of unpolished, spiritually-soothing-yet-wildly-awkward dancing.  It’s arousing in the same way a smart-but-kinda-ugly person is arousing.  I deeply love its soul.

A Man is arrested for, well, fucking a bicycle

Observe:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/scotland/glasgow_and_west/7095134.stm

So two hostel cleaning women walk in on a man fornicating with a bicycle and run, terrified, to their equally uptight manager, who consequently calls the police?

The hostel guest – who was no doubt paying for his accomdations – was masturbating, privately, in an unconventional manner.  This is somehow considered worthy of legal intervention? Legal intervention severe enough to land this man on a sex offender’s registry?

A bicycle is an odd object to use for self-stimulation purposes, no question.  However, the shocking miscarriage of justice aside, why aren’t these people acknowledging the absolute hilarity of the situation?

People commit no shortage of strange sexual acts in hotel/hostel rooms.  Now, hostels are a little different from hotels in the sense that many of their rooms house, on average, 2-20 guests.  Sexual activity in a non-private hostel bedroom is riskier than such activity in a hotel, as others may be subjected to viewing something they never agreed to witness.  However, the bicycle-fucker was alone – and in a locked room, no less.   Also, despite the fact that hostels generally house numerous travellers (most of whom are strangers to one another), they probably see their fair share of enthusiastic couplings.

I can’t believe this poor guy’s luck.  The middle-aged dude faces legal recourse after dropping extra Euros to ensure a private bedroom for him and his bicycle – a bedroom guaranteed to be free of North American 20-somethings.  He didn’t wander back, drunk or stoned, at 3 am to engage in loud sex with the Spanish girl he met earlier that night at the pub.  He found a little haven for him and his bike and went to town, only to offend the fragile sensibilities of cleaning women who didn’t have the decency to turn away, close the door, and spend the night three years of their lives in hysterics.

If I walked in on a man fucking a bike, I’d be enthralled.  I wouldn’t stay and watch, mind you, but I’d be glad I witnessed something so strange and, yes, story-worthy.  I’d no doubt tell everyone.  I’d tell co-workers, friends, family members, acquaintances, and strangers.  I’d regale the crowds at cocktail parties (if I ever found myself at one)  with the tale of the time I’d innocently walked into a hostel bedroom and found a half-nude man rigorously riding (in every sense of the word) the sparkly blue metal of his 26″ Schwinn.  People would gasp in shock.  They’d cover their mouths in horror.  But ultimately, they’d end up throwing their heads back in laughter.

When I was staying a hostel in Nice, France, two (sober, might I add) Canadian boys (from my neck of the woods, actually) attempted, in a fit of key-related frustrated, to break down the door to the room.  That was a disturbance. 

Had I walked in on one of them privately masturbating with an inanimate object,  I wouldn’t even have thought to get angry, let alone call the police.  I’d be entertained, if not initially embarrased.  However, my embarrasment would be no match for his own, and I’d acknowledge/accept that.

OMG!PENIS!

While I work, I scour the internet for the purpose of mental stimulation.  Actually, that’s a lie – I use it to fuck around on Facebook.  Well, most of the time that’s what I use it for.  Sometimes, (like I did today) I use it as an educational tool.  A tool to educate myself on interesting matters.

One of my favourite websites belongs to James Dobson’s conservative think-tank Focus on the Family.  Dobson said, a year or so ago, that fathers exposing themselves to their sons prevents homosexuality.  Upon hearing that luscious pearl of wisdom, I became fascinated with the good “doctor” and his ministry. 

In fact, you can find it (and him) right here:

http://www.family.org/

Once I arrived at my destination, I began looking for the latest tidbits on morality (sexual morality, to be exact).  I decided to forego the gay-bashing articles and instead settled on a little “why sex is bad for you” fare.

I found a rather thorough Adobe article on the effectiveness of abstinence-only education.  The article cites various studies (partisan ones, perhaps), and concludes that safe sex is an oxymoron, and that those who believe in/practise it are destined to suffer diseased genitalia and unwanted offspring.  The article itself is worth a look, so here it is:

http://www.citizenlink.org/pdfs/fosi/abstinence/take_12.pdf

I won’t dissect it here, but will instead draw attention to a particularly memorable (and telling) line:

“My 16 year-old daughter came home visibly shaken after sitting through a film in her co-ed sex-education class; the movie had a graphic scene of a man putting on a condom! What can I do?”

What can you do, concerned mother?  Tell your daughter that a naked penis in a sex-ed movie is nothing to get shakey about. 

I’d understand being shaken after viewing a graphic documentary about the humanitarian crisis in Sierra Leone.  That film, after all, shows a mentally disabled child (probably under 10) being beaten by a group of adult male soldiers.  I’d understand being visibly shaken by news footage of, say, a large-scale terrorist attack or tragic school shooting.

Visibly shaken by the sight of a condom-convered penis?

Calm the fuck down.   

If the sight of a nude body part can traumatize someone, that person (and perhaps society at large) needs to rethink its position on nudity and sexuality in general.  There’s nothing wrong with safely and ethically familiarizing people (yes, even older teens) with nude bodies and how they work in a sexual context – especially if the purpose of the display is educational (which this clearly was).  The girl in question wasn’t forced to review objectionable pornography, she was granted the opportunity to witness a helpful demonstration on proper contraceptive use.

The article, downplaying its puritanical slant, focuses on building a “Reefer Madness” case against contraception.  Namely, they accuse it (and by “it” I mean condoms – and only condoms) of being ineffective and inherantly harmful in the way its existence subtly encourages people to have sex.  The article does not mention (in any real or helpful detail) hormonal birth control, STI testing, or typical cures for non-serious infections. 

It talks about damaging the “natural” modesty that exists between boys and girls by educating them on the sexual functionality of one another’s bodies.  To one girl (real or not) the sight of an erect penis was  somehow as frigtening as, like, the aftermath of a car-bombing…or something. 

Many moons ago (when I was seven or eight), I was unexepectedly exposed to the sight of an erect penis – a large one, no less.  Oh, and it was in a woman’s mouth. 

Like most families, mine had a collection of home videos (this isn’t going in the direction that you think it is, don’t worry).  One day, my younger brother and I decided to view one.  My mom, also craving a light-hearted stroll down our lane of memories, picked a random video and put it on.  I can’t remember how it started (probably at a birthday party or some such occassion), but I do remember it ended with disrupted tracking, static, and a blonde woman fellating a well-endowed man.

It was a shocking moment, but not one that had me cowering in a corner, shaking and sobbing.  My mom may have wanted to react in such a way (and looking back, I wouldn’t have blamed her if she did), but she held back.  The tape was ejected, and me and my brother’s brief foray into cinematic dick-suckery was never mentioned again.

My second unintentional descent into the dark world of uncovered private parts?

An accidental look at an earlier volume of The Joy of Sex.  The man in the pictures (who often had an erection) bore a startling resemblance to Jesus Christ (a fact that never really shook my fragile Catholic soul as much as you’d think it would).

In fact, rare glimpses of nudity and sexuality (all viewed in media, not real-time) served to, I think, broaden my mind and peak healthy curiosities at a younger (but not inappropriately young) age.  I didn’t have a plethora of lovers at the tender age of 14, I can tell you that much.  I was simply harder to scandalize, and therefore less inclined (perhaps due more circumstance than choice, to be fair) to seek illicit experiences before I was able to properly deal with and conceptualize them.

I wonder how the good “doctor” would respond if I told him my adventure with home videos.  He might claim I was – indirectly, of course – sexually exploited by irreponsible parents.  He’d shake his head sadly and attribute my current habits (none of which are bad, trust me) to an unstable, sex-saturated childhood.

Some people fail to realize that a little knowledge (obtained by a little experience) shapes behaviour better than dogmatic instructions on the perils of dropping one’s pants. 

Bored at Work…

Given my occupation, that title is going to appear quite frequently.

I don’t like my job insofar as it’s not the job I want to do forever.  It’s not even the job I want to do for a year.  In fact, I’d be pleased to relinquish it now in exchange for something else.  However, it’s all I have at the moment and it pays the (Visa) bills. 

Another thing I’d like to relinquish is my current living situation.  Now don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing particularly harrowing happening at home.  But I’m growing (nay, have grown) weary of living there (which, I’m aware, I do rent free and therefore shouldn’t complain).  I just need my own space, a place filled with nothing but my numerous personal effects.

I’d be delighted in a near-orgasmic manner to step into a bathroom and see nothing but my own toothpaste, shampoo, soap, other assorted toiletries, etc.  I would buy, at minimum, ten aromatic body washes and display them like decorative ornaments – and no one could fault for me for it.  It’s not their counter-space I’d be cluttering. 

I would proudly display my vast DVD and book collection, and would no longer feel compelled to hide the more salacious titles at the back. In fact, my first order of business would be to purchase a large and glossy erotic coffee-table book.  Perhaps I’d go with a photographic anthology of sorts.  It’d be realistic, but not seedy.  Well, real sex can be seedy sex.  Almost all real-life sex is, at the very least, seedier than movie and TV sex.  There aren’t always strategically placed sheets, graceful thrusts and quiet moans of pleasure.  Sometimes there’s sweat, and grunting, and gleefully embraced nudity. Well, sometimes movie and HBO TV sex is seedy, but it still tries to appear somewhat elegant.  Sex is a profoundly inelegant act.  In fact, I recommend that you attempt to recollect your pre-coital behaviour next time you’re gyrating and breathing like a beast.  You’ll wonder how you went from moderately civil and composed to outrageously neanderthal-esque in a manner of hours (or minutes, whatever). 

On a less sexual note, something good might happen to me – but I can’t be sure.  This decidedly good thing has nothing to do with a job or a man, so don’t get excited.  I won’t mention it here, for fear of tempting jinxes and whatnot.  Just know that, should this thing occur, I’ll be over-joyed.  I’ll be granted a great opportunity to do some things that desperately need doing.  I’ll also be able to figure out some personal stuff.

So, to all of you religious and non-religious folk, pray (or wish) for my good fortune. 

My New Project

Blogs are self-indulgent, but there’s nothing particularly wrong with indulgence in the self.  Last night, I watched a TLC show called “Jon and Kate Plus 8,” a light-hearted (but harrowing) look at the rewards and difficulties of raising eight children.  Eight screaming, yelling, fighting, running, jumping, shrieking children.  The mother decided to spend the day at a luxurious spa, indulding in all manner of vain pursuits.  She said – during her spiritually comforting facial – that spa days made her a better mother. 

 I don’t doubt that for a moment. 

Everyone needs a little, “this is for me and I don’t care about you” time.  Blogs are figurative podiums, surrounded by anonymous commenters masquerading as the new world’s free press. 

 Since I’m not a real writer yet (and may never be, who knows!), this will have to do.

I’ll try to make it interesting for you, should you care to stop by again.  Maybe there’ll be a video (perhaps a pornographic one).  It might contain your mom, possibly your sister, and definitely your spouse or significant other.