Dirty Sheets

Posts Tagged ‘things you never wanted to know about me’

1) Guys really do seem to be obsessed with size — as in, male authors tend to make sure you know exactly how big the guy's ('tagonist of whichever side or mere fucktoy) willy is. (Whenever I encounter things like that in my porn, I get this image of a person with a micrometer and a clipboard.) Female authors, on the other hand, not so much.

And Mr. Hanon is correct in that there are exceptions to this; I've seen at least two recently. 

2) In relation to the foregoing, the article about pegging mentions that anything going into the anus feels twice as large as it actually is. This makes me even more convinced that anyone who carries on about a cock two beer-cans* long and a tuna-can wide before it goes into an orifice has NO CLUE what that would actually feel like. (I don't know about you, but I'm pretty sure I** couldn't accommodate something that freakin' huge. And I am dead certain none of my characters could, either.)

I'm relieved to hear that there are people out there who think over-the-top descriptions of outsized equipment on a dude are just silly — I was beginning to wonder if maybe some of my rejections were based on the fact that I've never actually lovingly described any of my guys' bits and pieces in excruciating detail. (And you know me, if I was going to be detailed, I'd be talking about millimeters and degrees of cant and that kind of thing. Heh.)

* By 'beer can' I mean your standard US 12 ounce can, not like a Foster's or a Heinekin mini-keg.

** Yeah, I know, there are men/women out there who take on things like the business end of a Louisville slugger, among other large, more-or-less phallic, items. This is why I make a point of I-statements — because I am the only one I can talk about with any kind of authority. 

A picture of a hirsute young man, masturbating and using a dildo/vibrator and a video of another, less-hairy guy doing the same thing with a buttplug instead.

I’m posting these here because I don’t often see men using toys. I mean, I know they do, since you can buy all sorts of things designed specifically for prostate massage and the like.

I wanted to mention the video specifically because the person who posted it (either the original poster to Xtube or the Tumblr poster) titled it with “str8″ guy plays with butt plug. This bothers me because last I knew whether you derive pleasure from having something in your ass wasn’t tied directly and irrevocably to your spot on the Kinsey scale.

The other thing about the video is that I didn’t watch the whole thing. It’s not because it’s bad, it’s just that, well… The guy pulls the buttplug out of his ass, and, as far as I can tell he LICKS it before he puts it back.

I’m a virgo and I’ve been through food-handler’s licensing twice. I can deal with rimming by telling myself over and over again that they’ve washed, but this was beyond the pale and I simply couldn’t go any further. It’s a squick I just won’t ever get over, and that’s okay. As ever, if you think it’s hot, by all means please enjoy yourself, but I beg you: DO NOT TELL ME about it. Okay? Thanks, I love you too.

tose picture on xtube where guys are taking pics wth like, markers and other weird shit in their ass AINT hot. – pagingdoctorfaggot.

I’m not a huge fan of them, either — there’s a picture that crops up on Tumblr from time to time of a young man with a half-inch flat-wash paintbrush handle in his ass, and every time I see it my reaction is ‘That is NOT how you use that brush!’ — but I can understand why it happens.

When you’re young, you use the sex toys you have to hand — markers, hair brushes, paint brushes.

Sometimes you still do, later, if you’re shy, if you don’t have a credit card, if you live with people who open your mail, if you’re broke… There are dozens of reasons that someone can’t get their hands on a real dildo.

Hell, I was in my late twenties before I bought my first real toy. I ordered it online, with a card linked to a private bank account (rather than the joint account I share with my mom), and the charge/packaging was all very discreet and innocuous.

I was STILL nervous/freaked out when it arrived. I’ve owned it for years (and I’ve been thinking about getting a new one), but I can remember how it felt to order it and to get it in the mail.

I’m extremely lucky, I know this. My mother is incredibly respectful of my privacy; she doesn’t go through my mail or drawers or online statements. I could buy myself a new toy and not have to worry about her finding out about it.

Not everyone has the luxury of that kind of privacy, though. They do what they can with what they have, and more power to them.

Seriously. No one wants to hear this. Also, it’s one more item on the big list of things I can’t tell my mom (because while I’m sure she’d commiserate with me, that would just be awkward). But I need to get it off my chest, and this is about the only place I can do so. I don’t care if you skip this; I recommend you do. I’ll post a Bart/Sylvie smutblob next to make up for my last few posts being so arousing-in-a-different-way.

If you do plan to read this, have a POSSIBLE TRIGGER WARNING: Rape is mentioned. Nothing graphic, but just so you know.

Read the rest of this entry »

In reading through Erotica Cover Watch’s archives, I was struck again by the weird cognitive dissonance and dichotomy of being female (or at least choosing that as my default gender-identity; that’s another post and possibly another venue entirely though); identifying myself as a feminist; and then also identifying myself as a consumer of pornographic material. Not a whole lot – I’ve purchased exactly one pornographic DVD and it was anime to boot, so – but I look at a fair amount online.

The declaration by Violet Blue starts off with the statement that she refuses to identify herself as a feminist because she doesn’t want to be associated with “[...] such a judgmental, closed-minded, and assumption-crippled point of view.”

See, as far as I understand it, “Feminism is the radical notion that women are people too.” That women, no matter if they’re born with double Xs or not, have as much of a right to exist and work and live and love and BE as any guy does.

The point that Mat and Kristina are trying to make (sometimes politely, sometimes with bitter sarcasm) is that the covers of smutty books aimed at women, supposedly celebrating and “empowering” women, SHOULD NOT REINFORCE THAT WHOLE WOMEN-ARE-OBJECTS THING. Also, it’s a little confusing to have a naked woman (or more often only parts of a woman) on the cover of something that is ostensibly by and for women and features pretty much nothing but het sex.

As I have mentioned, I pretty much just dig people. However, I don’t dig being presented with disembodied and depersonalized (in some cases verging on dehumanized) parts of people. To me, the final cover of the book in contention (at the top of the post) would be a much more effective representation of the interior if it looked less like my bed after a restless night (yes, I sleep with books; I sleep with cats and more pillows than I need and a stuffed animal, too) and more like a woman had just dropped her copy of the book after having given herself a mind-blowing orgasm.

My first thought on seeing the picture was not, ‘ooh, sexy ass!’ or ‘I want that!’. It was ‘ooh, she looks cold – why isn’t she under the covers? What’s going on here?’ Then I was annoyed because once again all we’re presented with is the lower half of a woman. I guess it’s sexy, but frankly, I’m still hung up on the whole ‘isn’t she cold?’ thing.

It’s 2009. I just had a birthday, which means I’ve orbited the sun a whopping 31 times so far. I have known that I’ve been into dudes (and gals) since I was probably about, uh… Seven? Eight? I didn’t have the vocabulary for it, then, because I had no idea that gay people even existed until I was about 12. I have also known, for a very long time, that the idea that I cannot do because of, am rendered incapable by, or am somehow inferior because of the fact that I’ve got a uterus instead of a dick is utter bullshit.

I am huge on fairness – it’s another of the recurring themes in my writing – and the idea that I am less-human, less deserving, less important, less EVERYTHING than a man because I am not a man is vexing, grating, and above all fills me with the fury of a million nova suns.

To be told by the people who want me to buy their stuff that I don’t desire, that I don’t have any interest in being more than looked-at, that I am not worth catering to is deeply galling. I already have enough problems with clothing manufacturers deciding there’s no money to be had in making nice/pretty/cute FLATTERING clothing for those of us with big asses – one of the few things I really really love about being an adult has to join them? Fuck that noise.

Let me tell you about want, about desire, about how much I am an earth sign – remember Marc? If he had asked me, when I was fifteen, to sleep with him? I would have. Never mind that my parents had forbidden me to date until I was sixteen (not a problem with me; no one wanted me anyhow); never mind that at the time I was pretty sure that premarital sex was a one-way ticket to hell. I wanted that, I wanted to yield up my virgin patent to him, I was consumed by desire for him. I would have resigned myself to damnation for a quick fuck that I probably wouldn’t even have enjoyed because I wanted.

I still want. I want, from my toes to my split ends, I want. It doesn’t have to be Marc (though I probably wouldn’t say no, unless he was married, because infidelity is a total buzzkill); hell, my partner doesn’t even have to be a man. I just want. I used to think that wanting was wrong, was something that I wasn’t supposed to do. Where do you suppose I picked up that poisonous little idea?

Fortunately for me, I discovered the internet and I discovered that I was not the only one who wanted. Who thought that a couple of guys together was as hot as anything. Who thought that sex was interesting and arousing and actually not at all evil. I met people who pointed out that plain ol’ vanilla het sex was Not The Only Way. That sex is, can be, and pretty much should be, fun.

So now that I’ve said all of that, I can say this: I’m pretty comfortable now with owning my desire. I can say ‘I want’, even if I don’t ever get to say it in any other venue beyond this. I am an almost perfectly normal human female; I have desire; I like to look at people having sex because it is arousing and leads to orgasms which are nice.

Now, about those people having sex…

So if I’m so big on fairness, and non-objectification, how do I reconcile that with the fact that I look at porn? Even enjoy it, on occasion? ‘Cause if it’s one thing everyone knows about porn, it’s all about the objectification. Right?

Well… I still don’t really know. I choose to believe that the porn of today is made on a far more even footing than most porn has been. I’m sure that this is a very childish and naïve belief, but on the other hand… There are a LOT more women involved in making porn at all levels – choosing porn and choosing the sexual-entertainment industry instead of falling into it by accident or by feeling that they had no choice.

Porn is also a lot better today because there’s a hell of a lot more variety (and not just in Penthouse). Basically, if you’re into it, you can probably find someone to cater to you – behold the power of the ‘net. (Just as an example… I once, a very long time ago, stumbled across a site where people were talking about how hot hirsute women were. Not just natural/untrimmed women; we’re talking lady bears, right down to the hairy faces. I have never forgotten the shock of discovering that there were people out there who might actually find the way I look a turn-on. Shortest of the short versions: PCOD isn’t fun.)

However, the fact remains that there’s still not much in the way of good porn that is aimed at women specifically, intended to engage women in the way that we/they prefer. I have no idea what most other women like, but I know what I like, and what I like is something that treats me like a grown-up who has a brain. Something that acknowledges that women exist as sexual creatures in their own right. Something that I could show to my mother and say, ‘See? Smut’s okay! Really, it’s all right to stop acting like you’re offended when you really would rather say ‘oooh, more please!’, honestly.’ (I love my mother, but…)

That’s the kind of porn company I’d start, if I could. (I need a smutty venture capitalist. Or a very tolerant/flexible sugar-parent of the ridiculously wealthy variety. And to do some research.) Something that would eschew labels in the traditional sense, i.e. click here for gay and click here for straight. Yes, I know, to avoid complete chaos and people posting nasty things on their blogs about the lack of usablility there will have to be SOME way of sorting things out.

Tags are great for this kind of thing – you can tag a video with pretty boys, totally two dudes, m/m, oral, blowjob, muscles and people (no matter what gender/spot on the orientation spectrum they claim) can tell right away if it’s something they’re into. It doesn’t matter that it doesn’t say “gay” anywhere, because it’s just not important – all the important stuff has been covered. (Okay, so I don’t think it’s important; if it is I’m sure someone will mention it.)

And now I have run out of steam, have a headache, and need to go eat. Be good, and I’ll see you around.

So I believe that this is a both/and universe. Why is this important, and what does it have to do with smut? Just this:

Since I think this is a both/and universe, I think that it’s entirely possible to cater to the actual grown-ups in the crowd who want good smut and want to choose their label for themselves.

This stems from this post on Erotica Cover Watch, discussing the filtering system that Fleshbot employs on their website. The short version goes like this: Mat (of ECW) notices that a post on Filament’s second issue is filed under the sobriquet of “Fleshbot Gay”. This sits poorly with her, because straight (and bi, please remember us lonely fence-sitters) gals have one thing in common: they like the cock. Filament is aimed at these gals, not gay guys (though if gay guys want to buy a copy they won’t mind in the least). So, she zips off an email to the editor (one Lux Alpentraum). Lux says ‘oh, whoops, sorry; fixfix!’.

Then Mat plays with the filters on the site (“gay” and “straight”) and notices that women who want to see naked and mostly-naked men have to click on “gay” to do so, because clicking “straight” gets you naked women. This irks her (not a surprise, given ECW’s mission) and she asks Lux about it.

Lux’s reply boils down to “The filtering system was here before me and I can’t figure out how to do anything about it sorry.”

Think about that for a second. You’re the editor for a giant website that is part of a giant media conglomerate (gawker) and you can’t do anything about something that makes or breaks the site for your visitors?

The answer is obvious to me; it may be obvious to you-the-reader too. It’s stunningly simple and stupidly inclusive.

Three buttons.

One says, “I want to see naked women, please!”
One says, “I want to see naked men, please!”
One says, “I don’t care as long as they’re naked, please!”

That lets everyone choose their own label for themselves instead of having to accept someone else’s; it’s the least likely to offend everyone involved; and everyone can tell what they’re getting right up front.

Personally, I found Fleshbot to be confusing and annoying to use. It’s not just the filters, it’s the busyness of the layout – I felt that the ads overwhelmed the content. I didn’t mind the color scheme, and I’m grateful that they maintained the scheme across all filters, though.

Since Fleshbot is all about the porn, this leads me to a third post.

See, I’ve always known I was odd. I can remember very clearly my first two crushes that had everything to do with how attractive I found someone — a sixth-grade girl with masses of curly hair and braces (oh, she was so beautiful to me… I think I was in second grade? Third? I was little, anyhow.) and Harrison Ford as Indiana Jones, which needs no explanation.

So there’s that. I had a small crush on my best friends in the odd high schools I went to: the dear and sweet (and very straight) Liz; Anne who loved horses and invited me to see The Birdcage at the theater; Gabe who told me he couldn’t go to prom with me because of a religious service (and showed up not too long after I arrived, and that is another post entirely). And let’s not forget that massive massive torch I carried for one of the most gorgeous guys on the planet, Marcus William Stover.

As you can see, my interest in humanity has been pretty evenly split along gender lines. What’s so weird about that?

Well, it comes from two sources: having seen someone asserting that “bisexuals are just greedy” (no, I can’t remember where, argh) and very rarely being presented with the option of ‘I don’t care’ when being asked if I’m interested in men or women at various and sundry sites online.

Me, I’m not greedy, I’m more indecisive or very very fluid — more about people than parts.

So when I look at dating sites, just to see (because I am odd and curious), I’m always kind of annoyed when no one takes into account the fact that sometimes people don’t know if they want a woman or a man. I don’t care about gender! Could I just look at people, please?

I know that I ask a lot of the universe at large, because I am an arrogant speck of dust, but it makes my brain hurt when people assume that this is an either/or existence. It’s not — it’s a both/and!

And this leads to my next post…

So I’ve got this strange thing happening here in my head. Here’s how it goes:

– Filament Magazine needs more money so they can switch to a publisher who’ll print pictures of guys with erections.

– I have, in the past, not been terribly excited about Filament, due to the whole ‘let’s objectify everyone!’ thing.

– I watch porn. I like watching porn (or at least I like watching the good porn that I’ve found).

– If I could, I would start my own porn company that specializes in the kind of stuff that I find hot.

– Most people tend to agree that porn objectifies people. (I think sometimes yes, sometimes no. It depends.)

– So if I like/watch/want to create porn AND I do NOT like/want to objectify anyone… Why haven’t I been rendered incapable of coherent thought by the cognitive dissonance?

Maybe I’m a terrible feminist? Maybe I’m more flexible in my thinking than I first suspected? Maybe it’s just that I’m confused? It’s very strange.

– I like to look at the junk in the background of clips. Sometimes it’s because I recognize things (“Hey! That [item] is from Ikea! Hee!”); other times it’s because I can’t figure out what the hell I’m looking at (“Is that a lamp? No, it’s surfboard. No, that’s a surfboard; that other thing’s a lamp. I think.”); and sometimes it’s because I really like whatever it is (“I really wish I know how to find out where they got that [whatever]“).

– I watched a clip with loud cheesy music. It almost drowned out the bedspread.

– Saw a clip that was edited to the point where I was muttering at the guys to hurry up and come already, because it was so cliff-hangery. They did, but on their own schedule. This clip also made me re-evaluate my feelings about the top coming on the bottom’s face, because they managed to make it look hot instead of just kinda bleh.

– I think my guy-orgasms are possibly very wrong. Since I am watching porn, I’m also not inclined to trust that the sex I’m watching is accurately portrayed — plus everyone’s different, so.

– In the clip with the surfboard-that-wasn’t-a-lamp, there was a mild editing hiccup and, for the first time in the history of ever (at least for my porn-watching career), there was lube! No prep, outside of a rubber and the lube, but it’s more than I’ve seen before.

– Saw a clip that started off hot and veered sharply into ‘Okay, SERIOUSLY Creepy!’ territory — the top had this ribbon/leather thong/something around his wrist, and while he was fucking the bottom, he untied it. Then he pulled the bottom’s hands back and tied them together, without so much as a ‘do you mind?’. From what I could tell, the guy could have escaped pretty easily, and in the next shot it looked like the restraint had come undone, but it was still borderline non-con which sat weirdly with me.

– The above clip was all in French, which was cool. I couldn’t really hear the dialogue, what there was of it, but the bits I could hear I understood!

– Saw another clip in German, I think, featuring cute but painfully skinny boys. I wanted to watch them eat sandwiches instead of fuck. It had subtitles!

– The surfboard clip also made me feel somewhat better about Herbert’s SoC sex-talk. I’d like to think that Herbert’s sounds a little more natural, though.

I think it’s because I have more than enough of my own excited follicles to last me a lifetime, but I really don’t like hairy men. They’re just… Ew. *Flaps hands* I know there are plenty of people out there, male and female, who think that I’m insane for feeling this way, but there it is. I just don’t like it. This is not to say I demand all men to be as hairless as the bottom of a baby’s foot, because I don’t mind _some_ hair — it just has to be where I think it “should” be, namely: under arms, on forearms/legs, groin, and last but not least between navel and groin. I’m sort of torn on stubble; on the one hand I occasionally find it extremely attractive, other times not so much. While I _do_ appreciate a full head of hair, balding and bald can be hot, too.

All of the foregoing was just so I could say this: that’s why pretty much none of my characters has hair except where it’s “supposed” to be, male or female. (And weirdly enough, I think that ALL of my female characters are all-natural down south. *Blinkblink* I didn’t know that until just now. Well, okay, so I knew Carrot was, but that’s mostly because when I came across “have a bit of curly greens” as a euphemism for ‘having sex’, she about fell overboard she was laughing so hard. When she calmed down, she pointed out that her drapes match the carpet, which is composed indeed of “curly greens”. And then she laughed some more.)