Sex and the University ~ the blog

The art of Kama Sutra has become a popular reference for partners to add excitement and adventure into their sex lives. But little do many of us realize the ancient-dated history behind Kama Sutra.

Kama, meaning pleasure or sensual desire, comes from the name of the Indian God embodying the sexual nature of man. And Sutra means short books or aphorisms.

The first Kama Sutra book, ‘Kama Sutra of Vatsyayana’ was written by the Indian sage of Vatsyayana not as a lover’s guide for the public, but rather for one wealthy city man.

The contents of the book were assembled around the third century BCE, based on nearly three thousand years of writings on various sexual topics. These include not only lovemaking, but also kissing techniques, dating practices, treatment of your marriage partner and recipes for aphrodisiacs.

The original version was written in Sanskrit, translated into English for the first time in 1883.

Today the Kama Sutra of Vatsyayana is not only the oldest and best-known Indian sex manual, but also the most famous of all books published on the ancient art of desire and lovemaking.

The explorative and sensual nature of our ancestors is captured in this old text. With its insight into the ancient sexual mysteries of the far east this early Hindu love-manual has powerfully fascinated generations of people and inspired many versions of Kama Sutra.

See original article at: http://www.thatsweird.net/history1.shtml

I am currently in desperate need of continuous internet service and such and this is why I have been incognito as of late. However I did get the opportunity to catch the following advertisement for Dove on late night television last night. Click Here to see it. I thought it was great! Beautiful and classy and demonstrating that no matter what our age might be beauty remains despite (or perhaps because of) age spots, wrinkles, and a little tummy fat. Although, out of curiosity... why is it that all the advertisements for beauty and such never have Arabs in them... makes me wonder if advertisers are afraid of backlash or even if we aren't considered as a separate entity in this realm of humanity. hmmm... food for thought.
- Jehan

I also find myself in this situation: I haven't had any contact more than a couple kisses with any girl in the past, pfff, let's say, 3 weeks. I feel like I shouldn't even be writing about sex if I ain't doin' it!

I'm getting to that bitter state that annoys every person that IS having sex: "damn you for having someone to FUCK when I don't!" It's true, I'm bitter. Too bitter for my own good. I know I'm rambling here and you have my permission to skip this post.

I broke up with "the girlfriend" in November and since then, apart from a few booty calls with her, I went out with another chikidee three times. That obviously didn't work out because I'm now writing about this. I just want to add that it's way too hard for me to be able to find ANYone in this city. As mentionned in a previous post, there are plenty(perhaps TOO many) hot girls in MTL. The thing is, they are mostly straight or bi(but let's face it, they'll end up with guys). OH, they might be gay but who the hell knows. As I've been told countless times before, I look as straight as the next girl so no girls ever hit on me (OH, except butch lesbians: just my luck). Nope.. I always get hit on by guys. And when I kick myself in the ass to actually go out in the Village, I get hit on by... the only straight guy in the place! When I tell them that I am gay they jump back and practically ask me for "gay ID".

Therefore, for me to actually find (and keep) a lesbian, I would need to either go to all those "gay activities" organized by universities i don't go to, go to clubs where everyone thinks I'm straight, meet someone on the net who will perhaps turn out to be a psycho OR make myself look way more "gay" which will not happen.

What would guys say to this(in my experience)? GO BACK TO DUDES!

And to that I say "do you even KNOW how hot it is to be with a girl?"

So thank you for listening. I swear my next post will be more... bearable!

Ah, my creative well has finally run dry. For the first time since I started posting in this blog, I have no idea what to write about. And it's really not my fault. Sex is a dead horse. But, I still like talking about it, reading about it, thinking about it... if sex is a dead horse, I don't want to be a live horse. Regardless, my thoughts on equines and their lives has nothing to do with this blog, at least not until I can figure a way to slide them into the conversation like a guy trying to slide in through the back door "by accident." Anyways, back to the topic du jour: I really have nothing to write about. I wrestle with this particular demon every week as I rack my brain during the week to come up with something barely comprehensible to post, and so far, I think it's worked pretty well. I suppose I could just post a link or a picture, but I like to think. I like mental challenges. I'm awful at Sudoku. And so, here I am, trying to exorcise this bitch of a writer's block.

I've already written about sex as the most universal experience. The most universal taboo is incest, which is also about sex. Sex is interesting to read about because everyone has their own experience which is instantaneously related to by millions. Having a "unique" experience in the sack is like buying your punk t-shirts at the Gap... it just doesn't happen, and if it does, everyone has one. Writing about sex is ridiculously easy and the hardest thing I've ever had to write about, and that includes splitting hairs between popular and mass culture in Dracula. It's easy because just about anything passes for a conversation on sex and sexuality - just look at this post for a prime example. It's hard because, well, look at this post. I'm trying to come up with something original. But, original is hard to come by in this line of work. Or perhaps I'm a mediocre writer, which is a strong possibility. What is original? It seems to me that coming up with something original between the sheets is like trying up to think of a fantasy with absolutely no basis in reality. Every dirty word can be said has been said, every position humped into the ground, every fantasy realized. Sex has probably been postmodern since about two weeks after Adam and Eve found out how to insert slot A into tab B (and C and D). All that's left for us 21st centurians is to re-piece the puzzle in different ways - not necessarily original, but different enough so that it stands on its own.

And so, I leave you with a comical ad. Incidentally, diamonds are not forever, that's a scam. I wonder if that's a real blowjob or they just used shadows to eliminate depth.

Original nude female painting in watercolor, for $30 by Clive Lennard

In the Woods, a photograph for $33 by Vanessa Ruiz

Vintage Nude no. 7, for $5 by Elizabeth

Lust, a limited edition linocut for $15, by Frau Matilda

Art Squared Nude with Lace, for $6.50 by Kimtedrow

Photo by Ben Lee

I was sending off my care package to my partner, and part of it was going to be red and silver kisses and a pair of panties. Then the picture you know see before your eyes- occured to me (sorry, thats taken with a webcam, I don't have a camera, the color is pretty off, its supposed to be red edges with sheer pink cloth and red polka dots.) If you're into mixing food, clothes, and sex, (and gifts), which I totally am, this is a sexy present to give, with a personal and naughty touch. Instead of the regular heart shaped metallic box full of chocolates that your partner will probably won't like, try this.

Panties/Boxers/whatever you like to wear on your tuche!
A lot of saftey pins
Individualized Candy/Chocolates

Get a sexy or fun pair of panties (or boxers) that you are nice looking, but perhaps uncomfortable to wear or you don't wear that often, and pin up the thigh holes with coloured (I used gold, it matched nicely with the pink and red) saftey pins. Then fill the panty/boxer pouch with whatever candy your parnter or whoever you're giving it to likes, (I used red and silver kisses cause I already bought them, but you can use virtually anything thats got individual wrapping). Then simply pin up the last largest opening of the panties with the rest of the saftey pins, making sure your spacing between the pins is small enough so the candy doesnt' fall out. You don't have to do this, but I did it to make candy pillaging easy, I took one saftey pin that was larger than the rest and put it in the center of the panty edge, so that the person could undo just that part, which creates a nice little opening for the candy to come out.

Sorry, but this doesn't work with thongs. Thongs suck anyway. I feel like self-induced wedgies are just unnecessary.

Happy Pantieging!

And no, I don't mean anyone in the Pussycat Dolls. That's not music - that's a couple of prostitutes wearing what can only be described as "used-to-be-clothing" dancing around in a manner that would suggest they hang out on St Catherine way too much. Sexy people in music is more about people whose sexuality is totally enhanced by music. An excellent example of this is Miss Petra the violinist in the Foo Fighters's latest DVD, Skin and Bones. Not only is the DVD totally fucking awesome (Best of You, Everlong, Razor, Next Year...the list goes on and on), but it also blew my mind the first time I watched it. See, amidst all these ex-grunge-era-turned-full-out-rockers sits a completely unremarkable woman. When you see her before the concert, she doesn't look particularly good nor bad - she just looks. But, a couple of songs into the concert and I couldn't help but notice that I kept focusing all my attention on her, rather than the ridiculous antics of Dave Grohl on stage. She was just sitting there so demurely shredding her violin to pieces as she kept up effortlessly with Grohl and Co. And she was hot. Not just good looking, not just interesting, she was blowing my mind. Now, perhaps I'm weird, perhaps I've turned into a George-like character and can no longer differentiate between sex and food (or in my case, music), but I think that there's something else at play here rather than raging hormones. The music totally transformed this previously aforementioned totally bland woman into quite the object of my desire. It could be because she was wearing red in a sea of black and blue. It could also be because she was wearing a foxy dress. And those are all at play here, but the biggest reason, I think, is because she was completely surrounded and involved in music that I loved, so, I just displaced my love for music into my momentary love for her.

I was reading Klosterman IV for the umpteenth time the other day, when I got to the article where he talks about Lez Zeppelin, the all-female Led Zeppelin tribute band. The lead singer, whose name escapes me now, keenly pointed out the psychology behind her band...it was something along the lines of how Jimmy Paige and Robert Plant were always good looking men, and now that they were being played by women, men in the audience could un-repress their sexual feelings for them. This makes total sense to me. A similar thing happens in glam metal - you've got men dressed up as women on stage prancing about in hypersexualized moves, tight pants, and heavy make up while threatening to pummel your skull in with their bass lines. There has to be some variety of homoerotic undercurrent at shows like this.

Anyways, back to Miss Petra. After conferring with my girlfriend, she confirms this feeling, but with a guy: apparently John Mayer is ridiculously hot on stage (who knew?), but off stage, he's just another Joe Dude. So, this phenomenon works both ways, for both sexes. I'm not sure about gay men or women, though...do they get turned on by Jimmy Paige or Bret Michaels? How bout other artists? I'd like to hear from our audience - is there anyone you think is totally smoking on stage, because of their music, not their tiny bra and huge breasts, yet completely boring off stage?

So as I was sitting in my Intro to Abnormal Psychology class, eagerly listening to my professor give his lecture on sexual dysfunctions. Yay! Okay, honestly its a nice change from dry empirical biochemistry and bullshit. Mental disorders are all categorized and filely neatly away in the latest version of the Diagnostic Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, fondly referred to as DSM IV-R, a book whose new diagnoses and disease creations (and eliminations) have further widened the gates to neurochemical phenonmenon and linked arms with the pharmceutical industry, basically: EVERYONE TAKE DRUGS.
The sexual disorders are a recent addition to the book, making its debut in DSM III in 1980. Just to give you an idea of the way they describe these disorders and justify their diagnoses, heres the full definition for Female Orgasmic Disorder:

"Persistent or recurrent delay in, or absence of, orgasm following a normal sexual excitement phase. Women exhibit wide variability in the type or intensity of stimulation that triggers orgasm. The diagnosis of Female Orgasmic Disorder should be based on the clincian's judgement that the woman's capacity is less than would be reasonable for her age, sexual experience, and the adequacy of sexual stimulation she receives." (DSM IV 302.73)

Right. So the description acknowledges that women can experience orgasm in a multitude of ways, hurray! -Oh but wait, someone else actually gets to decide whether her orgasm is good enough? Last time I checked, I, the woman experiencing the orgasm, knows whether my orgasm is good enough- thank you. Ultimately, this psychiatric bible is determining what a normal orgasm should be like for women, and (big surprise) men too. Except I find the male one even more infuriating. Not only does the description ignore the reality of variability in experiencing a male orgasm, but it also assumes that all males' should be able to get off "following a normal sexual excitement phase during sexual activity" (DSM IV 302.74). Seriously, I've known guys who can only get off (in the 'normal way') if they have their nipples sucked or during simultaneous anal stimulation- and I doubt thats the normality that psychiatrists are referring to.

To say the least, I'm not impressed.

Now, just to make this clear, I am not in any way trivializing people who feel they have sexual problems (hah, don't we all). What I'm critiquing is the wholehearted weight put on the clinician's judgement, rather than self-report from the person themselves; as well as the preassumptions that orgasms are necessarily acheived by these simple standardized plug and chug formulas.
On another note, I am highly suspicious of a controversial issue that arises with the creation of new disorders, namely how many people think they have these disorders as a result of heavy mongering by one track minded pharmceuticals, whose fat vats of profit have been the financial backbone of much research and studies. And of course, these are the same studies that claim existence of disorders like Sexual Dysfunctions, and then go on to publish in the latest DSM. Just some food for thought.

And the cherry to top off this pile of shit, we're paying pharmacies so much for drugs that don't really work. Take Viagra for example. More than 50% of men who are prescribed Viagra never re-new their prescriptions. Why? When you're feeling nice and horny, your brain stimulates the release of a chemical called Cyclic guanosine monophosphate (cyclic GMP), which causes muscles in the spongy erectile tissue of your penis to relax- and the arteries to expand (Pihl 8). What Viagra does is block the enzyme that takes up cyclic GMP, which in turn changes the arterial flow going to and from your penis; blood is not taken up and the erection remains. So Viagra doesn't actually change your sexual desire, it only maintains your erection: you have to get an erection first in order to maintain one. Looks like we're back to base 1. Damnit.

Montreal.
Home to more than three and a half million people of all different shapes, sizes, races, religions, and sexual orientations - half of whom, theoretically, are male. In a city as diverse as this, with 70% of the population between the ages of 18 and 64 and a (rarely enforced) drinking age of 18, how is it possible that it is so hard to find a guy worth falling for?
I think the answer is pretty simple, there are just too many pretty girls in Montreal. Everyone talks about it, even people who have never been to Montreal know about it. For whatever reason, the women here are gorgeous. It's not possible that they were all born naturally beautiful, and it's definitely not the clean air that does it for them; but it's something about the way they carry themselves, they way they walk, talk, dress, and laugh. It's not easy to look stylish when it's -30 outside but if there is one city in the world where it can be done, it's here. Trying to compete with women like this is almost as futile as trying to find deeper meaning in reruns of the Simpson’s. Try as I might, I will never be mistaken for a Québécoise; nor will I ever look good while walking to class in the middle of winter, or make stilettos seem like appropriate breakfast attire - and this is probably a good thing.
Sitting in the lockerroom at the gym the other day I overheard a group of attractive women - both Québécoise and Francophone, lamenting the lack of cute guys in the city and complaining about how hard it was to find a boyfriend. I'm not sure whether I should be comforted by the fact that they too have trouble meeting guys or even more disconcerted about the prospects for the rest of us. Either way, all I know is that if it is this hard for me to meet guys I can't imagine what it must be like for a guy to meet another guy - I mean, at least my selection pool is bigger.
Although it doesn't provide you with a wealth of cute and available men, this city certainly can keep you entertained. The prospect of meeting that one guy is just tangible enough to keep you entralled, and perhaps this is Montreal's real charm.

Vanity is a strange thing, it walks the line between confidence and arrogance and more often than not it tends to find itself veering towards the latter. I think vanity in and of itself is a hard thing to define...Nietzche wrote that "vanity is the fear of appearing original: it is thus a lack of pride, but not necessarily a lack of originality" and I tend to disagree. I think that true vanity is a mixture of extreme confidence and tempered arrogance. We all have to be a little arrogant because the society in which we live (and I'm referring to North America here) is not one in which the meek are rewarded. In this sense vanity could be defined as a tool, used to defend ourselves against those who would have us, in a sense, diminished.
I am for the most part a confident person, I like who I am and I like how I look. I will also freely acknowledge that I wouldn't kick myself out of bed even if I covered it with crumbs due to my penchant for crumpets... does this make me vain? I think not, I think it simply demonstrates my confidence in myself... or so I intend to believe. As my friend M told me today, she enjoys looking at herself naked, is there anything so wrong in that?

Of course, where vanity matters the most is in the bedroom. If your partner is self-centered then he or she is less likely to try and help you enjoy yourself. I mean, if I was truly vain I would dispense entirely with men and self-pleasure instead. Luckily for mankind I have not quite reached this point yet.

So, next week is Valentine's Day. Inevitably, thousands of blogs and columns will be filled with pieces either celebrating a romantic holiday or decrying a materialistic, arbitrary, hypocritical day. It's becoming harder and harder to write on topics like Valentine's Day or even the topic of this blog, sex. Sex is, to no one's surprise, probably one of the most universal experiences in humanity. Coupled to the fact that it is infinitely interesting to read about, the two most talked about subjects in modern discourse must indeed be sex and death.

So, with all this historical pressure on me, what I am to write about Valentine's Day? Should I be popularly counterculture and decide that Valentine's Day is a rosy day created by capitalism to fuel our desire to prove our intangible worth through materialistic means, ie. candies, chocolates, bears, lingerie, etc? Or should I take a traditional route and try to convince everyone to embrace this holiday for what it is, namely, an excuse to spend time with one's partner in a day historically created just for loved ones? Either way is infinitely unsatisfying and vacuous. Espousing either point of view just seems to be a pointless exercise in the literary equivalent of masturbation. Yet, how to stand on both sides? Or, better yet, neither side?

I still have no idea what I'm going to do for Valentine's Day. My girlfriend seems to just want to keep it simple and go to a movie and then have a fancy dinner. That's a little boring. I just want to hang out, essentially ignoring the holiday. That's a lot clichéd. Perhaps I'll take her out to dinner for the hell of it, given that we haven't really been on a date in forever. That would be nice. But then there's the question of the gift...what to get her? Candy? No, I'll eat it before I get to her house. A bear? Why? I'd sooner get her a puma...but where am I going to find a stuffed puma? Flowers? No way, they'll die in the cold on my way over, or they'll die within a week at her place. A card? Nope, I'm not going to allow other people to tell someone how I feel about them. I think this is where the crux of the holiday lies - either people aren't creative enough to tell their boyfriend/girlfriend how they feel, so they use this holiday as a thinly-veiled excuse to let someone else profess their love, or people are too indignant that other people can so aptly describe their "most personal feelings," and, moreover, that these feelings are perfectly transposable to any other person in the world.

This is where the genius for Valentine's Day really lies - in the assumption that humans are empty vessels originally, clean slates, yet they've all been impressed with the same stamp by culture. Thus, your unique feeling is not really unique at all, but a carefully calculated response to whatever text is available, already encoded into the message, already taken care of. Hallmark doesn't care that you found "the love of your life"; instead, they know that their unabashedly cute card will still fit the bill, whether it's your soulmate or someone you'll dump in a week, just to not seem like too much of a bastard for doing it during Valentine's Day.

Seemingly, there is no solution to Valentine's Day - every nuance has been taken care of, every angle has been covered. Even the most zealous of rebels or the most zealous of pundits, take your pick, there's no difference, will still feel different on Valentine's Day. No one will wake up the 22nd of March and say "You know what, I totally missed Valentine's Day this year - totally flew right over my head." Valentine's Day is not just another day, in this year's case, not just another Wednesday - we've deemed it long ago that this day halfway through February would be different. So, next week, be different.

I've always stared with envy at small-breasted women. Dress doesn’t work with a bra? No worries! They're still perky and cute as hell. Industrial-strength sports bra? No need! Amsterdam seems to be testing those who can endure unsupported jiggling for all sexes with the introduction of ‘Naked Sunday’ at Fitworld gym.

The gym’s owner, Patrick de Man, was inspired by two of his customers who are ardent nudists as well as other gyms that offer ‘pole-dancing’ as an activity.

Nudist exercisers are required to place towels on weight machines and use disposable seat covers for riding bicycles. de Man assured all that the machines will be disinfected afterward as is the usual procedure.

"We recently conducted a large survey among our members, and most prefer to exercise with their clothes on," he said. "The most popular activities (for nudists) are things you do outdoors, like walking on the beach, or swimming in a lake, or maybe gardening."

I’m self-conscious enough at the gym as is, so having everything exposed to God and Country might not be my cup of tea. For those who enjoy the sight of flesh, sweat, and straining, the inaugural ‘Naked Sunday’ is set for March 4th.


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Starbucks has never really appealed to me, but I’m told that in the region around Seattle (the powerhouse coffee chain’s birthplace and a city known for its high levels of coffee consumption) customers not only bastardize the Italian language to indicate cup size but use a special “Starbucks-lingo” to order their drinks. For example, if someone asks for a wet latte with legs what they mean is a latte high on milk, low on foam, to-go. However, due to the new crop of “sexpresso” coffee shops springing up in the same area, ordering a mug of java might never be the same again – but rest assured that it will still come with legs….and a large cup size.

Sexpresso kiosques are a new twist on the drive-thru window, with scantily clad baristas winking mischievously at clients as they hand out morning cups o’ joe. The girls who work the counters are often seen sporting tanks and hot pants (à la Hooters), lingerie, bikinis, or fetish outfits depending on the day’s theme (a popular choice is the schoolgirl look).

It’s certainly not a new idea to use sex to sell, particularly in the food and service industry. Bosomy waitresses, servers, and barmaids have repeatedly profited from their, uh, assets, and let us not forget the tradition - and now stereotype - of the attractive flight attendant. Having flirtatious sexpots brew coffee pots is just adding flavour to the fierce caffeine-competition in and around Seattle, with an added perk for the men. However, these sexpresso chains may be onto something new that could give Starbucks a run for their money: coffee and sex appeal partnered together as the ultimate (full-body) wake-up in the early morning.

check out the seattle times and some of the coffee shops natte latte, cowgirls expresso

Being an innately shy person naturally I wasn’t going to blog about this particular event. BUT this magazine is all about pushing yours and my sexual borders and so I shall tackle a rather embarrassing topic for myself. I am a cute person, with a pretty face and great legs… I wear short skirts and tight trousers to demonstrate this to the best of my ability. Because of this “confidence” (or vanity, call it what you like) I am not used to people, teasingly or otherwise, requesting that I hide my best assets under a heavy layer of clothing. So, when the guy with whom I would currently very much like to sleep with suggested I wear something akin to a pair of men’s trousers when I go to bed with him I was bemused. And then I questioned why he would like me to dress like a man, and then I called my best friends… all 10 of them.

Hence it was during one of these many phone calls that ate away at both my Friday and Saturday study hours that I made the following self-discovery; I am not as open-minded about role-play as I thought I was. I don’t know if this stems from the fact that my own sexual fantasies involve locations and not dress-up or if I’m just exceedingly uncomfortable with this aspect of sex. Mayhap it was the actual costume itself that threw me off. I understand schoolgirl outfits (again, I love my legs) and I understand naughty nurses, maids etc. so why was it that I simply could not grasp the fascination with baggy trousers with nothing worn under them.

I’m not even capable of fathoming this interest… perhaps it’s this rough and tumble like outfit that really gets him going. Perhaps it is the idea of a girl seeming sort of unkempt and untamed on the outside and obliging and ingratiating on the inside. I don’t really know, honestly… although I do think I’m nearing the truth here.

What I realised halfway through conversation with best-friend number 6 was that it wasn’t even the costume itself that through me, it was this idea that I was just going to show up in a uniform when I wished to sleep with him. Listen, buddy, the first time I sleep with you is not going to involve me in a pair of men’s dungarees. The first time I sleep with you is going to be MAGICAL (okay, maybe not so much) but it will be for the most part unplanned. I hate the presumptuousness that would be me showing up in a predetermined outfit when I felt the need to have sex with him. I’m not being paid and so I’m not wearing a bloody uniform!

And so, finally when I had reached this firm conclusion somewhere between conversations with best-friends number 6 and number 9 best-friend number 10 made this insightful comment; “The first time you have sex with someone is best done without planning and without assumptions on either side. Also, Jehan-sweety just be happy he didn’t ask you to wear a diaper and baby costume.”

She’s right, atleast when it comes to what I desire, a little bit of impulsiveness goes a long way. Indeed I am also quite grateful that he didn’t request the baby outfit, it’s all a bit too Freudian for me. I am not saying I won’t dress up for him, I will… I enjoy it. I’m just going to wait a bit before I tackle androgynous clothing in the bedroom… everything needs to be worked up to. Or maybe I just need to redefine what I think "sexy" is.

As a guy, I instinctively know that when girls join sororities, their initiation must include some variety of lingerie-laden pillow fights. I mean, you see them on television, read about it in magazines...it's become a popular myth alongside perpetual sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll during first year residence. Thanks to the guys who are in charge of encoding and disseminating culture, we see girls, especially in early years at university, as the avant-garde movement within sexual exploration. Ironically enough, these girls always explore within the same set of restrictions, namely homosexual and masturbatory endeavors.

What strikes me the most about women being in charge of exploring something as amorphous as one's sexuality. In popular culture lore, it is often the men who go out into the public sphere and conquer new and foreign territories, while women are the ones who stay within the same private sphere, keeping it tidy for the exploring man to come home to. Examples of male explorers are plentiful - actually, off the top of my head, I can't think of a single female explorer, except for the saucy sorority gals.

So, what does this mean for men who enjoy pontificating about the goodness of sorority exploration? Well, in a sense, it just ends up agreeing with Green Day's frontman, Billy Joe, when he said that, deep down, we're all bisexuals, and it is only heteronormative cultural processes that make us dig foxy girls. This is evident throughout closer analysis of the Pillow Fight scene, so prevalent in popular lore and fantasy. As men, we enjoy this scene because we identify with the women in it, though at a safe distance. Much like we identify with the Final Girl in horror movies, and through her, are able to satiate our masochistic tendencies (who wants to watch a killer beat on a guy? That's just weird...), we are able to play out our deeply homoerotic fantasies by watching women beat on each other with pillows in skimpy bras and panties. In addition, should the exploration and experimentation go well, it is not men who are being gay. Popular culture would never allow for two phalluses to touch - however, were to women to touch, we can just chalk it up to penis-envy. So, if women are allowed to touch, and more importantly, feel good because they are touching in "new" ways, it is culturally ok. It is only through women that men can explore their homoerotic instincts.

Since the 1950’s when women were allowed to frequent bars without a male escort the lesbian community has grown in prominence and become more widely accepted. At the time, the typical lesbian couple consisted of a clearly identified butch with a femme counterpart, essentially mimicking a heterosexual couple in matters of dress, actions, and customs.
This trend has slowly started to die out as we try to rid society of such rigid stereotypes, and lesbians today identify as everything from butch, to sorority sister, to suburban housewife. Why is it then, in this seemingly more enlightened world that some members of the lesbian community condemn their predecessors as sell-outs?
A recent article in the New York Times raises the issue of “butch” lesbians who opt to transition into males, thereby identifying as straight. This trend has not been met with great support in the lesbian community that feels that by “crossing over” you are betraying your lesbian identity. Some have even gone as far as to raise the question of whether or not someone who transitions was ever really a lesbian to begin with. The criticism however is not only reserved for butch lesbians who transition to straight males; their femme counterparts have also been accused of not being truly gay if they are attracted to a masculine persona.
In a community that has struggled for acceptance for so long it is unfortunate that some of their harshest criticisms are coming from within, is selling out really such a bad thing if everybody gets off?

No, this isn’t about prostitution. A study by women's rag Company and Durex condoms discovered that 3 in 10 men would rather roll in riches than roll in the hay. 30% of the British men taking the survey confessed that they would give up sex for life if paid $2 million…with 1% pledging the celibacy oath if offered a lifetime supply of alcohol. The study fails to mention whether “no sex” would include masturbation or not, a factor that would clearly influence the upshot of the commitment.

Surprisingly, these results contradict another study recently undertaken, with research showing that sex makes people happier than money does. Economists David Blachflower and Andrew Oswald found sex to be a strong determinant of happiness; just increasing sex from once a month to once a week produces the same effects as gaining $50 000!

It then seems odd that some men would pick money over sex, but I think the choice is largely personal. Who wouldn’t pick money if they’re not getting any (anyways), or if their past experience has been, well, dry? Which leads me to the question: cash or ass?

I mean it as a compliment when I say that The Guide To Getting It On! is the ultimate coffee table book. While it doesn't have glossy, full-page photographs or even the requisite hard cover, everyone wants to flip through it. Even when inconspicuously placed on a bookshelf, my visitors can't help but be drawn to its cheerful, neon-green lettered spine. They tend to pick a chapter – say, "Orgasms, Sunsets and Hand Grenades" – and sit for the next twenty minutes, pausing occasionally to laugh or read out a particularly fascinating excerpt.

The best little sex guide in the whole wide world?

Its refreshing premise is that "humour is the sexual lubricant for the soul", and although Joannides' writing might be too glib for some (in his "Gnarly sex germ" chapter, he asks, "Do you really believe that the cute fraternity guy you are about to go to bed with is going to say, 'Oh, by the way, I'm totally low-risk except for that little butt-fucking incident last month with the captain of the wrestling team'?"), he does take pains to be accurate and instructive. Rather than selling you sex secrets guaranteed to drive your partner wild, his point is that you need to work hard at communication (verbal or physical) and learn to approach each partner with different expectations.

One major flaw is that it is heavily biased towards heterosexual couples, and there is often the implicit assumption that the reader is in a committed relationship, or wants to be. It's clearly marketed towards the demographic of straight college students and young professionals (if the title doesn't make it obvious, the fact that Urban Outfitters stocked it certainly should), and only discusses issues of race, poverty and culture in passing. The decision to relegate same-sex relations to a separate chapter instead of taking a wholly inclusive approach also seems to imply that queer people belong in a distinct category, along with bondage freaks and men who ejaculate prematurely.

This isn't to say that it completely fails to think outside of the box – the "Sex when you are horny and disabled" chapter is a great start, and left-wing soccer moms might find the "Explaining Sex to Kids" section useful. I understand the need for brevity – as it is, the guide clocks in at 854 pages – but surely hot topics like abortion deserve more than two pages. Then again, this might be a bit much to expect from a coffee table book; after all, it is a fun, mostly insightful look at sex, which definitely beats worn issues of People and Cosmopolitan.

The Guide To Getting It On! is available on Amazon.ca ($17.33) and Indigo Chapters ($18.15).

Sex in Antiquity No one can say with certainty just when people started having sex, but it stands to reason that it must have been quite early-on. A more interesting question might be, ‘when did we start jerking-off?’ To answer that question, one need look no further than the woman who first discovered that she didn’t need to have sex every time her partner grew a stiff one.
Little is known of this important historical figure; her name might have been Eve, or possibly Lilith. This Eve or Lilith (Lil Eve?) appears to have been the first woman to discover that withholding sex from her partner could be a useful and productive tactic. Scholarly sources suggest that it is here, in ancient antiquity, that the term ‘pussy-power’ finds its origins. According to the same sources, the first act of this original ‘liberated woman’ was to demand that her mate, before he could go anywhere near her ass, “Go and pick me one of them apples!”
Of course, upon passing her the apple, he proceeded to flip her over and ‘give her the banana’ as a bonus. Nevertheless, Lil’ Eve’s experiment constituted a roaring success for womankind; gender relations would never be the same.

Further Along in Antiquity It wasn’t long before men realized that, if they were going to get any pussy at all, they were going to have to work for it. Suddenly, with everyone ‘working for it’, a sort of competition-based culture began to emerge. For more information on this ‘competitive sexuality’, look for my forthcoming article, ‘Jay’s History of Warfare’.
It wasn’t all about fighting for it, though. Men quickly understood that being the last man standing (“If I were the last man on earth and you were the last woman, then would you…?”) wasn’t the only pre-requisite to getting laid. He learned that, while ‘getting some’ was one thing, ‘getting more’ posed greater challenges. For example, if his performance was lacking, not only would his woman refuse to fuck him, but she would invariably tell her friends about his sexual ineptness, thereby hurting his chances at getting laid outside his cave or hovel.
This ‘kiss and tell’ strategy employed by the industrious women of antiquity gave rise to many new challenges for sexually inept men. Eventually, these challenges birthed a whole new way of life. For more information on these unfortunate souls, see my forthcoming article called “The History of the Nomadic Tribes.” It is a harrowing tale of lackluster sex, boredom and anguish; don’t miss it!
Luckily, not all men were as quick to despair as were the ‘nomads’. In fact, a large number of men decided that they should instead stick it out and adapt to the new sexual climate. This resulted in the birth of two new great movements: ‘The Search for the Female Orgasm’ and ‘The Golden Age of Homosexuality’. Stay tuned for more exciting history…


© 2007 Jay M. Smith

Did I ever think I would ever be in a situation like this one?No.
Did I ever think I could?No.
But I did.
I spent ten months(uh, and four days) in, most likely, the oddest relationship I could have ever imagined.
I "came out"(ok, I was never really "in" the closet: I basically told all my friends I was gay the moment I realized it!) about four years ago and due to my extremely shy side(or so I think), I spent the first three years being single. One day in November I hooked up with one of my good friends. It was great and marvellous and wonderful but only one thought came to me: "Uh, isn't she married?"
So this is how it started. I began going to her place five times a week and soon enough, my girlfriend's husband also hooked up with a girl friend. It was the four of us. We brought in a second twin matress in their room and made it as cozy as possible for all of us.
I know it must sound weird, all of this, but after a couple months, it stopped being bizarre or out of the ordinary. Waking up to people having sex beside me became a regular occurence and making out with my girlfriend in front of her husband became totally normal.
To answer your question, no, we didnt all have sex with eachother; we were like three couples. There were some times when the husband was there but all the attention was directed towards the girlfriend(hello, I'm gay!).
It worked really well for a while--way longer than I could have dreamed of--but at some point it had to fizzle. The husband was totally infatuated by the other girl and my girl didn't want to hurt her husband the way she was hurting her. Then there was me, in love with my girlfriend who was forcing herself not to love me. Sure, it hurt, but I understood. My "goal" was never to break them up and I knew my girlfriend was feeling hurt by her husband. Nevertheless, I had to think about my mental health and on a rainy day in november, I broke up with her. It was terribly hard for the both of us--all of us, really--but it had to be done. We cried and hugged and slept together one last time. After that we talked on the phone but I made a point of not seeing her for at least two weeks to kind of try to get her out of my mind. The thing is, I always knew we were going to stay good friends because this wasn't a normal breakup: I didn't break up with her because I was sick of her or I hated her. I did it because I loved her too much and it hurt too much. She was well aware of it so she gave me the time I needed. She was wonderfully understanding.

It's been three months since we are no longer together and things are still great, maybe even greater than before. I go chill with them(the ex and the husband--the other girl got herself a "real" boyfriend) at least once a week and have occasionnal booty calls; just enough to keep ourselves satisfied without actually going back to "that place".

So that's the story of the four of us--or a small fraction of it anyway.

The ‘City that Never Sleeps’ just got one more reason to keep playing. New York City’s Mayor Bloomberg is about to reveal the city's own "NYC" brand of free condoms.

"The condom packets will be modeled after the New York City subway system. Every foil will have a color," said Carol Carozza, spokeswoman for Ansell, the firm producing the NYC condoms and also the parent firm of LifeStyles condoms.

"Brands work, and people use branded items more than they use non branded items, whether it's a cola or a medicine even," Health Commissioner Thomas Frieden said, "Brands add value and they increase use."

The city distributes 1.5 million free condoms each month adding up to about 18 million a year. This allows hundreds of organizations the opportunity to receive free condoms that they then distribute at various locations such as health clinics, advocacy groups, bars, nightclubs and even prisons.

According to health officials, New York negotiated a deal with the maker of the LifeStyles brand for 4 cents per condom, putting the expense to the city at just $720,000 annually.

When you’re the AIDS capital of the United States, I suppose it only makes sense that you would sponsor an opportunity for free lovin’ to all.

I love music. Spending five minutes around me will make that painfully obvious. I love my iPod simply because it does what it does - provides my entire library at my disposal whenever my capricious nature craves it, which basically means that I am always plugged in to something. This proposes an obvious problem when engaging in more intimate activities, where I may be plugged into a more organic form. I have yet to meet a girl that would let me have sex while I listen to my own earphones. That's not to say that they don't want to listen to music while doing it; what's more, they too agree that it often creates a mood way better than any combination of flowers, incense, candles or lingerie. The right song can turn a faltering moment into a touching orgasm, or it can just as easily turn the best sex of your life into a cheesy, third rate porn knock-off.

Yet, in spite of the endless possibilities of a shared musical experience, I really just want to listen through my earphones - at least once. I have spent a lot of time and money in turning my little white box of joy into something that is both high-fidelity and intimate. For instance, my earphones attenuate the world around me by various decibels, to the point where I can't hear any extraneous noise when in my own personal world; all I hear is my personal playlist with beautiful clarity. This kind of perfect intimacy is what I want to transpose into the sexual realm, and, so far, have failed miserably. Also, my musical tastes, as restricted as they may be, are mine alone, and what sets the mood for me may not set the mood for my partner.

When goofing around the internet one day, I happened to stumble across the answer to all my prayers. This little toy is nothing if not a miracle. It basically allows me to listen to my own music while avoiding the pitfalls of stereotypical male selfishness, so prevalent in the minds of hyper-sensitive post-feminists who believe that sex is more a chore than a pleasure. Well, get ready to have your panties blown right off. This combination headphones/vibrator is just what everyone who likes music really needs. The guy (or girl really, let's not draw gendered lines - we've got attachments galore here) can listen to his favourite music while the attachment vibrates pleasurably, keeping up with the tempo of whatever the iPod happens to be channeling.

Now, I have yet to personally try this; it's a little out of my very limited student budget for something which may have limited approval under the sheets. Plus, I can just hear my girlfriend now: I know I'm going to get distracted from one aesthetic beauty just to look at another, admittedly smaller, thing of beauty, as I decide which track to play next, you know, all in the name of providing a pleasurable experience.

If anyone else here is involved... nope.. oops.. i meant in LOVE (hehe) with Scarlett Johansson, here's a link that will most likely occupy you for many hours, days even. Just make sure no one's around ;)

http://www.kontraband.com/show/show.asp?ID=5198&rtn=index-topten

At the turn of the first millennium Lady Godiva rode naked through the streets of Coventry to demonstrate the sincerity of her convictions; namely that her husband Leofric, the earl of Mercia, was overtaxing his peasants. In an act of defiance, she demonstrated that her body, stripped of all modern coverings was a powerful socio-political tool. Lady Godiva, strikingly beautiful and confident, is rumoured to have caused the first voyeur (aptly named Tom) to become instantly blind and in certain extreme cases of the legend die on the spot, so overcome is he with the intoxicating loveliness of her naked body as she rode astride her horse through the town square.

While this is perhaps not the first case of nudity being used to further subversive political views, it is certainly one of the widest circulated legends on the matter. What’s especially interesting to note is that Lady Godiva is by no means presented in a promiscuous light, or even a particularly sexual one (remember that this is the early 1000s and thus this is quite an event onto itself). To a certain extent she stripped her body of its sexuality while using it as a political vessel. What I mean to say is that Lady Godiva’s act of contrition was one in which her role as a woman and her sexuality came secondary to her beliefs (although, the blind Tom might argue this point, having lost quite an important sense at her unwitting hands… or breasts).

I love the idea of nudity and sexuality as a form of political protest. Stripping down for a cause is daring, original and extremely effective. The animal right’s activist group PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals) has more that once demonstrated it’s willingness to “bare skin rather than wear skin” and whether or not you agree with them and their occasionally aggressive tactics you have to admit that when Pamela Anderson goes topless in front of a store-front you sit up and take notice. PETA takes sexuality as a form of protest one step further in their “State of the Union Undress” in which a radiant young woman outlines PETA’s past and present goals while slowly removing her clothing until she stands, wonderfully naked, in front of the camera. All this goes to prove that nudity and intelligence do not necessarily have to cancel each other out.

In case you go looking for PETA’s “State of the Union Undress” you won’t find it on YouTube, it was banned due to the nudity. Also, just so you know directly after she gets naked you see a bunch of injured animals, so if that's not your thing you might want to skip that.
P.S. note the old men cheering her on


Watch more PETA videos at PETATV.com.

According to a study by M.I.T., the first name of a person has a large influence on their perceived sexiness. The attraction associated with names is said to be determined by the vowel sound - so before you go changing your name to popular strippers’ personae like Candy, Paris, and Valentine; you should first verify whether your name contains a “front vowel” or a “back vowel.”

Names with front vowels (tongue positioned to the front of the mouth, such as “a” in Matt) are most appealing to women, while back vowels (think “aw” in Paul) were displeasing. For men, results were much the opposite with preferences tending towards back vowel names (Jordan and Rachel), while front vowel names like Katie or Emily got the cold-shoulder.

Linguist Amy Perfors examined name-sexiness by showing pictures of people labeled with different names on the “Hot or Not?” site, and consequently measured how attractive strangers thought they were (as determined by ratings).

If you’re a Katie or Paul out there now feeling like a hideous ogre, don’t despair. Perfors’ name-game was carried out using the same picture of a person and how their name influenced their own desirability – ignoring that the person’s appearance formed the basis of the ratings to begin with. As stated by Perfors, “An attractive person with a bad vowel name is still more attractive than an unattractive person with a good vowel name.” This explains why celebrities such as Nicole Kidman and Kate Beckinsale (both front-vowel first namers) are still not considered ugly.

So unless whoever you’re dating is blind, or has a vowel fetish -hey, never underestimate the importance of tongue-positioning! – rest assured, this study should not in anyway influence your sex appeal.

links:
newscientist
bbc