Recording Sex? A Fun Twist.

I don’t know about you, but January’s traditionally a month I stay home a lot in an effort to get my bankbook back in black after the excesses of the festive season. So, I was thinking, hmm, what little project can I propose for my readers?

In the last posting, I suggested doing performance report cards with each other, checking in with your partner to see how well each of you are doing in the pleasing department. This time, I want to suggest getting into visuals -- taping your lovemaking -- but with a twist.

We’ve all seen sex videos gone awry, whether it’s Paris Hilton’s tapes getting released to the world at large, or some couple down the street who accidentally turned their video into the rental store instead of the copy of Forrest Gump the family had been renting. Yes, these things can happen, and that’s why you need to be careful.

But you can get hit by a vehicle crossing a street, yet you do that daily. Take the chance, explore it. Be a star, in your own way.

Naturally, a lot of us don’t like seeing ourselves on tape, but it’s an important thing to get over. A sex video isn’t jalways smut, it can be an erotic record of how you feel about your lover, and evidence of how you display it. When incorporated back into the relationship as visual foreplay or a romantic night in, it can help spice your sex life like nothing else, provided you’re willing to embrace it.

Imagine you’re a woman with insecurities, and you’re sitting there, watching a DVD of some sexcapades with your lover, and he starts getting aroused just watching you. This time, it’s not some blonde bimbette with triple-D boobs getting him rigid, it’s you, in all your simple, real, attainable beauty. For once, you’ll feel like the bombshell you deserve to be. Take the chance.

If you have insecurities, then there are some approaches to lessen ‘em. Spend a quiet night planning the activities with your partner. Script it, as it were. Decide some of the things you’d like to do to each other, but don’t worry about order, just go with the flow. If planning it to the T will help you lessen even more of your inhibitions, then go for it, but don’t feel restrained by it.

When you’re getting down to the nitty-gritty, you need to keep a couple things in mind. Technology’s important. What is your camera capable of doing? What kind of lighting will it need? You want to ensure you’ve got a camera that can perform in low-light situations, especially if insecurities are present. The control of the lighting is what differentiates the romantic from the pornographic. Camera angles are important. If it gets you hot, explore your lover’s body with a handicam. If your lover’s going down on you, you can hold the camera and capture it from your perspective. If you like, get your lover masturbating on film. Whatever occurs to you, you can do.

Nowadays, the home sex video can be done better than ever. Home editing technology is more sophisticated, yet more user-friendly than it has ever been. My Mac, for instance, comes with iMovie and iDVD. The first allows you to take different tracks from different digital videos and edit them together for a digital film. Then, you can mosey over to iDVD and lay in an audio track. You can speed things up, slow them down, stretch ‘em, lay in colour filters, whatever turns you on, whatever makes the mood better. I don’t know what Windows programs exist, but I’m sure they’re every bit as simple.

So, here’s the twist, which comes after you’ve done the playing around on camera.

You get together with your lover, put all your different sexy video tracks on your computer, crack a bottle of wine, and as a couple, watch the clips and make decisions about what segments are the hottest, and then you create your own DVD with montages of your lovemaking sessions. Find music that sets the pace for your visuals -- if it’s down’n’dirty, something like INXS or Nine Inch Nails might hit the spot. For something romantic, pick any cheesy diva you like. It really doesn’t matter. (Personally, I’d be wanting to find a little classic bassy porn soundtracks from the ‘70s, just for the fun/humour factor.) You can even intellectually elevate the moment by recording poetry or erotic writing and dub that over the tracks, too.

The great thing about doing something like this together is that the creation of it (via the editing) becomes as much a part of the experience as the action performance is. And if you’ve taken the time to talk and “script” what sort of activities you’d like done, then the entire thing, from start to finish, becomes an experience that you’ll always be able to enjoy.

There’s another bonus, too. Like I suggested last time, the performance reviews, they become so much more tangible if you’re sitting there and analyzing your clips and cutting/pasting them together. You can talk about why that move got you so hot, what you’re feeling when your face is screwed up in agonizing pleasure, and how it could have felt just a little better if done slightly different.

As a society, we’ve so many hang-ups about seeing ourselves on video, sexually, as if it’s pornographic and crass. It’s not. It’s a record of how two people express their love for each other. And while it’s easier for something like that to escape out into the world than ever before, it’s also easier to turn it into a beautiful work of art that you can enjoy time and time again as the years pass -- just be careful with it, that’s all, and make sure you trust your lover on every level.

Speaking of years passing, every relationship has its phases where the sex might dwindle. If that’s the case, something like this can serve as a tangible reminder for just how good it was, and provide inspiration for getting back to that kind of feeling once again.

Lights, Camera, and... Action?

I don’t know about you, but January’s traditionally a month I stay home a lot in an effort to get my bankbook back in black after the excesses of the festive season. So, I was thinking, hmm, what little project can I propose for my readers?

In the last posting, I suggested doing performance report cards with each other, checking in with your partner to see how well each of you are doing in the pleasing department. This time, I want to suggest getting into visuals -- taping your lovemaking -- but with a twist.

We’ve all seen sex videos gone awry, whether it’s Paris Hilton’s tapes getting released to the world at large, or some couple down the street who accidentally turned their video into the rental store instead of the copy of Forrest Gump the family had been renting. Yes, these things can happen, and that’s why you need to be careful.

But you can get hit by a vehicle crossing a street, yet you do that daily. Take the chance, explore it. Be a star, in your own way.

Naturally, a lot of us don’t like seeing ourselves on tape, but it’s an important thing to get over. A sex video isn’t jalways smut, it can be an erotic record of how you feel about your lover, and evidence of how you display it. When incorporated back into the relationship as visual foreplay or a romantic night in, it can help spice your sex life like nothing else, provided you’re willing to embrace it.

Imagine you’re a woman with insecurities, and you’re sitting there, watching a DVD of some sexcapades with your lover, and he starts getting aroused just watching you. This time, it’s not some blonde bimbette with triple-D boobs getting him rigid, it’s you, in all your simple, real, attainable beauty. For once, you’ll feel like the bombshell you deserve to be. Take the chance.

If you have insecurities, then there are some approaches to lessen ‘em. Spend a quiet night planning the activities with your partner. Script it, as it were. Decide some of the things you’d like to do to each other, but don’t worry about order, just go with the flow. If planning it to the T will help you lessen even more of your inhibitions, then go for it, but don’t feel restrained by it.

When you’re getting down to the nitty-gritty, you need to keep a couple things in mind. Technology’s important. What is your camera capable of doing? What kind of lighting will it need? You want to ensure you’ve got a camera that can perform in low-light situations, especially if insecurities are present. The control of the lighting is what differentiates the romantic from the pornographic. Camera angles are important. If it gets you hot, explore your lover’s body with a handicam. If your lover’s going down on you, you can hold the camera and capture it from your perspective. If you like, get your lover masturbating on film. Whatever occurs to you, you can do.

Nowadays, the home sex video can be done better than ever. Home editing technology is more sophisticated, yet more user-friendly than it has ever been. My Mac, for instance, comes with iMovie and iDVD. The first allows you to take different tracks from different digital videos and edit them together for a digital film. Then, you can mosey over to iDVD and lay in an audio track. You can speed things up, slow them down, stretch ‘em, lay in colour filters, whatever turns you on, whatever makes the mood better. I don’t know what Windows programs exist, but I’m sure they’re every bit as simple.

So, here’s the twist, which comes after you’ve done the playing around on camera.

You get together with your lover, put all your different sexy video tracks on your computer, crack a bottle of wine, and as a couple, watch the clips and make decisions about what segments are the hottest, and then you create your own DVD with montages of your lovemaking sessions. Find music that sets the pace for your visuals -- if it’s down’n’dirty, something like INXS or Nine Inch Nails might hit the spot. For something romantic, pick any cheesy diva you like. It really doesn’t matter. (Personally, I’d be wanting to find a little classic bassy porn soundtracks from the ‘70s, just for the fun/humour factor.) You can even intellectually elevate the moment by recording poetry or erotic writing and dub that over the tracks, too.

The great thing about doing something like this together is that the creation of it (via the editing) becomes as much a part of the experience as the action performance is. And if you’ve taken the time to talk and “script” what sort of activities you’d like done, then the entire thing, from start to finish, becomes an experience that you’ll always be able to enjoy.

There’s another bonus, too. Like I suggested last time, the performance reviews, they become so much more tangible if you’re sitting there and analyzing your clips and cutting/pasting them together. You can talk about why that move got you so hot, what you’re feeling when your face is screwed up in agonizing pleasure, and how it could have felt just a little better if done slightly different.

As a society, we’ve so many hang-ups about seeing ourselves on video, sexually, as if it’s pornographic and crass. It’s not. It’s a record of how two people express their love for each other. And while it’s easier for something like that to escape out into the world than ever before, it’s also easier to turn it into a beautiful work of art that you can enjoy time and time again as the years pass -- just be careful with it, that’s all, and make sure you trust your lover on every level.

Speaking of years passing, every relationship has its phases where the sex might dwindle. If that’s the case, something like this can serve as a tangible reminder for just how good it was, and provide inspiration for getting back to that kind of feeling once again.

Better Sex? Report Cards!

Still not convinced that better communication will up the sexual ante? All right, then read on.

Imagine you get a job. You're excited about it. It's dynamic, exciting. Oh, the possibilities, you think. So, you show up, wing it, and you think, "Hey, it's okay, after I've been here and they've seen what my stuff is, they're gonna wanna invest in me. They'll want to really school me and get me groomed for something better. I'm a contributor. Yeah, they'll tell me what they really want, when they're ready to."

And the management's over there, across the way. "Wow, you know, he may have something to offer. Hmm. We could use someone like that around here. I know what we'll do. We'll wait. When he's ready to know more, he'll come to us. Then we'll really know he'll be able to deliver. We'll let him... acclimatize, for now. I mean, hey, he's doing just fine for now."

Trouble is, "for now" doesn't have a shelf life. Do you know when "for now" expires? I sure don't. And "just fine," well, it never really makes the cut, does it?

The employee in this scenario? Fucked. Rightly. Right fucked. Why? Pretty simple. Without clear direction, without a clear understanding of how he should perform his duties, he will never have the confidence to take risks that might better his performance, he'll never really know where he stands, and he'll never put his all into it. Worse yet, he won't know how to do his job better, nor what management desires him to do.

If you have a relationship where you're not telling each other how to satisfy you, you're going to be like the players above. As a receiver, you'll be the management -- getting loyal, dedicated service that suggests potential and even possibly alludes to brilliance, but always somehow slightly misses the mark, or even worse yet, is highly inconsistent because the areas of excellence go unspoken.

As the giver, you're just a lowly employee, and you'll never really know what your strengths or weaknesses are, nor what areas the management perceives most essential to get done. You might just never really know what you should deliver, and maybe, just maybe, you won't ever really fill the order, if you know what I'm saying.

So, if you manage to get things sorted and discussed, here's what I propose: Bi-weekly run-downs. Or however often you might enjoy a performance review. Have a conversation over dinner -- a private dinner -- and discuss the things you've enjoyed, the things you're feeling more of a craving for these days.

Sex is so much like food it's crazy. We all have cravings, and many of us go through a two-week period where we're eating Chinese every couple days. Well, maybe sex doggy style's fitting the bill this week. It'd be nice to share that, wouldn't it?

We foolishly seem to talk about fantasies only in absolutes. I'd frickin love a Mercedes conververtible from the late '60s, y'know, but this week I've been feeling a little more like taking the bus since the weather's so dodgy and the traffic so frantic. We go through flavour stages, and it's there in our sex lives, too, but often in such small, almost inconsequential ways that we often sooner ignore it than address it.

This conversation doesn't need to be clinical. In fact, I say nay to that notion altogether. I say make it dirty, irreverent, sexy, fun, coy, suggestive, romantic, passionate, perfunctory, whatever gets your rocks off. I say do it over a decadent meal you cook together, and then eat it together in various states of undress with a fine bottle of red wine. (May I suggest throwing some really suggestive footsy into the under-table games? Footsy may not be the most sexually satisfying act, but Jesus, it's erotic, isn't it? Mm!) Or skip the food and sit naked on the couch, sipping wine, as you perform demonstrations on each other's body of what it is you're discussing / wanting.

You get the idea. Play with it. Play is fun. Play doctor like you did in the bushes as a kid. Hmm. I wonder how Tyler's doing these days, anyhow. Been a while. Ah, nostalgia.

Anyhow, there's a New Year's Resolution for the couples in my audience. Periodical sex reviews. No negatives -- only constructive criticism, but really, really try to focus on positives, and try to go with the moment. And never, ever shy away from demonstration... or narration. And if you narrate, be suggestive and coy -- this can really add a little of the sizzle bang-bang I'm always talking about.

"And his hand traipses delicately down her torse, lingering over her honeypot... And oh, its owner notices that she has begun to..."

Hope everyone's enjoying the season. And I expect reports on this, kids, or Santa's gonna hear about it for next year.

A Case for More Communication

Still not convinced that better communication will up the sexual ante? All right, then read on.

Imagine you get a job. You're excited about it. It's dynamic, exciting. Oh, the possibilities, you think. So, you show up, wing it, and you think, "Hey, it's okay, after I've been here and they've seen what my stuff is, they're gonna wanna invest in me. They'll want to really school me and get me groomed for something better. I'm a contributor. Yeah, they'll tell me what they really want, when they're ready to."

And the management's over there, across the way. "Wow, you know, he may have something to offer. Hmm. We could use someone like that around here. I know what we'll do. We'll wait. When he's ready to know more, he'll come to us. Then we'll really know he'll be able to deliver. We'll let him... acclimatize, for now. I mean, hey, he's doing just fine for now."

Trouble is, "for now" doesn't have a shelf life. Do you know when "for now" expires? I sure don't. And "just fine," well, it never really makes the cut, does it?

The employee in this scenario? Fucked. Rightly. Right fucked. Why? Pretty simple. Without clear direction, without a clear understanding of how he should perform his duties, he will never have the confidence to take risks that might better his performance, he'll never really know where he stands, and he'll never put his all into it. Worse yet, he won't know how to do his job better, nor what management desires him to do.

If you have a relationship where you're not telling each other how to satisfy you, you're going to be like the players above. As a receiver, you'll be the management -- getting loyal, dedicated service that suggests potential and even possibly alludes to brilliance, but always somehow slightly misses the mark, or even worse yet, is highly inconsistent because the areas of excellence go unspoken.

As the giver, you're just a lowly employee, and you'll never really know what your strengths or weaknesses are, nor what areas the management perceives most essential to get done. You might just never really know what you should deliver, and maybe, just maybe, you won't ever really fill the order, if you know what I'm saying.

So, if you manage to get things sorted and discussed, here's what I propose: Bi-weekly run-downs. Or however often you might enjoy a performance review. Have a conversation over dinner -- a private dinner -- and discuss the things you've enjoyed, the things you're feeling more of a craving for these days.

Sex is so much like food it's crazy. We all have cravings, and many of us go through a two-week period where we're eating Chinese every couple days. Well, maybe sex doggy style's fitting the bill this week. It'd be nice to share that, wouldn't it?

We foolishly seem to talk about fantasies only in absolutes. I'd frickin love a Mercedes conververtible from the late '60s, y'know, but this week I've been feeling a little more like taking the bus since the weather's so dodgy and the traffic so frantic. We go through flavour stages, and it's there in our sex lives, too, but often in such small, almost inconsequential ways that we often sooner ignore it than address it.

This conversation doesn't need to be clinical. In fact, I say nay to that notion altogether. I say make it dirty, irreverent, sexy, fun, coy, suggestive, romantic, passionate, perfunctory, whatever gets your rocks off. I say do it over a decadent meal you cook together, and then eat it together in various states of undress with a fine bottle of red wine. (May I suggest throwing some really suggestive footsy into the under-table games? Footsy may not be the most sexually satisfying act, but Jesus, it's erotic, isn't it? Mm!) Or skip the food and sit naked on the couch, sipping wine, as you perform demonstrations on each other's body of what it is you're discussing / wanting.

You get the idea. Play with it. Play is fun. Play doctor like you did in the bushes as a kid. Hmm. I wonder how Tyler's doing these days, anyhow. Been a while. Ah, nostalgia.

Here's a thought. Periodical sex reviews. No negatives -- only constructive criticism, but really, really try to focus on positives, and try to go with the moment. And never, ever shy away from demonstration... or narration. And if you narrate, be suggestive and coy -- this can really add a little of the sizzle bang-bang I'm always talking about.

Beyond Fat Girls

Labbie wrote a piece about weight and self-image recently. I enjoyed it. Then, later the same morning, I was watching my previously-taped episode of “Rescue Me” in which firefighters, Probie Mike and Sean, are making their way up the stairs to the flame-filled fifth floor, talking about a recent date, which ended in the Probie getting laid with this apparently model-thin chick.

“It was like her hips were cutting into me,” he said, continuing, “I’m afraid to get on top of her. It’s like I hear this cracking sound or something.”

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. I’m part of the bonus-lover plan. Yeah, I’m carrying extra, for sure. I’m told “I wear it well” and for the first time, I believe them, most of the time. But I do know I’m cute, at the very least. I’ve got punky short light hair and green eyes with a sly grin, and I’m pretty comfortable with myself when I put an effort into lookin’ like a cutie. And hey, I even get a little approval streetside.

I’ve written before about overcoming insecurities in order to love yourself for who you are. It’s been a long road for me. I was always very sexual, but I never really believed it about myself until the past three or so years. This year, though, has been the year of the my greatest emergence. I am what I am now, and I know it. The journey has been a long and interesting one, the journey of becoming sexual, not just seeming sexual. It’s fabulous.

My weight always held me back. I always tried to say the right things. I always tried to toe the line and be the proper chick, so I wouldn’t offend too many people. I played it safe. One day, I realized that I felt like a fake, and I started saying exactly what was on my mind. I stopped appeasing everyone. I slowly started to work on my self-image. Simple things, like trying a new kind of clothing, pushing myself in physical exercise, losing a little of the weight, talking to someone seemingly out of my league. There are days I forget how to be the Better Steff, days I forget about being the strong, proud, sassy chick I know I am. It happens. But it always passes, too. I suspect, however, that there’s something universal about that.

The biggest part of my transformation came from finally accepting myself for what I am, but more importantly, realizing that my faults and weaknesses weren’t nearly as sizeable as I had feared. I learned to look at myself as someone on the street might; if I met that woman, how would I judge her? Not nearly so harshly, I thought.

In finally being open enough to talk about my body image with the guys I have seen or considered in that way, I realized that the men I’d found seemed to nurture a very different impression about weight on a woman. They felt exactly as Mike the Probie would -- that a woman with a few extra pounds was someone you could play a little more roughly with, someone you didn’t have to worry about harming if things might escalate a bit between you.

Soon, I realized something great: The thing that I always thought held me back in the bedroom was the thing bringing me exactly the kind of physicality I enjoyed -- sometimes rough, always unrestrained.

It’s interesting how perspective can alter your enjoyment of something, but there’s an incredible shift that occurs when you really begin to embrace yourself in your lover’s presence.

I think this is part of the dilemma that lays behind the number one complaint I hear from women -- their inability to orgasm at all, or the difficulties faced when eventually achieving one. We’re so wrapped up in our body images, trapped in our insecurities, concerned with public perception, and inundated with the pressure to come, that we just can’t enjoy sex. It takes years for women to get past this shit, and I personally believe that it’s why we do not peak sexually until the average age of 32.

I happen to now be 32. If any of my friends had known the kind of sex I was already having in my early 20s, their perception of me would have been wildly different. In that regard, I was definitely advanced for my age.

I began having bondage with sex at the relatively young age of 19. I had sex in very, very public places the first time at the age of 18. By the age of 21, I had no qualms having sex in a semi-public private room where anyone could walk in without warning (but I’m secretly glad they never did). Voyeurism, for me, was a two-way street, and I liked to travel on it. All that said, though, and I still never really embraced my sexuality until this year, my 32nd.

Sex, for me now, is better than it has ever been -- and not because of my lovers, but because of the roles I’m willing to play, the brazenness I bring to the bedroom, because of my changed perspective. My god, had I even begun to suspect it would be like this, I’d have ditched those insecurities years ago.

The rewards of youth aren’t nearly as great as we’ve all been led to believe. Sex improves with age, despite the hundreds of millions of dollars the pharmaceutical industry spends to make you believe otherwise. Sex isn’t just about hard cocks and screaming orgasms. It’s the one language that transcends geography. It’s an otherworldy experience you can share where you need nothing but skin and sweat and stamina. We’re so hung up on needing to be hard, needing to come, that we’ve forgotten everything that happens in between -- the places in which our mouths can linger and toy; the dexterity and flexibility of the hand; the thrill of warm, sweaty skin against our own; the scores of peaks and valleys found in that symphony of gasps and moans.

With age and maturity and realism, we’re able to begin letting go of those hang-ups. When we allow ourselves the freedom of being beautiful to that one person, we find ourselves experiencing things we never thought we’d feel. And that, that’s the ultimate goal to have in any sexual relationship: the absolute ability to lose all apprehensions and fear, the evolution of trust and willingness.

If only it were that easy. It’s hard. Very. But the reward is worth the struggle. Oh, so very.

The Saga of J: Part Three

Well. It's been a few months in the offing, but here it is. The next installment of The Saga of J.

I've had a lot of people on my case about this one. Honestly, it was hard to write. I must've started it a dozen times. In the end, it's written in a completely different voice. It had to be. This was this experience that essentially transformed me sexually.

You can read part one here, and part two, here. You'd be a fool to start here.

So, without ado... By the way, part four? Partially written, but don't hold your breath. Probably two weeks or so. Not three months. It's down to time, now, not inspiration/approach, which is a good thing. (Or, then again...)
_________________
bound and blind. an auspicious start? perhaps, but for a newcomer to the biz like i’d been then, it was daunting and unnerving.

j. had left some minutes before. the music playing now had switched off from the familiar depeche mode to something more stripped down and bare, demonstrative of the position i found myself in, bare, sedate, and throbbing ever so gently.

periodically, in my manmade darkness, a clatter or a thump could be heard from the kitchen down the hall from where i lay. from what i could tell, he was rummaging through the cupboards for... things. food, perhaps. what else, i had no idea.

it was all so new, so mystifying, and now, so teasingly delayed. my nerves began to taunt me a little. if trust had ever been an issue, now wasn’t the time to think about it. i couldn’t have done a thing in my defense. my ankles, bound. my wrists, bound.

a scent was wafting towards me. a candle, perhaps? some mockery of strawberry, a suggestion of vanilla. aside from that, i had nothing to go on, thanks to the blindfold.

then, a padding of feet and a creaking of hardwood. “miss me?”

“well...” i muttered. “what else is there to do?” i grinned.

thunk. clatter, rattle. he set something down on the bedside table, next to where my head lay. it sounded like a tray with... maybe some dishes? nonetheless, a mix of sounds that told me one thing: there was more in store than i could know at this point. my mind began spinning through possibilities but was soon interrupted by a feathery finger tracing across my jaw. it dallied up over my chin and traipsed over my lips.

“it’s okay,” he whispered. “everything’s just fine. remember... i’ll stop any time you want. just say the word. do you want me to stop?”

i shook my head. deep down inside, stopping now seemed easier... wiser. but, oh, that curiosity niggling inside me. what would he do? there was just one way to find out. and now, it seemed i would do just that.

or would i? nothing was happening. silence, except for that dirty throbbing little bassline thumping in the background.

then, something cold, wet. a drop on my torso. something cold, moist, ever-so-slightly bristly, and curved was tracing up my belly, over my chest, then stopped on the edge of my lips.

“open,” he whispered, and i did. j teased it over my lips before placing it in my mouth. irregularly shaped and bristly all over, i cautiously sank my teeth into it. then... ooh, juicy. sweet. delicious. what is that, i pondered. chewing, i tasted a little more... oh, strawberry. a beautifully ripened strawberry. i smiled and swallowed, my apprehensions beginning to melt away.

until now, my body was as restrained internally as it was externally. i relaxed and shifted for comfort, at first, then for the tease. my legs fell into a slightly more open, available angle. yep, i thought, this could be all right after all.

( t o b e c o n t i n u e d )

Words, words, words: To Speak or Not to Speak?

At 1:27 am I turned the television off and found myself alone in the dark. It had been a long time since I'd last just sat there in that darkness, that silence. The day had been long, frenetic, and while good as a whole, was the kind of day that prevents you from getting the shit that needs doing done.

Suddenly, silence. Calm. Through my large sliding glass doors, the clouds have that murky coral-tinted charcoal look of a dreary winter night. But the city behind that glass is absolutely silent.

Know that old joke, why do you keep hitting yourself in the head with a hammer? Because it feels so good when it stops, the guy responds. This was one of those moments. The throbbing concussive pain that has been my life of late had momentarily ceased to be.

My head-hitting has all been of the cerebral sort, though, of late. My mind’s been in overdrive and I’ve had no outlet for it. I’ve actually been writing some of late, I should confess. It’s been the literary equivalent of the quickie. Fast’n’dirty, when time permits. Stolen moments, hoarded words.

I’ve yet to go back and read any of it. Tomorrow, today rather, is a day off. My plans include laziness and self-indulgence, perhaps self-pleasure. That’s a double-entendre, kids, since sitting around and reading your own work is about as intellectually masturbatory as anything can get.

I’ve been doing a lot of soul-searching about this sex writing gig of late, folks. I’ve had cause to do so. A recent opportunity arose in which I could try to do a certain quantity of writing in a certain form for certain people who happened to be of a certain religious persuasion. The opportunity would essentially mean I would receive a stipend weekly, with guidance provided in order to aid me in being completely self-sufficient (read: no more corporate whoring) over the next year. The only stipulation? Certain envelopes being pushed would constitute my possibly being uninvited from the party, and the cash cow going bye-bye. (IE: Big Brother and censorship rear their ugly heads once again.)

For a few days, I held off on writing or posting on here, the very politically incorrect "Cunt," because I wanted to toe that line. I wasn’t sure whether it was in search of simply getting money for doing what I wanted to do, or simply “holding back” with the same goal in mind. Holding back, I can handle that, I thought. It’s not like I really take it all that far, I thought.

Or do I?

But in the last couple days, I’ve woken the fuck up. I can’t toe a line. It’s hypocritical. Shit, man, I can’t even get within a sidewalk’s breadth of that line, dude. How ass-backward would that be?

Pretty goddamned, I’d say.

I think the biggest thing wrong in North American relationships today is our almost Puritanical approach to talking about anything sexual. We have so many hang-ups and inhibitions when it comes to sex. We got to get past this, people.

We refuse to talk about it. Or most people do, that is. It’s shunned. We talk about things surrounding sex -- the flirtation, the outfits, the seduction, the wining'n'dining, the commitment, the logistics -- but never the nitty gritty, the real stuff that affects us on an individual level.

Face it, the whole notion of sex conversation tends to be along the lines of the boring and uninvestigative, like, “Do you like that?” You know what rule number one in the world of journalism is? Never, ever ask a question which can be answered with a simple “Yes” or “No.” If you want to know your interview subject, you always, always investigate for long, thorough answers.

You’re trying to bring your partner the best pleasure they can possibly experience, and all you’ll ask is “Do you like that?” Jesus. And people wonder what’s wrong with sex today? Worse yet, even today there are a lot of women who will NOT even ask their man if they’re likin’ it. That's a whole other issue that I just won't address right now.

The human body isn’t one-size-fits-all. It’s complicated. We need to talk to each other. You wanna improve your sex life? TALK to your partner. Get to know what’s working and what’s not. Asking’s the only way to do it.

Be a scientist. Gather evidence. Learn. Study the subject in as many conditions as you can. Experiment. Document your findings. Verify. Rinse. And repeat.

So, then, I ask you: How could I possibly live with myself if I began to censor myself just for a meagre stipend so early in this game?

Throw a few more digits at me, though, and maybe we’ll talk. For now, no whoring’s good enough for me. Hand me that megaphone, will you? And go talk to your lover.

I’ll have a few more things to say about conversations regarding sex in the near future, a couple examples of ways to go about doing that, for those who are a little awkward on just how to find out what’s really working. It's so damned important.

Lazy Days of Lovin': Tip 1

Call me old-fashioned, but I think there's few finer ways to spend a Sunday than staying home, closing the blinds, and makin' sweet love all the day long. In honour of Sundays, this simple tip:

One of the easy things to do to make a night or day of bedroom sports better and longer is to plan ahead. Before your lover arrives for the hijinks, put a few bottles of water next to the bed, and a couple nice crystal glasses, if you like that kind of touch.

Me, I'm a pragmatic gal. I like sticking to bottles. No spillage. Very utilitarian. And fewer dishes. I know, I'm a thinker. Sheer brilliance, really.

(It's slightly more subtle, ergo more romantic, if you put obvious displays of fortification out of sight, guys. But gals, oddly, a guy might get a kick out of knowing you plan to be there for awhile, so leaving the bottles / glasses visible for him may just get him friskier. Note the emphasis. It ain't a certainty. I put mine away. I don't need any added advantages, anyhow. Nudge, nudge, wink, wink.)