About 25 years ago, I sat with a friend in the front seat of his cruddy gray Toyota, geeked out of our minds on hope, dreams and ambition. We were parked outside of some music-oriented establishment, maybe a recording studio — possibly a place where one or both of us had either just done a gig, or were planning on doing one. We were high on adrenaline and I’m quite sure that if there had been anyone else in the car with us that night, they would be zapped by our energy. We were — without a doubt — electric. Read more
A friend of mine and I were chatting the other day about our first experiences with sex. I told her about the interesting way in which I lost my virginity (in a field, under the moon and stars, with a total stranger who was also a drop dead gorgeous man with long hair) and she told me of her experience, which was considerably less dramatic but just as important and memorable to her. Losing one’s virginity will always be a memorable event in just about anyone’s life, though most of the stories are fairly mundane and always include, “Well, there was definitely penetration!”
Interestingly, the first thing my friend asked me was, “Did it hurt?”
My answer was, “No, not really. I felt a tiny bit of pain, and I did bleed a little, but outside of that, no. I wouldn’t say it hurt.” I told her that after it happened, I went home where my mother was having a party and I just looked at all the guests there with a super goofy grin on my face that probably read like a neon sign over my head that declared, “I just had sex!” Read more
Menopause. Growing up no one every explained during the birds and the bees conversation that one day after 40 that I would have night sweats and hot flashes. All of us seen mom and her friends using a fan and drinking lemonade while wearing her summer dress. So I was looking forward to that life style and tossing out the birth control and tampons.
Now later into menopause all those ideas went away. What us women think we know about “the change” could be quite off from the truth. In fact, people have been getting things wrong on the topic for years. In the 1950s, they suggested radiation and mild sedatives to help women cope with the side effects of “the menopause”. Read more
In the same way that a vampire who shuns the cross has to believe in the powers the cross supposedly represents, so must the woman who is called a whore believe that this particularly ignorant and antiquated word has mystical powers – if she is to care at all if she is called one.
Slut shaming. It’s been going on since the beginning of time. What is it about ‘whore’ that makes it the go-to word when someone wants to sexually belittle a woman? To call a woman, ‘whore’ is truly all about the power we give words, because sincerely – could any woman on earth possibly feel the sting this dumb-ass word is intended to deliver?
“She’s a whore!” What next? “Fie! A loathsome snake she is, the trollop!” Oh please. And yet, calling a woman a whore is always somebody’s best shot. Read more
The last time I saw a pair of naked testicles in a feature film was in the 80’s. I believe it was a Merchant Ivory film – a period piece set in olden times where people wore frocks and went about their activities in candlelit quarters. It was a sight to remember, believe me, as men are rarely filmed in a non-pornographic way with the camera directly behind their naked ass as they crawl into bed, setting their danglers in motion for all to see.
Outside of the initial, “Hmm, that visual reminds me of a horse I’d once seen in Central Park,” reaction, I allowed myself to mentally move on with the rest of the film with only a minimal amount of smiling. The balls came and went, and to the day, I still don’t remember who the actor was.
In my long life of enjoying cinema, I can only recall this one testicular occurrence. As for vagina, we have the flash of Sharon Stone’s embedded in our memory, and if we really push it, there’s always the red triangle of death, proudly marched in front of our eyes by Julianne Moore. Allowed to reach our American eyes are boobs, butts and the occasional flaccid penis whooshing by so that we may never recognize any of it’s natural features – but natural sex, as in the kind that is not glorified, beautified and participated in every single day by regular ole people – we see none of this.
American cinema and television have taught us well: sex and body parts are scary things to be hidden, shamed and feared. Ironic, isn’t it – due to the fact that if there’s one thing we see every single day of our life, it’s our own naked body. We certainly see this more than we see the gore and violence that is shown in plentiful abundance, unless of course we live monstrous lives where blood and spatter is more commonplace than walking in on your husband, wife or child while they stand naked in a shower stall, attending to their daily ablutions.
In Europe, where dangling balls, wobbling penises and vaginas both hairy and bald get to run wild and free in quality films, the thought of overly explicit violence and bloodshed is a rampant turn off. Watching Alexander Skarsgard tan himself in the buff on the summit of an Alpine mountain scape is not only good stuff – it’s accepted stuff. Here, it’s a major big deal, and if we get to see ‘it’ – holy cow, the media breaks out in boils and locusts.
We’re still in the phase where it’s an utterly shocking and titillating moment when we see two people of the same gender enjoy a passionate kiss. Everybody goes bonkers when the two male hotties kiss. Well, guess what? Male hotties kiss all the time, yo. Just like you and I are naked at least one time a day. It happens. Sex happens. Bodies happen. And you’d think with all that we’ve made out of the ad campaign of ‘sex sells’ that we’d actually admit that it sells because WE HAVE SEX much more than we kill zombies, slash teenage lovebirds and drink blood.
We’re having sex over here, people. And we’re having it with human bodies, the kind that have all variety of body parts, like weird boobs, and strange wieners. Hell, some of us even have flabby asses – whoda thunk it? The truth is, we have bodies and we know bodies, and yet, cinema either shows us only the most fantastical versions of bodies – or they show gore. How did we become a country where blood sells more than sex?
Ah, now that’s something to think about.
According to Deadline Hollywood, during the making of one particular episode of the TV series, Hannibal, a decision had to be made.
The recap was a reminder of how Hannibal routinely depicts some of the most extreme graphic kills on broadcast TV. Fuller says network suits rarely object. Except on the Season 1 episode “Coquilles,” in which a killer mutilates his victims into angels to watch over him in his sleep. “We had two people who were nude and we saw their buttocks,” Fuller said. “They were dead, they were flayed open, and cracked in many ways. Their butt crack was the least offensive of the ones they were sporting, [but] the network said no. … I asked why, because of the exposed spine and muscle tissue and flayed skin? I said, ‘What if we fill the butt cracks with blood so you can’t see them?’ They said OK.”
If a butt crack has to be filled with blood in order to make a horrific scene of violence easier for our delicate pearl-clutching mentalities to handle, then I don’t see much chance of my old friends, the danglers, making their way back into American cinema any time too soon.
We’re in a time where women talking about the mattress mambo is not taboo. We are a sexually liberated people who enjoy a happy ending to a good romp. That happy ending is the big “O”!!! I am a woman of a certain age so I have a bit of experience in this arena, at least now!!! I remember being asked, ” Have you ever had an orgasm”? My answer being, “Yeah I think so”. To which I was told, ” No, you haven’t because you would definitely know it, not think it”. It wasn’t until that happened that I realized what I had been missing. Earth shattering, mind blowing O’s should be the privilege of us all. I remember times of trying to get there while remaining beautiful at the same time. Not a chance!!! But the end result is certainly worth the horrid faces, somewhat resembling a Gremlin who ate after midnight, which I am sure are even evident in the darkest of rooms. Or for you moms out there, trying to climax while be certain not to wake the kiddies or ruin the festivities!!!
Hit the flip for some hilarious, albeit relate-able “O” stories. Coconut oil, who’d thought!!!
The Bathroom Blunder
“I really like to have sex in the bathroom with my boyfriend. It usually happens randomly, like when we’re brushing our teeth or something, and he just picks me up and puts my butt on the sink and we hop to it. But the thing is, I’ve only ever reached orgasm when I’m on the edge of the sink and I’m gripping the handle of the cabinet next to me with my right hand so I don’t slip. It’s a totally awkward position—one hand on the cabinet and the other on him—and there’s a mirror in there so I can see how funny I look. But it works every time!”
The Friction Fail
“I don’t know why, but I require serious friction and pressure to orgasm. So what usually needs to be done is my boyfriend has to press the heel of his palm down pretty hard on my clitoris, and move it back and forth really really fast. Then, at the same time, I have to push my body against his to create unbelievable amounts of pressure. It can feel like a chore sometimes, all this work, but it’s always worth it for sure!”
The Coconut Crush
“I can orgasm during regular sex, don’t get me wrong, but I find that my orgasms are extra great when I use coconut oil. My partner and I spread it all over each other, and something about the slipperiness plus the exotic smell really puts me over the edge. The problem, though, is that it’s actually really messy. We end up getting oil all over our sheets and on random pieces of furniture that we accidentally touch before we shower off. Plus, we end up sliding around all over the place, so I feel very uncoordinated. But even though it’s not super graceful, the orgasm is amazing!”
I imagine that right about now, you are spending your day wondering what your daughter or son is doing in bed…picturing them in various sexual positions, thinking hard on whether they like kink or whether they just simply take their sex straight up. Just hanging around, being angry and thinking night and day about your own child – in bed – doing sexy, sexy stuff… and the way they have the nerve to call that stuff consensual, or even worse – LOVE.
Welcome to your world, homophobe, where parents and other perverts like you spend hour upon obsessive hour wondering what other people are doing in bed with each other.
Funny, it all sounds so perverted without the mention of the word, ‘gay,’ doesn’t it? But when we know that we’re dwelling on the sex lives of homosexuals, it’s different, right? Then, it’s righteous, it’s a calling. We’re doing a good thing by thinking about gay sex 24/7 because the more we think about it, the more we know just how right it is to condemn it…right? Sounds more like mental masturbation to me, but who am I to judge? I’m just a ‘live and let live’ type of girl who isn’t ruminating on whether my cable guy is a top or a power bottom.
That gay neighbor of yours – if he wasn’t gay, he’d be just another guy in the building. But, because he’s gay and that may not be what you are, why not imagine the hundreds and thousands of depraved acts he’s doing in there with that boyfriend of his? If you knew he was straight, would you be imagining what his ass looks like while he’s in bed with his girlfriend? But he’s gay, and so that ass is what you’re all about.
You don’t understand homosexuality so you choose not to even try, which keeps you in this constant mediation over what homosexuals do in bed with each other. And what’s really dubious about the whole thing is that most of it you keep to yourself…like a dirty little secret. Except, the secret is not that you hate homosexuals – it’s that you think about homosexual sex all day long.
That lesbian couple you sometimes talk to in the lobby? They probably just want a guy like you to set them straight, right? I mean, why would two women desire each other without the payoff of real sex – as in ‘your’ idea of real sex. Why, indeed? In your mind, there’s only one way: your way.
Homophobia is perversion of ignorance. It doesn’t require a latex catsuit or a ball-gag, it doesn’t even require sexuality…the only rules for homophobes are that one must be fearful and full of hatred towards homosexuals, and one must resign themselves to a life of thinking about what they are doing in bed. As much as possible. Maybe even get a couple of magazines, while you’re there, you know, just to drive the visual home.
How would you like it if we all refocus our social lens on the things you do when you’re feeling kinda…hetero. Are you feeling kinda hetero? Because if you are, I’d like for you to think about how interested we are in where you’re going to put that thing – because we do know where you’re going to put that thing. How would you like it if that’s all we ever thought about? You, your thing and where you’re going to put it. Would you say we were a bit perverted for this?
See, the only difference between you, homophobe, and us, is that, if we were all to dwell constantly on each other’s sex lives, we wouldn’t care – while you would be drowning in hate.
Hate keeps you a slave. Hate makes your life so small. Your hatred of what you don’t understand has made you into a pervert. You’re the one in chains. Maybe you should get a rubber catsuit to go with that get-up.
All the best to you,
One of my fave actresses Angela Bassett just did an awesome interview with digital magazine Violet Grey. She was recently nominated for an Emmy for American Horror Story: Coven, definitely one of my must see shows nowadays I might add. And who can forget when she paid homage to the great Tina Turner in What’s Love Go to Do with It. Lest we neglect to mention How Stella Got Her Groove Back, representing for the feisty cougars of the world.
Face, check. Hair, check. Body, check check check!!Does this woman age at all??? At the glamorous age of 55, Angela is putting some of the younger ladies to shame. Who said life ends after 50? If this is what I have to look forward to then bring it on. Let’s eavesdrop on the conversation over at Violet Grey of how this fab mom of two gets red carpet ready. Werk Ms. Angela!!!!
V.G.: GETTING READY FOR THE RED CARPET IS A RITUAL FOR MANY ACTRESSES. WHAT IS IT LIKE FOR YOU?
A.B.: My first question is always ‘Is my team available?’ I wish I could do all of this, but everyone has their gifts. Then I just sit there with my eyes closed. If I open them it’s only because I’m trying to get a few tips for myself!
V.G. HOW DO YOU PREPARE FOR THE RED CARPET IN THE DAYS LEADING UP TO AN AWARD SHOW?
A.B.: I try to watch my diet so I can fit into whatever I am wearing. Cut the sugar, the alcohol and the bread, and eat a lot of protein and veggies.
V.G.: WHO MAKES A GOOD DATE TO AN EVENT?
A.B.: A friend or a sister. I mean, the husband is always great, but there is something about a girlfriend…
V.G.: WHAT IS YOUR GO-TO MAKEUP LOOK FOR A NIGHT OUT?
A.B.: Recently we had the wrap party for Whitney [the biopic Bassett directed], and it was real simple: foundation, mascara, a red lip, and you’re done. I’m not very good with eye shadow, but I’ve got foundation down.
Click below to catch more highlights as well as some sassy pics:
PHOTOGRAPH BY ROBIN BLACK IN THE VIOLET GREY STUDIO
If I had a dollar for all the times I’d heard mention of how the father of a newborn daughter is going to have to get a gun to someday ward off the boys – I’d be a zillionaire. It’s almost as if there’s this chip implanted into our brains that instructs us to mindlessly keep our daughters pure, virginal and untouched by any kind of sexual encounter.
My 17-year-old daughter, who is incredibly gorgeous and highly sexual, would beg to differ. And I back her up fully.
I don’t know about you, but the last time I looked, the Middle Ages were over and the concept of a woman’s virtue ended with the appeal of stoning someone to death for being a loose woman. What on earth is it about daughters that make us assume that all fathers want the men who court them dead?
“Get a gun.” Why? Are you going to kill him? Though we can only hope that it’s said in jest, the underlying meaning behind it reads as such: “She’s a girl and she’ll need to be protected from the sex she may very well want to have.”
Which brings us around to the question of, “Are young women sexual?” Well, duh. Yes. Of course young women are sexual, and guess what? They want to have sex, and by sex I mean the kind that involves a penis – or another vagina if she’s a lesbian. What are we actually doing for them by preventing this from happening? Do we really think that we are preserving them in some way, perhaps guarding them from the big bad world of boys and men? In my opinion, all we’re really doing is showing them that we distrust their decision-making – if they so choose to be sexually active in their teens.
I get it – teenagers are still children, and they need guidance. But – guidance is about guiding, not about owning. We don’t own our kids. We bring them into the world to live lives, and those lives aren’t our lives – they’re their lives. Why can’t we just respect the choices and mistakes and victories they make on their own – especially if those experiences are sexual in nature?
I lost my virginity at 15, under the most romantic and mystical circumstances imaginable. I didn’t go insane from it, nor did I become a raving nymphomaniac. I just went on and had more sex with a few other boys until I found myself in long-term monogamous relationships. How did my parents feel about it? I don’t think they had the nerve to stop me, honestly. I did notice that they both witnessed how I remained a good and happy person, however, and I believe they enjoyed watching me find myself as a human being.
My ex husband’s life was the same. We lived life, had fun, went to school, experimented with sex, went to concerts, made mistakes, achieved brilliance, failed, succeeded, created and experienced life – and by the time we got married and brought our daughter into the world, we were ready to stand back and watch her grow as the individual we knew she was.
And she grew. She went from our little cherished baby all the way to the mega-sexy 17-year-old hottie that she is today, and never once did we mention the shotgun or slut-shame her into thinking that her sexuality was wrong or worthy of being repressed. She got the lessons: wear a condom, protect yourself from STDs, don’t get pregnant and always, ALWAYS tap into your own self respect for your sense of boundary and limitation.
Right now, she’s been with the same boy for a year now. He’s her true childhood sweetheart and they’re adorable to watch together. In fact, I’m not sure anyone’s ever loved me as much as this guy loves my kid – and I’m happy for her, because this is what life is about; experience, love, connection. And she’s happy – what more could a mother want, than for her child to be happy?
While my own mother was a little jealous of me when I sprouted into the Sophia Loren clone that I was when I was 17, I don’t feel even a pang of jealousy over my daughter’s beauty and sexual appeal. I’ve lived my life – I’m good to go. When that child came out of my body, I knew she was her own person; I knew she wasn’t a reflection of me, and that her destiny was not be my replica. That she grew into a sexual butterfly was not of my making – it was of my witnessing. I just didn’t stop her from being her self.
What I did do was give her the tools she’d need to understand life as a beauty, as a sexual creature. I showed her the rights and wrongs, the ups and downs, and I remain open to her for honest and forthright communication. And when those talks need to happen, when she wants to share with me what’s going on in her life – she snuggles up close to me, just like the little girl she still is in some ways, and she spills her heart out to me, knowing that she’s safe and that I am not there to judge or condemn her. In this way, I get to keep a bead on her reality, as well as the opportunity to guide her, as a mother should.
Ever have one of those days when your mind is in a complete fog? So hard to focus on one task at a time, your mind going a mile a minute? Clutter! Hoarding physical, mental and emotional clutter is probably something that we have all been guilty of one time or another.” If you begin with the things that are painless, then, as inertia takes over, simplifying gets easier by the day”. Will you take a step in decluttering? Removing the rubbish that will only weigh you down in the long run.
With a little help from a ‘minimalist’, CLEAN UP