Porn Just Doesn’t Turn HER On…But HE Loves it!

Porn is a sticky subject for a lot of us (yes I meant to be pun-ny).

We have our social views:
Everyone watches it!

We have our personal views:
Porn is cheesy, but it gets the job done.

We have our political views:
Porn doesn’t accurately reflect any sex I have ever had or will have…ever.

But I recently saw a political cartoon concerning lesbians, sex, and porn:

The idea was, if you are anti-gay how can you watch “lesbian-porn”

And it got me thinking:

When we watch two women have sex in porn are we in any way equating it with lesbian sex?

Do we equate ANY sexy we see in porn with real-life sex?

And do the answers to those questions differ by gender and sexual orientation?

Better question:

Does ANY woman relate to the women in porn from a sexual standpoint?

I am going to go out on a limb here and say that while I think men (straight and gay) in some manner do relate to porn (they are after all able to “insert” themselves into the scene during masturbation, at the very least) I do NOT think that women relate, at least not on the same level.

Now let me clarify, I am not talking about alt or lesbian or feminist (yes I made one of those) porn, I am speaking of mainstream-porn.

So now the question becomes:

Why don’t we (women) relate?
Because the women in porn don’t look like us? Fuck like us? Orgasm like us?
But, do the men in porn fuck like any men we know? No, not really…

Here we get to the core of the matter, the hilt, while men I think would like to imagine that they fuck like porn stars, women aren’t particularly turned-on at all by the sex-scenes portrayed in the majority of mainstream porn (and yet women are still buying vibrators, it’s not like we aren’t masturbating as much as men, just not to porn).

Example:

This weekend I watched A Room in Rome (a totally female driven extremely sexual film about two women who are lovers), with a another woman and a man. There were multiple graphic sex scenes in the film; in fact the majority of the film is about sex and desire.

To me, these sex scenes were hot.

To her these sex scenes were hot.

To him these sex scenes were…boring.

Why the stark difference in opinion? Because when women watch sex, we want reality because passion is the most important (or one of the most important) component(s) to arrousal and orgasm for us. And when men watch sex, they want non-reality, fantasy.

I am suggesting here that for men stepping out of the day-to-day is part of the pleasure of sex and masturbation, whereas for many women the pleasure is in actually indulging in reality…making it more real…we fantasize about actual lovers or those we wish were our lovers…men fanaticize about women they will never meet.

YES, I know I am over-generalizing and certainly women fantasize about dream-lovers and porn stars and men masturbate to their current real-life lovers. But the interesting and meaningful point to this tangent is that women and men conceive of arousal in sex and masturbation differently, and porn is just a reflection of that:

Why is female-based porn not a huge seller?
We don’t need it.

Why is male-based porn one of the largest industries in this country?
They need it.

So I suppose the real issue isn’t about porn vs. reality, rather it’s about real differences between men and women. And while women all to often get offended when men get turned-on by superficial fantasies, and men appear baffled by what women find arousing…once again we return to a repeating theme:

It’s about accepting and respecting differences and preferences when it comes to sex…variety is, after all, the spice of life. And in the end I really don’t care HOW you get turned-on just THAT you get turned on!

xxx dr.c.

Monday LOVE for My BAD BITCHES!

“Be a bad bitch, never be a stupid bitch.” – M. Minaj

Meditating on all my bad bitches today…you are hard and beautiful women for certain!

You have unflagging confidence.

Are up to challenge anyone and everyone.

And ALWAYS carry you sexuality,

like it belongs to NO ONE except YOU…

because it doesn’t.

Cheers to my BAD BITCHES!

xxx conchita.

DC & Marvel Unite to Fight: for Breast Cancer Awareness Month (October)

Last year’s ALCC (Associacao da Luta Contra o Cancer) campaign for Breast Cancer Awareness Month used busty comic book heroines to encourage young women to perform self-breast exams.

The ad read:

“When we talk about breast cancer, there’s no women or superwomen. Everybody has to do the self-examination monthly. Fight with us against the enemy and, when in doubt, talk with your doctor.”

I actually think it’s quite brilliant, if you can get past the general misogyny of comics in general, which to be honest I don’t think are any more or less stereotypical of desired female attributes than they are of men’s. The idea being I suppose that through identifying with these heroines’ behaviors change will occur, “If Cat Woman can get breast cancer, so can I!”

Not to mention it does look rather hot, these representations of exaggerated agressive female sexuality touching themselves….Hey at least I’m being honest!

Now girls, take care of your girls!

xxx

conchita.

All the World’s a Stage, You Just Have to…OPEN UP!

“This bed is your stage,” Rochester had said. “From such a stage you could do anything.”

“Do you not understand? what power there is in that mouth, these sumptuous tits, that tight cunny of yours?”

“Power to do what?”

“Almost anything. now you can give a man a quick ride that leaves him happy or a night of play that tires him. but there is more to learn. you can give a man pleasure, not just in his body but in his mind, his soul, that you become a drug. So that he will crave you. So that his bullocks will ache and give him no peace until his prick is once more the master of that smooth warmth. And I can train you, pretty pet. Do you want that?”

“Yes my lord.”

“Good. On your knees. No, off the bed. for this is your god, and you must worship it.”

(She is instructed in fellatio.)

“Do you love my cock?”

Nell found that she did.

“Do you worship it, my arbor vitae, my tree of life?”

Yes, that, too.

“And do you wish for holy communion?”

…Nell did wish for it.

“Then you shall have it.” Rochester came deep in her throat…

-From, “The Darling Strumpet: A Novel of Nell Gwynn, Who Captured the Heart of England and King Charles II” by Gillian Bagwell (set in 17th Century London).

There is an indescribable quality to the experience of The Lover who turned-you-out, who taught you the value of control through worship and the immeasurable pleasure derived from pushing your erotic prowess to unimaginable limits.

It is…

The lover who invites you to perform…for him, for her, for them.

The lover who shows you how to be open…completely.

When I refer to OPENNESS, I am not (simply) referring to pleasure, I also mean the deeper, dirty, nastier emotions:

humiliation

fear

anger

jealousy

gluttony

and then…from those depths…it is the lover who lifts you up…who raises you to ecstasy, previously unimaginable.

I believe that it is only through that level of honesty that we derive true satisfaction…of an unbound nature, freedom.

Not an easy experience.

Not a pretty one

(true experiences rarely are).

Yet, it is THE ONE you need to become The Star…Not in someone else’s performance though.

The lover only sets the stage, the show is all yours.

Now, are you ready for your close-up?

Indeed, I think you are.

xxx c.

(image by Shutterbugboudoir.com for Pastease.com )

Francesca Woodman: A Photographer’s View of Herself…Removed.

” A lot of photography is making records of people, as objects, friends. It’s like organizing a wardrobe—in terms of size etc.”

- Francesca Woodman

Francesca Woodman was an American photographer and mixed-media artist  in the 70′s who, after her death as age 22, was heralded as a prodigy by the art world. More recently her work has experienced a resurgence of interest following the release of a documentary about her life related through the views of her parents, “The Woodmans,” was released 2010.

Her work is at once compelling, overt, and extremely intimate. Her photographs and short films mainly includes self-portraits depicting a ghostly nude female figure merging with her environment. Her face is nearly always covered or obscured through blur.

near the end of her life, she wrote and published  a collection of her work, which combined images and handwritten thoughts on the pages of an Italian geometry  text book titled Some Disordered Interior Geometries (1980) that provided a glimpse into her psyche.

“Now we come to the passage. You can just see a little peep of the passage in Looking-glass House, if you leave the door of our drawing room wide open: and it’s very like our passage as far as you can see, only you know it may be quite different on beyond.” – Francesca Wooman

“Things looked funny because my pictures depend on an emotional state… I know this is true and I thought about this for a long time. Somehow it made me feel very, very good.” Francesca Woodman.

Woodman’s musings were the reflection of a young woman struggling with conflicts concerning identity and the interpersonal. Her struggle seems evident in her work where, challenged to connect meaningfully with others (she never felt she , “fit in,” according to her mother), she literally merged with her environs…

often to the point of almost complete disappearance, it was as if she melted into the background…

becoming nearly invisible. Gone.

At age 22, Woodman committed suicide by jumping from the top of a building.

It is difficult not to interpret her death through the lens of her life…her art.

Hers was a struggle of identity, of placement of self…of feeling apart from others.

And from that struggle came what appears to be a desire and feeling for refuge in the backgrounds of life...of living.

And from this understanding, her choice of death correlates with her choice of life, as an artist.

Art critic Arthur Danto said of Woodman’s photographs,

“It is impossible to view her work without being drawn into the vast questions it raises about life, art and the meaning and embodiment of sex…. Her work unfolds over time like the oeuvre of a brilliant and precocious poet, like Keats or Rimbaud, whose voice is present in every line.”

Francesca Woodman was a tremendous, unique, and…fragile talent. I hope you are moved by her work as much as I am, it touches the primitive parts of what it is to be human…to me: desire, curiosity, sadness, solitude…and the need to be connected, to another.

xxx c.

Why I AM (Unapologetically) a Whore

She’s now the darling strumpet of the crowd,

Forgets her state, and talks to them aloud,

Lay by her greatness and descents to prate

With those ‘bove whom she rais’d by wond’rous

Fate.

From “A Panegyrick Upon Nelly”

Anonymous, 1681

I recently started, and have nearly finished, reading, The Darling Strumpet: A Novel of Nell Gwynn, Who Captured the Heart of England and Kind Charles II, by Gillian Bagwell (2011), a historical fact-based fiction novel, set in 17^th century London. It’s the true story of an oyster-seller, turned child-prostitute, turned stage actress, and in her final metamorphosis…arguably, the century’s most famous courtesan.

I am consuming this book (at a rapid pace), which caused a moment of self-reflection.

Give me the true story of a whore…made good (as in this work), or not (I am thinking of Emma Donogue’s touchingly raw, Slammerskin), and I am engrossed, mesmerized, and slightly aroused from…beginning to end.

Why?

Undoubtedly there have been times in my life where I felt like a whore. Not in the sense of being sexually promiscuous, rather I felt like a prostitute…being paid for intimacy—not necessarily sex, although these situations were always of a sexual nature.

A few times, when I was younger, I was paid to do a photo shoot (erotic) while a man paid to either watched or be included. Very often these involved nudity and touching, and sometimes the man would masturbate himself…or not. I was in school and needed the money, and thought, “It’s not like I’m having sex with them!”

But the feeling afterward, suggested something disparate…

SHAME.

Then (and now) I fought against that feeling of shame, which is why I never stopped repeating these interludes, again and again…over the course of my adult life…

At sex parties, as a hostess.

Working in the dungeon, as a dominatrix.

Even when I didn’t “need the money”…the desire compelled me to continue.

I enjoyed it.

I ENJOY IT.

A natural performer, an easy tease, and born hostess…I get-off, giving myself to another purely for pleasure.

I am a true prostitute.

A WHORE.

Setting the obvious socio-political differences between myself and someone who earns their living from prostitution aside, pleasing others for money adds to the emotional impact of the experience.

The understanding that my pay is contingent upon my performance…drives me.

It doesn’t make the feeling behind the act any less…rather it intensifies it…you, a stranger, are showing me that you value my time…my skill…my ability to bring you pleasure.

This tension, this agreement, is the reason I love to pay for lap dances in strip clubs…as the client, it secures my “hold” on her…it is power…hers or mine? It’s never clear who truly has the power in these exchanges of sexual gratification, only that this particular dynamic adds to the excitement.

And therein, in that moment of tension, is also where I believe the SHAME resides:

I enjoy this exchange, yet I know it’s wrong…which in turn makes it me wrong for wanting it…and therefore makes it all

SO VERY RIGHT!

It is the oldest profession, is it not?

And its dialectic continues to compel me…

Happy Whoring!

xxx, c.

(image by: Michelle Wild Photography)

4/25/12 is Denim Day: Sexual Violence Prevention & Education Campaign

Sure…Brooke was sexy in her Calvins, she was also only 14 years old. And so goes the constant dialectic for women:

Madonna-Whore

A woman is forced to be either a saint or a sinner, but never JUST a WOMAN…or stated more comprehensively:

EVERYTHING A WOMAN IS.

Today is DENIM DAY, after a landmark case in Italy involving  an 18-year old girl is picked up by her married 45-year old driving instructor for her very first lesson. He takes her to an isolated road, pulls her out of the car, wrestles her out of one leg of her jeans and forcefully rapes her. Threatened with death if she tells anyone, he makes her drive the car home.

Later that night she tells her parents, and they help and support her to press charges. The perpetrator gets arrested and is prosecuted. He is convicted of rape and sentenced to jail. He appeals the sentence. The case makes it’s all the way to the Italian Supreme Court. Within a matter of days the case against the driving instructor is overturned, dismissed, and the perpetrator released.

In a statement by the Chief Judge he argued,

“because the victim wore very, very tight jeans, she had to help him remove them, and by removing the jeans it was no longer rape but consensual sex.”

Enraged by the verdict, within a matter of hours the women in the Italian Parliament launched into immediate action and protested by wearing jeans to work. This call action motivated and emboldened the California Senate and Assembly to do the same.

Today 
http://denimdayinla.org/ 
 asks that:

community members, elected officials, businesses and students to make a social statement with their fashion statement and on this day wear jeans as a visible means of protest against misconceptions that surround sexual assault.

I  am wearing my denim today…

And my boss just commented, “What’s this all about?!? You never wear jeans during the week.”

And…I told him about Denim Day, it’s meaning and purpose.

And now, one more person knows.

Awareness carries power, so no matter how insignificant you may feel your contribution, one person…tells another….tells another…tells…another…and somewhere along the line change begins to occur.

Think big. Start small.

xxx c.

P.S. we will have a Thrilling Thursday….tomorrow.

Whose Lasts Longer?

I am not sure why this fact brings me joy.

I am certainly not a “man-hater” and often take pleasure in their pleasure, but whereas I think most women feel competition with other women…I feel competition with men.

It’s not that I wish to BE a man, exactly; although, without a doubt there are privileges that come with being of the male-gender…ones that large portions of our society value.

But, I am no cry-baby.

I do not yearn for a penis.

(I can strap one on, if the situation calls.)

No…but I DO want to be:

BETTER THAN A MAN.

I know, I know…in declaring this I am simply promoting misandry, reinforcing misogyny and continuing the tradition of male-centered patrimony that places “winning” above all else.

But, it’s the truth.

I want to be better…than a man, in every way. And what’s more…I want them to acknowledge that I am better.

Sounds harsh, even as I write, but it is honest. This desire is one of the driving forces in my life, perhaps the fuel behind my constant need for achievement both professionally and personally. A shrink (haha, I am one) would say it may be the origin of my desire for women.

“But competition is bad,” you say, “t promotes separation and agression, rather than connection and harmony.”

I hear you and…I disagree.

I think that competition can bond us, work to bring “the other” up, while simultaneously increasing expectations.

You do better, I do better, WE do better.

Sounds like a rosy world doesn’t it? I know we may never coexist, men and women, as allies, per say, but…at least my orgasms are longer than yours.

xxx, conchita.

A Wonder Woman

“As lovely as Aphrodite, as wise as Athena, stronger than Hercules, swifter than Mercury.” – Wonder Woman is.

Who wouldn’t want to be her?

By the age of six I was convinced that this was the ideal woman: strong, protector, intelligent, glamorous, independent. Of course this idea was only reinforced by the fact that I was convinced that my mother actually was Wonder Woman; in fact I don’t recall her telling me otherwise. I watched the TV show, with the lovely Lynda Carter, religiously and would close my eyes while listening to Wonder Woman’s adventures on albums (yes I am THAT old) dreaming of flying through the air in my invisible jet and capturing bad-guys (they usually were men), while wielding my magic lasso.

Today, my idea of a Wonder Woman had changed quite a lot, away from magic bangles and super-amazons, to encompass those of us who struggle on a daily basis to simply “be” whoever and/or whatever it is we want to be. Still, when I look back on the creator’s (a man) original vision for Wonder Woman, I smile:

“Distinctly feminist role model whose mission was to bring the Amazon ideals of love, peace, and sexual equality to a world torn by the hatred of men.” (1941)

because while I think we can all agree that the Wonder Woman we are all familiar with didn’t quite capture those lofty and dramitic goals, these qualities are not much different from those found in the women I most admire today…costume and red boots included! xxx c.

‘Rome in Rome’: The Bisexual’s Bind…(really a love story)

This is a fantastic film…detailing the bind all lovers face (as in the original), but specifically common issues faced by women who love women…and men.

The scenes depict both the tenderness of the mundane as well as the heat of passion in a way that so very few films actually capture.

Natasha: This is the first time in my life when I look like this at a woman. And never before has a woman looked at me this way.

Natasha: I think it will work better if you undress me.

Alba: I am going to give you the best kiss of your life; are you ready?

Natasha: Alba, this stays here, OK? In this room.

Alba: In Rome. But since we’re here, let’s have some fun.

Alba: If we did not have partners, what would we do, you and me?

Natasha: Do not forget, I like men.

Alba: But you like me as well.

Natasha: But I like men better.

Alba: I know some women who once they were with a woman they never went back.

Room in Rome is Julio Modem’s first English-language film and it’s based on Matias Bize’s In the Bed. In the original, a man and a woman share a night of passion and carelessly-spilled secrets. Modem’s adaptation promises all of the passion and all of the secrets — only this time it happens in Rome, between two women.

I hope this film strikes you as much as it me, salute!

xxx c.