Like so many other vaginas, as I grew up I was indoctrinated into a society in which there are acceptable gender roles. I can't speak for other generations, but I feel like the women of my generation are having a hard time figuring out such things. Grease didn't have much to say about segregation or the Red Scare, so we have a highly romanticized view of the 1950's: a nuclear family with a working father, a housewife mother and two or three Baby Boomer babies watching television and drinking Coca Cola. At the same time, we are also influenced by the model of the Empowered Woman: the female doctor, lawyer or CEO who buys her own $600 Prada pumps. Now, it seems like the ideal woman is one who maintains a successful career while still prioritizing the needs of her children and husband... but how does that really work?
The myriad of media messages and social mores out there just confuse matters. We have Paula Cole singing, "I will wash the dishes while you go have a beer," and intelligent eighteen-year-old women going for Psychology and Marine Biology degrees because they want to be homemakers. Then we have Destiny's Child singing, "Depend on no one else to give you what you want," and women who are offended when their men promise to take care of everything and tell them they won't have to work. Even children's entertainment sends mixed messages, with Snow White's "Someday My Prince Will Come" enduring the decades to stand beside Tiana's "I work real hard each and every day / Now things for sure are going my way."
Advertisements are designed to cater to preexisting concepts, but wind up perpetuating them. Television commercials appeal to women to make decisions about their household cleaning products and toilet paper, proving that they already do and showing girls that it will be up to them in the future. Other commercials try to appeal to both genders by showing that this toothpaste or that car insurance is "right" for both the husband and the wife, preserving the notion that important life decisions are made as a heterosexual, married couple. Degree programs advertise a young woman advancing her career as a dental hygenist, perfumes advertise a woman attracting a desirable man, SUVs advertise both the independent spirit of the individual and the safety of the family--because all of these things are "important."
I feel bad for my penis friends. It must be baffling for them. They are still expected to be breadwinners and providers, but they have to support their girlfriends'/wives' careers. They still have to be emotionally stable and strong, but they have to be sensitive. They have to be tough, dominant and decisive; but genteel, well-mannered and soft-spoken. They have to be disciplinarians, but nurturing fathers. They have to hold the doors open for us, warm up the cars for us, open the umbrellas for us and expect no gratitude because in doing so they are not treating us as equals. Gentlemen, good luck figuring out that mess.
But, I have always been disposed to treat men and women equally. That's one of the things that bisexuality means to me: the other person's gender does not matter. His or her personality, intelligence, kindness and sense of humor matter. How do gender roles really work? My answer is simply that individuals must figure out their roles for themselves, based on their interests and aptitudes, and while people in the same gender will often have similar roles, gender is more of a coincidence than a contributing factor.
2011-09-17
2011-09-06
I fantasize about almost everyone.
Elizabeth has responsibilities. She has to pay bills, and thus has to go to work all day long, where I get bored out of my mind. Sure, I keep in shape with kegels. I pass the time thinking about playing with Henry's penis, or remembering good times with former lovers, or wondering what my friends and coworkers would be like in bed. The truth is, I fantasize about almost everyone I meet.
In eighth grade, I had a huge crush on my English teacher, Miss De Luca. She was young, fresh from college and teaching while she worked on her masters. She always dressed nicely, in dresses or blouses and skirts, and she always took the time to style her brown curls. I liked her bright smile and her thin hourglass figure. I can't imagine how many lessons I missed out on, just thinking what she would look like naked.
High school was worse, and college even more so. If my professor was an attractive woman or a straight man within thirty years my age, I fantasized. If I was bored with the teacher, I thought about my classmates... an easy thing to do, in a private northeastern university where every girl wore miniskirts and every guy worked out. Sometimes, when I gathered my books together and stood up to leave the classroom, I'd realize I was wet.
In women, I've become far less attracted to "conventional beauty." Any bimbo can throw on a nice dress and a layer of makeup, though some obviously do it better than others. I like breasts--big or little doesn't matter, as long as they're well-formed and the nipples look nice. I also love the curves of waist to hips and ass to thigh. The only thing that can really ruin it is if she opens her mouth and babbles something stupid. Give me an hourglass figure or pear-shaped lady with something interesting to say, and I'm happy all night. Now that I'm with Henry's penis, though, I only get to play with another vagina if he doesn't mind watching, or--better yet!--if the three of us can play together.
In men, I've always been fond of the slope from broad shoulders, down the back to the waist, especially if it's punctuated by a nice, thrusty derriere. My head may be turned by a rock-hard, sculpted body, but honestly, I don't want to bed anyone too muscled. I'd rather feel a more human body on mine. The beauty of men is in the duality of soft and hard, gentleness and strength. The penis is fun to taste and touch in its various states, and serves as the epitome of this concept, but it is not all. An embrace, a kiss, a playful tickle-fight--each requires just enough strength to dominate me, and just enough softness to make me feel safe through it all.
Great, now I'm all worked up. Time to blow off a little stream... thank you, Redtube.
In eighth grade, I had a huge crush on my English teacher, Miss De Luca. She was young, fresh from college and teaching while she worked on her masters. She always dressed nicely, in dresses or blouses and skirts, and she always took the time to style her brown curls. I liked her bright smile and her thin hourglass figure. I can't imagine how many lessons I missed out on, just thinking what she would look like naked.
High school was worse, and college even more so. If my professor was an attractive woman or a straight man within thirty years my age, I fantasized. If I was bored with the teacher, I thought about my classmates... an easy thing to do, in a private northeastern university where every girl wore miniskirts and every guy worked out. Sometimes, when I gathered my books together and stood up to leave the classroom, I'd realize I was wet.
In women, I've become far less attracted to "conventional beauty." Any bimbo can throw on a nice dress and a layer of makeup, though some obviously do it better than others. I like breasts--big or little doesn't matter, as long as they're well-formed and the nipples look nice. I also love the curves of waist to hips and ass to thigh. The only thing that can really ruin it is if she opens her mouth and babbles something stupid. Give me an hourglass figure or pear-shaped lady with something interesting to say, and I'm happy all night. Now that I'm with Henry's penis, though, I only get to play with another vagina if he doesn't mind watching, or--better yet!--if the three of us can play together.
In men, I've always been fond of the slope from broad shoulders, down the back to the waist, especially if it's punctuated by a nice, thrusty derriere. My head may be turned by a rock-hard, sculpted body, but honestly, I don't want to bed anyone too muscled. I'd rather feel a more human body on mine. The beauty of men is in the duality of soft and hard, gentleness and strength. The penis is fun to taste and touch in its various states, and serves as the epitome of this concept, but it is not all. An embrace, a kiss, a playful tickle-fight--each requires just enough strength to dominate me, and just enough softness to make me feel safe through it all.
Great, now I'm all worked up. Time to blow off a little stream... thank you, Redtube.
2011-07-17
Faking It
Clear communication is the key to all successful relationships, be they personal, business or--dare I say it?--political. I've been lucky enough to fail at a few relationships before finding one that really worked. Now I know that consistent honesty is what really works. This relates to many different aspects of relationships, but there is one lie I wish every vagina in the world would promise to never tell again: the fake orgasm.
My friend Caroline's vagina admitted to me that she has faked it in the past. She figured that her pleasure wasn't as important a goal as her partner's. Obviously, sex was always the same with them, and she eventually her ability to enjoy it diminished. Her short-term goal of improving his immediate pleasure had negative consequences in the long-term, tainting their relationship with an untruth that became increasingly apparent to her while he was unaware. The real way to maximize his pleasure is to ask for (or, depending on the penis, demand) the things that really gets a vagina going, whether it's "A little to the right," or "That angle is perfect!" If Caroline's vagina were really into her partner, she should have expressed her interest in continuing to play with him by giving him honest feedback. That way, he would have learned what she really wanted, and they would have both gotten much better at sex.
My friend Anne's vagina also says she faked, but only once, to make the penis she was playing with finish up faster. Maybe he was suffering from anorgasmia, but from the sounds of it, she didn't give him any help. All she did was lie there and wait, bored, until she decided (without consulting him at all) that he would probably finish up if he thought she had climaxed. Unsurprisingly, neither of them had interest in having better sex the next time. When I'm having sex and I feel satisfied before my partner, I just redouble my efforts to finish my partner off. If I'm playing with a vagina, I ignore how tired my fingers or tongue have gotten and just dedicate myself to giving her at least one more big orgasm. If I'm playing with a penis, I rock my hips and grind against him, maybe wrapping my legs around his body. It also helps to literally tell my partner I want him or her to climax.
Genitals can save themselves a lot of awkwardness, disappointment and embarassment by initiating the dialogue. They can say what makes them feel best, and ask for candid feedback on where and how they are stimulating their partners. This level of intimacy can improve the romantic and/or sexual aspects of the relationship... whether it's love, friendship or just two bodies having fun.
Today's panties: tan under a tan skirt. I like to match.
My friend Caroline's vagina admitted to me that she has faked it in the past. She figured that her pleasure wasn't as important a goal as her partner's. Obviously, sex was always the same with them, and she eventually her ability to enjoy it diminished. Her short-term goal of improving his immediate pleasure had negative consequences in the long-term, tainting their relationship with an untruth that became increasingly apparent to her while he was unaware. The real way to maximize his pleasure is to ask for (or, depending on the penis, demand) the things that really gets a vagina going, whether it's "A little to the right," or "That angle is perfect!" If Caroline's vagina were really into her partner, she should have expressed her interest in continuing to play with him by giving him honest feedback. That way, he would have learned what she really wanted, and they would have both gotten much better at sex.
My friend Anne's vagina also says she faked, but only once, to make the penis she was playing with finish up faster. Maybe he was suffering from anorgasmia, but from the sounds of it, she didn't give him any help. All she did was lie there and wait, bored, until she decided (without consulting him at all) that he would probably finish up if he thought she had climaxed. Unsurprisingly, neither of them had interest in having better sex the next time. When I'm having sex and I feel satisfied before my partner, I just redouble my efforts to finish my partner off. If I'm playing with a vagina, I ignore how tired my fingers or tongue have gotten and just dedicate myself to giving her at least one more big orgasm. If I'm playing with a penis, I rock my hips and grind against him, maybe wrapping my legs around his body. It also helps to literally tell my partner I want him or her to climax.
Genitals can save themselves a lot of awkwardness, disappointment and embarassment by initiating the dialogue. They can say what makes them feel best, and ask for candid feedback on where and how they are stimulating their partners. This level of intimacy can improve the romantic and/or sexual aspects of the relationship... whether it's love, friendship or just two bodies having fun.
Today's panties: tan under a tan skirt. I like to match.
2011-07-12
Sex Ed Did Not Prepare Me For This, Part 1
As a small child, when I asked where babies came from, I learned about chicken eggs, fertilization and incubation. In middle school, my classmates and I were taught about hormones, nocturnal emissions and fallopian tubes. Since then, I have encountered about ten million things that made me think, "Sex Ed did not prepare me for this." I cannot possibly address them all in a single blog, so I'll consider this "Part One," and focus on three challenges that vaginas often face without any forewarning.
1. Vaginas are not allowed to have bad moods. If we are melancholic, disgruntled or particularly assertive about our needs or points of view, others often assume that we will get over whatever is bothering us within the next five days.
2. Ever hear of Honeymoon Cystitis? Young brides would go off on their honeymoons, start having sex (or have a lot more than usual), and come back with urinary tract infections. Then, they go on antibiotics and wind up with yeast infections. These two problems are possible--and excruciating, as I hear it--for penises, but far more common amongst vaginas. The best part is, mothers, older sisters and sexually experienced friends generally don't mention them. Most vaginas learn about these infections from the doctor diagnosing them.
3. To get my yearly prescription of birth control pills, I have to undergo an Annual Exam. First I have to strip naked in the cold office, and then I have to cover myself with a paper vest and paper sheet. I'm not sure why. The paper retains no warmth, and whatever modesty it claims to have goes out the window moments later. Next, I sit on the table, reading my book and waiting, because doctors always make you wait when you're cold and wearing undignified paper. The doctor finally comes in, realizes I'm reading Gertrude Stein, and raves about her works, because of course gynecologists love Gertrude Stein. Finally, the poking and prodding begin. Between the air conditioning in the office and the doctor's icy hands, my nipples instantly harden during the breast exam, and all I can do is lie back and think, "What a waste." I prefer my nipples to be hard in fun situations. Then comes the speculum, with another waste. All that KY, for a circumstance that isn't even remotely enjoyable. The doctor opens me up, wiggles it around to find my cervix, and scrapes off some cells. Relief floods over me when the speculum comes out, but it isn't over yet. The doctor lubes up her latex glove and says, "I'm going to insert two fingers and press on your belly, so I can feel your uterus." Thus, I am subjected to pressure from above, and fingered by a stranger. Besides the waiting in paper clothes part, the whole process doesn't take long. The doctor removes her gloves, washes her hands and tells me I can get dressed. When all that intrusion is over, I don't even get cab fare... instead, the receptionist asks for my copay.
On a side note, today's panties are polka-dotted. Please excuse the quality of the selfie; Henry's schedule precluded his photography today.
1. Vaginas are not allowed to have bad moods. If we are melancholic, disgruntled or particularly assertive about our needs or points of view, others often assume that we will get over whatever is bothering us within the next five days.
2. Ever hear of Honeymoon Cystitis? Young brides would go off on their honeymoons, start having sex (or have a lot more than usual), and come back with urinary tract infections. Then, they go on antibiotics and wind up with yeast infections. These two problems are possible--and excruciating, as I hear it--for penises, but far more common amongst vaginas. The best part is, mothers, older sisters and sexually experienced friends generally don't mention them. Most vaginas learn about these infections from the doctor diagnosing them.
3. To get my yearly prescription of birth control pills, I have to undergo an Annual Exam. First I have to strip naked in the cold office, and then I have to cover myself with a paper vest and paper sheet. I'm not sure why. The paper retains no warmth, and whatever modesty it claims to have goes out the window moments later. Next, I sit on the table, reading my book and waiting, because doctors always make you wait when you're cold and wearing undignified paper. The doctor finally comes in, realizes I'm reading Gertrude Stein, and raves about her works, because of course gynecologists love Gertrude Stein. Finally, the poking and prodding begin. Between the air conditioning in the office and the doctor's icy hands, my nipples instantly harden during the breast exam, and all I can do is lie back and think, "What a waste." I prefer my nipples to be hard in fun situations. Then comes the speculum, with another waste. All that KY, for a circumstance that isn't even remotely enjoyable. The doctor opens me up, wiggles it around to find my cervix, and scrapes off some cells. Relief floods over me when the speculum comes out, but it isn't over yet. The doctor lubes up her latex glove and says, "I'm going to insert two fingers and press on your belly, so I can feel your uterus." Thus, I am subjected to pressure from above, and fingered by a stranger. Besides the waiting in paper clothes part, the whole process doesn't take long. The doctor removes her gloves, washes her hands and tells me I can get dressed. When all that intrusion is over, I don't even get cab fare... instead, the receptionist asks for my copay.
On a side note, today's panties are polka-dotted. Please excuse the quality of the selfie; Henry's schedule precluded his photography today.
2011-07-10
2011-07-09
Grooming
One of the Vagina Monologues is all about hair, and starts with the line, "You cannot love a vagina unless you love hair." I have nothing but sympathy for the genitals who want to keep their hair and disgust for the genitals who insist their partners must change for their own pleasure... but let's not be extreme. I can respect an all-natural bush, male or female. Whether it's left alone as a statement, out of laziness or apathy, or just by the preference of the genitals doesn't really matter. Choice is choice. And grooming is a perfectly legitimate choice as well.
In my opinion, a little trimming goes a long way. By taming your bush, you're showing your (prospective) partner that you're self-aware, and that you make deliberate choices with the presentation of your genitals. You're expressing that you care about their opinion of how your penis or vagina looks, and that you want your play to be as pleasant as possible for both of you. You're encouraging exploratory touches, and promising that oral will not result in long, loose hairs stuck in the back of the throat.
I'm a big fan of selective smoothness. On women, I love it when their labia are smooth, so their vaginas get very slick and are very pleasant to go down on. On men, I think it's a good idea to keep the perineum smooth--that spot just under the balls. They always seem to like stimulation there, especially during sex or oral, and that's much easier to do when there isn't a lot of hair getting in the way.
The trouble is finding the right hair removal technique. Razors are pretty standard, but it can be difficult to navigate the tight curves or delicate skin of a vagina, and they can result in those uncomfortable red shaving bumps. I know there are products designed specifically to reduce that, but to go through that whole process just to apply a product anyway seems a bit much. I've tried a home waxing kit, but it didn't work well... and I don't want to employ a specialist just to have smooth labia. I have an epilator, but that thing complicates all the same problems as a razor and it hurts like a bitch.
So, I prefer the lotions that burn off the hair. Specifically, I use Nair, the sensitive skin kind with aloe in it. I always leave it on longer than the instructions say to--after all, pubic hair is thick and coarse. I clean up the spots too sensitive for Nair with a razor. When I'm done, showered and dry, I rub myself down with more aloe and just let it dry on me. Voila; a lovely, uniform smooth which intensifies sensation for me and feels good for the fingers, mouth or penis I'm playing with. You don't have to love hair to love vaginas--you just have to appreciate the presentation.
My result:
In my opinion, a little trimming goes a long way. By taming your bush, you're showing your (prospective) partner that you're self-aware, and that you make deliberate choices with the presentation of your genitals. You're expressing that you care about their opinion of how your penis or vagina looks, and that you want your play to be as pleasant as possible for both of you. You're encouraging exploratory touches, and promising that oral will not result in long, loose hairs stuck in the back of the throat.
I'm a big fan of selective smoothness. On women, I love it when their labia are smooth, so their vaginas get very slick and are very pleasant to go down on. On men, I think it's a good idea to keep the perineum smooth--that spot just under the balls. They always seem to like stimulation there, especially during sex or oral, and that's much easier to do when there isn't a lot of hair getting in the way.
The trouble is finding the right hair removal technique. Razors are pretty standard, but it can be difficult to navigate the tight curves or delicate skin of a vagina, and they can result in those uncomfortable red shaving bumps. I know there are products designed specifically to reduce that, but to go through that whole process just to apply a product anyway seems a bit much. I've tried a home waxing kit, but it didn't work well... and I don't want to employ a specialist just to have smooth labia. I have an epilator, but that thing complicates all the same problems as a razor and it hurts like a bitch.
So, I prefer the lotions that burn off the hair. Specifically, I use Nair, the sensitive skin kind with aloe in it. I always leave it on longer than the instructions say to--after all, pubic hair is thick and coarse. I clean up the spots too sensitive for Nair with a razor. When I'm done, showered and dry, I rub myself down with more aloe and just let it dry on me. Voila; a lovely, uniform smooth which intensifies sensation for me and feels good for the fingers, mouth or penis I'm playing with. You don't have to love hair to love vaginas--you just have to appreciate the presentation.
My result:
2011-07-07
Guest Appearance: Elizabeth's Breasts
The woman-as-flower metaphor is tried and true, dating back even before the Kama Sutra's composition. Vaginas are yonis, yonis are lotuses, and lotuses are flowers. While I appreciate the metaphor for its visual aptitude and the olfactory compliment, I have to disagree with it on the grounds of practicality.
In addition to scent, flowers use the sight of their petals--size, shape, color--to encourage the animals who pollinate them to do so. I, however, spend almost the entire day hidden behind panties and under pants or skirts. The panties are usually cute or sexy, and I have no qualms with the other garments, either. Their function is to keep me warm, safe and out of sight in public, and they do this with the usual efficiency. But, the custom of clothing does shift the job of flower petals to a more visible part of my body.
It's much more acceptable for a woman to display her cleavage in the general public. With the right weather, a tank top or halter can show off some side-boob, too. A bikini can even display some under-boob, but with larger cup sizes, that's a difficult look to pull off. Obviously, the size, shape and color of women's breasts are among the first things to encourage the men who have sex with them to do so.
I'm very happy in my partnership with Elizabeth's breasts. They're natural D-cups, perky for their size and as pale as any redhead's skin. They've attracted a lot of fun my way, and even introduced me to my best friend, Henry's penis. Of course, he plays with them sometimes, but usually as a precursor to playing with me. So, it makes sense that Elizabeth's Breasts get a spread on my blog.
In addition to scent, flowers use the sight of their petals--size, shape, color--to encourage the animals who pollinate them to do so. I, however, spend almost the entire day hidden behind panties and under pants or skirts. The panties are usually cute or sexy, and I have no qualms with the other garments, either. Their function is to keep me warm, safe and out of sight in public, and they do this with the usual efficiency. But, the custom of clothing does shift the job of flower petals to a more visible part of my body.
It's much more acceptable for a woman to display her cleavage in the general public. With the right weather, a tank top or halter can show off some side-boob, too. A bikini can even display some under-boob, but with larger cup sizes, that's a difficult look to pull off. Obviously, the size, shape and color of women's breasts are among the first things to encourage the men who have sex with them to do so.
I'm very happy in my partnership with Elizabeth's breasts. They're natural D-cups, perky for their size and as pale as any redhead's skin. They've attracted a lot of fun my way, and even introduced me to my best friend, Henry's penis. Of course, he plays with them sometimes, but usually as a precursor to playing with me. So, it makes sense that Elizabeth's Breasts get a spread on my blog.
They're promoting me. What pals!
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