When it comes to positive symbols, it’s pretty hard to go past the rainbow. I’m as cynical and world weary as the next 13 year old, but when a rainbow appears in the sky after a storm, I still gaze in awe.
When I see rainbow-coloured flags and other insignias of unity – whether it’s in the LGBTI community; a multi-cultural or any other inclusive context, I also feel amazed at its humble yet potent message - that our differences can blend side by side to create something beautiful. Furthermore, the arc of the rainbow reaches up to the sky, while simultaneously embracing the earth. It’s comforting as well as pretty. Slap me in pigtails and call me Pollyanna, but I think rainbows are fucking awesome.
They are also all the rage right now – with the peaceful protest movement #DIYrainbowCrossings becoming the latest internet phenomenon - capturing hearts and minds the world over, while sending chalk stocks sky high. A casual glance at the original DIYrainbow Facebook group http://www.facebook.com/DIYrainbowcrossings?fref=ts reveals photo upon photo of children and adults alike, chalking pavements, quadrangles and pedestrian crossings with nigh on evangelical exuberance. While its origins weren’t directly linked to the Same Sex Marriage debate in Australia – it quickly became movement’s raison d’être and as such it’s having an unexpectedly effective impact
If a picture is worth a thousand words - then the chalk rainbow revolution is an elegant eulogy about love itself…
…which is pretty fucking hard to subdue with inane bible quotes.
…I received this message via my facebook fanpage inbox:
“Hi, I just wanted to say thanks. I’ve actually written this thanks to you several times, for several months …. Just never sent. Not sure why, cowardice maybe?
Why thanks? Well several months ago was I was going swimming, ordinary occurrence I realise but what wasn’t ordinary was my need to cover up. I didnt feel it. Instead of wearing usual shorts or using a sarong to cover myself, after a no nonsence self talk, i stepped out in a very pretty bikini, and tho I initially felt a little self conscious about this, the feeling was bravely squashed, after reading your blog and seeing your pictures, if others can do this and not worry then why should I. I am me and should not be embarrassed by this.
To be honest, after being raised by grandparents and having a generally old fashioned view on body image, reading your blog was a wonderful eye opener. My body image and body self confidence has soared…and so has my sex life with my husband. So thanks. For writing what you write. I just wanted you to know that it is life changing and appreciated.
And also bravely pushing the send button this time.” regards D.
I’ve had about three personal account letters like this one, in the two years I’ve been writing this blog - and while I would like it if I had a much bigger following to keep me motivated - letters like this one are pretty much all it takes to keep me enthused. And I have to admit I do have times when I feel like deleting the nude pics I posted.
So that settles that. It was just the smack in the face I needed. I remain tits-out for the sisterhood. Thanks D, good talk!
**The Reposting of this particular article was prompted by a friend bringing my attention to a study regarding the (probable) link between Homphobia and repressed homosexual urges: http://www.worldcrunch.com/mobile/#a:10601
MIND YOU - I DO TAKE THIS KIND OF THING WITH A GRAIN OF SALT. Having a physical reaction because of something you see - does not, to my way of thinking, immediately reveal latent ‘tendencies’. I’ve been caught off guard at times, seeing things in books, movies, online, on the Discovery Channel or in real life that have triggered an involuntary, moist response. It does not mean I’m harbouring any secret desires to DO said thing that I had never previously imagined before - and probably would never think about again. Usually it’s the surprise factor that makes you blush.
But having said that, here’s a little story I wrote over a decade ago about the conscious desires that some of us repress. I considered updating the references, but then I thought ‘Nah’…everyone still loves Bad Boy Bill Clinton and Seinfeld. Having said that, it is very DATED. Will and Grace, Queer as Folk, The L Word were yet to hit the airwaves. The world is definitely a much more queer-friendly place - but as we all know, we do still have a long way to go.
Back in 1998, this article caused a bit of a kerfuffle. I was taken to task on air by the late Stan Zemanek - where he told me off and then hung up on me.
And this is how it went:
“PLAYING IT STRAIGHT”
(First published in Australian Women’s Forum Magazine, April 1998)
Remember that time before the last time, when I waxed on about being caught in a wave of bittersweet nostalgia because of the television programme Puberty Blues; recounting my early sexual misadventures in The Shire? Well, I’ve had some interesting feedback - some from women about my age who totally resembled my remarks and also from much younger women who - surprisingly, still felt represented.
Alas - too many forum posts on the Puberty Blues Facebook page were penned by young women who found the show to be extremely relatable. Shocking, isn’t it - to think that members of the young sisterhood are still feeling every bit as confused, used and abused as we did 40 years ago?
Look at the Gen-Y focussed HBO series Girls. Youthful female stupidity is still crazy-fertile subject matter and the incomparable Lena Dunham’s finger is firmly pressed to the vaginal pulse. Ok, yes, that sounded more like a personal fantasy than a statement - but it is nonetheless true. This show is mandatory viewing for any female between the ages of 14 and 24 and also anyone of any age or sex who enjoys unabashed social commentary in the guise of superbly produced dramedy.
But it begs the question - why are young women still so cavalier with their self-respect? Why do they still allow themselves to be treated like sexual doormats? I know conservatism still has a relatively strong fan base, so ignorance will always be a factor in those cases…
You’ve heard of it, right?
The truth is out there.
You may have to wade through way too much porn to get to it, but it is out there. At the very least, Sexuality bloggers like myself are a dime a dozen. And some are actual experts.
Orgasms aside, sexual empowerment should first and foremost be about self-respect. And fun. And stuff.
Okay Perky Ones, listen up, cos I’m going to say this only once. It’s not exactly a secret. Read the following statement and then tattoo it onto your brain so you don’t forget:
Since the dawn of this blog I’ve yada’d a hell of lot on the subject of sex. It’s my raison d’etre; my hobby horse; the ‘soupe de ma vie’ if you will. And each and every time I lean over this metaphoric bowl to cough up something candidly enlightening for the edification and entertainment of fellow travellers on this Infernal Stupor Highway, I usually get something stuck in my throat.
Sometimes it’s a mixed metaphor, but most of the time it’s this…sinking feeling of dauntedness. I start with a single thought, an idea, but after a few sentences I’m overwhelmed by the sheer scope of the rabbit warrens I keep unearthing.
Zillions of teensy, white, fluffy, adorable, annoying tangents.
Having a lengthy hiatus hasn’t helped. Especially since I decided that THIS was going to be my first topic for the year.
namely: WHAT IS SEX?
[I’ll try to stay focussed, but I’m not confident. Here goes.]
I knew I would love it.
I knew I would strongly relate to it. What I didn’t quite realise was exactly how evocative it was going to be. Here I was, thinking my memory was reasonably intact, but it wasn’t until I sat down to watch this extraordinary eight-part documentary that I realised how many of my adolescent recollections lacked peripheral vision. The genuine palpability of those memories - the look, the landscape, the language and and all the little iconic bits of kitsch that characterised my coming of age in Sydney’s Sutherland Shire in the 1970s had all but become lost under the lounge cushions of my subconscious.
Then I heard those four words which, when strung together in a sentence, became a bucket of ice water to the face and suddenly I was Rip Van Winkle; jolted awake from a 35 year kip.
“He titted me off”.
I never do this.
I never just have a sudden gush of inspiration and just want to open the floodgates in a stream-of-consciousness way, with the intention to POST AND BE DAMNED. Without hours of editing and revamping.
But I just had some fabulous sex (brag much?) and just then, while I was in the shower…I felt a jolting connectedness to a memory. Something I hadn’t thought about for a looooong time.
I was remembering another shower.
Okay kiddies, it’s finally time to prise open the vault and revisit one of my old Australian Women’s Forum articles…and you have Meryl Streep to thank.
I recently saw a screening of “Hope Springs” with the splendiferous Mrs Streep and Tommy Lee Jones. It’s a cute story about a mature-aged married couple who have drifted apart (read: stopped having sex years ago) and to save the relationship, Meryl books them in for a week of intensive relationship counselling.
*WARNING: SPOILER AHEAD*
It’s quite a lovely film, but it does rely heavily on the cliché (albeit reality-based) notion that sexual dysfunction and the disparity in ‘drives’ quite often boils down to the fact that he won’t indulge in nearly enough foreplay and she’s not experimental enough (read: won’t suck his dick).
On the surface of it, it seems this particular marriage was saved because Meryl brushed up on her fellatio after reading the book “Sex Tips for Straight Women by a Gay Man” and Tommy Lee finally remembered how to hug and kiss. Mind you, there didn’t seem to be any evidence that his foreplay technique had picked up THAT much. In true hollywood movie style - the ‘seeking penetration’ moment occurs about 30 seconds after some kissing and a small amount of groping.
Meryl’s character’s degree of conservatism seems hilarious in this porn-ridden day and age, but this doesn’t necessarily mean that all the oral sex that’s being performed out there in the big wide world, is particularly awesome. The fact that the aforementioned ‘instruction manual’ was mentioned prompted me to drag one of my old ‘Australian Women’s Forum’ articles out the vault, dust it off and republish it here - because I used the same book as a reference! Even though my article was first published in October 1999 - it’s still relevant - and still quite an amusing read, if I do say so myself. Possibly the only thing that might have changed in that time, is that my research undoubtedly improved my own technique.
Not that I received complaints before, but let’s face it, there’s nothing quite as satisfying as a job really well done.
So here it is folks - in all its morning glory, virtually the same as it appeared in AWF 13 years ago.
“I’d like to put you in a trance…
If I take you from behind,
Push myself into your mind,
When you least expect it,
Will you try and reject it?
What is all the hoo-ha surrounding this 50 Shades of Grey thing lately? It’s hilarious, really. What began life as naughty fan-fiction (based on the Twilight series, apparently) has now sold over 50 million copies. Described as “Mills and Boon meets Porn” - it’s themes of BDSM have caught on like wildfire and people are carrying on like EL James (what is it with English authors and their initials?) reinvented the sexual wheel. Any controversy elicited by the violent themes (and reportedly sloppy writing) has been all but drowned out by the collective orgasmic moans which have been triggered from reading it.
Well, good for Ms James. And good for those who are having a whale of a time from reading it. I won’t be jumping on the bandwagon, however. Somehow it just all seems almost…passé. Truly great (and not so great) erotic literature has been around for centuries and there are literally fuckloads of it out there in cyberspace. So many avenues to pursue if I ever decide that real life, or my outrageous imagination, aren’t enough to keep my pilot light lit.
And besides. there’s always Madonna.
“You’re television incarnate, Diana: Indifferent to suffering; insensitive to joy. All of life is reduced to the common rubble of banality. War, murder, death are all the same to you as bottles of beer. And the daily business of life is a corrupt comedy. You even shatter the sensations of time and space into split seconds and instant replays. You’re madness, Diana. Virulent madness”. ~ Max Schumacher, (as played by William Holden) - “NETWORK” (1976)
So…Big Brother is returning to Australian TV Screens.
I’m mad as hell, and I’m not going to take it any more!
Seriously. I just don’t get it. Mind you, I do speak from the lofty authority of someone who has never watched it. Not even a little bit. Coincidentally, I have never tried to sneak a peek into my neighbour’s bathroom window while she’s taking a shower, either.
How to Make a Screaming Orgasm
1 oz vodka;
1 1/2 oz Bailey’s® Irish cream
1/2 oz Kahlua® coffee liqueur
Pour first vodka, then Bailey’s, then Kahlua into a cocktail glass over crushed ice. Stir.
Hmmm. I love screaming orgasms, they’re my favourite. One of these days I’ll have to try the cocktail, don’t they just sound totally scrumptious?
Remember that giddy time back in January when I wrote about orgasms, using a Monty Python Analogy? (*’Zen and the Art of Sexual Mechanics’) I hinted then that I’d return to the topic one day and dissect it further? Well the time is nigh.