Clerical

When people ask for my top five movies they don't, I think, expect me to say, "Secretary." It happens every so often that I read or watch something that just makes perfect sense to me on a nearly physical level. The first time someone asked me what I thought of the film I said, "It's a fairy tale written just for me." Which I suppose could be taken a number of ways. When the credits rolled it seemed that, of all the romances I'd seen on film this one felt the truest.

Quick synopsis: Maggie Gyllenhaal plays Lee Holloway, a young woman recently released from an in-patient mental health program. While trying to reintegrate into her old life and perhaps even improve on it she gets herself a job. That job is with James Spader's character, Mr. Grey, an exacting local lawyer. Over time they discover they have something in common.

OK, from here on out I can't promise there won't be spoilers.

Similar to some of what I said about re-meeting Mollena, the best part of Secretary is how accurately we see the strength and power in submission. That thing the characters have in common is BDSM. When they are true to the parts of themselves that feed off their dominance or submission they are happy, productive, able members of society. When they hide their core needs they are klunky and uncomfortable, they don't fit in the air space allotted them by the world.

Lee isn't a gorgeous woman objectively. She becomes shy and retiring when trying to hide her need to submit. When she's able to let that shine through she can do anything, ask for anything, be anything she wants to be. It's not Mr. Grey who transforms her into someone beautiful and intelligent, it's finally insisting on showing her true self that does. No one else could possibly do that for her. The writers and director never once stray into a construct that suggests women are weak or easily manipulated.

There are a lot of acts Mr. Grey and Lee perform that don't turn me on and yet the depiction of them is thoroughly panty-soaking. There is a sexual tension in Spader's every move that, even when his character feels shamed, doesn't bring the same feeling down on the audience.

Now, I'm no expert on the BDSM scene so I suppose there might be things that are improperly depicted or even offensive to real life practitioners. I sure hope not, though, because this life style is the perfect framework for a story about finding common ground and being brave enough to show one's tender underbelly to the world.

What's your favorite mainstream movie with sexual content?

Revisiting Bring Me A Shrubbery

As many of you know, the inspiration for our Monday conversations comes from a column I wrote at The Women's Colony. I plan to reprint all those posts over time. Due to an exciting but overfull Halloween weekend this seemed like a perfect time for a reprint. 

This whole post is written with apologies to Aunt Snow, our real landscaping expert here at the Colony.

Aaryn did it. It's her fault. Thank heaven above for Aaryn! She wrote about her tolerance levels for northerly manscaping this week and I saw a theme. You know me, when I see theme potential I jump on that like stink on a vag...you know, let's explore that issue in another post entirely.

I do not, er, manicure the lawn per se. I mean, I try but...eh. I do get sick of the whole deal and occasionally trim it down enough that a nice French braid is no longer an option but that's mostly because I use the dressing room before my dance class and I feel peer pressure about my low lying ground cover. I watch porn and still I've not seen such a variety of options for styling the pubic area until I started going to this particular studio. Mostly brazilian waxes with the younger set, some neat and extremely slim landing strips, the occasional subdued Bermuda triangle but no full, natural bush. The joint caters to ballet dancers, there are probably rules for your body hair if you dance ballet seriously.

The only part of me I've ever waxed was my eyebrows. I kind of love having it done but my skin thinks I'm a sadistic bitch. I may be. I was given my first eyebrow wax by a good friend. She got a wax, rubbed a finger over the smooth area, smiled and looked nothing different. I looked like I'd walked full speed into a door for the rest of the day. I'm a tender, blushing flower, what can I say? So the thought of getting my vaginal surroundings waxed makes me shudder. I like the idea of not having to shave or worry about the whole thing. Heck, I even like the idea of not having to decide what it should look like or where it should stop. I do not like the idea of writhing in pain for a day and half every time I get it done. Also? I'm cheap. Isn't it expensive to ask someone else to handle your delicates? Especially around hot liquids.

Ok, and I'll admit this, too, I'm afraid it'll be incredibly awkward and embarrassing. I shave the whole thing down a little occasionally, sort of like weed whacking in spring, but again with the sensitive skin. I get bumps and ingrown hairs and it's not, to my eye, much prettier either way. Will waxing be better than that? I need a play by play of how this is going to go before I'm going to be able to go through with it. Tell me what it's like! Panties off, I assume? Do you pre-trim? Will the lady say mean things about my Sleeping Beauty's forest-level vines and shrubs? Does it hurt to wear jeans after? Do they really make you hold your own cheeks apart like in that one scene from Californication where the porn actress is getting her "back nine" cleaned up?

What about depilatories, does anyone still use Nair? I tried it once, only on my legs, and it was sort of a nightmare. I got nervous that all my skin was going to peel off, too. That was a mental issue, though, I didn't have any physical reaction to the goop. Do they still make the Epilady? That seems like a very bad idea but what do I know I practically bled out shaving my knees last week!

Whenever I think about this subject I think of Carrie Bradshaw. There's an episode of Sex and the City where she gets her first Brazilian and later, by the pool, the ladies are discussing it. She pulls her legs in close, wraps her arms around them and whispers, "I'm cooooold." I find that I don't love the look of a completely bare bajingo (seriously, do I sound 5 when I use all these stupid words, I feel 5, thank goodness "bare bajingo" has a nice ring to it) not because it's infantile or disgusting but because it makes the poor cooch look so vulnerable and, frankly, kind of lonely. I don't mind a landing strip configuration but it's sort of like modern architecture, a glass fronted geometrical building is interesting sometimes but I prefer a stately Victorian with a wrap around porch if I have my 'drothers. I think I'd look best with a permanent isosceles triangle, not too big, not too small and not rising too high off the green, if you'll pardon the expression. How much is that going to cost me?

Do you (and your partner if applicable) landscape? And I'm not asking about your front yard, the one in front of your house. I mean your "stately pleasure dome." If you take my meaning.

Masked

Masked
F/F
R


***

Honestly, you’d think that at my age I wouldn’t be surprised at the foolish shit I find myself doing. I’m old enough to say no or even to lie my way politely out of things when I know they aren’t my cup of tea. Yet here I am wandering around in the dense undergrowth of a National Park in the Pacific Northwest looking for a port-o-potty.

I should probably back up.
    
My college roommate, Siobhan, moved to the wilds of Oregon about ten years ago. Her husband is a Park Ranger and that’s where he was assigned. Since she was married in her home town of St. Louis I’d never visited the new home. A conference brought me out to Portland and I figured it’d be pretty rude of me not to try and get together. If I was already traveling all that way from Baltimore what was another couple hundred miles? When I heard how excited she was that I’d be coming I felt pretty good about myself. I might even have bordered on the smug. I’m an idiot.

A week before my trip she calls me up. “Hey, just wanted to give you a heads up that the night you’re coming to visit is our big Halloween party. A whole bunch of us get together in a local park, we wear costumes, there’s great food and wine. You’ll love it! So pack a costume!”

Somehow, I didn’t manage to reschedule the visit. Never once did I hear myself say, “You know what, that’s just not me.” even though I was thinking it so hard I think I strained my cerebellum. The best I could do, apparently, was to negotiate my way out of bringing my own costume. It turns out that Siobhan had an extensive costume closet and she’d find something perfect for me.

As ridiculous as the whole evening felt, especially while negotiating a portable toilet on the edge of a forest, I had to admit she had found something perfect. I’m not much for elaborate fantasies but when I do find my mind wandering it’s always to the ancient Greeks. Siobhan had a flowing Grecian dress in ice blue with a little gold detailing and a sparely designed feather mask that covered my eyes and nose and dressed up my hair. She’d pulled that up loosely so it wasn’t overpowered by the feathers, slapped some lipstick on me, tossed over a pair of the most comfortable sandals I’ve ever worn in my life and called me done. I felt gorgeous. Then I felt ridiculous for feeling that way.

Coming out of the port-o-john I had the dress unattractively bunched around my thighs. I didn’t want the light fabric swishing bathroom floor filth onto my ankles for the rest of the night. I tried to shake it out while reaching up for my drink, stashed in the crook of a tree.

“That’s fucking brilliant.” a quiet voice behind me observed.

I jumped, “Whoa, didn’t know anyone was out here.”

“Sorry, I’ve got these super soft boots on. I forget how silent they are.” she explained. The boots in question were ankle height and suede with a gently pointed toe and flat heel. I’d have been tempted to steal them but they went perfectly with her Robin Hood costume. It actually had a hood on the cape in addition to the mask so I couldn’t even tell what her hair was like.

“No worries,” I reassured. “I’m just not from around here. Not used to all the...nature.”

“It does take some acclimating, I suppose. If you need an escort back to the festivities I’d be happy to help you.”

I’d gotten here on my own. I could get back just fine. “That would be nice.” I accepted.

“Just let me do what I came to do, won’t be a minute.”

“Can I hold your drink?”

“Nah,” she demurred, “I’ll just put it here.” With that she walked right up to me, standing near enough to touch, and reached up into the crook of that tree to set her drink down. I could feel her breath on my neck she was so close. “Be right back.” she whispered in my ear.

I sipped my locally grown organic wine from its compostable cup and thought about just sneaking away. Before I could decide how rude that might be she was back. My nerves made me step away so she could reach her drink without touching me.

“Wow, that was quick.”

“Secret weapon,” she smirked, lifting the hem of her tunic enough to show me that what I had thought were leggings were actually thigh high tights.

“Brilliant? Body glue?”

“Little bit, it might get chilly later. Shall we?” Robin Hood gestured toward the party and I fell into step with her. We walked quietly for a hundred feet or so, breaking through the tree line with a growing sense of companionship. When I could see the party, though, my fingers tensed on my cup and I stopped walking.

“You OK?” she asked.

“Yeah. I just...don’t really feel like heading back. I was kind of using the bathroom run as a time out.”

“Ah the party time out. That’s a favorite of mine. Were you very naughty to deserve one?” she smiled when she said it and her eyes actually sparkled. That’s total bullshit, who has eyes that really sparkle? Sparkling eyes are a movie trick.

“Not yet.” Huh, so I guess along with the sparkling eyes the whole mouth with a mind of its own thing is real, too. That was a new one on me!

Robin Hood took a breath and pivoted her body back toward the flickering torches ringing the party space for a moment. Cocking her head she spoke low but clear, “Would you like to be?”

I laughed, although it was more of an accidental snort, and she took a step forward, her shoulders squared away from me. I opened my mouth to speak, choked on my own tongue for a second and finally got out, “What did you have in mind?”

“Seriously?” she demanded.

I swallowed hard, “Yes.”

She held a hand out and I took it. From there we took a different path back into the trees. Visions swam in my head of Sherwood Forest with shelters made of branches and hideouts camouflaged beneath leaf-covered rocks.

A minute later we arrived at a picnic table. The ground around it was littered with matches, rolling papers, beer cans and hamburger wrappers. Not a merry man in sight, though. Gently sweeping some of the debris out of the way with those fabulous boots my Robin Hood hopped up to sit on the table top, pulling me carefully forward. Keeping me close with the pressure of her knees on my hips she reached up to pull back the voluminous hood.

“Don’t...” I started.

“Just the hood.” she assured me.

I helped her smooth it back the rest of the way. Her hair turned out to be thick and not quite curly, more deeply waved. It hung just below her shoulders and had been pulled off her face with a head band. It might have been brown or auburn but I couldn’t make out specifics in the moonlight. Fortunately I could sink my hands in it and feel it sliding silkily over my fingers.

“Mmmmm, nice,” she encouraged, tilting her head back slightly. When I leaned over to run my fingers right to the ends of her locks she was in a perfect position to kiss my neck. She didn’t, though, she licked it. Short little strokes like a cat lapping up milk. It tickled in the most delightful way. I kept working with my hands but tipped my neck off to the side to give her more canvas.

Suddenly she bit down, hard, right near my collar bone. I yelped and felt her chuckle a moment before she sucked the bite. I smoothed my hands along her shoulders and enjoyed the feel of her bare skin all warm from the cloak. Her tunic had short sleeves and wide arm holes that invited my inquisitive little fingers in.

Meanwhile she was moving lower to take advantage of the deep neckline of my dress. I’ve always been impatient and had wormed my way under what felt like a camisole to home right in on one of her nipples. It was only beginning to harden so I ran a fingernail over it, a little harder than was perhaps polite. She twitched ever so slightly but didn’t stop me so I started in from the other side.

She did, however, take that as permission to up the ante. She hooked just a finger into one side of the casually pleated bodice of my gown and pulled it aside. Then she licked my breast in one wide stripe across the nipple and pulled back to watch it harden. Moving back took her out of my reach so we both watched. I could have cut glass and it felt fantastic. So I pulled the other half aside.

“Do it again.” I commanded.

She quirked an eyebrow at me.

“Please?”

She obliged.

Somehow that centered my brain just a bit and I remembered the not-leggings. Bending a little to one side I grasped the bottom of Ms. Hood’s tunic and raised it, tucking the hem into her belt.

“So that’s the real secret, eh?” I asked. She wasn’t wearing any underwear. I pressed her shoulder a little to get her to lean back. She tossed a look behind her just to make sure there wasn’t anything dangerous back there and propped herself up on her hands.

At first I just lay one hand on each thigh. I wanted to feel how warm they were. Then I pressed them open and tried to move out of the way of the light to see what she was offering. Her hair was closely trimmed and formed into a  comfortably wide triangle. I could see the lips of her.

Stepping closer I hovered over Robin Hood, face to face with my hands still calm on her thighs. Her chin tilted up a little but I think it was instinctive rather than a choice. I brushed my nose against hers, sniffed her neck and finally kissed her. Our closed mouths melted together until she reached up and grabbed the back of my head. That was the signal to open and taste more deeply. The way she pulled challenged my balance, so as I shifted to one foot I palmed her between the legs almost to catch myself before I fell over.

She was sizzling hot but still unopened. As she traced my lips with her tongue I drew my hand upward, dipping my middle finger into the folds below. It came out wet just at the tip. “Mmrr,” I heard her say.

Pulling back a fraction of an inch I asked, “What?”

“More!” and her legs opened wide.

Down again and then up I let that middle finger sink in enough to release the juices from her. Now I could rub them up and down, making her deliciously slippery and coaxing her clitoris from its hood.

“Oh!” I exclaimed.

Everything stopped.

“You OK?” she asked as I swore.

“Hang on, sorry.” I had to scramble in a very unladylike way to haul all the folds and flutters of that stupid dress up and get to my cell phone, vibrating in a holster on my thigh. “Hello? Hello?” I was breathless.

“Oh no, it’s OK, I’m fine Siobhan.”

Robin Hood wasn’t moving, she just watched me.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“No, I did go to the bathroom but there...was a line and I got to...talking to someone,” that eyebrow raised in my direction again, “and I just didn’t realize I’d been gone so long.”

“I’ll be back soon, promise. Just want to wrap things up here.”

Hood giggled. It was cuter than I thought it would be.

“I am, Siobhan, honest. I am.”

I hung up and stared at the artfully disheveled party girl before me.

She smiled indulgently. I smiled back, more embarrassed than anything. “My friend. She brought me here. This is her dress actually. I’m just visiting fro...”

“You are what?”

“Visiting, I said, sorry...”

“No, you told her ‘I am, honest, I am.’ You are what?”

“Oh,” I looked down at my phone. I had to look at Ms. Hood to tell her, though, “She asked if I was having a good time.”

Old Friends, New Information

Way back in the 80s I moved to New York City to go to college. I was attending a small drama school within NYU. My core classes had, at most, 15 people in them. It was difficult and glorious and completely weird but I'll never forget those people, that's for sure. A year or so ago one of them was in town and we were shooting the breeze about his life in the Bay Area. He'd been accidentally stumbling upon old schoolmates of ours here and there and mentioned he'd seen Mollena. She had a web site. I might be interested.

I was. I am. I was flabbergasted to see what she'd been up to since she disappeared from my limited vision almost twenty years ago. Mollena was Ms. San Francisco Leather 2009, she's International Ms. Leather 2010 and she's got the same kind of fuzzy hat with ears she used to wear with this long teal coat as we stumbled through the Port Authority far too early every Friday morning of our freshman year. She has been active in the Leather and BDSM communities since 1996 and, even from reading her blog for so short a time, I can tell she's highly respected in all of those communities.

Full disclosure, if that was all there was to it I'd recommend her to you anyway. She's a friend and she's lovely and she's got a lot of information that you might want to have. I wrote her an email last week, after reading her blog for nearly a year, and was nervous that hearing from me would be awkward. Her swift and sure response was to tell me I made her day. Come on, who wouldn't promote the shit out of an old friend like that? Also, what a great time to tell you about the time we were both cast in a dramatization of A Handmaid's Tale. Mollena played the woman who owned the handmaid. The whole sex scene from that play takes on an entirely different sheen now.

But there's more. The girl I knew way back in the way back machine was brash and bold and wouldn't take no for an answer. She held all the reins in both hands and she was driving toward wherever the light was brightest and I always felt a little foolish for not being sure I wanted to be on the trip with her. I have control issues, I'm sure we've established that. Flash forward lo these many years and I tumble face first into Mollena's blog to hear that she's active in the BDSM community as a submissive. Really? I thought I was going to find that really hard to resolve with my memories of her. Fortunately I did what I always do in situations like that, I just kept reading.

The bold, brash, rein-holding girl is still there, of course. She's spending her life now, though, navigating those entwined desires for control and for the complete release of it. Which, you have to know, is something I struggle with all the time. How do you write about being sex positive and urge other people to be confident in their choices and clear in their boundaries while knowing that, deep in your heart, when the clothes come off you want someone else to take the reins? Mollena knows the answer to that question and she's honoring it with her writing, her speaking and her living every day.

Thank heavens I found her again.

Once Is Enough

I’ve recommended Vix to you all. According to her Twitter stream, after a period of playing the field her pendulum has swung again and she is looking for a relationship. No more of the one night stands or the swing lifestyle, she wants one person for night after night.

How can she do this to me?! I was studying her. She was my prep class!

Or something.

Here’s the thing, I’ve never picked someone up in a bar or at a sporting event or wherever and gone home with them. I’ve slept with someone once and then never again but never the first time I met them. For all I’m fine with talking about sex all the time I have some relatively deep-seated trust issues. I have to really know you before I’ll get naked. Hilarious considering the shit people I trusted have pulled while I’ve been naked but nevertheless the truth.

Don’t get me wrong, I am clear that I don’t have to have a one night stand in order to call my life complete. However, I wonder if I’m missing opportunities. Also, part of me thinks that fulfilling the stranger fantasy would be thrilling. Crowded room, eyes meet, pleasantries exchanged and you’re home before dawn. What could be better? Another part of me knows how abominable I am at making a first impression. I don’t know that I’d ever be able to relax enough to manage it on my end but I also can’t imagine, given how I tend to come across at first blush (just ask MistiRidiculous) I think it’d be a long shot that anyone would think, “Yeah, let’s get busy with the aloof, judgmental, neurotic chick! Right now!”

The reality is that I don’t know because I haven’t tried. I have no idea how these things work. The fact that I jump and apply the stink eye the minute a stranger speaks to me doesn't help my research. But I figure you all are a great resource so I’m asking. Have you ever picked someone up in a bar, had a one night stand, fulfilled the #1 female fantasy* according to Nancy Friday? What’s that like? Inquiring minds (and other anatomical features) want to know.

*I frequently mistype fantasy and fantasTy. It’s a whole different word but I think I like it. Sounds titillating.

Sixteen Flights

Sixteen Flights
M/F
R

***

Dear Diary,

There were too many people in the apartment. The perils of dating a man with roommates. It would have been too weird to slip into his bedroom and screw wildly. It turns out I can be kind of loud.

Disappointed but sort of resigned we headed out, joking about fucking in the stairwell, slowly making our way down sixteen flights kissing, laughing, talking fondling. He would have been perfectly content to fuck in the stairwell. I was squeamish about it. He offered to lay his coat down on a landing for me. I was thinking more along the lines of facing a wall and being taken from behind. Somehow with the sounds of apartment doors and elevators opening and closing I couldn't quite get myself to agree.

I ended up giving him a blow job. He was backed up against an entrance door and I had been stroking his cock so it was already out of his pants. I just knelt down and put my mouth on it. I haven't had much practice so we've been working on it. Together. I stroked his shaft with my hand, sometimes taking his whole penis in my mouth and sometimes just the head so I could use my tongue on the ridge and his hole. He pumped in and out of my mouth. I like it when it bumps the back of my throat. Is that weird? When he came his knees slowly started to bend then to buckle. I thought he might fall down but he just saved himself.

I don't swallow so it got all over us and we laughed and laughed. There was cum covering both of my hands and dripping into my jacket sleeves, some on my chin and drips on my scarf. It was funny and fun.

Tired now. Night.

xo
Me

The Children Actually Are Our Future

Edited a/o 10/10/20 1:55pm

A few weeks ago I mentioned a great site for sex information for teens, Scarleteen. Directly on the heels of that I discovered that the site relies entirely on donations to "provide comprehensive, inclusive and original sex education for millions of young adults each year." No ads**, no sponsors, no obligations to anyone but the people they serve. For more information on what they need in order to serve their readers go here. Last Friday kicked off three weeks of fund raising via a "Blog Carnival" with bloggers writing about Scarleteen and all that it does for Sex Education.

One thing I regret about my earlier endorsement of Scarleteen is not having enough examples of how their work helps people. AAG has collected a list of links to all the posts that are part of the carnival. She's also been posting particularly important excerpts from posts and the more I read the more it's reinforced for me that we are kneecapping the children of the world by not doing everything we can to educate them about this vital and pervasive part of our lives. Here are just a couple of links to posts AAG has highlighted.

• An older sibling finds out that her younger brother has been given blatantly false contraception information in a sexual education class, probably as a perceived plug for abstinence.
• What would happen if we handled financial education the way we do sex education?
• Sometimes it's important for even the most progressive and open parents to have someone else who is trustworthy for their kids to talk to about sex.

You all know that I started this site in part because women were saying they had no one to talk to about questions, concerns and curiosities. If we have ever felt underinformed, isolated or confused regarding sex and sexuality doesn't it make sense that we should be the ones keeping our children from feeling the same way? Perhaps it could even help prevent them from repeating our missteps. There are no guarantees in life but what would we be if we didn't even try. We have to try. Even Lyle Lovett says so.

Scarleteen and its founder, Heather Corinna, work tirelessly to make sure that every young person who comes to them (and plenty of older people, too) gets honest, accurate, constructive answers. This week alone the Twitter stream reminded young men who don't want to be fathers that refusing to wear condoms was contradictory to that agenda and reinforced for all young people that we make mistakes and it's part of learning. The learning is the important part and Scarleteen needs our support to continue to teach this lessons. Will you please help?

** Just got a note from Heather Corinna via AAG to correct a mistake on my part. HC says, "We aren't ad-free. We do use Google ads when we don't have paying adverts, which is almost always, and we're very selective about advertisers, but yeah, we have ads." I apologize for the misinformation and thank the ladies for clearing up my gaffe.