Limerick of the Week

A well-endowed guy named Apollo
Remarked as he larked in a hollow:
"Darling my dong
Is twelve inches long."
Said she: "That's a hard one to swallow!"

Did the Sumerians Invent Porn?

This is an important question. If we look back at the archaeological record, it's hard to know just where porn started. Many of the so-called fertility figures may have been considered "erotic," or their massive breasts and visibly etched vaginas may have been linked to pregnancy and childbirth. We don't know the purpose of these early figures. Were they carved by women for women, or were they early manifestations of the masculine gaze that seeks to capture and control the feminine form? This figure, the Venus of Hohle-Fels seems the former



Whereas this one, the latter:


But these are just speculations. It's not until writing appears on the scene that we can really know for certain how to take these things. And then it's pretty clear. Consider, for example, this snippet from a Hymn of Inanna, the Sumerian goddess of fertility, translated from cuneiform tablets:

Inanna spoke:

What I tell you
Let the singer weave into song.
What I tell you, let if flow from ear to mouth,
Let it pass from old to young:
My vulva, the horn,
The Boat of Heaven,
Is full of eagerness like the young moon.
My untilled land lies fallow.

As for me, Inanna,
Who will plow my vulva?
Who will plow my high field?
Who will plow my wet ground?

As for me, the young woman,
Who will plow my vulva?
Who will station the ox there?
Who will plow my vulva?

Dumuzi replied:

Great Lady, the king will plow your vulva.
I, Dumuzi the King, will plow your vulva.

Inanna:

Then plow my vulva, man of my heart!
Plow my vulva!

At the king's lap stood the rising cedar.
Plants grew high by their side.
Grains grew high by their side.
Gardens flourished luxuriantly.

On the off chance you're still uncertain that the Sumerians made porn, let's look at a couple of pieces of art.

This first one I call "Plow me now."

Yes, that is a woman playing a tambourine reaching around to grab the man's ox and guide it to its station.

And then there's this clay tablet from 3000 BCE.

Most commentators on this piece talk about it as a sign of the "sacred marriage" the ceremonial union between the king and the high priestess that re-enacts the relationship between Duzumi and Inanna that ensured the fertility of the land and the plenitude of the harvest. Whether that is so or not, it is still an explicit representation of sexuality that is probably intended at least partially to arouse.

Even more importantly, the woman using her hand to offer her breast to the man marks, to my mind, the first evidence of eroticization of the breast, which in and of itself is a cultural advance of unparalleled importance for which we should all be grateful.

Limerick of the Week

In Brooklyn, New York, there's a lass
Who will hitch up her dress as you pass
If toss her two bits
She will show you her tits
And allow you to fondle her ass.

Beer Babes: Supplement

I know it's not by any means perfect, but sometimes it's hard not to wax utopic about ancient Egypt. A society where women not only brewed the beer, but they did it topless? Sign me up!

Limerick of the Week

An eager young farm girl named Mabel
At milking was not very able
But to get the thing right
She would practice each night
With sausages under the table.

Movie Review: Maid in Sweden

No, this is not the arthouse import source material for Maid in Manhattan, but another 70's Christina Lindberg flick. After watching Anita: Swedish Nympette, I became convinced that there just might be a genuinely good movie in Lindberg's oeuvre. If there is, Maid in Sweden is definitely not it. On the whole, this movie is uneven, imbalanced, schizophrenic even.

At the beginning, the movie feels like The Mary Tyler Moore Show: Inga is headed to the big city to spend time with her sister, and the upbeat 70s pop soundtrack makes us feel like she might just make it after all. For a while, the soundtrack is so upbeat and so prominent that you might also think you're watching The Monkees, but then all that kitschy uptempo stuff gets wiped away because Inga's train ride goes overnight, which means she has to strip and get ready for bed, and, of course, the tits come out, which is great, but jarring. And there's a voyeur who happens to see her around her door curtain and just can't help but stop to look. (Could you?)

The movie has some things to recommend it. First, the director knew how to really show off Lindberg's tits. They get ample screen time, they're wonderfully lit, and we see them from many great angles. We see them when she's standing, lying down, sitting still, or in motion. There's even one really great slow-motion sequence when Inga's taking a shower that is not primarily prurient, nor is it exclusively erotic: it's aesthetic, artistic, very much like the way some directors and cinematographers will embrace the scenery so that your heart swells because it is filled with beauty. The sequence has a Grecian urn purity: beautiful tits are truth, and truth, beautiful tits is all it says.

The other thing the movie has to recommend it is its (seemingly obligatory) masturbation scene. Where most of the sex in the movie is mechanical and bland, this scene stands out as superb, natural. Lindberg makes sweet, almost spiritual self-love. She masturbates in a way that shows it as a self-fulfilling act deriving from a rich interior life that is part dream, part fantasy, and part soul. Lindberg is probably the greatest masturbatrix ever captured on film. Other sequences are definitely more graphic and more arousing, but none of them are as subtle or as textured as the ones I have seen Lindberg perform.

I wish the above-mentioned sequences could be put into a better movie, because, unfortunately the movie's negatives outweigh its positives. The number one thing that disrecommends this movie is rape. Rape is a staple element in exploitation films, of course, but partly because of its uneven tone the use of rape in this movie really bothered me. Date rape, gang rape, and a near-rape by Inga's sister's boyfriend (for which Inga is blamed) all take place with Inga coming to enjoy them after initial resisting. She even becomes the girlfriend of the date-raper. This comes together to create an atmosphere in which sexual violence against women is condoned and in which "no" never really means "no," which I found troublesome and diminished my enjoyment of the rest of the movie.

Another problem is that the movie tries to establish an inner life for the characters, but does so very poorly. It's very hard to determine what is real, what is memory, and what is dream, which contributes to the movie's narrative problem. You don't expect tight plotting in an exploitation flick, but this one is particularly bad, so that the meandering jumble of events comes to an unspectacular and unfulfilling end.

Limerick of the Week

Concerning the question of cunts
You really must see Helen Hunt's
With carrots and candles,
And hockey-stick handles,
She performs some remarkable stunts.

Limerick of the Week

Fuck me quick, fuck me deep, fuck me oft
In the bog, in the bath, in the loft
Up my arse, up my cunt
From behind, from in front
With your best, stiffest cock--nothing soft!

Beer Babes

Men love beer. Sure, there are a few who don't, and every now and again you'll meet a woman who actually really likes beer, but, by and large, beer is a man's world.

And if you're going to sell to men, what better way to do it than with picture of a beautiful woman, right? So for years the big breweries have put out posters and made commercials with hot chicks in them, but that doesn't matter. You can put all the gorgeous swimsuit models you want on your posters and it won't make me buy your beer (with one exception, see below). The only women that can sway my decision to buy a beer are the ones printed on the beer bottle itself. These women are inextricably linked with the identity of the beer, and I enjoy them sometimes as much or more than the beer itself.

St. Pauli Girl

St. Pauli Girl is the classic beer babe. Even before the label became extra-cleavagey and declared that this was "Germany's fun-loving beer," you knew it by the girl's disheveled hair and rumpled outfit, the exuberance of her stance, and, of course, her inviting smile. Here is a woman who loves giving beer to men as much as they love taking it from her.













So, what do you guys think is the best, the blonde, the brunette, the lager, the dark?














Pete's Wicked Strawberry Blonde


This is one of the first beers I bought by the six- or twelve-pack, back when we had our regular poker games running. I picked it because of the label, but found it a good, accessible beer for someone who was not an experienced beer drinker. I haven't had one in years. I wonder what it'd taste like now?













Hard Tail

Hard Tail has a really awesome logo, probably the only one I've seen to so brazenly feature a woman's ass. A really sweet view. I actually bought a glass of this beer because of the cool retro pinup posters they had in the bar, and the logo didn't hurt, either. It's a pretty small outfit, so it's hard to find their logo to reprint here, and probably even harder for you to find the beer. Don't worry, you're not missing much. Of course, it's a biker beer, and maybe we just don't agree what a beer is supposed to taste like.
















Shmaltz Brewing Albino Python

This is my favorite beer babe. Sensual. Mysterious. Cleavagey. And what is she going to do with that python? Besides, this is the only one of these beers I would recommend as a beer. It's good stuff, even if you don't like this sort of thing, which I don't. As the label says, "Surrender to temptation. Seduce and be seduced." I wish you all the joy of the worm.













And I can't wait to try the sword swallower, which sounds more like my type of beer.













And the Mermaid Pilsner, just for the heck of it








Any recommendations for good beers, especially with beautiful babes on them?

Limerick of the Week

This one's by Isaac Asimov:

Another young woman, named Claire
Always walks around perfectly bare
Saying "All that I show
Are my publics, you know,
For my privates are covered with hair."

Does Size Matter? More to Us than to Our Partners

There is no doubt that size matters to some extent. There has to be some selection pressure that has driven human males to have larger penises and human females to have larger breasts than our closest ape relatives:


But how much it matters is a harder question to answer.

In an interesting pair of survey results, researchers at the University of California added further evidence to support that we are our own worst critics, and that women are harder on themselves. The studies, one about breast satisfaction and the other about penis satisfaction, gave very similar results. The breast survey showed that 70% of women of all ages are unhappy with the size or shape of their breasts. It also showed that 56% of men are happy with the size and shape of their partner's breasts. If they did want their partner's breasts improved, they were about equally divided between whether they wanted them bigger or less droopy. Women were also nearly equally divided about whether they wanted their own breasts bigger or less droopy, but were more than twice as likely to wish their breasts were smaller than men were to wish their partner's breasts were smaller (9% to 4%).

The penis survey showed that 45% of men were unhappy with the size of their penis (almost all, of course, desiring larger), but that 85% of women were very satisfied with the penis size of their partner. If they were dissatisfied with their partner's penis size, most wanted it larger, but not as universally as men. Whereas 45% of men wanted a larger penis, and only 0.2% wanted a smaller one, 14% of women desired a larger penis for their partner, while 2% desired a smaller one. Men picked a larger penis at a ratio of 90 to 1, but women at only 7 to 1.

The take-home message? In general, we agree on the ideals (women's breasts should be larger, perkier, men's penises should be larger--and, well, probably perkier, too, although that wasn't included in the surveys), but we are more apt to obsess on our flaws (or even think of them as flaws) than our partners, which should give us all some measure of comfort.

Limerick of the Week (plus beauty tip!)

The usherette down at the Ritz
Has a marvelous pair of big tits
Which she keeps nice and firm
By massaging with sperm
Whenever her boyfriend permits.

The Claw!

The Claw is our Master!

Saturday Night Creature Feature: The Brain that Wouldn't Die

As panned as this film is, it's really quite compelling. The set-up is basic: your average scientist-doctor-genius (Dr. Cortner) has discovered a way, he thinks, to cheat death and achieve the transplantation of body parts from one person to another. However, in rushing to his secret laboratory in the country with his girlfriend, the smart, attentive, but somewhat frumpy Jan, he gets in an accident. He is thrown clear of the car, but she is decapitated, and her body burns up. Dr. Cortner, is, however, able to save her head and keeps it alive in his laboratory. He promises to look for a new body for her.

At this point, the movie splits into two different narratives. In one narrative, Dr. Cortner goes seeking a new body for his girlfriend. He looks all the places guys might look for the ideal body and in so doing stumbles through the entire culture of men's objectification of women in the 50s: a burlesque, strip, or dance club; a swimsuit competition (to which he is invited. As a doctor he is considered to have a superior knowledge of female anatomy.), and a private swimsuit modeling session where men pay to take pictures in the privacy of the woman's apartment. Thus, the movie foregrounds a lot of fetishist subculture from the day (it even includes some girl-on-girl wrestling that, if not well-coordinated, is titillating), but it goes further. Because Dr. Cortner is looking at these women as potential bodies for his girlfriend, it puts forward the critique that men who engage in these behaviors view the other women in their lives through the lens of their depravity.

Meanwhile, the brain (often referred to as "Jan in the Pan") is awakening to its own power. Freed of its body, kept alive by Dr. Cortner's special solution, she discovers that the can psychically communicate with Dr. Cortner's other experiment. Locked in the closet is a mindless brute, a being put together out of discarded body parts, tremendously strong but horribly deformed. Virginia Leith does an excellent job of delivering her lines with a cold, detached, sinister determination (sometimes she sounds like the Bene Gesserit from David Lynch's Dune). She will free the body in the closet and together they will . . . well, I wasn't quite clear on that, other than kill Dr. Cortner's assistant and thwart the doctor's plan.

That's right--she doesn't want a new body because it will be murder. So when Dr. Cortner shows up with the body he's chosen (the private swimsuit model. She has a beautiful body, but her face has been deformed by a man who abused her trust.) , Jan in the Pan unleashes the deformed creature on him. The creature tears out his throat with its teeth, then rescues the swimsuit model from the laboratory which has been inadvertently set on fire.

The final meaning of the film (if it can be said to have one) probably lies in what interpretation you make of the thing in the closet. Some critics read it as a homosexual reference. Although it's impossible to avoid this reading in this day and age, I don't feel it's a good reading, despite the fact that its head is pretty phallic (and he has only one eye). Dr. Cortner and his assistant refer to it as their mistakes. Does this then mean that a smart woman will turn a man's mistakes against him to prevent his final triumph? Or does it mean that a smart woman, despite her unattractiveness, will fend off a more attractive rival, even if it means destroying the man she loves?

No Platonic Love

Tell me no more of minds embracing minds,
   And hearts exchang'd for hearts;
That spirits spirits meet, as winds do winds,
   And mix their subt'lest parts;
That two unbodied essences may kiss,
And then like Angels, twist and feel one Bliss.

I was that silly thing that once was wrought
   To practise this thin love;
I climb'd from sex to soul, from soul to thought;
   But thinking there to move,
Headlong I rolled from thought to soul, and then
From soul I lighted at the sex again.

As some strict down-looked men pretend to fast,
   Who yet in closets eat;
So lovers who profess they spirits taste,
   Feed yet on grosser meat;
I know they boast they souls to souls convey,
Howe'r they meet, the body is the way.

Come, I will undeceive thee, they that tread
   Those vain aerial ways
Are like young heirs and alchemists misled
   To waste their wealth and days,
For searching thus to be for ever rich,
They only find a med'cine for the itch.

   By William Cartwright

A pretty accurate description of how I came to become the lecher you all know today. I advise anyone to avoid spending years drinking thin gruel and get to main course while you have a healthy appetite.

Checking in with Kelly Brook

It has been some time since we looked at British glamour model (and "star" of the highly anticipated (at least by me) Piranha 3-D), which is a real shame, because not only does she have a killer bikini body:

She's also not the ditsy airhead you might imagine her to be. She not only knows how to make money from her modeling, her lingerie line, her perfume, her celebrity appearances, and her acting--she knows how to manage it, a rare quality in any celebrity.

Since we last checked in with her she has had a successful run starring in Calendar Girls in London, and been voted the seventh sexiest woman by FHM's British readers (American poll results get announced later this month). She has also agreed to pose naked for Playboy (for a half million pounds).

Her most recent ad campaign is, well, I'll let it speak for itself:



And can you believe that in Britain there was a public outcry because her buns were too small in the poster advertising her role in a London production of Calendar Girls?
And she promises good things for Piranha: "It’s just a big, fun B-movie - lots of boobs, blood, gore and drama."

I don't think we can ask for more than that.

Penthouse: An Encounter with an Old Friend

I recently had occasion to look at the most recent issue of Penthouse, and I was delighted to see that it was the same old magazine I'd grown up with. I was concerned, thinking that with the pressures of the marketplace, the magazine that I considered to define the very limit of softcore (you can show all the anatomy, and even simulated sex acts, but not actual sex acts) might have taken the plunge into hardcore. But it hadn't, even though their website sure promotes the magazine as hard-core. Instead, it had all the hallmarks I remembered from Penthouse growing up--articles about sort of interesting subjects that if they were not as well-researched as Playboy articles, they also weren't as incredibly loony as what passed for articles in Hustler--pet photo spreads focusing on a single woman, and a lesbian photoplay (this time they were camping!) And, of course, the hottest section of all, the Letters, where readers write in to describe their oh-so-true-to-life sexual adventures.

I also worried that the magazine, which introduced me to the incredible, startling, beautiful variety of women's genitalia had started selecting women with more homogeneous anatomy, but to my delight they had not. Instead, the women were just as variable and natural as I remembered them. Kudos, Penthouse.

And in celebration of diversity, let's take a look at the Great Wall of Vagina, a celebrated artwork dedicated to helping women understand the full range of "normal" genitalia. A good start, but nothing like the thousands that Penthouse has put on display.



(Also, I'm allowing a little space here so anybody who is not interested in a canvas of cooters can opt out before damaging their delicate eyes.)

Catsuits in Science Fiction

Surely you've all seen this super-hot promo poster for Iron Man 2, featuring Scarlett Johansson as Black Widow in the skin-tight "catsuit." Although I hope it does not betoken so horrible a movie as her equally (if not more) sexy promos for The Spirit, I couldn't help but be as excited about it as everybody else, and looking at pics of some older catsuit costumes I realized how common the image is in science fiction. In fact, a little research revealed that of the 50 Sexiest Costumes list assembled at Den of Geek, a full 17 of them were catsuits, including Johansson's uninspiring outfit for The Island. (Rumor has it that she wanted to wear a really sexy costume--i.e. go topless--but Michael Bay talked her out of it. I don't think I believe that, but I'm always looking for new reasons to cast scorn and ignominy on his head.) 17: More than one-third. More than leotards, bikinis, loincloths, and togas combined.

If you took a look over there, you might object, "Hey, those are jumpsuits!" Which begs the question of the distinction. Frankly, as near as I can figure, the only real distinction is that catsuits are skin tight, while jumpsuits are a little loose. But if we're honest with ourselves we'll admit that even the most unassumingly baggy jumpsuit on a male actor somehow becomes skin-tight for his female co-stars, with the net effect of every jumpsuit becoming a catsuit, and that we like it that way.

So, first a few of my favorites, then an explanation for why they are so common.

See more in my posts on redheads, superheroines, catwoman, and humans and aliens in sci-fi.

And an incidental pinup from my favorite contemporary pinup artist, Andrew Bawidamann, who may be slowly turning into a crazed neo-Nazi gun-nut, I don't know, but I do know he still draws some pretty sweet chicks.
Now, why catsuits/jumpsuits are so popular in science fiction. Part of it is, I believe, a way for moviemakers to have their cake and eat it too, to simultaneously say, "Look, the women are liberated" (they're wearing pants), while still putting everything on display. Also, unlike loincloths, bikinis, and togas, jumpsuits are not reminiscent of any prior era, making them more able to be "futuristic." Unless, of course, you count the 70's, during which time they probably thought they were on the cusp of something really big. ("It's just that they're terribly comfortable. I think everyone will be wearing them in the future.")

Robogeisha

In case you haven't seen this, well, you really need to. I saw this trailer like last summer, and I've felt I was doing the world a disservice by not sharing it.

There's a moment in this trailer when even the writer is at a complete loss for words, which is saying something, considering all that has come before.

The Coolidge Effect

This is just a principle of evolutionary biology that everybody ought to know, based on a funny anecdote:

Supposedly, one day Mr. & Mrs. Coolidge were doing a publicity tour of a farm, going around and being shown all the cool things while making a statement about agriculture. At one point, the couple got separated. A farmer, bold as brass, shows off the prize rooster to Mrs. Coolidge, boasting that it can have sex dozens of times a day. Mrs. Coolidge, duly impressed, said "Tell that to Mr. Coolidge." When the farmer tells the president, he is also duly impressed, but he asks, "With the same hen?" to which the farmer replies, "Oh, no, lots of different hens." Mr Coolidge smiles and says, "Tell that to Mrs. Coolidge."

Remarkably, Coolidge is one of the few presidents whose name is not marred with accusations of adultery.

Movie Review: Anita (Swedish Nymphette)

This 1973 exploitation flick tells the story of a nymphomaniac girl (Anita) who is forced to leave her small hometown because she has slept with every man in town, and once she sleeps with them, she can't stand the sight of them. So she goes to the big city where there are plenty more men to have sex with in janitor's closets and tents set up on the street near construction sites. But in the city, a young psychology student (Erik) knocks her down and then picks her up to help discover the source of her problem and seek a cure, after asking his prof if he can "do her" for his dissertation, which the prof says is fine, but he should make sure not to sleep with her until after she's cured.

It's not at all uncommon for exploitation flicks to masquerade as serious movies, but this one really struck me as a good movie about sex, although it falters toward the end, as many do. In particular, the movie succeeds because Christina Lindberg (seen here in my post about noses) wonderfully conveys the tidal pull of the addict. In particular, there is one scene that I think will resonate with any person who struggles with compulsive behaviors (like, oh, I don't know, masturbation). Anita, having just picked up a man at the train station for sex is weeping in the borrowed room when an old glassmaker comes up to get his share. Taken aback by her tears, the glassmaker sits down beside her, and she spills out how much she despises herself for doing what she does, then proceeds to unzip his pants and get on her knees.

Erik tries to talk Anita through her problem by making her see her self-worth and strictly refusing to have sex with her, despite the fact that he has fallen completely in love with her, but his words are worthless. It seems that the cause of her nymphomania is her complete inability to have an orgasm, and to be cured, she must experience one, which becomes the driving force in the second half of the movie.

The medical aspect of the movie seems pretty ludicrous to me, and I suspect it's counter to anything a modern-day sex therapist would recommend, but nonetheless I felt this movie was actually quite compelling. It's not a hardcore flick--there are no gynecological shots or steam piston sequences. The numerous sex-scenes are kept brief, even without nudity initially. The nudity increases as the movie goes on, with Anita slowly revealing her body as she bares her soul, which is nice because Lindberg really is a beauty.

A good movie, recommended for anyone who is interested in serious movies about sex. If it's not as "fun" or fast-paced as some other exploitation flicks, it also steers around the use of sexual violence. There is no rape in the movie, which contributes somewhat to then entire movie's overall sense of innocence that is a great part of its charm.

Functional MRI Detects Schwing Center of the Brain

Ever wonder what part of your brain lights up when you see a pretty girl? Turns out it's the nucleus accumbens. Where is the nucleus accumbens? you may ask. It's in the forebrain, right hemisphere (which explains why there are disproportionate numbers of left-handed jerkers). The nucleus accumbens is one of the brain's main "reward centers," the places that make you feel good. In particular, the nucleus accumbens has been linked with the reward that goes along with drug and alcohol use. So, all this time, I thought liquor and looking at hot chicks were two passions, but it turns out they're the same one.

Here's the link to the study, which was published in the same venue that brought us bat fellatio:

http://www.plosone.org/article/info%3Adoi%2F10.1371%2Fjournal.pone.0009042

A couple of notes about the study. Ostensibly, the researchers were trying to test the significance of the 0.7 Waist-to-Hip-Ratio (WHR), and their title claims that they have. But, if you actually look at their results, you see that they correlated nucleus accumbens activity not with the WHR, but with subjective attractiveness ratings, which, for this sample of 14 American men (mean age 25 with a standard deviation of 6.3) happened to correlate with a 0.7 WHR. Personally, I'm a firm believer in the 0.7 WHR. I know, at least, that it pushes my buttons (that and a great pair of knockers), but I'm unsure about its universality.

On the other hand, I do agree with the statements of one of the researchers, "This research explains things like sexual harassment and whistling at the hot girl in the street. These findings could help further our understanding of pornography addiction and related disorders." If seeing a hot chick really does push some of the same buttons as drugs or alcohol, we might expect some of our higher cognitive functions to be suppressed, including good judgment and inhibition. This effect could also be heightened in an otherwise testosterone-rich environment, such as a male-dominated workplace.

I'll close with some random stimuli:

Making the World a Better Place

I'm sure there are many people who think that I am a hedonist devoted only to the study of carnal pleasure, but really Stately Pleasure Domes is devoted to a number of important causes. First of all, of course, is saving boobs:

And we remind women that regular self-exams are crucial to the early detection of cancers and pre-cancers. This can seem like a chore, but a little bit of baby oil will help your hands glide smoothly over your breasts. It's also a good idea to enlist a spotter who can help you perfect your technique and make sure you don't miss any spots: "Slower over the nipple, that's it, circle it again, just to be sure." (PS-be sure to check out the "making of" video. You get to see Aliya-Jasmine in her glasses. Not only is she hot, but she's cute and smart. After all, not only did she direct the PSA, she WROTE IT, too. Every word.)

Animal rights is another cause I completely support. After all, I am an animal. And I believe that we should all reduce our meat consumption and our use of animal-derived products so we can end cruel factory farms. I also support many of PETA's campaigns, including "Cruelty Doesn't Fly."



Not to mention its various "I'd rather go naked" campaigns:

And its lettuce bikini campaign:
A noble effort, indeed. It could have been better if a) they'd designed the bikinis a little better and b) they'd taken advantage of the opportunity to slip a veggie dog in there. But, still, the "respect" tattoo peeking out there is classic.

There are some who criticize PETA for sacrificing women's bodies to make the case for animals. I can see the point, but there are a lot of women with really great looking bodies who want to contribute to a cause. Not all of them are as smart as Aliya-Jasmine and can actually WRITE a PSA. Unlike animals, the women participating are doing so of their own free will. They could be getting naked to advertise a product that profits from cruelty to animals, but instead, they are using their assets in a positive way.

But the cause that's nearest and dearest to my heart is Global Orgasm for Peace. Make love, not war. Every day, in every way.

The Naughty Librarian

Naughty librarians happen to be one of my favorite fantasies, and I am by no means alone. The trope makes regular appearances on our buddy blog, The Larryville Chronicles. Here are a couple more examples:

Note that in the costume the skirt is made out of books, albeit without any too creative selections: Moby Dick, of course, the Joy of Sex, and The Scarlet Letter.

Anyway, this past summer Quentin Tarantino gave an interview with Elle magazine where he attacked the trope, saying, "If someone is inhibited in life, they tend to be inhibited in bed. If they have judgmental rules in life, they'll have judgmental rules in bed." On the one hand, yes, he's attacking one of our most treasured fantasies, but, on the other hand, he's not telling us anything we don't already know. And knowing it's not true gives power to the fantasy.

But the naughty librarian is not just any fantasy, she fits into a paradigm that is man's answer to the Cinderella complex. Whereas many women imagine that one day the perfect man will ride up and sweep them off their feet into a world of perfect romance, that he will love and care for them unfailingly into eternity, men have a different complex. Many men imagine that they will ride out into the world and discover a woman in whom they will awaken an unsuspected and insatiable sexual desire, a woman that will fill their days with endlessly variable, endlessly exciting, and tireless sex.

The naughty librarian, by virtue of beginning as a symbol of the proper, unreachable, and asexual that is then corrupted into a lusty voluptuary, reenacts this essential fantasy. Consider, for example, the beginning of Horny Licking Librarian:

"It was Polly Prentiss’ first day on the job. The newly appointed head librarian of the exclusive and private Hardwick School knew she ought to keep her mind on her work, but it was difficult to ignore how horny she felt.

She’d never had this problem before. Polly had always been so wrapped up in her career that she’d never had time for men and sex. Then, at twenty-eight, she’d decided to treat herself to her first real vacation, a Caribbean cruise. And on the cruise she’d gone to bed with a man for the very first time. Just a few love-making sessions with Mark Wells, and she was hooked on sex."

(Quote and image courtesy of xNovel, "classic adult novels for free")

And then, of course, Polly goes on to be the titular naughty librarian.

Although I agree with Tarantino in fact, in spirit I am more akin to Borges' narrator in "The Library of Babel": "I pray to the unknown gods that a man--just one even though it were thousands of years ago!--may have examined and read [her]. . . . Let heaven exist though my place be in hell. Let me be outraged and annihilated, but for one instant, in one being, let Your enormous Library be justified."

The G-Spot Controversy

Some British researchers yesterday released one of the biggest bombs in sexual research in the last decade, stating that the G-spot does not exist. This after significant research in recent years that have claimed to have isolated both a biochemical marker (the presence of phosphodiesterase type 5) and a physical characteristic (thicker urethrovaginal space) that correlate with women's reports of experiencing vaginal orgasms related to the presence of the G-spot.

Do I believe this new study, soon to be published in the Journal of Sexual Medicine (where you can also read about "Design and Application of a New Rat-Specific Vacuum Erectile Device for Penile Rehabilitation Research")? I do not, although I must admit that I haven't read the article or even its abstract.

The study surveyed 1800 women, making it the largest sample size of any study on the G-spot ever conducted, which is in its favor. The study took pairs of identical and non-identical twins and asked them if they had a G-spot. Researchers rationalized that if there were a physical G-spot, then there would be a higher degree of correlation between identical twins reporting G-spots than between non-identical twins, but they found no such correlation. Therefore, they report that the G-spot is likely only a psychological phenomenon and not a physical one.

Here's what I believe are the flaws in the survey. First, although twin research is a widely-accepted method of establishing a physical vs. psychological distinction, it's not flawless. Although twins are genetically identical, they can (and often do) develop differently, with many lifestyle factors influencing their physical development.

Second, it's just a survey, and it depends on women knowing about their G-spots. Just because a woman has one doesn't mean she'll have sexual experience of it, and the survey didn't take into account the numbers and types of partners that twins had, which can make a big difference in their subjective experience. Once you take this into account, the study only says that women's experience of their G-spots is subjective. I'd be more convinced if the study were more comprehensive.

Third, I'm not sure but the researchers seemed to be setting out to establish that there was no G-spot, and I'm always suspicious of science that merely confirms what the researchers already believed. Some of the quotes from the researchers show them to be anti-G-spot advocates.

Personally, I am convinced that all women have some of the physical characteristics of the G-spot, although not all women are capable of orgasm through G-spot stimulation. Not all women who are physically capable of G-spot orgasms know how to do it or instruct their partners to do it. Even fewer women are with partners who are capable of stimulating the G-spot during intercourse.

But it doesn't matter whether you or your partner is capable of G-spot orgasms, there's still a nearly infinite universe of sexual pleasure to explore. So whether you are among the lucky few who enjoy this conjugal bliss or whether you are not, fuck on and ignore the research!