Just over ten years later I find myself weighing the options of the crop vs the belt vs the suede flogger when packing my toybag because, dammit, they just don’t all fit in there. I bind and gag and beat and tie and flog and order and I do all this because it’s what fulfills me and my partners. When I release them we marvel at redness in front of mirrors together. We hug and thank one another for the experience. It’s wonderful. But it’s not without conflict.

I can’t help but have moments where I wonder if my sexual interests aren’t just cultural subjection in another guise. Times of self-doubt when I’m concerned that my partners’ “yes” may be coerced by the power dynamic at play in our relationship. Deep down part of me fears that by encouraging their submission I’m a part of the problem. That in my own small way I’m just fostering the attitudes that form a rape-tolerant society.

And what’s worse is that this self-questioning can manifest itself in ways that are not at all attractive to my partners. If confidence is an aphrodisiac then this flavor of doubt is a cock block of Great Wall proportions. It’s hard to simultaneously order a naked woman to her knees in front of you while insisting that you don’t want to pressure her into an uncomfortable situation.

I suppose if my mental somersaults result from a youth rich in feminist ideology then maybe the best course for me is to embrace that fact: replace the radical lessons from my youth with sex-positive feminists. There are certainly no shortage of knowledgeable discourse in the subject. From Gayle Rubin to Susie Bright to Tristan Taormino (who will likely be making a POPR appearance before long) I’m am not in want of literature on the subject. Time to hit the library.

Meredith is monogamous. When we became involved a year ago I knew that her ideal was to settle down with a man, have a few kids and live a contented life in the suburbs. What wasn’t so clear to me a year ago is that my idea of a happily ever after wasn’t limited to one person. I want a house with extra rooms so friends and lovers and stay for as long as they like. I want to surround myself with the people that I love. I want Sunday morning breakfasts that last until early afternoon and cover a grand dining room table.

You see the rub…

This wasn’t a surprise to either of us. Our relationship is wonderful and enriching for us both but we never presumed one another for the marrying type. We explored our bond to it’s natural limit and were happy with what we found. But that limit didn’t match either of our notions of happily ever after. Someday, we knew, I would find that wonderful poly girl and we’d move in together and begin building the house of our dreams. Someday, we knew, she would meet a guy who’s funny and smart and sexy and imagines a swingset in her back yard just as she does now. Someday is quickly approaching.

A couple weeks ago Meredith went on her first blind date. She’s had several with the same fellow since then and while neither of them are in any rush to push things I can see them becoming more of a serious item as time progresses. It’s sad in a way, but ultimately I could not be happier for her. For the last nine months I’ve been exploring what it means to be poly. She’s stood beside me and supported me while I’ve gone off and founded enriching relationships with several wonderful women. Now it’s my turn. I smile when she tells me that she brought him cupcakes at work. I delight in the fact that they’re playing hookey next week to go to the fair. But in doing so I become, in a way, superfluous.

But that’s good. That means that we’re growing as people. Even if we’re growing apart.

What I got was four scenes, three of which featured a strapon rubber dong as the main attraction.

Now I don’t want to fall down the fucked up, Freudian, penis-envy rabbit hole here, but I’ve never seen so much cock in a lesbian film before. I’d estimate upwards of 60% of the sex in this film was one person thrusting into the other with a rubber strapon. And when it wasn’t vanilla dong in vag fucking it was dong blowjobs. Or worse, dong jacking off. She literally held a rubber penis against her mound and stroked it. For an extended period of time. By Herself. Now I get the gender bendy aspect of treating a strapon like a cock complete with sloppy blowjobs and stroking. But are there really that many dyed in the wool lesbians who get off by looking down and pretending to stroke their own cock that it deserved to be the closing scene of the entire film?

So let’s walk through this thing…

Scene One: Straight fucking. Another couple walks in. Half of the new couple stands there and watches (Her only scene in the movie is as a voyeur? Poor woman.) while the other half joins in and DP ensues. Scene ends with fuck-ee solo masturbating while the two fuck-ers lay next to her caressing. Little to no connection between the actresses though the entire scene. Meh…

Scene Two: This couple has some chemistry. Very fun to watch. Some nice pussy licking and dominance by she who will be fuck-ee followed by, you guessed it, straight strapon sex. At least they seem to be honestly enjoying it this time. Scene ends when fuck-er stops fuck-ing and fingers her partner to a squirting orgasm. Good scene even with it’s flaws.

Scene Three: This one is hot. Ironically the boi on boi scene is the only one without a goddamn dick to be seen and that makes it infinitely the best scene in the movie! Fingering. Rimming. Munching. Wrestling. The back and forth in this scene is great. Not surprisingly this couple has been involved in the past as well. They are really into each other. Scene ends with a one of the women squirting buckets right into her partner’s mouth. Amazing. Hot. This one is getting replayed when the pants come off.

Fourth and Final Scene: The first fuck-er in the movie, she of the joyless dead eyes, is solo in this scene. Just her on a couch with another rubber dong, except this time she insists on staring into the camera in a creepy way. Oh, and she spends a good while jerking off her fake penis. Is she expecting fake ejaculate to come out? Maybe she should grab a fake tissue to avoid making a fake mess… This scene is a train wreck and killed both my erection and my libido for the rest of the night. This is not an exaggeration.

Maybe I’m 1000% wrong with this review. Maybe my understanding of the lesbian sexual psyche is based on misconceptions and this essay has only further cemented how entrenched I am in hetero-normative understanding of what sex is supposed to be. What is absolutely certain is that I need to watch more woman directed, woman produced, woman on woman porn to expand my understanding of this genre. But from where I’m sitting now I was not impressed with this film. It’s a super hot concept that suffered from a lack of sexual creativity and could have used some more work on the storytelling front. I’m willing to chalk it up to a first-time director and am interested in what she’s done lately, but as it stands now I can’t recommend this film.

Ivy is a tall, curvy redhead; the kind who can’t but look stunning in a slinky dress. She’s bright, interested in politics and sexuality and has a biting playfulness about her. She also lives in three thousand miles away. Before we even met face to face I knew that she was just going to be in Seattle for another month, but having been without a local sweetie for some time I couldn’t but be excited about the prospect of a summer dalliance.

Our first date we met for absinthe cocktails at my favorite local bar. A mellow place with local artists hanging on the wall and Bon Iver setting the emotional tenor of the evening. On our second date she looked at me with pleading eyes begging, “Please Sir.” On our third date I was cinching her into her first body harness of aromatic hemp rope as she meweled with sensation and excitement.

Two weeks from now she’ll be on a plane to the east coast.

In the time we’ve been together I’ve grown deeply fond of her presence. Waking up in her hair. The way she and my cat fawn over each other. She’s reminded me of the joys of having someone fun in town to curl up with some hookey afternoon; of the reasons I’m poly to begin with. She’s leaving me soon, and that’s going to be break my heart in a tiny way, but in the place she used to occupy will be a new spirit. One encouraging me to go out and find that connection again.

1: A drunken, belligerent man crashes a party:

Although he wasn’t invited, the party’s host let the shooter inside to avoid a fight

2: He is sporting an admittedly very femmy looking bottle of sparkling vodka to drink
3: Party crasher is accused of being gay
4: Party crasher opens fire

He left the party and returned with a pistol, police said, which he fired into the air and then at guests in the backyard. Collins was struck, and a man with him threw Collins over a fence to avoid being injured further. The shooter then reportedly struck Collins’ friend in the head with the pistol and continued to shoot at the home as he ran away.

I don’t really want to defend the party goers tossing homophobic slurs, but when you crash a party with some pink sparkling vodka in a bottle that looks like a tube of lipstick… well I’m just not sure that you should really be all that surprised.

Perhaps appropriately then, the first movie up for review is The New Romantix: A Sex-Positive Film. Consisting of six full length vignettes (and one little bonus scene right in the middle) this movie did a very good job of highlighting the joy of sex. Each scene begins with an interview with the leading lady covering topics ranging from her childhood friends and what her tattoos mean to the more typical sexy stories of group sex and the first time she had sex with a girl. These are not the stereotypical picture of an adult film star.  Admittedly, not all of them came from the perfect Pollyanna childhood, but who honestly does? These women are not crack whores. They are not beaten by their pimp/director. They are intelligent. They are well spoken. They genuinely love sex and have found a career doing what they love.

What’s more the sex itself stands apart from more typical mainstream fare. More often than not the chemistry between the actors is apparent. These people may not be in love but they are having a good time and enjoying each other and I really appreciate seeing that. The sex itself is better than average, but not by leaps and bounds. I liked that the editors left in some of the awkwardness of real life sex by leaving the camera going while the couple rearranged themselves in the middle of a scene. Too often, however, the scene began with a blowjob and ended with a facial and I’d rather hoped for more on that count.

If I could have changed one thing, I might have wished for the leading men to have gotten some of the same interview treatment that the actresses received. They weren’t without personality by any means, but after really seeing the women fleshed out I would have been interested in seeing the same effort put into the guys. As they were, however, they were pretty varied and generally likable.

All in all I’m glad to recommend this movie. It’s mainstream enough to do the job of getting your rocks off when that’s all you want but goes out of its way to emphasize the humanity of the women involved. It’s sexy and funny and is definitely deserving of the GM Seal of Approval.

The New Romantix: A Sex-Positive Film is available at Babeland

Case is point. Florida doesn’t want gays to adopt kids. And they certainly won’t ever let them marry. But somehow this bullshit is just fine.

Florida appellate court has ruled it is perfectly legal for a man to sit in his pickup truck outside a convenience store in the presence of a child and wave and insert into his mouth a long, cylindrical plastic sex toy commonly referred to as a dildo.

Really Florida? A loving household can’t adopt an unwanted child but a drunken hick can harass women and deepthroat a rubber cock to his heart’s content? Sometimes I wish that flaccid wang of a state would just fall into the ocean.

Except Disney World. I fucking love Disney World.

But if the idea of someone earnestly identifying as post-post-post-post-post-feminist makes you chuckle, then you’ll have a splendid good time.

Margot Mason is a self-described old warhorse from the radical wave of feminism who doesn’t seem to have another book left in her when her former student shows up. What begins as a fawning conversation between an idol and her worshiper turns into Margot handcuffed to her desk in a hostage situation. As the play progresses, Margot’s daughter, son-in-law, book publisher and an unrelated cabbie all become caught up in the hostage situation and in doing so, serve up their varied opinions on the values and flaws of Margot’s philosophy. It’s a funny and thoughtful look at the absurd inconsistencies in various feminist philosophies, the role of men in the future evolution of the sexes and the unintended consequences of taking any idea too far.

What I found most interesting however, and this may speak more to me as an observer than the play itself, was the juxtaposition of the son-in-law (a kind hearted but not altogether bright sensitive new age guy) and the cabbie (an emasculated man from a failed marriage trying to restore his sexual identity). Together they provide an interesting view on what it means to be masculine in a post-feminist world. Controlling without perpetuating the patriarchy, respectful without being effete. It highlighted well the tightrope of the modern, gender-aware man.

The Female of the Species is being performed at the ACT in Seattle until July 18th.

I feel like a cultural traitor whenever I say that. And let me clarify that I’m not lobbying to have hate crime bills stricken from the public record. I don’t believe it’s a terrible offense. I certainly don’t buy that it’s actually a smoke screen for some sort of homosexual agenda (though frankly if I did that would be a reason for me to support it). In my actions I’m utterly ambivalent towards it.

But in my mind I can’t help but feel like there’s something wrong with it. That whenever we take someone’s intention into account when charging them with a crime we, as a society, tread dangerously close to Orwellian Thoughtcrime territory.

I believe strongly, fervently, that we should enforce equal protection under the law. Gender identification and sexual orientation should be right up there along with race and creed as protected statuses. No one should be fired or harassed or made an object of ridicule because of any of these traits. Doing that is extending protection to gays and lesbians and transsexuals and intersexuals and everyone else who needs it. It gives them the right to maintain a job and live without fear and I absolutely support that.

But equal protection under the law is a two way street. If we can pass a law that says that racists and homophobes are treated more harshly then your run of the mill murderer, then you’re saying that we can legislate against the thought process. What would we think if the tables were turned? What would we think if a law was passed that stipulated that any homosexual that assaults a straight person is guilty of “sexual warfare” and given a greater punishment than the other way around? Assault is a crime. Murder is a crime. Unfair hiring practices is a crime. And we should strive to make sure that all people are protected from crimes against them.

There is a right way to do things and a wrong way. And opening doors for people, guaranteeing their rights as human beings, is never the wrong way. I know things aren’t easy for the sex positive community as a whole right now. We’re seeing terrible setbacks, and I’m willing to be convinced that I need to change my attitude. But I can’t help but think that standing two people side by side, two people who have both assaulted or raped or even killed, and telling one of them that they were worse because of what they were thinking while they were committing this crime; well that just strikes me as shaky ground that we best avoid.

Former officer, now inmate, Joshua Jenson confessed that he contacted an escort online and then forced her to have sex with him or else he would arrest her for prostitution. And this apparently wasn’t the only incident. Investigations uncovered that there were at least two of these incidents while Jensen was on duty.

The result of this grievous instance of police brutality? Thirty months in prison. Two and a half years and this rapist will be back on the streets. Had he actually been charged with 1st degree rape, (a Class A felony in the state of Oregon) instead of the prostitution, official misconduct and coercion charges he actually faced, he would be seeing a maximum term of 20 years.