The Beautiful Kind

I often notice that swingers get a bad rap. A friend of mine once told me he would never allow his children to be around someone he knew to be a swinger. Polyamorous people tend to think swingers are just about dildos and sex, whereas poly non-monogamy focuses more on relationships and love. It makes swingers seem like they care more about notches on the bedposts than about other people.

To be sure, swingers are a highly sexual group of people, and they have been known to refer to themselves as “cum sluts” or pick up another couple for a hot one night stand. But it is much more common for them to develop close friendships and bonds that extend beyond the hot tub.

Swingers are basically a cross-section of the general population. You’ll find plumbers, doctors, UPS men, bikers, moms, and professors on swinger websites, not to mention all body types and ages. I would say the majority of swingers are white couples in their 30’s and 40’s, but there are many couples giving it a go in their early 20’s, and African American and Asians and others adding diversity to the mix. They often have children and tend to be loving, tolerant parents.

So not only will swingers take a strap on to you or host orgies, but they will also help you move, arrange neighborhood cook-outs, buy you flowers, and bake cupcakes for the classroom party. Cuz you know what? These are the nicest, most generous folks, the ones who have really taken the lesson of sharing they learned in grade school very much to heart.

Writing this has made me think of some personal swinger stories that I will share next - the good, the bad, and the UGLY.

I’m lying in bed with my beautiful 21-year-old stallion. We’re naked, relaxing after a fabulous sex romp. I trace his tattoos, the contours of his hot muscles, the veins in his arms, and strum my fingers across his washboard belly. He runs a hand through my hair, and kisses my forehead. “God you are so beautiful,” he murmurs in my ear.

“Then take my picture,” I purr, and he reaches with his long arm for the camera on the bedside table. Turning off the flash, he leans back and captures soft, blurry images of me, my cat-who-ate-the-canary smile, my tousled hair, my breasts, still glowing from my orgasms.

“Do you feel like another round?” he asks, his cock stirring.

“Oh my god yes!” I exclaim. He sets the camera down, and we pull even closer, his long lean thigh hooking around my soft curves, drawing me in…

Tanning beds are gross. Check out this model’s lovely orange skin that clashes nicely with her light yellow hair.

Back in the day when I was a stripper, I was forced to tan a few times, so I’ve been in one of these light-up coffins and know how darn relaxing it is to bask in one. It’s like a lovely warm womb.

So I propose that instead of using them to cause cancer and turn people funny colors, we convert them all into masturbation parlors. They can replace the horrid ultrabright lights with porn installed in the roof for in-your-face viewing.

That’s what a lot of the guys who use them do anyway - they ogle the hot front desk receptionist and then retire to the back rooms and whack off in a towel thinking of her.

The most effective way to become smarter and gain control of your thoughts is to stop watching TV. TV influences you, controls your thoughts, steals your time away from better things. TV shoves mainstream media at you, leaving no room for original thought. I also think it’s akin to alcohol, drugs, and other self-medicating devices. SO many people endure a long, boring, shitty day at the office, then come home and cope by switching on the TV and zoning out for a few hours.

I think one of the biggest reasons why I manage to have so many opinions and experiences that don’t match up to societal norms is because I don’t watch TV. My brain is less corrupted. So turn off the TV and keep informed with news and events by reading the paper in print or online. Try getting your news from somewhere besides CNN, like BBC. Replace TV with human interaction, a new hobby, creating art, or reading. Read whatever you can get your hands on, but be warned that magazines can be a waste of time because they just recycle the same info over and over like goddamn reruns.

PS: People who don’t watch TV are hot. People who don’t OWN a TV are even HOTTER.

A friend of mine has an attractive lady friend who lives up in Iowa. He told me she was a stripper, but found her way into prostitution. When I asked him for details on how she made the transition, he explained it was a six-step process:

1. Break up with your fiance.
2. Have him beg for oral sex.
3. Refuse.
4. Have him offer money for head.
5. Agree.
6. Realize that if you can do it with him for money, you can do it with anyone for money.

Did you know that the drug PCP is making a comeback? And that one of the nicknames for it is “Butt Naked”? (See, I don’t NEED a drug in order to be butt naked!)

My sexy police officer gentleman told me that many years ago, there was a skinny African American man who wandered the streets of St. Louis while under the influence of the drug, and they would often get calls regarding his misbehavior.

More than once the police would find him on Delmar, perched on a newspaper dispenser, nude, animatedly talking to Kirk Douglas on his pink princess phone. He also thought he WAS Kirk Douglas, so really he was just talking to himself.

Just the other day, my personal policeman was surprised to see “Kirk Douglas” walking down the street. He was as skinny as ever, but now he sports a big white bushy afro and beard. And clothes.

You know how some couples will bicker all the time, or employ passive aggressive or manipulative techniques in order to get back at each other?

Well, one time my mom threw up on my dad. On purpose.

Now THAT’S hardcore. I had a boyfriend who would pick fights all the time - for some reason the thought of us being like an old married couple appealed to him. And there wasn’t even any make up sex afterwards! Anyway, in retrospect, I think I should have puked on him. The things you learn from Mom!

In a previous entry I complained about how women have so many sexy lingerie options, but men only have the default boxers.

I’ve decided that the wifebeater muscle shirt is the male version of lingerie, ESPECIALLY if chest hair is peeking out. The guy wearing the shirt should be blue collar muscular, not ripped. He can get away with wearing a chain in this costume. Tattoos will work, too. If I’m having sex with a guy wearing one of these shirts, I’ll make him keep it on. It’s fun to yank on it, and twist it up around his chest so our bellies can touch.

Check out the boybeater shirt. And check out this blog with a page devoted to wifebeaters. It’s fucking hot, but sadly most of the men are hairless.

I have a girl friend who joined one of those message boards for women who want to discuss their upcoming marriages with other women in the same boat. She became buddies with a few other midwest gals, and after they all had their weddings, they planned a big girlie slumber party. No husbands allowed.

I was shocked to see the pics from this party. I had no idea hetero married women (two had kids) were capable of such things. It looked like a Suicide Girls wet dream, and it was all amateur, all authentic, all HOT. Different body types, different ethnic backgrounds, crazy lingerie, shoe licking, striped thigh hi socks, monster dildos and other sex toys, exposed breasts, boozing, chicks making out…the pic on the right is of my friend getting whipped with rope lighting.

A quote from my friend regarding the event:

I was told that everyone’s favorite quote was after they put the plastic cock in my pants. About 5 minutes later, I finally noticed and asked, “Do I have a giant dildo in my ass?”  Ah, good times.

1. For the love of god, don’t remove your eyebrows and draw them back on.

2. Keep it as natural as possible. For instance, don’t inject poisons in your forehead or plastics in your chest, and only opt for blue eye shadow on special occasions, like drag shows.

3. Wear just a little makeup. Too much makes you look insane or, at best, insecure.

4. Stick with your original colors. Why do so many women bleach their hair to make it lighter and tan their skin to make it darker? Did they not get the memo? Here it is: Yellow is not a good hair color.

And your skin is best at its natural color. Don’t try covering your bruises and stretch marks with tanning - accept your true self and feel good that you aren’t speeding up wrinkles and cancer (bruise = temporary, cancer = OHH SHIT). Like guys CARE about stretch marks. They look like tigerrr stripes, which is totally badass.

5. And if you do go with blonde, don’t use black eyeliner. The raccoon look makes your eyes appear smaller and creepier, especially if they’re blue.

6. Keep your hair touchable. If you fear the rain because it will make your hair collapse, um, it’s not 1986 anymore. Please toss your hairspray and set your time machine to 2007.

7. Moisturize under your eyes with a lightweight moisturizer in the AM and PM. Dab it on. And wear sunglasses if you ever feel the need to squint.

8. Wear sunscreen daily, even in the winter and on cloudy days, especially on the back of your hands.

9. Instead of spending $$ on expensive teeth whitening “systems” (avoid anything with the word “system”), swish with cheapo hyrdogen peroxide every couple days or so. Totally works. Works so well, my dental hygienist asked me if I had whitened my teeth. Yeah it costs like a dollar.

10. Don’t eat meat. It’s toxic.

11. Masturbate. A lot. Consider it the fountain of youth.

12. Be a salty slut. Bathe with it, gargle with it, lick it. Salt is the ocean, it is the Earth, it is tears, it is YOU.

There are two kinds of men I like - those who whine when they’re having sex, and those who growl. Both are great (forget the silent ones!), but I usually end up with the whiny fucks since I prefer sensitive geeks to macho men, so it’s a rare treat to get with a growler.

The last time I did was fabulous - I fucked with him while he tried to fuck me. He was on top and trying to mount me, and every time he got close, I shifted my hips. Sometimes I let him just barely press the tip of his cock against my entrance before I squeezed my thighs and pushed him away. I laughed as he growled with frustration. This went on for a bit until he roared and flipped me over on my stomach. It was then that I finally let him have his way with me. Grrrr!

I’m sick of oversized, horizontal striped polo shirts. They’re a total fashion cop out.

I’m a big fan of animal-free entertainment, so I was super excited to see Cirque de Soleil’s “KA.”  It was fucking badass. True, it wasn’t the pervert show “Zumanity” they put on, but I was still happy to see plenty of bondage, fetish costumes, and Marilyn Manson cross-dressing.  The most amazing thing to me is how they can do all that wild swinging through the air without screaming, “WHEEEEE!!!”

And I had the misfortune of sitting next to a guy who elaborately proposed to his woman before the show started. Anyone else would have thought it incredibly touching, but you know me - the cynical bitch who’s anti-marriage and anti-diamonds. But I behaved myself.

One of the best parts of being in Las Vegas was that the resort had a secluded topless pool. This means that instead of just the men getting to be topless, women were granted the privilege as well, though they had to remain hidden from general public view, lest their exposed breasts traumatize a child.

Anyway, I jumped at the chance to be topless outside, to feel the breeze caressing flesh normally concealed. I slathered on the SPF 50 and drank tropical cocktails and ogled the other women (the men weren’t worth ogling) and tried to ignore the obnoxious techno music that kept rhyming the words “sexual” and “intellectual.”

A small Latino man was going around spritzing the women with Evian spray, and my companion motioned him over to tend to me. Despite it feeling creepily subservient (I guess he could have a worse job), I went with it. I rose out of the water with my arms outstretched and my eyes closed, a sublime smile playing on my lips as I felt the delicious sensation of the hot sun on my head and torso replaced by the cooling mist. Ahhhh!

Sin City. Yeah, I had to go see it for myself - the good, the bad, and the ugly. Examples: anal bead lamps in the hotel room, Fortune Cookie slot machines, and Celine Dion.

Um, look what an admirer fashioned out of my Panty Parade pics.

And he calls this one “Panty Parade Pearl Necklace.”

Dear Bob is a total Southern gentleman. He gives flowers and opens doors for the ladies and I’m just sweet on him. Here’s a pic of him with Dolly Parton on his Nashville road trip.

Speaking of, you must check out the sock monkey road trip. See, it’s not just me who’s totally taken with silly sock monkeys.

But what’s this? I’m hearing ugly rumors whispered that sock monkeys are getting trendy! Nooo! True, the Gap is selling subpar models, and you can buy a sock monkey making kit at Target, but it just is that sock monkeys were not meant for mainstream! Though that would work well for my friend (aka “dealer”) who makes them lovingly in her attic…

I went to the post office the other day, and asked for first class stamps. The guy behind the counter, foolishly mistaking me for some average Jane, tried to pawn off some “LOVE” stamps.

I said, “Um, those are too romantic. Do you have another kind?”

So then he had the audacity to offer me US Flag stamps!

“Those are too American,” I sneered. “Do you have anything else?”

He rummaged around and finally presented me with the Superhero stamps.

“WONDER WOMAN!” I shouted with glee. And bought them.

PS: First class stamp rates go up again 2 cents in May.

PS2: OMG Star Wars stamps coming in May as well!!! Vote for your fav design here. 47 days left to cast your vote! And you can vote daily! Of course I voted for Han Solo/Chewbacca…

Remember Edgar, the whole reason I joined stupid myspace? Well last weekend I noticed his profile had gone missing. I immediately feared for his safety, and managed to track him down through Mother.

It turns out myspace deleted his account! Which is fucking ridiculous. I mean, he’s more of a person than many of those TV zombies on there! It may have been because they suspected him of terrorist activities. Or perhaps they found him too nude, those prudes.

His account is restored, though for now it is disguised with festive American cupcakes.

Though his cause was sabotaged, he is undeterred. If you are foolish enough to have a myspace account, the least you can to do to redeem yourself is join (or re-join) Edgar’s Army. He needs you now more than ever.

A gritty book called Carnival Strippers features photos and interviews of women who performed striptease for small town carnivals in New England from 1972-1975.

Excerpts:

Shortie, stripper - Before I came into this, I never drank a bit. Now I think I’m a fucking alcoholic. I know for a fact I am. I need at least a pint to get me started out there. Everybody says, “You’ll be an alcoholic before you be a stripper.”

I’m an alcoholic. I can dig it. I’m an alcoholic.

and

Lisa, stripper - Honey Holiday taught me to strip. She showed me a life. She told me, “Lisa, when go on the stage, think to yourself, ‘I’m it- I’m the greatest person there is. I’m the best stripper there is, there’s nobody better,’ and you’ll put on a good show.” She said, “Don’t be scared. You’ve taken your clothes off before - maybe not in a theater in front of a bunch of people - but you’re getting paid for doing it.” The more I thought about it, the more it made sense.