The Beautiful Kind

For months now I’ve been wanting to check out burlesque shows in the area, but every time I find out about one, it’s on a night I have my daughter, dammit.

One of the most well-known troupes is the Alley Cat Revue, led by Lola Van Ella, and Wednesday night was their big Stag Nite performance at Off Broadway. I was kid-free and rarin’ to go - I couldn’t wait to see the pole dancing, fire eating, acrobatics, and ample shimmying, all performed by beautiful women wearing garter belts, fishnets, and corsets.

So why was I so disappointed in the evening that I took my leave at intermission? I’m still trying to figure it out. Maybe it was an off night for them, or maybe the performers were inexperienced. Lola was not the smooth M.C. I expected - she got flustered when some drunk dude in the audience heckled her during her rendition of Bernadette Peter’s whore song from Blazing Saddles. She wasn’t diva enough to keep the audience’s attention as she introduced her “girls” - recent graduates of the burlesque classes she teaches. My guy likened it to tae kwon do classes - earning the belts despite not being able to really fight, getting an “E” for effort.

Maybe it was how all the women wandered around nervously in lingerie before the show - it took some of the mystery away. Some of them were performing for the very first time in front of an audience, which some might find exciting, but to me it just screamed “amateur!” It was like watching a grade school talent show or girl scout skit night - I felt like I had accidentally stumbled into a 5th grade basement slumber party. And man o man, drag queens have ruined it for African-American female performers - they came off as campy, not sexy.

All of the women were pretty, with lots of flashing creamy ass cheeks and elaborate costumes, but they weren’t SEXY. They lacked the “It Girl” quality of Clara Bow. I was expecting a little more talent and confidence. And for the love of god, don’t ever, EVER mix clowns with burlesque. I had nightmares about that sketch.

To be fair there were a few stand-outs - you can’t go wrong with pole dancing, the acrobatic black-and-white striped duo was fantastic, and the fire eater who burned huge holes in her fishnet bodysuit was impressive, but it wasn’t worth sticking around for the whole show, even though I heard Lola had a wardrobe malfunction later on (she swears it wasn’t a publicity stunt, though in my opinion, they could use one.)

Someone needs to tell these women - OK fine, I will: You are goddesses, so act accordingly! You’re holding the key to ultimate power as you join the lofty ranks of belly dancers, strippers, and whores. Hone your seduction skills. Read up on temptresses, witches, and sirens - Anais Nin, Isadora Duncan, Josephine Baker, Mae West…a good book to get you started is Seductress: Women Who Ravished the World and Their Lost Art of Love.

We’ll see how they fare at the big City Museum 10-year-anniversary bash on October 26.

Another guest post. This one is courtesy of The Wild Woman…

He crawls on top of me while I sleep on my side, my husband, his cock grinding against my hip, grunting. My eyes remain closed. Images of you, the stranger, flood my mind. He becomes irritated at my lack of response and grinds harder, pinning me under his weight. I imagine you taking my hair in your hand, pulling my head back, growling your desire into my ear.

This man, the husband, a stranger.

But you, the stranger, are my husband this morning.

He pushes off of me, rolls me onto my stomach, straddles my backside, and pulls my panties down just below my ass. He licks his fingers, then touches his cock. He’s wrong to think his saliva is needed to slide inside of me. He doesn’t realize that you have been waking The Wild Woman. He doesn’t know her, understand her, nor does he know how to engage her. When she is awake, her cave is wet.

As he thrusts into me, she rips at his cock, tearing his flesh, and he comes immediately. His first introduction to her stuns him. He pulls his limpness from her opening and rolls off, chest heaving.

My face in my pillow, bare ass, lathering pussy, craving you. The Wild Woman screams your name in triumph over the stranger.

My guy was waiting for me to wash up and come to bed so we could get our freak on. I entered the dim room, my cunt fresh and ready to be licked, and was puzzled to hear a very familiar buzzing sound. It was my Hitachi Magic Wand, and lo and behold, he was experimenting, rubbing it’s powerfully vibrating head on the shaft of his raging hard cock.

“Well!” I exclaimed, pleased that once again he was displaying his creativity in the bedroom. He wasn’t just going to sit around and twiddle his thumbs, no sir.

“It feels wonderful,” he murmured, and I settled in eagerly to watch.

GOD I LOVE my Hitachi Magic Wand. I received it as a gift from an ex-love, and never has a gift been more used or appreciated. I use it about twice a day, worth every penny. It’s a hardcore device - plugs into the wall and is intense, not for the faint at heart. It usually only takes me a minute or two to get off with it. I’ve heard it’s great for back pain and massaging muscles, too, ha ha.

Anyway, my guy didn’t even need to move it, just rest it on his cock in the places that felt best, mostly under the head and frenulum area. I couldn’t believe how effective it was at pleasuring him to the point of orgasm. I kissed him on the mouth and ran my hands and hair gently over his naked chest. It was so sexy to hear him moan, his cock electrified and straining, magically erupting under the hypnotic influence of the wand.

I barely gave him a chance to recover before I chirped, “My turn!” I can be so greedy, but hey, at least I share my toys.

A year ago, a friend sent me a link to a video online featuring a geisha in a kimono teaching English. The awesome part was she was teaching Japanese women? how to say dirty things and act slutty for English-speaking men, which was delightfully incongruous and inappropriate. I had my laugh watching her writhe around on the tatami mat, her beautiful creamy legs thrashing and exposed, saying, “I give GOOD head!” Yeah, yeah, I moved on.

Then, just last week, a line from one of the scenes popped into my head and the awful part was, I couldn’t remember the words she was saying, just the sing-song way she said it. It was driving me insane trying to recall the phrase she said in that ridiculous tone of voice.

It ran through my head while I lay in bed at night trying to fall asleep, and popped up again the next day, interfering with the movie I was trying to watch. DAMMIT! It was wreaking havoc on me psychologically, similar to those freaky Japanese horror films.

Finally I was driven to search for it on the web, and not knowing what it was called, just typed in “C’mon Toshi!” since that’s one of the things she said a lot in the sketch.

Thankfully it popped up easily and I was able to watch it again, feverishly working my way to the part where she says

First Rate Cunt Lapping!

AHHHHH.

God I want my pussy licked.

…My guy informed me that he has never been woken with a blow job.

!!

“EEEEEEWWWW! I touched your vibrator!!!”

- my girlfriend, rummaging through my purse looking for my camera. I can’t say it was clean…

Note: This post is The Beautiful Kind’s bit for Blog Action Day. Topic - The Environment.

I have paper rabies. Paper rabies, according to Douglas Coupland in his book, Generation X, is “a hypersensitivty to littering.”

Every morning I walk the neighborhood with a bag and pick up after litterbugs. I HAVE to. It’s one of my obsessions to pick up at least one piece of trash a day. Also it helps keep the neighborhood decent, like how Malcolm Gladwell points out in The Tipping Point.

There’s something called the Broken Windows theory - some behavior is stimulated by the environment. If people see trash lying around, they’ll feel it’s acceptable to contribute to the trash. Monkey see, monkey do. The theory is based on the premise that “an epidemic can be reversed by tinkering with the smallest details of the immediate environment.” So who knows, maybe picking up one bag of trash a day will help more than just superficially.

One of the benefits of trash patrol, besides getting exercise, finding pennies and dimes, indulging in my desire to multi-task, seeing which houses are for sale, checking out people’s gardens and holiday displays, taking in nature and fresh air, smelling people’s breakfasts and laundry, is I like spying on the neighbors and their habits. I am the SUPER SPY of the neighborhood.

I know about the family who eats Velveeta and Oreos, the woman who wears hairpieces, the family whose kid finally outgrew the Fisher Price Floor Gym.

There are a couple houses that always have more trash in their yard - a sure sign that they have no pride. And what’s with the house with fifty potted plants on the back porch? And how come I never see anyone in the yard that has the most STUFF in it - does he or she put out the wind chimes, pink flamingos, boats, driftwood sculptures, and rock gardens at night?

Most of the trash I pick up is of fast food or smoking nature. LOTS of White Castle and GPC and Kool cigarettes. And oh my god the water and soda bottles. I like spying on the receipts I find (Dr. Pepper, Chex Mix, and a Milky Way - dinner!) and notes from kids waiting for the bus (“Amber, OMG you scared me I thought you were Amanda out to stalk me!!!”)

One early morning I saw a guy walk stiffly and quickly out of a house and by his body language and refusal to make eye contact, I knew he didn’t belong there and was doing the Walk of Shame. I KNEW the person-he-fucked-last-night’s husband was out of town.

And I wish the guy at the end of the street would stop tossing his spent lottery tickets on the street so that the whole neighborhood can see what a fucking loser he is.

It’d be nice if a couple other people in the neighborhood would go on trash patrol too, or be in charge of their own yard, or, better yet, if people would quit throwing their shit out the window like monkeys flinging poo at the zoo. FUCK.

But hey, we’re all monkeys. Check it out. And now I’m off for my walk.

Have you ever noticed that every time you go to plug something in, both outlets are already in use? Have you ever noticed that the average entertainment center requires about, oh, six to eight outlets?

Back in 1940, two outlets sufficed for your fan and radio, but HELLO we’ve advanced technologically, for better or worse, so WHY are they still building houses with the two-outlet design, forcing us to cobble lamps and phone chargers and clocks together using extension cords and power strips?

I know we should be using less energy, but fuck, try telling that to my laptop.

I know it’s unusual for me to dis a Dem, but this pic of Al Gore from the NYTimes has him looking a little creepysinister. The full size version is even worse. I mean, is this the right image for someone who just won a Nobel Peace Prize?! (Congrats, by the way. Too bad it won’t do any good and is just a token gesture and polar bears will go extinct anyway.)

He’s like a werewolf standing in front of the moon, only instead he’s in front of the earth playing God again. Or maybe Jack Nicholson. Geez his tie even matches the earth. They are so going steady.

Anyway, he needs to stop eating meat.

You HAVE to go to Laumeier Sculpture Park and check out their new installation, especially since their website sucks and doesn’t do the place justice. Their new exhibit is perfect for fall, Halloween, winter…tons of photo ops, people!

I’m absolutely spoiling the surprise of the most intriguing sculpture, but I can’t help it. It’s so…visual.

EEEEEEEEEKKKKKK! hee

Bonus for me: While I was there last weekend I got to see a cute bespectacled lesbian couple with a three-legged dog make out on one of the trails. Not the dog, just the lesbians.

Also, this sculpture reminds me of that married couple in porn where the girl is totally Bettie Page hot and the boy is totally skeevy, all covered in tattoos and playing a badass. Anyway, one of their shticks is for him to cum in her eye. NOT COOL.

I saw a full-page ad in the NYTimes with that header and my first thought was: how stupid. The ad screamed:

THEIR GREATEST HITS PLUS THEIR AMAZING NEW ALBUM PERFORMED IN ITS ENTIRETY!

STYLES CHANGE. STYLE DOESN’T.

UNIQUE… EXTRAORDINARY… DURAN DURAN ON BROADWAY

Whatever.

Once upon a time I thought they were superhot and they had my panties in a bunch for two summers. My friend and I would write crude erotica featuring them, and we could never decide who the female star in the story should fuck, so we’d usually just pass her around in accidental gang bang fashion, like she’d slip into a dark closet to fuck John but - oops! - the wrong guy would follow her inside and it was really Simon’s sperm trickling down her leg as she emerged - seriously! I knew about spoo leakage before I got my period. I’m kindof proud of that.

Anyway, despite STYLE not changing, I grew up and Duran Duran didn’t. Look at these pics! At least they outgrew their British mullets.

I hear Simon gets drunk out in public all the time and embarrasses his model-wife, and pitches a fit when the ice in his drink isn’t purified. And the name of their new album? Red Carpet Massacre. How dumb is that? They’re still obsessed with tussling with models. Dorks.

I woke to feel a hard cock pressing against my ass. It poked and prodded, its intention to invade me. I moaned and passively accepted it. The man in charge of the cock - and me - groped my soft flesh and pulled my face towards him so he could lick it crudely.

He fucked me for a long time, then said, “This time you’re going to swallow my cum - every last drop.” (Sidenote: Two days ago I had put in my request: “I haven’t eaten your cum in a while, we need to do that again sometime.” Top from the bottom, baby!)

A surge of disgust welled in my gut. I loved him telling me what to do.

He pulled out of me and ordered me to kiss his feet. Wordlessly I moved down towards the end of the bed and kissed his feet all over, rubbing my face and trailing my long hair over them. He jerked off as I rubbed my tits on them, then my pussy, working my way back up towards his cock. I rode his thigh, leaving a sticky trail.

Finally he came, pushing my head down on his swelling cockhead. My mouth filled with cum, and I swallowed, gagged. Still more cum flooded my mouth, and I had to swallow that, too. Every last drop. After taking a break to breathe, I licked his tip clean and crawled back up to lie with him. “Am I allowed back up here now?” I joked.

“Yes, you’ve been a good girl,” he murmured.

I nestled into his chest. “My belly has your cum in it,” I whispered.

My girlfriend sent me the strangest email the other day:

OK I’m not sure what’s in this tea that’s doing this to me…but this “Rejuvenation” green tea from Yogi Teas makes me think about giving half the guys I see head (and that’s a lot more than usual!!)

I noticed it about a week ago on the bus that I just started having random thoughts about wanting to suck on these stranger’s penises. Then I thought about this tea I’ve been drinking…hmm must be a connection. It’s supposed to be a mood booster. Well, it’s boosting something!

I checked the benefits of drinking the tea, and sure enough, it’s good for:

• Low Energy
• Effects of Environmental Toxins
• Promotes All-Around Health
• Improves Immune System Response
• Turns You Into A Cocksucking Maniac

Wow! OK I added that last bullet. Nonetheless, I ran out to buy some for myself at wholesome Whole Foods, and have been drinking it the past few days. I offered some to my man, but Mr. Straight Guy didn’t want to take any chances, hmf! Sure I’ve been sucking cock plenty, but I can’t say I’ve had the urge to suck any stranger’s cocks (except Wolverine.) OK that’s not true, I’m always thinking about perverted stuff. Speaking of, maybe I should be giving myself tea enemas?

Conclusion: The tea did not make me any freakier. It didn’t even give me more energy. Meanwhile, I don’t know what’s up with my girlfriend, but if you want to arrange a tea party with her, let me know.

Dear Slut,
Which superhero would you like to do you?
- From One Of Your Geekiest Fans

Dear Geek,
Oooh I had soo much fun calling my horror movie/comic book expert friend and pumping him for info for this post! I’m just going to go with male superheros, so that leaves Wonder Woman out (don’t worry, she’ll get a post of her own later.)

Green Arrow - It would be fun to teach this environmentalist, social justice, womanizing, renegade, billionaire superdude a thing or two, but he’s blonde and I can’t do blonde guys. Even if they wear tights.

Green Lantern - A hero who upholds the law, patrols the universe, and possesses a ring with power that is based on his will and imagination - yawn. Come on, a RING?! He’s like a comic book GROOM.

Batman - Nah, even though he has a good costume, is bisexual (he’s totally doing Robin AND that butler), is loaded and has a cave.

Captain America - No, too…American.

Superman - Again, too red white and blue, though it is cool that he wears tights. More men should wear tights.

Spiderman - You know, this post just made me remember that when I was a kid I used to make out with this Spiderman bust piggy bank we had lying around the basement. Can you say desperate and horny at age 8? So no, Spiderman is too 1982 for me.

Mr. Fantastic from Fantastic Four - He can stretch any body part, which has intriguing possibilities, but can you imagine this guy fisting you?!

Incredible Hulk - How does it go, the hornier he gets, the stronger he gets? The clothes ripping action is pretty hot, and I don’t mind green one bit, but I’ve dated too many men who had this Jeckyll/Hyde thing going on, so I’ll pass.

The Flash - The fastest man alive, does that mean he cums really fast or can fuck really fast or lick the clit really fast? Better not risk it, I’ll just have him eat me.

Wolverine - A mutant, crazy animalistic badass who has the ability to heal from any wound quickly - I guess that means I don’t have to worry about giving him STDs (though he might give me rabies). I should probably stay away from him when I’m on the rag - he seems rather bloodthirsty.

So yes, claws down, I pick Wolverine. Wouldn’t we look hot together? Plus if he tied me up he could release me from my bonds quickly with those sharpies of his. And I’ll work on getting him a better costume - yellow and blue? I don’t think so. He needs black and red, or something brown with texture.

Send your serious or not-so-serious queries to love [at] thebeautifulkind . com

Heads up, Blog Action Day is October 15. Topic du jour? THE ENVIRONMENT.

They obviously picked this topic with me in mind since I’m working at a green company now.

I LOVE that my boss knows about this blog and respects me for who I am. Oy, I have a tear in me eye.

Hi Boss! Hi Earth! xoxo

A guest post by a friend. This true story pleases the whoreticulturist in me:

We went to the MO Botanical Gardens for one of their free Wednesday night concerts. We had a picnic on the lawn by the fountains, far enough away from the stage and most patrons. We had never stated our attraction to each other directly, but our attraction to each other was obvious that evening.

We picnicked and drank wine and flirted madly with each other. Soon there wasn’t enough privacy for us - a nosy couple sat on a bench across the path from us, staring, people walked by. We wanted to do more than security might allow out in the open.

We grabbed our blanket, the wine bottle, and our naughty selves. He and I continued to banter temptingly with one another as we let our eyes dart here and there, looking for some place in the gardens where we could be alone. We decided on my favorite part of the gardens: the Japanese Gardens. We found an opening in the trees, just by a lily pond and slid through to our secret place.

He spread the blanket out and told me to lie down. I welcomed the dominance and lay down willingly. He reached under my mini-skirt and pulled my panties off, then unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, and proceeded to go down on me.

It had been a long time since someone had made me feel so good by licking my pussy. I writhed in pleasure as he licked my clit tenderly. He seemed to really enjoy tasting me. The gratification was so intense that I began to cry out. This was not an option for public sex. He stuffed my panties into my mouth, commanding me to keep quiet. I was more turned on by every dominant measure he took with me. I nodded and groaned as I continued to cum.

He pulled his hard cock out of his pants and slid it into me. “Is that what you wanted? Did you want my big, hard cock?” he asked as he thrust it into my soaking wet pussy. “Mmm hmm…” I mumbled through the panties in my mouth. He thrust hard and fast and deep the way I like it again and again and again until I came so hard I thought I might bite through my panties. I had needed it so badly.

Then it was his turn. I watched him cum harder than I’d seen anyone cum in a long time. I was so turned on by his cumming that I came again with him.

Later, as we composed ourselves and emerged out of our hiding place, we saw another couple in the darkening shadows depart from their own secret spot…

~ HisLittleSlut

I’ve decided that I don’t like any restaurant that plays Frank Sinatra music. That guy’s phony music goes right along with the phoniness of everything else they have going on (I know, I know, I sound like Holden Caulfield in Catcher in the Rye.)

Last night I went to Maggiano’s for a pre-wedding party (the wedding will be next weekend, and I’m actually looking forward to it as opposed to the usual dread because the person getting married is one of my oldest friends and not some acquaintance AND there will be belly dancers galore).

I was completely grossed out by the yuppie crawl scene at that stupid new Boulevard they set up across from the Galleria (first of all, it doesn’t feel like St. Louis, it feels like some Chicago or Kansas City cheap knock off, and second of all, it should have been built downtown and not out in the goddamn county).

I arrived a few minutes early, so I sat outside the restaurant on a we’re-so-down-with-the-harvest bale of hay and sulkily watched all the fucking snotty people mince by in their pointy spike hells - I mean, heels, all dolled up and showing off their perfectly coordinated designer outfits. You could almost smell the insecurity on the women as they played dress up, all heavily made up and clutching their impractical purses. Meanwhile, the men would saunter by cockily wearing slacks and tassel loafers. But my god someone let a hayseed slip by - I also saw a woman in jeans and Crocs pass through, but she was carrying a PF Cheng’s leftover bag, so that fits.

It pisses me off that this fancy chain creates atmosphere by stealing other people’s genealogy and plastering copies of autographed celebrity pics everywhere, as if to suggest that they are the destination of choice for every famous person who has paraded through St. Louis (yeah, right) the past forty years with a craving for veal and spaghetti. Who are they trying to kid? The place is two years old. It’d be cool if they went for a more realistic approach and decorated with pictures of slaughterhouse scenes and images of shit-smeared calves in crates straining wild-eyed against the chain that’s immobilizing them.

PS: I also hate restaurants that have “saddle of rabbit” on the menu. These restaurants also often feature “sweetbreads.” Barf.

A friend of mine in the porn industry informed me that today is Porn Sunday:

Pornography is a multi billion-dollar industry that is tearing apart marriages and families everywhere you turn. This addiction is raping the minds of people all around the world…Christians, non-Christians, men, women AND children.

The facts surrounding this ugly elephant in the room will blow your mind. Join LifeChurch.tv as we partner with XXXChurch.com, the nation’s largest anti-porn ministry, for National Porn Sunday. You’ll walk away empowered with the truth necessary to battle America’s dirty little secret…pornography.

I’ll say it’s tearing families apart - women are going ballistic when they discover their man’s porn stash and out him while standing in movie theater lines waving his DVDs around (happened to a friend of mine), throw him out of the house (happened to an acquaintance of mine) or kill him (happened in Chicago a few days ago). Fuck, if your partner looked like this, wouldn’t you look at porn too? As my guy quipped, “Hell my partner looks like YOU, and I still look at porn.”

PS: How awesome is it that this organization is using the same symbol as the Republican party? Is the ugly elephant in the room your conservative, dim-witted Uncle George the bigot? Jackasses…

PS2: Psst…porn is not America’s dirty little secret, ya Christian fools - it’s kindof out there for all to see, from Maxim mag to billboard ads. And ya know what? You will never, ever, ever be able to quell humankind’s sex drive and curiosity, any more than The Beautiful Kind will be able to convince everyone that God doesn’t exist.

Two of my favorite things!

DAMMIT camofaluge is one of those words I spell wrong EVERY SINGLE TIME. Camoflange, camoflauge, camaflouge… Maybe by the end of this post I’ll finally get it right. Or maybe I’ll just use the word “camo.”

I hate the camo pattern almost as much as I hate leopard print. I guess both are supposed to disguise you out in nature, but when transplanted to a mall or parking lot it just looks STUPID.

Did you know that my guy was in Desert Storm? For anyone who knows me this is like finding out I’m dating a Republican - I NEVER thought I’d get with a military guy. He did it to pay for school and ended up as a medic. One of his jobs was life guard duty for this pool in Saudi Arabia surrounded by desert. So at least he was saving lives over there instead of killing people, not to mention working on a good tan (ha!) OK I don’t think he actually Stormed the Desert, but he did have fun hanging out with scorpions and driving big machinery. Such a dude.

Anyway, down in the basement are remnants of his guard dog years - a sand hat, a uniform, some medals. It kinda creeps me out. Which makes me wonder HOW this advice column at ELLE could suggest wearing military pants - I mean, aren’t they a fashion magazine? Check out this lame advice:

Two Secrets of Bootylicious Bliss:

Secret #1: It’s not your butt—it’s your opinion about your butt that makes you crazy.

Secret #2: Official military BDU (battle dress uniform) pants—get a pair and achieve an instant Beyoncé-grade backside!

So this prompted me to look for military apparel online and I found this tempting array of fashion.

There’s a category for KIDS battle dress uniform, but no gas masks whatsoever. Lame!