*Xavier tells me he’s quite thankful for all the thoughtful responses he was given about objectification in porn. He remarks that bloggers must have amazingly thick skin to deal with the constant barrage of comments both positive and negative. I said, “Oh yeah. We sure do.”

*This week on Beyond the Birds and the Bees:

They Only THOUGHT They Were Sneaking Around…: “Does changing furnace filters and checking moles involve love bites on your neck?” Busted AGAIN!

The Kids are Alright: My parents were so cagey about anything regarding my body, that when I was twelve and presented my mother with a story that a family friend had given me about tampons – that if you don’t stick one up inside you once a month, you become pregnant – she said tampons were nothing I needed to worry about.

That Sort of Thing: I lived with my mother who, in addition to being a single mom, turned to Christianity for comfort after the divorce. Growing up, not only was no one having sex in my house, no one was talking about it either.

Night Court: Obviously we are not born with the analytical knowledge of sex, merely a primal urge to fulfill. How does one talk to their child about sex without being too clinical or too detailed?

*Have you shared a story yet? Go for it!

---------------
This is a post from AlwaysArousedGirl. If you are reading it anywhere but in a feed reader or email, it has been scraped without my permission. Please email (aagblog *at* gmail) and let me know.
---------------

Jettison

“Would you be willing to have intercourse with me this afternoon? I live in XXXXXX.” This appeared on the screen so quickly that I had to wonder if he’d pre-typed it in anticipation of the the next wayward soul to wander through.

I could have left then, I know, but as so often happens curiosity got the best of me and I couldn’t help but answer. “It’s an awful long drive between XXXXXX and my town just for an afternoon of sex,” I replied, quickly calculating that the trip would require some five hours of travel time.

“I’d need you to drive here,” he responded. “I don’t have a car. But we could meet at this little motel just up the street from my mom’s house. I could walk.”

As he was typing I checked out his profile. It listed his age as 47 and his occupation as “stock broker.” The town matched what he’d told me. Before I could respond (or run), another message appeared. “I’ll make it worth your while,” he typed. “If you have intercourse with me, I’ll give you a brand new car.”

That hooked me, not because I had any wish or hope that he was serious but because the offer was so mind-bogglingly odd. “A brand new car, eh? Just for sex?”

“Yes,” he answered. “I own stock, and as soon as it goes above $3 a share I’ll have a million dollars.”

“I see,” I said. “And how much per share is the stock worth now?”

“$0.034, but it will go up just as soon as I have intercourse with a woman.”

I soldiered on, for what reason I could not say. “Really. How exactly does that work?”

“The bastard who owns the company has a cap on the stock until I prove that I’m straight,” he answered. “All I have to do is lose my virginity to a woman and he’ll remove the cap. The stock will shoot right up and within six months you’ll have your car.”

“I see,” I typed, at a loss for how to respond to this revelation. Apparently no more was expected; his reply appeared a fraction of a second after mine.

“But I’m surprised they haven’t gotten to you yet.”

“Who is that?”

“The owner and his cronies. I’m surprised they haven’t warned you to stay away from me. You see, they don’t want me to make money off this stock.”

My mind was spinning. “How would they possibly have gotten to me?” I asked.

“They watch my screen,” he typed. “They can see everything I do, every site I visit, every keystroke I make. But I still want to have intercourse with you, as long as you’re not too scared. You aren’t too scared, are you?”

Here I paused. “No, no, I’m not scared in the least,” I finally typed. Amazed? Yes. Flabbergasted? Absolutely. But scared? Not so much.

“Good. Then you’ll come?” This message appeared only an instant before my final message, in which I gently wished him luck with his plans. As soon as it was sent I took leave of the chatroom.

This took place a day ago, and I swear upon the most recent version of WordPress that I have not exaggerated or embellished a single word of it. I keep nervously checking my dating site email, dreading the moment when this man might decide he has a bit more to say to me.

Thus far he’s remained silent, and I’m left to wonder if he was conducting some intricate social experiment designed perhaps to seek out answers about our willingness to engage in risky sexual activities. That’s it, right? He was just running me through a social experiment, wasn’t he?

I really hate to contemplate any other possibilities.

---------------
This is a post from AlwaysArousedGirl. If you are reading it anywhere but in a feed reader or email, it has been scraped without my permission. Please email (aagblog *at* gmail) and let me know.
---------------

Social Experiment

Perhaps what worries me the most in your letter, Xavier, is the idea that you are objectifying the women about whom you fantasize. Here’s something to think about, an example gleaned from the countless hours I’ve spent looking at porn and the remarks users leave on porn sites. I have a certain fascination with performers who choose to leave their body hair natural. Check out these pictures, for instance, of a shoot done with Jiz Lee and Syd Blakovich.

After viewing the shoot one user commented, “I got off several times while watching it! The women were hot. Love the gender bendiness. Love the hair. Love the chemistry.” Another said, “The hair really throws you for a minute, then its like, that’s different, mix it up some.”

A third viewer said, “Not at all into the hair under arms and on legs or around the butthole–yack. Jiz is attractive enough but I can’t get past the personal grooming… if you could clean her up Jiz would be interesting to see again.”

Do you see the difference in these comments? While all three viewers mention the performers’ grooming choices, the first two focus on the shoots as a whole. They demonstrate respect for the the differences shown by the actors. In contrast, the third viewer seems to believe that the actor is just a thing which needs to be cleaned up by some invisible outside force in order to be personally pleasing to him (or her; I think the name stated was male but on the internet who really knows?). The first two viewers enjoyed the porn without objectifying the performers. The last showed by his comments that he saw the actors as only objects to be used for his pleasure.

Nevertheless, I’m not really sure that it matters. Alexa from The Real Princess Diaries says:

[Xavier's] not using the women – he’s using the video, which is not the same thing.  If he had the women themselves (the daughters, sisters, etc.) and used them physically, THEN his point would be valid.

Some women, myself included, have absolutely no problem with someone objectifying me.  Even during the most loving sex between two monogamous, committed lovers, objectification occurs during sex to one degree or another.  It would only be a problem if the entire relationship was based on some type of objectifying construct.

Dear Xavier, any woman you see in a reputable, legal porn (and that’s the only kind I’m referring to here) consents for you to watch and get off on her images. Each one made a conscious choice to be photographed and then to have that work viewed by a wide audience. I can’t imagine that they care very much one way or the other how you feel about them personally, as long as their work brings you a certain brand of below-the-belt joy.

Think about it this way: Do you feel compelled to know the loves of your grocery store cashier? The fears of your bus driver? The joys of your mail carrier? The concerns of the person who reads the weather? You might be interested in them (for whatever reason), but you are not expected to be personally involved in their lives. They provide a service — a service for which they are compensated — and you gratefully accept the work and time that went into that service. That’s the end of the transaction. You owe no more degree of personal involvement to porn performers than you do to the workers mentioned above.

I have to wonder, Xavier, if you feel the same guilt when you admire talented mainstream actresses or the models who pose for Sports Illustrated. Surely you’ve entertained some small fantasies of these women? If there’s not the same degree of guilt associated with those thoughts, ask yourself why. You don’t have to believe what you’ve been told. You don’t have to believe that all porn is evil.

Diva says, “I think overall [Xavier]  has a lot of personal hang ups about sex, porn and the shame he feels from it that has nothing to do with the women involved in it but I would suspect more with his background and upbringing.”

Finally, Debauched Domestic Diva suggests that those with more questions on this topic should check out the Sex Work Awareness website. Consider making a donation or participating in the NYC Sex Bloggers Calendar project in order to help raise awareness about the issues facing sex workers.

Readers, please chime in. What else can we tell Xavier in order to ease his troubled mind?

---------------
This is a post from AlwaysArousedGirl. If you are reading it anywhere but in a feed reader or email, it has been scraped without my permission. Please email (aagblog *at* gmail) and let me know.
---------------

Objectification, Part Two

I don’t care why the women on Voyeurweb or Redtube or XTube or whatever are on there.  I’m using them for my own purposes, whether they’re trying to pay for drugs or college or simply to feel loved after a lifetime of abuse.

And when I think about the fact that I have daughters and a spouse I have to admit that the “use” I’m making of women in porn or women I’m fantasizing about is completely not what I would want for them, my wife or daughters.

When I think of all the feminists I’ve read, I’m doing exactly what they are concerned about, I am taking women, women with loves and fear and joys and concerns and I am turning them (or at least complicit in) into objects to be “useful” in my masturbation sessions.  I’m objectifying real people.

As a professional in “the industry” now.  Have you ever thought about these issues?  As a parent of a growing girl, how do you understand issues of porn and objectification and positive sexuality?

Click the link below for more…

Dear Xavier,

While I appreciate your concern for the performers you watch, I believe your worries are largely misguided. I took the liberty of sharing your letter (anonymously, of course) with a few other bloggers whose responses will appear alongside mine below.

First, I find it interesting that you mention only female performers. Does your worry extend to their male, transgender or queer counterparts? If you are concerned about your objectification of women then you should be equally concerned about what goes through my mind when I watch a hot man — or a pair of hot men — performing. Let me assure you that I’m not thinking about anything other than what it would be like to take part in the scene.

Perhaps you should worry even more about men, considering that they often earn less than their female co-stars and have to deal with such things as holding ultra-challenging positions, maintaining an erection throughout countless stops and starts and orgasming on command.

Next, you’re making a pretty big assumption when you worry that female performers are only financially motivated. I’m not sure that this is valid. Who doesn’t work at least in part because of the financial incentives? Can you name anyone whose job is done for altogether altruistic reasons?

Open your mind to the possibility that many performers work in the adult industries because they want to. Alexa from The Real Princess Diaries says, “Many people who do this kind of work get off on knowing that other people do use it as masturbatory fodder.  Some consider it performance art, and the joy it brings to the viewer is no different than a performer who produces or participates in any other artistic video creation.”

Others appreciate the chance to live out their fantasies with the best practitioners in the business. The reasons for working in porn are multitudinous. Don’t assume that everyone is working for drug money or as a reaction to childhood abuse.

You say that you’d hate to see your own family members involved in the adult industry. I’ve thought about this question in regard to my own children. I can certainly imagine worse careers for them. I wouldn’t want them to be air traffic controllers because of the stress, or commercial fishers because of the danger, or police officers because of … well … what I know from watching Law & Order. I want my children to behave ethically and to feel fulfilled in whatever careers they pursue, and I think this is absolutely possible if they choose jobs in pornography.

Debauched Domestic Diva adds this:

As a mother do I want  my children to be porn stars?  No.  But I also don’t want them in the middle of a war or working for minimum wage at McDonald’s. There is just as much stigma working for minimum wage at a fast food restaurant as there is for sex workers.  It is a different type of stigma but still just as degrading to that person.

If one of my children did decide to go into sex work I would support and love them the same as if they choose to be a doctor, lawyer or auto mechanic.  Their life and their choices are theirs to make and I can only guide them and offer my support as they find their way in life.  My only heartache would be knowing the struggles and stigma they would always face with their choice.

Alexa from The Real Princess Diaries says:

If it was my non-minor daughter, I’d expect her to formulate her own views on [working in porn], and if she elected to do the same type of thing, so long as she was being safe about it, and I was sure she was making the decisions with a full understanding of what she was doing, then that’s her call.

Tomorrow we’ll continue on with Xavier’s letter and further discuss his concerns about objectifying the actors. But for now, readers, it’s your turn. Does Xavier use women in an objectionable way when he masturbates to their images? Should he feel the level of guilt demonstrated in his letter?

Sound off in the comments below.

---------------
This is a post from AlwaysArousedGirl. If you are reading it anywhere but in a feed reader or email, it has been scraped without my permission. Please email (aagblog *at* gmail) and let me know.
---------------

Objectification, Part One

I was facing away from her as she spoke; this provided an opportunity to compose my face before turning around. “That’s fine, honey.” My voice sounded surprisingly level considering the vehemence of the eye rolling in which I’d just been engaged. “If you don’t like them you don’t have to use them.”

“It’s ok. They’re already out.” She sounded dejected despite having scattered enough of them across the table and around the cake that I knew we’d be picking silvery confetti out of the carpets for weeks.

Near the end of the party a half-dozen giggly girls gathered around the cake while a smaller grouping of boys clustered tightly nearby. Song sung and candles blown out, everyone tore into their treats as though they hadn’t just stuffed themselves on sandwiches, chips and fruit less than an hour before.

All but invisible now that they were busy with the food, I drifted into the kitchen unnoticed by the guests. “I love this cake,” I heard one of the boys say. Murmurs of crumbly assent drifted across the room. “And the decorations,” added a girl. “These sparkles are so cool.” More muffled voices agreed that yes, the sparkles were the very height of rad.

“I told my mom this stuff was awesome,” said one pert girlish voice. “But she didn’t believe me. She didn’t want me to put it out.” Apparently my daughter thought that if she couldn’t see me, I couldn’t hear her. I poked my head around the corner; her eyes instantly met mine and a look of shock burst across her face. She blushed mightily as I teased her, joking back with good graces when her friends joined in the attack.

She has to fight against me to grow up, I know. Soon enough the topics will move to friends, curfews and social expectations. Battles over birthday party decorations are only the beginning.

As predicted, even after running the vacuum cleaner twice I’m still finding sparkly confetti tracked throughout the house. Pieces wink up at me from the floor all the time, reminding me of how very much difficult and painful work is in front of me in the raising of this child — and how very much difficult and painful work she must accomplish in order to become a totally different person from her mommy.

---------------
This is a post from AlwaysArousedGirl. If you are reading it anywhere but in a feed reader or email, it has been scraped without my permission. Please email (aagblog *at* gmail) and let me know.
---------------

Sparkles

It seems to be the worst after we’ve been apart for too long, although recently only a three day break caused trouble. We attacked each other like reality show contestants offered cheeseburgers after weeks eating only rice. Before a half-hour passed he’d come twice. “We should take a break,” I suggested. (I’m the temperate one, always. Don’t even bother to disagree with me about this.)

And we did; for ten minutes we limited ourselves to talking and stroking overheated skin. But then his lips found mine. “Blow me,” he demanded.

I pulled away and scowled. “Honey. Are you sure? Isn’t it too soon?” In answer he grabbed my wrist and placed my hand on his cock, which bore all signs of being ready for action. Good intentions got shoved aside. Who could remain temperate in the face of hard cock? Within another quarter of an hour he spilled again upon my chest.

We were done, I thought. Time was short that night and after three rapid orgasms I reasoned that he’d be able to handle no more. I was wrong. He flipped me over and entered me, and as I practiced my newly learned skill upon him he came once again. He collapsed on the floor face down, where he remained for ten long minutes while I rubbed his back and wondered if I should call 911. Can you imagine the call? “Please send help. My boyfriend’s testicles have seized up.”

Eventually he roused, clutching at his groin. “That last one was nothing but dust and cobwebs,” he groaned. We amused ourselves by imagining how his prostate must have sounded (a hacking cough?) or looked (a deflated, sagging balloon?) at the time of the final climax. He swore he didn’t regret it, not a bit, but I had to wonder, especially when he reported that the throbbing testicular ache didn’t budge until nearly 24 hours later.

See? A one-orgasm-per-hour limit sounds like a pretty good idea, doesn’t it? If not, what remedies for overused balls have you tried?

——

As of this posting we’ve had eleven great entries for the Tuesday Super-Swag contest. Chances for winning are still excellent. Enter until Sunday July 5th at 12:01 am, and check out all the new posts at Beyond the Birds and the Bees.

---------------
This is a post from AlwaysArousedGirl. If you are reading it anywhere but in a feed reader or email, it has been scraped without my permission. Please email (aagblog *at* gmail) and let me know.
---------------

Ache

——

Months ago the ex announced his intention to take our eldest child on a week-long vacation to his home town.  I agreed, half (at least) convinced that like so many of his other plans this one would not come to fruition.

Each passing week showed him to be more dedicated than I’d imagined.  He drew up an ambitious yet thoughtful itinerary, contacted childhood friends, made hotel reservations and purchased supplies.  He even took his car in for a pre-trip checkup, an action which both shocked an impressed me given his absolute ignorance of all things vehicular during our union.

I contributed as well, making sure that my daughter packed the requisite number of outfits and underthings.  I weeded out (and quietly replaced) a few of her hole-ridden favorites.  Together we procured enough books to busy her and snacks to keep everyone energized during the long car ride.

Upon learning about the trip my mother began panicking.  I’m sure she won’t stop panicking until my daughter returns home.  Actually, that’s inaccurate.  My mother began worrying about this child the very day I reported a missed period.  She’ll continue to worry about her until either she or the child dies.  “I can’t believe you’re letting him take her,” she’s exclaimed more than once.  “Do you think he can handle it?  You know he’s not a very good driver.”

At each outburst I tried to calm her with little success.  I may worry but my mother is a worrier, an inveterate, award-winning worrier.  She takes gold medals in worrying for both speed and endurance.  If her worrying were a television show it would be The Simpsons or Law and Order.  If it had a Google page rank it would be 10; if it had a population it would be that of China.  And India.  Combined.

This apple didn’t fall far from the tree; however, I have the benefit of sufficient counseling and medication to keep the anxiety under control, or at least mostly so.  I worry too:  That he’ll drive past the point of exhaustion and wreck.  That he’ll be distracted with friends or family and allow her to wander off.  That a random stranger at a rest stop will snatch her.  That she’ll be sick or sad or lonely.  That she’ll never return home.

“Don’t fret,” my friends have told me.  “Nothing bad will happen to her.  Of course she’ll make it home safely.”  I know they mean well, but my friends are wrong.  Chances are excellent that in the space of a week she’ll be back in the house, back to her usual routine of whining and complaining when things aren’t exactly to her liking.  But there are no guarantees; of this I am keenly aware.

Sometimes children don’t come back.  It’s a risk one agrees to, however unwittingly, the moment sperm and egg meet.  If I didn’t understand that risk after months and months spent trying to conceive my first child then I did after years waiting for the second child and even more so after a tricky placement the third time around.

It’s always a risk, and no matter how much I might love my children, I don’t own them.  I can’t keep them safe.  I have to let them go every day in ways big and small because their entire lives consist of moving away from me.  To do anything else would be to try to keep them helpless children, a prospect which surely would fail.

…when we finally know we are dying, and all other sentient beings are dying with us, we start to have a burning, almost heartbreaking sense of the fragility and preciousness of each moment and each being, and from this can grow a deep, clear, limitless compassion for all beings.
– Sogyal Rinpoche

---------------
This is a post from AlwaysArousedGirl. If you are reading it anywhere but in a feed reader or email, it has been scraped without my permission. Please email (aagblog *at* gmail) and let me know.
---------------

Worry

For a while you would have noticed nothing unusual, just two middle-aged lovers wholeheartedly enjoying themselves in the early morning sunlight.  You might have thought they seemed into each other (and the act itself) rather more than expected what with all the dirty talk, hair pulling and ass-slapping.  Were they new partners, you might have wondered, but beside that you would have noted nothing particularly remarkable about the performance.

But eventually, you’d watch as the man placed a naked foot on the bed next to the woman’s arm.  You would have seen him tilt his body across hers with one hand braced against her shoulder, the other against the bed.  Their movements would all but stop, at least to anyone watching from the doorway.

Whatever were they doing, you’d wonder.  Did they need a rest?  Was there a problem?  Could the performance be over so soon?

If you looked more closely you’d see on the man’s face a look that belied the idea that they’d stopped or even paused.  The sounds coming up from someplace deep within his chest?  They’d have struck you as almost orgasmic.  “Keep rocking your hips like that,” you would have heard him moan, and with that hint finally you’d have seen the reason for his joy:  almost imperceptibly tiny movements of the woman’s pelvis back and forth, with not a hint of participation on his part other than holding fast to her hips.  However small the motion, its effect on the man was undeniable.  He clenched, he shuddered, he came, yelling with pleasure as his body stayed all but immobile and her hips continued their minuscule oscillations.

And if you could have seen the woman’s thoughts, encased perhaps in a bubble floating above her head, what would she have been feeling about the encounter, their actions, his sounds?  Inarticulate as her thoughts might have seemed (as she at that moment felt nearly as much pleasure as he did), you would have picked up clear hints of triumph and abundant pride.

Pride, over fucking?

“I made him come,” she was thinking.  “I did it.  I know how to move.  I know how to fuck.  I can do it.” Because after years and years of feeling like the most inept and doltish partner in the world, she’s now starting to believe that this one amazing man finds her competent.

——
Thanks to everyone who has already entered our Tuesday Super-Swag contest. You have until Sunday July 5th at 12:01 am to get additional entries in.  I’m so pleased at the number (and quality) sent in so far.  I guess this means we require bribery?

---------------
This is a post from AlwaysArousedGirl. If you are reading it anywhere but in a feed reader or email, it has been scraped without my permission. Please email (aagblog *at* gmail) and let me know.
---------------

Proud

I’ve got some swag to give away, but this time y’all are going to have to work for it.  I’ll randomly choose one person who shares a tale with Beyond the Birds and the Bees between now and Sunday, July 5th at 12:01 am Eastern time to win a whole box full of fabulous swag.

All you have to do to enter is include your story on the standard submissions form, making sure to include a working email address.  I’ll use my favorite random number generator to choose our winner then email him or her at some point on Sunday morning.  This particular contest is limited to US residents only.

And what will our lucky winner get?  I’m so glad you asked!

• A Tunti Illuminated Boudoir Toybox, reviewed here on Jane’s Guide (value $89.95).
• A new Tickler, made by RubyGlass21.com and reviewed here on Jane’s Guide (value $24.99).
• A copy of Sex Parties 101 (value $14.35).
• Any other fun little odds and ends I can cram into the Tunti Toybox before I package it up.

You get a shot at over $125 worth of cool stuff in exchange for some words.  Go for it.

---------------
This is a post from AlwaysArousedGirl. If you are reading it anywhere but in a feed reader or email, it has been scraped without my permission. Please email (aagblog *at* gmail) and let me know.
---------------

Tuesday Super-Swag

I’d be even more giddly if any plans other than work, work and more work were on the agenda.  Oh silly me, I do have other plans.  Freedom during the week means that I’ve crammed a slew of necessary but dull appointments onto the schedule as well.  I get to have my boobs squished, pupils dilated and head examined.   Yay?

The upshot of this for you is that regular posting will resume on Wednesday.  In the meantime, have a look at some stuff going on around the blogosphere:

Fancy Pants: “As we go to leave she gets pensive – ‘You know Mum, I don’t get why everyone makes a big fuss about fancy pants when no one gets to see them.’”

Tunti Illuminated Boudoir Toybox:  “Anyone seeing the Tunti would imagine that it contains important documents or possibly the tools of espionage instead of sex toys.  Not that there’s anything wrong with toting around one’s sex toys.  In fact I’d feel equally mysterious transporting dildos or spy gear.”

Dad’s Condom Lesson: “Apparently my dad wasn’t sure I had learned everything he wanted me to know about condoms – specifically, how un-durable they can be. Much to my SUPREME embarrassment, my dad proceeded to unroll the condom over his fingers and began rubbing the condom with his other hand – trying to create enough friction for the condom to break.”

The Tickler: “I suffer from the phenomena known as ‘fat fingers,’ so I worried that The Tickler, made by RubyGlass21.com and available at UnderBedToys, would not fit over my chunky digits.”

Or you could get defensive:  “My review of the Treeze Wave, and my opinion of it, would have faded into the background if not for Don’s comment. In trying desperately to publicly defend a product that one reviewer found lackluster, he has only made his company look defensive and stubborn.” [Great example of how *not* to respond to a negative review; required reading for anyone who writes sex toy reviews or asks for their sex toy to be reviewed.]

Allergic to Penis: “She continued to gaze at it. ‘Is penis?’ she asked. ‘I no eat penis?’

I was stunned. What in the world would make a two-year-old think of eating a penis? Had she overhead something about oral sex? Or seen something on the television? I cast about for an appropriate interpretation of her question.”

Enjoy this guided tour and check back tomorrow; if my head unshrinks, my pupils undialate and my titties aren’t too terribly angry I may have some swag to give away.

---------------
This is a post from AlwaysArousedGirl. If you are reading it anywhere but in a feed reader or email, it has been scraped without my permission. Please email (aagblog *at* gmail) and let me know.
---------------

Not Here