The Misadventures of a CoatCheck Girl

Happy Birthday, Zero

2014-08-14T03:13:00.002-07:00

Writing a blog for nine years now has been a bit of a curse and a bit of a blessing at times. Some people get offended when they end up in it, and some get offended when they don’t.

They’re called The Misadventures for a reason-- it’s usually more fun to write about the mishaps, the quirky interactions, and quite frankly, the way that I retain my privacy and distance is to keep the truly touching moments to myself.

A few days ago I came across the following tweet in my feed:

All I want for my birthday is to be immortalized in the infamous @coatcheckgirl blog.

The man who wrote it is somebody very dear to me. I originally met him years ago when I was dating his bandmate. He was beautiful, and I was intrigued by the way he moved--- as if apologizing for his very existence.

I broke up with that particular man-child, his bandmate, and didn’t see my friend again for several years.

We finally reconnected a few years ago. I think it was through a mutual friend, online.

There are some people in my life, the truly special ones, with whom I can never remember how we actually became friends. It’s hard for me to believe there was a time that I didn’t know them, that they weren’t important to me, so I tend to block out those details.

Haven’t you always been a part of my life?

I do vaguely recall a ride to the airport, probably for one of my ill-fated trips to visit some guy or another.

See? Better to remember that we’ve always been friends.

There was talk of meeting up: coffee, tea, dinner. And then he’d moved across the country, just like that. Phone calls, texts, messages. That’s how we really got to know each other. The distance, no doubt, allowing us both to open up a bit more.

When he came back for a visit, I was in a low place. I was depressed and sick, barely able to get out of bed for days at a time, but I was not going to miss out on the opportunity to climb him like a jungle gym.

I wasn’t exactly in top climbing form.

While pondering this post I tried to look for the humor, the awkwardness, the lascivious details, but the truth is he gave me something few men have. It’s the type of thing I rarely write about.

As I’ve gotten older I’ve become a little less likely to kick people out as soon as I get off, though I still typically prefer to sleep alone. I’m not much of a cuddler. Still, I’d invited him to stay with me, so there was no helping it.

He still had the same self-effacing manner I remembered, as though the were constantly trying to hide his sturdy 6’-plus frame, or make himself smaller somehow.

I was resigned to not getting any sleep, but not for the reasons you might suspect. I simply don’t sleep well when there’s another body in my bed. I wake at every move, every shift, the slightest noise.

I woke up to the softest, most tender little kisses on my cheek and forehead. He was leaning over me, fully dressed. It startled me, to think I had slept so soundly that he’d been able to get up, shower, dress, and gather his things without me waking up.

So, no, this is not a steamy tale of sexual exploits, and shared orgasms (though there were a few of those too). My prevailing memory of him is one of absolute trust and vulnerability, something I rarely share with anyone. He showed me a sweet sort of adoration and affection, and created a space for me to feel safe, which in and of itself was a bit...scary?

It was also tinged with the inevitable sadness of knowing it would be so very fleeting.

More than anything, he longed to be a husband and a father. I’ve never met a man more determined to walk that path. I can't say that I understood or even now understand that drive, but I certainly respect it and wished that he would find it.

I am happy to report that not long after that trip, Zero met She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed. They are now engaged and well on the way to fulfilling his hopes and dreams of family.

Happy birthday, Zero.

You wanted to be immortalized in the blog. I hope you are not too disappointed to find affection and compersion rather than the usual snark.

May you and S.W.M.B.O share a lifetime of happiness and love!

xo,

Infamous CoatCheck Girl

Anonymous asks about "rules" within short & long-term open relationships

2014-02-28T14:21:00.002-08:00

Anonymous asked:

Do you have rules with your significant others about what is allowed with other partners? I guess I'm thinking of your longer term relationships like Butterfly Boy but I'm also curious how this works with Sir.

Dear Anonymous:

Honest communication and clearly defined boundaries are imperative to making any relationship work, whether that relationship is platonic, romantic, sexual, monogamous or non. These things become even more important when multiple partners or any sort of power exchange dynamic is involved.

The "rules" vary from relationship to relationship, and person to person. Even within one relationship things will evolve and change as time goes on and trust develops.

The one constant is safety, physical and emotional.

While both are important, I tend to place a little more emphasis on the physical--- a misunderstanding is much easier to mend and bounce back from than an unwanted pregnancy or an STI, so safer sex practices are always a requirement.

I feel I have to point out the importance of discussing what, exactly, "safer sex" means to you and your partners-- particularly if you are fluid-bonded. We're all grown-ups here and we know that sex can be risky, but most of us take calculated risks. I don't know anyone who uses dental dams every time they go down on a girl or give a rim-job, or who uses condoms for every blow-job. Should we? Ideally, probably, but most of us don't. Do your research, discuss, and make informed decisions with your partner about what activities and measures work for both of you.

Whew! Being a responsible adult is hard work, right? And that was the "easy" part...

Now, beyond the physical safety factors, within a long-term romantic relationship (as with Butterfly Boy) the "rules" are made to support and maintain trust. I prefer full-disclosure: crushes, potential lovers, pre-date announcements, post-date debriefings (tee hee). Some people prefer not to know details beyond the fact that their partner has other lovers, but what I have found is that when things are left to the imagination, well, the imagination runs wild. "We hung out" could be tea and Scrabble or it could be a 10 person orgy--- I'd rather just know which. Besides, story-time is sexy. I like hearing other people's stories and adventures; things they've done or tried that might inspire my new misadventures.

For my partners at least, anything goes, as long as the honest communication, full-disclosure, and safety factors are there. I prefer to meet their lovers, but don't require it. I know a lot of women don't like to feel like "the other woman" and even if they know the affair is sanctioned, most of them won't feel comfortable meeting me. One thing for which I am a stickler, is respect. They must be respectful of me and my relationship with my partner. Likewise, if any of my other lovers even hint at a lack of respect for my primary partner (can we please come up with a better term for that, already?), it's over.

Sir was a whole other story. We are no longer involved, but while we were, it was strictly a D/s dynamic rather than a romantic relationship. We did sort of "date" for a couple of months at first, but we were incompatible as romantic partners. That is not to say there wasn't affection, trust, or respect (those are required in abundance for healthy power exchange!), but he was certainly not a "boyfriend".

Because of the power exchange dynamic, there were more structured rules. As his submissive, I willingly gave him control over certain aspects of my behaviour, my body, and my sexuality. Because of the platonic nature of our dynamic (and the fact that we both adamantly believe in non-monogamy), I was free to date and play with others, but always remembering that he was my Sir and I was his girl. When I became his sub, I gave him sole control and ownership of my orgasms. While playing with others, I was allowed to orgasm-- but only after asking for and being granted permission by those other lovers, sort of a temporary transfer of ownership, if you will. That was actually at my request/suggestion. It served to remind me of my training, remind me that my orgasms no longer belonged to me, and that even while playing with others, I still belonged to Sir.

I was definitely not allowed to wear my collar while playing with anyone else, though I was allowed to call other lovers "sir" if engaging in kinky play, merely as a respectful form of address. There were certain other little personal rituals and terms that were reserved just for us.

The one thing that was absolutely off-limits was my ass. My bottom could get spanked or flogged all day long if I wanted, but there was no kind of anal penetration allowed--- no tongues, fingers, plugs, cocks, nothing...I wasn't even allowed to wear my kitty-tail plug.

The kitten play was the only area where we initially disagreed. My kitten side is something I only recently started exploring in earnest, thanks to Sir. As it's primarily a non-sexual thing for me, I wanted to explore that type of play with others as well. When I first brought it up, he was a bit hurt, I think. It was the only thing we explored that was new to both of us and that may have made him feel somewhat proprietary about it. Given how difficult it was at first for me to even admit I was into it, he was surprised I would want to explore it with others so soon. He eventually conceded, though.

That brings me back to the very first thing I mentioned: honest communication. You have to openly express your needs and wants, discuss them, and make rules that work for everyone involved. Then stick to them! Also be aware that those rules will change as you and your relationship or dynamic change. When the old rules no longer apply or they aren't working, they have to be re-assessed and re-negotiated. The other tricky thing about rules is that you can't plan for every eventuality. You can't spend so much time creating rules for your relationship that you don't have time to have a relationship. How boring!

Things will come up, mistakes will be made-- just be a grown-up.

If it was an honest mistake, discuss it, resolve it, and put rules in place to avoid repeating it.

If it's a blatant disregard or "creative interpretation" of your agreements, it may be time to re-consider that particular relationship.

xo,

Infamous CoatCheck Girl

P.S. Have a question for me? Click here to send me your anonymous queries.

Conversations with Mom 1/15/14

2014-01-16T12:08:00.003-08:00

I am very fortunate in that my mom and I have always had very frank and open conversations about sex. She doesn't understand some of my kinkier proclivities, but she is curious and finds our conversations very informative. On Monday, I was telling her that my Sir made me wear a butt-plug to Sunday's CoatCheck shift. "What is that?!" I explained as best I could, but apparently she was left with some unanswered questions, something about the language barrier. What is Spanish for butt-plug, anyway? We spoke yesterday, and I mentioned having had an extended, overnight play-date with my Sir. "So this butt plug thing" she asked "I still don't understand...what do you do if you have to go to the bathroom?" "Well, uhm...you sort of take care of things beforehand, but if I had to, I would ask for permission, and then go..." "You have to ask for permission?" "Yes, I have to ask permission to do pretty much anything...including having an orgasm." "QUE?!" "Haha...yeah, I have to ask for permission, and I'm not allowed to come until he says I can." "...well, if you're happy..." "Haha, I am, Mami. I asked permission for every single one of those 20-something orgasms I was 'forced' to have today..." "Oh!" she seemed to take a moment to process "Talking to you and your brother is so...educational!" All Content Copyright 2014, Juliana Tobón. All Rights Reserved

Intimacy

2013-11-13T00:35:00.000-08:00

Was that round three? Round four? Who knows...

I was floating on endorphins and adrenaline, the thrill of exploring old limits with a new lover.

His hand gently traced the line of my hip.

"What's this? It feels like a splinter."

"I don't know...probably a little clogged pore or something"

I froze and watched in horror/fascination as he, quite matter-of-factly, extracted this little sliver of keratin from my skin with his thumbnails.

"That was, uhm...oddly...intimate?" I ventured uncomfortably.

He rolled his eyes and gave an exaggerated, exasperated sigh.

"I've had my tongue in your ass!"

"...good point."

All Content Copyright 2013, Juliana Tobón. All Rights Reserved

Romance in the 21st Century: Vignette

2013-09-17T22:55:00.000-07:00

We spoke of things that could have been, that might have been.
We reminisced on love, friendship, and loss.
As we hugged goodbye, his hand dipped below the small of my back, firmly cupping flesh.
Turning to look for his taxi, he quipped:

"You turned me into an ass-man, d'you know that?"

17 September, 2013
A street in Portland, OR

All Content Copyright 2013, Juliana Tobón. All Rights Reserved

Of Myths and Machetes

2013-05-13T01:40:00.000-07:00

Most every mythology, regardless of provenance, includes a version of the "hero/heroine's journey". Outwardly these are tall tales of epic journeys, battles and ordeals; of monsters and giants.
Read more deeply, and they tell the story of everyman's inner journey, the struggle for self-discovery and self-mastery.
Wise-women, mentors or fairy-godmothers offer help along the way, often in the form of gifts: winged sandals, magic swords, cloaks of invisibility.
Today, while I visited my mum's for Mother's Day, she gave me Papi's old hard-hat and his fine Colombian machete. As I held that well-used but still-sharp blade, and when I plopped that hat on my head....well, I felt a little silly for a moment... but I also felt buoyed by the experience. I felt strengthened by my father's memory and by the energy that still lingers in those pieces.

Now, I am unstoppable. Now, I am ready to go slay a hydra!

All Content Copyright 2013, Juliana Tobón. All Rights Reserved

Meditations on Germination

2013-04-29T19:53:00.004-07:00

It's days like today that remind me why I love Portland. Sure there's all of the ridiculous Portlandia stuff, but there are also these moments, just as the seasons change--- moments of pure joy and magic.

I was walking home, still wearing a coat against the slight chill, but enjoying the sunshine nontheless.
Just as I was walking under one of the many venerable old trees that still line the streets in my neighborhood, a sharp gust swept up an eddy of leaves and papery little seed-pods. They swirled around my feet and started upwards. I looked up to find more of the pods raining down from the topmost branches.
The sun had dipped just low enough to give the surrounding trees a thin halo.
It seemed for a moment I could see/feel them breathing and all I could do was smile and breathe along with them.

Meditations on Germination
29 April, 2013
Portland, OR

****

Not the usual ICCG fare, to be sure, but there you are...consider it a peek behind the curtain.

xo,
Infamous CoatCheck Girl

All Content Copyright 2013, Juliana Tobón. All Rights Reserved

R.I.P Pauly Schermerhorn

2013-02-12T23:05:00.001-08:00

It was 1995, maybe 1996, and my roommate at the time came home one day and said "I met this really cool old raver guy at the square today. He's like sixty years old. Can he come stay with us?"

"Are you insane?!" I asked "You want to let some creepy old guy, who you just met on the street, come live with us?"

"Just wait until you meet him. You'll see."

Pauly Schermerhorn moved in with us the next day, and would live with me whenever he landed in Portland over the following 8 or 9 years. Pauly was LOVE personified...in the shape of a FABULOUS filipino drag-queen from Memphis.

He'd show up on my doorstep twice a year with about 10 small bags/suitcases: 2 of them might contain regular clothes, but the rest contained a wondrous assortment of costumes, decorative odds and ends, multiple pairs of platform shoes, and the elaborate head-dresses that he often wore to parties.

Oh, and there was always the one bag full of kitchen gadgets.

My mom always used to tell me that when Pauly was staying with me, she didn’t worry about me. Pauly was like a second mom--- he taught me how to walk in heels, talked with me about boys, always made sure I was well-fed, and that I felt loved and cared-for.

I have many fond memories of coming home from a night out, and Pauly wandering out

“Do you want something to eat?”. He’d whip up some salad rolls with home-made peanut sauce, and sit with me.

“It’s bad for the soul, to eat alone” he’d say. And he’d tell me stories as I ate.

He’d tell me stories about Memphis, about his family and “his kids”. He was a nomad with a network of friends spanning the entire country, and he would spend his year travelling-- city to city, party to party. High on life and LOVE, he’d dance circles around kids half his age and younger. Come to think of it, I never really knew how old Pauly was. He told me he was 58 when I met him and 10-12 years later when asked his age, he would give the same response.

While Pauly was never able to sell me on the whole “rave scene” thing, the love and acceptance he lived and emanated, managed to transcended the obnoxious music, the horrible pants, and my own innate cynicism. I was affectionately granted the title of “Honorary Raver”. Over the years I housed a lot of DJ’s and club kids--- he almost always travelled with some cute boy or another-- all were welcomed into my home. And all of us, “his kids”, navigated the rocky emotional terrain of our late teens and twenties (even into our thirties), guided by his unassuming embodiment of love, joy, wisdom, and generosity.

Pauly, you will be missed and forever remembered.

R.I.P.

*Though there is a part of me that is absolutely heart-broken right now, there's another part of me that thinks: of course on Fat Tuesday--- some fabulous party was callin' your name. And I can picture you in all your fabulous glittery glory, dancing with a smile on your face.

Amateur Hour

2012-06-04T03:12:00.000-07:00

"Can I just grab something outta my bag?"
It's filled to bursting. I try to prop it up as she rummages around.
Out comes a little black scrap of something.
She stuffs it in her mouth so she can wrestle the bag closed with both hands.
Spitting the lace back into her hand, she hands back the bag.
"It's my dance bag. I wanna do amateur hour and I'm not wearing panties."
With a shrug, she turns and disappears into the crowd.

(Amateur Hour. Sinferno. June 3rd, 2012)

All Content Copyright 2011, Juliana Tobón. All Rights Reserved

50 Shades of...HEY!

2012-05-22T01:56:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, during a rather boozy (is there any other kind?) literary event at Dante’s, I ran into an old acquaintance from the Poetry Slam days, back when I was performing in a music/spoken-word project. He insisted on introducing me to a local publisher, and led me to her table. He told her I write something that’s between esoterica and erotica--- "esoterotica" I think he dubbed it.
With a hint of a sneer she asked "Like 50 Shades of Gray?"
"Uh, no!" It was brusque, but it was apparent nothing I could say at that moment, in a noisy bar, was going to salvage that introduction. I excused myself, feeling rather offended.

I haven’t read 50 Shades of Grey, but I’ve read several articles, blogs, and reviews on it. Everyone says the writing is terrible; even fans of the book admit it. Why would I waste my time reading terrible writing? Just to read about BDSM play, something that probably looks like an average Tuesday night at my place? Meh...

Don’t even get me started on the whole fanfiction thing.

Anyway, back to my mortification at being summarily dismissed as a writer of Mommy Porn...

I started thinking: just how do I pitch my stuff now? I have a few things in the works. How do I pitch the "Misadventures" to that publisher or TV exec, in a post-50 Shades world, without being immediately categorized or dismissed as a copy-cat?

I’ve always found it interesting and (usually) amusing when people tell me what my blog is about. I hold that it says more about them than it does about me or the blog. They tell me I write about fucking, that I write erotica, that I write about “some pretty crazy shit”.
That people remember my writing as being explicit, means I’ve done my job as a writer. I am a human with a healthy libido: sex happens. There’s no need for a blow-by-blow.
The real story is in the before, the after, the in-between.

Then it struck me: when it comes to my Misadventures, I don’t write about sex, so much as I write around sex.

All Content Copyright 2012, Juliana Tobón. All Rights Reserved

The Jupiter Hotel

2011-12-31T00:20:00.000-08:00

He lay on the bed, watching me undress.
I watched his face.
This was no slow tease. Months in between and mere hours to go.
My movements were deliberate and efficient.
His expression shifted.
It was subtle, but I saw...hesitation.
"What?" I paused, feeling suddenly self-conscious.
"You know I think of you as a friend right?"
I laughed, relieved. "Where did that come from?"
"I just...I don't want you to think that this is the only reason I'm here, with you."
"Aw, that's sweet” I grinned as I moved to straddle him “And I know that. But we only have a few hours. We can talk later...on the phone, after you leave town."

2 December, 2012
Jupiter Hotel
Portland, OR

All Content Copyright 2011, Juliana Tobón. All Rights Reserved

Bye Bye, Butterfly!

2011-09-16T01:03:00.000-07:00

"Do you know why I asked you here?"

Butterfly Boy visibly paled.

"You're breaking up with me."

The proverbial light bulb over my head---

YES! Yes, that is exactly what I'm doing.

Until he uttered those words I had made no decisions, had no clear plan of action, merely some nebulous outline for one of those loathsome "talks". I despise "talks".

All we've done is talk, I thought--- talk about what he could do, should do, should be doing...

Months of listening to the litany of things he needs to do for himself--- to grow, to overcome, to evolve...and then he'd put that daunting mental list aside to make me an origami peacock out of a Comcast bill.
No time for the difficult, internal, mental/emotional work that we all need but hate to do. No, he had cakes to bake for me, potholders to sew for me...
And I was taken in by the loving subterfuge, trying to be a good woman to a wonderful devoted man.
But what an insidious trap, being the "good woman", the supportive girlfriend, the cheerleader/caretaker/counselor/healer.

"I need to...I need to...I need to..."

"You need to have a support network that isn't me" I'd said "I'd like to just be your girlfriend."

So he finally sought out and talked to the people I found, called people I'd spoken to on his behalf. He dutifully considered the advice and suggestions we made...and followed none of them.

I watched him spend countless hours admiring and praising all of the information, all of the tools he had amassed, and then sitting, paralyzed and bemoaning his failure before he'd even begun.

I tend to take people at their word.

His words of late spoke only of failure, despair, self-loathing, and self-sabotage.

Should it be surprising that a person's words should make them more or less attractive to a writer?

Give me words like passion, confidence, hope! Sex?

How about a phrase?

How about: "Fun, passionate, carefree sex"?

It doesn't exist when you feel more like a cheerleader/caretaker/therapist than a girlfriend.

In my heart of hearts (and loins), I wanted to want BB, but it would have felt like a pity-fuck.

I would have snapped sooner, had we not had an open relationship, and I'd not had an outlet.

But the day came when I finally did snap. Desperation (and a very dear and sympathetic friend) took me away for an impromptu beach getaway.
After months of feeling physically and emotionally drained, and being unable to discern the cause, I got a reprieve. After two days of being completely apart from BB, I felt more like myself than I had in months. I finally had the moment of clarity I needed.
I began to piece things together: I found him this person and that person to talk to, I'm always suggesting solutions/angles/perspectives. What has he done? Has he done things based on his own initiative or merely gone along with my suggestions (read: nagging).

When did I become this person? The cheerleader? I hated cheerleaders!

All of my energy and hours of every day spent reassuring, encouraging, supporting to the point of feeling like I was the only one actually trying to shore up the whole toppling mess while he stood by, throwing his hands up in bewilderment and cooking me dinner instead.

Rather than get trapped under the rubble, I made my exit.

"I love you, but in true Leo fashion--- I love me more."

It remains to be seen whether that house of cards will stand or fall, but whichever way it goes, it's not my responsibility and never really was.

There is something so very freeing in that realization.

And in helping him realize that it is, in fact, his.

Owning up to that kind of responsibility has not been his strong suit, however, at least not where our shared experience is concerned.

It's the reason why, for two years, I lost my Blowjob Mojo---but that's a story for another blog...

xo,

Infamous CoatCheck Girl

All Content Copyright 2011, Juliana Tobón. All Rights Reserved

A Peek Behind the Curtain

2011-08-13T02:11:00.000-07:00

You're very open about your relationship of 2yrs. Is there a downside to everybody knowing? I can only imagine, but I'd like to hear your thoughts...
(via MagsHoop)

Over the six or so years I’ve been writing this blog, I have written about many of my lovers, sometimes in great detail. I make it a point to never post anything I haven’t said or wouldn’t say to that person’s face. Almost everybody gets a nickname in order to protect his/her privacy. My friends and acquaintances typically respect this enough to refer to people by their nicknames even if they know or suspect their real identities. Even two years later, I still have friends who, upon meeting BB, will discretely whisper to me “This is BB right?”.

Granted, the blog has caused some friction over the years. Everyone thinks it’s hilarious until they recognize themselves in a post, then suddenly it’s not so funny anymore.
It certainly has affected some of my relationships, but I make it a point to warn people: anything that happens to me, anything I do or observe is fair game. That’s the risk you take when you get involved with an artist; you will, inevitably, end up in their “story”--- regardless of their chosen medium (you’ve no idea how many songs about me, both sappy and angry, I’ve had to endure!).

This medium is, first and foremost, an exercise for me. Of course, it has evolved over the years; Formspring has added a new dimension. Over the entire lifetime of the blog, readers have emailed me privately with questions or requests for advice. Those can now be submitted anonymously and answered publicly. One of the things that has always intrigued me the most about this particular medium is reader feedback, whether it be questions, comments or interpretations of what I’ve written--- they are all very revealing of people’s unique filters.

Ultimately though, this is where I practice the craft of writing, the art of writing. It is a 6+ year study and exercise in creating a character and maintaining that same tone and voice, regardless of the subject matter I’m addressing. The Infamous CoatCheck Girl is a one-dimensional character existing in cyberspace. While the posts are based on my real-life experiences they are written from her distinct point of view.

Most of the people who matter to me understand that.

BB has been one of my strongest supporters and advocates where my writing is concerned (one of the many reasons I <3 him!). He understands the difference between the person and the persona. He is also absolutely confident in himself and in our relationship. Of course, BB does present a unique problem, in that he has brought with him an entire audience of his own...an audience predisposed to dislike, criticize, and speculate upon every minute aspect of our relationship. Most of them, however, lack the courage to address it directly and openly so it is a mere buzzing, like that of a fly: annoying but inconsequential. BB has never, and would never ask me to censor myself. If anything, I think he’s rather amused by all the speculation and rumor. It’s been said that the best place to hide something is in plain sight. I am honest about the fact that BB and I have an open relationship--- it’s not something we’re coy about. Nor are either of us shy about our kinks. Posting something like that, however, does not paint a full portrait of who either of us are, so neither of us feels as though our privacy has really been compromised. Speculation and gossip are just that. Despite the buzz, buzz, buzzing the only opinions and points of view that actually matter in this relationship are mine and his. xo, Infamous CoatCheck Girl

Have any burning questions for the Infamous CoatCheck Girl? Ask me anything!

formspring.me

2011-08-09T17:18:00.001-07:00

Have any burning questions for the Infamous CoatCheck Girl? Ask me anything! http://formspring.me/coatcheckgirl

I just found out that you have a page on IMDB. I was surprised and disappointed to see there was no picture of you or description of information on you. Is this your choice?

2011-08-09T12:01:00.001-07:00

It is by choice that I do not have a photo posted on my IMDB page. I’m not trying to be an actress--- the times I have ended up in front of the camera or on the stage (I did a couple of productions for Miracle Theater in Portland) it has always been by special request of the directors. I haven’t the slightest idea how the audition process even works.
I much prefer being behind the scenes, in production.
Most of my production work has been in catering and/or craft services. While not my life’s ambition, it is the one department that always gets paid something, regardless of the budget--- everyone has to eat. Besides, when you’re the one with the M&M’s and the Red Vines, everyone is happy to see you!
Ideally, I like to do Production Stills, though usually that’s one of the last things accounted for in a film’s budget.
A pretty picture of a pretty face is irrelevant to what I’d want to pursue in production work. In fact, it can even work against me. I look very young for my age, and while that’s great for an actor, it’s not as good for crew. I feel like you have to work a bit harder to prove yourself to the veteran crew and be on guard against exploitation.
The very first film production I ever worked on, it was with the same producers who are currently in town filming a TV show. I was a locations intern but asked if I could snap a couple of shots during the production. After the first day, the UPM’s assistant asked to see my photos.
“Wow, these are great! Can we have them?”
After I stopped laughing and caught my breath I responded “Ha...that’s cute! Uhm, no. But you can buy them!”
He looked utterly confused and wandered off. Later, we became friends and he admitted to me that he (and the producers) had thought I was just another young and eager 20-something intern they could exploit, that I would just hand over my work for the glamour of it all.
Ha! That’s cute...
They did try again, too. They threatened lawyers, they tried to go around me and get my images from the department head for whom I was interning. I sent them a more-polite-than-polite “fuck you” letter: “I’ve been informed by so-and-so that you are still interested in acquiring my images. As you were unable to contact me directly, I can only assume you have misplaced my contact information. Included for your convenience...etc.”
I never did hear back.

My youthful good looks also almost cost me at least one job, that I can remember..
I was interviewing with Judy Becker (production designer on Brokeback Mountain and Garden State, to name a few). We were having a great chat, I’d won her over with my very frank answer on dealing with the egos of actors and musicians. I was practically hired. Then she asked me how long I’d been shooting professionally.
“Fourteen, fifteen years...” I said.
“What? Since you were eight?”
I assured her I am much older than I look. She stared at me for a while as though she were trying to decide whether I was lying.
Finally, she smiled “Ok. We’ll see you Friday!”
Relieved, I shook her hand. Then I realized something was amiss. “Oh wait, do you want to maybe look at my portfolio before I leave?”
It’s that Colombian charm--- works every time!

So yeah, until I get a wild hair and decide I want to be an actress, there’s really no need for a photo. With the exception of a rejected on-set suitor (or two) and the producers who tried to steal my work, any of the people with whom I’ve worked (some of the best in the business!), would vouch for me. They know I work hard, am pleasant to have on set, and that I’m equally respectful of everyone (from the interns to the UPMs)--- that’s worth more to me than a flashy IMDB page.

Have any burning questions for the Infamous CoatCheck Girl? Ask me anything!

You have stated that you are voluptuary and have had various trysts if someone catches your eye. Has a woman every caught your eye? or do you prefer a couple that may catch your eye?

2011-08-08T13:09:00.001-07:00

I’m a people person, an equal-opportunity lover! :-)
I have been in relationships with men and women.
I’ve also had trysts with men and women, couples and trios, straight, bi, gay (some gay men seem absolutely fascinated by me for some reason), younger/older, tall/short, fat/skinny...you get the idea.
My friends have long given up trying to figure out my “type”.
I’m either attracted to somebody or I’m not--- and those mysterious qualities that make somebody attractive to me have little to do with their outward appearance. I’ve seen some “pretty” faces turn very ugly, very quickly once they started talking. Likewise, I’ve seen “plain” faces utterly transformed once I got an inkling of the passion and intelligence behind them.
Though I am curious and frisky and do enjoy sex for the sake of recreation, my partners definitely need to have something that intrigues me intellectually, at the very least a curiosity about life that matches my own; if they don’t stimulate me intellectually they’re not going to stimulate my physically.

There is, however, the rare occasion when I just want and need a release...that’s when a ball-gag comes in handy!

xo,

Infamous CoatCheck Girl

Have any burning questions for the Infamous CoatCheck Girl? Ask me anything!

F*ck Apathy

2011-07-15T02:04:00.000-07:00

I don't really use this as a forum to plug campaigns or causes...except my own, I suppose. My house, my rules, so to speak...this is my little play land, a place to be as frivolous and flippant as I like, but my last post and the responses to it, have left me feeling just a little less glib.
I'm better with words than I am with numbers, so when I see statistics they don't really mean much to me. I've also worked in market research, and I know how questions, the answers gathered, and the resulting numbers can be skewed to support whichever point one is trying to make.

Many of us have heard the "1 in 4 American women will be sexually assaulted in her lifetime" statistic. The Bureau of Justice Statistics claims .8 of every 1000 females over the age of 12. Another site (I can't even remember which one, I looked through so many) claims that every minute, 2 women are sexually assaulted in the U.S.
(Incidentally, I was unable to find any current information--- the most recent statistics I was able to find for the U.S. are from 2009.)

What we have to remember about these statistics is that they only represent women over the age of 12 who reported one incident of sexual assault.

In the few days since my last post, I have received private messages from people telling me their own stories. Over half of the women (and a couple of men) with whom I've had any significant interaction over the last 2 months are survivors of sexual assault. Most of those went unreported.
Besides being heart-wrenching, it also tells me that the aforementioned statistics don't even begin to reflect the real numbers.

So, when my friend, local film director Andrew Warnecke approached me for help in spreading the word about his latest project, I had to help. I know that the new statistics coming out of the Congo, alarming though they are, probably only hint at what's really happening there.

Please check out this campaign, spread the word, and donate to the project if you can!

From the producers of the F*ck Apathy PSA and campaign:

New statistics show that over 400,000 women per year are raped in the Democratic Republic of Congo, where armed militias are using rape as a weapon of war to terrorize communities.

Since this statistic does not include men and children, the actual number is much higher.

By comparison, as of the last census, the population of Portland, Oregon was about 584,000.

Think about that: Almost the equivalent of the entire population of Portland, violently raped. Per year.

Seventy-seven aid organizations agree that the number one thing we can do to help stop this violence and put an end to the use of rape as a weapon of war is to convince President Obama to send a special envoy to the Democratic Republic of Congo, often referred to as "the worst place on Earth to be a woman."

What, if any, was the most traumatizing sexual experience you have had? And how did you heal? (advice for the rest of us)

2011-07-09T02:44:00.001-07:00

It was my 20th birthday. I had spent an idyllic summer with some of my neighbours: Maverick and Blondie, a couple who had only recently moved here from Florida under suspicious circumstances---less than a month later he was arrested in an FBI raid, on computer hacking charges--- and The Hippie, the stereotypical aging hippie-stoner type complete with patchouli, Birkenstocks and an old VW van.
It sounds like the start of a bad joke or a movie...welcome to my life.
They were my closest friends at the time and we were absolutely inseparable that summer. Every night we’d hang out, drink beer, and chat while Maverick sat at his computer or while The Hippie worked on his van (he was ALWAYS working on his van). We’d take little day trips to Sauvie Island or to different parks to watch the moon rise. We went berry picking and made pies from scratch. We basically lived in our very own buddy comedy for 3 months.
So on my birthday, I decided on a quite night at home with my three buddies. By quiet, I mean we got completely drunk and stoned in my apartment and listened to music. At some point during the festivities there was a knock at the door.

I hadn’t seen this guy in over a month.
“I remembered it was your birthday today!” he said.

***
We met at one of those telephone survey places where we were both working at the time, and “hung out” for about a couple of weeks.
Some of you may recall me mentioning before how I was a rather late bloomer. I’d only lost my virginity a few months before that and, although I was certainly “making up for lost time”, I was just as clear then as I am now about my desires or lack thereof. We’d make out for hours and that was as far as I was willing to go with him at that time. He would beg and pout and plead and be generally obnoxious about it, but I would point out to him “It’s been a week and a half! Give it a couple of days, will you?!”
The final straw came one morning (at that point we’d been “hanging out” for a whole two weeks), when he pushed things too far. I am a lady and expect to be treated with respect. None of the verbal coaxing had worked so he made a physical advance and was rewarded with a slap across the face. He stormed out.
Later, when I saw him at work, he approached me during a break and said it was over, that he would not let a woman “disrespect him like that”.
“Ok!” I happily chirped.
“No woman slaps me!”
“Ok!”
“I’m going to go upstairs and quit, right now!”
“Ok!” I repeated, a smile on my face the entire time. Good riddance!

***

He had, indeed, quit that afternoon, so I hadn’t seen him...until he showed up at my door, wishing me a happy birthday. I was already pretty drunk and having such a great time with my friends that I allowed him in. I was in my own home, with trusted friends and felt perfectly safe.

I’m a bit of a light-weight so it was an early night. Blondie got me to my bed, tucked me in, then ushered the boys out of the apartment.

I hurt. Pain woke me from my alcohol haze. I could barely open my eyes and I couldn’t move. All I could feel was pain and his weight on me before I passed out again.

He was still there in the morning. I couldn’t talk. I didn’t know what to say. I had a hellish hangover, naturally, but I was also struggling with flashes of images from the night before and a flood of conflicting emotions. I was angry but also inundated with all of the stereotypical guilt and self-blaming bullshit that you read about and think “that’s so stupid, I would never do that!”.

I blamed myself: I shouldn’t have let him into my apartment in the first place, I shouldn’t have got so drunk, I should have seen it coming...

I told him to just go. I talked to Blondie about it that afternoon. She was wracked with guilt for letting him back into my place “He said he was just gonna run in for a sec and say goodnight!”

For about a year and a half after that I was utterly depressed. I have come to call it my “dyke phase”. I cut off all my hair, stopped wearing make-up, wore big t-shirts and baggy pants (think raver or skater pants....hey it was the early 90s!) and generally did everything I could to minimize any traces of femininity in my appearance. I would find myself crying for no reason. Male attention made me fearful and paranoid.
It was the time of The Great Penis Ban.
My libido eventually won out and I did seek male company but it always had to be on my terms. Making out was fine, but I couldn’t bear to see, let alone touch, a penis.

I am a lusty Leo, and stubborn to boot, so I persisted.

I. Wanted. Cock.

After a few months of frustrated and frustrating attempts that ended with bouts of crying (‘cause that’s so attractive, right guys?), I decided desperate measures were in order.
I devised a plan of action. I contacted The-Love-Of-My-Life (yes that’s how I have actually referred to him since I was 17). He still sets my heart a-flutter, and I his. We had a two-month “relationship” our junior year of high school during which we did nothing but hold hands and exchange the most chaste of kisses. Though we have never really dated since, we’ve been doing this little dance since we were 15.
I still trust him implicitly and love him utterly.

In my usual forthright manner, I laid out my plan: I would play with his penis.

“Uhm, what?”

The best way to overcome a fear is to face it, head-on...so to speak.

I proposed that we just play. Because of the comfort level and trust between us, I felt safe and also knew that he would gently push my boundaries...just enough. I also knew that he would not judge me or take advantage of the situation so I threw in an extra request.

“I want you to teach me how to give great head!”

Remember, I had only been sexually active for a couple of months before the year and a half-long penis embargo. The first guy I’d asked to teach me how to give him head said “just put your mouth on it and bob up and down, I guess” (thanks asshole, you saved yourself a few months of blowjobs!).
Not so with The-Love-Of-My-Life--- he was a wonderful and patient teacher. Of course it was pleasurable work, but he actually understood and respected the situation for what it was, as I had known he would. In between moans, he would remember himself and give me actual useful feedback and instruction. It was fun and educational, but more importantly it was exactly what I needed to heal from my traumatic experience.

I needed to experience sex again in a context where I felt completely safe, comfortable and loved.

This approach is not for everyone.
I happen to have a very straight-forward, stubborn DIY style of dealing with things. I never went to counseling or support groups--- I’m pretty self-aware, knew what it would take to get me over it, and sought it out.
Sexual trauma takes so many different forms and everyone deals with things so differently that I can’t really give one-size-fits-all advice on the subject. I can, however tell you a few things that are pretty universal:

-IT’S NOT YOUR FAULT!
-You didn’t “ask for it” in any way.
-Share your story. Whether it’s with trusted friends/family, in a support group, counseling, or an anonymous hot-line/forum, write about it/talk about it--- even if it’s been years since it happened and you think you’ve completely dealt with it. If nothing else, sharing your story could help somebody else cope with their own.

A touchy subject within a touchy subject: legal ramifications. I didn’t pursue any legal action against my rapist. For a long time I was convinced it was my fault. I regret that now. As recently as a year or two ago I had a panic attack when I saw a guy on the street who merely resembled him.
One of my few regrets in life is that I didn’t send that son of a bitch to jail.

I hope that this helps you (the original inquirer as well as any others who may relate to this post) on your journey toward healing from your own traumatic experience. I hadn’t know how much I needed to write this, until I realized I was shaking while typing.

For those who would like to share your stories with me privately, I can be reached at infamouscoatcheckgirl@gmail.com

xo,

Infamous CoatCheck Girl

Rape Abuse and Incest National Network: http://www.rainn.org/

National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1.800.656.HOPE

Have any burning questions for the Infamous CoatCheck Girl? Ask me anything!

you seem to be very knowledgeable about sex so could you recommend a good lube for rough vaginal sex please?

2011-07-08T00:46:00.001-07:00

Ooh, Sliquid Sassy! I love the Sliquid line in general: it's free of gluten, propylene glycol (found in many lubes...and anti-freeze), parabens (preservatives shown to contribute to different cancers) and glycerine. Do you know what I see when I look at lube that includes glycerine? I see: YEAST INFECTION IN A BOTTLE.
The Sliquid line has extra good stuff in it, like citric acid and other extracts (depending on the formula) that help keep girl parts healthy and happy.
The Sassy is great for your purposes, I'd say. It's water-based, so you'll also be able to use it with silicone toys, it's not gloopy or sticky but thick enough to stay put (good for anal play as well), and it lasts a good while.
I don’t have as much experience with their products, but Blossom Organics makes a really good lube as well.

Of course, this is all taking into account that your partner is primed and ready and just as excited about the rough stuff as you are...

Have fun!

xo,

Infamous CoatCheck Girl

Have any burning questions for the Infamous CoatCheck Girl? Ask me anything!

2 Years---Holy Crap!

2011-06-30T00:49:00.000-07:00

He who binds himself to a joy does the winged life destroy,
But he who kisses the joy as it flies lives in Eternity's sunrise.
--- William Blake

"Feliz aniversario, love!" I texted Butterfly Boy upon waking...in another man's bed.
While I admit the timing of this tryst may have been a bit awkward perhaps, it also seemed a fitting way to celebrate my two-year anniversary with BB.

As a devoted voluptuary I had little interest in settling into a relationship that would curtail my activities or natural inclinations. I have tried that before, and it does not work for me, at least not for very long. Eventually, the weight of my desires and the repression of those desires and inclinations has become an unbearable burden on both myself and those partners with whom I tried to make a go of monogamy.

I had decided single, footloose and fancy-free was the way to go: a free agent, as I've always said. But there is a romantic buried somewhere deep beneath this lusty exterior, so part of me wondered if it might be possible to find somebody. Not "the one", or any such nonsense, but perhaps "a" one. One who had the qualities I wanted in a partner, including the confidence to be in a non-monogamous, yet deeply loving and committed relationship.

Friends (all male) told me it was impossible. "You're not going to find a guy, not one that is worthwhile, who will be ok with sharing you."

Well, I've always been stubborn. And I'm used to getting my way.

I found what I was looking for in a most unlikely candidate.

As we were driving around on the actual date of our anniversary, talking about my romp the night before, I told him how lucky I feel to have found somebody who allows me to just be me.

"Most of the guys I've dated wanted to have all of me...they didn't feel comfortable with the the idea of sharing me," I told him.

"I feel like I do have all of you...by letting you be exactly who you are." he replied. He pointed out that if he or I were to deny that aspect of my personality, well...he wouldn't really have all of me.

He's a wise one. He figured out very early on in our relationship that the best way to "keep me" was by making no attempt to do so. And hey, what do know? It works!

I know people find it puzzling. I am often asked "So, wait...he's just ok with you fucking other guys?"
Well, dears, it works both ways.
He is also free to pursue extra-curricular activities which, incidentally, works out well for a touring musician!
It is, however, one of those cruel twists of fate that makes it much easier for a woman to pursue these sort of "secondary" relationships or trysts. I have found my partners (male and female) to be much more comfortable with the idea that I have a serious boyfriend but that we have a non-monogamous relationship.
Many of the women BB has encountered, on the other hand, try to figure out why he's "cheating on me" or when he's planning on dumping me so they can take my place as "the girlfriend".
I know he's a catch, but I still find this thinking rather quaint and naive.
There are some women who understand the situation, but aren't comfortable in the role they deem that of "the other woman".

I have to wonder at their position.

Is it out of an ingrained reluctance to be a home-wrecker? Given that everything is out in the open and very much "approved", that hardly makes sense.
Is it a fear of just being used for sex? Self-proclaimed monogamous people do that too...and they're usually much more sneaky about it.
Unfortunately that approach is much more socially acceptable than open and honest non-monogamy.
There are so many misconceptions about non-monogamy. A lot of people think it's about having a free pass to screw anything that moves. It's not just about recreational sex, although it can be. Many people in open or non-monogamous relationships form very close emotional bonds with more than one person. These are sometimes described as "secondary" (or even tertiary, etc.) relationships. I think these terms a bit old-fashioned and misleading in their implication that one relationship is more important than another, although some people do implement such hierarchies in their open relationships.

I've never been one of those girls who views every person I'm attracted to as a potential mate. I just let things unfold as they will. During my two-year relationship with BB, I've experienced the gamut--- from one-night romps with out-of-town visitors, to a deeply emotional connection/relationship which I held in equal regard to my relationship with BB (that one got a little complicated). As for BB's experiences? Well, those are his to tell, aren't they?

This was never intended to be a discourse on the wonders and benefits of non-monogamy*, but I could hardly sing the praises of my Butterfly Boy and our relationship without touching on the subject.

Love does not consist in gazing at each other, but in looking outward together in the same direction.
---Antoine de Saint-Exupery

I feel very blessed to have found such an amazing human to walk beside me (in a literal and metaphorical sense) these last two years. He inspires, delights, and challenges me. He has shown me the utmost trust by laying bare his vulnerabilities, and has given me a safe place to bare mine (metaphor, you pervs!).

And...he's turned me into a freakin' girly-girl!

*For those of you who do have questions about this whole non-monogamy thing (or anything else really), you can submit them here anonymously:

http://www.formspring.me/coatcheckgirl

It's a complex subject so I can only speak from my personal experiences--- everyone has a different approach to it, a different set of rules, different code of ethics.

Suggested reading:

-Opening Up: A Guide to Creating and Sustaining Open Relationships by Tristan Taormino

-Sex at Dawn: How We Mate, Why We Stray, and What It Means for Modern Relationships by Christopher Ryan and Cacilda Jetha

All Content Copyright 2011, Juliana Tobón. All Rights Reserved

Going Home

2011-05-10T15:40:00.000-07:00

Well, after 18 years it’s happening. I am going home again. Home to Medellín, La Ciudad de La Eterna Primavera (the City of Eternal Spring): home to former drug cartels, civil war and kidnappings, but also home to one of the most welcoming, beautiful and bio-diverse little corners of the world.
More importantly, it’s home to my family.
The Misadventures might lead a reader to believe I have a rather tenuous grasp on family traditions and the fine moral fiber of my Catholic Aunties, but their influence does show itself here and there.
My eighty-something, Tia (auntie) Ligia, still runs her own business, and has never been seen in public in anything less than full make-up, heels, and not one silver-white hair on her head out of place. In fact, I don’t think anyone at home has seen her looking less than perfect. My mom has childhood memories of being woken at 7am by the clack-clack-clacking of Tia Ligia’s heels in the corridor.
Ligia’s sister, Tia Olga, is the firebrand; the Auntie Mame type. She still dyes her hair red, works 5 days a weeks, then jaunts off to her boyfriend’s country house every weekend.
Then there’s the other Auntie, Estella. Within the family we call her “La Monja Voladora” (the Flying Nun). She was secretary to the head nun (no idea what she’d actually be called) at the Vatican for many years. I have fond memories of chatting with her as a child--- she was one of the few polyglots I knew. We’d chat in Spanish, English, French and Italian, while studiously trying to avoid the subject of religion.

What does one say after 18 years? To family one has never even met?

I’m also showing up making a pretty bold statement. Here’s a boy: my Butterfly Boy. In a country where most women my age are married and have children, the family has been curious about me, to say the least. To them, I’m a hippie. I have not followed the expected path and they have no idea what to make of me and my “bohemian” ways.
They’ve heard stories throughout the years, but they stopped trying to keep up with the ever-changing list of boyfriends years ago. Now I’m bringing BB. Not just a guy, but the guy.

I’m sure they’ll be relieved!

Well, the time nears to board our plane. Upon our arrival in Colombia I’ll be seeing my biological father, who I most commonly refer to as “The Sperm Donor” or “The Donor” for short.
It should be interesting.
I was raised by a wonderful man: my father, The Donor’s one-time best friend. But the donor and I do share DNA, and by all counts, very similar personalities.

Stay tuned for updates of our travels, reunions, and Misadventures abroad!

xo,

Infamous CoatCheck Girl

All Content Copyright 2011, Juliana Tobón. All Rights Reserved

Where do you and BB rank on the myers briggs personality test? are you opposites or something else?

2011-01-26T01:46:00.001-08:00

I had to look this one up. I don't know that I've ever taken one of these tests, or if I have it was some little Facebook quiz.
But, dear readers, never let it be said that I won't go to great lengths to bring you the tough answers to your probing questions...
Ok, so it was just a quick email to BB and a few minutes of answering questions, but it's the thought that counts, right?

It turns out I'm an ENFP, which is described as an Idealist/Champion. BB is an INFP which is described as an Idealist/Healer.

From what I gather, we're pretty well-matched--- just don't rely on us to be anywhere on time or keep to very rigid plans.

xo,

Infamous CoatCheck Girl

Have any burning questions for the Infamous CoatCheck Girl? Ask me anything!

How much does size (shape) really matter? Too Big? Small? Foreskin?

2011-01-22T20:15:00.001-08:00

The skill is definitely more important than the equipment!

Though I've said before that I always keep some XL condoms around out of an eternal sense of optimism, the truth is I've never been a size queen.
I'd rather have a lover who is skilled, or at the very least enthusiastic, attentive and capable of taking direction.

Size is easy to work around, though it's a question which has concerned humans since the very beginning. Ancient sex manuals such as the Kama Sutra and The Perfumed Garden described in great detail how to overcome such discrepancies.

The Kama Sutra described a man according to the size of his sexual organ as a hare, a bull, or a stallion. It further described the respective (ideal) female counterparts: doe, mare, and cow-elephant. (While Richard Burton's translations of both the above texts do include references to zoophilia, those last are in fact, meant to reflect the width and depth of the women's anatomies, though one does wonder...)
Furthermore, advice is given on how to proceed when a couple is not matched in one of the ideal pairings; specific positions are described which either dilate the vaginal canal (Blossoming, Expanding, and The Queen of Heaven) or contract it (The Box, Great Pressure, Envelopment, and The Mare).

In other words, if you're having issues with size, you're just not being creative enough!

As for shape...well, I'd say the same. I've personally never encountered any gross disfigurements, but there are some variations in curvature and such, which simply require finding the correct angle.

Now, the foreskin issue is certainly a matter of individual preference. I'm not particular in my preference except in matters of hygiene. I dated one young buck who was uncut and had an aversion to daily showers. I refused to even allow him in my bed, let alone get intimate with him unless he was freshly showered. There was a considerable age difference which became further, uncomfortably, emphasized by what became a daily ritual: "C'mon, it's bath-time, junior!". Needless, to say, our relationship was short-lived. It's a very fine line between a sexy musk and just...ew.

It was fun while it lasted. Though it does also stress my original point on the importance of skill. Nature had certainly favored this young man, and he had the stamina to match his size. Unfortunately, until he met me (at the tender age of 23), he had only been with girls his own age who had apparently swooned at the, admittedly, impressive size of his appendage. I was the first one who had taken one look and said "Ok. But what can you do with it?" then proceeded to put him through his paces. He wholeheartedly thanked me a few years (and conquests) later.

All of these issues--- size, shape, foreskin--- they just come down to personal preference, really. Me? I rather enjoy life's grab bag of choices!

xo,

Infamous CoatCheck Girl

Have any burning questions for the Infamous CoatCheck Girl? Ask me anything!

What's the weirdest fan encounter you've ever had to deal with? Weirdest you've ever witnessed?

2010-07-27T06:16:00.001-07:00

Fortunately my fans are not too nutty. My fans buy me things like books or sex toys, but despite the intimate nature of such gifts, are very respectful about it.
I recently received a violet wand (Google it!) from a fan in Utah, along with a couple of books I had on my "Things I Want" list. We've never met in person, but several years ago he began turning to me for advice. We've slowly developed a friendship via emails and text messages.
Another fan contacted me and wanted to thank me for entertaining him with my stories by plying his trade...as a professional glassblower. That's a lot less dirty than it sounds, and you can read about it here: http://infamouscoatcheckgirl.blogspot.com/2009/03/thanks-youre-peach.html

I have an uncanny ability to make myself invisible (learned from years of photographing live events) so I am not often approached in public, but I have had a couple of amusing and memorable encounters with people who recognized me as the Infamous CoatCheck Girl.

One was my most "rock star" moment ever. I was at Dante's with a friend who is a bona fide celebrity, particularly with the crowd that was present that night. He was getting mobbed "Hey! You're So-and-So!" "Oh my god, you're So-and-So!" over and over, people continued to approach him as we chatted outside. Another young man approached us "Oh my god...you're the Infamous CoatCheck Girl!" he exclaimed, much to my surprise--- and my friend's amusement.

The other instance actually left my companion a little shaken. The Import was visiting and we were out for a night on the town. I had spoken to him of the blog and mentioned that I did occasionally get recognized while out and about. Ironically, during the earlier part of our evening a band of cougars had mistaken him for a TV celebrity. We were at Wanderlust Circus' White Album Christmas, and several women next to and in front of us kept looking at him and giggling like school girls as they whispered amongst themselves. Finally one got up the nerve to ask him and he coyly said he could neither confirm nor deny his identity. "Well we don't want to bother you or ask you for autographs or anything" one of them cooed. "It's quite alright...I get that all the time" he joked. More giggles.
After the show, we stopped by Dante's for a nightcap. As we prepared to leave, we retrieved our coats and chatted with the coat check girl.
"Are you the coat check girl?" a young man asked me.
"No, she is" I played dumb and pointed at my colleague.
"No," he insisted "Are you THE coat check girl, The Infamous CoatCheck Girl?"
"Well...yes, I am"
He then turned to my date "And you must be The Import. You live in San Francisco, right? Play bass? You met her while you were on tour through here with some band?"
"Uh..." The Import sputtered, backing away and trying to flatten himself against the wall behind him.
I wasn't blogging much those days---rather micro-blogging via Twitter--- but this fan rattled off every small tidbit of information I had ever posted about my handsome date.
I couldn't help but laugh. "See? And you didn't believe me!" I teased.

My readers tend to be pretty respectful and kind. Mostly I get private messages from readers thanking me for expressing things they have neither the words nor courage to express. Those are the most touching and humbling.

As for other people's fans...well I've seen things...things too numerous to recount. Slash fiction still has to be the oddest, most vulgar fan phenomenon I've witnessed to date, however.

xo,

Infamous CoatCheck Girl

Have any burning questions for the Infamous CoatCheck Girl? Ask me anything!

Do you have any advice a la Dan Savage for protecting oneself from STDs? Aside from using condoms, how can you be confident that your partners are clean and safe if you never really know who else they're sleeping with?

2010-07-23T22:15:00.001-07:00

I have advice á la Infamous CoatCheck Girl, certainly...
Your wording seems to presuppose that I don't know who else my partners are sleeping with. In the case of my primary partner, I do know, as we're very open about such matters. I also know he respects himself (and me) enough to be safe with other lovers.
That really is key: respect.
I can tell you from experience that respect and casual sex are not mutually exclusive, either.

Several years ago, I picked up a young man at a show, and we ended up back at his place. Before things got heated, he told me in a very forthright manner that, though he had never had an outbreak, he had tested positive and was a carrier of HSV-2 (most commonly referred to as genital herpes).
I ran through a mental check-list:

-No need to panic or ruin a fun night.
-Oral is out (for him).
-Oral is out (for me).
-Not going to risk intercourse even with a condom.

ok...

-Fisting it is!

We had a grand time.

Unfortunately he had a terrible habit of saying "I seen" instead of "I saw", which proved the grammatically incorrect death knell of our budding "relationship". But I digress...

"Casual" sex is never really casual. Every sexual act involving another person (or people) brings with it risks: from STDs, to pregnancy, to awkward "Hey...you. I explored every orifice of your body but can't remember your name" moments. Unless you're in a committed relationship and everyone involved is faithful and has been tested, you are taking a risk.
It is our responsibility as sexually active adults to educate ourselves, weigh those risks and learn to minimize them. Of course, there are the obvious precautions.
You mention condoms.

A friend once told me (many years after we had been lovers) that the sexiest, most memorable thing I'd ever said to him, was that I'd learned to like the taste of latex.

Nobody *likes* using condoms but with so many options---flavored, micro-thin, heat-transmitting, textured--- there's really no excuse not to use them. Faced with a choice between no sex at all, and sex with a condom...well, do you really want to be with the type of person who would choose the former?

Lube is something that might not typically be listed under safer sex options, but I think it's very important. Friction can quickly dry and tear a condom, rendering it useless. A little drop inside the condom and plenty on the outside of it will keeps things nice and slippery.
But do stay away from condoms with Nonoxynol-9 "lubricant". Certainly, it kills some viruses, but it can also irritate tender membranes and tissues, causing small tears and making you more susceptible to infections. (I won't even use harsh detergents to wash my undies--- I definitely don't want detergents inside me!)

But we know all this stuff--- we've read the pamphlets, heard the PSAs, seen the horrible pictures at the clinic. We know condoms aren't 100% effective against things like HPV and herpes.
It's enough to make you never want to touch another human ever again...until a minute later when the libido kicks in and you get frisky.

I'd be the last person to recommend limiting sexual activity to the confines of a committed relationship. What I do advocate is an exploration and redefinition of sex. I find too often people's definition of what "sex" is, to be rather narrow and confining in scope. Your average person will define sex as genital-genital contact, a smaller number will include oral-genital contact in that definition.
I would question their lack of creativity.

I often write about fairly "casual" Misadventures, but not all of those encounters fit within the above-described definition of sex. These lovers are sometimes strangers, sometimes casual acquaintances and I don't necessarily know their sexual history--- but very little will deter the Infamous CoatCheck Girl when she's on a mission! However, that's no time to be careless...

I haven't met a man yet who'll turn down a good masturbation show... or turn down a nice expanse of flesh upon which to shower the seeds of his effort (just be sure to negotiate face-shots ahead of time!).
Everybody wins.
And you avoid the possible pitfalls of the bar hook-up---whiskey-dick is nobody's friend!

xo,

Infamous CoatCheck Girl

Have any burning questions for the Infamous CoatCheck Girl? Ask me anything!