The Friday Sex Blog [Sex, Domination, and Resistance]

Hola Everybody,
An unfortunate consequence of all the attention being given to Trump for his crude admission of sexual predatory behavior, is that it trivializes misogyny. His admission, which is the norm for “locker room” talk, should spark a national dialog on rape culture, looking at it as a systemic societal issue rather than to simply call out one man.

We’re all implicated in Trump’s pathetic attempt to grab some poosie.

Sex and The Other

Today’s cover photo, fetishism in its purest form, was taken by photographer Jean-Paul Goude. Known for his fascination with “ethnic minorities” and “black girls” -- “I had jungle fever,” he once admitted in an interview -- The photograph is a not so subtle reincarnation of imagery of Saartjie Baartman that is steeped in centuries of racism, oppression, and misogyny. Goude is famous for his photos of his girlfriend Grace Jones. On the cover of the book Jungle Fever, Goude poses Jones in a cage next to raw meat.

I bring this up because when you mix racism, capitalism, and sex, you start wading into complicated waters. I hope to tease some of this out in a very brief, thoroughly inadequate blog post. LOL

The term miscegenation was first used in the 1860’s when American journalists invented the word in order to discredit the Abolitionist Movement by stirring up debate over the prospect of white-black intermarriage (tangentially, there are interesting parallels between miscegenation and the current gay marriage “debate”). In any case, miscegenation refers to sex or marriage between two people of different races.

Let me start right off by stating that I am of Puerto Rican descent, a people that has one of the highest rates of interracial marriage. The funny thing is that Puerto Ricans don’t see it as “interracial.” There’s no “white” Puerto Rican as opposed to a “black” Puerto Rican. We are Puerto Ricans first. In fact, we don’t even adhere to a black/ white dichotomy. This is not to imply that racism does not exist among Puerto Ricans, it does. However, how we view and construct race is drastically different from the way gringos conceptualize it. But that’s a subject for the last part of my racism series...

This post was inspired by an online interaction I had with some neocon rube and he submitted that because he married someone who was “half black,” that meant he was incapable of being a racist. I don’t follow that at all. I mean, there are misogynists (men who hate women) who marry women -- does that make them all of a sudden enlightened men? In fact, there’s a long and ugly history of the fetishizing of the “other.” I consider myself a feminist and someone who works against racism, but that doesn’t mean that I’m exempt from my social conditioning. I’m sure if I look close enough, I can find prejudice and sexist bias. I think being open to that possibility is what serves as a liberatory force. Whenever I hear someone say, “I am not a racist,” or “I am not sexist,” I am reminded of the family values guys who are in actuality man-whores. 

According to a survey done in the 1970’s an average of one in five Americans have dated someone of a different race. Most interracial relationships are not based on difference, but in the same way other relationships are formed. However, those that deliberately and consistently select a partner of another race do so for reasons such as sexual novelty or the appeal of submissive women from other cultures. In the United States, there are white women to seek out black boyfriends as part of a larger pattern of breaking away from their parent’s values. This is especially true if the parents were controlling and/ or racially prejudiced. My personal observation is that this dynamic is widespread on the internet, where both girls and women can seek lovers from other races free from the prying eyes of their neighbors and families.

Conquerors have always used sex as both a weapon (i.e., rape) and an excuse to justify their barbaric practices. That inhabitants of the “New World” ran around practically naked served as a rationale to label them brutes and an abomination to the Christian ideal. They were not seen as human and were

subjected to some of the most barbaric acts in the history of humankind. This tendency reached its low point between the 16^th and 19^th centuries, as wave after wave of European colonial expansion was followed by violent, often genocidal, campaigns to convert the heathens and save them from their own ignorance.

White Americans have disapproved of most types of miscegenation since its colonization. Marriage or sex with Indians, Jews, Catholics, and Asians, for example, was discouraged. But it was sex with blacks that incited the greatest violence. Blacks, in contrast to slaves of other eras, were discriminated against solely because of the color of their skin. This was in part due to Christianity’s interpretation of Ham’s curse of his descendants being turned black and made to serve as slaves.

This misinterpretation, not surprisingly, “coincided” with the desperate need for new labor in the production of molasses (molasses being the first foundation of the economy in the New World). Later, the theory of evolution was perverted to condemn blacks to a lower developmental status. Despite these prejudices against blacks, white slave owners were very much sexually attracted to their black slaves. For hundreds of years, the legal system supported the rape, sexual harassment, and subjugation of black women, not only during slavery, but also after their emancipation. One of the laws passed during the 17^th and 18^th centuries by the English colonists pronounced mulatto offspring between slave and freeman to be slaves. In contrast, the Spanish colonies granted children of mixed unions their freedom. One author wrote, “If he [the white man] could not restrain his sexual nature, he could at least reject its fruits and thus solace himself that he had done no harm... by classifying the mulatto as a Negro he was in effect denying that intermixture had occurred at all.”Well, I’m being facetious, of course, but one area of study I would love to see is an exploration into how the centuries-long legal sanctioning of the rape of women of color has impacted the sexual psyche of the white men... 

The 19^th century saw a continuation of the practice of black lynching. However, now instead of accusing black men of fomenting rebellion, they were charged with rape. This charge was often leveled at consensual unions because it was believed a white woman would never freely succumb to a black man.

Frantz Fanon did a much better job than I ever could of exploring the connection between hate and the eroticization of the other, and I definitely don’t have the room or time to give it a proper treatment here, but I’ll give it a try. Western colonizers were often attracted to the people and practices they claimed to despise. Late 19^th century Anglican missionaries in Papua, New Guinea, for example, complained

incessantly about the low morals of the “natives.” but the Papuans themselves maintained that the worst morals were found in mission houses. In Africa, it was not unusual for men who preached chastity to father children by native women. One such reverend had so many daughters that in 1874 he turned his mission into a brothel in which to prostitute them.

Another example of the sexualizing of the other was the aforementioned Saartjie Baartman, the famous Hottentot Venus, who was admired in Europe for her beauty. The Nama or Khoihoi (Hottentots) of southern Africa typically have a lot of fat on the buttocks. Europeans were enthralled with the Hottentot Venus’ ass (shades of J-Lo). If you ever get the chance read up on her story. The Hottentot Venus was celebrated -- fetishized, actually -- during her life. When she died, her body was dissected in an attempt to “scientifically” document her “otherness.”

Ultimately, colonialism was in reality sexual in nature. The New World and its inhabitants, as illustrated by the art

of the time, was depicted as a woman, naked and vulnerable, before the conqueror. The metaphor emphasizes how new lands were seen as virgin territory to be plundered by male explorers from “civilized” Europe.

Well, that is all for now. I think I need to come back to this and make it more substantive. But right now I need to go to an interview.

My name is Eddie and I’m in recovery from civilization…

The Friday Sex Blog [The Breast]

Hola Everybody,
Today is Friday and it’s all about sex at the [un]Common Sense blog!

Ode to The Breast

Thy breasts are like two young roes that are twins, which feed among the lilies.
-- Song of Solomon, 4:5 The Bible

I do not share our culture’s obsessive fascination with women’s breasts. In other words, my fascination with big boobs is not as ingrained as with other men. However, I just want to state for the record that I have never turned down the sexual advances of any big-breasted women.

Anyway, there’s probably never been a culture in history that has been blind to the beauty of the female breast. This is no surprise considering it has suckled civilization. More importantly, it’s also a powerful trigger of sexual arousal and pleasure.

The breast, nipple, and areola (the darker ring that encircles the nipple) are dense in nerve endings, which is why they’re sensitive. In fact, sex researchers at the Masters and Johnson Institute in St. Louis report that a tiny fraction of women (about 1 percent) are able to masturbate to orgasm simply by touching and stroking their nipples and breasts. Apparently, nipple stimulation activates the same region of the brain as clitoral, vaginal and cervical stimulation.

Conversely, many women simply do not respond to having their breasts kissed, sucked, or stroked. Studies have shown that although 90 percent of women say their partners like to fondle their breasts during sex play, only about 50 percent actually like it. Some women find it uncomfortable or even painful, especially just before or during menstruation, when breasts seem to become tender. According to researchers, the only real stimulation many women get in breast play is “watching the man enjoy it.” Whatever the case, communication is key in creating an intimate language. Tell your partner if you enjoy it or not. Men: ask her if she does or doesn’t enjoy it.

There are changes a woman’s breasts undergo during sexual arousal that are dependent on whether a woman has breastfed. In a woman with unsuckled breasts, nipple erection is usually the first sign of arousal. Then the areolas swell, often so much that “frequently it looks as if she’s lost nipple erection,” says sex researcher Dr. Masters who has probably observed the process more than any man in history. Then the breast itself, engorged with blood, begins to swell -- sometimes by 20 or 25 percent. It becomes so swollen that the blue traceries of veins can be seen and resembles a nursing breast.

[Note: not all women get erect nipples -- and if your nipples don’t stand at attention when you’re aroused, you shouldn’t fear that you’re frigid. In addition, some women have inverted nipples -- “innies” instead of “outties” -- are quite normal but make nipple erection impossible.]

The breasts of a woman who has suckled a child goes through the same changes during arousal, except that they don’t swell as much. Nursing results in a changed pattern of blood flow.

Breasts are probably as much a symbol of womanliness to women as they are to men, at least in part because breast growth is usually the first sign of puberty in girls. Usually, breasts begin to bud after the age of 12, but in some girls, the process may begin as early as eight. Budding breasts are the first proud announcement of a whirlwind parade of changes that accompany puberty, usually followed by the appearance of downy pubic hair, then a generalized growth spurt, coarser pubic hair, menstruation, and finally the growth of hair beneath the arms.

The media obsession with large breasts and breasts in general has had a huge impact on the way women view their bodies. For example, many women worry that their breasts are not the same size. The truth is that just as no two pairs of feet are precisely matched, no woman has a perfectly matched pair of breasts. In fact, some studies show that more than half of all women in the US have breasts that vary so much in size that it’s noticeable to the naked eye. Nearly a quarter have one breast that is at least 20 percent larger than the other, reports the Kinsey Institute.

Many women long for bigger breasts in the belief that men will find them more attractive. Yet the truth may be that men may not be as infatuated with big breasts as women think they are. The Kinsey Institute reports that at least one study of what men find sexually attractive in women showed that only half even mentioned breasts at all, and of those, half said they preferred small ones.

I mention this because many women buy into the image of those high, full, firm, breasts our culture idolizes. Over a million women in the US have had breast augmentation surgery, involving the implantation of envelopes filled with silicone gel or a saline solution. The vast majority of these procedures (80 percent) were done for cosmetic reasons. Just so you know, breast implants may pose serious medical side effects. So much, in fact, that the FDA has called for a moratorium on the procedure in the past. While there aren’t any conclusive findings either way, there are enough reports of health problems associated with implants leave cause for concern. Secondly, there isn’t enough data to conclude that implants are completely safe. Most troublesome is the likelihood that implants interfere with early detection of breast cancer.

The point being that every breast has a potential admirer and we shouldn’t get so caught up in the barrage of media images where impossibly skinny women with huge breasts have become the norm for female beauty.

Ladies? Those women are not the norm, and while some may have great bone structure, a size “zero” with double-D cups you can hang your coat on is really not that sexually attractive. Especially if she ain’t got no ass. Kidding!

My name is Eddie and I’m in recovery from civilization…

The Friday Sex Blog [Exhibitionism and Voyeurism]

Hola Everybody,
A reader sends an email... 

Exhibitionism/ Voyeurism

Canne Film Festival

From a reader:

I love to screw and/ or watch people screw in public places. I know it may sound like pure fabrication, but one of my most mind-blowing sexual experiences was screwing a man I had just met at a very large parade in NYC… on Fifth Avenue.

Mind you, I don't consider myself a voyeur nor an exhibitionist, but I enjoy engaging in sex in public places and have had sex in almost every public place imaginable. Am I freak or sexual deviant? Is this wrong? Or are there others who enjoy this form of sexual risk-taking.

Shy Freak

You got it Shy, you naughty girl! Here goes… An exhibitionist, or scopophile, by definition is someone who derives erotic pleasure from the display of genitals or other parts that are normally considered taboo. While exhibitionism is a common occurrence as foreplay, exhibitionists usually expose themselves without the consent of their audience, or with any intention of consummating the implied sex act.

There are many degrees of exhibitionism, some of them not very healthy, as with exhibitionists who derive pleasure from the horror created by their exposure. These individuals often expose themselves to younger victims or unsuspecting victims. To be fair, many Western women are exhibitionists to a degree. This started happening when pre-arranged marriages ceased to exist and women were thrown into competition for husbands. If you do a little research, you could see immediate changes in ads and the forms of dress women adopted. For the first time, women had some measure of power over men. I believe this is part of the erotic pleasure derived from exhibitionism. 

One of the most erotic exhibitionists I ever saw was a young blonde woman who lived in a mostly in a shoddy neighborhood. Every day, at an appointed hour, she would undress in front of her window in her second-floor apartment that faced the street. It was like a TV show. Guys would rush home, buy beer and weed, sit by their windows, shoot the shit and wait for “Blondie” to do her thing. And she did her thing everyday, like clockwork. She was a petite, slim woman, very light-skinned. You could tell she knew people were watching and she was very meticulous in her manner of undressing. She obviously paid close attention to her use of undergarments and undressed slowly in front of her window. After she finished undressing, she would pull down her blinds and that was it. End of show.

She would give no one any conversation. She had a boyfriend who visited her now and then, but otherwise she kept to herself and interestingly enough, no one messed with her.

I was always curious as to the inner processes at work in this type of behavior. Later I would learn that, as with other forms of anticipated sex, there is a certain amount of arousal present. An exhibitionist will become stimulated as they plan what to wear, where to expose themselves, and to whom or what type of audience, they will expose themselves. Coordinating the right sequence of location and events adds to the tension that produces amounts of adrenaline and releases hormones that in some cases leads to genital orgasm.

As I stated before, you don’t have to be an exhibitionist in the strict sense of the word, and still possess a fetish for sexing in public places. My reader, Shy, elaborates:

I was never happier, sexually speaking, than when I was in a relationship with a man who shared my enthusiasm for public intercourse. We did it everywhere: on crowded subway trains, theaters, on a late-night plane trip, in all kinds of autos. We did it in alleyways, hallways, beaches, pools -- you name it, we probably did it there. We would sit down and plan these sexual trysts in detail and that was half the fun. On many occasions, we were discovered or watched by strangers, and while this wasn’t the intention, it did add to the excitement. Once I went down on him at a restaurant while on my knees under the table.

Shy adds:

I was looking out my window one summer night and noticed a couple in a parked car. I had a bird’s eye view of them and it was evident the woman was going down on the man. I realized that watching them was highly arousing. I had an erection just watching her go down on that cock. At one point, she caught me looking -- we actually made eye contact -- which made her stop. However, after a moment, she resumed her ministrations and I discovered that was a huge turn on for me.

The fact that she was doing this in public and that she knew I was watching was extremely sexually arousing. When my lover became curious and saw what I was looking at, he scolded me, but she too became transfixed by the act. Eventually, we would engage in sex while watching the woman in the car. Occasionally, she would make eye contact with us while continued and it was it clear to her that we were sexing while watching her.

Voyeurism involves the act of watching other people for the purpose of sexual arousal. Most often, a voyeur will station himself outside a window, what’s known as a Peeping Tom. Voyeurism seems to surface in many people when it involves celebrity. How many times has a celebrity’s skinny ass been shown on the internet? Better yet, how many times have you looked at it? ::blank stare: LOL

In our society, voyeurism is celebrated in many ways and rewarded handsomely. For example, a photographer lucky enough of taking a shot of the latest trending celebrity flashing will easily command six figures. This indicates that there are hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of quasi-voyeurs who derive pleasure from a glimpse of the forbidden or unattainable. For many hardcore voyeurs, the embarrassment of outrage of the victim makes it all the more appealing.

So to answer your question, Shy Freak, yes, you’re probably a freak but that’s not such a bad thing. Carry on!

My name is Eddie and I’m in recovery from civilization…

The Friday Sex Blog [The Collazo Sisters]

¡Hola! Everybody...
Seeking work is more work than actual work. Just sayin’…

Summer reruns!

* * *

-=[ Blame The Collazo Sisters ]=-

A woman’s behind -- an altar to be worshiped on one’s knees.

-- Me

Actually, the title is incorrect: we shouldn’t blame all the Collazo sisters, only Nellie Collazo’s big sister, Delilah. But there are all manner of connection in all this...

Nellie Collazo was in my eighth-grade class. She was a Taina princess -- long, straight dark brown hair that brushed the tops of the cheeks of her cute little ass. Her translucent skin was like cinnamon and when she smiled, it was like the sun coming out after days of cloudiness.

I am convinced to this day that Nellie descended from Taino royalty.

All year I entertained fantasies about Nellie, but I was too shy to ever say anything to her. My two friends would tease me about it all the time. Finally, about a month before the junior high school “prom,” I managed to muster up the courage to ask her.

Me: “Would you be my prom date?” Or something to that effect.

She: “No.”

I was heartbroken. I was very shy, a nerd, and girls always made me nervous. I had other options. There was the impossibly and prematurely developed Susana Susana (that was her name!). Susana looked like what I imagined a young (and dark brown) Mae West would like look and her sexuality -- even at 13 -- smoldered. To look at Susanna was to see the smoke-filled rooms and smell the rum I’m sure she ventured later in life. She had the habit of cornering me between classes and trying to cop a feel and kiss me. I hated it.

That summer, I was sent to a special program for gifted students and I would fall in love for the first time, but that’s another story. What happened that summer was that I made a conscious decision to transform myself. I did a fashion and personality make-over. I was too dammed shy and wearing a suit and tie everyday to school (thanks mom!) wasn’t cool. I discovered that I could be funny in an insightful way and that humor was a great way to approach women, so I honed my craft that summer and polished my image.

That September, I entered high school with my new cool make-over: I was known for my long, black cashmere coat, and my favorite ensemble (wardrobe makeover made possible with the financial help and fashion sense of my mother), was a black Italian knit (it had three barely noticeable electric blue stripes on each side of the buttons), and black sharkskin pants. And, of course, a pair black suede and leather “Playboys” (shoes).

You may laugh at this today, but back then, that was the shit. I cut my hair in a modified “Caesar” look all the bad boys wore, and -- voila! -- a new Eddie emerged. I was still intellectually inclined and at fourteen, I was in the process of reading “every great book ever written,” but I was also “cool.” I was also part of “College Bound” a program implemented by the City of New York. It was an effort to identify gifted students, what I would later jokingly call the “talented tenth,” and segregate us from the rest of the unwashed and stupid black, Latin@, and poor white masses. I attended a school that housed close to 3,000 students in a building that was meant to house half that number and the average class size was probably 35-40 students. Students in the College Bound program would attend classes that had, at most, 10-15 students. More often I took classes that had less than ten students. The idea being that smaller classes would allow teachers to give more specialized instruction to the students.

I was on the Dean’s List -- a straight- A student -- but I was also cool, and I became very popular. My school was also a dangerous place. the hallways, bathrooms, locker rooms were all places where the “bad students” the one’s abandoned by the state and the city, would congregate and sell drugs, smoke cigarettes, engage in sex, and extort the more meek. I happened to be friends with some of the riff raff, many of them having grown up with me. So, I began then to travel the different worlds I would travel all of my life. I was as likely to appear on the Dean’s List as well as with the guy who would take your lunch money at the point of a knife.

One of my friends was Michael. Michael was an abandoned child who was raised by numerous different adults, related and not. He was also the one child no mother wanted you to hang out with. Michael was famous for sniffing glue, something popular in those days. He was also the only Puerto Rican I knew that wore his hair in the style of the Partridge Family’s David Cassidy. That was a huge fashion fuax pas in the black and Latin@ ‘hood we grew up in but though he looked nothing like the wildly popular pop star, he managed to carry it off and the girls loved it! LOL

One day we all decided to go to the movies and who was with Michael the Glue-Sniffer? None other than my Taina princess, Nellie Collazo! Not only that, he treated her like crap and she even paid for his entrance and bought him candy!

I was conflicted and Michael, who was in actuality an extremely intelligent young man, just laughed, said, “They’re all ho’s Eddie.”

I was stunned, but I learned an important lesson about the allure of a bad boy that day. More importantly, it was the first time I laid eyes on Nellie’s older sister. They didn’t look like sisters at all. Nellie’s older sister was light-skinned with curly light-brown hair and her eyes -- impossibly large --were a wicked shade of yellow.

It was winter and she had a coat on and Michael, noting my gaze, whispered, “She’s a stuck up bitch, you’ll never get that.”

At that point in time, I considered Michael a sexual genius (which speaks volumes as to how little I knew). After all, he had Nellie, she of the Taino royalty ancestry, smoking his cock in the balcony of the movie we went to that day.

A couple of years passed and I was walking up those notoriously dangerous Bushwick High School stairways in-between classes when I looked up.

And that’s when it happened.

I looked up and what I saw changed my life forever.

Right there, just a few steps above me was the most rounded, most deliciously curved ass I had ever seen in my life. Up until then, I never paid much attention to the female derriere. It was just something you fondled on your way to the flower of a woman’s vagina or the buds of her breasts. But this was no ordinary ass. It was perfection personified. It was rounded, just the right size, and the owner of that ass had the smallest waist I had ever seen on a woman. It seemed that if I tried, I could wrap my hands around her waist and my fingertips would touch. She was curvy, but lean and she moved like a sleek cat -- all stealth, sex, and grace.

I walked up those stairs in rapture.

I guess she sensed something, quickly turned around, demanded, “What are you doing?! Are you staring at my ass?”

Me, “I’m praying.”

She, “Praying? What are you praying about?”

I was debated if this was a good tact to take, decided it would be foolish, but blurted it out anyway, “Your glorious derrière.”

And she laughed -- a strange sound that sounded like a song. She was beautiful in every sense of the word. Her small, pert contemptuous breasts defied gravity. And those eyes! Those wickedly yellowish/ amber, impossibly large eyes framed by exquisitely formed cheekbones that came out to here. But most important, Nellie’s older sister had the Most Beautiful Ass in the World.

“Very funny,” she said, the hint of a smile on like a playful sprite above her coral lips destroying her attempt to affect an indignation she obviously didn’t feel.

Seeing an opportunity, I jumped on my chance, decided I needed to say something, but not knowing what else, I managed, “I’m also a genius.”

At that she laughed. "Really," she asked playfully.

Me, “Can I walk you to class?”

She, “No!”

Me, “You would rather I continue to stare?”

She ignored that last bit and turned around and continued with that divine ass of hers. I watched, and she knew I was watching, but didn’t complain or protest.

As she left to go on to her class, I asked, “Do you come by this way often?”

She, “Everyday! Wow, you are a genius,” and she laughed again. Her eyes were an open invitation I wasn't sure of.

Every day, I would wait for her and follow her up the stairs and everyday she would appear. She wouldn’t engage me in conversation except to inquire if I still prayed.

My answer was always, “Everyday at this time.”

And she would let out that musical laughter that so enraptured me.

One day I didn’t show, I was making out with Cinderella -- well, not that Cinderella, but Cynthia, who I called Cinderella for reasons I can’t get into at this juncture. And little by little, I would stop waiting for Nellie Collazo’s Big Sister's Ascencion. Besides, she had a parade of worshipers, I realized, that walked up the stairs with her. It was like a holy procession. Besides, Cinderella adored me and she would let me taste the fruit of her lips and her wondrously pale, puffy nipples.

One day, totally by accident, I looked up and again saw that wondrous ass and I swear the fuckin' the angels sang.

She turned around and asked, “Where have you been?”

I answered, “I haven’t been praying lately, my goddess refuses to answer my prayers.”

She laughed, the amber in her eyes sparkling, and teased, “And what would your prayer be asking?”

Me, “That I could walk you to your class, then take you out on a date, and someday taste the dew on your bottom lip.”

With that, she turned around without saying anything and looking over her shoulder (to make sure I was praying to her ass, I guess) said, “You can walk me to my class, and I would like to go out with you, but I want to know... ”

to be continued...

Love,

Eddie