(Amy 2005) “In my site you can acquire chaep mads horrid”—that’s the subject line of my most recent SPAM. Not quite jabberwocky and there’s a touch of Chaucer in there somewhere, but what do you suppose it means? The best I can come up with is that I have been invited to purchase cheap, naughty maidens from someone whose English is extremely limited. Second best SPAM of the day: “Are you a 2 pump chump? Go all night and drive her crazy!”
Never had that problem, actually; perhaps Mr. 2 pump chump is using the wrong equipment (-;
Had another glass of that tasty pinot noir last night (ah, those dimples...), did laundry, and read Best Lesbian Love Stories in between playing the guitar.
They’re not Pat Califia, but these sweet little vanilla tales are charming.
Meanwhile, Just read an interview with Betty Dodson (AKA the Mother of Masturbation) who reports that she is working on a new video entitled Orgasmic Woman that “will show vaginal penetration using a vaginal barbell.”
So now I'm trying to picture what a vaginal barbell is. Is it sort of like the base end of a Feeldo, only it has a “5” or a “10” or whatever stamped on it? What color is it? And its texture?
A lot of women hate penetration because it's too hard or fast or because of friction. Orgasmic Woman shows me working hands-on
(and oh I hope she recognizes a good pun when she makes one—although "hands-on" could mean many things in Dodson's case, I reckon.)
I work with a woman who doesn't think she is having an orgasm. Some orgasms are like hiccups or a sneeze and some are huge and profound. But, if a woman doesn't recognize that she's having an orgasm, then what happens? How would you intensify it? That would be by taking more time after you have that first orgasm. Don't stop! Keep going! Women are not like guys. We are so ignorant about female sexual pleasure.
So. I wonder. If a woman has an orgasm and no one hears it, does she still have one? Does a dildo still fall off the bed if no one hears it? The lesbian world presents us with such conundrums sometimes
And now for something completely different.... I recently referred to the following poem that I ripped it out of the New Yorker. It's so, so beautiful:
IN THE ABSENCE
by Kathleen Lake
In the absence of Christ, one must become
one's own hands, moving
one's self tenderly
through all the shapes that pain takes.
Whatever you thought you knew, your hands
will forget it for you,
remembering only the hollows
and lilts of your lonely body
which quietly holds its own
story, and waits to be heard.
So when you are listening
at last, your hands will be holding
that wordless quality your mother's had
which changes everything and nothing.
And in this luxury the marrow
of your bones
will finally speak.
TODAY’S TOP SPAM: You can have a bigger cock than Ron Jeremy. (Uh, I already knew that.)