Jun 232014
 
Book Brevity: Book Reviews in 300 Words or Less

 

 Ernest Greene’s “Master of O” - IBook Brevity: Master of O  by Ernest Greene read a lot of erotica. A lot. I’m a bit of a snob when it comes to the crafting of a delicious sexy story and therefore, I’m very hard to please. In addition, BDSM is admittedly not my oeuvre, and I am usually looking at the ceiling and twirling my hair around my finger when there is any discussion of it, yet after reading the foreword by the author with insight as to his first experience reading the classic “Story of O,” well it had me more than intrigued.

Ernest Greene has spun a tale of instinctive, un-erasable sexual predilections and the lengths to which we will go to gratify its relentless scraping at our deepest id. Greene has re-imagined what was once the definitive story of “master & slave” into something more contemporary, savant, and in my humble opinion, more erotically entertaining and indulgent of the sybaritic senses than the original. Even though the world of BDSM had not been tantalizing to me, I was rapt within the sensual gluttony, so expertly woven within this compelling story, that it became a frequent theme of my sexual fantasies.

If one of the purposes of art (to put it simplistically) is to challenge the viewer an with an experience they wouldn’t normally be privy to, and then perhaps forever affect the way they perceive, even just a little bit, then Ernest Greene has created a work of art, as I am forever changed by the reading of “Master of O.”

I highly recommend the “Master of O” to anyone who is even slightly curious to peek into a world different from their own, as well as anyone who just wants a good, hot, explosively sexy read.

“Master of O” is available on Kindle at Amazon.com

 

BDSM Resources

Kink.com

SocietyofJanus.org

BDSM for Dummies Website

Sexuality.org

DominantGuide.com

Coming Out Kinky (Blog)

 

Books:

The Ultimate Guide to Kink: BDSM, Roleplay and the Erotic Edge by Tristan Taormino

SM 101: A Realistic Introduction by Jay Wiseman

Nina Hartley’s Guide to Total Sex by Nina Hartley

Oct 162013
 

“We’re All Perverts”: The Prehistoric Origins of Modern Sexuality with Christopher Ryan

Published on Oct 14, 2013 by ReasonTV on YouTube

Humanist_March_Apr11.indd“If you look at us as a species, we’re not very impressive,” says author Christopher Ryan. “What we’re good at is forming complex social networks.”

Christopher Ryan sits down with Reason contributor Thaddeus Russell to discuss his book, Sex at Dawn: The Prehistoric Origins of Modern Sexuality. Together with Cacilda Jethá, Ryan has written about the history of human sexuality and why we should fight against “socially imposed restrictions.” By looking at archaeology, primate biology, human physiology, and anthropological studies of pre-agricultural tribes from around the world, Ryan says we aren’t meant to be in life-long monogamous unions. Watch the video above as Russel and Ryan discuss desire, jealousy and the harmful consequences of repressing healthy sexuality.  About 27 mins.

Sep 132013
 

tumblr_inline_msnez3LCYu1qz4rgp

What would be your reaction if you watched a mainstream movie with friends or family that contained a scene like this? Ostentatious delight or embarrassed chuckles?

Come to think of it, how many people know of your most cherished fantasies? Have you ever felt awkward about keeping them secret?

Here’s a passage that might get you thinking, by the great psychologist Carl Jung:

 “I had a dream which both frightened and encouraged me. It was night in some unknown place, and I was making slow and painful headway against a mighty wind. Dense fog was flying along everywhere.

“I had my hands cupped around a tiny light which threatened to go out at any moment. Everything depended on my keeping the little light alive. Suddenly I had the feeling that something was coming up behind me. I looked back, and saw a gigantic black figure following me. But at the same moment I was conscious in spite of my terror, that I must keep my little light going through night and wind, regardless of the dangers.

“When I awoke I realized at once that the figure was my own shadow on the swirling mists, brought into being by the little light I was carrying. I knew too that this little light was my consciousness, the only light I have. Though infinitely small and fragile in comparison with the powers of darkness, it is still a light, my only light.”     — Carl Jung, Memories, Dreams and Reflections

Isn’t that first sentence intriguing? “I had a dream which both frightened and encouraged me.”

Even Jung was frightened and disturbed by his dreams sometimes. But he realised that every light casts a shadow, and we’re biologically wired to perceive shadows as dark. But it’s easy to forget about the beautiful, unique and wondrous light that cast the shadow – that’s You.

The Light is your public persona: the showcase of your personality, everything you want to be, and want to project.

Your Shadow is the opposite, it’s composed of things we keep hidden, the secrets and thoughts we decide to keep to ourselves. We are social creatures, and society functions because we have masks to wear and roles to play. As we grow up we learn to be discreet, deciding what side of ourselves to present in public. But that’s ok, our culture might unravel if everyone was suddenly completely candid with each other, there’s nothing wrong with keeping certain thoughts and desires private.

Jung believed our Shadow self also contains the things that frustrate us, that have wounded us, and scare us: “The shadow personifies everything that the subject refuses to acknowledge about himself.” But Jung also believed there was gold in the Shadow; that it wasn’t a mental dumping ground, some toxic cache of taboos and frustrations, but a vital creative resource, a region to explore, and ultimately embrace – because our Shadow is as much part of us as our hands.

Seen this way, the nature of our Shadows is nothing to be embarrassed about. Your Shadow is not your Dark Side, some evil simulacrum of you, it’s your Private Side. Whatever turns you on, whatever fantasies you harbour, that’s fine. Everyone has a right to mental privacy, to decide what they reveal about themselves, and what they keep secret. Proponents of internet surveillance insist “if you’ve nothing to hide, you’ve nothing to fear”. They are wrong, we all have something to hide, and you have every right to go on hiding it.

The moral of Jung’s dream was it was important not to demonise your Shadow, that we should not be disturbed by it, or recoil from it. That we should seek to understand and accommodate this side of ourselves, rather than repress it.

Happily, I expect most who read this will be comfortable with their own Shadow. Anyone browsing a blog about kink and spanking is likely to be quite accepting of what excites them.

Yet many are still embarrassed by their Shadows. All those thoughts, desires and memories stashed away in some dark, dusty recess of their mind, like the portrait of Dorian Gray, rarely visited or contemplated out of fear of the scars they might find marring their souls.

Perhaps you once thought like that. But now you’re realising there was no reason to recoil from what gives you enjoyment. That just because no one else knows how much spanking excites you, doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with it – or you.

That’s what I like about Jung’s philosophy. He doesn’t view the mind as an engine that occasionally breaks down and needs to be fixed, but as a landscape to explored, accepted and understood. He presents a more positive view of our private realm, a secret playground rather than an loathsome hidden portrait; maybe Wilde thought so too.

So I hope this blog aids your journey of self-exploration, that each story you read adds to the erotic repertoire you curate within your personal Shadow playground. That each story will inspire the extraordinarily powerful facilities of your own imagination.

Be proud, and never ashamed, of your mind’s wonderful adventure playground.

Even if no one else knows it’s there.

Spanking Theatre has a great website which can be seen at: Spanking Theatre  Twitter: @SpankingTheatre

Lovely image credit: Thomas Dodd

 

Apr 052013
 
Cheeky-480x640px

BY   Orginally appeared on TheRumpus.net   on  4/5/13

Tweet sex sites are a many splendored thing, opening doors to fluid identities that are both sexy and risk-free while erecting an emotional firewall to avoid real, personal rejection. My hackles go up whenever I think about technology replacing human touch, but when I met Lady Cheeky and heard her story of seeking and finding passion via tweet sex, I witnessed a brave new world where one woman’s sexuality was accessed in an accelerated way that involved wooing, teasing, and palpable passion.

“Lady Cheeky” is her Anglophile cybersex identity name, where she is a servant/vessel/wench. We met on the floor at Marilyn Friedman’s essay writing workshop, which I signed up for during a dark time. After dozens of agent rejections flooded my inbox for over a year, I longed to sit in a room with other writers again, hoping to inject my writing with joy by learning new literary tricks from veteran journalist, Taffy Brodesser-Akner. Our assignment was to tell the group what our essay was about and then say one more line declaring what our essay was “really” about.

Lady Cheeky’s wavy, Lucille Ball hair matched her bright red lips. Her curves punched out of her ’40s frock, as she told a hilarious topsy-turvy tale about role-playing on a True Blood-themed, Twitter-based direct message and tweet stream, which led her to start her smart and sexy websites where she met “Lord Byron,” hired a P.I. to check another lover out, and divorced her husband. She also overcame a rare sexual disorder; started a popular sensual images blog; began writing and publishing real-life erotica based on her new, passion-filled experiences; is in the process of working on a memoir; has a new story in Rachel Kramer Bussel’s upcoming erotica anthology, The Big Book of Orgasm; and is currently speaking about body image and sensuality, as well as integrative sensuality.

Lady Cheeky’s story beneath the story was flesh and bone ache deriving from a phantom limb that was pummeled awake by HBO’s True Blood series. I wanted to know more about how True Blood was the springboard to becoming a sexually actualized woman, capable and deserving of passion.

… To read the rest of the interview, CLICK HERE:logo-sm

Apr 052013
 
Cheeky-480x640px

BY   Orginally appeared on TheRumpus.net   on  4/5/13

Tweet sex sites are a many splendored thing, opening doors to fluid identities that are both sexy and risk-free while erecting an emotional firewall to avoid real, personal rejection. My hackles go up whenever I think about technology replacing human touch, but when I met Lady Cheeky and heard her story of seeking and finding passion via tweet sex, I witnessed a brave new world where one woman’s sexuality was accessed in an accelerated way that involved wooing, teasing, and palpable passion.

“Lady Cheeky” is her Anglophile cybersex identity name, where she is a servant/vessel/wench. We met on the floor at Marilyn Friedman’s essay writing workshop, which I signed up for during a dark time. After dozens of agent rejections flooded my inbox for over a year, I longed to sit in a room with other writers again, hoping to inject my writing with joy by learning new literary tricks from veteran journalist, Taffy Brodesser-Akner. Our assignment was to tell the group what our essay was about and then say one more line declaring what our essay was “really” about.

Lady Cheeky’s wavy, Lucille Ball hair matched her bright red lips. Her curves punched out of her ’40s frock, as she told a hilarious topsy-turvy tale about role-playing on a True Blood-themed, Twitter-based direct message and tweet stream, which led her to start her smart and sexy websites where she met “Lord Byron,” hired a P.I. to check another lover out, and divorced her husband. She also overcame a rare sexual disorder; started a popular sensual images blog; began writing and publishing real-life erotica based on her new, passion-filled experiences; is in the process of working on a memoir; has a new story in Rachel Kramer Bussel’s upcoming erotica anthology, The Big Book of Orgasm; and is currently speaking about body image and sensuality, as well as integrative sensuality.

Lady Cheeky’s story beneath the story was flesh and bone ache deriving from a phantom limb that was pummeled awake by HBO’s True Blood series. I wanted to know more about how True Blood was the springboard to becoming a sexually actualized woman, capable and deserving of passion.

… To read the rest of the interview, CLICK HERE:logo-sm

Feb 092013
 
TheFrisky
Photo: Mary Rozzi

Photo: Mary Rozzi

I shook my head recently when I read about New York Observer film critic, Rex Reed’s personal insult toward actress Melissa McCarthy.   In a review of her latest offering, Identity Thief  he called her “tractor-sized” and as big as a “hippo.”  Isn’t it interesting, I thought, that a man, who himself is part of a marginalized and often supressed segment of society wields his pejoratives so freely when directed toward another similarly ill-regarded community; the “un-thin” or “un-commercial.” The part of our population that still hides in a closet of self-hatred.   The part of our population, fearful that they won’t be accepted or seen for anything other than their physical appearance. You don’t have to be overweight to be part of our collective; you just have to have a self-loathing of some physical feature you feel you possess.  Surely, this is something that everyone can relate to at some point in their lives and certainly, unless he was blessed to have grown up amongst royalty, Rex Reed himself must have had to deal with.

And that’s when I realized that Mr. Reed‘s subjugation of Ms. McCarthy could only rex_reed.JPG.728x520_q85come from his own self-hatred.  Think of the little boy who is constantly bullied in the schoolyard.  Done often enough and without appropriate correction, that bullied little boy internalizes the hateful words spewed toward himself and those words becomes part of what I call his “life tape;” subconscious lessons we learn about ourselves from the outside world.  Negative, untrue messages like these, left unchecked become the villains to our self worth.   Sometimes making us strike out against others in order to ease the pain of our own misperceived failings.

This gave me some compassion toward Mr. Reed, for it must be monumental self-loathing that gave him license to personally attack another based on her appearance.  And to do it in a such a public forum.  Only another person who had not processed the misfortune of being so inelegantly treated himself would have the capacity to do the same thing in such a righteous and flagrant a manner.  But this incident brings up a deeper issue. Those of us with self-esteem or body issues.  Those of us who have been through years of therapy, read the latest self-help books and prayed for self acceptance at the local house of worship.  Are we ever really free from the self-judgement?  Does the “life tape” ever get erased or does the sound, though faint and scratchy, still remain buried in our psyche?

Andre MalrauxQuote

Recently, I went out to breakfast with my good friend Evan. It was a cloudy and cold L.A. day and I was feeling emotional and depressed. PMS had reared its ugly head and I was using all my emotional energy to keep the hateful thoughts in my brain from permeating my day and my time with Evan.

Evan and I dated briefly and soon decided that we made better friends than lovers (well, friends that occasionally kiss with tongue). Since then, he has been a trusted confidant and steadfast supporter … everything you want in a buddy.  Even though we were platonic, Evan always treated me like a sexy, desirable and smart woman.  It felt good to go out with Evan. We’d do movie nights and dinners and though we were chaste, he always made it known that he thought I was hot. What girl wouldn’t love that?

By the time our eggs arrived, we were engaging in silly and entertaining conversation.  Pop culture trivia, favorite movies, cool hangouts, teenage angst, and then Evan posed this question to me: “Who would you want to play you in the movie of your life?”  Hmmm, I’d never thought about it.  Evan thought for a minute and then an almost visible light bulb appeared over his head, “I got it! That chick from Bridesmaids!”

“Awww, bless his heart” I thought, “He thinks Kristen Wiig should play me.”  I was flattered. Kristin Wiig was one of my favorites on Saturday Night Live and I loved her in Bridesmaids. She was funny, talented and cute.  My heart warmed.  Evan added, “You know … that woman on Mike & Molly

My heart sank.  He, in fact, did NOT mean Kristen Wiig, he meant the very plus-sized Melissa McCarthy. In a nano-second the realization that the man across from me who has seen me naked, has equated me with a “fat girl.”  I started to cry.

Photo: Mary Rozzi

Photo: Mary Rozzi

Now let me be clear, Melissa McCarthy is every bit as cute, talented and funny as Kristen Wiig, however Melissa McCarthy happens to be a woman of size.  I was angry with myself for being so upset. I was a self-proclaimed, body & sex-positive advocate.  One of my biggest causes has been for women of all shapes and sizes to integrate self-esteem and realize their inherent sexuality (and worth) regardless of shape or weight.  Yet, here I was, apparently feeling slighted that Evan viewed me as a “fat chick.”  He immediately felt horrible that he made me cry and I was more than ok with that.  I was offended and hurt and my ego was bruised.  Evan back-pedaled, and in an effort to stop my tears he grabbed my hands across the table and said he thought of her because she’s so “funny and sexy and pretty.”  “Oh you did not,” I snapped.  “You thought of her because she’s big. I’m not as big as that!”  Evan was speechless. I groaned and excused myself to go to the bathroom to gather my fat self.

I stood in front of the streaky diner mirror and reviewed myself in vile self-loathing.  I felt ugly.  I felt worthless and I felt like a fraud.  I was embarrassed that I had automatically reacted this way when being compared to an extremely talented woman who happens to be fat.  Closing my eyes and holding onto the sides of the sink with my head hung low I took some deep breaths and started to do some quick inner self-examination.  “What are you really feeling? Where is it coming from?  And is it true?” I asked myself.

The first thing that entered my mind was that I was feeling shame … Indignant, unlovable, undesirable and unworthy.  I immediately remembered all the boys is elementary and middle school that commented on my big butt and preferred to date the tanned, athletic surfer girls to the pale, soft theatre-nerd that was me … ahhhh, that’s where it was coming from.  I lifted my head and looked in the mirror again.  “Is it true?” I asked myself.  I squinted and took a long breath.  From deep within my self I heard a tiny, barely audible voice say “No. It’s not.”  It surprised me that even after many years of criticism from the opposite sex and myself,  that this little voice could even be heard.  I guess the 20 years of therapy had sunk in.

I could feel the truth of the little voice.  I could understand her intention.  The reality is that I really am beautiful regardless of the size of my hips.  I have had proof of this on a subjective level from ex-lovers and boyfriends but more importantly I’ve had proof of this by what I saw in myself.  For in that bathroom, looking into my mascara-stained reflection, I realized that even though my ego had a flashback to old feelings and modalities that I had identified with for so long  … that in this diner bathroom feeling pre-menstrual, emotionally taxed and having just had a surprising crying-jag, I came to more fully understand in that moment that as bad as I felt at the time, I still felt sexy.  I did!  I couldn’t believe it.  It was possible to be healing an old wound while at the same time recognize a newly realized truth.

I re-joined Evan at the table, refreshed and much more cogent than when I left.  He was a puppy with his tail between his legs until I explained the catharsis I just had.  Evan’s body un-tensed and he became energized, jubilant and seemed oddly proud that he had something to do with this “satori.”  Nothing had changed.  To Evan, I was always smart, funny, sexy … no matter what size I was, that’s how he saw me (subjective) because that’s how I saw myself (objective).  I saw myself that way because of a lot of good therapy, hard work and self-inventory that proved to me that those features were indisputable.

Nothing’s perfect, there will always be people (and sometimes even myself) who don’t see that in me (subjective) and that’s fine, it doesn’t mean it’s less true (objective).  And there will always be times when something someone says or does will trigger old wounds with a repeat reaction.  But, the point is, it is just a reaction from times long gone and just like when Craig Michaels called me a “lard-ass” (subjective) it has nothing to do with who I really am (objective).  Who I really am is a woman with flaws, but those flaws don’t make me any less worthy or any less lovable or any less beautiful or in Ms. McCarthy’s case any less talented.  It’s those flaws that make me the special package that (at least when I’m not PMS-ing) I realize I am.

Which brings me back to shaking my head as I read Rex Reed’s review of Melissa McCarthy’s physique.  I’m human, I can’t say I don’t harbor some displeasure toward Mr. Reed, but it’s more like the exasperation you feel toward a child when they throw their Spaghettios across the room for the third time. You can’t dislike a child for his actions because – he’s just a child … he’s not working with fully developed facilities. I feel the same way toward Mr. Reed. After reading his review I just click to another screen and remind myself of a quote by French writer Andre Malraux “The attempt to force human beings to despise themselves is what I call hell.” In my perception, this must be the place that Mr. Reed wrote his review from. I just hope that in the future he might move to a brighter location.

Photo by Gene Reed

Photo by Gene Reed

As a writer, Elle Chase (Lady Cheeky) has been featured on Fleshbot and is a regular contributor to the online magazine EvolvedWorld.com. Elle will soon have an erotic short story appear in the upcoming Rachel Kramer Bussel anthology The Big Book of Orgasm (Cleis Press, Sept 2013) and an article in next month’s issue of Corset Magazine on pornography vs. erotica. She has also won the Domi Dollz True Tales of Erotica competition, and will be seen in the upcoming CBC documentary Women and Porn. Elle will be speaking as part of a panel of women on Sex and Body Image at CatalystCon: Sparking Communication in Sexuality, Activism and Acceptance in Washington DC, March 17, 2013.
Twitter: @Lady_Cheeky | Facebook: The Lady Cheeky Fan Page |  Website: www.LadyCheeky.com  | LinkedIn: Elle “Lady Cheeky” Chase

Feb 092013
 
TheFrisky
Photo: Mary Rozzi

Photo: Mary Rozzi

I shook my head recently when I read about New York Observer film critic, Rex Reed’s personal insult toward actress Melissa McCarthy.   In a review of her latest offering, Identity Thief  he called her “tractor-sized” and as big as a “hippo.”  Isn’t it interesting, I thought, that a man, who himself is part of a marginalized and often supressed segment of society wields his pejoratives so freely when directed toward another similarly ill-regarded community; the “un-thin” or “un-commercial.” The part of our population that still hides in a closet of self-hatred.   The part of our population, fearful that they won’t be accepted or seen for anything other than their physical appearance. You don’t have to be overweight to be part of our collective; you just have to have a self-loathing of some physical feature you feel you possess.  Surely, this is something that everyone can relate to at some point in their lives and certainly, unless he was blessed to have grown up amongst royalty, Rex Reed himself must have had to deal with.

And that’s when I realized that Mr. Reed‘s subjugation of Ms. McCarthy could only rex_reed.JPG.728x520_q85come from his own self-hatred.  Think of the little boy who is constantly bullied in the schoolyard.  Done often enough and without appropriate correction, that bullied little boy internalizes the hateful words spewed toward himself and those words becomes part of what I call his “life tape;” subconscious lessons we learn about ourselves from the outside world.  Negative, untrue messages like these, left unchecked become the villains to our self worth.   Sometimes making us strike out against others in order to ease the pain of our own misperceived failings.

This gave me some compassion toward Mr. Reed, for it must be monumental self-loathing that gave him license to personally attack another based on her appearance.  And to do it in a such a public forum.  Only another person who had not processed the misfortune of being so inelegantly treated himself would have the capacity to do the same thing in such a righteous and flagrant a manner.  But this incident brings up a deeper issue. Those of us with self-esteem or body issues.  Those of us who have been through years of therapy, read the latest self-help books and prayed for self acceptance at the local house of worship.  Are we ever really free from the self-judgement?  Does the “life tape” ever get erased or does the sound, though faint and scratchy, still remain buried in our psyche?

Andre MalrauxQuote

Recently, I went out to breakfast with my good friend Evan. It was a cloudy and cold L.A. day and I was feeling emotional and depressed. PMS had reared its ugly head and I was using all my emotional energy to keep the hateful thoughts in my brain from permeating my day and my time with Evan.

Evan and I dated briefly and soon decided that we made better friends than lovers (well, friends that occasionally kiss with tongue). Since then, he has been a trusted confidant and steadfast supporter … everything you want in a buddy.  Even though we were platonic, Evan always treated me like a sexy, desirable and smart woman.  It felt good to go out with Evan. We’d do movie nights and dinners and though we were chaste, he always made it known that he thought I was hot. What girl wouldn’t love that?

By the time our eggs arrived, we were engaging in silly and entertaining conversation.  Pop culture trivia, favorite movies, cool hangouts, teenage angst, and then Evan posed this question to me: “Who would you want to play you in the movie of your life?”  Hmmm, I’d never thought about it.  Evan thought for a minute and then an almost visible light bulb appeared over his head, “I got it! That chick from Bridesmaids!”

“Awww, bless his heart” I thought, “He thinks Kristen Wiig should play me.”  I was flattered. Kristin Wiig was one of my favorites on Saturday Night Live and I loved her in Bridesmaids. She was funny, talented and cute.  My heart warmed.  Evan added, “You know … that woman on Mike & Molly

My heart sank.  He, in fact, did NOT mean Kristen Wiig, he meant the very plus-sized Melissa McCarthy. In a nano-second the realization that the man across from me who has seen me naked, has equated me with a “fat girl.”  I started to cry.

Photo: Mary Rozzi

Photo: Mary Rozzi

Now let me be clear, Melissa McCarthy is every bit as cute, talented and funny as Kristen Wiig, however Melissa McCarthy happens to be a woman of size.  I was angry with myself for being so upset. I was a self-proclaimed, body & sex-positive advocate.  One of my biggest causes has been for women of all shapes and sizes to integrate self-esteem and realize their inherent sexuality (and worth) regardless of shape or weight.  Yet, here I was, apparently feeling slighted that Evan viewed me as a “fat chick.”  He immediately felt horrible that he made me cry and I was more than ok with that.  I was offended and hurt and my ego was bruised.  Evan back-pedaled, and in an effort to stop my tears he grabbed my hands across the table and said he thought of her because she’s so “funny and sexy and pretty.”  “Oh you did not,” I snapped.  “You thought of her because she’s big. I’m not as big as that!”  Evan was speechless. I groaned and excused myself to go to the bathroom to gather my fat self.

I stood in front of the streaky diner mirror and reviewed myself in vile self-loathing.  I felt ugly.  I felt worthless and I felt like a fraud.  I was embarrassed that I had automatically reacted this way when being compared to an extremely talented woman who happens to be fat.  Closing my eyes and holding onto the sides of the sink with my head hung low I took some deep breaths and started to do some quick inner self-examination.  “What are you really feeling? Where is it coming from?  And is it true?” I asked myself.

The first thing that entered my mind was that I was feeling shame … Indignant, unlovable, undesirable and unworthy.  I immediately remembered all the boys is elementary and middle school that commented on my big butt and preferred to date the tanned, athletic surfer girls to the pale, soft theatre-nerd that was me … ahhhh, that’s where it was coming from.  I lifted my head and looked in the mirror again.  “Is it true?” I asked myself.  I squinted and took a long breath.  From deep within my self I heard a tiny, barely audible voice say “No. It’s not.”  It surprised me that even after many years of criticism from the opposite sex and myself,  that this little voice could even be heard.  I guess the 20 years of therapy had sunk in.

I could feel the truth of the little voice.  I could understand her intention.  The reality is that I really am beautiful regardless of the size of my hips.  I have had proof of this on a subjective level from ex-lovers and boyfriends but more importantly I’ve had proof of this by what I saw in myself.  For in that bathroom, looking into my mascara-stained reflection, I realized that even though my ego had a flashback to old feelings and modalities that I had identified with for so long  … that in this diner bathroom feeling pre-menstrual, emotionally taxed and having just had a surprising crying-jag, I came to more fully understand in that moment that as bad as I felt at the time, I still felt sexy.  I did!  I couldn’t believe it.  It was possible to be healing an old wound while at the same time recognize a newly realized truth.

I re-joined Evan at the table, refreshed and much more cogent than when I left.  He was a puppy with his tail between his legs until I explained the catharsis I just had.  Evan’s body un-tensed and he became energized, jubilant and seemed oddly proud that he had something to do with this “satori.”  Nothing had changed.  To Evan, I was always smart, funny, sexy … no matter what size I was, that’s how he saw me (subjective) because that’s how I saw myself (objective).  I saw myself that way because of a lot of good therapy, hard work and self-inventory that proved to me that those features were indisputable.

Nothing’s perfect, there will always be people (and sometimes even myself) who don’t see that in me (subjective) and that’s fine, it doesn’t mean it’s less true (objective).  And there will always be times when something someone says or does will trigger old wounds with a repeat reaction.  But, the point is, it is just a reaction from times long gone and just like when Craig Michaels called me a “lard-ass” (subjective) it has nothing to do with who I really am (objective).  Who I really am is a woman with flaws, but those flaws don’t make me any less worthy or any less lovable or any less beautiful or in Ms. McCarthy’s case any less talented.  It’s those flaws that make me the special package that (at least when I’m not PMS-ing) I realize I am.

Which brings me back to shaking my head as I read Rex Reed’s review of Melissa McCarthy’s physique.  I’m human, I can’t say I don’t harbor some displeasure toward Mr. Reed, but it’s more like the exasperation you feel toward a child when they throw their Spaghettios across the room for the third time. You can’t dislike a child for his actions because – he’s just a child … he’s not working with fully developed facilities. I feel the same way toward Mr. Reed. After reading his review I just click to another screen and remind myself of a quote by French writer Andre Malraux “The attempt to force human beings to despise themselves is what I call hell.” In my perception, this must be the place that Mr. Reed wrote his review from. I just hope that in the future he might move to a brighter location.

Photo by Gene Reed

Photo by Gene Reed

As a writer, Elle Chase (Lady Cheeky) has been featured on Fleshbot and is a regular contributor to the online magazine EvolvedWorld.com. Elle will soon have an erotic short story appear in the upcoming Rachel Kramer Bussel anthology The Big Book of Orgasm (Cleis Press, Sept 2013) and an article in next month’s issue of Corset Magazine on pornography vs. erotica. She has also won the Domi Dollz True Tales of Erotica competition, and will be seen in the upcoming CBC documentary Women and Porn. Elle will be speaking as part of a panel of women on Sex and Body Image at CatalystCon: Sparking Communication in Sexuality, Activism and Acceptance in Washington DC, March 17, 2013.
Twitter: @Lady_Cheeky | Facebook: The Lady Cheeky Fan Page |  Website: www.LadyCheeky.com  | LinkedIn: Elle “Lady Cheeky” Chase

Jan 222013
 
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I posted this picture recently on my blog, Lady Cheeky (see below) . Underneath the photo I typed the word “Gorgeous.” When I blog my photos, I do it rather quickly as I only blog the images I, personally think are sexy. I don’t always comment on photos I post, but when I do it’s because a word or a feeling comes to mind and I add the comment as effortlessly as I would if I were having conversation.

On this day, again without thinking, I posted the comment “GORGEOUS” on this sensual photo of a very zaftig woman laying on her side with a naked man behind her. I thought the image was beautiful and the body, with all it’s texture and curves was gorgeous. Even though my porn site is body-positive, I still get the regular lookie-loos that just want to see the graphic images. That’s fine, I like them too. To each his/her own. But when comments attacking someone’s size, either skinny or large, deluge my in-box, it always makes me roll my eyes and sigh. Today wasn’t the first time I received un-kind words regarding a photo I posted. But today I recognized a change in how I see them.

When I’ve receive these blistering notes, I don’t get angry, I don’t get offended, I don’t get depressed or antagonistic or vindictive. I never feel attacked, less-than or judged. And because I also share some of the characteristics of the picture I posted, I could sit here in self-hate and use the rapacious insults to validate all that I think is wrong with me.  In fact, in the past I would have. But instead, I feel like a climber that has reached the top of a small but difficult mountain, looking out to azure skies and tree-topped valleys upon the vast landscape which holds the secret of my next trek.

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Today, when I see these comments in my in-box I feel validated and liberated and secure because I know that I’ve overcome thinking of my round, soft and curvy body as less desirable, less sensual and less important than the average-sized women I used to compare myself to. I feel free from the drama in my head of constantly worrying if my lover will walk out the door when he sees my stomach … naked without the Spanx binding it in. Feeling confident that I am attractive because I feel sexy in my own skin “knowing” of who I am as a woman is the payoff of years and years of hard inner and practical work.

Today, when I post a gorgeous photo of a nude woman, laid out in all her vulnerable, sexy nakedness … a woman who resembles me much more than a traditionally sized woman, I no longer take in the “fatty” or the “whale” or “the lazy whore needs to go to the gym” comments because for every nasty comment gets lodged at me for what I personally think is gorgeous, I get a comment like this: “That picture that you said “Gorgeous” I have almost the same body as her. It made me smile.”

THAT made ME smile and made my day. It reminded me of a quote by Mary VonEbner-Eschenbach: “In youth we learn; In age we understand.”  Today in my Oprah “Aha moment” I see that no matter how small your contribution is to pursue a purpose you believe in (for me, my little blog) you still have the capacity to make a stranger smile and even potentially piss-off the ignorant at the same time. And that makes my younger-self feel weightless and my present self feel very, very grateful for the capacity to finally understand.

 

 

 

 

 

Jan 162013
 
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Originally published on EvolvedWorld.com – January 14 2013

Ahhh January – the crisp, bracing air, the relief that the holidays are behind us and the optimistic promise of a whole new year ahead. Each January my friends, colleagues and nosy grocery store clerks ask me the dreaded question “have you made any New Year’s resolution’s?” My reply is always the same one I give for anyone asking me my age “Fine thank you”. The confused look on their faces never ceases to amuse me as I slink away; proud I’ve escaped answering that question yet again.

I’m not a big fan of New Year’s resolutions. I’ve always been an immediate gratification gal and didn’t make the yearly over-promise because it always seemed too high aiming and unachievable in a satisfying amount of time … at least for this impatient writer.

Yet, I can’t deny there is some wisdom in making a resolution and sticking to it. The discipline and drive to commit to an immediate improving of one’s condition is a great way to ameliorate our well-being and over-all health.

This year, I was going to take that principle to heart. I was determined to improve one thing in my life pronto and I knew exactly what that was. In the past few months I had become all too aware that my sex life had started to take the back burner to other parts of my life. After my divorce a few years ago, I had vowed never to let my sex life suffer again. That was it. No more sitting around. It’s 2013 I am going to improve my sexual attitude. But where to start?

Meditate: Figure Out The Basic Need That’s Not Being Met

On New Year’s Day, I turned off all electronic devices (gasp!) and began to search my soul for the answer I knew was buried. How could I re-energize my sex life? Frustrated, I picked up one of my favorite books on sexuality, Women’s Anatomy of Arousal by Sheri Winston. Bingo. Sheri never disappoints. All I had to do was read these lines under the heading Whole Sex – Macro to Micro:

“Your sexuality is about your connection to everyone and everything around you … you are a sexual being not a sexual ‘doing.’ Sex is not just something you do – it’s a fundamental and inseparable part of who you are.”

This really resonated with me. My lack of importance placed on sex recently was the loss of focus on how it makes me feel when I’m connected to my sexual self. When I’m having great sex my senses are more astute, my mood is elevated and my interaction with others is more positive and engaging. I missed all those feelings and wanted them back.

Enumerate: Identify Three Ways To Achieve Your New Goal

I love to make lists, but I can get carried away and end up overwhelming myself with steps and procedures to follow. So, I kept it simple and allowed myself three things to do to change my sexual attitude. For me, the best first step is to research. Researching always gets me excited about my topic and it’s a way my inner “know-it-all” gets exercised. In my fact-finding mission I came up with three ways to encourage my sexual attitude to grow and become more diverse. My personal list is made up of A) something I’ve wanted to learn, B) something I’ve wanted to become better at and C) something I’ve been putting off. I came up with: learning Orgasmic Meditation, become better at the art of lingam (penis) massage and a resolution to acquire a new, like-minded lover to practice with. Great! I had my list, now I had to take the leap and start the journey.

Participate: Take The Quickest Action To Achieve One Of Your Goals

This is perhaps the most challenging part of change, the actual dirty work (pardon the pun). However, the most important aspect of this last step is not to delay. I resolved to tackle my chosen first step immediately. If I didn’t engage myself posthaste, chances were I’d keep putting it off. When I found a local Orgasmic Meditation group on Meetup.com, I signed up for my first introduction that same week. Just taking that first step excited and inspired me to investigate other ways to encourage my inner sex goddess to express herself again. I found my desire to pick up the Anais Nin book I had put down and was suddenly inspired to write more erotica.

The most surprising aspect of these three steps was that it immediately opened up my sensuality again. I had a familiar sway to my step and lilt to my voice just from acknowledging and welcoming it back into the fold. I truly believe this small but powerful master-stroke toward changing my sexual attitude right away on New Year’s Day, opened me up to attract more like-minded partners and friends – people who support my new attitude and foster its growth.

I’m only eleven days into the re-invigorating of my sybaritic soul, but so far I’m very glad I actually made and followed through with a resolution this year. Now, if people ask me if I’ve made any New Year’s resolutions, I won’t confuse them with a flippant remark, I’ll intrigue them with the answer “I’m changing my sexual attitude!” as I skip off to practice Orgasmic Meditation, lingam massage or make-out with a new lover.

Jan 072013
 
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I loved this when I first read it and recently went back to it again. So smart. -LC

By Nicole Daedone  Originally published on her blog www.NicoleDaedone.com on 8/8/12

This is what I have come to understand. There is absolutely zero context for men to know how to fuck a Turned On Woman—meaning a woman who is free, who is capable of what I call Unconditional Sex; sex that is not saddled with “conditions” such as promises of wedding proposals, dishwashers, babies. A woman who owns her sex and does not need to use it for barter, who has the wealth and luxury—both energetic and emotional—to use it for her pleasure.

A man I’ve been seeing said, “Yeah, we (men) don’t know what to do because that kind of woman is like a unicorn”.

Sex has been the purview of men, and as such its uses have mostly been masculine. Not a problem in and of itself, but in my opinion a woman’s touch is needed in the arena of what it “means.” I see a polarization of sorts, where, running from sex-as-gravely-significant or sex-for-procreation, the masculine veers way to the other end of the scale: devoid of any emotion, connection or caring; wanton, gluttonous. The only reasons for a woman to engage would be (a) desperation, (b) the “god-given” woman’s agenda (to snag a man in her snare) or, worst of all, (c) that she approaches sex “like a man.” In the present context it is absolutely impossible that a woman could maintain her femininity; still like to yield and surrender; want deep connection and love sex… with—gasp!—more than one person. (Oh, and not be salacious and therefore open to anything from BDSM and gang bangs.) Within the game as it exists, this is a total non-sequitur.

We lack gradients, we live in an either/or perspective. Either a woman’s legs are locked and closed and safe and healthy or else they are open to just about anything flying in there. In the present context it is unthinkable that a woman could both practice discernment and feed her beast. I suppose that it is assumed that she is too fragile to tame the thing. And I suppose this is because we underestimate the power of love as the most powerful trainer.

One of the responses I get most often is that it is intimidating to be with a woman who is facile in the arena of sex. Not “thank god,” not “finally we can see what this thing can do,” but “how do I compare to other guys?” Which leads me to believe that men are not liberated sexually either. Their prowess only goes so far, it is in the hunt, but the having, the devouring is beyond both sexes. There is a hungry ghost rattling around the male psyche that rarely gets exposed. When it does, it goes something like this: I am good at wanting, craving, reaching, begging, but when the food is placed on my table, for some reason I am incapable of eating it. Part of the conditioning of the male psyche is that for a man to admit that he didn’t pounce, it would mean that he was of all things a “pussy,” the worst thing for a man to be, and her sexual appetite makes her a harlot, too man-like—put your negative connotation here—the worst thing she could be.

What I am getting is that we are in one of those Chinese finger locks, both are stuck, each hoping the other has the solution. Yes, the solution is to stop pulling away from each other. It is to stand in the face of this orgasm and brave our various sets of conditioning in order to enter and meet inside of it.

As far as I can tell the biggest challenge for women is a sense of hopelessness that it will ever be “any good”, that it will ever be sex from her native land, the kind where her body can open and she can lose herself. Time and again I hear, he’s too rough, he’s too fast, he doesn’t have enough attention. When I ask these women if they show these men what to do or slow them down, they sink into the paralysis of learned helplessness with an underlying preemptive anger. (And the unconscious fear of being the deer who suddenly turns and tells the lion how to take this meal to the next level.) The assumption is that a man doesn’t want to learn. And I would say, yes, learning occurs in the brain as physical pain. Yes learning is hard. No one likes it. And ultimately it is the only thing that brings us gratification. And I sincerely have never met a man who was not open to suggestion—sometimes they feel clumsy and stupid and try to hide it with bravado (like we all do), but with care and communication, they do have a deep desire.

The biggest challenge I see that men face is the “what is in it for me” mentality, which is devastating in the arena of sexuality. Great for business, bad for orgasm. The daemon which is a fundamental sexual energy, the necessary element of self-seeking that takes her, has run a bit rampant in the conditioned psyche of man such that no matter how much he grabs, he never gets his. That is the real nature of a hungry ghost. The conditioned psyche of men in this culture is that they can grab and grab but they cannot ingest. The daemon has got a hold of them and they are doing its bidding and it will never be gratified. This is why we see masculine driven sex in this culture as empty calories; that devoid of emotion, it is based solely on consumption but not nourishment. And it is a catch-22 in that the constant craving for more that in turn leads toward self seeking prevents the actual nourishment that would bring gratification.

Women hold the counter-pose or the antidote. But dammit, we won’t administer it. We won’t administer it because to do so we would need a place to plug the IV into and that would be straight into the vein of sex. And all the things that would signify about us that we are unwilling to claim. But this isn’t mere weakness or petulance. It lies in the fact that one’s capacity to stand in truth, to not lose oneself in a sea of opinions, to live essentially in an autonomous mind, a room of one’s own, is a result of contacting one’s own daemon as one does through… you got it… orgasm. Again, catch 22— she does not have the muscle to steer sex into the arena of what she likes and wants because she is not having the sex she wants which would develop that muscle. In other words, women do not have the power surging thorough them to withstand judgment about their sex and so do not bring the “other half” of sex, that would nourish both, into the equation.

579178_10152237903185494_755372263_nBut someone’s gotta give. You can’t go to the gym to look good enough to go to the gym. At some point you just gotta face the fact that it is going to hurt. Guys, it is going to screw with your masculinity but you are going to have to be with a woman who is facile enough in the sexual arena, free of all of the signifiers that make you a man, like the agreement to play chaste and subservient. And you are going to have to reward these women for giving you an education that hurts in the receiving. And that will require you to postpone the “getting yours” because in this case “yours” is the receiving of this education which is more a marathon than a sprint and will result in you shifting into a mindset that goes from mere quantity to quality, which ultimately nourishes you and quells the craving or converts it into depth.

And women friends, you are just going to have to withstand the throwing of tomatoes. What is the alternative? Keep your orgasm tamped down for another thousand years because you were unwilling to be called a few names or forego the illusion of there ever being a savior. Yes, there is a savior and guess what— you are it. You are here to save sex from the devastating state it’s in, unless porn, and weird sex where you have to use foreign words like yoni, or medicalized sex replete with medication, is your thing.

Here’s where you start. You admit you want it. Then you determine that are going to make it good. Not that you are going to hope and pray beyond all hope that this guy will be the one to magically “get it.” You are going to insure beyond a shadow of a doubt that he is brilliant and successful. You are going to make it through the dip. The dip is where everyone quits. It’s what Organic Chemistry is to medical school: the class that filters out about 80 per cent of students because it is so challenging. And the dip in terms of your orgasm is your willingness to withstand judgment about being a Turned On Woman. If you can make it through that dip, you have earned your stripes and deserve to have access to the power that orgasm can bring. But you’ve got to earn your chops and withstand the presumptions and assumptions about what it means for a woman to be sexual and then even worse, right when you want to konk them on the head and say “are your out of your friggin’ mind?”—you are going to educate. You are going to educate people into a new way— a way where sex without conditions does not mean sex without consciousness. In the same way it is not weakness that has one able to love unconditionally, it actually stems from strength, it is not desperation that has a woman sex unconditionally, it actually stems from power.

With this in mind, I thought I would give a little guide for the guys as to how to prepare to meet with a Turned on Woman. Sort of like when you are going to camp and they tell you how to prepare—this is How to Prepare to Fuck a Turned On Woman. Mind you, this is just how to prepare to fuck this turned on woman, but in holding up my end of the deal, the one where I make sure that you are brilliant and successful with me—here goes.

We can make this very easy. Set a time and show up on time. Both of us will be feeling a certain anticipation. We will be riding that edge of turn on and irritation. The more we can both stay inside the parameters we agree on in terms of logistics, the more we will develop trust and the more powerfully we can let go. I know how to manage sexual tension in my body, how to allow it to build and build. To a point. Often you hear about a woman being dramatic. Its not drama—it’s screech level anticipation. I want it to be that you show up and I am in the sweet spot—that line where I am having you and wanting you both. I cannot tell you how many guys “got lost on my way” coming over to have sex.

A context needs to be set because this is neither a bootie call nor a marriage ceremony. Alan Watts once said that life is far too serious to be taken seriously. This is as well. Again we are looking for a sweet spot where, on the one hand, we acknowledge that we are exploring together in the most charged, intense, potential that exists on the planet; and on the other, in the same way Suzuki Roshi says that enlightenment is just sitting—this is just sex. The experience begins when we agree to meet, and from that moment everything from wondering what I should wear for you to feeling a throb in my pussy when I imagine you being here, is part of it. I include everything, which makes it that much richer. It is like going to the symphony and being attuned to every note. Somehow doing this creates an experience of losing oneself. That is the ultimate experience that I am looking for with you—for each of us to lose ourselves and discover what is there when we do. =

For this reason I like it when you text or email me your thoughts, desires …… Read the rest on Nicole’s blog:  ORIGINAL POSTING FROM NICOLE DAEDONE’S WEBSITE HERE

 

 

Nicole Daedone is a sought-after speaker, teacher, and author who has spent her groundbreaking career redefining orgasm from a woman’s point of view. Starting with her fundamental belief that a woman’s sex is her power, she treats supposedly taboo subjects with unparalleled humor, intelligence, and insight.

Nicole is the author of Slow Sex: The Art and Craft of the Female Orgasm (Grand Central/Hachette, May 2011) and is the founder of OneTaste, a company that offers training in orgasm, communication, and man-woman relationships through online media and in-person coaching and courses. The practice at the heart of her work is called OM or Orgasmic Meditation. OM uniquely combines the tradition of extended orgasm with Nicole’s own interest in Zen Buddhism, mystical Judaism and semantics. Helping to foster a new conversation about orgasm—one that’s relevant and real—she has inspired thousands of students to make OM a part of their everyday lives.

Her work has been featured in the New York Times, the New York Post, the San Francisco Chronicle, and 7×7 Magazine, among others, and her writing has appeared in Tricycle magazine. She is also a featured speaker at the 2011 TEDxSF conference.

For more about OneTaste and OM, visit www.onetaste.us. Nicole’s blog appears at www.nicoledaedone.com.

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