Wednesday, August 31, 2005

Toxic Sex Culture

Sex is supposed to be a good thing. As loving adults, we can enjoy a wide variety of sexual experiences with one or many partners throughout our lives. Unfortunately, toxic ideas are all around us. When I see how it hurts our young ones, it makes me crazy.

The average age a prostitute starts hooking is 14 years old. If that’s the average, then for every girl who starts at 16, there’s a girl starting at 12. Grown men are having sex with these little girls. Some of them are responsible for coercing them into it in the first place. All of them are responsible for keeping them there. It’s an epidemic of child sexual abuse that no one seems to care about. After all, these girls are breaking the law, right?

Describing the trauma of prostitution, and its consequences, one fourteen year old stated: "You feel like a piece of hamburger meat – all chopped up and barely holding together" (D. Kelly Weisberg, 1985, Children of the Night, Lexington Books, Toronto).

Don’t even try to tell me that prostitution is a choice when little girls are brought into the life, drug-addicted, violated, abused, and made dependent on men who are willing to exploit them until they are all used up. In The Journal of Trauma Practice, 89% of prostitutes reported that they were desperate to escape (2003).

Teen porn, and the focus on teens as the most sexually desirable, is a problem on many levels. It’s not healthy or right. When teenagers have sex, they’re supposed to be having sex with other teenagers. The only money exchanging hands should be at the corner 7-11 store to buy a box of condoms.

"It takes a village to create a prostitute."
Melissa Farley

Tuesday, August 30, 2005

Pretty Pears

Have I ever mentioned that I’m frequently tardy? Yep, late again … but this time, I swear, it wasn’t my fault …

Even though I walked in at the tail-end of the Miss. Pear Fest competition, the gracious hosts allowed me to participate. I didn’t have time to check my look, so my black lace twirly skirt, sassy pink top, and coordinating wide-brimmed hat would have to see me through … along with my natural charm of course. There was no time to get nervous. In fact, there was barely enough time to adjust my best pair before someone handed me a microphone.

“Theresa, why do you want to be Miss. Best Pear 2005?” said the handsome microphone man.

That seemed like an obvious question, but I hadn’t prepared an answer. I had to shoot from my ample hip, “Ummm… because I wrote a poem in honor of the happy day.”

There were chuckles and applause as I quickly composed …

“There once was this Cat who lived in a Shoe
He moved to Goosetown and knew not what to do
The neighbors all said, “Hey Man! Look at that tree.”
And that Crazy Cat threw a hella Par-tee”

On my right, bountiful curves made a purple sequined evening gown beautiful. The girl in the gown laughed and clapped with the crowd. Oh yes! I knew she had me beat. It was obvious that she wanted it more. By all rights, the crown belonged to her.

… and so it was.

Hey, there’s always next year.

Saturday, August 27, 2005

Don’t Love Me Because I’m Beautiful

Someone recently asked me what my type is. They were referring to the physical characteristics I find attractive in men. I thought the question was funny, but I took a minute to reflect on the men in my life just in case I do have a type. The best I could come up with is that I have a definite preference for men with bellybuttons.

If you ask my sister, she’ll tell you I like short, fat bald men with facial hair, because I had a huge crush on a guy in college who looked like that. If you ask Lu, she’ll tell you I like men who are smaller than me. My friends at work will tell you I like the big guys. Then again, I married a 5’11" skinny white guy with long hair and a beard. I still think he's gorgeous.

I wonder if I’m somebody’s type. I took a long look in the mirror today to try to discover what that might be. While I was looking, I noticed a lot of things I didn’t like. I tried to stop doing that and look for the things that other people like. It was difficult and I wasn’t very good at it. When my reflection stopped making any sense at all, I came to the conclusion that I have no idea if my appearance is attractive. However, there must be some parts that are acceptable because little children don’t run screaming from the room when I enter, and I get laid a lot … or I could if I wasn’t so picky.

The truth is, I really do have a type. I like men who are smart, kind, generous, articulate, tender, passionate, thoughtful, funny, confident, respectful, open-minded, honest and fair. Beyond the requisite chemistry, the outer package is irrelevant. When things are right, an otherwise ordinary face in the crowd becomes the only one I see ... the only one I want to see.

So if someone like that is looking for a white, 5’9", plump, green-eyed, curly-headed, 41-year old with 2 boobs (see post below), I’m your type. However, I’m afraid you’ll be wasting your time. I’m going to hold out for the guy who’s looking for ME, rather than a list of physical characteristics. And when he finds me, he will also appreciate my sweet white, plump, 5’9", green-eyed, curly-headed, 41-year old bod, as well as the two complimentary boobies. He'll see that I'm beautiful.

Do you love me because I’m beautiful, or am I beautiful because you love me?
Oscar Hammerstein II

Wednesday, August 24, 2005


Breasts are an emotionally charged topic in our culture. Although they have a biological function to provide food for our new ones, they also have a larger sexual attraction meaning for us. Men become dazed and confused when they encounter a particularly striking set of knockers, and women fret over even minor flaws and imperfections in what might otherwise be their own unique beauty.

Since I had my first mammogram last week, I’ve been thinking about my own tatas quite a bit lately. I’ve also spent more time looking at them and studying them. The only conclusion I can come up with is that they are really quite ordinary.

At 5’9”, I wear a 38C bra. Since I have shoulders like a linebacker, my boobs seem to fit my frame quite nicely. They don’t sag down to my knees, nor do they point to the stars. They’re just out there … kinda like breasts are apt to do. The best quality about them are the nipples. I like the way they get very rosy and plump when properly stimulated.

While waiting for my mammo results, I was only mildly tense. It was like waiting for my annual STD test results. I don’t expect any problems, but I get tested because of the “just in case” scenarios.

Thinking about “just in case” makes a girl wonder about a few things.
What if I’m one of the one in five?
What if I lose one or both?
What would that be like?

I’m sure I’d be grateful to be alive, but I’d also have to cope with life without my pretty, but ordinary looking, boobs. Instead, there would be a big ol’ scar. I bet the myriad of proposals I get for sex would come to a screeching halt. (Some of those proposals are serious. Others are meant to be flirtatious and flattering.) Nevertheless, life is much more than boobs and sex.

If I remember correctly, we decided it had more to do with LOVE.

I got my letter in the mail yesterday. As expected, I have healthy hooters. Life goes on as usual.

I’ve been invited to a Pear Festival this weekend. It’s an annual neighborhood party hosted by a friend. One of the scheduled activities at the party is a contest for “Miss Best Pear”. My friend has challenged me to participate since attitude has much to do with the outcome. Heaven knows, what I don’t have in cleavage I can more than make up for in enthusiasm. Look for my victory announcement early next week!

Thursday, August 18, 2005

The Love Goddess Vs. Calculus

According to New Age granola-eatin’-Birkie-wearing folks, there are some amongst us who are Old Souls. These people have old experienced souls that have been built up and fortified through many past lives. They’re nearing the end of their journey, and they're getting fitted with their caps and gowns for the next stage of the after-life. I’m of the opinion that I am definitely NOT one of these Old Soul people. I’m a Young, Immature, Under-Developed Soul.

Even in my middle age, I haven’t got a clue most of the time. I fumble and fake my way through most situations with the sincere hope that I don’t hurt myself or anyone else in the process. Any wisdom I’ve accumulated has been the result of injuries incurred from falling flat on my face. I don’t even learn a whole lot from witnessing other people screw up. For some reason I’m either oblivious to other’s blunders, or I need to try everything myself. It’s akin to watching someone burn themselves on a hot stove and then touching it myself to make sure it really is hot. It’s not that I’m stupid, I’m simply inexperienced and immature … and, … well, … okay, sometimes I’m stupid.

Being a Young, Immature, Under-developed Soul isn’t entirely horrible (other than the blistered fingers). In some ways my dreamy, juvenile, naïve nature can be somewhat charming, even to myself. I resist bitterness and pessimism. I refuse to give up on the goodness of people. And, I wake up everyday thinking to myself, "Today, I’m going to try harder". No matter how many times I fall, no matter how many times I get shot down, I get up and try again … eventually. Even when I’ve been deeply hurt, there’s a place at my core that I protect and safeguard against injury and theft. It’s mine. It’s who I am. Because it remains intact, I endure.

That core Me seems to be forever innocent, naïve, and hopeful. It makes me seem vulnerable, but I’m not. I’m simply new to this process. Maybe I’m on a different path than most. It’s a twisty, complicated path with lots of stumbling blocks and barriers. A more experienced soul would have called her Travel Agent or Googled MapQuest to make the journey easier.

If there’s any truth to the idea that our souls return to learn new lessons, I’m certain that this time around the lessons I’m meant to learn are about Love. It’s a rough road filled with broken hearts, bad dates, family squabbles, lost friendships and fizzled dreams. However, every so often I stumble around a corner and fall in Love, have the time of my life, or find a friend who helps me build a better dream. It’s an exciting path. And, even when I’m brushing myself off from another header, I’d much rather learn lessons about Love than something tedious like calculus. Besides, how many mathematicians get to be a Love Goddess?

"You learn to speak by speaking, to study by studying, to run by running, to work by working; and just so, you learn to love by loving. All those who think to learn in any other way deceive themselves".
Saint Francis De Sales

Wednesday, August 17, 2005

Western History of the Clitoris:

A bunch of dudes claim they were the ones who first discovered the clitoris. This seems rather silly. What girl hasn’t found her magic little pearl by her second birthday? Oh wait, silly me! I forgot, such things are merely mythical until some old white guy gives it a scientific name.

First, this Italian guy, Realdo Colombo found the clitoris in the 16th century. He published a book called De re anatomica, where he described it as the "seat of woman's delight". Columbo also decided that he was some sort of genius deserving of honor and glory. He was reported to have said, "Since no one has discerned these projections and their workings, if it is permissible to give names to things discovered by me, it should be called "The love or sweetness of Venus." WOW! He may have been a bit full of himself, but at least he had a healthy sense of reverence.

Another dude, Gabriel Falloppio argued that Columbo was a Lying Sack of Poo (his words, not mine). Fallopio said that HE was the first to discover the clitoris. The two huffed and puffed and called each other names until their untimely and suspicious deaths. They were found together in an stinky alley behind one of Venice’s popular brothels (*).

Later, a 17th century anatomist, Caspar Bartholin, said that both Columbo and Fallopio were full of malarkey. He said that the clitoris had been well known to medical science since the 2nd century. Caspar sounds like he might be a little more on track. I’m fairly certain that humans, particularly the female ones, have known about the blessed pearl for a very long time.

We’ll discuss women’s sexual anthropology in the near future. Until then, go forth and celebrate 2005, The Year of Cunniligus.

(*) Yeah, I totally made that part up!

Tuesday, August 16, 2005

What Women Don't Want

Here it is my friends. I’m going to share the secrets about what women REALLY want … or rather, what we DON’T want. This may astound and shock you. Some people may even suggest that sharing these secrets is a betrayal of my sisters … or perhaps I’ve finally gone completely bonkers. I don’t care. I’ve talked it over with my vagina, and we’ve decided that this is for the good of all humanity.

I don’t speak for ALL women. In fact, some may think this list is a whole bunch of hooey. However, I do pay pretty close attention to my girls, and this is what they’ve been saying.

  1. The size of your cock. Really! I’m not kidding. We might make jokes about it, but when it comes down to it, we don’t want something the size of my forearm trying to bully it’s way into our Sweet Tunnel of Love. Big ones hurt, and they’re completely unnecessary. Our vaginas are only 4 to 6 inches deep, and our mouths are about the same. Don’t believe me? Go ahead! Try sticking something 6 inches long all the way down your throat. At best, most people can only get about 4.5 inches in without losing the ability to breathe. So, unless she has a vagina the size of a mayonnaise jar and a cavernous pie-hole in the middle of her face, your awesome big dick is going to be left out in the cold.
  2. Your money, your car, your clothes or your bling. Sure, we want you to be clean, tidy and somewhat organized. We also want you to have enough cash so you’re not mooching off us all the time. And, most gals would agree that it would be cool if we didn’t have to take the bus when we went on dates. However, the jag isn’t going to win our hearts, and a conversation about all your money and toys will get boring pretty damn fast.
  3. Player/Bad boys. Okay, admittedly there are women who are messed up enough to want the really evil fuck-heads, but I’m not talking about those gals. Most of us want a nice, decent guy. However, he also needs to be confident and independent. One of the biggest turn-offs is a man who’s looking for a mommy. We also don’t want someone who’s trying too hard to please us. We can tell when you’re being insincere. When you try too hard, it looks like you’re either pathetic and desperate, or you’ll do or say anything to get what you want. Either way it’s bad news. This is a situation where you don’t want to seem the least bit manipulative.
  4. A super-hot-movie-star-looking guy. Looks don’t matter that much to most women. Besides, everyone knows that all the super-hot-movie-star-looking guys are gay. We’re more interested in how you make us feel. Your attitude and personality are going to take you much further than your Rock Hudson good-looks.
  5. How friggin’ smart you are. If I had a nickel for every guy who told me he had a genius IQ, I’d be the one driving a Jag. Either I'm a beacon of MENSA, or somebody’s exaggerating a little bit. IQ is based on a Bell Curve. That means most of us fall in the big bump in the middle rather than the skinny bits on the ends. Stop spending all your time trying to impress us. Shut up and listen. We like it when you listen.
  6. How great you are at cunnilingus and other sex acts. Are you shocked that I would say this? It’s true. We don’t want to hear about it. We’re more likely to be attracted to you if you’re interesting. You’ll be interesting if you’re interested in us. Don’t worry. If you don’t screw it up, you’ll get your chance. Once we feel attracted to you, you can SHOW us all your amazing skills.

    Clearly, this is not an exhaustive list. However, I’m pretty sure I nailed the biggies. I’d love to offer more, but I had my mammogram this morning and my boobies hurt. Despite the pain inflicted by the plexi-glass "Vice of Death", it was an interesting experience. Who knew that when my average sized breasts are flattened to a thickness of 2 centimeters, they look remarkably huge?

Sunday, August 14, 2005

Part 2

This is an update on a post I did several months ago:

Lost Items

What was lost to me you ask?

It was stolen really.

I used to have music inside.

I lost it when a thief stole the piece of my soul that allowed me to bare myself generously and unhindered to an audience of strangers and friends. Prior to the theft, my opus created the tight-chested quiet weeping for those who know the sighing sounds of joy and pain. I delivered the delicious ache with a soaring flight of phrase and nuance beyond little black scratches on parchment

The sound of my breath
The sound of my heart
The sound of my cunt

My body was one with the faithful wood and chamber. We inhaled and exhaled rhythmically. My arms and thighs embraced the rich chestnut curves carved from the gentle hands of her maker ... how many decades ago?

Yes, a thief ripped it out of my body. Not for his own use. The fucked-up-ness of it all is that he doesn’t even know he has it. He snatched something else without regard to the musical soul that was tethered to his plunder.

So one of these days, very soon, I’m going to plant my feet, sit straight and proud, and reclaim the music. I miss the way it feels inside me.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

After a very long absence, I planted my feet, sat straight and proud, and played tonight. It felt good. It felt really, really good, … like, … like, … sorry, there isn’t anything else like it.

My cello and I have been together for over 24 years. I Love her very much. She must Love me too because, despite my neglect, she still responds to my touch.

Years ago, THEY called her Charles or Chuck, and made crude jokes about how I made music between my legs. I called her Mine, and privately I called her, My Girl. She really deserves a name like Lily or Emilia. Maybe Emilia is best. She is Italian after all.

She’s a copy of a 1742 Carlo Bergonzi. The design is quite different from a Stradivarias. She’s long and lean with a rich chestnut color. I know that she’s much older than I am. It shows in her deep sonorous tone, as well as the chips, scratches and scars that mark her beautiful body. When I look at her and hold her, I feel so lucky to have such a precious girl. Others who’ve seen and heard her have been envious of her beauty. I suppose that makes my neglect all the more tragic. However, thanks to my own resolve and a push from a dear sweet friend, she’s free again.

(Thank you, sweet friend)

I should quit writing now and get back to My Girl, Emilia (?) … My Cello. She’s patient with me when the sounds don’t come out right, but together we’re going to make something delicious happen again.

Thursday, August 11, 2005

Cranky-Ass Thoughts

I get confused and annoyed when some men complain about how much money they spend in order to keep women happy. First, if you're that guy, please go away from me. I don't want to hear it and I certainly don't want your shallow attention. Two, in my lifetime I've spent more money on men than they've spent on me. It wasn’t because I had to, it was because, at the time, I wanted to. After the majority going dutch dates, gifts, personal loans and travel expenses, the boys and I are probably about even. However, I'm out another sizable chunk of change when I add in the high cost of making and keeping myself attractive, soft and smooth. I also need to keep a decent personal wardrobe (including freakishly expensive lingerie). And avoiding offensive odors in favor of the pretty ones is a fairly high priority.

I'm certain that I'm not unique. Ordinary women like myself aren't making out like bandits every time they get a new fella. Here’s how it really works.

There are especially beautiful women in the world who men (especially heterosexual men) will do ANYTHING for. Men don’t even have to know these women. They simply need to glimpse her and they’ll walk their impetuous bare man-feet across broken glass just to kiss the hem of her skirt. These women are showered with gifts and treated like royalty. They merely need to go about their happy little lives basking in the glory of their adoration … even if it is superficial.

It’s not that I admire these women, or even resent them because they are getting something that I want. She’s simply playing the hand that she was dealt, and this time around it’s paying off in ways that seem advantageous. If she’s smart, she’ll take what she can get, NOW, while the gettin' is good. Who knows how long it will last; and maybe in her next lifetime she’ll come back as a Troll or a Giant Ground Sloth.

What troubles me is that too many of the men who worship these modern-day goddesses become rankled and bitter when their shallow affection isn’t returned. They blame ALL women instead of recognizing their own foolishness as the problem. My hope is that a few of these misguided fellows come around, learn from their experiences and take responsibility for their own folly. Maybe one of them will realize that a true Beauty is in his own backyard … although it’s unlikely that he’s good enough for her.

I like learning from my experiences. This week has been a particularly enriching week for my education in the School of Life. This is what I’ve learned so far:

1.) I expend far too much energy on The Unworthy
2.) Money is for shoes and alcohol, not for men ... at least not MY money
3.) I can drink 5 mojitos in 3 hours and still walk

4.) From now on, if they want it, they have to earn it ... and the hurdles have gone up a few notches
5.) Some people will do and say almost anything to get what they want
6.) Okay, okay … some of the Assholes in my life aren’t really so bad
7.) No matter how many men roll through my life, I'll always have my girls
... and they can kick all their unworthy asses
... which my hot chiks won't really do, because that's not cool
... it could mess up a perfectly good fifty dollar manicure.
8.) I can still get away with not wearing a bra if my dress is tight enough

9.) Here's a good one ... Apparently I intimidate people, I mean men, because I seem smart. I was told to dumb-it-down a bit. Yeah, I'll get right on that one.
10.) I don’t have to be in a good mood all the damn time

No snowflake in an avalanche ever feels responsible.

Tuesday, August 09, 2005


There is no medicine like hope, no incentive so great, and no tonic so powerful as expectation of something tomorrow.
Orison Swett Marden

Our dear friend, Hal was diagnosed with Parkinson's disease about 6 or 7 years ago. Once or twice a year he sees a Fortune-Teller named Fanny Frueholtz. A few years ago, Fanny told Hal that she foresees him becoming part of a traveling lecture circuit to talk about life after the cure. Whether this ever comes to pass or not doesn't really matter right now. What matters is that Hal gets out of bed every day believing that he'll survive this horrendous disease. He can talk about the sorts of things he’ll tell the people in his future audiences. When he frames it like that, he can maintain his pride because it doesn’t seem so much like complaining.

Hal isn’t a stupid or simple man. He’s very intelligent, well-read and experienced. However, if Hal believes Fanny, he simply needs to be patient and endure the crummy symptoms for a while … maybe not much longer. I imagine that's especially helpful on days when he's too shaky to drive, or the weeks and months on end when he doesn’t get much more than an hour or two of sleep a day, or times when he gets gawked at while out in public.

One of these days, I should send Fanny Frueholtz a big bunch of flowers and a thank you note. She gave our sweet, sweet friend something those of us who Love him haven’t been able to give him.


It’s a beautiful gift.

Monday, August 08, 2005

A Public Service Announcement From My Vagina

If you are someone who likes to have sex with women, AND you like to hear this:

Oh yeah … that’s right … keep doing that baby … Uh huh! Oh god … ohhhh yeahhhhh … FUCK YES!!! …. Oh god … oh, oh, oh, ohhhhhhh … OHMYGOD … YEAHHHHhhhhhhh!!! ………. **sigh** Oh yeah baby.

… then you should keep reading.

2005 the Year of Cunnilingus is an opportunity for all adult citizens of the world to celebrate and indulge in the age-old practice of muff-diving. Since munching the hairy taco should be a universally pleasurable experience, it is very important that we are all well informed. To fully appreciate the pleasure involved in cunnilingus, we must first understand the complexities of the remarkable clitoris.

The clitoris is a female sex organ. When the labia are spread open, the visible part of the clit looks like a little knob toward the top. Sometimes you also have to lift its hood to see find it. The sole function of the clitoris is to induce sexual pleasure, so it’s totally worth the effort to find this little gem.

The clitoris is well designed for arousal. It consists of an abundant collection of capillary tissue and more nerve tissue than an entire penis. It’s a little bit like a little penis. In fact, during utero they're both made from the same stuff. The hood of the clitoris is like the foreskin of the penis. It protects the extremely sensitive nerve tissue from unintentional stimulation or chafing. Without this hood, such constant stimulation would very likely be painful. Most of the clitoris is hidden. Some people believe that vaginal orgasm results from stimulation of the internal parts of the clitoris during vaginal penetration.

Just like a penis, everyone’s vagina and clitoris are a bit different. If you have one of your own, you should spend a lot of time making friends with it. If your lover has a clitoris, you should spend just as much time making friends with hers.

When it comes to oral sex, people seem to fall into one of these four categories:
A.) NO WAY! That’s gross and disgusting.
B.) I don’t really like it. I do it to please my partner, usually just on birthdays and anniversaries.
C.) I like doing it, but receiving is much more fun.
D.) I LOVE IT!!! My nipples get hard just thinking about it.

If you fall into A or B, why the hell are you still reading this?
If you fall into C, at least you’re fair-minded and positive.
If you fall into D, you have the right spirit. Even if you're still fine-tuning your skills, you’re ahead of the game (feel free to leave a phone number where you can be reached).

If you are a C or a D, definitely keep reading.

Eating a gal out is similar to a good blow-job. What makes one bloke happy might not work for the next five. You have to get to know your woman and her clit. Simply liking pussies doesn’t make you knowledgable about how to please them all. It’s a learned skill that improves with study and practice. She needs to speak up too. You can’t read her mind, nor should she expect you to. She’s the only one who can tell you what feels best to her. If you really like to hear those wonderful orgasmic sounds, make it a priority to pay attention to your partner and master this skill. Although there are no hard and fast rules, I’ve included a few general guidelines.

Some clitoris’ can be a bit persnickety. If you handle them roughly, they will pout and retreat back into their little hooded house. If that happens, your chances of hearing:

Oh yeah … that’s right … keep doing that baby … Uh huh! Oh god … ohhhh yeahhhhh … FUCK YEAH!!! …. Oh god … oh, oh, oh, ohhhhhhh … OHMYGOD … YEAHHHHhhhhhhh!!! ………. **sigh** Oh yeah baby.

… go down quite a bit. A clitoris likes to be courted and enticed to come out and play. Some are exceptionally coy, requiring a lot of gentle encouragement. Tease her with a lot of kissing and touching of other erogenous areas. Get her really aroused. Her clit will be begging to play by the time you get there. It’s always best to error on the side of caution than to risk offending her sensitive clit with brutishness. You won’t be sorry, and neither will your partner.

I, your esteemed Love Goddess, am committed to promoting both the frequency and the quality of cunnilingus. In order to do so, my vagina and I diligently gather both experiential and scientific information about savoring the delectable cream-pie. Keeping you, our beloved readers, well informed and happy is a high priority. Stay tuned for future updates.