photo by Leandro Martinez

We’re not taking sides on this debate (yet!), but we did like Dannie’s analogy where she compares penis prejudice to a man refusing to sleep with a woman whose inner labia hang lower than the outer. And the debate rages on…

When erect, an uncircumcised penis looks pretty much the same as a circumcised penis, and the foreskin provides comfort benefits to the woman involved in intercourse as well. Which leaves only the aesthetic of the flaccid penis to be your criterium for whom you will and will not sleep with. Sorry, but that seems a bit shallow to me. And as for my personal preference, I find nothing aesthetically attractive about a penis that has a strip of skin missing at the glans — but even so, that wouldn’t prevent me from judging a person’s potential for sex based solely on that little personal physical preference.

Also, a man has a right to decide what he wants to do with his body — a woman’s/partner’s preferences shouldn’t weigh in on his own personal comfort and satisfaction. I mean, a woman with her labia minora extending past her labia majora shouldn’t have her inner labia trimmed just because a man thinks it looks bad. She’d be losing precious nerves, protective tissue, and risking awful complications. Sound familiar? It should be the informed, consenting adult man’s choice. Period.

– Dannie, responding to the post “Dear Dr. Joe, What Do You Think About Circumcision?”

Can’t see the poll? Click here to take it.

photo by Lara64

We received the following in response to our Metro article on negotiating a night of casual sex. Sometimes, it’s the hate mail that brings us the most joy:

I read your “article” in Metro this morning. Ironically I NEVER read that rag but for some reason I did this morning and I’m glad…it is critical to know who your enemies are and there you were “Negotiating for a Night of Casual Sex”. Ladies, please…this city, the internet and the world at large is filled with single women looking for relationships and not succeeding for many reasons not the least of which is the availability of casual sex. Shame and guilt have their place in this world, they are functional and who the hell are you to liberate anyone of those powerful and functional emotions. Sex is one of the universe’s most powerful and generous gifts and who are you to drag it through the muck? Seriously, who are you women? Don’t answer me, that is a question for you to answer in the privacy of your own heart and mind.

If you have no interest in seeing a person in the context of a relationship, you have no business engaging in sex with them-end of story. The extent of the damage you cause with your “perspective” and sharing it is beyond your comprehension.

Please consider what I’m saying, I suspect I’m not in the minority although I suspect you think I am.

I believe you owe us all an apology.

Very sincerely,
Jill

Some researchers say the ideal time for actual in-and-out action is 10 minutes. What say you?

photo by smulligannn

I reckon that as well as part of the sexuality pie we share with our partners, we all still have slices that belong to us as an individual. Perhaps if you feel his personal slice is way outweighing the slice you’re sharing as a couple, just have a good old wank yourself!

Take the opportunity to get back in touch with your own slice of me-sex. And then drop it into conversation, or leave the evidence (dildo) lying around. See what he thinks. If he’s like “Haaaaay! Why you no have sexy time with me baybee?” then it might be an opening for you to talk about what your sex time with or without each other means, hence an opportunity for you to talk about how you feel about his self-lovin’ habits.

But it could go the other way. You drop a little “Honey, I was just massaging my G-spot earlier and I started to wonder whether I’ve been wetter recently than I used to be? What do you reckon?” Oh boy, that kinda thing is sure to get him all wanting to touch you and eat you up and shit.

Playing with yourself without your partner can be a lot like foreplay I reckon, as long as you’re both comfortable with it and you at least leave a good slice left for them. It can be fantastic if you masturbate but don’t let yourself come, just keep having little me-times but wait for the together time for the Big Bang.

– Diz, responding to the post “Wise Guys – Should I Worry If He Masturbates More Than We Have Sex?”

photo by Rob Inh00d

We heard from a reader in Australia this week who wanted to alert us to all the sex- and gender-related craziness that is going on in the federal election Down Under. Because we, ahem, don’t have a reporting staff based over there, we thought we’d just share Courtney’s letter with you. The federal election in Australia takes place on Saturday, August 21st. Throw another legal loophole on the barbie!

Dear Em & Lo,

Our two prime-ministerial candidates are, to put it bluntly, very boring. Both have been very conservative, either adamantly believing that “marriage is between a man and a woman,” or too afraid of distancing voters to argue otherwise. To my disgust, even our only openly gay cabinet minister, Penny Wong, won’t contradict her party and support gay marriage. On the abortion front, neither are going to make it MORE difficult to procure a legal abortion in Australia, but they are certainly not going to make it easier, so that women must continue to take advantage of legal loopholes if they want an abortion. What’s worse is that the leader of the Opposition, Tony Abbott, has previously shown an extremely anti-abortion stance when he was Minister for Health in 2005, allowing his personal and religious beliefs interfere with his duty to act in the best interests of Australian women when he refused to approve the use of the drug RU-486, the cheap, safe, and less traumatic alternative to surgical abortion.

Abbott has also previously discouraged young men and women from having sex before marriage, and said that women should regard their virginity as a “precious gift.” You can probably see why I, as a 20-year-old woman, am not enthusiastic about this man having any sort of power over me and my rights. “Get Up!”, an independent community advocacy group, feels the same way, and has produced a fantastic and very effective ad featuring women reciting Abbott quotes on matters such as women in the workplace, the cervical cancer vaccine, and abortion.

Outside of the main two political parties, however, an even fiercer battle is raging, and that’s the one that’s captured my attention the most. It’s between two minor parties: The Australian Sex Party (a.k.a. good) and Family First (a.k.a. evil). The Australian Sex Party supports same-sex marriage, the decriminalization of abortion, a national sex education curriculum, stem cell research, and the overturning of mandatory internet filtering (more here on their policies). Family First opposes all of these things. A debate on these issues between Fiona Patten of the Sex Party and Wendy Francis of Family First aired on morning television last week, and wow, it was quite something. If you have a few minutes, it’s here. The good news is that while Fiona Patten was very well spoken and argued her case excellently, Wendy Francis came off as a rude, homophobic, intolerant cow, and I really don’t see how Family First could have won itself any fans in this debate.
Read the rest of this entry »

photo of Old Faithful by Chuck Martin

Perhaps one day in the future, saying “female ejaculate” will sound as quaint and old-fashioned as “female chairman” or “female fireman.” But in the meantime, women who squirt are stuck with this awkward modified term. Can you think of something better? Make your suggestions in the comments section below, and in a few weeks we’ll run a poll and let readers vote on their favorite. And don’t worry, we promise to include “female ejaculate” and even plain old “ejaculate” as options for you to vote on. In the meantime, though, we’re looking for some more creative options.  Va-geyser? E-jill-ulate? Hmm… maybe not. See? We need your help!

photo by photogirl7

Our contributor Chloë Browne, who’s pursuing an Honors Major in Gender and Sexuality Studies at at Swarthmore College, has a confession to make:

A few weeks ago I was at a bar with some friends when a guy started chatting me up. He asked me what my major was, and when I told him I was a Gender and Sexuality Studies nerd, he immediately balked, calling over his shoulder as he walked away, “False advertising much?!”

What he meant was, “You don’t look like a hardcore feminist.” Which begs the question, What does a hardcore feminist look like? Considering how often I get this same reaction from people (albeit with a slightly less douchey delivery), it would seem there’s one mold out there and I unequivocally don’t fit into it.

For as long as I can remember, I have had a deep and reverent regard for nearly everything traditionally associated with glitzy consumerist American girliness. On a family vacation when I was four, a cousin introduced me to the wondrous world of Barbie, immediately and effectively undermining years of my mother’s hard work to keep me unaware of their tanned, toned, augmented, and beautified existence. There she was in all her plasticized glory, gorgeous and sexy and taboo (thanks, Mom) and I was hooked. From that moment on, high heels, makeup, and general glamorizing became a source of hours of entertainment, and though the accoutrements have increased dramatically in size in the years between my adorning Barbie and my adorning myself, my fascination has remained something of a constant.

For just as long, though, I’ve had a deep sensitivity to issues of sexism and the gendered aspects of living in today’s world. What began as an early commitment to girl power (not of the Spice Girls variety, though — mom did succeed on that front) soon morphed into a precocious feminism. My Barbie didn’t take shit from Ken and I didn’t take shit from classmates.

My vocal stances on gender equality in and out of the classroom often baffled my more traditional, conservative, Southern peers. My speaking out on gendered themes in Tuck Everlasting while tottering around in the pale pink kitten-heeled flip flops that were (bafflingly) all the rage among my 8th grade class had my classmates calling me a lipstick lesbian long before I understood the phrase or frosted my lips with anything more than Bonnebell glitter gloss.

Similar issues persist in my day-to-day life now. People hear that I’m a rugby-playing Gender and Sexuality Studies major and pretty quickly draw up a set of assumptions about who I am, what I look like, and who I sleep with. Others see me walking around in a flouncy dress, heels, and a ponytail and immediately think: nice, traditional, knows-her-place girly girl. The incongruity that people assume exists between how I look and how I think has me constantly defending my choices, my appearance, and my politics not only to my fellow gen-sex students and the occasional bar fly, but to myself as well. Read the rest of this entry »

photo by Ollie Crafoord

When it comes to pubic grooming, whatever makes you feel sexy and confident is what you should do. But in an age when the majority people feel hair removal is a moral imperative — that you’re skanky and lazy if you don’t — you may feel like you don’t have much choice in the matter. Which is why it’s nice to hear from the minority from time to time:

Glad this has come up! I have been absolutely mystified why removing one’s pubic hair could ever be thought of as sexy! Back in the 70’s many women were  fighting with the docs to NOT shave us when we gave birth as it was viewed by us to be degrading and about men wanting us to look like children, it did not reduce infection rates, but INCREASED them; we interpret the practice as one of an attempt to DE-sex us. It was an issue of who controlled our bodies. We thought that guys who were into their women sporting what are now called “brazillians” were closet pedophiles, and we were horrified. We were comfortable with our bodies; pubic hair our southern crowning glory…the curls that we and our lovers toyed with, the shine, the “real” blondes, not wearing panties and feeling the sexiness of the feel of summer breezes tickling our airy furbelows. Razor stubble, wax burns and red infected skin bumps are NOT sexy. The time it takes could be put to better use pleasuring ourselves or our lovers; that part of our body should be treated to as much pleasure and fun as possible. Waxing, shaving lasering = NOT FUN.

– Anais commenting on the post What Do Guys Think of Au Naturel?

photo by Jason Clapp

Our contributor Abby Spector, who is majoring in Feminine/Gender/Sexuality Studies at Wesleyan University, has a confession to make:

“Abby, you never seem to get angry,” my coworker said to me the other day. I hate that scumbag, but all I knew how to do was smile. If I was in a worse mood I might have left orange rinds on the counter. That would show him!

You see, in public life, I’m extremely passive. The only manifestation of anger I know is tears or a timid note. However, in the bedroom, I’m domineering. It’s like a creature kept somewhere between my genitals and my mind gets out of its cage. Best part is, I like it.

This creature is a new discovery. In the past, I was a starfish in bed — the kind of partner that lies back, limbs spread, and counts ceiling tiles until it’s over. I had never been on top for longer than thirty seconds. Up there, I’d clumsily bounce up and down while trying to keep my breasts from flopping into my armpits. It was terrible for all parties involved. Within no time I returned to the comfortable, tile-counting position on my back. It never crossed my mind to be aggressive. I was too much in my head to appreciate the pleasure of my body.

My choice in bedmates didn’t help things: they were all either drunken douches or douches who couldn’t blame their bad behavior on alcohol. In the moments that I had a sexual personality (which were rare) I resembled a self-loathing Lolita: I feigned inexperience because I knew the men I attracted wanted to feel powerful. As the first douche said, “Sex is about the man coming…the man’s pleasure.” All I knew was to give them what they wanted.

But what did I want? I took a vow of celibacy to find out. And I decided that when I eventually lost my “second virginity” I would make it count: no one-night stand, no married men, no starfish. I would be myself — whoever that turned out to be.

With the help of my vibrator, I spent thirteen months without any partner sex. It perhaps wasn’t the most therapeutic move (nor the most surprising) that I spent those  months jacking off to porn that puts the female in the submissive role. It may not jive with my personal politics, but it’s what gets me off. (Damn you, fucked up power dynamics of the porn industry!) As a result, I assumed that my sexual self would be like these fantasy women. I saw myself pinned to the bed and enjoying a good pounding by a muscled hunk named Stallion.

Turns out, I want to be the Stallion.

I was expecting my new sexual self to be like the personality of my outer-shell: a friendly, funny, free-spirited fuck. The bruises on my new, non-douchey boyfriend’s hips seem to tell another story. The inner me that emerged after thirteen months is the exact opposite of my usual people-pleasing passivity. In bed, I am, apparently, intense. I bite, suck, yell and pin my partner to the bed. It sounds violent but no worries, it’s not over the top. I am concerned with my partner’s feelings, but this concern is now on a par with my own pleasure.

Recently, I have been listening to the instinct I’ve just newly tapped into. Its drive is animalistic. For example, the other day I had a polka-dotted scarf in my hair and had a sudden urge to tie my boyfriend to the bed. In the grand scheme of sexual experimentation this is not unheard of. However, for me, a girl who is often seen as emotionally and physically fragile, taking a dominatrix-esque role is downright shocking.

My initial reaction is to call my sexual side the Jekyll to my Hyde. But these characters seem to imply a good and a bad, a right and a wrong. Despite the occasional bites, my bedroom self is not an evil villain. She is real. And because of that, she is wonderful. Who knows? Maybe my fragile exterior is the true villain.

– Abby Spector