September 2009

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Sometimes I’m such a girl. This is especially true when it comes to shoes. My husband thinks it’s a sickness, he who has only two pairs of shoes, BOTH EXACTLY THE SAME, only one pair is for mowing the lawn and the other is for everyday wear. Go ahead, shake your head in dismay. I do so on a daily basis.

I, however, have many pairs of shoes. Many, many, many pairs. I’ve worn the same size since the seventh grade, so I’ve managed to form quite a collection. (And no, I will not get rid of some of these before I buy some more, THANK YOU VERY MUCH, and ha ha another Imelda Marcos joke, you are so very droll.)

I’ve heard that women like to buy shoes because no one ever felt fat trying on a nice new sandal. I can believe it.

I really only wear four or five pairs of my shoes on a regular basis, actually. My tendency is to buy shoes that are beautiful and sleek and high heeled and completely impractical. If wearing the shoe for more than ten minutes results in excruciating pain, well, I’m sold. I actually enjoy shoe torture. It’s that masochistic streak in me, I’m sure. Plus, there’s the near orgasm I have when I take them off – always the best part.

And I’m not even going to tie this into foot fetishism, because I think this is a completely different animal. High heeled shoes aren’t about the feet, it’s about the lengthening of a woman’s (or man’s, I suppose, whatever floats your boat) legs. They force the wearer to arch the back and thrust the ass backwards and the chest forward. It’s about creating a whole new posture that is undeniably sensual. And also, possibly, not entirely healthy.

It’s true that heels are terrible for your knees and spinal alignment. They shorten the calf muscles and can cause hammertoes and a bony enlargement on the heel called Haglund’s deformity. Wearing heels also makes one susceptible to ankle injuries and Achilles tendon pain. Wow! It all just sounds like so much fun.

But did you also know that moderately high heels can boost your sex life? Apart from looking really hot, apparently, they can strengthen a woman’s pelvic floor. (Sorry, guys, this is not so much a benefit for men. But hey, you can still enjoy the bunions!) They can reduce the need for Kegel exercises, which, I gotta tell you, are not so much fun, and can increase a woman’s sexual gratification.

Damn it. Now I’m getting the itch that only a pair of four inch red swede stilettos is going to scratch. Excuse while I go make some room in the closet.

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Peeper

“I’m a fan of people caught naked who don’t intend to be.”

So says Sebek in his rule 34 suggestion. And I gotta tell you, Sebek, I’ve been thinking about this for some time now. Whenever I read that sentence, I picture the old Benny Hill skits where some poor woman’s clothes suddenly fly off her body and she’s left standing there in her underwear. I mean, who finds themselves abruptly naked without first consciously deciding to remove their clothes? Besides Prince Freddy, I mean.

Or perhaps we’ll take a lesson in English grammar from Professor Ckazaal and assume you mean you’re a fan of naked people who don’t intend to be seen by others. Ah, well, then we’re into voyeurism, yes? You filthy pervert, you. I LOVE IT.

And you’re certainly not alone in your interest, Sebek. The Internet is chock-full of such things, and they run the gamut. Here a voyeur is featured as a story element in a finely-crafted movie plot. And there are an abundance of up-skirt and up-kilt pics out there. Of course, most hidden camera clips are obviously  faked, but occasionally you’ll find something that might make you wonder a little.

And honestly, voyeurism tickles my moral conscience a bit and I’m forced to consider the ethics of such acts. (I know, I know. Mean ol’ Ckazaal always having to contemplate the ETHICS. Can’t we just enjoy our porn without having to THINK about it too much?) But in many countries, voyeurism is classified as a sex crime. And yet we often romanticize the Peeping Tom. Is it a matter of what they don’t know won’t hurt them? Is the essence of the crime in it’s doing, or in being caught at it?

And what of the people who get off on the other side, on being observed in intimate acts? They exist. I know, because I’m one of them. What is blogging but an invitation to observe some part of someone’s life anonymously and surreptitiously? I know you’re out there, watching. I’ll do my best to put on a good show.

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Saucy

Ahoy, me hearties! It be Talk Like a Pirate Day!

Yarrr! What be sexier than a pirate’s booty? Avast! I bin plunderin’ many a peep show of yon jim lads and buxom wenches for yer amusement and pleasure! Treasure abounds on the seven seas of the interwebs, and if an eyepatch and pegleg hoists yer mainsail, behold the bounty laid before ye. ARRR!

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Pushing the Button

From a very young age, I knew what the future would bring. Television was my friendly guide. It told me to expect flying cars and jet packs and high powered laser rifles and matter replicators. And a zombie apocalypse. And oh, let’s not forget robot sex.

ROBOT SEX, BABY!

Dude, do you have any idea how much of the Internet is devoted to this subject? It’s truly insane. Generally, I spend about a day researching and writing one of these posts. But when I started seeking out what information I could, I became overwhelmed. SO. MUCH. ROBOT PORN. I was paralyzed. It’s taken me three days to wander out of the stupor in which that little research jaunt left me.

I came to the realization that the problem really lay in focus. How to even really define robot sex? Are we talking vibrators, dildo machines, sybians and unbalanced washing machines on the spin cycle? Erotic automata like Charles Babbage’s silver dancer could be counted in as well. The video game Moaning Lisa seems to be getting closer to that promised future of sexy androids that live only to please us.

And then there’s the huge debate on the ethics of robosexuality. Right now, of course, it’s all just masturbation in a shiny disguise. I don’t really worry if my vibrator is left unsatisfied when I replace it in my special drawer. But as the machines we make become indistinguishable from humans, do we make them automatons or autonomous? Do we program into them the ability to say “no” to us? And can they ever replace actual human interaction? Human beings in their loneliness and vanity seem always to be falling in love with their own creations.

But it seems to me that we want them to love us back. We’re all of us just machines in the end.

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I’m at DragonCon, bitches. So I’m being lazy.

Rule 34 states that if it exists, there is porn for it.

So give it to me, baby. Let me stretch my research muscles and find the porn you’ve always dreamt of. Leave your list in the comments. You know you want to.

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Bone to Pick

Meet Belladonna, Jenna, and Briana. These are some of my husband’s favorite porn stars, the latter of which he loves for her voluptuous bottom. And that’s fine, love. I fully support and encourage that fetish. Less squat thrusts for me to do.

He asked me the other day if I have any favorite porn stars. I had to think about it for a few minutes, and then I realized, yeah, there is this one dude that I kind of dig. I watch a lot of gay porn and I had seen a few clips of Jeff Palmer and I just think he’s teh hotness. Or I did.

Dude, you should never do research on your favorite porn stars. You just find out things that make them so much less sexy.

Apparently Jeff Palmer is an AIDS denialist.

He was diagnosed HIV positive in 1997. After taking the antiretroviral drugs for four years he did some research and became convinced that HIV was not the cause of AIDS. He then began actively promoting these beliefs by advocating bareback sex in his films and club appearances. The sheer irresponsibility of this flagrant endangerment of others is mind-boggling to me. And now I can’t, with any sense of enjoyment, watch men fuck him anymore.

It makes me really sad. He has a great ass.

But hey, baby: Ckazaal, she tries not to judge. When you’re talking about sex and porn, that way just leads to madness. And I can understand being faced with your own mortality and finding that you need to cry out in protestation, to disregard it’s hold on you, and to deny it’s very existence. And I struggle with the knee jerk reaction that the dogma I was given from a very young age must be right. That HIV is causal in AIDS is almost certainly true, but unless I’ve experienced something directly I can never say that it absolutely is. And even when I have experienced it, I have to leave some room for doubt.

But unfortunately for Mr. Palmer, if I may quote Philip K. Dick, “Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn’t go away.”

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