February 13, 2006

Entre Nous

We come from France. ~ Jane Curtin and Dan Aykroyd as Prymatt and Beldar Conehead (assisted by far too many writers to credit)

Every so often a totally bizarre snippet from adolescence makes a comeback in my brain and I'm shanghaied by silly memories.

It will likely come as no surprise for those of you who read my blog to learn that I have been a rather twisted little screw for quite some time. In fact, my earliest sexual fantasies go back so far most reading this would not believe me. Now, granted they were not sexual by the strictest sense of the word, merely situational, but the context was there and Freud, for all his faults, would be on my side. Some of my most explicit and erotic fantasies are based on seedlings that were planted in my subconscious when I was a very wee little lass.

So what tawdry tidbit has recently surfaced in my noggin, you ask? Well, during a snippet of the 16 hours a day I commit to the Olympic Games (yes, fuck you, I like the Olympics and, yes, I cheer for the home team, flawed as we are) a French athlete got 15 seconds of fame (Bally someone-or-other in the women’s' biathlon), the oddest rusting of silt quivered in my gray matter.

When I was a girl engaging in taboo fantasies (yes, my pretties, they stretch back that far) the endpoint of all my fantasies was "and then we move to France." France – of all places -- was, in my mind, the cure-all for any wicked, twisted, debased sexual relationship problem. It was the resolution to all things sinful and naughty. Some extension of Pleasure Island that Pinocchio never dreamed.

Where did this come from? How did it start? Did I wildly misinterpret the lyrics to Gigi? Could the subtext of Pink Panther cartoons strew my childhood mind with too much double-entendre?

Maybe, but I don’t think so. My working theory, in fact, will likely make you spit coffee on the screen. I’m serious. Put the cup down. Swallow. Okay. Now read on.

I'm thinking Coneheads. Yes. Those Coneheads.

As a child I had a case of near-permanent insomnia. Actually, that's not entirely accurate. It would be more close to the mark to say that I have had what I now know to be Delayed Sleep Phase Syndrome (even though it didn't have a name when I was a child). What this basically means is that my body doesn't have a normal sleep cycle. I'm nocturnal (what was once called "a night owl") and I also sleep in short phases of four hours here, five hours there, instead of a full eight hour span. Not to mention I prefer to sleep in afternoon as opposed to night hours. Most people only suffer from DSPS on a temp basis, or else are able to manage their DSPS through diet, ritual, and/or drugs. But then there are the people like me. By and large those like me are either rich, drug-addicted, or working third-shift jobs. Sometimes combinations of these. I've had DSPS since the day my mother brought me home from the hospital and after too many sleep clinic sessions to document, I'm convinced that diet and ritual are not a factor (the drugs might be, but long-term sleeping pill usage is not my idea of a good thing). I managed it in my youth by not sleeping and being a work-a-holic. I manage it now by sleeping when I am sleepy and being awake when I’m awake. It’s much healthier than that whole not-sleeping thing.

But I digress. This is all a long-winded excuse to explain why I was up watching Saturday Night Live as a five year old (although SNL wasn't the worst I got into back then). And, despite being five (or perhaps because of it) I thought the Conehead sketches were about the funniest fucking things I'd ever seen. To be completely honest, I retain, to this day, a great affection for them (as well as a crush on Dan Aykroyd that endures despite Caddyshack II, Exit to Eden, and Canadian Bacon).

I can only assume that because it was okay for obvious aliens to come from France and have people buy it that I assumed my brother/sister incest fantasy characters could end up there and have it be no big deal. Sure, you can blame VC Andrews for the fantasies, but those characters never ended up happy or in France ;-) Also I’m thinking that whole "European royalty who marry their family members" element was tossed in there somewhere – although why I would have isolated France out of Egyptian history, European history, and US Southern history is beyond me.

Still. It cracks me up.

Forbidden older man / younger underage girl fantasy? They end up in France.

Brother/sister or daddy/daughter incest? They move to France.

All taboo roads led, in my mind, to France.

And other than being subjected to Jerry Lewis movies for the rest of their lives, they might even have lived happily ever after.

Of course - alas - my stories rarely get such closure these days. I've matured to the point of fast-forwarding to the dirty parts as I wank off and then just drifting away into contented slumber...comme il faut.

Naughty Bits by Doxy at 05:46 AM | permalink | talkback (0)

January 22, 2006

Alla Khazam!

And after the spanking, the oral sex. ~ Carol Cleveland as Dingo, Monty Python and the Holy Grail (via one or more of the holy six)

Just look at this glorious creature. Unghhhhh.

Has there ever been a bottom in greater need of spanking?

I want one. Just to play with? For a little while? Please?

Naughty Bits by Doxy at 10:08 PM | permalink | talkback (1)

January 09, 2006

I Don't Care If It Rains Or Freezes, Long As I Got My Chocolate Penis

The chocolate coating makes it go down easier. ~ Carol Kane as Valerie in The Princess Bride (via William Goldman)

It really doesn’t make any sense to crack a joke about this. What is there to mock about a do-it-yourself milk chocolate penis kit?

Oh wait. Lots.

You know that saddest part is that my first concern is about what kind of chocolate they’re including in the kit. Crappy milk chocolate would be a terrible waste of time and an erect penis. Now, make me a cock treat out of solid semi-dark Ghirardelli and that’s a gesture a girl can get wet in the knickers about.

Naughty Bits by Doxy at 06:47 PM | permalink | talkback (2)

November 09, 2005

O Rose, Thou Art Sick

O Rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm,
Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy,
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.
~ William Blake, "The Sick Rose"

The phone sex industry is in an uproar over the whole Red Rose thing and I guess it’s time to talk about it here.

Up to now I haven’t addressed the closing of Red Rose Stories. Something didn’t seem right about it. The original statement posted on the front page of the site when it was brought to my attention has been altered at least once and it struck me as strange that there was no official statement of charges, etc. It reads much calmer now, but at the time was so defensive and passive-aggressive that it reeked of trying to hide something. If I felt righteous indignation regarding my treatment by a federal agency I would be providing as much legal information regarding my case as possible to encourage public outrage. I wrote to the site admin, but as of right now, none of my emails have been returned. I was on the fence. Obviously, I am concerned about the implications of a story site being closed down by a federal agency, but, it just seemed like there had to be more to it than what we were getting.

Info began circulating at places like YNot, XBiz, and even Boing Boing expressing concern over the closing, assuming it was part of an initiative that followed on the heels of the Max World Entertainment obscenity raid. But there still wasn’t enough information available for me to research on my own and form an opinion.

I still have a lot of questions.

The important thing here -- for me -- is to get all the facts before jumping to a conclusion. "How dare the government do X" is my instinct like everyone else in the industry these days, but there's still enough of ole devil’s advocate me left to want to know exactly what was involved.

Daze Reader and Darker Pleasures (article 1, article 2) have both started finding out more compelling information and asking some harder questions. Through Google cache and a few other information sources, it’s become clear that Red Rose Stories wasn’t targeted because of stories about group sex, or mainstream taboo issues (scat, edge-play, water-sports, etc). It’s pretty clear to me that this is about the fact that many of their stories included instances of sex with children. Not Lolita "hot teen girl" stuff that walks the line in mainstream America and fuels socially acceptable movies like American Beauty.

Nope. It's not going to be that easy, friends and neighbors.

Red Rose's Lolita section apparently had headers and categories for stories that included infants and toddlers having sex with adults. At least three of the stories from what I can discern appear to include toddler snuff. So the holier-than-thou blather once posted on the home page following the FBI’s raid was more than just a tad misleading. “Rosie’s” statement that “The ONLY legal sex stories are those that involve a man and a woman, consenting to MISSIONARY POSITION SEX, in a dark room” is hardly true and does a lot more to make her look like an ass than a victim of political harassment. I’m sure that’s why it no longer appears on the page.

Still, I think we need more to go on before taboo phone sex workers start to panic. But there is reason for concern.

Phone sex is a form of storytelling. All role-play activities are. The implications of stories being able to be categorized as criminal would be a gigantic step backwards for us as a society and would cripple the industry as it stands. Going after a story site would appear to go against the April 2002 Supreme Court ruling on Ashcroft v. Free Speech Coalition where it was decided that "virtual" child porn was not criminal because no actual children or criminal acts are involved.

There are at least three cases that I can think of that would be valid for the FBI to investigate this issue and possibly confiscate the site equipment. First, one of the contributing authors may have actually committed a crime against a minor and the story may be gathered for evidence of that or additional crimes. Second, one of the stories may depict similarities to a case currently under investigation to the point where its parallels requires investigation of a possible suspect. Finally, one or more of the stories may have been presented as a confession, whether for dramatic effect or not. In most of these cases it would also explain why the FBI isn’t saying anything about the case. Although it would be nice to have an official statement from them to go on.

I question whether the site has actually been closed down by the FBI. They may have taken the servers and back-ups and made it impossible for the site admin to recover the site's contents, but she obviously still has control enough to post a statement. It's entirely possible that if she had a back-up the site would still be functional. These are answers we don't have. We do know that there are instances in the past where the FBI has actually killed / taken over the domain itself. That obviously hasn't happened here. The effect is the same, but there is a difference in the actions.

This is one of those cases that make us ask ourselves the hard questions and decide if we have the courage of our convictions. That’s one reason the site would have been targeted if this is just an obscenity fishing expedition.

And that would be a problem. Not just for taboo erotica sites and taboo phone sex workers, but for free speech rights in a virtual age. And we’ve got to stick to our guns on the harder cases, or else we give them the inch that leads to the mile.

At the risk of losing half my reader base, I’ll state here and now that I have no problem with most underage fantasies. They make perfect sense to me from a social and biological perspective. We become sexually aware as children. We first start to masturbate and experience sexual pleasure as children. In ancient times children were married at or just prior to puberty and let's face it, it's only been a few decades since young teens (and in some cases pre-teens) married regularly in certain places of the US. It seems reasonable to me that our basic fantasies would include fantasies of virtual children wether as ourselves or as partners. It is a way of escaping the complications of our adult relationships. What is simpler to most adults than the memory of childhood? Our mating instinct often begins before puberty and our adult minds retain that. As we get older and discover the complexities of sexuality and the emotional rewards of consenting partners, we move away from those first primitive instincts, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t echoes deep in the chambers of the subconscious. And if someone wants to explore those thoughts and feelings in the form of a roleplay session with a phone sex girl then I believe that’s perfectly reasonable.

It’s one thing to fantasize about screwing around with a teenaged Lolita. It’s another thing entirely to act on the instinct. Sure, she looks hot in that skirt, and she’s probably a lot less complex than the wife back at home, but she also listens to the Backstreet Boys and can you really imagine wanting to have sex with anyone of any age who listens to modern boy bands?

Okay. I know. It’s not a joking matter. But, it’s a real example of how our fantasies aren’t reality and cannot be made criminal no matter how revolting they may seem to others. The lesson of Lester Burnham was that sure, a guy might jerk off thinking about the cheerleader next-door, but when faced with the reality of an immature girl right in front of him, he recognized the false-front of the fantasy. That moment is the difference between a sex criminal and the average person. The choice to physically act or not; the ability of the mind to recognize the jump from fantasy to reality is monumentally important.

And those of you aching to shake your fingers at the Bush administration for this should realize right now that it’s the liberals who have given the religious right this opening. The liberals are just as often on the wrong side of this issue. Ashcroft v. ACLU started out as
ACLU v. Reno. Don’t make this liberal v. conservative in your mind. It isn’t. The previous and next administrations will likely go after this just as aggressively.

I have taken my share of underage calls as a phone sex operator, although I never had one of those phone-sex urban legend instances where supposedly the PSO believes the caller is actually molesting someone while speaking with her. Had I ever really felt that was happening I would have notified authorities. That’s basic. But then I wouldn’t have rushed to that conclusion instantly and I would have had a serious discussion with the client.

Yes, it’s true you hear about cases as a PSO, but they’re always so unlikely. Can it have happened? Maybe, but it’s such an improbable scenario. It goes against all pathology of most child molesters that we know of -- a criminal base that not only encourages but actually thrives on utter secrecy. It's far more likely that an inexperienced phone sex entertainer got spooked and began playing "whatif" over and over in her mind and worked herself into a guilt fit. It happens. Some of these guys can really freak you out, and some of them love playing mind games and seeing if they can push your buttons. It happened to me with a psycho caller who wanted to talk about murdering people and sexually assaulting children with the body parts of his victims. Never spoke with the guy again and I'm not sure how I made it though the call. But when I talked later to other girls who had handled the same caller, they said his method was to simply find whatever a girl's limits were and push against them. He'd never been that extreme with any of the other girls he spoke with – mostly he’d been into graphic scat and rape with them. Apparently I wasn't shocked enough by his regular stuff and he had to get creative. Lucky me.

Still. As much as I could never take a call like that again, I don't think it should be illegal for anyone to do so. People say "wouldn't you feel different if you found out the guy was a serial killer?" And my answer is still no. I've talked to a lot of guys on the phone about sex. It's possible (if improbable) that I've spoken with a serial killer. If that highly unlikely event took place, it's possible I talked with him about an act he may or may not have committed upon a victim. If so, then he was a psycho before he called and it’s even more unlikely that I either contributed to his actions, or could have deterred them. Anyone who has ever had any real interaction with mentally disturbed individuals knows how ridiculous it is to think reality influences them. We like to think there are reasons, explanations, and/or contributing factors. Sometimes we can find links that appear to have some influence, but they never give us the whole story. The truth is we do not know. The science isn't there yet.

There is no empirical evidence that proves people act on their taboo fantasies. Yes, there is evidence to suggest that child molesters fantasize about sex with children, but, unless we can understand how many non-molesting individuals have these same types of fantasies we can’t know how unusual that is. Police find porn at most homes where domestic crimes are committed, but that's because an estimated 80% of American homes have some kind of porn in them. Does that mean porn incites domestic violence? If 80% of American homes had toasters, would the toasters be the cause of domestic violence? Legislators continue to submarine any funding for sexuality studies so we can only wonder.

I personally have now and likely will always fantasies about being underage in my *personal* fantasy life. Generally I am between 12 and 16 in such fantasies, but occasionally I dip younger. For people who were sexually aware at younger ages, I can understand those numbers going lower. True, toddler and infant stories make me inwardly flinch, but I'm sure the idea that I fantasize about being a pre-teen makes others flinch. Complicate this with the fact that snuff makes me extremely uncomfortable (personally) and, well, we're talking about the kind of porn that is going to be the most difficult for me to defend, and I still want all the facts before taking any kind of stand on Rose Red Story’s behalf.

Daze points out that there are two schools of thought: fantasies and stories contribute to action and/or fantasies and stories appease the appetite and prevent action. I think there are other schools of thought, but the truth is that no one knows and it doesn't matter. The virtual creation cannot be counted as a crime. You cannot police the mind. You cannot make a fictional story or a work of art into a crime. That's my bottom line. Nothing else matters to me. If we start to go in that direction it will be a day ten times more frightening to me than 9/11 ever could have been. Because then it isn’t an outside force coming after us, it’s a cancer inwardly eating our rights out of our own minds.

For the record, my personal beliefs are as follows:

1. I believe in the five -year rule. A twenty-one year old having consensual sex with a sixteen year old is not statutory rape (if it's rape-rape, that's a different issue). Anyone who is more than five years older than an underage partner and having consensual sex with them should face moderate legal reprimand depending on the circumstance. Again, non-consensual instances should have different (and more severe) punishments.

2. Statutory rape is not child molestation or pedophilia. There is a reason we have separate terms for things. A thirty year old guy who is sleeping with a sixteen year old girl is not the same as a thirty year old guy committing sexual acts upon a toddler and the punishments for these crimes should be vastly different. We need to stop labeling every sex act with an underage person as “child molesting” the same way we have to stop labeling all acts of violence as terrorism. Using blanket statements is good for sensationalizing mediocre crimes, but it builds up public skepticism toward facing the real problems.

3. Child molesting and/or child exploitation is a serious crime of the worst imaginable type, but it is limited to the actual physical act. People who buy/acquire real child pornography aren't people I want to buddy up with, but they have not physically committed any act upon a child. They should be compelled to hand over whatever physical evidence they have in their possession and to aid in whatever way they can to help trace it back to the people who did commit the actual crime. We're never going to catch the people actually doing harm if we allow police to spend time, money, and effort on going after the low-hanging fruit. It will always be easier to catch consumers, the goal is to catch the producers. Making it illegal to own also makes it more unlikely that discoveries will be reported. If a person stumbles upon child porn by accident in our current atmosphere they are far more likely to get rid of it than they are to hand it over to the authorities. This makes finding the bad guys harder.

4. Those people who actually commit crimes against children should face the gravest punishments we have available via our legal system. They may not have taken lives, but they have gambled on the health, safety, and mental well-being of a helpless person. They haven’t committed murder, but they’ve committed pretty much the next most vile thing to it. There isn't a room dark enough to keep these people in. This is why we have to actually catch them and protect children from them instead of passing laws that make no sense. We also need to talk to them, study them, and try to find out what makes them do the things they do so we can help prevent it if possible (although I suspect it is going to end up being something more like a chemical imbalance than it is a social influence once sciences gets to the point where we can uncover answers like these).

Every year it seems our government is trying to criminalize a new segment of our society in the name of protecting children. Anti-smoking laws, no-tolerance drug policy, zero-tolerance school policies, and, of course, anti-gay and anti-porn crusades. We are to the point where nearly everyone has, at one time or another, engaged in a criminal activity. It’s the democratic equal of original sin. This isn't the way a free society is supposed to work and I do not agree that it is the right way to protect our children. You don’t protect children from STDs by providing abstinence-only information; You don't protect children from drugs by busting the pothead down the street and you don't protect children by teaching them that one way to love is better than another and you don't protect children by busting people for crimes of the mind instead of going after the people actually physically committing acts against children. Because children know bullshit when they see it. Maybe they don’t consciously process that step, but they know when things seem wrong and they’ll experiment for themselves until they find their own answers even if it makes them feel guilty or wrong.

Shutting down a story site, even one as over the lines as Red Rose is like busting a guy for arson because he wrote a story about burning down a house. Sure, some people say "you have to be sick to even think of having sex with a child" but I don't think that's true. Is it anymore sick to write a story about a cannibal serial killer? You have to be sick to actually HAVE sex with a child, but to think about it? Do we really want to go there?

The implications this has for the phone sex industry are obvious. If it's illegal to write about underage sex, then it's not that big a step to making it illegal to talk about underage sex. And once underage sex and age-play virtual depictions are criminalized, then what's the next item on the list?

I think Rose Red Stories was stupid. Not “damn I forgot my keys” stupid, but “someone slap that fucking idiot” stupid. To be hosting stories that involve underage characters having sex in our current political atmosphere means you had better be ready for the legal battle to come. And when it comes you better come out swinging with more than the bullshit whimpering statement that was posted after they were shut down.

But stupidity isn't criminal. I don't have enough information about the case to know yet if there is or isn't a legitimate criminal complaint here, but it seems to me that regardless this is more than just a simple test of obscenity.

If it does turn out that it’s a battle about criminalizing stories, then the FBI did pick a site that it's going to be hard to defend and Red Rose pretty much custom picked themselves for the spotlight. There aren't a lot of lawyers jockeying to stand up and say that toddler snuff story porn deserves its day. But if it turns out that’s all there is to this case, then someone has to. Because if we don't stop those trying to criminalize the human mind, we're never going to be able to focus on stopping those who actually commit physical crimes.

But it isn’t going to be pretty. And with two wild card Supreme Court justices in the mix, I think some concern is warranted. I just find it hard to feel sanctimonious about defending toddler snuff stories and I really hate the fact that I might feel compelled to donate to a defense of it once all the facts of the case are made clear.

Naughty Bits | Phone Sex | Poli-Sci by Doxy at 04:30 AM | permalink | talkback (1)

October 22, 2005

Porn Calm Before The Storm

Let's get pissed and watch porn. ~ Bill Nighy as Billy Mack in Love, Actually (via Richard Curtis)

Nothing relaxes me like fun "amateur" porn. Yes, I realize that is not exactly the aim of most porn, but I find that there's something about looking at naked "real" people that just instills a calming effect within my psyche. Now, granted, I also use porn for the more traditional purpose of stimulating and exciting my inner wicked slut, and even when I'm using it as a semi-sedative, it still has arousing side-effects. But, much the same way that having a nice girl-wank before bedtime helps me segue into slumber, tame porn helps me unwind. When I'm just looking around for fun and mellow feelings, my porn of choice seems to be flashing / upskirt sites.

To that end, I thought I'd share a place I've been enjoying today while hurrying up to wait for Wilma, tying up loose ends, doing laundry, getting stuff off the floor and away from windows, shoving valuables into closets, etc.

Flash 4 Us
If this is also your cuppa, it's definately worth the join.

Some of the delish sights it has to offer:

(Bonus of these yummy sluts HERE)

Naughty Bits by Doxy at 07:31 PM | permalink | talkback (0)

October 19, 2005

Three Wishes Lingerie

Masquerade!
Paper faces on parade -
Masquerade!
Hide your face so the world will never find you!
Masquerade!
Every face a different shade -
Masquerade!
Look around - there's another mask behind you!

Eye of gold
Thigh of blue
True is false
Who is who
Curl of lip
Swirl of gown
Ace of hearts
Face of clown

Faces
Drink it in,
Drink it up
Till you've drowned
In the light...
In the sound...
~ Masquerade from Phantom of the Opera (via Charles Hart and Sir Andrew)

It's WAY past time to be plugging my favorite costume shop: Three Wishes Lingerie. But then, if you're like me costumes and dress-up are hardly just for All Hallow's Eve.

Groovy | Naughty Bits by Doxy at 03:03 AM | permalink | talkback (2)

October 15, 2005

SIMply Stupid

There are those who so dislike the nude that they find something indecent in the naked truth. ~ Francis H. Bradley

One of my occassional indulgences of wasting spare time is to play The Sims -- a PC simulation game by Electronic Arts that is more addicting than heroin. Basically, you get to be God. You create “Sim” people, you see to their needs, build their homes, their families, further their careers, etc. Personally, I've always loved simulation games (I still miss MULE). I preferred Tai Pan when King's Quest was all the rage. I enjoyed Sim City more than Tetris. Doom never did anything for me and race cars bore me. So, now, when I need to decompress and lose an hour or so to gaming, I load up my Sims. These days, it's Sims2, actually, which is so detail-oriented that I can get lost just in creating Sims and designing their houses; I can forget there's a game to play.

I've mentioned that I can be a pathetic geek, right?

Meet Sim Doxy

One of my petty wickedness habits is to base my Sims on friends and enemies alike. If I know you even in passing, you've likely been morphed into a Sim. I control your actions. I decide if you live or die. It's fabulous. And, I must say, you'd all be happier if I had charge of your real lives in this manner. My Sims are largely fulfilled and content. Except for the ones who die in house-fires, but that is a rarity these days (they added sprinkler systems in Sims2).

By all accounts, I should have West World in full swing in my Sim neighborhoods. There should be rampant Roman orgies and decadent Turkish harems, etc. But, alas, the game strives to be annoyingly "family friendly." True, there is a lot of physical interaction, but there is very little room for sexual deviance. Incest play isn't possible because family members don't get to interact sexually - even step-brothers and step-sisters are off-limits (and they're tracked for generations). Age play isn't possible because a teen and an adult can't smooch. Teens, in fact, can't even have sex with other teens. Yeah – that’s realistic.

Adult sex in the game is referred to as "woo hoo" and mostly consists of two adult Sims rolling around under the covers or splashing around in the Jacuzzi to some vague-sounding 70's soul music. Snuggling, making-out, hugging, and dancing is all very Brady Bunch in its portrayal. I had paper dolls as a girl that got more nasty than my Sims.

And for the most part, I can live with these compromises. It’s a game. Sure it would be fun to fool around and be bad, but it would also get boring. Digital 3-D just isn’t to the point yet where I could get girl-wood over it. Not yet anyway.

HOWEVER…

One of the silliest restrictions of the game is that when your Sims need to bathe or use the facilities, there are these annoying pixilated "censor" blurs to hide the nethers that they DO NOT HAVE IN THE FIRST PLACE.

Ladies and germs, I give you Exhibit A - The Naked Sim:

No nipples. No pubic hair. Every four-year-old girl with a Barbie doll has seen more graphic nudity than my Sims. So, explain to me the purpose of these censor blurs. Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?

Why, hello, Ms. Ridiculous, have you been properly introduced to Mr. Ludicrous?

Luckily, the community behind the Sims game is pretty fucking resourceful. There are on-line areas to get just about any hack or supplement you can conjure. One source or another has supplied patches to get rid of the nude blur since the first release of Sims1. It was annoying compromise because with each expansion pack a new patch was generally necessary. Then, in a move of unexpected common sense, at the release of the Sims2, EA games actually included a cheat code that would get rid of the blur. You could turn it on or off on your own and trade off the annoying blur for boring Sim doll nudity. It seemed a glimmer of reason might win the day.

Foolish mortal.

With the latest expansion pack the cheat has been disabled. Officially it’s been “repaired” or “patched.” Why? Well, let’s see. What political hack had to try and make video-game-sex her pet peeve of a week a little while back?

Yes, kiddies.
Hilliary - please - God - don’ t -make - it - so - I - have - to - vote - for - her - in - 2008 - Clinton. Damn fucking liberal soccer mom politician that she is. I can’t even have the joy of pinning this one on the Religious Right.

Look, I am all for protecting children from predators provided a law actually does that without crushing the Constitution in its wake. But let’s look at the steps involved in “children” being exposed to the Sims. The game requires a relatively good gaming computer with LOTS of RAM and a pretty damn good video card. It also carries a $40 price tag. So, the situations of kids able to get their hot little hands on it is pretty upper middle class. You know, the ones whose parents are supposedly so busy shuttling Cookie and Chip to violin lessons and play-dates that they actually need their SUV fuck-you-mobiles. Even still, these yuppie larvae should still have parents keeping note of what they're buying their own children.

But, let’s say the kids manage to acquire it on their own. Sneaky little buggers that they are. You have to actually have the CD in hand to play the game and it’s memory-intensive enough that it can’t be minimized on a whim. Wouldn’t it be reasonable to assume that most parents at least occasionally glance over their child’s shoulder to see what they’re playing?

I consider these to be reasonable fail-safes to insure that any parent who objects to their child seeing a naked virtual doll be able to keep it from their child. But then, would that save it from being yanked off the shelves at Wal-Mart? Depressingly, we all can guess the answer.

I concede that I will likely never be able to play an actual fun simulation game that includes adult situations (Leisure Suit Larry was the best that genre had to offer and we all know how bad it sucked rocks -- not to mention how big a joke the long-awaited "Singles" turned out to be). And, you know, that's generally fine with me. I was granted an imagination for the forces of darkness and I intend to keep it sharp. Sims can't hold a candle to the videos that play in my mind's eye. So, fine – no good ‘n graphic video game sex.

But should we really let this "protect the children" rhetoric build to such insanity that children are being “protected” from the shame of glimpsing a stipped-down Barbie doll body? Exactly how many generations of American children have to grow up emotional slaves to their personal body images before this country gets the fuck over human nudity?

*grrrr*

Remind me to bitch slap Tipper Gore one of these days.

Inner Geek | Naughty Bits by Doxy at 01:57 PM | permalink | talkback (7)

September 28, 2005

The Strangest Fountain In The World

The people are the only legitimate fountain of power... ~ James Madison

It's titled PISS and it's strangely hypnotic.

In looking at it, you can't help but feel how imaginative and fun the whole concept is; it's much more nifty than it is vulgar.

Then you pause and realize the bru-ha-ha and protesting that would take place if someone dared have two statues pissing out the words of the people on a shape of America. And it gets a little clear why some Europeans scoff when we boast about being the land of the free.

Groovy | Naughty Bits by Doxy at 11:35 AM | permalink | talkback (1)

September 11, 2005

A Little Lydia

I need a little Lydia tonight - Lobo

You know those universal translators that were such a basic staple of Star Trek episodes? We need them. Google's translate options and Babelfish just don't cut it.

Case in point:

While following links on flickr I stumbled on photos of Lydia Pinkham. Lydia is a compelling, sexy goth lass from Norway who is 22 years old, lives with a poet, and has A BLOG. But I can't read this blog because it is (at least, presumably) in Norwegian. Is she cool? Is she bitchy? I have no way to know. And the only reason is this silly ridiculous barrier of language. She expresses herself in photos and words and I can't correlate the data because her consonants and vowels are different than my consonants and vowels. With squiggly accents and strange diacritical marks. This is not acceptable.

I mean LOOK at her for heaven's sake:

*sigh*

We can split the atom. We can go to the moon. But we can't fix it so that the nations of the world can all communicate on an even field.

I cry shenanigans. Come on, brilliant people. Fix it.

Naughty Bits by Doxy at 05:00 AM | permalink | talkback (4)

September 09, 2005

Veronica Zemanova

Veronica sits in her favorite chair
She sits very quiet and still
And they call her name that they never get right
And if they don't then nobody else will
~Elvis Costello, "Veronica"

Every so often, I stumble on a photo of a delicious body and I think "WOW!" in all-caps just like that, with the exclamation mark.

I want to do bad bad bad things to this woman. Or just watch someone else do them to her, actually ;-)

Props to: 100BuckBabes and WillyX

Naughty Bits by Doxy at 06:59 AM | permalink | talkback (3)

September 04, 2005

That Has To Hurt

The nation needs to return to the colonial way of life, when a wife was judged by the amount of wood she could split. ~ W. C. Fields

Okay, I think we all deserve something yummy.

And what better way to spend a few minutes of fantasy than gazing at Contortionist Fetish Porn?

Granted, I was a pre-teen the last time I was in a leotard and tights for ballet class, but I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to be able to get into these poses.

I also like the fact that her delightful bottom looks a little ruddy. Maybe she's in those poses because she was a bad girl, got herself a spanking and now has to perform for master ;-)

Naughty Bits by Doxy at 07:01 PM | permalink | talkback (1)

August 11, 2005

Diane Lane's Mom the Bona Fide Hottie

Mom was better endowed. ~ Diane Lane

While I was innocently trying to find out the name of the actor who plays the lusciously fuckable Mr. Martini in the

feel-good
I'm-allowed-to-watch-because-I'm-sick yes-I-know-it's-a-cheesy-chick-flick

Under the Tuscan Sun I happened upon Diane Lane's IMDB bio.

Said bio informs us that Diane who I've been indifferent to, but who seems a pretty enough gal, is the daughter of one October 1957 Playboy Playmate named Colleen Farrington.

And Colleen is/was one yummy sip of sensual. There is a small gallery of her images here (God bless the Russians even if their servers are S-L-O-W).

However, the image that had me at hello was:

Anyone wishing to share additional images of Miss October should do so at will. Such yumminess cannot be doomed exclusively to the pleasure of the ghosts of the annals of Playboy past.

Naughty Bits by Doxy at 09:48 AM | permalink | talkback (4)

July 01, 2005

Bodies of Distraction

Some day people will grow up and realize that the only thing vile about human bodies is the small minds some people have developed within them. ~ Dick Hein

Is anyone not currently subscribing to Babe-a-Licious? If not, why not???

Oh. And let's not forget the daily bounty of delightful goodies that is (and continues to be) Good Shit.

Thank God for porn. I can look at bumpy areolae and forget all about the Supreme Court.

Naughty Bits by Doxy at 04:10 PM | permalink | talkback (1)

June 24, 2005

Yankable

You have the right to remain sexy, sugar. ~ Beyoncé Knowles as Foxxy Cleopatra (via Mike Myers)

We go from udderly tuggable to udderly yankable:

There are not enough other pictures of this cute slut here.

Naughty Bits by Doxy at 01:58 PM | permalink | talkback (7)

June 19, 2005

Porn APB

There is no shame in not knowing; the shame lies in not finding out. ~ Russian proverb

I'm issuing a Porn APB.

After my "I can't find any good porn" lament the other day, I received a few good ideas in email. One of these involved plugging into a P2P system (I won't say which, but think citrusy thoughts) and searching for the term "babysitter."

And after much deleting of crap, I found a clip from a porn movie that I'd really, really like to have/purchase the full length version of.

As far as I can tell, the pros FAR outweigh the cons:

Pros:
1. Although the plot was predicable, it was not "in your face" bland and allowed for minimal setup with maximum payoff.
2. The "18 year old babysitter" in question actually looked 18 and actually seemed as through she was being "forced" to some extent.
3. The evil bitch woman character was the pivotal role and was portrayed with enthusiasm by the actress.
4. There was some (although very minimal) effort put into capturing facial expression.
5. The set didn't look like a set; the clothes didn't look like costumes.
6. The sex was mostly good. It would have been much better if the male actor had, like, been worth a dime.

Cons:
1. The male actor really was useless and didn't seem to put even minimal effort into the role. It's one thing to be "reluctant" as part of the "script" but come on -- your wife is forcing your 18 year old babysitter to suck and gag on your cock. Wouldn't you think he'd be able to whip up a tiny bit of excitement?
2. Unfortunately it was still a porn movie which meant way too much emphasis placed on in-out, in-out, lather rinse repeat shots as well as unnecessarily complicated positioning.

I'm posting screen caps after the cut. Anyone who recognizes this film please let me know. I'm hoping to get the full version plus see if any similar films are available from the producer.

Plot: Parents come home and find babysitter doing something naughty (I have no idea what this is -- the clip begins with the mother in full-on bitch mode). Bad, wicked wife character decides to teach the babysitter a lesson for being a nasty little slut. Husband character puts up ineffective "but honey, we shouldn't" resistance.

Wife character forces young babysitter to suck/gag on husband's cock. Husband occasionally murmurs things like "Honey, you're hurting the poor child."

Poor exploited babysitter gives good owie.

Wife takes things to the next level. And then the one after that. Then they're all tangled up in Twister sex. My clip ends abruptly in the middle of all the action. *sigh*

Please won't you help me find it? I would be *ever* so grateful.

Naughty Bits by Doxy at 07:25 AM | permalink | talkback (4)

June 18, 2005

Rum Tum Tugger

B is for Breasts
Of which ladies have two;
Once prized for the function,
Now for the view.
~ Robert Paul Smith

Don't you just want to bind her at the wrists and tug on those succulent udders until she cries?

*rowr*

Yeah. I'm in kind of a mood lately.

Where did I find her? On a sex toy ad page for fuck's sake!

Naughty Bits by Doxy at 06:20 AM | permalink | talkback (1)

June 16, 2005

A Porn Story

...If I die, please get the porn from under my bed before my mom cleans out my room. And also, if you look at it, keep an open mind. ~ David Shatraw as Tommy Shafter on the never fully appreciated "Titus"

This amazing entry from Rollertrain should be required reading as far as I'm concerned. It addresses our misconceptions about adult products and porn, and about how those misconceptions often begin when we are young and remain with us despite developing into reasonably educated and logical beings. Even people "in the industry" often seem to fundamentally operate out of a preconceived mindset that "people who like porn enjoy X, Y, or Z" without exploring what the market is actually interested in. This entry details a scenario where BBW models outperformed silicone porn staple models in a sales bet -- an outcome that only 3 out of 30 people in a meeting thought possible. But that's not the important lesson.

The important lesson is that porn SHOULD BE far more varied. But even when the subject matter and the cast of players is switched about, most of the basic content seems about the same. Admittedly, I am no expert. I only know what I'm exposed to and what others share with me.

I hear people say that the internet and other factors have made things more diverse than they were. But it always seems to me that the Long Tail of porn still has a long way to go. It really doesn't come anywhere close to delivering the kind of porn *I* yearn to be able to pop into my DVD player.

As for how my personal relationship developed (or didn't) with mainstream porn, you'll need to click through to the cut. This is another of those annoyingly long personal stories.

As a female of the species, I am not expected to like porn. For that reason alone, I've always sought to enjoy it more. I've developed a taste for erotic stories as a reader and writer, and for print/static porn, and for nasty cartoons and almost everything else. But porn in the traditional "porn movie" sense eludes me.

There are reasons for this. I was very little when I had my first experience with video porn, and it wasn't a positive experience.

For as long as I've been alive I've never really slept normal hours. The adult units in charge of me gave up trying to keep me in bed by the time I was able to speak in sentences so the rule of "stay in bed" was amended to simply dictate that I read in my room and not go wondering through the house. And mostly I was a good girl. Except that, even for a child who enjoys reading, books can get boring sometimes. So I would sneak out into the living room, turn the volume down low and watch shows like "Nite Owl Movies" or British comedies and old reruns. (Cable TV and VCRs weren't around yet.)

Then, one day the adult-type units installed this box on the television set that was called "ON TV." (I would provide a reference of some kind if I could find it, but YOU try Googling for "On TV")

"ON TV" consisted of a box with an On/Off knob that hooked into the back of the TV (we had to get a splitter so that I didn't have to unhook my Telestar Pong console). Every day after 2pm, you would put your television on channel 3 and then switch the magic box to the "on" position and viola! you had movies. From 2pm to 11pm movies aired, and as far as I knew, that's when programming ended.

Then we started getting "ON TV" guides in the mail and I noticed that there were other shows with funny titles listed as starting at midnight. The adult units were holding out on me! I swore revenge!

So the next time I crept out, and turned the TV volume down low, I also turned the dial to channel 3 and switched the "ON TV" box to "on." I have NEVER forgotten the next three or four minutes of what I saw.

A beautiful black woman with a Foxy Brown afro was completely naked (she didn't even have knickers on!) and laying on a large picnic table out in the middle of a field. The table looked like it was set to feed an army, and she was laid out like a yummy chocolate sculpture centerpiece. I was fascinated.

One minute later, fascination turned to shocked and repulsed as the lovely black woman started playing with her food -- literally.

Now, I was a pretty sexually savvy nibblet for a girl my age. I knew all sorts of birds and bees stuff, had read things I shouldn't have and had been informed by all the adult type units that sexuality was not bad, just private. I'd also discovered that I had certain little parts that felt good to touch and I liked touching them.

Foxy, however, was doing very messy, very dirty things with her picnic spread that I had never considered desirable or possible. I sat in bewildered horror as she rubbed a log of Summer sausage between her legs and got funky with a jello salad. At some point she actually cracked an egg on her bushy wide-open kitty and that was about all I could take. I turned off the television set, flipped the switch to "off" and ran back to my bed. That feeling of heart-pumping "what the hell was that?" childhood terror shuddered in me and I vowed to whatever God might lend an ear that I would NEVER EVER look at such things again provided no one ever found out about what I'd seen. I felt sure if ANYONE had the slightest idea about what I had seen Foxy doing, I'd have spontaneously combusted. I was in college the next time I saw video porn.

During that time, however, I would like to note that my self-imposed "shame" regarding hardcore video porn never tainted my softcore porn fetish. Magazines, comics, cartoons and other print images were fair game. I loved looking at dirty pictures. I loved dirty cartoons, dirty illustrations, dirty comics, and salivated over pin-up art. I also enjoyed softcore "Sinemax" style porn when I got a chance to watch it. I did then, and still do get tingles in tender places from looking at all that stuff and my hard drive is pumped with it.

Although my tastes have always run to the softcore I didn't have the slightest bit of embarasment about liking it once I was free of my awkward adolescent stage. I was still in high school when, one afternoon, my Dad came home from work to find me in my bedroom up to my knees in his old 70's Playboy issues. Without so much as a blush on my face, I looked up to find him turning green as I rambled on excitedly about interviews I'd been reading and retro articles I'd been enjoying. Playboy was, of course, completely different back then. Bless his heart, Dad muttered something about making sure my mother didn't see me with his magazines and I don't think I saw him for a week after that.

I would like, very much, to develop a relationship with hardcore porn, especially of the video variety. But I've never seen a porn movie that got me wet. I am not the target market, alas. Plus I've never seen a porn movie that didn't look unconvincing.

This is probably because I did things backwards. I learned about and started enjoying my sexuality way before being exposed to porn regularly. I knew how to give blowjobs men liked. I knew what got me and my partner off when we were all tangled up together. Sure, I had stuff to learn -- we all continue to learn about sexuality as we age and mature -- but I had the basics down. And what I saw in porn movies looked false. It had no heat, no creaminess.

Most people I know seem to have been exposed to porn before they actually got into having regular sex -- before they developed their techniques and personal sexual styles. They were influenced by what they saw and tried to mimic it. So porn sex doesn't look so false to them.

The first time I encountered porn without produce I was with friends. A group of us were sitting around at 3am with some recreational smoke and whoever was in charge of the clicker landed on a porn movie. Standard doggie style close-up in-and-out fake-tits-bouncing type drivel. The boys in the room let out a happy cry of "Porn!" while the women (myself included) alternately rolled our eyes and made "urgh" sounds.

As is often the case with intellectual know-it-all college kids who are high at 3am, we got into feverent discussions about our differing views. The boys loved porn, the girls did not. But we girls weren't prudes (trust me, we had the sluttiest minds south of the Mason-Dixon line), we just didn't like what porn had to offer. We were JEALOUS that the boys got the stuff they liked and no one seemed to care that it wasn't tailored to a female mindset at all.

For reasons I won't add to this already lengthy post, I was the sexpert of my clan. Not that they knew how or why (sex was not bad, just private...) I'd acquired such knowledge, but it was clear I was the one that knew things. And what I knew more than anything was that the sex depicted by the porn movie we were watching was fake.

My use of the word "fake" sparked further debate --

Friend: "It's not fake! He's fucking her!"
Me: "Well, yes, but it's not, like, real fucking."
Friend: "What the hell are you talking about?"
Me: "THAT is not the way people fuck."
Friend: "It's obviously the way some people fuck. They're doing it."

I couldn't debate that point and my argument stalled, but I knew I was right. I just couldn't communicate the difference between "false" and "not real." Besides, I had the munchies.

The blowjobs I've seen in porn movies are bad blowjobs. They aren't sloppy enough. They don't make enough contact. There's too much "bob your head up and down" and not enough slobbery, slippery tongue-mouth-hands-touch-it-everywhere-you-can. There's no ball-licking "I'm going to push my finger in your ass just before you come and get that prostate throbbing" action. It's all one lip-implanted twat in cheap red lipstick trying to swallow as much as she can and being terribly uncreative in the process. Not that it's her fault. She's only doing what she's told.

Moreover, the fucking I've seen in porn movies is pointless, unsexy, and mechanical. And why camera men feel the need to zoom in on Tab A being inserted into Slot B is beyond my understanding. Show me the face of a woman grunting as her whole body jolts from being plugged from behind. Show me wrists being held down hard. Show me fingers sinking in to grip a plump round ass that's about to get fucked. I'm not saying I don't want any in-and-out shots, but when that's all there is, there isn't much.

Plus, why isn't there SOME story involved? I don't need much. I'm not looking for international jewel thieves who fuck by day and steal by night. I don't need plot development or anything as complicated as a beginning, middle and end. I just want a set-up that isn't so contrived even the actors look bored. Sock Puppet Porn is more stimulating than most of what I've run across.

I've talked to a lot of people about porn my whole life, because that's what I do about topics I don't understand -- I survey and probe and annoy others to get their take. And the general consensus seems to be that most people have a handful of porn movies that they truly enjoy and the rest is just what's available and works for the moment. It's like the world at large is on one long bad blind date with porn.

Except people living in Asia who appear to get all the porn they want exactly as they want it and who generally bewilder and frighten me.

The Rollertrain article says it all. It's not that women like myself want to hate porn, it's just that we're JEALOUS that our tastes, wants, desires don't seem to be represented. But that's easy to understand. When guys only seem mildly pleased with what's out there and they are the focus of the industry, then someone is doing something WRONG. I'm not saying "all" but I am thinking that most porn producers need to stop delivering what they THINK the market wants and actually begin digging into researching and then producing what the market actually wants.

But, they're probably not going to start exploring any Brave New World of Porn frontiers while we've got fundies chomping at the bit to take porn to the mattresses.

I know that my tastes are likely too taboo -- too extreme and too hard to pull off convincingly. The old 70s Taboo movies are okay, but the character in the position of power is the one character I want to watch get exploited (which never happens).

And my tastes means that I don't really look around for amateur stuff on the web because I'm always afraid I'll find something real that will spook me. I want to see mild rape porn, but I don't want to accidentally find some sick fuck who videotaped a real rape. I want to see age-play and incest-play, but I don't want to find some file of a child being exploited. There used to be a few clips I guarded covetously on an old computer -- a few minutes here and there of well done (but obviously scripted) non-consent and incest, but I lost 'em all in a computer crash.

Bondage sometimes works for me as well, but I'm picky. Most bondage stuff out there is too extreme for my tastes. I like spanking and tie-me-up play. But caning and whipping and fuck machines and leather hoods do nothing for me. I used to have a nice little collection of spanking clips that got me wet, but, alas, they, too were lost.

Like most people I would love to make my own porn movie. My script. My directing. My editing. The talent of the cast would be a wild card, but I could edit around that. Still, I think there'd be a huge market for my ideas. Taboo subject matter. Lots of facial expressions shuffled in among the full-body shots. Hot, non-cheesy dialog that adds to the fucking and doesn't detract from it.

In the meantime I look at my softcore pretty pictures when I want to touch myself and think naughty thoughts and whisper naughty things.

Or sometimes I just fast-forward to *the scene* in Monster's Ball. Because, you know, I don't care what anyone says -- they WERE fucking.

Idle Prattle | Naughty Bits by Doxy at 04:27 AM | permalink | talkback (1)

June 11, 2005

Vice Premiums

Everyone knows what a hypocrite is; that's the guy who gripes about the sex, violence and nudity on his VCR. ~ Zig Ziglar

Begin rant.

Umm. I'm warning you now. This is going to be one of those "get that girl a joint" entries.

Well, okay. But I put up signs and told you to run while you could. I blog, therefore I vent.

Operating in the sex industry (even phone sex, which I know is considered a twice-removed cousin by mainstream porn) and being an ethical, practical businessperson is often a very frustrating endeavor.

From the industry side, you watch as some people who cut corners, pander to the lowest common denominator, lie, cheat, steal and behave otherwise unethically appear to suffer little or no consequences for their actions while the good guys jump though arbitrary hoops just to keep their business afloat.

In phone sex, for example, I could name companies with dismal reputations for bouncing checks on their operators, scamming their clients, engaging in advertising tricks and scams and employing no end of other little sneak tactics.

I know -- I have this childish sense of fair play that just won't go away. I'd give anything to grow out of it.

To my credit, once I calm my temper down, I remember that will simply always be the way of business. For every legitimate company there is an Enron. For every person who dots the i's and crosses the t's there is a lazy slacker who leaves people in the lurch. At least in the sex industry, by and large, those who employ unethical practice don't lead to people dying, individuals losing their retirement next eggs, communities getting taxed into oblivion to make up for -- say, a power crisis, etc. An unethical judge, lawyer, doctor, CEO, is a far greater danger to society than a strip club owner gone mad with delusions of significance.

The truth is, in order to pose a danger to society, you have to have some kind of power. And the adult industry has no power. We get fucked from all sides in every way by as many parties as care to participate in the gangbang.

Now, you'll hear the argument that the sex industry attracts unsavory characters. So, let's address that concept. How can sex by itself attract anything more than another? Sex is inherent to us all and as such as varied and vast as the human race.

So, why does it seem that the sex industry has a disproportionate ratio of sleezebags to normies?

Simple. The government drives unsavory characters to sex.

Hang on. I'll show my work.

If you force an industry to operate on the fringes, it will attract fringe personalities. Prohibition funded organized crime. Does that mean that alcohol is intrinsically unethical? Are Coors, Budweiser, and all their brewery brethren tainted and evil? Or, was alcohol simply the gateway to organized crime in the 20s because fundies and government sheep gave the fringe element a chance to take over a socially embedded staple?

Sex, Inc. has this "riding the fence" position that really is enough to make a sane woman weep. The nutjob fundies can't ban sex (yet), but they seem to have no end of fun inspiring otherwise reasonable people to draw more lines about "right and wrong" than scar the plains of Nazca. Government organizations exploit and harass the sex industry because it distracts from the more serious problems they're not addressing. A nice round of vilifying sex shops and strip clubs is as good as tossing the fundies a teething ring to placate their self-righteous fangs. This is generally done in the name of "protecting" children, the elderly, the mentally/morally weak and/or kittens, puppies, and bunnies.

Government is sometimes called upon to make some hard calls. That's why we have a system. But policy to protect the public that strip one or many groups of their rights should actually 1) address a real problem and 2) stand a chance in hell of being effective.

And that's just the social harassment. I haven't even gotten into the monetary extortion.

Our country has an established history of taxing, or forcing a premium onto what they believe is "wrong" for us, so sex companies and individuals pay more for standard services under the guise of "what the market will bear."

You think it's ridiculous that you pay what you pay for a sex toy or service? Maybe so. But you should consider all the little ways a sex industry company gets fucked over and charged out the ears until the cost of producing said service or item requires hikes that would make gas station owners blush.

And king of this little fuck-over-the-adult-business-owner game is the advertising industry.

Thus, the catalyst for my little rant du jour.

If you want to advertise your adult business, you better have a nice bankroll, a lot of patience, a loose, accommodating sphincter, and a jar of Vaseline in tow.

There will be the standard garble about how/what/when/where you can and cannot advertise. These rules (dictated NOT by the market, but by greedy ad execs) range from common sense to out-of-their-fucking-minds.

Reasonable: An explicit ad might be appropriate for Hustler, whereas a less racy ad could find a home in Stuff.

Unreasonable: To place an ad in those more "mainstream" publications who lower themselves to graciously allow adult advertising in the "way back" sections of their venues, you can expect that your advertising will be tamed down until it pales in comparison to the liquor and Victoria's Secret glossy spreads.

Unreasonable Squared: While they're granting you permission to present your tawdry wares in their respectable publication, you'll tithe for the honor by paying anywhere from double to ten times what any other industry is asked to pay. Translation: you pay for worse placement with more severe content restrictions. And you better be happy they're so much as letting you sully their pristine little rag with your filthy presence.

Think I'm exaggerating?

Example 1: Washington City Paper

Paid Ads are for businesses, groups, or individuals that charge for their goods or services. The rate for paid ads is $18.50 for 25 words or less and 65¢ for each additional word.

The rate for Adult Services ads is $150 for 25 words or less and $3 for each additional word.

Example 2: Yahoo Directory Submit

For web sites that do not feature adult content or services, the Yahoo! Directory Submit service costs US$299 (nonrefundable) for each Directory listing that is submitted. Furthermore, for each listing accepted into the Directory, there is a recurring annual fee of US$299 to maintain the listing in the Directory for the subsequent year.

For sites that include adult content or services, the nonrefundable initial fee is US$600 and the recurring annual fee is US$600. The higher cost for sites with adult content reflects the fact that Yahoo! directory team uses a more complex and time-intensive review process for sites offering adult content and/or services.

More time-intensive review process my ass. That's Yahoo-speak for "we're going to charge you extra because we suspect our employees will be waking off while performing reviews."

I could go on and on with shit like this, but it just gets more and more depressing. But, you might want to keep this kind of thing in mind the next time you think that sex toy looks overpriced.

I don't mind so much defending myself to the mud slinging of fundamentalist hypocrites and sanctimonious windbags. I can take on a Bible thumper any day of the week and twice on Sunday.

I do mind legislation that serves no purpose other than to bar consenting adults from engaging in whatever fucking activity they opt to engage in in the privacy of their own bedrooms, or an establishment that provides substitute places of privacy, or services to aid in such private activities.

I do mind being charged EXTRA for the exact same services offered to any other business. I expecially mind when the services are not the same, but far inferior, and I'm treated like dirt in the process.

I do mind my billing options for my business dwindling because Mastercard and Visa are looking to drive out independent sex service providers by refusing services to third party processors if they accept adult industry clients. I pay my cable bill with my Visa card and Comcast has adult movies for sale at all hours. And I'll bet you my chargeback rate is a hell of a lot lower than Comcast's.

I love being a phone sex operator. I love the freedom and flexibility I gained by going independent. I worked hard to accomplish all I've accomplished, and I've helped others along the way when I can.

The idea that I may one day in the not-too-distant future have to surrender what I've built and go back to putting on suits and sitting in board rooms makes me physically ill.

It's this kind of mood that makes me think I need a submissive slave grunt to smack around for a few hours.

But I'm not bitter.

/rant

Naughty Bits | Phone Sex | Poli-Sci by Doxy at 09:30 AM | permalink | talkback (1)

June 08, 2005

Winnie the Hunny

When you're a little kid you're a bit of everything -- scientist, philosopher, artist. Sometimes it seems like growing up is giving these things up one at a time. ~ Daniel Stern as "The Narrator" (via Neal Marlens & Carol Black)

One Danica is never enough.

On the heels of my entry regarding the lovely speed-demoness Danica Patrick, I was also recently reminded of another Danica.

Most of us recall Danica McKellar as the adorable (if high-maintenance) Winnie on The Wonder Years. Your memory of her perhaps is much like the one I had up until recently. That snapshot in your mind's eye probably looks a bit like this:

I was aware she had grown up not too long ago because she had a stint as a background character (Will's sassy little sister) on The West Wing in season four. I recall thinking "Hey, that's Winnie -- and she grew up cute."

I had NO idea.

Cut to a few days ago when I innocently stumbled upon (by way of a friend's link) Don't Link This Dot Com which is a bad, bad site that none of us should enjoy. It is an inexcusable exercise in drooling over the stupid spoiled whores that comprise today's teen girl pop icons. You know the ones we sit in front of our computer screens shaking our heads at while thinking "that's terrible, a girl her age shouldn't be wearing that..." while we mentally conjure all the debase thoughts their exposed navels are intended to inspire.

Yes. It's the kind of site that had a countdown to when the Olsen twins became legal and features headlines like "Lohan Braless."

Don't you DARE click there before I finish my entry. You surfing slut.

Anyway, you know, *sigh* I'm only human. And you'll never guess what I found there.

Meet the all growd up Danica McKellar.

Just think -- all this time we've been making fun of Fred Savage while the poor guy must still be suffering from the mother of all blue balls.

Props to Bri

Naughty Bits by Doxy at 12:54 AM | permalink | talkback (2)

June 01, 2005

Zoey & Her Shiny Bottom

There must be quite a few things that a hot bath won't cure, but I don't know many of them. ~ Sylvia Plath

I want to do very naughty things to her bottom. Don't you?

Naughty Bits by Doxy at 08:10 PM | permalink | talkback (3)

May 20, 2005

My Kind of Mood Icons

I wouldn't recommend sex, drugs or insanity for everyone, but they've always worked for me. ~ Hunter S. Thompson

Now THESE are my kind of mood icons.

Today I'm feeling:

I've never done this before:

And I'm not sure I have the calves for it.

(Props to Good Shit)

Mirth | Naughty Bits by Doxy at 09:36 AM | permalink | talkback (2)

May 17, 2005

Satyrs, Sex & Cookies

If you gave me a million dollars
I know just what I’d do –
I’d get a new stereo
And buy out Nabisco
And make sweet love to you.
~ Michael Spiro, “Music, Sex, and Cookies”

My new e-book, Satyrs, Sex, & Cookies is, at long last, available. It houses both a few old favorites and a smattering of never-before-read lewd treats.

Buy one or I'll start posting nothing but blog entires about Diaper Boys ;-) Unless you like that kind of thing in which case I'll post about how much I love duckies and bunnies. Okay, I won't do that either. I don't know what I'll do. But it will be horrible, terrible, wicked and wretched. And, erm, somehow it will be horrible, terrible, wicked and wretched in ways that are different from my regularly scheduled phone slut blather.

Seriously.

Naughty Bits by Doxy at 10:56 AM | permalink | talkback (3)

My Own Private Black Dahlia

From the moment I was six I felt sexy. And let me tell you it was hell, sheer hell, waiting to do something about it. ~ Bette Davis

Many of my own personal fantasies often employ elements of competition with other female characters. I’m not sure if it stems from my family history of women not getting along with other women, but it’s been there as long as I can remember.

These women manifest themselves in many authority figure roles including “Mommy” and “Teacher.” In such fantasies I am compelled to try and get the better of them, or submit to them – to put my sexuality on the mat against theirs, or take whatever they dish out.

These fantasies can be simple or complex.

Simple Examples:
1. “Daddy” choses to come into my bed instead of “Mommy’s” and the female character is merely implied but not active.
2. I am held after class and forced to suck the cock of the teacher’s pet while she bullies and harasses and criticizes me with the both of them making fun of how inexperienced I am. While I gasp and gag, her role is very hands-on.

Complex Examples:
1. I am a neophyte prostitute who has unwittingly incurred the wrath of an older/wiser/jealous veteran prostitute who sabotages and sets me up for trouble such as being raped by clients, etc.
2. I am a new member to a harem who is the flavor-of-the-month for the male power figure in question. Incited by a ringleader, the other concubines all beset upon me and I am forced to service the other male/female slaves in punishment for being said flavor of the month (Roman and Turkish settings feature heavily in such fantasies).

I’ve told you, I’m a twisted little screw.

When the female character in question has a distinct role (Mommy / Aunt / Teacher / Headmistress, etc) their title becomes their name. But, in those cases where the female character is a peer, or person in a place of power over me without title, I have taken to naming that person “Dahlia.” I have no idea when this started. Probably in my early or pre-teens when I got on my serial killer kick and was first exposed to the Black Dahlia mystery.

Somehow in my mind this tragic woman took on a mystique of sexual energy and intrigue and her name seemed dark enough to embody these phantom women of my psyche. No matter who they are – courtesan or roommate or any of the other dozens of roles I cast them in, they are always ebony-haired plotting vixens named Dahlia. Sometimes I’m smarter than them, generally, I’m not. They are always more wicked and twisted than I could ever hope to be.

There is a Freudian wet dream somewhere in this regarding my inability to bond with most other females, but I’m tired of examining that particular part of myself. It doesn’t haunt me; I’ve incorporated it. It works for me.

Doxy's Lady Dahlia has been played in my mind by a good number of women. Remember the video for George Michael’s “Father Figure?” That woman had a long run through my teen years (I think it was the riding crop in the catwalk scene).

Famous women that have filled the role include: Lara Flynn Boyle, Bettie Page, Sherilyn Fenn, Famke Janssen, Linda Fiorentino, and Dita Von Teese. Every so often, I find a raven-haired cam model on the web and she takes over. I’d be very hesitant to name names and give examples because who knows if they’d take it as a compliment or not. Pretty women who expose themselves on the internet have enough to worry about without considering what they’re inspiring in my freaky head. I’d like to think they’d be amused and/or flattered, but I know that there’s a fine, fine line between flattering and creepy.

It also doesn’t appear to bother me if the model in question is generally a submissive or not. Maybe I somehow naturally see submissives as competition because they’re peers. Who knows where my subconscious gets this stuff.

Regardless, I’ve GOT to share my latest girl-crush.

“Alsana Sin” is so fucking Pretty in Pain it ought to be a crime. And she’s been doing time as my fantasy Dahlia for quite a while now.

If I’m a very good girl, and I do all my chores and eat my veggies, can I have her, please?

Please?

Doxy

Naughty Bits by Doxy at 06:19 AM | permalink | talkback (2)

May 12, 2005

Slut

A normal man, given a group photograph of school girls and asked to point out the loveliest one, will not necessarily choose the nymphet among them. ~ Nabokov

Recently, a topic on Eros Blog inspired me to make my first comments on his site. Oddly, the subject is still resonating in my head.

Bacchus (who I still refer to mentally as "Eros" *sigh* -- eventually I'll have room in there to cross-reference Bacchus with Eros, but, you know, I have to forget a few critical essays about The Canterbery Tales first) was complimenting Donovan Phillips of Donny's Ramblings on voicing his distaste of using the words "slut or whore" to categorize the female of the species. Donny is a great read. I'm not sure my social views and his line up on all sides, but he's up front and appears to demonstrate a clear code of ethics -- which puts him in the minority in the adult industry as it stands, though I think our numbers are growing. His blog is one of substance and not just a marketing ploy -- in fact, his has less promotion material than mine does, and I consider myself pretty balanced when it comes to such things. Besides, he understand that King's Dark Tower series is some of the best literature written in our age, so I'm willing to spot him as good people unless he proves otherwise.

But, to return to the topic, Donny made a post in which he states: "I fucking hate going to websites that use words like whores and sluts."

My first thought reading this was "here we go again." Why? Well, because I have an ego the size of Florida and the little voice in my head is sometimes an arrogant asshat who reacts as though everything I read is meant to address me directly.

Hard to believe I'm not a dom, sometimes, isn't it?

The thing is, slut has become such a positive word for me that I hardly ever think of it as a negative anymore, and whore is such a throw-away playful pejorative for me that I forget there are people who think of it differently. Hell, I’ve even infected my own parents with the words. Their pets are all kibble sluts or attention whores. One of the phrases you are most likely to hear out of my mother’s mouth is “do you know what that little slut did?” And my mother is not hip. She considers Barry Manilow the height of pop music. Seriously, the woman lived through the sixties without a single Beatles album to her name.

So, yes, I grew up in Miami, and, yes, I had a non-traditional and somewhat free-thinking childhood . But I've put in my time in the Midwest and the deep South and I know there are people who don’t think outside the boxes society hands them. I am WELL aware that there are those who do not "get it" when I call myself a phone slut. There are less sharp blades in the communal silver drawer of society who will think I'm just cheap trash (well, not if they're paying my rates...). And there are those on the other end of the spectrum; the erudite of our ilk who will think I'm exploiting my sex and my use of language for shock value. I'm not above shock value. I love shock value in minimal doses. But, they are no more correct. I don’t call myself a slut because it sells, or because I consider my body good for nothing except being a fuckfest machine.

I call myself a phone slut because that's what I am in my own mind. It’s how I feel. I'm a slut. When I'm happy, I'm a happy slut. When I'm wicked, I'm a naughty slut. When I’m silly, I’m a playful slut. When I'm angry, I'm a pissed off slut. And, on special occasions, I am a whore, but those times are for me to decide and if you’re going to call me that you either better be smiling and winking, or fucking me very, very hard with my hair wrapped around your fist.

I’m a slut by my own definition because my sexuality is by my own definition. There are a million different ways to be a feminist, a million different ways to be a bitch, a million different ways to be a slut, a goddess, a whore, a vixen, a brat, a cunt, a mother, a crone, a queen bee, a temptress and a billion other factors I can’t begin to list. That means there are a limitless array of combinations to what makes a woman. I am an unfinished equation of my femininity and more than the sum of my parts. And I’m not a slut because of what that word means to anyone except me, myself, and I.

To me, those sites who flash and pimp “whore this” and “slut that” without touching on anything more are not demeaning to me as a woman. They are demeaning to the men they’re marketing to. And for that reason, I understand Eros and Donny’s outrage. Their thoughts are that they, as men, want more from a woman than a demonized, disembodied single dimension of her sexual identity. The exploitation on those types of sites is not one of language, but of sentiment and it insults male and female, both.

So, I’m going to continue reclaiming slut in my own way on my own terms. And those who don’t get it can try or not try. And those that will can approve or disapprove.

A slut to me is a girl with a certain awareness of her sexuality. Not necessarily a comfortable relationship with her sexuality, because I definitely had my awkward teen years along with the rest of my tribe. But there is an innate fascination, attraction, and curiosity with sexuality that was in me from childhood. There has, literally, never been a time I haven't thought about, fantasized about, or wanted to learn more about sex.

The old man in that book by Nabokov would have put it thus: "...There occur maidens who, to certain bewitched travelers, twice or many times older than they, reveal their true nature which is not human, but nymphic (that is, demoniac); and these chosen creatures I propose to designate as 'nymphets'."

The problem with that passage is not the accurate realization that there are girls who, from young ages have an instinct to behave and think like a nymphet, but that such a trait is demoniac. But then, Humbert Humbert was hardly an everyman character and it is that part of his sentiment that is worth exploring.

I agree that women should not be demonized for their sexuality, innocent or otherwise, at any age. But many men do it to fulfill their fantasies. And, so long as they’re aware that they are fantasies, there’s no harm in it.

True, there aren't really any little girls who "want it" or "know what they're doing to a guy." Men who think that need therapy. But there is an aphrodisiac element for many of us that is wrapped up in innocence – similar to the flavors in certain foods that can only be liberated with alcohol. In my fantasies I want to be the innocent that gets ill used or seduced by the wicked old soul down the street (or the hall). But, just as often, I want to be the sexually awkward youth just aching to learn the secrets humming through my body.

In those fantasies, I am a little slut; the same way I was when I was young.

Little girls like attention and especially when hormones are going haywire in the pre-teens, part of that enjoyment seems to stem from a sexual instinct that male-type creatures can seem to scent miles away. But the girl's potentially seductive actions are generally no more intentional than a flower busting out in brightly hued petals to catch the attention of bees.

The problem is that the responsibility to guide that energy without inspiring trauma does not lie with the girl, but with those responsible for her guidance. And too often, those are adults terrified by the emerging sexuality of their child. So they defer to the misguided traditions of religions who are, in turn, guided by books that cast women as weak temptresses, vindictive Gorgons, or, at best, still merely "filthy" because of a once-a-month biological function we have as much control over as the weather.

It's a complicated issue. I've wrestled with it my whole life. And I appreciate these two very well-intentioned, sexually positive men thinking in terms of consideration and kindness. But the words are not the problems -- the intentions are; it is not the language at fault, but the sentiment. And the exploitation is not just aimed at the women on the pages, but at the men viewing those pages as well.

Yes, sites that plaster gynecologist views of partial body shots that effectively reduce the being on screen to that of a sex object void of humanity irritate the living hell out of me. I don't understand a guy who finds a woman's sexuality to exist only in her reproductive organs. How can a twat be exciting if you can't see the expression on the model's face? Regardless of what your kink is, if you can't hear it or taste it, or see the expression, or sense the reaction (or repression) from the other party, what part of that is sex?

But when those types of webmasters plaster the words "whore" and "slut" all over their sites, they're playing to an idea. And that idea has always been around, and will always be around. No matter how educated we get, there will continue to be those who think that sex is dirty and women who like sex are dirtier than men who do. Just as there are those who will continue to think that white women who engage in sex acts with black men are dirtier than those who engage in sex with white men. Those minds are closed and the sad truth is that re-education of them is highly unlikely.

It is what it is. We are where we are. And, for as long as I’m around no matter how the morality tide shifts, or the feminists applaud or rail, I’m going to remain a slut.

And if you hate it, or it offends you or if you just don’t get it, don’t worry. You don’t have to like it or approve of it or get it. It’s mine. I’m willing to share it, but you don’t have to partake.

That just leaves more for me, anyway.

Naughty Bits by Doxy at 03:59 AM | permalink | talkback (4)

April 09, 2005

Shameless Plug for Works in Progress

The artist is the creator of beautiful things. ~ Oscar Wilde

Ever since Jack started his Jack Henslee Member's Only Gallery, I have been loving his "On the Drawing Board" section where he allows you to see the preliminary studies of his works as well as the stages of pieces that are currently in progress. The first thing you discover in this section (which is only a small part of his comprehensive site) is that he does a hell of a lot more preliminaries than he does final pieces and it's fascinating to catch a glimpse into the mindset of which pieces get priority. Second, watching the pieces develop over time and go from pencil sketch to layers of color and shading to final work of art is just nothing short of amazing.

Yes, it is a pay site (unlike Jack's two free galleries), but the prices are low (mostly because the membership fee is basically just a way of paying the bandwidth on the high-resolution images that cost a fortune to display for free). Membership prices are well below typical adult membership sites; only $15 for a one-month look around, or $35 for a six-month membership with updates.

Yeah, Jack's a beloved associate of mine so I'm biased, but I believe you give playmates kudos when they are well-earned.

On a more annoying note, in light of yet-another on-line billing processor being pressured by Visa to stop allowing vendors of adult materials to sell their wares, Jack's prints are back to only being available via personal check and money order. Gift memberships to JHMO are thus turning into my preferred way to send boons of Jack's artwork to fellow admirers.

If you like Jack's painted ladies as I do, there is no other place to see this behind-the-scenes yumminess.

Naughty Bits by Doxy at 04:15 PM | permalink | talkback (2)

March 31, 2005

We Are the Music Makers and We Are the Dreamers of Dreams

And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. ~ Roald Dahl

So where the hell was I in December of 2000 that I wasn't aware of the lovely trinket known as Sophie Dahl posing nekkid for Opium on billboards all over Europe? Oh...that's right, I was in a five-alarm depression about the stolen election that took place a month before.

Another hideous sin I can blame on Bush, Inc.

Sophie is the granddaughter of Roald Dahl (childrens' book author who delighted my childhood reading time with Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, James and the Giant Peach, The Witches, and a slew of other gems). Somehow that makes her being a fashion / pin-up model all the more nummy. She's also a voluptuous vixen that needs to be in her birthday suit way more often.

Of course, the UK banned the ad all over the place, which at least goes to show puritan idiots aren't unique to North America. More pictures below.

Props to Molehill even if he can't keep his server stable.

Naughty Bits by Doxy at 04:58 PM | permalink | talkback (1)

March 18, 2005

So Look For The Package With The Ship That Sails The Ocean

Remember, little boy, if I can leave you with one birthday message, it is -- to greet each day with a mighty roar! And always know what time it is. And wear Old Spice. Walk briskly to and from your job, and remember: neatness counts. Fill your head with candy; you are how you look. Me? I'm a gum ball machine! I embrace that and my colleagues respect me for it. Heed this advice and maybe, just maybe, you'll grow up to be like me, Tom Servo. ~ MST3K

Old Spice has a new commercial you might have seen on TV entitled: "When She's Hot."

In the on-going tally of my fetishes (and they are legion) this ad is as good a time as any to mention sweat. Yummy!

Oh. And make sure you click on the director's cut in the lower left.

Naughty Bits by Doxy at 05:44 PM | permalink | talkback (1)

March 15, 2005

All I Wanna Do Is Have Some Fun

I have a face I cannot show / I make the rules up as I go ~ Sheryl Crow

Sheryl Crow has cute, perky boobies. Thank the stars for wardrobe changes and malfunctions ;-)

Naughty Bits by Doxy at 06:37 PM | permalink | talkback (1)

March 06, 2005

Must...Have...Want

Have you seen her? Tell me, have you seen her? ~ The Chi-lites

Oh my minions, bring unto me this woman:

I *need* to know who this model is, and, if possible, where to get many, many more pictures of her and her delightful breasts.

I'm to understand the photograph has been attributed to "Paris Photography."

Fly, fly my pretties and come forth to me with news of her.

Naughty Bits by Doxy at 01:21 PM | permalink | talkback (1)

January 06, 2005

These Are The Boobies In My Neighborhood

Site Note: Don't Miss My New DOMAI Gallery

It probably will come as no surprise to anyone that has read my blog for any length of time that I am a “breast girl.” I’ve known this for a long time. If I had been born to this earth in the male form, I’d be a “breast man.” It’s not that I don’t like legs or tight little bums or the curve of a hip, arch of a back, nape of a neck, or the sublimely pointed toe. I like all those things just fine. But I have an achingly tender attraction to female breasts. I like looking at them. I like thinking about sucking on them and committing other assorted perversions upon them. They’re just fucking yummy.

Previously I did an entry on the cock-worshipping whore part of myself. Many of my male readers found this to not be their favorite entry (more likely they didn’t appreciate the visuals) which I find amusing, but understandable. Although it is a social double standard that doesn’t make sense given the history of our species. Let’s face it, male homosexuality was far more standard than female homosexuality historically. So, why is it that I can look at breasts all day and find them alternately tuggable, suckable, and spankable with a sense of girlish glee? Why don’t I have the knee-jerk “ew, but that’s another GIRL” reaction society so trains us to have? I simply don’t remember ever having that feeling (barring the first time I ever saw a lesbian porn video, and that sense of aversion I’ve since maintained because most “lesbian” porn is so badly done, pathetically unrealistic, and entirely un-sexy).

THE BOOBIES IN MY HARD DRIVE NEIGHBORHOOD
(Click to enlarge)

Thus the breast entry. There are A LOT of breasts on my hard drive. A LOT of them. So many that I decided, upon doing this entry to put together a little collage of sorts. The above image is a mere scattering – a bare glimpse of the mad teacup party of breasts that are on my hard drive. But these give you an idea about my flavors. I was happy with myself to find a variety. While the breasts I like are overwhelmingly anglo, there are also a healthy representation of Latin and Asian breasts. Shockingly I don’t have many black woman represented on my hard drive and I’m not sure why this is. To be honest I think that it is just hard finding the type of “pretty porn” I like of black models. The porn industry tends to hone in on the “ghetto princess” angle of porn when they present African-American girls and that’s just not what appeals to me. I’m not pointing any fingers, I’m just saying I get excited looking at vintage-style playboy-esque shots, not booty-call stripperella nasty nitty gritty stuff and the proliferation of black models is on the opposite side of the platform than my train arrives upon. I know that does the job for a lot of guys and I’m not knocking it. I just don’t get it by and large. But then I’m much more the aural and not the visual expert.

I don’t think there is a single pair of implants among my pretties. And although they run the spectrum from puffy to flat, from tiny to rubenesque, the overall theme seems to be natural. Although I do like them when they hang pretty and have large dark bumpy areolas. I’m sure there’s some Freudian reason that eludes me, but looking at the ones I save for my personal pleasure, it’s hard to argue with the evidence. Speaking of evidence, I missed TWO on THIS QUIZ but that’s because I’m convinced the answers are incorrect. But, see how you do. Incidentally, if anyone can identify #12 it’s making me crazy. I know these:

Can You Name These Breasts?

It’s not easy to gather a collection like this anymore unless you are a serious porn surfer. These days if you do any kind of Googling to find breast sizes/shapes of any sort (other than coming up with a disturbingly highly ranked number of sites on gynecomastia) you’ll likely get a smothering of turn-key porn portals that don’t yield anything even remotely pleasurable to your kink. This is a great annoyance in the porn industry although I suspect there are those who feel I am as guilty as the next. Everyone has their level of what draws the line between fun and classless. The line between bawdy fun girl and outright whore, etc. It’s the lines between burlesque performer and showgirl and stripper. Most of us have a general sense of the line in the same place, but there are those who are far from the norm on both sides.

This is where the porn industry is its own worst enemy. Most porn industry pros are all about more money by any means necessary instead of focusing on being in touch with the market. And that’s when all the trouble starts. Most people think porn is fun, but greed and the tactics it employs will suck the fun out of anything. This current circle-jerk of fucking over legitimate search engine results to spew your sites all over the top spots is just…well, silly and self defeating. If I’m looking for puffy breasts and all I find in the top twenty pages of Google is the same turnkey piece of shit site, that isn’t serving the market. And, instead of tricking me into joining your site all you’re going to do is make damn sure I never join your site or anything related to your company name, ever. It’s the same error that spammers make. Misspelling CIALI$ might get you through my spam filter, but do you REALLY think that means I’d ever consider buying it? If I can’t sign into Google and find “puffy breasts” when I want to, there’s just something wrong with the system. And when there’s something wrong like that, money is almost always at the center of it.

Or maybe I’m just jaded.

It is this semi-exhaustion with the porn industry that has me scaling back from my customary phone slut schedule and slinking off to tinker with other projects and allow my attention to be drawn elsewhere. Which brings me to the pink elephant in the living room.

Those who keep track will note that my schedule is now “by appointment only” and they will react with, I’m sure, a mixture of smugness, interest, and/or indifference to the fact. It goes against all slut logic to do this. I’m first and foremost a beck-and-call-girl after all. How dare I make such an elitist gesture?

Well, the truth is, I need to. Sex workers have a shelf-life. I was told this when I came to the business and it became clearer and clearer as time passed. It became stunningly real to me when Sus turned in her boots (although the sneaky little minx has teased us by showing back up at her new PORN HAPPY PROJECT site. Do the world a favor and chunk out a donation to her cause. We fucking miss her and if she’s only going to come back to promote her books we want to make sure she keeps fucking doing it – umm kay?

There is a fact to face: I don’t want to be the all-out crazy phone whore anymore. It’s like growing up in driving distance of South Beach; there comes a time when your hardcore clubbing days are just behind you. It doesn’t mean you’ll never dress up in slutty clothes again and go party, it just means it will be the exception rather than the rule.

The irony, of course, is that I am not tired of phone sex. I’m still every bit the addict I always have been and, I’m convinced, always will be. I still fucking love phone sex. But I’m tired of doing phone sex that isn’t *ME*. There was a time I didn’t mind donning a vicious dominatrix persona and spinning tales about raping slaves with my spike-heeled boots and making them drink from bowls of water they’d just washed my feet in. There was a time that drawing the kink out of a reluctant john was just part of the gig. But my patience has been peeled to its limit. I don’t want to drag the fucking fantasy out of men who don’t know how to ask for what they crave. And I don’t want to continue to play the part of a dominant bitch when what really excites me is the perverse taboo of Daddy’s girl and non-consent and submissiveness. 

It’s trickiest with the submissive callers, really. I don’t want to do hardcore dom, but I don’t mind sensual dom. But, like with spammers and porn greed, that line is drawn different for everyone.

Taking calls by appointment only means I can get a feel for what a client wants before they call. A man who is shy on the phone generally isn’t in email. It gives me a comfort zone. I don’t have to have those ungodly uncomfortable farces of “what do you like?” / “oh…uh…everything.” I would imagine it is the one aspect where prostitutes have it better than phone sluts. If a guy wants to fuck you a certain way all he has to do is SHOW YOU. There isn’t this square dance of hemming and hawing.

There are those of you out there reading this who have the biggest prick of a boss that are thinking “oh boo hoo – poor Doxy has to cajole men into talking about sex – how hard can that possibly be?”

I know. I know. I know I have the best job in the whole fucking world for me. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy. So I’m moving into a new phase of my profession. Sure, it makes me a little nervous, but I think I need to put together a little distance so that I can miss it. Maybe I’m a wimp with no right to complain because I get to do what I love and I should just shut up and lump it. But we all make choices to make our lives more pleasurable and sometimes those are hard calls and/or risks. Maybe this is one of those. Maybe it’ll piss off my clients to have to make an appointment and I’ll have to return to schedules and woo and whimper and take some spankings for being a bad girl.

Or maybe this ends up best of all worlds. It could happen. The truth is, I’ll always love being a phone slut. I’ll never “burn out” on that. But I’m done with wankers and bozos. I’ve put in my time with the dregs. There are too many quality, respectful clients out there to put up with the grind anymore. I’ve earned the reprieve. And while it makes the work-ethic in me flinch, that’s just part of tailoring your job to fit you when you’ve earned the right to do so.

I’ve garnered a client list of kind, respectful fellows who might want to rape my ass while I’m bound and gagged in a fantasy, but they’re my kind of perverts and they draw their lines similarly to the way I draw mine. And that works. For now.

Let’s see…what else goes on? The SpankBlog Rules are getting a lot of coverage on the “sex blog” circuit. It’s not really a bunch of rules, but good advice from anyone looking to add adult themed blogging to their lives. It amuses me to no end that when I started doing this there were no other phone sluts to speak of blogging and I got tons of hate mail about “giving away industry secrets.” Now every little slut that puts up a site links to a live journal or some other blog access. Unfortunately I break most of Spank Boss’ kind advice, but I’m just ornery that way. Frankly it bewilders me as to why I still have any readership to speak of considering how long I go between updates. Incidentally, his is a great spanking site. It gets a little too rough for my kink needs, but it’s yummy 9 times out of ten.

And just to end on a funny, here’s some perverse car pleasure:

The Pussy Bug

I think he should have a sign on front saying “please don’t lick the hood” because she does look good enough to eat doesn’t she?

Well, stick a fork in this entry. Suddenly I want to go have a nice little fantasy about being a bad girl with a spanking red bottom.

Love,

Idle Prattle | Naughty Bits | Phone Sex by Doxy at 12:30 PM | permalink | talkback (0)

December 03, 2004

Upon Further Review: Holiday Spirits All Around

You ever get something off your chest and immediately feel better about it?

This is the benefit of having a blog – even one updated as rarely as mine. You bitch, you feel a bit better, mission accomplished. The bottom line, I suppose, is that I don’t know what the next four years will mean domestically. I don’t know how far this push on behalf of the religious right is going to test our civil rights and our sexual freedoms. I do know that they’re fighting against progress and if history teaches us anything, it’s that fighting social evolution is a losing battle. I’m not giving up any of my rights, or those of others quietly. And I will not tolerate it without making a little rumble of my own. All the FCC fines in the world won’t change the fact that we have advanced in our social behavior from the 1950s and trying to turn back the dial is dangerous and impracticable. So, you know, hope springs eternal and all that. If you feel like I do, join the ACLU. Write your congressperson. Don’t sit quietly and politely when someone chips away at things you hold dear. We’ve all been tolerating too long. Agreeing to disagree. It doesn’t work. Those of us that have the decency to live and let live have been losing ground to those who want to dictate morality. We’ve got some catching up to do. It’s easy to effect change by censoring and suing and fining. The hard work involves processes like education, treatment, communication. Yeah. It’s going to be an interesting four years. We’ve got our work cut out.

But for now, enough of that. I’m not Wonkette. My politics are personal and hardly the main thrust of my life. I’m just a phone sex slut, and what’s a phone sex slut going to do? Mope all thru December? Na.

Okay. So it’s the start of December. Salt over my shoulder. Black cats off my porch. Joy juju and happy thoughts engaged. I’ve decided to make an effort to get into the swing of the holidays. I’m flighty like that. Woman’s prerogative. Besides, it’s no fun being Ebenezer Scrooge. Sure, it’s been a wickedly twisted year. Between hurricanes and election results a little jingling of bells here and there is definitely due.

As I sort of muttered at the end of Tuesday’s entry, I’ve vented some of my frustrations in writing An XXXmas Karol. It’s sarcasm-laced political farce and full-fledged Daddy’s girl incest all rolled into one. Beat that with a stick.

For those of you looking for other holiday erotica there is my delightfully warped and somewhat cruel Boxing Day tale as well as a few selections on Satin Slippers that are top-notch. These include the roguishly semi-non-consent of Karl’s The Man With The Bag, Circe’s rompishly wicked non-consent Bringing Down Santa, and Kerrie O’Keefe’s sentimentally sweet The Nice Older Man. Hopefully there’s something there to offend and titillate everyone.

And, hey, what’s up with there being no Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, or Winter Solstice smut stories?

Oh. That reminds me. Yes, I decorate my site for Christmas, but that’s because it’s the flavor of holiday I celebrate this time of year. Please don’t waste time being offended or feeling left out if your culture isn’t represented by my sluttly little site. I just feel it’s hypocritical to try and be all-encompassing. You attempt to please everyone and you end up with hot water instead of soup (anyone else remember that story?). I’m not a Hanukkah girl (although I have friends that let me eat their food -- soofganiot and latkas are nummy). So, you know, it would feel white-bread offensive to toss a few dreidels here and there just for show. /political correctness disclaimer.

Speaking of the decor, some of you may have noticed the succulent window dressing draped on the home page and the logo area of PSD. My Doxy Toons are provided courtesy of Sinai Tendergal. I’m setting up a page for anyone else that might be looking for a little Custom Comix of their own, although to be honest I’d rather keep her all to myself.

Oh, and speaking of art: I WANT I WANT I WANT!

Jack Henslee has managed to get his print gallery back online for Christmas after payment problems earlier in the year forced him to shut down for a while (Do we hate PayPal? Oh, yes we DO!). And there is some major new eye candy to make us cream. I know many of you enjoy his pretty ladies and will likely buy for yourselves and loved ones. Anyone *ahem* wishing *ahem* to put a little tinsel on my tree can just select one of the below and instruct Jack to ship to Doxy – trust me, he knows the addy.

/end annual shameless pleading for mouthwatering masterpieces.

In other holiday shopping news, I’ve added some new reviews for My Pleasure items including the Micro Rocket and Forbidden Fruit. Because, we all need to buzz the ones we love (and don’t forget to love yourself!) ;-)

*sigh* I want some Farm Stores eggnog. God I miss civilization. Eggnog and homemade snickerdoodles. Ungh.

Okay. No more food fantasy moments. On to phonesex slut movie reviews.

Recently, I bought and watched three different movies based on Koji Suzuki’s book, The Ring. The American film incarnation of The Ring, the Japanese version, Ringu, and the Korean version, The Ring Virus.

I like foreign films. And, unlike other genres, mainstream thrillers in different markets really reflect interesting aspects of their respective cultures. Art films are often about a guise. Thrillers can encompass more nitty gritty everyday matter.

To start with, I re-watched the American version that most are familiar with. I consider it an all-around good film. Creepy in the right places, dreary and somber on the whole for a perfect sense of atmosphere. The jump-out-and-getcha parts were reserved for the right moments. Not quite horror, not quite thriller. Mostly compelling if not completely unique in style. The horse drowning element felt awkward to me and the middle of the movie lagged because of it, especially during some of the “put the pieces of the puzzle together” steps that came off as forced. But, I thought upon this viewing as I had when it first came out, that it pulled off what it attempted to accomplish. The sophistication of the character relationships was its greatest strength. Underplayed and developed at a slow boil.

In contrast, Ringu was the most disappointing of the three for me. The Japanese counterpart of the main female character played by Naiomi Watts in the American version is a very different woman. Reiko Asakawa is more a damsel in distress than a strong, single working mother and hard-edged journalist. Even her beyond-his-years son seems more respected than she does. As such, she comes off as much more dependant upon her ex-husband to walk her through solving the mystery. Apparently, being a smug, superior, absentee father still allows one to be a hero in Japanese cinema. It didn’t work for me. And when this culminated into a scene where the male character had the obligatory slap-the-hysterical-woman sequence I was annoyed out of any enjoyment I’d gleaned from the film. I’m not sure if that’s a statement about the Japanese culture or the lack of understanding toward it on my part, but the dynamic of the main character relationships suffered greatly because of this in my opinion. This version also incorporated the pseudo-science “ESP experiment” subplot that the US version abandoned. To me, I felt the US screenplay was better for getting rid of this clumsy ploy, but it did lose an interesting social element in the process. In the Japanese film, the relationship of man and water (especially the ocean) is far more intimate than the US version. You get a sense that this is a culture with a firm relationship toward the sea. Indeed, it is considered a force all its own to be respected and not toyed with – and there is punishment for taking pleasure in the water. The punishment in this case is a supernatural, arguably malevolent child that is implied to be of demon descent. This parallels the non-supernatural aspect of the story; the child that belongs to the main characters is a punishment of responsibility. However, in weighing the pros and cons of the subtext, I’d have to say that it was worth losing this in order to avoid the cheese factor of the ESP subplot.

The Ring Virus, the Korean take on this story, was surprisingly much more sophisticated than the Japanese version came off (although, as mechanics go, the subtitles were badly translated in areas on my DVD). The main female character, Sun-Ju, has a daughter instead of a son which was a nice twist since there is a very female focus within the story in all incarnations (the main character, the first character to die, the source of the supernatural events, etc). Also, the environment of this film was far more Westernized, which I wasn’t expecting. In one scene, two characters even meet at a McDonalds. Sun-Ju is far more complex than Reiko, but she’s sexually harassed in every aspect of her life. The film starts with her conducting an interview about ancient beliefs on sexuality at an art museum for reasons later explained in the film. Her partner at the newspaper office she works for is a sex-obsessed goofball. Her ex (who is not presented as the father of Sun-Ju’s daughter unless I missed something) is a sexually predatory “I’m so smart everything in life’s a game to me” asshat of the first water. She even has to deal with a creepy run-in with a sexually inappropriate coroner (yes, it’s as twisted as it sounds). All of this together manages to make a statement about the misogynistic slant of sexuality that still prevails in many modern cultures (especially Asian cultures), as well as offer poignant testimony regarding the danger of degrading and closeting those of alternative or minority sexualities (personified by incest and hermaphrodite subplots). Unfortunately, introducing these sexual subplots into the already clumsy mix of supernatural events, renders the overall storyline as overwhelmingly and unnecessarily complicated. On the plus side, this version also preserves the cultural relationship with water. In a choice between this one and the Japanese version, I’d take the Korean flick anytime.

So, if you’re considering placing one of these in the stocking of a movie buff pal, consider Korea’s The Ring Virus in lieu of, or in addition to the much-venerated Ringu. At least that’s my two cents ;-)

I guess that’s all for now. Glad I updated again. Would have hated to leave things on the sour note of my last entry. Ho ho ho and all that jazz.

Blather d'Art | Idle Prattle | Internal Combustion | Naughty Bits | Poli-Sci by Doxy at 02:30 PM | permalink | talkback (0)