So I got a press release in my Inbox yesterday entitled LOCAL STRIPPERS OF ILLUSION OF DEERPARK TO HOLD RALLY AND PROTEST FOR NEW YORK STATE STRIPPER POLE TAX TO BE ADDED TO GENTLEMAN’S CLUBS ON LONG ISLAND TO HELP CASH STRAPPED LOCAL SCHOOLS. It’s not the kind of headline to give one a rise a la SECRET NAKED NATALIE PORTMAN PREGGO PICS SURFACE, but it did raise an eyebrow. Is NY doing so bad of a job financing its schools that strip club owners now urge the state to charge their customers MORE money to revel in the gyration of naked people? Christ, I’m glad I got out of there…

Apparently the protesters call themselves the Local Long Island Strippers of Illusions of Deer Park and Mothers (“LLISIDPM”…sounds like someone whistling with a ball gag on) and plan to rally today outside the NYS Supreme Court Building in Mineola. This wouldn’t be the first pro-pole tax rally ever: a few happened in Texas late last year and, according to this rando press release, those cowbois collected more than $13.6 million from since the writing of their pole tax into law. No word yet on whether this will be a sexy assembly or just a regular old picket with clothed supporters. Regardless of the outcome of the rally, these strip club owners vow to add a surcharge to their entrance fees starting this weekend and send the extra dough to City Hall.

I was just about to put down the press release when I came across this startling line: “The voluntary pole tax will begin this weekend when Dancer, Mom and former Lolita Amy Fisher hits the pole this weekend on May 14th and 15th.” Amy fucking Fisher, the woman arrested at the age of 17 for shooting her lover’s wife in the head and ended up getting sentenced to 7 years, has somehow turned exotic dance into a form of protest. That and, according to Wikipedia, she’s developed her adult entertainment portfolio in recent years – who knew?!

I don’t know whether to sit back in awe of this absurdist innovation, or cry about how we’ve reduced ourselves to pairing flesh with haunting image recognition to fix our fucked education system. AMERICA, FUCK YEA

*!ERRP, NEVERMIND FALSE ALARM. FLESHBOT WAS BROKEN!*

Feel free to still read this post though since otherwise it’s a pretty choice rant:

Say what you will about the Gawker Network and its sensationalist approach to blogging, the perv-operations branch called Fleshbot brings us hot, unabashed posts bursting with high quality amateur and pro porn. Or at least it used to be unabashed.

For as long as I can remember, FB’s main page listed both gay and straight-oriented posts in the main page’s feed and feature spotlight. Check out this entry from about a year ago for an example, courtesy of the Wayback Machine. This approach to content delivery was bomb in that it catered to, ahem, some of us with varied tastes.

FB's feature spotlights as of 5/10/10: An easy visual guide!

But more importantly, it also represented a bold and unprecedented stance that (at least as I understood it) challenged the heteronormative tendency to privilege one class of the erotic over another, straight over gay or vice versa. Feel offended when you come across a pic of bloke bucking another bloke while scouring for yet another video of a pubescent-looking girl getting violated for your (and only yours, obviously) pleasure? Go check out the trillion other porn sites that refuse to host gay content. Need to keep your gay time completely separate from your straight time in order to further rationalize your sexual appetites as “normal”? Try a site where there’s a choice in the matter like xtube.com. Fleshbot didn’t pull any punches or worry about exposing its readers to something from the “other side”; men and women alike were often seen plowed on a single screen, and sometimes even women did the plowing.

That no longer appears to be the case. To access gay content beyond the occasional softcore boner shot from the homepage, you now need to navigate to the gay section. This, of course, effectively privileges “safer”, more hetero content. And leads me to question what prompted the obvious change in policy. Did readers complain about cocks cocking up their feeds? Did some advertiser strongly suggest you keep the ghey stuff in the corner? Or were your pageviews too low and you decided to go with the oh-so-obvious way of generating more traffic, i.e. appeal directly to the bigger demographic? And how do the editors in charge of fashioning the homo content feel about getting their posts downplayed?

Well, what was it, Lux Alptraum? Brian O’Brien? Will you answer your readers that you no longer consider constituting a portion of your primary audience?

Chastity devices are patriarchal instruments that (thankfully) fell out of prescriptive use a long time ago. Score one for modernity! But of course, like the whip and other instruments of oppression, they found their way back onto the pelvises of people for the purposes of kinking the fuck out.

Now there’s nothing wrong with a little alternative role-playing, but who wants their cod piece of a restraint to be a sinister cross between a faucet and a handcuff? Somebody must’ve thought there’s a market and so enter the Houdini, another scary-ass product available at The Stockroom.

Starting at a whopping $158, the Houdini casts its crush spell over your manhood with a bona fide cuff that “locks around the cock and balls [while] the penis is “enclosed by the tube, and protrudes out and downward at the end.” Bad copy aside – what is, pray tell, the difference between a cock and a penis? – this product looks more appropriate for a robot fetishist (article about that variety of kink forthcoming) than someone who just wants his junk gripped in a vise. Maybe someone with a thing for Robocop.

Anyway, there is clearly nothing pretty about this piece and therefore it only fits aesthetically in the most dungeon-drawn of play areas. I’m going to go out on a limb here and surmise that if your toys match this overpriced and ugly trap, you probably spend too much money on your materials and not enough on your partner. (yes, that qualifies as a burn) Just save the cash towards a trip to Bar Bar Bangkok.

If you’re interested in sequestering your cock under an apparatus of doom, invest in the smaller version, which promises to be more confining. I’m cool with just going commando though.

So I was just directed to Christina Aguilera’s new video for “Not Myself Tonight”. I must say, I hope I never have to visit christinaaguilera.com again for anything, ever. BUT I was promised a really glitzy fetishized video, which I’ll always sacrifice a bit of principle for, and hell, this one certainly delivers.

Girl is wearing BALLET BOOTS.

AND a latex bodysuit I would DIE for.

She also has a jeweled gag- one that looks rather small, to my eyes- and is shown walking around a girl with her arms tied above her head.

The jewels and the overt stylization of the fetishy themes give the whole video more of a Lady Gaga feel, IMHO, than anything original. And the fetish content doesn’t hold a candle to Madonna’s “Human Nature” video (link) which is the indisputable BEST fetish-inspired music video ever made.

It’s got tons of latex, great bondage:

AND A FUCKING STRAPPADO (fuck):

Obviously someone did their fetish homework on this one. Actually, I wouldn’t put it past Madonna to have a genuine interest in the fetish scene. Unlike Christina who, unfortunately, seems like the type of girl who has a passing interest in the sexuality of fetish clothing, but who would rather wear it and get photographed than take it to the next level and get down and dirty. Shame.

Wow, I know it’s been a while but I’ve been in a weird place lately. Weird place in my head, weird place while looking for work, weird place with Partner who is also in a weird place. Also just coming out of being sick. Seems like I’ve been sick forever!

The topics on my mind lately are aftercare and top drop. I always thought I was pretty low-maintenance, as far as these things go, and in relationships in general. I attach, but I don’t think I overwhelm (I could be wrong). My three-year ex once told me that one of the best things about me is that I don’t need to be babysat, that I don’t need to be the center of attention, and that, when we’re together and he needs to work or get something done, I’m perfectly content doing my own thing- reading, writing, a crossword, listening to NPR or music, etc. I also consider myself low-maintenance when it comes to dating in general. I don’t need to be in touch all the time. I like evenings to myself and encourage my partners to spend time with themselves. I don’t immediately cling. I’m happy with a pizza dinner and a Seth Rogan movie and a good deep-dick fucking as opposed to fancy-schmancy dates all the time. I wear the same socks twice (sometimes three times!) and I’ll never call you out for farting.

But I’ve been realizing lately that I need more maintenance than I think I do after BDSM scenes. My current partner is wonderfully great in a lot of areas but he can be woefully understated on the aftercare. I’m not sure he really understands what aftercare IS, or at least, what I think aftercare should be comprised of. Then again, I’ve always been a cuddle-bunny after sex. I like curling up, being close physically, and falling asleep- and, when sex occurs at night, right before bed, as vanilla sex most often does, this is relatively easy to obtain. When bondage scenes happen at all hours of the day, though, and can come in the middle of a flurry of other quotidian responsibilities, it’s very easy and tempting to finish the scene, wipe the lube off your ass, and move on to the next thing.

When this happens, a midday bondage scene without some physical closeness following, some affection, it unsettles me in a way that sometimes I don’t even realize until hours have passed and I’m eating myself alive inside my head. I begin to doubt everything. I become moody. I think, my partner is just involved with me for selfish reasons. I think, this relationship will never work. Sometimes I wonder why I’m suddenly so pessimistic- and it always leads back to a scene with less-than-desirable amount of “aftercare”- and, when I say aftercare, all I mean is a safe 10-minutes of cuddle-time, some sort of quiet closeness, where I can feel protected and loved and put that love into the context of a scene that may seem more abusive than loving. The other day, Partner chained me to the inside of his closet. The other week, I chained Partner up and had him vacuum the apartment.

Along with this, Partner often experiences “top drop”, which is when the top crashes a bit after the scene and requires a little love, attention, or affection. And he puts so much energy into scenes that it’s no wonder he crashes a bit afterwards. I haven’t been able to figure out, though, whether this is more of a mental crash, physical crash, emotional crash, or whether it’s all wrapped into one. I’m also not sure what to do for him, in these circumstances, except do for him what I would like done to me- I’ll rub his back or his arm and tell him how much I enjoy what we do, what an outstanding dominant he is. I genuinely feel this way. People thrive on feedback and positivity, especially success-oriented people like Partner, and never more so than when you’re feeling vulnerable, after you’re put a lot of energy into such an intimate activity with someone else.

All of this happened to come together last night when Partner and I attended an open-bondage-play night at the Center for Sex Positive Culture. This was following a quick scene during the day where I didn’t get any aftercare post-scene or time to cycle down- I had to get in the shower and we had to get to a lecture we were attending (incidentally, also at the CSPC). When we hooked up to play later that night, Partner put me into a couple easy ties with another girl and then, when I asked to be “stressed” a little, put me in a partial suspension that put a lot of upward pressure on my rib cage. My arms were tight behind my back, my leg was pulled up. And… JUST as I was floating into it, we (apparently) had to give the suspension space to someone else. What! He told me he was taking me down and I objected, but it had to happen anyway, and I was SO UPSET. I felt like, I hadn’t received any aftercare earlier, this is my therapy, and now it’s being cut short TOO?

I wanted to curl up and cry. He let me down and we moved and sat down on the bench and tried to hold myself together. I was on the edge of tears. Partner came up and tried to make me feel better with a suggestion that he put me into a really tight hogtie, my absolute favorite. Okay, I said. Okay, he said. … He must have thought I needed a break, but I didn’t want a break, I wanted to be IN A TIGHT TIE NOW. “Uh, can we do that RIGHT NOW”? I asked. Oh, he said, yeah! Of course! And, a minute later, I was on the floor. I think I stayed in the hogtie for about an hour, zoning out. And if I hadn’t been put into another stressful tie, I absolutely would have cried.

I realize that I have an intolerance for rushed scenes, abrupt scene-changes. I want to ease into things, I want to feel free to linger, and I want to be slowly brought out. And, if this goes awry, I find myself going through a very basic, sometimes immediate and sometimes delayed, emotional response. I guess the only way to tie this all together is a general statement about the emotional aspects of scenes that sometimes take you by surprise. And that maybe all submissives need to pay special attention to what they need during a scene, regardless of whether you consider yourself low-maintenance or not. Submissive, know thyself! An imperative. And then tell your top. And then, hopefully, no one will ever go without.

I used to do some nude modelling back in college and, despite having to get up at 7:30 to go stand on a block of wood for two hours, it was generally a blast. Stripping sounds like a briefer and more lucrative cousin of nude modelling, so of course I’ve grown curious about it. And so have a lot of women in Palm Beach, who decided dive in and hit the poles last year.

According to the Sun Sentinel, more women registered for adult entertainment licenses in Palm Beach County in 2009 than any year since the program began; the estimated number being around a 1000 by last December. As for explaining the rise of licensed dancers, the article points to the fact that full-time jobs are few and far between, as well as local strip clubs being more than happy to see an influx of potential dancers.

Though strip clubs are mostly recession-proof due to skin being one of those inelastic goods, a potential Palm Beach stripper should’t look forward to making  too much bank. One woman, going by the stage name Kiara, said that dancing has gotten much harder since he debut in ten years ago. “The economy is so hard. I used to get $2,000 to $3,000 a night…Now I get $300. Everything is so different.” Maybe stripping’s a bit more cutthroat than I thought? And what about men, did more men apply for licenses last year too? And did they get anywhere?

Anyway, here’s some peeps I’d like to strip with some day:

Please allow me to rant (I’m in a really ranty mood)…

1) If you are going to call yourself a “FETISH PARTY”, please keep the COTTON-TSHIRTS and SNEAKERS outside. Srsly. Partner and I went to a so-called “fetish dress-code” event the other night. I wore a latex hobble skirt, super-high-heels, a really nice corset. He wore latex tights, leather boots, and a neoprene shirt. Who else was wearing fetish clothing? Almost NO ONE. I saw MAYBE one other person wearing latex. Maybe. I did see a lot of cotton, a lot of costumey crap, a lot of “victoria’s secret” fetish (i.e. cheapo pale-pink “corsets” you buy from VS, lace and ruffles, etc.), one girl wearing something that looked like it was made out of toilet paper, and some guy in TENNIS SHOES. Tennis shoes?? At a fetish function? I wish I was kidding.

2) This chick online was arguing with me about how, by expecting the hosts at the aforementioned party to disallow the cotton attire, I’m “forcing others to adhere to my specific definition of high fetish”. Yeah, because obviously high-fetish is a *very* difficult concept to wrap one’s head around. Because, you know, you can’t really GOOGLE “fetishwear” and receive any hits that may be helpful, right? Oh, and some people can’t *afford* high fetish clothing, I’ve been informed… so, what? What difference does that make? They should be allowed to come in tennis shoes? I can’t afford a lot right now and yet, somehow, I make it work. I’ve sewn my OWN fetish clothing from cheap PVC catsuits. In my opinion, that’s a cop-out argument. I’m not going to show up at a costume party and complain that I couldn’t afford a costume, and I should be allowed in anyway. There’s a little thing called “effort”. The world could use more of it.

3) I have to wait THREE FUCKING DAYS to see if I got a call-back on my job interview. I can’t survive anxiety for three fucking days. I’m going to eat myself alive.

4) I’ve gained 5 lbs. This is Not a Good Thing when you have a closet full of size-specific latex. Yuck, pretty soon I’m not going to fit into anything I own, and I’ll be one of those women whose asses scare away small children.

5) My partner has a crazy work schedule, I realize, but would it kill him to spend 5 minutes with me, in bed, before he leaves in the morning?

6) Partner and I want to play with another girl. Why is it so friggen hard to find a cute girl, relatively young, who is into fetish, into bondage, and into other women TOO? I’m SO intimidated by women, which is ridiculous, but I’ve also never had the need to pick them up. I’ve had two really bad threesome experiences, and I’m ABSOLUTELY NOT going to play with another chick who is not “really” into women but who’s only doing it for a lark, or to impress some guy, or who knows why. My self-esteem is FRAGILE. My heart is made of PAPER. I want to be sexually-rejected just as much as everyone else: i.e. NOT AT ALL. I am not unattractive. I’m attracted to women’s bodies. I want to have FUN with women. I want to do this with my MAN. And yet, all the women we meet are either completely unattractive, taken and not looking, totally straight, or have some sort of mental problem.

7) Every time my partner masturbates when I’m around makes me wonder, why would he rather whack it than fuck me? I shouldn’t, but it gets into my head. Plus I want to get fucked. Really bad. This morning would have been nice! Fuck!

I had the pleasure of watching this cinematic piece of art with a very attractive lady recently and, boy, did we both find it smoking caliente. Javier Bardem exudes such a sumptuous gay vibe that I find it hard to believe the man doesn’t nail guys left and right. Oh well. Pretty much everyone in the film is tres sexy though, especially Johnny Depp in fucking tight-fitting drag – and I usually disapprove of Nelly-wear. Needless to say, the cinematographic style and symbolism pervading every shot also tends to arouse, at the very least, the senses. But for all the sexual tension and naked guys running around, there’s also a deeply human and often depressing quality to the film – don’t watch the last twenty minutes if you want to keep the eroticism around.

Interestingly enough, the above trailer unabashedly panders to hetero crowds by including the only three shots of straight action and next to no homoerotic scenes. So don’t be fooled, you regular types.

I’m late to this Vac-Bed party but can I just say? Being in latex is HOTTTT. In more ways than one. And I feel like it’s something it’s taken me a bit of time to acclimate to- I didn’t wake up one morning yenning to be the Michelin man.

My current partner is really into the latex, so he’s slowly been getting me into it. Of course there are drawbacks- latex is pricey. It’s fickle and hard to get into- you have to choose between baby powdering yourself (which doesn’t work as well) or lubing your body up before squeezing into the rubber (with which the slick feeling obviously doesn’t go away, so you better like it). It leaves NOTHING to the imagination. Where the latex ends, your skin WILL bulge, no matter how skinny you are- for those of us who have a little meat on our bones, it’s a new kind of self-consciousness in clothing. AND you’d better get comfortable with the idea of sweating in it. Rubber isn’t at all breathable.

That all being said, there’s something to it. When someone touches you through latex, it’s a completely different feeling- fuzzy indistinct touch, like the whole touch is spread out over a wider area. When you spray cold “slick” lotion on the one side of the latex, you can feel it on the other side. And even the act of sweating feels erotic when you’re encased. Not to mention removing the latex and your whole body, underneath, shiny and moist with a combination of sweat and sweet-smelling talcum powder.

Now, I haven’t tried the vacuum bed, but I’d be totally into it. I think what’s missing from K3’s description above is the idea of being touched, stroked, which you’re vacuumed into the latex. *drool*

Demask, for example, also makes walkable pressure-latex suits, like so:

Which is more the pressure of the air in the latex, I suppose, than the pressure of the latex itself. This is something else I want to try! Just a different way to be coccooned. And I love the “sensory-deprivation” aspect of bondage, as well, so I’m sure I’d take to this like, you know, a rubber doll in her vac-bed

And speaking of latex, my partner and I went out on the town the other night all suited up. I wore my latex garter belt, latex thigh-highs, latex dress, PVC corset, latex gloves, heels, and my new collar. Luckily I was dressed in rubber, too, because it was a little chilly outside!

Now, I obviously get how bondage is sexy, how being totally submissive stirs up some people’s juices, and how restraint can be paradoxically empowering…but I can’t say I understand why anyone would think this is a good “toy” to bring to the bedroom:

The Latex Vac-Bed is essentially a non-permeable cocoon you can complete deflate around a body, not only pins you via the force of negative pressure (versus just a chain, band, etc.) but also prevents your skin from breathing properly, not to mention blocking the majority of your orifices. You can’t see, you can’t shift, you can only lay in the swamp of sweat pooling all around you (that last condition can especially harmful). I know I’m going to have nightmares from just looking at its product page.

Not to mention, the bed – though it’s really a sack – goes for somewhere in the outrageous price range between $495 and $648, and doesn’t even come with all the necessary parts. The description on The Stockroom slips in a line about the thing’s “1½” PVC connector will fit most household vacuum cleaners” – you provide the suction, we provide the extra tiny breathing tube. At least a feat of a Houdini is needed to set this up for and by yourself…but, Christ almighty, you better trust your play partner like you trust your cardiac surgeon before you attempt a vac-bed.