Archive for the ‘bdsm’ tag

Jiz

Here’s part of a brilliant interview with genderqueer feminist porn star, Jiz Lee:

The Scavenger: “You are involved in productions that steer away from ‘vanilla sex.’ Why is it important to you, to show things like urination, menstrual blood, body hair, fisting, BDSM and ejaculation in your work?”

Jiz Lee: “Because these things are a part of sex! These things (and other taboo subjects) are a part of the sex we have, and are valid desires and physical sexual responses. When something like female ejaculation is censored, the statement made is that it is shameful, obscene – or worse: that it doesn’t even exist. The decision to make my stage name Jiz was to bring attention to the fact that I can ejaculate, and by using this name I hope to promote the idea that this kind of sexual response is normal, and even celebrated.”

Full interview here.

Fistfull of Collars

Holy Moly today reported on a woman called Suzanne Collins whom, it seems, used to be in a soap opera called Brookside and is now in a play called “Fistfull of Collars”, currently on in Liverpool, which is about- oh sod it, never mind the details. Just look at the pictures. Look at them!

Click here to see the full gallery at Holy Moly.

Knots

Here’s an excerpt from a brilliant Salon.com article - Jed Lipinski’s amusing account of an awkward first date between two nervous ‘nillas at a bondage workshop:

…And so on a cold night in November, I pushed open the heavy glass doors of Toys in Babeland’s SoHo shop. Darla appeared soon after, zipped into a sleeping bag-length down jacket.

“Well, here we are!” she said brightly, kissing me on the cheek.

Two employees greeted us — an effete young man in tight pants and a Mohawk, and a voluptuous black-haired girl in a jungle-green velour jumpsuit. Their expressions were identical: endlessly sympathetic, wildly sexual. They handed us packets and pens, and we sat down in a row of folding chairs near the back.

Darla’s green eyes glittered with a kind of teenage mischievousness. But I noticed the packet — labelled “Bondage and Discipline” — was shaking slightly in her hand, as if she was about to give a speech. I instantly felt guilty for inviting her here. There was no alcohol to relax the mood, and the room was full of harsh fluorescence, throwing spotlights on products like the Ophoria Finger Vibe and Penetration Station. Our classmates, with whom I avoided making eye contact, were milling about the vibrator displays.

“That’s the one I have,” Darla said, gesturing at the display table. “The blue one.” The device was large and streamlined, with the kind of wrist cord attachment found on cameras and flashlights.

The girl in the green jumpsuit stepped to the front of the ad hoc classroom, and everyone sat down. She introduced herself as Rosalyn (her name, like the others in this essay, has been changed), and explained that everyone is capable of both domination and submission, that nobody is either/or. Her eyes were smoky and dark — bedroom eyes. When she asked what we wanted to learn, a heavy silence fell over the group.

“Knots!” a girl shouted at last, and the class laughed in relief. The girl was wearing cork-size plugs in her earlobes and holding her girlfriend’s hand. They smiled radiantly, completely at ease under the circumstances. I envied them.

“OK,” Rosalyn said. “Knots. Check! Anything else?”

Silence.

“All right, well. I hope you guys are ready, because this class is gonna be really fun!”

Darla pounced on the opportunity for irony. “Yes!” she whispered, squeezing my knee. I was uncomfortable being here — far more uncomfortable than I’d predicted — and the benign comment loosened me up to an almost psychotic degree. I laughed into my hand, worried I might giggle uncontrollably for the rest of the class, but the fit soon passed.

Rosalyn stepped back and Daniel, a shifty fellow in a baggy sheep’s wool sweater and wingtips, took her place. “Hey, you guys! Welcome to Erotic Bondage and Dirty Domination!” he said, with considerable sass. Rosalyn had seemed a sensitive and reliable guide, but Daniel looked unsteady; he seemed to be in training for the job. Rather abruptly, he began reading from the packet we’d been given, looking up now and then to establish a rapport with the audience. “The masochist is someone who enjoys inflicting pain on others,” he said, “whereas a sadist … a sadist enjoys being the recipient of pain.”

“I think you got that backwards there,” said a black man in sunglasses and a white Kangol hat near the front.

Daniel blushed and flipped the pages back and forth. He gave an exasperated “Ah!” before redefining the words correctly.

Just then, Rosalyn said, “I smell smoke. Is something burning?” As Daniel turned around, Rosalyn leapt at the table behind them, where a scented massage candle had lit one of the fanned sex-pamphlet displays. “Oh my God!” she shouted, laughing as she brought a hardback erotica book down on the table, smothering the flames…

Read the full article here.

Power

Here are a couple of paragraphs from a very interesting “OPEN LETTER TO WOMEN” on AlterNet. It perfectly expresses something every Dominatrix agonises over - the gulf between the fantasy and the reality of what a powerful woman really is:

“…In the last 10 years, heels have become higher and higher. Pushing aside the fact that most women can’t walk on these 4-6″ stilts and look like they’re carrying a load in their diapers, heels are bad for our bodies and ultimately displace our vital organs. Seriously, they displace our vital organs.

And, yet, they are de rigeur in fashion now. Look up and ask one of these women why they wear them. I’ve done that. They say they feel powerful in these heels. They feel sexy in these heels. They feel unconquerable. The dominatrix in them has an acceptable place for expression. I’ll ask them again in 10 years when they have bad backs, fallen arches and depression. I’ll ask when they have broken up someone’s marriage only to find themselves alone again as the man moves on to someone else. Or they get their man only to discover that now they’re the victims of adultery.

Feminism has failed if women only find their their power through sexuality. Women have failed. You see, your powerful sexuality only lasts about 15 years of your long life. After that, it costs a lot of money to keep that shit going. And, by then, your intelligence and empathy have atrophied. And, what have you to show for it? No man, no friends and the derision of history.

The sad truth is that expressing your power through sexuality is a disservice to yourself and to all other women. It perpetuates the myth that men want continued. Looking at hot women in tight dresses wearing stiletto heels is a sexual fantasy that they don’t want to give up. Their hard-on is imminently more valuable to them than your success…”

For the full article, click here.

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