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Best of craigslist > seattle-tacoma > Just fucking fuck me, already.
Originally Posted: Sun, 3 Feb 15:29 PST
Just fucking fuck me, already.
Date: 2008-02-03, 3:29PM PST
Dear Men of Craigslist,
Look, I know you men have it difficult. Women are just about impossible to understand, much less please. In a post-feminist society, you never know exactly what you should be doing. Women are bloody picky, I know we are. It can be scary, too, when women freak out about what appear to be benign issues. And men who do their best to be respectful, female-positive humans, I salute you, I do.
But please, please just fuck me already. Honestly, I appreciate your thoughtfulness. I like that you want to take things slow. I can totally get behind the idea of emotional connection, but dearjesusinheaven, FUCK ME. We've done dinner and drinks. We've gone dancing. We've cuddled and watched a movie. I'm wearing a low cut shirt and you've been staring at my breasts all night. Goodgodalmighty, get to it and fuck me.
When we get hot and heavy, please take charge. Please, please fuck me. Trust me, I'm not going to just lie still - I'll get involved. But don't make me force your hand into my panties. That makes me feel like a rapist. We've been kissing for a half hour and your hand keeps grazing my ass. That's nice, but it's time to move forward. Get on top of me. Don't make me get on top right out of the gate and start bobbing up and down on your cock like I'm practicing some crazy new aerobic yoga because YOU won't go down on me. Roll on top and start dry humping like a good boy should. Don't gently suck my nipples and then pull back when I moan with pleasure. You being coy is totally not what I want. It's not what WE want.
OK, I know it's scary. There are lots of women out there who make fucking really difficult. So, I have compiled some handy tips. Don't think of this as complaining, or as schadenfreude for the Andrea Dworkins of the world. Just some simple tips, for timid men who have forgotten what it means to fuck like men:
1. Taking charge is not bad. Oh, there will be some women who feel that you are pushy. If you are making out with a woman, and she starts to push back, ask nicely if things are moving too fast. If she says yes, say something like "I'm sorry - you just look so fucking delicious. I'll go slower." Otherwise, skillfully move forward. If you start kissing a woman, and she responds well, and before long, you're both on the floor with her skirt pushed up, and you on top of her, it's not the time to roll onto your back and start awkwardly stroking the top of her head. Seriously, grow a goddamn pair. YOU'RE the man. Act like one.
2. Ohmyfuckinggod, please learn to respect the clit. It's different for every woman, so ask what she likes. Do not, I repeat, do not just wiggle your fingers around her pussy like you're trying to tickle her. Do not drum your fingertips against her vulva like you are impatiently waiting at the Sears Tire Center for your receipt. Do not push the clit like it is a doorbell at some house that you need to get inside of. Start by using all four fingers with firm yet gentle pressure against the outside of her pussy. Do not charge in with a single finger and start jabbing at things. And if you really don't know what to do, ask her. Just ask. "How do you like it?". It's a simple question, and most women will answer straight out. If she's being all coy, ask "Do you like pressure? Is it sensitive?" The clitoris is a varied item, indeed. Treat each one as though you have never encountered one before. Forget everything that your last partner liked.
3. Most women like to be fucked, and fucked well. Yes, there are women out there who want to "make love" every time - sweet, gentle, rocking love with lots of eye contact and loving kisses. Those women are not the majority. The majority like to be pounded. The majority like to have their hair pulled. The majority like a good, solid jackhammering. When a woman is bucking wildly against you, it's not because she wants you to pull back and slowly swirl your cock around her vagina like you're mixing a cake batter up there. It's because she wants you to hold down her arms, or grab her hips, or push her legs above her head, and fuck her harder. Don't be too afraid of what this means as far as gender equality goes - I am a raging feminist bitch, but I still want to be penetrated like you are planning on fucking my throat from the inside out.
4. A little roughness is nice. Do not pretend that you had no idea that some women like their hair pulled. Do not act shocked if she wants you to spank her ("Really? Spanking? Won't it hurt?" - yes, it does. That's the fucking point). We know you've read Stuff and Maxim, and that's all those laddie mags talk about in their "How to Please Her" sections. Start with light, full handed smacks to the area of her ass that she sits on. Judge her response and continue on from there. You don't have to bend her over one knee and tell her she's a naughty girl and that Daddy's going to punish her; save that for the fifth date. Women are less delicate than you think, so don't worry about breaking her hip.
5. It's OK for you to make noise. Otherwise, we feel like we are fucking a ninja. Unless you actually are a ninja, and have sneaked into our rooms with vibrating nanuchaku and zippered black pajamas, please, please make some noise. If you're banging a woman, and she's crying out and saying your name and moaning, and you can't even manage a grunt, she's going to feel like an idiot. You don't have to make the sounds she is making, but do SOMETHING. You know how when you are watching porn, and the girl does something great to the guy and the guy kind of goes "Ah!", half grunt, half yell? That's HOT. Do that. Whisper our name (assuming you know it) gruffly. Groan against her neck when you're in missionary position. You don't have to grunt like a mountain gorilla, but if you are totally mute, she's going to get worried.
6. Most women like dirty talk, in addition to the grunting. If you'd like to get some dirty talk going, ask her if she likes the way you fuck her. If she responds well, continue with something like, "I love fucking you. God, you look so fucking hot." Is she still moaning in response? "Your tits are so beautiful." Does that work? If she doesn't respond well to the term "tits", you might have to stop there. If she keep moaning or responding, pass Go and collect $200. Try the following:
"Oh, god. Your pussy is SO tight."
"You're so wet - are you wet because you like the feel of my cock ramming you?"
"I think I'm going to come inside you. I'm going to fill up your little cunt." It doesn't matter that you're wearing a condom; we LOVE hearing this.
If all of those work, you can then progress to things like "sexy little bitch" and "dirty whore". Tread carefully, but please, tread. Do not tiptoe. Do not sit down. Charge.
6. You're not obligated to eat a woman out. In return, she's not obligated to choke on your dick. Don't skip one and expect the other. If you do eat a woman out, the only comment you should make about her pussy is how nice it is. The length of her labia minora, the color of her interior, her waxing job or full bush - you are not John Madden. No time for color commentary.
7. Do not bitch about condoms. Oh, we hate them. Trust us. They hurt us more than they hurt you. But we don't want to be preggers, and you don't want to catch anything, right? Don't whine about condom sex. Do not explain that you can't come with one on. LEARN to come with one on, or if not, help us figure out what to do with you once we're satisfied and it's time for you to let loose your load.
8. We really like it when you come. It's called a money shot for a reason. Watching semen shoot out of you is one of the most gratifying things EVER. However, do not assume that she wants you to jack it off onto her face. She might, but don't assume. Seeing and/or feeling you come is rewarding for us, so there's no need to deprive us of it, but please do consult us before unleashing. "I think I'm going to come - how do you like it?" is a fair question that shouldn't rob you of your testicles.
In recent memory, I've been fucked by a very aggressive, manly guy, and I've been... well, fucked is the wrong term here. I've been penetrated by a total and utter wuss. Who am I going to run back to when I'm ready for my fill? Manly McHardon, that's who. ----------------------------------------------------
*New point of clarification - some people have brought up some really great issues in response to this post, so let me say this: I don't mean to imply that all women like to be treated like whores. I do mean to say that most women I know have told me that they like sex rougher than most men give it to them. Rough does NOT equal chains and bondage. And this applies to the bedroom only, and does not mean that she wants you to choose her dinner for her, or treat her like less of a person. **Some women have said that they don't like it rough and what the hell am I thinking? Well, girls, you're in the minority. HOWEVER, all women need to remember that, in addition to be straight forward about your sexual desires, you need to be straight forward about your sexual limits. Don't be afraid to ask for more, but when something feels wrong, say so. Don't ever do something you don't want to do in silence and then blame the guy. Silence is dangerous.
* Location: Seattle
* it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
PostingID: 561877622
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Sunday, March 2, 2008
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Don't Look a Gift Tit in the Mouth
I'd like to start this post by thanking all of our readers for being so patient, particularly you male readers. No offense, Dominique, but there's something a little alienating as a man to keep visiting this blog and seeing a big ol' photograph of a melted dildo. Honestly, I think my roommate was getting a little worried about my ability to represent the male sex perspective when he saw that up on my screen.
But, potential homosexual leanings aside, it's time for the topic at hand. Or mouth, as it were. Straight ladies, it may be time for you to go powder your nose for a while or find a website on pie-making that may be of interest for you. Male readers with an affection for parts that are not female? Same to you. Why? Because this post is going to be one big, long tribute to the non-discriminating worship of whazongas; a celebration of sweater muffins; a veritable jamborie of jubbly love, dedicated to all you knocker knaves and hottentot hound dogs.
Scientists and psychologists rationalize the male preoccupation with breasts as a simple issue of survival; our subsistence and survival depends on the nourishment provided by breasts when we are infants, and this develops into a sexual interest and even obsession after adolescence. This explanation seems to fall flat, however, because you don't see women enjoying each other's breasts anywhere near as often (trust me: I keep my eyes WIDE open for that particular phenomena, and I don't think I'm the only disappointed voice in the choir of men bemoaning its general absence.) Moreover, women don't even seem to enjoy their OWN breasts anywhere near often enough, so clearly there must be some greater significance than that which becomes attached during infancy.
I can vividly remember my first real encounter with breasts. No, I'm not about to relate some pervy story about being a ravenous little hoover attached to my mother's yam-yams. Give me a little more credit than that. I was 10 years old. My regular babysitter was a friend of my mother's, a woman in her 30s with breasts the size of bicycle tires. She was a favorite in our house of boys because she never shied away from rough-housing or playing war. Anyway, it was a regular Thursday afternoon. Mom was out "grocery shopping" and Judy and my brothers and I were playing tag in the yard. I was it, and ran up to tag Judy. She had tripped and stopped running, so I could have smacked her anywhere. I paused. I smiled. I slowly extended my arm, and grabbed her breast. I squeezed. It felt amazing; like nothing I'd ever really felt before; it was soft and yet firm, warm and maleable, and I couldn't help myself. The moment only lasted about a second before she knocked me down and dragged me in to time out, but I knew I was hooked.
Since then, it's been a pretty consistent goal of mine to get better acquainted with this particular topography of the female landscape, and even after 10 years, I have yet to meet a breast I didn't like. I don't care if a woman has more C's in her bra than on an average student's report card, or if she has nothing more than two aspirin on an ironing board: if there be nipples and some skin leading up to them, I'm probably going to be enthralled. I love the way they feel; the way they rise and fall, the way they respond to being squeezed, the way they change with the temperature or with the mood. I love the way they look in all their stages; the taut mystery of their hiding behind a sweater, their inviting, curvy friendliness behind a well-fitted bra, and the awe-inspiring exposure of their complete nudity. And, yes; whether it's a freudian dysfunction or a completely natural urge, I. love. them. in. my. mouth.
Sure, this can be a problem sometimes, because not all women a) are interested or b) are familiar with the sensation of a man nibbling on her nums. But I've found this to be a manageable obstacle. Of course, (and this one's for you, Dean Kneser and any women who are offended enough to send him an e-mail about this,) I never pressure a woman to accept the attentions I have to offer her and her gal's. I simply offer an invitation and make sure that, if she accepts, I make it memorable. Er, mammorable. Wait, nope: memorable.
I contemplated saying exactly what it is I like to do when I have breasts in my mouth; the subtle circles my tongue draws, the proper combination of teeth, lips, and tongue a man should keep in mind, the feedback I have gotten, but I don't think it'd actually be that helpful: everyone needs to find their own balance. Maybe some of you guys and your girlfriends aren't into the whole mouth-on-chest thing; maybe she's into your hands, or perhaps you've crossed into that mythological land most men merely dream of, where your...erhm...lower parts to get to nestle up between her..alright. You get the idea. My only message to male readers is: do not look a gift tit in the mouth. A breast is a blessing; any breast that a woman is good enough to bestow upon you is one for which you should be truly grateful. Maybe it's not what you expected; maybe it's different, bigger or smaller or softer or harder than what you had anticipated. But good god, man; any breast in the mouth is better than two in the bush! It is your duty (again, only if you're a heterosexual) to make every woman know that her breasts are the best breasts you've ever seen. Don't worry if it's not true; if they're the ones you're stuck with for the rest of your life it'll be a comfortable lie to get accustomed to, and if they're not, then it will at least make everybody happier for the time being.
To the ladies who may be reading this post: know your power. You have the capacity to drive a man absolutely crazy with those things. When you wear those low cut shirts and drop something in class, we try really, really hard not to look but 9 times out of 10, there's just no helping. When you lean in to ask us something or to give us a hug and the edge of your warm, soft breasts graze against us, you have our undivided attention. And, when you finally, finally bless us with a glimpse of the whole kit and kaboodle, we are, for that instant, the luckiest guys in the world. You may scoff at your soft, subtle silhouette of A-cup proportions, or frown at your generous D-cups as they swing low sweet chariots that they are, but I can pretty much guarantee that if you have nipples attached to them, we want to see.
In fact, just to prove that we, or at least I want to see all breasts of all shapes, sizes, colors, textures, etc. I encourage my readers to take pictures of just their breasts and send them to olevillains@gmail.com with subject header "for Under The Covers." Naked, clothed; in a bra, in a swimsuit, in your hands, in someone else's hands- I don't care. Oleville has photo contests, so I think it's about time Olevillains did as well. Send me your breasts, ladies, and next post we'll advertise the winner (no names and no faces, of course. Unless...that is...you're REALLY into your own breasts, in which case...we'll be in touch. Literally. )
But, potential homosexual leanings aside, it's time for the topic at hand. Or mouth, as it were. Straight ladies, it may be time for you to go powder your nose for a while or find a website on pie-making that may be of interest for you. Male readers with an affection for parts that are not female? Same to you. Why? Because this post is going to be one big, long tribute to the non-discriminating worship of whazongas; a celebration of sweater muffins; a veritable jamborie of jubbly love, dedicated to all you knocker knaves and hottentot hound dogs.
Scientists and psychologists rationalize the male preoccupation with breasts as a simple issue of survival; our subsistence and survival depends on the nourishment provided by breasts when we are infants, and this develops into a sexual interest and even obsession after adolescence. This explanation seems to fall flat, however, because you don't see women enjoying each other's breasts anywhere near as often (trust me: I keep my eyes WIDE open for that particular phenomena, and I don't think I'm the only disappointed voice in the choir of men bemoaning its general absence.) Moreover, women don't even seem to enjoy their OWN breasts anywhere near often enough, so clearly there must be some greater significance than that which becomes attached during infancy.
I can vividly remember my first real encounter with breasts. No, I'm not about to relate some pervy story about being a ravenous little hoover attached to my mother's yam-yams. Give me a little more credit than that. I was 10 years old. My regular babysitter was a friend of my mother's, a woman in her 30s with breasts the size of bicycle tires. She was a favorite in our house of boys because she never shied away from rough-housing or playing war. Anyway, it was a regular Thursday afternoon. Mom was out "grocery shopping" and Judy and my brothers and I were playing tag in the yard. I was it, and ran up to tag Judy. She had tripped and stopped running, so I could have smacked her anywhere. I paused. I smiled. I slowly extended my arm, and grabbed her breast. I squeezed. It felt amazing; like nothing I'd ever really felt before; it was soft and yet firm, warm and maleable, and I couldn't help myself. The moment only lasted about a second before she knocked me down and dragged me in to time out, but I knew I was hooked.
Since then, it's been a pretty consistent goal of mine to get better acquainted with this particular topography of the female landscape, and even after 10 years, I have yet to meet a breast I didn't like. I don't care if a woman has more C's in her bra than on an average student's report card, or if she has nothing more than two aspirin on an ironing board: if there be nipples and some skin leading up to them, I'm probably going to be enthralled. I love the way they feel; the way they rise and fall, the way they respond to being squeezed, the way they change with the temperature or with the mood. I love the way they look in all their stages; the taut mystery of their hiding behind a sweater, their inviting, curvy friendliness behind a well-fitted bra, and the awe-inspiring exposure of their complete nudity. And, yes; whether it's a freudian dysfunction or a completely natural urge, I. love. them. in. my. mouth.
Sure, this can be a problem sometimes, because not all women a) are interested or b) are familiar with the sensation of a man nibbling on her nums. But I've found this to be a manageable obstacle. Of course, (and this one's for you, Dean Kneser and any women who are offended enough to send him an e-mail about this,) I never pressure a woman to accept the attentions I have to offer her and her gal's. I simply offer an invitation and make sure that, if she accepts, I make it memorable. Er, mammorable. Wait, nope: memorable.
I contemplated saying exactly what it is I like to do when I have breasts in my mouth; the subtle circles my tongue draws, the proper combination of teeth, lips, and tongue a man should keep in mind, the feedback I have gotten, but I don't think it'd actually be that helpful: everyone needs to find their own balance. Maybe some of you guys and your girlfriends aren't into the whole mouth-on-chest thing; maybe she's into your hands, or perhaps you've crossed into that mythological land most men merely dream of, where your...erhm...lower parts to get to nestle up between her..alright. You get the idea. My only message to male readers is: do not look a gift tit in the mouth. A breast is a blessing; any breast that a woman is good enough to bestow upon you is one for which you should be truly grateful. Maybe it's not what you expected; maybe it's different, bigger or smaller or softer or harder than what you had anticipated. But good god, man; any breast in the mouth is better than two in the bush! It is your duty (again, only if you're a heterosexual) to make every woman know that her breasts are the best breasts you've ever seen. Don't worry if it's not true; if they're the ones you're stuck with for the rest of your life it'll be a comfortable lie to get accustomed to, and if they're not, then it will at least make everybody happier for the time being.
To the ladies who may be reading this post: know your power. You have the capacity to drive a man absolutely crazy with those things. When you wear those low cut shirts and drop something in class, we try really, really hard not to look but 9 times out of 10, there's just no helping. When you lean in to ask us something or to give us a hug and the edge of your warm, soft breasts graze against us, you have our undivided attention. And, when you finally, finally bless us with a glimpse of the whole kit and kaboodle, we are, for that instant, the luckiest guys in the world. You may scoff at your soft, subtle silhouette of A-cup proportions, or frown at your generous D-cups as they swing low sweet chariots that they are, but I can pretty much guarantee that if you have nipples attached to them, we want to see.
In fact, just to prove that we, or at least I want to see all breasts of all shapes, sizes, colors, textures, etc. I encourage my readers to take pictures of just their breasts and send them to olevillains@gmail.com with subject header "for Under The Covers." Naked, clothed; in a bra, in a swimsuit, in your hands, in someone else's hands- I don't care. Oleville has photo contests, so I think it's about time Olevillains did as well. Send me your breasts, ladies, and next post we'll advertise the winner (no names and no faces, of course. Unless...that is...you're REALLY into your own breasts, in which case...we'll be in touch. Literally. )
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Dildo Impotence?! Pt. 2
Before I go forward with my post on Dildo Impotence, I wanted to post some of the helpful reader responses submitted to Troy's Condom Crisis post. Thanks, everyone! As always- if you have a question or feedback or issue for Troy or I to tackle, we love hearing from you.
"Second, I want to respond to Troy's question in Under the Covers. I remember a condom dispenser in the 2nd floor utility room of Ellingson. Also, there is always a fishbowl full in the nurse's office. And better JC's than Troy's friend have been known to provide a large, opaque bowl full of condoms and candy, so residents may help themselves while being discrete, since no one knows which they are grabbing. Bravo to those JC's; there should be a cookie jar of condoms and candy at the front desk of every dorm."
"Hello Troy - I know the location of condom machines in two dorms:
Mohn - In the Laundry room in the hallway next to room 106 Ytterboe - Again in the laundry room across from Pod 169 Although, there are a few sources for condoms (free ones at that) that you did not mention in your article. The Wellness Center always has condoms free for the taking and is open 5 days a week. I know that this would mean planning ahead, but the wellness center offers accessibility to condoms later than the bookstore on some nights. Also, the Gender and sexuality Center (GSC) in the Thompson house is often open during evenings and has a small supply of condoms - you can learn more about them at www.stolaf.edu/orgs/gsc."
"I would like to point out that students can also receive FREE condoms from Students for Reproductive Health. Also: Buntrock doesn't have a condom machine because one of the offices near the post office has a basket of free condoms on their front desk. FREE! Stock up, my friends! The only drawback to this option is that they only have one style: LifeStyles "ultra lubricated." Kittelsby hall, which I lived in last year, has a machine in the utility room on the north(?) side of the building (farthest from Hilleboe). Mellby Hall (where I currently live) has a machine located in the basement. It can be found in the dryer portion of the laundry room. As far as I know, all the res hall machines stock the same brand in three different styles. I believe that those styles are regular, studded and slim fit (you might want to verify that). Happy sex!"
Anyway, on to the new topic, which has nothing to do with condoms. In fact, you could call the topic the opposite of condoms, insomuch as this deals with activities that cannot by any means get you pregnant. Yes, I'm talking about everyone's favorite ridiculous word: dildos.
This may shock and amaze my readers, but I have never owned a full-out dildo. That is, while I am completely supportive of sexual health and recreational enjoyment thereof, my preferences have always been on the discreet but oh-so-intensely-effective clitoral stimulation side of sex toys, and never have I owned a device designed for penetration.
"Never" was, however, until a few weeks ago, when some girlfriends discovered this and in their crazed disgust and emphatic outrage at this knowledge, purchased me a "Clone-A-Willy" kit.
The CAWK, as I'll call it from here on in, seemed pretty simple: cut the tube to size, mix and fill it with a gunky substance, insert an erect penis into the tube, hold said tube and erect penis perfectly still for two minutes, and then remove penis (pop!) and pour the rubber mixture you've been meanwhile concockting into the newly-created tunnel-o'love that's in your tube of plaster. Insert vibrator into the center and allow the whole thing to harden for 24 hours. At the end of the 24 hours, turn tube upside down and out comes a lovely vibrating dildo!
Simple, right?
Well, first, I needed a penis. (If I had a dollar for every time I said THAT sentence..phew!) Seeing as I didn't HAVE a dildo to use as an original, I did the next best thing: sat down my guy friends and asked them who most wanted their penis immortalized. Surprisingly, none of them were too keen on the idea, especially when I told them the pictures would probably be posted online. Curious!
So, I did the next next best thing, asked my girlfriend (who I know to be a hygienic and considerate individual) to lend me HER favorite toy. Lend it she did, and after thorough sanitizing, I was ready to put my CAWK to use.
Now, ladies and gents, I followed the instructions precisely, and since it was pretty humid while my penis was drying (man, I love typing that pronoun next to that noun! I see what Freud was talking about!) I even let it sit for a full 48 hours, just to be safe. Those last few hours were tantalizing- I kept peaking at my shelf, half-expecting to see it jumping up and down, begging to be released and put to use. (Thankfully, my roomie was visiting her boyfriend in Chicago for the weekend so Willy and I had the room to ourselves.)
Finally, the moment came. I squeezed the tube a little bit, shimmied it upwards, and there it was, in all of his wonderful, glistening glory. I decided then and there to name him Excalibur- he seemed so proud, so confident, and peculiarly, so British.
Anyways, I was supposed to let that sit for an additional 24 hours or so, so I did. At the end of the 24 hours, however, I noticed that Excalibur was still feeling slightly tacky to the touch, so I decided to extend that to 48 hours.
What did I find at the end of the 48 hours, you ask? A big dribbly pile of disgusting formerly-shaped-as-a-penis rubber guck. Excalibur, rather than hardening like any self-respecting penis-shaped thing would do, slowly went from unsure, to flacid, to limp, to droopy, to dribbly, and finally, TO PLASMA.
What the fuck?! It seriously looked like the cheap gag-vomit you buy at random chotcky shops except without random chunks in it to give it personality. The worst part was, the vibrator was still standing tall, making it look like it had really just folded over and admit defeat.
I kept Excalibur for a few days for posterity's sake to see if at least it would harden in THAT shape, but turns out this CAWK was destined for constant softness. Even after the air was completely unhumid, this proved to be the little penis that couldn't. I can't say I've ever been quite so disappointed by a penile thing in my life, and coming from me, that's saying a LOT. Frankly, I feel like this is an insult against me: if a freaking dildo can't keep it up for me, that has to be a bad omen. I have never heard of dildo impotence before, but it apparently exists all the same.
It was with a sad heart and sticky hands that I introduced Excalibur to his final resting place; the trash can in the hall. I can only hope the bag breaks and the janitors have a good laugh, because maybe that would vindicate his puny, disappointing existence in some way. If not, may my story serve as a lesson to all those that purchase "Clone A (whatever it is you want to duplicate) Kits": don't do it. Even if it seems easier or safer than the real thing, at least you can count on the real thing not melting in half in high humidity.
Yours in sexploration,
Dominique
"Second, I want to respond to Troy's question in Under the Covers. I remember a condom dispenser in the 2nd floor utility room of Ellingson. Also, there is always a fishbowl full in the nurse's office. And better JC's than Troy's friend have been known to provide a large, opaque bowl full of condoms and candy, so residents may help themselves while being discrete, since no one knows which they are grabbing. Bravo to those JC's; there should be a cookie jar of condoms and candy at the front desk of every dorm."
"Hello Troy - I know the location of condom machines in two dorms:
Mohn - In the Laundry room in the hallway next to room 106 Ytterboe - Again in the laundry room across from Pod 169 Although, there are a few sources for condoms (free ones at that) that you did not mention in your article. The Wellness Center always has condoms free for the taking and is open 5 days a week. I know that this would mean planning ahead, but the wellness center offers accessibility to condoms later than the bookstore on some nights. Also, the Gender and sexuality Center (GSC) in the Thompson house is often open during evenings and has a small supply of condoms - you can learn more about them at www.stolaf.edu/orgs/gsc."
"I would like to point out that students can also receive FREE condoms from Students for Reproductive Health. Also: Buntrock doesn't have a condom machine because one of the offices near the post office has a basket of free condoms on their front desk. FREE! Stock up, my friends! The only drawback to this option is that they only have one style: LifeStyles "ultra lubricated." Kittelsby hall, which I lived in last year, has a machine in the utility room on the north(?) side of the building (farthest from Hilleboe). Mellby Hall (where I currently live) has a machine located in the basement. It can be found in the dryer portion of the laundry room. As far as I know, all the res hall machines stock the same brand in three different styles. I believe that those styles are regular, studded and slim fit (you might want to verify that). Happy sex!"
Anyway, on to the new topic, which has nothing to do with condoms. In fact, you could call the topic the opposite of condoms, insomuch as this deals with activities that cannot by any means get you pregnant. Yes, I'm talking about everyone's favorite ridiculous word: dildos.
This may shock and amaze my readers, but I have never owned a full-out dildo. That is, while I am completely supportive of sexual health and recreational enjoyment thereof, my preferences have always been on the discreet but oh-so-intensely-effective clitoral stimulation side of sex toys, and never have I owned a device designed for penetration.
"Never" was, however, until a few weeks ago, when some girlfriends discovered this and in their crazed disgust and emphatic outrage at this knowledge, purchased me a "Clone-A-Willy" kit.
The CAWK, as I'll call it from here on in, seemed pretty simple: cut the tube to size, mix and fill it with a gunky substance, insert an erect penis into the tube, hold said tube and erect penis perfectly still for two minutes, and then remove penis (pop!) and pour the rubber mixture you've been meanwhile concockting into the newly-created tunnel-o'love that's in your tube of plaster. Insert vibrator into the center and allow the whole thing to harden for 24 hours. At the end of the 24 hours, turn tube upside down and out comes a lovely vibrating dildo!
Simple, right?
Well, first, I needed a penis. (If I had a dollar for every time I said THAT sentence..phew!) Seeing as I didn't HAVE a dildo to use as an original, I did the next best thing: sat down my guy friends and asked them who most wanted their penis immortalized. Surprisingly, none of them were too keen on the idea, especially when I told them the pictures would probably be posted online. Curious!
So, I did the next next best thing, asked my girlfriend (who I know to be a hygienic and considerate individual) to lend me HER favorite toy. Lend it she did, and after thorough sanitizing, I was ready to put my CAWK to use.
Now, ladies and gents, I followed the instructions precisely, and since it was pretty humid while my penis was drying (man, I love typing that pronoun next to that noun! I see what Freud was talking about!) I even let it sit for a full 48 hours, just to be safe. Those last few hours were tantalizing- I kept peaking at my shelf, half-expecting to see it jumping up and down, begging to be released and put to use. (Thankfully, my roomie was visiting her boyfriend in Chicago for the weekend so Willy and I had the room to ourselves.)
Finally, the moment came. I squeezed the tube a little bit, shimmied it upwards, and there it was, in all of his wonderful, glistening glory. I decided then and there to name him Excalibur- he seemed so proud, so confident, and peculiarly, so British.
Anyways, I was supposed to let that sit for an additional 24 hours or so, so I did. At the end of the 24 hours, however, I noticed that Excalibur was still feeling slightly tacky to the touch, so I decided to extend that to 48 hours.
What did I find at the end of the 48 hours, you ask? A big dribbly pile of disgusting formerly-shaped-as-a-penis rubber guck. Excalibur, rather than hardening like any self-respecting penis-shaped thing would do, slowly went from unsure, to flacid, to limp, to droopy, to dribbly, and finally, TO PLASMA.
What the fuck?! It seriously looked like the cheap gag-vomit you buy at random chotcky shops except without random chunks in it to give it personality. The worst part was, the vibrator was still standing tall, making it look like it had really just folded over and admit defeat.I kept Excalibur for a few days for posterity's sake to see if at least it would harden in THAT shape, but turns out this CAWK was destined for constant softness. Even after the air was completely unhumid, this proved to be the little penis that couldn't. I can't say I've ever been quite so disappointed by a penile thing in my life, and coming from me, that's saying a LOT. Frankly, I feel like this is an insult against me: if a freaking dildo can't keep it up for me, that has to be a bad omen. I have never heard of dildo impotence before, but it apparently exists all the same.
It was with a sad heart and sticky hands that I introduced Excalibur to his final resting place; the trash can in the hall. I can only hope the bag breaks and the janitors have a good laugh, because maybe that would vindicate his puny, disappointing existence in some way. If not, may my story serve as a lesson to all those that purchase "Clone A (whatever it is you want to duplicate) Kits": don't do it. Even if it seems easier or safer than the real thing, at least you can count on the real thing not melting in half in high humidity.
Yours in sexploration,
Dominique
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Vibrator Impotence, pt. 1
Alright readers-
I'm in the midst of an academic overload, but I PROMISE: tomorrow or by Tuesday at the latest, prepare yourselves. The blog post to end all blog posts: Vibrator Impotence. Coming soon (or not, if you count that as a pun) to a Under The Covers Blog near you.
Check back. It'll be worth it.
I'm in the midst of an academic overload, but I PROMISE: tomorrow or by Tuesday at the latest, prepare yourselves. The blog post to end all blog posts: Vibrator Impotence. Coming soon (or not, if you count that as a pun) to a Under The Covers Blog near you.
Check back. It'll be worth it.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
The Great Condom Crisis
I had considered responding to Dominique's last post and offering a male perspective on first-year hook-ups, but a more pressing matter has arisen: a situation so dire, so distressing, so very dramatic, I felt compelled to abandon all previous notions of appropriate post-topics to expatiate and expound upon this very singular issue. It is....The Great Condom Crisis of St. Olaf College.
Three of my close friends are JC's this year, and when I was hanging out in one of their rooms, they had a casanova resident stop by and shamelessly pose a perfectly normal question:
Where's the condom vending machine in this building?
To my dismay- nay, readers- to my absolute horror, my friend did two very repugnant things. First, he laughed awkwardly. And second, he said "I don't know, man."
First of all: don't laugh at the kid! He's pursuing one of man's most basic and noble of tasks: not only planning ahead in a responsible away, but doing so for an end-goal that is completely natural, and doing it in an open, unapologetic way. I sure wouldn't have asked my JC that question when I was a first year, mostly because I'd be afraid of whether they were going to judge me or lecture me or tell everyone in the hallway that I was so deluded as to think I'd get any action (okay, so I was a little bit below par my first year when it came to pursuing romance. I'll be the first to admit it.)
And secondly, not knowing where the condom vending machines are? As a JC, that's worse than not knowing where fire extinguishers are! You're told in training NOT to try to fight fires, but you sure as hell are supposed to give helpful information and protective guidance to your residents when they ask.
When I got home that night, I started wondering if I could name were condom vending machines were in various buildings. I'm nearly positive there aren't any in Buntrock, and I know for a fact that at one time last year the Larson condom vending machine, which is hidden away in a utility room on the first floor, was EMPTY. EMPTY, readers!!!
I don't really spend much time worrying about this fact, because I have a car and am able to keep pretty well stocked on whatever brand I like. However, I am deeply concerned that our campus has not dedicated itself a little bit more to providing plentiful, readily available, and visible options for protections in obvious or at least publicized locations in each res hall. First years and many others do not have cars, and I have heard (although never witnessed it myself) that at time the selection in the bookstore is meager in volume and falls short when it comes to providing a semblance of variety. So what is a student to do if they are actually brave enough to go to the bookstore and find their stock either too limiting or completely gone, and don't know where else to turn?
Many readers will balk at my tone and insist that proper sexual conduct can be planned in advance, and that people who want to buy condoms "right now" are just the skeazy men and women who are engaging in a one-time hookup. These readers should stop participating in any kind of sexual dialogue, and go back to lala land where they belong. Sex can "just happen" in consensual, long-term couples who finally decide the time is right, or couples that DID plan ahead have either run out of condoms or worse, the supply they have has broken or gotten old enough to be suspect. And sure, there are a respectable number of self-actualized and sexually active adults who make a decision at the last minute- Dominique being a great poster child. Whatever the motivation or situation, condoms should not be a hidden, detestable item lurking in some unsuspecting corner. They are, after all, the great noble tools standing between all of us and an alternate reality in which we all drop out of college to deliver our babies or deal with our AIDS.
What can you do? Simple. Find the condom vending machine in your dorm and e-mail olevillains@gmail.com, and I will put together a list of their locations and brands that are available so that in times of need, you aspiring young lovers don't need to go asking a janitor where the safety sleeves are.
Over and out,
Troy
Three of my close friends are JC's this year, and when I was hanging out in one of their rooms, they had a casanova resident stop by and shamelessly pose a perfectly normal question:
Where's the condom vending machine in this building?
To my dismay- nay, readers- to my absolute horror, my friend did two very repugnant things. First, he laughed awkwardly. And second, he said "I don't know, man."
First of all: don't laugh at the kid! He's pursuing one of man's most basic and noble of tasks: not only planning ahead in a responsible away, but doing so for an end-goal that is completely natural, and doing it in an open, unapologetic way. I sure wouldn't have asked my JC that question when I was a first year, mostly because I'd be afraid of whether they were going to judge me or lecture me or tell everyone in the hallway that I was so deluded as to think I'd get any action (okay, so I was a little bit below par my first year when it came to pursuing romance. I'll be the first to admit it.)
And secondly, not knowing where the condom vending machines are? As a JC, that's worse than not knowing where fire extinguishers are! You're told in training NOT to try to fight fires, but you sure as hell are supposed to give helpful information and protective guidance to your residents when they ask.
When I got home that night, I started wondering if I could name were condom vending machines were in various buildings. I'm nearly positive there aren't any in Buntrock, and I know for a fact that at one time last year the Larson condom vending machine, which is hidden away in a utility room on the first floor, was EMPTY. EMPTY, readers!!!
I don't really spend much time worrying about this fact, because I have a car and am able to keep pretty well stocked on whatever brand I like. However, I am deeply concerned that our campus has not dedicated itself a little bit more to providing plentiful, readily available, and visible options for protections in obvious or at least publicized locations in each res hall. First years and many others do not have cars, and I have heard (although never witnessed it myself) that at time the selection in the bookstore is meager in volume and falls short when it comes to providing a semblance of variety. So what is a student to do if they are actually brave enough to go to the bookstore and find their stock either too limiting or completely gone, and don't know where else to turn?
Many readers will balk at my tone and insist that proper sexual conduct can be planned in advance, and that people who want to buy condoms "right now" are just the skeazy men and women who are engaging in a one-time hookup. These readers should stop participating in any kind of sexual dialogue, and go back to lala land where they belong. Sex can "just happen" in consensual, long-term couples who finally decide the time is right, or couples that DID plan ahead have either run out of condoms or worse, the supply they have has broken or gotten old enough to be suspect. And sure, there are a respectable number of self-actualized and sexually active adults who make a decision at the last minute- Dominique being a great poster child. Whatever the motivation or situation, condoms should not be a hidden, detestable item lurking in some unsuspecting corner. They are, after all, the great noble tools standing between all of us and an alternate reality in which we all drop out of college to deliver our babies or deal with our AIDS.
What can you do? Simple. Find the condom vending machine in your dorm and e-mail olevillains@gmail.com, and I will put together a list of their locations and brands that are available so that in times of need, you aspiring young lovers don't need to go asking a janitor where the safety sleeves are.
Over and out,
Troy
Monday, August 13, 2007
Early-Bird Hook-Ups
Andrew's futon, christened early on as the "couch of love", had only been unloaded from the back of his parents' van six hours earlier when he and I took it on its maiden voyage across the fabled Seas of Booyah. Half-packed boxes and small monuments of 3M adhesive packaging littered the room, the air heavy with the smell of axe and doritos and love. This was the night of my week one hookup, and even after two years have passed, it remains one of my most treasured Olaf memories.
Every time I see an x-box, I have an immediate,vivid flashback of his ill-conceived notion to playfully handcuff me with his roommate's controller chord (to this day the poor soul thinks the kinks in the wiring are damages incurred while moving in, completely unaware that their malfunctions are small testaments to Andrew's sexual creativity). And each time I see a smushed slice of pizza I recall with bittersweet nostalgia the feeling of pepperoni stuck to my thigh after our overzealous explorations took us onto the floor and amidst leftover Domino's boxes. Even his neighbor walking in on us and taking a picture of me with my ankles hooked around Andrew's neck couldn't ruin the experience for me. Without these minute misadventures, the night would have been less magical, and certainly less memorable.
People will tell you that hooking-up early in the semester is inadvisable; is a waste of time, or is even dangerous. Those people are shitheads. They probably either came to school still tied to an ill-fated high school relationship, or were too shy or unattractive to hope to get any action early on in their college career. Week one hook-ups and even hook-ups within the first month or two of school are in fact a great way to establish yourself on campus and restore your sense of equilibrium: you come to school feeling unsure of yourself, slightly displaced, and maybe even lonely. What better way to make you feel attractive, fun, and welcome than to find someone to whom you're able to latch on and bury them between your thighs as quickly as possible?
In fact, I had such a great early-bird hook-up experience my first year, I've tried to have one every proceeding year with the incoming newbies. True, their love-making abilities are less than record-shattering, but in a way that has its own appeal: they're adorably inept, and with my skills getting better by the weekend, I end up seeming to them like some goddess of capability and expertise. Popularity, thy name is first year men within the first two months of school.
If, dear reader, you are considering pursuing an early-bird hook-up, here are some basic commandments:
1. Thou shalt always be well-groomed and hygienically accommodating. Odds are, the person/people with whom you become involved early on will talk to their friends/roommates about it, and the sexual reputation will follow you the rest of your college career. Unless you want to be known as Sascrotch, try to trim the hedges and find some pleasant-smelling moisturizing lotion to make your skin smooth and enjoyable to smell/taste. If you have advanced notice, get your hands on some citrus-flavored exfoliant (Burt's Bees Orange Exfolliating Scrub is particularly good,) put it on a warm damp washcloth, and clean your unmentionables vigorously within a few hours of the date.
2. Thou shalt be unapologetic and fun. Whether alcohol is involved or not, be confident in your decision and this confidence will be contagious. As stated above, your behavior during early-bird hook-ups will probably get back to every person who will ever date you at Olaf. If you are confident, fun, and enthusiastic rather than sullen, unsure, and self-conscious, this will help you in the future.
3. Thou shalt not be inconsiderate to your roommate by sexiling them the first night. If you must have your early-bird hook-up within the first week, find a creative way to do it where either the timing or the location does not alienate your roomie. Odds are they need a place to do the similar deed, and you will create great enmity if you leave them homeless before they know you well enough to like you or be proud of your own success.
4. If you are a girl, thou shalt not talk to the person again for at least a few days. If you are a guy, thou shalt call her the next morning to see if she wants to have breakfast.
As for the rest, I leave that to you readers to figure out the details. I for one think you should never pursue a relationship with your first-semester hook-ups: neither of you know what you want, but both of you are looking for a way to fit in and adjust. Maybe you met at the ice cream social and had a similar major or had heard of each other's hometown before. While these are completely adequate reasons for engaging in risky behavior, this does not a relationship make. If you commit yourself to the first person who puts out, you'll be kicking yourself when you sit next to a jaw-droppingly attractive person in your first class who heard you've got a hot, well-kept (citrus-smelling) body and is hoping you'll come over and "watch a movie".
So what are you waiting for? Put on your lucky underwear and your extrovert socks and make your first impression at Olaf a good one!
---Dominique
People will tell you that hooking-up early in the semester is inadvisable; is a waste of time, or is even dangerous. Those people are shitheads. They probably either came to school still tied to an ill-fated high school relationship, or were too shy or unattractive to hope to get any action early on in their college career. Week one hook-ups and even hook-ups within the first month or two of school are in fact a great way to establish yourself on campus and restore your sense of equilibrium: you come to school feeling unsure of yourself, slightly displaced, and maybe even lonely. What better way to make you feel attractive, fun, and welcome than to find someone to whom you're able to latch on and bury them between your thighs as quickly as possible?
In fact, I had such a great early-bird hook-up experience my first year, I've tried to have one every proceeding year with the incoming newbies. True, their love-making abilities are less than record-shattering, but in a way that has its own appeal: they're adorably inept, and with my skills getting better by the weekend, I end up seeming to them like some goddess of capability and expertise. Popularity, thy name is first year men within the first two months of school.
If, dear reader, you are considering pursuing an early-bird hook-up, here are some basic commandments:
1. Thou shalt always be well-groomed and hygienically accommodating. Odds are, the person/people with whom you become involved early on will talk to their friends/roommates about it, and the sexual reputation will follow you the rest of your college career. Unless you want to be known as Sascrotch, try to trim the hedges and find some pleasant-smelling moisturizing lotion to make your skin smooth and enjoyable to smell/taste. If you have advanced notice, get your hands on some citrus-flavored exfoliant (Burt's Bees Orange Exfolliating Scrub is particularly good,) put it on a warm damp washcloth, and clean your unmentionables vigorously within a few hours of the date.
2. Thou shalt be unapologetic and fun. Whether alcohol is involved or not, be confident in your decision and this confidence will be contagious. As stated above, your behavior during early-bird hook-ups will probably get back to every person who will ever date you at Olaf. If you are confident, fun, and enthusiastic rather than sullen, unsure, and self-conscious, this will help you in the future.
3. Thou shalt not be inconsiderate to your roommate by sexiling them the first night. If you must have your early-bird hook-up within the first week, find a creative way to do it where either the timing or the location does not alienate your roomie. Odds are they need a place to do the similar deed, and you will create great enmity if you leave them homeless before they know you well enough to like you or be proud of your own success.
4. If you are a girl, thou shalt not talk to the person again for at least a few days. If you are a guy, thou shalt call her the next morning to see if she wants to have breakfast.
As for the rest, I leave that to you readers to figure out the details. I for one think you should never pursue a relationship with your first-semester hook-ups: neither of you know what you want, but both of you are looking for a way to fit in and adjust. Maybe you met at the ice cream social and had a similar major or had heard of each other's hometown before. While these are completely adequate reasons for engaging in risky behavior, this does not a relationship make. If you commit yourself to the first person who puts out, you'll be kicking yourself when you sit next to a jaw-droppingly attractive person in your first class who heard you've got a hot, well-kept (citrus-smelling) body and is hoping you'll come over and "watch a movie".
So what are you waiting for? Put on your lucky underwear and your extrovert socks and make your first impression at Olaf a good one!
---Dominique
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