Sex, With Strangers

What a difference a comma makes?

Coming soon, I’ll post a link to it later: Sex, with Strangers. My first serial project.

The (horny) Children of God

This is quite possibly a man orientated website. Some dude, a believer or a prankster, decided that he wanted to have kinky sex while obeying God’s creed.

Most of the things he uses to prove that everything is okay with God doesn’t correlate with the activity. For example:

This is a common misconception. Anal sex is confusing to many Christians because of the attention paid to the Bible’s condemnation of homosexual acts. However, it’s important to realize that these often quoted scriptures refer only to sexual acts between two men. Nowhere does the Bible forbid anal sex between a male and female.

In fact, many Biblical passages allude to the act of anal sex between men and women. Lamentations 2:10 describes how “The virgins of Jerusalem have bowed their heads to the ground,” indicating how a virginal maidens should position themselves to receive anal sex. Another suggestive scripture tells of a woman’s pride in her “valley” (referring to her buttocks and the cleft between them) and entices her lover to ejaculate against her backside: “How boastful you are about the valleys! O backsliding daughter who trusts in her treasures, {saying,} ‘ Who will come against me?’ (Jeremiah 49:4) And in the Song of Songs, the lover urges his mate to allow him to enter her from behind: “Draw me after you, let us make haste.” (Song of Solomon, 1:4)

What leads me to believe that the person who created this site is male is the list of “God’s Rules” that allows a married couple have a threesome:

(1) To avoid the impropriety of male homosexuality, a heterosexual couple should not under any circumstances form a threesome with another man.
(2) Both women involved in the threesome must be willing to keep within traditional female roles (i.e., not taking on masculine appearance or behavior in or out of the bedroom) and recognize the male as the leader in the relationship.
(3) If the wife’s lesbian sex partner is unmarried, it may be permissible for the husband to have relations with her only with his wife’s consent.
(4) If the wife’s lesbian sex partner is unmarried, but the wife does not wish her to have relations with the other woman, the husband should respect this.
(5) If the wife’s lesbian sex partner is married, her husband must not have objections to the relationship.
(6) If the wife’s lesbian sex partner is married, the husband should refrain from having any sexual relations with her, and should make every effort to control his fantasies about her. He should concentrate his attention on his own wife.

The photo links to the page. I suppose this concludes the WTF SEX POST, God’s Children Edition.

Sex Music

The most memorable song that was playing while I was fornicating was Marilyn Manson’s Long Hard Road Out of Hell. Not because it was the most romantic time of my life, but because it was downright weird.

There have been other tracks listened to while getting down and dirty, or simply making love, but they bleed together. Never has one song been specifically chosen for the deed than the Manson track. I’m not sure if I was trying to describe that point of my life, or if it was because it turned on my at the time girlfriend.

So dear readers of Sex Wednesday, what track comes to mind when it comes to sex?

Steak and BJ day

Finally a holiday for men! I was snooping around the internet early last week when I stumbled on it and I went aflutter. However, I failed to post it here on last week’s hump day post.

Here’s a quote from the site:

On March 14th, we ask of two things from our the special women (or men) in our lives.

We don’t want any cards, flowers or anything like that. We simply want Steak and BJ. No need to run to the Hallmark store or flower shop. They’re nice and may add to the overall effect but all we need is Steak and BJ.

I’m sure I speak to all the singles when I say, “Geb, it sucks to be single and find this out!” But I kid, well, I kid about me, not so much about the rest of you single men. However, I do ask this one very interesting question - if Steak and BJ day is the valentines for men, who gets the blow job and the steak within a gay couple?

More on the Sex Writing, fish baking, Wonder Boys, and a list of books

I think what got me into sex writing and the love of erotica, not just my early escapade with pornography, but also  Susie Bright. While I find most of her essays trite and boring, the books she compiles are awesome. The first book I ever read where she was the editor was, of course, one in The Best American Erotica series. It was the 2002 edition and I quickly fell in love with stories by Maggie Estep, Simon Sheppard, Stacey Richter, Gary Rosen, and Tsaurah Litzky.

I think what caught my attention with Maggie Estep’s story was this paragraph:

“Joe wondered why it was that tumors were always compared to fruit. He wondered if the nurse liked to have sex with fruit. Susan did.”

The beginning of the story had already hinted to the more than odd sexual preferences of Susan. But it was that line that, for some odd reason, that caught the attention of my 19-year-old mind.

The fact that “In Deep” was the first gay erotic short story I ever read that left me feeling all giddy inside helped Simon Sheppard. This book was the pathway I needed, like the porn when I was a kid, to a more mature level of sexuality.

Stacey Ritcher’s “When to Use” brought back the memories of sex. It’s short and reads like an instructional guide for the obvious womanly hygienic product.

It even inspired my at-the-time girlfriend to read. In the lines of something like, “If more books were written like this, about sex, I would read more often,” she confessed to me and a few of her male teachers who constantly asked her to read the texts. The girl wasn’t a moron, she was brilliant, though she did some silly things once in a while, but who can blame her? We all do them.

Anyway, I got off subject there. The difference between pornographic writing such as most of the stories found in the collection entitled Aroused and those found in The Best American Writing - though I can’t really say that for all the stories is that BAE stories have a more poetic charm to them and Aroused has more of a fuck me hard and fuck long sorta tone.

I don’t know, sex is sex and some of it’s great and some of it bad. The writings reflect that. I just love sex, what can I say?

Anyway, earlier, all that sex writing started to get me hungry. I started preparing fish earlier to bake, but I was tired of the same ol’ same ol’ fish. So I decided to use an old recipe I had for chicken, changed it around for fish and made that. It was a garlic fish marinate that I prepared. I was supposed to leave it for longer but “hunger gets what hunger wants,” right? I toasted two slices of bread threw them in the food processor with just enough black and cayenne pepper and enough seasoning to give the breading flavor. After that, I added just enough corn flakes to fill up the bowl (I have a small processor) and broke that up and dumped it in the bowl with the bread crumbs. I mixed it all up and then took out the fish and rolled it around, placed on it on the cookie sheet, covered that with foil because I was doing this in a toaster oven and not the actual oven, and baked for 30 mins at 350. I liked it and so did Jyg who got the last slice not too long ago for her lunch.

And now that I made that transition, the more I read Wonder Boys the more I realize that I’m more and more in Grady Tripp’s situation, minus the dead dog, the creative writing student, the being sorta Jewish and the pregnant mistress. Okay, I’m nothing like Grady Tripp, but what I meant is that one day he just woke up and his wife was gone. I guess that’s the reason why Michael Chabon’s stories capture my attention - they’re so three dimensional that you find yourself relating with them through out their adventures.

So I was reading the book today and I came across when Grady returns to his in-laws’ home for the Seder:

“I walked out to the driveway and started down toward Kinship Road, looking up at the mesh of branches overhead for signs of a blighted elm tree against which it would be kosher for me to piss. The air smelled cool and slippery like we bark, and although my wife’s refusal to let me share her nakedness, however reasonable, had hurt me - even though it mad my heart ache to think that I might never get to see my Emily naked again - I was feeling very glad to be out of the house, alone, carrying the happy clenched fist of my bladder inside me.”

It struck a cord with me. I almost wanted to cry, even though it was stupid to, because I feel that I will never hold Jyg or touch her in the way lovers do. With every fiber of my being, I’m attached to her. I don’t know if it’s because it has been five years, but it feels like something else. Of all the people in the world, I though I’d be the last to want to get married, and in many ways, I am. However, with Jyg, that’s all I wanted to do for a very long time. And I blew it by not going with my instinct. I only looked at rings. I only talked about plans. I never took action and I really just want things back.

Damnit.

Anyway, I’ll leave you with a list of books I’ve read and enjoyed by authors I’ve met in person. I hope you enjoy them as much as I did.

• Flight and Other Stories by Jose Skinner
• The Magic of Blood by Dagoberto Gilb
• I Ask the Impossible by Ana Castillo
• El Paso del Norte by Richard Yanez

I actually got to speak to the first two and that last one. I only briefly met with Ana Castillo at a book signing, speaking to her as quickly as possible. However, I was a little disappointment that she didn’t know how to spell my name. Sadly.

Insomnia

Sleep has discarded me like an old lover, leaving me without a bed to rest my tired body upon. I suppose it’s all for the best. My brain is slowing down and I should be asleep soon, but it’s hitting 8:00am and I’m due to wake up 30 minutes later.

I suffered, suffer, am suffering, from insomnia for quite some time now. Ever since 2001 and I know it’s cliche, but shortly after 9/11. I don’t know what happened, but I think it had a lot to do with the relationship I was in at the time. The emotional drainage she was put my brain in a mess that I haven’t yet recovered from. I know that sounded corny and stupid, but I have no other history of sleeplessness until her.

Anyway, insomnia leads me to the internet surfing, and unlike most men my age, I don’t go looking for porn, or porn related things. Instead, I go looking for the literature aspects of the internet, finding old and public domain books to read. However, this night was different. This night I came across this: Safe For Work Porn. Now forgive me if I’m a little late on this. My pulse is nowhere near the wrist of the blogging world, but SFW Porn is probably the funniest thing I’ve seen in a while. If you haven’t seen it, then I urge you to look it up.

I’d like to continue writing this for you, and telling you everything I found that was hilarious, but I think an old lover is calling me to my bed. I doubt she’ll be gentle. The day has just begun.

On Sex (A blog for Hump Day)

There was a strange moment in my life when I realized I like sex more than I should. Now, now, don’t get ahead of me, I meant sex in the media. And when I say that, I don’t mean nudity on the big screen, or the small screen, but sex in general. The taboo. The whispered words from adults.

Sex is always better. So why is it so profane, so vulgar, sinful, dirty? Many reasons comes from the mindset of a Christian America who wish to eradicate it from our society. The married couple must only have sex to procreate, otherwise it’s a sad sin. Don’t use condoms. Don’t take the pill. Don’t pull out. No masturbation, no anal, no oral, no hand jobs. Monogamous. Waiting til marriage. No extramarital. Nothing outside of wedlock.

But when the lights are out, good lord becomes “OH GOD!”

There’s only one problem I’ve encountered with sex: I’m not good at it. Sex writing, of course. The other thing is up to the opinion of others, but erotica is not my gift. Oh, how I dream of describing the cascading landscapes that are women’s bodies. These precious gems that are nipples, erected on a blanket of silky skin. The prickly pubic hairs, curling upwards, opening the slick of wetness beneath. If Erato would only kiss my mind and bless with me with the elaborate, non pornographic, scenes of two lovers which the reader’s breath will be taken like the first time she had sex. Or describe an awkward scene where two inexperienced hands tug on the straps of a red bra, the lacy matching panties rolling down smooth skin and the uncertainty of not knowing whether to spank her or not–perhaps this brings to memory the first time a man got laid.

I’ve done some poorly written porn in the past. I say porn because I thought erotica was the more intelligent word for pornography, rather than a more artistically piece work. My teenage mind was tainted by girl on girl action, women who loved spunk on their face, anal, getting rammed, dp, etc. Let’s face it, porn killed my imagination. (Let’s not get confused here–I was never under the impression that real women like this sort of thing; I only thought that in order to write good erotica, you must imitate porn movies. I was very aware that the women in the videos were just paid actresses who only allowed such acts of humiliation–which I only consider them such acts outside of porn–because, fuck, that’s an obvious.)

So I did what any writer would do. I read more on the subject. I read about sex as if it were religion. And in a sense, it did become religion. I studied books on the subject on my free time, writing an essay on it whenever I got the chance. I realized the my love for erotic arts and lifestyles was a better subject to write than the sex scene itself.

But lo how I wish I could just get the sex down right for a short story/poem. I suppose, as most people say, practice makes best. I seriously doubt it in this case.

Falling Down

El Senor doesn’t call. We miss another coffee date, but that’s okay. He has kids and I understand. Instead, I get dress and walk about the house for a moment contemplating my next move. I call Adam Zuniga to tell him about the blog. I mentioned the article had been put up as well. He seemed pleased and that made me happy. I think for the meanwhile, my part is over. I got the accurate information out, something Miss Leatherman failed to do in her article. Now it’s phase two: Editing the article for publication. I must cut it down by a thousand words and revamp it with an angle that will blow Leatherman’s article away. That’s something I always had trouble with, angles.

David said working with a daily would be a lot more meaningful if I wanted to be a serious writer. I do, however, not media writer. I suppose we all have to start somewhere, right? Maybe that’s why I write the blogs now. I suppose in some sense of the idea, writing these everyday, or almost everyday, will help me learn not to be so paranoid when it comes to writing.

I’ve gotten off subject, haven’t I? I was talking about El Senor, not David or writing, though that’s where I’m heading towards anyway. It came to my attention that I’m a Chicano writer. This was brought on by Chicano News when a quote from my first blog made it to their page. It, of course, was taken out of context, though I’m sure they weren’t trying to crucify me. At least I hope they’re not. Here’s the quote:

“I for one have never considered myself a Chicano writer, but a person who happens to fall under the label Chicano by a community and just happens to write.”

Here’s the entire paragraph:

“So I’ve come to the conclusion that Jane isn’t an atheist at all, but merely a joke. I have the irking feeling that she is just the pawn, an invention of Judeo-Christians to promote the belief system. She is not a true atheist, nor does she deserve to use the term to describe herself. It has been to my belief that those who are willing to go as far as to label themselves, unless asked by the general public, that they are so and so, are using the term loosely. I for one have never considered myself a Chicano writer, but a person who happens to fall under the label Chicano by a community and just happens to write. And the only label I have ever called myself is agnostic solely because people refuse to believe there is gray area between those who are devout and those who don’t believe.”

I had already had the pleasure from Friendly Atheist of being posted as a quote in a comment made about 90 Day Jane. It’s not that I’m trying to toot my own horn–what does that mean anyway?–I just ask for permission to be shocked. Before moving here, I only wrote private blogs. Those who read them were just close friends of mine. Now I’m out there in the public with several readers (I go about 83 within a 4 day period) that I don’t even know. Now I worry just how much I can write here before exposing who I am and what my beliefs are.

I’m not ashamed by them, so don’t get me wrong. I have always stood by my word, which is why I’m not ashamed of writing something against The Monitor, the Rio Grande Valley’s guru of news. Actually, they are the stain in the media world. All the rejects from Pan American find themselves in the hands of the Freedom Communications paper, wandering about like thoughtless drones, writing what they see, and getting the facts wrong, as per Miss Leatherman–though, luckily, and happily, she didn’t go to Pan American and pursued higher education. (Notice how I don’t link these things.)

The Monitor makes mistakes, but then again, what paper doesn’t? I shouldn’t be too hard on them, should I? However, they refuse to show anything but what they’re paid to show. Money down here, as I suppose in other places, pushes the paper. What the rich wants The Monitor to publish is what makes it to the front pages. All that money stolen from X School District? Oh that never happened.

Reminds me of William S. Burroughs when he wrote in “Where You Belong,” a selection from The Soft Machine:

“My trouble began when they decide I am executive timber–It starts like this: a big blond driller from Dallas picks me out of the labor pool to be his houseboy in a prefabricated air-conditioned bungalow–He comes on rugged but as soon as we strip down to the ball park over on his stomach kicking white wash and screams out “Fuck the shit out of me!”–I give him a slow pimp screwing and in solid–When this friend comes down from New York the driller says “This is the boy I was telling you about”–And Friend looks me over slow chewing his cigar and says: “What are you doing over there with the apes? Why don’t you come over here with the Board where you belong?” And he slips me a long slimy look. Friend works for the Trak News Agency–”We don’t report the news–We write it.”"

That’s pretty much what The Monitor does–write the news. I’ve had the discussion with El Senor before.

How rude of me. Here I am talking of a friend and I haven’t probably introduced him. El Senor is a man, less than twenty years my senior. A marine, ex-military. He fought in Iraq Part One. Afterward, he decided to deal drugs on the street before finding himself in prison. After he was released he used his military funds to pursue higher education. He’s now working on his thesis. The reason I know him and we speak because we’re both poets/writers from La Frontera, and he was my vice president during my stint as president of Sigma Tau Delta last year. The former before the latter.

Right now we’re in the position of wondering what we’re going to do with ourselves. He has kids and I suffer from depression. Either makes it difficult to leave the valley.

We’re both would-be philosophers, also.

He’s an atheist and I’m agnostic. Most of the times, though, he treats me like an atheist. We talk politics at Moonbeans, sipping on bitter coffee. I’m not an avid drinker. I know nothing of coffee; I drink tea, Earl Grey mostly.

And like most atheists and agnostics, we talk about our beliefs openly. People around us normally add in how they wish they were as free as we are. I often wonder if they mistake us for father and son, I don’t look anywhere near 25, I’ve been told. (I can’t even grow a full set of facial hair, just patches as if puberty only just hit.)

I’ve been wanting to get him to sit and talk with Adam because I think the conversations would be interesting.

Note: The style of my writing is slowing down. The room is now hot. It is at a temperature when air conditioning fails to cool, but not cool enough outside to make it unnecessary. With the heat of my room, my thought process has begun to slow.

Last time we spoke, we had a discussion on the Borderwall. In a few weeks, months, whatever, the wall will make so much noise down here that I’ll never run out of material to write about. Luckily for him, he’ll be in Ohio serving out some time from an incident in his past. Imagine that–a graduate student working on his thesis behind bars.

I’ll try to write more on the subject on a later date. Hopefully, when I do, I can provide a transcript of a conversation with Adam E. Zuniga and El Senor.