The Blowfish Blog

Some Evolving Thoughts About Weight and Sex

I want to start by saying this: I am just talking about myself here, and what’s true for me. These issues are heavily loaded, emotionally and psychologically and politically, so I want to spell that out right from the start. I’m not evangelizing for weight loss; I’m personally finding it to be beneficial, erotically as well as in other ways, but I’ve also found it to be complicated and a whole lot of hard work, and I know that the cost- benefit analysis about it is different for everyone. I’m not talking about what’s right or true for anyone else. I’m talking about what’s right and true for me.

As regular readers of my other blog (the cleverly- named Greta Christina’s Blog) know by now, I’ve been losing weight for close to a year now, and have so far lost 50 pounds. This isn’t something I’m doing for aesthetic reasons, btw: I’m doing it primarily for health reasons (mostly a bad knee that was getting worse).

But the weight loss is having a complicated set of effects on my sexuality: on my libido, my sexual self-image, my feelings about my sexual history, my cultural politics about sex and bodies. Mostly good . . . but complicated. And I haven’t seen a lot of writing elsewhere about these effects. Most of the writing I’ve seen about weight and sex has either been your standard “Lose weight and magically fix your sex life!” jargon (which I think is bullshit), or fat-positive, body-positive, “fight body fascism and connect erotically with the body you have” activism (which I more or less support, but with a few serious caveats). I haven’t seen much writing about weight and sex from people who are controlling their weight and feel good about it . . . but who are still informed by the cultural criticism about how our society views weight and sexuality.

So, as usual, when I don’t like the news, I’m making some of my own.

•

The main effect that weight loss has had on my sexuality has been on my libido. Which has gotten cranked up to eleven, and beyond. (Not that it was exactly low-key before . . .) Being in better health, being stronger and getting more exercise, feeling more conscious of my body, feeling more comfortable and more at home in my body, being happier with how I look and how I fit into my clothes, getting more compliments and attention . . . all of this is brewing into an explosive libidinous mix that’s making me feel like I’ve been shot out of a cannon. Just walking down the street is an exquisitely erotic experience: like my skin is humming, like I’m erotically at one with the universe, like I want to stop and hump tree trunks. I feel like I’m exploding in a hundred directions at once. I feel like I want to masturbate twenty times a day.

A lot of this has to do with just being in better health. The things I’m doing to lose weight — eating a healthier diet, getting tons of exercise — have increased my physical energy, my mental health, my ability to sleep, etc . . .. all of which are increasing my libido. A lot of it, too, has to do with not being in a state of cognitive dissonance. Before I started losing weight, I was in serious denial about my health and my body and how I felt about it . . . and cognitive dissonance about your body is not a mental state that’s conducive to feeling connected with it. And some of it, I’ll acknowledge, has to do with the increased compliments and sexual attention I’ve been getting as my weight has gone down. (Although . . . well, that’s complicated. More on that in a minute.)

But a huge amount of it, I think, has to do with the simple fact that I’m paying closer attention to my body now, in overwhelmingly positive ways. (I’m not talking about being self-conscious, btw; I know that paying close attention to one’s body, in a critical and self-loathing way, can have a terrible affect on libido and sexuality. I’m not talking about that. I’m just talking about being conscious.) I think about my body way more than I ever did: how it feels, how it looks, what it wants in terms of food and exercise and sleep, how it’s changing, how it’s the same. I’m not living in my head as much as I used to: I’m inhabiting my body now, more than I ever have at any time in my life. And that means I’m inhabiting my sexuality more.

A lot more. Hoo, boy.

Which is good. More than a bit frustrating at times — my life is not currently structured to let me masturbate twenty times a day, and our societal norms do not permit the public humping of tree trunks — but good. Being intensely horny is a complicated pleasure . . . but as long as I’m getting laid fairly regularly, it is nevertheless a pleasure.

The compliments and increased attention, on the other hand . . . that’s a lot more tricky. It’s not that it sucks. Of course I like compliments and attention. Human beings are social animals, and while it might be lovely if our self-esteem came entirely from within and didn’t have any basis on the approval of peers blah blah blah, the reality is that our self-esteem doesn’t exist in a vacuum. It’s a complex, mirrors- reflecting- mirrors jumble of how others see us and how we see ourselves. So of course I like compliments and attention, and of course they make me feel better about myself.

But at the same time, the compliments and increased attention I’ve gotten as I’ve lost weight have been a seriously mixed blessing. When people get really effusive about how amazing I look now, a big part of me is resentfully thinking, “So what did you think of me when I was fat? You think I look amazing now — did you think I looked disgusting then?” The line between feeling flattered by compliments and feeling defensive and pissy about them is razor-thin. Especially from people who knew me before I lost the weight . . . and only started paying sexual attention to me afterwards. (Some people — especially gay men, for some reason — do have the knack of paying good, tactful compliments to people who are losing weight. If you want to pay a compliment to someone who’s losing weight, you can’t go wrong with, “You look really good, really healthy — have you been working out?”)

The thing is, though? I honestly don’t know how much of this increased attention is because my body is now a type that more people find attractive . . . and how much of it is because I feel more attractive, and more libidinous. There is nothing hotter than someone who feels good about themselves, someone who loves their body and their sexuality. And there is nothing less hot than someone who, as a Facebook friend put it, is “slouching and sulking as if they are simultaneously angry at the world and apologizing for existing.” Am I getting more attention now because a lot more people prefer thinner women to fat women? Or is it because I’m walking down the street radiating sexual joy and looking like I want to hump tree trunks? I suspect it’s some of both. I really wish I could tease them out. It would give me a better sense of when to get pissy about compliments, and when to just let them in already. (People who meet me for the first time now, since I’ve lost the weight, have no idea what an advantage they have: they don’t have to deal with my hair-trigger, “So what did you think I was before — chopped liver?” defensiveness.)

And I do realize that this pissy defensiveness isn’t entirely fair. I mean, I have preferences myself about what body types I do and don’t find attractive. Most of them aren’t absolute deal-breakers . . . but it’s not like they don’t exist. So it’s a little unfair for me to expect other people not to have their own preferences.

It’s a delicate balance. How do we critique overly rigid cultural ideals of sexual attractiveness . . . while still acknowledging people’s right to be attracted to whoever they’re attracted to? How do we ask people to question and critique their — our — desires, to look carefully at the ways that a sexist, consumerist, celebrity- obsessed culture shapes our libidos . . . while still acknowledging that people don’t really have control over who we do and don’t have the hots for?

I don’t know. It’s a mess. And of course I know that the “effusive compliment” people mean well. I know that in our culture, “You look like you’ve lost weight!” is almost universally considered a compliment. And my weight loss project has, in fact, involved a lot of hard work . . . so when people get really effusive about how great I look now, I try to hear it as praise for the accomplishment, not as an insult to how I looked before.

But that’s hard. Especially since the “You looked like such a fat slob before!” implication of “You look so much better now!” plays right into another part of what’s making this process sexually complicated — the disconnect I’m feeling with my sexual history.

A huge amount of my libido right now is focused on the changes my body is going through, and the ways it’s different from what it was before. Which is understandable: things that are in flux get more attention than things that are in relative stasis. But this has had the unfortunate effect of making me feel weirdly disconnected from my body and my sexuality of the past. My willingness to accept how unhappy I used to be with my body, and how much in denial/ cognitive dissonance I was about it, is making it hard to remember that I did, in fact, like my body at least some of the time when I was fat, and that at least some people found that body attractive, and that I did get a substantial amount of sexual pleasure from it.

I know that this disconnectedness is totally irrational. I know that fat bodies can be happily experienced as sexual, both from the inside and the outside. There are, for instance, plenty of fat people who I see as intensely sexual and would do in a hot second. And I know that it’s seriously counter-productive. I was a fat woman for years — years in which I lived out some of the most powerful and formative aspects of my sexuality, and years in which I had some of the best sex of my life. I know that I have to find a way to inhabit my current sexual body, and at the same time make peace with my old one. (If anyone has any suggestions or experience about this, btw, I’m all ears. This is a tough one.)

And while I mostly feel happier and less self-conscious about my body than I used to, there are still aspects of my body and my appearance that I’m not thrilled about. It’s been weird to accept the fact that even when I reach my target weight, I’m still not going to be the cultural ideal of female attractiveness, and I never will be. And while I’ve been letting go of a lot of my old body dislikes, I’ve also been picking up one or two new ones. (Let me tell you about loose skin sometime.) Losing weight doesn’t mean dropping the battle against body fascism — either externally or internally.

I don’t know. It’s a mess. A mess that on the whole I feel good about, but a mess nonetheless.

Thoughts?

Greta Christina, copyright © 2010. Be sure to check out Greta’s blog.

Share This

Layover

Madison Young, who’s wowed us for years in front of the camera, has lately turned her hand toward directing, and she has a deft hand behind the scenes as well. The all-girl feature Layover stars legendary dominatrix Selina Raven as “Mrs. Robinson” (aptly named!), a woman who takes revenge on her cheating wife — who stands her up, claiming an unavoidable layover in Denver, though it’s obvious she’s actually getting laid — by keeping herself sexually entertained for the evening.

Selina first seduces her teenage daughter’s friend, indie lesbian favorite Jiz Lee, who comes to the door adorably dressed in a suit. She’s looking for the daughter, but she gets the mom instead. A couple of drinks and some seductively skimpy lingerie later, Selina is instructing Jiz in the fine arts of fingering, licking, and fucking, and Jiz does a fantastic job of playing the naive innocent led deliciously astray. Selina’s confidence is incredibly hot, too.

The evening’s entertainment continues when Selina goes to a key party, where she joins a couple already in progress: Penny Play and Tina Horn, who play with an impressive array of toys (including a Julian Snelling jeweled butt plug and a Hitachi magic wand) before Selina jumps in. With two women wearing strap-ons, the double penetration is inevitable and marvelous.

Elsewhere at the party, Sadie Lune blindfolds and playfully torments the delectable Anja, using ice, toys, and other wiles to thoroughly wear her out. It’s an impressively hot scene. The final moments are given over the curvaceous Tee and her real-life girlfriend Pepper; Tee plays Selina’s daughter, and since mom is out for the night, they have the house to themselves, and they do everything it’s possible for two healthy young women to do sexually on a living room couch.

While as a fan of her work I think it’s a shame Madison herself isn’t in this movie (except in a little vocal cameo as the voice of the cheating girlfriend), her presence isn’t really necessary — this film is frankly awesome anyway. Lively, varied, fun, sweet, naughty, and, most of all, totally totally hot. Highly recommended.

• Layover

Share This

MyStim Butt-Plug

One thing the impressive MyStim system has been missing is a solid metal, traditionally-shaped butt-plug. Well, our tushies can now rejoice as we welcome the MyStim Butt-Plug! This heavy medical-grade aluminum wonder is a somewhat squat diamond shape, giving you that lovely streeeetched out feeling as you insert it up to the widest point (1-1/2″ on the Small, 2″ on the Large), then that “ahhhh” as it smoothly guides you back down its slopes to the narrow neck.

A nice wide flange makes sure that’s where the insertion fun ends, but of course this is the world of estim, so we’re really just getting started! Turn on your MyStim Digital Power Box (not included) at any point in the insertion process to help things along — the change in polarity comes about a quarter of the way along the plug, meaning you don’t have to get the whole thing inside before you’ll feel the current. The heft of the metal body is a sensation all in itself, but once you’ve got a pulsing current going the MyStim Butt-Plug has the potential to make you go out of your mind with joy. This is one toy we can really get behind!

• MyStim Butt-Plug
• MyStim Digital Power Box

Share This

Last Call

Porn and thrillers can be a tricky combination, since it’s hard to maintain suspense when you have to take a break every fifteen minutes or so for a sex scene. Director Francois Clousot manages to marry the genres in Last Call, a film conceptually reminiscent of the 1997 David Fincher film — both involve a main character caught up in surreal machinations they don’t entirely understand, bent to the will of a shadowy conspiracy.

In this case the victim involved is Brad Armstrong as a nice guy going out for a night on the town with a friend. His friend stands him up, but he meets Kaylani Lei, and before long he’s in bed with her . . . and he’s a lucky guy. Kaylani is always hot, and she’s never looked better — sultry, passionate, and tight, with a body that never quits.

Unfortunately for Brad, she steals his wallet, keys, and phone, leaving him stranded in a bad part of town to make his own way home. He wanders the streets and has a strange interaction with Tori Black, who seems to be a street person/hooker/lunatic. Tori plays crazy/funny extremely well — she steals every scene in which she appears, and she’s adorable while she does it.

Brad eventually makes his way to a sleazy sex shop staffed by Mikayla Mendez and Alektra Blue and begs to use the phone. He has trouble reaching anyone who might help him . . . but Mikayla wants to suck him off, and Alektra listens in on the extension while he narrates the action, making for an odd combination of phone sex and actual sex. Those girls ditch him too, though, and the phone stops working, so he’s back out on the street, where he spots Kaylani in his car, and chases her into a building and rides up in a freight elevator. At the top, Tanya James and Bridgette B. appear, dragging him out of the elevator before boarding it themselves and proceeding to make out — and they lock Brad out once he tries to join in, giving us our one girl-girl scene.

We get a glimpse of the conspirators in the form of Tori Black and Eric Masterson — she’s not crazy after all, or at least, not entirely crazy, as they discuss the progress of their night’s persecution. Little is illuminated, but that’s okay; soon they start fucking, and Tori’s just as much fun in the sex scene as she is in the other scenes.

Brad finally stumbles into the final sex scene, an orgy with Alektra, Kaylani, Mikayla Mendez, and Randy Spears. It starts with just Randy on a couch, getting a blowjob from Kaylani, surrounded by guys in monk robes holding candles, but gradually the other characters join in.

Now, maybe stumbling around from sexual interaction to sexual interaction doesn’t sound so bad, but the film does a good job of conveying Brad’s confusion, worry, and sense of real physical peril. It might be the only porn movie I’ve seen where the main character says “Not again” whenever sexytime shenanigans start — he knows he shouldn’t do it, but he just can’t help himself.

Stick around after the hallucinatory orgy scene for an explanation of why Brad was subjected to this ordeal. The explanation doesn’t necessarily make a lot of sense, but surreal persecution fantasies are allowed to be confusing. It’s a dark, twisty thriller with a combination of plot and hot sex that should keep you watching.

• Last Call

Share This

MyStim Mighty Merlin Dagger Dildo

One thing I’ve never understood about most e-stim (that’s electrical stimulation, for those who don’t know, and, no, it’s not necessarily painful) toys is why more of them aren’t made with a handle. Well, the MyStim Mighty Merlin Dagger Dildo has come to the rescue! With a sturdy, long, flanged plastic handle, you can wield its impressive 7″ of gently undulating medical grade aluminum with confidence!

E-stim toys work by sending a current through the body via the shortest direct route between the two poles on the toy. On the Mighty Merlin, this change in polarity is marked by a black line that happens about 2″ along the shaft — so you only need to insert the toy past that a bit to feel the current. Since the shaft isn’t too terribly wide — about 1-1/16″ — you can use the current as part of your warm up, even in anal play (assuming 1-1/16″ is within your warm up range); the handle even serves as a flange. How strong/ prickly the current is can be controlled by your MyStim Digital Power Box (sold separately). As your muscles relax, insert the toy deeper, and the current goes with you, letting you get deeper than other estim toys where the polarity change is further along.

Finally, the Mighty Merlin is simply the best if you have a partner helping you out. That handle protects their hand from the current, so they can probe you with confidence (mighty wizard laugh optional).

• MyStim Mighty Merlin Dagger Dildo
• MyStim Digital Power Box

Share This

Sex Writers, Drooling Horndogs, and the Suspectability of Male Sexuality

Why is the “sex writer” field so dominated by women?

I’ve been thinking about this question for many years. The publisher of this very blog brought it up in a conversation we were having, and it’s been on my mind off and on ever since. It came up again at a recent salon of sex writers and activists; it came up yet again, although more obliquely, in a conversation I was having with a porn writing friend of mine.

Why is the “sex writer” field so dominated by women?

There are exceptions, obviously. Arguably the most famous and influential sex writer right now is the sex advice columnist Dan Savage. And there are others, of course: David Steinberg, Dr. Marty Klein, Charlie Glickman, I could keep going. And of course, there’s plenty of dumb, generic, Maxim-magazine type sex writing from men; in some senses it’s silly to complain about sex writing as female-dominated, given how much of the dumb crap there is. But it does seem as if sex writing — serious, intellectual sex writing, at any rate — is one of those rare fields that’s largely taken up by women, and in which women are both more visible and more generally respected.

And thinking about this question is making me think about the suspectability of male sexuality.

I think that when women write about sex, we’re assumed, in some ways, to be dispassionate observers. Of course we get targeted as sluts and whores and whatnot. But we’re also seen as bringing a fresh perspective to the subject, and a cooler eye, and a more thoughtful point of view.

When men write about sex, on the other hand, they’re assumed to be drooling horndogs.

Of course men have sex on the brain, this assumption goes. They’re men. They think with their dicks. That’s what men do. Who cares what they think about sex? We all know what they think about sex. What men think about sex is that they want it.

The very fact that sex is seen as a primarily male experience makes male sex writers, paradoxically, seem less serious. Our society sees sex as being about maleness: male desires, male insecurities, male satisfaction. Our culture is sexually obsessed with women, of course; but it’s sexually obsessed with women as — and I’m turning into a ’70s lesbian feminist as I write this — the objects of desire, rather than the subjects of it. Sex is seen as a male topic. But therefore, we all too often assume that we know what men think about sex, and how they feel about it. Male sexual desire is assumed to be simple: an animal urge to put a dick in a wet hole. With, occasionally, some variations in the way of orientation and paraphilias. And I think this makes it harder for male sex writers to be taken seriously. Anything they have to say on the subject is likely to be seen as suspect.

Now, I’m not writing this to complain about the terrible unfairness of this reverse discrimination. Yes, this is to some extent unfair. It’s unfair to men to assume that the only thinking they do about sex is with their dicks, and that they therefore don’t have anything to contribute to a serious conversation about it. (Also, I feel compelled to point out, men aren’t the only ones who sometimes think with the little head instead of the big one. Believe me, I speak from experience.) But given how much regular discrimination women deal with in almost every other occupation, I’m not crying a river over the fact that this one little field of endeavor has a more female stamp on it.

That’s not the point of this.

The point of this is twofold. One is this: I, selfishly, want to read more of what men have to say about sex. I want to read more about the varieties of male sexuality, from people who are living it from the inside. I want to read more about the varieties of female sexuality, from people who are seeing it from the outside. I want to read more about how men feel about this “animal urge horndog” label they’ve gotten stuck with: to what extent they think it’s true, to what extent they think it isn’t, how the reality and the unreality of it weave together in their experience of their sexuality. Sex is too interesting and too important a topic to limit most of the serious thought about it to one gender. And in addition to hearing what men, qua men, think about sex, I want to hear what individual men think about it: what Dan and David and Marty and Charlie and so on have to say. Sex is too interesting and too important a topic to limit the voices who can talk about it seriously to the voices that are attached to vaginas. (Psychological and emotional vaginas, as well as the physical ones.)

A porn writing friend of mine was talking with me recently about a story he’d written; a kink-themed story, in which a male character was using economic leverage to take sexual advantage of a female character. My friend found this fantasy scenario hot (as do I — hoo, boy!) . . . but he was finding himself somewhat uneasy about it as well. In particular, as a good feminist, he felt uneasy about eroticizing these gender dynamics and the economic power that men have over women.

And yet, if the story had been written by a woman, telling the story from the female victim’s point of view instead of the male perpetrator’s, I doubt that he would have felt any qualms about reading and enjoying it. It bugged me a little that he felt that way about writing it. It made me wonder how many other good male porn writers had considered writing stories like this, had even started to write stories like this . . . and had stayed their hand, for fear of being seen as, or indeed for fear of being, drooling sexist male horndogs who just want to take sexual advantage of women. If so — that sucks. I, selfishly, as a fan of kinky porn in which men do fucked-up things to women, would like to read more stories like this that are written by men. I know what this fantasy feels like from my end of it. I want to learn more about what it feels like from the other end, from thoughtful feminist men who get off on it, too.

So that’s my first point. My second point is this:

I’ve lived my whole life dealing with the various and sundry ways that female sexuality gets demeaned, by being ignored or trivialized or assumed to not exist.

Thinking about this topic is making me realize the various and sundry ways that male sexuality gets demeaned . . . by the mirror image of that process. It’s making me realize that the amplification of male sexuality — the funhouse mirror that takes the image of a man and distorts it into a drooling tongue and a hard dick — has the effect of demeaning it as well.

And that sucks for all of us.

Greta Christina, copyright © 2010. Be sure to check out Greta’s blog.

Share This

Couch Surfers: Trans Men in Action

Couch Surfers: Trans Men in Action is a high point in the genre of transmen porn. It doesn’t hesitate to head straight for the action, with transguy Mark van Helsing and cis-gendered-boy Peter Pleas getting together before the opening titles even appear: Mark gets a rim job, then goes down on Peter, and Mark straps on a big cock and fucks Peter in the ass, and there’s a little making out, too — all this in the first, oh, two minutes of the film.

Next up on the fated couch (which one can only hope was at least spritzed with Febreze after the day’s shoot was done) are Lube Boy (I see superhero potential!) and Ian Sparks, who start to make out but don’t get far before Ian Foxe joins in. He assumes a kneeling position, works a cock in each hand, and sucks them while they kiss. They all work through various positions, including Foxe getting simultaneous cock in his mouth and ass, and bio-guy Ian Sparks even dons a strap-on (because obviously two dicks are better than one).

The action transitions to another couch with Ian Sparks joining transguy Brett McCloskey for some mutual rub-and-tug. They take turns sucking one another off until Brett goes down on all fours to get reamed, followed by cowboy riding.

Dex Hardlove strolls in to take things to the next level with a feat of fantastic excess: both Brett and Ian get on all fours while Dex slips his lubed-up fists into their asses — simultaneously! There follows a merry messy lubed-up festival of jerking off, working the balls, and orgasms galore. Dex keeps working over Brett while Ian Foxe joins in the fun — Brett takes cock from both ends, and obviously enjoys all the attention. Dex is an adroit top, and doesn’t skimp on the dirty talk or ass-smacking, either.

The free-flowing action of one scene moving seamlessly into the next is broken up when we return to couch number one with Cupid and Peter Please making out ever-so-briefly before CJ Cockburn joins in. It’s a quiet, intense threeway (especially compared to the noisy — but also intense — scene immediately previous), with everyone pressed together on the couch, kissing, sucking, licking, fucking, jerking, face-sitting, and generally exploring one another thoroughly and with great delight.

While production-wise this is a rather no-frills affair — I mean, the marquee sets are a couple of couches! — the action is top-notch, the sex inventive and genuine, and the boys and bois hot. There’s an extra disc of bonus features, and a brief, informative guide called the “First Timer’s Guide To Playing With Trans Guys” (for those who want to play the home game.) Couch Surfers is genderfuck extraordinaire. Don’t miss the action.

• Couch Surfers: Trans Men in Action

Share This

Tristan Taormino’s Expert Guide to Advanced Fellatio

Are you already a relatively accomplished cocksucker, but looking to expand your skillset, learn some new tricks, or make fellatio into more than just foreplay? Then Tristan Taormino’s Expert Guide to Advanced Fellatio might have some good pointers for you. Tristan assumes you already know how to get on your knees and lick and suck, and that you can handle a basic 69, and that you know whether you’re a spitter or a swallower — this is the advanced class.

After the usual anatomical lecture, Tristan runs down some advanced blowjob positions, including:

“Sword swallowing,” with a woman in bed on her back, head hanging off the edge of the bed, while the man stands and fucks her face (or lets the woman hold his hips to control his thrusting; “Standing 69,” where the man stands, holding the woman upside down with his face planted between her thighs, and she hangs down to suck cock — good for strong men and/or petite women, obviously; “Reverse 69,” with the woman laying face-up on the man’s body (he’s also face up!), and essentially doing a backbend to get his cock in her mouth while he eats her out. Only the young and nimble (or circus acrobats!) need attempt, and it looks more like stunt-fucking than something that would actually be fun, but it’s definitely not a move you see often; And classic “deep throating,” with the caveat that a lot of women have trouble suppressing the gag reflex . . . and the rather hot recommendation that you practice controlling the gag reflex with a dildo as necessary. I’d add that you should let your male partner watch while you practice. So he can, um, understand your plight.

All those techniques (except for practicing with dildo; Satine Phoenix, Adrianna Nicole, and Charley Chase don’t need practice) are demonstrated in hot scenes that usually end with some straight fucking, so it’s not entirely a fellatio extravaganza. Those ladies, their partners, and various other porn stars also weigh in with their opinions on what separates a good blowjob from a great one.

While the educational content here is on par with other Vivid Ed releases, the production seems a little more slapdash — the menu isn’t as sophisticated as usual, there’s no watch-the-sex-scenes-only option, special features are unusually few, and it has a less linear, more cobbled-together feel. That actually results in there being more sex on screen, since there’s no “workshop” section with Tristan addressing a crowd, though some of the snippets of sex get repeated two or three times. But that’s okay, too; they’re good snippets.

• Tristan Taormino’s Expert Guide to Advanced Fellatio

Share This