Friday, 30 November 2007
| 12:00 am
| Advice
The first time someone told me their partner inserted his entire fist into her pussy, I did not believe her. Not only did the notion strike me as nearly impossible, I could not figure out why in the name of all things holy she would desire such a thing. I looked down at my own hands, turning them slowly in the light to grasp the full magnitude of what fisting would feel like. I then pushed the idea far from my mind.
It wasn’t until years later that I came face to face (or rather pussy to fist) with fisting again. The difference this go-around was that I was naked, turned-on, and my lover practically begged me to try. How could I turn that down?
I believe “fisting” to be a misnomer. While the goal of the activity is indeed to put one’s entire hand inside someone’s genital cavity, the hand in question generally does not assume the position of a rounded fist until the very last stage of insertion.
When I’d imagine this activity in the past, I saw a cannonball-shaped bludgeon with flat, blunt-sided knuckles coming at my pink bits. Talk about frightening for the uninitiated! I have never given birth and frankly, had no desire to replicate the sensation via sex, thank you very much.
Fisting with a lover, however, is quite different from the pound-pound-pound I’d anticipated. Done correctly, fisting should bring about very little (if any) pain.
Being an old fisting veteran at this point, I describe the activity as “complete consummation.” I feel consumed when I fist someone, feel ultimately filled and connected to my partner and my body when I am fisted. Penetrating someone with fingers, tongues, a toy, even cocks is powerful in and of itself, but placing our whole hand inside someone else is magical.
Letting someone so fully into my body is a gift. This gift does not come easily; it requires patience and time, not to mention a fair amount of work, to achieve. I was unable to be fisted the first time we tried. I couldn’t even be fisted the sixth time we tried.
Preparing my vagina to fully accept my lover’s hand took practice. I’ve regularly masturbated with bigger toys (defined as 1-3/4″ in diameter of larger) and I don’t blink if someone fingers me with three fingers. When my lover asked if they could fist me, my only hesitation was for the pain. I didn’t want sex to hurt. If we could do it without pain, I was in.
The best hand position to use for successful first-time fisting is not a fist at all. To accomplish the optimal position, you want to make your hand as compressed as possible without bending your fingers. To do this, hold your hand out in front of your body and, without bending any of your knuckles, collapse all of your fingers and thumb in towards the center of your palm. It should feel like someone is pressing the meat of your thumb up against the base of your pinky. Your fingers should extend forward, pulling your hand into a pointed cylinder. This “fist” should look more like the beak of a bird than anything you would use to hit someone.
When ready to proceed, there are three main rules: go slow, use far more lube than you think is remotely possible, and don’t rush adding the thumb. It may take months of relentless trying before you will be able to get a whole fist inside your body; for some, it may never happen.
As I mentioned above, it took me longer than I had anticipated to be fisted once I gave the green light to my lover. Because I was already able to accommodate larger girths, we spend most of our preparation sessions working on how to get past the thumb knuckle. She would fondle and push until the sensation of maximum extension would give way to pain, and I would suddenly scoot away from her hand to avoid the feeling. I was scared that if she pushed her hand in, it would hurt more than I would be able to bear.
I needn’t have worried. One insignificant evening we clambered into bed with a bottle of lube and time on our hands. We played for hours before she got anywhere near my privates, and on this occasion, I felt my limits were ready to be pushed. She slipped in four fingers with ease, then dropped her thumb into the mix and applied steady pressure. She developed a gentle rhythm barely pulling out and pushing in, just hard enough that I could feel every movement but still felt in control of the penetration depth. She increased the pressure from time to time on a thrust and she let it hurt for just a moment before pulling back. On one particular push, pain throbbed in my pussy for a full second. Before I could pull back however, I felt her hand get drawn all the way inside me and curl into a ball surrounded by my warmth.
She didn’t need to tell me that she was completely inside me; I already knew by the sense of profound connection welling up from my core. She herself was speechless, looking up at my face with a mixture of disbelief and utter joy. I reached down and touched her wrist where it met my body, loosing my own words in the process. She didn’t move for several moments and neither did I. There was magic in that moment that transcended orgasm and pleasure. It was like she had reached inside of me and taken hold of the private, internal me.
Fisting was not what I had anticipated. What of the pounding and hard orgasms I saw in porn? As it turns out, I am unable to orgasm while being fisted. I don’t like my clit touched, licked, or stimulated either. When a whole hand is inside of me, I grow quiet and still, letting myself experience the penetration and match the breathing of my lover. I have had some of the most personal, profound sex of my life while being fisted. It simply takes my breath away.
I’ve discovered that fisting is the ultimate trusting activity I can do with a lover. If my body is not willing to entirely surrender to someone, it will not let their hands inside me. I don’t fist often; it is far too personal and too emotionally laden for weekly play. But when I am seeking to test my limits and achieve definitive connection, there is no better way for me to find it than through my lover’s fist. Who would’ve ever thought?
— Rebekah Skoor, MA
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Dear Blowfish,
What suction cup dildo would you recommend for male anal penetration? I really want to fuck myself in the ass without using my hands (as if someone else is doing it) and a suction cup dildo seems the perfect solution.
It’s entirely a size question, and since we don’t know what size of toy you prefer, we can’t offer a specific recommendation (although take a look at the Colt Silicone Suction-Cup Dildo). One suggestion, once you have found the dildo of your dreams: At least the first couple of times, we suggest that you insert the dildo, and then adjust yourself to plant the suction cup in the appropriate place. That way, you have full control over the insertion and the angle, rather than, if you will pardon the expression, aiming blind. Have fun!
Happy playing!
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It’s time for another look at the intersection between sex and artwork, so prepare yourselves for some transcendent human expression and high culture.
Syracuse artist Meg Abraham, who signs her work “Megallion,” does charcoal drawings of nudes . . . while she’s in the nude. Her reasons were more practical than prurient; she ruined a lot of clothes with stray charcoal marks. Drawing nude worked so well for her, she kept it up, though she works from photographs, not from life, so strike those images of artist and models naked together in a room from your mind. The method doesn’t have a lot to do with her artwork, but it makes a nice hook for a reporter’s story, and for an emerging artist, that’s important. (I’ll refrain from letting you guys know whether or not I write this column in the nude. Let your imaginations run wild.)
Megallion might draw while she’s naked, but Tim Patch — AKA “Pricasso” — draws with his cock. Seriously. He puts paint on his dick and his dick to canvas. And, you know, his work isn’t half bad, though his series of female nudes might be a bit obvious — he presumably has to keep a hard-on while painting, which is probably easier when you’re looking at a naked woman — but his paintings of various world leaders take on a whole new dimension when you think about the method of their creation. How anyone can maintain an erection while thinking about some of those people is beyond me. Patch calls himself “the world’s greatest penile artist,” and it’s hard to imagine he has that much competition. There are lots of samples of his work at his site, but a distressing lack of time-lapse videos showing him creating paintings in real-time.
Back before the internet provided hot and cold running porn on demand, schoolkids with an artistic turn of mind could make a little pocket change drawing nude pictures for their classmates, and Naked Chicks on Post-it Notes celebrates such ingenuity, with more than 230 drawings so far. (Like his drawings? You can bid on the sketches on eBay.)
You can also buy prints of the weird and distinctive erotic artwork of Gianluca Mattia, which runs from fetishy to punky to horror-tinged, from tattoos to hot-rods to pin-up girls.
And, finally, a simple link to a piece of artwork: “Who The Fuck Is Wittgenstein?”. An extremely strange amalgam of hentai and philosophy. Like all great art, is seems to pose far more questions than it answers, don’t you think?
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It will come as no surprise to anyone who knows me that I grew up having strange erotic fantasies about femmebots, sex machines, artificial intelligence and smokin’ hot alien bootay. Similarly unsurprising is the fact that every time a so-called “interactive” or purported “virtual reality” DVD crosses my path, I drop what I’m doing and stuff it in the DVD player.
Don’t get me wrong! I’m not a complete idiot, just an exceedingly thorough one. I’ve reviewed literally thousands of DVDs, and at least a few dozen have fallen into the genre of interactive porn. It’s a genre that’s generally, to me, as routinely disappointing as late-night pay-per-view made-for-Skinemax softcore after a few bottles of Wild Turkey from a hotel room minibar.
Seasoned porn viewers may recognize the formula: titled things like “Making It With Savannah Sluttzz” or “Real Sex With Adrianna Suckkit,” these disks trade both on the star power of their titular celebrities and on the promise of a virtual erotic experience that’s as close to Savannah Sluttzz engaging you in a filthy mambo as the typical porn-buying consumer is likely to get in this lifetime (which is quite possibly a good thing).
To yours truly, who grew up believing that the age of robotics and computers would free me from the unpleasant task of having to deal with other people (which it largely has) or, to put it more positively, would enable a whole new brand of interactive sexual experience (which it also has) and would allow me to finally — finally!! — fuck my computer (which, really, it has not), these disks represent the dream of sexual technology in its purest form, and every time I see them, I get all excited. Some not-so-quick-on-the-uptake part of me is utterly convinced that if I slide this baby into my laser-emitting slot, I will shortly thereafter be having sort-of-imaginary, sort-of-real sex with Antonia Caresse, which I’m also convinced will rock, even though I may have no idea who she is.
Having read Japanese comic books, seen Strangedays an d read William Gibson (the science fiction writer, not the author of the Helen Keller bio — though there’s more crossover than you might thing), I know that in an ideal world I pop on a helmet or better yet plug a jack into my brainstem, and next thing you know I’m there, banging the starlet (and/or star — more on that later) of my choice in whatever manner befits a gentleman (or lady) of my stature.
Promised the world, what does one get with these “interactive” disks? Sadly, not a lot. In most cases, an interactive porn DVD features maybe twenty minutes of porn footage of the female star in question, with a partial view of a male body doing stuff to her (or she to it). It’s footage that could have been repackaged from anywhere (though it’s typically shot for the project). Using the DVD remote controls, the viewer makes selections like “Missionary,” “Doggy Style,” “Cowgirl,” and “Oral” — which almost always means “Blowjob.” You make your selection and that’s the footage you see, for about a minute or two, and then it loops back and replays the same footage, presumably until you finish masturbating or move on to another position or activity — “on demand.” Often, though not always, there’s a button that says something like “POP!” that you cursor your way over to when you want to see the fertile issue of porn star seed upon the body of your chosen starlet. A more recent development in some titles is the addition of an “ORGASM” button, which causes your video vixen to perform an invariably faked, usually badly-faked — yes, that’s right, ORGASM — on cue.
Generally these disks are meant to be shot “POV” style — that is, with the camera more or less where the viewer’s head would like to be, while the starlet sweet-talks you about how well endowed you are and how much she loves this. Sadly, on this latter point, not everyone’s gotten the memo, and many interactive DVDs cross my desk that in fact feature no POV angles at all — this is virtual fucking, she’s looking at me, and yet there I am, disembodied and grotesque as if I were having a postmortem moment while the zombie virus takes over my body and bangs some bored-looking chippy from uptown. Only small (though growing) percentage of the disks offer garden-variety kinks like anal sex, and if your sex-with-a-computer fantasies run any further from the last time I saw an interactive porn star in restraints or a gag, her name was MacPlaymate.
How different is any of this from the typical “gonzo” porn movie? The answer is not very — less footage, a bit more menu design, and, if possible, an even greater level of creator cluelessness. How much does it matter? Maybe a lot, maybe not at all, depending on how truly interactive you need your porn experience to be. Quite a few porn viewers, after all, depend on the repetetive viewing of a single sexual act, whichever one turns them on the most in that instant, while they wank. An interactive disk with just a few minutes of footage can do that as effectively as a feature or a four-hour compilation, if the footage provided works for you.
But is it truly interactive? Not really — at least, no more than a well-designed erotic DVD. In fact, the features of interactivity appear with increasing frequency on “regular” porn discs. You’ll see the “POP” button in the corner of a few studios’ gonzo releases, and most mainstream porn releases now have an activity menu, sometimes bizarrely called a “fetish” menu, that allows you to jump to a particular activity or sexual position from a given scene in the movie.
In my recent review experiences, I’ve run across only one great exception to the interactive-DVDs-suck rule. Teravision’s InTERActive is a story-based interactive DVD that’s along the lines of “Choose Your Own Adventure” books I recall with such fondness from my misspent youth. Lucky enough to spend a day with bored housewife Tera Patrick, you get to do all sorts of nasty things with her and her neighbors, and maybe get beaten up at the end; it’s an actual adventure, not exactly Casablanca, but a reasonably fun diversion. It also happens to be the only DVD in this genre that Blowfish carries, which I like to think is an example not of Blowfish cleverly using me to provide viral marketing, but of great minds thinking alike.
What makes InTERActive different than most other supposed virtual reality DVDs is the presence of a story — which is a great innovation and can result in a satisfying viewing experience, but isn’t at all what I’m after. Other discs in this genre may provide fairly lame mini-vignettes — for instance, letting you choose whether your starlet is a secretary, a MILF, or your cleaning lady (oh joy). All of that is basically sex-setup, not sexual activity; it’s all window dressing, and not terribly exciting to me in this context. InTERActive may satisfy me as a choose-your-own-adventure, but if I really had my druthers I’d be having a whole ‘nother sort of adventure.
The shortcomings of the virtual reality porn genre are based on both the lack of sexual variation showcased and the limitations of the technology. But they’re also based on the cluelessness of an industry that can tell me on the cover “You Are In the Driver’s Seat!” and then show me a DVD shot from oblique right angles without even a nod toward the POV format — that can tell me “Have Her Any Way You Want Her!” and then provide every possible sexual choice for my interactive entertainment, including and limited to “having Her” as a MILF, schoolgirl or French maid, in either doggy style or missionary position with a pop shot on demand.
As with so many things in the porn industry, the limitations of technology are enhanced by the limitations of the industry’s erotic imagination. Some day someone’s going to blow the doors off this interactive porn genre, and I only hope I’m not busy having dull virtual reality sex with Lorena Lushiss when it happens.
Thomas Roche is the managing editor of Eros Zine, teaches at San Francisco Sex Information, and also blogs on sex, drugs and cryptozoology at thomasroche.com.
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Friday, 23 November 2007
| 12:00 am
| Advice
At the time, I knew what sex was and I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I wasn’t doing it. Sure, we may have been naked. And yes, we touched one another’s private parts and got sticky and maybe even snuck a few orgasms from time to time. But I was “saving myself” for the right man, the one who would come into my life (after high school, of course) and open my eyes to the world of grown-up relationships and the pleasures of intercourse. In the meantime, I was just having a good time.
Looking back at the sexual interactions in my adolescence (imagine I am 18 or older if you find yourself squigged), I find humor in how hard I worked to convince myself that oral play, hand-jobs, BJs and finger penetration “did not count” towards a sexually tally. I wanted to believe that sex, real sex, was something more than the excited fumbling going on in my waterbed while my parents ran out to the grocery store.
I still hold residual categories for what counts as really having sex and what constitutes foreplay. Intercourse with dicks and dildos, or at least deep penetration, still sits at the top of the pyramid holding court as “real sex.” I understand my perspective is ridiculous, but after so many years of seeking to score, oral sex, finger fucking, or even the best intended spanking doesn’t leave me feeling like I just got laid, even if I have a killer orgasm.
Absurd! What is keeping this notion in place?
It’s not like I have a better time in bed when we stick to plain ‘ol intercourse. I learned early on that most oral sex and almost anything involving a safe-word is far more intimate than even the best penetration. When I use my hands and tongue and lips and teeth in addition to my genitals to have sex, the experience is inevitably more intense. My face has to get all up in there, forcing me to pay attention. I have to involve my entire body into the game, teasing and exploring to find the ultimate sensations for each moment. I find that I think more about my lover and approach them with the intentionality of making them feel good when we have full-body sex. Even so, it’s hard to finish a great night in bed with a lover without finishing with intercourse.
We know how powerful different forms of sexual expression are in our lives so why do we not focus more time and energy on doing them?
We humans are habit-forming creatures. You tell us to insert tab A into slot B and we’ll eventually get lazy and stick to just that. We like to cut to the chase, get onto the “good stuff,” get-off and go to sleep because tomorrow is gonna be here fast and it’s already nearly midnight. In our rush, we forget about the other things we do with one another that feel good.
Is forget a bad word choice? Maybe I don’t mean “forget” as much as “ignore.” We ignore touching one another in intentional ways over time because it require more effort, more energy, and more thought. We don’t want to have to try to get our lovers off in new ways when we already know what works. We find a groove/rhythm and are afraid to change it and risk getting off course and losing all we have built. We don’t have the time to take our sweet time making love to one another because we need to get some dinner on the table or CSI is about to start or we have a column due for Blowfish in an hour and it is only half finished.
The thing is, when we stop exploring one another and just stick with what works, we get bored. Maybe you aren’t bored today, and maybe you won’t be tomorrow, but eventually our thrill-seeking brains are going to want to push the envelope and seek out something that gets the blood racing. If you aren’t having exciting sex with your lover now, or if you find that it gets harder and harder to get hot for one another, there is work to be done!
We are quick to ignore the basics when it comes to sex. The activities that I once tried to deny as “foreplay” or “something else” are in actuality some of the foundational blocks for my intimate relationship today. The excitement phase of new relationships isn’t a farce — the spontaneity and newness of exploring someone’s body and their arousal is one of the best aphrodisiacs around.
Not convinced? I dare you to give it a try. Talk to your lover about not having intercourse for the next two times you have sex. Whatever it is that you usually do, don’t do it. Challenge yourselves to touch one another in ways you have neglected in the past while. To join you in this endeavor, I’ve already been giving this a shot.
A dear friend of mine was hospitalized recently due to ongoing health problems now finds herself unable to engage in intercourse with her lover. My partner and I decided to show our sympathy by abstaining from our most common sexual activities until she gets better. (I know, sounds like true friendship, no?)
We intended this as a funny way of showing our support and sympathy, but joyously it ended up working in our favor. We spent an afternoon making love to one another without penetration and without focusing on having orgasms. We played and laughed, rediscovered sensitive places on our bodies that we had forgotten about. We dug through our bedside tables and discovered sexy panties we hadn’t seen in years. We gave back massages with oil in the middle of the day. We wrestled, played tongue-tag, and accidentally had three orgasms apiece. When we finally clamored out of the bedroom in search of dinner, we were glowing with happiness and rediscovered connection.
Could we have this kind of sex every day? We would like to. We would also like to block off more time to spend with one another, eat nachos all day long without regretting it come summertime, and own a house in the bay area, but not all things are possible by simply wishing them to be so. It’s hard to be intentional with one another. It takes a lot longer to have sex this way, and a lot more energy as well. We both vowed to work these kinds of activities back into our more regular sex-life as we move into the future and, for us, this is kind of small-bite intensity is how we can make long term change.
The moral of our story is that we need to put more sex up our sex, to widen the breadth of our play regime to pre-relationship levels. What would it take to get you to do the same? Could you trade in two regular sex session and give in to finding one another again?
I was on to something good back in my adolescent sexual interactions. I may not have thought of it as sex then, but I sure knew that I was having one heck of a great time. The goal is finding ways to maintain a level of inquisitiveness about our lovemaking/partners and to keep finding new ways to delight one another throughout our whole relationship.
— Rebekah Skoor, MA
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Thursday, 22 November 2007
| 12:00 am
| Culture
“If you won’t have sex with me, I’m going to break up with you.”
This is supposed to be one of the meanest, most selfish, most manipulative things to say to someone you’re dating. In the dating books and teenage advice columns, girls and women are constantly told that if guys say this — if they insist on sex as a condition of preserving the relationship (or getting into it in the first place) — then they’re bad guys who don’t respect you and aren’t worth your time. They’re pressuring you into sex when you’re not ready for it . . . and that’s a bad, bad thing.
But here’s the problem.
The “I’m going to break up with you if you won’t have sex with me” thing?
I actually don’t think it’s unreasonable.
This is kind of a moot point for me, since I’m out of the dating scene. But if I were going out with someone — of either gender — who said they didn’t want to have sex until marriage, I’d suddenly remember an urgent appointment elsewhere, and would be out of there so fast it’d make your head spin.
Even if marriage weren’t the issue. Even if they said they wanted to date for, say, several months before having sex. If someone told me that on a first date, there wouldn’t be a second one; if they said it after a couple/few dates, they’d get the “This isn’t going to work” conversation.
And I wouldn’t consider it “pressure.”
I wouldn’t consider myself an asshole for doing it. Not in the slightest. I’d consider myself completely reasonable, and entirely within my rights.
Let me be totally clear here. Of course people have the right to have sex on their own timetable. And that includes delaying sex for months into a relationship, or even waiting until marriage. (I think that’s a bad idea for a whole lot of reasons . . . but people certainly have the right to do it.)
But the people that these “wait ’til marriage” people are dating? They have the right to their own sexual timetables, too. And that includes wanting sex fairly early in the relationship. Saying, “I want sex pretty soon, you don’t, so I don’t think this is going to work” isn’t the crime of the century. It’s a reasonable thing to say.
Obviously, it’s not OK to say it in a way that’s pressuring or manipulative. It’s not OK, for instance, to use peer pressure; to say things like, “Everyone else is doing it.” And it’s not OK to make your partner feel like a bad, flawed, inadequate person for saying No, or for saying they want to wait. That is mean and selfish. It’s pretty much a textbook example of it.
And obviously, I’m talking about relationships that are more or less equal: relationships between adults, or between teenagers and other teenagers. The dynamic where adults use their greater confidence and experience to manipulate teenagers — who generally have less confidence and are more vulnerable to social pressure — into having sex . . . that’s some fucked-up shit.
But as long as you’re respectful of your partner’s right to say No, being clear about what you do and don’t want in a relationship is reasonable and healthy. And that includes being clear about what you do and don’t want regarding sex.
Besides . . . think about it. Why is it considered mean, manipulative pressure to say, “I won’t go out with you if we don’t have sex” . . . but it’s perfectly fine, virtuous even, to say, “I won’t go out with you if you won’t wait until marriage to have sex”? Why does the latter count any less as pressuring your partner into a kind of relationship they may not want?
You can argue that it’s different for teenagers. You can argue that teenage girls lack the confidence and ego strength to clearly state what they want in a relationship, they they’re extra-vulnerable to social pressure and the desire for attention and affection . . . so it’s important to teach them that it’s OK to say No.
So fine, let’s teach them that. Do we also have to teach them that it’s not OK to say Yes? And that the boys in their lives who want them to say Yes are selfish, manipulative jerks who don’t respect them and are just using them for sex?
Because of course, this issue consistently gets presented as if boys or men are always the beastly animals who want the sex, and girls or women are always the ones holding out, the virtuous gatekeepers of sexual morality. The idea that women might want sex, too? That women might be the ones with ants in our pants? It’s apparently inconceivable to the folks writing the dating advice. (As is homosexuality or bisexuality . . . but that’s a rant for another day.)
Well, count me as one big counter-example. I’ve always liked to have sex fairly early in a relationship. Even as a teenager. Sex is important to me, and I don’t want to spend years, or months, or even very many weeks, dating someone if the sex isn’t going to work. I want to know early on if we’re sexually compatible. And besides, I’m a horny bugger. I want sex because I want it. Sex, like virtue, is its own reward.
And I’m sick unto death of being told that my libido is either freakish or non-existent. I hated it when I was a teenager, and I hate it now.
Just like guys who date women are sick of being told that their libidos make them bad, selfish, manipulative boyfriends.
So let’s rewrite this dating rule, shall we?
Let’s delete, “If a guy says he’s going to break up with you if you won’t have sex with him, then he’s a mean, selfish, manipulative jerk who doesn’t respect women, and you’re better off without him.” Let’s strike it out of the dating advice database forever.
And let’s replace it with something like this:
“If the person you’re dating — regardless of gender — wants sex a lot sooner than you do, that’s probably a sign that you’re not compatible.
“And if they want to delay sex a lot longer than you want to, that’s also probably a sign that you’re not compatible.
“You have a right to your own sexual timetable — and so does the person you’re dating.”
(I started developing these ideas in a comment thread on the Friendly Atheist blog. So thanks, dude.)
Greta Christina, copyright © 2007. Be sure to check out Greta’s blog.
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Ah, the noble butt. I’ve been thinking about butts (well, more so than usual) ever sense I learned the adjective “callipygian” — which means to have a beautiful or well-formed ass. (As opposed to having an ass that is cacopygian, naturally.) Since I believe in using my preoccupations to pay the bills, I hereby devote this column to that most spankable, strokeable, intermittently lickable body part, the ass.
Let’s kick off with Slate.com’s That Darling Derriere (a history of the buttocks in fashion, mostly, and with pictures, naturally), from bustles to Bettie Page to Catwoman to Queen’s “Fat Bottomed Girls” to tramp stamps to butt lifts. There’s an emphasis throughout on Kim Kardashian, whose shapely backside is arguably more famous than the rest of her . . .
But Kardashian apparently didn’t bother to enter the international Show Me Your Sloggi competition, dedicated to finding the best damn asses in the world. Check out the site for the world champions in the nice-ass-Olympics, along with snapshots of winners from various countries. Mmm, love that Latvian booty. There’s a video of the final competition, too.
To find asses in the wild, as it were, you might try the Butt Hunter photo pool on Flickr. Features over a hundred candid and posed ass shots, from the beautiful to the, well, cacopygian. For sheer quantity, though, it’s tough to beat this giant-ass photo gallery (that is to say, the gallery is giant; the asses are mostly not).
Beyond their inherent aesthetic appeal, asses are popular for selling things as well — consider Perrier’s ass-tastic campaign, and other gratuitous ass ads, from American Apparel to jewelry to online services.
Lest we forget, asses are art, too. Fundación Canal, a gallery in Madrid, hosted an exhibition titled “Ocultos,” featuring asses by various great artists, including Man Ray and Robert Mapplethorpe, among others.
Finally, no discussion of the ass and the internet can be complete without a link to a video of Jonathan Coulton’s acoustic cover of classic rumpshaking song “Baby Got Back” by Sir Mix-A-Lot. What could be better, after all, than the famed combination of an LA face with an Oakland booty?
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