Saturday, June 26, 2010

Rogue finally submits.

I accomplished a longstanding goal recently.

I've enjoyed writing erotica for years, but it's been only recently that I've finally decided to take the action that I've been nagging myself to do and send a decent submission for publication. I've been published before, and usually on other topics, but for some reason I just haven't been pursuing my intentions to do more in the sex-positive realm.

A recent submission call by Cleis Press changed that, and I've issued a light femdom, male subbie, first-timer tale entitled "Bad Influences" for their upcoming Sweet Love project.

It was an amusing exercise to twist my brain into male subbie space. Maybe a dirty martini will fix that.

But, exclusively for youse Urban Roguery readers, here's a taste of my, uh, submission...

* *

I bobbed my outstretched palms and fingers on his flesh, feeling his bubble shape and patting him. His ass filled my hands nicely. I slowly drew a finger or two up and along the seam between his cheeks, enjoying how pert he really was. Daringly, I slowly probed a finger inside further, found his anus, and teased it with a fingertip. It was warm and soft and tight, and I gave a little pressure under the very outermost ring of his sphincter when it started to clutch the tip of my finger.

My arms still around him, I felt him tense up as he pulled back just slightly. The quizzical look on his face was precious.

“Um. What are you doing?”

Did I see the hint of a smile under those widened, glittering eyes?

“I’m enjoying my man,” I smirked, looking up. I pressed my forearms firmly against his strong legs and held him, my hands sending a clear message:
stay just where you are, dude.

Thursday, June 24, 2010

Speaking up for kink and culture.

In a previous post, I cited a mental health website that offered some strong, clinical arguments to suggest that kinky people suffer from a paraphiliac mental disorder.

In the view of these writers, kinkster- and genderqueer people are therefore included among the ranks of pedophiles and presumably other sorts of folk who engage in abusive, non-consensual, criminal, harmful activities in their lives.

"The essential feature of sexual masochism is the feeling of sexual arousal or excitement resulting from receiving pain, suffering, or humiliation," the site states. "The pain, suffering, or humiliation is real and not imagined and can be physical or psychological in nature. A person with a diagnosis of sexual masochism is sometimes called a masochist.

"The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders," they continue, "is used by mental health professionals to diagnose specific mental disorders. In the 2000 edition of this manual (the Fourth Edition Text Revision also known as DSM-IV-TR) sexual masochism is one of several paraphilias. Paraphilias are intense and recurrent sexually arousing urges, fantasies, or behaviors."

I finally got around to chiming in on their comments. I reached for my academic mortarboard (or was it my headmaster's cane?) and stepped up to the mike:

While it's always possible that a person suffering from a mental disorder may have an interest in these fantasies, it doesn't necessarily equate that a person engaging in consensual, expressive sexuality need do so because of an existing mental disorder.

Human sexuality of all stripes often includes a cognitive foundation involving power structures and roles. For many people, the deliberate and consensual application of these different power and authority structures (in a conscious and nurturing environment) can add enticing dimensions to one's sexual play. For some, the use of many kinds of physical and mental stimulation (such as spanking) adds another level of excitement.

People who engage in this sort of imaginative and creative sexplay are not the demons under your bed. Most are highly educated people coming from very professional and leadership-oriented backgrounds, with sound and happy families, paid-for cars, and mortgages.

Tragically, yes, there are people in the world who use power-exchange or bondage play or similar elements within the BDSM milieu for things other than safe, sane, consensual adult sexplay between knowing partners. But then, equally tragically, genuinely abusive people can also be found among the clergy, law enforcement, child care workers, and in other places in life where one wouldn't expect criminal activity.

If one thinks back far enough, deep enough, it wouldn't be unusual to find some kind of "kinkyness" (however one might apply that highly subjective term) in one's sexual fantasy life, including as far back as childhood. It's part of the human sexual awakening experience. Attempts to argue otherwise often fail to grasp the whole breadth of human sexual history and anthropology, and simply resort to trying to sell a specific, limited, restrictive idea about what is "right" and "appropriate" from a culturally myopic point of view.

In other words, the world's a lot bigger and broader than you probably think, and just because I spank my grrlfriend, that doesn't mean that I should stand in line for a thorazine shot.

Just sayin.

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

A kiss for Kara.

It's been a year of new experiences, insight, creation, perseverance,
and the healthiest communication I've ever known.

I'm privileged to escort you into a world of pleasure, expansion, and sensuality. I'm privileged to experience such kindness, openness, awareness from someone as fabulous as you. You are hysterically funny. You are divinely compassionate. You are stronger than you know.

You are the altar whereupon I make my offerings to
love, laughter, life, and vigour.

I treasure you.

Oh yeah.
And I love your pert, spankable ass.

Happy anniversary, baby. Love you.

Monday, June 21, 2010

Watching television with Tammi and Joe.

The rich scent of cardomom and star anise filled the room as I poured the masala chai tea. It had been a long day, and we were enjoying one of the few occasions when she could come over to my pad and enjoy some overnight fun. It was an Us night, and we both were overdue for a little relaxed playtime.

We chose to stay in and snuggle up on the futon over a hot DVD.

I realized that we had yet to watch porn together, although we had talked about it often enough. Sometimes it still blows my mind when I learn about women who enjoy porn... a least when they're normally reserved, subtle, just slightly shy, politely Canadian women like my Kara.

Which is also why I think it's really fucking hot when I learn they do.

Kara, for her part, was all about surprises tonight. Once we were settled in, her just-so-slightly-chaste veneer melted away when I introduced her to my DVDs. She confessed that her own collection was ridiculously nil, and some of it only acquired by slight peer pressure during a past wedding shower. The poor thing.

My eyes made a wide smile when I saw she made a beeline for the anal material.

"Remember when you Twittered about buying some porn while you were in Oshawa?" she chuckled. "Whatja get?"

Enjoying her tea, topless and wearing cute white cotton panties under the decadent white cotton robe that she keeps in my closet just for when she visits. She rested her head against my shoulder as I clikked the remote. From the corner of my eye, I watched her jaw go slack as she gave the widescreen her undivided attenton.

How she tried to control herself. But after watching the sexy little minx on the screen display her cute little ass from under the schoolgirl skirt, it wasn't long before she was whispering comments in my ear.

"She's really hot," she panted quietly.

"Her name is Tammi Ann," I replied, nuzzling close. "She was always one of my favorites... a tiny shorthaired waif like you."

Tammi displayed her exquisite behind from over her partner's, veteran pornster Joey Silvera, shoulder. I felt my cock swell when the camera delivered a close-up to the sensually dark ring around wee Tammi's rosebud. I have a thing for the crinkled, darkened skin so intimately there. Casually, I stroked Kara's arm as she rested her weight against me.

By the time Joey was swabbing some beautiful and drenched pussy with his broad tongue, teasing Tammi's distended and quivering clit, Kara was speechless. By the time Tammi was expertly sucking on some long and thick cock, coating Joey's cockhead with wet and eager lips, my own was rigid against my thigh under my weightlifting pants. By the time Tammi was bending herself over the arm of a couch to yieldingly offer her handful of ass, when she began feeling her lover's wide cockhead slowly slip past her backdoor, Kara was squirming beside me.

"How do you feel?" I asked with a grin.

She chuckled. "Uh. Horny." Her eyes never left the screen. Her hand casually reached to give my cock a gentle squeeze.

I smiled and withdrew my arm from across her shoulders. Slipping my hand under her robe, I slowly teased my fingertips past her warm panties. Kara smirked beside me.

Uh huh. Wet. Nicely so.

Yeah, my grrlfriend enjoys porn. Win.

My fingertips parted through the downy, dark fur above her delicious slit and discovered her hat. I rested my fingers on the crest just above her clit, and made small, slow circles. Kara squirmed even more. Sometimes, just for fun, I'll reach over the bed at night and give her a quickie handjob, and it's taught me a few things about how she likes and wants it. I like that.

I varied my tempo. I teased her. I swirled a moist finger gently around her nubbin. I alternated between a firm pressure at either side of her delicious, hardening clit and just baely touching the very tip of her. I teased her tightening, wet hole. I slowly drew my finernails down her thigh. As I watched the sucking and fucking on the JVC, taunting and pleasuring my own little waif had me grinning like a kid.

Tammi was gasping sexily as she rode Joey's cock when my fingers were swirling around Kara's clit. As my strokes swirled quickly, softly, I felt her tense up. Kara's jaw tightened and she leaned forward just slightly as her back began to stiffen, and her hands reached below to guide mine from my wrists. Her pelvis humped forward slightly, she gasped, she whimpered, and I felt her become even more drenched when she started to shudder and stiffen as she sat erect beside me. Her grrlcum coated my fingertips as she held me still, and when she fel back against the futon, she was quietly gasping for air.

Her searching tongue found my mouth, and her breath was hot and fierce when she kissed me wetly and noisily.

Watching this scene, likely shot fifteen or so years ago, brought me back to days when porn seemed a little different. Joey seems to have stayed in the business, especially when it comes to transgendered partners and performers. Regarded as a "classic" porn star now, a little internet peeking taught me that Tammi left the camera in the late 90s and has since been enjoying life as a $500-per-hour sex worker.

We finished our chai. It was tasty.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Just sayin.

Sexblogging colleague Rori has recently announced that nominations for the Top 100 Sex Bloggers of 2010 are currently up and running. Last year, this blog was pleasantly placed on the list at #68.

This is a fun and creative way to circulate the word about the more popular sexblogs in the blogosphere, and I hope youse guys will enjoy perusing all the nominees and enjoy yourselves. Nominations close on July 31.

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

In vino veritas.

I know that it's a shocking thing to suggest, but there actually is more to life than sex. Like, Ontario's Niagara region wine for example.

Which, you know, is kinda like sex.


Last weekend, sexy Kara and I enjoyed a surprise birthday party for a friend (a minister's wife, no less) featuring a wine tasting. It made for a deliciously sensual evening, even with a brood of birthday-cake laden kids running around.

I had already known that I preferred varietals to blends, so I was surprised by a 2005 Henry of Pelham cabernet sauvignon/merlot when enjoyed with some Quebec oka classique cheese. The resulting flavour came wickedly close to a hazelnut chocolate, leaving me to ponder its possible use during a sensual night of candlelit caresses. Their 2006 baco noir reserve (a varietal) brought out a more peppery flavour to the same cheese, and with its slightly earthy, almost tulip nose, struck me as being ideal for venison. A slightly sharp 2007 pinot noir possessed a strong cranberry nuance that seemed perfect for a roast turkey (despite being a red) if it were bulging with a rich cranberry stuffing.

Yum. (But Henry, what's with the "cheap prescription" stuff on your website?)

Lailey Vinyards' 2007 meritage (a 54% merlot, 31% cabernet franc, 15% cabernet sauvignon blend) disappointed me at first with an almost "plastic" bouquet. Blends. But its light, slightly buttery flavour compensated for it, especially when combined with some Quebec havarti or Ontario "comfort cheese," where its creaminess was richly enhanced. I could easily see Kara held in suspension rigging, swaying creakily under some heavy oaken beams, as I gently brought slivers of this cheese and the barest of sips from Baccarat stemware to her lips. After I'd had my fun with her bare, pert behind. Of course.

Another blend, a 2006 "red blend" (ooo, imaginative!) from Stratus Vinyards, would go superbly with my deepdish, Brooklyn-style lasagna. Its length was bitter and slightly salty, which seemed to bring out the better elements to provolone. Yet the varietal fan in me can't see enjoying this for drinking's sake if another option was available, being a dizzying (for me) fusion of merlot, gamay, malbec, cabernet franc, cabernet sauvignon, syrah (shiraz), and petit verdot. What, is this what became bottled from the slush barrel near the rear cellar door? Evil.

Truth be told, I'm not really a wine snob. But I am, so to speak, a wine symbolist. To me, wine can tell a story of a place and a time, like a pressed flower in an old book or a scrip of paper bearing an old note that's been slipped behind a framed photograph. I like to mark special events in life with the purchase of a new bottle, tag it with the date and a note about the event, and then save them in what passes for my cellar. I savour the memory as I savour the grapes when the time comes to re-celebrate or re-mark a connecting occasion, and then I uncork one in my personal, ritual way.

Two years after mentioning it here, I still have that last 2002 Boordy coastal claret that I picked up in Maryland. I bought two originally, and they marked when I met The Grrl.

"We drank its sister on (our) last night together," I wrote here then. "I've thought the bottle would make a fitting offering to Aphrodite but I have yet to uncork it for such a purpose." Somehow, I still haven't brought myself to do it, although I think now that that has less to do with attachments to my former partner than it has to do with the fact that I've held it for so long. Or so I tell myself.

Sometimes, in no less a personally sacred sense, that ritual and energy and symbolism backfires on me. I haven't had a bottle from Cave Springs in years, which is a shame because they're really very good. But it was at their winery where my betraying ex-wife, so long ago, and I had what passed for our honeymoon.

There was a bottle that marked Shayne, although looking back on this blog I find that I didn't actually acquire it until one of her visits to Toronto. My normal habit would have been to get one during our first meeting, which would have been when I drove to see her in Chicago. I think it's because, in some ways, that rollercoaster ride helped me persevere through some lingering post-Grrl attachments that gave me the timeliness to imbibe that bottle when our End seemed apparent. I enjoyed it as part of a pleasant dinner, as I recall, where I gladly and heartfully toasted both her and myself. Her, for the pleasures and personal gifts she had indeed certainly brought to me, and me for the recognition and ground to take those gifts with appreciation and kindness as I stepped forward from there.

It pleases me that we're friends now, and I feel perfectly at peace that that bottle was so "properly" enjoyed.

And no, in the event you're asking yourself, there hasn't been a bottle (to date) to mark when I met Kara. But I think the reason is solid, if it may change very soon now. At least, no wine has as-yet been specifically added to my cellar to mark her, although I do enjoy the memory that it was a 2008 Duboeuf beaujolais we enjoyed on the night of her first playparty, one of her first introductions to kink. We've also found a special relationship with Pelee Island's blanc de blanc, which I served with salmon during our first homecooked meal together.

In a very Buddhist way, I've learned a great deal through my myriad of relationships, and most usually about myself as I enjoy them. I've had a tendency to invest too much of myself too quickly. Since The Grrl, most of what I've learned is about the that kind of attachment, and the ability to Be At Peace with what comes, as it comes, without "needing" to impose preconceived ideas of what I think it is. I've learned, for my own mental and emotional health, to retain a small amount of objectivity in the early days of an affair, and it's a lesson that I didn't want to forget when I had begun dating this sexy, punky, high school math teacher I had met online.

To me, a relationship doesn't "fail" if, should it end, something can still be gained in learning a new element of yourself, how you perceive others, how you can do things better next time. In this way, and as I've often shared with friends, one's future partner(s) become the beneficiary of everything you've learned up unto that moment.

And so I didn't get a bottle of wine after I started dating Kara because I had learned lessons after drinking the one I had saved to mark the time when I had started seeing Shayne. And because that bottle from Maryland still lingered in the dark (both in cellar and in self) to remind me about where those attachment senses were coming from. I didn't get a bottle of wine right away to mark things with Kara because I didn't want to spoil it if things with Kara got spoiled. I had become tired of spoiled. I wanted some sense of longevity between us first, since previously I would buy the wine out of slightly rote habit and often before I really knew what investmentswere possible between me and 'the new partner.' Maybe I thought I was being practical, but in hindsight, perhaps I was just being overzealous and impatient.

Is this a slight against her?


An unconscious acceptance that maybe it wouldn't work out?

Ok, probably, although only at first, and in no way reflecting on her. I wanted to retain a lesson learned.

Because things with Kara have not become spoiled. So far, it has been working out. Kara is, hands-down, the most supportive, generous, kind partner I've known in years. I've been in some personal angst lately, and she's been incredibly helpful as I adapt and overcome. I've also learned that while some things can and will try her patience (as some things can and will try mine), we enjoy an enriching sense of communication that often floors me with how deeply it works, resonates, and nurtures. We've had disagreements, but they have yet to really become a problem. We don't have all the same tastes, but we still find common ground and have a blast. We relate, and where we don't, we listen and find space in ourselves, mutually, to take those moments as plateaus we can challenge ourselves with to grow and become stronger, better, as people.

That's really damned cool.

And next Wednesday, it'll be our first anniversary. Now, I think, it's time to buy a 2009 bottle of Ontario. Perhaps we'll buy it together, and from some online source since, again, we met that way.

Monday, June 7, 2010

Finding tribe.

"Hey Maestro," reader Dolores (aka Lolita) emails to ask, "my partner and me would really appreciate it if you could give us more information on how to join the BDSM community. And thanks for being our Vergil on our slow, agonizing descent into... something infinitely fun!"

It pleases me to be your guide, your psychopomp, into your wicked descent.

In my memory, there was a time when the most networking one could hope for was through Latent Image magazine, or if you were really desperate, the backpage ads in Screw. I still remember when Diva and me would lay naked on her waterbed, perusing Latent Image for fellow kinksters we might play with, and me taking racy pictures of her for our own ad listing.

I put her in leather restraints and set her on all fours, standing back with the camera as she jilled herself from under her abs and between the cheeks of her lovely, fuckable ass. Nice memory, that. And nice memories of the two or so couples we would eventually meet through that magazine. Mm.

But its some years later, and we're not so dependent on pulpy and overpriced magazines anymore, are we? Not only is Google your friend, but there's damned good chance that the people you're bound (heh) to meet are more numerous, younger, collectively better informed, and better equipped with hot gear than many people were back when Diva wore my collar. The fetish and kink scene wasn't entirely nondescript when I first got into it, but it was certainly not the trendy thang it seems to have become today.

But that's a double-edged blade. On one hand, it's so much easier to network for kinksters-of-a-like-mind now, but are they as sophisticated? Some, sure. Many, maybe. Yet does the latest wave of fetishists understand the "community" element of their path that was, and remains for many, so vitally important to people? Or has the emergence of BDSM from its "underground" roots also sapped it of its connection to social trust, watching-out-for-one-another?

Here in Toronto, it seems that the fetish community is blended among the queer, post-goth, and/or polyamory crowd. Not necessarily a bad thing, and often scandalously excellent, but sometimes frustrating when al you want on a Saturday night is a venue where you can simply tie up and spank your partner's sweet ass strictly among one's own.

But, like the end of an uncontrolled bullwhip, I'm getting ahead of myself. How do you "join" the BDSM community?

Silly wabbit. You're already there. If your heart skips a beat when you think of being placed across your partner's knee, if you get wet at the thought of having your wrists and ankles bound in rope, if you get hard at the sight of Rihanna sporting Balenciaga gladiator boots... face it, you've already joined. But the next question is, how do you meet others of like mind?

The Internet is your friend. Even Wikipedia can reveal a host of resources and suggestions for the online kinkster. Master lists (ha!) such as Fetish, the BDSM Events Page, and links pages to existing networking sites such as Dark Desyre offer quickly-read listings for all kinds of events and groups.

Kinksters the world over (perhaps because they to felt isolated, perhaps because they were pissed off about police raids on their social events) have growed all up and become more and more organized. Resources exist today that were barely present only two decades ago, and almost certainly non-existent for long before that.

Welcome to the postmodern BDSM social world. If only Irving Klaw could have lived to see it.

At the most informal level, Google your regional area to find your most local munch. Fetish community spokesperson and author Jay Wiseman describes a munch as "a casual lunch or dinner with other local people who have an interest or experience in BDSM (Bondage & Discipline, Dominance and submission, sadomasochism) and/or Fetish.

"Munch groups have many different characters depending on locations of where they meet. Some are held in locations where a demonstration can be given on different techniques, but most are held in family restaurants or bars where 'play' or fetishwear is not permitted. A munch is a great atmosphere to meet like minded locals, discuss a variety of topics, and make friends and get validation without people behaving 'in role'."

Often, munches are coordinated by a handful of people simply for the enjoyment of doing so, but this also sometimes means that many munches have limited lifespans if coordinators begin to experience personal burnout. Ideally, its hosts are also outgoing and community-conscious people who may not be as prone to seeing their events succumb to cliqueishness. Part of the entire purpose of a munch, arguably, is to provide safe and relaxed space between newcomers and veterans.

Some munches include Knot For Everyone in New Jersey and MiChatOhs in Michigan.

More organized and with bolder scope than munches are the battalions of established fetish organizations that have developed over the years. They can be as wide and varied as the people within them, but all share some common ground in seeking to provide the networking, education, and play resources that, at one time, its founders also found lacking in their areas. Most typically offer workshops, social events, parties, and the like, but many also can serve as advocacy groups in legal matters or as representatives to the media or general public.

Seattle is the home base for the Center for Sex Positive Culture, also known as the Wet Spot (even though you can't take the SLUT there). The National Leather Association has a history of breaking a lot of important ground for the kinky community, and has expanded with various chapters throughout the continent.

In New York, the famous Eulenspiegel Society has achieved a respected status due to its longevity, and from the DC area, I've met activists from Black Rose who have definitely earned their stripes. (Hey, Whitney!) The Portland Leather Alliance is of service in the Pacific northwest, and sometimes I can't help but wonder if I have old friends among its ranks. (Hi Alix!)

In the southern United States, the so-called Bible Belt ocasionally finds itself loosened for a good, solid strapping. House of Saade in Texas, NOBLE in Louisiana, CAPEX in North Carolina, The Woodshed in Florida, and BESS in Maryland are all among the various groups under the Mason-Dixon.

In addition to their fetishes, some groups may focus their membership to other social niches as well. There are many queer-identified fetish circles, such as the Lesbian Sex Mafia or the Promethean Guard. A "TNG" or "Next Generation" group focuses on an under-30s crowd. The Black Beat convention, while welcoming all, is specifically geared toward black kinksters.

Annual kinky conventions also take place at select hotels conference centers, and while usually very restrictive to activities outside a private room, often offer exciting workshops, activities and vendor areas for everyone to enjoy. TESFest is coordinated by the famous Eulenspegel Society, and rope enthusiasts everywhere definitely have ShibariCon on their to-do lists. Peeking around on the net would likely unearth many such events, but one can allow oneself to neglect the deliciously (in)famous Folsom Street Fair in San Francisco. Dubbed "the granddaddy of all leather events," I am told that its not something to be missed.

If it were possible to create a more intense, seductive, scandalous, and ribald event than a fetish convention in a hotel, it would have to be an outdoor retreat and camping event. On my personal to-do list for some time now has been Leather Retreat by Dark Odyssey. If I ever get to the Pacific northwest, Paradise Unbound in the Seattle area would be a likely stop for me, and I`m finding connecting with relatives of mine in Arizona, I`d make an effort for the Southwest Leather Conference. Again: Google, Google, Google.

I have a special place in my leather heart for clubs, and still enjoy daydreams of owning my own one day. On-premises clubs offer a great deal for the adventurous kinkster, and depending on its house rules and local laws, can be a place for superb debauchery. I`ve written before about how I made my own bones at New York`s famous Paddles. In Chicago, I never got to take Shayne to Galleria Domain. In San Francisco, my sexy online acquaintance Miss Ali Rose runs Edges, and Lair DeSade lies in somewhat-nearby Los Angeles. I bet my friends in the DC area drop into the Crucible from time to time.

Sometimes non-fetish adult "lifestyle" (read: "swinger") clubs, such as Choice Social Club in New England, will offer fetish-related events where you can meet fellow kinksters too.

Kinky dating sites such as BDSM Singles, Be Collared, and the once-iconic Alt.Com offer useful personals services, but then so does OkCupid with a much more user-friendly system.

But suave dominants and kowtowing submissives everywhere with any net savvy worth their skins are bound to be (ha!) on FetLife. Developed by Montreal kinkster John Baku, FetLife has quickly become the Facebook of the BDSM community. Frankly, the site stands in a class by itself when it comes to online networking resources, so much so that most any kinkster interested in doing any kind of internet socializing is doing themselves a great disservice to not sign up. Not only are members able to share ideas, pictures, participate in discussion forums, and peruse massive listings of events small and large, but profiles allow for specific (and user-directed) identifiers of everyone's particular kinks and interests. Simply put, FetLife is quickly becoming the central online networking hub of all things kinky.

And you can find me there too. Feel free to "friend" me and say hello.

The world is your oyster, kinkster. Twist the lemon, add the cayenne, and suck it up, because you are only limited by your imagination when it comes to rubbing elbows (or crops or clits) with others of equally saucy mind and heart.

Sunday, June 6, 2010

Truth in advertising.

I'm at work when she texts me, excitedly.

Kara: Ha! Growers Cider is advertising with poster of nudists at a picnic! I KNEW I liked that product! ;)

True enough, Grower's Cider from British Columbia is probably our favourite relaxing-after-a-long-day drink, and while it's very rare that I plug a commercial product in this blog, clothing-optional themes definitely get my attention. Especially if its from something the grrlfiend and me actually do like.

It seems the people at Grower's teamed up with Toronto advertising firm Huxley Quayle von Bismark who ingeniously took Grower's 'natural cider' ball and ran with it. "We created this trans-media idea based around the simple concept that since Growers Cider is all natural," cites the firm's website, "it would appeal to the most natural of people – naturalists. Fun ensues."

The advertisers then approached the very open and very natural people at the Bare Oaks naturist community in rural Ontario, who were delighted to participate in the ad campaign. But the firm didn't stop there, and tweaked Grower's own website to permit viewers to upload and "nudify" their own personal images. Fun definitely ensues.

Kara and me really should pay a visit to Bare Oaks sometime. Meanwhile, we're gonna get nekkid now and have a few drinks. Wanna join us?

Thursday, June 3, 2010

Conduct unbecoming.

That being said, it intrigues me that recent news reports indicate that Canada's commander of Joint Task Force units in the deserts of Kandahar, Brigadier General Daniel Ménard, was recently relieved of duty for having an "inappropriate relationship" with a fellow soldier.

Initial reports were elusive as to the gender of the other soldier in question, leaving people like me to ponder as to the general's preferences. But no, the man is straight, and apparently married to a female Canadian soldier. However, and unlike in an American military scenario, General Ménard has been ousted from his command not so much because of the 'adultery' involved but for the intimacy itself. Canadian military policy prohibits even an act as seemingly innocent as hand-holding between partners while in uniform as a breach to unit discipline and morale.

As much as I can understand the policy's rationale, I can't help but ask myself: The man is in the desert. For the love of God, let him get laid.

Kind of reminds me of Larry Flynt's argument about which was more offensive: sex or war?

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

War stories.

I'm reminded that, back home in the United States, this has been the Memorial Day weekend. While I'm hardly a conservative, I generally do support the work of soldiers themselves, and sometimes see a poignant beauty in the nature of sacrifice, duty, and perseverence in the face of struggle within it. Mythologist Michael Meade has spoken of how "the soul must be exposed to do the work of war," and this idea impresses me. I see something similar when I watch boxing.

There was a time when I came within a breath of enlisting in the United States Navy, and have considered taking the oath to Her Majesty The Queen and signing up for Canada Reserve Forces duty. My father was a military policeman and medic in the United States Army, my grandfather was in the Navy, two uncles served in the European and Pacific theaters, respectively, during the Second World War. Another served in Viet Nam.

And yet, I support neither the current wars in Iraq or Afganistan. It seems to me that in both theaters, soldiers are being used to carve and secure territory for Western corporate business opportunities in the Middle East rather than achieve any definable goals against terrorism or despotism.

But I digress. This is a sexblog. Hands down, my personal favourite soldiers have been those two past lovers who have taken up arms for flag and country.

Diva is a former PFC in the United States Marines, and I remember the stories she told me of how she was seduced by a commanding officer in the storage warehouse where she once worked as a supply clerk. Sometimes, when I hovered above her and fucked her steadily and deeply in her muscular ass, I fantasized about some brawny gunnery sergeant taking her then barely-legal, tight and willing ass as she bent over a case of whipped cream near the mess. (Diva, you see, was into whippits.) It was also during her stint in the Corps where, in the showers, she told of how a very butch fellow soldier roughly introduced her to her first womynsex. Now there's some D/S fantasy material.

When she was stationed in Hawaii, she moonlighted as a stripper until she received a drumming when it was "discovered." She was charged with conduct unbecoming, which was pretty ironic in that it was some of her male comrades who "discovered" her in the club. US Marines can go to strip clubs, but they certainly can't dance in them.

Although she once told me that many female Marines had actually enlisted "to meet men." Yeah, I thought that sounded incredible too, but such apparently was the barracks discussion at Camp Lejeune in the early 80s.

The Tomboy is a corporal in the Canadian Reserve Forces. Unlike gung-go Diva, she approaches her military career quietly. Apart from the occasional dress parade, most of the time when I was with her during a Forces activity was when we hung in the mess hall of the local reservist base, tossing back $2.50 beers with some guys who were going back to day jobs and other who were about to leave for Kandahar. I always thought she looked amazingly hot in her "cadpat."

Janelle, my first Canadian lover, was a civilian employee with the Canadian Forces intelligence branch. I hadn't even really known this until after one of my first visits to this country, when after a week of being with her in her high-rise apartment and fucking her senseless, she gave me a Tshirt from the branch she was employed with. I remember the dark purple hue of her bedroom. I remember the rich dark green of her sheets. I remember how she blushed when she told me how she wanted me to pull out, stroke my cock in front of her face, and burst my cum all over her round and sexsweaty tits. Just watching me do that for her sent her into spasms.

But perhaps my favourite "war story" came from my mother. The uncle who had served in Viet Nam was present during the Tet offensive, and to this day rarely discusses his experiences. But my mother once told me of how, in a letter sent to him during his tour, she quite innocently asked him "what the women were like over there."

"About five dollars," was his reply. I'm certain he wasn't referring to the women who fired the mortar shells in his base's direction.

But apart from stories about cheap Saigon prostitutes and women Marines supposedly enlisting to meet eligible jarheads, I do think there's a lot to be said for the presence of women in the military. During her enlistment, Diva dearly wished to be a combat fighter pilot, but the regulations of the time kept her in the kitchens and the supply depots.

While Hollywood films such as G.I. Jane has raised important questions such as the nature of combat and gender, it seems to me that in the last twenty years, the foundation for women's empowerment has broadened greatly with the enhanced inclusion of the previously-so-called "weaker sex" in armed forces. I should that that, regardless of one's position on the subject of war and global unrest, this is another territory where Western culture is reawakening to circumstances that our ancient forebears already understood as a given.

And me, I'm totally turned on by empowered women. What the Grrl would refer to as "chicks who kick ass."

There is archeaological evidence of female gladiators and charioteers in both ancient Rome and Britain. Semiramis ruled ancient Assyria as a warrior queen. The Trung sisters, members of the Hung royal house, led an insurrection against the ancient Chinese. Women can do it.

And should any man, soldier or otherwise, question the logic and historic facts thereof, then I invite him to at least remember Jack Nicholson's scandalously delicious line from A Few Good Men:

"There is nothing on this earth sexier, believe me, gentlemen, than a woman you have to salute in the morning. Promote 'em all, I say. 'Cause this is true: if you haven't gotten a blowjob from a superior officer, well, you're just letting the best in life pass you by."