Sex Geek

It seems that at least half my posts are inspired by films and books. Bit of a culture slut, I guess! Anyway, tonight’s brief offering comes to you courtesy of the film Mrs. Henderson Presents.

What a great story. Judi Dench is brilliant, though if you’ve ever seen her shine onscreen you know that already. The costumes are stunning - I had a boner just looking at the shoes, never mind the fabulous 1940s fashion and perfectly coifed hair. And not to mention the luscious legs and beautiful breasts!

The premise of the story is this: rich old widow wants to fill her days with something, buys a theatre in London just as the war is beginning, and turns it into a nude review, which ends up being mostly patronized by soldiers. It causes quite the controversy in stodgy London and our eccentric heroine Dame Dench rises to the occasion and stands up for people’s right to enjoy the sight of a naked woman. It’s based on a true story that has been "fictionalized so not all events are necessarily historically accurate."

What I really found interesting about it was that an older woman would take up the cause of sexual pleasure, even as relatively chaste a sort of it as tastefully lit nude women on a stage twenty feet from their admirers. And that she would do it so unabashedly, and so simply, and so long ago. Wow. We like to think of old ladies as shriveled up and empty of all sexuality, but women like this go quite contrary to that idea.

Now, I’ve got a long way to go before 70 and I have a lot less money than high-class Mrs. Henderson, but I sure hope when I’m grey I’ll still be that perky and that ready to stand up for my beliefs around sexuality.

Of course, having a few dozen naked showgirls behind me in mouthwatering shoes might help inspire me. Guess I should remember that RRSP contribution.

Can I just say that it makes me totally happy to see people add comments to my blog posts? I’m too cheap to pay Friendster for a more advanced version of blog that would allow me to see who reads it, so for all I know I could just be writing for an audience of yours truly. But when people respond, first I know they’ve read it, and second I get the pleasure of reading what they have to say. So yeah, keep it up. I know this ain’t a discussion list, and there are plenty of those, but nonetheless, I’m way into the whole participation thing.

Just came back from CinéKink. To make this evening’s entertainment happen, I had to schlep my TV down my icy, narrow, twisting stairs. Luckily I did not injure myself, my television or my co-organizer, who was standing below me.

Dang, the things I do for the sake of kink.

Anyway, it was a fun crowd. Unfortunately I didn’t get to converse with the très sexy redhead with whom I exchanged glances all night (well, before we turned out the lights at least), but the movie was good. Well, maybe not quite. Rather, the movie experience was enjoyable. Somehow, watching a cheesy, mainstreamed and very vanilla movie about S/M was actually a lot of fun with 25 intelligent people in the room and an interesting discussion afterwards, whereas I think had I watched it alone I would have shut it off halfway through and gone off to wank or cut my toenails or something.

The movie in question was Exit to Eden, starring some ridiculously mediocre actors and Rosie O’Donnell, who was pretty hot in a black leather corset and actually made a pretty convincing dominant, though I think maybe she’s just actually like that and maybe it’s more like humourous bitchiness than dominance in the S/M sense.

One of the things that came up in the discussion was the fact that the movie Exit to Eden actually only bears a marginal resemblance to the book by the same title, written by Anne Rice.

I read the book once. In fact I picked it up in a bookstore, the top floor of the downtown Chapters if I remember correctly, and read a few pages, and that got me intrigued (read: horny) enough that I decided to purchase it and take it home, where I, ahem, thoroughly enjoyed it. I then made the mistake of lending it to someone, I forget who, and it never came back to me. Understandably, I think, assuming their experience with it was something like mine. I really should go purchase another copy of it.

Okay, I digress. The book is hot. The movie is corny. Good discussion value but unbearably goofy. Since that massive dissimilarity was mentioned in the discussion, and we wondered aloud what Anne Rice’s reaction might have been to see her sizzling erotica turned into slapstick silliness, my co-organizer Jacqueline kindly took the time to google what that reaction actually was. Here’s the link, in case anyone’s curious! http://www.angelfire.com/ri/cerat/ARFAQ6.html

Really, I think one line by Anne sums it up nicely: "It was a bizarre, existential, philosophical, quasi-humorous interpretation of sado-masochism for kids!"

Or maybe the rather more incisive observation that "EtoE the movie is based on EtoE the book in that they were both written in English."

Remind me, folks, if ever I get famous for my erotica, to read movie adaptation contracts very, very carefully before signing them, ya?

Last night I watched the movie North Country, based on the true story of a landmark 1989 sexual harassment class action suit filed by female employees against a mining company.

Of course it was horrid to see the male characters play out all kinds of abusive behaviour towards the female ones. At the same time, my thoughts kept flipping back and forth. On the one hand, it was really tempting to think, "Oh, wow, it’s terrible what was happening 17 years ago, but that would never happen today." Truth be told, while I’ve met my share of assholes, I’ve never been sexually harassed by a work colleague, and no friend of mine has ever told me of having that sort of experience either.

On the other hand, at the same time I was consciously resisting that logic. It just felt too easy. In fact I’m sure sexual harassment is still happening today. The existence of policies against it are not sufficient to deter it from ever occurring - much like other forms of discrimination and abuse, it’s probably just shifted into subtler forms, or is inflicted upon people who are already powerless in ways that a policy can’t compensate for. 

This isn’t to say I think nothing has changed. Many things have indeed changed, if for no other reason than the aging of the population - more and more older male managers and VPs are retiring, and while a sixty-plus man is not by definition a sexist one, nor a sixty-plus woman anti-feminist, their views are perhaps more likely to be tinged with older values. And the younger people who fill their places have grown up in a society fundamentally affected by feminism.

Rather than by default seeing women as horning in on men’s rightful positions in the workplace, younger men have worked alongside women for most if not all of their working lives. And rather than being taught that they should be housewives dependent on breadwinning husbands, younger women have grown up with the idea that they have to take care of themselves and have their own careers, and as a result they feel they have every right to the jobs of their choosing.

For people in their 20s and 30s this may seem eye-rollingly simple, but the self-evidence of these things is pretty new, relatively speaking. When I was a kid reading my mother’s magazines, the agonies of a woman earning more than her husband were a regular topic in articles and advice columns. Was it demeaning to him? Would their marriage suffer? The difficulties of being a female boss of course included the fact that lower-ranked male employees would doubtless feel emasculated, and how to deal with the "understandable" threat this sort of situation posed to them. The advice was confusing and contradictory: Stay feminine. Demand your rights. Don’t be a dragon lady. Take it like a man. Bring your feminine skills to your management style. Behave exactly like your male peers.

And god forbid your man stayed home with the kids - then he’d be the butt of jokes everywhere he turned, from sitcoms to the Friday-night hockey game with the boys. I also regularly saw articles about plain, simple, straightforward sexual harassment - at the time the debates raged, and this particular incarnation of the bitter divide between the sexes seemed to be lined with venom and barbed wire. But today it’s not the kind of thing that really makes the news much anymore.

Certainly, just because twenty years have passed, that doesn’t mean everything’s perfect now. And my own experience has been relatively narrow; I’ve never worked in a particularly male-dominated field, and I’d be willing to bet that the workplace experiences of my female friends who are bus mechanics and welders have been markedly different from mine. The blurb at the start of the movie last night indicated that the mining company in question still has 30 male employees for every female one. On its own that doesn’t necessarily mean anything, but it at least opens up the question of what it’s like to work there as a heavily outnumbered woman. But even then, I do think that we now have a base line of awareness that simply wasn’t around before.

I had brunch with a friend today who’s a high school teacher. He was telling me that when one of his students calls another student "faggot," he gives the name-caller an instant detention. And my friend explains that he’ll sometimes tell the name-callers they’re Betas. "You know," he explained, "Betas, like the old VCRs. I mean, I’ll ask them, ‘They still make people like you?’"

That’s kind of where I think we might be at nowadays. At the very least I’d like to believe we’re there - that we’ve arrived at a point where, when one employee grabs another employee’s ass or leers inappropriately, the reaction will be one of disgust and surprise. And the person being harassed, instead of being cowed into the collusion of silence, can say, "Do they still make people like you?" And promptly file a complaint that will stop the harasser in his tracks. I’d like to think society will make harassers feel ashamed of themselves, rather than making their victims bear the burden of that shame.

I’d also like to think we’re in a time when harassment is the exception rather than the rule. That the sexes really are pretty darned equal, and the suggestion that they’re not is cause for raised eyebrows, rather than the other way around.

So, am I dreaming in technicolour, or have I just been lucky or blind? I hope not. I hope that we really have made progress in the last couple of generations, and that it’s not an elaborate illusion I’ve bought into because of my eternal hopefulness and my belief in the possibility of change.

Like Betas… barbed wire and venom are just so 1989.

Aren’t they?

I’ve never quite understood the link between religion and sex. But it seems to be a pretty powerful one.

Foucault wrote a lot about the power of confession as a source of pleasure both for the confessor and the confessee. To paraphrase his extremely heavy language, he more or less said that the idea of confession was transferred from religious confessionals to the psychologist’s couch, and if you extrapolate to nowadays you might also see similarities with the coming-out process and with trash talk shows like Jerry Springer. He said that the process of confession was imbued with all sorts of very exciting power relations that produced a plethora of pleasures, and this is why we keep re-creating that model.

Yawn. Whatever. If your guilt and resulting admissions make you get all hot and bothered, more power to ya. I messed around with an ex-boyfriend of mine in a church bathroom once, but it was more for convenience than for any ecstasy of the religious sort. And of course, I’ve had your garden-variety "tie someone to the altar and torture them" fantasy, but that was more to distract me from the monotone sermons and warbling hymns of my youthful church attendance than because the scenery held any particular fascination for me.

What… doesn’t everyone have those?

Ahem. Anyway, what I find more intriguing is the way that religious symbolism combined with sex still seems to have such a charge. I’ve seen numerous costume parties where someone chose to dress up as a leering priest or pseudo-innocent choirboy. And I remember attending a dyke event a few years back where the (now-defunct) local branch of Come As You Are (www.comeasyouare.com) had set up a confessional booth. One of the employees had dressed in a priest’s robes and was wearing a rather impressively large strap-on underneath. I never asked what she did with it in that booth, but I wonder how many girls that night got to play with it while they were regaling her with tales of their wicked sins.

Even more fun are the entrepreneurs who have made a business out of this particular kink. One that consistently makes me laugh is Divine Interventions, a cottage-industry sex toy company that sells a whole line of dildos and butt-plugs inspired mainly by Christian and to some extent Buddhist figures. Check them out at http://www.divine-interventions.com. I’ve never ordered from them but I have seen their stuff in stores here and there. The Baby Jesus butt-plug is a little scary if only for the way its head is flared in such a way that I can’t quite picture how it could comfortably fit inside anyone’s anus. Plus, anyone who orders a white butt-plug is sort of asking for a bit of a post-coital gross-out. And the Grim Reaper is very goth indeed, though the idea of putting a death’s head dildo up my coochie is a little bit of a turn-off. I think the appeal for me is more along intellectual lines - I think these toys are hilarious, but they don’t get me horny.

There’s slightly more potential for me in Leatherbeaten’s "Seria Penitentia." Leatherbeaten is a Peterborough-based SM toy company (did you know that little old Peterborough is one of the biggest sex toy-producing cities in Canada?), and they make lovely stuff, though slightly too expensive for my taste. Their site is well worth reading even if you don’t intend to buy anything, just because they write it so well. Every toy is described in exquisite detail with lavish and sometimes humourous explanations of the varying sensations it can produce, and the writer has very clearly experienced them all. So lovely. Anyway, the Seria Penitentia is a line of toys based on self-flagellation devices created and used by priests and nuns in Catholic churches and nunneries. The designs are wicked and I can totally picture how they’d feel pretty wicked too. Take a look at http://www.leatherbeaten.com/Leatherbeaten.html#LA_SERIA_PENITENTIA.

Now again here, I don’t find the religious connotations particularly exciting, but I do admit that those priests put some really serious thought into making devices that were both beautiful and effective. I wonder if they’d ever have guessed their designs would end up being used by Canadian perverts in urban dungeons sometime after the turn of the millennium. Hee hee.

Happy sinning!

It really pisses me off when sexual minorities try to make their identities palatable to the mainstream by saying "it’s not really about sex."

I’ve heard it from all sides. Queer folks try to make it seem like their status as outsiders to the mainstream is all about politics, rather than about the basic fact that they want to fuck people of the same sex and that gets most of the world upset. Queerness didn’t start with rainbow flags and Advocate magazine and legislative activism. It started in our crotches.

I’ve heard BDSMers wax poetic about how play is "more than" sex, something on a higher plane, something not tainted by the rutting that mere vanilla people commit for their down-market version of pleasure. What the fuck? People, you do this because it makes you horny.

Sure, BDSM play and relationships can be platonic, and they can be spiritual, and they can be about community. BDSM can be beautiful in all kinds of ways that aren’t about sex per se. But that’s not the same thing as distancing what we do from sex as though sex were dirty and we were pure. Kinky folk often find pleasure easier or more intriguing to access through whips and restraints than through the missionary position, but that does not make BDSM better than sex in some cosmic way, or purer than sex, or otherwise unrelated to sex. Kink is sex expanded, not sex dismissed.

And last but not least, I’ve heard polyamorous people over and over explain that polyamory is all about love and relationships, and - wait for it - not about sex. Crikey! Okay, dating three people is not about sex in the same way that dating one person is not about sex. In other words… yes, it is about sex! Or at the very least there’s a lot of "about sex" involved!

Of course there’s more to it as well - lots more. But it’s not like polyamorous people decided to become that way because they just needed an extra pair of hands to help cook dinner one night, or had a hankering to talk politics with someone other than their spouse. Non-poly people get that stuff too, from other folks in their lives commonly called "friends."

Face it: people who are poly want to sleep with more than one person. We just want to do it ethically, and we open up the possibility of having additional relationships rather than simply heading for the local swingers’ club for some anonymous boinking. But lots of poly people do go to swingers’ clubs too, and lots of us have all kinds of sex-related fun outside "loving, committed relationships."

The Chicago Tribune online just published an article entitled "A poly life: monogamy with more partners" (http://metromix.chicagotribune.com/tv/mmx-0602210332feb22,0,13159.story?coll=mmx-television_heds if you’re curious to read it). The title alone made me wrinkle my nose, and it got worse from there. Check out this paragraph in particular:

"Monogamists often confuse polyamory with swinging, a practice that gained notoriety in the 1970s. Robyn Trask, managing editor of Loving More, a magazine based in Boulder, Colo., devoted to the poly lifestyle, defines polygamy as simply "monogamy with more people." Other defenders point to the fact that practicing "polys" don’t engage in one-night stands."

Excuse me? Who the hell came up with the "fact" that poly people don’t do one-nighters? I beg to differ. Of course some poly people don’t do one-nighters, but I resent any effort to sanitize polyamory by saying none of us do. I did not get into an alternative lifestyle to be told I can’t sleep with people unless we’re bloody married!

For me, poly is not just a multiplication of monogamies. It is a wholly different way of looking at the world of love, sex and relationships. It is the freedom, through honesty and communication and trust, to follow my desires wherever they take me, whether that be into the arms of a charming stranger for a couple of hours or into a lifelong partnership with someone other than my main squeeze. It is the real-life incarnation of that saying, "If you love someone, let them go. If they love you, they will come back to you. If they don’t, then they never loved you in the first place." I let my lovers go every moment of every day, and they come back to me, and this is how I know what we have is real. It doesn’t matter if they go to a long-distance lover, to a one-night stand, or to their wife or husband. It doesn’t matter if they go to sex or love or cuddling or porn or intimate friendship. It’s the coming back that counts, and the freedom to go in the first place.

For me, queer is about what makes me wet first and foremost. I love the film festivals and the bookstores and the social groups and the Pride parade, but I love them because to me they are a celebration of the legitimacy of those desires, not a replacement of them. I am queer because I think women and genderqueers and trans people are hot, as well as men. I am an activist because I recognize that my desires, multiplied several-hundred-thousandfold by others’ desires of similar sorts, place people like me into positions of being discriminated against and abused and sometimes even killed. But my queerness did not come from politics; it led me there.

For me, kink has always been a part of who I am. I don’t know what my sexuality would look like if there were no power or pain involved. It’s been there in every relationship I’ve ever had, in every fantasy, in every image that made me look twice in a movie or on the pages of a magazine. Until a few years ago, I didn’t understand the point of SM clubs and groups and leather clothing. BDSM started in my head and in my panties, and it moved into my bedroom, and I saw no reason to dress up and go out looking for it in a bar somewhere.

When my ex brought me to a fetish night at a local club a few years ago, I instantly felt like I fit in, and I’ve been around ever since. I’ve found good people there - allies, friends, teachers and partners. I’ve discovered the pleasures of finding the perfectly fitted corset and the perfectly balanced flogger. I’ve learned techniques I might never have dreamed of on my own, and discovered safe ways to make some of my fantasies come to life. I’ve worked with some of the most committed community-building activists I’ve ever had the privilege of encountering. And yes, I have widened my understanding of the pleasures of power and pain into areas outside sex - areas that are intriguing and fun and powerful without getting me horny.

But the reason I felt a kinship with the people at that first fetish night, and at hundreds of other fetish nights since then, is because I could see in all their diversity that they’d found their turn-ons outside the world of roses and soft caresses, and sought to satisfy those desires by banding together with others who share them. They weren’t just looking for a new way to make friends. They didn’t see overhand whipping as a simple alternative to tricep pulldowns at the gym. They weren’t looking for a spiritual experience one fine Saturday night. And they didn’t mistake the kink boutique for a tack shop and stick around because the riding crops were cheaper. They found the community because their sexual desires led them there.

If all the shops and clubs and websites shut down tomorrow, my sexuality would still be about power and pain. Now I have some non-sexual power and pain to add to my repertoire, but I will never forget that the starting point here was following the fantasies and practices that get me off. BDSM has expanded my range, but it has not sidestepped my clit along the way.

Queer is about sex. BDSM is about sex. Polyamory is about sex. They are, or at least can be, about other things too, all kinds of beautiful and valid things - like love, trust, communication, politics, challenge, self-awareness, support, community, spirituality, activism, advocacy, aesthetics, friendship, fun and learning. But the unifying factor here is that they started with sex.

To say otherwise is to say that sex is not a legitimate form of human experience. To say otherwise is to agree with the people who are trying to repress and oppress us, to say that sex is bad and dirty and sinful and illegitimate and threatening and dangerous and scary and ugly and sick. To say otherwise is to play right into the agendas of the people who want to stop us from getting off in the way we see fit and with whomever we see fit.

It is about sex, and I for one like that little "fact" just fine.

Warning: if you can’t handle me getting sappy for a bit, do not read this post.

Today, my honey (T) and I celebrate our two-year anniversary. It’s been so fucking blissful I keep wondering if it’s actually real.

The short story (since some of you know it already) is that we met through a mutual friend at a queer film screening in the murky, icy depths of January 2001. We barely spoke that night, but the next time I saw Mutual Friend, I admitted I thought T was pretty hot. Mutual Friend said, "Well, he said the same about you!"

E-mail addresses were thus exchanged and a lovely correspondence started up. But life gets complicated, and right at the same time I fell into a brief but intense (non-poly) relationship with someone else. That ended and I just as quickly hooked up with my (now-ex) girlfriend, with whom the first several months were also non-poly. T had his own relationship offs and ons during this time too, and though it was clear whenever we hung out that we were still kinda hot for each other, the timing just wasn’t right. But as a good friend of mine said, "It was clear from the beginning that you two just always liked each other a whole lot!"

Fast-forward to early February 2004, when T got all cute’n'bold on me and said he thought it would be really nice to boink. I was more than happy to agree - in fact I’d been sort of toying with the idea of suggesting the same thing. So much for being the make-the-first-move type. We scheduled (!) our first boink (!) for… you guessed it… February 22.

So really, this is a sex anniversary, not a relationship one. We only kind of figured out we were in a relationship several months after my very sad breakup with said girlfriend (entirely unrelated to T, but thank goodness he was there for hugs and listening), a trip out of the country on my part, and lots’n'lots of very enjoyable boinking.

But it’s hard to pick an appropriate date other than today. Were we ever really just friends? When did we start officially being more than friends - when we talked about it, or when we got naked? Or that kiss or two in the week preceding the getting naked part? And once you’ve already layered sex on top of friendship, how do you figure out when alchemy has somehow transformed that into love? It’s not exactly as obvious as lead into gold, humans being all complicated and stuff.

All I know is that I had a strong and trusting friendship with him, and I still have one. When we started boinking, I gained the most fantastic lover I’ve ever had the pleasure of being with, and I still have that too; as time goes by it just gets better and better! (Really folks, you should try him sometime!) And for the past two years I’ve had the most profoundly satisfying and totally freeing romance I’ve ever known. Not to mention that I’ve gained a kick-ass travel partner, IT consultant, graphic designer, professional colleague, occasional editor, back-rubber, parent-charmer, film-watching crony, co-adventurer, lizard caregiver, grocery-and-IKEA-furniture-schlepper, cook and cuddler. Seriously, whose baby did I save from a burning building in a past life, to deserve this?

T is luxury and simplicity. T is quirk and sweetness. T is strong and unassuming. T is just the fucking best girly boy in the world.

Happy anniversary, baby.

(OK, everyone else, you can stop gagging now.)

Phew! Found the spot!

(No, not that one. Found that one years ago. Two inches in and up is about standard.)

Actually, I must give credit where credit is due: my friend and colleague Jacqueline actually found the spot, not me. (See above for clarification, in case your mind is still in the gutter.)

Jacqueline and I have been running an SM film and discussion series called CinéKink since October of last year, and every single bloody fucking month we end up having to scramble for a space even though we always think it’s set ahead of time. I’m not sure if it’s cursed, or blessed because we actually do manage to find a space every time. It’s nobody’s fault; accidental double-bookings, renovations, last-minute problems, and so forth. It just seems to keep %?&#@!! happening. Ah well.

The thing about running events - and I feel like I spend my life running events for queers and other freaks (in a good way!) - is that there are always unexpected things to deal with. I’ve run more than one event that nobody showed up for, and more than one where double or triple the expected number showed up. (I have never discovered much logic in this, by the way.) I’ve run events that required every ounce of my energy, and others that seem to do the running for themselves. I’ve run events in the rain, in floods that reached my calves (I am not kidding), in minus 40 with the wind chill, and in 40-degree heat; early in the morning and late at night; in every month of the year; for adults and even occasionally for kids (though generally not the same sorts of events, I’ll grant you that); events where people have required medical attention; events that have drawn police intervention; events where the setup and cleanup take longer than the fun, and events where someone else does most of the work and I just show up and try to be charming; events that have gotten me laid and events that have gotten me yelled at; events that require tuxedos and events that are best attended naked.

I must admit, now that I’ve written all that out, my organizing history does seem pretty dramatic, though I wouldn’t have said so until now. Hm. Anyway, the way I figure it, it all balances out, right?

Back to the present. The cool thing about CinéKink is that unlike, say, a play party, the people who show up don’t actually have to be into BDSM. They just have to want to see a film about it and talk about it. I like the result: a room full of people with varying relationships to kink, getting all intellectual about it.

Now, I know I’m not the only person out there who thinks that talking about sex, in the right circumstances, is a lot like foreplay. Sometimes it is foreplay. I suppose that depends on what happens after the talking. Though so far none of the film screenings have turned into orgies.

So here’s the announcement, if anyone’s curious to attend, whom I haven’t already informed through one list or another:

***

The CinéKink film and discussion series promises to be challenging and stimulating to all - from staunchly vanilla to total SM newbie to seasoned kinkster! Every last Sunday of the month, we screen an SM-related film. Each screening is followed by a one-hour discussion facilitated by Andrea Zanin and Jacqueline St-Urbain.

People of all backgrounds, genders and persuasions are welcome. Come for the cheap flicks, stay for the quality conversation! Bring a friend, bring your mom,
bring your lover. Don’t forget your curiosity, your opinions and your open mind.

Where? ***please note location change*** Café Blue Monday, 4424 Wellington, Verdun. Metro De L’Église. Street parking available. Note: The café will be
serving food until 7:00. From 6 to 7, all perishables are 50% off. The special is very popular so it is advised that you arrive by 5:30 or 6 if you want to make sure to get a meal or snack!

When? Sunday, February 26. Doors open at 6:30 p.m., screening starts at 7:00. There will be a short break followed by a discussion for up to 90 minutes.

How much? We ask for a $5 contribution to cover the costs of space rental, equipment and movie acquisition. This is a not-for-profit event.

What: Exit to Eden (Garry Marshall, 1994)

With Dana Delany, Paul Mercurio, Rosie O’Donnell and Dan Aykroyd

Film synopsis from www.rottentomatoes.com:

When undercover cops Sheila Kingston and Fred Lavery attempt to track down the infamous diamond smuggler Omar, they are in for a wild and naughty ride. No one has ever seen the notorious smuggler, except for a photographer, Elliot Slater, who succeeded in photographing Omar during a break-in. However, Elliot’s addicted to S&M and has run off to the island of Eden, where all fantasies can come true and where he hopes to cure his sexual aberrations. In order to
obtain the precious negatives, and hence apprehend the crook, Sheila and Fred must don chains and leather, and head straight to Eden.

***

Let’s cross our fingers against flooding, yelling, medical and police emergencies, and so forth. And if you’re feeling generous, you can always cross your fingers that it will be a low-effort, no-disaster, lots-of-fun kind of event that gets me laid, too!

I’ve been trying to catch up on my listserv e-mail, and so just now read an article whose link was posted to the Bi-Montreal group a few days ago. I’m so impressed! This dude, Mark Simpson, has some wonderfully incisive insights, and he’s bloody funny.  His article is particularly refreshing because I’ve come across precious little pop-culturally-accessible material about male bisexuality, at least very little that’s not about "down-low" cheating husbands spreading HIV to heterosexuals (because y’know, it’s a gay disease and all), or how bi guys simply don’t exist.

Reality check: ahem. They do. It’s hot.

Check it out: http://www.marksimpson.com/pages/journalism/curiouser.html

Here are a few choice excerpts.

About our culture’s screwed-up approach to male bisexuality, particularly the use of sexualized imagery in advertising for men:

"A generation of young men have been programmed by our hypocritical culture to be bisexually-responsive – so long as it makes corporations rich, but they are told it’s wrong and ill and makes their pricks drop off if they take that as a cue to be anything other than passive, veal-pen consumers."

About the fact that more and more women (memememememeee!!) are realizing that dudes making out with each other makes them cream their jeans:

"However the media tries to deny it, or obliterate it with another feverish discussion of female bi-curiousness, it’s just a matter of time before male bi-curiousness goes mainstream.  These are interesting times.  What we mean by ‘straight’ is changing so rapidly that the straightest of straight men might soon find themselves having to at least flirt with bi-curiousness – just to lay women."

I can just picture it. "What do you mean, you don’t do boys? Bob, honey, I’m sorry, but that’s just SO 2005."

And last but not least, about the anal penetration of the male:

"As for buggery – well, if God hadn’t intended men to get fucked he wouldn’t have given them a prostate gland. "

Though I’m not generally an advocate of biological justifications for sexual behaviour - I don’t really care what people’s reasons for fucking are, so long as they’re making each other happy - I must say this is the first time I’ve come across such a brilliant Biblical-cum-biological explanation for butt-fucking.

This cultural trend, if one can call it that, makes me very happy.

But you might say I’m a bit BIased.

(Sorry, I couldn’t resist.)

Last night’s Meow Mix kicked ass. (For the non-locals: Meow Mix is a sort-of monthly cabaret show and dance party for "bent girls and their buddies.") The Wetspots played a few tunes (if you don’t know this group yet, get thee to Google and find them!), a hottie girl did a cool circus performance, there was some drag and some stand-up, and Alexis O’Hara, MC extraordinaire, did her best to charm the audience with raunchy banter and the occasional throwing of (clean) underwear into the audience. They had ovaries printed on them, no less. There was a bit of dyke drama and a lot of making out - other people, not me, but it always adds to the atmosphere.

But best of all, one of my brothers was in town and he came with me, and I discovered that we party really well together. I haven’t danced until 3:30 a.m. in a long time! Now I don’t feel too bad about skipping the gym on Friday. We rocked out to some crazy tunes and did shots at the Spanish dinner club bar downstairs - apparently a shot made of 1 part each whiskey, Bailey’s and amaretto is called a Velvet Kilt. Works for me.

What a great night.

It was interesting to try and think about what my bro might have been seeing. He doesn’t come to Montreal much and he’s never been to this kind of dyke event before. I found myself frequently trying to imagine what it might be for a straight-but-not-narrow guy to be plunged into the dyke world, in this little amped-up microcosm of who we are and what we do, for just one night. The faux-hawks and "boy-beaters" and tattoos, the queer- and sex-positive atmosphere, the girls kissing, the women with mustaches and neckties, the sometimes odd performance art, the charming lesbian-identified gay boys dancing up a storm and flirting shyly with each other.

Being the open and intelligent sort of person he is, my brother of course did not fall into that unfortunate hetero-man trap of getting wasted and hitting on women who aren’t interested. Instead he just took it all in, and made friends with my girls. Even with the one who kept pinching his cheeks and telling him he was a fine young man. I think she was in grandmother mode for the night. It was hilarious.

I guess the upshot is that trying to look at my world through someone else’s eyes just made me appreciate it all the more. And appreciate my brother for being those eyes, and for just being such an excellent guy, so respectful and thoughtful. He made me blueberry pancakes for breakfast at 3 in the afternoon today and we listened to Norah Jones and talked about politics.

I wish everyone could like their siblings as much as I like mine.