CAROLYN DeWaegeneire was lying in the theatre at Pambula Hospital in August 2002, awaiting a vulvectomy to remove a 2cm pre-cancerous lesion she had discovered on her genitals. It was considered a simple procedure.

Moments before she succumbed to the general anaesthetic, Ms DeWaegeneire’s surgeon, Graeme Reeves, leaned close to her ear and whispered to her: “I’m going to take your clitoris, too.”

Hours later, she woke up in pain with almost all of her genitalia surgically removed, including her clitoris.

An Australian rogue surgeon, given a light sentence for what amounts to female genital mutilation, has a record of unprofessional activities involving female patients. Full story in The Australian.

SAN FRANCISCO — This city has an obsession with the male sex organ, and not just on Gay Pride Day. San Francisco is ever on the scout for new ways to elevate and honor it as the municipal icon.

Gay Pride Day and the parade on Sunday was a big hit, with the usual complement of flags, floats, papier-mache penises held proudly aloft and naked men marching resolutely down the avenue. But now the city’s serious work, as Baghdad by the Bay measures work and defines serious, begins in earnest.

There’s a referendum in November to determine whether circumcision of male infants should be prohibited by law, punishable by thousand-dollar fines and misdemeanor sentences of a year in jail, with no religious exemptions.

Read more here, including Russell Crowe’s Down Under view.

– Guy Sez

The first sight of the Grand Canyon. The dip of the roller coaster. The bite of wasabi. Your first orgasm.

Remember that craze of nostalgia movies back in the Seventies? Well, I know you don’t, Grl, but we’ll fire up the laptop and watch Paper Moon one evening, snuggled up together.

Summer of ’42. It came out in theaters when I was a teenager (barely), but I had to wait for a television rescreening years later to see it. My parents certainly weren’t going to take me to an R-rated film! I had to rely on Mad Magazine’s version in the interim, so my memories have the same soft focus as the film itself.

The film and the novelization by Herman Raucher were huge hits. The “nostalgia” craze of the ’70s was just beginning, with The Way We Were, American Graffiti, Paper Moon and others to come.

It was the baby-boomers reliving their good times, I guess. The years before jobs, children and mortgages. The years of high school, college, good music, fast cars and first love. A dollar bought you an hour and a half of memories in a dark hall, and you emerged, sighing, into the present day.

There was more than happy memories in this film. There was the conflict and confusion of those years. The war, to be sure, always looming just over that sea horizon and underscored by the young men in uniform, but beyond that, the threat and promise of adulthood.

As Raucher says,

Nothing from that first day I saw her, and no one that has happened to me since, has ever been as frightening and as confusing. For no person I’ve ever known has ever done more to make me feel more sure, more insecure, more important, and less significant.

There’s conflict and confusion. And there’s a great story.

Hermie, Oscie and Benjie are three boys, summering on the fictional Packett Island in that summer of 1942.* Oscie is a little older than the fifteen year old Hermie, and Benjie a little younger, and the “Terrible Three” play their roles to perfection. Oscie is the knowitall, brash and bold; Benjie is the nerdy youngster, always just a few paces behind. And Hermie, as played by Gary Grimes, is in between: cute and handsome, shy but willing, romantic and gawky.

We first meet Hermie as the three boys conduct a commando reconnaissance raid on the beachfront house of young bride Dorothy (Jennifer O’Neill) and her soldier husband. Peering over the dunes at the couple, Oscie and Benjie make ribald comments, as the husband kisses Dorothy and then picks her up and carries her inside, while she laughingly protests. His friends leave, but Hermie is smitten, frozen to his observation post until the shouts of the other two boys rouse him.

Over the summer holiday weeks, Hermie braves the scorn of his friends to get closer to Dorothy, left alone on the island when her husband ships out. He performs chores for her, cringing with embarrassment when his attempts to show worldliness and sophistication flop. “You should be more careful – you could get a hernia,” he advises her about lifting bags of groceries.

As boys are, they are obsessed by sex, and painfully ignorant of anything but the basics. The discovery of a medical text with body parts named in Latin, and photographs that no drugstore would possibly develop, provides help, but ultimately even more confusion. Just what is this mysterious “foreplay”, why is it required, and exactly how do you play it?

There are teenaged girls, and fumbling encounters at the movies and marshmallow roasts, but it’s Dorothy that Hermie desires. One evening he shows up at her place for coffee, but all is silent save a record stuck on its final groove and the smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke. Nervously entering the house, Hermie finds a crumpled telegram, advising the death of the husband.

Dorothy emerges, tear-streaked and devastated. She puts the record on again. It’s That Old Feeling, a reminder for Dorothy of her lost love.

She holds her hands out to Hermie, they dance, slowly and tenderly, and then she takes him to bed.

It is an incredible scene. Sweet, poignant, soft and sensual, but without being salacious or sleazy. It’s soft-focus sex – you know what’s going on, but you can’t see any details.

And that’s what makes it. After all the embarrassment and ribald speculation, Hermie’s fantasies have come true, but in a way that he never imagined.

He leaves the house, drifts away home through the grass on the dunes, and in the morning returns to find her gone, the house empty, a note on the door. He never sees her again.

The film ends with Herman, now grown, returning to the island, returning to the house, decades later. We hear him as he looks out to sea,

Life is made of comings and goings. And for everything that we take with us, there is something we leave behind. In the Summer of ’42, we raided the coast guard station four times. We saw five movies, and had nine days of rain. Benjie broke his watch, Oscy gave up the harmonica… and in a very special way, I lost Hermie forever.

This film speaks to me, as it did to so many of my generation, and, for all I know, everyone. Our own first experiences may be wildly different, but like going over that first rollercoaster dip, we can’t go back to the safety and innocence of a minute before. We’re different now.

I’m romantic enough to think that losing our virginity isn’t so much a loss – after all, what have we physically lost? – as it is a gain. An entry into adulthood, solid knowledge, a feeling of confidence, a desire to do it again and get better at it. And I’m romantic enough to think that it isn’t so much sex that we learn as we explore further, but love. Love and intimacy and the shared feelings of another human being. I love being able to give my partner that ultimate pleasure. And I love it when we come together, and I know that just a few inches away, the same waves of bliss that are rolling through my happy brain are crashing ashore in my lover’s head.

Go see the movie. See it again if you’ve watched it a long time ago. Enjoy the scenery, the three boys coping with the world, the funny moments – there’s a fantastic scene where Hermie goes into a drugstore to buy condoms – the interactions between the characters, and finally that delicious, bittersweet scene where Hermie becomes Herman.

—Guy Sez

*In the novel, it’s Packett Island. Herman Raucher based the story on his childhood holidays on Nantuckett, but in the film, it’s clearly California around Fort Bragg.

We’ve had a ton of fun together here, swapping sexey books, talking about stuff. Grl and I love and laugh our way through life, and I think the blog reflects this.

After a few months, Grl’s employment took her away on the road, where internet access is spotty, and her time wasn’t quite so plentiful, especially time researching sex sites on the web when sharing hotel rooms with workmates. We run another blog together, one that isn’t quite so explicit, so we still have fun, and fireworks on the few times we get together in real life.

But this blog kind of fell by the roadside for a while. We recruited Chica as a co-writer, but she never got into it, which is a pity, because as we read her private blog we realized that she was a whole lot spicier and sexier than either of us. Oooooh, the things she does! And she writes well about her experiences. Maybe we can talk her round…

A couple of months ago I looked at the stats for My GF Sez, and realized that despite not actually posting anything for a long long time, we were still getting hits. Quite a lot, actually. People were entering all sorts of things into search engines and winding up here and taking a look around and clicking on things. Just a step along the cyber road, but not a dead end. Not yet.

So I decided to get back into it, on a more solo basis. This isn’t going to be one of the great sex blogs, and I’m going to take my hat off to San Francisco’s own violet blue here, but I’ll do what I can and what I like.

What I like is looking at lovely ladies taking their clothes off, and talking about sex and against censorship and sharing a joke or an interesting website and just, well, writing about things that don’t belong on my other blogs.

Sex blogs come and go. We’ve seen a few go under in the past year, including a couple of biggies. Abby Lee’s Girl With a One Track Mind is pretty much comatose after two books and a heap of media time. A pity, because Abby wrote some sizzling stuff and got out and about talking about sexblogging at SXSW and other places. However, she never really got over being outed, which was obviously a major invasion of her personal life.

A lesser light, but still an entertaining read, was Tania Haze and her Confessions of a Nymphet. After an unexpected exposure, she retreated into private blogging.

The spunky and funky Twanna Hines has slowed down her posting rate, but still puts out a few salty words and pix.

Well, that was 2010. Fun but fractured.

For 2011, I’ve got plans. For starters, I’m going to indulge myself with regular reviews of Abby Winters shoots. Honestly, I can’t praise AW too much for a really positive attitude towards women and nudity and sexuality. There are new shoots on a daily basis, not to mention a rich back catalog.

I’m going to keep talking about sex and love and laughter. Opinions, news, photographs, books – whatever tickles my fancy.

And I’m going to begin a new series on virginity – how to lose it. I’ll be soliciting contributions, scouring the web, and writing about my own first time. Losing your cherry is an intensely personal and emotional experience and despite our ongoing and fantastic sex lives, we never forget our first time, do we?

I’ll also be looking for co-writers. Obviously it’s hard to replace the dynamic shared by Grl and I, but I’m not hunting down a sex partner, just someone who feels comfortable talking about stuff and is willing to spark me up with a little banter. Oh, and share in the vast revenues of the site – there are a few ads, but I’m keeping it restrained, because I find blogs with a little square of content surrounded by dozens of advertisements for sex toys and hot pussies and bulging bosoms just a teeny bit tacky.

So that’s where I’ve been, where I’m at, where I’m headed.

And finally, may all my readers relish 2011, filling it with sex, love and laughter! It’s a wonderful world out there – enjoy every day and share the experience with those you love. Happy New Year!

—Guy Sez

I was researching some totally unrelated subject – a really old Mercedes if you must know, I don’t have a single track mind – when my attention was caught by the image above and I found a singletrack geek.

Mountain biking was never my thing, though having about a bazillion gears to get up some of San Francisco’s streets could be useful even for walkers, but I do love this geek’s straight eye for curvey girls.

He seems to have gone off the air, with the last post dated about June 22. A pity. Anyways, if you want to run through his archives, maybe skip the cycling videos, it’s worth the trip!

— Guy Sez

There’s no doubt about it – San Francisco is the most beautiful city in all the world. A little known fact is that the beauty is enhanced on a regular basis, with unclad women strolling around, exploring the city, teasing the sealions at Fishermans Wharf, amusing the tourists at Coit Tower, teetering down Lombard in heels…

My favorite spot to look at the world is up on the Fort Mason headland, with the bridge stretching out over to Marin’s golden hills, and Alcatraz sailing through the bay, but I guess my attention can always be diverted!

I love this site: Nude in San Francisco. Every week a model (or two) explore a different part of our ever more delightful city. We shouldn’t worry about spending a fortune on tourism promotions – just make this the official city hall website, and we’ll have no worries at all!

Seriously, this is a fun site. Quite apart from the lovely ladies wandering about wearing nothing but a smile or two, San Francisco’s sights are always worth a look, and the reactions of tourists and locals alike are priceless. I don’t know which I enjoy more – the blasé seen-it-all-just-getting-about-my-business fake nonchalance, or the jaw-dropped OMFG-she’s-nekkid! delighted stare. Or the occasional matronly disapproval – don’t look at that bimbo, dear!

Another big My GF Sez tick is that these shoots are not porno. They are genuine. No flash at dawn on a lonely beach, no “money shot” up Lombard Street. These are women walking around San Francisco, as natural as can be. The photographs are revealing, but not overly intimate – just the way I like ‘em!

Check it out. Maybe I should post regular reviews of the NISF shoots here, like I’m doing with Abby Winters?

— Guy Sez

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
—William Shakespeare

True love standing firm against time’s ravages – what a fine and noble view of love this is!

But erroneous. This is a poem so often read out at weddings, to urge the two “true minds” to love forever, though rosey lips and youth’s beauty may fade, until the Grim Reaper, with his bending sickle, should break the bond.

What rubbish! Love endures beyond all that. Love is more than the feelings of two people for each other. Love is the unfailing mark; the mariner of life’s passage may set his course by love and need no other compass for his barque.

Love is not owned by any person, nor by any two people. Love is not broken by death. Love is eternal. Love is beauty. Love is all you need.

Love is more than romantic love. Love is the feeling of a mother for her child. Love is the way we regard life, and beauty, and truth. Love is the bond of affection between friends. Love is what ends conflict, overcomes enmity, makes a handshake more than a touch.

Love is always there for us to find, to draw upon, to drink from without limit. It is boundless. What two lovers feel for each other is love, true enough, but that mutual affection is not the limit of love. There is far more than that.

And far less. Love is not passion or lust, though one may mistake either. Love is always there for us to lift our hearts, to sparkle our eyes, to forgive every wrong and to make everything beautiful.

Love needs no explanation, is what I’m trying to say. You know exactly what it is. When you love a work of art, a bird soaring, the beauty of a sunrise or the truth of a poem, you know it without having to think about it.

Have I reached you? Has Shakespeare touched you? Can you, dear reader, feel the union of true minds between we three?

—Guy Sez

Second, there’s no dialogue. Just background music. Clearly, things are being said throughout the shoot, but we don’t hear them.

Third, this footage has lain hidden in the Abby Winters vault for at least two years. Odette has done several other shoots, mostly involving other girls, in 2008 and 2009, but right at the end she reveals that this one is her first for Abby Winters.

Fourth, this is not a shoot where the video is the prime reason for the girl being there, getting her clothes off for our admiration. It’s almost an afterthought, and throughout the video we see the main reason – the still camerawoman aiming her huge professional SLR camera at Odette – intruding as she poses, struts, stretches, spreads and disrobes. At one point Odette is lying back on the bench while Jackie squats between her knees, camera lens almost parting her lips.

Some of the earliest Abby Winter shoots have this dual still/video nature, and I find the constant flashes from the still camera interrupting on my viewing pleasure. Here, outside, there is light enough for the still images, and the camerawoman does her job, mostly offscreen, but now and then leaning in close.

Odette fits into that happy category of “well-rounded”. Not fat, not chubby, but she’s definitely well-endowed with feminine curves, beginning with her gentle smile. And ending with a set of lower lips that seem to have a few extra folds to them. Just as we’re admiring the spectacle, Odette’s hand, reading our thoughts, reaches down to peel back them back, showing us a moist interior. Whatever instructions Jackie is giving Odette, they must be working!

Odette has a pierced nipple and a whimsical tattoo on her ankle. Green eyes, dark hair, a big patch of incipient sunburn on her upper chest, a sparse bush, and that lovely smile. Bothered by flies, in peril of splinters, at least four people watching as she poses, she’s still giving us a giggle or two.

Odette removes bra and panties in reasonable order, but she keeps her thin summer dress on until the final minutes, albeit bunched up around her waist. I guess it’s my early days in life class, but I like my models nude. An item of clothing left crinkled up or on the wrong body part isn’t serving its intended purpose and to my mind here is just getting in the way of my hungry eyes.

I’ll be honest. This isn’t one of my favorite shoots. There’s a lot of girl on display, we get good looks at all the interesting parts, but in the end, there’s not a lot we learn about Odette apart from the curves and folds of her body.

The complete total of what she has to say about herself comes right at the end, with a natural smile, “This has been my first shoot for Abby Winters and it’s been really good and thank you Jackie, for making it so good.”

However, this shoot is an excellent illustration of the wide range of imaginative material Abby Winters comes up with. There’s always something different, some new way of presenting the model, some thought, some experimentation, some fun and play.

This is why I’ve been an Abby Winters fan for six years. Other sites have a formula and they stick to it. Abby Winters does things differently. Abby Winters has fun.

—Guy Sez

What a beautiful shoot, the lighting is really appropriate for some reason. So kudos to both photographer and videographer, this was the perfect setting for Odette to amaze and seduce. Thanks to the lovely lady herself, Odette you are a true natural beauty and I think you can be proud of how this shoot and video bring this to the atttention in such a classy way.
—SweatyFox, London

Shoot: Odette
Date: December 11, 2010
Model: Odette
Backstage:
Crew: Jackie

Length: 10:48
Size: 46.1MB (LQ) to 398.12MB (HD)
2:00 – Peels dress down
3:15 – Bra off
4:00 – Panties down
4:25 – Fondling breasts
5:45 – First glimpses
6:04 – Spreading labia
8:00 – Reaches down to chase away blowfly
8:55 – Dress off

Discussion: New Model: Odette

Imageset: 74 Meg of stills from the same shoot, showing Odette in all her glory.

Other shoots: Six shoots (with four different girls!) here.

Note: I’ve included a couple of low-res photos from the public area of the AbbyWinters.com site. Some of the links in the text won’t take you to the material, but instead to a join page. I don’t push many sites, but AbbyWinters is one I wholeheartedly endorse, mostly for its respectful treatment of the models who volunteer.

Here’s a delightful – and thoughtful – blog post by my second favorite sex nerd, Emily Nagoski, on lovely things you can do with a sleeping beauty.

Favorite line:

You can rub your genitals against his, noticing and reveling in the unique sensation provided by flaccidity. Soft penises are fun!

Right on, Emily!

She keeps a cool blog, and when she includes a photograph, it’s a ripper!

My favorite sex nerd? The young lady who wrote Bonk, which had me hooting with laughter on a packed flight between DFW and SFO. Mary Roach, who has now written a bunch of books on weird subjects, all informative and hilarious.

These two women should get together and do the ultimate educational funny sex video – fully clothed with puppets, maybe.

—Guy Sez

Sleepy doggie pic by mexikids

One participant was a high-profile church leader. He had (and has) a public image as a defender and helper for minorities. He preached tolerance and forgiveness and holiness and stuff.

His line was that there should be a public election for one particularly eminent position, but that candidates should first be screened by a committee in order to “weed out the unelectable, such as Alex Jones and members of the NRA.”

WTF? Wouldn’t the definition of unelectable be that these candidates couldn’t get elected? They wouldn’t need to be screened out, because they wouldn’t last the distance in a campaign. And if they won, then wouldn’t that be the democratic will of the people, freely expressed?

But more than that, it taught me something about tolerance. Tolerance isn’t a matter of getting along with people you like. It’s getting along with people you dislike.

You have to give a little. You have to get over that hump of dislike. You have to respect people whose views may be totally different.

Tolerance is accepting that Islamic folk might like to build a mosque near Ground Zero. It isn’t resigning yourself to the inevitable because in a nation where freedom of religion is a fundamental, places of worship can’t be outlawed. No, it’s a matter of respecting the rights of others to live as full and free a life as you do.

So it is with love. I see any number of young men sighing “I love you” to young women. They may have a genuine desire for that person, and they may have an overwhelming urge to get into their pants, but that isn’t what love is.

Love isn’t lust or desire or a flood of hormones. Love isn’t roses and moonlit nights and holding hands.

Love is love when those things don’t apply. Love is when the young lady is run over by a truck and is crippled in a wheelchair for life. Love is when she gets AIDS or cancer and becomes sick, needing expensive, time-consuming care.

Love is really, truly, deeply caring for the person you love. When their life is as important as your own. Love is sticking by your lover for as long as they need you.

The more enlightened among us connect the dots. Love isn’t just one person. Love is everybody, especially those who hate you.

Love is Jesus. Love is Buddha. Love is a puppy. Love is life.