This book should be read while you’re drunk with a lot of close girlfriends (not that kind of girlfriend!) – I imagine it would be a lot funnier under those circumstances. I started reading this on the road alone, with my Christian workmate – he opened it up and read a random paragraph – and I quote:

The Farewell Handshake
Relax – this isn’t as insanely boring as it sounds. If executed properly, it’s actually one of the flirtiest goodbyes you can use. Leave him with a slight, lingering handshake. Slide your fingers through his, gently grasping his fingertips at the last second. This is a very personal touch. To be blunt, it’s a lot like the first long caress a woman might give to a man’s penis. Depending on how you use it, it’s the kind of farewell handshake that could very well give him a hard-on. Talk about a sexy exit! (p.223)

The book started out well enough, giving me reasons to flirt, but as I kept reading, I kept cringing, thinking, please, don’t let people really believe that acting like this will attract a boy/girl. I don’t like this book. While I agree with some of what it’s saying, it comes across as being really condescending. I know it says at the beginning that you can flirt for a number of reasons – not just to attract a guy, but while reading it, it seems to place an extraordinary amount of emphasis on attracting guys.

Ok, so it comes across as being really condescending. Primarily because it’s aimed at straight woman and it seems to be telling me that all single straight woman are in need of a man!

After reading the chapter on double-entendres – everything sounds dodgy – following the section on handshakes, we picked up the phone book and read the section on what to do in an earthquake (to try and get the handshake out of our heads) – does “drop, cover, and hold on” sound dodgy to anyone else?

Makeup – I have it on good authority that some men/woman don’t like it when woman wear too much makeup! Or not even don’t like it, but it doesn’t do anything for them. I’m one of them – who someone is turns me on a lot more than what they look like. For example, I’m a sucker for a beautiful smile – it tells me so much more about what a person is like than their makeup!

The really ridiculous thing about this book is that I actually agree with bits of it – what it says about makeup is that it isn’t so much about attracting the opposite sex, but more about feeling sexy yourself – and this will help you be a confident flirter. Which I understand – but I think that if you are confident in who you are, then you’ll also be a confident flirter.

Handtouch by Penny Mathews

This book is aimed more at people who aren’t natural flirters. But when you get advice like the tips in the ‘Even More Advanced Flirt Tips’ section, I’m not sure it’s going to help! With advice like “Pose, pose, pose. Pretend you are a model and the paparazzi are just lovin’ you!”, “Wear very high heels. Mince, don’t walk”, and “If your high heels are stilettos, hop in them like a bunny. Use your imagination to pretend you’ve got a pom-pom on your ass. That’ll help remind you to shake it, baby when you’re not posing it.” Has the author ever talked to any real men, or if she’s been too busy just looking like she’s listening intently to them?

The author comes across as not having had much to do with men – she seems to assume that all men are the same! I know for a fact that this isn’t true – I would never say that any two people are exactly the same – what turns one person on might be a complete turn off for another.

To be fair, Marx does hint at this a little – she suggests that depending on what kind of man you’re trying to flirt with you should try different tactics. But this relies on you knowing the person or picking up on some of their body language – which I guess isn’t completely untoward, but even trying to tell what kind of person someone is by their body language isn’t completely fair I don’t think. And this book kind of proves it – not everyone is a natural flirter (or there wouldn’t be any need for a book like this right? Anyone following?) – so to judge someone on how they’re acting, while it can be fairly accurate, isn’t always.

Yes, there are some things I like about this book, for example, if you do want to act like this, it does have useful tips for you to follow. With step by step guides to acts of flirting, you can’t fail.

I honestly can’t believe I kept reading this! Especially after the following sentence. “All these moves [such as twitching your hips or shaking your booty] tell a guy that he’s dealing with a real woman…” How do these tell a man he’s dealing with a real woman! What is a real woman! Can I get an ‘argh’!

So, to conclude, this book was worth what I paid for it – nothing. (Big thanks to Guy for sending it to me!)
— Grl Sez

Guy Sez: I likewise expect a full review of the Ghirardelli bar that I gave you at the same time! Every sweet, lingering, melting mouthful caressed by your tongue.

This book reminded me of The Rules from a few years back. In each case, an artificial, forced relationship. Flirting should be fun, off the cuff, teasing and tingling. Not the Broadway production Eve Marx makes it into.

I did like the section on rules for flirting in the hot tub, though. As I read it, memories of an evening we spent in a hot tub came bubbling up!
— Guy Sez

Related posts:

1. Thrill me up
2. “The Guernsey Literary & Potato Peel Pie Society” by Mary Ann Shaffer
3. “Diary of a Sex Fiend” by Abby Lee

Girl with a One-Track Mind – the UK original

Guy Sez: This is the international edition of the British book of the awesome sex blog of Abby Lee AKA Zoe Margolis.

Believe it or not, this book has been translated into fifteen different languages!

There is blogging success for you. Harry Potter and Dan Brown get translated across the world, but a book based on a blog? C’mon!

And how simple is it to write a book once you’ve got a year’s worth of solid posts? Just lift out the best, staple ‘em together, send the bunch to a publisher. Right?

Wrong! This book is obviously based on the blog, but it’s so much more. And less.

More, because there is material inside not found in the blog. It’s more of a coherent storyline than the fragmented life presented by Abby every day or so online. Many of the original posts are rewritten in a more elegant form.

Less, because many minor posts are omitted entirely or incorporated into other material. It’s not quite the “This is how I felt today, warts and all” writing of the blog.

But, unmistakably Abby Lee. There is no getting away from the constant rumble of sex thoughts through her mind and out into her blog. She glances at a guy and she’s imagining him stripped, erect, inches from her face. Or her pussy. And then she’s feeling him inside, and we’re along for the ride, while her fingers are busy down below.

This woman masturbates at the drop of a hat. She’s always ducking into the bathroom for a quick rub. Or working at herself under the table. Or on a train or a plane.

Her panties are always damp.

No wonder that some of her readers thought she was a man. Women don’t think about sex – and act on it – quite so much as Abby.

Or do they?

Zoe’s female. This book saw her exposed in national newspapers, and after a fair bit of trauma, with paparazzi camped outside her house etc. etc. she accepted the outing and is now a frequent sight on television, at conferences, in photographs. We’re awaiting the movie with keen interest.

As a book, it gets just a teensy bit repetitive. Bridget Jones’ Diary this ain’t. But it remains compelling reading to see how she copes with her powerlust. In the end, there’s a bit of a twist. Sex isn’t everything, we discover.

As a book of the blog, it’s a tangy, tasty serve of the website. You can almost feel the slickness begin as she has an evening out with some handsome hero. As a guy, I know what he’s thinking, and as a reader you know what she’s thinking, and you wonder why they bother with the wine and the small talk. That sexual flash in the eyes and she should be pulling him into the bedroom to get it over with!

Ah, but that would be getting to the climax all too soon, and the foreplay is half the fun. There’s a LOT of foreplay in this book. A lot of steamy thoughts, a lot of sex and a lot of fun.

Highly recommended. Don’t take it on a long plane flight, though. The little old lady in the seat beside you will try to sneak glances at the pages to see what is making you sweat and fidget, and you’ll be whipping off to the can for some relief, long before landing. If the cabin crew aren’t wary, they’ll be dragged in for an impromptu Mile-High Club membership.

Right. On that note, I’m shipping this book off to Grl, last heard from somewhere east of Tulsa.

–Guy Sez

Related posts:

1. Girl With a One-Track Mind
2. FunkyBrownChick
3. “Bonk” by Mary Roach

Guy sez: I spotted a headline the other day: Teen has Boob Job! Yes, it was the sort of magazine that aims to catch the eye. The story talked about a sixteen year old girl having breast augmentation surgery.

Is this crazy or what?

It is actually rather common, I find. In every sense of the word. Perhaps the most visible example was model Alicia Douvall, whose daughter, then twelve, wanted an iPhone and bigger breasts for her 13th birthday. Alicia, who at that point had undergone 14 breast operations, declared that her daughter wait until she was sixteen before she would consent. It didn’t stop her calling in the photographers for a tasteful round of mother and daughter snaps. And again when daughter Georgia changed her name to Destiny, believing it would help her modelling career.

Links to stories and photographs of doctored breasts here and doctored photographs of breasts here.

Well, I guess people can do what they want with their bodies, and I’m as much a fan of the perfect breast as the next man, but these stories leave a sad taste in my mouth.

In my male opinion, the breasts women have at sixteen are usually the ones they want at twenty-six. And thirty-six. And forty-six.

It doesn’t really get much better than sixteen. Gravity, sun, babies and just plain aging take their toll as life inexorably proceeds. The wrinkled, empty, droopy, stretch-marked, blotched breasts of the senior citizen await all.

And, though I’ll probably be hurled straight out of the “Members Only” entrance to the Penis Club for saying this, this guy doesn’t care all that much.

Despite what the glamor mags say, women are not their boobs. Nor any other part of their anatomy. I think that the sexiest part of a woman is her…

Love that smile!

…smile.

Give me a lady with a sense of humor, a genuine smile, a loving heart and eyes that sparkle, and I won’t worry too much what she looks like under the covers.

This is not to say that I don’t go all weak above the knees when a big-bosomed waitress leans low over the table to serve me a slender latte. She knows exactly where my eyes are fixed and why I’m unable to talk or breathe or do anything but drool as my gaze is drawn irresistibly down her cleavage.

It’s the way we men are wired, okay? It’s somewhere down there in my brain between the lizard cortex and the caveman lobe.

Women know this all too well. It’s why, when you think about it, cosmetic surgery is rather like choosing a style of clothing. Like fashion. “Breasts are pointy this season.”

In the end, it’s up to the wearer. Having a sweet pair must make a woman feel good. Hang on to them as long as possible, is my advice. Support those babies. Cosmetic surgery if you must, but it’s not going to fool anyone too long, if fooling is your game.

Unless it’s breast reduction surgery. If your address is 38D Braberry Lane and you’re still a teenager, then maybe it’s worth dropping a size or two, to save the strain on chest and shoulders, keep gravity at bay, and increase the number of men able to look you in the eye.

If I must give an opinion, it’s for quality over quantity. As a close friend of mine observes, “anything you can’t fit in your mouth is wasted.”

Halloween video – with pumpkins

This woman is gorgeous! But those jugs have got to be giving her gallons of grief. In my humble opinion, she would be every bit as vivacious and attractive if she were an A cup rather than LL. Yeah, she wouldn’t be quite the blinding beauty in that Marilyn Monroe dress, but she’d select something different, something more suited to her ittie-bitties.

Perhaps my co-writers have different opinions. I’m outvoted, gender-wise, these days, and really, what business does a guy have telling women how to wear their bodies?

–Guy Sez

Video report: breast surgery for graduation

Grl sez: I’m actually with you on this one. Mostly. There’s a few reasons I can think of for having a boob job – breast cancer for one. Or if you genuinely aren’t happy with the size of your breasts – it’s hard for me to imagine! I think mine are the perfect size, for me anyway. I guess that’s the point really.

The issue I have with increasing your breast size is when people think having bigger breasts is going to make them happier – I suppose in some cases they would, but when people want them because they think they will make them more popular/cooler/etc etc etc, that (for me anyway) is a concern.

Like what Guy said – it’s who you are and how you show it that makes you popular/cool etc. This is so true. People tell me I have a nice smile, and I like to think that this is reflective of my personality, not the actual physical smile!

But, on the other hand, there are always situations where it makes perfect sense – not that I can think of any right now, but if you were to put a sensible argument to me, I’m fairly sure I could be persuaded otherwise!

Related posts:

1. Blue, she said
2. That spot
3. In the Hot Seat: Guysezual of mygfsez.com

Guy Sez: I’d like to say this is a movie about San Francisco. There are several shots of San Francisco from the air, a few scenes in the airport and one of a female star explaining why she moved to Omaha:

San Francisco Manager: So, what happened?
Natalie Keener: How exactly do you mean?
San Francisco Manager: You graduated top of your class. You could have had your pick of employment, including right here. Instead, you went to Omaha to… fire people for a living?
Natalie Keener: Challenging work.
San Francisco Manager: I’ll say. I couldn’t imagine doing that day in and day out. Especially not in this climate.
Natalie Keener: I… followed a boy.
San Francisco Manager: I guess we’ve all done that at some point in our lives.

But no. It’s about America. Modern, impersonal, corporate America. The world of airport lounges and identical hotel rooms. The procedures of security and check-in. Loyalty cards and status.

Ryan Bingham (George Clooney) is the opposite of a corporate headhunter. He’s a headkicker, firing employees of downsized corporations. He’s always on the move around the country, terminating people by batches in Dallas, Chicago, Kansas City, Tulsa…

His life is airline lounges and hotel chains, rental cars and living out of a carry-on bag. He lives for airmiles, platinum status, check-in speed and efficiency in travel, possessions and relationships. He’s also a motivational speaker, spreading his lean gospel:

Ryan: How much does your life weigh? Imagine for a second that you’re carrying a backpack. Now, I want you to pack it with all the stuff you have in your life. You start with the little things: the shelves and drawers and nicknacks. Then you start adding larger stuff: clothes, tabletop appliances, lamps, your TV… Your backpack should be getting pretty heavy now. You go bigger. Your couch, your car, your home. I want you to stuff it all into that backpack. Now, I want you to fill it with people. Start with casual acquaintances, friends of friends, folks around the office. Then you move into the people that you trust with your most intimate secrets. Brothers, your sisters, your parents, your children. And finally your husband, your wife, your boyfriend, your girlfriend. You get them into that backpack. Feel the weight of that bag. Make no mistake, your relationships are the heaviest components of your life. All those negotiations and arguments and secrets and compromises. The slower we move, the faster we die. Make no mistake, moving is living. Some animals were meant to carry each other, to live symbiotically over a lifetime: star-crossed lovers, monogamous swans. We. Are. Not. Swans. We’re sharks.

Ryan is a shark. He spears through the crowds of travellers with checked luggage, first class lanes reserved for him, lounges opening up with the wave of a card. He’s the dream of everyone who has ever languished in a line of shuffling coach passengers, dragging their checked luggage.

Ryan meets Alex (Vera Farmiga) in a hotel bar. She’s got a loyalty tag on a keyring, and before you can say HHonors, they are spreading out their cards, checking each other’s programs, drooling over status and airmile tallies. She’s got sixty thousand, domestic, but he’s got a lot more than that.

He’s joined the Mile High Club transatlantic. She’s done it on a regional hop.

He’s impressed, and in the blink of a camera they are searching for a closet. Next morning they examine their schedules, dates and airport codes spinning and dancing until a jackpot comes up and they can share a layover in a few weeks.

Ryan’s life in the air is interrupted by a summons to corporate headquarters in Omaha. We see him arriving at his tiny, spartan apartment, no personal possessions of any kind. It might as well be a hotel room. Next morning the road team is assembled to listen to a pitch from recently hired Cornell grad Natalie Keener (Anna Kendrick). Ryan’s carefree sequence of flights and hotels and rental cars is under threat.

Ryan and Natalie are sent off for one last road trip, firing folk in a dozen cities. As an aside, every one of the terminated workers is actually a real and recently fired person. For the film, they were given the opportunity to say what they would like to have said at their exit interview. There are some very deep reactions on display.

In Miami, they encounter Alex once again, at a moment of personal trauma for Natalie. A night of carousing follows, with Ryan gradually coming to realise that his life, his career, his philosophy may not mean as much as he thought it did.

There’s more to the film, a lot more, but I’ll leave it for you. It’s good, and there’s no copout ending.

This is perhaps the perfect film for America after a year of deep downsizing. In any given audience there will be people nodding their heads, maybe crying if the wounds are recent.

Ryan’s boss: Retailers are down 20 percent. Auto industry is in the dump. Housing market doesn’t have a heartbeat. It is one of the worst times on record for America. This is our moment.

Terminated worker: On the stress level, I’ve heard that losing your job is like a death in the family. But personally I feel more like the people I worked with were my family, and I died.

Ryan is good at his job. He instructs Natalie, who confidently relies on her “minor in pyschology”, and together they rise above the pain they are inflicting.

There’s sex in this film. And yes, she uses a body double. Ryan has no commitments, no partner, nothing but casual encounters with women on the road. Even his occasional neighbour in Omaha who delivers Ryan’s mail responds to his offer to get together with the news that she is seeing someone. Ryan just shrugs. It’s not important.

Ryan’s message to imagine your life as a backpack and to empty it of belongings and then set fire to it is a fantasy for the road warrior. His message to treat relationships the same way is not one that I would expect to resonate with too many people. Like, anyone with a heart.

Possessions can weigh you down. and yes, every now and then somebody loses everything they own in a fire or some other disaster – like being laid off. But relationships are the true gold. They weigh nothing in your mythical backpack, but they are everything in your life.

Ryan and his co-workers see their jobs as sugar-coating the inevitable. They have no control over or knowledge of why a worker is terminated – they never ever say “fired” – and their own jobs are just a list of names to cross off and a stack of glossy termination packages to hand out, each one listing the material benefits, severance pay, timings and conditions of downsizing.

But the workers being let go see the thing different. Their coworkers are their friends. Their job provides for their family. How do they translate Ryan’s slick lines into words they can use with their wife and children?

This is a film about airmiles and hotel chains and rental cars and casual sex. But it’s really about relationships. What do you really want out of life? A million airmiles and a graphite loyalty card? Or someone to hold you close and share your life. All of your life.
–Guy Sez

Comments:

No Flagship Lounge at DFW. Admirals Club one of my favorites, ate out, sharing icecreams with Grl at B&J, chicken and salad at TGIF. Quick beer in the club, skipped inflight meal, very nice shiraz. Grl hung out window admiring awesome desert and mountain view, I read Diary of a Sex Fiend. Pleasant flight. Good to be home!

Related posts:

1. “Diary of a Sex Fiend” by Abby Lee
2. “Bonk” by Mary Roach
3. Love is the Answer – Barbra Streisand

FunkyBrownChick.com

• Blog Name: FunkyBrownChick
• Type: Lifestyle
• Level: Spicey
• Author: Twanna A Hines
• Location: New York City
• First Post: June 21, 2005
• Popularity: “On a good day, upwards of 3,000+ people visit this site. Funky Brown Chick isn’t huge. It isn’t extremely tiny either.”
• Platform: WordPress

My name is Twanna and I own Funky Brown Chick.
All rights reserved. So, please, don’t be a dick.

Guy Sez: You gotta love someone with a copyright notice like that one!

Perhaps the best introduction is FunkyBrownChick’s own words in her first post:

let’s see … this is the first entry so i should probably tell you more about myself. i’m somewhat new to new york, but i’m used to big cities. i’m black; hence, the “brown” in funky brown chick. i’m single and dating so you’ll get to read about all of the crazy stories from my 30-something love-less life. i could write more, but i’m sure we’ll come to know each other better with time. best not to rush these things.

Twanna A Hines, Funky Brown Chick – photo by Bill Wadman

Twanna maintains another site at twannahines.com – a site unlike any other I’ve seen. More than a Twitter feed, less than a blog, it’s a net-bite series of snapshots of her life. The more I read of Twanna, the more impressed I am. You don’t expect deep insights from a sexblogger, usually more noted for erotic entertainment than analysis and philosophy, but here in the Huffington Post she sticks it to Steven Levitt, author of Freakonomics. Then again, she has two degrees – a BS and an MA.

A self-described sexpot, she looks good enough to eat. Her chocolate skin has sent any number of delicious thoughts scampering through my hungry mind.

She gives good blog. Well written, entertaining, punchy. Not heavy on the explicit details, but she doesn’t pull her punches – if she is sleeping with someone, she sez so. It’s more a relationship blog than a sex blog; presumably you know what to do once you’re in bed together, you don’t need to be told who put what where and how many strokes per second.

There’s a “Best of First Year” post here. Even better, there’s a “Worst of…” post the very next day. Twanna doesn’t take herself too seriously! There’s a few broken links, due to a platform change or two from Blogger to Wordpress and one domain to another, but it’s not too hard to find the original posts. Better yet, just read the whole first year, skimming if you wish. Her posts aren’t long. Then read the second, third, fourth and fifth years! It’s all good.

If I have a criticism at all, it’s that the blog looks very “busy” on the page. There’s a lot going on, with advertising from various sources, an archive list as long as a short arm, a category list likewise, the posts themselves, and other bits and pieces all over. Then again, blogs that are solid slabs of text turn me off.

Twanna began blogging under the pseudonym Stollie (for Stolichnaya vodka) but gave that up after a while. She’s not the sort of person who works well with deception. She’s genuine, honest, upfront. You get a good flavor in an online interview at Clutch Magazine:

Best part about being FBC is that it’s me %100. Whether I’m church, with my friends or at work, I am Twanna Hines, Funky Brown Chick.

Twanna’s interest is in men. Young, sexy, exciting, often with a foreign accent. She has regular testosterone-based posts. Manly Mondays, Testicle Tuesdays and – sigh – Wanker Wednesdays.  I must admit to a certain level of fascination. Who will be the next man in her sights? Will she date him? How will it turn out?

Not just men and relationships, of course. For any single woman (or man) aiming to live in New York City, this blog is your homework. Native New Yorkers will have it in their genes, but Twanna moved to NYC from Chicago five years ago, and she has seen it all from an outside perspective. More outside than Chicago, actually – she’s lived here and there around the world and has insights and experience that put the frosting on top.

Sometimes her life reads a little like the script for a television series. Sexie in the City, maybe. She’s always got something on her plate, from heavy-duty writing workshops to interracial dating. There’s the flavor of an active metropolitan lifestyle. Twanna’s not writing for the sake of filling up blog pages – she’s taking time out from an actual life to fill us in on things interesting and thoughtful, entertaining and stimulating, fun and funky.

Which makes the titbits about her book all the more teasing. She’s working on the book of the blog, and unlike others I’ve seen, this won’t be just the pick of the website bound and gagged, this will have new material and a theme. Perhaps like Melissa Plaut’s Hack, where the Jewish Lesbian NYC night cabbie’s blog was transformed into a book that was edgier, more personal, more comprehensive, more coherent than the blog had ever been.

Looking forward to reviewing the book. In the meantime, Twanna’s blog has become one of my must-reads. Highly recommended for a smart, funny, literate woman’s view of life, the Big Apple, and the world.

–Guy Sez

Bonus video: FunkyBrownChick and Girl With a One-Track Mind talking at SXSW

Related posts:

1. “Diary of a Sex Fiend” by Abby Lee
2. Girl With a One-Track Mind

Ladies and Gentlemens, I give you Echo Bazaar!

Related posts:

1. Girl With a One-Track Mind
2. Blue, she said
3. Ma, someone poemed in the corner!

Cartoon by xkcd

The elusive erotic zone said to exist in some women may be a myth, say researchers who have hunted for it. – BBC

He sez: Lookin’ for it is as much fun as findin’ it.

So I’m reliably informed, anyway. I can report the personal discovery of a textured area just inside and up a bit, in the location they say it should be. Sex marks the spot, maybe. But, well, it’s all fun terrain in there, and hard to say if one bit is funnier than the next. Especially from my male point of view. Maybe I should hand over to uh, my fellow researcher, for a female perspective.

But before I put her on the spot, as it were, let’s recap:

The location in question was first described by a Teutonic doctor – relocated to New York to escape Jewish persecution in his homeland – in 1950, when he was 69 years old, sez the ever-reliable Wikipedia. A celebrated career of intimate examination of the female sexual areas, backed up by frank discussion with his patients, led him to form the opinion that just inside a lady’s love tunnel lay an area that, when stimulated, resulted in more intense climaxes than clitoral stimulation. He was also excited by the idea that this spot was the source of “female ejaculation”, a liquid rush at the moment of climax.

A female prostate, as it were.

The spot was named after the doctor in 1981, well after he had passed on, and the 1980s were notable for a rush of popular literature devoted to the search for the spot, and what to do with it once found. Lick it, stick it or pick it, went the debate at dinner parties of the tackier kind. I remember them well.

Or prick it and nick it, in the case of some women who underwent biopsies in studies to map the distribution of nervous tissue in that area. What induced them to participate in such an experiment we don’t know.

Whatever, the results of three decades of exhaustive scientific research have been inconclusive. The problem is that much of the evidence is anecdotal, with small sample sizes. One inspired study, a dream job if ever there was one, involved 900 pairs of identical twins who were prevailed upon to point out the location of the spot to hardened scientists. Identical twins = identical spots, went the theory, but alas, only 56% provided identical answers.

Maybe the procedure needed work. No matter how you positioned the mirror, it would have to be a difficult task with a white pointer in the pink bits to indicate the exact location. Or if you relied on an assistant to touch various spots – “Here? What about here? Or over here? Down a bit, maybe? Is it nicer here or there? Well, what about if I wobble this bit?” – there would have to be a certain amount of imprecision, especially if the assistant employed a pen or spatula or thumb instead of whatever the subject normally employed for stimulation. If it were me, faced with a pair of identical twin ladies, I’d be inclined to tickle. And snicker.

G-Spot, courtesy Google Maps and violet blue

In the end, scientists are prone to debate. The involvement of well-meant folk who surmised that women who couldn’t find their spots would feel inadequate beside their better-endowed sisters sent the discussion in a different direction. And, I must admit that this point has merit. Women face the beauty literature every day. The ideal shape, the ideal face, the ideal breasts. And now, the ultimate sex parts. No woman is ever perfect, if you rely on the tracts found on the news-stand racks.

Me, I think it’s all hokum. Just how am I, as a man, supposed to stimulate this notional spot? My anatomy has the knobs and bumps in other areas. Am I supposed to slip in a pinky as well as a porky to press the point?

For self-stimulation, the ever-popular rabbit-ear vibrator has any number of lumps and bumps, but the intention seems to be to fill the void and buzz the bean, rather than hit the spot.

I’m done speculatin’. I’ll hand the topic over to my partner, for a female point of view.

She sez: Does it really exist?

Someone who might know is local sex goddess/guru violet blue. In the introduction to her book on the G-Spot, she sez:

That’s why I had to write this g-spot guide for smart girls like me. There are way, way too many guys online who think that watching porn or reading other people’s websites gives them the knowledge to spout off about what is and isn’t up with the g-spot and female ejaculation — often getting facts wrong in horrifyingly shaming ways. And the books out there were either piecemeal, dated, or intended an audience of women who wanted a spiritual experience — when all I wanted was to figure out how to get off.

Resources

• violet blue’s gspot resource guide, complete with Find-it-Yourself illustrations and hints.
• Wikipedia’s article on the G-Spot, written by geeks.

A fresh look at the G-Spot – photo by Guy Sez

Related posts:

1. “Bonk” by Mary Roach
2. “Diary of a Sex Fiend” by Abby Lee
3. In the Hot Seat: Guysezual of mygfsez.com

photo by Lotushead

Guy sez: Flirting is the gentle art of romantic pretence. I enjoy flirting with ladies of advanced years, for example, saying to them, “Oh, if only I were twenty years younger…”. The pretence is that a romantic or sexual attachment exists, and the more unlikely the possibility, the more outrageous the flirt.

It’s pointless to flirt with your partner, for example. Fun, but not really flirting if it’s a sure thing.

The spice of flirting lies in the possibility, the thought, the fantasy that it could actually come true. Say to an old age pensioner, “I’ll be round tonight with a bunch of roses and a bottle of champagne,” and everyone knows that it’s not going to happen. If I say the same thing to a single woman closer to my age, well, you never know, we could be eating our breakfast eggs together, a rose or two sprouting from an empty magnum.

Grl sez: A good friend of mine once told me that even though he was so happy in his current relationship, he would love to go back to the flirting days. I empathised – I love to flirt! I love knowing that I’m making someone feel special. Whether you’re flirting with someone just to make them smile, or to let them know you’re interested in them, it makes me feel great

I can’t help but smile when people flirt with me (well mostly anyway!) – I love knowing that someone thinks I’m attractive! Even if it’s not going to go anywhere, it still makes me tingle when someone flirts with me

Of course there’s always a flip side…I guess one of the worst is when creepy men start flirting with you at bars *shudder*. You know there’s only one thing they want, and you don’t want to give it to them!

Far worse I think though is when people you’ve broken up with start flirting with you again. An ex of mine has recently been doing this with me and it is frustrating! Especially when she was the one who told me she’d rather be friends…

Guy sez: The beauty of unwanted flirting is that it can be gently – or not so gently – turned aside. Southern ladies are wonders at rejecting advances in the most delightful way. There must be a textbook they read in school. How to charm people away.

Make it a game if you don’t want attention. Call it anti-flirting. Turn them off in the nicest way.

Perhaps your ex, Grl, flirts with you precisely because she knows it’s going nowhere. Or maybe, she thinks there’s always the chance…

That’s the spice, the sweetness, the thrill of flirting.

Related posts:

1. “Read My Hips” by Eve Marx
2. That spot
3. “For Today” by Netherworld Dancing Toys

Caution. Seamen inside. – photo by Abejo

For guys:
Start erect. Hold foreskin between thumb and fingers, move rapidly up and down over ridge of glans. Lewd thoughts speed climax even more. Aim ejaculate into sock.

For girls:
Remove all clothing, slowly, enjoying the feel of your silken undergarments sliding over your willing skin. Socks are optional, but give your toes a treat, too. Look at those ten little piggies wiggling happily. Look at the rest of yourself, concentrating on the nipples as they grow harder, crinkling up in excitement. You can’t see any other good bits, don’t bother.

Your body is beautiful. Run your fingers lightly along your neck, your sides, your arms. Feel your skin. Enjoy the sensation, enjoy your hair whisking over neck, shoulders, ears. Now is the time to give all those under-appreciated parts of your body a touch. Just to let them know you’re thinking of them, and if it weren’t for your elbows, you’d be Barbie.

Your fingers slide gently onto the rounded curves of your breasts. Both hands needed here. There’s a lot of skin to cover. Take your time. Stroke the sensitive edges, climbing the sweet hillocks, working, gliding your way into the centres. Feel the crinkled skin of your nipples. Feel the tenderness of your aureoles. Take a look down, they are changing color, even as you watch and toy with them.

Glide your fingers over your whole chest, taking in your breasts in passing. Maybe you’re imagining someone’s body on yours, maybe you are just enjoying the relaxing feel of your own. And you are relaxing. You can feel tensions ebbing away, the cares of the everyday world disappearing as you focus on your own self, your own body, your own sensations.

Move your hands downwards. Tease yourself. Caress your belly, your flanks. Don’t hurry. You can feel a different, enjoyable tension growing somewhere inside. And, how often do you get to stroke your stomach, anyhow? It’s not like you do it as part of your normal work day. It’s not like anyone else does it for you. Nobody cute. Nobody tall and handsome. Or short and cuddly. Not normally.

Maybe your fingers encounter a curl of hair as they sweep along the lower regions of your belly. Maybe they don’t. Maybe your fingers slide down onto your legs. Maybe you feel your thighs, your calves, those cute little piggies you admired earlier.

You’ll know when you’re ready.

And when you’re ready, leave it a while longer. One hand for your breasts, the other softly fondling the tops of your thighs, the creases leading up to your hips, the gentle mound in the middle. Take your time.

Feel your soft girl curls against your hand. There’s a special feeling there. A thrill. A promise.

Move your hand in closer. Maybe bring the other one down, feeling the triangle of your sex, feeling the gentle curves of that rounded mound in the middle, feeling underneath, cupping it in your hand, being a little rough here, rubbing it on the outside, feeling the response inside.

Both hands here. Spread your thighs a little, one hand on each side, stroking the soft skin inside, the coarser skin in the middle, the surprising smoothness of the very centre as you part your lips and the forceful movements become tender, soft.

Get the stroke right – photo by Nevit

You may need a little moisture now. If you’ve taken your time, there may be some immediately available, just slide a finger inside.

Oherwise a bit of saliva will do the trick. Your clitoris will likely be too sensitive for direct, dry touching. It’s the same reason guys don’t wrap their hands directly onto the knob – they want that intervening foreskin to cushion the strokes.

Apply your moisture, use one or two fingers to the folds of skin around the shining bean of your clitoris, gently, slowly stroking and sliding. Use the other hand to fondle around. Experiment. You’ll know what feels good. Maybe, if you are built that way, you can slide one of your nipples into your mouth, nibbling, kissing, tonguing.

Take your time. You’re building up to something big here.

You’re building a rhythm. You’re touching, vibrating, jiggling your best bits. You can keep this going for a while. It’s all good.

After a while, you can slide one, maybe two fingers inside. You should be nice and damp by now. The focus is on your clitoris, but it’s good to have the sensation of something inside. Fingers, a toy, a cucumber…

This is where you can decide for yourself if the G-spot is real or not. It’s just inside, on the clitoris side of the inside. An area of ridged skin. Even if it’s all a myth, it’s fun to explore, fun to fondle.

The rest is rhythm. Salacious thoughts and images may be useful here. Thinking about sex with a willing partner. Whatever fantasy works, now is the time to be run it through your mind’s eye. Your mind’s tongue, your mind’s vagina.

Find a rhythm that works and stick to it. You’ll know exactly what is working, what is good, what is helping you reach a climx.

You’ll feel the edge approaching. Just keep up whatever brought you there, maybe speed up a little and you’ll go sliding over.

Your whole body will become focussed down to a tiny point of pleasure, growing swelling, exploding, pulse after pulse after glorious pulse.

Keep on the pressure, press hard. Any movement now should be directed inward, pressing where the pleasure is.

And then you’re over, gentle strokes here and there, curl up in a ball, tuck the blankets between your knees, just enjoy that afterglow.

For guys and girls: Wash your hands afterwards. A shower would be good. The smell of sex lingers on your fingers.

Resources

Male Masturbation Techniques – Blog with videos and finely detailed notes on technique.

Intimate Moments – girls masturbating.

Related posts:

1. In the Hot Seat: Guysezual of mygfsez.com
2. “Diary of a Sex Fiend” by Abby Lee
3. That spot

Love is the Answer – Barbra Streisand

Guy Sez: OK, she’s airbrushed on the album cover. No way 67 year old Barbra Streisand looks like she’s still in her twenties.

Having made that crack, I’ll note that her voice remains the same: every note, every word, every phrase perfect. Not a lot of the geschreying of old, but the material doesn’t need force. This album is more reflective, more serious. These are not the love songs of a twenty year old, every line oozing passion and urgent need. These are the memories of a lady who has had a rich and romantic life, looking back with wistful joy.

Straight up, go for the deluxe edition with the two CDs. The songs are the same on both (though Disc 1 has a bonus track), but Disc 2 is just Barbra and a jazz quartet, instead of the overlaid orchestra on Disc 1.

It’s not just me. Barbara’s voice is the treasure here, and no matter how good the boys in the band may be, they are not the reason to buy this album. Forget the orchestral versions and stick with the quartet.

Love is the reason, love is the answer, and each one of these carefully chosen love songs will hook into your romantic heart, where Barbra’s mellow tones will coax out the loving fool in you. These are songs to share on a quiet night, just you and a lover enjoying each other’s closeness. Songs for holding hands, songs for a glass of something, songs for a fireside evening together.

Grl will tell you all that, Sister Hazel aside, I like the older stuff. And that’s mostly so. Biz Markie can make me laugh without a smile cracking his big round face, but yeah, for me it’s Nat King Cole and Frank Sinatra and Simon and Garfunkel. And Barbra Streisand.

She was fantastic, crooning Memory from The Way We Were. Or taking a bath with Kris Kristofferson in A Star Is Born. I used to wear that part of the Beta smooth, rewinding it, hoping she’d stand up, covered in suds as she looked into my eyes and sang Evergreen to me.

Love is the Answer. Right. Hit the fast forward on that clunky old video and we’re into the next century, though you wouldn’t know it, looking at Babs in all her Photoshop glory, showing a little bare shoulder, a little tit, nothing but a blanket between her and a middle-aged male fantasy.

The key song is Here’s To Life:

But there’s no “yes” in yesterday
And who knows what tomorrow brings or takes away
As long as I’m still in the game, I want to play
For laughs…for life…for love.

It’s been a good, satisfying life, Barbra tells us, but she’s not ready to give up the fun. Not yet. I’ve listened to the song a dozen times and gotten more out of it each time.

In The Wee Small Hours Of The Morning, despite its poignancy, is almost comic relief in comparison. It’s a song I associate with Sleepless in Seattle, a light romantic comedy, yet Barbra extracts every ounce of emotion from it. We’ve all been there: woken at two in the morning to an empty space in the big bed, and we’re alone with our thoughts. There’s a lovely Diana Krall piano solo to listen for. The two discs have slightly different lyrics, but you’ll have to listen closely to pick it.

The fourth track is the deepest. If You Go Away (Ne Me Quitte Pas) has some sorrowing lines, delivered absolutely right on target, and then Barbara drops into French. Delving into the history of this song, Ne me quitte pas was written after singer/songwriter Brel was thrown out of his mistress’s life after casting shame and sadness upon her. She was pregnant with Brel’s child and had an abortion after he refused fatherhood. Listening to the English lyrics, it’s clear that there’s a crisis on hand, Barbara seeing devastation if her lover leaves, and paradise if he stays. But just listen to the agony and promise in her voice!

Two more tracks caught my eye. The evergreen Smoke Gets In Your Eyes: as Barbra says, she’s heard it a thousand times before, but this time in singing it herself she’s found new meanings. To me it’s simple: lose love and cry. And finally, my favorite song on the album. Make Someone Happy.

Isn’t that what it’s all about?

Fame, if you win it,
Comes and goes in a minute.
Where’s the real stuff in life to cling to?
Love is the answer,
Someone to love is the answer.
Once you’ve found her,
Build your world around her.
Make someone happy.
Make just one someone happy
And you will be happy too.

I’d like to think that this is a good philosophy for life. Barbara’s fame certainly isn’t fleeting, but she’s got a lifetime of amazing talent to draw upon. And making other people happy certainly pays dividends in making yourself happy. I know that for a fact. I live for smiles. And ultimately, when it comes down to it all, one way or another, all the deep questions of human existence come down to four words: Love is the Answer.

Grl Sez Guy’s right, this isn’t the stuff of a 20 year olds romance, but it’s beginning to grow on me! Not something I would put on my ipod, but if I wanted a romantic atmosphere on a date, this is definitely something I would play. Softly, in the background, over dinner with candles and flowers. In the hopes that it would go further…

Track listing:
1. Here’s To Life
2. In The Wee Small Hours Of The Morning
3. Gentle Rain
4. If You Go Away (Ne Me Quitte Pas)
5. Spring Can Really Hang You Up The Most
6. Make Someone Happy
7. Where Do You Start?
8. A Time For Love
9. Here’s That Rainy Day
10. Love Dance
11. Smoke Gets In Your Eyes
12. Some Other Time
13. You Must Believe In Spring

Related posts:

1. “For Today” by Netherworld Dancing Toys
2. Why Sister Hazel rocks!
3. Thrill me up