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!

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She’s from back East – Berkeley – but we won’t hold that against her. Too much.

So don’t think we’ve gone to sleep on you. We’re just catching our breath, and we’ll be coming back quicker and fresher. Stay tuned for more.

Grl, I’m sad to say, is now on the road, and out of immediate physical contact. Maybe it’s time for a post on chatsex…

–Guy Sez

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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

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Blue, blue, my world is blue - photo by just4you

It’s probably old hat to most folks now, but yesterday Facebook began to experience a rash, a rush of colors. People typed in “black”, or “beige” or “white” or “flesh” as their status. This created confusion and unease amongst those who hadn’t heard the word.

Mostly men.

“Blue,” Grl said on FaceBook, and I tried to recall what was blue about her. Her eyes, obviously. But some of the other colors floating around FaceBook made this an unlikely answer.

Her mood, to be sure. She swings – in more ways than one – and now and then she has to be hauled out of a blue mood. Not often, our Grl is usually sunny and bright, but now and again there’s a flip side, a down to the up, a blue to the gold.

It turned out to be a viral thing. Women all over the world – and some smart-ass guys – were revealing the color of their underwear to encourage awareness of breast cancer.

I can’t say that I thought of breast cancer. I thought of breasts, and bras, and blue.

Breasts - keep them in safe hands! - photo by PatriotPro

I thought, truth must be told, of Grl’s breasts.

And when I finally learnt of the supposed purpose of this exercise, I thought how sad it would be for all the guys of this world if we lost even a few of those delightful breasts to cancer. Or worse, if we lost even a few of the owners of those breasts.

Trouble is, we do. Globally, annually, tragically, half a million people are killed by breast cancer. I can’t find figures for the number of breasts lost to mastectomies – a case of win the war but lose the battle if ever I heard one – but it would be in the bazillions.

I don’t know what was running through Grl’s head when she advised the world that her status was “Blue”. I suspect she was thinking of breasts. I suspect that most people were thinking innocent titillation.

But I’m thinking that this is a classic case of consciousness-raising needing a little uplift to get it back on track.

Here’s Breast Cancer Action. Read and give. ‘Nuff said.

–Guy Sez

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Police gaze - photo by dyslow

The internet is the wet dream of the schoolyard show-offs. You know, the kids who just wanted to make a noise, disrupt the classroom, screw around. And now, here they are with a fabulous toy and a global audience. Anybody, anywhere, can make a racket, say whatever they want, do it anonymously and be forever unpunished. They don’t even have to finish school first.

They can be as horrid and disgusting as you like and there’s no comeback.

Well, not much.

Sure, some websites or hosts will shut down troublemakers, but there’s always another domain with more liberal policies.

If someone puts up kiddy porn or scams a lot of people, then the authorities will come after them, but by and large, there are too few trained internet police to go hunting down every last spammer. And, if the villains cover their tracks well enough, they are too difficult for the overloaded computer cops.

If the internet wasn’t so big here and we didn’t have freedom of expression built right into the Constitution, then the web might not be quite so free. Imagine if China or Soviet Russia had developed the web. It would be highly-structured, rigidly-controlled, and trouble-makers would be mercilessly harvested.

I like the way the web is. Anarchic, user-controlled; outlaw bikers and church fellowships side by IP side. Yep, there’s some dodgy neighbourhoods, but the way it’s developed is astonishing. Things like Wikipedia – the world’s most comprehensive encyclopaedia written, organised, illustrated and published in three years – for free. Or Google Maps and similar sites, showing every location on the planet from Gods-eye view. I’m old enough to find these and other amazing things the stuff of science fiction.

If government committees had approved and developed the net, we’d still be waiting for basic email, let alone porn sites, sex blogs, and gay newsgroups.

Lacking centralised control, governments lean towards censorship as a control over material they find objectionable – such as criticism, opposition parties, and radar detectors.

Places like China make no bones about censorship and control. They do their level best to shut down sites critical of the government, and if they can’t physically reach them – yes, there is still some enterprise existing outside China these days – then they block them out, erecting a new Great Wall around their heartland in these days of satellite feeds and public key cryptography.

In the Western world, overcautious agencies set their sites on terrorism and pornography, safeguarding the children and baffling the adults. It starts out easy enough, filtering out the more objectionable words. Scunthorpe in England becomes the only town where you may not book a hotel room online, but soon poultry breeders are inconvenienced, people named Richard must be named in full, club websites find new ways to refer to their registered participants, and sports reports make elliptical reference to “round objects” and “points tallies”. Well meaning pencilnecks beaver away at turning the internet into pap and drivel. Sometimes I think they’ve won the match.

It’s a common thread running through the entire existence of the Internet, or at least since religious fundamentalists became aware of it, and government after government has attempted legislation to take all the fun out of the thing. Groups such as the Electronic Frontier Foundation are kept busy battling to keep the weblanes open.

Similar government efforts, more easily justified, are directed at stamping out, if not controlling, crime and terrorism. Piracy – the online variety – is depicted as an arrow aimed straight at the heart of commerce, Disney and Fox.

And, speaking of entertainment giants, if one of their products bombs, tanks or explodes onto our screens, the National Security Agency and other groups take a sudden interest in webpages using those terms. The interest of battling terrorism, of course.

On the other side of the Pacific, Australia is the latest nation – we cannot say “country” any more – to push repressive laws. Sometime in 2010 all their Internet Service Providers will be required to block material on a government-supplied blacklist. This includes agreed evils such as child pornography, but also a broader range of content: fetishy sex, instruction in crime (such as euthanasia), any computer game not suitable for under 18s. The list will be partly generated by public complaints, and may include lists imported from overseas police departments. We can only imagine Utah’s contribution.

Worse, the list will be mandatory and secret. Australians won’t know precisely what they are being protected from, only that their online content will become steadily more bland. The list will be specifically exempt from Freedom of Information requests, for example.

Heaven help the world if Australia’s Christian fundamentalist Prime Minister succeeds. He’ll be the pin-up guy for bigots everywhere. Don’t like sites offering health advice to gay folk? Abortion information to teenagers? Just slip the URL to your representative and they are out of business. Nobody will know.

Why am I concerned about censorship in China and Australia? Grl and I are running a blog that talks about sex. Sex as pleasure and joy, rather than a sour-minded duty aimed at procreation science. We’re vulnerable, even though our sex talk is spicey rather than hard-core. They start with the kiddy porn, they move onto bondage and gays, and we’re next to be nailed.

And, with this post, we’re publishing material critical of a government, mentioning bombs and tanks and abortion in the same cyberbreath. That’s it. We’re noticed.

Hard-core government censorship is such a great idea. First Australia, then Canada, tomorrow the world.

As Neil Gaiman said, “…if you don’t stand up for the stuff you don’t like, when they come for the stuff you do like, you’ve already lost.”

My GF Sez raises two determined hands. One each. We’re holding the others.

Luckily the Internet isn’t quite so easily controlled.

John Gilmore’s famous quote, “The Net interprets censorship as damage and routes around it,” remains applicable. No one body owns or administers the internet. I’m not sure how it works, but I suspect nobody does. It works, it moves around, it avoids control, it runs on offshore sites when domestic regulation is tough. It twitters out of Iran, it downloads in Pirate Bay, it blogs out of Baghdad.

Like Cerberus, the mythical monster of the Victorian underworld, if one head is hacked off, three more spring up in its place. The internet works around censorship. The internet continues to function, to grow, to survive and prosper.

But remember, the internet isn’t some faceless government agency. It’s us. It’s supply and demand. Hold up your hands, fight for your rights, stick it out for your art nudes, your leather and chains, your same-sex erotica. Because if you give up, it’s Disney and the Mormons deciding what you can access online.

–Guy Sez

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