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.

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.

I cannot say that bodybuilders, with their muscles upon muscles, do much for me. That’s going too far. But swimmers, divers, dancers – these and others offer the perfect mix of strength and beauty and flexibility.

Who has not admired a high diver perched on their platform, every ounce of their being in focus? Or a ballerina, whirling, leaping, graceful as a gazelle in some skin-tight costume?

There’s more than grace and elegance there. The eyes follow the curves, the imagination burrows under the clothing, the spirit rises in appreciation.

Caitlyn, tall blonde dancer with a winning smile and legs to draw out a long sigh as eyes follow their clean lines all the way up, is a treat served by Abby Winters.

We meet her at home, “just kicking back – a bit cold outside, so I’ve got the heater cranked up…”

Things get hotter soon enough, but for now, we learn a bit about Caitlyn. “I’ve got a dancing background,” she says, a tangle of limbs as she leans back against a big square striped cushion. She is wearing incredibly short gray shorts, a tight green tank top, and a big smile. She’s gorgeous, just sitting there, listing her dance skills: “Classical ballet, tapping … salsa, latin – sexy moves, shaking the hips…” It’s a long list, and she’s been dancing “since I was a tiny little tacker.”

“Tacker” must be one of those Australian words, perhaps meaning “angel”.

“You can show us a couple of moves…,” prompts one of the camerawomen.

Caitlyn stands up on those long, long legs. Unfasten your seatbelts, viewers, and loosen your clothing at this point, because her dancing stretches – “extensions, as we call them” – will get you extended as you watch along.

A classical pose or two, an attempt at tapdancing in soft ballet slippers, she’s flexible as she steps and struts. For some reason the crew have asked her about her personality – “Kind, friendly, smiley,” she replies. It comes out in her body language, we don’t need to know what she’s like, because she is always smiling, generous in every move, kindly giving us more as the shoot goes on.

For now, jaws are dropping at just how far she can stretch, and imaginations are whirling at what the narrow straps of gray fabric are concealing. Then she bends forward, waaaay forward, and we are looking down the front of that tight green top. Looking good.

She tries to get her chest on the floor, she tells us, spreading her legs impossibly wide and bending down impossibly low.

“Do you stretch naked?” she is asked, the camerawoman reading my mind.

Caitlyn peels off top and shorts. Lord, but there’s an acre of smooth female skin on display. There’s not a lot her bra and panties leave to the imagination, and soon enough her small, beautifully curved, pink-nippled breasts are free for our gaze.

“I like to cook in the nude,” she tells us. She cooks up a tasty dish of camel toes for a few sweet seconds before sliding her panties down and serving dessert. No clothes, no self-consciousness, no worries. She’s comfortable in her skin and it shows.

Caitlyn demonstrates her favorite position for sex – “I think it’s called reverse cowgirl” – and leans way back. She’s done a lovely job of shaving, we notice. We can’t help noticing.

“This way, they can touch my boobs, whatever they like. I really like having my boobs touched during sex. I’ve got really, really sensitive nipples.”

She shows us, squeezing, rubbing, touching her lovely breasts.

And now she stands up for a bit of a stretch, the camera looking up from about her toes, looking right up the length of her tall body and oh boy oh boy oh boy she can raise her legs way up over her head. Oh boy!

And now she’s being asked about sex, wonder what put that thought in the camerawoman’s mind?

“I’d like to have it every day – part of my daily exercise routine! I love to give massages – body oil, fragrances, candles. I certainly like receiving massages. I like to touch my own body.”

With a body like Caitlyn’s, I’m not at all surprised. It’s made for admiring, for stroking and touching, for giving pleasure in every way. More to the point, I guess, is that there’s a difference between pleasure and happiness, and Caitlyn just flows with happiness. That warm smile, the pride in her body, the desire to make others happy. She’s a delight to watch, with or without clothes.

And then she finishes up her session, “Thanks for being with me today as I do my dancing stretches and warm-up routines. See you next time!”

You may count on it! And, Abby Winters, there will be a next time? Please?

—Guy Sez

Well I just stood back and watched today, while Carlee and Emmalee shot the stunning Caitlyn. Despite forgetting her leg warmers and wrap around cardigan Caitlyn did a great shoot in her ballet gear, we were amazed by her ability to stand on her toes and her general flexability. Carlee finally got to do a shoot (we’ve had a bit of a model shortage recently and she has got the rough end of the stick) and Emmalee got some great stuff with Caitlyn taking over! All in all a great day with an amazing model, thanks Caitlyn!
—Toby (AW crew)

Shoot: Solo Caitlyn
Date: August 23, 2007
Model: Calypso
Backstage: Not listed, but a photo and a few comments here.
Crew: Carlee, Emmalee and Toby

Length: 12:09
Size: 147.5MB
1:10 – Stretching exercises begin
5:05 – top off
5:15 – shorts off
7:00 – bra off
7:20 – camel toes, panties off
8:05 – lying back, camera between knees
8:35 – touching, squeezing, rubbing breasts
9:15 – standing up for stretching exercises

Discussion: New Model: Caitlyn

Imageset: 29 Meg of stills from the same shoot, showing Caitlyn in fine detail.

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.

Calypso – John Denver

John Denver wasn’t singing about this brown-skinned Mauritian beauty, but Wow, Calypso! She’s a sight to sing about, no argument there!

This is a shoot straight out of the Abby Winters formula. Take one girl from next door, put her into her bedroom, and get her to talk about herself while she takes off her clothes and does stuff.

Calypso is from Mauritius, she’s got a lovely milk-chocolate skin, she smiles beautifully, she’s a student, she speaks French, she has a trim and very feminine body, and she sets the music playing, whether John Denver is on the playlist or not.

I’ve selected this recent shoot for review because it illustrates a little about the Abby Winters style, and because, quite apart from Calypso having a good romp on her bed, giving us some charming views of her lady parts, it doesn’t go quite as well as it should.

Criticism later, but first the basics. One of the strengths of the Abby Winters Solo formula is that the model is at home in her own room, feeling comfortable. She knows that she is here to remove her clothes, and she has agreed in advance as to how far she will go. The crew is all female, and the atmosphere is typically relaxed and friendly. This makes for some amazing viewing, refreshing in honesty and authenticity. We see several sides of a model that would not be revealed in a more conventional studio setting.

And no, I’m not talking about the obvious here. As I’ve mentioned previously, there is a huge difference between a model spreading her labia for the camera to grab “the money shot” because she’s directed to do so, and opening out her private areas because she wants to show herself off. It’s a matter of the model’s personal choices, and it just shines out from her body language as to how she feels about it.

Calypso is photographed in a room sparsely though tastefully decorated. A couple of woven handbags hang from a doorknob, presumably of Mauritian origin, and there’s a mildly erotic print on the wall. Big double bed, plenty of floorspace, a lounge against a wall.

And Calypso herself in black jacket, stripey top hugging her body, pink underwear which is later revealed to be a G-string.

She introduces herself in English and French: Bonjour, je suis Calypso pour Abbywinters point com.

“Point” instead of “dot”. Very French. Throughout the shoot, she often repeats her English statements in French. They say the best way to learn another language is through a “sleeping teacher”, and I’m sure Calypso would be excellent at pillow talk for one-on-one language tuition!

Ahem.

“Good idea – bonne idee!” Calypso smiles.

A couple of minutes into the shoot, after we’ve learned the basics about her and she gives us the French translation of “hairdressing student”, she lies down on the bed. It’s apparently very cold in the room, but the electric blanket is turned on, making it so warm that Calypso must begin to remove her clothing!

She takes off her jacket, and, without prompting, peels her top up…

And then Lottie behind the camera interrupts. “So, your top’s pretty colourful…” and goes on to talk about the colour of the stripes.

Calypso ceases disrobing and rolls the top back down.

Arrrgggh! I like to see women comfortable and proud in their clothes, but even more than that I like to see them comfortable and proud out of them!

Eventually the top comes off, and we see a pretty bra underneath. But in a break from the usual routine, it stays on, and the G-string comes off. In fact it comes off twice!

“I’m going to describe how I remove my underwears in French,” Calypso says.

“Oh yes!” Lottie says!

Oh yes!

And down they come. In French.

“Voila!”

Very nice.

And then we get another shot of the G-string coming down, this time in close-up. Oh la-la!

Calypso is standing up on her bed at this point, pirouetting for our enjoyment, camera closeup somewhere below her waist. She has a tattoo here and there, but honestly, I wasn’t paying enough attention to make out what it was, exactly. My eyes were elsewhere.

She moves off the bed and onto the couch, sitting casually with her knees well apart, apparently unconcerned of the effect she is having on her unseen audience.

She removes her bra, and again I go Arrrgh! when Lottie asks her to put it back on again. What is going on here? Apart from the bra, that is. Sure, Calypso has an interesting method of putting her bra on, but it’s the contents I’m concerned about here, not the wrapping.

And what contents! Calypso has a pair of breasts which should be declared a national treasure. A treasure chest. They are young and firm and rounded and tipped with dark points. It’s difficult to concentrate as she tells us about life in Mauritius, the flowers, the food, the beaches…

“Would you ever do any of that in the nude?” Lottie asks, on behalf of the eager male audience.

Non is the answer. Mauritius is too small and conservative a community for nude beaches. Or nude volleyball. Calypso now demonstrates some of her stretching routines, and the camera captures her beauty nicely, including some close looks at her clean-shaven lower lips in yummy chocolate brown.

About now I feel hungry.

It gets better, as Calypso climbs back on her bed and shows us how she can touch her toes and doesn’t mind if the camera does a slow pan along her body, zooming in on the interesting bits.

And then the shoot ends, with Calypso taking off her glasses, smiling and bidding us adieu. She really is a lovely girl.

I’ve got a couple of gripes here. First, Calypso apparently has a very soft voice, and it is hard to hear what she has to say. Crank up the volume to catch her sexy French accent, and the voice of Lottie, who must be sitting right on top of the microphone, blasts out.

To make things worse, Lottie is going strong in the movie director role. She doesn’t quite phrase her suggestions as orders, but she is definitely leading Calypso in a forceful manner. It’s standard to ask a few questions to get the model to open up, but by the end of the clip I’m thinking the crew/model balance has swung a little too far in the crew direction.

Overall, a delightful shoot. The still images, I think, show off Calypso’s features a little better than the video.

There are three other shoots, including a two girl Intimate Moments on a bed cleverly placed in front of a mirror. Well worth the time to look closer at Calypso enjoying herself. Possibly she holds the Abby Winters record for number of orgasms on camera within a single shoot.

She certainly holds my interest. French lessons were never like this at school!

—Guy Sez

Calypso captured me with her dazzling smile and won me with her fine trim body. Excellent choice for the preview pic – and all those shots with her legs tucked up are my favourites in this set. Actually liked what the stills did for Calypso more than the video this time. Didn’t get too far with the French lessons in the video but I did find her Mauritius French accent a delight. I’m not always a fan of glasses but I think these definitely suit her.
—Flatspin from Sydney

Shoot: Solo Calypso
Date: November 29, 2010
Model: Calypso
Backstage: Not listed
Crew: Lottie

Length: 14:46
Size: 63.12MB, 232.54MB, 330.52MB, 545.09MB
2:40 – Jacket off
3:00 – top off – and on – and off
4:30 – G-string off
7:20 – Bra off – and on – and off
11:20 – Stretching exercises, legs wide apart
14:03 – Slow pan across body as Calypso touches toes, revealing view from behind.

Discussion: New Redux: Calypso comes back…

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.

Have I sold out? Promoting a movie I haven’t seen yet?

I don’t think so. I guess the function of a movie trailer is to make you want to watch it, and in this case, the trailer(s) for Love and Other Drugs has done it for me.

“My character in this movie obviously has a lot of sex, so I had to practise a lot,” male lead Jake Gyllenhaal says of his Viagra salesman character. “That was very important.”

I like his attitude!

He also reveals that he has never used Viagra, so obviously research for a film role isn’t that important for him!

Loosely based on the book Hard Sell: The Evolution of a Viagra Salesman, this film is stiff with penis jokes. And humor. This is a blog about sex, love and laughter, right? Right up our alley! Buttons pushed every which way.

The movie takes a good hard look at three things: drugs as in Viagra and medications needed to treat the Parkinson’s disease of Anne Hathaway’s character, sex as in the two stars getting it off as many times as possibly, often with each other, and love.

I’m cold on drugs, to be honest. The odd Tylenol for a cold or a headache, and that’s about it for me. The flood of V-mail was just background noise, and things like “Horny Goatweed” just make me laugh at the thought. There’s only one thing I need to make sex a fabulous experience, and that’s love.

Which is the message the film is selling, once you get down to it. Gyllenhaal’s character might be pushing Viagra, but he doesn’t need it for his relationship with Hathaway’s character. He goes all the way for her in every way, and he doesn’t use drugs to do it.

Let’s face it, when your lover is going downhill with a terrible disease, if you are in it for the sex, you’re getting out before it gets too hard. Sex and sickness aren’t a good mix for any market. Viagra, movies, popcorn – sure, but when the Grim Reaper is standing at the foot of the bed, who can get it up?

But these two stay the course. Sickness strengthens the bond, rather than snapping it.

The film seems to be wandering into Love Story territory here, and a number of critics pan it for its lack of focus. Parkinson’s and porn, hard sex and soft love – together in the same film?

Well, it seems that way. I’m a sucker for films like Notting Hill and The Time Traveler’s Wife where the love far overshadows the sex.

But it looks that it’s the reverse here. Both important, but more sex than love.

Right. Grl, your theater or mine?

—Guy Sez

The shoot is from August 17, 2005, back in the days before high definition video streaming. The fifteen minutes of footage is divided into three segments, each of around 35 megabytes. The picture quality is good for the day, but not the sort of thing you’d put up on the big screen to see every curly hair sharply detailed.

Mind, there’s a lot of curls to be admired. Three models, each firm and taut. Dark-haired Ivana, short and bubbly, blonde Lana C, and tall, red-haired, ginger-bushed Isabel.

Isabel owns this video. For one thing, she’s instructing the other two on salsa dancing, with its sensuous shimmies and rolls. She knows her stuff and she gives it to the viewer confidently. But mostly, it’s the way she looks. Cute baby face, sparkling eyes and a smiling mouth. Tall and slender, the incredible length of her legs extended with heels so high you gasp at how she can possibly dance on them. Her breasts are pert and every jiggle of her sweet nipples is something to sigh for. Long red hair drawn back in a ponytail, and a ginger muff you could lose yourself in.

The other two girls are easy on the eyes, small firm breasts, trim bodies, generous hips, but it’s Isabel’s show all the way through.

The setting is casual. One element of the Abby Winters flavor is that there’s not a lot of work done in professionally-decorated studios with big lights and artful backdrapes. Here we are in what looks like a country church hall. Bare wooden floorboards, wooden walls cheaply painted, an open window. A wooden bench, a cheap upright piano and a red fire extinguisher hanging by the doorway. There’s a backstage shot that shows the set halfway through the shoot.

But we’re not here to admire the furniture. All we need are the girls.

“I’m going to teach you the basics”, says Isabel, “then we’re going to jazz it up.”

Isabel is in a little black dress perched atop those fabulous legs, Ivana is in cute pink floral shorts and a top, and Lana has a skirt and a snug fitting light green top to complement her medium blondeness.

“You know how to shimmy?” Isabel asks her students, and they wiggle their upper bodies dutifully.

“Now we’re going to thrust and roll,” and they practice this. Just watching three beautiful women move their bodies in such a way is exciting enough, but you know it’s going to get better.

And very soon it does.

“This is where you follow my example as the teacher,” Isabel smiles. “Take off your clothes!”

“One – two, one – two – three,” she calls the time, wiggling her little black dress up and over her head.

And her students follow along, drawing with them my delighted eyes.

“Whenever in doubt, take off all your clothes!” I can’t argue with Isabel on this point, and I’m beginning to see how she fits right into the Abby Winters experience with this attitude.

Before any more clothes are removed, there’s a minute or so of upper-body shimmying to admire. From now on, when I think of salsa, it’s not going to be a chunky sauce that I dip my corn chips in for a snack. This is a feast for the eyes.

And it gets tastier, soon enough.

“One thing to make it even sexier,” Isabel smiles, “is to take off our underwear!”

“One – two – three,” she counts, hooking her thumbs in her panties and dropping them a few inches each time she shifts her hips. They hit the floor at the count of eight, and she stands in her glory, ginger above and below, elegant and cool, comfortable in her nudity.

Before the happy viewer has caught his breath, her two students are counting their panties down in unison, hips and legs wiggling saucily.

And there they stand, three gorgeous young naked women with ten minutes of salsa dance video ahead.

But it’s the final seconds of the first clip that makes it. Isabel’s underwear gets tangled in her heels as she tries to smoothly kick them off, and she hops on one leg, breasts doing their own sweet salsa, knees flying apart and a smile on her lips.

The second clip, five minutes and fifty-seven seconds of it, is pure pleasure. There are two cameras capturing the action: a fixed mount taking in the dance lesson, and a hand-held moving around, occasionally its microphone protruding into the main shot. I live for these mobile close-ups, zooming in on thighs and buttocks, breasts and bellies. It has a slightly warmer color setting than the fixed camera, putting more life into the live dance.

“Shimmy with the shoulders, then shimmy with the bum,” our teacher advises. The word “bum” is Australian for “ass”, it turns out. There is plenty of shimmying and twirling, three sexy women turning in unison. Before you know it, the clip is over and you are loading the third and final in the sequence, where it all comes together with a lot of giggling and jiggling. This is as much fun to watch as it must be for the three laughing, whirling women. The mobile camera looks closely at girl curves in motion, and there’s a wonderful thirty seconds towards the end, where the camera peeks through parted legs, flashes of merry bushes bouncing and dancing for our pleasure.

The final seconds are a round of applause and three low bows for the camera. You ever look down the top of a dancer bowing low at the end of her performance? Of course you did. Well, here are the bows without the tops. Enjoy!

“Encore, encore!” I applauded, but that was it, I’m afraid. Each model is the subject of one or more separate shoots, but nothing to match this session for fun.
—Guy Sez

I hate to throw around terms like “the best shoot ever” since i just know i’m going to be reminded of some shoot or other that has temporarily escaped my mind, but at the moment of writing this seems to be the best shoot i’ve seen, simply because it combines apparent genuine enjoyment on the model’s part with pleasure on the eye of the viewer, and in addition teaches a bit of something about Salsa. Deustopaz from Iowa City

Shoot: Salsa Girls
Date: August 17, 2005
Models: Isabel, Ivana, Lana C
Backstage: Images 81 – 111
Crew: Verity and Jamie

Clip 1: 5:42, 46.7 MB
3:30 – Tops off
4:50 – Bottoms off
5:35 – Isabel gets tangled in underwear

Clip 2: 5:57, 48.8 MB

Clip 3: 5:57, 49.0MB
3:16 – mobile cam in shot

Discussion: Salsa Girls

Bonus: Tribute to Isabel

Gulliver’s Travels

Who can forget the image of Gulliver tied down by a network of threads, while tiny people about the size of chipmunks clamber over him? Or Gulliver fighting off rats as big as himself?

It’s a strange and interesting book, but on examination it is perhaps not the innocent kiddie fable popular opinion believes.

Jonathan Swift had a sharp and subtle pen, and it is fairly safe to say that if he wrote X he meant Y. One of his most celebrated essays solved the Irish Question by farming the excess population of babies, fattening them up for the table. The full title of his essay is A Modest Proposal for Preventing the Children of Poor People in Ireland Being a Burden to Their Parents or Country, and for Making Them Beneficial to the Public. He quotes, straght faced,

I have been assured by a very knowing American of my acquaintance in London, that a young healthy child well nursed is at a year old a most delicious, nourishing, and wholesome food…

He hides his true message at the end, supposedly deriding measures which would be fair and beneficial, such as taxing absentee landlords, rather than their impoverished tenants.

Gulliver’s Travels, purportedly the account of a seafarer cast away on various remote and unknown lands, is actually a penetrating satire on the European civilization of the day, and indeed of human nature in general. But I will not deal with his insights here.

Instead I quote a few passages that are bowdlerized out of any children’s editions. Here he is in Lilliput, land of the tiny folk, playing a part in extinguishing a fire in a royal palace, an episode for which he is subsequently accused of treason:

The case seemed wholly desperate and deplorable; and this magnificent palace would have infallibly been burnt down to the ground, if, by a presence of mind unusual to me, I had not suddenly thought of an expedient.  I had, the evening before, drunk plentifully of a most delicious wine … which is very diuretic.  By the luckiest chance in the world, I had not discharged myself of any part of it.  The heat I had contracted by coming very near the flames, and by labouring to quench them, made the wine begin to operate by urine; which I voided in such a quantity, and applied so well to the proper places, that in three minutes the fire was wholly extinguished, and the rest of that noble pile, which had cost so many ages in erecting, preserved from destruction.

Most children, I suspect, would be delighted to see such a scene included in a movie aimed at them.

Swift has a dig at sex and morals throughout the book, but nowhere more visibly so than his accounts of being entertained by the women in the land of the giants, Brobdignag:

They would often strip me naked from top to toe, and lay me at full length in their bosoms; wherewith I was much disgusted because, to say the truth, a very offensive smell came from their skins; which I do not mention, or intend, to the disadvantage of those excellent ladies, for whom I have all manner of respect; but I conceive that my sense was more acute in proportion to my littleness, and that those illustrious persons were no more disagreeable to their lovers, or to each other, than people of the same quality are with us in England.  And, after all, I found their natural smell was much more supportable, than when they used perfumes, under which I immediately swooned away.

That which gave me most uneasiness among these maids … was, to see them use me without any manner of ceremony, like a creature who had no sort of consequence: for they would strip themselves to the skin, and put on their smocks in my presence, while I was placed on their toilet, directly before their naked bodies, which I am sure to me was very far from being a tempting sight, or from giving me any other emotions than those of horror and disgust: their skins appeared so coarse and uneven, so variously coloured, when I saw them near, with a mole here and there as broad as a trencher, and hairs hanging from it thicker than packthreads, to say nothing farther concerning the rest of their persons.  Neither did they at all scruple, while I was by, to discharge what they had drank, to the quantity of at least two hogsheads, in a vessel that held above three tuns.  The handsomest among these maids of honour, a pleasant, frolicsome girl of sixteen, would sometimes set me astride upon one of her nipples, with many other tricks, wherein the reader will excuse me for not being over particular.

Perhaps the kiddies would rightly be disturbed by such a sight, much as Gulliver fails to be aroused!

Antique language aside, the book is a good read for those who can appreciate the sharp pokes Swift gives to so-called polite society.

Guy Sez: As all the world knows, the Marina Safeway is the best supermarket. Simply the best. You can hardly miss this fabulous place of legend as you tool by on the way to Sausalito for a night of delight, top down, the Bay on the right hand, the Bridge ahead, Cow Hollow on the left.

But just peel off to the right and park outside those big old government issue buildings. The old wharves at Fort Mason. There’s a funky stage made out of old car parts and computer guts, and there’s one of the best bookstores in the world. Book Bay, one of the outlets of the Friends of the San Francisco Public Library (the other one is at the library entrance, but not quite as much fun).

I’ve been hauling myself in here for years. It used to be half the size, and the shelves would tower over me in that authentic cramped bookstore fashion, as I browsed in wonder, reaching out with both hands on both sides to seize treasures.

God, but I love old bookstores! Shakespeare and Co in Paris, The Strand in New York City, Alice’s Bookshop in Carlton, and Larry McMurtry’s awe-dropping Booked Up in Archer City, where two girls and a cat run four huge stores spread over three blocks. But you don’t have to travel the world to find good bookstores. City Lights is proof of that. And Book Bay at Fort Mason underscores the fact.

Book Bay is now twice the size, and twice as good. It’s airy and bright, full of the aroma of books, Treasure Island fierce and tropical, the cooking section savoury, the smell of oil and leather from the Transport section, and a thrilling, musky smell from a half height shelf in direct eyeline from the sales desk.

I kind of thought the Sex and Erotica area, not to mention Gay and Lesbian, was better in the old corner, where you could study the illustrations in more detail, maybe adjust your clothing if necessary, without some cheerful grandmother looking at you with interest, or an intense young person crowding your space.

But hey, it’s all good. Just camouflage the good stuff under a Frank Lloyd Wright book about the size of a coffee table, check it out, and appreciate at your private leisure.

What did I buy? Apart from 50 Favorite Houses By Frank Lloyd Wright – a mouth-watering read for the architecture drooler – I found a couple of gems.

There’s a Bear in There (and He Wants Swedish) by an Australian lady called Merridy Eastman. I chose this for the weird title as much as the topic. One should always judge a book by its title, and this one promised delights. Where could this bear be hiding? And what was Swedish about him?

Merridy, it turns out, is a presenter on a popular children’s television program – hence the reference to teddy bears – who moonlights as a worker in a Sydney brothel. “As a receptionist!” she constantly reminds people. Be that as it might, she has a book full of tales to tell about the prostitutes, their wacky customers, and the joint owners of the establishment, who try to hide their earnings not just from the Tax Office, but from each other. Merridy wonders just what each night will bring, and there is always an adventure of some kind! “Hey, don’t I know you?” some puzzled father of toddlers will muse on entry, and Merridy makes herself scarce when he leaves, just in case the answer comes to him during a different sort of entry.

Hilarious, but ultimately it’s a story about the women who work in these places and what drives them to it. You know why the junkie is there, shooting up in the bathroom between business, but why the university law student, daughter of a good home and never shy of a buck? Is she really that fond of latex-shielded sex with random strangers?

Perhaps my other purchase would supply the answer: The Good Girl’s Guide to Bad Girl Sex: An Indispensible Guide to Pleasure & Seduction.

Unfortunately, while I leafed through it in the store and when I got it home, I can’t find my copy. Perhaps Grl has it. But hey, who isn’t interested in Bad Girl sex? Every Good Girl I’ve ever met has been fascinated by the subject – once the parents and the church elders are out of eyeshot.

Luckily, Amazon’s delightful ability to look inside the book gives much of the game away: Barbara Keesling, the author, is a sex therapist who has distilled her knowledge of the advice she hands out to women who come to her with hangups. You can get the good stuff for a few dollars instead of a few thousand in weekly sessions.

But I get the feeling there’s not a lot to it apart from the basic advice given by every therapist, sex or not. Get comfortable with yourself. The chapters on technique are fine, but there’s nothing startling. It’s a matter of attitude. Instead of lying there and taking it, climb on top and enjoy yourself. You have to suck a dick with love and enthusiasm, not as an act of duty. You have to guide your lover’s tongue to where you need it for your pleasure.

Just, well, enjoy yourself. There. Common sense advice dispensed for free and practical sessions available at all hours. Grl, what are you doing tonight?

Obviously, with a used bookstore, I can’t guarantee what’s in stock. But Book Bay is always worth a visit. You never know what’s going to turn up in that little half-height bookshelf. Even if it’s been stripped bare – or bear – the rest of the store is good for a happy hour of browsing, and they sell tote bags for the stack of books, and CDs and DVDs, you’ll surely accumulate.

And if you aren’t in San Francisco with we gentle people with flowers in our hair, riding a cable car halfway to the stars and so on and on, there’s always a second-hand bookstore somewhere in the neighbourhood. When you find one with an interesting shelf or two, let us know, will you? We’ll be right over.

—Guy Sez

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

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