I know I have been dissing Jamie Bufalino before. I am certain I will again. I have no idea how this man landed the title “sex expert” or the gig in Time Out.
Gay Dan Savage (of the Village Voice) knows multiple times more about female sexuality than Bufalino the Buffalo. That says something, I guess.
From this week’s column:
Q: I’m a hetero woman, and in the past few years I have played with a lot of men, but never had a relationship that extended outside the bedroom. I recently met a drop-dead handsome man with a fantastic body—just looking at him sets my loins on fire. He is great with his mouth and hands, and is a considerate boyfriend outside the bedroom. However, he has the smallest penis I have ever encountered. His erection is barely enough to penetrate me, and then once he’s inside, it’s all over in a couple of minutes. Some women like oral or being fingered; I just love a lengthy pounding with a rock-hard cock…and I’m not getting it. But despite his inability to deliver, I get horny just thinking about him. He gets my juices flowing in a way that no other man has. Should I break up with him now before I get too emotionally involved? I don’t want to give up the boyfriend experience as well as the unbridled lust he stirs in me. Will I eventually lose interest in him because of the less-than-stellar sex? We’re both in our late thirties.
A: I always love it when a sentence like “He gets my juices flowing in a way that no other man has” is immediately followed by “Should I break up with him?” Why in the name of all that’s holy would you preemptively end a solid relationship (not perfect, but solid) just because there’s the possibility (not a guarantee) of feeling a little more intense emotional pain somewhere down the road? Furthermore, why isn’t your question, “What can I do to recalibrate my thinking so that I’m not so focused on his puny dick , while being overly dismissive of how well-meaning he is?” (It really barely penetrates? I have to admit it’s hard for me to even get a mental picture of such a travesty.) Answer: practice, practice, practice. Presumably you’ve had more than your share of rock-hard cock-poundings during your life, and they’ve still left you single and searching. Instead of doing and feeling the same things over and over again (and getting the same result), why don’t you just let this thing play out? Don’t forget: You’re actually into being with him. At least wait until he drives you up the fucking wall before you trash what seems to be a pretty good thing. (End of quote.)
My (Lady In Red's) advice to the same woman:
First of all, don’t ever write to a less-than-stellar sex columnist again.
Second, do your kegels. As many of them as you possibly can. And when he’s inside of you, get on top and do the same thing. You’ll both feel more. Any position where you can squeeze your legs tight will also help you. Tried reverse cowgirl with your legs in a crossed position? Tried doggy with your legs crossed?
Third: Buy a vibrator. A big one. If you think your boyfriend is willing to play with it with you, introduce it to him. Have him fuck you with it. And if he is as small as you say, the vibe and the man will fit inside of you at the same time, increasing your pleasure, and probably his, too.
If you don’t think he’ll be up for it, if you think it’ll make him insecure, play with it when you’re alone. It’s not the same, I know, but at least you’ll get the feeling of being filled up without having to cheat. Don’t dump the guy because of his short-comings, not as long as he makes you feel the way he does. In that, JB is right: Let the relationship run its course.
But do, by all means, try to make up for it with hands and mouth and toys. It’ll make your sex life more satisfactory, and that, my friend, makes your life with this guy more satisfactory.
Also: Do you think there’s a chance he’ll be up for threesomes? With other men, I mean? Or if he’ll be willing to open up your relationship, emotionally monogamous, sexually open? If he is, you’ll get the sex you want without having to give up on the emotions.
As for talking to him about this: He knows he is small. (That’s why he is so great with his hands and mouth.) Mocking it will make him feel insecure. Talking to him about how to compensate for it, in a matter-of-fact-manner, shouldn’t come as a surprise to him. “I wonder if you’ve ever tried having sex with a vibrator”, “I wonder what you think about this or that position”, “I’d like to try ---- to feel you better” – these sentences shouldn’t take his confidence away.
PS: You all may think I mock JB too easily. But listen to this line: “Presumably you’ve had more than your share of rock-hard cock-poundings during your life, and they’ve still left you single and searching”.
What the F has her experience got to do with anything????? She mentions it to show that she doesn't fall in love that easily, and that sex (intercourse) is important to her. But JB interprets it as if she has already had “more than her share” of good fucking, and doesn’t deserve to get any more of it? Go fuck yourself, JB, because YOU don’t deserve to get any from any other person for a long, long time.
A woman taking responsibility for her own pleasure does indeed deserve the pleasure she wants. A woman whose priorities include a good fuck will not be truly happy without a good fuck. As a socalled sex expert, your responsibility should be coming up with suggestions on how to get it. NOT to come up with half-chewed hints that women liking it are sluts and selfish bitches.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Monday, February 1, 2010
No sex, please, they’re English
Normally, I oppose stereotypes with all my might. But sometimes, people seem eager to confirm the most parodic of them. Like now, when some British and French scientists discuss whether the G-spot exists. Presumably male scientists, I should say.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2010/jan/28/g-spot-france-sex-gynaecology
Hard as it is, I am going to let the Brit-French jokes lie for now. And the scientist jokes too. I find it a bit harder not to point out that The Guardian – a newspaper I normally consider to be brilliant – finds it appropriate to label this with the term “gynecology” (if you ask me, among the least sexy ten letters in the English dictionary, or eleven, as it’s apparently spelled in the Queen’s Country – with that A in it, it sounds even more medievally medical). But that wasn’t really what I was going to say either.
What I was going to say was this: How ON EARTH is it even possible to have this discussion? I understand how it’s possible to discuss whether God exists. Or Fate. Or love at first sight. Or Santa Claus, presuming you’re five years old. These are all abstracts. But how it’s possible to discuss whether the G-spot EXISTS, presuming you’re NOT five years old, I can’t for the life of me get a grasp on. How it’s NOT possible to find it?
I have often wondered, whenever overhearing this kind of discussion. There’s no doubt about where it is. I have never needed any kind of searching to find it. It’s just there. Exactly where it’s supposed to be. Working exactly the way it’s supposed to do. (And there’s another extra-sensitive spot in there too, more or less directly opposed to it, just a little further in. The latter, I think, is where squirting starts. Can’t really guarantee I am right about this – the liquid may come from even further within – but I think my theory is correct.) I don’t even need to be aroused to find it, though, of course, it’s more distinct when I am.
I may be a lucky woman. Men have told me I am. And certain Red-is-not-supposed-to-see-this-glance-exchanges between girlfriends tell me the same. But the girlfriends in question are mostly women whose self-images are not totally how they should be. These are women who’ve also told me, from time to time, that they feel uncomfortable naked. Who admit they’ve got troubles letting go and to be in the moment, when they have sex. I’ve always believed their troubles to be psychologically founded, and I have never for a second in my life imagined it to be physical. At least not in the have-or-have-not way of physical. (I admit that I have, from time to time, imagined it’s about the physics of their men.) But I mean, like one of the Guardian commenters say, if anyone had said that only some 60 % of women were in possession of other organs, like a liver or a heart or a set of lungs, they would have been ridiculed big time. It’s there. Just how it is. But still, apparently, there’s no “scientific” research concluding??? This baffles me. What does it say about science? And what does it say about everything we do not need science for? If a woman orgasms in the woods without a scientist to see, did the trees really move?
The abovementioned article, BTW, is not the only thing written in The Guardian about this. They’ve had a couple of more texts on the same subject. Among them, the following is actually quite sad, with this quote, unfortunately, coming from a woman: “I haven't a clue whether the G-spot exists, nor do I much care.”
http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2010/jan/05/g-spot-women-study
Really? REALLY? I mean: REALLY?
Can anyone even imagine a discussion on whether male ejaculation is real or a myth? Or whether it matters if it is?
I didn’t think so.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2010/jan/28/g-spot-france-sex-gynaecology
Hard as it is, I am going to let the Brit-French jokes lie for now. And the scientist jokes too. I find it a bit harder not to point out that The Guardian – a newspaper I normally consider to be brilliant – finds it appropriate to label this with the term “gynecology” (if you ask me, among the least sexy ten letters in the English dictionary, or eleven, as it’s apparently spelled in the Queen’s Country – with that A in it, it sounds even more medievally medical). But that wasn’t really what I was going to say either.
What I was going to say was this: How ON EARTH is it even possible to have this discussion? I understand how it’s possible to discuss whether God exists. Or Fate. Or love at first sight. Or Santa Claus, presuming you’re five years old. These are all abstracts. But how it’s possible to discuss whether the G-spot EXISTS, presuming you’re NOT five years old, I can’t for the life of me get a grasp on. How it’s NOT possible to find it?
I have often wondered, whenever overhearing this kind of discussion. There’s no doubt about where it is. I have never needed any kind of searching to find it. It’s just there. Exactly where it’s supposed to be. Working exactly the way it’s supposed to do. (And there’s another extra-sensitive spot in there too, more or less directly opposed to it, just a little further in. The latter, I think, is where squirting starts. Can’t really guarantee I am right about this – the liquid may come from even further within – but I think my theory is correct.) I don’t even need to be aroused to find it, though, of course, it’s more distinct when I am.
I may be a lucky woman. Men have told me I am. And certain Red-is-not-supposed-to-see-this-glance-exchanges between girlfriends tell me the same. But the girlfriends in question are mostly women whose self-images are not totally how they should be. These are women who’ve also told me, from time to time, that they feel uncomfortable naked. Who admit they’ve got troubles letting go and to be in the moment, when they have sex. I’ve always believed their troubles to be psychologically founded, and I have never for a second in my life imagined it to be physical. At least not in the have-or-have-not way of physical. (I admit that I have, from time to time, imagined it’s about the physics of their men.) But I mean, like one of the Guardian commenters say, if anyone had said that only some 60 % of women were in possession of other organs, like a liver or a heart or a set of lungs, they would have been ridiculed big time. It’s there. Just how it is. But still, apparently, there’s no “scientific” research concluding??? This baffles me. What does it say about science? And what does it say about everything we do not need science for? If a woman orgasms in the woods without a scientist to see, did the trees really move?
The abovementioned article, BTW, is not the only thing written in The Guardian about this. They’ve had a couple of more texts on the same subject. Among them, the following is actually quite sad, with this quote, unfortunately, coming from a woman: “I haven't a clue whether the G-spot exists, nor do I much care.”
http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2010/jan/05/g-spot-women-study
Really? REALLY? I mean: REALLY?
Can anyone even imagine a discussion on whether male ejaculation is real or a myth? Or whether it matters if it is?
I didn’t think so.
A perfect day. Or two, actually...
Saturday morning the phone wakes me up. Brooklyn friends cancelling brunch, it’s too cold for them to want to take the baby out. When I discover just how cold, I’m glad they did. In this regard I have never been much of a Viking. So I get back to the bed, suggesting we’d stay inside the whole weekend for a change. "I’ve got an even better idea", he says, putting his hands around my wrists and pulling me underneath him. "Let’s stay in bed for the whole weekend".
I laugh. I’ve never stayed in bed for a full day straight unless I’ve been really unwell. For now, I feel great. And as he kisses me, I feel even better. Let’s do that, I agree. And so we do.
We don’t have sex for the whole time. We read the newspapers aloud to each other. We quote passages from favorite books. I do the crossword, he a Sudoku. We talk and laugh. We cuddle. We order in pizza. We take a nap. We only leave the bed to use the bathroom or to make coffee. We don’t use the TV, we don’t turn on the computers. Phones, we’ve turned off, too. Around six p.m I go restless. Sure, I've moved some. We’ve already had sex a couple of times, some three hours all in all. Some of it has been vigorous. But I still haven’t gotten my workout, and usually, I do an hour a day. He won’t let me leave the bed to do it, and he teases me.
"You can do it here. You can use me as your yoga mat, I’ll handle it", he says. And so I do. To begin with, I pretend to be doing the exercise for real. Playfully, I ignore his sighs as I put my full body weight on my hands on his back. I know it hurts, but not that much. Eventually, we get it on the way he meant it all along, his cock is inside of me, positions just slightly different from what they use to be when I do them solo for another purpose. We do doggy for upwards dog and I skip the warrior poses. The boat feels very interesting... In that angle, as well as some of the others, he helps supporting me so that I won’t do any damage. Keeping my breath is quite a challenge, though, and I give up on it after not that many minutes. The try-to-stick-to-the-poses attitude goes next, but I keep bending and stretching and trying out whether the regular poses can be translated into sex poses. Surprisingly many of them can.
After, he spoons me, and we cuddle some more. Telling each other silly little secrets. Joking and laughing. It’s a great day. And then Sunday’s the same. As we wake up Monday morning, ready for work, he says "We don’t always need to do something for it to do us good".
I think he is right.
I laugh. I’ve never stayed in bed for a full day straight unless I’ve been really unwell. For now, I feel great. And as he kisses me, I feel even better. Let’s do that, I agree. And so we do.
We don’t have sex for the whole time. We read the newspapers aloud to each other. We quote passages from favorite books. I do the crossword, he a Sudoku. We talk and laugh. We cuddle. We order in pizza. We take a nap. We only leave the bed to use the bathroom or to make coffee. We don’t use the TV, we don’t turn on the computers. Phones, we’ve turned off, too. Around six p.m I go restless. Sure, I've moved some. We’ve already had sex a couple of times, some three hours all in all. Some of it has been vigorous. But I still haven’t gotten my workout, and usually, I do an hour a day. He won’t let me leave the bed to do it, and he teases me.
"You can do it here. You can use me as your yoga mat, I’ll handle it", he says. And so I do. To begin with, I pretend to be doing the exercise for real. Playfully, I ignore his sighs as I put my full body weight on my hands on his back. I know it hurts, but not that much. Eventually, we get it on the way he meant it all along, his cock is inside of me, positions just slightly different from what they use to be when I do them solo for another purpose. We do doggy for upwards dog and I skip the warrior poses. The boat feels very interesting... In that angle, as well as some of the others, he helps supporting me so that I won’t do any damage. Keeping my breath is quite a challenge, though, and I give up on it after not that many minutes. The try-to-stick-to-the-poses attitude goes next, but I keep bending and stretching and trying out whether the regular poses can be translated into sex poses. Surprisingly many of them can.
After, he spoons me, and we cuddle some more. Telling each other silly little secrets. Joking and laughing. It’s a great day. And then Sunday’s the same. As we wake up Monday morning, ready for work, he says "We don’t always need to do something for it to do us good".
I think he is right.
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