What People Have Down Their Pants

That's me.

Yes, I know the whole fucking world is going to hell in a hand basket, whatever that means, and what follows here today is just silliness, but my present coping mechanism of staring at my social media feeds, impotently pressing the mad face emoji is not really doing the trick today.*

Anyway there's lots to tell you. Walk with me, will you?

My Weird Job
--I was on the Cosmo Happy Hour podcast! Which would be more exciting if I could tell you how to listen! (Try iTunes or Play.It) It's the Who Invents Cosmo Sex Positions episode and--spoiler:  It's *sigh* me. I come in about the 8 minute mark and talk without pre-thinking anything for even one second, as is my way.

Things People Saw and Thought of Me:
 --Matthew saw this underwear with a built-in camel toe and quite reasonably, thought of me. Not because I am known for anything camel toe related (...yet. though I do get an oddly high amount of traffic from the search terms "Jill St. John camel toe") but because I am a little obsessed with the stuff people put down their pants.

I'm guessing they're probably for people in various stages of transitioning because beyond clearing up painful front wedgies due to 1970s time travel/wardrobe problems, it's hard to see the appeal here. Like any of these body "enhancement" deals, why would your try to attract someone with the very thing you lack? If some dude/lady is into big-ass vaginas**, they're going to be mighty disappointed when you disrobe and that camel toe of yours is lying next to you, still puffed up and ready to go. Do they then fuck you out of politeness or go straight for the panties they really wanted to fuck? Do you really want to know? 

In any case, there's also a camel toe blocker (because no matter what you have going down there, somebody is gonna tell you it's not right. See also Naomi Wolf's The Beauty Myth.) The blocker, of course, creates the opposite problem of the enhancer. Someone who is into you because of your unobtrusive little cooter will likely be shaken when you unleash your formerly-contained camel toe, and it expands like an air bag, possibly putting someone's eye out. 

If you're undecided, maybe just buy some pants that fit and see who comes your way.

--Anne sends the important news of crystals dildos designed to "quiet the mind in order to feel subtle energies, develop emotional intelligence, strengthen self-awareness, and accepting every aspect of who you are." It seems like an awful lot to ask of a dildo--guess that's why it costs $149. 91. Anne, who is from a foreign land signed off, "Hope your vagina is feeling magical" which is the way they sign off in her country, I think, but it did made to pause for a second to consider if my vagina was feeling magical. Answer: sorta? I think?
 
Things People Saw and Didn't Think of Me, But I Looked Anyway:
--My friend Janet saw Disney Dudes' Dicks: What Your Favorite Princes Look Like Naked and cruelly did not think of me. But I looked anyway, bc pervy, and beheld some waaay over-Imagineered cartoon prince nudity. I'm showing you to purge myself, in the same way that you tell someone when there's an annoying song playing over in your head. Take this:

Gaston

 Gaston likes to take nude selfies. He has a small dick—very tiny—pube-less and uncut.

 

Which seems about right.  As for Prince Charming, I've never given it any thought, but if for some reason I were forced to speculate--which could totally happen--I would guess that Prince Charming is asexual down below and has just a smooth flap of skin, like Ken. But clearly I am wrong.

Prince Charming

Obviously, the perfect guy has the perfect dick: like eight or nine inches, thick—but not too thick otherwise it's painful—rock hard with a nice throbbing vein. He's groomed perfectly in a way that's considerate of lovers without being too gay porn-y about it. He's standing in front of the fireplace that Cinderella no longer has to rake, arm draped over the mantle.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go and try to grow the fuck up. 

Contest coming!
Stay tuned. Have the prizes. Need to think of what I'm gonna make you do.

xoxo
jill

P.S. Tell me what's on your mind. I miss your ass.

*Don't worry. I'm still all about the #resist and will be back on my mad face emoji pressing duties soon enough
**I know. LABIA. Piss off.. 

The Blow Job as Path to the Divine

I am not a religious person. I don't even know that I want to be. I have sort of tried, a little, but for better or worse, I don't seem to have the God gene. The closest I ever get to the sublime feeling of connection with the universe that religious people describe is generally through music. Walking at night, the wet smell of the evening mist, a full moon hanging overripe in the sky, and Pandora radio seducing me with exactly what I want to hear before I know myself (Damn, Pandora, I will tell you again, I would so fuck you if I could) is the closest I get to experiencing the Divine.

Except for sex. I think what's appealing to me about sex is not the actual friction between body parts-- although that's pretty damn good, too--but the out-of-body, out-of-your-fucking-mind, brain/body explosion that happens during the best sex. Good sex is just somehow...beyond. You're extremely focused on the Now, the line between you and other is blurred, and, in the best moments, you feel like you and the Universe are sort of throbbing together as one. Which sounds a lot like religious ecstasy.  (Other times it's just you and your partner, or your hand, or your vibrator--you get off, then go about your day. Which is fine as well.)

In an oldish issue of Playboy, Samantha Gillison wrote a wonderful essay "The Platonic Ideal" on this idea of sex as route to the Divine. I would link to it, but-- incredibly in this day and age--it is not available on-line! Well, unless you pay. That's why this month I am a member of iPlayboy.com, for you, dear reader.

In Gillison's piece, she describes the moment she became illuminated on the joys of giving head. It was after a Bad Brains concert, and in the darkness of the parking lot, she knelt before her date.

We could have been strangers--we almost were--and somehow the darkness, the anonymity of the situation liberated me from worrying about doing something wrong or feeling self-conscious. I allowed myself to sink deep into the fantasy of what it must feel like for him--the pressure, the warmth, the wetness. All of a sudden the only thing in the world was that cock and my connection to it.

Previously, Gillison had thought of blow jobs as something you gave, like a gift, or something you did as a favor. Plus there was some fear and uncertainty.

It was just that I was unsure of cock when I got up close to one; it contained unreadable male mysteries. I might hurt it or maybe just do nothing right. Maybe I looked ridiculous. I didn’t really know which parts of it wanted to be touched, or how. It seemed to be its own creature, almost uncannily separate from the man who owned it. Perhaps simpleminded but authoritarian and judgemental. 

This time, however, she had a revelation.

But starting that night in the parking lot, I began to understand the profound, dirty pleasure of giving blow jobs. It isn’t just that I discovered how much I like being in control, how much I like giving the kind of pleasure that makes someone helpless, and how intoxicating it is to be on the receiving end of hurricane-levels of desire. But, that night, it was also the revelation of the particular male smell you get up close with a cock and balls that turned me on in ways that are almost beyond description. It was like being inside sex.

"Being inside sex." Dear God. 

Plato said that human beings can only truly access the divine through sexual ecstasy, Eros. This has always made so much sense to me. When else are humans as rapt by feeling as when they come and when they touch God? That feeling of connection to the universal, the feeling of having exited my own body as I orgasm is nothing other than touching the infinite.

Yet I have never been able to get close to that Platonic, out-of-my-mind kind of sexual ecstasy unless I can satisfy a primal hunger: Whether in fantasy or reality, I need a connection to another equally raunchy human being. It has always been the case with me, since I was a teenager, that I have to see someone else’s horniness in order to feel horny. What I happily realized on my knees in the parking lot is that an erect cock in my face is among the most blatant ways of experiencing the realness of someone else’s desire I’d ever encountered. And every time, it spurs a response in me, hot and dark and if I’m doing something transgressive in the best possible way.

Blow jobs! Philosophical talk! The phrase "erect cock in my face"!  Gah, I am a goner! LOVE this $%$#!

I'll add a little bit more of her essay, because I want to make sure I don't stray from "fair use" territory to "stealing" and "copyright infringement." Here's Gillison on the experience of blowing a long time friend and feeling, then overcoming, the awkwardness inherent in that particular situation.

But then a supple communication started between me and his penis as I began to suck, a communication beyond words and much deeper than any we had ever had before.

His cock felt so sexy in my mouth, hard and hot and aching with desire. But I could also feel how much of this man was being revealed to me: his sexuality, his vulnerability, his musky smell.

Soon the connection started to feel like a merging, as though I was experiencing that blow job too. It felt crazy, off-the-charts raunchy, to fantasize that I was not only giving head but getting it. All of a sudden I was overwhelmed by pure animal pleasure. I was so turned on that I came.

Since that night’s discovery I always revel in the double fantasy of giving and receiving. And I honor the wisdom of the old Greek philosophers who pointed out that although the Divine is inscrutable, it is easy to find while sucking on a dick.

And there is no better way to end a post than what Gillison ended with right there, so I will leave you to your day.

xoxoxo
jill

* Afterword:  Do NOT do a Google image search for "penis public domain." Hideous medical photos!  "Lesion on the glans"! Holy crap! Look away! Look away!

photo: William M. Rattase