Yet More On Writing Sex

I've started yet another blog. But this new one is devoted to retelling all the best first kiss stories that I've been collecting for the last many years.

After enough cocktails, people are always very willing to root through their pasts, pull out a story, and share.

A couple years ago, I was in NYC for a month long stay - I needed to get out of Beijing. I had met WC at a bar near her office and we had lunch and multiple cocktails. At the time, we were both going through some serious man hell so we were alternating between hysterical laughter and equally hysterical tears. She stumbled back to her office for a conference call and I stayed behind to wait for her return.

Three off-duty fireman were sitting at the bar so I joined them. Many more cocktails later, we were all fast friends. They had seen us crying and once they realized that it was because of men, they got very upset and "heroic".

"Where do the assholes live? You tell us right now, and if we ever get a call from their apartments, we won't f*cking answer it! Let the f*ckers BURN!"

I was so touched that I teared up a little, but assured them it wasn't necessary.

By the time WC returned, I was sitting with three VERY DRUNK off-duty firemen who were all unabashedly weeping as they recounted to me their stories of their best first kisses.

Unfortunately, I don't exactly remember their stories, and my notes are completely illegible. But I DO remember that their stories were astonishingly sweet. The focus was on romance, not sex. Granted I haven't collected many stories from men, so statistically I can't draw any valid conclusions, but EVERY SINGLE story I've ever heard from a man about his best first kiss was romantic. With the women, the stories were significantly more varied. And many were highly sexual. So I'm trying to get it all down - not just notes scribbled into notebooks over the years, but all in a single place.

And while I remember the individual voices of the story tellers, and I'm trying to be faithful to that, it's proving to be difficult.

A big part of it is my own block when it comes to certain vocabulary.

The sex-ed program in my school was very... innovative. It started in third grade. The first day of sex-ed, our teacher went around the room and made each of us say two words: "penis" and "vagina."

Half the room giggled helplessly. The other half sobbed. I was in the latter category.

Lord, did I weep! But I finally squeaked out, in my most miserable voice, "penisvagina."

The class was successful however. As an adult, I have no problems saying or writing those words. Penis! Vagina! Even in all caps: PENIS! VAGINA!

Of course, now I wish our teacher had included additional useful vocabulary such as: "cock, "pussy", and "cunt." If he had, perhaps I would have finished my trashy novel long ago.

Rats, now I'm blushing and feeling the urge to apply anti bacterial gel.

Calvin's Last Words

I heard from a friend today. There have been quite a few deaths lately. Though, I suppose that death is always constant. We just don't always hear about it.

Someone once told me that the death of a person is the death of a world. Which inevitably makes me think of worlds unexplored.

But to keep this post from sinking into the dark and maudlin, here's a quote from one of my absolute favorite authors, saying goodbye to a different kind of world. And I feel it's still appropriate, even against the backdrop of far weightier matters:

"It's a magical world, Hobbes, Ol' Buddy . . . let's go exploring!"

- Bill Watterson, Calvin and Hobbes, final installment.

Kinky Fantasy

Courtesy of MG:

A woman was sitting at a bar enjoying an after work cocktail with her girlfriends when an tall, exceptionally handsome, extremely sexy man entered. He was so striking that the woman could not take her eyes off him.

The man noticed her overly attentive stare and walked directly toward her.

Before she could offer her apologies for staring so rudely, he leaned over and whispered to her, "I'll do anything, absolutely anything, that you want me to do, no matter how kinky, for $20.00......on one condition."

Flabbergasted, the woman asked what the condition was.

The man replied, "You have to tell me what you want me to do in just three words."

The woman considered his proposition for a moment, and then slowly removed a $20 bill from her purse, which she pressed into the man's hand along with her address. She looked deeply into his eyes, and slowly and meaningfully said........

"Clean my house."

It does occur to me that the fact that this probably IS my kinkiest fantasy goes a long way towards explaining why I can't write a good sex scene.

Too Many Unbelievable Truths

IC just read my last post with the Time Magazine article while on the phone with me and she was full of comments:

"OMG, I need to figure out when I'm ovulating."

"And the pill? It makes you miscarriage?"

"MHC? Holy shit!"

"This is a problem."

"This article lays on too many unbelievable truths all at once. I don't know if I believe it. It is Time Inc., after all."

"Now I need to get my MRI done, all the time, as a love test."

"Which part of my brain is lit up?"

"This is a real problem."

"Why are you laughing? This is all very disturbing."

Why We Love, from Time Magazine

Huh. Now I wonder if I've been ovulating everytime I've collected a stalker. "Sorry, that Friday won't work, I'll be ovulating. Why don't we reschedule for the following week instead?"

Why We Love

Serious Daring

I had a conversation today about the weight of memory and how in certain cities, that weight bears down more heavily than in others.

It wasn't in relation to old cities and the weight of history - walking down a cobblestone street that has been worn smooth by the passage of hundreds of years of feet taking the same path. It was in relation to personal memories.

I've eagerly gone to some cities and run away from others. Sometimes I've run to and run away from the same city.

While running away seems generally like a cowardly thing to do, sometimes it's the SMART thing to do. Because why bear the weight of heavy memories when you don't have to?

But that weight CAN be lifted. Maybe it takes both physical and temporal distance from a particular city to achieve that. Certainly that distance can make things easier... and there is nothing wrong with trying to ease what's difficult.

Not all questions have answers and sometimes you need to be ok with that. As someone who has both stayed and left... I'll put in my two cents and say that new starts don't require anything but a shift in perspective. Of course, that's infinitely hard to do. Only in hindsight does it seem effortless - like going to the eye doctor and s/he fits a new lens in that contraption you rest your face against and asks, "is this better?"

Eudora Welty closed her autobiography, One Writer's Beginnings, with these three sentences:

I am writer who has led a very sheltered life. But a sheltered life can be a daring life as well. For the most serious daring starts from within.

Gayer Than Two Dollar Bill

So SK and I got an interesting compliment last night.

"You guys are better gay men than we are!"

I believe that was in appreciation of our vast knowledge of show tunes.

And just as a "morning after" note of interest: My hip flexors are sore. I asked SK and WC why that might be. They believe it was a direct result of the flexibility competition which I won.

Did I mention that I won it?

Yup. I was the winner. Me.

Leverage the Slipperiness

My birthday is now over.

I started the birthday festivities on the Friday before with a program of Russian Futurists at Lincoln Center. Who knew Shostakovich could be so whimsical?

Saturday night was celebrated with wine and tiaras and "Come here little boy" thongs.

Sunday night was all about scary sex toys and a sex writing workshop and entirely too many repetitions of the word "cock." (Although SK pointed out that it really is the best word for that part of the male anatomy. I, for one, am partial to "demon eel.")

Last night was spent dancing furiously with hundreds of gay men and a "who's more flexible" competition with a gay gymnast. I won.

During the weekend festivities, two sayings did emerge which I think will serve as a good mantras for this coming year:

"Model through it"

and

"Leverage the slipperiness"

Apparently there is a reality TV show hosted by Tyra Banks to find the next new supermodel. And Tyra shares some wisdom with the contestants: that there will be days when the clothes don't fit right, or a blemish appears on your nose, or you are weak from hunger, but you can't let that stop you. You have to model through it.

Also, on Saturday night, while we were dancing in our stockinged feet, people were slipping on my highly polished wood floors. Since I dance in my apartment all the time, I've learned to use this to my dancing advantage. You LEAN into the slip, you leverage the slipperiness.

So there you go. Words of wisdom.

Scary Sex Toys

SK and I went to the Erotic Love Letter Workshop tonight. I was so worried that I would be late, that completely inadvertently, I was fifteen minutes early.

That was a bad thing.

The workshop took place at a sex shop in the lower east side. I showed up and the door was locked. I was convinced I was late so I did the natural thing - I banged on the glass door mercilessly until someone came to unlock the door and let me in.

"Am I late?" I inquired breathlessly.

"No, you are early, but that's ok," I was informed. "Look around the store until the workshop starts," the salesperson suggested.

I claimed seats for myself and SK and wandered around the store. Since I am very methodical, I started at the beginning, and perused the bookshelves closest to the front door. Books do not frighten me. Even book with titles such as: Dick: A User's Guide and Nice Girls Don't... and Butt and The Beauty of Fetish and even The Definitive Guide to Anal Sex for Women.

Next I went to the display of hand blown (I'm not even trying to be funny here) glass dildos which were VERY expensive.

But as I went deeper into the store, I grew more uncomfortable.

I picked up a rubber ducky and was surprised at the weight of it. I squeezed it in the wrong way and it started to vibrate. I squealed and dropped it and then looked around furtively to see if anyone noticed. I wandered further and saw the usual assortment of dildos and vibrators and so forth. These were immediately recognizable as such and didn't startle me. After all, I've watched Sex and the City; I know of the "rabbit." After all, I own 15 "Hello Kitties."

But then I came upon a display of... well... flaccid penises. I was a bit confused. What does one DO with something like that? I had it in my mind that they were made of hard plastic. I knew it was a bad idea, but I reached out and poked one with a single finger. It wasn't made of hard plastic. It was.... LIFELIKE. That disturbed me immensely. I got terribly confused and poked it again, rather expecting it to grow and harden. It didn't. I got more confused and wished I had anti-bacterial gel. I was so confused that I backed away and ran over to the other side of the store where I found myself standing before a display of whips. To make a long story short, some whips don't hurt. Others do. I now have a new sensitivity regarding the crop I use when I am on horseback.

Bottom line, I was incredibly relieved when SK finally showed up and I could make her poke the flaccid silicon penises as well before taking our seats.

We were told that the workshop was about to start and that this was a good time to "set our phones on vibrate and put them in our pants." I chose to turn my phone off entirely.

I had hoped the exercise of going to this workshop would help me get over the block I have about writing sex scenes. It failed. "Cock" this and "suck" that and "rank cunt" this just doesn't seem sexy to me. Am I alone here? Is that actually SEXY?!? If anything, I walked away from this workshop thinking not only will I never WRITE about sex, I will never HAVE sex again.

But, being the dutiful student that I am, I completed the workshop assignment and wrote an "erotic" love letter. It's not good. It's the exact OPPOSITE of sexy. All the frighteningly enormous dildos and flaccid silicon penises and painful whips just chased the "erotic" right out of me. But here it is, because I promised myself that no matter how humiliating, I would post my literary efforts on my blog:

I was in a strange and foreign place this morning - the grocery store. I heard this is where one goes to find food which isn't delivered to your door or served at your table.

I stood alone in the frozen foods aisle, and suddenly I felt your hand on the small of my back. You were nowhere near me, yet clear as day, I felt the heat and pressure of your hand on my skin through my clothes. You touched me there the first time we met. You didn't touch me with intent then - that would come later. That first touch was just a casual gesture on your part, although it affected me quite differently.

I cook four times year - the end of every quarter, that's it. But there I was this morning at Whole Foods, only a month into Q2, consulting the grocery list I had emailed to my blackberry. Why? For the express purpose of making dinner for you. It was difficult enough to concentrate on navigating the complexities of cilantro versus basil, or the question of whether sea bass counts as a firm white fish, but then I felt your hands on me. Your hands on the small of my back, my face, my breasts, my thighs, between my legs. Your hands EVERYWHERE.

Standing alone, contemplating the frozen vegetables (I know, I was taking liberties with the recipe), I was flushed and shaking. I didn't care how fresh was the bread, or how juicy the peaches, how tender the meat. Nothing feels as good, smells as good, tastes as good as you do.

I'm home now and you are on your way to me. The fabulous restaurant around the corner that you love so much is delivering their sea bass special. I considered pretending that I had prepared it myself, but nothing in me is capable of lying to you.

Your hands... I still feel your hands on me.

HURRY.

I think I have to draw an inescapable conclusion: I am simply incapable of writing anything erotic. *sigh*

No Tiaras, No Service

Birthday update:

Did not wake up in a strange place:


Did not burn, or otherwise damage, my hair:


Did, however, drink to excess:



Tiaras were plentiful and much fun was had. So much fun that I cannot share any additional details since all else is too incriminating.

I will, however, share this photo:


I especially like how the thong is not only over my pants but also my tunic top and making it ride up.

But as SK says, "there's all kinds of hot out there."

Operation China

My friend, the fabulous and brilliant and gorgeous Jimmy Hexter, has written THE DEFINITIVE WORK on doing business in China.



I just placed my order, do the same!

Sample reviews:

It wasn't long ago when 'good' was good enough to win in China. No longer. Today, it's all about world-class execution. Jimmy Hexter and Jonathan Woetzel draw on their intimate knowledge of China to provide specific, real-world advice for all foreign companies operating in China today.

--Rick Wagoner, Chairman and CEO, General Motors Corporation


Few Western companies have truly cracked the code on how to successfully turn a China strategy into a winning China business operation. Operation China nails down the key aspects of running businesses in China has no other book has.

--William Amelio, CEO, Lenovo


If you are a global player, Operation China provides invaluable guidance and insight on translating China opportunities into results. If you're not a global player, but are impacted by companies that are, Operation China is a window into the source of your competitive weakness.

--Robert Holland Jr., Director at YUM! Brands, Inc.


As trade between China and the United States has exploded, the gap has widened between companies taking full advantage of this opportunity and those left behind. Hexter and Woetzel have put their finger on what every executive must focus on to succeed.

--Ambassador Charlene Barshefsky, former US Trade Representative and Senior International Partner, WilmerHale

Make Up Sex

There are countless Facebook third party applications offering all sorts of quizzes so people can determine important things such as: "What Sex and the City character are you?" and "Who were you in a past life?" and "What kind of lover are you?" and "What kama sutra position are you?"

There should be one for "What kind of fighter are you?"

I once dated a guy who fought dirty. He didn't pull his punches, and he hit below the belt.

No matter how minor and trivial the disagreement, he took that as license to cross all manner of lines that should NEVER be crossed and let fly personal insults with breathtaking ugliness.

I likened him to Tinker Bell in Peter Pan. As James M. Barrie said, Tink isn't a BAD fairy. She is just so tiny she can only hold one emotion at a time. Either she's very good or she's very bad.

When this guy was anything less than completely happy, he was MEAN. He couldn't hold two contradictory emotions at the same time. He couldn't be angry about a particular thing while remembering that he cares for the person who made him angry. He lacked the sense of object permanence that human beings learn as infants - the realization that things still exist even when not in their immediate line of sight. So when he was angry he was completely hateful and there wasn't room for the awareness that he didn't actually want the relationship to end, and that perhaps in an hour, or a day, or a week, he might regret his words and actions and wish that he could take it all back. But he was hardly Tinker Bell-sized, so what might be acceptable for her, isn't for him.

He tried to excuse himself by saying that he just doesn't like to fight, and that the solution was simply not to ever fight.

I don't have the words to express how STUPID that is.

Fighting is part of the human condition. We fight with everybody - our colleagues, our family, our closest friends, our lovers, even ourselves. The only thing that matters then, is HOW we fight.

A good friend was just dumped by her boyfriend. It came as a complete surprise to her. Yes, they had had a fight the day before, but it wasn't anything that fell outside the acceptable and normal boundaries of a healthy, loving relationship.

Apparently, her newly minted ex doesn't like to fight. Who does? But again, it's HOW people fight that can make all the difference. Is it possible to discuss even the thorniest issues while still exercising kindness, care and simple decency? Without simply ending the relationship? Of course it is. And then there's the make up sex which is always fun and almost an excuse to pick a fight in the first place. This should be common knowledge. But apparently, it isn't.

My friend's ex is looking for the kind of relationship in which disagreements never happen. I suggest finding a woman of the blow-up variety. But the sex (make up or otherwise) won't be nearly as fun.

My two cents.

Feeling Good

From the great and late Nina Simone.

Certain songs suit certain moments: the song you play when you are driving on a great day with the windows down and a long fast stretch of road ahead of you; the song that helps you run that last mile; the song that reminds you of a certain someone.

This is the song you listen to when you feel defiant and strong and you dare the universe to BRING IT.

On Kindness

MomVee, in a recent and lovely post, reminded me of one of my favorite quotes:

Three things in human life are important. The first is to be kind. The second is to be kind. The third is to be kind.

- Henry James

The last few years have made me feel even greater respect for the necessity and value of kindness.

I posted previously about forgiveness and lines carved in stone. When someone asks for forgiveness, you give it. That seems the right and kind thing to do. But sometimes, it isn't right. And sometimes being kind only opens the door to something that has been proven repeatedly to be damaging.

On days like today (when I hear from a particularly persistent and unwelcome stalker) I struggle with finding the right balance and I ask myself if I am being too hard and maybe even unkind. Doesn't forgiveness have greater value when it is undeserved? Doesn't kindness mean much much more when it is difficult to give? And isn't that exactly when kindness is most necessary?

But then I remember that it's just as important to be kind to oneself.

At least, that's what I am telling myself and I'd really like to think that Henry James would agree.

On Flirting

Years ago, I read an article on flirting. The author despaired of how flirting is no longer an art, something to be practiced graciously with the intent only to flatter and please, but is now something to be used for the express purpose of getting sex. She wrote that flirting, in its pure form, is focused, complimentary attention, and that the best flirt she had ever met was Colin Powell. While I can't readily see that, I'm happy to take her word for it. A world in which Colin Powell is a skilled practitioner of the art of flirting just seems to be a happier one to live in.

While flirting can so often be misinterpreted as bearing serious intent, it shouldn't be. Because the fun of it rests in the momentary pleasure both given and received.

Being Known

I had a conversation recently about friendship. Specifically, about being far away from close friends, best friends, and feeling their absence.

I had written a post titled Familiarity Breeds earlier this month about the appeal of the familiar. But that goes both ways. There is also something so comforting and appealing about being known. And while that kind of knowledge can be gained relatively quickly with enough effort, there's something very different about the kind of knowledge that is absorbed naturally, effortlessly, with the passing of time, and lots of it.

A couple months ago, I was having drinks with three friends. And as I looked around the table, I realized that all three of them had been at my wedding. Of course, incidentals like husbands come and go, but the four of us sitting together that evening was deeply reassuring to me. Some things last.

Random Cobweb Clearing

I think my vowels might be loose. When I say that I am on a "man fast," it is often heard as "man fest."

Depending on the audience, that misunderstanding is either greeted with "go girl!" or with a raised eyebrow.

And then I am always quick to correct that misunderstanding... "No no no, a man faaaaaast." Which is then either greeted with disappointment or with the second eyebrow joining the first.

But why? What's wrong with a little random cobweb clearing? (phrase coined by BY last night).

The dictionary widget on my mac dashboard tells me that clearing away cobwebs means: "to enliven or refresh oneself." A little freshening up is almost always a good idea.

But sometimes it's important to recalibrate without the altering impact of sex. Because when it's good and worth having, sex changes everything.

And besides, as Cher said in Clueless: "You see how picky I am with my shoes... and they only go on my feet."

Go-Go Moves for Go-Go Gals

How SK and I will spend the afternoon of February 23rd:

Amazing Pontani Go-Go Lesson:

I love the practicality of it. Go! Go! Go!

Post Fast Cravings

The only solid food I both crave and can keep down appears to be Subway's six-inch turkey sub on wheat bread with every vegetable available.

This is both puzzling and distressing.

The Last Word

I went on a diet, swore off drinking and heavy eating, and in 14 days I lost two weeks.

-- Joe E. Lewis