Two birds, one stone

M played a big part in my crossing out a lot of the items on the Sexual Bucket List I penned last week.  And while I’m away for Thanksgiving at my parents’ other house in Maryland, I remembered that M and I came up here for a weekend some years ago when we were seeing a Pearl Jam concert near by.

The parents weren’t here, of course, and we had a bunch of sex all over the place (so, sex in your parents’ bedroom? Check!). But, more importantly, it was here that we finally decided to record ourselves doing it (making a sex tape, check!). He was a professional photographer and videographer, so there was a lot of set-up involved. This had to be done right, you see, while I mostly just wanted to get on with the show. He positioned the tripod, camera and lighting to his liking and then we did a couple of test shots, though I realized, the rest of him wasn’t in the frame. You could see me sucking his dick or the front of my body while he fucked me from behind, but you couldn’t see his face. No, we couldn’t have that.

“I want you in the picture,” I demanded.

“But this is how they do it in porn!”

“I don’t care what they do in porn,” I objected. “Fair is fair!”

“Besides,” I said. “I … like … your … face,” planting a firm kiss on his lips in between every word.

I got what I wanted. He got to keep the tape. And all was fair in love and war.

The Chicago Chronicles Part I: Sass & Class

Chicago, Piano Bar, Redhead Piano BarI didn’t realize I was being sassy until I saw him copy my pose.

“Jim?” I said, as he approached the elevator bank.

“Anais?” he replied, as he leaned against the wall with his right hand and put his left on his hip. That was definitely sassy.

“Would you like to join us for a drink?” I asked, now standing up straight and un-sassy-ing myself.

“Sure,” he said, as we all got in the next elevator together.

We had just met at an industry conference and I remembered talking to him earlier in the day and liking his eyes and thoughts. He talked like a human being, not like a marketing machine–what I was used to with most finance guys. I didn’t know anyone in Chicago and a friend, who was largely known as the industry sleazebag, had just asked me out for drinks. He would likely be a good source for stories, but annoying. I didn’t want to go alone with him, so I used Jim as a buffer. Besides, he was a local and would probably know where to go. Continue reading

Cojones

The backside of the Wall Street Bull in downtown Manhattan, whose balls you have to rub for good luck when you come here.

The backside of the Wall Street Bull in downtown Manhattan, whose balls you have to rub for good luck when you come here.

I forgot to mention that when I was prancing around all those fabulous Halloween parties and events, as documented here, I thought to myself: New York, I’ve got you by the balls. I know I talk a lot of shit about wanting to leave (and I still do, having been here close to 20 years, I feel like I’ve overstayed my welcome and it’s time for other places) and how it sucks some of the time (it certainly does in the winter and I’m feeling that again now). But I can’t deny that I really do have this city by the balls. I know where all the best underground events are, I can get into most of them for free, I know the way into the exclusive, invite-only or super hush-hush ones. Whenever anyone comes to New York from out of town, I usually know exactly where and how to show them a good time. So, yes, I won’t deny it, I’ve pretty much got it made here.

And whenever I leave, I’ll miss having a city, especially New York City, so firmly by the balls. But I’ll always cherish the massive pair of my own that this place helped me grow. And that I can take anywhere with me. Cause it’s true what they say: you certainly can’t survive here without growing a nice pair of cojones. So, thank you, for that and everything else., NYC!

Been around the block, no longer on the corner

This was the title of the Craigslist personals ad that my friend Juicy J and I posted, mostly just for fun, a few weeks ago. Juicy, who came up with the clever tag line, and I had been talking for some for time about how we’re not sure what our “marketing strategy” should be now when it comes to men. We were kind of over all the orgies, open/ambiguous relationships and all that jazz, but were still hanging out with the same people, and going to a lot of alternative parties, where we’d probably meet the same breed of men as we had before (the non-committal “I-just-wanna-party-and-get-laid-as-much-as-possible” guys). Though at the same time, going for vanilla guys probably wouldn’t work either. We were guessing they wouldn’t be comfortable with out past (present-ish?) and, to be honest, we’d probably find them utterly boring.

In the meantime, we decided to amuse ourselves one Saturday afternoon, after a boozy brunch, and post an ad that would encapsulate those ideas, mostly as a social experiment (an so I can blog it, of course) and to laugh.

The rest of the ad read as follows: Continue reading

Cruel Intentions, Great Expectations

Placebo, Brian Molko, Joseph Llanes, Rolling Stone

Brian Molko, Placebo’s frontman, rocking it out in Los Angeles. Photo by Joseph Llanes.

I recently saw the British alternative rock band, Placebo, play a concert in New York and fell in love with them all over again. So many of their lyrics speak to me on a deep level and at the same time, they’re so simple, that I think, “I could’ve thought of that myself!” But I didn’t think of that myself. That’s the thing about great literature, poetry and song writing: the writers find ways to concisely articulate something we’ve been feeling for some time that we haven’t yet managed to put into words quite as well.

Seeing the concert reminded me of how I get introduced to them: I heard their song Every Me Every You play in the opening of the movie Cruel Intentions, which came out in 1999 (when I was 16). Both the movie and the song really resonated with me at the time. The beginning of the song went like this: Continue reading

Exhibitionism Lite (or the thrill of getting caught)

nails, door knob, fetish

Photo by Archbishop Tutu.

C has his own website at The Kink Studio these days and has been blogging there about some of our adventures. He recently wrote about one of our summer trysts and my penchant for … not exactly exhibitionism … but doing things in public places, where the thrill or fear of getting caught makes it feel all the more exciting and deviant (though I don’t actually want to get caught). What do you call this? Exhibitionism lite?

I know I did plenty of things in the past few years that looked like “exhibitionism full throttle,” what with all the fucking at sex parties and the like, but I don’t think I was ever into exhibitionism per se. Before, at the parties, I was just trying something new on for size. If there was someone at a sex party that I wanted to play with, I’d do it regardless of who was or wasn’t watching. These days, I seem to have less of a desire to do anything at play parties, for whatever reason. But discreetly playing in (inappropriate) public places remains to be one of my guilty pleasures. Continue reading

A Sexual Bucket List (à mon avis).

sex, fetish, fetish play

One of Archbishop Tutu’s intimate snapshots from a Fetish Tribe Suspension party in New York.

I stumbled upon someone else’s write-up of a sexual bucket list (50 things to do before you die) the other day, found that I’ve already experienced most of the things on it, shared it on Facebook and had a bunch of my friends laugh at it for it being “too tame.” So, in light of that (and in light of the “omg, eww, that’s gross!” hilarious comments on that original article), I decided to compile my own list. It’s a mixture of things I’ve done, things I still want to try, things my friends have done, scenes I’ve seen others partake in, experiences I’ve imagined or fantasized about, etc. The original list was mostly skewed towards sexual experiences that women might want to have, but I tried to keep mine mostly balanced between the genders, hence item #1, which was alluded to in the original list (“kiss a girl”), but is extrapolated upon here…

(Sidenote #1: There are, of course, other lists of this sort out there already, Namely, the 1000 item-long Purity Test, which a friend of mine put me on to. You’re certainly welcome to peruse it, but I still wanted to writer a shorter, more manageable personal list, if only for shits and giggles.

Sidenote #2: To the prudes reading this, if you think this stuff is disgusting, vile or weird, I’ll happily direct you to a plethora of French literature and to FetLife, where you can find even more sexual experiments that will fit those adjectives better. I did actually try to keep this list to “things within reason,” so no donkey fucking, golden or brown showers or anything like that. You’re welcome.)

Friends and readers: I encourage you to add items that I may have missed in the comments section. I’d love to hear your ideas. Let’s inspire one another!

Without further ado… Continue reading

Halloween-ing Around

Susanne Bartsch, Halloween party, Citizen Chris

From the Susanne Bartsch Halloween party. Photo by Citizen Chris.

Whoa, it’s been a whirlwind of a few weeks! Particularly the weeks and days leading up to, and following, Halloween. I feel like I’m still recovering from all the festivities. There was a week or two in there, where it was just an endless stream of: throw on costume+ fangs+ contact lenses, go to a party, stay out until 4-5-TK a.m., go home, sleep until the next afternoon, take shower, mosey around the house a bit, and then start getting ready for the next event and do it all over again.

This year, I went with my black cat suit and black PVC corset, plus fangs, white face paint, creepy red eyes and the works to attempt to look like Selene from the movie Underworld. It was an outfit I owned, and intended to wear, for Halloween last year, but then Hurricane Sandy blew into town and literally rained on my, and everyone else’s, parade. But I brought the outfit out so many times this year that it more than made up for its lack of appearance last year. Continue reading

A literary seduction (my favorite kind)

Poetry Brothel. LES, The Dark Room, NYC nightlife, poetry, whores

The Seducing Cast from the Poetry Brothel

Whores (and I say that in the most sex-positive sense of the term. I am one, too, after all) are not hard to find in New York City, I’d say. Intellectual literary whores, however, are another story. Though towards the end of last month, I found a delightful conclave where many of them seem to gather en masse once or twice a month.

On a late-October Sunday, I ventured down the stairs and under/around an old building in the Lower East Side, then back up the stairs to find myself at the entrance of The Back Room where The Poetry Brothel takes place once a month or so. The event plays on the idea of a brothel, but instead of whoring away their bodies, the beautiful (and talented) women (and some men) seduce you with their poetry. They read some aloud to the entire audience and are later available for a small fee to do private readings in separate rooms. I can’t vouch for what happens in these rooms, as I didn’t go to one this time around, but I did notice that the ladies, who had started out in elaborate fancy evening gowns, had later dressed down to intimate little slips and lingerie. Some had also let their hair loose, so something intriguing must go on in there… Continue reading