My Virgin Lap, Copulating Couples and Pussy on Channel Four

My lap is still a virgin. At first I felt like a big chicken, a wussy, a something not deserving of cookies and ice cream, or at least a sound spanking, but here is what happened.

On Saturday night I ran into the Extra Action Marching Band in North Beach right before their secret gig, which was earlier than I thought, and followed them to their destination. Carrying a horn case for a member that had a Good Vibes "I’d Rather be Masturbating" sticker on it, I seemed to blend in a little. They had been hired to play a surprise gig for a man who was proposing marriage to his girlfriend, and his friends were secretly letting the band in with a key, supposedly while said proposal was happening in his North Beach apartment. Watching thirty uniformed musicians with their instruments and a squad of uniformed flag girls (and boys) quietly sneak in the side entrance of the building was one of the most hilarious things I’ve ever seen… but not until the whole band erupted into their tiny bedroom and started playing! The couple was consummating the proposal, and were actually naked and in the act when the tubas and flags burst in, and two horn players, two flag girls and two drummers jumped into/on the bed with the naked couple. The tuba player knocked the light fixture and the lights swung crazily as the band played and the flag team danced all over them and the furniture (standing room only. in the bedroom). The couple were laughing and screaming, and the woman at first hid her body under the covers, then yanked all the sheets and blankets off them both! Outside, the ruckus had all the neighbors out on the sidewalk, and someone ran out of the apartment to tell the now-huge crowd that had gathered, "She said ‘Yes’!" The crowd erupted into applause, and then the band piled out of the apartment, still playing, and did a whole routine in the street, forcing traffic to stop. Then they went back to a North Beach club on Broadway, still marching and playing, stopping even more traffic along the way.

A cute marching band boy knew about my idea to get my first lap dance that night and wanted to be supportive, and said he’d walk with me over to the Lusty. We got there, and at the door I saw an old dear friend who still works there (haven’t seen her in years, was really happy to see her actually). It immediately felt social, not sexual, to be there. Anyway, my friend said she’d love to help me out and would gladly arrange a lapdance from "that beautiful redhead over there," who wasn’t my type at all. So instead, I said we’d look around first and we went into the little rooms where you put the money in the slot and the window slides up. The little room was smelly, and the women behind the glass were very far away. I waited, and waited, and realized that my money/time would run out before anyone came over.

So I was nonplussed. We went to leave, and my friend said all right, I’m showing you around. She took me in back and showed me where the lapdances were going on and the topless shoeshines, and explained how to ask for a dance. I thanked her, she left and I stood there being ignored, trying to check out the girls and realizing they weren’t even close to my type, or anything near, and the lapdances were near the urinal and it smelled disgusting. My horn-playing escort asked if I wanted to get a lapdance and I said I thought my imagination was better, and this rancid smell makes me sick, can we get away from the urinal?

We went into the hall and I was kind of laughing. I told him I wished there was a fast-forward button like when I watch porn. I told him I felt lame being ignored by girls who weren’t my idea of sexy, and that I almost did it anyway because he was there, and he said he didn’t like the girls either, and that it wasn’t just me and he was worried I was going to do it for his benefit and not myself. It was all kind of funny and we were making each other laugh. The woman behind the glass for the private shows in the hall was watching us. She was hot. She was in a glass cube. In truth, my friend was the sexiest woman there, and she was not working, which is a lot of weird concepts all rolled into one when you think about it. I was still turned off by the smell, definitely not wet or aroused but feeling kinda like I was trying to fit into a suit that was not my size. Was I a failure? Too discriminating about my taste in women? I was assured I wasn’t, and told that the Lusty wasn’t what real strip clubs are like. I said, let’s go get a beer, so we went back to the club and the guys razzed me about being a sexpert lap dance virgin.

I vowed to try again, especially after watching the really great KRON (channel 4 here in the Bay Area) special, San Francisco: Sex and the City. Watch it if you can, it really shows how amazingly rich and diverse and deep the sex culture is here in SF. Sex culture is way more progressive here than anywhere else, and the show’s history, from Lenny Bruce and Carol Doda to Good Vibes, Exotic Erotic, the Mitchell Bros. and SIR Productions is wonderfully presented. Besides the fact that I keep being asked why I wasn’t on the show (I was out of town when the Good Vibes footage was shot), I felt that the show could’ve included more, been a few shows — there was a lot missing. Like locals Nina Hartley and Annie Sprinkle, and more. I still enjoyed it immensely. Especially because in the Mitchell Bros. footage they forgot to pixelate one of the very sexy strippers’ pussies, and her clit is huge! Unintentional porn is often the best kind. Speaking of porn, I should get back to work and go watch some porn for Good Vibes. Tomorrow night at eight I’m reading at the Good Vibes Valencia St. store with Carol Queen and Thomas Roche from Thomas’ and Alison Tyler’s latest books, His and Hers. Problem is, Thomas has been sick and I don’t know what I’m reading! Oh well, it’ll be interesting.

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Weird Dreams and Possibly Losing my Virginity

I’ve been having the strangest dreams lately. In one, I was in my bedroom and I had a TV on my dresser, where a really bad porn movie was playing (no big stretch of the subconscious there), except Evan Stone was lying on my bed. I wanted him to go away, which would be true to real life, too. If you know who this porn actor is, you’ll understand why — he might be a nice guy in real life, I have no idea, but the best way to describe him is as a refugee from a Chippendale’s male stripper concentration camp, circa 1980. Anyway, in this dream I had to try out this porn-star branded lingerie (like how they brand sex toys, a la "Devinn Lane’s Creepy Dismembered Pulsing Pink Pussy") for Good Vibes. Except the lingerie was "Traci Lords’ Bunny Suit." I gave up trying to eject Evan and tried on the suit’s bottoms, which were much like a big knit-fabric sock monkey outfit, complete with feet and a big knit tail. In the next dream I was in Mexico (where I’ve never been) and pornographer Seymore Butts was being interviewed, unhappily, and when he was done we decided to get some food (though I’ve never met him, or even thought much about meeting him, we were pals in the dream). He was always Seymore but sometimes he looked like the character Dadi from one of my favorite films of all time, Emir Kusturica‘s Black Cat White Cat. While we were having dinner Tristan Taormino showed up, all hot for Seymore, trying to seduce him and interrupting our conversation to talk about her latest projects. She was wearing this pink knit sweater dress with nothing underneath, and it was the world’s ugliest 1980’s dress ever. I escaped by diving into the ocean. What does it all mean?

Meanwhile in the real world, tonight I’m up to no good, after a hard and slippery week of work. This was a week of much Good Vibes word spanking (I hate Masturbation Month) and joyous dildo slinging at the store. I also bought a Violet Ray on eBay for an upcoming appearance on cable channel Tech TV in early June, where this show wants a condensed version of my Sex and Electricity presentation. And, I donated $50 to Susannah Breslin’s latest project "You’re A Bad Man, Aren’t You?", a collection of her amazing fiction, which I’m eagerly awaiting, being a huge fan of tall, sexy loquacious Susannah and her tall, sexy mind-blowing writing. Also last week I picked up a tripod and a wide-angle lens for my digital camera, so there will now be pictures of me on this site that include both of my arms. I really have a right arm, you’ll see. Then, through a series of indescribable circumstances I ended up with a baby tuba at my house, and you can see what happens when I get a horn and a tripod in the room at the same time — the clothes come off, and the shutter snaps. But I can’t play an instrument to save my life except I might be able to play air Theremin if it was an emergency, and I know for a fact, that through much practice and love of the instrument, I’m pretty good on the skin flute.

That leads me to tonight. I found out about a very secret gig that the Extra Action Marching Band is playing tonight here in San Francisco, and while I’m waiting for them to explode onto the scene in all their underdressed sexually ecstatic noisiness, I’ve decided to make a little solo side trip to the strip club, The Lusty Lady. Why? Well, once a year they do this thing called "Play Day," where the notoriously sexy (and notoriously bored-looking) strippers emerge from behind the glass and entertain the patrons face-to-face. Normally for Play Day the workers get to keep all the money made that night, but the workers are banding together and taking over the club (literally), forming a worker-owned co-op strip club, and the Play Day money from all three Play Days is funding the start of their groundbreaking enterprise.

But here’s the surprising admission on my part — I’m a strip club virgin. I know, I’m supposed to be an experienced "sexpert" and I know a LOT of strippers and assorted sex workers, but I’ve never done it, gone in a club. On Play Day, women and couples are allegedly welcome. But I’m nervous. I’m hoping to get a lap dance or something, but I don’t even really know how it all works. I’m really worried that they’ll ignore me (my friend Carol Queen assures me they won’t), or that they’ll think I’m there for a job (I’ll be in a fetish outfit as I always am for Marching Band gigs). I’m definitely having a drink before I go in. Part of me thinks I should call a bisexual gal-pal and ask for camaraderie, but part of me wonders what will happen if I’m on my own. Dressed as a schoolgirl tonight, will I get danced upon until my lap is worn out, smacked upside the head by weighty mammaries until I’m flat broke, attacked by other schoolgirls and spanked for being bad? I hope. Tossed out by bouncers for touching the girls? Perhaps. Ignored by pretty girls and propositioned by scary swingers from Contra Costa County? Highly likely.

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Oh God Make Please Masturbation Month End Please Please

Last Sunday I had a BBQ and lots of friends came over, including my friends the good Drs. Carol Queen and Robert Lawrence. Carol and Robert are a total hoot, and are the light and life of any party they attend — both being walking encyclopedias of sex and culture. Which is fitting since they founded the Center for Sex and Culture. What’s really interesting is that since I had them trapped in my apartment with beers in their hands, a rapt audience and a fat fluffy cat blocking the nearest exit with his bulk, I got to quiz them about their latest coup de gras — the live Masturbate-A-Thon.

You see, about eight years ago, Good Vibes declared May National Masturbation Month to honor the then-firing of Surgeon General Jocelyn Elders, who said nice things about jacking off and freaked everyone out who was masturbating instead of listening, and to also make a fun month out of a usual slump. Now it is a big PR pain in my ass. I mean, I love masturbating, like way too much probably and it’s amazing I get anything done since I watch porn and read erotica and test toys for a living. But it’s always chaos for my copywriting duties at Good Vibes (five years of Masturbation Month, argh) and all these journalists call and want interviews about the exact same things every year. What they always ask is where the Masturbate-A-Thon is. And every fuckin’ (wankin’?) year we tell them, no no, it’s not a big circle jerk, it’s like a walk-a-thon, you get one of our sassy pledge forms and take pledges and it’s all on the honor system and then you collect the money and we give it all to charities like AIDS organizations. When Good Vibes’ publicist calls me, I now hide in the bathroom, or under my desk and rock like an autistic child in fear of certain Masturbation Month journalist torture. Thank the gods that I’ve never had to talk to the radio shock jocks, though one year I was told I had to or else, and I think I tried to fake my own death by Hitachi Magic Wand overload, or lube drowning, or fatal braining by a falling Sean Michaels dildo or something. Actually, I got in a lot of trouble at work, though that’s nothing new.

But Carol Queen has no fear. This articulate, unbelievably intelligent woman talks to the shock jocks and stays cool, all though the insults, the sexism, the homophobia, the racist bullshit, the obnoxious sound effects, all of it, and still manages to get the names of the charities on the air. And after years of jocks asking where the ‘Thon was going to be, Carol and Robert decided to actually have one. So there.

So the Center for Sex and Culture rented a local cultural center, and with their permission, held a public Masturbate-A-Thon, with all proceeds going to charity. And it was a total wanking success. There were rooms for just women or just men, a room for mixed gender, and a live webcast with several different cameras. Reuters was there, and so were a bunch of other big news people. There were sexy buxom adult schoolgirls, guys who were hung in ways I’ve only heard about, regular people, sex pundits and local sex authors. (Not me, though — I was in a nunnery that weekend. Okay, I was finishing another book, and I’m a total hermit when I write. Plus I was scared.) The next day Howard Stern talked about it enviously, and Rush Limbaugh talked about it even more enviously, because we all know that Howard actually gets laid sometimes and Rush needs a Powerman 6000 now more than ever.

Carol and Robert raised a bunch of money for the UCSF AIDS Health Project, and they have been on the phone with journalists and shock jocks steadily, so my job is much happier now. But I think what’s cool is that they actually did it, and it was fun for all, and not sleazy, and well, kinda normal — in our San Francisco way… National Masturbation Month is still a pain in my ass, everything I do at work has to be masturbation-themed and it makes me want to drink Astroglide from the bottle, but now thanks to Carol and Robert I don’t need to hide under my desk behind a bin of bright pink butt plugs, or a stack of videos with titles like "Gush" on them — this month.

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Forbidden Photographs

This sounds lazy, but it’s noon and I’m just having my coffee and a bagel. But this Quicktime video of a transformer blowing up (sent to me by fellow SRL member and Tesla coil midwife Greg Leyh) was a real picker-upper!

It’s a gorgeous San Francisco day, and last night was a great SF night. I went to the premiere of the documentary Forbidden Photographs, about the wild life of photographer Charles Gatewood at the Roxie Theater, and it was absolutely incredible — especially from a social anthropological perspective. He’s shot Bob Dylan, Ginsberg, William Burroughs and Charles collaborated on his first photo book with Burroughs. For the past 30 years, Charles has documented the wild sides of Mardi Gras, African-American struggles, and has traveled deep into American subcultures to photo nazi bikers, Native American satanists, ritual body modification "tribes," urban pagans, fetishes such as the "messy" fetish and as many forbidden things that he can find. I do fetish modeling for Charles about once a year (you can find me naked and messy in his latest book Messy Girls), and I’m blown away to now be a part of this cultural documentation by way of the camera’s gaze. The film is traveling around the country, catch it if you can — and be warned that you will see some possibly unsettling practices onscreen, such as body piercing, explicit sex and blood play (he has documented the vampire subculture, too).

Thinking of art, I’m currently fixated on the works of Wim Delvoye. This Belgian artist has taken X-rays of hetero couples having sex and if that wasn’t fascinating enough, he mounted the see through images into giant cathedral-style church windows, coupled with colorful stained glass. The last show of record I can find of his was last year, but if anyone knows more about this artist, please drop me a line.

Today I’m headed over to the offices of woman-owned porn makers, SIR Video to meet with Shar Rednour (whom I used to work with at the Good Vibrations store — see, it’s all connected somehow). They have two new titles that I’m going to cover in my next book, and though these titles aren’t out until this summer, I’m really excited about them. One is a guide to dirty talk, called Talk to Me. The other is a (surely groundbreaking) video for survivors of trauma and sexual abuse who want to build a healthy, safe and pleasurable sex life. Neither of these titles are pornographic per se, though the dirty talk video is likely to be damn hot, knowing Shar’s love of the potty mouth. Either way, it’s nice to know that there are people out there making forward-thinking titles about healthy adult sexuality, no?

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Really Weird Naked Japanese Dolls and a Great Video For Couples, and Singles Who Like Plot-Driven Porn

Here are the dolls.

I just watched Sunset Stripped, and it’s my pick of the latest woman-directed crop from VCA. In it, Ginger Lynn stars in this excellent Veronica Hart-directed epic, an ode to Sunset Boulevard chock full of real female orgasms and hot hot sex. Ginger is a writer, unable to create, sexually fixated on her agent, and totally out of money. When a repo man comes for her car, her life takes an unexpected turn as she winds up on the doorstep of an aged and insane male porn star from the "Golden Age." He puts her up in exchange for her editing skills on his autobiography, though she also has to participate in his weird nightly ritual that includes clothing from the 1980s–leotards best left forgotten. The sexy all-star cast (even the men!) puts in stunning performances all around, women call the shots in bed, the sex is genuinely intense and dripping with chemistry and the entire film is wonderfully watchable. The DVD contains interesting on-set interviews with the cast and Hart.

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Sad Entry

Apologies for no recent updates, but after a brief struggle this week, my dear friend Tim North succumbed to cancer last night at 9pm. Benefit calendars are still on sale and all proceeds go to his surviving wife and daughter. There has been a lot going on, I have a lot of updates, new articles and erotica, outrageous happenings and more, and I’ll log on later tonight (after work) to share. From the SRL community:

tonight at 9 pm, the light in the world became a little dimmer.
timothy north passed away,
he was a friend and a great artist.
we are honored to know and love him as a person,
and our hearts are open to his wife, susan, and child, trista.
good bye tim

Words from Vordo.

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Will Someone Please Tell Paypal to Get Out of my Bedroom (Unless They are Bringing Some Good Porn)

A cute horn player from the Extra Action Marching Band wrote me recently with a letter he received from online money processing business PayPal:

Dear (tromboner),
You are receiving this email because you have asked to be notified of PayPal policy updates. Please read below to learn about PayPal’s most recent policy updates.

User Agreement Update
Notice Date: April 10, 2003
Effective Date: June 12, 2003
PayPal has updated its Acceptable Use Policy to simplify the policy on transactions of adult items. After June 12, 2003, PayPal will no longer process transactions for adult items through the Mature Audiences category on As a result, after June 12, PayPal will no longer process payments for adult items anywhere on the Internet.

PayPal strives to find the right balance between serving our community and minimizing our financial risk. We feel that exiting the Mature Audiences category with a clear and consistent policy for all adult items best achieves this balance.

As part of this effort, we are extending the deadline for when PayPal customers must stop sending and receiving payments for tangible adult products, including magazines, DVDs and videocassettes. Originally May 12, this deadline has now been extended to June 12 to correspond with the phase-out of PayPal service for these items on eBay. The deadline to stop sending and receiving payments for digital adult products and services, including online photos, streaming video and audio services, will remain May 12. For more information on our Mature Audience Policy, log in to your PayPal account and click on "Policy Updates" in the What’s New box. You will find a link to the Mature Audience Policy under the April 10, 2003, User Agreement Update.

I responded to (tromboner) with:

(tromboner), thank you for sending me this, it is definitely of interest. Just what exactly is the rationale behind this decision, I wonder? We can only guess. PayPal cannot legislate the morality of its customers, but it seems that surely they will try. Are they being pressured by a "family values" group? Maybe — I know that these groups have recently declared a war on porn and are attempting to amass "god’s army." Not kidding, it’s scary, and they’re doing this with grassroots-style church letter writing campaigns to cable companies like Viacom to make them stop broadcasting cable porn. Buncha sickos — they’re clearly obsessed with pornography.

But here is, I think, the rub: PayPal may cut off everything and all adult, but surely this is where a large amount of their revenue comes from, and as all in the adult biz know, sex accoutrements are an ever-growing, recession-proof source of revenue. Especially as more and more people become comfortable with enjoying their sexuality, and see the benefits of occasional experimentation. Then what for PayPal? Shot in the foot? That would be a nice irony, much like the male adult store owner who "found god," burned 10K worth of his stock (it’s bad karma to destroy sex toys, BTW), and turned "Love World" into a christian store called "Mike’s Place." Since then, he’s foundering on the brink of financial devastation, save for the donations he’s been getting from other sexually repressed god- (and orgasm-) fearing christians (which are not the only flavor of christian out there, but nobody seems to know that, either). But it was a nice way for Mr. Former Love Shack to skirt his pending obscenity charge.

So PayPal cuts off and alienates a sizeable number of their customers, while some other savvy entrepreneur cuts in and grabs the business that is "too immoral" for PayPal to soil themselves with… It’s like giving away free money to another business. These sexual moralists are so shortsighted — a consequence of not having any good sex, perhaps?

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