Hunky Jesus Blowjob Contest

As it turns out, not everyone is happy with the image of Jesus getting a blowjob, as I suggested in my most recent post. Sharp-witted blogger Bacchus at Erosblog posted my rant, and if you take a look at the comments, it has sparked the ire of several Christians who feel I have gone too far. Thomas Roche thinks I should be punished.

Interesting, that, considering the dozens of emails I’ve gotten from people who openly identify as Christian, Republican, and even conservative versions of both, who see the points beneath my caustic wit and sacred-cow-poking, and tell me they enjoy what I’m doing. And considering that in the most recent customer survey we did at Good Vibes, the majority of our customers identified as Christian and Republican. I’m not surprised — while I don’t vote or pray like they do, I surely enjoy sex like anyone else. That’s the point. My intention was not to place judgement or shame folks with Christian beliefs. No, my intention was to make fun of the hypocrisy evident in people who post religiously fueled, sexually judgmental opinions about books that provide a guide to a single sex act. That’s sex act, period — a sex act that happens between straights, lesbians, gay men, anyone who wants to learn about fellatio. It’s not "The Ultimate Guide to Fellatio for Only Christian Women."

To think that everyone in the world should be having a particular, proscribed relationship to their sexuality is not only narrow-minded, but also dangerous, and especially from the perspective of a writer. To write about fellatio from the point of view that lesbians and gay men, and sexual fantasies between consenting adult couples of all orientations don’t exist, does a terrible disservice to everyone — and omits information that in some cases, can be physically harmful. And if you expect to criticize human sexuality on the behalf of all the people in your religion, you better expect to get you, and all those people you claim to represent, criticized right back.

They wanted to learn about fellatio to make themselves "more pleasing to their husbands." What about themselves? This is evidently not a question to be asked, though I was initially excited that conservative Christian women, typically (and unfairly) perceived as being sexually disinterested, might explore new ground. The women on Amazon bought a book about fellatio — a book that covers every variation on fellatio in our postmodern world, and claims this in the sales copy. And they found this all-inclusive book to be very upsetting, because it *is* all-inclusive. As one reviewer on Amazon put it, "This book had no photos but it does take unexpected turns that does violate the consciousness of women who have christian character…There are subjects that I just prefer not to know about when I search on enriching our love life! I don’t want to know about lesbian’s with strap ons or descriptions of homosexual men. I don’t want to hear about group sex or surprise sexual encounters with roadside stranger’s." (spelling and grammar intact) How, I beg the question, can you *not* make fun of people who want to learn about fellatio, but not about sex?

Is the book so controversial? Maybe for people who choose not to accept any worldview about sex outside their own. The book is explicit, certainly, so if they were expecting a book that ignored everything but their narrow worldviews on sexual expression, they surely were going to get their petticoats ruffled. The book doesn’t tell you to get kneepads and head down to the nearest gas station restroom (but if someone does after reading the book, email me, okay?). A recent Amazon reviewer summed it up nicely, "Extremely good on the techniques themselves, and (what I liked best) always puts the emphasis on the love, connection and understanding between partners during sex. This is not your average ‘manual’."

As I write this, I’m reflecting on my bus ride to the Good Vibes store yesterday. In front of me sat a big African-American dreadlocked butch dyke, next to a formally dressed Rabbi, and a senior woman on his other side. Across from them sat a big Af-Amer tranny hooker and her boyfriend/agent (?), a lost senior male tourist, and some Asian women who looked like SOMA sweatshop workers (we have a lot of sweatshops south of Market). The tranny and the old woman knew each other and chatted amiably across the aisle, while the Rabbi showed the dyke humorous things on his Palm Pilot. The tranny helped the lost tourist get directions from the bus driver (SF MUNI drivers are notorious assholes), and we drove by SF’s City Hall, which in case you haven’t kept up on the news, is surrounded by a line of same-sex couples waiting to get married, a constant line that goes around the city block back to the beginning. Lots of people on the bus smiled when we drove by, and some commented humorously about the anti-marriage protesters. ("Bullhorns, signs and balloons? Good. They’re on *our* turf now.") Also as I write this, I’m thinking about the yearly "Hunky Jesus" contest that happens in the very gay Castro neighborhood, where raffles and proceeds go to charities, and two years ago, my gal-pal’s hunky husband won — he’s straight, a Special Forces Marine who just got back (thank the gods) from Iraq. And I’m thinking about the local phenom, the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, who have raised more money for charity than The GAP through events like their monthly church social Bingo game, "Ba Da Bingo!" I could go on. You see, I have to make fun of hypocrisy. I’m on the front lines. This is not your average manual, and this is not your average time to be alive in America.

Or, you can see how my ever-unshaved pal and fellow porn writer Thomas Roche spends his money.

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On My Knees Again for Jesus

Where oh where the hell have I been, many emails have been asking… A horrible bout of food poisoning (with fever and antibiotics), having my DSL cut off without my consent by SBC, and moving my entire apartment all within one week had me well off the map. Strangely, the week culminated and ended with me moving into my swank new pad on Valentine’s Day and ending up that evening in the most extravagant house I’ve ever been in for Shar and Jackie’s 8-year anniversary party — a house that had an indoor pool and hot tub. It was like I came to after a long bad dream and found myself naked in a faux tropical hot tub/pool with dozens of naked lesbians and Susie Bright, Carol Queen, Annie Sprinkle, Shar Rednour and Jackie Strano, and a wide-eyed Hornboy (one of very few men) who I think pinched himself the entire time to see if it was indeed a dream. It wasn’t, but lemme tell ya, it was quite surreal. And really, really fun.

I’ve missed my site greatly, and my latest pet project, the Smart Girls’ Porn Club discussion group I founded and moderate on All kinds of women have joined and are filling the message boards on all kinds of porn topics, mostly on the subject of — where can I get some good porn, dammit!? If you’re a woman who wants to join, please do, as it’s turning out to be a great way to get questions answered and get recommendations, or vent complaints, you name it. It’s free of course, and a labor of love (lust) for me, just like this site, but I can interact directly with readers which is really fun for me.

An interesting side note, or a rather sweeeeet benefit of all my labors of love, I was emailed today by a woman in the club who wrote:

"I appreciate your clever, straightforward manner, and am grateful you’ve channelled some of that into creating the smart girls porn club. It’s so lovely and enlightening to read the opinions of such a wide variety of smart, sassy women.
(name withheld) and I saw you at the Monster Ukulele gig (and maybe later at the Sleepytime Gorilla thing at Bottom of the Hill?). We kibbutzed a bit on a plan to convince *you* to come get a massage from us at my studio after the show(s)… but we agreed to wait till he returns from tour.
In the meantime, if you are at all interested, I’d love to make you a gift of a 90-minute massage vacation as thanks for your club (not to mention the fun I’d have discussing porn while you’re completely relaxed and nekkie under my oiled fingertips!). So who says great things don’t come to those who create tribes?"

Should I go for it? As if I needed to ask *you*…

Lastly on my mind is — christ on a stick, why the hell are Christians reading my fellatio book, and even stranger, what unholy ghost possesses them to write bad reviews about it on Amazon? Like, duh — my book is about a very dirty sex act (the dirtier the better) and the content is… offending them! I can only guess that the book was recommended on some Christian messageboard, the ladies thought, well I spend a lot of time on my knees, why not make Jesus a happy man, and bought the book (I’ll take that money, thank you very much. No, no — don’t give it to the Family Values Coalition, give it to the cute girl with glasses who likes to write about sucking cock). Then they read the book and realized that to suck a cock, you need either a) another nice Christian lady with a (preferably huge) black strap-on cock, or b) a real, non-imaginary man (unlike Jesus). But seriously, in the book I don’t judge anyone’s preferences about anything — religion, sexual activity, gender, predisposition to get really wet imagining Mike Ditka throwing that football through the tire swing talking about erections while clutching my fellatio book cleverly camouflaged in a paper bag bookcover with the word "BIBLE" scrawled on the cover and "Jesus is really hot." No, I judge not. Even I think Jesus deserves a really rockin’ blowjob. And doesn’t he have like a million volunteers for the task? But if anyone is reading this and liked the book, feel free to write me something nice on Amazon about the fellatio book and doesn’t say things like "the Bible tells us…"

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Extra Action Marching Band. His sweetie threw the party, and I brought… Jodie Moore!

Well, a blow-up version of her that I got in the Good Vibes staff-only free bin. I love the free bin, the repository of all the crap we won’t carry. Imagine my delight when I saw my date-in-a-box at work, and — bonus! — it’s the "kneeling" version! I really had no idea what an awful joke blow-up dolls are until me and a couple femmes took her out of the box. Of course, can tell you all you never wanted to know about blow-up dolls. But Jodie was my date, and it was tough to look into her flat screenprinted face and laugh hysterically. The worst part was when I probed her orifices and discovered painful seams and impossibly shallow depths. Sadly, Jodie would never be able to experience the female pleasure of orgasm. But like any good date, I poked, licked and prodded her all the same, and let my sexy girlfriends have their way with her. Such are the fates of plastic people.

Today I had two excellent moments working in the store. At one point I was standing at a table on the sales floor waiting to talk to customers when my loveable arch-nemesis, a bleach blonde big-boobed coworker, snuck up behind me, shoved two butt plugs into my ears, yelled "CLEAR!" and then made a loud buzzing noise. It was a little while until any customers wanted to talk to me, so I took a break from explaining to customers why you need to clean anal beads and giving finger puppet demonstrations about finding the G-spot.

The other great moment of my day was being approached by two male customers for help — guys I figured were nervous and reluctant first-time shoppers, but then I found out were… male strippers from a local all-male strip joint (Nob Hill Lingerie)! Wow, waiting on male strippers is fun. They were very funny and unassuming, and were getting together "a doubles act, you know, like the girls do." They were looking for glow-in-the-dark buttplugs and dildos because the club has a blacklight on the stage, and they both wanted to do a body-paint glowing act. My god, it was so cute, I was instantly smitten — and overwhelmed with questions. "Do women go in there?" I asked the one whose stage name is ‘Eric Masters’, knowing that it’s primarily a gay club. "Oh yes, they come in groups, bachelorette parties, and they show up lit. Hey, do you think this (dildo) will glow? Oh, it might be too big (to friend) — is this too big for you? We want to do something kinky, you know, lots of those guys are so vanilla. Quite a few of the guys hide behind the curtains and sort of peek out a little bit, it’s like straight guy peek-a-boo!"

I had to know, "Do women ever come in there alone?" He smiled, "Oh yes! One couple came in and the husband sat across the room like he wasn’t there with her, so he could watch her getting a lap dance from another man. (points to friend) He gave a lap dance to a woman the other night! I really want to, it looks like a lot of fun. They get into it, not like the guys who just sit there like a mannequin. So many guys are like that anyway, even if they’re tricking! Boring." We moved over to the S/M toys, and the guys started trying on the leather cat masks we sell. I told them that now they were in the right section, and that I kind of know someone who danced there. I described the cute gayboy on the Extra Action flag team and told them his name, and they drew a blank. "You know honey, so many guys don’t use their real names, I only know their stage names. One guy wears a silver mask — a real metal mask, not tinfoil — and goes by the name ‘Flash.’ I have never ever seen his face — he wears the mask to the club and no one sees his face." I was enraptured.

I realized at that moment I should not have gone to the stupid Mitchell Brothers club where I was largely ignored and then smacked in the head with big hard titties and groped, then told how weird it was to "do this with another girl." I flashed on my one disappointing strip club experience with a stripper faking it, and fantasized about a roomful of campy gay male strippers, who were excited to dance for women — and were somewhat sexually ambiguous, themselves. As if reading my mind, the one who had done little talking suddenly said, "It’s exciting to dance for girls. But tough having to be hard when we go onstage! The girls (who dance) have it so easy. We have to fluff before we go on–" Right then a coworker asked me to go grab all the jars of Men’s Cream and bring them to the back because they didn’t get taped shut on top, I guess so people don’t unscrew them and scoop out a big load of fake Vaseline, then put the tops back on. But… FLUFF!? I was dying to know, how, where, who…! Images of guys like the ones I was talking to giving each other hand jobs before going out to sit on ladies’ laps was making my mind reel and my vision go blurry. That is, as I walked over to the Men’s Cream, opened up a jar, and scooped out a fingerful. No, really — I taped the jars shut and said goodbye to the nice stripper boys.

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I am so excited I can hardly write. I worked all morning on edits to my next book, Taboo, and was happily surprised to find out that it’s going to press ASAP. Instead of June, it’ll be out in March! But the icing on the cake is the cover, which just went up on Amazon:

This book is dirty, dirty, dirty and sweet and hot and amazing. I like it better than Sweet Life, and my editors called and emailed me while they were working on it to share nervously excited tales of unexpected arousal (and resulting plans to erotically ambush their girlfriends/boyfriends later). Ahhh!

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Thier Taste in Music Sucks, Too

I have been off the blog for a while — I’ve been really missing it. Unfortunately, a bunch of creepy frat boys have moved in upstairs, above my apartment, making my life into a living hell of constant loud music, yelling, playing some sport in the living room, and parties that rage into the night. I’ve tried everything — negotiating quiet times with them, cops, complaints to the landlord, calling my lawyer. The landlord has done nothing, the frat boys told me that "because you live downstairs, it’s your problem," and I don’t want to go to court and waste my time when I have five (!) book deadlines this year. To make a long story short, I am moving out, fast. So while the G4 (and the vibrators) will be the last thing to be unplugged, my life is chaotic.

Strange and interesting things are afoot, however. The woman who chopped my writing into tiny bits at Good Vibes is now gone and I am writing weird and wonderful and wacky things about sex as I please — if you subscribe to the email newsletter, you probably noticed a change in tone last week. Now I can be a first-class sex dork! Ahhh, breathing room. Also at Good Vibes, in a strange twist of fate, or twist of my knickers, Carol Queen has wrangled me into hanging some of my paintings as an art show in one of the stores — the very same paintings that had to be taken down in my own office for offending someone. Fancy that!

And a little over a week ago, a little bird emailed me at short notice and set up a midnight cocktail meeting/interview with porn director Axel Braun, and I highly suggest that you read all about right here. He’s a cool guy — even if his fingers are insured for $2 million for his "ability to make any woman female ejaculate." I simply found him to be an unusually articulate artist in a sea of bad pornographers. Tonight, I’ll be watching his award-winning film Compulsion to see how his talk meets up with his craft.

I’ve been doing interviews amidst all the boxes and chaos. (I had no idea I had over twelve boxes of books, and they are almost all sex-related.) My favorite interview so far has been live on the Derek and Romaine Show for Sirius OutQ satellite radio show. They were hilarious, and unlike regular radio shows, I could say anything I wanted. I adored their witty callers, especially the man who wanted tips on how he could become a gay male porn fluffer. I suggested he stand around outside gay porn shoots with a sign that reads "Will fluff for… nothing!" But my next interview is exciting on another level — someone is putting together a public radio segment on work-specific lingo. And boy, do I wander through minefields of odd lingo in the course of my job, in the sex biz, and especially dealing with the porn industry. I can’t wait to do the interview.

Okay, back to packing. I’ve given away piles of porn in my moving clean-out, and my friends are soooo happy. And sore. And possibly going blind.

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Conversations With a Real Doll

I have no problem admitting to having sexual fantasies about RealDolls — you know, those freakily realistic sex dolls made of silicone on a metal skeleton, custom-made from templates of eye color, pussy hair styles… etc., etc. They’re strange and otherworldly, and yet, growing up reading Omni magazine and all the sci-fi and horror books I could get my hands on, I know I had many a fantasy involving android life forms. I think I still do. Going to AVN last year and being in the booth across form the RealDoll people peaked my imagination, and I often drifted over to the bizarre booth of limbless torsos, eerily life-like severed heads and boobs-without-a-body. I chatted up the Real Doll folks while absentmindedly squeezing boobies and fingering orifices — but hey, everyone was doing it. Really.

Regular readers will remember my RealDoll fantasy orgy, where I discovered that RealDoll had created a stiff and lifeless male doll — I could only imagine the many strange combinations I could get myself into with a male and female doll, lubricants, inebriants, accelerants and total lack-of-pants. There were offers to fund my delightful fantasy, but sadly, no true offers came to pass.

Then around December of last year, I joined one of those Friendster-like services. I resisted for a long time; my pal Thomas Roche did everything he could to get me over to the dark side. Finally, when I was invited to the SRL "tribe" on, I caved in to the conformity, made a profile, joined tribes, and began enjoying various kinds of mischief. I never expected to meet a RealDoll.

One day, in my inbox was a message from a woman named "Charlie" wanting to be my friend. I know a few men named Charlie, but no women. Curious, I clicked on her personal profile — and there I found some very strange pictures. Pictures of a blonde RealDoll making food in a kitchen. At a desk writing a letter. In different themed outfits; one as a cowgirl labeled, "playing with my shiny gun." Pictures of other RealDolls dressed in various outfits, a male doll dressed in a Superman costume, labeled "my friend John as a superhero!" "My friend Sidore!"

Her profile was complete. Occupation: model. Industry: entertainment. Specialties: lingerie, motorcycles, cars. Skills: I can hold any pose for as long as you require! Past Positions: all of ’em!

It got better. Favorite Music: Dolly Parton, New York Dolls, Goo Goo Dolls. Favorite Movies/TV: Westworld, Stepford Wives, A Doll’s House, Valley of the Dolls, Beyond the Valley of the Dolls, The Devil Doll, Trilogy of Terror. Here for: to find someone who can see the real me beneath my superficial beauty!

Intrigued beyond reproach, I wondered if someone had read my Fantasy RealDoll Orgy blog entry, and now it was my turn to be at the (by now, well deserved) receiving end of a well-thought-out prank. I peered closely at the pictures and found a faint watermark of… a website. "" Turns out, this is the real, living breathing site of a Real Doll. What? Check it out — Charlie writes letters, has sexy photo shoots with her friends… Truth be told, while the thought of someone doing all this seems like an episode from Tales From the Darkside (and I think it is, for me at least), I actually see little difference between Charlie Joanne’s site and the newest issue of Playboy that happens to be sitting next to me on the desk as I type this, with a very freaky looking airbrushed and digitally manipulated Jaime Pressly on the cover (and whose pictoral looks exactly, shot-for-shot like ones from about twenty years ago).

So out of curiosity, Charlie Joanne is my friend. She wrote, "Let’s be friends! I’ll introduce you to some of my maledoll boyfriends!"

I was game — even if it’s some 55-year-old guy with a comb-over that lives in a trailer and smokes menthols, it’s a pretty brilliant prank, impersonating a RealDoll who has "her" own site. I wrote back, "Hey Hotpants, I’d love to meet one of your rubberboys — and Charlie, you are one sexy silicone seductress. Good thing silicone only melts at very high temperatures! I especially love your website!"

Sadly, no male dolls were shipped to Good Vibrations with my name on them. Charlie Joanne sent me:

And now — Charlie Joanne has disappeared into the ether. Gone from, and gone from my dreams, but at least I can still visit her website and watch her frolic with friends who never grow old, never get sad, and never die. They also never seem to get laid.


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Back from AVN!

I’m back home, yay! I had a really great time, and I’ll tell you all about it and post more pics — but I’ve only had three hours of sleep and just want to watch horror movies. Until I’m alive enough to give a full report, enjoy these two sample pics from my four hours of photo sessions yesterday in my hotel room at the Venetian…

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