Anderson Cooper and the Cheerleaders

I was at the gym, running my mile on the treadmill, when it came on CNN: Anderson Cooper, split screen with undulating, gyrating bouncy-boobed cheerleaders, and the words came out of his mouth, “Cheerleading… sexual routines…” THUMP! I landed red-faced in a heap at the end of my still-scrolling treadmill.

Well, I didn’t really fall, but I had to be very *very* careful not to. First Anderson Cooper and spanking, and now this. I kept running, trying to keep up with the “news” story he was reporting, but was almost on the verge of a true hysterical paroxysm with Cooper and cheerleaders in the same sentence in my head in endless repeat, the mental drool making any other thoughts whatsover, impossible. But my torture continued, mercilessly — yes, Anderson, yes! Don’t stop. I don’t really care what you say, in fact I probably don’t agree with most of it, but just keep talking about dirty dancing cheerleaders and let my brain and my pumping thighs do the rest. All us nerdy sex girls think you’re hot, Cooper, and we’ve got all kinds of fantasies that involve spanking, your tie collection, those suits, and now, cheerleader uniforms. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

It wasn’t just the Cooper and pom-pom imagery that sent my brain into a tailspin, it was what was being said about the legislation to ban sexy cheerleading routines that had the nice gay men at my gym watching my face more than CNN while they pumped up their porn star/Muscle Mary washboards. We posted the story about the cheerleading ban that passed in the Texas House of Representatives this morning on Fleshbot, but thanks to Hotpants Cooper, I got an earful from Rep. Al Edwards (D-Houston) about how this type of “dirty dancing” spreads teenage pregnancy, is responsible for STD transmission rates, and how the children need to be protected. (Cooper agreed on that last point; that gets you a spanking with my baton, and my poms in your mouth, bitch.) Has the world really gone insane, or just all branches of government? But what made me actually throw my arms up in a sis-boom-ba cheer in the middle of the treadmill rows was the inclusion of needing to clean up marching bands as well.

Everyone knows how degrading, sick and downright dirty marching bands are. Full disclosure: I have wild and evil monkey sex with a man in the Extra Action Marching Band, I do very nasty things with other band members and publicly make out on a regular basis with female band members and band member girlfriends. The things I do for fun with these men, women and transfolk would definitely be considered immoral, a threat to decent society, evil, acts against god and surely degrading to anyone within earshot. And the cheerleaders, male and female are FILTHY. If Mr. Rep. Al Edwards (D-Houston) saw them, his head would explode like the aliens in the conclusion of Mars Attacks!, when they play Slim Whitman and their alien heads pop like little grapes. More disclosure: I own three cheerleading uniforms, and none of them fit properly according to cheerleading regulation. Hear that, Cooper? Or are my matching uniform panties too tight on your sexy head?

So I think it’s time for Extra Action to tour Texas.

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Blowjobs, handjobs and Playboy TV

So, it seems from the email I’ve been getting lately, that I’ve been on TV. It’s a very strange, sort of floating outside yourself feeling to find out that lots of people have seen the Playboy TV segment I did on oral sex instruction, and not to even have seen it myself. The mail is good, so I guess it turned out okay, at least I hope so. But I’d really like to see how it turned out, and it would have been nice to be able to tell people when it was, or will be, on. I’m not shocked or anything; this is how this stuff works. I do interviews, then if I find out if, when or where the magazine issue is, or the air date, it’s only because someone was really nice and went out of their way to tell me, like the wonderful Martin Downs (who also has a quirky, sexy short story here).

A quick search, and I found out that it’s Sexcetera’s episode #60. They don’t even link to guests’ websites, how chintzy (they told me they would). Then… aha! The calendar tells me it aired in… April, then yesterday, then today at 5pm EST. Huh. Well, if you missed it like I did, you can always check out my wacked experience during the filming, and the photos here.

I’ve been a little sidetracked while I work on Best Women’s Erotica 2006, and guest editing at Fleshbot… though mostly the book deadline has me overwhelmed. I did get a chance to go to a LGBT erotic literati party on saturday, where I knew few and drank much. Actually, I think I knew more people there than I perceived; when Mattilda and Simon Sheppard started introducing me around, I realized that I already knew (and am a fan of) Ian Phillips and Greg Wharton, and Jim Van Buskirk.

What I didn’t expect, and was giddy as a schoolgirl to hear, were tales of illicit Craigslist encounters. Some of the stories I heard were just too incredible to be true, but they were, and some even played themselves out like a movie. Like the story about the skater boy twink that had never been with a man before, and after a bottle of Jack got the courage up to troll Craigslist and meet (the storyteller) at 2am on the corner of 23rd and Valencia. He took the storyteller home, tiptoeing past his sleeping roomates. And though normally a top, the storyteller got on bended knee and had his face vigorously fucked. “You know that point you get, where it just hurts and you know the mouth wasn’t meant to take that kind of pounding?” Yes, I do! “Well, I’d think, enough — but then I’d look up at this 19-year-old pounding away, and drooling and gagging I’d think, wow, is this really happening to me? But jesus, I could really *tell* he’d never sucked a cock before.” I knew exactly what he meant. All too many times I’ve given a blowjob and wished that the guy was a better receiver, and you know, I’m really starting to think there’s really only one good way for a guy to learn how to *get* a good blowjob, and you know, what’s good for the goose and all that.

But no blowjobs for me last weekend (sigh). Actually, I’m not complaining because I worked on perfecting one of my other favorite activities: the handjob. Ah, an ode to handjobs. My hands become like these heat-seeking missles, roaming all over the crotch of his jeans, squeezing and kneading and then finally getting inside. Unwrapping the erection from the boxers is always an exquisite moment, the heat radiates from his cock in waves. I love to run my hands all over him dry, squeezing at the base, stroking beneath the tip with the flat of my thumb. Then I drown him in lube, making a wet, slurpy-sounding, sloppy mess that I rub everywhere, even his balls. I’ve been experimenting with different lubes for different handjob styles; you can buy these dry-feeling cream lubes that create a little drag, heat and friction on his cock (Eros Power Cream), or my favorite standby, really runny silicone lube that acts like oil but cleans up with soap and water (Eros Pur; doesn’t break latex). Now all I need is a female research assistant, though I doubt Craigslist has the lab bunny I’m looking for.

Bits and pieces: I’m fascinated and repulsed and filled with dread and loathing by Scientology; when I found out Beck was a glassy-eyed cult follower I deleted all his music from my iPod and iTunes. I just couldn’t listen to it anymore, to me he was no longer “everyman of the slackers” but a privleged Hollywood brat and his music lost all meaning. So it was with great glee I read the hard-hitting, revealing interview with Tom Cruise at Spiegel, where the interviewer challenges Cruise on his Scientology bullshit, we see his religious fervor — and most frightening of all, Spielberg openly admits that he made War of the Worlds to exploit viewers’ 9/11 fear and horror, which has to be one of the most socially irresponsible things I’ve ever heard of. Hollywood jackass. Soul-sucking jerk.

I’m finishing the sex robot AI — hopefully I can beta test her on you next week.

New crushes: Mark Pritchard, Blackvertising (picture above), Kama: Devadasi Escort, Shame on Cyber Perverts. Constant crush: Xeni (who I can personally assure you is *all* girl).

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Tips for erotica writers

I often get questions from writers who want to get into the erotic writing market; I typically send them to the virtual think tank for erotica writers, ER&WA. Now I can direct them to this post at Lapsed Optimist. I find *all kinds* of cool things when I investigate who links to me… Now back to my submission pile…

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Porn reviews, Derek and Romaine, tonight

I’m so excited; tonight I’ll be chatting about porn on Sirius Q‘s Derek and Romaine show at 6:15 PST, 9:15 EST (listen free here; reg req’d). I’ve been flirting with, I mean, I’ve been a guest on D and R‘s show pretty regularly for almost a year now, and it’s the fun-est radio show, ever. Plus we take calls from listeners which is random and often hilarious…

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Buttercream frosting erotica

I am swamped. Buried under a tide of erotica. Not a bad place to be; in fact it’s a pretty damn fine place to be. Really, it’s an extremely arousing place to inhabit, langourously reading through over 200 (!!!!!) submissions for Best Women’s Erotica 2006. It’s overwhelming, and I’m taking it nice and slow, like a slippery hot afternoon fuck on sweaty sheets, when you don’t want to eat… food. Anyway, some of the submissions are so pivoting that I find myself carrying them with me for the rest of the day, like sense memories. Like the Buttercream Frosting I bought this morning and wore behind my ears all day; a whiff of a particularly memorable story will catch up with me while I’m waiting at a crosswalk for the light to change, and I’ll wish I was in that story I read before I had to fold up my iBook and flee the cafe, too aroused to sit still.

Too much information? Well, anyway, for me it’s a good sign to have so many good stories to choose among, and The City isn’t a bad place to meander from wifi to wifi with an iBook, among Victorians and comminuty gardens, especially when you’ve got erotica freshly coursing through your veins. Not that the stories all as sublime as I described; I did reach a point of frustration a few days ago when I read the eleventh story that started out hot and sweet, then had a breakup, or a death, or a depressed main character… and, what the fuck? It’s a head-scratcher I’ve been scratching about for several years. Why do some people think that “women’s erotica” needs to be black in order to be… Taken seriously? “Edgy”? “Women’s”? I don’t know, but I have to say that I’ve noticed a huge difference in the way that previous generations of women have edited erotic anthologies in comparison to my generations’ attitudes about sex. We don’t think that “literary” erotica, especially women’s erotica, needs to be somehow qualified by sadness, anguish, pain or suffering (unless you mean a tidy spanking). I think that’s a holdover from older generations’ beliefs that because the writing is about sex, it needs to be something more, or less, to be taken seriously as literature. Which of course has a totally different meaning now in the world of blogs, which I see as living, breathing books. A message to the publishers and editors (and filmmakers) who imbue the hot fuck with a moral: you’re not relevant anymore. Our erotica is alive. Girls like me, emotional pain and gender stereotyping hinders our hot fucks. We do crazy things and get off like screaming tattooed banshees doing them. We get hard-ons. We suck, we lick, we conquer, we cut and bleed, we cuddle. Our erotica is edgy, yes, but it is joyful. You can wank to it. You want it to happen to you. Its edge comes from authenticity of experience; I get the feeling that a lot of erotica editors try *too* hard to capture that hunger, that drive that comes from being a real woman on the street, feet on the ground, looking for sex with lips like sugar and a view of the world that’s slightly askew, like a familiar puzzle all rearranged to make a new picture. It’s a feeling that you experience, like a scent.

So, no. I’m running totally sexually fucking amok with BWE ’06. I’m tossing OUT all the fucking depressing submissions I’m getting. I want erotica that totally turns my head around, and makes me want to fuck. Erotica for girls like me.

Okay, so I had a bit of nigori with dinner. Which goes perfectly with this crazy clip (nsfw) that makes me want to go back to Tokyo really bad.

Also do check out my most recent crushes: allison inge trembly, Miss Deja Vu, John John Jesse, Queen of Pink, Rob Clarke, and, as always, forever yours, Body Collector

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Tony Comstock and Carol Queen interview

New podcast — Open Source Sex 11 (MP3). Hot three-way action interview with Dr. Carol Queen and indy porn filmmaker Tony Comstock; last of the pirate radio series. the pirates: Carol Queen: Tony Comstock:

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German Underpants Gnomes

Phase 1: Collect underpants.

Phase 2: Remove ball pouch.

Phase 3: ????

Phase 4: Profit!

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