The Pied Piper by Maxfield Parrish at The Palace Hotel.

The Palace Hotel has removed the icon from it’s place over the bar. To quote: The hotel said the painting was being sold because “it is no longer practical for the hotel to display, an original work of this value and cultural signifcance, in a public area.”

Wait, wait, wait! Hold the presses! As I was searching for the picture to go with the above, I found out that there was such public outcry that the hotel has decided not to sell the painting after all. Awesome news!!! I sure hope they put it back where it was. Getting drunk while staring at that painting is one of my fondest memories. So fond, I did it twice and had decided it would be worth the migraine to do it a third time.

Click to see the bigger file. No photo can truly capture it, though.

So, I officially change this post back to the original topic of Twenty Five Things I want to do/accomplish before my eventual (hopefully far away) death. I want to get drunk staring at this mural again. Preferably in the Palace Hotel in the company of my husband and my dear, dear friend. The same dear friend my husband and I got drunk with the first two times, because, God, I haven’t seen her in forever. Heh. That should be another post in this series. It could be a series of posts. Friends I want to see again before I die (with my death being, hopefully, a long time from now, and the seeing their faces a short time from now).

Regardless! Thing Seven! Get drunk in front of the Pied Piper! Again!

As a writer, there is no doubt that parts of people I’ve loved, if only momentarily, pours out of me in the lines that come out of my fingers.

The other day, I wrote a line in my most recent work in progress about a woman’s ankles. It was written instinctively, it came out of the character’s mouth as easily as breath, and yet my mind went back to a woman who taught British Literature when I was in college. I no longer remember her name or her face, but I remember her captivating ankles. If I had been gay or a straight man, I’d have attempted a move on her due to her ankles alone. Most of her has vanished from my  memory, but a part of her poured from my soul in the moment I wrote the lines for my character. She touched me. Or her ankles did.

This is a superficial example. I have characters who suddenly spout off a version of my father’s position in our last argument, or my good friend’s confession about her desire for babies, or start to eat pepperoni slices out of a massive bag a la The Pepperoni Lady at my prior job.

If I know you, if I’ve loved you, part of you will pour out of me in these lines from time to time. When and where and what there is no telling or any way to plan, but it will be happen. Because you live in me, some part of you, forever.

But, yes, one day, before I die, I’d like to vacation in the South of France. And any of these villas will do for a place to stay. I’m not too picky. Heh.

I have read some very bizarre (though interesting) sex blog/advice today while researching some sex scenes. I figured I’d share the goods with you.

1. This one is a straight guy talking about how if you want to really get a lady hot for you, then you should NEVER have an orgasm the first time you have sex with her, and maybe not even the second because then she will be very aware that you did not come and want to work that much harder next time to get you to orgasm.

As a woman, I find this advice very bizarre. If I had sex with a man and he didn’t orgasm, I admit–fair or not–it’d be a pretty big blow to my self-esteem. (Which, given that the link above is to the Pick-Up Artist site, which is all about neg hits, is probably what they are going for. But, uh, at what cost? Dude, do you really want to pass up an orgasm on the chance that by not coming she’s gonna wanna hit that again in hopes of proving she’s got what it takes to make you shoot? Really?) And I’d most likely not want to have sex with the guy again unless I was already in a relationship with him and I felt like it was just an off night for some reason. If it was a first time sex act, I’d be convinced I wasn’t his cuppa and probably just really want to have sex with someone else who did get off with me so I’d feel like I wasn’t somehow awful in bed. [BTW, not everything in that guy's post is a bad idea. *cough* Okay? Okay. And, yes, I will see a therapist pronto about my sexual hang-ups and insecurities, thank you for your concern.]

Or so Power Bottom explains to us at length in his lovely post.

2. This post is written by a male power bottom, and while I found all of his descriptions of and information about anal sex from his point of view very helpful and informative, I found his comments about why anal sex is better than vaginal sex pretty amusing. I am quite sure that for some men anal is better than vaginal. I’m also quite sure, based on the last, oh, ten years of sex research on the internet, that for some men vaginal is better. And some men like both pretty equally just for different occasions. And some men are gay and don’t want anal at all! And some men are straight and despite having access to a workable anus if they wanted, also don’t want anal at all! It was just kinda amusing to see this guy basically be like, “Oh, yeah, all you guys who like girl parts, you are so wrong and should really come fuck me now, okay?” I am sure some bisexual guys will happily take him up on it and some will happily tell him that, yes, his ass is much better than their ex-girlfriend’s vagina. And other guys are just gonna stick with what they like, aka girl parts, and never take him up on his suggestions. And that’s okay!

3. And this man describes in detail what it feels like to fuck a girl. Also, to the author of two above, he mentions that while he likes fucking ass, he prefers the vagina. Some men just do, okay? Don’t worry, though, Power Bottom, plenty of guys will happily fuck your butt, I’m sure. Anyway, it’s an interesting description. Might as well read it.

2.

3.

And that’s the potion for the new spell, baby.

by Boris Torres

Just as Catholic couples (are obliged to) relish the divinely-ordained undertaking of procreative sex, barebackers revel in “the rapture of unencumbered fucking.”[23] As one barebacker relates:

Feeling a man’s dick inside me, condomless—that’s when the sex becomes spiritual in its intensity. Communion, in the truest sense. Integral to that closeness is the knowledge that he intends to leave a piece of himself inside me; his cum, like the sex itself, has a psychological value far beyond anything physical. — Unlimited Intimacies

***

However, Dean’s greater sin rests in his reluctance to unpack the religious dimensions of his reflections with any depth, despite having made liberal use of terms laden with religious connotation. In his oversight, he leaves perhaps the most intriguing implications of his work unexplored and uninterrogated—namely, that a sexually-charged subculture might inadvertently or ironically rearticulate the established practices of mainstream institutions like the Catholic Church.  Dean fails to entertain the dual possibilities that ritualizing raw sex might reroute sacred energies for perverse purposes or —more bleakly—that it might reduce condomless fucking to a sacralized script. Our cursory analyses have initiated only the briefest responses to the questions posed by such a comparison. In place of a decisive conclusion, we uncover an ethical charge. – Unlimited Intimacies: Promiscuous Reflections on Barebacking and Catholic Dogma

I’ve seen plenty of Tori Amos concerts. Unfortunately, I’ve lost count, but the number is somewhere in the 20s at this point. But it is not enough!! I read about Ears With Feet (Tori fans) who have been to 100 concerts, or who have saved up a bunch of money, taken a leave of absence from work, and followed her around the world, and instead of having the reaction of a normal human, I think, “Oh, wow, I want to do that. A year of seventy Tori concerts? Are you kidding me? Yesssssss. All the yeses ever to yes!”

The issue? Money, job, responsibilities. If I ever get to do this, I’m sure it will be after my daughter is grown. Maybe she’d even want to come with me. If not, though, I’m pretty sure I could convince my BFF will come along for the ride.

If I were to rate the likelihood of any particular one of these, I’d have to admit this one is pretty low in terms of chances. It’s the sort of thing a person can maybe pull off in their early twenties, but as life creeps in, it becomes more and more difficult to make time for something like this. Perhaps it would make more sense if people understood that Tori Amos concerts are my church. There is literally no other time that I feel so completely connected to the universal, so in touch with my heart and spirit and soul, so uplifted and moved. There’s nothing that even touches it.

Before I die, I’d like to follow my church around the world, experiencing the service in far away lands.

I was thinking about this thing with Amazon and their attempt to de-smut their company. Is there any independent site out there set up for people to sell their smutty books without hoops to jump through? I know that Smashwords allows the sale of all kinds of smutty smut, even the stuff Amazon won’t allow, but the buyer has to opt into the Adult Filter in order to see said books. I’m curious if there is a site out there similar to Smashwords or Bandcamp for independent music where the author/publisher can upload their trashy smut and not have to worry about censorship of searches? And if not, then that seems a niche that needs filled, guys.

Someone please provide me a link to such a resource? Or someone please go make this store a reality? I think you’ll make some money for sure. Oh, indeed.

ETA: Apparently, rumor has it, one very excellent and well-known erotica writer is going to make this a reality! Whoot!

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