Category Archives: Sex


Thirteen Aphrodisiacs

Oy, this is late for a Thirteen. Sorry. I began it last night, worked on it throughout the day, and now (9:38 PM) I’m hoping I’ll get it posted before midnight my time.

I had a three hour committee meeting tonight. THREE. HOURS. And to think I did this because I thought I might generate some fine writing material. NOT.

Well, let’s get started!

I’ll admit to some bias in assembling this list. I’m not interested in male aphrodisiacs — you won’t find any ground-up rhino horn here (and how non-PC does it get, anyway? Poor rhinos!) Male aphrodisiacs are all sympathetic magic anyway. Find something that looks like a penis or testicles, cook it up, and eat it. Or go straight to the real deal.

I know a couple of markets in Silicon Valley which sell bull, um, parts, but the gourmet in me objects. No, thank you.

But when it comes to augmenting the female libido, I confess to a scientific/professional interest as well. How do you manipulate emotions with pharmaceuticals or herbs? With depression, we’re way ahead of the game, but desire seems to be quite a different story.

Follow me below the fold for a glimpse at the not-so-new and exciting market of love.

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If I told you you had a hot body, would you hold it against me?

When I was a teenager, I imagined married couples would have sex constantly. Nightly at a minimum, perhaps more often, work schedules permitting. Why wouldn’t they? They would have the means, motive, and opportunity. It would require a focused act of willpower to get anything else done.

I excepted my parents from this presumption, of course, and my girlfriend’s parents, too. Impossible to imagine any of them getting nasty. But people in their twenties — wow. Hook up a generator and you could light a metropolis.

At 17, I never imagined fatigue could affect libido (like I would have let a sleepless night slow me down?) Nor did I think illness, worry, or depression would ever factor into the equation. What could you worry/be depressed about if you had a steady supply?

The photo comes from Avenavin.com, a website that markets Avenavin, a “female vitality blend.” I find this photo remarkably expressive, from the pocket pool-playing nitwit in the foreground to the scheming Mrs. Robinson in the background. I can almost hear her saying, “Rrrroooowr!” They need to include a video demonstrating her new, improved pouncing ability. But I can’t help but think her plans are ill-fated. Perhaps it’s his Morrissey-like look of despondency.

I found the Avenavin folks by googling “female libido” (this, after Thorne led me to Feministing‘s piece on a new drug which makes female shrews waggle their bottoms, present their rumps, and eat less food). Avenavin isn’t the appetite-reducing bum-shaking drug, just to be clear; what it is, is a mixture of various herbs ‘n spices. They give an ingredients list, if you’re curious. Anyway, I was taken by some of the testimonials:

It is wonderful, I made the mistake and took it before bed and tried to go to sleep, I had to wake my husband up in the middle of the night, but he didn’t mind. Just wanted to say thank you again! So does my husband!

See, men are ready all the time. It’s the nature of the beast. The only thing that destroys my libido is stomach flu, and even then I wake up with erections. What woman wouldn’t want that same sense of readiness?

Thanks Avenavin, I feel like a sorority girl again. I’ve become more confident, more aggressive and much more sociable since I started taking your product. Incredible sex and I have several orgasms now before climaxing.

Not to stray too far off topic, but am I missing some sort of fine distinction between orgasms and climaxing? Cuz if I am . . . I mean, I’m still trying to wrap my head around female ejaculation.

What I’m attempting to say is this: I still can’t understand why married couples aren’t boinking nightly. Assuming neither partner is in pain or grievously ill, that is, and that both have the skills to make it fun for the other. Sex should trump everything: not just fatigue, worry, and depression, but screaming babies, overdue bills, hangnails, and hangovers.

If we were more bonobo-like, the world would be a better place; but libido apparently defies logic. Which is why I pledge to make tomorrow’s Thirteen about aphrodisiacs. Hopefully, I’ll discover one we can slip into the water supply.

D.

, May 2, 2007. Category: Sex.

Random walk

How many blogs are there in the world?

Sometimes it’s fun to take a random walk. I don’t remember how I found Word Oyster yesterday, but I think I found it by searching ‘anal bleaching.’ I searched for ‘anal bleaching’ because some reader found me that way — and if I remember correctly, my post on anal bleaching was rather negative. Yes, I pooh-poohed the practice.

Sorry.

Tonight, Word Oyster led me to Madeline in the Mirror, the sex-centric blog of Madeline Glass. Current top post concerns the noises Madeline makes in various and sundry situations . . . situations which come in every flavor but vanilla. Madeline steered me towards Rachel Kramer Bussel’s Kinky Virtual Book Tour, which in turn led me (through one or two missteps) to OH. MY. GOD:

Project_ISM.

See, this is one of those times when I wish I had more hetero male & lesbian readers, because I want y’all to know this website rocks. Here’s their credo:

Project_ISM is an erotic, web-based, self-portraiture project, where women from around the world submit a series of digital photographs that they have shot of themselves naked.

The resulting collection of images is a celebration of the diversity of women – physically, artistically and psychologically. For some women, contributing to the project is purely a creative endevor, for others its a cathartic release of a lifetime of inhibition or maybe just an opportunity to be a hot.net.porn star for a day.

But for everyone who contributes (or sees it), it’s fun.

Tired of spending hours porn-surfing the web, finding nothing but adult movie actresses & wannabes? Want to see some real women having fun with their bods? Project_ISM is for you.

Damn it, now I’m hungry.

D.

PS Don’t miss the video from ISM. I love women!

Real or fake?

Way too much fun. (For a guy, anyway.) From The Sun Online, via Word Oyster . . .

Play “Spot the Bogus Boobs.” I got 7 out of 8 correct. How did you do?

Spend some time over at Word Oyster, by the way. You won’t regret it. And please keep reading down to my next post. My question at the end is no joke.

D.

PS: have an appetite for more? Click on the photo.

Hysterical

French treatment of hysteria, circa 1860.

So much of my work as an ENT is unglamorous — picking noses, digging decades-old wax from people’s ears, draining abscesses. It gets me down sometimes, especially when (as happened last week) a rug monkey coughs in my face and I know I’ll be sick within 48 hours.

Times like this, I need historical perspective.

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All I really need to know I learned in Cosmo

Time for another Cosmopolitan Thirteen! I’m eager to find out how the May issue will change my life. Will I discover at long last what I crave in bed? Will I learn the secret to perfect abs with Cosmo’s No Crunch Workout®? Could I find out what mysterious rules of attraction brought Karen and me together? And will I master the Surefire Technique That Takes You Both Over the Edge — Simultaneously®, whether we like it or not?

I’ll just be happy if this issue saves me hundreds of dollars on money-saving beauty tips. Like putting leftover guacamole dip in my hair for added shine and bounce — I am so there.

Follow me below the cut for a treasure trove of Cosmognosis.

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Thirteen venereal diseases

Corn Dog asked for a medical quiz thirteen, and since I’ve had sex on the brain recently . . . well, do we really need an explanation for a VD Thirteen? Here we go!

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Cat o’ nine

Today’s Random Flickr Blogging image is slightly unsafe for work, so I’ve buried it below the fold. Tom has links to this week’s other participants.

Tonight’s post should satisfy a few of your demands — pix! Flickr Follies! Sex! Blinded by Science (well, kinda science . . . um, health science. I suppose. If you really stretch the point). Maybe even Writer’s Life, if you would like to believe that this is what goes on in the dark recesses of my imagination.

Come along. You know you want to.

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Reruns again?

After a crappy night’s sleep, I saw 32 patients today (if not a record, it’s close), and when I got home, I had two hours worth of catch-up charting to do. My brain is a blancmange, and when that happens, you get reruns. Kwitcher bitchin — I don’t do this all that often.

Kate and Anduin might remember this one, but I suspect it will be new material for many of you.

Historical note: this post first aired July 31, 2005. Somehow, the Smart Bitches caught wind of it, shouted it on their blog, and suddenly I had me scads of romance readers/writers. Speaking of the Bitches, did you catch their April Fool’s Day front page? Bloody brilliant. It rices my kishkes from jealousy, it’s so brilliant.

Without further ado:

Everything I know about sex I learned from my tarantula

Yeah. Keep readin’.

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Overheard at the Hogwarts Association of Romantic Bisexuals and Lesbians

Reports of Voldemort-sympathizers among the HARBL prompted the Hogwarts faculty to send an observer to their most recent meeting. Minerva was the logical choice, but stubborn as ever, she insisted she liked a good hard pounding as well as the next slag; and Hagrid declined this opportunity to acknowledge his true self. I drew short straw.

With my drab attire and poorly coiffed hair, there was little chance I could pass myself off as bisexual — though, if there were no other way, I might have invited young Weasley along; the boy would provide believable cover. But there was another way. I swallowed a polymorph draught and soon became the dentists’ daughter: Granger.

I set out for the HARBL assembly, sharing my most simpering smile with each passing classmate. How difficult was it to feign the malapert’s identity? Not difficult at all. I had borrowed the library’s dustiest tome and now hugged it to my apricot-sized breast, spouting inane trifles like, “There’s little truth Rabastan Lestrange waterboarded Frank and Alice Longbottom; he himself admitted to using the cruciatus curse!” Blah, blah, blah. I needn’t have bothered; by custom, everyone ignores the impudent child.

Mere feet from the oaken door, I espied Granger herself heading for the meeting, her face a mask of lusty purpose. Who knew! And now, I had to think quickly, for fast approaching was Edvardus Moot, the transsexual Hufflepuff Chaser.

“You!” I cried out, eager to get in the first “You!”

“You!” quoth the real Granger.

Came my riposte, “The warp of your cardigan has come loose,” and when she looked down, I struck her with my ebony wand, then hustled her into a vacant broomstick closet. After applying a hasty Immobulus spell to the vain little oaf, I hastened to the meeting.

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, March 29, 2007. Category: Humor, Sex.
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