May 082013
 

Let me set the scene for you.

WRRRRRRRRRRRYYYYYYYYYY6:00 A.M.  I wake in a cold sweat, haunted by cries of “beyBEEEE” and “CAWK”!  I may never sleep again.

6:20 A.M.  I sit down to write this review, weeping quietly to myself.

Where to begin?  I am hungry, yet nauseous.  Tired, but unable to return to bed.  Scarred, yet optimistic about making a full recovery once I stumble upon a shocking revelation during a therapy session that takes place many years from now: worse porn exists.  Not much, but some.  It has to… right?

The only was this porno could have hurt me more was if I had watched Ron Jeremy drill Farrah.

Let me make something clear to you: James Deen could not save this film.  He tried.  He offered instruction.  He drilled her ass.  But  his thinly-veiled attempts to hide his contempt combined with his unwilling chubby implied that no one, and I repeat, NO ONE, forgets their brain when they come to fuck The Deen.

Apparently the contract was that Deen and Farrah were supposed to act like a couple making a sex tape that is then leaked against their will.  Which would have been all convincing and well and good if she hadn’t been spotted waltzing out of Vivid with her young daughter and her dad.  And if she hadn’t fucked the notorious James Deen.  Oh.  And if SHE HADN’T NEGOTIATED WITH A BUNCH OF PORN COMPANIES.

Oh wait, I owe you an explanation.

You know that I have nothing against porn.  But Farrah Abraham does.

“This is not a porn tape. A porn tape is when you are a porn star and you wanna be naked and wanna wear crazy other stuff. And that’s what’s really hard for me to even deal with. I’m not ok with that and that’s not what this is.”

Apparently Farrah has forgotten the first ten minutes of the porno where she goes from wearing a dress with nothing under it to  being naked to wearing lingerie SPECIFICALLY for the purpose of taking it back off.  She has a bag of underwear that Deen drags up the steps for her to pick from.

So reading that quote, I hope that you understand what I have against Farrah’s raging ignorance and  her desire to call this a “sex tape” rather than a “porno.”  Her porno reportedly had a budget.  It is edited.  (Very obviously edited, and I’m pretty sure it had to be, since this woman couldn’t handle Deen’s penis at all.  Epiphora called it – “Is he getting softer?”)

Navigator pointed out that she did not have high hopes for this film.

“All I’m gonna say is I read Star Trek fanfic from 1989 this afternoon and I expect it to be hotter than this will be.”

We even played a game that The Redhead Bedhead concocted called “stuff that’s hotter than this.”  Here are the contenders:

“CIRCUMCISION!”

-Me

MOWING ONE’S LAWN (NOT EUPHEMISTIC)

-Epiphora

As we watched, I reminded my companions, “THIS WAS ABOUT EMBRACING HER SEXUALITY.”  The Redhead Bedhead retorted, “This was about rushing through stuff as quickly as possible because no one was into it…”

For starters, Farrah can’t undo buttons.  Make of that what you will.  Here’s a direct quote:

“These buttons are going to take me forever!”

“Do you know how buttons work?”

“I don’t, not today.  Forgot my brain when I came to hang out with you.”

That’s right.  She forgot her brain.

Deen actually gave her instructions during the blowjob… which would have been great except SHE DIDN’T FOLLOW THEM.  ”Give her a break,” I insisted, “She forgot her brain today.”  What does she do to make up for the fact that she can’t give a blowjob worth a damn?  She reaches for the lube and drizzles it all over his dick, then goes, “Look at that cock.  I wanna like, lick it more, but ew.”

Apparently the best thing you can do to get through this porno is devising complex games. When you watch this game, try playing a little game called “Where’s the cock?”  You close your eyes and have to guess where the cock is based on Farrah’s moans alone.  Wait… that’s probably going to be less complex than expected.  ”YOUR COCK IS IN MY ASS BEE-BEEEEEEE” peppers the entire sex scene with Deen.

Farrah clearly didn’t want to be sucking Deen’s dick.  She wanted it in her ass immediately.  Before warming up.  Because apparently that’s something that you do.  Deen insisted on warming her up with vaginal intercourse first.  She kept crying, “Harder, HARDER BEEBEE,” and Deen went harder and shook her like a rag doll and she was like, “I’M NUMB!”  And we were like, “Oh, THAT’S good for you.”  (Also, since she insisted on acting like a porn star, here’s a protip: “I’m numb,” really isn’t the sexiest thing to yell during intercourse if you’re not going to stop.)

If this is what it’s like to date Farrah Abraham, then she’s totally loathsome.  She baby talks through the entire thing.  (Because that just can’t be her regular voice.  If it is, END ME.)  She curls up in bed and announces, “I’m embarrassed.”  Don’t worry honey, I was embarrassed for you too.

It’s bad.  It’s 100% bad.  It’s terribad.  It’s terriawful.  It’s one of the biggest trainwrecks I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen the Saw XXX parody.  I don’t think I can properly convey just how bad this was, so I’ll end this review with some quotes and tweets.  The only way you can properly grasp this, though, is to experience it for yourself… but I don’t recommend it.

Quotes from the film:

Farrah: “Look at my ass, my ass is like OW.  My ass is in pain.”

Farrah: “I deserve this [shower], I’ve been like, way too sexual with you all day.”

Farrah: “There’s cum in my eyeball.”

James: “I would love to cuddle with you, but you just said you wanted to get fucked in the ass!”

James: “You’re not even wearing panties.”

Farrah: “I’m not?”

James: “Do you ever wear them?”

Farrah: “I’m wearing panties, you just can’t see them.”

Farrah: “This one day, I had the wettest pussy,  ’cause I get myself off.”

Farrah: “I THINK YOU’RE GOING TO POP MY VAGINA.”

Farrah: “This is my magic pussy wand.” [Note: it is not a Magic Wand of any sort, it's a glass dildo.]

James: “For your magic pussy?”

Farrah: “And this is magic,” *gestures to pussy.*

Farrah: “It hurts.”

James: “It hurts?”

Farrah: “Yeah, too deep.”

James: “THEN DON’T SHOVE IT IN THAT DEEP!”

James: “What do you like about cock?”

Farrah: “It cums.”

Farrah: “I think I can feel my magic stick through my ass.”

Farrah, talking about her ass: “Only that big giant D can go in there!”

Some choice tweets (with the #FarrahDeen hashtag removed) can be found below the cut.

Continue reading »

May 232012
 

I got my hood pierced on Friday!  I’m ecstatic about it.  Despite having a slightly smaller hood, my piercer (who also did my nipples, and is probably the most fabulous woman in the world) was able to compensate with the placing, and while I will god-honestly say it was a shock when she poked me with the needle, it was completely worth it.

For those of you who aren’t familiar with female genital piercings, a hood piercing is having the skin of your clitoral hood pierced.  A lot of times, if a bio-female tells you she has her clit pierced, what she means is that she has a hood piercing.  Most women don’t have enough clitoral tissue for a proper, safe piercing of the clitoris, and some piercers won’t even perform it.  My hood piercing is vertical, and I’m very excited about it.

The shop was empty when my piercing was performed, which was good, because I screamed.  My boyfriend accompanied me and was extremely disconcerted by watching -because- of my screaming, and the blood, and the fact that he just watched part of my gorgeous sexybits get a needle rammed into them.  Realistically, though, it hurt less than when my nipples were pierced.  The difference is that a ton of people said, “Oh, having your hood pierced doesn’t hurt at all!  It’s really thin skin, it heals quickly, you’ll hardly feel it!”  They are either numb from the waist down (and I often suspect that I am, so that’s saying something), or they’re lying.  I’d say it was on par with my eyebrow, which hurt more than my tongue.  However, if I had been prepared for that pain, it would have been okay.  I expected that I would hardly feel it… and so the shock made the experience seem ten times more painful than it was.  However, it was a very brief pain, and even though it hasn’t even been a full week yet, I’m delighted with it.

 

The point of this post is not to share my piercing tale, really… if that was the point, I would have made all of that information much more lengthy and entertaining.  The point of this post was to share what happened afterward, when I was hanging out in the shop while my piercer consulted another client.

Two young women came in with the client, and through some part of the grapevine (probably the tattooist that returned to the shop a few minutes after we finished my piercing), had heard that I’d gotten my genitals pierced.  They were incredibly curious, and I was (and am) more than happy to answer questions.  The conversation went a bit like this:

“Are you the girl who got her clit pierced?”

“I got my hood pierced, yeah… you don’t usually pierce the actual clit.”

“Holy crap!  I don’t think I could do that… did it hurt?”

“Oh, definitely.  But not as bad as nipple piercings do.”

“Well what about when you pee?  Won’t it burn?”

That’s right, kids.  Two young women who were definitely over 18 but under 25 were under the impression that their clitorises were either involved in the process of expelling urine, or were at risk of being in the path of a stream of urine during expulsion.  Now, genitalia can vary vastly in configuration, especially when we’re talking about the configuration of a vulva, but for most individuals, the urethra is located below the clitoris.  It just is.  That’s usually what you’ll find on any diagram of “standard” genital configuration for biologically-female bodies.  It reminds me of when I was five and I assumed that my urine came from my vagina.  (At the time, I had no idea what a “vulva” was, must less the rest of the kit.)

I was both dumbstruck and amused by the situation.  They also asked what I would do if my tampon string got tangled up in it.  Since the strings do have a tendency to run a bit wild when you have thicker outer labia, that wasn’t a particularly stupid question, but when I stated that it was a moot point because I wore a menstrual cup, these women were kind enough to ask more questions which restored my faith in the belief that most American bio-females are walking around and have no fucking idea what is going on in their pants.

<standard comprehensive sex education rant here.>

I don’t even remember the specific questions asked about the menstrual cup, but there were many, and some of them also demonstrated the fact that these women didn’t know too much about their anatomy.  I don’t deliberately intend to ridicule the anatomically uninformed… and I’ll happily educate them on how their bodies actually work.  But when you are informed, it’s moments like this that walk a very fine line between hilarious and outrageous.

Feb 042012
 

Subtitle: “The Bigot’s Better Blowjob.”
Sub-subtitle: “Driving You To Drink.”
Sub-sub-subtitle: “Can’t Tell If Trolling…”
Written by the man who has had over 1,000 blowjobs, and counting.

If you want to skip to the drinking game, in which my dastardly machinations promote death via alcohol poisoning, just scroll to the cut.

Jack Hutson e-mailed Epiphora asking her to review his book.  She had heard of his attempts to snag a review, and had also heard that all of her fellow bloggers had either declined or just ignored the e-mail.  Appalled that no one had told him off for being a moron, she said, “Hell to the no.  You’re a sexist pig.”

He then proceeded to solicit every sex blogger that she links to on her site.
I’m on that list.

We knew about Jack Hutson and the book because we’d been ridiculing the site a few months earlier.  “It’s so misguided that it’s funny,” we said.  “It’s gaudily designed! The information is crap!”  We NEVER expected that he’d e-mail us asking us to review it.  I invite you to formulate your own opinions about the site – his marketing method, his design, and the contents of his book cited there!  To my understanding, you can find it by googling it. (At least, that’s what Jack told me to do when he introduced himself and mentioned his book.  If you click the link to Epiphora’s tumblr, you can see the e-mail he sent to all of us.)

Jack Hutson: The Moron Behind the Masturbation

He seems pretty legit, you guys.

We, two 20somethings having relations with cisgender males, wondered, “Are we supposed to take blowjob advice from a poorly-vectored man with a mullet?” The answer is the same that it would be if you replaced “blowjob advice” with “candy”: No.

Instead of curling up in a corner and wailing, “I NEED AN ADULT,” repeatedly, I agreed to review his book because I didn’t really expect it to make me do that.

(Spoilers: Sometimes, it does.)

But really.  Surely I don’t know every blowjob technique in the book.  Surely I can improve.  That’s what I told myself when I responded.

 

Jack selflessly dedicates the book

to women all over the world.  I genuinely want to help them to free themselves, learn how to give great head, and have the best time ever with the men they like.

Jack sells this book hard.  It’s a $47 book that is only available as an eBook.  Jack tells you that “buying this book is probably the best investment you’ve made in the last few months.”  His endorsements read a little bit like something out a pageant, as if he’s hoping to be crowned Miss America: Blowjob Queen.  But the site says it wants to teach you how to be “The One.”  <insert tired Matrix reference here.>

So enter the world of Jack Hutson, the Man of 1,000 Blowjobs.

Jack Hutson writes in a style similar to Tucker Max, who aims to be the 21st century’s Bukowski without wasting his time on poetry.  He thinks nothing will get your man off more than you (an assumed cisgender female) taking your role in the “natural order of things” by being a “submisive slut.”  In fact, in the book and the website, he tells you that if you don’t give good head, your man will find someone who will.  He says most guys will leave you for a girl who gives better BJs than you.  He says his divorce was necessitated by that fact that she gave bad head.  On his website, he utters the “horrible truth,” that, yes – that other person your man could go to might even be a prostitute.  (GASP!

My friend Elle M. summarized it best when she was reading his website, “So if you don’t suck it right he’ll hire a hooker?  And it will be YOUR fault?  HIS DICK WILL PULL HIM TO A SEEDY CORNER OF TOWN LIKE A MAGNET.”

Elle is convinced that the man who drew up a contract of wifely expectations even though there was no consensual master/slave dynamic must have written this.  I agree with this theory, and we intend to investigate extensively.

The biggest thing Jack stresses is “the winning attitude.”  Why?  “You have to be horny if you want him to get horny.”

As I already said, how you feel is how he will feel.  So, let’s recap – you have to change

“He should be happy that I made the effort to be on my knees and suck his dick, I hate doing this”
Into >>>
“I looove sucking his dick, mmm, it feels so good, I love the taste of it, I wish I could keep on sucking it forever, God, I’m so happy he let me suck on it, it’s the most beautiful thing on Earth, Aaaah”

I am giving him head”
Into >>>
He is giving me incredible pleasure from letting me suck his hard, tasteful cock”

Okay, y’all.  Here’s the thing.  I don’t hold back.  I go down there without asking.  I voluntarily stick my face down his pants when I’m ready to roll.  And yes, he is letting me suck his cock, and yes, I am getting pleasure from it.  But let me be totally honest.  While I care for my partners, and find them sexually appealing, the opportunity to put a cock in my mouth isn’t exactly a privilege that I had to pry from his cold, dead fingers.  Sure, he’s letting me administer fellatio, but it’s not like I had to beg him for the chance to make his eyes roll back in his head.

 

Jack admits that he’s homophobic, sexist, and generally an asshole.  (I haven’t even scratched the surface in that list.  He’s a bigot in all ways, and this book is one entire cissexist tirade of crap.)  He’s actually kind of proud of it.  That just makes you want to punch him more.  When he says that it’s hard to get STDs from giving a blowjob and says he never got anything from getting blowjobs from hundreds of different girls?   I want to spit on him for thinking he’s the authority on this.  He tells you to know who you’re dealing with, make sure he’s clean or make him go get a test, and don’t swallow his load if you’re not sure he’s clean.  WHAT ABOUT CONDOMS, JACK?  He has a section on how important it is for you to look good.  He has some sections on… oh, fuck it.  You don’t care.  Neither do I. Let’s just cut to the chase.

If you buy this book, you’re basically paying $47 to hear one guy talk about what he likes to see in porn and what he looks for in a woman (winning attitude!  submissive and gentle in all ways!  feminine!  slutty!  swallows unless it’s a facial!).  I only recommend making “the best investment that you’ll have made in the last few months” if you intend to find Jack Hutson and convince him to marry you so that you can kill him and inherit all the stuff he’ll leave in his mom’s basement.  (If that’s your plan, I apologize that you’re that hard-up.)

I’d like to share some of my favorite gems from the book:

Blow jobs are in some way a method to convey male dominance over the female.  It is natural for a man to be dominant in sex, and by giving him a blowjob you are showing ultimate submissiveness – and thereby giving him ultimate pleasure.  Remember girls – this is NATURAL, that’s the way it should be by nature.  So forget about feminism when giving head.

You’re right, Jack, I’ll just put equality out of my mind while I’m sucking dick to promote the “natural order” of the world.  After all, anthropologically speaking, blowjobs are a much stronger human biological imperative than penile-vaginal intercourse.

And be feminine… you have to be a real woman, not some feminist. I don’t know how a lot of you girls got the impression that guys love tough, dominant chicks – no, we don’t. And the guys that tell you that only tell you so you’ll think they’re nice. These guys make me throw up.

Because real women can’t be feminists.

No, we don’t want a manly woman; we want a woman to be a real woman, feminine, gentle and loving – and most importantly, sexually submissive to her man.

Oh good, I’ll keep that in mind when my boyfriend is begging me to tie him up, sodomize him, and call him a little slut.  Sorry if  we made you barf a little, Jack.

You can also have great sex with soul and r’n'b music – I love music made by black folks, they really have a sense for music and they know how to make really good grooves for sex.
what.

If you really master giving blow jobs, all doors will be open for you.  I can’t even explain how many girls suck at giving head – just by being better than them, you are in a major advantage.  Sex is important, and sex without blow jobs is like driving a car that has really small space for gas.  It gets boring to go to the gas station every five minutes – so sooner or later, that guy will want to buy a new car – a car that has A LOT of gas space.  Funny example, but that’s how it is.  I never cheated on girls that gave amazing head – because all my needs were satisfied – so I didn’t even need to think about cheating.  I broke up with them for different reasons, and it was always hard for me to leave those girls – because a good blow job is hard to find.

So is a good blowjob instruction manual.

Let me strip the shit I slogged through down to advice that you could have paid a psychic hotline for:

  • Men like foreplay too.
  • Men generally prefer that you enjoy administering oral sex rather than acting grossed out or unenthusiastic.
  • You can suck cock in more than one position.
  • Your sex life will be more interesting if you’re relaxed and open about your sexuality.

 

The cool thing is that when you empty out all of your “fun” money for the week to buy his book, you also get a REALLY long FAQ.  In the post-script after he finishes the text of the book, he tells us that the FAQ is BETTER than the book, and more than worth reading.
Then why the fuck did I just buy the book, Jack?
He also states that he’s writing “a new book about sex, anal, talking dirty, and other kinky shit.”

Oh please god no.

 

While reading this, my brain actually needed something to do.  (That tells you how much brainpower the text required.)
I’m not a big drinker, but this book made me want to pick up the bottle… and smash it over his head.

Instead, I proudly present to you the Jack Hutson Drinking Game!

Continue reading »

Feb 032012
 

One of the most important people in my life, the slutling, is taking a haitus from school, and we’re also taking a hiatus from our relationship (for other reasons).  These two events were pretty much independent decisions, but the end result is about the same: I’m single.

So naturally, now that I’m single, every rock-hard infinitesimal cock with an ego the size of my ass is messaging me on OKCupid.

The A&F Chubby Chaser mailed me, and I was immediately skeptical.  We had a 58% match percentage and his profile included information saying that he was s student, an Abercrombie & Fitch employee, as well as a day trader.  It also said that he was good at sports and”schhol” (sic).  The six things he couldn’t do without were “God. money. women. my friends. clothes. and i guess more money” The most private thing he was willing to admit?  “umm… your ugly.”

So clearly, we were going to be a good match.  But you know, despite how poor his profile was, he had impeccable spelling and grammar when he first messaged me… so we exchanged a few messages.  He pretty clearly had a one-track mind.  He went from asking me why I was up so late, to saying he liked me because I was different, to asking if I liked weed, if I liked threesomes, and if I had girlfriends to play with.

Then he asked to swap nudes.

Sorry dude, I mean.  My naked body is on the internet, but I’m not handing that shit to you within five minutes of messaging.

“Well I would eventually like for you to place foreign objects in my ass and spank me like a naughty toddler. ”

Well, I mean… I’ve done that before.

“Do you have a phone number?”

“Of course I have a phone number. How else would my parents contact me?”

Clearly, my values weren’t getting through to him, because he then sent me his number, and told me to text him.  There was no way in hell.  After ten minutes with no response, he said, “I, ned [sic] you to make my penis orgasm.”

And that was that, and I thought that chapter was OVER.

Apparently not.  I got a message from him three or four days later (last night) that said, “Stick a finger in your butt.”

TAKE A HINT, DUDE.  I realize that you’re probably very popular with women because your neck is as thick as your head and you work at a store that won’t even let me take two feet inside without all eyes falling on me, but if I have stopped messaging you, we are done talking.  If I did not give you nudes or swap texts with you, it’s not going to happen.  Moreover, I keep getting an increasing amount of anecdotal evidence that for some men, working at Abercrombie & Fitch correlates with being a chubby-chaser… and believe me, while I only want to fuck someone who is aroused by the very sight of my voluptuous frame, there’s something about a chubby-chaser that I have nothing in common with contacting me that pretty much tells me that he just wants to fuck me ’cause I’m fat.

Did I mention his profile says he’s looking for women ages 18-99?

IF YOU’RE WARM AND WILLING, MY BODY IS READY.

Jan 222012
 

I don’t sleep.  I also don’t get to jack it while I sit awake at 6 AM.

To explain this unfortunate phenomenon, and what college sex is like for me in general, allow me to present

Sugarcunt’s Dorm Sex Flowchart.

Go ahead and click that shit so you can actually read it.  And read the line key!