Hot on the Trail of What Shakes Our Tail!

There's a little known (or seldom referenced) important sexological fact that's been sadly neglected! You would think that in our currently glutted internet world of non-stop sexual references and information that someone would be taking the time to connect this important little dot with all the other advice about how to have a better (or bigger or faster etc.) orgasm, more pleasure, and so on. But as far as I know, this mystery item has not made much of a dent in the sexological literature and certainly not in the mass consciousness.

What is this mysterious piece of information and why does it matter? You'll find out as soon as I finish collecting responses to yet another survey. This one is simple and quick. It tests your knowledge and beliefs about female-bodied orgasms (those involving vulva, vagina and clitoris). I invite you to take this utterly confidential survey, and have the fun of adding to my latest, homegrown research effort. Anyone can take it - cisfemale, cismale, trans everyone, gender everyone - as long as you are 18 or over.

Go to www.dramymarshsexologist.com and click the survey link on the homepage.

I'll be divulging the results soon in this very blog! Thanks so much for your time and data!

"Little XO?" - I'll Take the Sock Puppet, Cap't!

Happy New Year, folks! Thanks to the release of "inappropriate" videos produced by and starring Navy Captain Owen Honors, we can ring in the first sex scandal of 2011. As a sexologist, my li'l heart is glad. Or would be, if the salacious material wasn't so darned tepid and boring. Like most half-baked sybarites, the inappropriately named Honors has produced nothing of much real interest. The more fascinating aspects of this teapot tempest are the public comments, which suck us - once again - into the convoluted whirlpools of the American sex-psyche.

But first, the videos. I watched snippets on Huffington Post this morning. In response, I posted this: "This video gives new meaning to the words "government stimulus." Or would - except that it's the most boring drivel ever produced by a cheery, parrot-hugging egomaniac in a uniform. Watching the clips is sheer torment - not only due to the puerile offensiveness of his homophobic and sexist remarks - but also because there's no actual "entertainment" value. I have a sneaking suspicion that he has his own private ways of having fun with these clips - but to inflict them on others in the name of ship morale is a pathetic abuse of his position. One good episode of Southpark would provide more laughs than a year's worth of this man spouting a common obscenity. As for those who argue whether he "should have" or "shouldn't have" produced and shown these videos, the Navy itself has issued a statement which indicates the videos are considered inappropriate, so I've gotta go with that. As it is, as a civilian I'm simply left wondering, just how "little" is "Little XO" anyway? Perhaps there is a direct correlation to the man's supply of common sense."

Really, it's more corn than porn, and not very good corn at that.

Because the sexual material was so dull, I found myself riveted instead by some of the stranger details, such as the sock puppet and gaudy stuffed parrots on his desk, and the fake chicken - or whatever it was - ripped to bits for the cameras as part of his masturbation skit. And that big eyed Cheetah kitten poster on the wall - what's up with that? I had flashbacks of those tacky old Keane velvet paintings - sad eyed street moppets and orphans - and we all know how vulnerable such real children are... I dunno, I found myself wondering about the intricacies of Honors' fantasy life, elements of which he was apparently driven to reveal to all in his series of dreary videos. Honors already looks like prime fodder for the military shrinks.

Captain Honors also made use of sophisticated editing to appear in triplicate in the videos - as himself, the XO; as a ultra-butch, aviator sunglass dude; and as a mild-mannered functionary who flipped the bird everytime he endured a "gay" slur. Again, what's up with that? What is the former XO and current nuclear aircraft carrier captain trying to tell us? Is he top, bottom, switch? Perhaps we'll know more after his oh-so-public reaming on the internet, and whatever military inquiry he'll endure. I guess, in a way, I could pity this man. Except that I think I pity his crew a lot more.

"Fly Me!" The TSA's Hot Airport Quickies

Even if you've led a quiet and blameless life and never once considered qualifying for the "Mile High Club", the Transportation Security Administration now offers the flying pubic - errr, public! - its best chance for hot airport quickies! The agency, said to be suffering from "tremendous pressure" (hubba hubba!) after detecting plastic explosive in a man's underwear, now offers not one, but two, surefire ways to get that mojo working one last time before succumbing to the dreary sadism known as airplane seating. But not everyone is giddy with anticipation. Most people are peeved and perplexed.

The TSA says public concerns about sexually inappropriate fondling and groping are unfounded. According to a story in The Economist, "The TSA's official blogger, Blogger Bob, says they don't exist: 'there is no fondling, squeezing, groping, or any sort of sexual assault taking place at airports. You have a professional workforce carrying out procedures they were trained to perform to keep aviation security safe.'" Pshaw, Blogger Bob! This is pure puritanical denial. Why be coy? Why not just admit the forbidden allure of the "zipless pat" and the exhibitionistic and voyeuristic thrills of scanned fullbody display? To do otherwise is pure hypocrisy, and the flying public knows it. I would also say that we need to acknowledge the erotic aspects of these TSA procedures so that we no longer subject children to them!

While everyone from President Obama to Representative Ron Paul to National Opt-Out Day say they are "frustrated" by the "enhanced" pat-downs and full body scans - I suggest these invasive procedures could actually be spun to fun! I'm talking a perceptual quantum shift, people - from coy to enjoy! Kind of like switching your inner IPod from The Tubes' "Don't Touch Me There!" to Joan Jett's "Do You Wanna Touch Me?". After all, when's the last time you actually had a perfect stranger offer to grope you with safer sex laetrile gloves? Or been able to party like a sex star in front of a revealing full body scan? I say, let's show those terrorists that we Americans are not afraid to get it on for the sake of homeland security and give it our all, baby!

Since anyone who flies these days is at risk for a close encounter with the TSA, I for one mean to get down with the inevitable and enjoy myself. And you can too. Take it from me, I'm a bonafide sexologist and pleasure is my treasure, if ya know what I mean!

The Full-Body, Orgasmic TSA Pat-Down

Recently, on NPR's "All Things Considered," humorist Dave Barry told how his "blurred groin" resulted in a pat-down. Barry said, "Well, they take you in this little room. And it's an unpleasant little room. The man is putting on the blue gloves. He's telling me how he's going to touch me. And he makes a big point about when he's going to be using the front of his hand, and when he's going to be using the back of his hand. And I'm thinking, I don't really care. Like, it's not like if I'm going to have a guy touching me, I'm going to look down and go, oh, it's okay; it's the back of his hand - you know what I mean?"

Sadly, it sounds as if Mr. Barry's experience was less than the full body tantric revelation it could have been and for that I blame the man in the blue gloves. He could have at least murmured a few sweet nothings into Mr. Barry's ear before commencing with his inspection. I mean, even if we really are just inconvenient pieces of human meat with explosive potential, you don't have to rub our noses in it, do you? If we, as the flying public, are going to do our bit to make pat-downs a pleasure not a chore, we do need the TSA to sweeten the deal a little. For one thing, no more "unpleasant little rooms." We want soft lights, romantic music, and at least a bit of chocolate (preferably free trade with 70% cacao content) to get us in the mood. I mean, it's not like the TSA and I have been married ten plus years - we've only just met! Travellers with more exotic tastes should be offered the option of light bondage or a sturdy, plastic-explosives-detecting vibrator during the encounter.

Unlike some people I know, I don't have a "thing" for uniforms, so I'd also prefer my TSA partner to wear something sensually suitable, like a sillky caftan or even leather chaps.

And while I do want to know just what my TSA partner intends to do to me for those few brief moments we're together, I require a bit of sophisticated flirtation beforehand. Otherwise, I'll pout. I really mean that!

So let's assume that the TSA partner is all he/she/ze should be. The lights are low. The music is soft. And both of you have prepared for the moment with a scrupulous (but unscented) routine of personal hygiene. As you assume the position, what else can you do to make this the magic moment you both truly deserve?

1) Use your words. Terms of endearment such as "baby", "darling," "hunkster", or "cupcake" are perfectly appropriate for these few brief moments of ecstasy torn from a cold, cruel airport security facility.

2) Use your body language. Writhe, twist, tense, and relax as needed. Show - not tell - your partner what you like. Your hand can close over those gloved fingers and move them to precisely the areas they need to explore. It's a whole new take on Masters and Johnson "sensate focus!"

3) Remember to breathe. Take slow, deep, energizing breaths, letting all stress leave your body on the exhale.

4) As your TSA partner presses on your perineum, the home of your root chakra, draw that energy up through your inner channels straight to your Third Eye and the "Cave of Brahma." Zowie!

5) Gaze deeply into your TSA partner's eyes, sending waves of transcendent energy to their inner god or goddess.

6) Go sub-verbal. Express your pleasure with grunts, moans, sighs, and shrieks of passion. Remember, your TSA partner may be having dozens of experiences like this every day, and you want this one to be deeply memorable.

7) Afterwards, remember to express appreciation for your partner. "You're the best" or "I'll never forget the moments we shared" will go a long way towards making your TSA partner's day.

Finally, if you have been excited to the point of orgasm and beyond, do ask for a private restroom where you can clean up a little before commencing your travels.

Travellers have the option for a public pat-down, so hey, go for it! Whatever flies your plane, if you know what I mean!

"Get Ready for Your Close-Up!"

While not everyone wishes to explore their inner exhibitionist or inner voyeur, full body scans can still be more enjoyable for all concerned. Your undergarments don't have to be explosive to be interesting! Wear sexy lingerie, creative thongs, leather harnesses, latex novelties, and other body adornment. However, avoid stuffing your jockstrap or garter belt with plastic Happy Meal trinkets. TSA folks are said to have a droll sense of humor, but this may be going a little far.

I also propose replacing TSA's boring hands-out and pivot position with a vigorous shimmy shake or pelvic thrust in front of the scanner. This would be much more efficacious in dislodging objects stuffed under a capacious bosom or scrotum. In fact, what could be better than an airport revival of Rocky Horror's "Time Warp?" It's sure to be a big hit with travelling boomers. Younger Gen X'ers can simply brush up on their mosh pit or hip hop moves. In fact, the best full body scan performers can be posted straight to YouTube!

Finally, I strongly encourage the TSA to hire a bevy of sexologist consultants to instruct personnel in the skillful implementation of these kinder, more enjoyable procedures. I don't know about you, but I could sure use a government contract or two! Times is tough...
Happy Flying!

Fresh, Pearly, Pink...

Cast adrift as a Carnal Nation columnist, I have spent the last three weeks in a daze. Emotionally, the sudden news of the website's demise was a "wham, bam" without even a "thank you, M'am" at the end! There I was, approaching my one year writing anniversary in ignorant bliss - and then I wuz dumped - all us writers wuz dumped! - without even so much as a fare-ye-well text.

Well, panic will do that. And I suppose there was panic at the end over there at Carnal Nation. And I still continue to think fondly of those folks anyhow. But now I struggle to get my bearings back as a writer - switching from the imposed deadlines of the columnist to the self-imposed discipline of the blogger. Obviously, I'm still adjusting. The fact that I have no idea of my readership here - if any - also adds to my feelings of disorientation. (You all could help me with that one and follow this blog. I'd love it if you did!)

Still, I've gotta get my writing focus back where it belongs! And that focus is my continuing inquiry into human sexual behavior, with all of its fractal embroideries! And believe me, I've still been busy - I just haven't been organized about conveying what I've been doing!

One of my current projects is the creation of sex education "social stories" (pictures and few words) for a young man with autism. This has been a fascinating endeavor, and I hope the program ultimately works in teaching him a few things he needs to know about his own body and how to masturbate to orgasm. I'd like to do more of this work - it really speaks to me.

Also, I just completed a guest lecture and slide show, given to a Berkeley City College Health Ed class about a week ago. I presented "Sex: The Big Picture" to about sixty students. That was a blast.

I've been getting my BlogTalk Radio programs on the air too -struggling a bit with the production end of things, but still finding my way into internet "doing radio." This is something I've always wanted to do. You can find my show page at www.blogtalkradio.com/amymarshsexdr. Coming up, programs on erotic tattoos, hypnosis, and more.

I spent the weekend in Monterey a couple of weeks ago, participating in a group supervision session for my AASECT sex counselor certification. My supervisor, the amazing Stephen L. Braveman, MA, MFT, DST, collaborated with Dr. Stephanie Buehler to create a wonderfully rich learning environment for those of us in attendance. This weekend caused me to re-evaluate a few things that I thought would be a truism for me and how I approach my clinical sexology practice - and I feel far more courageous in a few areas that up until now have felt "taboo."

As I begin to reconnect these and other recent experiences with my writing, I'll think I'll begin to feel more grounded again. Now that I've picked myself up, dusted myself off, and started to look around for a new love, I mean, a new column - I can anticipate other, newer and more wonderful opportunities. In the meantime I'm also moved to enrich and renew my neglected relationship with this blog, which has taken on the name of my old Carnal Nation column.

About the title: "Fresh, Pearly, Pink" is a line from the wonderful Fauxnique/Silencefiction video. The voice track is made up of lipstick names, which have always fascinated me. I'm using this as a title for this column as it also suggests, quite nicely, glistening sexual organs as well as the happiness and hope of a new dawn. Or something to that effect!

Personal, Political, Perverted - Post Mortem

I spent one whole happy year at Carnal Nation, writing my weekly column, Love's Outer Limits. The sudden demise of that web magazine has left me reeling with shock and sorrow. I related strongly to its motto - "personal, political, perverted" - and consistently delivered columns that reflected this outlook. I wrote my 'lil heart out for CN, and loved every minute of it! One thing I loved is that there were other writers in there with me - including my oldest son, Asher Bauer, who wrote Transgression. This is his new blog Decadent Fop. I was proud to stand with all of them! As sex educators and sex writers, I felt we were a valiant bunch thumbing our noses at the absurdities and prejudices of this very strange epoch.

I loved having readers too, sometimes lots of them! The fact that they were out there, somewhere, was a great boon to me. I felt companionship, community, even though I didn't know most of them. And every now and then a colleague from the sex-positive community would shoot me some praise, and I'd be in heaven.

Does this sound like your classic lonely writer? It does, doesn't it? Well, I'm not ashamed - even as a sex columnist, I pretty much fit the stereotype.

So, I realize that before I can proceed with creating an individual forum and replicate my column on this blog, I have to "process" (as they say!) and let go.

All good things must come to an end, they say. But why must it always happen so soon? The life of Carnal Nation was brief but brilliant. I had hoped to be part of it for a long, long time. At this point, all I can do is take its motto to heart - "personal, political, perverted" and continue to deliver the message. Regularly.

But now I simply must mourn. To mark this one week anniversary (which feels like an eternity!) since I got the devastating news about Carnal Nation, I will simply write that I mourn its loss. Greatly. I would gladly write for someone else - and hope to do so in the near future - but there will never again be the same incedibly witty and perverse group of sex writers, editors and publishers gathered together "under one roof" as there were in Carnal Nation.

Next week, you'll get a full blown column again. But for this week, consider my column draped in black and weeping into its cups, a sobbing polyamorous widow missing everybody like hell.

Aquaphilia

Waterfalls and rivers, clear lakes and hot tubs, warm tropical seas... young Sophia Loren swimming nude as Cleopatra... wet jeans and soaked wedding gowns... vibrating shower-heads set on “stun”... x-rated mermaid with a latex tail... hair waving in the pool like seaweed or pasted against your forehead in a sudden downpour... a surfer’s kiss... Jacques Cousteau... holy water, fizzy water, tide-pools or tidal waves of lust. Which water is your water? Which water gets you hot?

Water is sensual, refreshing. It pulls stress from us and grants “weightless” freedom of movement. Sounds of water lull us to sleep. Rain washes our cares. Rain makes the earth come alive.

We are deeply connected to water. As babies, our bodies are 75% water. As adults we average 55-60%, drying out as we get older. Sea water and blood are chemically similar. Our present day bodies retain traces of a semi-aquatic stage of evolution, probably traceable to an isolated population of primates stranded on the “islands” of the Danakil Alps during a long period of flooding in Africa. Remnants of this stage are evident in our speech and our upright stance. You can see it in frontal coition, patterns of hair growth, and like most water creatures, we cry salt water tears.

Even our bodies contours are shaped more for water than land - they allow us to glide efficiently underwater. Many tiny babies can instinctively swim before they walk. Unlike other primates (except perhaps the semi-aquatic proboscis monkey), humans are divers. We have a built-in diving reflex which triggers the vagus nerve to slow our heartbeat and reduce consumption of oxygen. On the average, people surpass harbor porpoises and penguins with the ability to dive 79.86 meters (262 feet). With training, freedivers can go much deeper for much longer.

With our evolution so closely tied to life near and in the water, it is no surprise that human-like aquatic creatures populate our legends. As a child, my imagination was filled with seductive watery creatures: mermaids, sea nymphs, undines and sirens. My biggest crush as a kid (besides Bernardo in West Side Story), was James Mason as Captain Nemo - because Nemo had mastered underwater life and had the submarine equivalent of a Victorian bachelor pad with plush velvet upholstery. As an adult, I’m still captivated by legends of the selkie seal women and fierce Hawaiian mo’o (link to Mo’o/dakini column) who drown their lovers after sex.

Water also wends its way through our spiritual traditions: the holy water of baptized Christians; the “alkahest” of alchemists; even the Hawaiian god Kane offers us wai ‘ola, the “water of life.” Entire bodies of water are held sacred (though not by industries which pollute or drain our watery “commons”). And water is our cosmic connection, probably the result of countless comets colliding with this Earth.

Water is fluid yet can take a myriad of other forms. It appears as mist, dewdrops, ice crystals, snowflakes, rain, and waves. It’s the universal solvent, dissolving minerals, wearing away rock. We find water content in semen, amniotic fluid, urine and other waste. We bleed it, cry it, seep it, sweat it, drink it.

With water we thrive. Without it, we die. It’s so deeply integral to us that of course it would have to be erotic!

I am always aware of water. For me, waterscapes are the most seductive. I’m happiest in water, with water, beside it. I revel in immersion. I love the water’s touch.

In fact, I love water.

Aquaphilia (or hydrophilia) is classified as a fetish and encompasses all kinds of erotic responses to water or water-based activities. Some people want to have various kinds of sex in or around water. Some are erotically attracted to a variety of activities that people do in the water - clothed or nude. Some people respond erotically to photographs, movies, or artwork that depict people in watery situations - even if what’s being done is not overtly “sexy.” Some are attracted to water itself or use it in erotic play. When I think of Ester Williams, the champion swimmer turned movie star (circa 1940s), I wonder if some aquaphiles consider her a fetish icon, just like Betty Page?

Two figures associated with aquaphilia are Phil Bolton, a man who apparently coined the term “aquaphile” when he created the online Aquaphiles Journal of underwater erotica in the 1990’s and the elusive “Dr. Corinne Lamberth”, an English therapist who is said to have written a paper on the psychology of aquaphilia in 1998. Aquaphiles Journal apparently published a copy of this paper in early 1999, but I can’t seem to get a sample copy of the journal (though I did try) or find any citations for the original Lamberth publication.

While swimming through the internet, I’ve come across variations of aquaphilia which include artful nudes in water, provocative women in scuba gear, and latex subs submerged in tubs, chained or otherwise bound. I’ve even cruised a few YouTube “underwater sex” offerings - my favorite featured close ups of blurred limbs and an awful lot of coral. There’s a somewhat darker side too - underwater breath play and simulated or fantasy drowning. It makes me wonder about the appeal of freediving, actually.

“Wetlook” is seems to be a popular variation of aquaphilia. Wetlook is a fetish for people in wet clothing. Apparently some men can orgasm without masturbating, just at the sight of a woman or a hunky guy in wet clothes. There are some people who have a specific kink for drenched uniforms or other special clothing like business suits and wedding dresses. On a site called Swimming Fully Clothed, I enjoyed “the wet world” of Aaron Kwok. He does the wet look very well.

An article written by Robert Borstling (http://lynx.phpwebhosting.com/~sgroi/docs/art05.html) separates the wetlook folks into categories: “Staywets” who don’t care how they get wet and want to stay that way for as long as possible; “Getwets” who have specific requirements for the manner in which they get soaked, as the very moment of getting wet can trigger orgasm; “Jumpers” who like abrupt soaking; and “Walkers” who get wet very gradually. There’s even a category of “Winter Swimmers” who like the icy water.

Borstling also mentions the added thrill of ruining clothing and shoes: “especially women have a passion for expensive, precious and elegant dresses like business suits and evening dresses. For some it is very important to soak or even ruin very expensive shoes. They spend a lot of money on that, and they buy more and more clothes to try them out.” I’d like to see an exclusive boutique with an on-site dunk-tank. Whip your outfit off the rack, buy it, put it on, get it wet, and start shopping all over again!

In Borstling’s opinion, “breaking a limit and the appeal of the forbidden seem to be very important.” He mentions wetlook pedophiles who get off on photographing clothed children jumping into water - which to onlookers would seem an innocent past-time, would it not? After all, the children are not naked. Other wetlook folks like to view or photograph completely innocent bystanders who just happen to get wet with their clothes on.

Okay, so those are the people who get off on wearing water, or watching other people wear it. What about those who like to have sex in it? As you might imagine, there is plenty of advice on the internet. I found a number of “water sex” positions here (http://www.cosmopolitan.com/sex-love/water-sex-positions). And I liked Amy Ogino’s advice to men considering aquatic penis-vagina sex (http://www.askmen.com/dating/love_tip_400/424_how-to-have-sex-in-the-water.html). One of the more important pieces of advice: hot water, chlorine, and condoms don’t mix. Condoms begin to deteriorate. Plus, condoms slip off in water. Ogino also recommends silicone lube as water tends to wash away the natural lubrication of the vagina. Some people recommend sticking to foreplay and oral sex in the water and moving to drier circumstances for various forms of penetration. But of course, you can do all kinds of things in a shower that might be less advisable in a tub, pool, lake or ocean.

Humanoid water sex may be as old as the flooded Danakil Alps. Elaine Morgan, author of The Aquatic Ape, says that heterosexual ventro-ventral (belly to belly) copulation takes place only because human women have physiologically adapted to it, evolving a vagina tilted at an angle completely different from any other “anthropoid.” However whales, dolphins, manatees, Shetland Island seals, sea otters, beavers, and the extinct Stellers sea cow also mate ventro-ventral while in the water. Morgan explains, “the great majority of all marine mammal species behave in this way: they copulate face to face, and the females have ventrally directed sexual canals. It is a direct consequence of the... realignment of the spine and the hind limbs in the same straight line.” (I think just about kills the Savannah Theory, don’t you?)

Water-logged romance in movies and art have always provided thrilling fodder for aquaphiles. I hunted up some vintage water footage on YouTube and enjoyed clips of Humphrey Bogart soaping himself in a prison shower, along with George Raft; the famous Bert Lancaster & Deborah Kerr beach kiss scene in “From Here to Eternity”; a very young Sophia Loren swimming nude as Cleopatra. Plus, Loren's scene from "Boy on a Dolphin" had to have been a real treat for Wetlookers.

I can’t leave this topic without referring to Hawai’i. In Hawai’i, rain, mist and sea-spray are actual and/or poetic equivalents to love-making. The older chants and newer songs (composed for hula) are based upon a poetic tradition called kaona, which means a concealed reference, or “words with double meaning that might bring good or bad fortune.” Kaona layers meanings, hiding some, hinting at others, making use of metaphor with great skill. Kaona still shows up in nuances of everyday conversation, as well as in songs, chants, hula and the stories and legends. Kaona is an element in most expressions of love, whether in song or flirtatious conversation.

A famous hula song, “Papalina Lahilahi” (Dainty Cheeks) tells the story of an experienced and desirable lover. As a hula, it is danced with a certain amount of sauciness. The following English translation (by Mana and Price) shows why:

I love you and your dainty cheeks,
Always dampened by the sea spray.

What's the reason for hurrying towards me?
You know you're a flower that's been plucked.
 
Freely given from head to toe
Why the hurry to possess?
  
I told you before Of your dainty cheeks
I'll tell you again I love you.

The “dainty cheeks” of the lover are not literally dampened by sea spray. A more personal fluid is indicated, and the listener is left to wonder which cheeks have been dampened. As for the “flower that’s been plucked,” the meaning is clear. The lover has already been possessed (or has given his or her favors freely), but remains desirable.

The water of life, the water of love - in writing this column I’ve been able to express a fundamental element of my own eroticism. Erotically, I’m not into faux-latex scuba or spraying hapless pedestrians with my garden hose (and posting the videos on YouTube!). Nor am I likely to be found surfing Maverick’s in a French maid’s costume. These are all well and good for those who are inclined, but for me water itself has visual beauty and tactile sensuality that I crave. Experiencing water, and sharing it, feels alchemical, sacred and deeply erotic.