Table of Contents
Title Page
Introduction
Big Mouth Strikes Again: An Oral Report
Double Your Panic
Battle of the Sexless
Kink.com and Porn Hysteria: The Lie of Unbiased Reporting
The Prince of Porn and the Junk-Food Queen
Tough Love
Dirty Old Women
Stalking the Stalkers
Internet Facilitated Crimes
Predator Typology
Pedophile Profiles
Sex in Iran
Surface Tensions
Sex and the Single Septuagenarian
The Pink Ghetto (A Four-Part Series)
Lux Nightmare: Welcome to NSFW
Melissa Gira: Nowhere to Go But Slut
Lux Nightmare: Where Everyone Knows (and Doesn’t Know) Your Name
With Stigma Comes Opportunity
To Have or Have Not: Sex on the Wedding Night
How Insensitive
The Study of Sex
Rethinking What’s Natural
The Color of Sexuality Studies
Race, Sex, and Power
Dangerous Dildos
Absolut Nude
The Hung List
The Glass Closet
Menstruation: Porn’s Last Taboo
Buying Obedience: My Visit to a Pro Submissive
Part One: Thinking about It
Part Two: Planning It
Part Three: Doing It
Part Four: Analyzing It to Death Afterward
About the Authors
About the Editor
Copyright Page
Introduction: One Little Word, Infinite Interpretations
Sex. One little word, so much drama. One little word, so many interpretations, definitions, permutations. For some, sex means ecstasy. For others, it means procreation. For some, it means sin outside the confines of marriage. Many believe that only heterosexual penetrative sex qualifies for that hallowed three-letter word; everything else is either foreplay—or forbidden. For a lot of us, myself included, sex is an ever-changing, ever-evolving set of acts, philosophies, and identities. It teaches us, thrills us, empowers us, confuses us, electrifies us. Sex drives our lives and our lives drive our sex, in all sorts of complex ways. Pleasure and danger, as the famous Carole Vance anthology called it.
When I thought about the kinds of writing I wanted to include in this anthology, I knew I wanted to read about the kinds of sex that make the world, not to mention one’s head, spin. The kinds of writings that throw our notions of what sex is into disarray. The kinds of writings that will long outlast the chronological year printed on the cover of this book because their meanings and messages will continue to be read, debated, questioned, and answered. These pieces, taken as a whole, give a broader view of sex than you’ve likely ever considered, dealing as they do with biology, gender, crime, politics, the environment, health, religion, race, and much more.
Here you’ll find a wide array of writings about the state of modern sexuality, taking you everywhere from the front lines of erotic activism to insightful analyses of everything from sexuality studies to menstruation porn to naked college coeds. From large publications such as Playboy, Penthouse Forum, and Out to smaller indie outfits like $pread, Heeb, and Other, as well as online publications and books, each of these pieces contributes to a whole that shows that sex, the act(s) and the topic(s), is much more complex than most of us give it credit for. Whatever definition you currently have for sex, prepare for it to be shattered.
Best Sex Writing 2008 includes two pieces that are very near and dear to my heart. As a Jewish woman with a passion for cock-sucking (not to mention Monica Lewinsky), I found Rachel Shukert’s “Big Mouth Strikes Again: An Oral Report,” a fascinating look at the ways Jewish women’s mouths have come to be, in the popular imagination, permanently open. While she offers up a few jokes and puns, she bolsters them with a thoughtful essay that goes way beyond the conventional wisdom. Bloggers Melissa Gira and Lux Nightmare break down the meaning of “The Pink Ghetto,” a place where I and many of my peers find ourselves, whether we like it or not, simply because we’ve chosen to write about that vexing three-letter word that’s always stirring up so much trouble.
I’ve also included several personal essays here because I believe they demonstrate some powerful lessons about how sex plays out in our lives. The sexual karma delivered to Kevin Keck in the form of twin baby girls, after a high school career spent lusting after his own town’s version of the Doublemint Twins, is deliciously twisted. Gael Greene takes us back to a headier, more hedonistic time when, freed from her marriage, she could seduce the notorious porn star Jamie Gillis, inching into his supposedly seedy world while reveling in his dirtiness, literally. Journalist Scott Poulson-Bryant, in an excerpt from his excellent study Hung: A Meditation on the Measure of Black Men in America, a mix of personal experience and impassioned journalism, asks whether the stereotype of the black man as America’s most horny, the one who by his very definition signifies sex, is true or even relevant. These pieces you might very well be able to relate to even if you’ve never been horny for twincest, had an affair, or been a black man, because the authors’ words go beyond their individual circumstances to shed light on the current erotic climate.
And then we’ve got some more unique territory. Out of all the pieces here, Ashlea Halpern’s exploration of the lengths today’s eunuchs will go to remove their genitals, “Battle of the Sexless,” makes me squirm the most, with equal parts fascination and horror, yet I’ve reread it now numerous times. There’s something appealing and at the same time appalling about this state of affairs that Halpern delves into with a sympathetic eye.
Many of the authors here directly address the politics of sex, and demand that the status quo give way to a broader vision of sexual inclusion. Trixie Fontaine’s discussion of piss and menstruation porn is one that, like Halpern’s, may make you uncomfortable. And that’s exactly her point: while some may find her work abhorrent, others are equally turned on by it, and the fact that capitalism doesn’t trump human blood is indeed worth investigating. Tristan Taormino looks at the important issue of phthalates in sex toys, while Violet Blue takes mainstream media to task for its biases when it comes to porn reporting. Ariel Levy’s “Dirty Old Women” explores relationships between adult women and teenage boys, asking what it means to be molested when you’re male: “For many Americans, being a real grown-up requires a penis. And if you’ve got that, even if you’re only fifteen, you must have the maturity and the manliness to know what you want to do with it—even if that involves intercourse with a forty-two-year-old. Who among us would say the same thing about a fifteen-year-old girl?” Her exploration of the motivations of these teenagers and their seductresses (she calls Mary Kay Letourneau and Vili Fualaau “the poster couple for pedophilia or true love, depending on your point of view”) makes us reexamine our assumptions about male sexuality. It’s no surprise that Levy’s piece also surfaced in a volume of Best Crime Writing; the intersection of sex and the law has countless permutations, and it’s often to the legal system that we look for answers to help us define what “acceptable” sex is. Elsewhere in this collection, in “Stalking the Stalkers,” Kelly Kyrik examines real attempts to catch pedophiles in the act of luring children via the Web.
One of the great new frontiers of sex writing is college newspapers, where sex columnists are starting with a base of knowledge I wish I’d had when I arrived at the University of California at Berkeley, helping educate their fellow students and working out the logistics of sex in print. This new generation is bold, brave, brash, and ballsy, and one of the best and brightest is Miriam Datskovsky, who w
rote the Columbia Spectator’s “Sexplorations” column. Here, she takes us inside the phenomenon of naked parties on campus, calling bullshit on them, in those precise terms.
For all the jokes, hand wringing, and ink spilled about Paris Hilton, even her recent jail time, we are a country whose consumers made 1 Night in Paris zoom to the top of the porn best-seller charts, resurrecting an interest in celebrity sex tapes that’s seeing burgeoning sales once thought to have gone the way of Pam and Tommy. But what happens when you’re an Iranian actress caught fucking on film—or possibly fucking on film? Pari Esfandiari and Richard Buskin investigate the case of Zahra Amir Ebrahimi, who’s embroiled in a sex scandal about a tape in which she may or may not star, offering insights into the changes in Iranian culture that have made sex both more and less taboo. The situation has seemingly worsened in recent months; in June 2007, Iran’s parliament, in a 148-5 vote, approved a measure saying “producers of pornographic works and main elements in their production are considered corruptors of the world and could be sentenced to punishment as corruptors of the world.”
As for the word “Best” in the title, I’m the first to admit that this is a fully subjective call. Sex is everywhere, and I encourage you to read more about it on the growing network of sex blogs and mainstream and alternative publications, or take pen to paper (or fingers to computer screen) and write your own sexual manifesto.
I thought I knew a lot about sex when I started working on this book. I’ve had dozens of lovers, I wrote a sex column for the Village Voice for two and a half years, I’m on staff at an adult magazine, and I have listened to countless confessions of sexual peccadilloes and adventures. But when it comes to sex, we can all learn something, as you’ll see from even a brief perusal of the table of contents or by skimming any of these chapters—I certainly did.
Sometimes I think sex is a code word for every dirty, naughty, perverted thought anyone’s ever had. For some it can be encompassed in a kiss, for others a flogging, a performance, or an intense masturbation session. For others, like that famous maxim about pornography, they know it when they’re doing it. Sex is broad enough (and powerful enough) that we will continue to write, talk, and debate about it for centuries to come—when we’re not busy engaging in our preferred version of it. When I tell people I write about sex, I can see immediately whether their judgment about me has changed in the second it took me to say it. Most of the time, I don’t have time to sit and explain how complex a topic we’re talking about. Now, I can just hand them this book, which asks just as many questions as it answers, and hopefully does what good sex should do: leave you wanting more.
Rachel Kramer Bussel
New York City
October 2007
Big Mouth Strikes Again: An Oral Report
Rachel Shukert
Once upon a time, the conventional wisdom was clear. The mouth of a Jewish woman served three purposes, and three alone—to berate, to emasculate, and to ask for money. Blowjobs were not part of the equation, not even in matters of life and death. Take this tired old saw:
A Jewish woman accompanies her husband to the doctor. After the doctor has given him a full checkup, he calls the wife into his office.
“Debbie,” says the doctor. “Your husband is suffering from a very severe disease, combined with horrible stress. In order for him to live, I suggest you relax him by performing passionate and complete fellatio on him twice a day, mid-morning and mid-afternoon.”
Debbie thanks the doctor and leaves. She goes to the car where her husband is waiting.
“Well?” he asks. “What did the doctor say?”
“He says you’re going to die,” says Debbie.
Jokes like these have long been considered part of the folklore of the Jewish American Princess, but ever since Monica Lewinsky grinned toothily from the cover of Newsweek, the plate tectonics of schlong-sucking have been shifting.
“A Jewish girl and oral sex? I don’t believe it!” quipped noted comic and midget Jackie Mason following the Lewinsky scandal.
Believe it. Once known for filing their nails while enduring their monthly intercourse, today the oral prowess of the Jewish woman is the stuff of, if not quite legend, then good-natured, if off-color, assumption. Latinas got back, French women don’t shave their pits, Jewish women give great head.
The writing is all over the Western Wall: Elizabeth Wurtzel writing about the “accidental blowjob” in Prozac Nation, the Hebrew Hammer’s mother urging a little Hebrew Hummer for her boychik over the dinner table in The Hebrew Hammer, my old friend Jessica Lieberman famously fitting two cocks in her mouth at once during a particularly rowdy Shabbaton.
How the hell did this happen?
How did Goldie Hawn’s pampered princess in Private Benjamin, whose husband literally has a heart attack when she puts his dick in her mouth, mature into Barbra Streisand’s earthy sex therapist in Meet the Fockers, who knowingly unleashes the carnal tigress from Blythe Danner’s prim WASP housewife with a little girl talk and an earlobe rub? How did the Jewish woman become the first-chair flautist in the skin section?
And, why do discussions about Jewish female sexuality so often take place in the context of cock-sucking? Is there something essentially Jewish about fellatio? After centuries of massacres, are we the product of some lewd natural selection, in which the copious production of saliva and disciplined suppression of the gag reflex proved the only means of survival? Did thousands of years of circumcised men spare us the unfortunate cheese flavor to which the hapless Gentiles were mercilessly exposed?
Sigmund Freud, the one who gave us a name for our oral fixation in the first place, famously quipped: “Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.” No doubt he would be delighted to know that even today, for Jewish women, a blowjob is never just a blowjob.
“You came to the right girl,” says Miki, as we shuttle from coffee shop to coffee shop in Manhattan, looking for just the right amount of air-conditioning. She’s not on call today—when her phone rings she jovially informs the caller that she’s taking a couple of days off so her vagina can rejuvenate. “I give the best head in New York City,” she tells me.
A heady claim, perhaps, but given her knowing laugh, husky voice, and disarming frankness about her proclivities and profession, one I have no trouble believing. If anyone has answers, it’s Miki. A veteran of both sides of the sexual spectrum, she shows me her driver’s license photo, a relic from her days as sheitel-wearing Hasidic Jew with only a passing resemblance to the alluring blonde before me, dressed in a sequined tank top and silver sandals.
“Okay, so this is the whole deal,” she says, popping a piece of Starbuck’s brioche in her mouth. “This sucks, by the way. Brioche is supposed to be light and flaky. This is dreck.”
Miki’s large eyes, a deep blue-green, widen in thought: “So this is it. Our mothers shove food down our mouths from the time that we’re little. We become very oral. It’s something else to eat, you know?”
Could it possibly be that simple? Are Jewish women today significantly more oral than the generation before? Is semen now pareve?
Much has been made of the oral fixation inherent in Judaism and the importance of eating in Jewish culture, and with good reason. Just listen to the strident slurps and clicks of sucking candy against dentures in the sanctuary of any large synagogue in America once the rabbi begins his sermon. Particular food and ritualized meals are structured into the direct observance of nearly every major holiday. Still, the same mouths that encourage a Jewish daughter, home from college, to “Eat! Eat! You’re a skeleton!” are the same to cluck theatrically through a mouthful of mandelbrot the moment she’s a few pounds past marriageable. On the whole, the messages sent to Jewish women today can hardly be summed up by the phrase: “On your marks, get set, suck!”
“It’s not fattening,” continues Miki, giggling throatily. “It’s protein. Believe me, I swallow a lot of protein.”
She had a point. Sucking dick is scarcely a resourceful dieting
strategy, but it is a propitious moment indeed when a Jewish woman can simultaneously fill her mouth and keep her figure. It occurred to me that the first time I tasted semen it reminded me slightly of my grandmothers’ chicken soup—opaque, salty, and slightly chunky. Suddenly, I never wanted to put anything—penile or victual—into my mouth again.
“Can you imagine if it was chocolate flavored?” asks Miki. “You’d never get those fat Jewish girls off the dick!”
“There’s certainly an inherent Semitic connection with ingestion,” says Dr. Steven Drukman, a professor of performance studies and queer theory at New York University, concurring with Miki’s provisional theory at a genteel cocktail party that night. A generously proportioned glass of low-carb rum punch rests against his forearm. Fair enough. But aren’t there other cultures characterized as much by constant eating? One rarely hears about Italian girls on their knees in church basements (unless the story ends in an act of disturbingly creative violence). Miki’s words reverberate in my mind: “I suck a cock like I suck the marrow from the bone in the cholent.” But the bones of a succulent osso buco require similar force. Why should the mouth of the Jewess induce such prurient interest?
For a shiksa, Kristina Grish is remarkably versed in the ways of the Jewish woman, from removing unwanted body hair to selecting the proper fish for any occasion. However, while interweaving personal experience and interviews for her clever dating book, Boy Vey! A Shiksa’s Guide to Dating Jewish Men, one thing kept coming up (pardon the pun) again and again.
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