Pink Fluffy Handcuffs. Image courtesy of wattpad.pink-fluffy-handcuffs
Sex is great.
I mean you feel great doing it, and pleasantly satisfied and relaxed after it, assuming you’re doing it right!
During #lockdown, some people are beginning to feel a little glum and gloomy around the edges, which is a shame, because it’s an opportunity to delve inside oneself,(fnarr, fnarr) be in the moment, and discover what it is you want – truly want – from life after #lockdown. Ask yourself those questions about life, the universe and everything. Who am I? What really matters to me as a person, as a community member? You know, the BIG stuff.
In the meantime – sex!
Sex has many health benefits – and before any of you single guys and gals complain about not having someone to do it with – self pleasuring has it’s benefits too! And as Truman Capote said, “The good thing about masturbation is you don’t have to dress up for it.”
Sex not only feels good, it helps reduce stress – and who doesn’t want a bit of that these days?!
Here’s a Sexy List:
Orgasms help reduce tension. Hormones are released, including endorphins which work as relaxants. Less stress, reduction in anxiety, reduction in depression.
It encourages feelings of intimacy with your loved one.
Keeps the heart healthy.
Helps with a good night’s sleep.
Stimulates blood flow to the skin, that rosy afterglow is from oxygen, and oxygen stimulates collagen.
Some studies suggest it boosts our immune system.
Mortality rate for males is reduced.
Active sex can help us reduce weight (unless you get pregnant of course!)
Blood flow to the brain increases, if you do it regularly, you’ll be more brainy!
Helps women improve bladder control.
If more people were having fun sex, there’d be less complaining and conflict in the world. I bet all those who raise placards in the name of ‘needing a haircut’ (Sheesh!), haven’t had a shag since Easter.
And also, don’t measure the amount of sex you do or don’t have in comparison to others, I mean, I don’t want people rubbing themselves raw or nothing, but keep it to a rate that’s comfortable for you, and your partner, or partners.
#lockdown sex can be anything you want (consensually speaking). What a perfect time for playing dress-up, or swapping underwear, or whatever it is you like to do, or wish you could do. I’m not advocating everyone order stuff from their local DIY store and build an S&M dungeon – but if you want to…hold on a moment…just adding to my ‘To-Do’ list… hmm, hm, there we go, so where was I? oh yes, #lockdown sex, I’m not suggesting you literally lock each other down…hang on…hm, hm…but whatever tickles yours, hers, his, theirs fancy, have a bash at it (I couldn’t help that one)
Grab your partner, grab your lube, grab your vibrator; whatever, (it’s not called hand ‘relief’ for nothing!) just get going. Too many people feel shame, or embarrassment when thinking or talking about sex, it’s weird, we all do it, to one degree or another, and none of us would be here today if someone else hadn’t before us; it’s natural people.
So whether you’re indulging in some Afternoon Delight, playing Blanket Hornpipe, or Friggin’ in the Riggin, enjoy it! Just, y’know, keep the noise down – you might live next-door to me!
Born in 1821, Richard Francis Burton was something of a celebrity in his own time. Think of the typical idea of the Victorian male:
Manliness was a virtue, a form of control over maleness, which was considered brutish.
The Victorian man liked to form secret societies, such as the Masons.
He was not only the head of the household; his duty was not only to rule, but also to protect his wife and children.
Working was manly; whether working-class males in heavy industry, or middle-class males, upper class males could become involved in philanthropic works or other enterprising actions.
Sport! They watched it, read about it, did it. Sports and cold showers; to keep the ‘little man’s’ desires in check and to prove his worth – to be ready for attack. E. M. Forster, apparently said that this “then led to “well-developed bodies, fairly developed minds, and undeveloped hearts”.
And most of all, Victorian man was British. And proud of it! The expansion of the Empire became entangled in what it meant to be a man, and so he served the Queen, he hunted creatures to near extinction; he pioneered and subordinated non British peoples. He was top man, the dog’s bollocks, king of the world (with little k.)
Burton fits some of this characterisation; however, his views on the rest of the world and in particular Islam and women were light years ahead of his fellows. He was ‘sent down’ from Oxford (meaning he was kicked out), after a series of mischievous events. He took it well, bid his tutors farewell and headed cheerily off to become more than they could ever imagine.
RFB was not only an explorer, he was a geographer, translator, writer, soldier, orientalist, cartographer, ethnologist, spy, linguist, poet, fencer, and diplomat. He seemed to excel at everything he did. I cannot think of anyone else alive or historical who was so accomplished. He was extraordinarily open-minded for a man of his time:
Burton did not think of women as inferior to men. He was very much interested in sexuality and erotic literature – his accurate translation of ‘The Book of a Thousand and One Nights’, is full of steamy sex scenes. He translated the ‘Kama Sutra’, the most famous book in the world on sexual techniques to this day.
He slept with woman of all race, colour and creed (males too some reports say), he smoked opium, drank cannabis drinks with holy men, he hung about with prostitutes with no particular judgement on their profession. He took a spear to the face, when his and Speke’s encampment was attacked one night in Africa, and survived. He was spy in India. An Afghan pilgrim in the Middle East; he had himself circumcised so he could pass as native, one of the few white men to have entered Mecca in disguise. He spoke a fair number of languages too – fluent in 29!!! I can barely speak my native one right. And on and on his adventures go.
I first heard about RFB in my teens I think. Then later on a friend who was interested in him lent me a book, ‘Sir Richard Burton’s Travels in Arabia and Africa.’ I read and studied it, sort of. But what really enticed me to discover more about the great man was a work of literary fiction.
‘The Secret of Abdu El Yezdi’, by Mark Hodder. The first of four books in Hodder’s Burton and Swinburne Adventures. In this alternative 19th century, Hodder really brought Burton to life for me – the outrageous behaviour, that British stoicism partnered with emotional passion, a huge, physical, Brainiac of a fist-fighter paired with the slight, red-headed, waif-like Algernon Swinburne; poet.
Two real persons from history partnered up for some beautifully written and roistering, boisterous adventures. And so I began my love affair with Ruffian Dick; I even wrote him into one of my own short, Steampunk stories, in which my protagonist, Lucy Lockhart encounters more of Ruffian Dick than the average English woman did!
Burton was adventurous of mind as well as body. He seemed to fear nothing. He did not judge other cultures as his fellow Victorians did (and some of us still do today), he was bold, brave, liked a laugh and a drink, and he was devoted to the love of his life, his wife; Isabel. His energy, enthusiasm, his curiosity for the people and world around him should be held as an ideal to work for today I think.
Sir Richard Francis Burton died, 20 October 1890.
This August, I hope to make my own mini pilgrimage from the North, to London to visit his tomb at Saint Mary Magdalen Church, Mortlake.
‘The same superficial view of holding woman to be lesser (and very inferior) man is taken generally by the classics; and Euripides distinguished himself by misogyny, although he drew the beautiful character of Alcestis.’ RFB. On Arab womanhood in 1001 Nights.
‘Women, all the world over, are what men make them; and the main charm of Amazonian fiction is to see how they live and move and have their being without any masculine guidance.’ RFB. On Arab womanhood in 1001 Nights.
If you have not yet seen this film, you may want to give this whole article a miss.
“Wonder Woman” is yet another origin story, but so what? I’ve had to sit through decades of testosterone to get to this point.
I enjoyed that the movie took it’s time to introduce the warriors of Themyscira; a lush city-state and island nation (Somewhere hidden in the Aegean according to some sources). Where we learn that Diana is not unique in her abilities; we get a real sense of where she is from, that although she is semi-divine, Diana is very much an Amazonian, and those women ALL kick ass. For me, that was one of the wonderful things about the Wonder Woman movie, they were all wonder women.
I felt that the story contained a good balance of action and drama. There is nothing worse than sitting for an hour or two, being bombarded with scene after scene of fast-paced-look-we-got-multiple-cameras scenario and bellowing sound – this, I think, is the film-makers version of an extended guitar solo played by an unaware man-child. ‘Wanking off’, a muso friend of mine used to say. I think there are loads of directors who have become over excited by the CGI and ‘exciting’ bits.
Maybe it has something to do with the director of this Wonder Woman being female? Maybe she just enjoys a good story? Maybe she is just a little more grown-up in the emotional department? Whatever the reason, it works.
I have to admit, I was also rather apprehensive about going to see this film. I love the comic book/super hero genre (see my earlier post on Female Super Heroes) But I grew up with that garish 1970’s WW, and have seen very few women lead in an action film. (Yes, I know you’re going to name a couple. People always do, but balance it out against ALL the films you’ve ever seen – then go away)
I think directors and producers have become lazy when making this genre, after all they have a ready and willing audience who will go and view it whether its shite or not. Now, thousands of women, like me, of my age, must have been waiting for this film. Where ARE all the female comic/superheroes??? So again, a ready and willing – if cautious and cynical-by-now audience was waiting for this film. Thought’s that passed through my mind in the build-up and trailer overload included – ‘I bet it’ll be overly moralistic’. ‘If she’s showing her cleavage…’. ‘It’ll be something for the boys really’. And finally, ‘I bet it’s shit.’
I went with my 19 year old daughter – so a broad age range to cater to – I’m 52. We both enjoyed it (apart from the sound of crisp/sweetie/nacho crunching dolts that surrounded us) It was not shit. It was not ‘for the boys’ and I almost wept to see women, actual women not youngsters, playing seriously physical roles. The fight scene on the beach is truly astonishing and deeply sad. For no matter how fast you run, or strong you are – bullet beats bow every time.
Let’s just take a look at those women –
Ages and Nationality
Robin Wright, plays Antiope – or should I say General Antiope! She trains and leads what could be termed, the militia of the Amazonian. She is hard as nails, can fight with fists, sword, and bow (in fact, she doesn’t even need a bow!!!) And get this, best of all, Robin Wright is 51 years of age – I am just gonna have to say that again – FIFTY ONE people.
Gal Gadot, plays Diana, Princess of Themyscira, Daughter of Hippolyta. Diana wants to be a warrior from very early childhood. She does not know, and we the audience learn as she does, that she is not quite like every other Amazonian (in fact, at the end of the film, Diana still does not know the full extent of her origins and abilities) Diana works hard; she strives for perfection and to impress the General; her Aunt. Gal Gadot is 32 years of age, not a ‘slip of a girl’. And best of all, she is NOT American!! Gadot is Israeli and I thank director, Patty Jenkins for making this decision.
Not distracted by a pretty face, Diana that is.
Connie Nielson, plays Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons and Diana’s mother. She is regal, cool with a restrained passion. She is engaging as a loving mother and ruler, and you can feel her anger and pain as her only child makes the decision to leave their island home to head off with a man, to save the world of men. Can you imagine the homecoming?! (I think I’m gonna cry) Two best of all’s; Connie Nielson is also 51 years old! And she also is NOT American, she is Danish.
And some of the others –
Elena Anaya, plays Doctor Poison. She is Spanish and aged 41 years.
Lucy Davis, plays Etta Candy. English and aged 44 years.
Lisa Loven Kongsli, plays Menalippe. Norwegian and is aged 37 years.
For me, a fantastic multi-cultural selection of women who are not girls.
That costume –
Some of you might remember that awful, hideous outfit that poor Linda Carter had to wear in the 1970s TV series of Wonder Woman.
EW! No, really, ew!
But take a look at what Queen Hippolyta originally gave her daughter to wear in the earliest comics –
Gal Gadot’s costume seems to have had the current trend for ‘dark costumes’ applied to it. The semiotics are not lost on film buffs and media students – still the red, white and blue are evident for all to see.
I have to be honest; I have an issue with American and how it perceives itself as the ‘policeman of the world’. It feels as though it foists its ideals on the rest of us. Most of the superhero costumes bear the colours or imagery, or both, of the ‘good ‘ole US of A’. Except Batman (huh, never realised before, maybe THAT’S why he is my favourite) I balk at the way many costumes imply an association with a country and it’s values/governmental policies. Captain America being most guilty of this – however, he is called Captain America.
And yes, I know other countries use red, white and blue as their flag colours – but we all know, don’t we, that ‘they’ mean America.
Another thing. Superhero females, at least in comic art, are invariably ‘sexy’. They have the tightest fitting clothes in the history of clothes manufacturing. They have more curves than an Italian mountain road. Their breasts could act as twin dirigibles. Women have railed against this for so long, we’re hoarse. In Wonder Woman 2017, Gadot’s costume has had the colours toned down, and although we still see bare legs, arms and shoulder, it is not sexy (I guess some men would argue against that, but it isn’t out-and-out-here-it -is –for- the –male- viewers sexy)But that’s it. No cleavage in sight. Curves are mostly concealed. The Amazon ‘uniform’ is more reminiscent of the Spartans. Look at Hellenic period armour; the bare arms and legs, the leather ‘flaps’, the moulded breastplate. It is practical and believable, whilst remaining true to the original design.
The physicality of this new Wonder Woman made evident in this lasso scene.
Sex –
There isn’t any. HALLELUJAH!
99.9999% of films have a romance. Dull, dull, dull. Men and women can and do have relationships without becoming sexually or romantically entangled. And yes, there is a suggestion of Diana and Steve being ‘interested’, but this is clearly more him fancying her. Diana is here to do a job, she is focused and love isn’t getting in the way. She may have grown up in a glorious paradise inhabited only by females, but she is not ignorant of how sex works, and even suggests that men have become irrelevant and unnecessary except for procreation. Steve’s mental squirming is soon forgotten when they get to the nub of who is doing what in the war. Thank goodness.
The Men –
I suppose I should say something; I wasn’t going to write anything about the male stars at all. There’s enough information about ‘the great white male’ (as Grayson Perry puts it) without me adding.
So a quick nod to Chris Pine, Danny Huston and David Thewlis – the ‘good guy’, the ‘bad guy’ and the ‘badder guy’ in that order. Pine was great, Huston good, but, as much as I love Thewlis, he simply seemed wrong for the role of Ares.
Was it a great film? No, it was good; possibly in the Top 3 of this genre of films. Again down to lazy directors relying on a ready and willing audience, most of whom have become so desperate that there discerning monitor seems to have broken.
The storyline was simple, but that works as it is almost an ‘intro’ to Wonder Woman and her world. However, I did guess who was who quite easily.
It’s beautifully shot with the holiday brochure scenes of Themyscira; where you can almost smell the aroma of blossoms on the warm breeze, contrasting with the misery of brown and grey of London and the battlefront.
But I do believe this film will be talked about for years to come. When Sigourney Weaver first appeared as Ripley in Alien, a generation of women cheered and said ‘At last!”
Now I believe we are doing it again.
It is 2017 people.
50% of the world population is female.
Wonder Woman is the first female-led superhero film since 2005, when Jennifer Garner played the lead role in Elektra.
N.B: Possible sensitive material. (Depending on how sensitive you are.)
Sex sells.
Forget your Game of Thrones romps in Peter Littlefinger’s brothel, or the gyrations of any number of women – and occasional men, in music videos, or that 1990’s bra advert – ‘Hello Boys.’
You know by now that I like to have an occasional rant – and if you don’t then you haven’t been following properly! *smiles coyly – or you have only just started following.
I wanted to rant about sex, no not the lovely smushy, let’s-get-this-party-started kind of sex, but the kind that is used to make you (and me I suppose, sometimes, but I like to think I’m-above-that-kind-of-thing) buy stuff.
Are advertisers bastards? Or are we just dumb animals that allow our baser instincts drive the click-pay-send-buy cycle? It’s all over the show: perfume and aftershave adverts, clothing, cars, ad infinitum. But what bugs me most? Music videos! Music videos that contain endless yards of naked, semi-naked, sweaty, oiled, writing flesh. And guess what? There’s no age limit on them like films have, so television channels can show them at 8:30 on a Saturday or Sunday morning, when you want a lie-in, and your little kids are up and about. And what do little kids do when alone? (Ew, not that!) Yep, they watch the box, unsupervised (‘cos you got pissed the night before and have to lie still in a darkened room so you don’t vomit all over the place – or is that just me?)
Your kids are watching soft porn people!!!!
But before we all get carried away, this post isn’t about soft porn (though I know some people will wish it was). I have been noticing semi-clad images all over the show except one place – literature (NO! Not that kind of literature) I’m talking about fiction writing and the covers that bind them.
Sex sells.
Petyr Baelish, fondling those exquisite pages.
Which brings me back to Game of Thrones; or should I say books in general. Although there is an insanely wild amount of sex in G.O.T, the covers tell a different story, because it’s all about politics, not sex. There are those books that have a suggestion of sex on the covers; prime example is Jilly Cooper and all those jolly gals and boys who ride horses, play polo and live in a foreign country as far as I’m concerned. And maybe an open shirt or two revealing a male chest to titillate the middle-aged, middle-class reader. And then there is the brigade of women writers and readers (and I guess some blokes) who read romance. Ah, romance; roses, wine, softly scented kisses, you’re kidding aren’t you?!
It was not always so. For your delectation, I have trawled through acres of yellowing-dog-eared-slightly whiffy pages to present to you some fine, and cringe worthy, examples of how sex has been selling literature for decades. From the 1920’s through to the current day, I give you, how sex sells literature…
Ladies in Hades. 1928
What Aldous Huxley would have made of this cover, God only knows!
Flailing Through Life 