Dare: Summer 2000 Volume 2, No. 2

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Index

• Editorial
• Needs & Wants
• Tell It Like It Is
• Chick Stuff
• Guy Speak

Editorial

Sluts, Freaks, and Someplace In Between...

by R. M. Schmitt

I have a lot of single friends. And, I have learned much from them, especially over these last few years. While most of them are considerably younger than I am, I find myself incredibly drawn to them, to their wit, to their charisma, to their charm, to their take life by the balls attitude, to their wanting to harness fun at any cost and "take it for a ride"... Maybe it's just their "youth" that I am drawn to, maybe it's that feeling I sometimes get as I approach yet another birthday - that somehow "when I was their age" - I didn't have half as much fun, that I somehow missed something, who can say...? Regardless, I love my friends and while I have lived and loved and learned from and with them, I also believe that there are moments when I have been able to impart some small measure of - dare I say "wisdom" upon them...

Case in point - sex. I like sex. No, I love sex. My youthful male friends label women who want sex frequently as "freaks." And they, good-naturedly of course, kid me as being exactly that, as after 16 years, I'm still keeping my significant other "busy." The lingo and semantics of today's "younger" generation has of course changed dramatically over time - but alas, much of the meaning behind their innovative verbal expressions has not.

Take for instance, the term "slut." A word, which interestingly enough hasn't' changed much in the past 50 years. A woman who sleeps around, who enjoys sex - is today- again - exactly that. And, just as in the past, the use of the word still has a certain derogatory connotation attached to it. A pity - especially in this day and age where expressing one's sexuality is such an "in" thing to do. There are some things as women it would seem that we are destined never to escape... I have, nonetheless, as of late, been pleased to hear a new variation on this particular vernacular - "male slut" - seems to be as apropos as its feminine derivative. There is some small measure of satisfaction in that as even in this day and age, all too often, the man who sleeps around is still apt to garner kudos as a stud, or a "Casanova," or simply as "the man" - while the woman of similar appetite will probably only get a "reputation." Yeah, it reeks of the old double standard to be sure. Sometimes I wonder if we will ever truly out run our own stereotypical and generationally engrained propensities...

And so as I meander along it would seem I have garnered a reeducation, an enlightenment of sorts, from my youthful friends on the evolution of semantics, but what is it exactly they have gotten from me? I would like to think that over the last couple of years I have managed to show them that a woman is more than the sum of her parts - that she is more than legs and breasts, more than full lips and willing hips... That just because two people might throw caution to the wind and act upon their sexual impulses - that they might "hook-up" - decency and courtesy, and good old-fashioned politeness should still be part of the bargain... That women aren't always the ones who get taken advantage of - that a woman is just as likely to chew up, spit out and take everything a man has to offer, before throwing it all away without even batting an eye... That people get hurt, and in the end what really matters is how your heart feels, and how you feel about yourself when you look in the mirror... Certainly, times have changed, and yet they have also stayed pretty much the same. Nowadays we are just more apt to express how we feel openly (and sometimes publicly) than keep it all under wraps...

And so, yes, such nuggets as these I try to impart to my friends when the timing seems right and perhaps somewhere, somehow, down the road, between my generation and theirs, there will be an evolution of sluts and freaks, and gender specification will cease to be part of the equation... Somehow, I doubt I'll live to see that parlance of the human race - but I can always dream about what it might be like and in the meantime I'll keep passing along my bits o'wisdom and publishing this little 'zine...

And, speaking of this little 'zine - what does Dare have in store for you this time around? Well, sex, to be quite frank and as unlikely as that might seem - it does appear to be a somewhat loose (ee gads, there's another one of those words) theme for the Summer 2000 issue... Thus, in this issue's Needs & Wants, Ari McKee tells us all about "Liking Men" while Chick Stuff takes on the subject of fellatio. Guy Speak explores more sexual ground with an expose of male thinking on the 69 position, and Tell It Like It Is offers thoughts on magical sexual moments. Sex, sex, sex... yes, we do seem a bit preoccupied this time around. There are also lots of products, fun, photos, art, and erotica to be found. We've also got a new project - Dare's Life List - that we'd like your assistance in completing. Whatever your pleasure, we think you'll find something to keep your attention in the Summer 2000 issue. Thanks for stopping by and for your continued support - we'd could never dare to continue without you...

R. M. Schmitt
DareEditrix

Needs & Wants

On Seeking Those Magic Sexual Moments

by Rachel Kramer Bussel

I like to think that I am a fairly sexually active person, and considering that I spend a fair amount of my time thinking about sex, I think it's only relative that I actually have plenty of sex as well. Yet for the past few months, I haven't been as passionate about doing the deed as I'd like to think I am. I write a sex column and bill myself as "The Lusty Lady," because I want to support women's sexual desires and place them in the high priority I don't think they're usually given (and because I'm a pretty lusty gal myself). And, for the past few years, I've really had my pick of people to have sex with; or at least, if I wanted a little action, I could find it.

Lately, days will go by without me even picking up my favorite vibrator, let alone picking up the phone for some dial-a-nookie. In part, the answer is obvious: I recently broke up with my boyfriend of nine months and have been feeling a bit down about it, and not ready to just hop right into bed with someone else. And yet, I have been with people after the breakup who did help rekindle my sexual spirit and make me feel alive and desired. I don't know if even months of soul-searching will tell me the reason for my decreased libido, but I've concluded that trying to figure out "why" is just making me more stressed out.

There is no "right" amount of sex we should have or want - it's different for every person, and varies at different points in our lives. It could even vary in different points in our day. Sometimes anger or sadness fuel our lust, sometimes they diminish it; there is no clearcut path between particular emotions and sexual desire.

I used to think that in order to be a pro-sex advocate, that meant I had to be having lots of sex all the time, or else I'd be a hypocrite. But being sex-positive is really a much broader notion: it's believing in the wonder, the possibility, the awe of sex and all that comes with it. It doesn't mean that we can never have a bad sexual experience, or feel bad about our bodies, or just plain not be in the mood. But, it means that we acknowledge that these negatives are not things that stem from sex itself, but from other outside sources that may impact how we feel about our own sexuality at a given time. In other words, you may have had the particular misfortune to have been with not-so-experienced lovers who colored your view of sexuality, but all sex does not have to be substandard.

I think that in the past few years, with all of my sexual experimentation and the discovery that yes, indeed, people are attracted to me (even when I'm not always so attracted to myself), I have learned what I do and don't want out of sexuality. I've learned that I don't always have to say "yes" just because someone asks, which sounds perfectly sensible, but is a little harder to see when you've spent a long time just waiting to find one single person who wanted you back. I've found that while I definitely am all about the physical pleasure to be found in sex, I also crave more: some deeper connection, something beyond the physical ecstasy that will stay with me, not just in my bodily memory, but in my head. This has to do with discovering the boundless orgasms I can have on my own with my variety of vibrators, and the pleasure I've found by connecting with people on a plane beyond the bodies right in front of us, where touch is not just one of the five senses but a metaphor for thought and emotion. Where an orgasm is not just an orgasm but an exchange of sensation so deep that it feels as if it's leaving a permanent scar on one's body. Where I cry real tears because my feelings cannot be contained inside my body and are trying to find whatever means they can to escape and be heard, seen, felt.

In some ways, the simply physicality of some sexual encounters is easier to deal with than the mindblowing, self-altering awareness I just mentioned above. Those are the kinds of experiences that stay with you long after that actual act is over, that seep into your soul and awaken you at night, making you recall their depth and relive that roller coaster of bliss. I don't know if anyone will "get" what I'm talking about here; sometimes even to me, it seems a faint memory. But, I know that I've had these moments, and I do not want to vanquish them only to the realm of my memory and youth. I want to seek them out with potential partners, I want to feel the sparks, the shivers, the sexiness from the tips of my toes to the top of my head. And, even if it takes my lifetime, I won't give up the search, because any number of lonely nights are worth the passion that awaits me.

Rachel Kramer Bussel is a freelance writer who pens a monthly sex column called "The Lusty Lady" at the online 'zine Check This Out!. She also writes for websites such as http://www.LesbiaNation.com.

Tell It Like It Is

Liking Men

by Ari McKee

When my best friend and I were both about 10 or 11, she disliked boys. She found them loud, graceless, stupid, and vulgar. They took up too much elbow space, too much of Mrs. Carlson’s divine attention, and too much air, frankly. They were all hideous, the lot of them.

At 14, however, they were completely cool. She had a hickey before I’d even been kissed. She got laid before I’d even been groped. She was their number one fan and the feeling was mutual.

At 29, on the eve of her first divorce, they were mostly hulking, puking, festering scabs on the farting ass of humanity.

At 33, on her honeymoon on the North Shore of Lake Superior, they were wingéd seraphim, blown to her on the breath of the Goddess herself. A man, this man, completed her oneness, and the two together were a whole soul, reunited to continue an ageless love.

At 35, in the dark nights of baby wakedness, in the eternal Sundays of hockey watching, in the horrific inevitability of too, too early mornings, she cursed his name, his soul, his x-chromosome and the demon womb that bore him.

Me, I always liked men.

Knew I liked them, knew I would always like them, even knew as a kid that I was gonna like sex, knew the whole guy thing was going to be a hoot. And it was. I was all over them as soon as they would have me.

To their arms. To their jaws. To the tender, furry, inner thigh. To the place on their neck where their hair ends. To the murky, oceany smell between their legs, the heavy sharp scent under their arms. To their butts, springy as a foursquare ball covered in fur. I didn’t want a hairy woman. I wanted guys. The delicate, moving, mesmerizing sac, the amazing butter-soft and hammer-hard dick. Guys. I was endeared by them, I wanted to collect them.

Eventually, if you’re doing something right you end up with one. Just one. One set of inner thighs to gnaw on, one neck to rub your nose against. If I continue to love the one I have now in the same old way, and to see and feel and press against him just like I’ve been doing for almost seven years, I will have all those things to go home to for a long time to come, and they’ll be good as new.

I like men. I like Gene Kelly, Tom Jones, William Shatner, Will Smith, this one guy I only saw for a minute sweeping a church floor in south Minneapolis. Cuba Gooding. Brad Pitt. Oliver Reed. Some of my best friend’s old boyfriends. Kevin Spacey. Bruce Springsteen. All men and their hairy, funky places and their acres of skin, their tepid fantasies, their inability to let themselves look bad for one goddamn second, their weight on top of me, their girth beneath me, the way they talk into my hair and get loudest when I come. I like them when I make them laugh, when they can’t resist me, when I’m a loud, vulgar, stupid, graceless git and they lie next to me anyway and share the popcorn.

Always have.

Ari McKee, is a writer from St. Paul, Minnesota and a frequent contributor to Dare. "I guess I'm what is called an 'emerging' writer," she says, "which explains the damp, sticky carpet in my office and the stretch marks on my monitor." You can see more of Ari's work at Hoe E'Zine and the Blue Review.

Chick Stuff

Fellatio - What Your Mama Never Told You...

by Rachel Lancaster

We all giggled about it when we were pre-pubsecent; rolled our eyes and denounced guys as being "dirty" for asking for it in our teens or during college; and most likely (if there is any truth to the stereotypical typecast of the American wife) refused to give it up once married. What pray tell is it? If you haven't figured it out by now (and from the politically correct title of this piece) - then maybe you're one of those women who still giggle, roll your eyes, and refuse. Yes, I'm talking about fellatio - the almighty blowjob - giving head - the basic art of getting a man off without ever parting your thighs...

How many of you are squirming in your seats right now I wonder. That in itself almost makes me giggle. Why is it that this particular subject is still so "taboo"? Why is it that when our mothers talk to us about sex, they somehow forget to include the subject of oral pleasure in the conversation? Perhaps because it's embarrassing - because it's something that "nice" girls just don't do. Well, I'm here to tell you - guess again honey - because nice girls do it all the time - and wanna know something else? There is a certain incredible power and glory (okay, yes, I'm being overly dramatic) afforded the woman who knows how to enjoy sucking a man off. Yikes! Did I have to say it that way? It seems so... vulgar. Well, get used to the phraseology ladies - as there'll be plenty more of that as we go along and besides this particular essay (and column) are all about beating the hell out of stereotypes and all those subjects folks never wanna talk about...

So - let's start there, getting past the notion that somehow sucking a guy's crank (okay - was that better?) is an act reserved for street walkers and girls with low morals. Nope, sorry Charlie, that's simply not true. Let me ask you this ladies - do you like receiving oral sex? Uh, huh... Feels great doesn't it. Well, guys enjoy similar attentions to their private parts and what's quite amazing is that most of the time we don't have to work half as hard as they do to achieve the desired orgasmic result. What it boils down to is that men are really pretty basic. Just like in the womb and during infancy, guys never quite seem to get over that oral fixation - only as adults their mecca of oral fixation quite often involves your mouth on their dick. Not only does it obviously feel great, but there is something about the field of view they are afforded (something we gals aren't privy too - but that's just the way our bodies are engineered - tough luck for us). In fact, men are so visually oriented, that they get off just as much by watching you go down as they do from the physical pleasure you give them while you go down.

So, maybe you don't have a problem with actually performing the "act" itself. Maybe you don't have any hokie hangups about giving head. Maybe, however, you're a refuser or eye-roller simply because you doubt your own skill in the matter. I mean, after all - sometimes it's a little scary to do something that you've never done before of that you figure you'll just be no good at. Well, lets clear that up right here... You have more skill than you realize and that in itself comes in large part from the simplistic visual and oral mechanisms of our men as described above. Mark my words ladies - you make the attempt and your man will more than likely be as excited as a fireman with a new fire truck and just as eager to put out the fire.

So much of giving good head involves the "show" that goes along with it. Again, it's that visual orientation thing. As ridiculous as it may sound - making a big deal out of his meal before you actually go to it by prepping him with a little oral fondling, licking, and kissing can go a long way before you actually get down to business. At this point, I'm not going to go into a long draw out "how to" or blow-by-blow (pardon the pun) commentary (I will however recommend Chapter 8 of Sydney Biddle Barrows book "Just Between Us Girls" - which contains the best frank discussion of oral sex I've ever seen). But, what I do want to emphasize is that it's your willingness (and yes, eagerness) to provide this service that counts - that is the pivot point to power that I mentioned earlier. Do you realize that a good basic blow-job can be knocked out in under 3 minutes? Hell, you can stop, drop, and blow your man practically anywhere, anytime (again, it's the engineering thing, not much to it - they whip it out, you do your thing - all the clothes stay on - it's really very convenient). What you get in return from having such a laissez-faire attitude to fellatio is a man who will worship the very ground you walk on. I'm really not kidding... And, the added dollars-to-donuts bonus for you is, he'll be more likely to return the oral favor by going down on you next time. Just for the hell of it - here's a short list of tips for both parties involved:

• Gals: Be enthusiastic, remember you'll get the gold star for just making the effort.
• Fellas: For goodness sakes, keep it clean down there - ain't nobody going near that package if it smells like dirty sweat socks.
• Gals: Let your man know up front that "quicker is better" when it comes to him getting off; 20 minutes of your mouth on his member and you'll more than likely end up with lockjaw.
• Fellas: Quicker is better. Remember this and she'll be more apt to go down on you again.
• Gals: Remember "the show" - as cheesy as it sounds - the more attention you lavish on his Johnson the more he'll like it.
• Fellas: Remember to say thank you and to reciprocate in kind.

So remember ladies - although your mother may not have told you "everything" about sex and more than likely skipped over blowjobs entirely, I'll wager that (to your mother's chagrin) she may have given you some advice that you'll find very applicable when it comes to the subject of giving head. Those words of wisdom are really quite simple: It's the thought that counts and, practice makes perfect. Thus, don't doubt yourselves gals - have some fun. Besides, a little power-trip once in a while isn't such a bad thing...

Rachel Lancaster writes, works, lives, and dreams in New York City. She is a frequent contributor toDare.

Guy Speak

Catch 69 - Or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying About Simultaneous Oral Sex and Just Enjoy It

by Count of Shadows

Right. We all, by now, ought to know about the Catch 22 syndrome. It’s one of those cyclical run-arounds that make you feel damned if you do and damned if you don’t, so courageously epitomized in the late Joseph Heller’s tome of the same title. Well, a lot of us feel the same way about giving/receiving mutual OGP (oral gential pleasure). You start out fine but somewhere along the way --- whoa! --- you just want to give in to the deliciousness of it all and lie back and enjoy!

In the antiquated pre-dental dam and bare sex days, soixante-neuf (as the French say) was a charming little pseudo-kink that spiced up many an encounter, whether with the same or a differing gender. While it seemed only fair at the time, after all it’s as good to give as receive, a lot of people even today just get too turned around so to speak in this delectable dinner-for-two to manage. So it was back to the old standard “You do me, then I’ll do you.”

Many couples simply give up in frustration and the continuing doer does while the other either pretends to count toes (playing “This Little Piggy Got None”) or puts their head down and checks out for Blissville to the gentle lapping of their lover.

“Honestly, it’s not laziness,” says A. “I just couldn’t concentrate!”

“Uh huh.” thinks B.

Attention Deficit Disorder is a lame excuse when applied to oral sex. I mean, you can fuck together, right? Does it require less attention than nibbling, licking, kissing, and sucking? That’s right! You DID hear the loud buzzer of the ubiquitous game show announcing: wrong answer. So what exactly IS the problem with mutual tonguing and mouthing for pleasure partners?

Part of the Catch 69 you might think, of course, is timing. If one lover goes off like a bottle rocket two minutes into the opening act, there’s definitely a “situation” if the other lover requires a long slow run down the field before scoring. And that kind of time lapse can make a person nervous. Have you had one of those nervous lovers? You know, the kind that makes a mad, rough rush to peel off your seductive scanties and begins probing with a hyped up lizard tongue and sucking whatever you have to suck like the Big Bang in reverse. This, dear readers, is not exactly conducive to a lovely 69 because by the time you get angled properly around for some mouth-to-crotch of your own, Nervous Ned, Nellie, or Natasha has worn out your pudenda which is suddenly feeling like they’ve been working you over with sandpaper.

Another, oops, I was going to say problem, but in our politically correct era I suppose challenge must be used, so, okay, another “challenge” to soixanting some neuf is style and seduction. It often seems in today’s hurly-burly world that such grace-filled elements as style and seduction are archaic. Nu uh, boy and girl wonders. One of the greater feelings engendered by making some whoopie is a golden moment when your lover is giving you such pleasure that you simply MUST return the favor somehow. And I mean NOW, not later after your endorphine haze of orgasm has ebbed.

Style is confident and casual. It’s easy, not rushed and adrenaline pumped. This is true for any kind of love making. So take it slower, especially if you know your lover needs a wee bit more stimulating time. It’s supposed to be pleasure, not NASCAR speed trials.

And seduction, well, I’m not sure how to break the news, but seduction is not about YOU singular. It’s about YOU plural. Of course, the flirty game is all about coy and thrust, tease and taunt, touch and tongue, but it doesn’t stop once you get your naked suits on. Oral sex is just as mutual as any other part of dewing the do. It’s not as if there is a referee who orders one team to kick off and the other to receive.

So if there are no rules but those you make up in mutual consent, it’s really okay if you have to take a brief time out while your lover is still nibbling your naughty bits, but the key word ought to be: brief. Don’t just collapse down at their opposite end while they continue to do all the...ah ah, you thought I was going to say work? No. All the pleasuring. And if you suddenly feel you’re losing your concentration, what exactly are you concentrating for in the first place? This is not a test. Repeat, this is not a test. It’s supposed to be mutually wanting to please your lover and that’s about doing, not concentrating. Do you lose concentration when fucking? Do you lose concentration when masturbating? If you answered yes to either of those questions, please stop reading, and imagine I’ve lost concentration writing.

To recap, then. You can enjoy 69 if you just let go of your worries, your concentrations, and any other hangups about performance and just improvise with mouth, lips, and tongue, and, like any other sex, remember you don’t HAVE to mutually climax. It’s just sweeter when you do. Until next time, remember, you can take a licking and still keep licking.

W. S. Dean is a multi-experienced, award-winning writer. His erotica appears under the nom de plume Count of Shadows, reflecting his penchant for dark, edgy, sensual writing tempered with the seductive romantic nobility of his Catalonian ancestry. He lives in California and is currently writing the novelette Dada.