And here's some lovely info on strippers to fill the gap until someone wrangles up a real post.
Via: Online Schools
Sunday, May 16, 2010
A short aside...
CONGRATULATIONS to anyone graduating this month, especially the Albright House seniors!
And here's some lovely info on strippers to fill the gap until someone wrangles up a real post.
Via: Online Schools
And here's some lovely info on strippers to fill the gap until someone wrangles up a real post.
Via: Online Schools
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Porn, cont'd.
Ok. I totally get all of the Albright Sheriff’s pros, and kids, whatever floats your boat is ok by me.
But what if porn is not what floats your boat, but what’s programming your boat to float?
THIS is what freaks me out, along with the wonderfully worded arguments in the comment on the Sheriff’s post. Personally, I have NO desire to have sex “like a porn star” or resemble a porn star in any way. It simultaneously amazes and terrifies me that plastic (literally), fake blonds with beach ball boobs that look like they might slip out of place at any second are determining what so many men (and some women) think a sexy woman looks like. Or make boys think they’re inadequate because they don’t have a 10 inch penis. (Most women wouldn’t want that if you did have it, dearies.) However, while women’s idea of “what is sexy” is pretty fluid throughout their lives, men’s turn-ons are pretty much set for life by age 15 or 16. If porn has had a more dominant influence on their sexual experience at that point than real girls, what does that mean for the rest of their lives? Men in the 16th century thought hairy legs, well-fed figures, and plucked foreheads were beautiful, because that’s what they were given to think was beautiful. Why has the media and the porn industry turned sexy into starvation victims with injections in all the “right” places?
Not to mention, the concept of sex was so limited and mechanical – what do you even need another person there for? There was no human connection whatsoever, which as I’ve said before, is the part of sex that appeals to me most and provides the most fun and pleasure. To not even have their bodies really connecting – except where a camera can view them slamming into each other – was bizarre and disconcerting. Is this really a normalized vision of what sex is?
I was surprised. I didn’t expect to love, or even like porn, but I also didn’t expect it to make me never want to have sex again. Probably that won’t last, but seeing porn for the first time was a HUGE turn off for me personally. All I could think (aside from, GROSS) was, "Is this really what guys are expecting? Is THAT what I’m supposed to do? And if so, I have probably been a huge disappointment to every partner I’ve ever had. I’m boring and not at all sexy and will never be able to be."
Now, I know this is not true. I don’t have any desire to be with someone who can’t appreciate my own individual type of appeal, and I was proud that the next thought to cross my mind was, “Damn, no wonder so few guys have managed to give me an orgasm, if this is their instruction manual. That would never work for me, and that’s their problem, not mine.” I’m glad that it cuts both ways, and didn’t only undermine my self-esteem. But I’m in the most empowering environment in the universe – how many girls think they need to turn themselves into something resembling the very limited conception of a porn star in order to please their partner, and put pleasing their partner above being comfortable and pleasing themselves? How many guys are programmed by the limited ideas of what “sexy” can be? Who knows what they would find appealing if the ultimate embodiment of sex propaganda was more open and realistic. Maybe the body hair phobia (a whole ‘nother post) would die down and women wouldn’t have to look like pre-pubescent girls. Maybe girls who develop late, or just have small breasts, wouldn’t spend as many hours hating their bodies. I don’t want to judge any one’s personal choices; go forth and fetish to your heart’s content, so long as you have a consenting partner. But don’t make me feel like I can’t be sexy, just because I’m not currently interested in that version of sex, and don’t want my personal life to resemble something that’s packaged in shrink wrap and comes in a box.
Other thoughts, anyone?
Lots of Love,
The Librarian
But what if porn is not what floats your boat, but what’s programming your boat to float?
THIS is what freaks me out, along with the wonderfully worded arguments in the comment on the Sheriff’s post. Personally, I have NO desire to have sex “like a porn star” or resemble a porn star in any way. It simultaneously amazes and terrifies me that plastic (literally), fake blonds with beach ball boobs that look like they might slip out of place at any second are determining what so many men (and some women) think a sexy woman looks like. Or make boys think they’re inadequate because they don’t have a 10 inch penis. (Most women wouldn’t want that if you did have it, dearies.) However, while women’s idea of “what is sexy” is pretty fluid throughout their lives, men’s turn-ons are pretty much set for life by age 15 or 16. If porn has had a more dominant influence on their sexual experience at that point than real girls, what does that mean for the rest of their lives? Men in the 16th century thought hairy legs, well-fed figures, and plucked foreheads were beautiful, because that’s what they were given to think was beautiful. Why has the media and the porn industry turned sexy into starvation victims with injections in all the “right” places?
Not to mention, the concept of sex was so limited and mechanical – what do you even need another person there for? There was no human connection whatsoever, which as I’ve said before, is the part of sex that appeals to me most and provides the most fun and pleasure. To not even have their bodies really connecting – except where a camera can view them slamming into each other – was bizarre and disconcerting. Is this really a normalized vision of what sex is?
I was surprised. I didn’t expect to love, or even like porn, but I also didn’t expect it to make me never want to have sex again. Probably that won’t last, but seeing porn for the first time was a HUGE turn off for me personally. All I could think (aside from, GROSS) was, "Is this really what guys are expecting? Is THAT what I’m supposed to do? And if so, I have probably been a huge disappointment to every partner I’ve ever had. I’m boring and not at all sexy and will never be able to be."
Now, I know this is not true. I don’t have any desire to be with someone who can’t appreciate my own individual type of appeal, and I was proud that the next thought to cross my mind was, “Damn, no wonder so few guys have managed to give me an orgasm, if this is their instruction manual. That would never work for me, and that’s their problem, not mine.” I’m glad that it cuts both ways, and didn’t only undermine my self-esteem. But I’m in the most empowering environment in the universe – how many girls think they need to turn themselves into something resembling the very limited conception of a porn star in order to please their partner, and put pleasing their partner above being comfortable and pleasing themselves? How many guys are programmed by the limited ideas of what “sexy” can be? Who knows what they would find appealing if the ultimate embodiment of sex propaganda was more open and realistic. Maybe the body hair phobia (a whole ‘nother post) would die down and women wouldn’t have to look like pre-pubescent girls. Maybe girls who develop late, or just have small breasts, wouldn’t spend as many hours hating their bodies. I don’t want to judge any one’s personal choices; go forth and fetish to your heart’s content, so long as you have a consenting partner. But don’t make me feel like I can’t be sexy, just because I’m not currently interested in that version of sex, and don’t want my personal life to resemble something that’s packaged in shrink wrap and comes in a box.
Other thoughts, anyone?
Lots of Love,
The Librarian
Friday, May 14, 2010
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Hilarious vintage sex ed movies
...just because. Check it out; they're mad short and totally worth your time!
http://www.feministing.com/archives/021170.html
Much love,
The Albright Sheriff
http://www.feministing.com/archives/021170.html
Much love,
The Albright Sheriff
Albright Legend
I'm tired of all this intellectualizin' (not really, I just want an excuse to share this) so this is just going to be one of my favorite stories, classic Drunk Sheriff shit. It is the stuff of Albright House legend, and it even has to do with gender power dynamics (whadda ya know?).
The first time the lovely Albright Fairies went to WPI for a frat party, before I met Meatball, I was scouring the party, trying to find someone to get friendly with so I'd at least have a bed to crash in (if not maybe some satisfactory sex too). Some dude (we'll call him...Skeevy, because that's what he was) came up behind me and began grinding with me (in the typical creeper, swooping in from behind and grabbing the hips move...this is generally not preferable to ASKING a female if she wants to dance, fellas, as Lady Lola has pointed out). We had a bit of loud, "what's your name?" "Skeevy." "STEVIE?!" type conversation, and danced for a song or two before he became seriously aggressive with me. I'm talkin' vigorously rubbing my crotch through my clothes and trying to stick his hands down my shorts, despite me pushing his hands away EVERY SINGLE TIME.
I grew more and more annoyed with this kid, but could not physically escape him (he kept pulling me back). Skeevy asked me, in such a delicate manner, if I'd like to go upstairs and fuck in one of the bathrooms. It dawned on me that this was my moment to get back at him for being so pushy, for not understanding my very consistent nonverbal no, so I decided to play around with him.
I told Skeevy I wasn't sure, playing coy with it. He kept pressuring (drunkenly begging might be more accurate), and I finally said, "I'll go upstairs with you...if you whip out your cock here and now." Mind you, this was in the middle of a crowded frat party. He hesitated for a moment, took a deep breath, and did it.
I took one look at his cock, said "Sorry, you're too small," and walked away. The look on his face was truly priceless.
In retrospect, Sober Sheriff can now see that this was a risky move, because in insulting and humiliating him, he grew obviously was enraged and could've gotten violent. Luckily, I just deeply wounded his pride and earned him giving me the stinkeye for the rest of the night while I danced happily with Meatball.
But more than just hilarious, this was also about re-claiming a sense of agency. This man was much bigger than me. He was much stronger than me. He wasn't taking my nonverbal cues for an answer. I couldn't really do much, on my own, to remedy the situation without getting physical myself, which it didn't yet warrant (to me. Everyone's boundary is different). But by using my sexuality as a tool (men will do the stupidest things for the promise of pussy), I was able to wound his pride enough to give myself a chance to get away, flipping the power dynamic.
Also, it was just hilarious.
Much love,
The Albright Sheriff
The first time the lovely Albright Fairies went to WPI for a frat party, before I met Meatball, I was scouring the party, trying to find someone to get friendly with so I'd at least have a bed to crash in (if not maybe some satisfactory sex too). Some dude (we'll call him...Skeevy, because that's what he was) came up behind me and began grinding with me (in the typical creeper, swooping in from behind and grabbing the hips move...this is generally not preferable to ASKING a female if she wants to dance, fellas, as Lady Lola has pointed out). We had a bit of loud, "what's your name?" "Skeevy." "STEVIE?!" type conversation, and danced for a song or two before he became seriously aggressive with me. I'm talkin' vigorously rubbing my crotch through my clothes and trying to stick his hands down my shorts, despite me pushing his hands away EVERY SINGLE TIME.
I grew more and more annoyed with this kid, but could not physically escape him (he kept pulling me back). Skeevy asked me, in such a delicate manner, if I'd like to go upstairs and fuck in one of the bathrooms. It dawned on me that this was my moment to get back at him for being so pushy, for not understanding my very consistent nonverbal no, so I decided to play around with him.
I told Skeevy I wasn't sure, playing coy with it. He kept pressuring (drunkenly begging might be more accurate), and I finally said, "I'll go upstairs with you...if you whip out your cock here and now." Mind you, this was in the middle of a crowded frat party. He hesitated for a moment, took a deep breath, and did it.
I took one look at his cock, said "Sorry, you're too small," and walked away. The look on his face was truly priceless.
In retrospect, Sober Sheriff can now see that this was a risky move, because in insulting and humiliating him, he grew obviously was enraged and could've gotten violent. Luckily, I just deeply wounded his pride and earned him giving me the stinkeye for the rest of the night while I danced happily with Meatball.
But more than just hilarious, this was also about re-claiming a sense of agency. This man was much bigger than me. He was much stronger than me. He wasn't taking my nonverbal cues for an answer. I couldn't really do much, on my own, to remedy the situation without getting physical myself, which it didn't yet warrant (to me. Everyone's boundary is different). But by using my sexuality as a tool (men will do the stupidest things for the promise of pussy), I was able to wound his pride enough to give myself a chance to get away, flipping the power dynamic.
Also, it was just hilarious.
Much love,
The Albright Sheriff
Desire
First of all, thank you to all of our fabulous readers! I have received so many meaningful compliments about the content of this blog and I really appreciate each and every one of them. Please keep reading, and let me know if you have any suggestions for improvements, topics, or if you'd like to do a guest post! Second of all, props to the fabulous Albright Sex Fairies and out guest posters! With the end of the semester, the blog has been crazy active lately, and it's been amazing to see the range of posts and how eclectic the subject matter can be. Thank you ladies! Keep it up.
Now, onto fucking...
Lately, I've had the pleasure of seeing someone who compliments me all the time (please don't shoot me for bragging). It's a wonderful change and never gets old (seriously, what kind of asshole tires of hearing their lovely attributes listed day after day?...okay, I'll shut up). But when one is constantly being told that one is attractive/sexy/beautiful/hot, and one does not define herself as such (I am NEVER attracted to people who look like me, because that's creepy and incestuous-feeling and too much Aryan looks in a pairing makes me nervous), one (i.e., yours truly) got to thinking: what makes someone attractive? What defines that?
My gut instinct is to rant on about how society makes these impossible standards, along with advertising companies and evil corporations and probably Miley Cyrus just because she sucks. And they all do that (...okay, maybe not Miley). We all are inundated with these images, day after day, of people who are thinner than us, more muscular than us, paler than us, less ethnic than us, in the ads, on the runways, on our campuses (Smith, blessedly, is a haven for alternative beauties and standards of attraction: armpit hair can be hot, androgyny is gorgeous, and makeup free is the way to be...or you can doll yourself up for class and shave daily. There's an enormous spectrum of beauty here and I love it!).
And that's all true. BUT.
I think we internalize this less in our perceptions of other people than we think we do(the cruel standards we apply to ourselves, however, is another matter, which you can read more of in "Self Love"). Perhaps I'm optimistic because at Smith, really, every woman/person can be recognized as truly beautiful (I know, I live in fuckin utopia), and while I'm not ignorant to the fact that some assholes expect their partner to live up to crazy standards (anyone who tells their significant other/fuck buddy/whatever to lose weight/go to the gym/wear more makeup is probably from New York City or LA, but either way they can go fuck themselves), I've found that I (and most people I know) find a whole range of people desirable that are far from the box of standardized "hot" that we swallow hook, line and sinker.
Even though I drool over Robert Downey Jr.'s ripped body and I can get hot and bothered thinking about the flat stomach and gorgeous curves of Nicole Sherzinger (I've got a lot to say about the Pussycat Dolls another time, but for now, let's focus on objectifying her!), most of the people I've been attracted to and sexually engaged with in my own life resemble nothing of the standard concept of sexy. Beefcake looked like an athletic god but had abominable hair and ghetto fabulous style. Pablo was twice my weight (granted, easy to be since I was anorexic at the time, but the boy was a little...fluffy. Fuck it, let's be honest, the kid had moobs) and had a mohawk. Daisy had small boobs and stretch marks. But to me, all of them were hot in their own way.
I think people internalize standards of beauty and harshly apply them to themselves, but they don't to the people in their own lives. What makes someone hot is not their six pack or their long hair (though those things certainly can't hurt); it's their throaty laugh, it's the way they make eye contact with you, it's something intangible about them that wouldn't be sexy on anyone else. What we desire, in my experience, is not something we can standardize, and thank god for that! This world is enormous and full of gorgeously unique people. To try to give yourself a "type" or to reject someone because she's chunky and a "moped chick" (a REVOLTING term for a girl who's fun to be around but one you wouldn't want to be seen with in public because she doesn't look like a Pilates instructor) only limits your own pleasure and experiences. And why would you ever want to do that?
Across the board, though, I would say the greatest aphrodesiac and biggest turn on, for men, women, transgendered people, everybody, is being wanted. We all have this huge whiney human need deep inside to be recognized, to be seen, to be told we're special somehow, and the (consensual, respectful) expression from someone that they want to jump your bones can function in that way and be a HUGE turn on. Just sayin', it's working for me with Meatball.
Much love,
The Albright Sheriff
Now, onto fucking...
Lately, I've had the pleasure of seeing someone who compliments me all the time (please don't shoot me for bragging). It's a wonderful change and never gets old (seriously, what kind of asshole tires of hearing their lovely attributes listed day after day?...okay, I'll shut up). But when one is constantly being told that one is attractive/sexy/beautiful/hot, and one does not define herself as such (I am NEVER attracted to people who look like me, because that's creepy and incestuous-feeling and too much Aryan looks in a pairing makes me nervous), one (i.e., yours truly) got to thinking: what makes someone attractive? What defines that?
My gut instinct is to rant on about how society makes these impossible standards, along with advertising companies and evil corporations and probably Miley Cyrus just because she sucks. And they all do that (...okay, maybe not Miley). We all are inundated with these images, day after day, of people who are thinner than us, more muscular than us, paler than us, less ethnic than us, in the ads, on the runways, on our campuses (Smith, blessedly, is a haven for alternative beauties and standards of attraction: armpit hair can be hot, androgyny is gorgeous, and makeup free is the way to be...or you can doll yourself up for class and shave daily. There's an enormous spectrum of beauty here and I love it!).
And that's all true. BUT.
I think we internalize this less in our perceptions of other people than we think we do(the cruel standards we apply to ourselves, however, is another matter, which you can read more of in "Self Love"). Perhaps I'm optimistic because at Smith, really, every woman/person can be recognized as truly beautiful (I know, I live in fuckin utopia), and while I'm not ignorant to the fact that some assholes expect their partner to live up to crazy standards (anyone who tells their significant other/fuck buddy/whatever to lose weight/go to the gym/wear more makeup is probably from New York City or LA, but either way they can go fuck themselves), I've found that I (and most people I know) find a whole range of people desirable that are far from the box of standardized "hot" that we swallow hook, line and sinker.
Even though I drool over Robert Downey Jr.'s ripped body and I can get hot and bothered thinking about the flat stomach and gorgeous curves of Nicole Sherzinger (I've got a lot to say about the Pussycat Dolls another time, but for now, let's focus on objectifying her!), most of the people I've been attracted to and sexually engaged with in my own life resemble nothing of the standard concept of sexy. Beefcake looked like an athletic god but had abominable hair and ghetto fabulous style. Pablo was twice my weight (granted, easy to be since I was anorexic at the time, but the boy was a little...fluffy. Fuck it, let's be honest, the kid had moobs) and had a mohawk. Daisy had small boobs and stretch marks. But to me, all of them were hot in their own way.
I think people internalize standards of beauty and harshly apply them to themselves, but they don't to the people in their own lives. What makes someone hot is not their six pack or their long hair (though those things certainly can't hurt); it's their throaty laugh, it's the way they make eye contact with you, it's something intangible about them that wouldn't be sexy on anyone else. What we desire, in my experience, is not something we can standardize, and thank god for that! This world is enormous and full of gorgeously unique people. To try to give yourself a "type" or to reject someone because she's chunky and a "moped chick" (a REVOLTING term for a girl who's fun to be around but one you wouldn't want to be seen with in public because she doesn't look like a Pilates instructor) only limits your own pleasure and experiences. And why would you ever want to do that?
Across the board, though, I would say the greatest aphrodesiac and biggest turn on, for men, women, transgendered people, everybody, is being wanted. We all have this huge whiney human need deep inside to be recognized, to be seen, to be told we're special somehow, and the (consensual, respectful) expression from someone that they want to jump your bones can function in that way and be a HUGE turn on. Just sayin', it's working for me with Meatball.
Much love,
The Albright Sheriff
Guest Post: In Defense of Male Virgins
As an avid reader of Fornicating Feminists, I’ve enjoyed posts on sex, gender, self-love and even learned what a VHC piercing is (Here’s looking at you, Sheriff). And though previous posts have discussed virginity and its glorification, I felt a post on male virginity and its stigma could use a talking to.
Attending a fairly in your face liberal liberal arts college, though not Smith, I still end up in conversations with people talking shit about a guy and how he’s “still a virgin” and how WEIRD that is (or worse, his virginity is expressed as reason for his weirdness). I’ve watched girls recoil at the thought of “taking” a guy’s virginity, or giggle over how awful he would be. And truth be told, up until a couple months ago, I would have felt at least awkward about sleeping with a virgin.
Then I met The Magician (not a sexual reference, he does card tricks). He told me he was a virgin. Two days AFTER we had sex for the first time (I know, you’re thinking how could I not tell, but the boy’s got stamina). Why hadn’t he told me? Because he was ashamed, because he was scared I’d freak out and never talk to him again. And he wasn’t completely wrong to think so, because after he told me, I did freak out a bit. I thought, Oh God, this must be such a big deal to him, he’ll be so clingy now, I’m stuck with him, oh no, oh no. And then I realized I was being ridiculous. Thinking a guy is less “manly” for being a virgin is just as absurd as putting female virginity on a pedestal and calling it virtue. Just because you “take” a guy’s virginity doesn’t mean he’s going to go all velcro on you. It doesn’t mean he’s less cool, less interesting, or less worthwhile than the guy who’s had some experience. In my case, it didn’t even mean he was lame in bed (I hit the jackpot, what can I say?).
And hey, another pro, he’s not so convinced of his own divine bedroom abilities that he won’t pay attention to what you like in bed (I’m thinking of an ex who thought nothing was sexier than sticking his tongue in my ear, no matter how many times I said it disgusted me. Ugh).
Not gonna lie, it really took the pressure off to be an awesome kinky sex goddess to be with someone who’s new at it all. I’ve been seeing him for almost three months now, and sex with The Magician has made me WAY more confident, more capable of articulating my desires, and more adventurous in bed. Though that might have to do with the fact that he’s really sweet and doesn’t try to guilt me into sex (I had a knack for picking guys that don’t understand no as well as they should).
Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure a lot of people, especially intelligent sexy ladies like the Albright Sex Fairies, wouldn’t judge a man for being a virgin and wouldn’t turn him down for it. But I thought sharing my story might help reach those poor unconvinced souls who could be missing out on some serious opportunities.
Bisous & bisous,
-The Queen of Spades
Attending a fairly in your face liberal liberal arts college, though not Smith, I still end up in conversations with people talking shit about a guy and how he’s “still a virgin” and how WEIRD that is (or worse, his virginity is expressed as reason for his weirdness). I’ve watched girls recoil at the thought of “taking” a guy’s virginity, or giggle over how awful he would be. And truth be told, up until a couple months ago, I would have felt at least awkward about sleeping with a virgin.
Then I met The Magician (not a sexual reference, he does card tricks). He told me he was a virgin. Two days AFTER we had sex for the first time (I know, you’re thinking how could I not tell, but the boy’s got stamina). Why hadn’t he told me? Because he was ashamed, because he was scared I’d freak out and never talk to him again. And he wasn’t completely wrong to think so, because after he told me, I did freak out a bit. I thought, Oh God, this must be such a big deal to him, he’ll be so clingy now, I’m stuck with him, oh no, oh no. And then I realized I was being ridiculous. Thinking a guy is less “manly” for being a virgin is just as absurd as putting female virginity on a pedestal and calling it virtue. Just because you “take” a guy’s virginity doesn’t mean he’s going to go all velcro on you. It doesn’t mean he’s less cool, less interesting, or less worthwhile than the guy who’s had some experience. In my case, it didn’t even mean he was lame in bed (I hit the jackpot, what can I say?).
And hey, another pro, he’s not so convinced of his own divine bedroom abilities that he won’t pay attention to what you like in bed (I’m thinking of an ex who thought nothing was sexier than sticking his tongue in my ear, no matter how many times I said it disgusted me. Ugh).
Not gonna lie, it really took the pressure off to be an awesome kinky sex goddess to be with someone who’s new at it all. I’ve been seeing him for almost three months now, and sex with The Magician has made me WAY more confident, more capable of articulating my desires, and more adventurous in bed. Though that might have to do with the fact that he’s really sweet and doesn’t try to guilt me into sex (I had a knack for picking guys that don’t understand no as well as they should).
Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure a lot of people, especially intelligent sexy ladies like the Albright Sex Fairies, wouldn’t judge a man for being a virgin and wouldn’t turn him down for it. But I thought sharing my story might help reach those poor unconvinced souls who could be missing out on some serious opportunities.
Bisous & bisous,
-The Queen of Spades
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