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Good for Rocky Virgins, Disappointing for Die-Hard Devotees: Rocky Horror @ MainLine

I should say right off the bat that when it comes to portrayals of The Rocky Horror Show, I have extremely high standards. I’ve been a devotee of Montreal’s Rocky Horror tradition since I was first allowed into screenings of the film adaptation, The Rocky Horror Picture Show, at sixteen.

I attended the Halloween Ball at the Imperial, the Medley, and The Rialto until disability and a few bad experiences since they permitted the sale of alcohol at the ball. I switched to the annual musical show at the MainLine Theatre.

I know every single callback, am quick to come up with original heckles, and even had the soundtrack to the original London stage musical on CD until time destroyed it.

That said, in the spirit of fairness, this review of Richard O’Brien’s The Rocky Horror Show will be split into two parts: the first will be for people who have never experienced it and want to know what to expect, the second will be for the massive cult of Rocky Horror fans with specific expectations.

For Rocky Virgins

If you love camp, don’t hate musicals, and are a fan of fluid portrayals of gender and sexuality, Richard O’Brien’s The Rocky Horror Show is for you. Dr. Frank n’ Furter, played Stephanie McKenna, is your sassy highly sexed mad scientist, who has been in the role for years and plays the part well. Aly Slominsky as Janet is the textbook prissy virgin all but begging to be initiated sexually by a skilled partner, and Cat Preston nails the sultry maid, Magenta. Craig Dalley as Eddie is every bit as sexy as a leather vest and jeans wearing biker can be, though when he plays Dr Scott, his German accent falters on occasion.

Do not expect anything remarkable or understandable about the plot, that’s the nature of the play: more style than substance, so allow yourself to shut your brain off and enjoy it. If you can’t, this might not be the show for you.

If you appreciate good music, then stick around, the band and musical direction, by Émilie Versailles and Katharine Paradis do an amazing job bringing Richard O’Brien’s timeless catchy tunes to life. If you love to heckle, you’ll love this show, as heckling is encouraged, but do not throw anything on stage or you will be ejected.

Though the actors’ mics were glitchy, and drunken rowdy audience members – most likely planning to go to the postponed Halloween Ball – often attempted to derail the performance, the cast took it all with grace.

If you want diversity in your shows, you will be happy to know that the cast includes people of all different sizes and genders, but those preferring visible diversity will be gravely disappointed, with this reviewer noting only one actress of colour among the entire cast, and they were not in a major role. Whether this will change in future runs remains to be seen.

If you’re a little curious and looking for the fun and escapism director Amy Blackmore promised, check out Richard O’Brien’s The Rocky Horror Show at MainLine. It’s adult Halloween entertainment at its finest.

For Rocky Horror Devotees

This year’s show is a remount of MainLine’s Theatre’s last run in 2019 before COVID-19 health restrictions and that needs to be taken into account when watching it. They didn’t bother holding auditions this year, asking much of the previous cast to come back and sadly production quality suffered for it.

Zachary Sykes played Brad far too manly, giving us not the dorky sexually confused Brad we all expect, but your stereotypical cis man. His singing was fine, but his portrayal desperately needed hamming up.

Stephanie McKenna’s Frank n’ Furter was excellent as always, but I was hoping she would sex it up a little more than she has in the past, though the physicality she brings to the part is always breathtaking.

Megan Vera Starling’s Riff Raff is fine but the moment the actress breaks into song, she also breaks character, turning from the creepy Igor-inspired butler to sultry diva and it is completely inappropriate for the role.

Columbia, played by Genevieve Pertugia, tap danced well and had all the cuteness her part required, but she seemed to lose her voice on several occasions and might have been better rapping her lyrics instead of singing them.

This year’s Rocky, played by Vin Barbisan is, as Amy Blackmore promised, a completely different take on the character in terms of gender, which is good. However, Rocky is the one character in the show that has clear physical requirements, and Barbisan was clearly struggling through the three pushups they did on stage. Future casting choices should be able to do press-ups well and with confidence or be encouraged to train until they can.

Sarah Kulaga-Yoscovitz was excellent as the Usherette, as was Aly Slominsky’s Janet, Cat Preston’s Magenta, Kenny Streule’s narrator, and Craig Dalley’s Eddie, though his Dr. Scott could use a bit more silliness.

The real stars of the show for me were the band, the choreographer, the floor show dancers, and whoever was responsible for making Riff Raff’s weapon at the end. As an occasional prop designer, I marveled at the beauty of it, a far cry from the recycled plastic pitchfork Richard O’Brien’s Riff Raff wields in the movie.

This year’s The Rocky Horror Show at MainLine wasn’t a bad show, but die-hard fans will find it lacking. It satisfied my need for a Rocky Horror fix, but just barely.

The show is starved for new blood, better casting, and more ethnic diversity. Here’s hoping next year’s is better.

Arts Film

The Decline of the American Empire (1986): Self-Indulgence, Societal Decline and Sex

In honour of the release of Denys Arcand’s most recent film, The Fall of the American Empire, I thought I would take a look at his roots, the head-turning Quebecois classic, The Decline of the American Empire (Le déclin de l’émpire américain). A film that, in 1986, seemed very topical and relevant.

The Cold War was still happening, the threat of nuclear war hung casually over everyone’s heads, the Soviet Union was on the brink of collapse, the AIDS epidemic was rampant. For some, society seemed to be in decline or at least on the brink of it.

According to one of the main characters, Dominique, in the film’s second scene, society’s decline is evident because of its focus on self-indulgence (in this film’s case, that focus is mostly on sex). This, she says, is indicative of our collective demise.

This is the thesis of her new book, Changing Concepts of Happiness, and the film itself. In an interview with her friend and journalist, Diane, Dominique recounts how this is evident in examples throughout history: in third century Rome, the idea of conjugal love first comes from Diocletian just before the Empire’s collapse and Rosseau’s idea of happiness came in during the French Revolution. Now, she argues, we are witnessing the decline of the American empire.

Diane interviewing Dominique in one of the opening scenes of the film

The film follows eight characters, mostly academics, a group of four women – Dominique, Louise, Diane and Danielle and four men – Remy, Claude, Alain and Pierre. They are all colleagues at their university’s history department with the exception of Danielle who is a student.

The four men cook an elaborate meal at a lake-side house, while the women, in the meantime, workout at the gym. The camera constantly cuts and pans from one group to another while they indulge in recounting their sexual exploits.

Of the men, Rémy seems to be the most active hedonist of the group, as they all retell their sexual adventures seemingly trying to one-up each other. In one anecdote, he recounts that on the way to his mistress, he was craving sex so much that he had to stop at a brothel.

Alain, the youngest of the group, believes he is unlike all the others because he “doesn’t want to have sex with a new girl every night.”

Pierre lives with Danielle, who he met a massage parlor, after learning she was a student at the university.

Claude, the only gay man in the group, recounts how he likes to “cruise” gay hotspots in Montreal. He once had a lover, but he died in an accident and since then Claude has an uncontrollable lust.

He also has a mysterious disease. Claude is portrayed quite well as an openly gay man on the big screen, years before Philadelphia.

The women similarly discuss their sex lives. Diane describes her sado-masochistic relationship with her new boyfriend Mario once Louise discovers scratches on her back and notes how powerful she feels while in it experiencing the “power of the victim.”

Dominique, single and never married, is equally as promiscuous as Diane.

Danielle, the youngest among the women, is similar to Alain in that she has not had the same experiences and still believes that all she needs is to “be happy.”

Louise, the most conservative of the group and Remy’s wife, blushes at the idea of even flirting with her tennis instructor. She suspects Remy is unfaithful on his trips away but takes comfort in knowing (or rather believing) that while he is at home, he is 100% faithful. The women of course, know this is not true as both Diane and Dominique have in the past slept with Remy.

While at first, mostly all in good fun, the conversations and witty wordplay take a dark turn once they all meet for dinner. Secrets about them are spilled and grievances are voiced, exposing a group that at first seemed very modern in their sexual openness now seeming utterly unsatisfied and unfulfilled.

The degeneration of the group dynamic at this point in a way is a reflection of how Arcand saw society. That personal indulgence for indulgence’s sake is a sign of decline.

Decline is very much influenced by the 1981 film My Dinner With Andre, in its very dialogue-heavy script rife with wit. Although the focus throughout is very much on sex, we do not really see much of it. That sentiment is encapsulated well from one line from Mario:

“They talked about sex all afternoon as if they were getting ready for an orgy. Instead, the big deal is a fish pie!”

Original trailer for the film

The film itself today with its fashion as well as some racial stereotypes, comes off as dated. The ideas however, still come off as somewhat relevant.

In the era of Facebook and social media, it seems that attempts at quick personal gratification are all around us and might speak to a dissolving social structure With the election of Trump and all the other malfeasance in the world it might seem that society could be in decline once again (or even failing as Arcand would argue in his most recent film).

Some might posit, however, that to argue our “society” itself is in decline is questionable. The fall of empires have generally been a good thing for societies as it can mean change for the better, though it does, in many instances, cause periods of disarray. In this sense, the moral relativism of the film can seem kind of preachy.

Regardless of this, the film is quite fun and edgy because of its wit and subject matter and still has strains of relevance to viewers today. So before you go out and watch Arcand’s new film, I’d recommend a quick viewing of this classic first.

Feature Image Courtesy of Cineplex Odeon Films

Culture Sex

Gaspers: Erotic Asphyxiation, Ageism and Dirty Conversations

People tell me things they would not tell anyone else, not their mom, not even their therapist or childhood best friend. I get bro status instantly when most girls would not. Guys hear that I like girls too (I like all humans) and assume that I want to hear about all the dirties of their sex life instantly. I’m not mad, always looking for artistic inspiration.

This is what brings us to the topic of erotic asphyxiation. A guy was telling me how he was fucking a girl half his age and she liked to be choked.

Another guy told me about the first girl that ever asked him to choke her and how it felt powerful. One time they were in the act and he was choking her and her eyes rolled back into her head. Her body went limp. He then slapped her awake. She said “Thank you for bringing me back,” then he continued fucking her.

What the fuck? This disturbed me. Who would want that? Choke out a young girl, thats not making love, thats some carnal strange right there. She asked for it, he said. She wanted it. She was looking for a little pain, a little pause in time and oxygen deprivation.

I bruise easily so I never really wanted to try it. But one time I was hooking up with someone and they were definitely dominant, and knew what they were doing. Their expert hands knew the exact pressure point to hit to cut off oxygen without hurting me. It felt like a whip. I needed to tap out, it was too intense, and not in a sexual way.

Erotic asphyxiation or breath play is when you intentionally restrict the flow of oxygen to the brain for sexual arousal. The term autoerotic asphyxiation is used when the act is done by a person to themselves.

Gasper is used to describe a person participating in this fetish. Author George Shuman describes the effect as such, “When the brain is deprived of oxygen, it induces a lucid, semi-hallucinogenic state called hypoxia. Combined with orgasm, the rush is said to be no less powerful than cocaine, and highly addictive.”

When death occurs during auto-erotic asphyxiation often the families will “clean up” the scene and make it not seem sexual, but like suicide. If a partner is involved it can be classified as murder even if there was consent. Thats crazy!

Back to my conversation with the dirt ball. He also added “of course the girls are always younger” as if it would be gross to sleep with a woman his age or older. The other guy stated that he liked older women. I wonder if it was because he wanted to sleep with me.

Daddy complex- so many older men fetishize young girls, like the only creatures capable of sex are young fertile girls. It is absolutely disgusting how children are sexualized by the media for consumption by the scummy old men who rule the world. Goes the other way too when younger people are looking for sexual “guidance” perhaps to make up for a lack of actual parents in their life. A whole generation is being raised by the internet and are incapable of healthy relationships because of this.

Mommy complex- while most men seek out younger women they also take advantage of older women to do things like their cooking and laundry. For the most part they want to be treated like babies and also fuck babies.

Some people also put themselves into the mom role. I definitely do this. This is still problem, but a little less creepy. I will never have children pop out of my body but I will have an influence on younger people. I will help others grow with my wisdom and resources.

I love to feed people, I love having people in my home and cooking them a vegan feast. I will go without to fill someone else’s belly. I care about others in that ever loving maternal way.

For me, I feel funny if someone is much younger than me. When on dating sites/apps I usually swipe away from even 21-22 year olds because I know they are in a much different place than my 30 year old ass.

Do I fuck them to feel young? Is it like Elizabeth Báthory bathing in their blood? Ageism is rampant in porn and the sex industry. Age is a fetish too: nubile lolita vs dried up spinster, youth vs experience, it’s all what you are looking for.

Burlesque is so appealing because there no age restrictions. All bodies are beautiful and inspiring vessels. Everyone is fucking sexy! Old and fuckable are not oxymorons!

I love that people like to tell me the gory details, knowing that not many other people would be as impressed by their filth. I love being the one who knows the thing you can’t tell anyone else. I don’t get grossed out. I do disgusting shit everyday. We all do.

How do you react when you know dirt about someone your friend is thinking of dating though… like they start describing a random tinder hookup that they are falling in love with… same physical description, kinda average, kinda whatever… same job… wait he started what?… awww fuck that’s the guy that ____ to my friend when she was _____ and you think that maybe he _____ to you but you want to justify what happened.

Like staying with a phone company that sucks just to get an angry but loyal customer discount. You asked me if I ever stole anything from anyone.

We ate brunch, vegan tofu hash with a pita, strong coffee with almond milk, you had a bloody mary, we both hate olives. You very loudly told me about all of your sexplotations and adventures spanning the course of continents.

A man sat in earshot pretending to read. I forgot his name but we definitely knew each other. I did not make eye contact.

Hopefully our explicit conversation inspires him to make art. Us talking dirty on the patio of a cafe on a fall morning makes Buffalo that much more sexy. That kind of girl lives there, artists having conversations about art, sex, traveling, ridding ourselves of negative energy, and bonding over coffee and early morning alcohol that’s ok because it’s in tomato juice like a meal.

Talking about choking, fucking outside, and so much more. Things were said that would make anyone gasp. I know he had to read those pages over. We acknowledged each other as he left, he said he didn’t want to interrupt our conversation. You are welcome sir.

Culture Sex

Tingle and Mingle: Love, Lesbian Sex and Self Doubt

Why do people get turned on by the chase? It is easier to feel tingles for someone who is out of reach. Why are the tingles so fucking important?

When someone is sitting there legs spread, waiting for me in worship, I always hold back. Thinking it’s too easy, it’s too good to be true, too sweet an offer to just blindly accept. Like a free cruise or money from a Nigerian Prince, there must be a catch. This incredible, smart, beautiful human can’t possibly be ga-ga over me, can they? I always feel like the big green monster clumsily making my way through life.

The greatest loves of my life thus far have been unrequited, crushing on the ones who don’t want anything to do with me. Loving those who are out of reach because I am addicted to the hurt. I don’t know my own worth.

Spending years being easy because it is easier to be easy. Love who you can get, fuck the one you are with. Maybe something will grow? I guarantee it won’t be love. Love is more often pretend than achieved, not to be taken lightly or deceived.

I want to worship the one who worships me back. I want to travel the world with someone who is proud to hold my hand. I want to be vegan together. I want to grow. Make art. Make love in beautiful places, touch me under a waterfall, hold me under the stars, kiss me in my car, let me know that I am not alone by simply being with me.

I have spoken of radical requited love before, but only now am I truly believing in it. Or am I? I don’t know what I believe. In any aspect of my life really. I spend my days in a cloud of general confusion. But I do know one thing: “My love, my love, my love she keeps me warm.” I have always loved that Mary Lambert song. I have to look in the mirror and tell me that I deserve it. The warmth of arms protecting me, holding something they cherish.

I know I am incredible. I do shit, I am someone, I fucking sparkle. I always knew that someone would come along and compliment me. Not just a color out of the tube, this person must me a mix of all the good, a new shade, completely original, wrapping their soul around mine in a sweet song, a delicate embrace, perfect understanding, and wavelength compatible.

I never want to be a wife. The fantasy still does not cross my mind. That word means property. I am a partner, in crime and happiness, bliss and misfortune.

I have been single for so long that I don’t know what it’s like to be dependent on another. I don’t need to lean on you.

I have been contemplating polyamory for years, since I picked up the book The Ethical Slut in a radical bookshop in Indiana years ago. I never thought it was viable because I couldn’t imagine finding even one person to love me, let alone many. But I see it. I see the beauty in never ending your options, never shutting yourself off forever. There is no be all end all. Love is fluid and ferocious. It is an organism, alive and pulsing, spewing.

Saying I love you is another thing altogether. I wonder if I have ever actually said it and felt it at the same time. I know that I have said it and I know that I also have felt it, but really there is a grey zone. I remember saying it in those early relationships, boys who wanted to wife me, I loved how they loved me. But I don’t think I loved them, not really, I was not capable of it at that point.

I have met someone. She is so kind, a daughter of the earth and stars, she makes my heart smile, she cares about animals, she cooks, she hikes, she is a musician. I can’t find a single flaw in her. It is a feeling like no other, to hold someone who looks at you with wonder, looks at you like the sun rises and sets in your eyes. My flaws fade away when she sweetly kisses them. My beautiful sunflower queen stands now on serene mountain path that she built.

I want something to go wrong. I make things go wrong when I feel like I am not worthy. It is strange how easy this is. Strange how simple it is to just be together. I always feel like something has to give. Instead I need to just let it be, enjoy the bliss like a woman’s hand on a canvas, spreading and pushing paint, blowing it with her sweet lips, spit.

She sent me flowers, big bright yellow sunflowers bursting out of a now forgotten moldy vase. Now dried and shriveled memories on my dashboard. I want to buy her a drum and plant a field of sunflowers for us to dance in. I want to twirl my dress for her.

Let’s eat vegan donuts and listen to Ani Difranco. Let’s dive into each other. Let’s drive across the country. Let’s paint on the same canvas, strapped between two trees in the forest, on a path that you built for me to wander down.

There is room for me to finally be happy. Room to explore. I harbor others negativity, I hold their pain in my heart until it is as unrecognizable as my own. I choose happiness. I want to spread legs and love, spread kindness and open doors of bliss and positivity, open arms to all humanity. Nobody is immune to loneliness. Everyone deserves this loveliness.

How does one exactly “do” lesbian sex? Fingering, fisting, eating out, scissoring? I was told it’s awesome to grind your clit on a girl’s tits. Dildos: double ended strap-on rabbit shake butt plug, give your clitoris a hug. Which is the top tonight? Switch bitch. I just want to touch and rub, rub, rub.

I have never fucked a woman with a strap on cock. I have always fucked women tenderly, not wanting to hurt them, but I know I like to be fucked differently. I need to fuck how I want to be fucked. Dive into masculine femininity, hot oozing butch, luscious layers of genderfuck brilliance.

Love is like an orgasm. Elusive. Freeing. Scary. Easy to fake, but not really. Not as common as you think. I still don’t think I have had one – an orgasm or true love. Or if I have it hasn’t been as earth shattering and mind blowing as the description on the back of the box indicates. Uncommon like the butterflies of blissful ignorance.

Back to the tingles, it always stems back to them. I can remember the moments that people have made me tingle. It lights up your whole body, makes you feel scared and alive. That means you are nervous, right? So the tingles aren’t good? Do I ever make tingles erupt in her body?

Pins and needles in my lady parts, butterflies engulf my insides, flutter softly, swarm sweetly though my whole entire body, out my fingertips when I touch you. Yearning, CRAVING, full desire, want, need, must be with, dreaming in waking life. You are behind my eyes and I can see the future. I will run through our field of sunflowers, stroking the petals and eating the seeds to make sure it isn’t a dream. Guess, I’m not as scared as I thought.

Culture

Fists of Fury

I hold my fist in the air to represent resistance, to show that together we are stronger, hands ready to fight back against oppression and hate. A raised, clenched fist, is a symbol of support and solidarity with others. It expresses power, strength, unity, and defiance.

Fists for freedom! Revolution is now, things must change with a heavy hand. The fist salute dates back to ancient Assyria. It was then and still is a symbol of resistance in the face of violence.

It was used widely in the Black Panther movement, Anarchist and Communist groups, labor unions, civil rights activists, leftists, and other subversive anti-establishment groups that challenge the status quo.

Food Not Bombs uses a purple fist with a carrot in it as their logo. Protesters against Trump’s order to ban immigrants from Muslim countries have also used the fist as a symbol of HELL NO!

Even though the fist is a popular visual signifier of defiance and solidarity, Angela Davis did not throw up her fist at the Women’s March on Washington DC as she did famously during the Black Panther movement of the 60s. She knew that women were holding signs with words that were to heavy to carry the real weight: Black Lives Matter.

Donald Trump decided to throw up his disgusting tiny little limp fist during his inauguration speech and I almost puked. This world appropriates everything, the same thing happened with the swastika.

The fist in the air is meant to be a genuine political statement and not an emogii, not something trivial. This is not a peace sign or smiley face, it is the symbol of a revolt.

American runners John Carlos and Tommy Smith (both people of color) raised their fists in an iconic stance during the medal ceremony at the 1968 Olympic games. It was a poignant salute to civil rights and a bold stance against racism in sports and beyond.

The co-opting of the raised fist as a patriotic symbol is ridiculous. It is ironic when politicians use it, since it is really about fighting white men in suits. Bernie Sanders raised his fist, Gloria Steinem raised hers, so many white people trying to be progressive and intersectional are actually just appropriating and acting like fucking saviors.

We need to stand in solidarity but understand we are different. We have not suffered like the people we raise our fist too. Our struggle must be to dismantle white supremacy and band together, organize and resist. We need to lift up those who have been discriminated against. Communicate resistance now!

The raised fist does not mean aggression or dominance. It is the power of the people united. The manifestation of physical strength.

I carry a rubber fist with me at Pride parades and protests because it is controversial. The fist gets more attention than the flowers in my hair or the glitter on my lips. A giant flopping dildo fist. It’s heavy. I feel like I was going to dislocate my pinky finger just flailing it around. It is an extension of my own proud and filthy fist of fury.

During the Pride parade I always extend the fist so people can fist bump it, which is always a crowd pleaser, especially with little kids, they have no idea. I love when people react to it, like holy shit is that a fist? Yes, it is. Her name is Ivana Punishu.

I bought the fist on Valentine’s day with a good friend of mine. It was in the clearance bin because the package had been cracked, score! We took it home and put fake tattoos all over it. Years later it is still the funniest and most shocking thing I own. I love bringing it out in public as a conversation starter.

Fisting as a sex act is an oddity of the porn world that most of us have rarely experienced in real life. Not all lesbians go elbow deep in each other as one might imagine.

There are safe ways to practice the art of fisting which involve stretching and relaxing, there are certain positions the hand must be in, and definitely a lot of lubrication. I have only done that once, and it was crazy. Not anything I would want to do again to be honest with you.

My gynecologist was definitely perplexed. So I carry the rubber fist to symbolize not only the freedom fist of solidarity but for the disenfranchised and used porn stars, the people who do what they want in bed and explore the depths of each others bodies, the ones who push their own limits and challenge what society accepts as normal, and all that is taboo.

Fisting is about love and trust, a deep bond not to be taken lightly.

Drawing hands is so hard. The intricate bends and puffy parts, the scars and wrinkles, the perfect lighting, strange contortions and artist license. In art a fist represents so much. In life you can bump fists, a popular greeting, or you can throw your fist in the air in protest. Fighters and rioters , olympians and bros, and people at rap shows all throw the fist in the air. Punching at the invisible barbed wire fence over head, reaching toward a god that does not exist. Thrusting through the cold air overhead the fist stands above proudly, regal, and beautiful.

Featured in the Washington Post: Inaguration Day

Fists of fury wild eyed wonderful. Bare knuckle bruiser, fighting, scrapping, pounding, heavy handed hard hitter, smack, and pummel into smithereens. A boxer with fists taped in puffy red gloves, protective mits to ease the blow, lessen the chance of breaking a hand or a face, cracking a skull, causing death or even worse- disgrace.

I want my fists to come in peace. Kind hands, hands reaching out with food and love, hands that caress smooth skin on warm summer sundress afternoons, they pet cats and scratch dogs behind the ear.

Callused, covered in scales, double jointed, strange hands, big hands, pleasure tentacles, appendages that really get the job done, hands that craft things, hands that make art, and love. My hands hold other hands, clenching at flowers and carrots, reaching up to the sky with honor and dignity.

Throw your fist in the air because you care. It matters.

Culture Sex

Diary of a Deceptive Whore

Sometimes things happen, life happens, a kiss on the cheek turns to lust, turns to action, then a break of trust. How can you navigate heartache and bliss within yourself and every other person that your current person has ever slept with?

I am guilty of a disregard or lack in judgement, not caring about eventual consequences while in the moment. I didn’t make anyone want me. They acted first. They wanted me and I am solely to blame? I don’t think so. It takes two to tango sister.

Sure, I could have said something and put the nail in the coffin sooner, but thats not what I wanted. I knew it was going to be the eventual outcome, so I got deeper and deeper into deceit. Keeping out the details.

I lost a friend because I slept with her ex. Plain and simple. I never planned it and certainly didn’t mean to hurt anyone. It happened, I knew that as soon as it came to a head I would lose a friend over it. I just did my best while I was in her life and I hope everything else works out. I know she feels betrayed and thinks I’m a piece of moldy trash.

In reality I thank him for coming clean. I am glad to not be living with a secret, full disclosure is important to any relationship. Losing friends is a good time for emotional spring cleaning. I cannot and will not talk to either of them ever again. There is no coming back from this.

All of the anger and hate is focused on me because she is still in love with him. She can forgive him because she wants to claim him forever. That’s fine, he loves her too, they can be a beautiful entity forever. I never wanted to be in a relationship with anyone. It was just a fleeting moment.

It is not right to put it all on my shoulders, that says that he is just an object, thoughtless, incapable of fucking up. We cannot let people off the hook for the decisions they have made. He left her before he kissed me. Of course I am not innocent, I could have said no, but I didn’t. I am not entirely to blame either.

I am a deviant slut and he is an angel. I am to blame for everything. This is everything that feminism fights against. Relationships are not property! I do not claim to manage any of my partner’s sexuality. That is rape culture. I did not force anyone to want me. I did not put a magical spell on them or throw myself at them.

Blaming “the other woman” is toxic, competitive, and oppressive. We are pitted against each other to compete for a small crew of “good men”. Women get chastised and blamed even by other women. Shame the slut and cast her away like a used condom.

How can you hold claim over someone when you had someone else? You can’t “keep” every person that you have ever been with. I know the “bro” code is a thing, but I don’t truly understand because people are not objects. You do not own the person you are dating, especially after a break up. Relationships are a daily choice, a mutual trust, not an obligation. Things change.

Every action has a reaction. I have never pursued a person who was in a relationship, but someone who is single and willing and barking up my tree doesn’t come along every day. I have been single for a very long time, never really looking, just waiting to see what comes next in the adventure.

I have come to the conclusion that this city is too small (I mean this city as any city). This world is too small and everybody is somebody’s ex. I can’t change the past. I will live in the smite zone and must deal with the fact that someone I used to love feels that I am a succubus-swine-dirty-cunt-homewrecking-whore.

Culture Sex

Fingerbanged to Nickelback: True Love is Inconvenient

Its funny to me that when I am trying to get laid it never happens. I want things to be perfect, I want candlelit romance with fine wine and the sweetest leaf.

If I clean my room, dye my hair, take a shower, gussy myself up, and go out crusin’ lone wolf style it is 100% certainty that I will come home alone, drunk, and disappointed. The nights that I am absolutely irresistible are the nights that my crotch smells like yesterday’s left out cat food, I am wearing a frumpy sweater, no makeup, no inhibitions, possibly bleeding, definitely not looking any kinda way.

Saturday I went out on a whim and never expected to even talk to someone, let alone take them back to my car like the true dirt grub I am. This boy was cute as a button. It was the same night as The World’s Largest Disco, so it wasn’t weird that he was wearing polyester bell bottoms. He looked so young and eager to please. Must have been 21, but dangerously close to it.

He told me that I was his favorite Stripteaser, that he loved how I took chances and was politically charged in my work. Ok, tell me more. He said that he had been coming to the show every week for a few months but was too scared to talk to me. ME?

At this point he had my full attention. We had an incredible conversation about art and the state of politics and the world in general. I was in awe of how much he was in awe of me. It was bizarre for this beautiful boy to be such a fan girl.

The bar closed and he was shocked when I asked him what he was doing after. His friends called him both a “savage” and a “pimp” as they watched us walk away. We were just going to my car to light one up and then started making out.

I forgot for a second that I didn’t brush my teeth that day and had just peed in an ally. It was excellent. He made me feel like a teenager. We kissed, he touched me, I touched him. He kept accidentally bumping into the horn, it was cute.

The cherry on top of this story is when he was fingering me and Nickelback came on the radio, I couldn’t help but laugh. Almost 30 years old and I am being finger banged in my car to Nickleback.

What is this life I live? I wasn’t going to have sex with him in my car, so I eventually bid him farewell. With a hickey on my neck and my heart racing I saw him disappear into the night. Of course I said “See you next Tuesday.”

I feel like an idiot for letting him go without even getting his last name or phone number. I was swept up in the moment. I wonder if I will ever see him again?

I need to be more of an “act now” kind of girl, stop second guessing everything. I let him walk off because my room was a disaster and I was embarrassed. I let him walk off because I didn’t shower that day or feel worthy of his sweetness and affection. He wanted to stay, but I pushed him away.

He did not show up at The Stripteasers show. Well that’s that. For my show I even dressed as Chad (the lead singer of Nickelback). I had done Nickelback about a year ago as a joke and still had the costume. My roommate joked “Bro, you know what this means? You have a NICKELBACK routine!”

It was incredible, I gave every person who tipped me a dollar a nickel back. The bar phone rang an hour later and it was a man calling saying that his girlfriend forgot her nickel and wanted it back.

“It was special because the performer gave it to her” I ran to my car to dig for a nickel that would be special enough to be cherished forever. When I gave it to her later she did not recognize me out of drag.

I am often paralyzed by my own self doubt, I think that someone so beautiful would never ever be interested in me. I see my flaws like roadblocks with flares shooting off of them. I often feel like the only person in the world who is alone.

I know thats just crazy, but the feeling is real. I feel old and inadequate. Like by now I should be successful. I mean, it is all how you measure success, I guess.

I don’t make much money but I am happy, I love my job, it is stress free and wonderful. I love burlesque, I love the time I spend traveling, I love so much about my life, it would just be nice to share it with someone.

The times I have fallen for people it has been hard, always one sided, just me not seeing the obvious, just me getting my head smashed, never their fault, always mine for assuming I will get what I want. I am an only child spoiled girl who also has white privilege and middle class money, so I am comfortable, I am safe.

I was born into middle-class America. I have all the makings of a cookie cutter success, I did well in school and got a college degree. I am beautiful, symmetrical, I have great teeth because my parents got me braces. I am an artist. I am a fucking catch. Single, sleeping alone with my crust skin and my lovely cats, surrounded by piles of costumes.

I get laid when I least expect it, so love will be the same. Love is inconvenient and imperfect, it has no rhyme or reason. You cannot control love. People fall in and out of our lives at random.

I never understood the people who had it all planned out: in 5 years I will be married with a child and a house with a white picket fence, there’s a mini van in the driveway and a golden retriever in the yard. These people will settle for the first available mate, the first person who is willing to also be tied to that plan.

I am insane, I could never plan my life like that, I don’t even know what I want, let alone how to find it. I will never settle, I will never be unhappy or partially happy. I will know it when I see it. I will know who I love when I meet them.

Was it the guy in my car that I sent off into the night? Was it that beautiful girl in Montreal with the pink hair and glasses? Was it the one that got away? It is most likely someone I have never met, but maybe seen in passing, maybe they know me, I am just oblivious.

Arts Film Stage

Montreal Arts Shows This Week: Bareoke, Anti-War Art PopUp and Pride

Forget The Box’s weekly Arts Calendar is back for its early November edition. The chill has definitely returned to Montreal, but that doesn’t mean it’s time to lock ourselves indoors yet! Take a look at these excellent events if you’re looking for fun and inexpensive things to check out!

As always; if you’re interested in going to one of these events and want to cover it for us, send a message or leave a comment below.

Bareoke presented by Glam Gam

No stranger to performing in local strip clubs with the burlesque troupe Glam Gam, Lipster’s organizers realized this type of venue would surely allow them to transform their karaoke show into Stripster!

Now you can find them the first Saturday of every month at the historic Café Cléopâtre, which comes equipped with a large stage, a smoke machine and crazy lighting which allows people to take their performances to the next level.

Glam Gam’s organizers have made an important step in making the space open for everyone, according to their Facebook event page : “We are thrilled to have performers of all different backgrounds, ages, body types, gender identities and sexualities. Some people will take off just a sock, others will get down to their skivvies and a lot of brave souls prance around in their birthday suits! The best part is that everyone respects and encourages each other’s boundaries with little to no policing on our part.”

Come see what all the fuss is about!

Bareoke @ Café Cléopâtre, 1230 St Laurent, Saturday, November 5, 10PM, $5

Fishbowl Collective Presents: An Anti-War Art Pop-up

The Fishbowl Collective will be occupying a studio space in Griffintown and filling it with art of all kinds against war/militarism of any kind!

At 8:30, the space will be taken over by anti-war Pierrots in an hour-long version of Theatre Workshop’s Oh What a Lovely War!

From 9:30-11 the space will act as a showcase for local artists to show their work!

Local anti-war organizations will be tabling in the space.

Oh What A Lovely War's Theatrical Poster — Oh What A Lovely War’s Theatrical Poster

Using songs and documents of the period, Oh What a Lovely War! is an epic theatrical chronicle of the horrors of WWI as presented by a seaside pierrot troupe. It was collectively created by Theatre Workshop in 1963 under Joan Littlewood, and over 50 years later remains unique in its innovative satiric way of looking at the difficult subject of war and its futility. Its dismissal of sentimentality and its distinct anti-war-agit-prop flavour highlights the oppression of the working stiff turned common soldier and points to the absurdity involved in war.

141 Rue Ste Ann, Pay What You Can (All Proceeds go to Actions Réfugiés Montréal)

Pride Screening presented by Socialist Fightback!

Socialist Fightback is screening Pride (2014) at McGill University’s Shatner Building in Room 202 this Wednesday. Entrance is FREE, and a spirited discussion is sure to follow. Curious about what “Solidarity” means to the LGBT community? Check this movie out.

Pride offers an excellent example of solidarity along class lines. Between 1981-1984, the British government under Margaret Thatcher had closed around 20 mining pits and coal mining employment continued to fall. The miners’ strike of 1984-85 was a major industrial action to shut down the British coal industry in an attempt to prevent colliery closures.

Also victims of Thatcher’s bigotry and conservative policies, gays and lesbians came together to collect funds and sustain the miner’s strike. Although reluctant at first, the miners accepted the support from the LGSM.

Pride is a great demonstration of how class unity is the best and most effective way of fighting against all types of oppression.

Pride is screening in the Shatner Building Room 202 @ McGill University, November 9, 7pm, FREE

Is there an event that should be featured in Shows This Week? Maybe something FTB should cover, too? Let us know at arts@forgetthebox.net. We can’t be everywhere and can’t write about everything, but we do our best!

Culture Sex

Cartwheel 69: Found Porn and Consequence

“My bitch found a porn that I made with some other bitch back in the day. It was crazy, we were doing some award winning cartwheel 69 shit. She watched the whole damn thing and it ruined our relationship,” very loudly says one douche bro to another passing by in a dark parking lot where my friend and I were covertly smoking weed.

“Maybe you should have tried some cartwheel 69 shit with her!” I said to him, startling them a little. What even is cartwheel69? A great AIM screen name, I think.

Urban dictionary states that standing cartwheel 69 is “A sexual move often performed by gymnasts or dancers. It involves both partners in the Standing 69 position usually with the lighter partner backwards. The standing partner proceeds with cartwheels until he or she hits a wall. This often results with both partners simultaneously tightening their jaws on the recieving partners genitals, which ultimately leads to severed genitals and/or severe cuts.” Say what?

What kind of misogynist asshole announces this story to his bro and the world like that? When he called her “his bitch” he pissed me off immediately. No woman should ever be described in such a demeaning way, and then the rest of the tale blew my mind. With his charming and respectful view of women I am sure the nails were already in the coffin of that relationship.

I do think that finding someone’s old homemade porn is not something that you should hold against someone. I am not defending this asshole by any means. He created this movie before the new girl was in the picture and while yes, he sucks for so many reasons, this is a grey area. She should not have been snooping through his computer, but genius boy obviously left it somewhere on his desktop labeled something reallllly discreet, waiting to be unearthed by an unsuspecting new lady.

I would have been turned on to see my beau going at it with a past lover. I would have picked on him hard. It seems like a case of jealousy, he wasn’t satisfying this poor girl and then she sees a video of him satisfying some other woman and she freaks out and leaves him.

This is why I have never made any scenes with former lovers. I have had multiple ask but never felt confident in knowing that the relationship would last forever and he would be the only person to ever see it. People don’t delete that kind of stuff.

This was obviously a rare shining moment in this guy’s sexual career. If I am making a porn I am getting paid for it. You know damn well that the guy will save it as a trophy forever and jerk off to it.

There is a whole genre of porn called revenge porn, men post old sex videos of themselves with ex girlfriends. These unsuspecting girls are then slut shamed on the internet, they signed no waiver, they receive no payment, some of these girls may never even see this video. Then boom, that hot cartwheel69 shit they did once after a college frat party is all over the internet.

It is truly fucked up that anyone would betray someone’s privacy like that. Create all sex tapes like they are going on the internet for mass consumption.

If you are not ashamed or feel like becoming a pornstar be my guest. Everything is different when it is with CONSENTING adults. Nothing else is remotely acceptable.

Finding someone else’s porn is interesting. It is a deep, dark fantasy revealed.

I was recently at an estate sale and in the attic came across an entire box of amazing vintage leather fetish gay porn and a leather/chain harness. I of course wanted the whole lot. When I brought it down everyone seemed so shocked that this box of gold even existed.

Being an estate sale it was the house of a man who had recently passed away, he was married and seemingly straight. His family had no idea about his kink and sexuality. I saw the look of disgust and terror in his son’s eyes as the lady from the sale gave me a price.

Did I out this man postmortem? He kept a secret his whole life and I just yanked it out of the attic.

It is so sad that he lived in a time where he didn’t feel safe showing his true self. He subscribed to marriage and the appropriate social standards. I wish I could make a time machine and pull this man out of his marriage and drop him off at the Folsom fair, let him wear his leather cock holster with chains and an O ring on the chest, walk around with others just like him. There is no deviance here, sexual freedom is beautiful.

I remember the first time I ever found porn as a child. It was a Hustler and there was penetration. It changed my life. Then there was my best friend’s dad’s shitty VHS 80’s bush porn. It was our first taste of the sex that would start being thrown at us via advertising and culture in high doses. You can’t get innocence back. Once you see it you cannot unsee it.

Porn is private, what people do and enjoy is their business. Never ever be ashamed of your porn collection (unless it is with non-consenting adult or a defenseless child, then you are a fucking monster who deserves to be shot).

Celebrate your fetish, love what and who you love proudly. If you make a porn with someone under the terms that it is just a sexy record for the two of you never dare show it to another person.

It is a violation, it is betrayal, just don’t do it! Keep your award winning cartwheel69 action to yourself, the satisfaction of knowing it exists should be enough. Bragging means you are overcompensating and there is nothing impressive or sexy about that.

* Featured Image by IsabelleTheDreamer via Flickr Creative Commons

Culture Humour

How to Talk to A Woman Wearing Cursed Headphones

These days, many women walk around playing with their phones or other devices like they’re people with lives and interests and hobbies and friends. Often they’re wearing headphones, presumably listening to Lilith Fair playlists on Spotify or podcasts about diva cups.

This means they’re not interested in being talked to by men they don’t know, and you should leave them alone.

Or does it?

Some of these women might be in serious relationships or be lesbians or maybe they’re just not looking for anything right now. Some of them could be giant bees disguised as humans and to anger them might put you in danger of being swarmed by the entire hive. In any of these cases, particularly the latter, it’s probably best to just give them a wide berth and go on your merry way.

But a lot of women wearing headphones on the bus or at the mall or while out for a jog are just waiting for you to stop them and talk to them. Why? Because the headphones they’re wearing are actually cursed relics, and they’re completely bound and under a power other than their own. They’d welcome a confident, easy-going man coming along and motioning for them to remove their headphones so that he may talk to them. And banish the malevolent spirit inhabiting those headphones back to the nightmarish hellscape from whence it came.

What To Do To Get Her Attention

Stand in front of her (with 1 to 1.5 metres between you). Any less than this and you risk the demon presence’s aural tendrils latching to your eyes and the tip of your penis and draining the life force from within you, leaving you a dried-out husk and it more powerful than ever before.
Hold whichever blessed vestige you intend to use to quell her curse in a confident, easy-going manner.
If she hasn’t already raised her unnatural gaze toward you, simply flourish the Sword of Magisterial Truth before the dead galaxies which were once her eyes, until they meet yours. Begin to chant your litany. She most likely won’t be able to hear you, but it’s just a way of showing her that you’re trying to wrestle her everlasting soul from the malediction which has plagued her lo these many years.
Once you do have her attention, by proxy of the unholy horror whose grip she is ensorcelled by, continue your sacred invocation with renewed fervor. The profane demigod who is controlling her will undoubtedly assault you with a barrage of visions of your family being tortured and dismembered in ways so unimaginable and horrific that your overwhelming instinct will be to fall prostrate in supplication and surrender for eternity to the void. But do not let your confident, easy-going manner waver, this is just how many women play hard to get and test a man’s persistence.
Once the terrible spirit begins to physically manifest itself, the battle is almost won. It is now time to use against it the sacrosanct items you have brought to dispel it from our dimension forever. Be mindful that some malicious deities’ corporeal forms must be pierced by a divine implement, while others can only be defeated by having their own magic turned back against them. If the latter is the case, make sure you have with you an enchanted mirror or crystal. Also, don’t forget to keep things flirty.

For example, in a shopping mall or behind a corrupted church where dark rites are frequently performed:

You: [Smile confident and easy-goingly] HEAR ME, GROTESQUE HELLSPAWN! I HAVE COME TO SMITE YOUR COUNTENENCE FROM THIS HALLOWED PLANE! BY WHAT RUBRIC DO YOU COMMAND YOUR CATASTROPHE?

Woman: Jessica.

You: [Add in some playful banter to get a spark going between you] COOL TO MEET YOU, JESSICA. I DON’T NORMALLY EXORCISE GIRLS WITH HEADPHONES, BUT YOURS ARE FIERY PILLARS THREATENING TO CAUSE THE FIRMAMENT TO CRASH DOWN UPON US ALL AND BEGET OUR RUIN.

Woman: [Possibly sputtering an incomprehensible guttural language, spewing thick noxious fumes] Hi.

If it’s clear that she’s interested in battling with you for the very future of humankind, sit and chat with her for a bit before getting her phone number and rending the fabric of existence to exile her malignant spectral puppeteer.

Common Mistakes That Guys Make When Approaching Women Wearing Cursed Headphones

Not knowing what kind of curse they’re up against

One of the biggest mistakes guys make when approaching a woman wearing cursed headphones is not having done his research. Knowing the difference between an ancient Sumerian curse and an ancient Phoenician one can mean the difference between saving your town or having all the liquid in your body burst through your flesh in every direction at once. This isn’t amateur hour, so if you don’t want every child born on earth for the next two hundred years to be stunted goat-goblins, read your grimoires, guys. It’s all in there.

Not being confident and easy-going

You should have a confident, easy-going manner.

Taking “No” for an answer

Whether it’s winning a vicious confrontation with an all-consuming eidolon or winning the heart of a beautiful young woman, the key is always persistence. If she won’t take those headphones off, keep trying. Women are attracted to unwavering, borderline-threatening determination in men, and demons fear it. So don’t allow “no” to even be part of your vocabulary. Unless, of course, you’re uttering the phrase “erok aanul no fadeem kruul” as part of your cantrip to excommunicate a powerful apparition back to N’eleth Tul, in which case obviously the ritual won’t work without it.

With all these tips, you should be well on your way to seeking out and talking to women wearing cursed headphones and breaking the curses forced upon them. Of course, not every woman wearing headphones is wearing cursed headphones, but the only way to find out for sure is to get out there, be confident and easy-going, talk to them, and see what happens when you throw the mystical astral powder into their eyes that you obtained from that high-ranking necromancer!

Photo by cinnamon_girl via Flickr

Ed’s Note: In case you don’t know and think Johnny Scott has lost it, this article is a parody of a really terrible post on another site. We don’t want to give them direct traffic, but Google “How to Talk to a Woman Who is Wearing Headphones” and you’ll find it. Also, yes, Johnny Scott did in fact lose it a few years ago, but apparently has found it again. When we find out exactly what “it” is, we’ll let you know.

Culture Sex

Peeping, Creeping, and Soaking: Yeah I’m “That” Guy (NSFW)

I often feel like the creepy guy in the corner jerking off.

How did I get here? (This is not my beautiful wife, this is not my beautiful house…) Do they notice I am here? I feel different, and that sometimes socially isolates me. I oogle at the other burlesque dancers. Beauties, pure delight, smooth skin, perfect shapes and proportion. The best asses in town topped with the sweetest personalities around. They are all anybody’s definition of physical perfection. I’d eat from their shoes.

I constantly feel the need to yell “I AM NOT WORTHY!” like Wayne and Garth at the feet of rockstars. In awe of my surroundings. My life is truly blessed.

Look deeper, listen to them talk and laugh, spill about their own insecurities and bullshit. These people that I idolize, hold with such a high standard, are at the end of the day just normal people who poop and bleed, putting their tassels on one at a time like everyone else.

We are all humans: “beautiful” and “ugly” are relative, we all see a different monster when we look in the mirror. Everyone is so preoccupied with their own flaws that they cease to even notice yours. That is why caring about what others think of you is really stupid, we need to take care of ourselves and not give in.

Wish I was faster and less depressed by others’ happiness. I am a lump covered in strange skin lesions, I am fat, I am smelly, I have hairy armpits, and an inch of roots on my bleached out hair. I am nothing like these visions of glory, I am a slob, a festering pile of yuck.

I AM BEAUTIFUL!

Know that because we are not perfect we inspire others who are not perfect to love themselves too. It is a responsibility to show the world that no matter what you look like you have the right to be accepted and celebrated.

You too can lead a glorious existence! I remember once saying “I am a troll” out loud, and I was literally dressing up like a goon. Dumb. Why do I even care about what society likes? Life is a freakshow attraction. People like me regardless of how well I play by the rules, the art outside the lines is impactful.

Fun fact, did you know there is a thing called soaking? It is when you insert the penis into the vagina and just let it chill. It hangs out until it cums, no thrusting necessary.

That sounds pointless. Literally just getting your dick wet doesn’t sound remotely enjoyable. Its like what happens when a gay man and a lesbian try to make a baby, are we there yet? I told you we should have used a turkey baster.

I always thought it would be funny to have like 10 butch lesbians with turkey basters full of jizz squirting them all on one guy, lesbukkake anyone? Let’s turn those tables. Break down hetero-normativity in every single way. I am a squirter, so it definitely feels powerful to get to jizz on someone, I get it.

I am going to be thirty this year, dirty thirty, that means my egg timer is almost up and I should be looking for a good god fearing white man of similar or hopefully higher socioeconomic status to make mutant republican babies with and move to the suburbs where my dreams can rot in a three bedroom ranch.

I want to spend my dirty thirty with thirty of my most down ass friends covered in shit. Literal feces. It will be the dirtiest party of them all. I am already borderline incontinent, last night I drunkenly peed on my feet while trying to relieve myself in an ally.

I held a frozen burrito under my arm, being denied bathroom access at the store I took it upon myself to wash their sidewalk with a flood of golden glory. Never going to top drunkenly peeing on church steps and not getting laid because I totally didn’t wipe though. That takes the cake. Chocolate cake brown like the shit stains in my Zubaz.

I am a creep, watching women undress in front of me, feeling like I shouldn’t be allowed there. That’s how I feel when people show me affection, I can’t believe this vision of loveliness wants ME?! You sure you got the right guy?

I watch from a distance while other people get off. I have sat in my car and watched people fuck with an open window. I once sat on a roof overlooking an office building and watched a guy jerk off at 2am. Photos of his family were hung on the walls. I still wonder what kind of kinky shit he was watching. I’m sure it was the gayest scat fisting gang bang porn imaginable.

Peeping Toms and shower windows make a great pair. I was recently sitting on my friend’s porch, drinking beers, smoking some jazz cigarettes, shooting the shit, sun setting, ya know stoop life at its finest. And all of a sudden I look up and notice a frosted window on the second floor of the house next to us with a light on.

Suddenly one shadow appears, then a second. It is easy to decipher that this is a shower, they each wash off, and easier to notice that the couple started to have sex. You could see the outline of her breasts and ass, I could not see his boner shadow though, bummer. Sexy silhouette sex right in front of my peeping eyes, we were all wide eyed.

The slap heard around the world made me think they knew we were watching, if we can hear them they can also hear us. It was a short fuck, it seemed fake, like in Austin Powers when he was making shadow scenes look dirty. I kept feeling like I was going to get Punk’d.

I like this channel.

Culture Sex

Audience Approved: Sex in Every Room and The Naked Bike Ride

Having sex so hard it breaks furniture is an awesome life goal to have, extreme bump and grind. I was once sleeping with a guy in a fancy hotel and we did our puzzle so hard the headboard came off the wall. It was incredible.

I have broken my fair share of bed frames with rambunctious coitus. This time it was the box spring, right in the middle, his thrusting or my riding? Which one of us should sleep in the hole? Neither one of us cares at that point.

The best part of owning your own home or even just living by yourself (or partner) is having sex in every single room of the house. Up against the dining room table, leaning over the bathroom sink, on the couch, on the recliner, against the kitchen counter, on the washing machine during spin cycle, in the hallway, and then the forever classic bedroom sexcapades.

I once had a California king sized bed in my living room. It was the cuddle puddle. We had our TV in the fireplace, it was lovely. There were plush unicorns, artistic stuffed tentacles, and all the pillows imaginable. The perfect place to have sex except for the fact it was in the middle of the most trafficked area of the house. I know that at least one of my roommates had sex in the bed.

I have an affinity for vintage couches. There is one in particular that probably needs to just get burned. Trying to have sex on it would be painful, protruding springs and no padding making it virtually impossible to climax. The intense squeaks and moans of old furniture is the worst. Nothing discreet about it.

Who doesn’t like the idea of being watched? Voyuerism is participation, baby. The only time it ever happened was in the same hotel room where we ripped down the headboard. My friend and my dude’s friend were in the next bed over. It was lovely to watch them while doing it myself. We weren’t touching but we were definitely connected.

There is a thrill when you think you are going to get caught. When someone might walk in the room and see you getting it on. I am a burlesque dancer, I give the illusion of sex and sultriness.Brings me back to high school and getting caught by my boyfriend’s mom, awkward sauce.

I once had a roommate who lived in the living room with cubicle walls as her walls. There was no privacy, it drove her crazy. I am the kind of person that will poop with the door open. I have been referred to as a “mud woman” by my other roommate.

I am always naked. I love it. I am proud of my body and understand its imperfections. I love to show it proud as much as I can.

The World Naked Bike Ride is going to be happening again in Buffalo this coming Saturday. I am excited to participate again. It was truly magical. Although it will be bittersweet because my trike is out of commission. The back axel snapped. It was ok though because I didn’t get hurt, and like three beautiful lesbians ran out of a tattoo shop to make sure I was ok.

My dad helped me order a new trike, its collapsible and awesome, but now that looks like an eBay scam. Boo. Thankfully my friend is letting me borrow her old trike for Saturday. I know it’s mostly mental but I am legit scared to ride a regular two wheel bicycle.

The Naked Bike Ride’s motto is Nude Not Lewd! Less Gas More Ass! It is about cycling being good for the environment, lessening the stamp we put on the environment with transportation and the burning of fossil fuels. The naked bike ride is also about bringing awareness of cyclists in general and sharing the road safely.

You can see me now when I’m naked, tits to the wind, but you don’t see me when I am fully clothed with reflective safety gear on. Cars are oblivious to bikes, it’s dangerous even in the bike lane.

Last year I was slow riding and ended up falling to the back of the pack, the police escort was the only thing behind me. I felt like a nude fugitive.

Being naked outside during the day is sensational. There were more naked guys than girls, a lot of meat and potatoes in the wind. Very few naked ladies. I get it. I feel like a troll doll most of the time. I am a day rise vampire. Bathing in sun rays only to turn to dust. As I sit here the construction workers outside have already starting drilling so what does it matter anyways.

I should be making pasties, which I will be giving to girls at the ride to encourage nudity. It’s amazing what a little nipple disc can do for someones confidence, add tassels and they are unstoppable for life.

The moral of this blog is that life is too short not to have sex in every room of the house. It’s kind of hot if people watch, and riding your bike naked in the sun with a thousand other people is the best feeling in the world.

Be empowered, enjoy life to the fullest, never be afraid. If they are gonna watch, give um a show!

P.S. I am looking for questions for future Ask Cat Blogs! Ask Away…

Advice Culture Sex

Constant Sunshine Shivers and the Spot Where Marilyn Stood

Its interesting to me that I haven’t been writing about sex lately. My sexual writers block is caused by me actually having a sex life of late.

It is easy to write about anonymous faces or generalized sexual partners, but when you are getting it on the regular there is less to talk about because you are practicing it. I’m less concerned with chasing tail once its in my bed warm and waiting.

I came home to someone sleeping in the broken spot in my bed, I took off all of my clothes and climbed in. Right where I belonged in that moment. Sticky sweaty skin, soft flesh melting into more tender loveliness. I can go into detail about the sun coming through the window and the exact sounds and smells, the wonderful warmth.

Some things cannot be defined by words alone. A smile upon waking, my legs fit inside yours. Its nice to know that I wasn’t the only one wondering, what if? I run my finger down the nape of your neck and see you shiver with antici……pation.

I am more of an expert at longing for some touch, rather than actually having someone. I don’t believe in ever really “having” anyone, people aren’t propery. It is easy to preach about self confidence and feeling good about life regardless of your relationship status, but living it is a different story.

I always say that true love should be effortless, pure joy, constant stream of brilliant moments and moments where you must lift each other to brilliance. I was once told that I would never find love if I didn’t lose weight, but then I learned to love myself. There is more to love when you love each inch.

Do opposites really attract? I feel as though you must have some things in common to spark that initial fire, but you can’t be the same person. I always look for someone as out there and artistically over achieving as I am. There cannot be light without dark, you cannot know true bliss without knowing the bitter taste of defeat and sadness. The placement of the darkest shadow and most brilliant highlights is the main element of successful art.

I was in California and I couldn’t imagine having weather that pleasant all year round. Eternal summer. I need that six months of winter to hibernate and make art. If I were able to frolic about and play in the sunshine all year I would never get shit done.

I am so easily distracted by the summertime feel fine way of life. I want to lay in the sun in a field of flowers and stretch out as far as I can with the life affirming warmth beating down on me. It’s like love, to appreciate the good times you need to survive the rest of times. You need to have a job to appreciate days off.

I had never traveled that far from home, I roamed away from Buffalo. I felt a little like Hunter S Thompson heading to Las Vegas to pick up a flight to San Diego. Instead I should rent the biggest reddest oldest convertible there is and drive it across the desert. No looking back, no surrender.

Humans are meant to wander, to move around, experience things. If we stay in place we become stupid and stagnant, fenced in by our own insecurities and fears. It’s a horrible life to not want more, to not wonder what else is out there, to see how other people live, to notice the differences and relish in the familiar moments.

Las Vegas is a place I never wanted to meet, slot machines at every turn, I thoroughly dislike gambling. There is something so creepy about the subliminal hum of casinos. The elderly and addicted sitting like drones pushing buttons and pulling levers. Its downright freaky to me. If I’m going to waste my money its going to be on something that makes me happy. Physical things should never be the cause of happiness. Money will never be the cause of happiness.

I visited Coronado Island in San Diego. It was where Some Like It Hot was filmed. Gold flecked beaches shimmered brilliantly. I stood in the same place that Marilyn Monroe stood.

It was magical, but it also made me think that she was just a woman, doing her thing in the height of her life and popularity. She had no idea that her image would make such an impact on the world. Her beauty radiates throughout generations who were not even alive yet. Icon status.

People often compare me to her, I think merely because of the blondness and buxom nature of our curves. The curse of curves, the curves that possibly got her murdered by the Kennedys. Someone told me today that I smile like Marilyn, big and cheesy, a lot hiding in that smile.
I was dumped once for being unnaturally happy, never arguing or fighting the entire relationship. He couldn’t stand it. I thought of myself as more of a ray of sunshine to his clouds.

It is easier to be openly flirty once you have already been inside someone. Asking for more is different than asking for the first time. Uncertainty is terrifying. It is also what life is all about, taking chances. The idea of being shot down by a love interest is as scary as the idea of being shot down in the streets by a robber.

Successful relationships come down to who did the dishes and took the garbage out, superficial bullshit that is actually a big symbol of respect. Little things count.

Life is more than just beautiful moments and physical attraction. You must work hard and struggle before success is handed to you. Take the good with the bad and fall in love with the journey.

Marilyn Monroe is a timeless beauty, she will never age in our minds because she was taken before her time, dead before she got too old to wrinkle. Love your wrinkles and curves, live in the moment, travel as much as possible, compliment others, and love hard. You never know when your sun will set. Life is only right now, bask in its glory.

Advice Ask Cat Culture Sex

ASK CAT: Threeways and the Right Side of the Dildo

To kick off ASK CAT, a new monthly advice column on FTB, Cat McCarthy dared her Facebook friends to ask her anything about Sex, Dating, Politics, Art, Feminism, Activism, LGBTQ issues, Drugs, Culture, etc. We published the first three responses and now the rest.

Now, it’s your turn. ASK CAT anything: Cat@ForgetTheBox.net

Dear Cat, What should I do if I wake up in between two dudes with cake smeared all over my chest, I’m wearing a 1980s blond wig, I’m thirsty, my feet are bound together, my nose is running and one of them looks like the messiah….while some famous director is filming me in his bloody underwear. Should I wait for an invite to the threesome?

– Melissa Campbell

Hi Melscamp! As you know from personal experience I am not the person to ask about joining into a threesome. While I have had several successful and life changing threeways in my life they don’t always end well for me. It will not work if you feel self conscious, if you feel like they are more interested in each other and not you, or if the girl doesn’t like you but the guy does and you would both rather just be with him. Threesomes must be mutual, all on the same playing field.

Did you smear the cake before you fell asleep? Is it tasty? Were you drunk or on drugs? Is this consensual? Are the guys hot? Is that REAL blood? Why is Dirty Jesus called that? Do you want this? Are you in the non-consent yurt? Is there a lambskin condom?

I know you are into some kinky shit, so in my opinion, YES, get into that threesome. Don’t be like me and wait for the invite, nobody is ever going to invite you, if you are already into it that far with them they want you there! Any self made flaws are not noticed in groupsex.

I once hooked with two friends, they answered the door wearing matching boxer briefs. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I was a goddess to them. Make sure you are being treated with respect and have a safe word. You are a goddess and I blame you for everything

Dear Cat, Which side of a double sided dildo is preferable?

– Velvet

Hi Al! Well my dad always says “if you go to the right, you can’t go wrong,” so the answer is you must spin the dildo
around counterclockwise in the center of a lesbian boob circle and whichever way it lands pick the side to your right, add lube, and enjoy with a special friend on the left end.

Or I would also say inspect the dildo and pick the side with less cat hair stuck to it. Silicone dildos are big time attractors of cat hair (which is prevalent in most lesbian relationships, the most common owners of double ended dildos).

Got a question for Cat? Ask it: Cat@ForgetTheBox.net

Culture Dating Sex

That Awkward Moment When You Realize that You Might Actually Be Terrible at Sex

I was once told that I did not give adequate blow jobs. This infuriated me, just the fact that I am putting your dirty little pee hole in my mouth at all should be enough right? He then proceeded to show me some porn videos that he liked as tips. I remember studying the technique, how they ran their fingers down the shaft, keeping pressure on the base, not just focusing on one part but all of it. All of these movies have the same ending, a girl covered in mangasm. Gross.

My blow job skills are subjective, another dude I hooked up with told me I was the best he ever had (but maybe he tells that to everyone) and he still fantasizes about me. The best art is getting it over my pretty-little-innocent-porcelin- face. Right? Thats like the goal isn’t it? Gross!

People get really turned on by my phone sex operator voice and lush red laquored mouth. Im not always total freak in bed, she exists only lost in a fleeting moment or lost in love. Let go and be crazy. I don’t know if I have ever really had an orgasm or been in love. Or if I had then it didn’t change my life like a fairytale.

The way people write about and describe orgasms and love I would think that you would know if you had it. I just don’t. I have such high expectations for things that sometimes its impossible for all of them to come true.

It’s the same with my shows and art, but with those things it is almost easier because it is so on a stage and public. I can have flaws and they are celebrated. People enjoy the fact that I am funny and imperfect, they can relate to me. Fake it till you make it.

I can never complain about lack of sex l, I know I can get it whenever I want, its just a matter of wanting. I yearn for substance, not talking money or stuff, but compatibility in ways that nobody else understands.

My problem with relationships is that I always move too fast, and I am not immediately good at things. I need to practice being with this person, learn what they like, what makes them purr. That can’t happen in one night.

It is possible to have instant attraction, electric turn on lust rush. That’s what songs are written about, but every time that has happened to me it was fueled by an alcohol/ drug/ vacation induced confidence.

I was the most charming woman ever. They didn’t see my flaws yet, they saw what I wanted to show them, they never knew about my dandruff or wonky toenails. I know what to cover up and what to expose to make me seem perfect and sexy.

Am I a starfish? Do I just sit there and let them take me? I don’t think so… I enjoy switching it up. I wonder when people decide not to become repeat offenders? Now unfuckable?

I wish the end of every relationship or even one night stand could have a proper autopsy. I would like to learn about what went so wrong and know how to get better. Having bad sex is the absolute worst, you should never be sitting there waiting for it to end, that means you are doing it wrong.

I need to feel invited to join in. I was recently in a situation where three people started having sex in the same bed as me. For some reason I did not really participate, I didn’t leave either. I just watched, front row seat. Studied the way they touched each other, listened to the noises, basically being a real creep.

For some reason I just didn’t feel compelled to join in, they were all incredibly attractive humans doing hot stuff to each other, it was like live action porn, what is wrong with me? I am thrust into opportunities that I need to grab on to. I needed to just lick some nipples, kiss some lips, and caress.

I think about the moments that I let pass by. Moments where I wanted someone but didn’t tell them. Fear kept me planted. It rooted me as a bystander in my own reality. I wonder if it’s a defense mechanism. I suck at making the move and therefore should not go after people who are just like me.

It doesn’t make sense to me when I find someone who is perfect, really gets me and makes me laugh. This person keeps on living, going on just fine without me there, eating, pooping, and creating art with someone else.

Everyone I have thought I loved thus far has been or become unrequited. What does she have that I don’t? Is her pussy tighter, skin softer, sounds sexier? Do you tie her up? Does she peg? Do her nipples squirt whiskey? I don’t get it.

I am the most amazing woman that nobody wants. I wish I could be more open about getting what I desire in this world. The problem is that I need to explore myself to find out what I like and don’t like. Being lousy at sex is due to poor communication and lack of confidence.

Just because I didn’t end up being what all my ex lovers want doesn’t mean I am at all undesirable to someone I haven’t even met yet. Sex is more than just mating or getting off, its emotional, all encompassing. I have been with people who were ravenous for my body. Throw me up against the wall or down on the bed, then to the curb.

I don’t ever want to be owned. Life is beautiful. I am sick of wasting time wanting the unattainable. I want to be able to love someone and be confident in that but still have freedom to access the world’s fruit. Who cares if I suck at sex? Practice makes perfect right.

Culture Sex

Getting My Friends Laid: Diary of a Wingwoman

I have the gift of bringing people or situations together. I’m an artist, I have a keen eye for seeing other people check each other out and even more so when it is one of my friends.

The most important part of being a great wingwoman is to know when to walk away. There is a fine line between a clingy friend and helping a bro out.

You can’t be in competition with your friends, the game is to motivate them. You have to boost your friend’s confidence and keep her looking good, no TP stuck to the shoe here.

Be the conversation starter if your friend is nervous, pump them up. Be a good cock block for your bro too, make sure nobody else tries to get in on your bud’s prospect.

It’s a beautiful sight to give your friend some words of advice, give them a hearty “Go get um tiger!” slap on the ass and watch the magic ensue. It’s important to adapt and blend into the wallpaper when necessary. You have to get them set up and make sure that your friend is consenting and wants this person.

Some techniques I use to seamlessly ghost out of a situation are going to the bathroom and never coming back, running to the car to smoke a bowl and never coming back, or just ghosting out with no explanation at all.

Leave your friend a “stranded” damsel in a dress. Oh no! my ride ditched me, guess I have to get a ride home from you while batting their eyelashes seductively.

My best wing woman moment was when I was visiting Florida. My friend lived there. She met this girl online and their first date was to drive upstate to get me and then we were going to go party in Miami.

We had an incredible night at a burlesque lesbian sushi bar that ended with us running out of gas on a six lane highway in the wee hours of morning. While we were waiting for a tow I was in the front seat. I told them to both go in back, I could feel the hot and heaviness coming on. So I pretended to fall asleep. They checked me several times to make sure I was legit sleeping to be respectful, and then got hot and heavy in the back. My eyes were glued shut so it was the best porno ever, my imagination is better than anything.

They are now engaged. Months later when she popped the question, all I could think is “you’re welcome!” Because of my awesome faux slumber skills they were able to lay the bricks to the foundation of their life together, aka get it on in the back of their SUV.

I have used my fake sleep technique to get myself out of a lot of potentially awkward situations. I’ve noticed that I was a third wheel and had no escape plan because I was drunk, so I just passed out on a couch and let magic happen.

When I cruise for poon I do it alone. I love going into bars, parties, and social situations by myself. I can get anyone I want when I am by myself. I am either a lone wolf or a mama bear.

I will always boost up my friends before myself. I will always hand over the hottie and bounce. But when I’m flying solo watch out!

I play wing for a few times to help you build confidence. After that my biggest advice is to roll solo, that is when you are truly free. You can get sweaty and nasty in a skank pit, stay as late as you want, go where your heart leads, there is nothing or nobody holding you back.

Yes, sometimes it is nice to walk into a bar with someone, but then you just talk to that person and never get to meet new people, if you are alone you are forced out of your comfort zone. You are instantly more appealing and approachable. That is why the best wingman always leaves. You start out as a team and get promoted to lone wolf when you are ready.

I am single, but I am not depressed. I’m currently cleaning my room so I can have future sex in it someday. Others are taking home Cuban male strippers and getting head from strangers in the street and I am making art and writing poems about boys and girls who love me not.

I don’t feel pressured to jump when anyone tells me too, I answer to no one. I’m cool with being a wingman and not a point man. Life is good. My whole life I have been “The Fat Friend” and that is what has turned me into the incredible wingwoman I am today. I love my body.

I understand that many people judge others based solely on their appearance. I know I am sexy, I know I am desirable, I do not need anyone to affirm that for me.

I finally realized that the path to self discovery is in my own head. Of course I want to get fucked more often and find some good ol’ fashioned companionship, but it’s not easy.

My style is to find someone, then silently fall in love and obsess over just that one person until it is too unbearable. Then of course, I run away because I’m a creep. I wish I could be the type of girl who just meets someone at a bar and goes for it right without hesitation.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve taken plenty of humans home, but not lately. When it comes to love and sex I yearn for something greater, someone who really gets my weird.

Maybe I’m getting older or maybe I just need to find my own unselfish, ride or die wing woman to up my game.

* Featured art by Amy Lynn Duengfelder

Forget The Box

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ASK CAT: Threeways and the Right Side of the Dildo

That Awkward Moment When You Realize that You Might Actually Be Terrible at Sex

Getting My Friends Laid: Diary of a Wingwoman

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