Wednesday, September 30

The joys of sex toys

Insert cool intro here because young, stupid interns can't get their shit together, don't know fuck-all about fuck all and should all be shot in the face...

In the wise words of Neil Sedaka, breaking up is hard to do. There are hearts to tend to, bruised egos to soothe and livers to abuse with copious amounts of pity party drinking. There are photos to burn and revenges to plot (incidentally, did you know that in Hong Kong a wife may legally murder her cheating husband as long as she does it by her own hand? Just a by-the-by…), but the most awkward and unsettling matter is that of returning personal items. Especially if it’s your sex toy goodie box you have to consider. Read on...

not such a happy camper my poppits. not such a happy camper at all. but enough of the moan. onward and forward with this week's column.

here are some links that go into some of the sweet toys i mention and some i don't:

clone-a-willy. nuff said.
the tenga flip hole. penis envy courtesy of japan
the fleshlight. yuck in a can.
the delight. my preciousssss

over and out plums. i'll blog more once this spate of deadlines is over. keep cookin' with gas.

Tuesday, September 22

postsecret pic of the week

Labushka's trying to get me into True Blood - some programme where vampires run around and fuck a lot.

Now it takes a LOT for me to start on a series. the reason i try to stay away from them is because i generally become ADDICTED.

bauer. jack bauer. in for another Worst Day of His Life.

the last time i watched a series was a millennium ago when 24 first came out on DVD. we sat watching episode after episode, up to our eyeballs in caffienne and pumped with adrenalin.

kind of looked like this. but with my face. and no blood.

i think i only recovered from that like the other day or something.

ANYWAY.

so now my FRIEND, wants to peddle me her drug of choice so that i can spend another month of my life holed up at home, spurning the sun and fun and the people that love me so that i can get my fix off my 10 cm x 10 cm tv screen.

i'd be totally up for it.

except that i've just been introduced to battlestar galactica! a programme where humans run around and fuck a lot. but in SPACE.

totally trumps the vamps on EARTH. yawn. (sorry Bushka, you know i want to try your gear also...)


WHOHOOO! The new boy introduced it to me this weekend. and i'm smitten... it gave me everything i could want in a good series - wonder and awe, cries and freak out... so like this:

+
+
all on my eeny-weeny television.

though i'm considering just watching an episode at the new boy's house every time i go over. not that i'd be using him for his big screen or anything. not like that freak postcard about True Blood at all.

using people for their tv and drugs series, that's just ludicrous. pfft.

Thursday, September 17

spanks, simpletons and sluts

Labushka sent this to me. sick sick sick. she's my kinda girl.

Speaking of spanks, The Dom Father is in Cape Town and has requested an audience tonight.
just for coffee. the first actual meeting.

i'm a little more hesitant about the whole thing. especially since i've been getting good lovin' all round and not in the mood to explore and be hardcore...

nevertheless, you regret the things you don't do, not the things you do do as my mother always says...

if you go down to the woods today...

decisions decisions.

anyway.

there's something i've been wondering about lately. this little phrase: 'i'm just a simple guy, and i'm not really looking for a relationship.'

let's take a look at these shall we.


'i'm just a simple guy, and i'm not really looking for a relationship.'



i got handed this line THREE times over the course of a week by THREE different gentleman, handing me this gem by way of INTRODUCTION.

as in:

him: hey
me: hey
him: i'm dork doug
me: hey dork doug
him: so i, uh, you know like having fun and hanging; not too complicated you know, i'm just a simple guy, and i'm not really looking for a relationship ...
me: oh. ok. that's uh nice for you?

there is so much wrong with that statement of which the most glaring is: what made you think, bucko, that I was looking for a Relationship, let alone looking for a Relationship with YOU.

then there's just the embarrasing stupidity and superficiality attached to thinking that any interaction is not a relationship of sorts (in that dynamic way that people communicate and share)

and last but not least, thinking that being SIMPLE is at all a turn-on for sex or friendship or any kind of interaction at all.

freak. go back to your TV and jerking off over FHM.

this seems to be a South African male thing. I was talking to J the other day and we came to the conclusion that most saffa men seem to think that they're in danger of being attacked by women who will be overcome with hysteria to procreate with the fine speciman of a male that he is, that she will tie him down with her ovaries and smother him with her womb.

(actually, J said something else, but i'm too shy to type that...)

and then a new little addendum to my column:

comment of the bi-monthly

so my column didn't get the kind of commenting i was expecting. people seem to have lost the talk when it comes to dirty talk. pity really. but i did get this comment that struck me as particularly fucked up.

Pharcide 9/16/2009 3:20:03 PM: I would love to talk dirty in your ear Dorothy Black. You slut.

dear pharcide

undoubtedly clever words, but i believe you missed the point of the column.

'slut', 'whore' and any number of other naughty words lose their association of kink outside of an agreed parameter of dirty talk in the bedroom and just become misogynistic namecalling.

read this to educate yourself.

Wednesday, September 16

Let's get dirrrrty!

Dorothy Black says that stringing together a sentence of well-chosen, well-delivered filth gets most people hotter than a whore in hell

It was a wintry Saturday afternoon, and while I painted in a cramped makeshift studio, my lover sat on the floor and read to me from a Japanese book of sex called something like The Jade Palace – a slim volume of text that was a literary voyage into the art of lovemaking.


It was cliterature in a way I'd never heard it before. It was the Joy of Sex meets Eastern poetry. It was the Marquis de Sade meets Karma Sutra. It totally blew me away. After an hour I could barely stand I was so turned on. My gentle waters had begun to flow from my jade palace so to speak.

And he'd not laid a finger on me.
Read more...



i have my doubts that this will make it to news24 - far too much pussy and cunt for the average Saffa sensibilities to take. Nevertheless, it had to be done...

in other news, i've been suffering from intermittant ADD. well, that's the only way i can explain my five minute attention span. i don't know what it is, but i'll blame in on the fact that i'm smoking more.

BUT

that all ends on Thursday, 8 October 2009 (smokender people you know what that's about) when i stop that dastardly weed for good. christ. sometimes i think i'd rather just have a coke habit. so much more cape town you know.

Thursday, September 10

Wednesday, September 9

sex music

plums.

i'm suffering lament of the lost comment. women24 is undergoing a whole revamp which is radical (do check it out), but i've lost most of my comments on the intern column - which saddens me somewhat. i like when ya'll comment. poop.

in other news.

a guilty pleasure

while i was playing spider solitaire and listening to goldfrapp's felt mountain last night (which is my album-of-the-week-while-i-play-solitaire and Contemplate What To Do Next) i realised that utopia was my ultimate song of what it feels like to be inlove



at least the first bits because, let's be serious, the last bits would just be weird if it was about being inlove, you know...

"It’s a strange day
No colours or shapes
No sound in my head
I forget who I am
When I’m with you
There’s no reason
There’s no sense
I’m not supposed to feel
I forget who I am
I forget
Fascist baby
Utopia, utopia
My dog needs new ears
Make his eyes see forever
Make him live like me
Again and again
I’m wired to the world
That’s how I know everything
I’m super brain
That’s how they made me"

which then got me thinking about music to have sex by (and for some peculiar reason, the time of day...because, you know, that should be considered). so here's my list of my most particular favourites (in no particular order):

massive attack (night)
bjork (night, early morning, afternoon...actually, just depends which crazy cd you listening to)
mozart (sunday morning)
john lee hooker (night)
depeche mode
(night)
tricky (afternoon)
dave brubeck (morning)
sia (morning, afternoon)
cesario evora (whenever)
wyclef jean - specifically carnival II (whenever)

i can't think of any more, but i'll be adding to the list every time i think of something yummy

Friday, September 4

louis prima

god this guy is cool. think vegas lounge singer meets mafia king pin meets swing. one of the most under-rated jazz singers, louis prima has been rocking my week in a big way.

splashed about in the tub this morning to his 'buona sera' with keely smith.

i love waking up with a good song in my head. ever since i was a kid i've attached some sort of mystical significance to the meaning of the song that i wake up with, as if it's some sort of message from the beyond in musical form... and hey, that's much better than spooky apparitions and creepy rooks pecking out a dead cat's eyes or something...
this is the one i got

though, to be honest, i can't really imagine what the gods are trying to tell me with buona sera...

Buona Sera, signorina, buona sera
It is time to say goodnight to Napoli
Though it's hard for us to whisper, buona sera
With that old moon above the Meditteranean sea
In the mornin' signorina we'll go walkin'
When the mountains help the sun come into sight
And by the little jewelry shop we'll stop and linger
While I buy a wedding ring for your finger

In the meantime let me tell you that I love you
Buona sera, signorina kiss me goodnight
Buona sera, signorina kiss me goodnight

THAT I SHOULD GO TO ITALY! yes. that is it.



in case some of you've never heard of louis prima, but have heard of the jungle book (just one the coolest movies in the world and i will judge you for not knowing it), prima was the voice behind King Louie's serenade of 'i wanna be like you (ooo ooo ooo)' to Mowgli...


how rad is that? how can you just not rock out to ol' king louis?

anyway, oao plums, have a good weekend
x

Thursday, September 3

summer time...

spring has sprung in the mother city and with it winter has finally arrived

not my pic

this is where i'd much rather be right now.
thansadet, koh phangan... spent many a lazy day on that beach.

i'm not one for going back to places i've been many times before but today, as i'm sitting here in this flourescent office, hungry and overlooking a rainy, grey city, i think i'd much rather be lying on the white sand of thansadet...going for a little dip, playing with a rent-a-dog that i always seem to pick up wherever i travel, snacking on something sweet and later going for a little snooze in a hammock in that little restaurant in the far corner that's been there for, like, a century.

hmmm.

failing that, i will give you a phrase of the week:

'blossoming vagina' as in 'my vagina blossoms' :) it is that thing that happens to your lady spots when you come into contact with someone that makes you want to peel off your panties and procreate.

girls. you KNOW what i'm talking about...

Wednesday, September 2

Mind the gap

Is age really nothing but a number? Dorothy Black discusses her experience with The Intern and their age gap.

So, there I was lying in his arms, in that post-coital fuzz that leaves you about as cognisant as a hibernating bear, feeling warm and sexually sated and was just about ready to drift off into an Egyptian-like sleep of the dead, when he opened his mouth.

He opened his mouth and said, 'You know, this is really something else. (Yes, yes it is...) I feel so comfortable with you... (Hmm, yeees...) It’s just that it’s so weird you know (It is? Um. Ok...) It just confuses me… (Say what?) Because you know, it's just that my ex… (Fuck.) Read on...

So for those that have been following the intern here and here, here is the column.

Someone asked me the other day if you have to have sex every time you write a column about it. no. writing about sex is not exactly embedded journalism.