Liz Everly's Blog, page 89

Off

by Kiersten Hallie Krum

I’m off this week. Hope you all had lovely Mother’s Day celebrations in all its possible varieties and that you’re enjoying this marvelous burst of Spring.

Have a great week! Follow Lady Smut.

Dadbod or Bad Dream?

This guy could absolutely be somebody’s dad. You don’t know.

By Alexa Day

I discovered the whole dadbod thing this week. I hesitate to call it a movement or a phenomenon. “Thing” seems entirely appropriate.

So far as I can tell from casual observation, the dadbod thing is focused on the “average” male physique. The dadbod has, depending on how one views it, a bit of a paunch or a healthy gut. All the examples I’ve seen so far also sport that unkempt facial hair — less beard than a declaration that shaving takes too much time. Apparently, guys rocking the dadbod also need not bother with closed shoes … or closed shirts.

We’ve all seen the dadbod out there in the real world. Hell, some of us ladies even married guys with the dadbod. But the dadbod has not really been the object of female desire until just recently, when blogs and news stories brought its less-than-stellar silhouette into the light. These stories either celebrate the dadbod’s unique sex appeal (the flab quite literally rubs some people the right way) or emphasize the effects of dadbod on a woman’s self-image.

I’m okay if you’re into the special way the dadbod is landing on you. You know how I roll. If you’re both consenting grown people, go for it. I was, however, bothered by the idea that a dude’s body is supposed to make me feel better about mine, so I investigated it more thoroughly.

As it happens, the dadbod entered the larger popular consciousness through a story featured on The Odyssey back in March. In “Why Girls Love The Dad Bod,” Mackenzie Pearson, part of Clemson University’s Class of 2017, extolled the virtues of the less-than-perfect body. These guys are better for snuggling, she wrote, and had a keen sense for where to find a good meal. They also made their girlfriends look and feel skinnier, she wrote, and were less intimidating.

I was so, so ready to catch an attitude.

Were we really at a place where we needed to intentionally cozy up to moderately out of shape guys because our egos were too fragile for the well built ones? Did we need to hunt up the dadbods to feel better about ourselves? What happened to not needing a dude of any shape to feel better about ourselves?

More importantly, did the rise of the dadbods threaten my favorite fellows, the hardbods? Were “real women” in fashion and media now to be joined by “real men”?

I hoped not. Hey, I’m in a great position to be superficial. I’m not dating, so I can concentrate on leering at and objectifying men. I’m all good with the influx of realistically sized models as long as it doesn’t threaten my supply of six-packs. And I’ve been at the party long enough to know that the only thing that will make me feel better about myself is … well, myself. Fortunately, I’ve gotten pretty good at making myself feel good.

I had my rant all ready to go when I saw this interview with Pearson in Columbia’s The State. Pearson was surprised that her article had gone viral just before finals, she said. She was also surprised to find that readers were taking her so seriously; she’d meant the story to be a bit of tongue-in-cheek fun.

Well, that makes sense, right? Everyone from Jezebel to Time has been taking the dadbod thing pretty seriously, but if that’s not where Pearson was headed, I’m okay not going there either.

Except this part in Men’s Journal where Laird Hamilton said he’d never have a dadbod. I was glad to hear that. It’s all fun and games until Laird Hamilton grows a gut.

Are you following Lady Smut? We give a pretty serviceable cuddle here, too. Just saying.

Sexy Saturday Round Up

By Liz Everly and the Lady Smut Bloggers

Hello, Sexy! How is your Saturday so far? Lady Smut has your reading needs covered for the day. So, sit back and enjoy!

The relationship grey area. (Friend zoned? Fuck friends? Read up.)

Orgasms for healing. Really.

Great news for AbFab fans. Movie!

From Madeline:

Our Alexa Day celebrates National Masturbation Month at Tea & Strumpets.

Playboy discusses Why Black Widow Got Slut Shamed.

I die.  Did I post this before on the man-cave-she-shed? I don’t care.  I die again.

The Woman in Black. 

From Kiersten this week: How Hollywood Keeps Women Out of Leadership Roles.

It’s not easy being a mermaid!

Stay Hungry,

Liz

Ponyplay 101: Tricked out in leather, adorned with plumes, trained with a whip…what you might not know about ponyplay

Show pony, art by John Willie

A recent reading of A. N. Roquelaure’s Beauty’s Kingdom made me curious. About what you ask. Spanking? Sex slaves? We are talking about Ann Rice, after all. But nope, I wasn’t wondering about those things. I was curious about ponies. To be more accurate, people pretending to be ponies: ponyboys and ponygirls.

If you read the second two of the Sleeping Beauty series, you know doubt remember Tristan’s fate of being forced to pull the Captain of the Guard’s cart in book 2, Beauty’s Punishment, then being sent to the stables as a punishment in book 3, Beauty’s Release. Ann Rice’s latest book, the fourth in the series, Beauty’s Kingdom, features extensive description of the stables and human ponies. It was that lengthy detail that got me wondering about real life human ponies and ponyplay.

Ponyplay is just what it sounds like, animal role-play when one or more person involved pretends to be a pony. Ponyplay may or may not involve BDSM and in some instances, it is non-sexual or involves little “normal” sexual contact. Typically, the sexual thrill comes from the fantasy created by the pony, the concept of actually being a pony under the control of a groom, trainer, or owner. The trainer, groom or owner is dominant, in control of their animal. “Normal” sex may occur if the ponies are engaged in ‘stud services,’ meaning one pony is bred to another. This studding requires permissions and arrangements of the ponies’ owners.

One of the draws to ponyplay is that there are many opportunities for individuals to put their own creative twist on their preferred activity. Many ponyboys and ponygirls create a distinct ‘personality,’ or temperament, for their pony. They, as their pony self, are a particular breed and have detailed nice and naughty characteristics. For example, their pony self may be a hard-working even-tempered pony that thrives on praise or their pony self may be a naughty pony that often misbehaves and requires constant direction and punishments.

Most often, all ponies wear tack and other adornments. Tack may include a bridle, with bit, saddle, designed especially for human or actual ponies, harness, plumes, and horsetails. There may also be a lot of leather or rubber suiting. Rains or riding straps are another possibility. And of course, pony shoes which are shoes designed to look and sound like horse hooves. The trainer and/or rider will also have equipment: whips and crops, for example.

Generally, there are three types of ponies.

Cart ponies, drawn by John Willie

Riding ponies.

Cart ponies.

Show ponies.

Riding ponies are ridden by their riders who may also be their trainers and owners. Riding ponies can be two or four legged and there are saddles designed for both. Real, actual horse, saddles can also be used. Obviously, riding ponies must be strong and agile to bear the weight of riders.
Cart ponies pull carts, carriages, wagons, sulkies…you get the idea. These ponies pull something someone else rides in. The cart pony many or may not wear fancy gear but cart ponies do have tack that is designed to get the job done. Typically the vehicle pulled by the cart pony seats one or two people, but there are larger carts pulled by a team of ponies. Team ponies, most often two-legged, require specialized training and often have matching tack. Additionally, they often have matching physiques or are arranged by physique.
Show ponies are tricked out in fancy tack and ornate accessories. As the name indicates, these ponies are valued for their beauty and ability to perform. They learn human pony gaits and are taught intricate routines by their trainers. Most often these ponies who off their dressage skills, sometimes in organized events. This video shows a lovely training session, a nice blonde pony displaying gaits with and without boots. Prefer something more art-y? Try Ponygirl Nemi.

Ponyplay is not new. Historians have debated the notion that Aristotle was in the habit of pretending to be a pony for the enjoyment of his wife and/or other women. This explains why ponyplay is sometimes known as “The Aristotelian Perversion” and also reveals that this penchant has been around and thriving for a long, long time. Images of ponyplay in the US can be found in books, magazines and artwork. It’s the sort of thing that once you start looking for it, you’ll see it. One place to start looking is in decades old copies of the American fetish magazine, Bizarre, which featured ponygirl stories throughout the 50’s and 60’s. The artwork by John Willie is intriguing, to put it mildly. Where to look next? I’ll leave that up to you.

Want some more? I suggest this ten minute video, ponyplay tv5, that offers a great overview as well as some ponies in action.

Interested in why people are involved in ponyplay? Try these videos:

Pony and Mater, interview and Addicted to Ponyplay.

Sex Bot…or Not?

I’m just a poor girl, nobody loves me.

by Madeline Iva

There’s a new movie in town, my vaginas, and it’s called EX MACHINA.

Alexa Day asked if you’d have sex with a robot.  Sure! Who wouldn’t?

But there’s robots and then there’s sex bots.  Robots do robot-y things.  Sex bots are enticing.  They represent the forbidden.   Stepping away from humanity in order to get sexual gratification from a machine is a big no-no, a boundary that must be crossed to get it on.

They are the ultimate in objectification, and point towards a whole other kind of Turing/personhood test.  If you can have sex with something in a way that closely approximates human sex, then it’s probably a person, right? Even if it’s got gears and computer chips and syncro-mesh whatever.

But the idea of a sex bot is that it serves a purpose, i.e. to get you off.  There’s something wildly sexy in that premise to most people. It’s like having your cake and eating it too.  You’re not exploiting another human for sex, yet you’re still having your way with somebody without regard for what she/it wants.  It’s geek-prostitution.

The thing is though–after we’ve done METROPOLIS, THE STEPFORD WIVES, BLADE RUNNER, AI, etc, etc, etc…and then the “Siri” based Spike Jonz movie HER–and now EX MACHINA, one has to stop wondering how great it would be to have sex with a robot and start wondering why sci-fi writers/directors want to stop having sex with real women?

I was wondering what’s up with this whole no-interesting-women-in-the-future-unless-they’re-robots theme when I stumbled upon this guy Nate Zoebl on Rotten Tomatoes who was on the same page.  He says, “What is it about android women that science fiction seems to love so much? From Blade Runner to Fritz Lang’s Metropolis, the genre loves the concept of robotic women. Perhaps this is merely a byproduct of a genre written by a majority of men, or perhaps it taps into something more unconscious about the desire to control women, or a fear of women, but that’s a conversation for another day.”

I think not, Nate.  I think we should have that conversation right now.

Okay, here’s one reason to cut some slack for guys who come up with these movies: the evolution of technology.  We now date via computers, we hook up via phone aps, we have sex via porn — certainly there’s more and more of a disconnect between us when it comes to face to face/no technology human time. And isn’t that exactly what sex is–face to face no tech human being time?

With the creation of so many sex bot movies, are men desiring to control women/express their fear of women, or are they gradually being groomed to mistrust human touch overall?

This would be like saying that humans in today’s world are eating high-tech food that’s so highly processed with high concentrations of salt, sugar, and fat, that eventually a plain carrot would be repellant…hey! That *is* actually happening.

Okay, another argument — perhaps is this NOT about women at all, but about overcoming innate human hostility to technology–with technology being represented as little gals in wee tiny silver clothing (or even no clothing at all.)  This theory goes: If you f*** it, you won’t fear it–as much.

Well, I don’t buy it.  I think it’s all about sex-fetishism, it’s about forbidden indulgence, and you can lace it up in a big corset full of paranoia, but we’re pretty much in the same neighborhood as putting Princess Leia in a skinny bronze bikini and chaining her up to a giant fat slug.  It’s titillating.

Meanwhile: where are all the guy sex-bots?

I mean, look at the ALIENS franchise.  They had robots.  Yet they were always creepy/scary men.  No love interest in sight.  (I mean robotic love interest–you know I’ll always have a special place for you in my heart, Hicks.)  One day I’ll post my conspiracy theory about Aliens and the evolution of cyborgs within the franchise, because I think they could have gone somewhere with this, but chose not to.

Look, it’s Michael Fassbinder with a kitten! (Warning, this cute image is not in the drecky movie.)

Finally, along comes PROMETHEUS. By now, the cyborg is the bad guy in the Alien franchise–it’s tradition.  Unless they flip him into a self-sacrificial saint (Aliens).

Yet with PROMETHEUS I thought, ‘okay, now we’re getting somewhere,” because:

a) They cast Michael Fassbinder as David, an 8th generation cyborg, who can understand human emotions, but cannot apparently feel them.

and

b) They gave him a sense of macabre humor…

Alas, the movie sucked to the point of incoherence, much less providing any scraps of romance or male sex-bot-ism for anyone to slather over. Sigh. There’s a sequel, and Michael Fassbinder is in it, but don’t get your hopes up.

Male sex-bot-ism representations are so very, very few.  Gigolo, from A.I. was a ‘pleasure model’ played by Jude Law. Does he have sex with women in the movie? Who cares?–that’s not the point of the movie and his role in it.  ARG! No titillation anywhere!

The other example of a male sex-bot is from a horrifically cheese television show called CLEOPATRA 2525–a stripper becomes a popsicle after her boob job goes awry. (Are you feeling the cheap titillation yet? I thought so.) She gets thawed in the future only to find everyone living underground while robots control the surface.

In the midst of this cheesy-cheese-fest, there’s a robot good guy named Mauser.  He’s put to work in the lab when he’s not fighting with the women warriors.  Since he’s the only man-meat around, one of the soldiers–a woman named ‘Sarge’ grabs him for the occasional illicit boink.  Go Sarge!  Sarge, in my opinion, is one smart cookie, figuring out a third way to keep Mauser occupied — with some pure unrepentant sex-bot-ism!

Where’s your sex bot? Sarge & Mauser — my ideal couple of the future.

Nate Zoebl in his Rotten Tomatoes write up says something about writer/director Garland’s ability “to work his Kubrick fetish fully to its eerie erotic ends.”  For the record, I happily applaud any and all Kubrick-ian fetishes worked to their eerie erotic ends–I just want more male sex bots involved.  Is that too much to ask?

Okay, peeps, you know what you gotta do.  Get out there and write scripts with male sex bots.  Write novels about men sex bots that will get turned into scripts–do whatever it takes to create the hunk-bots we so ardently crave.  And follow LadySmut, where we’ll work your pleasure crank 24/7. :)

One writer who put a fun twist on this whole motif was Geneva DeCroix — check out her erotica short story “The Dealership” The%20Dealership: An Erotic Short Storyhere.

 

Gridiron Girls – With Garter Belts

By Elizabeth Shore

Here’s a teenage boy’s wet-dream fantasy: Take a group of sexy women, put them in a lacy bra, lacy panties, and garter belt. Then make ’em play football. Cowabunga, kids! We got us a winner! Just make sure you don’t wake up. But here’s the thing: it’s no dream, and it’s no fantasy. It’s The Lingerie Football League! Now rebranded as the Legends Football League (the “LFL”) with expansion across the globe, the LFL – sadly – seems to be here to stay.

One could, I suppose, argue that it’s a good thing, and some of the Legends Football League players do exactly that. There are no other opportunities for women to participate in a full-contact football league, they point out, so isn’t it better to play in a bra and panties than not be able to play at all? And sure, there’s some truth to that. Carpe diem! Take advantage of what’s offered and try to make it better. To be fair, it has gotten better. The uniforms have changed. A little. The players no longer have to wear a garter belt, for example. The athletic bra and panties are now sans lace. The shoulder pads have more protection, as do the helmets. Hoo-boy, let’s hear it for progress!

But let’s be real. Viewers of the LFL  are no more watching it for honest-to-goodness football than Hooters patrons are going there for the food. The draw of the LFL is the scantily-clad, large-breasted women. It’s the gridiron version of female mud wrestling. Supporters can argue loud and proud that the LFL is nothing less than serious football for females, but if that’s the case then why not give the athletes full protective uniforms? How about if they wear identical gear as NFL players, including full body coverage and full body protection, just like the men?

It probably won’t surprise you that founder and chairman, Mitch Mortaza – perhaps not a pillar of society with his arrests for drunken driving and public intoxication – seems to object to the idea of the LFL players wearing more clothing. The contract they sign, a copy of which was obtained by the website The Smoking Gun, includes a clause about agreeing to “accidental nudity,” presumably when their uniforms get torn or pulled during play. But that’s okay, right? I mean, an exposed nipple or two never hurt anyone. And isn’t that always the case when we’re talking about Serious Football?

Mortaza is quick to state that anyone accusing the LFL of exploiting women is just having a “kneejerk reaction.” His players, he says, are “confident women who come from all walks of life.” Hmmm, well, Mitch, that may be true, but the same thing can be said of strippers and prostitutes, where the exploitation is alive and well. Besides, if you want your league to be taken seriously, then what’s up with the names? Here’s a sample: Atlanta Steam, Chicago Bliss, Las Vegas Sin. Really? How about if we re-brand some NFL teams. Instead of the Tennessee Titans, how about the Tennessee Temptations? Forget about the Houston Oilers, bring on the Houston Hunks! The San Diego Studs. Either would do for me, and I mean do me. Har har!

If I try to look at this sham optimistically then I’ll admit that what one player says about women sports is true, that over time it has evolved in a positive direction. While there is a Bikini Basketball Association, it’s incredibly small and struggling (their website states, “the 2014 season is fast approaching”) whereas the WNBA has shown steady growth since its 1997 inception with games being shown on major cable networks. U.S. women’s soccer is a huge draw, as is women’s tennis. We can only hope that one day female athletes who enjoy playing full contact football will be able to do so while enjoying the same benefits – and respect – as the men.

What do you think? Are ladies playing football in a bra and panties a positive step toward progress or a depressing step back? Share your comments and follow us at Lady Smut, where we promise to always play fair, garter belts not required.

 

Sexy Armchair Travels with Liz

By Liz Everly

I’ve just come back from a conference and am off for a research trip. I’ve been thinking about travel and thought I’d leave you with some of my blog posts about travel or sexy, faraway places. Plus, don’t forget, all three of my books offer exotic locales (Saffron Nights, Cravings, and Like Honey.) And my serial, “Eight Lays Around the world” is also about a traveler/writer who gets to writes about ALL of her experiences. (Yes, I went there.) Are we sensing a theme here? The next installment of Eight Lays will be set in italy. Stay tuned for that.

In the mean time, check out some of my “travel” blog posts. See you next time.

A Little Spanking with my Room Service, Please

 St. Lucia—Beaches, Mountains, and Chocolate

 The Sex and Romance of Place

 Exotic, Erotic Ecuador

Sexy Scotland—Honey, Skeps, and Digging in to Research

A Penis on TV

by Kiersten Hallie Krum

I’m calling an audible this week from the midst of dealing with family crisis of the human and feline varieties. In the meantime, read this fantastic piece by Sonia Saraiy for Slate on that special snowflake unicorn, male nudity, and rape in Outlander, or as the author puts it “A penis on TV and a surprisingly revolutionary treatment of sexual violence and male entitlement.”

“Whether or not the episode or show is perfect, what makes “Outlander” so compelling is that it makes a space for moments like this—stories of sexual assault that give agency to the victims, even when something terrible is about to happen to them.”

While in this case, the male nudity was part and parcel of the attempted rape, that same episode also gave us this.

 

And this:

Courtesy of @UnpaidPrivKilt

You’re welcome.

See you next week when I’ll hopefully be less feeding tubes and timed medications and absentee medical aides and more Hallooooooo Smexy!

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Why We Can’t Have Naughty Things: Keeping Private Parties Private

Your chain is okay with me, neighbor.

By Alexa Day

Fifty Shades is back in the news again. It’s apparently coming out on Blu-ray soon, which means I’ll have to start avoiding the trailer again, and I heard that E.L. James is planning on publishing a writing guide, which promises to be very interesting indeed. But neither of those two things really bothered me last week.

Last week, I was pointed at a news story from New York City. I really hate to link to the story because I want it to keep going away. The lede, as it should, sets the tone for the rest of the article. It describes a “fetish party attendee … blowing the whistle” on activities that “would shock even the authors of Fifty Shades of Grey.”

That doesn’t really mean anything. I mean, my grocery list would shock the FSOG folks. (Who needs that many clothespins, ice trays, and latex gloves at the same time? I do. Back off.) I wondered what must have happened at this party. Thorough, thoughtful negotiation? Aftercare? And really, much is communicated by the fact that the reporters and their entire editorial chain evidently believe that Fifty Shades has more than one author. But I’m digressing.

According to the story, a medical doctor at a BDSM party, hosted by a well established group in the city, was engaged in blood play with his fellow partygoers. I’m not going to mention any names here, and my larger point doesn’t demand a deep focus on the type of blood play. (I will say that I wasn’t shocked by it, but hey, I didn’t write Fifty Shades, either.) What really distresses me about the story is that the “whistleblower” remained anonymous while the reporters named the doctor.

The reporters named the doctor, posted his picture, and excerpted a couple of clips from his YouTube channel.

Blood play doesn’t scare me. *That* scares me.

In my daytime life, I’m still keeping my bills paid with a conservative job in a conservative industry in a conservative part of the country. If you’re following me here or on social media, you know that I’m working in the legal industry. I have to keep my driver’s-license identity relatively secret because sadly, I know the sort of damage that judgmental, misinformed people can do to someone’s career. I also know that the BDSM community is careful about protecting folks’ identities for exactly this reason. Clubs have rules about taking pictures, making videos, and disclosing the identities of club members. “Whistleblowing” like this isn’t supposed to happen.

What else is the BDSM community really careful about? Safety and consent. Indeed, safety and consent are two of the three pillars upon which BDSM play rests; the community’s watchwords are “safe, sane, and consensual.” If people are engaged in blood play at a party hosted by a well established club, I’m comfortable with the presumption that the players fully understand the level of risk involved with what they’re doing, that the level of risk has been controlled to the fullest extent possible, and that they’ve chosen to move forward anyway. When that isn’t the case, the community is pretty efficient with regard to self-policing. Parties are hip deep in rules and monitors and any number of safety measures, and enforcement is swift and sure. I’m not worried about lack of consent and I’m not worried about unsafe play in large part because I know that a decent club makes safety everyone’s business. If I see something (and I haven’t yet), I say something. To them. Not to the news.

I’m not sure how a “whistleblower” made its way in. I’m also not sure why a “whistleblower” felt it was necessary to head to the local TV station, although I’ll concede that I don’t know who else was a party to that person’s grievances before the story was aired. What really worries me here is that some person, who doesn’t have all the facts but who might very well have an agenda, might now also have a way to do serious damage to others’ reputations and private lives. This doctor’s name is out there now. Even if the licensing board does nothing, there’s a huge possibility that gossip — sorry, “whistleblowing” — will do significant damage to his practice.

And for what? Because someone who somehow managed to get into that party couldn’t handle what was going on? Because that person wasn’t satisfied that everyone involved was okay with what they were doing? Because that person decided to superimpose his or her personal standards over those of her hosts and her fellow guests and a well established community with little meaningful relationship to Fifty Shades?

The story seems to be going away, and I’m immensely relieved to see only three comments attached to it. It sounds like this particular tree has fallen in the forest without making much of a sound.

But now I’m nervous. How can I be sure that there’s no “whistleblower” out there with my name and bar number? How can any of us be sure?

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Sexy Saturday Round-Up

By Liz Everly and the Lady Smut Bloggers

Hello, Sexy. Happy Saturday reading!

From Liz:

Throwing out the spanx. 

A sex shop in Mecca.

Funny girl sex guide on YouTube.

From CMK:

Change how you see bathroom signs

The new Jane Austen ten pound note

Cool YouTube mortician sensation gets a TV adaptation

From Madeline:

How to go down in history as a flawless beauty, Nefertiti style.

The rise and fall of the BOMBSHELL BANDIT.

Trans is The New No-Normal.

Stay Hungry,

Liz