Sex – Page 2 – POLLY SUPERSTAR

Valentine’s day is about gettin’ some strange….

It’s pretty clear to me that St Valentines Day, with its Hallmark pressures and bizarre catholic undertones is just a pagan ritual we, as a culture, didn’t want to let go of. Why is it that at this time of year we feel such a powerful urge to express love? It’s a Northern Hemisphere thing so I’ll assume it has something to do with winter coming to a close and the light re-emerging. Hope for a new year. But let’s face it, our ancient counterparts probably spent the whole of winter locked up in their turf covered houses with their nearest and dearest, boning in front of an open fire. There’s not much else to do in the heart of winter.

So Valentine’s Day isn’t just about sex. It’s not about fertility and making babies with your partner. That’s what Winter’s for. Valentines Day is about getting out of your hut, and meeting new people. It’s the time when we blinkingly re-emerge from our winter cocoon and start being social again. I don’t know about you, but I hermit every winter. Coming back out can be tricky. I’m like the groundhog who’s supposed to tell us winter is over, but doesn’t want to come out of his hidey hole.

But I can’t avoid the season forever. Even in a town where winter never really happened. Maybe that makes it even tougher to admit it’s getting close to spring already.

Writing a book is perhaps the most solitary job in the world. Apart from the guy who works the weather station in Antarctic. I’ve been hiding, but now it’s time to share my love letter. If I seem weird or distant, it’s because opening up and telling this story is the most vulnerable thing I’ve ever done. It makes me hella wiggly. But the book is a love letter to YOU. The Mission Control community. The place where I’ve found more love and support than anywhere else in my life. You crazy pleasure seekers. You pioneers of love! I can’t wait to celebrate with you….

P.S. I never get cards. Someone send me a frickin’ card!!!!! :p

Slutty Teen Adventures

I reached my Kickstarter goal for today, so as promised here’s an excerpt from the book. This story is about the first time I went to a fetish club…

As Abby and I both turned sweet sixteen she found a listing in the back pages of Skin Two for a party scheduled to happen in a bar in the East End of London. Our young minds filled with shiny, salacious possibilities. We looked older than our age, and had no problem getting into nightclubs. We dressed the part, to the best of our abilities, donning fishnet stockings and black lace underwear from Marks and Spencer, slicking on thick black eyeliner, greasing our lips with red lipstick, and swooshing our hair into fashionable up dos. When we arrived at the door of the club, we found people loitering outside in black plastic raincoats and military uniforms. We flashed them smiles filled with counterfeit confidence. It worked like magic. They opened the door and ushered us inside. The interior was not what we expected. Far from the slick, modern ambiance we anticipated, we found ourselves in a classic British pub with brown floral carpets, maroon leather seats, and signage extolling the virtues of drinking more Guinness. We hurriedly ordered some cocktails—already familiar with the etiquette of drinking in bars, we squeezed our lemon slices, stirred our drinks with our straws, and sat in a corner trying to look inconspicuous. Our entrance had unavoidably garnered some interest, and before long the men at the next table asked if they could join us. Sliding over, they engaged in some polite conversation while we awkwardly sipped our Bacardi and Cokes. They seemed like gentlemanly types, and we settled into some innocent flirting. The guy next to me had a classic look, slicked-back black hair and a chiseled jawline. His rather manly black leather jacket hinted at experience. He leaned over as I nervously sucked down the last of my cocktail and asked if he could buy me a drink. “Sure” I said, giving him a coquettish side-glance. I looked over at Abby, giving a little wink to my adventurous partner in crime. But instead of returning my wink, her eyes widened as she stared back at me in disbelief. I turned around to see that my flirting partner stood up to reveal that below his leather jacket he wore nothing but patent stiletto thigh boots and a leather thong, revealing his hairy, masculine butt cheeks as he swaggered to the bar in his 6-inch heels. Abby and I tried not to laugh as he returned to the table with drinks. “Do you two feel like checking out downstairs?” He asked as he handed me my cocktail. I didn’t know what we might find downstairs, and the revelation of his outfit from the waist down caused me to reassess his suitability as a suitor. “No thanks, we’re okay,” I replied casually. Tugging on Abby’s arm I planned our getaway. “Excuse us gentlemen, we need to go powder our noses”. We grabbed our purses and our cocktails and headed to the ladies room, giggling excitedly as we reapplied our lipstick. “What do you think is downstairs?” Abby asked. “I dunno. Shall we check it out?” Our curiosity got the better of us and we headed down the dark staircase to the basement. We could hear the sound of spanking and the crack of a whip mingled with whimpers and groans. From halfway up the stairs we stood frozen, watching with a jumble of horror and compulsion as we saw our very first real live dungeon. Strange looking devices and furniture filled the room. An X-shaped crucifix stood in the center with bolts and rings on each extremity, designed to splay a person in every direction. Tethered to its cross beams was a women. A man flogged her ass mercilessly. Her skin became red raw and bruised from the beating. A man sat close by watching the scene with his cock bobbing up and down in his hand, flushed purple with the intensity of his masturbation. I’d never seen a man jack off before. All over the room scenes of this style repeated in various configurations. A naked man licked the boots of a woman who sat in a throne barking orders at him, forcing him to suck the heel. The activities were pretty standard fare for Skin Two magazine, but they seemed so exposed, and the intimacy of being in the room with them was overwhelming. They weren’t posing for photos, trying to look scared, pouting their lips like models—this was the real thing. The heady smell of sex suffocated me. I suddenly became aware of my own body, my skin scratching the fabric of the cheap lace, beads of sweat collecting on the small of my back. I was as real and fleshy as they were, connected to them in our animal skins desperately looking for a way to feel alive. The man on the couch ejaculated with a guttural cry, spurting cum all over his leather gloved hand, and leaned back in relief. He massaged the last few drops from his softening cock as he looked up to catch my eye. The shock of connecting in that intimate moment propelled me away. I pushed Abby up the stairs, and we managed to maintain ourselves for long enough to gather our coats and rush out the exit. Out in the cool air of the city night, we clacked down the cobbled street in our stilettos. We turned a corner and were out of sight of the club before we looked at each other in disbelief. We didn’t know what it meant. Disgusted and shocked, we retreated. Compelled and enthralled we returned. The experience was so real and so visceral—body and soul a slap in the face. We saw the shadowy underbelly of erotic possibilities and were deliriously scandalized. Ironically, the brazenly sexual world I inhabited as a teenager was the safest place I could be. I never had to face sexual violence, which for so many teenage girls is commonplace. The explicit etiquette of the fetish scene protected me. Men are schooled to be polite or risk being ejected. I could wear provocative clothes, and ventured out wearing thigh high stiletto boots and little else, knowing that once I was in the club I wouldn’t just be safe, I would be respected. In the fetish scene, a place of such boundless sexual possibility, it’s understood that the golden ticket comes with a caveat: Respect women: value their sexuality as a precious gift; honor their boundaries; don’t be an asshole. I’m not saying harassment doesn’t happen at fetish clubs, but it’s nothing like the epidemic of ass grabbing that is taken for granted in regular bars and nightclubs. This was where I first experienced the power of my sexuality, the sense of liberation that accompanies it, and a brand of feminism that allowed me to express my sexuality without judgment.

An Open Letter to Sex

After Miley Cyrus’ recent spate of twerking, Sinéad O’Connor wrote her an open letter, you can read it here: http://www.sineadoconnor.com/2013/10/open-letter-to-miley-cyrus/

Then Amanda Palmer wrote an open letter to Sinéad http://amandapalmer.net/blog/20131003/

Then Ann Magnuson wrote an open letter to open letters http://pleasekillme.com/ann-magnusons-open-letter-to-an-open-letter/ … which is awesome.

I thought I would weigh in on the debate with an open letter to Sex

Dear Sex

I think it’s time you grew up. You send such mixed messages. First it’s sledgehammer licking and twerking from snarky disney child stars. Then it’s “powerful women keep their clothes on” messages from bald 80s pop stars. I was a slutty little teen minx with bad boundaries, and a simultaneous self image of superiority and self loathing. It was the first time I felt powerful, when I saw men staring at me with lusty intentions. I’m glad there were no cameras around to see me, to judge me with a million peering eyes as I flailed around in my self-learning. I’m glad there was no internet to make commentary. In my opinion, if you never got it wrong, then you never played hard enough.

Oh Sex, I know it’s confusing… you want to wear your whore shoes and your garter belt and your red lipstick, but does it mean you’re succumbing to pressure?Fulfilling a fantasy? Or are you fetishizing the image of the trainwreck, trying to find your own truth within it. You’re told to be sexy. Billboards with teen porn selling ‘apparel’, all panties and pouts, glower down at you on street corners. You’re told to aspire to an image of impossible perfection. Then you’re told you’re doing it wrong. Then, when you feel you’re getting it right, I don’t blame you for wanting to be the one saying “you’re doing it wrong.”

Sex, I think you’re having an identity crisis. You’re stuck with the idea that you’re shameful and wrong, while you’re standing on a podium in latex underwear shaking your ass and showing us your tongue. I think you’re crass and rude, and gorgeous and real. As you flail around in your mid-sexual-revolution confusion, with all these conflicting pressures, wondering what your role is, I don’t blame you for acting out, whether it’s with ‘mother knows best’ patronizing or flipping off the world with a giant finger. We’ll figure this out together.

One things for sure, you’re not just for making babies anymore. Your role in culture is bigger than that, and we’ve been kidding ourselves for centuries trying to shut you behind the bedroom door.

I tell you what, let’s have a party. Let’s not judge, let’s just celebrate you, and see what happens next. I think your future looks amazing.

Love

Polly

xxx

The Moral Minority

Please don’t mistake my support for sex positive culture and alternative lifestyle as a lack of morality. In fact it’s quite the opposite. I have a set of personal ethics and a moral code which I take extremely seriously.

So who are the Moral Minority? They are the people who try to live ethical lives using their own self defined moral structures. They don’t subscribe to religions or self-help gurus or cults. They make it up as they go along. Then they *create* cults. Only joking. In all seriousness, folks, I would love it if this post inspired you to write down yours. I have found that people who create their own moral structures, rather than relying on their culture or religion to tell them what to do, tend to be more invested in their own sense of morality.

Here’s mine:

“I believe in equal rights and personal freedom, and support everyone in creating lives which make them happy. I’m anti-censorship -although I’m confused why there is so much gratuitous violence in movies and TV and in general I choose to avoid it. I think art is the most powerful tool for evolving culture. I think our money systems are the root of most of our global problems. And I think that sex is good for you.”

As a side note: Western culture was built on the premise that sex is dangerous and distracting, so should only be considered as an option when you’re making babies. And even then it should be done behind closed doors, in missionary position, and you should probably feel terrible about it afterwards. The sexual revolution of the last 100 years has shifted that, and nowadays there’s a Victoria’s Secret in every mall selling lacy lingerie to housewives all across America looking to spice up their love lives. Oprah tells us we should have healthy sex lives. Dr Phil agrees. Middle America might still be wracked with guilt, but the coasts have pretty much accepted that sex is fucking awesome. My life has been dedicated to spreading this message. I would like to spend more of my time supporting the other points in my personal manifesto, but there are only so many hours in the day. If you hear of any opportunities in sex positive, equal rights, anti-censorship, alternative currency art projects please do let me know.

Latex is dead. LONG LIVE LATEX

I was browsing on Amazon the other day and made a discovery. There’s a company in China ripping off classic fetish designs and making latex clothes at hugely discounted prices. Exact copies of famous designs for half the price! Not only that, but they’re also selling some really freaky deaky pervy shit. Type ‘bondage latex catsuit’ into Amazon’s search and see what I mean for yourself.

I have mixed feelings about it. On the one hand I think it’s awesome that latex has become so popular that a mass production factory thinks it’s worth ripping off. On the other hand, I see this as the end of an era. It’s gone mainstream.

Latex is a peculiar fabric. Sweaty and hot, you either love it or you hate it. There are some people who take the love of latex to extremes. It is so compelling they have double lives, indulging in their latex driven fantasies in secret. Most of these fetishists are men. Women like it too, but men tend to be the ones that really get off on it. They love the way it smells and the way it feels- given half a chance they will rub their face in it, huffing its powdery scent like a drug. I am not that into latex. I like the way it looks- shiny and modern- and in the 90s there was something about this taboo fabric which felt dangerous and decadent.

I first got into the latex fashion business when I was 16. I worked for a classy little boutique in Hammersmith near my school called She N Me, where I could dress in latex catsuits and 6 inch spike heels all day long. A dream come true. Most of the time the shop was quiet, but about three times a day the bell would ring and I would put down my Skin Two Magazine to help elderly gentlemen squeeze into latex dresses. I would make them tea and we would try on shoes together, and talk about sex toys. One time I found a man old enough to be my grandfather attempting to violate a mannequin. I caught him with a hand up her latex skirt, frantically rubbing at her Barbie bump. I thought it was hilarious- titillated by this desperate display of perversion.

edgar shoot 066 — Me in one of my latex designs

In 1995 I was blown away by a latex fashion show I saw at the Skin Two Rubber Ball- the annual party thrown by my favorite Magazine- it showcased the ultimate fetish fashion. House of Harlot was the outstanding designer I saw that night who broke all the rules. They made colorful, unique and beautifully fitted clothes- totally different from the repetitive, boring, black, badly fitting sausage dresses which seemed so popular. The show had humor- an element sadly missing from most of the fetish scene in the 90s. It inspired me.

I started to design latex clothes myself when I finished college. I left East London University in 1996 with a BA (hons) in Fine Art and all the desire to actually make art sucked out of me. I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. I had been dabbling in styling and modelling, appearing on flyers for clubs and helping backstage at fashion shows. At a shoot the photographer has asked me: “What’s your next move, Polly? You seem creative.”

“I want to be a fetish fashion designer,” I said, full of confidence.

He was the right person to mention this dream to, because his girlfriend happened to have a latex fashion label, and was looking for an assistant. She couldn’t afford to pay me, but I followed her around watching what she did, and in the evenings I would stay and practice in her studio. It would be a real job once I could make clothes good enough to put on a hanger in the store. I was unemployed at the time, so working for free and learning a skill was better than sitting on my ass all day doing nothing. Fashion made sense to me in a way that painting didn’t anymore. Latex was so modern and exciting. Long before the days of ‘The Matrix’, when Lady Ga Ga was just a little girl in third grade, we were creating fashion in a fabric that nobody had really seen before. It had the potential for accentuating skin tight curves in sweeping, graceful lines, looking elegant and tailored. Or by adding studs and zippers, it could be punk rock- like something from the famous Vivian Westwood store ‘Sex’. Most interesting to me were the bizarre inflatables, accentuating shoulders or breasts with cartoonish silhouettes. It felt rebellious and new- territory to be conquered.

And now it’s available on Amazon from a production line in China. I feel like having a funeral for an era which is passed. It’s the end of the age of edgy fetish latex.

Sexual Identity

The concept of a fixed sexual identity is something that has always seemed mystifying to me. Surely the sexual possibilities available to me are limited solely by the scope of my vision? There are some things that appeal to me more than others, and some things that might even make me feel uncomfortable, but why does the world need to slap a label on me?

Bodies are great, but the best part about them is the people that reside inside them. When I have sex with someone I don’t just have sex with their body, I have sex with them. But that doesn’t mean that bodies are irrelevant, only that they are a small part of a bigger story. Just because I have had sex with men and with women doesn’t mean I’m bisexual, because that definition puts limitations on who I could be, and expectations on who I should be.

If I mainly have sex with men, does that mean I’m straight? The touch of a woman’s hands and lips turns me on just as much as the touch of a man’s. Do I have to give you a number on a scale? Define myself by my history and my patterns? Do you need me to compare myself to you? Are you more butch? More queer? More monogamous? By saying yes to any of these I would create limitations on my future. I am not who I was, I am who I am becoming.

For me the ultimate sexual experience is one where we are both surprised. I don’t need to dominate you to get off. I don’t need to dress in an outfit and call you daddy for my kicks. I don’t need you to act a particular way. I don’t need to top from the bottom. I don’t want to limit your experience by dictating a script for you to play so that I can reach my goal. I don’t have a goal. But at the same time I don’t want to play a role for you either. Not unless it’s within the context of understanding that we are role playing. If we have an understanding that we are playing without a goal then anything is possible as long as we both agree to it. I can play at anything.

Sex- Positive

Let’s face it, sex has a bad rap. It’s cited as nothing short of the root of all evil by many religions- our sexual desire being held responsible for our fall from grace. Thinly veiled snake references and mass misogyny have left our sub consciouses seething with guilt and self hatred at our lack of self control. Our culture is the classic result of sex negativity, so predictable you could laugh if it wasn’t do damned tragic. Little girls are given padded bras and high heels before they reach puberty. An alarming amount of ‘celibate’ holy men are found to be relieving their frustrations with children. Our pornography is exploitative, cliched, formulaic and pervasive, earning billions of dollars for a small elite of people who don’t even remember what’s sexy anymore. Sexually transmitted diseases and teen pregnancies rise unchecked because of archaic sex eduction which supports abstinence from sex as the only form of protection. Our hampered judicial system considers rape victims to be ‘accusers’ and forces them to prove their innocence in a demoralizing process of public interrogation. Young people discovering themselves to be trans gender or homosexual risk ostracizing themselves from their families and friends by even mentioning it, staying ‘in the closet’ and suppressing their truth. According to the Massachusetts 2006 Youth Risk Survey, lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and questioning youth are up to four times more likely to attempt suicide than their heterosexual classmates. I could go on, but this is getting depressing.

Wilhelm Reich, the Austrian-American psychoanalyst of the mid 20th Century responsible for coining the phrases ‘Sex Negative’ and ‘Sex Positive’ stated “some societies accept the inherent value of sexual expression and indeed insist on it as a prerequisite of mental health, while other human groups despise sexuality and are ceaselessly inventive in devising austerities and prohibitions as a means of social control.” The level of sex negativity in our culture is more than just unhealthy- it’s psychotic.

We have had the incredible good fortune to land ourselves in these amazing bodies which can bring us such great pleasure, I couldn’t imagine for a minute that was a mistake, or some kind of cruel test. If there is some sort of omnipotent being watching over us, I don’t believe that s/he would be so petty as to give us these bodies but deny us the pleasure that spills from them so easily. It’s totally illogical. Let me clarify for a moment that I am not a free love idealist, believing that we should all have sex with each other all the time like bonoebos. Sex is intimate and precious, and just as you would with any relationship, you should create standards and boundaries that work for you. If there is a scale with abstinence at one end and promiscuousness at the other, it’s up to each of us to discover what works for us, and changing or adapting to new circumstances- none of the places on that scale are right or wrong.

It is true that sex can bring things up for us that can be scary, particularly as we have been raised in such sex negative culture and so many people are survivors of abuse. We store a lot of pent up frustrations, phobias, and hang ups in our sexuality, and facing that can be intimidating. Like a super charged microcosm of our personality, if it’s approached with awareness, sex can be a button we can push for a fast track of personal growth. I firmly believe that one night exploring a sex positive environment like Kinky Salon can replace years of therapy. With that said, there can also be some pretty intense side effects. While your experience might have opened something up in you, brought up forgotten memories, or made you face something important, how that effects you afterwards is just as important. It can be easy to retreat back into shame, self hatred or just old fashioned confusion. This is why it’s important to have a ‘sex positive community’ rather than just a ‘sex positive party’. Creating a supportive and loving community is an essential part of the equation. We need to be there for each other.

Tantra

Tantra is a big topic. There are many different opinions, and I don’t pretend to be an expert on them, but it plays a big part in my life so I will do my best to explain the basic premise: Tantric teachings say that we have a life force flowing through our bodies, and with training we can learn to harness it for healing, growth and connection. It has it’s roots in many different Eastern traditions- Taoist, Buddhist, Hindu. Some think that life force connects us to gods, others think the energy itself is like a god. Either way, this energy is seen as divine. Rather than needing a priest or assigned holy person to be an intermediary for this divine interaction, Tantra describes the process of direct access. There are a ton of teachers who will show you different techniques to work with and tell you different things. No way is right or wrong, they are all just different roads to the same destination- a state of communion.

To put a common misconception to rest- Tantra is not just about sex. It’s a tradition which encompasses all aspects of being human. In our sex negative culture people tend to get all fixated whenever sex is involved.

My personal take on Tantra is simple. Be present and open. Observe the subtleties of shifting energy in your environment and yourself. Experiment.

I’ve always been a great believer in the school of experience. Books and classes are helpful to let you know what you’re looking for, and to access a language to talk about the things you experience, but ultimately you will learn more about Tantra by sitting quietly and observing than you ever will by reading a book. Try sending someone a blast of genuine loving compassion when they are upset and see what a difference it makes. Not with words, just feel it- they will too. The subtle energies we experience in the world are just as real as gravity or electromagnatism, but they require another level of awareness to observe.

Kinky Salon has been an ongoing Tantric experiment for me. It’s a really interesting experience to be a steward for all that energy. The day before a party it floods into the space, and ramps up until people start arriving. It can feel a bit like PMS. It can put things out of proportion and makes you want to snap at people. The best way I deal with it is to take extra care of myself and not leave too much to do on the day of the party. I like to set up on Friday, so that on Saturday I can rest, have a hot bath, and watch a movie. If I find myself in a situation where I have to work on the day of a party, I keep it together by remembering to breathe, observing the phenomenon and recognizing it for what it is. I talk about it to people around me. They will be feeling it too. I don’t worry if they think I’m a hippy and laugh at me. Laughter actually helps to rebalance the energy, like holding your nose and blowing when you’re going up in an aeroplane.

Once the party starts the energy shifts. From my perspective, with this extra awareness activated I can have Terminator vision, augmenting what I see with details about the scene I’m looking at. With practice I can scan a room and read situations which might need tending to. All my senses are alive to the needs of the party. I can even tune into things before they happen. I can’t tell you how many times Scott and I have shown up in the same spot at the same time not knowing why, but just in the right place at the right time to catch a problem before it gets serious. As the stewards of the party it’s our responsibility to stay vigilant and aware, but it’s inevitable that we are occasionally be knocked off our surfboards. I might feel overwhelmed or have a personal interaction that leaves me wobbly. I always make sure I have a place to get out of the fray and rebalance, sit quietly and tune in, or invite a friend to help me shake it off.

Kinky Salon is not a Tantra party. Most of the people there are not consciously aware of what’s happening on this level. We don’t have an opening ritual to put people on the same page, or get them to eye gaze or hold hands, or any of those activities that help people tune in. We create this event with a specific purpose- to invite sex out of the shadows. The people we reach are hipsters and cynics. The kind of folks that wouldn’t want to take a workshop. It’s a Trojan Horse. It catches you off guard. You think you’re coming to get laid at a costume party, and then you’re blown open by the sense of freedom and possibility.

As stewards, our awareness means that this freeform experience can be nudged when it’s going off course. Perhaps I walk past the lobby and sense that the people coming in are nervous. So I step forward and make sure the greeters are being welcoming and friendly. I take a moment to greet some guests, showing by example. Or maybe I feel tension- an argument starting to brew. I can’t be afraid to step in and diffuse the situation.

Kinky Salon is like a swimming pool. The majority of people are under water, swimming around having fun. There are a few people who have their feet on solid ground and their heads above water, able to see the whole pool. Once you pop your head out of the water and smile at the faces you see there, it’s difficult to go back to blindly paddling around. Breaking the surface to be a steward can be far more satisfying.

On the radio with Sexploration with Monika

Being on the radio with Monika was like hanging out with Monika for an hour talking about the things we love. Only you get to hear it… http://sexplorationwithmonika.libsyn.com/webpage/sexual-economics-monogamy-scarcity-and-creating-abundance-in-your-pants-

Sex By Numbers in the East Bay Express

A few weeks ago a journalist from the East Bay Express interviewed me for an article on Polyamory. We sat and chatted over tea, putting the world to rights and talking about The Bigger Picture- how I see Polyamory and Sex Postivity as really great ways to learn about yourself, become a better person, and ultimately to be able to relate to the world in a more healthy way. The sexy parties that we throw at Mission Control are not just a hedonistic, narcissistic free fall into the apocalypse- although they might sometimes look that way from the outside. In a world that can be pretty scary and lonely, our events harness community spirit, foster connectedness and create real intimacy for hundreds of consenting adults every month.

The article ended up being interesting, but it’s pretty basic and one dimensional. I guess it’s a lot to ask to expect a mainstream newspaper to do anything more than that. She describes me as a ‘Johnny Appleseed’ which I think is hilarious. It conjures a picture of me spraying my polyamorous seed across America. LOL.

Anyway- here’s the article http://www.eastbayexpress.com/gyrobase/sex-by-numbers/Content?oid=3056335&storyPage=1

ENJOY