How to talk to my vagina. A recent event made me think over the terms for the vaginal area that I like and dislike. I'll get into that in a bit. Here are the terms for a woman's nether regions, ranked least favorite to most favorite.
I don't want to hear or say anything that makes it sound like it's wet or smelly or makes gross noises. Poontang makes it sound like it both has a taste and an unpleasant smell. Plus that kind of sounds like a rapper. I picture "Poontang the asian rapper" someone from a country that doesn't have "poontang" as a slang for snatch. He just heard it from someone's American cousin and thought it sounded cool. Similarly Punani is out. That's Poontang's female counterpart. Perhaps she's lead female vocals on his album, perhaps she simply takes care of his kids. That's right, soak that one in for a minute. Yeah, I said it. His Pu-nanny. Get it?! Oh I crack myself up.
...Cootchie and Pudenda hang out in Poontang's entourage. They are the annoying lame ones that the roadies don't like and the band manager counsels to shut up when press comes around.
Gash, "axe wound" and words similar to them piss me off because that makes me sound incomplete or injured. I have a gash, someone cut me, I hope that it heals. Well that's no good. "Gash of madness" (a la something positive the comic) is right out. Slit and slot sort of teeter on the edge here. I won't say either of them unless I'm trying to be vulgar or someone asks me if I take payment by credit card. "No, I'm sorry. I tried to run them up my slot but I just got bruises!"
Love Hole and baby maker are other disfavored terms. A hole is a large, cold place that is dark and dank. I will have none of that between my legs. Calling it a "love" hole or a baby maker implies that it's not for my pleasure but for the pleasure of the person "using" it or simply for production of offspring. Hearing these terms a lot makes me want to raise my hand and say, "Excuse me? The woman attached to these reproductive organs would like to claim them as her own again!"
"Cunt" is cool, but a little to vagina monologues for me. Plus, it sounds angry. It's a CUNT. It's slobbery and hairy and red and nasty and mean. Say cunt and I picture someone who is angry. An angry vagina monster....*shudders* now there's a terrifying concept. What would an angry vagina monster even do? It kind of sounds like some kind of encounter you'd have in Final Fantasy.
*Badly dubbed voice* Watch out Kenjiko! We're in cunt territory! *encounter music plays* *cut screen of this ugly, hairy, hot-dog-bun-on-crack looking thing coming out of a bush with a huge red tongueish thing coming out of the middle licking all around it and throwing huge drops of smelly slobber out. It's got teeth up the middle and it walks on those tiny little feet wind up teeth toys have.
I don't even want to know what the standard attacks of the cunt monster are.
Vagina bothers me because it's not even the right term. That's just a part of it, not the whole thing. Don't even think about calling it a "va-jay-jay" That's just stupid. Plus, it will make me think of the "Vajapocalypse" on the Soup http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aN9bqYhNLDs
It's not all bad though. There are a few terms that I just smile at. Using the word "sex" to describe it makes me think of old romance novels. "And his hand traveled slowly down to her sex, caressing the tufts of her downy mound and making her moisten in anticipation." It's old fashioned and clinical at the same time. We used the term "sex" to describe the genitals in animals and plants we dissected in college. Sex. A neutral term.
Pussy is okay because, well, everyone uses it. It's neutral and cute and there ARE some similarities between a cat and a cunt. Both are occasionally furry, both are soft and petting them makes women very happy. Pet mine and I purr *she says coquettishly*
...although there are great disparities between a wet cat and a wet pussy. Something to muse on.
The inspiration for this entire entry came from reading my friend Candy Poses' blog , Feminism without Clothes (http://candyposes.com/blog.html/) again.
I read a few pages back and remembered why I have just the hugest girl-crush ever on her. She used the word "snatch" in relating to her hairy crotch which is my favorite crotch word ever. The first time I ever heard someone use the slang was in high school. This really beautiful girl named Ester who I had somehow conned into being my best friend just casually tossed the word out.
I don't even remember what she was saying now, just something about "my snatch" but I do remember being absolutely floored. She threw the word out there with a wave of her hand and a casual toss of the head (okay probably not that, but it's how I remember it) and just kept on talking. Until that point it had been a rude word that I'd get slapped for saying at home. The way arty, beautiful chicks like Ester and Candy say it make it powerful, vulgar, sexy and special, much like they themselves are.
Snatch. The dictionary says that it means to seize something in a rude or eager way. In addition it can mean to quickly secure or obtain or to eagerly take or accept. Lastly, it can mean to hastily or ineffectually attempt to seize. I put that definition through the mental mix master and applied it to my nether regions. Eager to seize, eager to accept or to take, rude by definition but an attempt to seize it would be ineffectual. I like that word being used for the warm, wet space between my legs. It's a powerful word for powerful women. I think I'll keep it.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Hormones
As the surge of new hormones floods through my body from the new implant (okay seriously? How many times am I going to mention that I'm a cyborg now? I love it.) I find myself running hot and cold. I am easily irritated but insanely horny. In totally unrelated news I've installed google analytics on my site and it's the coolest thing ever. I'm really enjoying finding out where people are coming from, what they're looking at the most and where they're going to. People spend a long time looking at each blog page, which theoretically means that they're actually reading what I have to say. SWEET! Thanks!
That reminds me, now that I have your attention, site news.
-Please, please, please go vote for me on the bondage awards. You can go vote once every 12 hours. It's especially important that you go vote now because if I don't get at least ten votes in this round I won't be able to progress to the next round, where I will beg you to go vote for me again.
-I have learned how to webcam (thanks RP!), will now have to install it. Once I do, members can look forward to live webcam shows where they can instruct me through chat and watch me obey to their every desire (well, almost every). I'm getting wet just thinking about it.
-R K Milholland of Something Positive has started drawing Isobel Wren comics! When those are complete I'll put them up on the site.
Anyway, back to what I was saying. Wouldn't it be super cool if we could put psychic spyware into own own brains? In my supersaturated horny state I find myself thinking something sexual about almost every attractive person I meet. I want to see the roman nose of the nerdy guy at the coffee shop buried in my snatch, I want to suck the ample breasts of a hot asian girl minding her own business waiting in line. I want to unzip the starched pants of the police officer guarding the toll bridge, pull out his cock and suck it while commuters zoom past us on the Mass Pike. If these people had sex analytics in their brains they would know instantly that someone just thought an unpure thought at them. Then, perhaps they would track me by my brain IP and ask me if I cared to share my thoughts. That police officer would pull me over for something much more fun than a broken tail light.
Oh, and who else totally ponders offering the nice officer some fellatio to get out of what is sure to be a totally brutal ticket? I do. I totally, totally do. Only unattractive cops ever pull me over though. And what's to stop him from simply writing up the ticket anyway after you blew him? I would be so pissed. Knowing my luck, he'd be a patrolman in those fancy new cars with the cameras and I'd end up on one of those, "crazy police videos" shows on Spike tv The announcer would be all, "This crazy nympho thought she could get out of a ticket by blowing the officer, but he turned her down cold! Next! On 'Stupid Sluts, Caught on Tape!'"
I have this really comfortable tank top given to me by Richard Cheese. It says, "I heart DICK" on it, so I really only wear it to bed or as an undershirt. Today, I did both. I meant to take it off and put another shirt on after I showered, but I got a late start and had to skip the shower. I slipped a bra under it and a sweater over it and headed to the airport. The weather was warmer than I thought it was though, so I soon stripped the sweater off, forgetting what my shirt said. I wondered why men were so nice to me and women gave me dirty looks until the young rapper-looking clerk at the ticket counter said, "You love dick, huh?" with a big grin on his face.
I had to explain that Richard Cheese is a lounge singer who is particularly awesome in his lounge-ification of popular songs. The other young male clerk walked up and chucked his chin at my shirt. "I can get down with that." he grinned.
"Naw dude. It's a lounge singer." replied the first
"Yeah." replied the second, with a puzzled look, "I heard her. I love lounge music. What'd you think I was talking about?"
The first blushed, "Aw man. I thought you was talkin' about her shirt. You down with her and what it says."
"I am!" the second insisted, blundering innocently on, "I love that guy! He's hilarious!"
The first guy just shook his head and handed me my ticket. I put my sweater back on. In a classic example of why my family thinks I'm "like this" on purpose, I promptly forgot what my shirt said and took the sweater off as soon as I got hot again. This garment version of wax on, wax off continued all day as I forgot, garnered stares, pondered the stares, remembered and put the sweater back on. I bet you my sex analytics brainware would have been logging record hits today.
That reminds me, now that I have your attention, site news.
-Please, please, please go vote for me on the bondage awards. You can go vote once every 12 hours. It's especially important that you go vote now because if I don't get at least ten votes in this round I won't be able to progress to the next round, where I will beg you to go vote for me again.
-I have learned how to webcam (thanks RP!), will now have to install it. Once I do, members can look forward to live webcam shows where they can instruct me through chat and watch me obey to their every desire (well, almost every). I'm getting wet just thinking about it.
-R K Milholland of Something Positive has started drawing Isobel Wren comics! When those are complete I'll put them up on the site.
Anyway, back to what I was saying. Wouldn't it be super cool if we could put psychic spyware into own own brains? In my supersaturated horny state I find myself thinking something sexual about almost every attractive person I meet. I want to see the roman nose of the nerdy guy at the coffee shop buried in my snatch, I want to suck the ample breasts of a hot asian girl minding her own business waiting in line. I want to unzip the starched pants of the police officer guarding the toll bridge, pull out his cock and suck it while commuters zoom past us on the Mass Pike. If these people had sex analytics in their brains they would know instantly that someone just thought an unpure thought at them. Then, perhaps they would track me by my brain IP and ask me if I cared to share my thoughts. That police officer would pull me over for something much more fun than a broken tail light.
Oh, and who else totally ponders offering the nice officer some fellatio to get out of what is sure to be a totally brutal ticket? I do. I totally, totally do. Only unattractive cops ever pull me over though. And what's to stop him from simply writing up the ticket anyway after you blew him? I would be so pissed. Knowing my luck, he'd be a patrolman in those fancy new cars with the cameras and I'd end up on one of those, "crazy police videos" shows on Spike tv The announcer would be all, "This crazy nympho thought she could get out of a ticket by blowing the officer, but he turned her down cold! Next! On 'Stupid Sluts, Caught on Tape!'"
I have this really comfortable tank top given to me by Richard Cheese. It says, "I heart DICK" on it, so I really only wear it to bed or as an undershirt. Today, I did both. I meant to take it off and put another shirt on after I showered, but I got a late start and had to skip the shower. I slipped a bra under it and a sweater over it and headed to the airport. The weather was warmer than I thought it was though, so I soon stripped the sweater off, forgetting what my shirt said. I wondered why men were so nice to me and women gave me dirty looks until the young rapper-looking clerk at the ticket counter said, "You love dick, huh?" with a big grin on his face.
I had to explain that Richard Cheese is a lounge singer who is particularly awesome in his lounge-ification of popular songs. The other young male clerk walked up and chucked his chin at my shirt. "I can get down with that." he grinned.
"Naw dude. It's a lounge singer." replied the first
"Yeah." replied the second, with a puzzled look, "I heard her. I love lounge music. What'd you think I was talking about?"
The first blushed, "Aw man. I thought you was talkin' about her shirt. You down with her and what it says."
"I am!" the second insisted, blundering innocently on, "I love that guy! He's hilarious!"
The first guy just shook his head and handed me my ticket. I put my sweater back on. In a classic example of why my family thinks I'm "like this" on purpose, I promptly forgot what my shirt said and took the sweater off as soon as I got hot again. This garment version of wax on, wax off continued all day as I forgot, garnered stares, pondered the stares, remembered and put the sweater back on. I bet you my sex analytics brainware would have been logging record hits today.
Friends/Vaginas
I forget about my friends. This is another thing that makes me a bad person. I forget about my friends until someone reminds me that they're there, that I have friends. I had this great idea to get my nude model friends with blogs or paysites together and have a vlog-off like fiveawesomegirls and this reminded me that Candy Poses (http://candyposes.com/drupal/) is my friend so I had to go read her blog, Feminism without Clothes (http://candyposes.com/blog.html/) again.
I read a few pages back and remembered why I have just the hugest girl-crush ever on her. Also, she used the word "snatch" in relating to her hairy crotch which is my favorite crotch word ever. The first time I ever heard someone use the slang was in high school. This really beautiful girl named Ester who I had somehow conned into being my best friend just casually tossed the word out.
I don't even remember what she was saying now, just something about "my snatch" but I do remember being absolutely floored. She threw the word out there with a wave of her hand and a casual toss of the head (okay probably not that, but it's how I remember it) and just kept on talking. The way she said it and the person she is just made me convinced that snatch was the word powerful, beautiful, artistic women used to describe their holiest of holies. I've since decided that "snatch" is possibly the most powerful word for a woman to use when referring to her crotchal regions.
Not to discount other slangs for the vaginal area. I mean "cunt" is cool too, but that's a little to vagina monologues for me. Plus, it sounds angry. It's a CUNT. It's slobbery and hairy and red and nasty and mean. Say cunt and I picture someone who is angry. An angry vagina monster....*shudders* now there's a terrifying concept. What would an angry vagina monster even do? It kind of sounds like some kind of encounter you'd have in Final Fantasy.
*Badly dubbed voice* Watch out Kenjiko! We're in cunt territory! *encounter music plays* *cut screen of this ugly, hairy, hot-dog-bun-on-crack looking thing coming out of a bush with a huge red tongueish thing coming out of the middle licking all around it and throwing huge drops of smelly slobber out. It's got teeth up the middle and it walks on those tiny little feet wind up teeth toys have.
I don't even want to know what the standard attacks of the cunt monster are.
Vagina bothers me because it's not even the right term. That's just a part of it, not the whole thing.
I don't want to hear or say anything that makes it sound like it's wet or smelly or makes gross noises. Poontang makes it sound like it both has a taste and an unpleasant smell. Plus that kind of sounds like a rapper. I picture "Poontang the asian rapper" someone from a country that doesn't have "poontang" as a slang for snatch. He just heard it from someone's American cousin and thought it sounded cool. Similarly Punani is out. That's Poontang's female counterpart. Perhaps she's lead female vocals on his album, perhaps she simply takes care of his kids. That's right, soak that one in for a minute. Yeah, I said it. His Pu-nanny. Get it?! Oh I crack myself up.
...Cootchie and Pudenda hang out in Poontang's entourage. They are the annoying lame ones that the roadies don't like and the band manager counsels to shut up when press comes around.
Gash, "axe wound" and words similar to them piss me off because that makes me sound incomplete or injured. I have a gash, someone cut me, I hope that it heals. Well that's no good. "Gash of madness" (a la something positive the comic) is right out. Slit and slot sort of teeter on the edge here. I won't say either of them unless I'm trying to be vulgar or someone asks me if I take payment by credit card. "No, I'm sorry. I tried to run them up my slot but I just got bruises!"
Love Hole and baby maker are other disfavored terms. A hole is a large, cold place that is dark and dank. I will have none of that between my legs. Calling it a "love" hole or a baby maker implies that it's not for my pleasure but for the pleasure of the person "using" it or simply for production of offspring. Hearing these terms a lot makes me want to raise my hand and say, "Excuse me? The woman attached to these reproductive organs would like to claim them as her own again!"
It's not all bad though. There are a few terms that I just smile at. Using the word "sex" to describe it makes me think of old romance novels. "And his hand traveled slowly down to her sex, caressing the tufts of her downy mound and making her moisten in anticipation." It's old fashioned and clinical at the same time. We used the term "sex" to describe the genitals in animals and plants we dissected in college. Sex. A neutral term.
Pussy is okay because, well, everyone uses it. It's neutral and cute and there ARE some similarities between a cat and a cunt. Both are occasionally furry,
sex
pussy
I read a few pages back and remembered why I have just the hugest girl-crush ever on her. Also, she used the word "snatch" in relating to her hairy crotch which is my favorite crotch word ever. The first time I ever heard someone use the slang was in high school. This really beautiful girl named Ester who I had somehow conned into being my best friend just casually tossed the word out.
I don't even remember what she was saying now, just something about "my snatch" but I do remember being absolutely floored. She threw the word out there with a wave of her hand and a casual toss of the head (okay probably not that, but it's how I remember it) and just kept on talking. The way she said it and the person she is just made me convinced that snatch was the word powerful, beautiful, artistic women used to describe their holiest of holies. I've since decided that "snatch" is possibly the most powerful word for a woman to use when referring to her crotchal regions.
Not to discount other slangs for the vaginal area. I mean "cunt" is cool too, but that's a little to vagina monologues for me. Plus, it sounds angry. It's a CUNT. It's slobbery and hairy and red and nasty and mean. Say cunt and I picture someone who is angry. An angry vagina monster....*shudders* now there's a terrifying concept. What would an angry vagina monster even do? It kind of sounds like some kind of encounter you'd have in Final Fantasy.
*Badly dubbed voice* Watch out Kenjiko! We're in cunt territory! *encounter music plays* *cut screen of this ugly, hairy, hot-dog-bun-on-crack looking thing coming out of a bush with a huge red tongueish thing coming out of the middle licking all around it and throwing huge drops of smelly slobber out. It's got teeth up the middle and it walks on those tiny little feet wind up teeth toys have.
I don't even want to know what the standard attacks of the cunt monster are.
Vagina bothers me because it's not even the right term. That's just a part of it, not the whole thing.
I don't want to hear or say anything that makes it sound like it's wet or smelly or makes gross noises. Poontang makes it sound like it both has a taste and an unpleasant smell. Plus that kind of sounds like a rapper. I picture "Poontang the asian rapper" someone from a country that doesn't have "poontang" as a slang for snatch. He just heard it from someone's American cousin and thought it sounded cool. Similarly Punani is out. That's Poontang's female counterpart. Perhaps she's lead female vocals on his album, perhaps she simply takes care of his kids. That's right, soak that one in for a minute. Yeah, I said it. His Pu-nanny. Get it?! Oh I crack myself up.
...Cootchie and Pudenda hang out in Poontang's entourage. They are the annoying lame ones that the roadies don't like and the band manager counsels to shut up when press comes around.
Gash, "axe wound" and words similar to them piss me off because that makes me sound incomplete or injured. I have a gash, someone cut me, I hope that it heals. Well that's no good. "Gash of madness" (a la something positive the comic) is right out. Slit and slot sort of teeter on the edge here. I won't say either of them unless I'm trying to be vulgar or someone asks me if I take payment by credit card. "No, I'm sorry. I tried to run them up my slot but I just got bruises!"
Love Hole and baby maker are other disfavored terms. A hole is a large, cold place that is dark and dank. I will have none of that between my legs. Calling it a "love" hole or a baby maker implies that it's not for my pleasure but for the pleasure of the person "using" it or simply for production of offspring. Hearing these terms a lot makes me want to raise my hand and say, "Excuse me? The woman attached to these reproductive organs would like to claim them as her own again!"
It's not all bad though. There are a few terms that I just smile at. Using the word "sex" to describe it makes me think of old romance novels. "And his hand traveled slowly down to her sex, caressing the tufts of her downy mound and making her moisten in anticipation." It's old fashioned and clinical at the same time. We used the term "sex" to describe the genitals in animals and plants we dissected in college. Sex. A neutral term.
Pussy is okay because, well, everyone uses it. It's neutral and cute and there ARE some similarities between a cat and a cunt. Both are occasionally furry,
sex
pussy
Career Faire
I attended a career fair the other day so as not to continue wasting my degree. Not that I've tired of modeling, just that I like to see what options are open to one who has a degree in the environmental sciences. I like to see what people are hiring for. Professional curiousity I guess. Anyway, it got me thinking about what people wanted to be when they were kids and how it turned out.
When I was a kid I wanted to be lots of things. Depending on how I felt I wanted to be any of a myriad of careers. I wanted to be a veterinarian for years, from when I was 13 to 17 or so (when I discovered not only do I hate poop and vomit and all that, but that veterinarians have more school to go to than doctors and much of that school involves vivisection...on cute puppies, no less). No one talks about my longest running career ambition though. They talk about my shortest. What I wanted to be one ill fated career day in kindergarten.
We had career day. A few parents came in and talked about what it was like to work in their jobs. We had the usual staples, I don't remember now. A firefighter or police officer, probably a doctor maybe a nurse (women's lib and all, you know). When they were done speaking they sat at the front of the classroom in those little uncomfortable chairs and smiled while we all drew pictures of what we wanted to be when we grew up.
Misses Shapiro collected our pictures and showed each one to the class and the clapping parents, editorializing on each one.
"And Jimmy wants to be....a doctor!"
*clap clap clap*
"And Becca wants to be....a ballerina!"
*clap clap clap*
"And Wren wants to be...." she frowned at my drawing and paused an extra long time, trying to work it out before she concluded, "a rockstar!"
*clap cl-
"NO!"
I stood up, five year old fists clenched in fury at my sides.
"I don't wanna be a rockstar! I wanna be a PROSTITUTE!"
The parents gasped, Misses Shapiro's face twisted in horror.
In mere minutes I found myself in the principals office with my mother being called and a concerned social worker asking me to tell her if anyone ever touched me in my no no spot. She demonstrated with anatomically correct dolls.
"Did anyone ever touch you HERE?"
Nope
"How about heeeere?" She lowered her fingers
Nope
"Not here?" She queried, moving her hands
Still more no. This was starting to feel like a really strange game of Where's Waldo (though I'm pretty sure that hadn't been invented yet) and I was beginning to feel compelled to make something up to please this saccharine sweet lady when she was called out of the room. My mother had arrived, still wearing her nurse's scrubs, nametag still on the front pocket.
They figured that the only way a little kid as young as I was would know what a hooker was would be if that child had been abused or prostituted herself, or had a close relative or family friend who was a prostitute, so I'm sure that my mom received more scrutiny than was fair. In any case, they called me out in a few moments and I -who didn't know what I'd done, simply that I'd done something bad enough that they had to call mom- slouched in the big green naugahide chair, trying mightily to avoid meeting my mom's eyes when the social worker finally lost her cool.
"Miss-ses WREN!" She barked shrilly, "Do youuu know what your daughter said she wants to be when she grows up?"
My mom, irritated at being called from work and totally used to me doing embarrassing and stupid things by now, rubbed her eyebrows and replied with a bored, "I don't know. A dinosaur?"
Upset that no one was taking her seriously the social worker shrieked, "She wanted to be a prostitute!" taking a deep breath she leveled and accusatory eye at mom, "Now whyyyyy. Would she say that?"
Mom squinted at this ***easily irritated*** woman who had interrupted her breadwinning. "Did you ask her?"
The social worker straightened. Asking the child had obviously never occurred to her.
She walked over to me and did that thing that adults do when they're trying to convince a child they're serious. She squatted and took both my hands in hers, meeting me on my eye level and staring searchingly into my eyes.
"Sweetie." She asked, "Why do you want to be a prostitute?"
I shook my head and rolled my eyes, was THAT what all this was about? Sheesh, that was easy!
We lived in a rough neighborhood outside of DC and every night after mom put me to bed I'd stare out my windows at the hookers on the corner. I wanted to do what they did, which was everything I couldn't. They got to stay up late, dress up pretty and take rides in cars with men.
I thought that they were some kind of driving companion. I'd heard about commuting, perhaps that's what they did, helped people commute. I figured they got paychecks like my parents did.
I explained this all and kept my parents out of big trouble. I, however, was not so lucky when I got home.
When I was a kid I wanted to be lots of things. Depending on how I felt I wanted to be any of a myriad of careers. I wanted to be a veterinarian for years, from when I was 13 to 17 or so (when I discovered not only do I hate poop and vomit and all that, but that veterinarians have more school to go to than doctors and much of that school involves vivisection...on cute puppies, no less). No one talks about my longest running career ambition though. They talk about my shortest. What I wanted to be one ill fated career day in kindergarten.
We had career day. A few parents came in and talked about what it was like to work in their jobs. We had the usual staples, I don't remember now. A firefighter or police officer, probably a doctor maybe a nurse (women's lib and all, you know). When they were done speaking they sat at the front of the classroom in those little uncomfortable chairs and smiled while we all drew pictures of what we wanted to be when we grew up.
Misses Shapiro collected our pictures and showed each one to the class and the clapping parents, editorializing on each one.
"And Jimmy wants to be....a doctor!"
*clap clap clap*
"And Becca wants to be....a ballerina!"
*clap clap clap*
"And Wren wants to be...." she frowned at my drawing and paused an extra long time, trying to work it out before she concluded, "a rockstar!"
*clap cl-
"NO!"
I stood up, five year old fists clenched in fury at my sides.
"I don't wanna be a rockstar! I wanna be a PROSTITUTE!"
The parents gasped, Misses Shapiro's face twisted in horror.
In mere minutes I found myself in the principals office with my mother being called and a concerned social worker asking me to tell her if anyone ever touched me in my no no spot. She demonstrated with anatomically correct dolls.
"Did anyone ever touch you HERE?"
Nope
"How about heeeere?" She lowered her fingers
Nope
"Not here?" She queried, moving her hands
Still more no. This was starting to feel like a really strange game of Where's Waldo (though I'm pretty sure that hadn't been invented yet) and I was beginning to feel compelled to make something up to please this saccharine sweet lady when she was called out of the room. My mother had arrived, still wearing her nurse's scrubs, nametag still on the front pocket.
They figured that the only way a little kid as young as I was would know what a hooker was would be if that child had been abused or prostituted herself, or had a close relative or family friend who was a prostitute, so I'm sure that my mom received more scrutiny than was fair. In any case, they called me out in a few moments and I -who didn't know what I'd done, simply that I'd done something bad enough that they had to call mom- slouched in the big green naugahide chair, trying mightily to avoid meeting my mom's eyes when the social worker finally lost her cool.
"Miss-ses WREN!" She barked shrilly, "Do youuu know what your daughter said she wants to be when she grows up?"
My mom, irritated at being called from work and totally used to me doing embarrassing and stupid things by now, rubbed her eyebrows and replied with a bored, "I don't know. A dinosaur?"
Upset that no one was taking her seriously the social worker shrieked, "She wanted to be a prostitute!" taking a deep breath she leveled and accusatory eye at mom, "Now whyyyyy. Would she say that?"
Mom squinted at this ***easily irritated*** woman who had interrupted her breadwinning. "Did you ask her?"
The social worker straightened. Asking the child had obviously never occurred to her.
She walked over to me and did that thing that adults do when they're trying to convince a child they're serious. She squatted and took both my hands in hers, meeting me on my eye level and staring searchingly into my eyes.
"Sweetie." She asked, "Why do you want to be a prostitute?"
I shook my head and rolled my eyes, was THAT what all this was about? Sheesh, that was easy!
We lived in a rough neighborhood outside of DC and every night after mom put me to bed I'd stare out my windows at the hookers on the corner. I wanted to do what they did, which was everything I couldn't. They got to stay up late, dress up pretty and take rides in cars with men.
I thought that they were some kind of driving companion. I'd heard about commuting, perhaps that's what they did, helped people commute. I figured they got paychecks like my parents did.
I explained this all and kept my parents out of big trouble. I, however, was not so lucky when I got home.
AVN 2008
I'm in Las Vegas! I can't believe it! This is the city that I've seen so much of in films and tv and I've never been here, but here I am. You know what? I am not only in Las Vegas, but I am in Las Vegas at the AVN Expo. How cool is that?! I feel like a little kid every time I say "how cool is that?!" and it feels a little strange to have child-like joy about "the porno convention" but I am just that thrilled. The adult entertainment expo is just that kind of exciting to me. Sex is so basic, so beautiful, so thrilling that being here at the expo is a gleeful experience. I was walking down the main convention center hallway in my businesswoman outfit (you know, the vertiginous pumps, the thigh high stockings, the pinstripe skirt that just barely covers my ass and the pinstripe jacket with only a bra under it) and heads were turning, people were staring and taking pictures, one guy walked into a column. I was grinning my face off, living in attention whore's paradise. This is what I want to do. This is what I love to do. This is what I was made to do.
Oh yeah, sure, I CAN do more than what I feel I was made to do. I have done more and I will continue to do more. I COULD take my clothes off for a living for the rest of my life but I assure you that it wouldn't be pretty. I will move on and achieve more than just what my body was made to want. Right now though, I'm happy. Being here at AEE is surreal and (right now at least) reinforcing to me that this is what I am good at and love doing. Dear everyone, you still continue to have my permission to masturbate to me. Sincerely, Isobel
Want to see me while I'm here? I'm in the Killer Bea Media booth, that's 5102. If I'm not there I'm either being tied up at the Dungeon Corps booth (which is on the right hand side near the firetruck) or the PAW booth....or I'm wandering around because there's a whole bunch of nearly naked chicks here and I'm an ogler. I told RP that it's going to be hard to keep me at the booth b/c of this and he says to tell y'all that he'll have me tied to the booth at regular intervals to keep me there.
Vegas Things:
-Zumanity is a super cool show. Seeing Cirque du Solei in person is a totally amazing experience and a million times better than seeing it on tape, like I have been.
-My overriding thought while being here is, "good God I'm glad I don't have a gambling addiction."
-Food here is either stupid cheap or stupid expensive.
-Advertisements are all over NYC, everywhere, on every available surface. They are NOT everywhere here, they are "tastefully" placed, but created in such a way that they instantly grab and hold your attention. It's amazing. I'm astounded by the planning that went into making this a money machine.
Oh yeah, sure, I CAN do more than what I feel I was made to do. I have done more and I will continue to do more. I COULD take my clothes off for a living for the rest of my life but I assure you that it wouldn't be pretty. I will move on and achieve more than just what my body was made to want. Right now though, I'm happy. Being here at AEE is surreal and (right now at least) reinforcing to me that this is what I am good at and love doing. Dear everyone, you still continue to have my permission to masturbate to me. Sincerely, Isobel
Want to see me while I'm here? I'm in the Killer Bea Media booth, that's 5102. If I'm not there I'm either being tied up at the Dungeon Corps booth (which is on the right hand side near the firetruck) or the PAW booth....or I'm wandering around because there's a whole bunch of nearly naked chicks here and I'm an ogler. I told RP that it's going to be hard to keep me at the booth b/c of this and he says to tell y'all that he'll have me tied to the booth at regular intervals to keep me there.
Vegas Things:
-Zumanity is a super cool show. Seeing Cirque du Solei in person is a totally amazing experience and a million times better than seeing it on tape, like I have been.
-My overriding thought while being here is, "good God I'm glad I don't have a gambling addiction."
-Food here is either stupid cheap or stupid expensive.
-Advertisements are all over NYC, everywhere, on every available surface. They are NOT everywhere here, they are "tastefully" placed, but created in such a way that they instantly grab and hold your attention. It's amazing. I'm astounded by the planning that went into making this a money machine.
My first time
So here's my first entry in my new site. So let's make this a post all about firsts. What firsts do you want to know about?
The first time I had an orgasm I was 18. I'd been masturbating for years but it was frustrating and boring since nothing ever happened. I listened to Lovelines every night and girls like me always asked, "how will I know when I've had an orgasm?" to which Adam and Dr. Drew would always respond, "Oh you'll know when you've had an orgasm! It's the best thing in the world! Earth shattering! You'll know!"
One day I was cleaning out a closet and found this old back massager that my dad bought for the family. It had been fun for a while but it was quickly forgotten and packed away. I'm sure the lightbulb above my head was so intense it was actually visible. No one would miss this massager since they'd forgotten it anyway. I wasn't old enough to purchase a vibrator but I'd have bet you this thing would do just fine.
That night I plugged it in and pulled it out once I'd used my fingers to work myself up a bit. It felt great! I used it at least once a night for the next week straight. Masturbating was WAY better with a vibrator! So THIS is why people do this.
I was still a little bothered that I hadn't discovered the elusive orgasm. If just masturbating felt that good I could imagine how awesome an orgasm was going to feel. The next afternoon I pulled out the massager before the rest of my family got home and wore myself out with some very nice mental fanfic about Nightcrawler. After I was done I lay back on the pillows and reveled in how worn out I felt.
Slowly it began to dawn on me. There had been a heightening of pleasure followed by a moment when it felt really good and then I was tired and happy. HOLY SHIT! That must have been an orgasm. I had had an orgasm. I had BEEN having orgasms for the past week! Son of a BITCH! I had been coming for a week without knowing it. I was so pissed at Lovelines for building me up like that. It wasn't until I dated a man who was into BDSM that I understood how an orgasm could really be an earth shattering experience...but that's a story for another time.
The first time I had an orgasm I was 18. I'd been masturbating for years but it was frustrating and boring since nothing ever happened. I listened to Lovelines every night and girls like me always asked, "how will I know when I've had an orgasm?" to which Adam and Dr. Drew would always respond, "Oh you'll know when you've had an orgasm! It's the best thing in the world! Earth shattering! You'll know!"
One day I was cleaning out a closet and found this old back massager that my dad bought for the family. It had been fun for a while but it was quickly forgotten and packed away. I'm sure the lightbulb above my head was so intense it was actually visible. No one would miss this massager since they'd forgotten it anyway. I wasn't old enough to purchase a vibrator but I'd have bet you this thing would do just fine.
That night I plugged it in and pulled it out once I'd used my fingers to work myself up a bit. It felt great! I used it at least once a night for the next week straight. Masturbating was WAY better with a vibrator! So THIS is why people do this.
I was still a little bothered that I hadn't discovered the elusive orgasm. If just masturbating felt that good I could imagine how awesome an orgasm was going to feel. The next afternoon I pulled out the massager before the rest of my family got home and wore myself out with some very nice mental fanfic about Nightcrawler. After I was done I lay back on the pillows and reveled in how worn out I felt.
Slowly it began to dawn on me. There had been a heightening of pleasure followed by a moment when it felt really good and then I was tired and happy. HOLY SHIT! That must have been an orgasm. I had had an orgasm. I had BEEN having orgasms for the past week! Son of a BITCH! I had been coming for a week without knowing it. I was so pissed at Lovelines for building me up like that. It wasn't until I dated a man who was into BDSM that I understood how an orgasm could really be an earth shattering experience...but that's a story for another time.
Puppy Video
This week I've been filming my second puppy video. I think you'll like it when it's done. People often ask me if I really get turned on while I film or shoot. I'm not sure what the "right" answer is but the real answer is sometimes. Like anything else one enjoys, if you make a job out of it some of it is going to turn into a routine and that's going to be boring and job-like. Sometimes I'm not totally comfortable with the person I'm shooting with, sometimes I'm tired and sometimes the setting isn't conducive to getting turned on. In the set where I'm being force fed honey by Ester Amoral I guarantee you that the only thing I was thinking was "eeeeeeeee! I'm so stickeeeeyyyy!"
Of course, when I looked at the pictures I said, "Oh damn who are those sexy bitches?! Where is my vibrator?!" but when we shot it, sex was a much lower priority than say, a shower. A long. Hot. Shower....which is sad, because I would totally fuck Ester Amoral.
In any case, sometimes I DO get turned on by a shoot, and the second puppy video has definitely been one of those times. I'll give you a bit of a spoiler.
This video, the second Isobel's Puppy Adventure video, is about Isobel the puppy being examined and trained. Evil doctor RP uses his scary instruments to test me for depth and width in my pussy and mouth. *Digression* Upon entering RP's studio a few years ago I goggled at the amount of scary objects of ambiguous origin and purpose that he had in his possession.
"Where....where did you GET all these things?"
Unwittingly, he laughed a very good evil genius laugh and grinned at me, "Ebay."
He turned back to setting up the shoot and I wandered around touching things (we models do this, it's a horrible habit. Most photographers hate it). After 15 minutes of trying to figure out what something that looked vaguely like a milking machine on crack was supposed to do I decided -against what should be my better judgement- to ask, "What does any of this stuff DO?!"
He looked up, trying to pick out WHICH "stuff" I was motioning to. He shrugged, "Oh fuck, I don't know. It looks pretty horrific though, doesn't it?" He grinned, "Isn't it great?!"
I have since learned that RP is an ebaying fool. I have never learned, however, what it is that he types into the ebay search engine to end up with his scary things. I mean, if he doesn't have a concrete thing to search for -such as a frequent term of mine "size 8 pumps 5 inch heel"- what does he have type so that a small chrome engine with what looks like tanks and syringes and odd valves attached comes up in the results?! I'm not sure that I want to know.
End of digression. So in the video RP is testing me for depth and such with a clear purple double headed dildo. At this point we'd been shooting for quite some time. He'd been thowing me around and testing different parts of me with different types of instruments, I'd masturbated for a short time until I was "caught". The script called for him to catch me masturbating, take the measuing dldo from me, smack me around a little and continue with the examination.
He stuffed the dildo in deep and rough as per the shoot plan. My poor pussy couldn't take it any longer. I cried out and practically jumped off the table trying to push back against the dildo. My reaction surprised the both of us. The scene was supposed to be over after he measured me but I begged him not to stop. *smirk* Gamely, he obliged. Rough life for RP huh? At that point I wasn't paying attention to things like camera angles and body positioning, I just fucked the hell out of that dildo until I came. I hope the video turned out okay. *evil grin*
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