Lusting her hot sauce

Sultry Argentine hot spice

Scorching, scalding – OUCH!

http://www.middleagedwomanblogging.com/2009/06/dirty-haiku-thursday-mark-sanfords-lust.html

Would anyone be interested in working on an anthology of works read at the Salon? It would be published as an ebook.

March 27/28 there will be a fundraiser for the Opera House in Jim Thorpe. I will be offering a workshop and exposing the Salon – pun intended. Hope to see some of you there, great material for writing. http://www.jimthorpeburlesque.com/

The article in the Daily News http://www.philly.com/dailynews/features/87636567.html was posted by a variety of sites, including this one: http://tinyurl.com/yecadaf The Politifi, Politics, New and Debate blog. Under the title “Talking about Sex” in the featured stories section I rank with Kate Winslet splitting from husband and U.S. credit faltering. I’m rather proud to be up there with the best of them, but what I’m still trying to figure out what that says about the Salon or about what we consider to be a featured story.

Tomorrow some hot words, a piece from a famous writer that arrived in my email.

I hear and read daily how people get stuck in their thoughts and what they do. I like to offer examples of people that don’t. Folks who continue to expand their horizons and grow. People who live in the moment.

The essay has a sensual quality about it, quite lovely.

Miriam Goodman’s essay article can be found in the Expressway section of Newsday www.newsday.com, Sat. March 6, 2010 paper, “A Season of White Alchemy.”

AlterNetToo Much Sex? No Such Thing — Why Sex Addiction Is Total B.S.By Raymond J. Lawrence, CounterPunchPosted on March 6, 2010, Printed on March 10, 2010http://www.alternet.org/story/145922/
American befuddlement over matters of sex is on the increase, in spite of the fact that one can hardly imagine the subject becoming more befuddling to the people of this country than it already is.
Sex addiction is the latest star in America’s sexual burlesque. Sex addiction has of course been a malaprop from its first usage. Addiction was originally and properly defined as a physiological dependence on a substance to which the body had grown accustomed, such as alcohol, nicotine, heroin and various other drugs. The cure was to end the dependency and abstain from further use of the substance in order to avoid a recurrence of the physiological dependency. These treatments do work and many people have been cured of their addictions and never returned to the addictive substance.
Applying such a metaphor to sexual pleasure creates a misleading and ominous innuendo. Sex is not an addictive substance. It’s a human interaction on which the survival of the species is dependent. It is also possibly the most pleasurable and sought after activity known to humankind, and arguably an experience no one should be deprived of. Most normal people consider more rather than less sexual pleasure to be a major objective in life.
Following the substance abuse mode implies that the only cure for an addiction to sexual pleasure would be a celibate or monastic life, a complete renunciation of the alleged addictive sexual pleasure.
The very idea of sexual pleasure as a harmful addiction plays precisely into the hands of one of the most perverse aspects of Western religious history, namely the teaching that sex is a work of the devil redeemed only by the act of procreation itself. Reliance on the notion of sex addiction in counseling and psychiatric treatment is ominous.
Christianity as a world religion has much to commend it on balance. Nevertheless, its posture toward sexual pleasure has been abysmal. In that respect it should be noted that Christianity, of all the major world religions, is the only one to cast sexual pleasure in such a negative light. Never mind that Christianity’s distaff side – Protestants and others – challenged such negativity toward sexual pleasure. They were eventually and unfortunately drowned out in the debate. It is no coincidence that currently the most Christian of nations, the U.S., is also the most negative toward sexual pleasure. (And at the same time the most confused sexually.) Europe as gone blessedly post-Christian.
We must suspect that the sex addiction proponents unconsciously wish to rebuild something like the medieval Christian social order where virtually every cultured and literate person was bereft of sexual pleasure for life, save for sexual pleasure in the service of procreation
Some psychiatrists are now getting into the fray, offering treatment for sex addiction. However, the Bible of psychiatry, the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM), is currently being prepared for its 5th edition, and is wisely declining to introduce sex addiction to its manual. It does, however, come close by introducing the category of hypersexuality as a mental disorder. This neologism is the editors’ own special, and arguably less troublesome, substitute for sex addiction. But as the saying goes, it walks like the proverbial sex addiction duck.
The pundits are now weighing in on the new DSM 5. Allan Frances in The Los Angeles Times is worried that philanderers and rapists will now be able to claim mental illness as a defense of their anti-social behavior and thereby escape punishment. George Will in The Washington Post astutely raises the problem of medicalizing the assessment of character, which he unaccountably blames on liberals. I thought I was a liberal, but I’m as concerned as Will about defining character or the lack thereof as a burden of psychiatric diagnosticians. And by extension, character as an expected outcome of proper medication.
So now according to the working version of the new DSM-5, psychiatrists will be able to assess whether one is having too much sex, or even whether one simply wants too much sex. Or too little. They will presumably have some kind of measuring rod to determine what is too much or too little.
This new project, of assessing who might be wanting or getting too much sexual pleasure, or too little, should create many more jobs for psychiatrists. We’ve been needing something to improve the job market. Maybe this will do it. Perhaps psychiatry will now join hands with the worst elements of Christianity and recreate the medieval Christian dream, a world where the only sexual pleasure allowable is that accidentally associated with the desire to procreate.

Raymond J. Lawrence is an Episcopal cleric, recently retired Director of Pastoral Care, New York Presbyterian Hospital, and author of numerous opinion pieces in newspapers in the U.S., and author of the recently published, Sexual Liberation: The Scandal of Christendom (Praeger). He can be reached at: raymondlawrence@mac.com© 2010 CounterPunch All rights reserved.View this story online at: http://www.alternet.org/story/145922/

Frantic Lesbian has a Bizarre Fetish

By Walter J.F.

If I tell you what turns me on, what I brood over and masturbate to nightly, and you don’t freak out, I will be the happiest woman alive.

But if I tell you my fetish and you grab my ass and slam my crotch against yours and stare down at me and slow your breathing and rock your hips back and forth like that chick in that one music video you’re obsessed with, and I can feel you’re just as wet thinking about my fantasy as I am, then I swear I’ll wake you up every Saturday morning with my head between your thighs till you’re old and flabby and gross, and I’ll compose a full-orchestra prog-rock album dedicated to your babeness — Yeah, I know I can’t write music, but I’ll learn. Did you know I played French horn in marching band? And they say that’s one of the most difficult instruments to learn, which is probably true, because I was terrible. But you know what I’m not terrible at? Coping with my timidity.

Do you know how many strange things I’ve shoved in my pussy? A lot. I’m a 28-year-old lesbian, and I don’t even own a dildo. I finger fucked you in the back of the theater at “Finding Nemo,” and yet I can’t go into a sex shop and admit to the person who works there that I like sex. My palms get sweaty, my heart races, and the anticipation of buying something naughty knocks me in the chest and I get horny with adrenaline.

I wuss out and go home and furiously jack off to thoughts of you.

Want a tangible example of the long-term damage of a prudish upbringing? How about waiting in the parking lot across from Vikki’s Passion Hut, too nervous to go in, heart racing, and — oh no, there’s that adrenaline again — So, yeah, I wussed out again and fucked the gearstick right there in the shadows then floored it to your place, rubbing my thighs together, pumping the bass in my speakers full blast, hoping the tremors rumbling through the seat would bring me halfway to cumming by the time I charged into your apartment, tore off your clothes, and tackled you onto the bed, and — Christ, why couldn’t I have been raised Hindu? They’re taught to be prudes too, but at least when they do fuck they do it right. I don’t know, maybe if I’m good enough I’ll be reincarnated as a Hindu or… Wait a minute — No, never mind. Anyway, do you see what I’m saying? You bring this out of me, you make me feel OK for being horny, and that’s the happiest I’ve ever been.

So please, work with me, baby.