I want you to come inside me.

Julianne Moore to Mark Wahlberg, Boogie Nights, 1997

Have you ever done this before?

Naomi Watts to Laura Harring, Mulholland Drive, 2001

The bigger the cushion, the sweeter the pushin'

"Big Bottom," Spinal Tap, This Is Spinal Tap, 1984

The narrator writes of the breasts of one of her friends: "I'd like to eat Hélène Lagonelle's breasts as he [the lover] eats mine in the Chinese town where I go every night to increase my knowledge of God. I'd like to devour and be devoured by those flour-white breasts of hers."

Viv Groskop, Au Revoir, Tristesse, Abrams Press, 2020, review of L'Amant by Marguerite Duras; pp.120-121; brackets in original.

Talk Dirty to Me

There is an old question, "What do women want?" This is supposed to have been asked by Sigmund Freud -- Was will das Weib? -- of his friend and supporter Marie Bonaparte. There are, of course, different kinds of answers. One level is political and social, to be free of traditional legal and customary disabilities imposed on women (although Nietzsche, his apologists should note, says that these are good), as well as to be free of harrassment and violence, including getting pinched by Italians and even, evidently, hearing cat calls from construction workers. This is presumably the uncontroversial and bipartisan program of a generalized feminism.

The other level of the question is what women want in sex. Marie reportedly became a patient of Freud for a complaint of frigidity -- it is not clear whether Freud was actually any help there. The female body is a mysterious and alien landscape to a lot of men, especially young men; and the details of female genitals can remain obscure, not only to adult men, but sometimes even to adult women -- who need a mirror to examine themselves closely, and will need the help of a gynecologist, or textbooks, for interior knowledge. What feels good to women is something to which men may have no answer, even before they realize that different women like different things, and respond in different ways.

I hesitate to admit how old I was before my first girlfriend warned me, ante factum, that when girls are sexually aroused, they get wet. There is perhaps more awareness of this now, when Joan Rivers could joke that "I haven't self-subricated in twenty years," although the significance of this, indeed, might be lost on younger or more naive viewers of Fashion Police. I have lost the reference, but not long ago I heard a woman publicly comment about the appearance at an event of a sexually appealing male personality, such that, "There wasn't a dry seat in the house." The male response, such as I experienced to a degree seeing Naomi Watts cup Laura Harring's breast in Mulholland Drive, might indeed be unfamiliar to a naive young girl (as memorably figures in some dialogue by William Hurt in Body Heat [1981]), but an erection is something much more easily graphically represented than female wetness. Also, we get jokes like the famous one from Mae West (1893-1980) -- "Is that a pickle in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me" -- where it would be difficult to imagine how the corresponding female excitement would similarly betray itself.
Keith Garvey, Sweet Things,
S.Q. Productions Inc., 2016.

The female phenomenon, of course, only occurs between menarche and menopause, and intially may accompany the first onset of menstruation, for which naive and uninformed girls, especially in the past, may be unprepared. I've had one woman tell me about the terror of not knowing what was happening to her, even as her mother closed her in the bathroom while, evidently, calling the doctor. I have heard from another woman whose mother, worried that her menses might start while she was away at summer camp, tried to hurriedly explain what might happen, from which my friend took away the idea that she was going to begin laying eggs. Well, sort of.

An encounter between male naivety and the full reality of female sexuality was something I noticed in the television series Unhappily Ever After [1995-1999], which was a cruder and crazier knock-off of the ground-breaking Married With Children [1987-1997]. Noteworthy in the series was the fetching Nikki Cox, married for twelve years to comedian Jay Mohr, and the unfortunate victim of some later, ill advised plastic surgery. Also memorable was comedian Bobcat Goldthwait, who supplied the voice of a stuffed bunny, "Mr. Floppy," with whom the alcoholic and questionably sane father of the family, played by Geoff Pierson, held extensive conversations. Ed Bundy never fell so far.

I did not watch this series regularly and may never have watched a whole episode straight through, but I came across it occasionally while channel surfing. At one time, I caught a scene where the hard luck son of the family, played by Kevin Connolly, has apparently been stalking a girl he was interested in. He finds her in a parked car with a date, who can't handle her sexual desires and actually runs away. Connolly approaches, to find her expressing her frustration, and is invited into the car. After a moment he asks, "What's that smell." Her answer is simply, "Girl." This was way over the top for network television, even in the days of Bill Clinton. The "smell" is the scent of her readiness for intercourse, for which the change in partners is no inhibition whatsoever. Connolly, who usually has trouble interesting girls in the ordinary ways, hits the jackpot. On this occasion, anyway.

This city is called the City of Enchantments; it is ruled over by Queen Almanākh, a sorceress of extraordinary power, a devil in the body of a woman. Her desire never ceases to burn, so that each time a young, strong and handsome stranger comes to this island, she seduces him and makes him mount her an infinity of times, for forty days and nights. By the end of that period he is completely worn out, and she changes him into an animal; in his new form he recovers and adds to his strength and then she transforms herself into a female of his species, a mare or ass perhaps, and is again mounted repeatedly. After that she resumes her human shape and makes new lovers, new victims, of those she can find. There come nights when her desire burns so hotly that she is mounted one after another by every animal on the island. Such is her life.

The Book of the Thousand Nights and One Night, rendered into English from the Literal and Complete French Translation of Dr. J.C. Mardus, by Powys Mathers, Volume III, Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1964, 1972, 1986, p.97.

The Victorian cliché was that women have no sexual response, are not interested in sex, and only allow men to lie with them because it is their duty, and they want to have children, or they do want to please their man. Queen Victoria herself, apparently, was a lot more enthusiastic than this and was worried when, after nine births, her doctors recommended that she have no more children. She asked in alarm if this meant that she and her husband could no longer be intimate. I am unaware of the response from the doctor, although it wasn't long before the death of Prince Albert settled the issue. In the history of royalty, we can often identify the couples who actually like each other, from the number of children they have. King George III and Queen Charlotte had fifteen children, they reportedly actually slept in the same bed -- unusual for royal couples -- and George never took mistresses -- also unusual for royalty [note].

This notion that women are sexually inert seems to have not existed before the 19th century. The Greeks had no doubt that women had strong sexual desires, and Greek mythology featured the testimony of the sage Teiresias, who had been both a man and a woman, that women experienced more pleasure in sex than men -- for the disclosure of this secret Hera blinded him in retribution. There is no doubt of the sexual desire of women in the Thousand and One Nights, as we see in the long quotation above. Except for this sorceress, however, the Nights has few examples of this extreme degree.

Indeed, part of the misogynistic smear against women rulers was always that they are consumed by lust and use the power of their position to gratify unlimited desire. We find this defamation used against Cleopatra, the Empress Wu of China, the Empress Theodora, Catherine the Great of Russia, and even, to an extent, against Queen Elizabeth I of England. Catherine is still slandered with the popular story that she died while trying to have sex with a horse, which fell on her. The advent of Christianity did not alter the foundation of this; but we got the addition of the idea that through their desire, women tempt men into sin. This was also consistent with the idea that women rulers, freed from the inhibitions imposed on them by men, would not be able to control themselves.

Thus, women might be seen as inherently dangerous, like Eve, and even potentially evil, without being carefully controlled. The ideal life in a corrupt world is to withdraw from it; and so monks and nuns live in the best way. If nuns were cloistered, their separation from men protected the women and the men. Men can be priests and mendicants, which puts them out in the world, but not women. Eventually, nuns become teachers and even nurses, which also exposes them to the world, and the world to them, but there is less danger with them mixing with children and with the sick than in other secular relationships.

The Victorian inversion of this placed all the desire, and so all the temptation, in men, with women naturally pure and virtuous. This inversion may be the result of the Protestant abolition of monasticism. If women withdraw from the world, it will only be into the home, while men are out in the world whatever they do.

A consequence of the latter, in the circumstances of the age, would have been the historic opportunities for men to take off for the wilderness and for the East, accompanied only by other men. This may have had a homoerotic aspect to it, but the sexual outlet for exploring or pioneering men was usually with the local, non-Western women, whose own appeal and desires could be of a very different kind from white, European women.

The fantasy of European men with "native" women was something genuinely lived out by the original Nabobs in India, someone like Sam Houston among the Cherokee, or the sailors who discovered that Hawaiian women might swim out to their ships, naked, and offer themselves for so small a consideration as an iron nail. Captain Cook had to set guards over the nails -- with sailors then sometimes prying nails out of the fabric of the ship itself. And we should not forget how in 1945 a 16-year-old slave girl was gifted by King ʿAbd-al-ʿAzîz ibn Saʿûd (1875-1953) to the sixty-year-old Harry St John "Jack" Philby (1885-1960), father of the Cambridge traitor Harold "Kim" Philby (1912-1988). Philby had three children with the girl. The King should have known this would contribute to some kind of racist "Orientalism," although Nietzsche, the darling of "Progressives," says that we should "think Orientally about women," über das Weib immer nur orientalisch denken. Nietzsche apologists need to pay some attention.

Paul Gauguin, Merahi metua no Tehamana, "Tehamana Has Many Parents," 1893; Art Institute of Chicago
Today, there suddenly is uncertainty about the status of the great artist Paul Gauguin (1848-1903), who, when he was in Tahiti, slept with Tahitian women, often young women, even very young women, and had children by them. A 2019 exhibit of Gauguin at the National Gallery in London (which I attended) could not resist "problematizing" Gauguin because of this "colonialist exploitation" of Tahitians, some of whom, of course, he immortalized in portraits, as at right.

Since we know, from reports by Captain Cook and others, that Polynesians had few scuples about the youth of nubile (but not noble) girls, it is hard to imagine how Gauguin is supposed to have resisted. Artists are not famous for their celibacy or inhibitions. And while politically correct artists now pose as paragons and even prophets of virtue, racial and otherwise, the pose usually seems to be just that, a pose, suspicious in its self-righteousness and convenient social conformity.

We have Oscar Wilde saying, "No artist has ethical sympathies." How things have changed. What hasn't changed is "Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming" [Preface, The Picture of Dorian Gray, 1891]. Politicized art criticism is totally corrupt, and not the least bit charming. In those terms, the National Gallery exhibit itself was corrupt, like almost all contemporary literary study.

Before long in Hawai'i, white men married into noble families and even royalty. The arrival of white women in India and Hawai'i tended to make "honest" Victorians of the men; but in a place like Hawai'i a local mixed class, the Hapa Haole or "Part Hawaiians" (to the U.S. Census), had already been created. The "Bishop Estate," with its extensive lands, which many residents of Hawai'i lease for their homes, derives its name from Charles Reed Bishop (1822-1915), but the lands themselves were from his wife, Princess Bernice Pauahi Bishop (1831-1884). A similar story is told in the movie The Descendants [2011] -- which failed to consider that the lands of the family could be leased, rather than sold, to the developers, with restrictive covenants on what could be done with it.

I was on the fringes of this phenomenon myself in my first marriage, living with my wife's grandmother, who was born in 1893, and who said that local people who wore shoes back then were ho'ohaole, "making like white people." Unlike the mixed population, the mestizos, of Spanish colonies like Mexico, all the Hapa Haoles of Hawai'i have enjoyed an elevated status, shared with Hawaiian nobility and the monarchy. With that, of course, went Victorian morality, leaving us curious whether the inability of the Royal Family to reproduce itself, including Princess Bernice herself, was an artifact of New England Protestant sexual inhibitions.

Here's the KY, I want your finger in my ass.


Many women are reluctant to say what they like. One side of that, apart from just being shy, may be the feeling that men do not like to be instructed in such things. There will certainly be such men, who don't like being told because it implies that they don't know what they are doing, especially if they actually don't know what they are doing. The other side of the matter, however, may be the feeling of many women that men should know what they are doing, either from experience, or because men should naturally know, or because a man should be able to intuit, empirically or telephathically, what a particular woman likes. If he cannot intuit that from subliminal clues or telepathy, then he must not be in love with them. None of this applies, of course, if both lovers are young, naive, and inexperienced just because they have had no time in life for experience yet -- cf. The Blue Lagoon [1980].

Experienced men know that different women respond to different things. Thus, they can test the waters and find out fairly quickly what particular women like. The woman may not be aware that this is what is being done, or they may realize that the man is trying different things. Women, of course, can also be ignorant of the male body. Although the penis is fairly obvious, which parts of it are responsive and which are not will not be obvious, and also may vary somewhat between men. I am not aware that testicles are sexually sensitive or responsive, but there is a general impresson that they are, which then may actually be the case for some men. And some men may just like the idea of their testicles in a woman's mouth, which can be arousing even if the glands are otherwise insensitive, except to pain.

We also have the perplexing case of what women would like men to want and what men would like women to want. This gets displayed and explored in a lot of erotica and pornography. Indeed, the large body of romance literature for women consists of little but fantasies of what women would like men to do and be like. The irony of this, as I have noted elsewhere, is that what goes on in a lot of romance literature looks a lot like rape.

Also, we now have the strange and remarkable popularity of the novel Fifty Shades of Grey [2012], the first of three books, by E.L. James, a woman who originally wrote "fan fiction" about the Twilight series. But, where Twilight had simply been about a woman's romance with a vampire, and then becoming one, Fifty Shades of Grey is the "romance" of a relationship between the young, naive, and virginal Anastasia Steele with a worldly, rich, and controlling businessman Christian Grey. Indeed, "controlling" meant bondage & discipline (B/D) and sadomasochism (S&M). The first book ends when Anastasia, who has already been seduced, and tied up a bit, solicits a full rigor spanking, just to see what it is like, and discovers -- remarkably! -- that it hurts. She leaves -- for the time being.

The success of Fifty Shades of Grey, its sequels (Fifty Shades Darker and Fifty Shades Freed), and the 2015 movie, with sequels (all terrible), was extraordinary, not just considering the content of them, but also because the books seem to be examples of rather poor writing. Salman Rushdie is reported saying, "I've never read anything so badly written that got published. It made Twilight look like War and Peace." However, he therefore seems to have read it.

Why should bondage, submission, and sadomasochism be so popular to an international audience mostly, evidently, of women? One might think that such themes would only appeal to men. However, wrapping it in the "romance" package turned out to be the ticket to female appeal. There may also be the popular theme that a good woman can reform a bad man -- by way of suffering and devotion. Feminists must cringe.

This reminds me of an American woman I met in Beirut in 1970. She really liked a movie called The Collector [1965], which is about a butterfly collector who, without much interest or experience in romance, decides to "collect" a woman. He does, and holds her prisoner, without, apparently, any particular sexual interest in her. After attempting to gain his trust so that she can escape, the misadventure results in her death. The movie ends with the "collector" looking for another victim.

I found pretty much everything about this movie unappealing, if not appalling. And I am not adverse to kidnapping or bondage fantasies. But this story lacked what I would expect to be the sexual raison d'être of any such story. But something about it pushed the right buttons with my friend. This still makes a lot less sense to me than Fifty Shades of Grey. If it is a "romance," the lack of erotic interest, consumation, or even affection would seem to contradict the premise. It would almost have made more sense if the collector had collected women the way he did butterflies -- dead. But then that would have been a very different, and even more horrific, movie genre.

The only thing that interests me about The Collector now is that it starred an unrecognizeable Terence Stamp, who was otherwise off my radar until I saw him in the The Limey [1999], with, of all people, Peter Fonda. And a much better movie than The Collector.

What Fifty Shades of Grey, The Collector, and other questionable romance literature may have in common is "fantasy." Few might mind being tied up, or even "kidnapped," by someone they love and desire. But as I have also examined elsewhere, a lot of the bondage and discipline stuff starts to sound tedious and boring, with other pleasures or necessities of life conveniently ignored or forgotten. But in fantasy, all is possible.


The Erotic as an Aesthetic Category

The Girl in a Dress

Gender Stereotypes and Sexual Archetypes

Ethics, Critique of Feminism

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Copyright (c) 2018, 2020 Kelley L. Ross, Ph.D., Postumus Friesianorum, All Rights Reserved

Talk Dirty to Me, Note

A curious revival of a kind of Victorian picture of female sexuality emerged in a book by Shere Hite, The Hite Report on Female Sexuality [1976, 1981, 2004]. Since a feature of 1970's feminism often was the idea that women don't need men, Hite expanded on this with information, by way of interviews with women, that sexual intercourse is entirely unnecessary for sexual pleasure and fulfillment in women. Clitoral stimulation will do the job, and Hite reported that women actually found masturbation superior to intercourse. If true, then the presumed preference of men for intercourse would simply be part of patriarchy and sexist oppression, precisely fitting the Victorian characterization I have given that women "only allow men to lie with them because it is their duty, and they want to have children, or they do want to please their man." The proper feminist doesn't need any of that, except perhaps for reproduction by artificial insemination. Keep that dick away from me.

There is a history involved there. Freud was aware that women could orgasm through clitoral stimulation, and in fact it was often the practice of physicians in the 19th century to administer therapeutic orgasms through massage to women who seemed to not experience them with their husbands. Under various euphemisms, electric vibrators were developed and sold that were actually for this purpose. Vibrating dildoes and butt plugs are the multipurpose successors.

Freud decided that clitoral orgasms were an immature form of sexuality. Orgasms during intercourse were the mature, developed, and more satisfying practice. For some reason, this began a controversy about whether there actually was such a thing as a "vaginal" orgasm that was different, much less superior, to the clitoral one. Hite seemed very much to be in the tradition of denying, not only that there were vaginal orgasms, but that intercourse played any role whatsoever in desirable female sexuality.

The sensible answer to this would seem to be, in equal measure, "It depends," and, "You're nuts." Different women like different things and have various responses. Some women just don't like intercourse. And they don't even need to be Lesbians. I knew one such who actually became a Catholic nun. Otherwise, it might strike one as rather odd that Nature would equip women with genitals, absolutely essential for reproduction, and yet restrict sexual response to an organ that actually isn't essential for reproduction. It is hard to imagine what kind of evolution, or what kind of Divinity, would provide for anything so pointless. Even the useless male nipple can be sexually responsive, but its response is communicated directly to the penis. A sexually inert vagina would be a remarkable oversight, unless Nature or the Deity didn't care whether females had intercourse and children. Not likely.

When Hite later came out with a book on male sexuality, which also claimed that men preferred mastrubation to intercourse, this seemed, not just preposterous, but to confirm how unlikely her results had been with women. A political agenda, one that seemed all but hostile to life, not just men, looked to be at work.

An addition to this strange mix of issues was an old claim that there is an area in the vagina, the "Gräfenberg Spot," or "G-spot," that is sexually responsive and actually responsible for vaginal orgasms, or at least the really good ones. Whether this organ even exists is still a matter of dispute and uncertainty, and the testimony of women trying to find it seems uneven. Part of G-spot lore, if not its mythology, is that the tissue corresponds to the prostate gland in males, which, if stimulated through the anus, can produce orgasms and ejactulation in men entirely independent from stimulation of the penis. Oddly enough, there are videos at porn sites showing this happening. This is said to corroborate the claim that G-spot stimulation can produce "female ejaculation," where there is a gushing of vaginal juices during orgasm.

As one might imagine, the possibility that the G-spot falsifies the thesis of "no vaginal orgasm" resulted in bitter polemics. However, in the 70's and 80's the matter seemed to fizzle out, perhaps because the whole business was so silly to begin with. After all, some large percentage of women, perhaps a substantial majority, like intercourse, and prefer it to mastrubation. It just depends. Some women of my experience do not lie still during intercourse but raise their pelvis up to meet and receive the penis. I take this to mean an active desire for penetration -- which we also see when women are on top and control all the movement.

Also, there are women who can achieve orgasm simply from the stimulation of their breasts and nipples; and from my own experience, it is possible for a woman to achieve orgasm from no more than the external stimulation of her anus. The girlfriend this happened to objected that the orgasm was with an empty vagina, which was not as satisfying for her. She would start to orgasm and then desperately grasp my fingers and direct them into herself. I did not make that mistake again.

I had one girlfriend whose disenchangment with her husband was in part the result of his preference for anal sex. This reminded me of a letter to Penthouse back in the 70's, from a woman who had taken a lover precisely because of a similar preference in her husband. The letter, of course, recounted the day when her husband came home early, her lover sought refuge under the bed, and her husband decided it was time for his favorite form of intercourse -- another insult to "my once proud ass." A great phrase. My friend, of course, rather than endure such insults, got divorced.

However, while my girlfriend's enthusiasm for vaginal intercourse was considerable, she sometimes asked me to help her achieve orgasm by inserting my finger in her, guess what, anus. This was then directly efficacious. It left me wondering. Was she in fact naturally sensitive there, or had her husband's practices stimulated a sensitivity? Will never know.

All of this seems a bit off the map from feminist dogmatics, whether there is a G-spot or not.

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