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Give the gift of mind-blowing fuckery

December 14, 2005

There’s a place in space that Jefferson and I share. We talked about it a bit the other evening, when we talked about his sex parties, the lovers I’ve brought to them, the lovers he’s involved, the taboos we’ve broken, the windows we’ve opened for the people we care about. This place, it’s called… well, I don’t know. It doesn’t quite have a name.

But it’s a place we live in, a (fucked up? certainly zany) alternative to everyone else’s reality, something that looks like home to us. We are rooted here – by choice, by fire, by something twisted inside of us that wants to live outside the parameters of what other people deem normal. We created this place as much for us as for the people in our lives (past, present, future) who desire it, who are intrigued by it – who maybe need a little bit of a friendly push and a, uh, hand to hold. Many of them, as much (and sometimes as briefly) as we love them, have their own homes to go back to, comfort zones, places where threesomes aren’t a typical means of introduction.

I realized this most acutely last spring, when I got involved with someone who I perceived as being outside of the spectrum of normal (me and these goddamn musicians, I tell ya), though it turned out that I was his gateway to the other side in terms of sex. I remember talking to Jefferson about it, agreeing that we both relish the ability to give the gift of fantastic experiences to people, but there’s still something a bit uncanny about the experience of knowing that when things are said and done, this place belongs to us and we’re being visited in it by dabblers.

At the unpleasant end to the brief relationship, my date told me, “All my life I’ve wanted to explore group sex and open relationships – two months with you cured me of all that.” At that moment, I became a footnote, a failed experiment, a crazy “you wouldn’t believe this girl” story that he’ll remember and repeat probably til the end of his days. There’s a degree of wicked honor in that, but there’s a degree of painful sadness in it too. We’re separated across this divide, a divide I chose to create between myself and him, them, maybe you.

Posted by Dacia at 07:18 PM | Comments (11) | TrackBack

Boots and boobs

December 12, 2005

There’s a new three girl set over at Bella Vendetta featuring yours truly, Bella, and Ophelia, shot by Johnny Tattoo the night of BV’s launch party. Ophelia licks our boots and there may or may not be a catfight involved.

You can expect to see the results of most of my recent alt-porning (its totally a gerund) on Bella’s site, though rumor has it that I’m to be updating my very out-of-date portfolio here soon. I promise, it’ll be worth the wait, with interesting departures from the initial batch of portfolio images.

Posted by Dacia at 05:34 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

Dinner for five

December 11, 2005

When I arrived at Viviane’s place for dinner, she, Jefferson and Madeline were already in the kitchen, huddled over the bacon sizzling on the stove. I was meeting Madeline for the first time (though it didn’t feel like it) and introducing Seth to them. Speaking of: “Where’s Seth?” were some of the first words out of Viviane’s mouth. He was on his way, which gave us time for a little bit of general catch up and prying questions about the new guy in my life.

“Oh god, I’m so smitten,” I sighed.

Once he arrived, we got settled into the couch, drinking (straight to the bourbon for me: “It looks so lonely in this big glass, it needs more bourbon friends to play with!” and wine for everyone else) and yelling to Jefferson to hurry up with the bacon, shrimp and deviled eggs. Madeline came over to the couch to provide me with a bacon sample which I ate right out of her hand, declaring my love for bacon juice on a girl. When Jefferson presented the deviled eggs, one plate of them went flying in a catastrophic but comedic moment. Not missing a beat, I commanded him to get on the damn floor and eat the errant eggs. Some of the deviled bit of an egg had gotten on my boot, which I promptly raised to his lips - “Lick my boot, bitch!” For some reason, I take special delight in attempts to humiliate Jefferson and make him my bitch. Works like a charm.

We sat to a dinner expertly prepared by Viviane and shared lots of laughter, two kinds of pig meat, more bourbon and more of me taunting Jefferson and encouraging Madeline to show her boobs (how do I get away with being so creepy?). Seth had to cut out to go to work as we were wrapping up dinner, so he said his farewells and I walked him to the elevator, but only after I encouraged him to not go to work, because I am a very bad person.

After I returned from showing Seth out, everyone had comments to make.

“He’s sooooooo cute,” gushed Madeline.

“Not to mention nice and funny and easy to get along with,” said Viviane.

“Don’t fuck this up!” joked Jefferson.

(Reporting back to Seth on my friend’s opinions later, he said, “Dammit, I’m ruggedly handsome, not cute! Tell them to get the facts straight! I have a reputation to maintain, and it isn’t based on cuteness.”)

We spent most of the remainder of the evening talking about blogs, the differences between experiences of blogs and the internet for the lady bloggers and the lone gent blogger in the room, and managing interpersonal relationships when there is so much sexual and emotional exposure going on. Part personal experience, part cultural theory – all good.

After we stuffed ourselves with dessert (cupcakes, naturally), Madeline dashed off the to bedroom to retrieve her newest addition to her sex toy collection – a lovely black leather harness, ready for strapping it on. We discussed the merits of buckles versus dee-rings for adjustability, and she stripped down, trying to fit the harness to her lovely little frame. When some of the straps were a little too big, I suggested she get a fatter ass and Viviane scurried around looking for a leather punch. Guess who was being more helpful?

Jefferson started to turn on the wink-wink nudge-nudge charm, plopped himself on my lap and suggested that everyone could use a strap-on tutorial with my expertise. When the topic of sex between the two of us was raised, we laughed.

“The idea of Dacia and me having sex is like the idea of me eating sawdust,” Jefferson explained as I bounced him on my knee.

“Uhhhh… you mean, fucking hilarious?” I didn’t get an answer to that one, so I guess I have to pick apart that simile by myself. Nope. Still nothing. I would like seeing Jefferson eating sawdust (pure comedy gold!) much more than I’d like fucking him, but I’m not sure that was his point.

As becoming as the ladies were and as appealing as Madeline’s nakedness was looking – I begged off, citing a relationship conversation Seth and I had had earlier. If he hadn’t had to go to work, things would’ve been different, but as it was I opted to gracefully disentangle myself and make my way home. I’ve recently discovered these little things I like to call “self control” and “respect for the wishes of one’s partner,” which is kinda cool – if you’re into that kinda thing.

When I got my first breath of cold air a curious bit of holiday spirit hit, and I decided I was in the mood for a stroll to Rockefeller Center to see the tree (thought registered upon seeing it: “Damn, that’s one big motherfucking tree”). Not awed, but amused by the frenzy of the neighborhood this time of year, I slowly wandered downtown from there, wrapped in my scarf and hat, being one of those people you see walking down the street lost in thought, smiling to myself.

P.S. I suppose this post is a bit of a cock tease (a chaste evening with four sex bloggers! what the fuck?) for any one who is following the Madeline and Jefferson saga on their blogs, since chances are it’ll take them a while to blog about it. Their posts are guaranteed to be hotter than this one, so hold your horses.

Posted by Dacia at 03:58 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack

Strap on Siren and 2257

December 09, 2005

Did you know that the phrase “strap on” is one of the top five searches that brings people to my site? I find this intriguing, personally. There are some visuals in my portfolio that are from a set I did for Bella Vendetta, and you can finally see them up on her site today. A little bit of gender-bending and a black silicone cock in a set shot in the back of an abandoned tractor trailer: pretty sweet if you ask me.

In other (but not so distant) news, Violet Blue has a really fantastic post up on Tiny Nibbles about her Porn Club for Girls on Tribe.net and 2257 regulations. She deconstructions the regs in a really clear and pointed way:

No one making porn knows if what they are doing is illegal or not. This situation, I explained, is reminiscent of organized crime tactics, and is not an oversight; the U.S. Supreme Court is quite aware that the only way that retailers and pornographers can really be sure they won’t be prosecuted for “obscene” material is for them to avoid portraying activities that might possibly be interpreted as obscene (and now, sexually explicit) — anywhere. In a court case for obscenity, the accused is held to whatever the local community’s standards are for obscenity, as determined by a jury.

Read the whole post here.

Posted by Dacia at 10:40 AM | Comments (7) | TrackBack

Reconsidering polyamory

December 08, 2005

I never used to understand people having rules in their open relationships (with the exception of “Don’t be a jerkface,” which has most situations covered). I never used to get it when people started off their relationships in a monogamous way when they fully intended to open it up at a later date. I never used to understand the idea of the primary, core relationship-on-high, barricaded against all other intrusions.

Now maybe I do understand these things, if only a wee bit.

In some respects, I still think that if you need 6,042 rules to make your relationships work, there might be something else going on there that needs to be examined (something lame, is my guess). Plus, rules are made to be broken. But I get the whole negotiation thing a little better now, I more deeply fathom including a partner in decisions about taking other lovers.

It’s been nearly three years since James and I ended our relationship, broke our lease, went our separate ways (though our friendship persists in strange ways), and I decided that I wasn’t going to be monogamous. Ever again. I didn’t want my sexuality to be owned and disfigured like it had become in the later days of my relationship with James. I wanted it to be mine – mine to share with lots of people. Once I had an address of my very own, I bought The Ethical Slut, and read it in one sleepless night, nodding along, recalling a line from 1984 as I did so: “The best books are ones that tell you what you already know.”

22 year old conclusion: Monogamy is for losers. I am going to get laid all the time. It is going to be awesome.

Then I met someone, and it started to turn into something with a connection. Honest non-monogamy, of course, was what we both wanted. Fast forward eight months and I was in love, still non-monogamous, with a secondary partner of several months to boot. The following year: a new secondary partner (a girl this time), lots of miscellaneous mischief in between. Well played. Sort of.

As I think harder and harder about it, one of the major pitfalls of non-monogamy for me in that primary relationship was that I liked the prowl and I was always searching for something. I chalked this up to me being of that disposition, which in some ways is true, but being non-monogamous in that relationship allowed me to turn away from some of the very real negative pieces of the whole thing. If we’d tried to be monogamous, I probably would’ve seen the whole situation in a clearer way and gotten out of it sooner. Being non-monogamous allowed me to turn away, to seek fulfillment through other people and not face the music.

It’s a touchy thing though – I certainly don’t mean this as a treatise against non-monogamy, but I realize the ways I used the situation for evil. Maybe “evil” is a tad of an overstatement, but I like it in that phrase, so deal with it. At the same time, I definitely learned a hell of a lot from the whole thing, and I do think that being non-monogamous has taught me to stand up for myself and my desires while not giving my sexual self esteem to one person.

Nowadays, I’m not fervently (or furtively) searching. That search, the thrill of new interesting people, is something of a compulsion for me, a compulsion that helps me to turn away from the person and situation I need to be focusing on. Does this mean that I am cut out for monogamy after all? Well, I wouldn’t go that far (after all, rumor has it that a certain houseboy is back in town). But, I’m approaching the whole mess with more careful consideration this time around. Maybe rules and restrictions aren’t such a bad thing – or at least they aren’t if they help to build something good and strong. One strong relationship is worth so much more than a handful of weak ones, that’s for goddamned sure.

Posted by Dacia at 12:55 AM | Comments (9) | TrackBack

Everyone loves a taboo

December 07, 2005

Perhaps one of the most oft returned to topics of last Thursday’s panel at MoSex was the subject of taboo – and with it permission, consent and communication. United States culture is a goddamned ripe cesspool (I’ll mixture metaphors however I want, thanks very much) for the creation of taboos. It’s a lucrative cycle: society creates taboo, therapists, pornographers and various other folks in the sex trades make cash money,* people try to work through their shit or get off on their taboos.

I like the idea of sexuality as an arena for working shit out – although, coming from the perspective of a sex worker, I can also say that sometimes its painfully obvious and just flat out heartbreaking to see someone who isn’t dealing with their taboos and fetishes in a healthy way. But can you create a set of guidelines for good and bad uses of taboo? Maybe not, but the rock n roll is in the examples, perhaps nuanced best by a black man who came up to talk to me after the panel ended: “I’ll be your mandingo, your field nigger – as long as its clear that it’s a fantasy separate from who I am as a person. If a white couple can’t look me in the eye and tell me about their fantasy, I know they are objectifying me in a bad way. If we can do our scene and then drink a glass of wine and talk about movies, its good objectification.”

I love that I have conversations like this with strangers as a matter of course. That aside, he’s absolutely right on – and furthermore, this is a damn fine example of a taboo scenario. Sure, it may make many people squirm in their seats (he said the N word!) – but that’s the fucking point of taboo.

The tricky part is not so much in the formulation of the fantasy (the funny thing about taboos is that precisely because we aren’t supposed to, they get talked and thought about constantly) but the execution of the business, starting with making the decision to move from in-the-head to in-the-bed. This is a challenging thing and includes those things I mentioned in that first paragraph - permission, consent and communication. But that’s another story for another time.

*I amused myself by making this intentionally grammatically murky, so you aren’t quite sure if I’m saying that therapists are included in my conception of “folks in the sex trade.” Dude, I crack myself up.

Posted by Dacia at 12:31 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

My big plaid ass, fetishism, god and facials

December 04, 2005

Thursday was one humdinger of a day, let me tell you. Actually, yes, really – let me tell you.

I woke up at the ungodly hour of 8 am – I know you working types are sneering in my general direction as you read this, but I normally sleep until around 11, because I stay awake until the wee hours. And I hate alarms. And I like sleep. And I am lazy. So there. The first order of the day was a photo shoot with the indomitable and hilarious Bob Coulter (his second book, Bad Girls Hotel was just released in November). He was quite thrilled about a newly discovered short stay hotel to shoot in that was the epitome of sleaze. The place was outfitted with bullet-proof glass between us and the, uh, concierge. Right near the check in station was a hand written sign that read: “Only one couple per room. A couple is ONE man and ONE woman. The couple must arrive and leave together. The man or the woman cannot leave and have another man or woman come into the room. If this happens, you will be charged a new billing cycle. No guests.”

Bob pointed to it and asked, “How come all the rules?”

The concierge called through the thick, smudged glass, “Gotta keep those people out.”

“Hookers and queers?” he queried.

She nodded sagely.

“Only the best for you, Audacia,” he laughed, and we heaved our bags across the linoleum towards a room in the back corner of the first floor.

Bob and I clicked well, and we were calling each other bad names and laughing within minutes. I produced an outfit (if you can call it that) consisting of red plaid tights slightly torn at the crotch and red suspenders that gave me cause to say, “You like my big plaid ass, don’t you bitch?” All in a good days work (one of my more favorite shots is behind the cut at the end of this post).

After the shoot, I darted home, ate a ham sandwich, finished reading On the Down Low, went to class, ate another ham sandwich and then headed to the Museum of Sex for the Everything You Know About Sex is Wrong panel.

I was a bit nervous because I was walking into an interesting situation: former employer + presence of family, friends, $pread editors, newish lover + being on a panel with people I admire greatly. No number of ham sandwiches could’ve quelled my nerves (though truth be told, I didn’t test this hypothesis too thoroughly, having only eaten two sandwiches).

Anxiety aside, things went off without a hitch. I psyched myself up enough that I could make myself heard among the many opinionated voices on the panel (many of which belonged to pretty ladies wearing sexy glasses – hotcha!). The ten people on the panel introduced themselves and talked briefly about their backgrounds and their pieces in the book, and then Disinfo’s Richard Metzger pointed questions at us. He kicked things off with a question for me about fetishes – does or should everyone have them? Where do they come from? - Prompting me to give a yes/no/maybe answer and jump start conversation about repression, shame, desire, and the fact that spaces to express/explore sexuality are often commercial ones (pay for play like strip clubs, porn or mainstream advertising).

Once the floor was opened up to audience input, things started to get a little bit out of hand, though in an animated, enthusiastic and exciting way. Dell Williams, the founder of the first women-only sex toy shop Eve’s Garden, rose up from the audience to applause from the panel members and started to talk about masturbation, complete with a clit-rubbing hand gesture which I’d love to see more 80 year old women make. She also broached the most excitement-inducing topic of the evening, god and sex. It was interesting to see how excited people were about the notion of sexuality and spirituality being entwined – there was much enthusiasm for the idea that religion and a good hard screw aren’t necessarily oppositional forces. I did, however, feel the need to interject my perspective – some of us (me!) don’t care for the god/sex mixture and are more than happy to keep on fucking without the goal of reaching a spiritual plane.

Porn was also a major topic, as many of the folks on the panel are involved in the adult industry in some way. There was nicely nuanced discussion about what is degrading, prompted by an audience member asking if facials are a bad thing. The short answer: its all about consent and communication, kids. Sometimes “degrading” can be hot, if the acts are agreed on by everyone involved. Of course, when you throw a camera and/or an audience into that, you create a bigger and more complex land of interpretation, hence the endless duels and dances around the politics of porn.

All things told, it was a good night. I like public appearances like this one, a little bit because I like public appearances in general but a lot because I get totally juiced about discourse around sexuality. I am a mondo nerd. And damn proud, buckaroos.

Here’s a cute picture of me and Rachel Kramer Bussel after the panel. Yes, I am wearing a name tag. Hers apparently fell off.

Thursday definitely recharged me in lots of ways, and I feel pretty pumped about things, ready to make giant lists of things I want to do, scrawl notes about mischievous projects I want to work on, and stay up all night buzzing with ideas. Now I just have to direct that energy towards wrapping up the winter issue of $pread and writing final papers for the next two weeks, and then I can get down with a million other things. Just. Let the caffeine fueled battiness begin.

P.S. - Clicky below for plaid ass-ness.

Posted by Dacia at 12:37 AM | Comments (11) | TrackBack

Everything You Know About Sex is Wrong panel at Mosex on 12/1

December 01, 2005

Yes, this is in my news sidebar, but I thought I’d put it up close and personal here in the main part of the blog, because it’s a pretty cool event, and if my fabulousness alone isn’t enough to get you to the Museum of Sex on Thursday from 7-9 pm to check this event out, click below and check out the long list of amazing people I’ll be sharing the stage with.

WHAT: Everything You Know About Sex is Wrong Reading, Panel and Q&A Moderated by Disinformation’s “Wicked Warlock” Richard Metzger

Come celebrate the release of Disinformation’s new book EVERYTHING YOU KNOW ABOUT SEX IS WRONG The Disinformation Guide to the Extremes of Human Sexuality (and everything in between) Edited by RUSS KICK

WHEN: Thursday, December 1, 2005, 7 PM – 9 PM

WHERE: MUSEUM OF SEX 233 Fifth Avenue (@ 27th Street) New York, NY 10016 212-689-6337 www.museumofsex.org $10 for adults and $8 for students/members

Scheduled to participate:

Writer and editor Rachel Kramer Bussel (Penthouse, Village Voice)
Writer/performer Christen Clifford (Babylove, 17 Guys I F**ked)
Author Martha Cornog (The Big Book of Masturbation)
Author Jay Gertzman (Bookleggers and Smuthounds: The Trade in Eroitca, 1920-1940)
Writer Jon Hart (New York Times, Village Voice)
Writer and Adult Marketing Nerd Libby Lynn (Rollertrain blog)
Author Rachel Maines (The Technology of Orgasm, Asbestos and Fire)
Author Jack Murnighan (The Naughty Bits, Classic Nasty)
Author, actor, DJ, musician, psychonaut, and explorer Preston Peet
Award winning journalist and writer Diane Petryk-Bloom
Pervert, smut peddler, and nakedteer Audacia Ray ($pread magazine)
Musician and Author Jen Sincero (The Straight Girl’s Guide to Sleeping with Chicks)
Award-winning author, columnist, editor, director and sex educator Tristan Taormino

Posted by Dacia at 01:21 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack

Hamburger porn

“I’m sorry that I didn’t get to stuff a lot of hot meat down your throat today,” he laughs into the phone.

“I know, I was really looking forward to that cheesesteak for lunch. And. your. hot. meat? Fuck, I was trying to make a dirty pun and it came out lame.” If I had more time to prepare, I could be funny all the time.

“Ha! Maybe you should turn your research energies to hamburger porn.”

“That’s giving me fuel for google research tonight. Sweet procrastination!”

And so it was that I spent some time on the hunt for hamburger porn. Okay, granted, it was kind of a cursory search, as I am lazy, impatient and easily distracted, but I was very disappointed in the results. Most of the meat and sex stuff out there seems to be either a joke (like that video of girls in bikinis dancing around with raw meat that I can’t seem to find again), a feminist critique of meat or porn (or both), or a commercial for Carl Jr’s.

Sad. Is it the obvious visual pun that makes meat porn unpopular? Or perhaps the hygiene issue? I’m sure if I dig deeper in the google archives, I will be greeted by swaths of meat fetish porn. I guess I’m spoiled by the notion that anything my eyes desire is a quick google search away and I don’t want to have to work this hard for satisfaction.

Posted by Dacia at 12:05 AM | Comments (4) | TrackBack