Archive for January, 2010

Would you Hire a “Prostidude?”

Regular readers to my blog may be familiar with posts I’ve done covering male escorts. Okay, I admit, at first I thought it was funny. But now I’m like, hey, this could be the wave of the future.

And just maybe it’s about time. Have you noticed the new flurry of diagnostic acronyms flying around these days? Things like FSD (Female Sexual Dysfunction), SAD (Sexual Arousal Disorder), SDD (Sexual Desire Disorder), and ISD (Inhibited Sexual Desire)? It all amounts to a big load of female frustration: We’re just not getting off enough.

Of course, you all know what’s coming next: it’s got to be his fault! Even Nevada seems to agree and they’re addressing the issue with a new category of professionals: the “prostidude.” Recently, the state licensed the first male prostitute, 25-year-old “Markus.” He officially started work last week at the Shady Lady Ranch 150 miles northwest of Las Vegas. By the end of the week, though, he still didn’t have his first customer.

I asked Garren, one of my sources in the male escort world what he thought about all this new competition. Garren is an escort himself and runs a male escort service at cowboys4angle.com. His comment: “Instead of traveling to a ranch to see a male escort women can use my service and have a guy come to them instead.”

Okay, so Garren’s into door-to-door service. Though male escorts are technically not licensed to please (sexually speaking), he says he gets calls for “hotel visits” from both couples and individual women (though half the calls he receives are from women needing a companion for an event).

I’m guessing they’re not sharing high tea on those “hotel visits” so maybe you don’t really need a license—you just need to pretend. Small price to pay for pleasure on your terms. If I had the money I’d give a prostidude or male escort a whirl without a second thought. I mean let’s face it, I love my girlfriends and all, but the day-at-the-spa thing gets predictable, and no matter how many speeds it has, a vibrator is no substitute for the real thing.

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Cougars Rock The Boat, Again!

Will the world ever be ready for the older woman, younger man equation? Carnival Cruise Lines says no, but recently some cougars rocked the boat, making it very clear, they’re not about to be thrown overboard.

There’s this notion among some feminists that the patriarchy uses all its power to suppress knowledge about female sexuality and the full extent of its power. Knowledge of said female power being enough to disturb world order and even the whole universe. (Sort of similar to knowledge that E=mc2, which if memory serves came out of a man, but that’s another story.)

So it wasn’t surprising when I read in TIME, that Carnival Cruise Line decided not to book anymore cougar-themed groups for cruises. It was just too hot to handle.

Sadly details were not forthcoming so we can only imagine, luridly. We know for a fact that last month, a three-day voyage on the Carnival Elation ferried a group of older women (“cougars”) who prefer younger men (”cubs”) between San Diego and Ensenada, Mexico. We also know that will never happen again. At least not on a Carnival Cruise Line ship.

Carnival wouldn’t discuss the new ban, saying it was a “business decision.” They want to market themselves as a more wholesome, “family fun” cruise line. None of this cougars-gone-wild stuff. That apparently offends other passengers, who look on with gut-wrenching horror as a 50-something woman kisses a young Adonis while squeezing his buns.

I mean just how much can society take? Good grief, we still haven’t recovered from the recent “Mrs Robinson” sex scandal. I refer, of course, to the alleged affair between then 59 year old, Iris Robinson, wife of Northern Ireland’s First Minister, and a 19-year-old man, to whom she also gave $80,000 to set up a café.

Can’t a woman just like coffee—a lot?

Personally, I think women like our Mrs Robinson in Ireland and the floating cougars keep the world a fun, interesting place. Haven’t we had enough of the double standard where it’s okay for middle-aged men to chase younger women but middle-aged women don’t get similar latitude?

As the current Miss Cougar America, 42-year-old single mother and Silicon Valley business consultant Gloria Navarro, who was on last month’s cruise, put it, “the day of the gold digger is over and women like me have finally come into their own.” Then she added, “I’d bet that among the wholesome Carnival passenger families, a lot of husbands are 10 or 20 years older than the wives.”

Touché, Miss Cougar America!

The TIME article goes on to report that cougars, being mostly savvy professional women of means, are “not easily thrown overboard.” They have already found other lines that aren’t as squeamish about May-December cruise groups.

I signed up for the one going to Australia. It’s the longest. I may never return.

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New Zealand’s Sexy Cougars

Are all “cougars” the same? A reader, “2Passion,” has kindly sent me the Air New Zealand’s take on the cougar. Seriously funny and worth studying for cougar strategy. I’ve submitted a lengthy proposal to Air NZ for a grant to document cougar-cub mating habits in the wild (Fiji). Wish me luck!

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How to Turn a Guy into a Sex Toy

Oh my. How we gals do go on about our vibrators and other sex toys.

Yeah right. I think I’ve had two friends in my almost five decades of life mention their vibrators to me, in an embarrassed, under-their-breath kind of way. Just two.

Even less talked about are sex toys for guys. I hate to admit it but it never occurred to me that a heterosexual guy would want to use a sex toy, let alone know how to use one.

Recently though LELO, the luxury sex toy company out of Sweden, set the record straight for me. They sent me a “BO” to try.

I opened the elegant box it arrived in, noting to myself to keep the matte black box for the collection. (I collect empty boxes. I have no idea why.) Then I pulled out the BO, a small donut-shaped pliable ring with a tiny motor that slips into the ring, activating the vibration.

I held the buzzing BO in the palm of hand as though it were some curious little creature I’d found under my bed and called my new boyfriend, Thorben Klaven III. I explained the situation. With a rising voice, he insisted–no let me rephrase that, begged me–to meet for a trial run.

[Dear reader: due to onerous and often surprising censorship rules that tax our world, along with my distaste for being on the wrong side of ferocious finger-waggers, the so called, “trial run,” has been edited down to well, err, nothing. I leave you instead with the aftermath.]

“TK?” I whispered to his chest hairs. I was resting in the crook of his arm, poking him in the ribs to rouse him.

“Now, now, sweetness” he said patting my head with his big mitt, “You know I prefer, Thorben.”

“Yes of course, darlinginko,” I said patiently. “What did you think, Thor-bo-bo?” I snickered quietly.

He rolled over and snuggled closer, indulging me like a toddler who just never learns. “It was Bo-delicious,” he said. “I felt bionic, like some cyborg sex toy. I could have climbed a skyscraper. You?”

“I’ve never experienced anything like it,” I said with genuine amazement. “Everything was vibrating. You were like a giant human sex toy. Incredible.”

“Better than Dunkin’ BoNuts, huh?” he said laughing.

“Seriously Bo Vibrations,” I quipped back.

“Bo and Quiver,” he retorted.

“BoFinger,” I snapped.

“Bo that rocks,” he crackled.

“Bo Derek,” I popped.

[Dear Reader: This went on for another fifteen minutes. I'll spare you and pick up the story here:]

“Thorben?” I said sitting up in bed and reaching for the notebook I always kept on my nightstand. “How would you describe the quality of your orgasm?” My pen immediately moved into my mouth for that serene, contemplative look.

Thorben looked at me lovingly. “You’re so cute when you do that journalist thing,” he said sweetly.

I gave him an affectionate nudge, pressing him for an answer.

He thought about it for a moment. “I would say the orgasm was multifaceted. I had to negotiate the pressure from the tight ring that kept things, err, backed up and full, if you know what I mean, with the intensity of the buzzing sensation. It was curious but exciting.”

I scribbled furiously. “Anything else?” I nodded encouragingly.

“Why, yes, there is,” he said mysteriously. “If I press it against the mattresses it makes a loud funny sound.” He activated the Bo again to demonstrate—a giant Nordic-type of a man bouncing and buzzing on my bed.

“You’re so silly!” I said trying to restore a certain journalistic gravitas. “Would you mind rating the experience on a scale of one to 10?”

“Oh, that’s hardly scientific,” he said. “To each his own.”

I gave him my best crestfallen look. “That’s your answer?”

He squeezed me affectionately. “Nope,” he said. “Here’s my answer: It’s for any woman who wants to experience a live, super-sized sex toy and any guy who’s wondered what it’s like to be one.” He looked at me with a big grin.

“Oh, Thorben,” I said throwing my notebook aside with a devil-may-care air. “Let’s recharge our little friend.”

“Just what I was thinking dearest,” he said dashing butt naked to the nearest electrical outlet.

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