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Best Sex Writing 2010 on Kindle


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Buy
IPPY Award winning Best Sex Writing 2010 on Kindle here.

Introduction: My Favorite Sexual Outlaws by Rachel Kramer Bussel
(scroll down to read)

The Girl Who Only Sometimes Said No Diana Joseph
Secrets of the Phallus: Why is the Penis Shaped Like That? Jesse Bering
The Vagina Dialogues Johanna Gohmann
Sex Laws That Can Really Screw You Ellen Friedrichs
What Really Turns Men On John DeVore
It’s a Shame About Ray by Kirk Read
BDSM and Playing with Race Mollena Williams
Remembering Pubic Hair Paul Krassner
Sexual Outlaw Betty Dodson
Go Thin or Bust: How Berkeley’s Mayer Laboratories won the battle of
the thin condoms Rachel Swan
‘Sex Surrogates’ put personal touch on therapy Brian Alexander
What’s The Matter With Teen Sexting? Judith Levine
The Anatomy of An Affair Michelle Perrot
The Portal Janet Hardy
Bite Me! (Or Don’t) Christine Seifert
Hot. Digital. Sexual. Underground. David Black
Loving Lesbians by William Georgiades
Lust and Lechery in Eight Pages: The Story of the Tijuana Bibles Chris Hall
The Trouble With Safe Sex Seth Michael Donsky
Piece of Ass Monica Shores
The Future of Sex Ed Violet Blue
A Cunning Linguist John Thursday
SWL(actating) F Seeks Sex With No Strings Attached Rachel Sarah
Toward a Performance Model of Sex Thomas MacAulay Millar
The Client Voyeur debauchette

Best Sex Writing 2010 Introduction: “My Favorite Sexual Outlaws”

If there is a theme to this year’s anthology, I’d like to think it’s
one of being a sexual outlaw, echoing the title of Betty Dodson’s
essay. Because it’s the outlaws who, I’d like to think, are getting
the most out of sex. That’s not to say that we should all be off
having unconventional sex for the sake of being an outlaw, but rather
that instead of listening to and blindly adhering to the conventional
wisdom about sex, we need to create our own.

We see this theme in the pieces here about sex work, which defy the
“sex worker as victim” trope to evoke new ideas about sex work and the
people who engage in it as well as those who purchase sex. In “It’s a
Shame About Ray,” Kirk Read is actually the one left wanting, when his
client, Ray, knows exactly what he wants, and gets it. Read is left a
bit wistful, wishing Ray had occupied him for a full evening rather
than a mere two hours. In many ways, debauchette experiences the same
thing when she’s hired by a voyeur. “The intensity reminded me what it
felt like to want, and not have. He hadn’t touched me, but in all the
silence and focused attention, I’d slowly let go of my resistance,
transformed from defensive affectation to open, raw lust,” she writes.

John DeVore, one of the few straight men writing a regular sex column
(for TheFrisky.com), challenges his fellow males to fess up to not
necessarily lusting after Megan Fox—or at least, not exclusively
lusting after Megan Fox. Paul Krassner takes us back in time to an era
when Brazilian bikini waxes weren’t the norm, lamenting the loss of
pubic hair. For William Georgiades, stepping out of the straight male
norm and into Northampton, Massachusetts, where “I soon found that the
only people who were making sense to me were the die-hard gay grrrls.”
He navigates the tension between being a straight man, a breeder, and
falling for women who sometimes, maybe, wanted him, in “Loving
Lesbians,” one of several essays here that defy our need to put labels
neatly around sexuality. (Betty Dodson says it much more emphatically,
giving herself this advice when it came to the dreaded “S/M” label:
“Embrace the label to destroy its power over you.”)

One of the most cherished tropes about sex is that monogamy, and
marriage, are what will make us happy. That the two are intertwined is
a given even in an era when acts like BDSM and alternative sexualities
are more accepted. That’s why a piece like “The Anatomy of an Affair”
by Michelle Perrot (a pseudonym) is so powerful. She’s claiming her
marriage and her sexual autonomy, stating:

I don’t want 1950s-style advice about “date nights” and lingerie and
role-playing. I don’t want to “spice up my marriage.” I want rough
sex. Dirty, spit in his mouth sex. Wet, disgusting, nasty talk about
pussies and cum and fuck-me sex. The kind of hate fucking where
afterward you can’t move. And the bottom line is that I don’t want
that kind of sex with my husband, this man I love.

Each of these authors has inspired me to think about sex in a new way,
to not accept the norms, whether it’s Diana Joseph defending her
slutty self to both herself and her son, Judith Levine reassuring us
that sexting is not the evil of teenage life it’s thought to be, or
Rachel Sarah weighing in on the erotic allure of breastfeeding. Noted
sex and tech expert Violet Blue schools us on where our country needs
to go if our sex education is truly going to serve the people it needs
to, while Jesse Bering giving us a science lesson all about cock
(okay, he calls it the phallus or the penis, but cock is my personal
favorite word for that particular body part).

Some of the pieces here may unnerve you: Mollena Williams’s extended
meditation on “BDSM and Playing with Race” is thoughtful, honest,
brave and at times, disturbing. I’ve included it because this is one
of the most taboo topics, along with the realities of safer sex that
Seth Michael Donsky uncovers. Williams calls humiliation a “delicate
balancing act,” and while the specific type of race-based play she’s
talking about takes that to an extreme, I think sex itself, and sexual
fantasy, are so often very delicate balancing acts where we are trying
to make sense of the insensible, or perhaps, the opposite, letting
ourselves lose our senses only to find something that defies logic,
sense, smarts, and instead stems from the body. “For me, humiliation
is a broad-brush full-bore way for me to feel the worst of how I feel
about myself, give it away to someone, and have them hold it. Once
someone else holds it up for me, mirrors it back, shows me the depth
of my own feelings, my self-deprecation, I can see it for what it is,”
writes Williams.

Each of these writers brings a powerful way of looking at sex to this
book. I’d love to hear what you think and welcome your suggestions for
future editions of Best Sex Writing—feel free to contact me at
rachel@bestsexwriting.com and read more about the series and my
guidelines at bestsexwriting.com.

I’d also like to add that some people have commented that the erotic
covers on these books trick people into thinking there will be more
arousing material than what’s actually inside. To me, though, as an
ultimate voyeur, reading about other people’s turn-ons, unearthing
their sexual secrets, seeing how the other halves live, is not just
educational or entertainment. It enhances my sex life because it leads
me to new possibilities. These authors, the smart, daring, provocative
sexual outlaws, have taught me about biology, nonmonogamy, cybersex,
and so much more. I hope these essays and articles speak to your
brain, as well as other organs, and at the very least, clue you in
that sex is a lot bigger, broader and more complicated than you ever
expected.

Rachel Kramer Bussel
New York Cit

#1 The Doc Electric (Dr. Alfred Hammersmith Electravio ABD)


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I must confess, the profile I am about to tell is one full of hearsay, conjecture, presumptions, and all together known lies. I had not had the pleasure to meet let alone interview Dr Alfred H Electravio until well after his capture by the Utah State Police and incarceration to ________ Asylum. Because of this late meeting I had to base this extremely summarized biography on the Doctor’s own insane and often times incoherent ramblings, often filled with non-sequiter interjections and ejaculations as the examples that follow: "King Cabbage dines politely without haste inside his hat! HIS HAT I TELL YOU!" "Grrrrrrrrrrrrr hisssss grrrrrrrrrr hisssssss FAPUNKTIK!" "Have you no pocket wrenches man?! They are only Three Cents a Doubles!"

Born in Berkeley, California (that hotbed of Mad Scientists) to an Assyrian candlestick maker and the daughter of an Italian-American haberdasher, young Al H Electravio spent his rugratting years at the heels of giants. The Doctor was conceived in the People’s Park, on May 15th admidst the wild violence of Bloody Thursday, brought down onto Berkeley by the Governor Ronald W Reagan. Coincidentally, years later, it would be Reagan who would then promote the young genius Electravio’s vision of a fleet orbiting Death Lasers to strike down Hippies and Communists and anyone who found their way on to the Doctor’s ever expanding "shit list".

By the age of two and seven months, before he uttered his first word, Electravio had already learned the craft of his forebears so well that he was able to successfully combine the two; working long past bedtime in his father’s wax cellar using his mother’s old sewing machine. The invention he formed would be marketed to great regional success as The Nite-Coat., A sporty and wearable dinner jacket for the dapper gad-about-town made only from a special tallow the Doctor had engineered himself, that could be ignited at the lapels and elbows to provide enough luminescence to read good honest American words in some of the cities danker and poorly lit Beatnik juice bars. Ironically, in light of the Doctor’s future hatred of all nature, peace, and free loving counter culturalists, the jacket was a big hit among the hippies of the West Coast, as it saved energy and electricity, and also the wax being homegrown and organic was indeed a sanctioned product of the great Earth Mother, Gaia.

He would face his first great emotional trial at age twelve, when his mother was crushed to death by a falling redwood. Not a redwood in the great forests of Northern California and the Cascade Mountains, but at Lumberjack Lou’s Restaurant and Lube off of route 101 in San Jose. The Mother Electravio, a noted environmental activist in the local community, was leading a protest of the establishment for having a forty foot long redwood log chained to its facade. The protest turned for the worse when some of the members attempted to cut the redwood from its bonds so that they could return it to Gaia. Unfortunately they did not take in to account physical laws, and once the chains were cut, the log was pulled at rapidly increasing pace over the welcoming arms of the Mother Electravio. She did not flee from it but saw it as a welcome boon from the Earth Mother, and looked to embrace it with the love and respect it deserved. That day the Doctor hardened his heart against the hippys and treehuggers who put his beloved mam in front of that rolling redwood, and began to seek the making of all things green and growing obsolete and unnecessary for human life.

Electravio first gained international attention when he bought ten thousand acres of the Brazilian Rainforest and destroyed all of it within twenty and five tenth seconds using his prototype neutrino bomb. Electravio was not only testing the bomb, but also wanted to test his fleet of OxyGenerators, and measure the scalable effects on Earth’s atmosphere and on the local fauna. Several environmental and global bodies moved to seek action against him, but could not because of his complete legal claim over the land and all that was contained in it, and the fact that he had safely employed and trained the indigenous inhabitants to help him run the experiments. Regardless of the anger and fist-shaking, nothing could be done, and if it weren’t for the automated Liberal-Indignance seeking targeting system that Electravio had installed on his orbiting death ray, the Human-Ultraviolet-Biometric-comBustion-Light-Emitter or Hubble , he would have never been stopped.

The first few instances of famous liberal environmental activists spontaneously combusting were seen just as mere unrelated coincidence. In fact in the early nineties the string of human-combustion cases were used as propaganda against the low fat and grain heavy diets of vegetarians and vegans. Detractors claimed it was high fat content meats that prevented good honest red blooded people from just exploding willy nilly, spreading their leftist ash and entrails about, as if they owned everything. It wasn’t until data collected from Hubble included pictures of Ed Begley Jr’s house, his favorite restaurant, and his favorite electric car dealership, that the government became suspicious of what Hubble was really being used for.

But red tape and bureaucracy tarried too long, and Electravio wasn’t ever brought before a federal court. On his twenty-eighth birthday he received a summons from the Utah State Supreme court. He had tested, somewhat successfully, on the salt flats of Utah the usage of high proofed grain alcohol as fuel for his never finished rocket-suit. He attempted to flee in the suit, but his fuel reserves had been consumed the night before by a group of Brigham-Young University Graduate Students, who were assisting him for course credit. Affronted with these great insults to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, the highest court of Utah saw only fit to sentence Electravio to a life time at an un-named Mormon Re-Education Center, at the bottom of The Great Salt Lake.

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