This week’s column: Some BDSM Terms Defined

I knew it would stir some response, but I think it was mere minutes after this column went live on the Stranger website that I got an email taking me to task for my use of the words “orgasm” vs. “ejaculate”. The writer describes his method of anal stimulation, calling it…

…hard and aggressive stimulation. During this stimulation, my penis is flaccid. But at the crescendo of the stimulation, come gently pulses out of my mostly flaccid penis and fills the palm of my other hand. I note in your article you mention ejaculation without orgasm is this what you mean? I beg your pardon but I consider this to be an orgasm as well...albeit a different one but one nonetheless. Woman have different types of orgasms...woman are ejaculating as well. Men should be able to have different types of orgasms as well.

Darling, far be it from me to tell you what is an orgasm for you and what isn’t. I mean, an orgasm is a distinct physiological event, and I’m sure a medically trained sexual researcher could hook you up to some machine and measure your various levels of whatever, but that’s not my specialty. As far as I’m concerned, if you say it’s an orgasm, it’s an orgasm.

But yes, I have heard stories about – but not witnessed – men being “milked” into producing a large quantity of ejaculate without feeling that they had an orgasm. I am mildly skeptical, but if I’m ever in a situation where someone demonstrates this for me, great. I’m open to new ideas.

The stories I hear always have a very dominant/submissive overtone, with the man being “forced” to continuously produce fluid. I think this fantasy centers around a primitive fear (some) men have about being, shall we say, robbed of their manly essence? And where there is fear mixed with sexuality, there will inevitably be a fetish.

On related topic...my gf has "orgasms" when we enjoy anal sex together. What are these things she has? You imply that there is such a thing as an ejaculation without an orgasm does that also mean there are orgasms without ejaculation?

On this one I’m quite clear: I have known (yes, in the Biblical sense) many men who told me they had orgasms without ejaculating. I think some guys purposely do this as part of Tantric sex practices, although I don’t know that for sure.

What’s happening with your girlfriend, I have no idea. Like you, if she says it’s an orgasm, I’m not going to tell her it’s not. The both of ya’ll just go on with your anal orgasming selves. You should take her to see The Wet Spots play when they're here early in July, since your answer to their musical query is an enthusiastic "Yes!"

While we’re on this music thing… YouTube video: A young Stevie Wonder doing a funkalicious rendition of my favorite song by him, Superstition. On Sesame Street, no less!
I think in the studio version has a harder edge to it, which I like, but this has almost more a big-band sound. It's cool. Stevie Wonder and the Stones were my mom's favorites bands when I was little, so I grew up listening to this kind of music.
I think I need to wander over to iTunes and spend some more money. Hot weather requires lots of music.

Another Album From The iPod

Things To Do In Denver When You’re Dead Soundtrack

I’m a fan of buying movie soundtracks. I like getting a CD that has a lot of different sounds, but with one unifying mood. I bought this CD in 1995, just as I was breaking up with my last serious female lover, Deborah B. We were trying to keep it civil, but it was a tense time - I needed to get myself out of her house and into my own apartment. The prospect of getting out of town for a while, and generating a large chunk of cash at the same time, was what made me decide to take a chance on a type of sex work I’d never tried before: the legal brothels in Nevada.

I’d talked briefly to one woman who’d been down there, but I didn’t have much to go on, and there was very little information on the web at that time. I had some phone numbers, but people who answer the phone at brothels aren’t usually interested in giving one any information beyond the bare minimum. I’d need a medical test and a license from the sheriff, they’d feed me and house me (for a fee) and I had to stay at least one week, although they’d prefer longer. Sounded like a cross between a women-in-prison movie and a girls summer camp – albeit one where I’d get paid.

Actually, I had no real idea of what I was getting myself into. But I was a little angry, a little bitter, and definitely in the emotional space to say “What the fuck? Why not?” Taking a chance suited my mood very well.

Still, I decided to drive down rather than fly, reasoning that if worst came to worst, I’d be able to just get back in my beloved red Supra and get out the hell out of there. So I packed up a bunch of come-hither outfits, threw a stack of CDs in the car, and said a half-sad, half-resentful goodbye to Deb.

This CD got heavy rotation on the drive south. It’s got great blues - "Born Under A Bad Sign" and "Take On Some Insurance On Me, Baby". It's got some songs from bands I'd never heard of - like Ape Hangers - but which proved to be excellent to turn up really loud and sing along to. "This is my life and I know what to do with it!" I always skipped past Dean Martin singing "You're Nobody 'Til Somebody Loves You", though. Not what I wanted to hear just then.

It’s got Morphine, and Tom Waits, and Johnny Cash, and it’s got this one song by Blues Traveler covering a Bob Seger number, "Get Out Of Denver". Now, "Get Out Of Denver" isn’t a really deep, meaningful song. (I think it’s about scoring drugs, actually.) But listening to the catchy guitar and hook-y vocals as I drove ninety miles an hour across the rocky desert of Nevada was a great way to get myself pumped up for big changes in my life, both immediate and longer-term.

Spending a week in the brothel turned out to be an interesting experience, although not one I decided to make a habit of. But I did make a healthy stack of cash, with which I returned to Seattle to get a new apartment, and a new life.

Also: I still have some time available this week Tuesday, Weds, and Friday.

I had a really sweet time with Roman yesterday. Hotel Andra is a gorgeous place, I definitely recommend it for the boutique-hotel experience. Big thanks go out to blog-reader Kelly, who helped Roman arrange the very pretty room and sent us a bottle of champagne. We drank it sitting there looking out over the lights of downtown. So that was all good…

But today, my laptop is being wonky, and I had to drop my car off at the Saab dealership because it’s leaking coolant, like big-time. I probably won’t get it back until late tomorrow, if then. Arg. I hate being car-less.

Such are the ups and downs of life. But I have a lot of ups and very few downs, really, so I can't complain. And it's sunny and warm, yay! So maybe I'll go sit out in the yard and see if I can get my laptop to behave itself.

Two years ago today, Roman showed up on my doorstep. With him, he had a bouquet of flowers, a bottle of champagne, and his famous thousand-watt smile. Armed with these weapons, he complimented me, confided in me, listened to me, made me laugh, made me blush, and just generally made me feel like the most fascinating and the most beautiful woman in the world.

And he still does. Happy anniversary, sweetheart.