Comments Off on My Recent Interest In Men’s Rights Has Absolutely Nothing To Do With My Chronic Case Of Foot Fungus, I Assure You
Firstly, I’d like to request that you stop pointing it out as I am very much aware of the social isolation due to this wicked odour. There is no correlation between my newfound interest in MRA forums and this ongoing fungal exile. I have been the unknowing subject of many investigations into the ‘mystery smell’ pervading certain Arndt tutorial rooms and whilst I am legally obligated to apologise to those who had to seek medical treatment, it does not come easy to me.
The mere fact that I may not be a successful romantic due to a microbial infection has no bearing on my astute analysis of the rights of men and women. I have dedicated many hours to pondering over the great thinkers of the Youtube Philosopher generation. They have led me to a conclusion which is in no way influenced by the cloud of rage which hovers over me, choking me in my own noxious gases as my feet re-odorise the tutorial room.
Furthermore, I find people that point it out rather superficial. I am not concerned with the physical plane of interaction, but rather devote my time to higher intellectual pleasures – philosophy, debate, et cetera. I have no time for superficial people. It’s known in the science of biology that only animals of crude nature select their sexual partners based upon physical traits, and that the true aphrodisiacal characteristic of man is his intellect.
Please note that my designation of such people as superficial emerges not from a default position of excessive defensiveness, and if it did, it certainly wouldn’t be because I’m terribly insecure over my extremely stinky feet. I would be happy to engage you in a civil discussion at the digital podium. You can find me online at the ‘ANU Schmidtposting’ (note that I use an anime image as my display picture in order to keep my identity secret). Please give me ample time to respond to your comment, as in between brine-baths for my feet and cross-referencing your points to a home made chart of logical fallacies, I don’t have much time on my hands.
Thanks.
On 27 September, Hugh Hefner – philanthropist, cuniculophile and pornophile – passed away in his Los Angeles home. The media magnate is perhaps best known for his carefully curated art magazine – ‘Playboy’ – featuring nudes reminiscent of those of Ancient Greece (mirroring Hefner’s careful critique of Greco-Roman hedonism in his highly influential publication). Living to the grand old age of 675 (in rabbit years), Hefner is expected to be interred next to Marilyn Monroe, the crypt next to whose he bought in 1992, saying, ‘spending eternity next to Marilyn is an opportunity too sweet to pass up.’
A stalwart advocate for workers’ rights, Hefner started his publication after he was refused a $5 raise at ‘Esquire’. Initially intending to call the magazine ‘Stag Party’ – paying homage to Rousseau’s stag hunt, a game theory dilemma – Hefner eventually opted for ‘Playboy’, looking for a simpler title.
A lover of the arts, Hefner sought a return to the sensuality of classical Greek. And, of course, later he turned to Renaissance nudes, the image of Bo Derek on the March 1980 cover on a sandy beach in a ragged bikini harkening back to Helen on the beach after the fall of Troy. Indeed, Hefner once stated, ‘Picasso had his pink period and his blue period. I am in my blonde period right now.’
Hugh Hefner was, perhaps more than anything else, a friend to the animals. He once explained that, ‘from my point of view, I’m the luckiest cat on the planet’ – a blatant reference to his strong identification with the animal kingdom. His strong identification with the primal behaviours of wild creatures certainly influenced his lifelong ethos. Indeed, it was surely for this reason that Hefner dubbed the waitresses at his Playboy Clubs ‘Playboy Bunnies’. The concept of having a creature of the Earth serve food prompted the customer to consider sustainable sourcing, and potentially vegetarianism. Rules which forbade customers from touching Bunnies and the prohibition of dating between patrons and Bunnies nurtured a sense of respect and wonder for nature. But it was not just the wonders of the physical world that interested Hefner.
‘I guess you could say; I’m just a typical Methodist kid at heart.’ These solemn words uttered by Hefner perhaps best encapsulate his philosophy. Each Playmate became simultaneously a Madonna and a Mary Magdalene, Hefner embarked – throughout his editorial career – on an opulent, intellectual and salacious exploration of biblical morality and ethics.
‘One of the problems with organised religion’, said Hefner, ‘is that it has always kept women in a second-class position. They have been viewed as the daughters of Eve.’ Through his exploration of themes of possession, control and biblical analysis, Hefner drew the eyes of his audience to the story of Hagar. Hagar was the Egyptian handmaid of Sarah, who was given by Sarah to Abraham to bear him a child. Subsequently, Hagar and her son were cast out by Abraham. By mirroring this experience in the manner of a Playmate leaving the Playboy Mansion, Hefner encouraged us to turn a sceptical eye towards the Bible, to deepen our faith.
The Book of Hugh, the Bible of the modern world.
Rest in peace.
Comments Off on How to Identify a Gay or Lesbian Person
Before you begin your Freudian psychoanalysis, make sure to mention that you have a ‘gay-dar’, and don’t forget to detail how accurate it is and has always been. Frame it as an insurmountable achievement of yours. After all, it is much more prestigious than being awarded a Rhodes Scholarship. There’s no need to think about the reliability or accuracy of your data collection because you don’t have any, so just launch straight in.
Not everybody can be a gay or lesbian. There is a specific skill to identifying those of us who are. Here are some tell-tale signs that someone is a gay or lesbian:
The first thing to take note of when deciding someone’s sexuality on their behalf, namely whether a man is gay or not, is to observe how high-pitched their voice is. The more high-pitched their usual speaking voice is, the more likely it is that you are talking to a gay person. This is because the pitch of your voice has nothing to do with biology: it’s actually determined by your sexuality. Forget what scientists say – they’re all just conspiracy theorists, really.
The second hint to take note of is if they use excessive hand gestures, then they must be gay. The key to this one is that if you’re a man who is attracted to another man, you’ll tend to move your hands around more than the average person when speaking. This is evidenced by how the branches of trees tend to move around more outside in the wind than indoors. It’s the same logic as why witches, like Connie Booth, will weigh as much as a duck does. These species of human beings also tend to be well-groomed, wear strong cologne and enjoy going to gay bars. Just look at Christian Stovitz. How wrong can you be when the suspect is exactly like the gay man in Clueless? The answer is: not very. Hollywood is basically the comprehensive encyclopedia to understanding the diversity of minority communities within our society.
As for spotting lesbians, they will more likely than not have short hair, refuse to shave and wear bras, as well as be a part of the feminist movement. They also enjoy declaring their distaste for penises every five minutes of any conversation about politics, the economy or quantum physics. They graze in small herds and tend to be too busy reading The Vagina Monologues and braiding their underarm hair to care that you don’t think the patriarchy exists. Lesbians also commonly have tattoos and piercings on every ten square centimetres of skin surface area. She’s got a tongue piercing ? Definitely a lesbian. This is a flawless application of modus ponens logic; you should be proud, you’re halfway to a hypothetical syllogism.
Remember: brainwashing is a good thing. You’ve got to give it a good scrub. But don’t forget to dab it dry afterwards, or it won’t make that squeaky-clean sound when you rub your endless knowledge into it. If others are sounding convinced, be impressed with yourself, it’s not easy to be a human and a washing machine at the same time.
Now, continuing with your analysis: if they’re not white, then they’re probably not gay or lesbian. Just take a look at Legally Blonde, Modern Family, Glee, Orange is the New Black, Girls, Easy A, and the list of films and tv shows with homosexual side characters go on. All the gay and lesbian characters are white. So, if you’re someone of colour, how can you possibly be gay or lesbian? Don’t be too caught up in diversity; remember that every characteristic of a person is an obvious hint to the mystery of squeezing them into a category of gender, ethnicity or sexuality.
The last rule to successfully identifying a gay or lesbian is if they don’t have hair dyed in the colours of the rainbow and have a ‘marriage equality’ sign permanently stapled to the palm of their hand, then they’re probably not gay or lesbian. They may be bi, pan or queer*, but not homosexual. If Hollywood says that sexuality is a gay man or a lesbian woman’s defining characteristic, then it is.
Unlike their heterosexual peers who come from diverse backgrounds and have a plethora of personal interests intricately woven into the fabric of their lives, the life of a homosexual will revolve around their sexuality. According to Hollywood, it will run something like this – you’ll spend the first several years of your life struggling to realise that you’re not straight, and then the next few years coming out and waiting for people to accept your ‘new’ identity (that was never really new). Then, you’ll spend the rest of your life doing something that revolves around being a homosexual. Because, god forbid that, homosexuality is not the only aspect of your vibrant identity as a gay or lesbian. So, if you know someone whose life sounds a little like this, then they’re probably gay or lesbian.
You know you can be sure that someone’s a homosexual when they fit all of these descriptions. It’s not like any three-dimensional person could fit into your one-dimensional description of a gay or lesbian. After all, they are a minority, so it’s pretty uncommon to see one around. The only reasonable thing to do is to assume everyone is straight until they perfectly fit this description. Don’t acknowledge that people can have other qualities and interests outside of your understanding of them. It’s too much for the brain to handle on top of having to figure out what you’re going to do with the rest of your life after university.
When you are concluding your final analysis, be sure to present yourself as a hero. Without your wisdom, how would the rest of us be able to identify those of us who are gay and lesbian from those who are not, end world poverty, eradicate all human rights abuses and prevent our globally warming planet from descending into chaos? The rest of the world is thanking you for your insightful analysis, so don’t be afraid to show it off to the next person you meet.
Think your name would look good in print? Woroni is always open for submissions from ANU students. Email write@woroni.com.au with a pitch or draft. You can find more info on submitting here.
Comments Off on The Unfortunate and Limited Finality of Orgasms
Doing You
Forest’s mom always said, ‘Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re gonna get.’ I say, ‘Sex is like ice cream. There’s something for everyone.
Evolutionarily speaking, goal-orientated sex is probably the sex we are programmed to have. It releases all the lovely endorphins that make you want to do it again and is the most efficient for reproductive purposes. Fortunately, we humans are capable of experiencing so much more. Sex with a partner is as much about feeling intimacy and human connection as physical friction. Sharing your body with another human can be such a binding and consuming experience and being able to give them pleasure and receive it yourself is more intensely and deeply fulfilling than any orgasm.
For many people who can’t experience orgasm with a partner or even by themselves, this doesn’t mean they can’t enjoy the other pleasures and connections that sex offers. This is something that people who are new to or shy about sex may not really understand, especially when sex in mainstream media usually consists of a few thrusts and a head toss. This realisation that sex does not equal orgasm is comforting and liberating. It opens up a fresh and limitless way to enjoy sexual pleasure with yourself and partners without the looming pressure and potential failure that accompanies the perceived necessity of an orgasm.
That said, orgasms are still pretty amazing – especially the kind that pull you so deep into them you forget about everything else. Studies vary on the typical length of an orgasm, but it seems that women usually last longer than men, something many men are pretty jealous of but don’t have to be. If you’re looking to have more, or better orgasms, there are things you can do. Spending time by yourself or with a partner exploring what feels the best, setting up the right mood and getting to the edge of an orgasm then staving off can make your orgasms much more intense. Training your body and mind with this teasing method (and kegels, lots of kegels) can wildly improve your orgasms. It can also give you more control over when you orgasm – and reaching orgasm at the same time as your partner is insanely hot. As much as Cosmo and Men’s Health can guide your practice, there are an abundance of more scientific and detailed guides out there like OMG Yes!. Don’t underestimate published literature on the subject.
You might feel a hidden disappointment when a partner nods off to sleep or complains of hand cramps trying to finish you off after you blessed them with an orgasm. Accepting this as normal makes orgasms into a chore, not to mention dramatically reduces the chances of getting there and the quality of any eventual release. In some cases you need to take responsibility for your own orgasm: tell your partner that you want to orgasm and help them help you to get there. Guide their touch or DIY while they massage you and whisper sweet (or dirty) thoughts into your ear. It can feel like a selfish thing to explicitly ask for what you want during sex but remember that your partner wants you to enjoy yourself, and taking control of your sexuality and pleasure is definitely sexy.
It’s been disappointing both when a friend came to me concerned that her boyfriend couldn’t ‘make’ her orgasm, thinking that’s all that sex is and when another brags about how often she squirts, and is surprised when no one she knows has shared that experience. It highlights the inherent judgement and competition that dominates how we talk about orgasms as incredibly exclusive and limiting. This discourse forces us to either assume that how we orgasm is either normal or weird – due largely to a lack of information and dialogue about the realities of it. These assumptions put unnecessary and uncalled-for pressure on orgasms which, unsurprisingly, is a huge mood killer. It is unbelievable to me that we sabotage something that gives us pleasure and makes us happy. An unfortunate trope of the human condition, it seems.
The orgasm is what makes sex impressive; it’s the implied success of achieving one that we brag about to our friends. But this whole way of thinking is such an inaccurate representation of real sex and needs to shift to make sex a more egalitarian endeavour. Sex is not a competition; it is something present that should be cultivated both in activity and attitude.
OMGYes is the sex toy you never knew you needed. For anyone who wants to fuck a vagina, whether it’s your own or someone else’s – you will be thanking me as you or your partner screams ‘OMG YES!’ loud enough to wake the neighbours.
The easy navigation of the swanky website foreshadows the ease with which you will be able to navigate the vulva after getting through season one. The short snippets of information in the form of text, videos, diagrams and interactive videos never feel overbearing or like they’re dragging on.
Flick through the 12 episodes that range from information about communication during sex, to actually creating physical pleasure on and around the clit and labia, and the stages of an orgasm. If you really get down to it, you can make it through the whole season in one weekend. Maybe post exams for some much needed stress release?
I think that to fully appreciate OMGYes you need to approach the information and experience with an open mind and determination. If you really want to learn how to take your orgasms from zero to 100 you need to have patience and be willing to work at it until you figure out if it’s not for you or it’s successful. OMGYes is not at all like watching porn, so if you’re exploring solo you need time and willpower to make it happen.
That’s not to say that’s the only way to get anything out of the website. It’s also very informative on a much simpler level. Just looking at the different actions and basic techniques can give you much more confidence playing with and providing pleasure to a vulva. Hearing a variety of women talk candidly about sex and pleasure is really comforting and liberating. Although it took me a few tries to watch the videos of women pleasuring themselves, seeing women so at ease with their bodies and so honest and open about pleasure shifted my perspective about my own body image.
Surely such a tastefully designed, interactive vessel of vital knowledge is outrageously expensive, but by some miracle, you too can give earth-shattering orgasms for a one-time payment of $50 for a year. Plus, once you get hooked they’re going to release more seasons on ‘penetration techniques and angles, how pleasure changes after childbirth, … how pleasure changes after menopause,’ and ‘the specifics of pleasure for people who have transitioned!’
Although there is already a lot of research out there about male pleasure, I’d like to see OMGYes do a similar season for men, as it’s such a sophisticated and respectful way to appreciate and explore sexuality,
Please, everyone buy this so we can all have amazing sex, all the time.
From an upper-middle class family in Sydney, I fit the bill for the average university sugar baby. Having just moved out of home for the first time and worried about the kind of lifestyle I’d have to lead, having a sugar daddy seemed an enticing solution. I mean how else would I afford my Serrano, Jarlsberg and rocket focaccias?
Initially I thought my chances at grabbing sugar daddy attention on the website SeekingArrangement were limited. They advertise twelve women per man and over 82,000 Australian female university students are registered on the site. This perception was proven false, however, as numerous messages and favourites later, I realised many of the other women are fake “bots” planted by the website to up their numbers.
It was also the modern dating scene that prompted me to look at more mature, financially independent suitors. There are only so many tinder fuckboys a girl can take. Clearly not all men grow out of their dickishness, I realised when one father offered me $10,000 to be a “friend” to his son.
“How old?” I asked.
“Fourteen.” He replied.
I declined for legal reasons, but when the man then asked if I would sleep with him for $10,000, I said yes.
With money like that on the table I had to ask myself how far I was willing to go, because for me, being a sugar baby wasn’t about being a prostitute. I had to think about how much it was worth to them compared to its worth to me. I wanted my sugar relationships to be more meaningful than just sex. I wanted the men to want me – not just a vagina with a paypalme account. I wanted the romantic pretence, the fancy dinners and philosophical conversations over good wine.
And that is exactly why I turned down the young man who offered to pay me $1000 per affair. Why I said no to the very attractive young English man who offered me $6000 per month for 5 meetings per month. And even why I declined an offer to be tutored in PPE – the “Oxford” way – one-on-one. These men all expected sex, and I realised I wasn’t prepared to give it to them, even for the money.
At this point I was beginning to feel like this sugar baby thing wasn’t for me – I just wasn’t prepared to have sex for money. Then I found myself on my first sugar date. This guy seemed harmless enough: an overweight, nerdy public servant. He didn’t put sex on the table initially and didn’t seem like a serial sugar daddy.
Although the less-than-glamorous dinner and drinks at PJ O’Reilly’s, followed by cocktails at the Highball Express, then more cocktails and Cards Against Humanity at Reload wasn’t exactly what I expected, I really enjoyed myself and found we had a good conversational connection. Honestly, if a guy who wasn’t paying me had taken me on that date, I would’ve been pretty damn impressed.
When the alcohol kicked in he told me about a sugar baby in Canada who sent one man pictures of her shoes for $50 each. No feet, just shoes. Which brings me to the monetary side of things, and trust me it’s as good as you think it is.
My sugar daddy is more like my splenda daddy. He’s not one of the mega rich but he has a certain amount of disposable income that is pretty much my income. Our arrangement is $250 per date. It’s paid into my paypal account just before we meet. A date consists of dinner, drinks and my undivided appreciation and attention on whatever he wants to talk about.
Then there are the gifts. $100 to spend on drinks for O-Week, a huge bouquet of flowers on Valentine’s Day, a tiffany bracelet, $500 so I could go shopping. All I had to say was two little words: “Thank you Daddy”.
But naturally, to get a lot I had to give a little. One night he asked for a selfie for $70 and I really couldn’t be bothered so I just ignored him. I checked my messages an hour later and the offer had risen to $250. So there I was, outside Uni Pub taking a selfie with one friend while another pushed my boobs up to give me extra cleavage. I can only imagine what he did with that selfie, but I know exactly what I did with that $250, and let me tell you, it was a great night in Canberra.
I had convinced myself this was all harmless because I didn’t actually need the money. I would be safe and wouldn’t do anything I was uncomfortable with because the money wasn’t that important to me. But one offhand check of my bank account balance changed that… and I took our arrangement up a notch. I had gotten $250 for a selfie with a little cleavage. For nudes I got $500. So I earned a nice little grand for myself in less than 5 minutes from the safety of my bedroom for something lots of girls give for free.
If a picture of my body is worth $500 to one man, then the guy I met at a club one Thursday who snapchats me relentless dickpics expecting me to return with some titty can burn in a special part of hell with Satan’s veiny red penis waggling in front of their face for eternity.
Ultimately, what surprised me the most was the balance of power in the relationship. I went into it fully prepared to be very submissive but my SD preferred me as the dominant one. I knew his budget so whatever I asked for I would get, and God did he love giving.
Eventually I couldn’t put it off any longer and I knew I would have to have sex with him to keep up the lifestyle. What’s that they say about greed being a mortal sin?
So I slept with him. And although I’m glad I’ve done it – ticked it off the bucket list and all – at the time I felt disgusted with myself. It wasn’t enjoyable. I mean, you’d think it would be amazing, all the experience of one man appreciating your 18 year old body. But as soon as the clothes come off it isn’t a relationship for mutual pleasure anymore, it’s “I’m paying you for sex so do what I want bitch”.
Although he still wanted me to be the dominant one, there was this unquestionable underlying control he had over me. Because he had already paid me, I felt obligated to do what he wanted.
My skin crawled when he touched me and I was doing everything I could to get it over. When it finally was – and it didn’t take long – I practically ran out of there. I went home and showered, scrubbing every inch of myself over and over.
I have realised that I’m so young to be doing this, and I probably don’t have enough self-esteem to cope with the cheap feeling that accompanies creepy old men want to pay for control of my body. More than this, it has also affected my personal relationships, in that I now find it hard to say no to guys because I feel like they have this power over me. I conform to their expectations of the kind of girl I’ll be, because I feel this need to please them.
I still have a sugar daddy but it’s moved to a mostly online relationship. We chat every now and then and he sends me money to buy lingerie for photos. I have to say I like this relationship so much more. I can’t see him so I can imagine whatever I want. It’s less about the person you are and more the person you want to be – and want each other to be. It’s easier to fake it online. And it’s so much more fun. It’s hot to take pictures of myself in lingerie he bought for me, knowing how badly he wants them. The baby-daddy dirty talk is such a turn on. So maybe this means being a cam girl is more my thing?
7 years old… A mate and I are in the back of a class, mucking around in a picture dictionary instead of listening to the teacher. We find the page dedicated to adult male and female anatomy, and tease each other about what the other will look like in the future. My mate Jack continues looking at the female drawing for hours afterwards, and I can’t understand why.
11 years old… Everyone in my year has a crush, and those who don’t, are simply in denial. I don’t have a crush, but I am not in denial either.
14 years old… Every sleepover with my friends inevitably brings the up question “who’s your crush?” Confused, but also slightly concerned about how much interest my friends have in the matter, I fake having a crush on a guy named George. George works at Crust Pizza with me and we talked about Pokémon for 5 minutes last week. My friends seem relieved that I finally have a crush, and tell me that I’m “growing up at last”.
16 years old… Nothing prepares me for the disappointment that is sex. Movies, books, the people around me, have all communicated that this will be one of the best moments of my young life. The boy underneath me, who has been waiting for this moment for months, is certainly feeling it. He gives a light laugh and asks me how I found it, to which I respond something vague, understanding already that I mustn’t say how I truly feel. To myself, I wonder if I’ll grow into it in time.
16 years old… That same boy asks me about my fantasies, things I privately dream about doing with him in the deep hours of the night. I have none, and tell him so, but he doesn’t believe me. We act out some of his fantasies, though I’m not very good at being the highly dominant, sex-hungry minx he dreams of.
17 years old… I have discovered the fourth sexual orientation, asexuality, and now identify with it. As the boy and I stroll through Paris late one night and he’s starting to get frisky for the girlfriend he hasn’t seen in months. I come out to him under the influence of a bottle of good French wine and in response to my inability to bear sex any more. Dumbfounded, he tells me we’ll find someone who can fix me.
17 years old… Just one night later, we’re having sex again. I turn my face away, unable to look at him, and he grabs it, turning it roughly back towards him. I can feel the rising horror and distress at what I’m making myself do reach the level where I can’t hold it back, but I manage to restrain it long enough for him to finish, and for me to turn away from him. The tears spill out and over my cheeks, and I make no move to wipe them away.
18 years old… One quick but bitter break-up and a few months later, I’m in a parked car with a youth from the north of England, kissing him. Curious to see if my asexuality has shifted, I move his hand to my chest. When nothing has changed within me and the touch makes me recoil, I shove his arm away, both shuddering at what I’d done and frustrated at my inability to be “normal”.
20 years old… I understand why Jack spent hours looking at the drawing of the naked woman in the dictionary. I understand why everyone was so excited about their crushes, and assumed I had one too. I understand why the boy was so excited to have sex, and sought it out almost every time we were alone, and I understand why he was so shocked when I revealed that I was asexual. And I understand why fooling around with someone new elicited the same response in me as it had with him.
But I still do not feel it, and am at peace with that fact – despite what the rest of the world may think.
Asexuality is a sexual orientation in which someone experiences no sexual desire for people of any gender. Usually present for most/all of a person’s puberty and adult life (although occasionally induced through abuse or trauma), asexuality is as real a sexual orientation as heterosexuality, homosexuality, bisexuality and pansexuality. Due to its relatively low (est. 1-3%) frequency in the population, however, very little research has been conducted into the secrets of asexuality, and as such not many people know that it exists, or if they do, many assume it is a phase or a result of past experiences.
Asexual people may or may not masturbate, may or may not be party animals, may or may not seek out a platonic or romantic life partner, may or may not have sex (as I did for a year), and may or may not be repulsed by sex and sexual things. Asexuality is worthy of recognition, and deserves a place in the sex-ed programs that take place between years 6 and 10. Asexual people coming out deserve to be free from assumptions that they are broken, that they are somehow “wrong”, or even inhuman. Like other Queer identities, asexuality deserves representative portrayals in the media and in fiction, not caricatures that provide titillating stories or an opportunity to gawk at someone as though they were in a zoo.