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Use it or Not?
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| Written by Jillian Byrne | |||
| October 17,
2011 As the holidays approach and we have our attention turned to the economy, I think this is a good time to not only look at international spending habits, but also our own right here at home. A friend of mine recently posted on her facebook page that buying from local businesses would help turn the tables on an otherwise lopsided economical system. I couldn’t agree more. Buying from local merchants not only strengthens the local economy but I would argue that the face-to-face interaction you get from knowing your neighbors creates a feeling of being home and building a community.
Before moving to Chicago from San Francisco a little over two years ago, I managed a small independent coffee shop. I had worked in the business of coffee-making and coffee-bossing for a few years and was working for a large corporate coffee roasting company (who shall remain nameless). I had decided to leave my comfortable job for a tiny mom and pop shop that I had been into a few times and loved. I loved the neighborhood. I loved the coffee. I even kind of liked the way the barista said, “well if you’d open your eyes, you’d see it’s right behind you,” when I asked where the cream was my first time in the shop. Ouch.
It still sounds silly when I consider it, but that employment shift changed my life. My priorities shifted. I finished school and I got to know my neighbors. I learned the names of my customer’s kids and the owner of the shop became like a second Dad to me. We weren’t shooting for perfection because we knew that the humanness in dealing with each other’s quirks, mistakes, and affinities was more interesting than the data analysis that goes on behind multi-million dollar corporations.
“What does this have to do with sex toys,” you ask? I can relate anything to sex—just ask my housemate. But what I am attempting to say here is the impact of shopping locally goes further than the cash-register. And this season some of the changes we are looking for can be achieved through a multitude of tactics. Some of them being by shopping at your local bookstores, hardware stores and, yes, sex toy stores. |
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Not for the faint of heart, or hand: Vaginal Fisting
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| Written by Lee Bonde | |||
| September 8,
2011 Not for the faint of heart, or hand: Vaginal Fisting Vaginal Fisting (“fist-fucking, or “handballing”) specifically refers to the delicate and sensuous art of vaginal penetration, encompassing the entirety of a human hand and wrist (while synthetic toys are available to achieve the same goal, it’s more scrumptious to use one with a pulse). Why a fist? Although penises, dildos, and vibrators provide particular and stimulating sensations, the unique contours and shape of the human hand is unparalleled. Throughout the course of the day our hands serve a multitude of purposes and transform into many types of tools—why not a genital? It’s sexy, intimate, and romantic! What do I need?
o Optional: Some folks like pairing a hearty fist with a sweet and delicate vibe for extra stimulation. o Try: § Lelo Siri (Rechargeable, petite, and discreet) § Fun Factory Layaspot (Water-resistant and ergonomically designed to be hands-free) § Jimmy Jane
Form 3 (Rechargeable, water-resistant, tongue-shaped, but better!!) For more information on vaginal fisting, see A Hand in the Bush: The Fine Art of Vaginal Fisting by Deborah Addington. A fierce, fiery, and straight-forward queer lady with tips, advice, and techniques for the aspiring fister/fistee! |
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Sex Date and Toy
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| Written by Jillian Byrne | |||
| December 17,
2010 Sexy Date and A Toy:
Go Get a drink in a hotel bar.
Sure the economy is rough and you love dive bars. I completely understand, but when’s the last time you and your honey treated yourselves to a swanky cocktail at a swanky hotel? You don’t have to be staying there to enjoy the bar. And if you think about it, you really do get what you pay for. Here are the following suggestions with their sexy toy pairing:
Hotel Bar: The Drake 140 E. Walton Place Drink: Extra Dirty Gin Martini Toy Pairing: The Rabbit Pearl Why: you are a classicist and you are always attracted to the original. You are adventurous but still enjoy quality and style.
Hotel Bar The Atwood Café in the Hotel Burnham 1 W. Washington Street Drink: Atwood Old Fashioned Toy Pairing: The We Vibe II Why: Because you love re-invention. The hotel Burnham (formally the Reliance Building) was built in 1894 but has been restored as a world class hotel. The We Vibe II takes couples sex to a new level with each of you enjoying the vibration and it’s waterproof. Okay, so you may want to get a room.
Hotel Bar: The Palmer House 17 E. Monroe Street Drink: Sazerac Toy Pairing: A Stainless Steel Jeweled Anal Plug Why: Well, because you are made of diamonds of course! Potter Palmer the Palmer House’s original proprietor, had dreams of building a luxurious hotel. Upon receiving news that he was terminally ill, he went ahead and built it—and then proceeded to live many more years! This steel plug carries with it some weight and is a truly beautiful object capable of putting you in complete ecstasy. |
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Santa Baby
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| Written by Jillian Byrne | |||
| December 17,
2010 Santa Baby, “Stuff this Stocking!”
10 Stocking Stuffers that Won’t Break the Bank
P-Style- Ladies, pee standing up in style! $ 15 Sugar sak- keeps your toys dust and germ-free when they’re not being used $13 Innervibe vibrating finger-vibe- fits in your purse! $10 Innervibe vibrating cockring- great for cockring first-timers $10 Jimmy Jane Iconic Smoothie vibe- A new take on a classic $20 Dirty Boyz Boner Bar- Soap on a rope is back! And this time in a lovely “package” $10 Vibrating Bullet- These battery-operated vibes really pack a punch $10- $15 Tenga Deep Throat Cup- Great for partner play $15 Coochy Shave Crčme 8oz- So smooooooth $13 Kama Sutra Oil of Love- In a lovely tin $16 |
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Tulip at Chances Dances
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| Written by Jiilian Notarnicola | |||
| November 22,
2010 Sometimes we at Tulip Toy Gallery get the opportunity to collaborate with community organizations that benefit vital programs here in Chicago. Last Monday, November 15th, we had a great time sponsoring Chances Dances, a monthly dance party put on by Chances Dances at The Subterranean in Wicker Park—just up the street from our newest store. Chances is a group whose goal it is to bring together the factionalized LGBTIQ communities--and boy do they have fun doing it! We raffled off two gift baskets raising over two-hundred dollars for Howard Brown, a local organization whose mission it is to promote the well-being of gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgendered persons through the provision of healthcare and wellness programs. Chances always welcomes people from all gender expressions and brings the good energy in with featured Djs and a local feel. On this particular Monday night, the dance floor was packed. Thank you Chances and Thank you to all the folks who came out to support Howard Brown! Community service never felt so good. |
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3 Good Books Hidden on Our Bookshelf and Why They Are Good
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| Written by jillian Hade | |||
| October 28,
2010 3 Good Books Hidden on Our Bookshelf and Why They Are Good
Girl Meets Girl by Diana Cage
Why: Because I could’ve used this when I was a baby dyke!
It will help those budding lesbians out there to: come out, find their inner player, navigate internet dating, make stuffed acorn squash, communicate clearly, not drive a u-haul to the second date, become a master of “sexting”, outfit their toy-chest and not chase their girlfriend down the street wearing nothing but boxer shorts as she drives away angry. Ok, that last part is personal, but I think had I been reading this book, I probably would have been less inclined to put on such a half-naked crazy-person show for the neighbors.
Urban Aboriginals by Geoff Mains
Why: Because it’s fascinating and sexy to think about this stuff.
In an interview when this book was published in 1984 Mains questioned, “If we look at such things as pain/pleasure as human capacity and not sickness, then we have to start asking what happens when society represses certain capacities?” This book courses through the origins of leathersexuality and many quite beautiful personal accounts.
Sex Disasters and How to Survive Them by Charles Moser and Janet W. Hardy
Why: Because let’s face it, sometimes it doesn’t go like you planned.
Have you ever wondered what to do if you bit your partner during sex a little too hard and now they are bleeding? or the police showed up at your door during a particular rambunctious sex session? Or the hickey you got last night isn’t going away anytime soon and your partner is going to kill you? Or your cat just ate a condom? Well, the answers are all spelled out for you here in this hilarious book, and even if you think you are the supreme lover who can handle any situation--like me for example, it’s always amusing to imagine other people’s misfortune in the sack. |
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Product Review/Jimmyjane Form 3
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| Written by Jenny Ross | |||
| October 27,
2010 At first I thought the Jimmy Jane Form 3 was a little weird looking. I'm used to more phallic vibes, but I'm so glad I gave it a shot! The engineers at Jimmy Jane know exactly what they're doing. Even though it can be used by boys too, I feel like they've really taken the needs of (my) female anatomy to heart with this little creation. The smooth surface tapers into a fully bendable touchpad that I've nicknamed "the love curve." It's great for teasing and sliding between the labia or for applying increased vibralicious pleasure to the clitoris. The tongue-like shape of this toy and its delightful pulse cycles make my dates with the Form 3 feel like oral sex heaven. Wonderful, rechargeable, waterproof oral sex. |
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SM 101
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| Written by a p | |||
| September 8,
2010 One of my recent favorites…SM 101 by Jay Wiseman SM 101 is a frank introduction to Sadomasochism. At 391 pages, author, Jay Wiseman, takes an incredible degree of care in defining SM play, its basic techniques, how to find SM partners and play safe as well as many many other valuable insights for everyone from those highly experienced in SM play to those who are mildly curious. SM 101 also contains an extensive reference section as well as helpful glossary. I find Wiseman’s honesty to be a treasure. As someone who has done little in the way of SM play, SM 101 is a terrific introductory read as well as a possible reference book years from now. Wiseman’s mentor-like tone carries you through making you feel comfortable, but commanding the reader’s attention at every page. The book is also peppered with funny and helpful tips and sayings throughout, making it easy to pick up and begin reading at any page. |
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We can love who we trust, but what is love without lust?
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| Written by Lily | |||
| October 26,
2009 She was 47 feet long and a bit weathered, docked at pier H you told me. I locked the door to my condo in which he was sleeping and walked to the marina, too drunk on lust and adrenaline to think of anything but the present moment. You held my hand and told me to watch my step in my stilettos, and as I climbed aboard and descended into the boat, the smell of motor oil and your cologne overwhelmed me. The music was perfect, the disheveled state of your bachelor life at sea was so masculine, and you were just too attractive to be true. You embraced me and your breath alone against my neck was enough to seduce me. I was under your spell, willingly submissive to your power play. I've never understood that feeling, offering your entire self to someone in return for whatever they choose to happen. I was your decadent indulgence of the week, and yours to use. Your eyes full of passion as you assisted me up the ladder into your bed, leaving my clothes behind and nibbling at my bra strap as I wrapped myself in your black sheets. You devoured my body with animalistic hunger, scratching my anchor tattoo and smacking my skin, filling my mouth with warmth as you couldn't contain it any longer. Your fingertips lightly traced my hips as the boat gently rocked with the waves, and nothing could have distracted me from the tangled web of desire we had woven, our bodies so alive and senses alert. In the heat of the moment, your mouth sucking my clit and your strong hands gripping my fair thighs in the moonlight, my back arched over the ladder and staring up at the stars through the sails, as I came to climax, my only thought was that this could not get better. I awoke to the rocking of the boat as a cruiseship was leaving the port, light rain was drizzling in on our hands, seagulls circling the grey sky above. The fan was cooling us as we cuddled in the sheets and you smiled sleepily as you kissed my forehead. We dozed on and off for hours it seemed, your body pressed against mine with desire, your fingertips exploring the lines of my curves. I felt perfect in your arms. How did this happen? Two days ago you were in the store, nervously asking me for recommendations about erotic fiction, explaining that your ex is now a lesbian who invites you over for parties, and telling me you were only here on holiday, with your irresistible Australian accent. A drink, you said, just one. No worries, I said, my number. It was instant chemistry, I was yours before you said a word. I, who has never dreamed of such a thing, was lost to the laws of attraction at first sight of you. How do you explain the logic of lust? Is there practicality in passion, is it possible to stop the magnetic forces of desire, explain to it that you are not allowed? Life is hard and things go wrong, bills are due and responsibilities await. But the world still turns, and I am convinced that some things are out of our control. Passion and adventure should always be a priority. Everything happens for a reason, and people come into your life to teach you lessons and help you find yourself a little better, even if it is only through intense sensory overload and a few moments of truly feeling alive before they leave your life again. It is better to risk being happy than to be certain you are miserable. Recommended erotic fiction at Tulip this week that will reignite your love for lust: - Flipside Erotica by Darren Michaels - He's on Top: Erotic Stories of Male Dominance and Female Submission by Rachel Kramer Bussel - Aqua Erotica by Mary Anne Mohanraj |
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Calling All Aspiring Porn Stars and Sexy Bitches
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| Written by Nicola Groh | |||
| September 18,
2009 A review of Jenna Jameson’s How to Make Love Like a Porn
Star: A Cautionary Tale I had a silent wtf moment and I thought to myself “Traci Lords? Whatever happened to her?” I guess I was about to find out. It was a tiny little thing that took an hour to read, tops. I read it right there on the floor while making a series of extremely confused faces. The book was mostly pictures and I assumed that’s why my boyfriend bought it. As far as the actual text was concerned, it had short chapters that were written like a perfunctory narrative essay from an eighth grader, forced and brief. The book ended with Traci’s wedding and a deliberate happily-ever-after feeling that gave me a bit of an uncomfortable ache in my stomach. Having been burnt by porn star bios, I was hesitant to pick up Jenna Jameson’s 579 paged autobiography but something drew me in. I judged this book by its cover, Jenna as Marilyn, a contemporary take on a classic photograph …. I was mostly impressed by sheer volume, just pick the book up, it’s heavy. I hoped this woman had a lot to say and I was not let down. Jenna Jameson proves she is as smart as she is tan. This book is written from the pen of someone with a keen memory and brilliant business sense. Anyone who has said they could never strip or do porn needs to see the digits Jenna would make in one night at a strip club or for just one sex scene, let alone a whole movie. You might find yourself secretly wishing you had her guts. Of course it’s full of pictures and an interesting collection at that; Jenna’s childhood, teenage years, stripper days, personal polaroids, and professional photographs. How to Make Love like a Porn Star is solid, comedic and tied together tightly with various lists of commandments and cutesy cartoons. These little snippets are wedged between every couple of chapters and they offer a sweet intermission between dark truths, a lighthearted commercial break from the serious drama of Jenna’s life. Trust me, you need the break… Jenna delves deep into her past by evaluating her mistakes, giving pointers, and telling secrets. This “cautionary tale” is truly drenched in tears and sweat. Jenna musters the strength to discuss her mother’s death and disconnection to her family. She shares relationship horror stories and the wisdom she has gained from picking some bad apples. With all that said... It’s not an entirely serious book about Jenna’s life. It’s full of what you want from Jenna Jameson… smoldering, sweaty, sexy stories. She talks about her former girlfriends and boyfriends in vivid detail. Jenna Jameson really makes sex feel natural, beautiful, and healthy. If you’ve ever wondered what drives someone into the porn industry, this is a book you must read. Jenna proves any career can bring happiness if you stick to your own rules and refuse to settle. That’s exactly what brought Jenna Jameson to the top and quite frankly, I don’t think she’s going to step down anytime soon.
Stop into Tulip and pick up How to Make Love Like a Porn Star: A Cautionary
Tale by Jenna Jameson with Neil Strauss and while you’re in the Jenna mood….. try The Art of the Lap Dance
30 Porn-Star Portraits by photographer Timothy Greenfield-Sanders
Burlesque and the Art of the Teese/Fetish and the Art of the Teese by Dita Von Teese
Jenna’s jeweled waterproof vibrators
and of course we have scads of DVD’s like Bella Loves Jenna, Jenna Love’s Pain, Elements of Desire, and The Real Jenna Jameson. |
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Tell Me More, And Then Some
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| Written by Querelle | |||
| September 18,
2009 Now that I'm teaching again I have the pleasure of writing lecture
notes. What is nice about the practice of writing lecture notes is that
one is afforded the opportunity to experiment with different readings
of texts that, at this point at least, I have read 3 different times in
the context of teaching this course. Last week it was Nietzsche's
Second Essay of The Genealogy of Morals. I read his essay on
bad-conscience formation, and thus, also of morality, against the
horizon of sexual difference, and with a gesture to Dustin Hoffman's
character in "Tootsie". The students, who were initially lost,
immediately gravitated to the idea of understanding over-coming social
norms once it was transposed out of the romantic and hyperbolic prose
Nietzsche is (in)famous for and into the language of sexism. That is
always very satisfying as a professor: to see your students respond,
begin to engage, and become attracted to the pro-ject of thinking
through ideas that, as they come to realize, affect them. Keeping it fresh isn't always easy, however. Sometimes you really need to get yourself in the mood, and that usually entails turning a chore into a pleasure. Yes, I'm still talking about writing lecture notes, but not for long... A number of my friends, some of whom are older, who have been in long-term relationships all attest to the same phenomenon: after a while, sex can get rather routinized, and thereby get boring, start to feel like a chore, and then, as it were, the metaphorical dust begins to build on the drawer that stores the condoms, lube, and toys. "Lots of solo action," one friend says, at which point his boyfriend immediately chimes in: "And, lots of porn!" Of course, this is merely anecdotal but, while there are always rules, it's the exceptions that prove to be the most interesting phenomena, and which, at the same time, tend to illuminate the rule in general. To that end, it's important to attend to those relationships that stretch over time, that evolve, grow, and change as the people that compose the relationship itself grow, evolve, and change. When we speak of "relationships" it is so easy to fall prey to essentializing the spacial metaphor--to be "in" a relationship--as if one were in a room, or in a computer game, governed by inviolable laws and logic: up-up-right will only ever produce the same flying jump kick, just as the door to closet is on that wall and will only open to the right. We forget, I think, that relationships do not exist independently of the people who _are_ (not "in") them. I can't help but wonder if the people who see the fiery passion of their love-life dissipate into a dwindling afterglow aren't succumbing to this problematic. Another mistake, I think, that plagues many people in relationships is the false belief in "self"-sufficiency. Many people see toy-play as a last-ditch effort, or, at best, an attempt to "try something new" as if their sex-life was on a respirator and needed resuscitation. Do we think this way about new positions, new settings, or even different types of play (oral, massage, light or heavy bondage, anal, et cetera)? Of course not! We realize that the intimacy of the missionary position affords a different kind of pleasure than, say, doggy style, just as oral sex brings a different kind of orgasm from the other two aforementioned positions. Would it make any sense to say, "We're doomed! I want to do it doggy style--there's no going back now! We should just accept our love life is on its way to a slow death..." Well, I suppose one _could_ say something like that, but what a failure of imagination! Well, the same holds true for toy-play. Integrating a vibe or a dildo or a cockring or a prostate massager into your play is not a sign of your love life's slow death. Quite the contrary! Nor, in fact, is it a sign of "inadequacy" in either partner. Boys, get over the idea that because your girlfriend wants a vibrator she thinks you aren't good enough to bring her to orgasm (this goes for us boys who fuck boys, too!). And girls, don't see your boyfriend's interest in a prostate massager as a sign of nascent homosexuality--it just feels good, like your g-spot feels good: boys, too, can have "both/and", thank you. The fact is, couples who play together stay together. Of course, everyone has their list of "Won'ts" and sometimes even, for certain reasons, "Can'ts", and these should be clearly articulated. But unfounded fear of inadequacy should never qualify to make that list. Speaking from personal experience--which is always only anecdotal--my boyfriend and I have been known to enjoy an assortment of lotions, potions, and toys in the course of our sex. At first I was apprehensive, like most people I think, fearing that this sort of play would become the norm from which "the real thing" (whatever the hell _that_ is) would pale by comparison. That hardly turned out to be the case. In fact, toy play brought us closer and opened up a new dimension of pleasure for both of us. Of course, like the chocolate souffle I so very much enjoy, such play is a "treat," which by no means diminished the joys of our almost daily Ben & Jerry's sex (to run with the metaphor). To make a long story short (though, perhaps that's too late!), I would encourage you, dear readers, to challenge your conceptions of what pleasure is. We must always deal with social norms that tell us what "normal" is--or, and more to the point: what is _abnormal_ (funny how we never know what "normal" really is, only what it isn't)--but that is no reason, or at least not a very compelling reason in my humble opinion, to limit yourself or your partner to the narrow confines of fear-based rules about what "real" sex isn't. Real sex, let's face it, is what's good for you (typically you can recognize it by hearing yourself say, "That was _really_ good!"). So stop wringing your hands, get over the fear of inadequacy, and have some good old fun! |
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Toying with National Security
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| Written by Jareth | |||
| August 8,
2009 As I will soon be leaving the country I have been narrowing down what I will need to bring. Pinning down which outfits are the most important, which shoes match everything, and what electronics I will need to conduct research has been a trying task. Fifteen weeks is a long time to be away from the pleasures of home. Then I got to thinking...What will I do without my new toy? Can I bring it on a plane or should I just tell my horny self to wait to get some action? I definitely do not want something to start buzzing while I'm standing in customs. I could see it now: The security guards come rushing from all directions and pin me down (but not in the sexy way). They rip open my carry on and dig through all my carefully folded and organized clothing. Suddenly, a giant dildo emerges, held high for all to see, as I lay shamefully on the floor. Naturally, the guards can't manage to turn off the little bullet in the recess and everyone stares... This is a nightmare that must not occur. I do not want a repeat of the inconvenience in "Fight Club" where the main character's electric razor is buzzing and baggage handlers must report the incident by referring to "a dildo," not my dildo. Well I figured just leave out the batteries and all is fine. Except I remembered that everything (including my person) will be x-rayed, and all of my belongings will be blatantly displayed on a little screen. Do I really want somebody to know that I'm carrying a dildo right next to my research articles? I suppose I could check the luggage but then again what if my new investment gets lost or somebody must search through my bag to identify it? Would they ask me about the contents and if I didn't mention the toy I wouldn't get my stuff? In a society where everything is on-the-go do sex toys and self-pleasure fit into the equation? In fact, a lot of people have been asking me lately what to do when you travel with toys. I always advise that the batteries are left out (if it's an electric toy). But it seems a lot of folks seem to care about the guards seeing they're carrying a strap-on, a paddle, or another enticing bit of kinky paraphernalia. I guess those of us who explore the realm of sexual pleasure have to suck it up and take the stigma. This whole situation has got me wondering what the guards would even think as they view an x-rayed suitcase with a 9" dildo hanging out with the socks? They must see hundreds a day (hopefully thousands). At least if it's a silicone or glass toy we don't have to worry about transporting dangerous materials! I propose that everyone, EVERYONE, travel with their toys. Lets see how security reacts. If they want to violate rights of privacy by making us take off our shoes and expose our bodies to virtual strip searches then lets show them something they may not have been expecting. (Surely guards indulge in the lusty novelties too.) Pack it right on top why don't you: just in case you have to unzip the bag for any reason. Security and sexuality will meet in a hot mess of gun butts and blue button-ups, traveler's checks and overweight suitcases, American anxiety and a cure for it. Like Airplane, but better. As society increases the pressures on those of us who travel to cut down on what we can bring, we can fight back and smuggle our dildos right across borders. Screw the weight limit and pack a glass dildo. As my departure nears I ponder about who I will become after I leave Tulip and start a new life abroad. I hope the trip goes well and I know my experiences (both academic and personal) will affect me awesomely. For now, it's just making sure that I make it there. I'll just have to remember to take out the batteries. |
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Look Ma, I’m Famous! On (Surprise!) Gender and Performance
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| Written by Scamp | |||
| July 30,
2009 At first, I have to admit, I couldn’t help but laugh. There I was, face-to-face with myself in the bathroom mirror: cleavage-popping corset, thigh highs, garter belt. Mustache. And a damn good mustache, if I say so myself, considering it was only the second one I’d ever drawn. It looked like my father’s: the real deal. Four carefully-picked shades of gold, red, black and brown. It was Tuesday night, hours before my performance with Consume: A Grotesque Burlesque Revue, a drag/burlesque/performance art variety show being performed this month at a theatre in Logan Square. Deal – friend, fellow cast member, and director of our show – stood at my side, leaning close to the mirror to examine the makeup work that had been done. “This eyeshadow look all right?” I nodded. She had transformed from man to woman before my eyes in a record-setting time of less-than-ten-minutes, and I have to say, she looked damn good. I stuffed a handful of paper towels down my pants (a modest bulge), and before I knew it, we were off to the show. Hours later I stood onstage, stripping down from a business suit to girly skivvies in front of a full house of both strangers and friends. The last time I was onstage was as a chorus member in my high school musical. Oklahoma, of all the shows: how perfectly dreadful. But half a decade later, when Deal asked if I would be a burlesque dancer in his show, I immediately said yes. I have no idea why. I also have no idea why I decided to genderfuck my whole piece, setting the scene as a man cross-dressing in his home. Those parts of the whole are total mysteries to me, but what I do know is that, gladly, I will do it again. Why? Having never performed in a show whose audience wasn’t entirely proud parents (who have to like whatever you do by default), I had initially expected to shit myself onstage. I had never before performed either burlesque or drag in any professional capacity, let alone I hadn’t performed professionally, period. But in that suit – and later on, in that garter belt – I felt more comfortable on that stage than I sometimes do in real life. A woman, performing as a man, performing as a woman with a bulge that is not real is a messy act, and for me, it’s not the kind of act that is limited to the stage. I sometimes wear skirts; I also sometimes wear a cock. I play the part of Susie homemaker just as well/poorly as I do John Smith (but more often than not, it’s a strange hybrid of both). I want to be everything – and nothing – that is gendered and defined, but all at once. And call me crazy, but I doubt that I’m alone. Fucking with gender has allowed me to realize my full potential: how confident, empowered, and attractive I can be, not necessarily as a man, but as an openly queer person exploring herself unapologetically at the forefront of a public space. There is no clean-cut, right way to exist in this world, and there’s no reason to pretend there is, either. It’s only until when we can explore that truth that we can realize the extent of our potentials, not only as points on the infinite gender spectrum, but as people existing with poise, in the best and most fulfilling ways that we can. |
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"When did you know?"
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| Written by Oiselette | |||
| July 27,
2009 "When did you know?", they ask eagerly. This question strikes me oddly. I always hesitate, unsure of how to answer. There was no big discovery. Their face swims before me, open and seeming to expect some big confession while I imagine waking up one morning, suddenly aware of my deepest desires. It didn’t happen that way. It really didn’t *happen* at all. I always knew, I say, and watch skepticism screw up their features. But it’s true, curious asker. The fact that I was different from everyone’s expectations (except my own; I remain unsurprised with myself) was not news to me growing up. While I voraciously eyed every boy and girl that caught my eye in the school yard and talked them into games that always ended in me being tied to trees with invisible ropes or chained in a jungle gym dungeon, I was constantly being told by adults and peers alike that everything from my taste in books to my clothes sure were “different”. I was unconcerned with my failure to conform to conventionality, but massively alarmed by everyone’s desire to fit into predetermined boxes. I happily created and entertained very serious theories to explain why everyone was the same (or wanted to be), which ranged from cultural brainwashing via Disney to, ahem, aliens (I was 10ish at the time, and had read every Animorphs book in my elementary school’s library, ok? It wasn’t much of a stretch). Fast forward to the budding adolescence of middle school. I had a simultaneous crush on my algebra teacher and my best friend from 6th grade (who dumped me like a hot potato as soon as the rumors rolled in that we were lesbians. True enough, cruel 11 year olds, but did you have to tell?). My peers had grown out of playground games and into school dances. After one sweaty evening in a darkened room, I couldn’t run fast enough from those uncomfortable (and heavily supervised) gendered interactions to the sanctuary of the card table in the science room. Always there, too, cutting his card shark teeth on vicious games of rummy, was a dark-haired boy I knew from orchestra. I knew immediately that he was also “different”. A few card games and furious debates about the Lord of the Rings later, we were the best of friends. One day not long after my 14th birthday, this dear boy (we’ll call him M) and I were discussing some aspect of orchestra class (most probably, how terribly attractive we both found the substitute music teacher, a slender young man who played the flute) with a mutual friend (we’ll call her Y) when we were joined by the small girl who sat behind me in class. I watched in fascination as Y and M gave her some small directions while she mimed being a cat, and M patted her head appreciatively as she hurried off to do as she was bid. To answer my curious stare, M explained that she was their pet. It was a game they played, he explained. I could, M said slyly, be their pet too, but he thought I would be better suited to being a slave. He presented terms: hang out with them at lunch and in class, and do as they asked. I would be 50% his, 49% Y’s, and I would have 1% for myself so I could consent and negotiate. We all agreed, and I spent the last weeks of the 8th grade in blissful playful service. I carried their books. I walked with them to class. I waited patiently as M fed me whatever special snack he had brought to lunch that day, and I disposed of our trays afterwards. I answered happily to “R” (a play on “our”) and waved away concerned friends who informed me that I could not be owned. I could, I explained, if I wanted to be. While Y steadily lost interest in the game, M didn’t, and often reminded me that I could stop it at any time if I didn’t want it anymore. I always opted to keep it going, and he consented. Our friendship deepened beyond the innocent kink and we found an array of mutual interests to keep us on the phone all night. I was in love in the summer lightning way only young teenagers can be, and he never even kissed me. It ended on the last day of school. He packed up his cello in the morning, and removed the identification tag and lanyard from its neck, replacing it around mine. I spent the rest of the day’s festivities with his name bouncing against his chest. At the end of the day, he signed my yearbook, proclaiming that he was releasing me and giving me the remaining percentage of myself. I was moving that summer and neither of us were sure we’d see each other again. Incidentally, we did, many times, both that summer and after I moved, but I remained released. I had never felt so free as when I was his. So when did I know? I always knew. But if there’s a “how it happened” to my service submission kink, I guess that was it. |
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I ♥ NY!-An Homage to Pyrex
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| Written by Jareth | |||
| July 25,
2009 A week or so ago my boyfriend and I decided to make an investment. While real-estate or a fare card for transit would have been a wise choice we chose a city instead. That’s right, a city. After visiting Detroit, Chicago, and Toronto I pushed for the one and only Big Apple. A curvy shaft and round little head top off the thick bulb at the base. Intricate and original the New York is built, well, blown, to please. If I haven’t made it quite clear, the boy and I got a beautiful Pyrex dildo. While many are afraid of glass toys, he and I highly recommend you go and visit any of the cities that Tulip offers. Each Pyrex dildo has a unique design. The New York for instance has a slight S-shape that’s designed to tickle the prostate and/or G-spot. At about eight inches New York is definitely packing a punch to ‘P’. While there are many Pyrex anal plugs available, such as the Madison or Honolulu, we were searching for a big boy. We chose the New York after weeks of deliberation and contemplation. I spent many a long night with glass dildos dancing through my head <sigh>. After some time to ponder and discuss exactly what we were looking to add to our sleepless nights we chose the New York for a few reasons. The main reason, of course, is that it is made of Pyrex. Pyrex is a type of glass that was traditionally used for cooking containers and utensils and was discovered by Dr. Jesse Littleton in 1915, who was trying to design cookware for his wife. Bet he wouldn’t guess what his little polymer would amount to in terms of pleasure. Currently, I wonder whether he would have approved of where Pyrex would soon go… but who cares. Everyone give thanks to the Doc! Pyrex toys have some wonderful qualities that swayed our decision. The first is durability. Despite the fear that glass dildos will break during use, I would make the claim that there is no human vagina or anus that has the muscle to break glass. Wonder Woman may be the exception here, but that’s all hearsay. Pyrex will never disintegrate, break down, wear out, or lose its shape. The second is contingent on the first quality just discussed, but let me elaborate. You can use any type of lubrication (and it is recommended) with a glass toy. The boy and I have always preferred silicone lube, or at least a water-based with a drop or two of silicone mixed in. We knew that we just couldn’t take home a silicone dildo. We feared mixing up which lube was water-based and which was silicone when the lights were off, possibly destroying a new found friendly phallus. Thirdly, as one should expect by now, Pyrex is non-porous and easy as pie to clean. You can give it a good boil, a nice scrub with antibacterial soap and hot water, or throw it in the dishwasher without detergent (better leave out the jet dry too because it’s not your grandma’s crystal). This was important to both of us, as we knew we would both want to play with a new toy and didn’t want to worry about it harboring any bacteria. We may be in love, but I know you should NEVER share anal toys without a proper bath. I recommend letting the toy air dry to avoid any fuzz from cloth or paper towels. Remember, patience is a virtue folks. Next up on the list is where it gets a little kinky. On a scolding hot day there’s nothing like a big cup of lemonade and an ice-cold glass dildo. Inversely, on those bitter cold Chicago nights some hot cocoa and a warm dildo does one right and melts the heart. Pyrex toys can be placed in the fridge or freezer for some frosty action. You could also heat it up in the microwave (not too hot!!) or warm it up in some hot water. Who doesn’t want a sex toy that adjusts to any climate? The final reason we chose a Pyrex toy, and New York specifically, is because each is a work of art. Each of the pieces Tulip offers are hand-blown <giggle>. Every city has its individual shape and size, so everyone gets to choose the sexual vacation that suits them best. The colors are stunning and most, if not all, are aesthetically pleasing to the eye and orifice. Larger Pyrex pieces can further function as an intricate paperweight or doorstop. Always the center of conversation, these dildos also make beautiful centerpieces at parties or on coffee tables (and mom and dad will think it’s a statuette). To sum it up: I ♥ NY. Drop by Tulip and find the right city for you! |
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Put Me in Your Dry Dreams, Put Me in Your Wet; A Personal Anecdote on Love, or Sex, or Both
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| Written by Scamp | |||
| July 10,
2009 Venn Diagrams: a staple of my 6th grade English class. Used primarily for comparing and contrasting the traits of heroes and villains from our greasy books. As a heinously awkward, four-eyed, bookish Strangling, drawing those two stupid interconnected circles was the highlight of my day. The analytical son-of-a-gun I’ve always been, it really was just par for the course. While the days of 12-year-old-Me are long gone (thank god), there are a couple of old traits that still stick with me. I break down characters. I compare, I contrast. I draw lines and webs and circles to make sense of my weird world. Recently (and not surprisingly, here at Tulip), I’ve been thinking a lot about sex: about desire, lust, love, and what, if anything, is the through-line between them all. If you have peeked beyond our storefronts in either Chicago or Miami, or have taken the time to read the first two words of our website’s home page, you may have noticed one of our taglines: “explore love”. For some, the words make the space to shop for butt plugs more welcoming; for others, however, those words are lethal, a point of contention between those coupled and those not, the purists and the not-so-radicals who see sex as grounds for something else. From either perspective, love in sex, and sex in love, are two highly tumultuous, political points of discussion. Conceptually speaking, I am in the latter camp. Sex, after all, is a physical act; a reactionary experience to an insatiable rush of hormones; a word used to describe whatever combination of thrusting/licking/sucking/ rubbing/coming you fancy. Love, on the other hand, is a word to describe any point on an almost ridiculously broad spectrum of emotion. Love, synonymous with sex? Bah! Logically, I separate sex from love, no problem. But here’s the part of the story when my Venn Diagram-thinking comes into play, also the part when I reveal that I’m a total hypocrite. I draw my circles, and the overlaps are clear: my romantic relationships have all begun with sex. I’ve never been smitten and not wanted desperately a roll in the sack. My sexual trysts, always, have been prompted by love. But love in every instance is worth some clarification: When I say love, I’m not talking about that Victorian bullshit to do with courting, love letters, or pining my life away; I’m not talking about the foundation of a monogamous, long-lasting, cooperative relationship. When I say love, I mean love-as-love-to-me: a need to be vulnerable in a moment, to nurture and be nurtured, to trust and be trusted; to show someone(s) that thirsty part of you they would have never seen otherwise, with the hope that, just maybe, you’ll see something back. I’m such a sucker for that kind of love. But here I am, surviving the day. So long story short, I guess: make sex about whatever you want it to be. Because the dictionary calls sex something that I do not, and as much as I analyze and interpret sex and love for myself, the conclusions I draw will be ones you most likely will not; me vs. you vs. Aunt Mildred vs. the postman vs. that dude who sneezed on you today, and on and on and on it goes. But hopefully you and I have one thing in common: a belief that sex – whatever it means – is something worthwhile to explore, and – always - a romping good time. |
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Reflections on Revolution (or: In honor of Independence Day)
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| Written by Querelle | |||
| July 4,
2009 The boy and I were talking about Marx earlier today. I should rephrase: the boy and I were being politely social on account of his room-mate. We both were craving the privacy of a closed door and music loud enough to mask my rather audible enjoyment of his company. That would come soon enough, a prelude to an evening together sans room-mates (and this is why I live alone). In the meantime, however, we spoke Marxian ontology, which inevitably led to the question all discussions of Marx terminate in: "So what about the Revolution?" Indeed, Marx leads us to the necessity of revolution. His critique of the troika of Capitalism (money--that universal pimp; private property; wage-labour) leaves no alternative than the radical reshaping of the topos of human existence itself: meaning, value, pro-duction--human existence as such--can only be reconciled to itself when freed of the mediating forces of capital; thus the abolition of private property as the prerequisite of the Revolution. It was suggested in the course of the discussion that all revolutions have been failures, that what is really accomplished is something on the order of re-arranging deck chairs on the Titanic. I am somewhat sympathetic to this line of thought, but in the spirit of the times, namely the 4th of July weekend, I'd like to spend a moment dwelling on the truly appreciable dimensions of our very own American Revolution. Hannah Arendt, in her comparative analysis of the French and American revolutions, argues that ultimately the fabled "Founding Fathers" betrayed what she terms "the Spirit of Revolution". She cites Jefferson's insistence that "happiness" supplant "property" in the sacrosanct trinity of inalienable rights as an indication that political action as these men understood it was itself _pleasurable_. This strikes us as odd, especially we rather jaded pomo homos, for whom a rather noxious plume of self-righteous indignation is the only trusted confirmation of commitment to "the cause". Nevertheless,and despite our dour dispositions, these men saw pleasure as the guarantor of the spirit of revolution. Perhaps we share something in common with the majority of these men, especially the Madison's among us, for Jefferson--about whom a number of justifiably nasty things can be said--by 1816 the American Republic was so "in name only." In a famous letter to Samuel Kercheval Jefferson laments the betrayal of the Revolution, a betrayal he roots in the haughty mistrust of political elites towards the common citizen. He writes: "Where then is our republicanism to be found? Not in our constitution certainly, but merely in the spirit of our people. That would oblige even a despot to govern us republicanly. Owing to this spirit, and to nothing in the form of our constitution, all things have gone well. But this fact, so triumphantly misquoted by the enemies of reformation, is not the fruit of our constitution, but has prevailed in spite of it." However, as Alexis DeTocqueville wrote with near prophetic insight, the spirit of democracy that Jefferson highlights above must be reflected in the laws, institutions, and practices of the republic. (Interestingly, Tocqueville is touring the States at the same time Jefferson is writing to Kercheval.) If these bulwarks of the Spirit of the Revolution cease to reinforce and reflect back this spirit, it will evaporate. Tocqueville's famous concern over a tyrannical majority stems from precisely the informal quality of the spirit of republicanism. In her work "The Human Condition" Hannah Arendt writes the laws of the ancient Greek polis were like a "face" that allowed each generation to see itself over the course of time. That is, like a person, the laws were _recognizable_ and allowed continual interaction between citizens _and_ the laws themselves. The laws also, she argues, con-tain the action of the city's citizens. They served as a "wall" that kept the potency of their deeds from spilling out and thus dissipating. Crucially, it was this dual function of the laws--their ability to con-tain and identify citizens--that Jefferson and Tocqueville point-up as absent in the American constitution. Jefferson laments: "In truth, the abuses of monarchy had so much filled all the space of political contemplation, that we imagined everything republican which was not monarchy. We had not yet penetrated to the mother principle, that "governments are republican only in proportion as they embody the will of their people, and execute it." Hence, our first constitutions had really no leading principles in them." Nevertheless, Jefferson and Tocqueville hold out hope that the situation they document could be redeemed, and Arendt herself champions their proffered remedies. Again, the key to the equation is pleasure, the pleasure of inter-acting with one's peers, with whom one shares a common world. I quote Jefferson at length: "The organization of our county administrations may be thought more difficult. But follow principle, and the knot unties itself. Divide the counties into wards of such size as that every citizen can attend, when called on, and act in person. Ascribe to them the government of their wards in all things relating to themselves exclusively. A justice, chosen by themselves, in each, a constable, a military company, a patrol, a school, the care of their own poor, their own portion of the public roads, the choice of one or more jurors to serve in some court, and the delivery, within their own wards, of their own votes for all elective officers of higher sphere, will relieve the county administration of nearly all its business, will have it better done, and by making every citizen an acting member of the government, and in the offices nearest and most interesting to him, will attach him by his strongest feelings to the independence of his country, and its republican constitution. The justices thus chosen by every ward, would constitute the county court, would do its judiciary business, direct roads and bridges, levy county and poor rates, and administer all the matters of common interest to the whole country. These wards, called townships in New England, are the vital principle of their governments, and have proved themselves the wisest invention ever devised by the wit of man for the perfect exercise of self-government, and for its preservation. We should thus marshal our government into, 1, the general federal republic, for all concerns foreign and federal; 2, that of the State, for what relates to our own citizens exclusively; 3, the county republics, for the duties and concerns of the county; and 4, the ward republics, for the small, and yet numerous and interesting concerns of the neighborhood; and in government, as well as in every other business of life, it is by division and subdivision of duties alone, that all matters, great and small, can be managed to perfection. And the whole is cemented by giving to every citizen, personally, a part in the administration of the public affairs." That is, against the bureaucratization of government, allow citizens themselves to participate in the daily governance of the spaces in which they live. As Arendt reads Jefferson, and Tocqueville as well, there is a profound _pleasure_ in such inter-action, the pleasure of being called upon, of being seen and heard, and seeing a pro-ject through. The intangible but nonetheless "real" pro-duct of action is community, the creation and cultivation of a common world, one in which the laws--like a face--reflect back the principles of the citizenry. It is a tall order, I suspect, to re-politicize pleasure in a way that isn't isolationist in nature, that is, restricted to the monogamous reproductive bedroom. Equally daunting is the striping away of the so fucking posh posture popular among so many pomo homos that simply having transgressive sex is in itself political. Pleasure in the sense Jefferson deploys is not an "agent provocateur"--it does not draw new lines of separation, but rather binds citizens together... The contours of this distinctly public, communal--which is to say, political--pleasure have yet to be coherently articulated, perhaps, indeed, because it has yet to be experienced by our generation. To this end, however, it is necessary to have alternative spaces where like-minded people can meet, seek refuge, without shame. While not a substitute for the sort of politics Jefferson sought, this spaces are essential foundations. So, from Tulip, we wish you a happy Independence Day, and encourage you to think long and hard about the shape of the Revolution to come! Should you need some fireworks of your own, check out Maximus Lube, an Innervibe Cock Ring, or even a vibrating P/G-Spot massager, all available at your local Tulip. |
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Chicago: My Kind of Town!
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| Written by Scamp | |||
| July 2,
2009 Every couple of months or so, I go through a pretty exhausting existential crisis. I analyze the whats and wheres of life, trying to answer the unanswerable questions. You know, just like every other over-analytical twentysomething on the planet. Naturally, like the masochist I am, I found myself smack-dab in the middle of my most recent quarter-life crisis on a not-so-distant past Saturday night. I had been thinking a lot about Chicago: what’s made me stay, what would make me go, just why the hell it means to be who I am where I am. Thank God I remained in true twentysomething form and had the sense to hide my big questions under booze. I was dressed to the nines: my girl, sporting a pompadour on one arm, a handful of incredible friends within the other’s reach. Tonight is not the night for answers, I told myself. Just shut up, stop thinking, go drink and have fun. That’s when I found myself in Chicago’s premier Country Western, line-dancing gay bar. All of a sudden, I was surrounded by a scene unlike anything I had ever before witnessed in my life. My friends and I, beers in hand, stood in awe in the heart of a bustling crowd: big burly men who wore chaps and plaid shirts, cowboy hats and steel-toed boots. And when Shania Twain’s “Breathe” came over the speakers, you can bet that every last one of them was slow-dancing arm-in-arm in the middle of the floor. It was the queered-up, watered-down version of Nebraska, as I imagined, with all the perks and none of the setbacks of your neighborhood Bumblefuck, Nowhere, bar. It was one of the most euphoric experiences of my life, and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why. We stuck around only long enough to watch a couple perfectly choreographed routines, make a couple of friends, and take our leave. It was only a couple hours, three drinks and two gay bars later – it hit me: the Oh-So-Gay Corral may claim to be the premiere bar of its kind, but it is in no way unique in our fair city of Chicago. For every bar catering to the gay cowboys of this town, there’s a bar catering to the hipster dykes, leather daddies, drag kings, “straight” businessmen; there are steam rooms, reading rooms, art galleries, theatres, salons; there’s an oasis, an outlet, or a classroom for everyone, so long as you know just where to look. Little did I know when I stumbled drunkenly into that Saturday night, I would find the answer to my big question. Why Chicago? The secret’s in a sea of plaid shirts, fashion mullets, sunglasses at night, suits looking for discretion: because no matter how I grow and change, I’ve got a community that suits my every need. Why Chicago? Why, because I am queer and so is it. And good luck to find anywhere else like it in the world. But if you don’t want to take my word for it, take a gander at Ol’ Blue Eyes through a queer lens: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0bIVjxis4W0 |
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"Don't Mind the Dildos, Girls!"
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| Written by Lily | |||
| July 2,
2009 Tonight mid-shift, I looked
up to see a heavyset blonde with a fake tan literally straddling the
doorway of our store to act as a soccer-mom blockade, if you will, for
a group of 7 or 8 teen girls passing by. Judging by the girls'
highlighted hair and bellybutton rings peeking out beneath their
tanktops, as well as the other two chaperones trailing behind in
clothes similar to their daughters' and heavy makeup, I might be
correct in assuming they like to portray themselves as the "cool"
parents. You know, those women who aren't quite secure enough with
themselves to tell their children "No", for fear of being banished from
their teen's friend circle. And while my assumptions could be wrong, my
reaction that followed is still valid. So as I sit watching this woman wave her arms like a trained traffic conductor, only lacking an orange reflector vest and perhaps one of those light saber flashlights, I can't help but be baffled. The girls, looking up from their text-conversations for a minute, giggle as they see why they are being guided past. The other women roll their eyes and laugh disgustedly, and continue on with their scenic tour of the utterly celibate Miami Beach. In a culture surrounded by symbolism, where sex sells everything from cheeseburgers to houses to movies to cars, why are we still so shy about sex itself? Instead of Redbook & Cosmo showing a 'suggestive' photo of four tangled feet at the end of some crumpled bedsheets to portray their latest "Hottest Tips", why can't they simply compliment it with a sexual photograph? How can it be possible that 15 year old boys are subject to marketing from body wash and fast food companies implying that girls in bikinis will beg horny at the knees of any guy who buys their products -- and yet sex education classes consist of nothing more than minimal anatomy lessons and instilling a fear of STDs and HIV? Under whose ideals does it make sense to create a mental and conversational block on the subject of sexuality in the minds of our youth, and yet expect them to flourish in our society dominated by the seduction of the consumer? The answer does not lie in banishing bikini clad women from video games. It doesn't lie in excluding provocative language from television, or even textbook literature. You won't find a solution by teaching your daughters to criticize every beautiful body as photoshopped. You won't "fix a problem" by ignoring that your son is in love with another boy. Refusing to supply birth control will not result in abstinence, and preaching that a child's heart starts to beat at 22 days will not prevent the initial pregnancy. The answer is not to cleanup the internet either, or even to publicize the prosecution of online sexual predators who would have no one on which to prey if parents had intervened. Pretending that politicians are purists without sex drives only leads us to mistrust them more, and being immersed in a world of new drugs claiming to eliminate 'sexual dysfunction' actually does nothing but create more of it in a general sense. What we need is balance. Embrace sexuality and all of the ways that it defines us. Teach our children modesty through openness and honesty about their bodies and actions. Encourage them to love and respect themselves, and remind them that you will support any choices they make based on that respect. Maybe once we accept sex as a part of our every day lives, companies won't need to use it as an alluring ploy, and might actually sell us a car because it runs well regardless of its sex appeal. If we can agree that sex is a healthy, enjoyable, essential part of many things we do and see outside of the bedroom, maybe there will be a little less confusion in our self-esteem, relationships, and lifestyles. As for the overprotective woman guiding those girls tonight, my question to her would be this: Do you think by shielding them entirely from this subject, therefore creating a forbidden conversation topic, that they will be less interested? It seems to me by labeling sex as taboo instead of natural, not only will they be more drawn to it, but ultimately confused by your unwillingness to address their curiosity. But who knows, I could be wrong -- maybe, where you come from, belly button rings and cleavage serve no other purpose than to raise report card grades. |
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Over the Hill, but Still Not There: Chicago’s 40th Pride Weekend
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| Written by Scamp | |||
| June 30,
2009 A lot can happen in forty years. A man landing on the moon becomes passé, for example. A celebrity can become a superstar, then alleged child molester, then nothing more than food for worms. Wars start, then lose meaning. But then again, in the span of four decades, some wars never end. This weekend marks the 40th Annual Pride Parade in Chicago, and we’re supposed to think that times have changed: year One, and you had about a hundred angry folks yelling down Michigan Ave., demanding the freedom to be open, the necessity to be seen. Now, I suppose, you couldn’t miss us if you tried: our parade has become a Boystown to-do, with an expected 400,000-450,000 in attendance, 250 floats to be danced upon, countless other drinks to be had, songs to be sung, sunburns to be made, drag performances to be consumed… We’re here, we’re queer, but is the war really won? Obviously not. Anyone with a queer bone in their body (or a plain ol’ eye, or an ear) could tell you so. With the recent upholding of Prop 8 and the Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell policy, not to mention battles in the church, in the workplace, in schools, on the streets, on the bus at night in a neighborhood where you’re not quite sure if it’s safe to hold her hand…We may have finally taught the population at large that, gee-whiz-no, you actually won’t get AIDS if you share a drink with your gay pal. But I can’t help but think of all the work that’s still left to do. I wonder why, in this pinnacle political point for the LGBTQ community, we get together - most of us intoxicated, almost all of us half-naked - and spend the day dancing to club music from float speakers, rather than angrily storming down Obama’s lawn (we’re still here, dude!) and have him sign all those silly papers that give equal rights to all? If I’m not careful, I start thinking of Pride as a counterproductive mess; something that has lost sight of its political roots, not adding to the momentum behind the queer community towards equality. But then I remember this first time I went to Chicago’s Annual Pride Parade. I was squeezed shoulder-to-shoulder with shirtless men in rainbow spandex, the sweat from their brows dripping onto mine. I remember when their favorite float passed, and their arms (revealing armpits) lifted up…It wasn’t the most savory experience, for sure. But then, the PFLAG marchers came, and folks from the crowd went to greet them with open arms; men and women from the sidelines cheered for those lovingly marching with the Methodist church; parents marched proudly, hand-in-hand with open daughters and sons. It was the first time little me had the opportunity to share a space with so many like-minded people. It was an opportunity to rise above adversity which, let’s be honest, sometimes feels like the entire world. In a lot of ways, the Chicago Pride Parade did for me what no single experience had ever done before: it gave me a community, visibility, and a voice. I encourage you, dear Reader, to line up along Halsted this Sunday, get shitfaced, and have fun. But please don’t forget all the things that will be bringing you there in the first place. Cheer loudly for the Minibar float, but save some applause for your openly gay politicians, queer-friendly houses of worship, health centers and other people and spaces that make the rainbow community not just something to be consumed, but something to be respected and valued. |
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Clocking Out!
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| Written by Little Switch | |||
| June 27,
2009
This is my last shift as a Tulip. It’s a lot like my first- Berwyn and Clark is the same quiet kitschy corner and my Pandora music station is still set to “Ne-Yo.” Every few hours a gay man comes in and buys a big bottle of Maximus (the first thing I sold here). Of course, now, it’s warmer out. Mothers are pushing stroller-fulls of sticky white children up the sidewalk. A cute lady is sitting on the bench outside on her laptop. Across from her a man costumed in 1920s garb scrapes out something unrecognizable on violin. Andersonville is a funny place to sell sex toys, to say the least. My Tulip life was as short-lived as it was unexpected. I fell into the job almost by accident, with little knowledge of the products or history that brought them to us. But what was clear from the beginning was that Tulip, as an idea, a company, and a collection of people, was a queer space dreamt up and dominated by fierce female-bodies and gender non-conforming people. I have only worked here a few months, but the Tulips have become my family. So dedicated they are to safer sexier sex that they that they work for less money, work while sick, work while not even working (from your favorite dyke bars to crowded living rooms to long distance phone calls to the streets of Boystown, they’re always educating). What makes the Tulip community notable is not simply its insistence on only selling what is safe, but its willingness to account for politics, identity, and a bit of old-fashioned pragmatism. It is incredibly significant at this moment in history, when queer struggle is being whitewashed and obscured and co-opted in the name of marriage, that queer people are still leading the way in discussions on pleasure, consent, safety, play, gender etc. These discussions benefit all of us, no matter your politics or partners. I am told that every passing Pride brings back more old Tulips, that it is the weekend of the Stonewall anniversary that calls on this small community of sex-educators. Like most service jobs, the turnover rate here is high. But speaking as someone who will be an ex-Tulip in an hour, I have to say- I think few of us actually leave the family. I’ll be on that float Sunday, that’s for sure. Love and Lubrication, Little Switch P.S. If you haven’t tried Hydra-Smooth Lubricant yet, you haven’t really lived. Let those be my final words of Tulip wisdom. |
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"Baby, it's hot outside!"
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| Written by Lily | |||
| June 24,
2009 White linen, short minis, bare-skin, fogged designer sunglasses,
de-frizz hair serum, cold drinks, ultra-fresh produce, restaurant
mist-fans, poolside umbrellas, and skyrocketing a/c bills adding to the
already too-high overhead costs for local businesses. Red-faced
tourists under floppy hats and the homeless, selling Evian from coolers
at traffic lights, are the only ones naďve or desperate enough to walk
the streets mid-day. It is summer in Miami. So what's a girl to do when the air is so thick you could drink it, the budget doesn't allow for that a/c dial to dip below 70 degrees, and just the idea of getting hot and sweaty beneath the sheets is exhausting in itself? Chill out! Take your play to the shower, pool, or better yet, a quiet beach if you can find one. Just toss a few of Tulip's waterproof toys in your beach bag along with that SPF50. Bikini optional. Here are some top recommendations: Rubber Duckie: You *are* the one! Adorable yellow duck cute enough to display on your tub ledge, but don't underestimate it's surprisingly strong vibration throughout. Plus it's travel-size and latex free. A must have in the bubble bath! Layaspot: The best-seller that always hits the spot , wherever yours may be. Discreet and adorable in a variety of colors, this massager has 4 different vibe patterns easily adjusted by the press of a button. Like all Fun Factory vibes, the layaspot is of high quality and made in Germany. Delight Vibe: It doesn't get much classier than this shower-safe, dual-action vibe. Its attractive curve and colors are the just the beginning; the Delight is rechargeable and eco-friendly, so you'll never need batteries! It comes in a chic travel/charger case and is made of high quality German silicone. With three speeds and three incredibly satisfying pulsation settings, this clit and g-spot stimulating toy will undoubtedly deliver. Rock-Chick Massager: So you want it all -- A sexy, soft, durable toy with clit and G-spot stimulation, hands-free with strong silent vibes, made of medical grade silicone, and you want to take it underwater?! "Stop Rabbiting...Start Rockin'!" Water Dancer: The never-fail waterproof pocket rocket made of high-quality phthalate-free hard plastic. Travel size, unbelievably strong, and easily fitted with a rabbit or dandelion topper for an extra tickle. Sliquid Silk Hybrid Lube: Although water-based lube is generally recommended for women to reduce the risk of infection, when playing underwater your best bet will be something that won't rinse off the minute you decide to skinny dip. With a natural, silky feel, Sliquid silk hybrid gives you the best of both worlds: a water based lube blended with silicone! It's completely hypoallergenic, non-toxic, glycerin, fragrance, and paraben free, never tested on animals, and safe to use with latex condoms. Just don't use it in combination with your silicone toys, and be sure to wash off before you dress as it can stain clothing. |
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Lube-Free Anal Fisting, Or, How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Fucking Love to Cuddle
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| Written by Scamp | |||
| June 18,
2009 “Enjoy your night,” I say simply, that little knowing, shit-eating grin on my face. My customers – one man and one woman, now owners of their very own strap-on set – return my quip with looks of part-shock, part-horror, and part-unbridled excitement for what their night has in store. “I bet you love to say that, don’t you?” she says, her playmate grabbing her at the waist. Why yes, as a matter of fact, I do. The night I sold the aforementioned couple their toys, I had a general idea of what was going to happen: who would wear what, what would get stuck where, whose ass would clench with an unbearable ecstasy, whose lips would curl with sadistic delight. I had enough evidence to guess all of the above, but there is no way for me to ever know. There are a lot of things to love about sex, and of course, clearly, we all do: I wouldn’t be devoting several nights of the week to peddling dildos otherwise, and you would never have stumbled upon these words. But when I talk about loving sex – knocking boots, bumping uglies, what you will – I address what others all too easily overlook: the overwhelmingly titillating element of the Unknown. There is no way to know what exactly those folks did with their harness. For all I know, they’re roommates, out shopping for silicone penises to tack up onto their wall. There is no way to know that your gay male friend secretly loves to be fucked by girls, or that the popular girl from your high school class has the most god-awful O-face you ever would see (if you saw it). Sex – and while we’re at it, fantasy and desire – are the proverbial wildcards in life, not determined by pedigree, income, or education. Hell, they’re not even determined by whom and how you’ve fucked; who hasn’t been sorely disappointed by a “player,” then left moaning for hours by the goofy kid from left field? Sure, sex makes me happy because it feels good and it’s fun, but it also makes me happy because no expensive car in the world can compensate for premature ejaculation; because it is an opportunity for two gay men to fantasize being straight, for two queer women to fantasize being gay men, for fourteen people in mascot costumes to have all their wildest dreams come true, regardless of how timid or insecure they may all be in other aspects of their lives. Sex makes me happy because I can say “Enjoy your night,” and it could translate for that couple to one out of a million stories. It doesn’t matter how you indulge in those dirty fantasies (as long as it’s done safely, of course), and odds are that guy sitting next to you in the coffee shop every morning has similar dreams/setbacks as you. Trust me: he’s not nearly as demure as you think he is. So regardless of who you are, where you’re from, what you’ve got or what you lack: enjoy your night, however you see fit. |
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I Would Go Out Tonight, But I Haven't Got a Stitch To Wear
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| Written by Querelle | |||
| June 15,
2009 I've come to think of Boystown as a ghetto, especially upon reading Guillaume Dustan's semi-autobiographical novel, "Dans ma chamber". He describes the neighborhood where he lives in such a manner as to render it nearly indistinguishable from, say, Boystown: the economics of his neighborhood revolve around hair and tanning salons, bars and nightclubs, sex clubs, and posh restaurants. In this space, he muses tellingly, one can do almost anything, except work or bring family. In other words, this is a ghetto organized around consumption--of drugs, alcohol, sex, fashion, and overly-priced "haute cuisine". This is, in no small measure, a very strange ghetto. How then are we to understand gay enclaves--by which I mean those spaces politically or socially (or both) recognized/designated as "officially" gay-centric--as being ghettos? We are familiar with the term in the wake of the Final Solution as a site of an earthly Limbo where Jews, stripped of citizenship rights and robbed of their possessions, awaited deportation to death camps. In American political discourse we typically refer to such spaces as under-resourced, inner-city areas usually populated by racial minorities. But, perhaps we should look further in history, to the original ghetto in Venice, for an understanding of the sense in which Dustan uses this appellation self-referentially. We know well from Shakespeare's tragic portrayal of the hostilities that colored Jewish/Gentile relations that Jews were money-lenders, as Gentiles were forbidden (by religious edict) from borrowing money from one another. Metaphorically speaking at least, one left the city of Venice "proper" to transact what would otherwise be sacrilegious. Restated: the ghetto in its original iteration is a place outside of what is proper, where one can transact what inside the city walls would be illicit business. I think it is this valence that the ghetto carries, as a space "outside" the walls of normalcy where illicit business can be transacted, that may account for Dustan's characterization. The play on the "proper"/"improper" that the French Freudian feminist Sarah Kofman deploys is alive (as it were) in the dynamics of this scene: organized around an economics of impropriety--after all, sex is _THE_ unspeakable (which is spoken most fervently)--that is perversely proper in its carriage; the extent to which Boystown is a ghetto is reflected in the propriety of its impropriety. We may even say that, like the ghetto of Venice, Boystown is structured in such a way that it is necessarily a ghetto: a place where "legitimate" business can be transacted with "illegitimate" partners. Of course, this resonates on a full harmonic scale: gay sex is "proper", but those who have it are "improper"; dancing with multiple men is proper, but only amidst the impropriety of a gay nightclub, ect, ect. Thus, Boystown, quite apart from offering a space for queers to move unrestricted, is a necessary locale for straight people: it is a site of impropriety, that, not unlike Venice's ghetto, serves, ultimately, the privileged class: Boystown is the geographical con-tainer of psycho-sexual-pharmacological vice which can be safely entered, and swiftly disavowed. What then of the status of those for whom this very impropriety _IS_ proper, that is, the queers who more or less claim this space as their own in spite of the fact that it is becoming increasingly over-run by young, upwardly-mobile professional straights (YUPpieS)? Or, rather, and more to the point: what is it that the queers in Boystown appropriate as their own? Here, again, I think we see Dustan's justified characterization of his Parisian neighborhood as a ghetto when we recall Shylock's famous "If you prick us, do we not bleed?" speech: "If you prick us, do we not bleed? if you tickle us, do we not laugh? if you poison us, do we not die? and if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? if we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should he sufferance be by a Christian example? Why, revenge. The villany you teach me, I will execute; and it shall go hard but I will better the instruction." While wildly provocative and controversial, we can take Shakespeare's main point to be the assertion Shylock makes throughout regarding the transmittable status of cultural norms: we are no different than you, he declares, and your villany, too, is our villany, which you taught us. I think it wise to read this passage as both a lamentation and a wrathful damnation. The sadness that plagues Shylock is, no doubt, his despair that he has no choice but to move in this hierarchically arranged relationship (the proper/improper); while, on the other side of the same coin, his lust for revenge is equally born of this resignation. In Lacanian terms, Shylock pursues the "jouissance" of a lost equality which he literalizes in biological likeness, and thus, in no uncertain terms, this accounts for his undoing. (Importantly, and no doubt the brilliant ambiguity of the Shylock figure, the "bios" of the Jew _AND_ gentile may be cast in terms of precarity--the vulnerability of the body to invasion, loss of control--and here revenge, too, is an infection, a loss of bodily control: a dis-ease.) May we not read the ghettoization of Boystown in precisely the same manner? Is not the literalization of a ghetto economy--that is, organized around "improper" transactions (bodily, monetarily, dialogically)--tantamount to speaking with the persecuted, humiliated, and marginalized Shylock: "The villany you teach me, I will execute"? To return to the prior question, "What is it that queers in Boystown appropriate as their own?" we have to ask this question against this horizon; to interrogate not just what is appropriated, but how. Shylock's revenge, we are well served to recall, is also a revenge against himself: with his act he gives himself up and over to identification with the aggressor, the Big Other--in taking revenge Shylock becomes precisely the caricature of "The Jew" he loathes. May we now understand the ghetto that is Boystown as a necessarily _therapeutic_ space? May we now acknowledge its economy as one of that enables, supports, and sustains an active denial of the very position Shylock occupies? At the conclusion of "Gender Trouble" Judith Butler argues for a politics of parody, a subversive transvaluation, a redeployment, of caricature into parody. Her (moving) target is juridico-discursive power's ability to "essentialize" gendered/sexed identities (recall for Butler to speak of sex is always already to speak in the syntax of gender), to naturalize the body in a discrete binary structure; that is, to enforce the proper/improper dichotomy. Parody, she argues, is a direct assault on this ideological edifice precisely because it "queers" the dualism and she offers drag as an example of this politicized subversion: in drag "she" parodies "his" sex in "her" performative re-presentation of his "gender," and vice versa. Dustan's semi-autobiographical character is incapable of such a queering; he exclaims that he must leave the city if he is to survive--staying would lead him to psycho-sexual-pharmacological suicide. His inability to queer himself, and by extension, to queer the space, the gay-ghetto, may not, however, be due to a personal short-coming; it is conceivable that life in a gay ghetto is not amenable to such queering, that, as in Venice and the figure of Shylock, identity is entrenched, essentialized along a moralized binary schema of the proper/improper dualism. At the outset of this entry I affirmed Dustan's description of his gay neighborhood as a ghetto and it may be that precisely because he is so thoroughly assimilated into its economics that his claim has veracity; his self-reportage is _NOT_ critique, which nevertheless implicitly illuminates the very technologies of subjectivation characteristic of a ghetto. The question, then, is the extent to which a politics of parody is capable of meaningful intervention; can the ghetto overcome itself, which is to say: can the ghetto overcome a (Judeo-Christian) morality of revenge, a morality predicated on--as Nietzsche's genealogy claims--the creditor/debtor relationship (On the Genealogy of Morals, Book II)? Wanna join the Revolution? redeem our artistico-political potency? cultivate community? As my childhood hero, G.I. Joe, says, "Knowing is half the battle" (Foucault was a fan, too!). Buff-up your knowledge/power matrix with some of these titles carried at your Boystown Tulip: --"Public Sex," by Pat Califia--A series of essays on sex, politics, race, gender, and so much more. Written with fearless wit and disarming candor, Califia make reading orgasmic, and inaction impossible. --"Christine Jorgensen: A Personal Autobiography," by Christine Jorgensen--The engrossing narrative of Christine Jorgensen's 1952 MtF transition, the celebrity that followed, and the battles she fought--and won. A womyn who actually lived by the words she wrote: "I don't need anyone's opinion; I've got my own." --"Arts and Letters," by Edmund White--This pillar of gay intelligentsia never fails to stimulate the mind. This volume includes essays on Proust, Gide, Wilde, Joe Orton, Djuna Barnes, Genet, Foucault, James Merrill, Baldwin, and Nabokov. Also includes a devastating critique of Elton John! |
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Given the Times...
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| Written by Scamp | |||
| June 8,
2009 I’m a classy broad with champagne taste; for Andre, specifically. Cook’s if I’m feelin’ frisky. My product purchases aren’t due to preference, but based on tough times and limited by necessity. When you work two jobs and can just barely make rent, afford groceries, or cough up cash to see a doctor when you’re huddled dying on the floor, you know something’s up. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the recession. Of course, you are probably well acquainted with our country’s economic downturn. In the past eight or so months, it’s become less of a talking point as it has a grim reality for the overqualified, overeducated, overly-competent and under-employed. As summer approaches, you won’t see me in a designer bathing suit (though the aforementioned grocery shortage and a brush with mono has resulted in quite the hot bod, for real); you won’t see me jetsetting to my second home with a postcard view. There are many things I – we – must forego this summer, but you can sure as hell bet there’s one thing we won’t go without. Wet, hot, American sex. The community at Tulip understands economic strife, which is why we provide not only the best, but relatively inexpensive ways to enhance your sex life and life-in-general. Here’s a few products that’ll give you bang for your buck*: -The bullet: This little vibe packs a wallop, and for all of ten dollars, the sucker’s a steal. It’s durable, small, portable, and powerful enough to keep you or a playmate thrilled for hours on end, and it’s cheaper and more fun than a movie date, anyway. -Pyrex Wands: Pyrex isn’t just for the kitchen, you know. These glass pieces are gorgeous, and with as many different pieces that are in our collection here at Tulip, we guarantee there is a wand that’s a fit for you. Most are less pricey than their silicone alternatives, but just as clean and healthy for you. Plus, pyrex is a great material to use for temperature play. That glass of lemonade your capitalist kindergartner is selling has got nothing on a refreshing pyrex wand straight out of the freezer… -Tulip Soy Candle: Seriously, this candle burns for days. Pour that wax and lather it on, you kinky, kinky devil, you. The spendthrifts out there will be happy to know that the soy wax doubles as both a fetish accessory AND a lotion. No Coppertone bottle is as much fun. -Spartacus Adjustable Leather Cockring: This product is equipped with a detachable vibrator for you or a honey to use with or without the ring. The ring itself is adjustable – leather with metal snaps – and unlike a lot of rings on the market with comparable prices, this one can be used again and again. -Spareparts Harness: This ain’t no dollar store purchase, and will put you back a nickel or two, but damn, is it worth it: totally adjustable to fit any body, any dildo, anytime; machine-washable; built with a pouch for a mini-vibrator, if there’s need…the Spareparts purchase is an investment worth making. Plus, it’s safe for your summertime pool games (try Marco Polo with some extra oomph). -Hydra-Smooth Cream Lubricant: A coworker and I once conducted an experiment. Our hypothesis: which lubricant lasts the longest? Our method: rubbing lube between our pauper fingers until they were rendered dry. We focused our efforts on the water-based variety, since it can be used with our silicone toys, and is safe for both vaginal and anal play. After many minutes of deliberation and ultra-scientific experimentation**, we found that Hydra-Smooth was in it to win it. For hours upon hours of fun (in the sun?), my professional recommendation is this lube. And be sure to buy in bulk! When your pockets no longer jingle joyfully with spare change, when you’re making trips to the bank just for the air conditioning, and when you can’t stand to go to another free concert in the park to save your life, don’t worry: Tulip’s got your back. Enjoy your summer. Keep it sexy. *There are so many puns to make, I won’t even begin. **But let’s be honest, there is nothing scientific about anything I do ever. |
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Hand In Glove
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| Written by Querelle | |||
| June 6,
2009 A friend of mine recently recited a poem by Anne Carson which prompted
me to return to the volume he drew from, wherein I found another poem I
was pleased I'd underscored when I first read it. In this poem Carson
poses a question--"What really connects words and things?"--but the
question is both a rift in the unfolding of the poem, and a bridge that
tenuously connects one stanza to the next. Perhaps this is as fitting--hand in glove, like--an introduction as any. But then, maybe the question itself is loaded, packing, carrying underneath the folds of appearance a hidden intention. What is to say words and things are not coextensive--hand in glove, like? What does Carson want from us? Why does she open this abyss while seemingly promising to repair the schism she has just effected? Who are we, as readers, if we are both bridge and abyss? Perhaps, like OJ, the glove doesn't fit, like. But then, which is the glove and which the hand? Is the thing the hand which our words envelop in a fabric(ated) [of] meaning? Or is it words which animate our motility, dexterous, limber, fleshing-out the empty shell of the thing? It was assumed that the sculptor "unlocked" the statue from the slab of marble, as if there were no question about a difference between matter (phusis)/idea (eidos), as if the rift Carson opens and cares-to does not exist. Perhaps, unwittingly, I am speaking of (Lacanian) sexual difference, of activity//passivity, masculine//feminine, hand//glove. Foucault once remarked that S/M allows for a plasticity in the "gendered" roles of top/bottom, and for precisely this reason he was attracted to that scene. In this thoroughly Freudian moment (I refer my kind readers to the First of "Three Essays on the Theory of Sexuality") Foucault speaks to, from another angle, the very problematic contained in Carson's question: "What really connects things and words?" Like Foucault, Carson is confronting a distinctly Western (Aristotlean-Hegelian) metaphysics of activity/passivity. For Foucault S/M was a means of resisting this hierarchical dualism, to be, in the act of sexual pleasure, both abyss and bridge. That is, just as Foucault "queers" the scene of sex by subverting the very (gendered) meaning of top/bottom, Carson queers her text: to read this poem, to move within it, one becomes the nihilistic (w)hole of meaninglessness (words and things are irreconcilable) _and_ the bridge that "traverses the fantasy" of this meaninglessness giving it meaning; meaning, the connection between words and things, can only ever be affirmed if, she suggests, there is always already this threat of meaninglessness. Perhaps, when thinking of sex one must think poetically, to incorporealize the paradoxical position of Carson's reader. Not a poet? No fears! Tulip offers all you need to explore the plasticity of gender roles through S/M by providing quality whips and crops, collars and cuffs, paddles, tape and ropes, and--for the uninitiated--multiple reader-friendly introductory texts to the wonderful world of S/M. Yours, "Querelle" |
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And My Real Guilty Pleasure is...
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| Written by Little Switch | |||
| June 4,
2009 I have this secret guilty habit I perform each day, somewhere between my first cup of coffee and the final knot in my tie. I’ve checked the day’s headlines, drawn up a lengthy “to-do” list, and fretted over the always-empty bank account. And just before I motivate myself to finally get up and get on with the day, I do it. I read the “women for women” craigslist missed connections. Every last one. Why? I wish I freaking knew. I’m working three jobs, starting a genderqueer organization, playing music shows, maintaining two blogs, and trying to write a novel; I don’t have time for something so… so… ridiculous? Sometimes I think I am hopeful that I will show up on one, that my dream lady will have noticed my freshly-bleached sneakers and carefully tipped hat and travel to all ends of the internet to find me again. (And she will actually live right down the street from me and work at my favorite coffee shop- you know, she’ll be that token cute girl who works on Saturday mornings, a genius grad student who exhausts herself to pay off tuition and looks best when she looks like a mess and…) Or maybe I read them because doing so makes me feel like a better person. If you’ve read “missed connections,” you’re aware that most of them are vaguely nostalgic and cruel accounts of past loves. So-an-so regrets that she didn’t commit to “M” because she just wasn’t ready, and now she is ready but “M” has moved on and that means life sucks. Or “C” hopes you are fucking happy with that stupid ugly girl you chose over her. I skim past the trash talk and shake my head. I’d never pull that. What a catch I am. Man, if this poor girl just met perfect little old me… Perhaps I read them for the reason I tell people I do: I’m curious. Human nature is so darn interesting! This is just me observing, like a child peeking across a courtyard to other apartment windows. Are they doing what I do? What lengths will people go to for lost love? Or risk for “love” that left the train a stop too early? I think that in some way, I wonder if my kindred spirit is crawling across craigslist pages and stomping through city like I am, someone who understands that “radical” and “romantic” aren’t antonyms. And I will catch her, just this once, in the middle of an embarrassing and honest attempt to win over someone she does not know. And I will feel a little bit warmer for it, knowing that outside of my ever-growing queer Chicago community, there are some radical queers susceptible to the kind of love that makes us turn nerdpants. |
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For J, with love
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| Written by Little Switch | |||
| May 24,
2009 Go back, go back. Go over it. Brotherboi. Try to remember. The “you” of now is not an academic revelation. It is the “you” of always. Someone once told you to put your shirt on during t-ball, to cover what you could not see and did not yet understand would be inescapable. Prepped for and peppered with, the shame of all good little girls. Their truth, not yours. Never yours. Cross those legs, put on that dress, brush out that hair, sit up, stop chewing on your nails, eat slower… and later… don’t put out, you better put out, I don’t know why you like your hair so short, stop eating, put on some damn make-up, wear something tighter. I was 237 miles south of you; we were strangers, and they were telling me the same thing. We sit at the bar over a pile of fries, two little fag girls who are never going back home. Brother, what are we going to do? Are we stuck? Too weird-looking to find jobs that pay enough to fund our irresponsible habits- drinking, eating, getting sick, paying rent? Too stupid not to fall in love? Too stubborn not to fall out of it? Go back, go back. Go over it. Dear, brotherboi. This is not the “us” of the future. Look here. Right next to us. That old dyke, getting us drunk because she needs the company- she fell in love, her partner died, and she lived to laugh at the straight girl in the corner who just refused us. Something in you feels aged, too; I know. Few can see it, but you have to trust that drunken Monday feeling- the fagirls are winning. Remember, remember. Go back, go back. Go over it. All they tried to snuff in you, all you yourself would have assassinated, became you and lived to laugh at the straight girl in the corner who just refused us. Go back, go back. Go over it. I’ll be on the bar stool next to yours. |
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Genderblur Scene II
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| Written by Peter Darling | |||
| May 23,
2009 He watches her from across the bar as she casually tosses her long red hair and sways to the music. He sips his beer, quietly admiring, as her hands caress each curve of her body. Her tight black dress creeps toward her waist, revealing a tantalizing flash of inner thigh. He notices her, noticing him, a playful smile spreading across her lips as she works her way across the room and toward him. She steps up to the bar and brushes her hair out of her eyes. "Hi," she says. "Hey," he pauses to consider her for a moment as her eyes playfully dance over the bulge at his crotch. "Wanna dance?" he asks. "Actually, I was on my way to the washroom..." She looks him dead in the eye and finishes, casually, "Care to join me?" Without hesitation, he grabs her by the hand and leads her through the crowd toward the bathroom. The door is unlocked and he ushers her in by the small of her back. He closes the door behind them and buries his head into her neck. As he takes in the sweet scent of her perfume, her lips tremble against his ear, "No kissing," she says. "I want you to hurt me." He closes his jaw around the nape of her neck, relishing the beat of her pulse against his tongue. Before he can speak a word, her hands began to travel, teasing, and then suddenly, impatiently she begins to unbuckle his belt. He moves his hand out of the way and leans back, allowing her to work more freely while taking careful consideration to keep her locked in his gaze. He produces a condom from his back pocket and hands it to her, enjoying the smile playing at the corner of her lips. "You're hungry for it, aren't you? You little slut…You want my cock in your mouth." "Please" she whispers, as she pushes his pants down around his ankles. Ravenous, she tears down his briefs to reveal his glistening hard cock, ready and waiting for her eager lips. Gasping in anticipation, she looks up at him and seductively rolls the condom over the tip of his dick, beginning to stroke him slowly. He exhales as she moves her hand over him and then reaches out and grabs her by the chin. "I wanna know how those pretty little lips feel on my cock," he says to her, pushing her to her knees. She takes him into her mouth, her lips touching the base of his cock on the first thrust. He wraps his fingers around the back of her neck and pushes himself into her, violently. She pulls away from him, teasing the tip of his dick in slow circles. He reaches a hand under her dress and takes a nipple between his finger tips, squeezing harder every time he makes her gasp for air. "You like how I fill you up?" he asks her. "You little slut, you love choking on my dick." He quickly pulls away from her and slaps her across the face with an open palm, returning with a stinging backhand. Moaning, she raises her eyes to his, her smirk inviting another slap. He spits on her instead. She licks her lips. "Stand up," he orders, which she does, obediently. "Bend over," he says, which she also does without hesitation. Starting at her lower back he drags his nails up to the nape of her neck, forcing her to bend even further over the sink. He slaps her ass for good measure and pushes her skirt up over her waist. "No panties...," he hisses in her ear, “…of course not. You really are a little whore aren’t you?" He reaches a hand around her thigh and begins teasing her clit in slow circles, then without warning, plunges two fingers into her dripping wet cunt. Two fingers, then three, he reaches up and grabs a handful of her hair, jerking her back, suddenly. She gasps for air, whimpering between low moans. "I'm going to fuck you like this," he says to her, " Then you're going to suck my cock again and I'm going to fill that pretty little mouth with my cum. Do you understand?" "Yes" she whispers back to him. "Yes, what?" he demands. "Yes, Sir!" she moans. "You want me to fuck you?" he asks her again, not anticipating an answer. He adds a fourth digit, marveling at how tightly her cunt hugs his fingers. He pulls his arm back and briefly considers fishing for his lube, but her words echo back at him: "I want you to hurt me...," she had said. His fist disappears inside her. "Oh, God…," she moans as he pumps in and out of her, reaching his free hand up to pinch and pull her nipples. He reaches down and allows his fingers to tease her while he thrusts into her, violently. She begins to moan louder and rock against him, rhythmically. Her eyes close for the first time in their encounter. "There. Oh Fuck. Don’t stop." He knew she was about to cum. He reaches up and encloses his hand around her throat. His fingers cupped, he thrusts into her one last time, locking his teeth around the nape of her neck. She roars. Her thick cum drips down his arm and instinctually, he is moved to dip his tongue in the sweet, metallic syrup. He pulls her to him and allows her a breath. After a moment has passed, he pulls his hand from her and states, sneering, "My turn.” She turns and without protest, drops to her knees, smirk still stuck firmly in place. "I want you to cum in my mouth." she says. He buries his fists into her hair and thrusts into her mouth. He relishes each moan she allows to escape past his cock. "Oh yes", she moans, coming up for air. "Oh fuck!" he exclaims, grabbing her firmly by the back of the head. He growls as he thrusts into her one last time and cums with an explosion into her greedy mouth. She pulls back and gazes up at him, triumphantly. It occurs to him that she has been smiling the whole goddamn time. "You are one crafty, little painslut..." She cocks her eyebrow at him and smiles coyly. As she stands and pushes her skirt back down, he asks her, “can I buy you a drink?" "Just one," she replies, fixing her hair in the mirror. He pulls his pants back up around his waist and asks, “will you tell me your name?' "I’d rather not," she says as she pushes open the bathroom door. |
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Tradition or Satisfaction?
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| Written by Lily | |||
| May 21,
2009 My grandmother never had an orgasm. She was beautiful, curvy, intelligent, strong, and quick-witted. She married twice, and gave birth to six children. SIX. My grandfather was the love of her life and their deep connection radiated throughout our family with an awe-inspiring understanding of unconditional love. She had hard times and many more good times, she spoiled herself with jewels and clothes like any other woman of her kind, and she taught me every single thing I know about cooking and cleaning. But she never, not once, ever... had an orgasm. My mother has never found love. Part of the 60's love generation, she experimented with sex and drugs alike. She wore bellbottoms and dropped out of highschool and married her 17 year old hairband mustang-driving parent-disapproving boyfriend. She was a mother before she was 18, and she could run a household before she was of legal age to drink. She suffered abuse and divorce and eventually learned to be a single mom of one, and then fall for comfort in the arms of my father, who eventually gave her the label of single mom of three. She dated throughout my childhood, it seems with more than I can count. I remember overhearing that her nail polish matched the color of her nipples. She wore tight jeans and blow-dried her hair in between making mac'n'cheese and helping us with our homework. She always promised me the way to a man's heart was only through his stomach, and that every woman should know how to cook if she wanted to be a kept wife. But years later, she is middle aged, empty-nested, and still giving me tips on how clean my condo could be. No online-dating subscriptions, no retirement plans for two. As far as I know, my mother has never found love. So maybe the pressures of these two examples are hiding in the choices I've made and my lifestyle? To leave my private honors school education in the Midwest and travel the tropics exploring my sexuality and experiencing all things exotic. To leave the labels and legalities out of my "marriage" for fear of falling apart or feeling trapped. To find empowerment through motherhood not to be selfless but to give to myself first and foremost in order to give more to others. Maybe it is a false ideal, the perfectly balanced woman with her flawless appearance, clean home, growing career, well-behaved children, family traditions, delicious cooking abilities, circle of close friends, romance from the movies, and amazing satisfied-by-missionary-position sex life... the all-in-one package is what has been drilled into my head since birth. And this ideal is at constant battle in my head with my modern, rebellious, and independent desires. So is it wrong of me to fantasize about women I have kissed or women I would like to touch? Is it wrong of me to leave the dishes in the sink for a night to indulge in oral or anal sex with my common-law husband while my out-of-wedlock child sleeps peacefully and before the porn is due back at blockbuster? Do I fall short of the cookie-cutter perfection if I would rather buy myself a pair of heels than a new vacuum? Am I less of a respectable woman if I ignore my mother-in-law's dinner invite voicemail because I'm too busy playing with my vibrator? Will I be less of a mother if I let my son play with dolls and wear pink if he prefers them over cars and blue, or if I encourage him to love with all of his heart and be blind to labels, gender, and societal expectations? I'm learning that finding peace lies within redefining balance and letting go every once in awhile. I am happy with my loving, orgasm-filled, open relationship even if I don't have a ring on my finger. And I'm learning to be okay with falling short of expectations if I am satisfied in the moment, since that's really all that matters in the end anyway. |
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As I understand it, this is the only kind of love that exists.
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| Written by Peter Darling | |||
| May 19,
2009 It happens every day; on street corners, in bars, on dance floors, in bathrooms and offices, schools and shoppes around the world. Fleeting moments of intimacy between strangers, friends, lovers and potential lovers. A shy glance, a forward stare, brief moments of contact, blushing confessions, "I don't know why i just told you that"'s. Hearts racing and palms sweating most of us face these moments with trepidation and mixed emotions. We let them pass. We deny, every day, this proof, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that we are inherently all the same. We all are so fragile, we have all been hurt. To acknowledge these moments would open us up, make us feel vulnerable. But I say Life is too short, too fleeting I will meet your gaze. I will stand before you, naked as the day I was born, offering the only thing that I have to give. This gift, that we all carry, but cannot all give freely. To every woman I have ever loved, or will love To every man To every soul brave enough to look me in the eye To every blushing girl or boy To every Bitch and every Bastard Every top and every bottom My Love. It is all I have, and it is yours. Take it, and pass it on. |
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New Submission
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| Written by Little Switch | |||
| May 14,
2009 Come here. Sit down. I know, I know -that romance thing is for the monogamists, for the kids of “B” movies and drunk high school proms, for your mom and dad who now hate each other, for some dark-haired hero from your childhood that is not coming. I know, I know- we’re too radical, too smart, too snarky and dismissive, too educated, and too protective. But you’re about to lose it. You’re about to capitulate what your politics will not forgive. Three cheers for self-sufficiency: I work three jobs, live and hunger at minimum wage, walk myself home drunk always, wake up to my own alarm, cook what I eat, wash what I wear, write what I need to read, get myself off, refill my CTA card, visit my parents on Sundays, scrub the shower, and shake out my sheets. This tune is as interesting as a bowl of cereal. Lately, we are in the habit of writing about our poor misshapen bodies- policed and aching and threatened and confused. There is no safety here. Come here. Sit up. Remove that hand. This time, it’s not about fucking (later, for sure). |
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Genderblur Scene I
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| Written by Peter Darling | |||
| April 10,
2009 Man: I am a Man. Woman: I am a Woman. Man: What makes you a woman? Woman: What makes you a man? Man: I have a penis. Woman: So do I…well…sometimes. I have breasts. Man: Im fairly certain Ive had breasts before. Woman: Ha! Well, I have a vagina, BUT, I cant carry a child. Man: Neither can I. Woman: May I touch you? What does a man feel like? Man: Does a man feel at all? My Father taught me never to cry. What does a woman feel like? Woman: Im harder than you think…but then again-so are you. Man: I am? Oh, I see…Do you cry? Woman: Not as often as I should. You? Man: Im not supposed to. Woman: Have you ever fallen in love? Man: Im not supposed to. Have you? Woman: I don’t have time for love. Man: Im strangely attracted to you. Woman: I understand. I only date women. Man: Who do you kiss? Woman: Whomever Im fucking. Man: How does a Woman Fuck? Woman: How does a man? Man: Kiss me? Woman: No. Let me see your hands? Man: (he holds his hands up for inspection) Woman: Hmm…big…strong Man: And yours? Woman: (holds her hands up) Man: Small…delicate. Woman: Just as useful as yours! Man: Whats your name? Woman: Whats in a name? Man: Apparently not gender? Gender lies in the pronoun. Woman: What? Man: Something they taught us at school. Woman: Its in the pronoun? Man: Implied by it. Woman: But we call my car a girl, she doesn’t have a vagina. Man: He must be a boy then. Woman: It doesn’t have a penis either. Man: It must not have a gender then. Woman: What about God? Man: What about Nature? Woman: Why is the universal a he? Man: I read somewhere we’re all inherently female. Woman: xx/xy Man: X marks the spot but WHY does this matter? Can I kiss you? Woman: Wait Man: Im not strong enough. Woman: Men are stronger than women. Man: Are you good at math? Woman: Yes. Are You? Man: No…Can I kiss you? Woman: Wait. Man: Women are manipulative. Woman: Men are demanding. Man: Your hands were rough, I can still feel the dirt from your palm. Woman: Are you going to kiss me or not? *They kiss Man: That was… Woman: Sweet… Man: Salty… Woman: Soft…again? *They kiss again Woman: What makes a man? Man: I Love You. What makes a woman? Woman: I Want You. Man and Woman: WHAT AM I? Woman: It doesn’t matter. Man: Just kiss me. * They kiss again. Blackout. |
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Diary of a Gay Boy: What Sex Means
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| Written by Holden C. | |||
| April 9,
2009 We’ve all heard it. Those sappy Lifetime-inspired Hallmark-worthy Oprah-ready phrases to describe how sex revolutionized a person’s life. “Making love,” “our sex was an expression of our affection,” “it means more when you’re with that special someone.” Please excuse me while I vomit (and not in the erotic fashion). Sex has long been assigned those heartfelt euphemisms to describe the carnal act of orgasmic climax; pastoral non-explanations as to why even the most repressed still engage in the delicious act of fucking. Yes, even the Amish have sex, and yes, at least one party reaches climax (but the lack of sexual pleasure for women in traditional societies is a discussion for another time). Sex, in its essence, is nothing more than the pursuit of purely biological ends: procreation for some, a flood of prolactin for the rest (and I would venture to say, most). In short, sex is the pursuit of the orgasm, and as far as I can tell from my experience, does not create love, retain love, or even have much to do with “love” at all. In fact, kinship seems to be able to exist quite well without any sort of physical stimulation; even those with little to no functioning nerve endings in the genital region seem to form them just fine. With this said, I am left in a quandary. After all, sex with strangers never really was my particular pursuit. Sure, I’ve had exciting experiences with boys who I barely knew, but they never seemed nearly as fulfilling as the ones with men I was well acquainted with. What ever does this mean? The fact that the best sex I’ve ever had comes when I’m in committed relationships or with those whom I share a close emotional bond with seems, at its surface, to refute my initial ideology. However, under further analysis, a soy latte, and a couple of cigarettes, it all started to fall into place. Firstly, I had to come to terms with my contradictions. Human beings are full of them, and as far as I’m concerned, it’s what makes us interesting. The fact that there are mild imperfections in my theories and practice does not bother me all that much, after all, it creates wonderful first date conversation. I never really did like binaries: femme/butch, man/woman, gay/lesbian, BDSM/vanilla. I believe in the grey area, and try to engage it often. And as such, the fact that my theory and reality don’t reconcile perfectly doesn’t really both me. If it bothers others, I can only engage in debate. Secondly, I realized a key factor in the deconstruction of my desires and pleasure. Sex for me is only genuinely enjoyable when I can explore and engage in my partner (I mean, with my partner). Communication is key; not in a pastoral sense but rather in terms of the fact that I need to be sure the play is enjoyable for all involved. I seek partners who are honest in their actions and words (“that hurts, go slower,” “HARDER, H-A-R-D-E-R!” etc.). With those whom I have a personal bond with, I can be sure before play begins that they can be relaxed and fluid (read: I can actually engage in the act of penetration without the inevitable fear that their inability to relax will create a long and frustrating experience), that we can explore and engage in new activity, and that all play is mutual. Sure, there are plenty of bossy bottoms littering the streets of Boystown who would have no aversion to keeping me well informed about their needs, but in the end I need to be proactive in ensuring that my play is mutual and honest. I am fully aware, and understand, why my friends and peers do engage in anonymous play. As a sex-positivist, I encourage sexual exploration and pleasure. However, as part of my identity, I need to be true and honest with myself. This is how I choose to engage in activity, and that must be respected. After all, what use is it for me to go fuck a random man if I will wind up sexually frustrated and dissatisfied at the end of the night (“I just couldn’t get it in, he was too tense. I have to go jack-off in the washroom before my shift.”)? Yes, for the most part, it is a selfish ideology. Idyllic notions of emotional bonds aside, it is not the bond but rather the byproduct that I seek. Strong relationships require refined communication. It is the communication that I seek, not the emotional bond. In this way, I am able to reconcile conflicting ideology and practice to rethink how I have sex. This is me, and others choose varied paths. So, for now, I will play only with friends and boyfriends, with sexual exploration to only bring new and varied experiences and re-evaluations of my choices. There is little (although notable) permanency in sexuality, and all of this entry is libel to change, however, certain aspects remain essential. I am excited by an engaged partner who can handle “what I got.” If it means that I limit myself to those I know, than so be it. It’s just an excuse to make friends with more hot young gay men, and who can complain about that? |
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Consensual Genderqueering/ Give Me a Little Complexity, Please.
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| Written by Little Switch | |||
| March 26,
2009 It came as such a relief. Like the moment after turning in an exam you were bound to fail, or the halting of your car after you’ve skidded out, I could only exhale and walk away, a little scathed but still in tact. I looked at myself in the mirror- an old soccer t-shirt and messy dark hair. I was still me, still genderqueer. Why was I so relieved? I should have been a little heartbroken. I liked this girl, a lot in fact. I planned elaborate dates for her, courted her friends, and cooked a blueberry pancake breakfast. All week I had been dreading the agonizing final conversation, the one that would end a month-long foray into the dreamy world of champaign breakfast dates and rooftop make out sessions. But when she finally confirmed my suspicions that it was a dead deal, I could only smile to myself. My ties had been hanging on the rack for too long. This girl, I was told, likes girls that “look like girls.” And “lucky” for me, my boyish attire didn’t disguise my pretty little face or giggle-ridden demeanor. Why do we so often rise to the challenge of gendering ourselves for other people? Five years ago, when I arrived at college, a blond bob and half a dozen skirts in tow, I had not yet realized the complicated ways I could be sexualized. Awkward in my own skin and closeted, I understood myself to be the “friend” girl—a girl not really pretty enough to date. But my liberal arts college provided the space to test out ties and vests and wingtip shoes. The more I fucked with my gender presentation, the more attention I scored. It went to my head. I could date any girl I wanted, I was certain. The price of such aesthetic exploration was a strained performance of masculinity, a confusing and painful routine in a community that often demonized visibility queer women as predators. I found friendly banter with women increasingly challenging as many of them came to assume that my polite humor was forceful flirtation. I started to believe in the player status I was given, willing myself to bed with girls that made me uncomfortable. So when I recently met this girl who wanted to gender me as a lady, I was both flattered and fascinated. It had been so long since someone planned dates for me or held a door. Topping all the time is a lot of work for a little switch like me, and she was more than willing to take those reigns, too. I had eagerly opened a new door to my gender performance, with room after room to revisit my own femininity. But when I turned around, I found it dead-bolted shut. This girl liked girly girls, and I certainly was not one. If I wore a tie, would she find me unattractive? Should I aim for tighter clothing and more make-up? Dare I even utter the term “genderqueer” to her? How was I going to maintain this? And why was I trying so hard to? The answer, of course, is that I couldn’t. I suffered without admitting it to myself. And not until this moment, did I realize the cost of that exchange. How can we guarantee that our gender performance feels transgressive rather than forced? Is reconciliatory rather than abusive? How can we, as genderqueers, navigate sex and love in the nuanced ways we so desperately need? Must we so readily be able to name our needs and desires in order to safely invite partners to tread with us through them? Does such a language even exist? There are written theories here, but I’m holding them off with an insistent arm; my stated politics never fully answer such personal dilemmas for me. I know that the easiest answer is that these are explorations we must embark on solo. But I’m not exploring my own gender (I don’t think), I’m exploring its presentation and representation. In a world fixated on a gender binary, the challenge is intense. How can we queer queerness as we know it? Okay, it’s a silly question, and the possible solutions are myriad… Let’s try this one: can I really enjoy fooling around with that cute fag like a fag myself without accidentally silencing something else? |
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For Straight White Hetero Male Empowerment?!
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| Written by Little Switch | |||
| March 19,
2009 I'm all about sexual empowerment. You want to strap it on and cruise Halsted for cute gay boys at 3 am? Go ahead. Be safe. You want to cover yourself in peanut butter and go at it in the middle of the day at St. Boniface Cemetery? Cool. Try not to get busted (unless of course, you're into that). Fuck who you want, how you want. I'm cheering you on. But lately, my brother is asking a funny question. He's sleeping with a girl that likes him, and he's sleeping with another girl he may or may not call back tomorrow. He likes sex. He wants to have a lot of it. Does that make him just another gross straight guy? My brother is a straight, white, gender-conforming, upper-middle class white dude-- the enemy of every gender and cultural studies essay I own. Of course, he's a bit more complicated than all of that. He's flattered beyond words when queer men check him out, he likes dyke fashion, and he understands that his opinion isn't always necessary. In other words, he's cool. I trust that he will make my queer friends feel comfortable, and I want him to feel comfortable around them. Still, my brother doesn't need our sex-positive space to empower him. Society has been building him up since birth. And that's why, I'm without a response when he asks: “does all this casual sex make me bad?” I don't know. My politics are at war with one another. Let's consider for a moment the privilege afforded to him and the cost of that privilege on female bodies (not to mention queer bodies and bodies of color). I'm not riding the Dwarkin bandwagon, but I know that gender scripts seriously complicate consent. Consent can feel impossible in the face of the gendering that has been drilled into us all our lives, and those scripts dictate female subservience and silence. Overcoming gendering in heterosexual sex can take some serious work. Is it possible for my brother to account for this with his partners? On the other hand, isn't it my job to help everyone to feel sexually empowered? At some point, doesn't all this talk of identity and responsibility get in the way of the very thing we rally for politically-- the right to a good fuck? More than that, who am I to assume that women he sleeps with aren't empowered enough to navigate casual sex with him? A lot folks make the argument that queer relationships can be every bit as gendered as straight relationships- with one partner performing masculinity and misogyny at the cost of the other. But queerness itself denotes transgression of gender roles. As a genderqueer woman, I understand intimately the fear of being followed home at night as much as I understand the awkwardness of trying to find the right boy briefs at Target. While my performance of masculinity may not be a choice, I can choose to navigate gender with another queer person in my own way. And regardless of gender identification, presentation, or performance, queer sex and relationships challenge heterosexual gender scripts. So when my queer friends express desire to fuck whomever, whenever, and however, I'm cheering them on. But my brother is another matter entirely. In my own experience, it takes a bit more intentionality to “queer” a straight relationship. A straight dude who sleeps with his girlfriend's best friend isn't exactly seen as transgressive; most likely he's playing out his gender script word for word. Can my straight white brother enjoy a lot of sex without participating in this misogyny? In the end, I urge my brother to remain cautious. Remember who you are. Remember your privilege. Be safe. Be honest. Listen. Enjoy yourself. And whatever you do, rage against your gender script. |
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Diary of a Gay Boy: What’s My Age Again?
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| Written by Holden C. | |||
| March 15,
2009 In my last post, we established that dirty little secret of my sprightly youth. To quote: “I'm young. Not in the, ‘wow, he's so underage it’s illegal’ sort of way, but rather in the sense that I moved to Chicago for school less than a year ago.” I’ve been thinking a lot about age recently, and seeing as how I work at a sex toy boutique, thinking of it in terms of sexuality. Age has long been directly correlated with sexual virility and desire. In ancient times, young boys were often the sexual objects of great thinkers, fighters, and monarchs. In fact, many famous individuals sought young male muses, from Alexander the Great to Oscar Wilde. Before I continue, let me be abundantly clear: I am not advocating sex with those who are under the age of consent. Those laws are established for an explicit purpose of which I agree with; the protection of children must be paramount. There is no excuse for sexual abuse. Ever. Now that we have established this, let’s look at those who are legal. Nationwide, the age in which erotic photography becomes legal is 18. I still remember when I “came of age,” the moment I realized that those “barely legal” porn sites were actually talking about me. The gay community has developed a complex lexicon to talk about young men such as myself. The phrase “twink,” for example, speaks of young, hairless, preferably blond, and presumably naive, young men who will submit to their youthful libidos to pursue the orgasm at the drop of a hat. Highly fetishized, the twink takes up an inordinate amount of the digital space to create a sexual fantasy for those who desire the youthful body. But what is it about youth that creates such fascination and desire? Is it the pursuit of lost, out teenage-dom amongst gay men of another generation? Is it the aspect of naivete and submission ingrained in the fantasy’s definition? Or perhaps, is it the sense of danger; of life shattering involved in taking the innocence of a young sprite? Sex is, after all, a rather abrasive activity which, to paraphrase Leo Bersani, is anti-loving, anti-communal, and anti-egalitarian (rather, it is an activity which shatters Freud‘s Ego and allows us to be reduced to our most raw and primal state). We will most likely never find an answer, although I’m sure Social Psychologists and Queer Theorists will attempt. Reality is that it will probably be more complex than my simplistic allusions. But I feel the question remains important, particularly in light of the fact that I am inevitably influenced by its answer. Some aspects of life remain pre-determined; my “twinkiness” is one of them (no matter how much I may resent it). However, we who do not fit into the “young, dumb, and full of cum” manifesto must stay strong. One day, we too will have enough chest hair to finally be taken seriously. *** Do you too want to rage against the machine, and create radical new ways to be queer? Check out these excellent titles from the Tulip bookshelf… -Public Sex by Pat(rick) Califia -Queer Beats: How the Beats Turned America On to Sex edited by Regina Marler (featuring writings by Allen Ginsberg, Gore Vidal, Jack Kerouac, William Burroughs and others) -Ceremonies by Essex Hemphill |
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I Fisted a Girl and I Liked It
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| Written by Dolores Haze | |||
| February 24,
2009 The first time it happened by accident. My girlfriend, Paris (stylish black femme with a misanthropic streak and penchant for obscure music —think: “um, I liked them before they were cool”) and I were in the throes of teenage lust. She was sprawled across the backseat of my car, tartan skirt hiked around her belly, begging me to slip more and more of myself inside of her. In the parking lot. Of our Catholic, all-girl’s high school. Skipping religion class. Mmm. “I said more! More! Now!” (She was a demanding bottom--a bit of a brat, even.) “But I’ve already got four fingers in you,” I panted. “I don’t think I can—” She gave me a heated glare that suggested ‘find a way,’ so I tucked my thumb in and watched, incredulously, as her cunt devoured the rest of my hand. I pushed in—gingerly, at first—and she matched me, bearing down and grinding, head thrown back in abandonment, completely filled and finally content. I felt her orgasm approach and pulse through her muscles. I fisted a girl and I liked it. The rest is history, and now I’m hooked. Not to sound like some second-wave, pussy-positive Eve Ensler monologue (I mean, you know my ambivalence about my own)—but, damn, vaginas are awesome. I am still amazed every time I’m wrist-deep in a lover—especially if she’s a new fistee, and I get to vicariously absorb her own wonder and wetness. Your cunt is elastic enough to accommodate childbirth. But I can think of better uses. |
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Diary of a Gay Boy: Adventures in the Big Bad City
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| Written by Holden C. | |||
| February 21,
2009 Alright ladies, gentlemen, and gender-fucks, lets be honest: I'm young. Not in the,"wow, he's so underage its illegal" sort of way, but rather in the sense that I moved toChicago for school less than a year ago. Now, I shirk at the inevitable label as"baby-gay", since for the majority of my post-pubescent life, I've been out of the closets repressive grasp. In many senses, I've openly identified as gay since the raging hormones pulsing through my adolescent body told me I was far more interested in my sexy literature teacher than his sprightly and young female TA. But all this aside, few ask for my life story before placing the inevitable labels which so haunt sexual communities. Bottom, twink, vanilla, jail-bait; all these titles (and more) have been so luxuriously assigned to me throughout my stay in the city. But what's a poor boy to do? I sincerely lack the ability to change the hearts and minds of those caught in identity politics. Furthermore, as a young man, I firmly refuse to be tied down by anything in life, for I am meant to explore in my waning youth, not limit myself. After months of violation, I have recently learned to accept the leers and inappropriate comments, and subsequently they have slowed to a trickle (presumably from a renewed sense of identity which I have learned to outwardly present). However, that is not to say that this does not all follow me occasionally. Take, for example, earlier this evening, when I tumbled on the bed of a young man whom I had recently been acquainted with. As we fumbled about, I became bored. I was not what he assumed me to be, and nor was he what I had desired. Needless to say, it ended poorly. But it got me thinking, if outward appearance is a presentation which portrays a narrative of who we are as sexual beings, must I adjust my wardrobe or sacrifice my sexual preferences for the easier (and less expensive) option? The mental exercise must first be placed in context. My sense of style has been described as hipster, twink-y, boyish, and "tight", (whatever THAT means) apparently presenting a certain portrait of my sexual desires and experience. As such, I am treated accordingly. I do not, however, dress in form to what my sexual preferences that day will be, and as such, am left in a conundrum. I do, however, dress in a way which makes me comfortable, and furthermore, carry myself in a way that is true to my personality. Sex, of course, is the pursuit of orgasm, and thus I dress and act differently than how I do in bed. So must I conform to the rigid guidelines socially determined and placed upon us? The conclusion, of course, is a resounding no. I will be myself in all arenas of my life, and as long as I am content I shall refuse to change. Radical, no? I am not, however, a revolutionary. Ever day I spend at Tulip, I see individuals who appear to be the most virginal and cloistered of people, and yet they purchase our harshest whip and ball gag. Likewise, the most hardened and sexual customer may have never achieved orgasm, and is shopping for their first vibe. Instead, we present in a way which comforts us emotionally, physically, or intellectually. Some may choose to make it an expression of their sexual desires, yet others may flaunt such restraints and instead dress in an expression of their true selves. None of us are liberated from the confines of social convention, yet some choose to engage in it in greater or lesser forms. This is not a judgment on those who chose either path, but rather a statement of fact. In whatever way one feels comfortable, one should act. And thus, I will not change how I dress, or who I am, because of what others think, instead I will bite the bullet and embrace whatever unfortunate circumstances (or satisfying ones for that matter) ensue henceforth. I am happy with who I am, and I encourage all to express themselves however they please. If that means linking outward appearance and expression of personality in accordance with sexual desires, than so be it, but if it means the opposite, than express yourself accordingly. We must be who and what makes us comfortable and feel an inner sense of peace and safety, and as such, be who you are, not who you think you should be. *** Tulip, of course, holds many ways to explore identity and expression. Some ideas are below: -Packies: Play with gender however you might identify! Our premium packing penises are affordable, accessible, and exciting. -Lingerie: Both our Maison Close and Lucy B. brands are goldmines of sexy undergarments to express your sexual self. Includes multipurpose clothing, as well, for in or out of the bedroom. -DITC: Our ever-popular Dikes in the City line of street-clothing is a fabulous way to support a local Queer-women owned company, and be the talk of the town with your sexy yet practical new garb. -And so much more! As long as you're being yourself, Tulip has the option for you. |
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Diary of a Gay Boy: What's Your Fantasy Baby?
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| Written by Holden C. | |||
| February 11,
2009 I still remember my first pornographic video. I was fourteen, and while I had seen plenty of still photos of men having sex, masturbating, and indulging in all sorts of erotic pleasure, I still lacked that integral aspect: putting it all in motion. The first film was perhaps the worst porn I had ever seen. Two hunky blonds in a studio locker room (you could actually see where the set ended and the warehouse began), thrusting unconvincingly with a voiceover of heavy grunts and breathing. But to my virginal teenage eyes, it was pure ambrosia. The next week, I went to gym class with an extra spring in my step. Contrary to all fact, I was convinced that I would open the door to find the entire hockey team engaging in nonchalant sex. They would motion to me to come over and join in, and in a fit of ecstasy, my awkward pubescent body would be lifted to the highest plane of existential pleasure known to both man- and woman-kind. What I found instead were moldy floor tiles, dried blood, and three ominous looking guys just waiting to beat my scrawny baby-gay body. Fast forward four years, hundreds of porn videos, and even a few hook ups with hetero-identified athletes, and you find me moving into my college dorm room. Can't you wait for all those big hunky guys?? my friend asked coyly during our goodbye. "Life is not a porn video," I replied, an air of self righteousness seething from my lips. "I know, but a boy's gotta dream!" I began to wonder, what if my floor actually is a bastion of sex. Yes, I was falling directly into the trap I've always feared, that of blatant homo-optimism. I didn't take long for me to realize my folly. My floor mates are far more interested in bodily functions and drunk girls than any gay boy seething with sexual tension. ?Young, dumb, and full cum? may describe them, but at a school with a 60:40 ratio of women to men, they lack the desperate quality of which such fantasies rest. So yet again, I had debunked the popularized myth, and been left satisfied that my true desires lay beyond the typical hetero-centric narrative. In fact, I often dream of sex in a library or museum, surrounded by great art and literature. Clearly I was destined for a classist and academic life narrative. Recently, I received a phone call from the friend who had first planted the idea of sex at my dorm. "So, dish the gossip," he ordered. I sighed. How could I break his poor heart and inform him that the heterosexual fantasy was simply more complex. It did get me thinking however, in the realm of sexual desires, where do truth and phantasmagoria intersect? As any dutiful college student would, I began to do my research. ?Acting Out,? a sexual liberation era experimental documentary explores this very question. Through interviews with average New Yorkers, the filmmakers sought to help individuals fulfill their fantasies with a little help of actors and elaborate Hollywood sets. Outfitting a suburban New York manor, they expertly recreated fantasies both bizarre and mundane. One woman dreamed of a foursome with football players. Another dreamt of a complicated narrative involving a grieving bride whom he chases, kills, and then wears the dress of. Some felt satisfied and electrified by the experience (particularly the altho-centric woman), while others were left mystified, confused, angry, or unfulfilled. One man, in particular, who had imagined an American colonial scene involving humiliation of sinners, felt so upset he nearly stormed out mid-scene. A complex conclusion emerged: sometimes fantasies are in fact what we bargained for, while other times, they are best left to mental exercise during masturbation. Upon further inquiry, utilizing everything from Craigslist to dominant characterizations in pornography, I came to my own realization: fantasies are beautiful, exciting, titillating, and dramatic in their unattainability. While fulfillment may be the ultimate, it is often the mere realization that exists that is most exciting. My dreams of a library fuck are enthralling, but I wonder what my response would be if I ever did experience it. Would the threat of banishment be too much, or would it provide the rush I so desire? I decided I?d rather not find out. Instead, I relish the mental image, for it is the hunt that I find more exciting than the act. But by all means do I support those who seek actualization. Sex-positivists must encourage the fantasy, no matter how outlandish, for it is the drive that keeps humans sane. To regulate ourselves to Puritan idealism of sexuality can really only lead to depression. Rather, I encourage individuals to explore, to expedite, and to imagine the possibilities. The world is our oyster, and as long as sexual-beings are aware of the complexity of orgasmic satisfaction, then we must, in a sense, go westward to the land of possibility. American narratives are filled with ideas of independence and exploration. While Lewis and Clark may not have approved, it is their spirit that should drive sexual beings to satisfaction. With that said, realism must be heeded, and failure must be recognized as a potential outcome. But we mustn?t let it get us down. Rather, we must accept this fact as part of the journey, and create safety nets for when we do stumble. And thus, I leave with one conclusion: sexual fantasy is what drives us, and by all means, must be nurtured as long as ones sexual fulfillment is not done at the expense of another?s life or liberty. ***** Interested in exploring your own fantasies? Tulip can help! Below is a listing of products to help you begin your exploration? -All of our toys, BDSM gear, and latex clothing can be integral parts of fulfillment -Take a look at our unique porn collection featuring high quality productions from some of the industries most prolific and creative minds and actors -The Ultimate Guide to Strap On Sex can help men and women interested in exploring anal or vaginal pleasure with a female-bodied partner -Sex With the Lights On -Opening Up: A Guide to Creating and Sustaining Open Relationships -And so many more! Just ask a friendly Tulip employe |
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Bathhouse Envy
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| Written by Dolores Haze | |||
| February 5,
2009 I admit it, I’m jealous. Seething with an insatiable desire and perpetual (phantom) hard-on. “It was…almost too good to be true,” my friend reminisces, grinning vacuously while I turn over his brand-new Steamworks membership card in my hand. “I could basically get anything I wanted!” I congratulate him and demand he describe every room in meticulous, raunchy detail. I’m burning with vicarious lust, worried that the little plastic square is going to melt in my grasp. “You should totally come with me next time!” he suggests, but I cut him off with a smirk. “I appreciate the offer, love, but I’m a girlfag--I don’t think my silicone cock would cut it. Even if I passed in every other way.” It’s a relief to know that, despite the gay movement’s recent obsession with ‘straight drag’—marriage, parenthood, and sundry other ways we can look like respectable, reproductive citizens—there are still places where you can just fuck and/or get fucked. Queer sex has survived (even AIDS). Well, at least for male-bodied queers who dig other male-bodied queers, but where does that leave the rest of us? “You have no idea how jealous I am,” I confess to my friend. “Of what, my penis?” he retorts (with a bit of a lisp). I know he’s only partially joking. Having a flesh-and-blood cock not only permeates my sexual fantasies, it would grant me immediate social access to a world I can now only graze. Pleasure World, reified. Sigh. Still, I roll my eyes and tell him, “No, not of your penis. I’m jealous that dykes don’t have an equivalent.” I suppose there are regular girl sex parties happening somewhere in this city, but there certainly aren’t public spaces to pick up and hook up, no strings attached. Gay men have the unquestionable monopoly on cruising parks, particular El cars, bathhouses, porn theatres. I am barely twenty-one and still claim a kind of youthful enthusiasm. I haven’t grown jaded from the dyke bar scene…yet. But I am already exhausted with being on the perpetual outside, looking in. I wonder, if we build it, will they come? Is there a place in grrl culture for a physical locus of promiscuity? And who’s gutsy enough to create it? Here, darling: take off your clothes and put on this towel. |
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Yell It From The Rooftops
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| Written by Scamp | |||
| January 30,
2009 Last weekend was business as usual: after a brief visit to Tulip, I took the
train home. As each one of the upcoming stops were announced, I kept my eyes on
the passengers around me. None of them
could know what I was keeping in my backpack. I couldn’t stop smiling the entire way home. Also, ideally, the more I did it, the whiter my teeth, but that’s another dream altogether. |
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Sexy/Nerdy Chicago
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| Written by Scamp | |||
| January 29,
2009 |
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Safer Sex for Dykes
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| Written by Dolores Haze | |||
| January 27,
2009 Why is dyke safer sex so hard to broach with potential partners (I’m sure I’m not the only one who feels this way)? Why is the specific information so scarce, when there are myriad ominous pamphlets about The latter may explain why I was/we are so adverse to break out the barriers. Condoms seem so de rigueur, so ubiquitous, eroticized in sleek (if socially incorrect) Magnum advertisements. When was the last time you saw a sexy commercial celebrating an extra-large dental dam? If we’re going to embrace our insatiable queer libidos and fuck like gay boys, we better protect ourselves like them! Slutty, sex-positive fags catalyzed the safer sex trend two decades ago—thanks, guys—and now it’s our turn to claim responsibility for our own bodies. I practice what I preach now: I may be part of a low-risk population, but I also unabashedly sleep around. From personal trial and error, here are some suggestions for making safer sex between two (or three, or eight!) girls a hot (or at least not an awkward) proposition: 1. Black latex gloves. I keep a ready supply of black latex gloves in a drawer underneath my bed. What I thought at first was just a matter of convenience (one shouldn’t be a fisting top and bite their nails—oh well) has actually become ritualistic foreplay. These are way sexier than the standard beige-colored ones you find in hospitals—unless, of course, you’re playing doctor. Oh, and if you’re out of gloves, a basic colored condom rolled over a few fingers (or your whole hand) works as well, and even molds your fingers into that lovely cupped shape—perfect for fisting. 2. Silicone sex toys. You can disinfect them entirely by placing them in boiling water for a couple minutes or running through the dishwasher—a must-have for polysexual players. For simplicity’s sake, just use condoms on dildos, and remember to switch the condom between cunt and ass, or between partners. 3. Talking beforehand. Insist on safer sex before you’re on all fours and gagged. This is crucial to the whole fuck proceeding smoothly and without interruption. Negotiate with your partner about expectations and boundaries—that way, there’s no question when it’s going down. 4. Risk prevention. Okay, so we all do one-night-stands and (if we’re lucky) total strangers we ravage in public bathrooms and club back rooms. A lengthy negotiation process has no part in that casual, ravenous heat. My Golden Rule: no fluid exchange with tricks. It only denies a few activities (namely, cunnilingus and tribbing), leaving heavy making out, dirty talk/humiliation, penetration, playing with toys, fisting (with gloves) and sadomasochism (sans blood) - fabulous options. And get tested regularly! In |
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Owning My Cock
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| Written by Dolores Haze | |||
| January 27,
2009 Believe it or not, I used to be a sexual purist. When I first came out as a babydyke in the Kansas City LGBT scene (see Holden, we hillbilly Kansans can be queer as fuck, too), I dated a bright, punky femme who described herself as ‘a freak in bed,’ and had been sleeping with girls long enough to know. I suppose that titillated me on some subconscious level that would only manifest into full-blown perversion in my later teenage years. A week after we first hooked up, she handed me a gift box. “Well, open it!” she squealed. I tore through the tissue paper to discover a sparkly, neon pink dildo. “Uh…” I responded, already marking her disappointment, “what do I need this for?” “I was just thinking you could fuck me with—” I interrupted her with some tirade about how I didn’t have a cock, didn’t need a phallic imitation, didn’t want one—real or representative—anywhere near me! I had just adopted my dyke identity and was clinging tenaciously to it. I probably made some snarky comment about her own (bi)sexuality. God, I was such a self-righteous prick. It’s taken me a while to become the strap-on-wearing, whip-wielding, toe-sucking, shifting Venn diagram of postmodern bullshit that constitutes Dolores Haze today. I’ve even come so far as to embrace my (silicone) cock as an extension of my own body. I masturbate with it, stroking it and rubbing my clit simultaneously. I wear the bulge around proudly. My (current) favorite fantasy is a role play scenario in which another bio-girl and I are both fags, sporting giant hard-ons underneath our Seven jeans/tailored suit pants. I cruise her (my precious little twink!), drag her to the bathroom, and shove her against the sink. That way, I can watch my cock pound her ass and her contorted, blissed-out-bottom, eyes-rolling-back-in-her-head, ‘oh fuck me, fuck me!’ facial expressions in the mirror. Sigh. Having a cock is fun. I want to tell every apprehensive gay girl (and straight girl, for that matter) who comes into Tulip and skims the dildo/harness section to just try it. It’s amazing to configure our bodies in nonconforming ways and reclaim some phallic power! It’s convenient equipment, conducive to role play and myriad sex positions. And it’s just fucking hot. Maybe I should just tell them my story. I used to be a sexual purist, after all. Can I get one resounding LOL? My suggestions for vicious strap-on tops: “The Ultimate Guide to Strap-On Sex,” a Spareparts harness (oh so comfortable), a Vixskin or Vamp softskin dildo (silky and realistic), or a Johnny (if you want to be just like me! I love its girth and realistic aesthetic). And for voracious strap-on bottoms: lube, and lots of it! Try Liquid Silk (thick and not too sticky), O’My Natural (water-based and flavored), or Sassy Booty lube. |
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Who the fuck am I? (and does it even matter?)
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| Written by Holden C. | |||
| January 24,
2009 “Queer, why’d you say that??.” they asked.I answered with a brief introduction into identity and its complex lexicon.“We don’t have that back in Needless to say, I quickly moved on with my life, and began to ponder bigger and better things (such as whether or not that cute boy across the street was a top or a bottom), until, of course, I stumbled upon Dolores Haze’s most recent blog post (see below). Through her witty banter, I began to ponder my own identity. When people ask me how I swing, which they rarely do (since my wardrobe typically screams “RAGING HOMO” before I even have a chance to let a wrist fall limp), I typically say gay. “Gay” holds a lot of connotations, often seemingly at odds with queer radical theory. But that’s not to say that my politics are not progressive, or that you would ever find me fighting for that unequal institution we call “the sanctity of marriage”. Rather, I call myself gay because after having it slung at me as a degrading term for so many years, I am proud to say that I identify that way. Furthermore, I always call my romantic endeavor my boyfriend, not my partner, for I take such great pride in announcing to the world that they are in fact male, not some androgynous “partner”, which sounds so closeted. This is all important to me, for I see words as power. But does this truly describe who I am? After all, I’m pretty queer in the end. And I may be a man, but I sure have a relatively androgynous sense of style. And my politics definitely would separate me out from an assimilationist gay and lesbian rights agenda. So where do I truly belong? As I ponder this question, my circular logic continually comes back to the same four words: DOES IT EVEN MATTER? Who cares who, what, where, when, or why I am? I have a firm grasp on what makes my identity, and at the end of the day, I don’t owe an explanation to anybody. I had this exact conversation with a friend of mine a few days ago. She was concerned when I proclaimed my independence from such verbose bonds.“But how will people know if you’re, you know, eligible for them??” she asked, grave concern showing through a furrowed brow.“They’ll just have to flirt with me and see what happens,” I replied. In the days after my decision to give up identifying myself, I’ve since recalibrated. Just as confused as I was in the beginning of this journey, I’m not sure whether or not I will choose to identify, and if I do, as what. I’m still homosexual (in the sense that my sexual attraction is towards other male-identified individuals), but I’m not sure how to define it. Queer? Gay? It’s all bullshit as far as I’m concerned, and is just a mere presentation to members of a dominant identity who are gravely concerned about such issues. I am who I am, and that’s what should matter. |
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Oh So Pomo
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| Written by Dolores Haze | |||
| January 22,
2009 I just concluded an hour-long tirade directed toward my poor (very patient)
girlfriend, Alexandra, by shouting, “I really think I’m this shifting Venn diagram of postmodern bullshit! Like, some queer, bi-gendered/genderqueer-but-hardly-andro faggy dyke who loves performing femme…but only with a self-reflexive drag queen aesthetic, you know?! I mean, really I’m just a gay boy.” What the hell? And that’s not to mention my equally convoluted, ever-shifting sexual identity. “Green today?” she smirks, nodding to the bandana protruding from my left back pocket. “Yup.” I scrutinize myself in the store mirror. “Is it weird that I’m flagging as a daddy and wearing my hair in pigtails? Should I switch it to the right?” I’m in love with (and indebted to) Tulip, for providing a safe space for kids like me--kids who can’t effortlessly check census boxes, or want to check them all, or write in another category, or burn the whole goddamn thing altogether. Kids who want to fuck and build coalitions and reconstitute their bodies, sometimes in the same act (if we’re lucky). Tulip is more than just a job. It’s become my community. |
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Size Queen: Why We Strive For Size
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| Written by Holden C. | |||
| January 22,
2009 Oh, the penis; that famous and infamous extension of the
male body which seems to garner inordinate attention in everything from
television and magazines to casual conversation amongst friends. Both
feared and held sacred, the male member has been deemed a fascinating creature
by so many, never ceasing to provide hours of conversation, both internal and
interpersonal. We, as a society, are obsessed with it. It’s not
just us gay boys and straight women who cannot stop talking about it;
heterosexual men have a fascinating compulsion to peer at another's penis when
standing in proximity at urinals or in locker rooms. In fact, on a recent
trip to Since ancient times, the large penis has been a topic of discussion. Originally believed to be the symbol of the devil, it has since become idealized and idolized in popular lore. Hundreds, if not thousands, collectively spend millions to increase their size, often with dubious results. Even cosmetic surgery can be done to increase the length, although it often only extends a flaccid penis and has no effect on the erection size. But what is it about size that is so tantalizing? After all, most would agree that it is girth which truly provides stimulation, and the g-spot and prostate are relatively near their respective openings. In fact, in biological terms, we as a society should revere short, upwardly curved penises if we were truly talking about pleasure. No, instead the large penis is seen as power. In my limited interaction with the species commonly referred to as “straight men”, it’s clear that they especially view it in these limited terms. Locker room jock banter is commonly peppered with talk of one another’s size. In fact, a recent acquaintance of mine was shocked that I had never measured my own penis length and girth. “I thought that’s what all gay men thought about”, he said. “No”, I replied, “That’s what all straight men wish gay men thought about.” But humorous homo-social behavior aside, the lingering question remains: what’s size got to do with it? Thus, like every good university student, I began to do my research. I started with John Holmes, the 1970s era pornographic actor whose extraordinarily large phallus shocked and mystified the purveyors of the sexual revolution. While never formally measured, it is estimated to have been anywhere between 10 and 16 inches long (although the latter is most likely an exaggeration). More recently, mainstream actor Jonah Falcon’s 13.5 inch erect penis has been noted in at least two documentaries produced by the All evidence seems to point to yes. American society is dominated by the pursuit of power. Deeply rooted in our capitalist system, social values and more set the stage for size worship. Madonna put it best when she sang, “We are living in a material world, and I am a material girl...” Having the largest penis seems to fit well into this construct; the bigger and better something is, the more highly prized it becomes. Size queens in the world love the large penis, but it is often the idea of it that tantalizes and not the follow through. John Falcon, the man with the 13.5 incher, knows this all too well: his sex life remained unsatisfying for years, since men and women (Falcon is bisexual identified) would frequently be unable to cope with its enormity. While he was able to take a partner home nightly, he was incapable of reaching climax (the vagina cannot accommodate such length and the curvature of the rectum makes such length difficult, though not impossible). However, that is not to say that many individuals do not enjoy a large penis: the human muscle has an amazing ability to stretch. In completion of the inquiry, I came back to a commonly held understanding: sex is largely mental. Pleasure is derived as much from the brain as it is from sensory nerve endings, and while the large penis may not be biologically more stimulating, the thought of it can tantalize. VIVA LA PENIS! **** Are you a lover of large phalli? Check out The Big Penis Book here at Tulip, published by the illustrious Taschen Press. Also, take a look at the Carina, one of Vamp Silicone’s newest dildos. Still unsatisfied? Tulip sells fisting gloves, and a forearm size dildo named Mr. Universe. |
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Pleasure World, Part III
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| Written by Dolores Haze | |||
| January 16,
2009 I share a vision with some of my fellow Tulips (the audacious counterpublic
of Pleasure World) of a social space which transgresses the trappings of
institutionalized domesticity, the capital Ms that pose just as much of a
threat to our community as the Westboro Baptist Church—Marriage and Monogamy.
Good, clean, wholesome, state-sanctioned and primetime-approved intimacy. I
search desperately for compatriots who embrace their disgustingness, who don't
strive to be palatable and pretty to the straight world, but live for new and
greater pleasures. More is more. I recognize the challenge of deconstructing all the hyper-sentimental, kitschy tropes about love and parenthood and annual trips to Disney World we young queers were bombarded with as children. I had to struggle with it myself. It's a bold choice to refuse that easy, oh-so-scripted life narrative which places your Wedding Day as the simultaneous beginning, pinnacle, and end of your life. I'm dreading receiving my friends' wedding invitations, commitment ceremony cards, Polaroids of newborn babies. At twenty, I'm already struck with the harsh realization of my own impending alienation from everything I was told I should be (and should have accomplished) at thirty. Queerness is a state of perpetual loneliness. But it's not a death sentence. Actually, it provides a white space of possibility—the potential to create new kinds of intimacy, to have new kinds of sex. Pleasure World is not for the faint of heart – it demands innovation, courage in the face of sexual and social persecution, a kind of unabashed militancy. I really believe its reification is the mission of my generation. So come on, angry queer kids! We're always seeking new recruits. Suggesting Reading List: "Public Sex," "Speaking Sex to Power," "Pomosexuals," "Opening Up" |
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A Tulip Review: Pomosexuals: Challenging Assumptions About Gender and Sexuality
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| Written by Scamp | |||
| January 14,
2009 “Everyone has their secrets,” his wife says. Granted, I still have so much to learn, but with a couple of decades’ worth of experience under my belt – lived in first hetero-normative Smalltown, USA, then, conversely, Chicago – I’ve come to discover that things aren’t always what they seem. Words don’t describe the half of is there. Lucky for all of us who just don’t fit the molds, who get fed up with having to explain ourselves (or simply opt out), there is a book here at Tulip that is must-read: Pomosexuals: Challenging Assumptions About Gender and Sexuality Edited by Carol Queen and Lawrence Schimel, Pomosexuals is a compilation of essays and anecdotes, “for the queer queers who just can’t stay put within a nice simple identity”. For the gay mormons, lesbian sadomasochists, bend-over boyfriends or heterosexual couples who like a little kink: this book is for you. Seventeen essays. 188 pages. Available for $14.95 at mytulip.com and at Tulip stores. |
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Last Minute Sexy Gift Bag Ideas
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| Written by Olaf | |||
| January 2,
2009 Tulip Body Candle for $15 - a candle, available in three scents, that burns WARM
for temperature play and turns into organic soy massage oil. Imagine
blindfolding your partner and playing with the warm sensation of
falling wax and afterward using the drops to give a sensual massage!
The wax is completely organic and healthy for the skin, an added bonus is
that no clean up is necessary. The Big "O" for $15 - a vibrating cock ring that can stimulate his perineum when positioned with the vibrator pointed down or can stimulate her clitoris during intercourse when positioned up. Hydra-smooth Lubricant for $13 - a creamy, water based lubricant that works wonderfully for men and women. The texture feels natural and smooth. Rub my ducky $15 - a rubber duck that vibrates. This is a discreet toy and a fun surprise for those who like to play in the bathroom. Kama Sutra Chocolate Body Paint $15 - a rich chocolate body paint with an included body brush to enjoy an evening of sexy sweetness and art. |
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Tulip January Workshop
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| Written by Dr. C | |||
| December 24,
2008 Spice It Up: Sex in the New Year January: Wednesday, 1/7 6:00pm Center on Halsted (this workshop is part of Woman-Identified Wednesdays) 3448 N. Halsted Street Chicago (free) It’s a new year so why not take control of your sex life and have better sex? Think about your body as a site of multiple pleasures: there are so many ways to get off! We’ll showcase our latest products, along with tried and true classics, and offer tips and techniques for making sex even better (ever try anal? hint: anal is always a good way to get beyond conventional erogenous zones). Please join us for a fun evening that’s all about re-imagining sex. Remember, at Tulip it’s no more deferral. Pleasure Now. |
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Pleasure World, Part II
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| Written by Dr. C | |||
| December 23,
2008 "We play in playgrounds without the rubber floors and soft edges. Most
prefer plastic over rusted metal jungle gyms where the paint peels off
when we grab with our little hands and decorate our palms with colorful
confetti. They can call it dirt and hurt our feelings but we won't care
when we press our hands against paper and step back to see beauty found
and transferred." --the dandy m. Some say that those of us who live in pleasure world are "immature." We wear that label as a badge of honor. We're all about rejecting the dominant script and writing our own script. We believe in promiscuous sociality. We love our "playground" and have no limits. It's easy to do what everyone else does. We refuse to. Pleasure world is not for the faint of heart, but for the brave. To reject the couple form, monogamy, to talk to strangers, to get outside of our privatized worlds, to get beyond institutions that regulate intimacy . . . this takes guts. |
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Pleasure World
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| Written by Dr. C | |||
| December 22,
2008 Below is one of our favorite quotes from Pat Califia's important essay collection, Public Sex. Califia is the Big Daddy of what we at Tulip call "pleasure world" (pleasure world being public spaces for sex and talk unfettered from traditional models of sociality, mainly marriage and monogamy; pleasure world is all about re-imagining the social beyond the couple form) "Monogamy has nothing to do with morality. If sexual exclusivity were an ethical issue, it would be an individual choice. Has anyone ever said to you, 'I'm monogamous, and my lover isn't, so be both do what we feel is right?' Of course not, because monogamy is about controlling the other person's behavior--social control, not self-control. I'm also sick and tired of that line about somebody's being too jealous to handle an open relationship. Monogamy does not assuage jealously. There is always something to be jealous about. If your lover doesn't sleep around, she has friends. Monogamy is for people who enjoy making accusations, feeling insecure, spying on their partners, and getting lots of cheap adrenaline rushes when they finally make up with them. If this is passion, give me bleeding ulcers." Tulip proudly carries all of Califia's books so come check them out. No more deferral. Pleasure Now. |
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Sexual Well Being at Tulip
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| Written by Dr. C and Holden C. | |||
| December 9,
2008 The Additionally, many of our vendors are stellar companies who provide more than just a quality product; they provide safe products which provide us with piece of mind. We take pride in supporting other small, woman and queer owned businesses. That means that when you buy a product from Tulip, you know you’re doing your part to support feminist and queer folks. Last, and most important, the Tulips represent a diverse background in sexuality, from sexual health to queer and gender studies: some of us are trained as sexual health advocates and some as queer theorists. The Tulip staff is compromised of both teachers and students, always hungry for knowledge and dialogue. We encourage your questions and insights! Unsure of how to safely use a product? Want more information on silicone toys? Looking to indulge a fantasy, and don’t know where to start? The Tulips are here to help, because we value, above all else, the sexual well-being of our customers. We believe that education and dialogue are central to making good sex and sociality possible for people of all genders and sexualities. We value adult conversation about sex. This is our promise.
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Why Marriage? Why Monogamy? Re-imagining the Social
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| Written by Dr. C | |||
| November 26,
2008 Why do we tend to couple up and live only with that person?
Queers who are interested in fostering other ways of being and belong that do
not involve the dominant life narrative of maturity, namely the couple form and
parenthood, feel a sense of defeat in the face of what Leo Bersani calls, “the
rage for respectability . . .in gay life today." Bersani’s
influential work on queer negativity, the ways in which sex is not future-bound
and redemptive but rather self-shattering and destructive has greatly
influenced queer scholarship. For example, Lee Edelman argues that
different subjective formations and socialities that counter heteronormativity
come out of the negativity of the death drive, which “names what the queer, in
the order of the social, is called forth to figure: the negativity opposed to
every form of social viability." Queers must embrace the negativity
that is ascribed to us, rejecting the disciplinary lesson of normalcy in the
name of "saving the children." The death drive is a cultural
and political fiction that we should identify with, for embracing the death
drive’s negativity enables one to reject the discourse of deferral in the name
of future generations. We can then reject, rather than acquiesce to, the
hetero-normative terms under which debates are set and public spaces for adults
are shut down. Also arguing for the socio-political potential of
negativity, Judith Halberstam challenges us to refuse dominant culture’s
narrative of maturity that upholds biological generational transmission and
instead imagine alternative life narratives that break this cycle. Dyke
subcultures, like drag king troupes and the Michigan Womyn’s Festival (albeit a
problematic space for its often times lack of acceptance for femmes, BDSM and
trans folks), become sites for developing queer temporalities and
counter-publics that break with the hetero timeline (i.e. the musicians and
folks at the festival refusing to grow up and act/dress age and gender
appropriate). The intimacies and counter-publics borne out of negative affects and acts disrupt the coherency of the dominant life narrative, showing us that we are clearly not married to only one way of being in the world. Queers have built communities and spaces around negative affects like shame for decades. Tim Dean argues, “the shattering of the civilized ego betokens not the end of sociality but rather its inception . . . the movement of coming together only to be plunged into an experience of the nonrelational represents the first step in Bersani’s account of relationality. The second, correlative step is to trace new forms of sociability, new ways of being together” (827). From the potential of the abject, for instance, to bring people together to form counter-publics for pleasure and coalition-building (Michael Warner, Douglas Crimp), we seem to find ourselves in theoretical/political slump borne of defeat in the face of the overwhelming triumph of pride over shame, the valorization of the respectfully private over the luridly public, and celebrations of lame monogamy over shameless promiscuity. It doesn't have to be this way. Things can be different. It's up to us to build more public spaces for sex and talk. |
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Tulip Workshop
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| Written by Dr. C | |||
| November 26,
2008 The Center on Halsted 3656 Chicago Come join us for a discussion of all sex toys naughty (and not so nice), perfect gifts for friends, lovers, or yourself. We’ll talk about “safe” gifts for the more demure, as well as gifts with some edge for the more adventurous. We’ll be sure to share our best values, along with some indulgent high-end products. |
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Get Literate: Selections from the Tulip Bookshelf
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| Written by Holden C. | |||
| November 25,
2008 I Am My Lover edited by Joani Blank This book is filled with photographs depicting average women engaging in the human body’s most primal act: masturbation. This Lambda Literary Award finalist provides humanity with what many construe as down right dirty. Combined with honest writings by the photographed subjects, the book depicts female sexuality in a brutally honest fashion, devoid of the sexy pretenses which often pepper discussions of women and the orgasm. After all, titillating or otherwise, we all deserve sexual pleasure. Suicide Girls edited by Missy Suicide Another photographic book depicting women who veer from the mainstream concept of what equates sexy, the reader is given an intimate look into the lives of women who publish pictures of themselves on the Suicide Girls website. Founded to provide an outlet for alternative women and their beauty (read: piercings, tattoos and fetish), photographs are accompanied by selections from the women’s blogs to provide an added touch of humanity to the oft objectified naked body. Exhibitionism never looked so good. XXX; 30 Porn-Stars Portraits by Timothy Greenfield-Sanders Providing raw portrayals of popular pornographic actors both clothed and unclothed, this coffee table book provides a face to those we often dehumanize. Sometimes looking more comfortable clothed, sometimes more so naked, the actors are posed identically in adjacent photographs with and without clothing. Most striking is the normalcy they often provide when clothed, appearing colloquial, common and unremarkable. Accompanying the photographs are writings and interviews with members of the pornographic industry, followed by candid biographies of the actors themselves. And as an added bonus, Tulip’s favorite actress, Belladonna, looks fierce in her spread. Urban Aboriginals: A Celebration of Leathersexuality by Geoff Mains Stunning portraits of sub-communities within the world of leather, Mains provides intimate accounts of everything from urination to fisting. Not for the faint of heart, graphic detail provides a poetic and metaphysical approach to recognition of sexual pleasure and wellbeing as explorative and holistic. Most importantly, the writings can be enjoyed regardless of one’s participation in the leather community; Ceremonies by Essex Hemphill Poetry from the prolific Hemphill is a true experience for those wishing to explore the intricacies of the gay experience in Lust; Bisexual Erotica by Marilyn Jaye Lewis Encompassing a myriad of sexualities and orientations, Lewis bridges good writing with good sex to provide erotica which is both well written and well read. Her accounts of salacious situations ranging from high-priced hookers to small-town sin are a joy to read. Finally, lube and literature can join hands in lustful oblivion. How to Make Love Like a Porn Star; A Cautionary Tale by Jenna Jameson with Neil Strauss Uncut, uncensored, and brutally honest, Jameson’s autobiography is a telling account of innocence lost, maturity found, and the crazy roller coaster in between. Complete with candid writing and revealing pictures, all 579 pages are a bit more than the reader cared to know. And that is the beauty of the book. No inhibitions, no pretenses, and no detail untold. Could you expect any less from the woman who has already bared her body for the people to see? And so much more! By no means does our selection stop here. We carry titles by the illustrious Marquis de Sade, the revolutionary Virginia Woolf, Playboy, Edmund White, and beyond. In addition, we care some Spanish-language titles for our Latino and |
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Halloween: Observations from the Tulip Storefront
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| Written by Holden C. | |||
| November 4,
2008
Cady, Linsey Lohan’s character in the fine cinematic masterpiece entitled Mean
Girls said it best: “Halloween is
the one night a year when girls can dress like a total slut and no other girls
can say anything about it.” Of course, here in Boystown, where lines of
gender are often blurred, Halloween can become a hodgepodge of ass-less
jockstraps, fierce drag queens, and in light of this political season, Sarah
Palin impersonators. Yes, there is something beautiful and mystifying about Halloween, when everybody has a chance to express their inner creativity and assume the character of just about anyone or anything (and look pretty darn sexy while doing it). From the jock-strapped cop who barred all which was legally allowed AND arrested every cute boy in sight, to the superhero duo whose glittered get-ups (and large bulges) turned heads, this year’s Halloween was, for lack of a better term, a hot mess. But amidst all the excitement and fun, I couldn’t help but ask: why must we wait 364 days every year for one night of wild make-believe? What is so very dangerous about expressing our inner desires and confidence on a regular basis? After all, style icon Marc Jacobs now wears skirts regularly (and has managed to retain his boyfriend in the process). More often than not, Halloween is sexy: a time when we let our hair down and explore our wildest fantasies. Hot cops, tantalizing nurses, and luscious divas all come out to play in a wild city-wide party. We become confident, assertive, and adventurous in our sexual pursuits, social interconnectivity, and mere identity development. From an outsider’s perspective, which I held this year while working at Tulip, it truly is a beautiful thing. Now, dear reader, you may be asking what all of this has to do with Tulip and sex toys? The answer, of course, is EVERYTHING. We, at Tulip, are dedicated to creating a sexier, more confident you. We carry the adventure, the confidence, and safety you need to explore ways in which you can make your life in the bedroom less average, and more “Halloween”, every day. It’s about empowerment, baby! Check below for just a few ideas of how Tulip can help you express your inner wild-side during the 364 other days of the year!
-Porn: our extensive and unique porn collection carries high quality movies
with adventurous actors and actresses. Not sure where to start? Try
one of our titles starring Belladonna (that girl can WORK IT!). |
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Word Play: The Linguistics of Sexuality
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| Written by Holden C. | |||
| October 27,
2008 Word Play: The Linguistics of Sexuality |
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From Painful to Pleasurable: How to Maximize Enjoyment and Safety During Anal Play
|
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| Written by Holden C. | |||
| October 27,
2008 Today, as our social capacity to discuss sex and pleasure is
expanding beyond what it used to be. After all, this is not your
grandma's generation. While we still have a long way to go, important
discussions on sex are evolving to include maximized pleasure in ways once seen
as taboo. At the forefront of the sexual revolution circa 2008 is the
discovery of the anus; that erotic pleasure center filled with sensitive nerve
endings so easily forgotten amongst negative myths and stereotypes. Anal
play can be an immensely stimulating activity which can maximize orgasm,
compliment other types of play, or even provide for new and exciting
possibilities experienced individuals never knew existed. Unfortunately,
however, if done incorrectly and without the proper precautions, it can become
a painful and physically harmful activity. Below, I've included some of
the best tips and tricks for everyone, beginner or advanced player, male or
female, top or bottom, to allow for anal stimulation and sex to become the next
greatest thing which ever happened in your bedroom (or bathroom stall, or
kitchen, or stairwell, or cubicle?). Looking for more? A selection
from Tulip's fabulous bookshelf is included at the end of this post. |
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Tulip Workshops at the GLBT Center on Halsted
|
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| Written by Dr. C | |||
| October 14,
2008 November: Friday, 11/14 6:00 Confident in the Skin I'm In: Dress for Success There is a spectrum of gender expressions, unfettered from traditional definitions of "male" and "female." This workshop starts from and celebrates this premise. Come for a discussion--in a safe and accepting space-- about the many ways in which transfolks can be their gorgeous selves in the world with confidence. Confidence comes out of self love and acceptance, and makes everything else possible. We'll discuss strategies for ways to bring your whole self into different kinds of spaces, from the workplace to the classroom to social events. Being out in the world with pride and confidence--not having to suppress different parts of yourself--only contributes to the larger project of what Leslie Feinberg has proclaimed as trans-liberation. Tulip workshops . . ."we're way beyond relax and use lube" Is it possible to know too much about sex, desire, fantasy, pleasure? Tulip doesn't think so and this is why we have designed a series of workshops that will help you grow sexually as you learn new techniques, gain sexual confidence, and participate in classes in an atmosphere that is safe, controlled, open and accepting. We believe that education, especially sex education, is the central key in helping people of all genders and sexualities have good sex. Our workshops will help you ask for what you want. We don't think people should compromise on their desire and pleasure. We believe in Pleasure Now! No more deferral. Our workshop topics include: Sex Toys, Hot Safe Sex, Anal Sex (intro and advanced), Negotiating Open Relationships, BDSM (intro and advanced), Strap-On Sex, Threesomes, Empowering Sex Lives for Survivors, Oral Sex, G-Spot, and Porn (intro and advanced). |
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A Review of the Rosebud:
One of the newest vibrators now available at Tulip! |
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| Written by Miranda | |||
| October 14,
2008 I couldn't stop touching this unbelievably soft, silky silicone toy when I first got it. I usually steer clear of dual action vibrators, because the round-and-round motion of the shaft kind of scares me. But I just might be a convert: I love this toy! It's so versatile, it can produce both really strong vibrations and really delicate ones as well. Especially when I first started using the toy, direct clitoral contact was a little bit too intense, because I'm super sensitive. I discovered that the shaft still receives vibrations that were light enough for clitoral stimulation in the beginning.The toy itself provides so many options for intensity of vibration, like the fluttery yet still forceful antennae or the direct, strong contact with the butterfly. Once you insert it, the combined clitoral-vaginal action is fantastic and not something I often experience easily without a partner. My only complaint is that the circular action doesn't hit the G-Spot as hard as I would like it to and sometimes became repetitive. But changing up the speed of rotation turned out to be a good way to deal with this. Overall, the dual action, as well as the many options for contact make for a good way to take your sexuality into your own hands--literally. Ready for your own encounter with the Rosebud? Find it here. |
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Review of Burlesque, Fetish, and the Art of the Teese
by Dita Von Teese |
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| Written by Vicky Sin | |||
| October 14,
2008 I am an aspiring Burlesque dancer. That’s right. Wipe that
drool from your mouth. Why am I only aspiring and not shouting my new found
passion from the rooftops yet, you ask? |
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Britain's oldest virgin turns 105 today!
|
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| Written by K. Bust | |||
| October 11,
2008 If there needed to be a Tulip Toy Gallery in Britain, NOW is the time to have one: Britain's oldest virgin turns 105 today! Clara Meadmore was born in 1903 and since the age of 12, felt that she would live a celibate life. She never married nor had a boyfriend and feels that relationships are a waste of time and a hassle. Friends are much easier to maintain and they keep her going, "When I was a girl you only had sex with your husband-and I never married (Daily Mail)." She was born in Glasgow and remembers the outbreak of World War One and was only 8 when the Titanic sank. Growing up, her family moved from Scotland to Egypt, to Canada and finally to New Zealand. When she was in her 20s, Meadmore left for Britain by herself and from then on was completely independent, "I grew up in an era where little girls were to be seen and not heard so I had to learn to stand up for myself and earn my own living. Some men don't like that in a woman and before long I was too old to marry anyway (Daily Mail)." She says that having no sex and no husband to keep her down helped her live a long happy life. Minus the husband part, I'm just not sure about that no sex = long life business. If that's the key to keep me livin' to 105 , I'd rather die tomorrow having the best sex of my LIFE, thank you very much! |
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“Back to Basics: Simple Tips to Improve Your Lackluster Sex Life”
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| Written by Holden C. | |||
| October 5,
2008 I get asked a lot of sex questions... I’m not entirely sure why, but I
assume it has something to do with bizarre social constructs involving sex
store workers as being sexperts. [Note the sarcasm and empathy].
But what is fact, is that we talk about sex a lot, and have read about
sex a lot (check out our book suggestions below). But when I do give
advice, customers seem upset. They were looking for a little golden nugget
of wisdom to spontaneously make their orgasms stronger, have their partner moan
louder, or somehow expand their berth of sexual techniques to appease anyone
and everyone. But the sad reality is, everyone’s different, and what may
drive one person wild may not work on another. So below, I’ve included my
best tips and tricks, the ones which get the best reviews and results, and hope
that you might expand your experience greatly. Unfortunately, I can’t
simply tell you to “lick there, place your hand here, and chant this mantra and
watch a magical orgasm occur”, but instead I can push you in the right
direction with some practical and realistic advice. Enjoy, and best of
luck!
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Safer Sex Makes Me Hot...
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| Written by Holden C. | |||
| September 26,
2008 As a sexual health educator for over two years, I’ve become
very well acquainted with the condom. I’ve rolled them down plastic penis
models, shot them across classrooms, licked them, put them over my head, handed
them out as party favors, and always had one handy to give to a friend in need.
They’re like a good trusty friend to me, someone I can always count on to
spice up a party (or workshop for that matter). But unfortunately, the
condom is not everyone’s best friend. New infections of HIV are rising to
levels we haven’t seen since the early to mid nineties. More worrisome,
the most vulnerable and at risk population, men-who-have-sex with men between
the ages of 13-24, are seeing the greatest rise. As a young gay boy these
are not just numbers to me; they are my best friends, my (ex)boyfriends, my
peers. So lets get real Below are some of the fabulous condoms we sell at Tulip: |
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Jett Rockit's Big Gay Quotes, Part II
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| Written by Jett Rockit | |||
| September 15,
2008 "You could move." ~Abigail Van Buren, "Dear Abby," in response to a reader who complained that a gay couple was moving in across the street and wanted to know what he could do to improve the quality of the neighborhood. "The next time someone asks you, 'Hey, howdja get to be a homosexual anyway?' tell them, 'Homosexuals are chosen first on talent, then interview... then the swimsuit and evening gown competition pretty much gets rid of the rest of them." ~Karen Williams "What do you mean, you 'Don't believe in homosexuality'? It's not like the Easter Bunny; your belief isn't necessary." ~Lea DeLaria "The minute I tell you I'm a dyke and you're like, 'If you're a lesbian, and we were laughing at you, does that. . . ' Just let me reassure you, yes, that makes you gay." ~Elvira Kurt "Straight Americans need... an education of the heart and soul. They must understand - to begin with - how it can feel to spend years denying your own deepest truths, to sit silently through classes, meals, and church services while people you love toss off remarks that brutalize your soul." ~Bruce Bawer |
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Top Ten Terms for Female Masturbation!
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| Written by K. Bust | |||
| September 13,
2008 In no particular order, I, K. Bust, would like to present to you my top ten terms for female masturbation: Drum roll, please... 10. Playing the clitar 9. Checking for squirrels (File this under WTF?!) 8. Dialin' your rotary phone 7. Erasing your problems away 6. Lady diddles 5. Tip toe through the two lips 4. Fucking without complications (SOOO true.) 3. Producing whore moans (HORmones, get it? I LOVE it!) 2. Give a noogie to your monkey 1. Looking for Waldo and his dog (Gee, Spot, there you are!) When you've found the description that suits you to a 'T', let us at Tulip help you decide on that delicious vibrator that does the same! I would recommend the Rosebud vibe (the best clit stimulation you can get, in my opinion), the Eva, or the Paul and Paulina Fun Factory Vibe. |
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BDSM IS a Feminist Practice
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| Written by Dolores Haze | |||
| August 21,
2008 The
assertion that BDSM is a reproduction of existing power relations is
fundamentally flawed. Inevitably it involves the eroticization of both
power and strategic relations, but it stands in stark contrast to expressions
of social and political power. The latter are "...stabilized through
institutions, [so]...the mobility in power relations is limited...the strategic
relations of people are [more] rigid," (Foucault 169) internalized, and
implicit. Incidentally, the eroticization of strategic relations is not a recent phenomenon: "In this heterosexual life, [normative methods of courtships and romance] come before sex...in order to obtain sex...in S&M those strategic relations are inside sex..." (Foucault 170) In our patriarchal system, the phallus is focalized and placed in a position of privilege, in which, indeed, the ultimate goal of normative heterosexual sex is male ejaculation. "Thus, practices such as fisting challenge and destroy the erotic [predominance] of the penis." (Invaginations of the Revolution: Binary, Dichotomy, feminiSM) CBT (cock and ball torture) also serves to reconstitute the penis and testes as sites of vulnerability and sensitivity "...to be exploited, instead of [locuses] of social power and domination." (Invaginations of the Revolution: Binary, Dichotomy, feminiSM) In this way, S&M is a distinctly feminist practice, dismantling the primacy of the phallus as the central erotic object through its manipulation and exploitation, and the recognition of the whole body as a site for pleasure. For sexy, insight writings on BDSM, check out Pat(rick) VCalifia's Public Sex: Essays, Speaking Sex to Power: Essays, and Boy in the MIddle: Erotic Stories. Tulip also feautres gorgeous, handmade floggers and whips from Chicago Toolworks. Work it out!
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Greetings From the Top: A very quick look at topping from a newly discovered dominant
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| Written by Alexandra | |||
| August 21,
2008 Does your idea of foreplay include... blindfolding your partner so that they are entirely unable to see when and where your next touch will be? dripping, or perhaps ever pouring, scorching candle wax onto their unsuspecting flesh? handcuffing them to the bed, or better yet, tying their hands behind their back, eliminating their ability to push you away? During sex, do you find yourself... giving your partner's ass a good spanking or dig and drag your nails into and across their back? with a wonderful chunk of their hair in your clenched fist, yanking their head whichever way you decide they should be looking? pronouncing what you're going to do to them and calling them things that would make you think twice before kissing your mother again? If you answered yes to any or all of these questions, chances are that you've got a little dominant in you that's just dying to be unleashed. Many people hear the four magical letters, BDSM ( an abbreviation for bondage and discipline/domination and submission/sadism and masochism)and begin to shudder in fear as horrifying images of a man down on all fours, donning a saddle, braying louder and louder until his trainer feeds him another carrot or an abnormally large woman dressed head-to-toe in leather, smug and smiling, stomping on a defenseless pair of testicles begin to flood their minds... Relax. While Pony Play and Cock and Ball Torture are both major facets of the BDSM culture, your own play can be as intense and unusual as the comfort levels of you and your consenting partner will allow. It all depends on discovering just exactly what sensations, roles, and other wonderful kinks you find pleasurable. Not to mention, a partner whom you trust and feel comfortable with that has little or no qualms about indulging your previously unspeakable fantasies and desires. In fact, you may find that BDSM play can be extremely therapeutic, exorcising demons of the past through reenactment. It can also help to balance out one's conditioned and automatic thoughts and responses to themselves and others throughout day-to-day existence. Just in the few months that I've become increasingly exposed to my inclination toward topping, I see my overall disposition and self-awareness shifting, always more positively. I walk a little taller, feel much more comfortable in my body, and can better own my power and sexuality as a woman. In "real-world" situations where I would often become very passive, submissive, apologize frequently and comply with any suggestion of superiority in another individual, I am now saying sorry less, agreeing less, compromising less, regaining my autonomy and getting back in touch with my own feelings and determinations . It's a fascinating phenomenon. Whether you intend to use your first BDSM session as a means of catharsis, or are just curious as to how a long, heavy, leather flogger would feel in your enclosed palm as you stood above your awaiting partner... Tulip has got you covered! We carry a very large selection of devices: blindfolds; ropes, in softer or rough; wrist and ankle restraints, collars and leashes, all crafted by Aslan Leather; our own reusable, self-sticking bondage tape; nipple clamps; ball gags; spreader bars; canes, wood and metal; riding crops; paddles, in a number of shapes and sizes; luxe steel cock rings; and let's not forget our collection of floggers. Some are plastic and one leaves a wonderfully glowing red tire tread on the inflicted flesh. My favorite floggers are custom made right here in Chicago by Chicago Tool Works. No two floggers are exactly the same but all are beautifully crafted works of art. Some highly recommended book titles for the individual or couple that is just entering the wonderful realm of BDSM are SM101 by Jay Wiseman, a go-to-guide for the fundamentals of BDSM and a must for every savvy top; Bondage On a Budget edited by Alison Tyler, a collection of stories that will tantalize and teach, arranged alphabetically by object; Sex Tips From a Dominatrix by Patricia Payne, another awesome introduction book full of helpful tips; finally, She's On Top and He's On Top, both edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel are both collections of erotic short stories featuring female and male dominance, respectively. If it's visual stimulation you prefer, be sure to pick up a copy of Fashionistas, a four-disc Evil Empire production, featuring porn superstars Rocco Siffredi and Belladonna. This gem boasts scene upon steamy scene covering a multitude of fetishes; undoubtedly some you wouldn't have previously imagined getting a thrill out of... Have an exquisitely tortured time everyone! XOXO Alexandra |
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Tulip Review: The Bella Pack-and-Play, for those who like to show off
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| Written by T Boi | |||
| August 21,
2008 I put the Vamp Silicone pack-and-play, the Bella, to the
test! The Bella can be a bit too large to always wear around in public. It
looked like I had a hard on, but if that is what you want then go for it! It’s
fun to show off. I slapped that bad boy
in my jock strap and hit the bath house. It’s totally great to pack and
then slap a condom on and do some bathhouse fucking! It held up
great. No problems whatsoever. I got a great compliment on it.
The guy said it felt much more real then the average dildo because it is very
soft yet firm which gives it a more realistic feel. Although you can't necessarily
pound someone like there’s no tomorrow with it, if you’re creative with good
hip movement you’ll be fine. I give it 5 Xs!!! XXXXX
Great silicone packy. Good for play, not
for all day use, unless you want to show off this big daddy . . . |
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Tulip Review: BuckBack Mountain starring Buck Angel (Tulip loves Buck!)
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| Written by T Boi | |||
| August 21,
2008 Let me start by saying this is the best film yet
by Buck Angel, the “man with a vagina.” It was totally plotted out!
It was like watching a good movie and the acting was amazing. This porn was
obviously inspired by the now classic queer film, Buck was at his best in this film. Without getting into too much detail (you can check it out yourself), I can tell you up on Buckback Mountain, there are some HOT ASS men! For the first time a hot guy with a HUGE cock took charge of Buck and dick slapped him: it was one of the hottest fuck scenes I have ever seen. The movie also had a soft side to it, kind of a romance element (it is channeling Brokeback Mountain, afterall). Hard to explain, but it was hot. The balance of dick slapping and cowboy lovin worked. This movie would be great for people of any sexuality or gender to watch alone, with a partner, or with a group for a hot night of porn and sex. I recommend having dinner, some foreplay action and then throw Buckback on and let the fun begin. Keep it playing for visuals during sex (it's always fun having Buck Angel in the bedroom with you). This is my all time favorite porn ever: Mr. Angel, one hot trans guy having hot sex. Perfect. |
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Tulip Loves, Part 2
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| Written by Cole | |||
| August 20,
2008 1. Gigi rechargeable vibe Plus,
these are beads that double as an anal plug. Oh Liberachi: you're an anal beads
and anal plug love child. 5. Tulip Body Candles If you want to explore with blindfolding you partner and
playing with warm candle wax, these don't burn hot and you can have
the added dynamic of giving them a massage because the wax is made of soy and
turns into massage oil. They smell great: lemon, raspberry and vanilla
and come with gorgeous BDSM art work on the lid. Girl/girl, boy/girl, boy/boy, girl/girl/girl whatever
you’re into we have the art. Sex+Art=Tulip. |
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Tulip Loves, Part 1
|
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| Written by Dr. C | |||
| August 20,
2008 1. The
Wilde has a great angle for p-spot stimulation; inside *Try Hydra Smooth Lube: nice and thick water-based lube for anal that lasts and lasts; not sticky or runny, moisturizing, 2. Spareparts Harness- sexy, comfortable, and accommodates all
different shapes and sizes 7. Beginner’s Anal
Sex Kit
Frissome cooling gel feels soothing on the ass before and
after sex. Tristan Taormino’s Guide to Anal Sex for Women OR The Ultimate Guide to Anal Sex for Men OR Anal Pleasure and Health (more gender neutral) Tristan Taormino’s Expert’s Guide to Anal Sex (DVD) or T.T.’s House of Ass (DVD) For more advanced folks—any Belladonna porn will do; she’s the queen of the anal Olympics Layaspot or silver bullet: the clit stimulation is soothing and pleasurable for women during anal For you girly girls and boys—the Pink Fantasy Vibrating anal plug (for beginners, the vibe relaxes the area nicely) Rock Hudson anal plug 1 or 2 Pandora vibrating prostate massager (soft silicone and also good for women because it taps the back of the vaginal wall and you'll still get g-spot stimulation) New Fun Factory booty plug Slip one or two soapy fingers back there while in the shower to clean and relax the area. Have a few drinks (just a few . . .we don’t want anyone numb back there). 8. Gorgeous Flogger w/ cooling gel (especially our new frissome gel) Our handmade Chicago Toolworks floggers are works of art and you can hang them like art in your home (doubles as a
toy/art). The round end of the silver
door knob flogger can also be used as a dildo. Fun Factory's frissome cooling gel or Kama Sutra cool mint cream feel
great on the ass and back after a flogging/spanking /whipping session. Pat(rick) Califia’s smart, funny, and sexy essay
collections about BDSM and gender queer politics: Public Sex, Speaking Sex to
Power, and Boy in the Middle (erotic short stories) go well with any BDSM gear. 9. Any Belladonna
porn Belladonna is joyous about sex. She is omnivorous with excellent sexual
energy and even if they’re all faking it, it seems as if she and her ladies
always orgasm intensely. Her titles feature a breathtaking range of sex acts—BDSM,
strap-on, oral, lots of anal, with toys, no toys, tongues, fingers, hands,
toes. It’s always a spitting, slapping,
whipping, ass fucking, hair-pulling good time. She directs many
of her titles and has her own production company which contributes money to
programs for sex worker’s rights. Bella is not for the faint of heart so be warned. She's un-PC which makes it so hot. 10. Spareparts harness
with Vixskin dildo |
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New Dildoes: The Anatomical Superstars, Talula and Elvis
|
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| Written by Dr. C | |||
| August 20,
2008 Tired of floppy dildoes that just don't hit that g-spot? Tulip is over all of that flip-flopping, guessing, poking, prodding kind of sex. We're the only store that carries the revolutionary Talula (in small, medium, and large for size queens). The Talula is an anatomical superstar (even a penis can't get that erect) and hits the g-spot (or p-spot; that lovely anal prostate massage, boys) every time. The Talula was designed to be worn in another revolutionary product, the Spare Parts harness: no more o rings, sizing drama, pinching, etc. Any dildo fits perfectly in the Spare Parts and it's sexy yet totally comfortable. You can throw it in the washing machine (cold delicate), and it gives your ass a great lift. Size A fits up to a 54-inch waist and size B is 54 inches and higher. It fits all of my lady friends, regardless of body type. So if you own a Spare Parts, it will only encourage you to get out there and meet lots of folks. It's truly a queer harness: think multiple partners. Talula comes in several colors in both regular and soft skin silicone. The Elvis is also an anatomical superstar (g-spot perfection) and is designed for the Spare Parts harness. Its lovely balls are meant to be worn outside of the harness (fun to bounce off of, bottoms). And tops, you know you want a big ole pair. Elvis comes in black or pink and in soft skin silicone. Ladies, remember that you can access the g-spot through anal sex: Elvis and Talula are designed to tap the back of the vaingal wall and hit the g-spot every time. They're perfect for all positions. Embrace anal. Chill out, pour some wine, stimulate that clit, get a good spanking and ass massage, and use lots of lube (check out Sassy, Sliquid's safe, female-friendly water-based booty lube). Reimagine your body and get beyond conventional erogenous zones with some good ass sex. Take it from a big nelly bottom like me: there's nothing as hot and dirty (in a good way; productive, sexy shame!) as being down on all fours, expect maybe being down on all fours with the Elvis up your ass. Enjoy. |
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Tulip Review: Sex Toys 101
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| Written by Cole | |||
| August 20,
2008 Even someone who can't wait to jump into the world of sex toys can be intimidated be the number of choices out there. Rachel Venning and Claire Cavanah have created Sex Toys 101 for just those people. This clear, informative, and "playfully uninhibited guide" introduces just about every category of sex toy out there. Whether you're considering your first vibrator or want to expand your sex toy knowledge, Sex Toys 101 has what you need. |
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Tulip Review: Xana and Dax, Damon and Hunter, Crash Pad
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| Written by Cole | |||
| August 20,
2008
Comstock Films claims that its films are feature "real people, real life, real sex". Two of their films, Xana and Dax: When Opposites Attract and Damon and Hunter: Doing it Together, feature real-life porn star couples. The result is that we get to see people who obviously turn each other on get it on, but at the same time they are talented enough to put on a good show.
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The Way to Be is Lucy B
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| Written by K. Bust | |||
| August 19,
2008 Lucy B is an outstanding company specializing in pin-up couture and retro-inspired
lingerie that is TO DIE FOR. |
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Jett Rockit's Big Gay Quotes:
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| Written by Jett Rockit | |||
| August 19,
2008 "Why can't they
have gay people in the army? Personally, I think they are just afraid
of a thousand guys with M16s going, 'Who'd you call a faggot?'" --Jon
Stewart "Homosexuality is regarded as shameful by barbarians and by those who live under despotic governments just as philosophy is regarded as shameful by them, because it is apparently not in the interest of such rulers to have great ideas engendered in their subjects, or powerful friendships or passionate love-all of which homosexuality is particularly apt to produce." Plato Pronouns make it hard to keep our sexual orientation a secret when our co-workers ask us about our weekend. "I had a great time with... them." Great! Now they don't think you're queer - just a big slut! "--Judy Carter "I can't help looking gay. I put on a dress and people say, 'Who's the dyke in the dress?'"--Karen Ripley |
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Tulip Thinks Bend-Over-Boyfriends Are Sexy
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| Written by Karen Walker | |||
| July 31,
2008 Strap-ons are not just for girl-on-girl action anymore. More
and more heterosexual couples are indulging in harness sex. This involves the
woman wearing the dildo while the man is on the receiving end. The sexual act
is called pegging or bend-over-boyfriend (we love BOBs!). The prostate is the
male G-spot and through stimulation via anal penetration the guy can achieve a
mind-blowing orgasm that he didn’t even know was possible. For the woman top,
she can experience a whole new sexual perspective as she makes her boy bottom, completely at her mercy, moan and groan. Get beyond convnetional erogenous zones and learn how
to reinvent the body as a surface of multiple sources of pleasure. Stop into one of our stores and ask one of our Tulips for
some advice and pick up your naughty supplies. I recommend the Spareparts
harness, Tallulah dildo (it comes in 3 sizes and is even more erect than actual
penis; lots of juicy p-spot penetration with this one), a thick, water-based
lube of your choice (we like Hydra Smooth), Bend Over Boyfriend, Bend Over Boyfriend
2, and the Strap-Attack! series (for your viewing pleasures). If you’re in the mood for a little reading, pick up The
Adventurous Couples’ Guide to Strap-On Sex by Violet Blue. It’s a quick read on
everything you want to know from how to ask for it to fun things to do while
fucking him. It even includes some erotic stories to get your mind full of
naughty thoughts. Some other reading suggestions include: She’s On Top: Erotic
Stories of Female Dominance edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel, My Girlfriend Comes
to the City to Beat Me Up by Stephen Elliot, Boy in the Middle: Erotic Fiction and
Public Sex: Essays by Patrick Califia. Happy Pegging! KW |
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Tulip's "This is Not a Salon" Series
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| Written by Dr. C | |||
| July 31,
2008 Tulip's First "This is Not a Salon" Series Some titles to check out: "Sex in Public" by Lauren Berlant and Michael Warner |
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Latex Clothing Now At Tulip: We're not that vanilla store
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| Written by Dr. C | |||
| July 22,
2008 Dressing fetish goddesses like Dita von Teese, Vex is Chicago and the
world's premiere latex clothing designer. Go beyond the boudoir and
wear Vex to restaurants, bars, clubs, parties, to the theater . . .just
because most people under dress doesn't mean that you have to. Be
original. Wear latex in public. Work it out, sexy. |
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New Books at Tulip: Queer and Gender Studies
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| Written by Dr. C | |||
| July 18,
2008 New Books at Tulip The Letters of Vita
Sackville-West and Viginia Woolf 120 Days of Sodom and Juliette by Marquis de Sade |
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Tulip’s "This is Not a Salon" Series
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| Written by Dr. C | |||
| July 18,
2008 Tulip's
First "This is Not a Salon" Series: In the spirit of Anais Nin, Collette, Djuna Barnes, Gertrude Stein, Oscar Wilde . . . Saturday, June 21 8:00 pm, Tulip Lakeview Part 1: Minor/Nonstandard Intimacies "Making a queer world has required the development of kinds of intimacy that bear no necessary relation to domestic space, to kinship, to the couple form, to property, or to the nation. These intimacies do bear a necessary relation to a counter-public . . . . Nonstandard intimacies would seem less criminal and less fleeting if, as used to be the case, normal intimacies included everything from consorts to courtiers, friends, amours, and co-conspirators." Lauren Berlant and Michael Warner, "Sex in Public" What
happens when the monogamous couple form is no longer the privileged site of
social and erotic organization? What minor/depersonalized/nonstandard
intimacies can emerge? How can we build and sustain (queer) counter-publics in
the wake of queer assimilation (e.g. gay marriage)? Whether we experience
it as a lack (younger generations) or a loss (older generations) how can we
create for ourselves—in the spirit of the sexual subcultures of the
1970s—spaces for sex and talk (ex. old Join us at Tulip Lakeview for conversation and
booze (of course). Feel free to bring any art or writing that speaks to
the topic. Some titles to check out: "Sex
in Public" by Lauren Berlant and Michael Warner |
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New to Tulip and Chicago: Toys from Sin Five
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| Written by Dr. C | |||
| July 18,
2008 Tulip
is the only sex store in 1. Sin Five Alterno 100% Medical-Grade Silicone Anal Beads These anal beads are for the pros and provide contrast and variety in their various shapes and sizes, leading to a demanding and intense form of stimulation. Courage and experimentation are well-rewarded with this baby. 17.7" length and available in red. 2. New Sin Five Vibes: 100% Medical-Grade Elastomer The Insigno Vibe The
motif of the feur-de-lis on this sleek new vibe is not only a symbol of the
kings in 17th century The Vuali Vibe A complement to the intensity of its vibration, the truly thrilling feature of this vibe is its imaginative design: repeated penetration with the curved form makes the senses swoon while gently turning on insertion accentuates the ribbed design for an even more lusty experience. Vibes are 8.2'' and require two AA batteriesIMPORTANT: Both vibes are made of medical-grade Theroplastic Elastomer (TPE), which is body-safe, odorless, smooth, easy-to-clean, does not attract dust or lint and even recyclable (finally a toy good for the environment). Each vibrator has 5 speed levels, 2 pulse patterns and one shuffle pattern sequence. The motors and materials are such high quality, every toy has a 5 YEAR WARRANTY, which is longer than any other adult toy on the market. All toys are quiet and completely waterproof. Safe to use withal lubricants (water-based and silicone). |
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New Art at Tulip Lakeview
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| Written by Dr. C | |||
| July 18,
2008 New Art Coming to Tulip Lakeview We're thrilled to feature the work of local artists Torie McMillan and Michelle Lee this summer at Tulip Lakview. Torie McMillan (June/July)-photography McMillan moved to Chicago from Houston two years ago. Photography and painting are her main mediums. Currently, her focus is on the queer community, with a special emphasis on women. She is a self-taught, independent artist. During the next few years, she will either attend a university or travel while participating in artists' residencies. While in Chicago and during her stay in any city, she will collect images of queer individuals . Her goal is to capture the diversity of GLBT communities and counter-publics. As a queer artist, she wishes to challenge stereotypes while creating a source of imagery that helps to build and reinforce a sense of belonging and community.GLBT folks are encouraged to contact Torie if interested in posing for art projects: toriemcmillan@hotmail.com McMilllan's opening at Tulip Lakeview is Saturday, June 21 at 8:00 pm. Michelle Lee (August/September) Babydoll Series, oil on canvas A graduate of the School of the Art Institute, Lee displayed her Mail Order Bride
Series at Tulip Andersonville last spring/summer and we're honored to have her
back. Inspired by Djuna Barnes's novel Nightwood (1936), this series promises
to be haunting and bold yet with Lee's always cool, minimalist aesthetic.
Engaging the provocative ending of Barnes' novel, "Robin, a Dog, and Baby
Doll" dares the viewer to join Robin (the heroine of Nightwood) down on
all fours in a sea of blackness. In this space of nothingness, what can
we build? How can we reimagine the world--socially, erotically---once all
heirarchies have been leveled? This painting is also inspired by Cat Power's
Baby Doll. |
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WORKSHOPS - we're way beyond relax and use lube
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| Written by Dr. C | |||
| July 8,
2008 Beginning August
08, Tulip will hold workshops at the award-winning GLBT Center on Halsted
located at 3656
N. Halsted Street in Chicago, IL. We are proud to participate in the Center's
Fall workshop/lecture series on sexuality. More information will be posted
soon.
Is it possible to know too much about sex, desire, fantasy, pleasure? Tulip doesn't think so and this is why we have designed a series of workshops that will help you grow sexually as you learn new techniques, gain sexual confidence, and participate in classes in an atmosphere that is safe, controlled, open and accepting. We believe that education, especially sex education, is the central key in helping people of all genders and sexualities have good sex. Our workshops will help you ask for what you want. We don't think people should compromise on their desire and pleasure. We believe in Pleasure Now! No more deferral. Our workshop topics include: Sex Toys, Hot Safe Sex, Anal Sex (intro and advanced), Negotiating Open Relationships, BDSM (intro and advanced), Strap-On Sex, Threesomes, Empowering Sex Lives for Survivors, Oral Sex, G-Spot, and Porn (intro and advanced). |
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1. Talula: The anatomical superstar! 2. P-Style: Pee standing up in style. 3. Elvis: By Vamp: Anatomical superstar with balls! 4. Bella Packy: 100% platinum-silicone packy! 5. Lelo Elise: Sculptural simplicity and tactile. 6. We-Vibe: Hands free, strap free and wireless. 7. Vamp Silicone Carina: Largest 100% Silicone dildo you can buy! |
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