“Write about ‘the gays,’” Brendan says, so I will write about the gays.

It came to me while I was sitting on the toilet today that all this talk of a “great homosexual conspiracy” which will destroy the fabric of our society is, in fact, complete hogwash. Indeed, I realized, as I rummaged for the toilet paper, which had fallen behind the hot water heater again, “the gays” (and lesbians) may in fact SAVE AMERICA. And possibly the world. Or at least the economy, and the children. Most of this applies to wealthier members of the “gay conspiracy,” not “the gays” in general, but I think you get my drift.

See, here’s the thing about many gay couples, especially in my former base of San Francisco. Many of them tend to be upwardly mobile, well heeled people who want to live in nice neighborhoods. Nice neighborhoods have high property taxes. High property taxes pay for schools along with other cool things like fire trucks. These couples also want to have safe, pleasant places to live with clean streets. And they want to be able to visit safe, pleasant places as well, meaning that they invest time and energy in making their cities clean and awesome to be in.

Some couples also have a lot of disposable income, since they aren’t, you know, raising children. While sensible people save and invest, it is possible to have one’s cake and eat it, too, pumping money into a tired economy. Numerous luxury companies make products which are aimed at the gay community with this very thought in mind. Since many couples also embrace liberal ideals like “buy local,” they spend this money in local stores, rejuvenating the local economy and paying hefty sales tax. This is good for the community in general, not just a single well heeled neighborhood.

Indeed, these aforementioned liberal ideals are important. All that disposable income often goes to support progressive causes, and gay couples don’t spend all their time lobbying for gay marriage and gloryholes on every street corner. They also write their representatives about issues like global warming, lobby for the abolishment of child labor, and participate in community cleanup days. Environmental stewardship isn’t limited to heteros, and neither is caring about children, animals, and the evils of capitalism. They also do things like becoming lawyers, senators, chefs, artists, and everything else in between.

They also adopt unwanted children! When our facist state lets them. This sort of dismisses the Christian idea that being gay is not ok because you don’t have children. After all, I know plenty of het couples without kids, and I don’t see them being picketed when they try to live their lives. Sometimes they also adopt pets, which is a pretty excellent thing in a country which kills millions of cats and dogs every year because no one wants them. And, of course, a lot of those children are the unwanted castings of good Christian girls who couldn’t bear the thought of destroying a precious little fetus.

Also, everyone knows that the gays design the best sex toys, which I think would argue for general societal improvement.

I am constantly amazed by the fact that I live in a society where people seriously think that the sexuality of other people is their business. Many of the same points above apply, of course, to heterosexual couples, which suggests that sexual orientation has less to do with how you behave in society than other things, like personal ethics and values. I’m not quite sure why people get so worked up about “the gays” and their dastardly doings, when they could be doing more important things like volunteering at the library, watering the garden, and soliciting gay prostitutes while they lead major churches. Live and let live, I say!

According to this earth shattering study, sexualisation in culture is harmful for young women. Released under the auspices of the American Psychological Association, the study claims that sexual images in film, advertisements, video games, and other media are harming girls. I really cannot imagine where they get this impression.

As my readers know, I am not a terribly prudish person, and it takes a fair amount to offend me, sexually. But even I have been disturbed by the recent trend of dressing young girls like streetwalkers. Not just underage girls, like 14-17 years old, although I find that a bit unnerving, but really, really young girls: the other day, I saw an eight year old dressed in clothing I wouldn’t be caught dead in…right along with her slutty mommy figure.

Now, there’s nothing wrong with being a slut, or with having open sexual practices. But I think this is something that could be more appropriately explored at an older age. I am uncomfortable with the sexualisation of young girls because to me, they’re just that: young girls. Yes, there was an era in human history when very young women were married to older men, raising families, and running households…but I don’t think that needs to be the case today. Most young humans are not at a stage of development where sexual activity is appropriate when they are eight, or nine, or ten…and it is especially inappropriate with someone who is much older.

I am rather prudish, I realize, about May/December romance. When I see a 17 year old and a 27 year old, I don’t think ah, love, I think exploitation! child abuse! danger! danger!. I think many others think along these lines as well, because as a culture, we have agreed that young women and men should be allowed to grow up and explore themselves, not be forced into a socially dictated behaviour, which is why it deeply saddens me to see young women and girls tarting themselves up to meet social expectations. Young girls, especially, are prey to these sorts of relationships because they have been taught by society that they are sex objects, not people with individual wishes, dreams, hopes, and fears.

And not just tarting themselves up with designer clothing…starving their bodies, denying their natural intelligence, and being frustrated by the wonderful and amazing people that they are. Not everyone can be a supermodel, it’s true: but not everyone should be. People are not sex objects, and young women should not feel like they are sex objects. As a media culture, we owe it to our children to raise them more neutrally, but as individuals we should also be taking steps to encourage the growth and development of the people around us, showing them through actions that they do not need to be sex dolls, rather than just parroting words that seem meaningless when surrounded with media that tells them otherwise. It’s fucked up that women use their sexuality to get attention, and that society encourages this, because it undermines our position as, you know, humans.

We cannot ban sexualised advertising, nor should we, because it sets a dangerous precedent…but we can tell people that they are appreciated for who they are. We can date people that we find attractive, whether or not our friends agree with us. We can seek out things that we find beautiful, and bring them back to show the rest of the group, expanding everyone’s horizons. We can reject social norms of beauty and sexbotdom, and perhaps some day I will see eight years exploring chemistry, not buying “slut” thongs.

Apparently, if you happen to work as a stripper and an on-duty police officer ejaculates on you, you “got what [you] wanted,” because you’re “an overtly sexual person.”

This case disgusts me on so many levels that I do not know where to begin. What’s amazing is that everyone including the jury members agrees that the cop, in fact, did jizz all over some woman that he was stalking, and that he fingered her. The evidence clearly suggests that the police officer was out of line…running plates that belonged to strippers at the club, following her outside of city limits, disabling his GPS so that the station couldn’t tell that he was outside of jurisdiction…and finally, sexually abusing a women who was simply driving home from work.

Only, work happens to be in a strip club, which means that she was a slut who was asking for it. Strippers, you see, are always ready to go, all the time, and usually drunk and hopped on drugs too, so it doesn’t really matter, even if they don’t seem too into it.

This reporting of a blatant abuse of power horrifies me, and it makes me wonder how many other cases just like this go unreported and untried by anyone…this brief sampling from Maxim, of all sources, starts to give you an idea. Cops have a sort of sacred place in our society, because we see them as upholding justice and human rights, as trustworthy authority figures who can do no wrong. Or at least some of us do. Cops, though, are people too, fucked up, evil, nasty people. And that, dear readers, is a very sad thing.

I agree with the prosecutor in the case, who said that “Dancer or not, sexually promiscuous nor not, she had the right not to consent.” I also concur with her sorrow about the outcome of the case, because it is important for cops to learn that they are not above the law: had the man not been a cop, he would be in jail for sexual assault right now. But instead he walks free and smug, ready to abuse another woman.

Good job, American justice system!

[sexual assault]

Once again, my least favourite holiday is rapidly descending upon us, like a giant squid on the verge of attacking an innocent sailing ship. Already, every business I go into is decorated with nauseating pink and white, and every one of my coupled friends seems to be urgently feeling the need to behave in a fatuous and utterly repulsive fashion while I stomp, muttering through my days. Love is in the air, they say, and spring has sprung.

I say spring this, monkeyhumpers.

So that’s why I was pleased to see this article in the Chronicle today, talking about teen dating abuse. I wouldn’t have minded a discussion of dating abuse in general, actually, but I suppose this is a good start: while everyone is blathering on about the wonders of love, the Chronicle is pointing out that love can indeed be a battlefield at times: a vicious one, in which people are severely hurt.

Domestic violence and sexual abuse are serious issues in the United States. Most of us know someone who has been a victim of abuse, assuming we haven’t been abused ourselves. Yet we live in a repressive sort of society where these issues are buried under the carpet and no one wants to address them, especially when surrounded with the miracle of love.

I have always been a firm believer that there is no excuse for domestic violence, ever, and reading this article threw me back to middle and high school, when teachers and students alike ignored the very serious problems that were going on all around them. Most victims of abuse drift in a world of alternate reality, afraid to discuss what happened to them or to seek help. Despite being covered in bruises, their friends accept vapid excuses about falling down stairs or bumping into cabinets.

People were afraid to talk about what was happening to them. A valid fear of rejection, mockery, or being dismissed.

I was having a discussion last night with Peaches and Cap’n Raspberry where we were talking about the prevalence of rape in American society, including the FBI statistic about one in four American women expecting to be raped in her lifetime.

“That’s insane,” the Cap’n said,” why are we not doing anything about this, as a society?”

“Well,” I said, “most rape victims are afraid to come forward about what happened to them, and don’t want to deal with the trauma of a trial.”

“The trial can be as traumatic as the rape itself, in a way,” Peaches chimed in.

“Right, but I mean, we could do something, as individuals, about rape.”

“Really? Are you sure about that?”

“Hell yeah,” he said, “I would be furious if I knew one of my friends had been raped. I’d be exacting vengeance.”

“Well,” I said, “some of your female friends have been, and they didn’t tell you.”

“But why not,” he said.

“Because the majority of rapes in America are acquaintance rapes,” I said. “It’s someone you know, a friend, someone you think you can trust. Sometimes someone very close, a best friend. And when you’re raped, you are afraid to go to your friends, because you know they won’t believe you. ‘Oh,’ they’ll say, ’so-and-so is a great guy, he would never do that.’ And you learn to just not say anything at all.”

“But that’s bullshit,” he said, “I would do something.”

“Really,” I said. “Let’s say I came to you and said X  raped me.”

There was a long and awkward pause.

“Yeah,” I said. “Not so easy now, is it?”

“But…but that’s…I mean, he would never do that, I mean, he’s incapable!”

“Right, and that’s why women don’t tell people when they are raped, because of exactly that response.”

“But I would believe you,” he protested. “I would. I mean, if you came to me and said ‘Y raped me,’ I’d be breaking some kneecaps!”

I shook my head at him sadly.

“You see,” Peaches said, “this is why women don’t talk about it, because most people have exactly that response, that ‘this person is a great guy, he would never do that’ response, and they refuse to believe reality. Rapists can be charming, sensitive, loving people who are well liked and respected by their friends. Rapists can be trusted and adored, and women don’t want to get into the trauma of a he-said/she-said battle, so it’s easier to just…not say anything at all, you know. Just…try to get over it.”

So there you go, readers. Just try to get over it.

No, seriously.

If someone around you is being hurt, step forward to support them. If that means going against your “friends,” do it, because friends support each other in need. Watch each other’s backs, don’t stab them.

If you know someone who looks like he or she might be a victim of sexual assault or domestic violence, talk to them about it. Make it clear that you care about them, and want to help them seek assistance, if that’s what they want. Maybe they don’t…maybe they just want someone they know to be there for them. But for the love of Pete, don’t ignore it, brush it away, or pretend that it’s not happening. It is happening, and it is a harsh and miserable reality.

Abuse can take many forms, including verbal and physical. When you see someone behaving wrongly, speak out. When you see a girl verbally abusing her boyfriend, talk to him about it. When you see a man being rough with a woman, seek her out later and make sure that she is ok. Love should only hurt when you want it to.

Most areas have domestic abuse and sexual assault hotlines. They are free to call, and counselors are happy to talk with victims about anything and everything. They can help you make plans to escape, if you need it, along with children and pets. They can help you file suit or get a restraining order. If you aren’t yet ready to do this, a counselor is always there to just talk with you.

Do not stand by, for those who remain silent are part of the problem.

The national rape hotline is: 1.800.656.HOPE

The national domestic violence hotline is: 1.800.799.SAFE

Either can transfer people in need to a local hotline: if you are a victim of domestic violence or sexual assault, you can talk confidentially to counselors. If you know someone who is a victim, counselors can show you some ways to help them.

[sexual assault]
[domestic violence]

In 1803, popular mythology has it, Edward Jenner noticed that milkmaids were less likely to get smallpox. He hypothesized that this might be because they had been exposed to cowpox, a related disease, and had developed immunity to the deadly scourge of smallpox. He tested his theory by inoculating patients with cowpox: lo and behold, he had discovered a safe inoculation to protect people from smallpox. He called the inoculation a “vaccine,” derived from the Latin word for cow, and it was such a breakthrough for medical science that we now use the term generally to refer to all inoculations.

176 years later, the international health community proudly announced that smallpox had been eradicated, thanks to dedicated efforts all over the world to vaccinate citizens at risk. Today, the spectre of smallpox still haunts us, although vaccinations for it are not required.

The global eradication effort was supported at home in the United States, as part of a historical record of heavy vaccination. When vaccines for horrible diseases like polio and measles were developed, states required children to be vaccinated: most Americans, at least, are of the position that these diseases are fully preventable, and there’s no good reason not to vaccinate for them. Schools require children to show proof of vaccinations before they can enroll, as do colleges—I remember a frantic hunt for a rare vaccine when I went to [liberal arts college] because it wasn’t required by California law, so I’d never received it. I’m all for vaccines: I’m vaccinated, and so are the cats, because to get a preventable disease would be a great tragedy. I’m also all for the development of new vaccines.

In 2006, the Food and Drug Administration approved the use of Merck’s Gardasil vaccine in women. The vaccine is touted as a “cervival cancer vaccine,” which it technically is not. Gardasil protects against several strains of the human papilloma virus, which has been directly linked with cervical cancer. But studies support the assertion that the strains Gardasil vaccinates against are those which cause cervical cancer, so in theory, vaccination with Gardasil will prevent cervical cancer. Pretty neat, eh?

So guess which state was the first to require the use of Gardasil in young women, to premptively prevent HPV infection and cervical cancer? Was it progressive, free wheeling California, with one of the best women’s health programs in the nation? No. Was it radical Vermont? Guess again.

Texas is the first state to require use of Gardasil, unless families object due to religious convictions. Texans, apparently, are more concerned about young women’s health than Californians. Perish the thought.

Arguments against the requirement are fierce, but the caveat that families can refuse to participate has defused any really bitter fighting. I hope that all families comply: even Christian women in upstanding marriages can get HPV and cervical cancer: it’s not just something that happens to harlots. I hope the requirement is followed in other states, and that they also follow suit to make it available to people of low income. When I researched the possibility of taking Gardasil in San Francisco, I discovered that the three shot series would cost me over $150. While cervical cancer would cost me significantly more, the fact is that I don’t have $150 now, so I have to take my chances with cervical cancer later. Bummer.

The development of Gardasil was a great thing for women’s health, and I hope that it will be followed with other medical advances. Hopefully, with time the vaccine will become accessible to all, not just the wealthy, and we can say that cervical cancer has been eliminated as well.

[Gardasil]

Did you know that the City of San Francisco has been offering benefits to transgendered employees to assist them with their treatment since 2001? Because I didn’t, and I think that’s pretty neat.

This article in the Chronicle talks about the impact that offering these types of benefits has had on the corporate and insurance worlds. Apparently a number of corporations including IBM, Kodak, General Motors, and Hallmark are also offering to assist transgendered employees with the transitioning process, as well as the University of California and the University of Michigan: 67 companies all in all offer benefits specifically for trans employees. That’s awesome, and it also paves the way to seeing benefits being offered on a wider scale, especially as the article suggests that it is actually highly cost effective. Initially, a surcharge was being added on to monthly insurance costs to cover for the anticipated expense of paying for sex changes, but the charge was later dropped, because so few claims were made on the insurance. This stands to reason: far more people get cancer than change genders, or break arms in workplace accidents.

The article shows that several major changes are going on in our society. The first is a more widespread acceptance of people who are trans, and of the idea that their issue is a medical and psychological condition which requires care. The fact that insurance companies are also starting to offer coverage suggests that being transgendered is deemed to be a serious enough issue that it should be covered in a conventional insurance policy, and insurance companies are differentiating treatment for it from cosmetic and elective surgeries. It also shows a growing desire on the part of workplaces to support and retain their employees. None of these companies have been hit with a massive influx of transpeople trying to take advantage of their benefits, but I’ll bet they have a more loyal GLBTQ client and employee base.

Being transgendered is expensive. You’re looking at treatment which will cost a minimum of $30,000, but will more likely stretch into the range of $50,000. Treatment includes visits to a psychologist, medications, and, yes, ultimately surgery to treat the physical parts of your body which are at odds with your gender. It also takes time…most transpeople follow the Benjamin Standards of Care, which can take years to follow all the way through. It’s a major commitment: not like getting liposuction or teeth whitening, and I am glad to see it taken seriously.

San Francisco seems like a natural choice for a place to provide benefits to transpeople: this is the City where City Hall flies the leather flag during Leather Pride week, the Castro MUNI station is decorated in rainbows, people earn a living wage, and measures are constantly being undertaken to make sure that no one is marginalized or overlooked. But it might come as a surprise to some to learn that many gay rights groups are not offering these types of benefits, although most identify as trans allies. Apparently the allegiance does not cross into the realm of health benfits, which is unfortunate: hopefully this will change in the near future.

I feel, for once, excited to be alive right now, because I see a time in which transgendered individuals are being welcomed and treated with respect in more and more places. Although it may take another fifty years to recognize people who are genderqueer, this is a positive step in the right direction: the idea that gender is fluid at all is still new to a lot of people.

[transgender]

So I was wandering through Safeway the other day looking for toothpaste that wouldn’t smell terrible or cost an obscene amount, and I stumbled across the feminine hygiene aisle. No, not the aisle with the Tampax, the pregnancy tests, and the condoms…the…other feminine products aisle. I’d already been violated by the bright and shiny flowers on Tampax boxes, but this aisle actually caused my eyes to burn.

Now, my female dear readers probably know that their vaginas are dirty and disgusting, filled with nefarious bacteria and teeth ready to attack. This is why we need flowery fresh washing products and vagina toothbrushes, because a vagina cavity is a terrible thing. But my male readers may not be aware that the vagina is actually a den of filth, harboring disease and malificence.

I was truly astounded when I stumbled across the “Summers Eve” line of, uh, female care products. I think I’ve written elsewhere about my feelings on douching. But I wasn’t aware that the company had built up an entire empire of products surrounding the idea that genitals are gross. They even come in different incarnations for sensitive skin and normal skin. And scents, you know.

I, uh, don’t really know what to think about this. I mean, I do know what to think about this: it grosses and weirds me out. I’m all for cleanliness of the external genitalia, which should be accomplished with regular bathing and a mild odor neutral soap. Scents can cause irritation and obscure that “natural musk” that the Joy of Sex is all about.

I am really disturbed that putting questionable chemicals on my naughty bits will apparently make me more “feminine.” Feminine values apparently include being filled with C.B. Fleet products. And they don’t just make douches and washes…they also make “feminine deodorant” and “feminine powder” and “feminine cleansing cloths.” Hey…cleansing cloths can be useful in dire situations…but once again, I think I’ll stick with the mild odor neutral ones at the doctor’s office, not one that will leave a “Summer’s Eve Fresh Scent.”

What is this thing with “freshness” and feeling “not so fresh”? I can say with great confidence that I have never been concerned about my state of freshness, and I’ve done my fair share of kinky camping. I am not an item in the produce aisle, for Pete’s sake.

The primary thing that disturbs me about this company is that they are marketing products to women on a false assumption: that a healthy sexually active female smells bad. But there’s a more insidious health risk: if you have a runny discharge, a funky scent, or itching, these are symptoms of a health problem. The correct treatment is not “Summer’s Eve Anti-Itch Powder,” it is a visit to a medical doctor who can diagnose and treat the condition before it turns serious. Women need to know that reproductive health is extremely important, and that caring for their bodies involves seeking medical attention for obvious health problems.

Healthy genitalia smell good. A little musky, maybe, especially if the person is aroused. After a long day, things might be a bit sweaty and salty…indicators that a shower is needed. Perhaps together, to be sure one is being thorough. If bad smells are happening, bad health is happening. Regular bathing should result in cleanliness…and using products like that just makes you smell like a chemical factory. Ugh.

And why the hell don’t they sell “masculine hygiene products”?

Because, let me tell you, I know some very stinky boys who don’t know how to clean their pee pees. Let alone the rest of themselves. I think they could benefit from a “Fall Crisp” cleansing wipe now and then.

[summers eve]
[feminine hygiene]

I think it has been pretty well established at this point that I am a huge fan of Good Vibrations. It’s a sex positive, fun place to be with lots of great toys and an awesome staff who are always very helpful and great at meeting your needs. They also have a series of workshops and other public outreach events to educate people about sexuality, the body, sexual health, and all that fun stuff.

Recently, they launched Good Vibrations Television (GVTV). You can find a list of the episodes here. All of the episodes are under five minutes long, and are really interesting and informative. They have features on safe sex, harnesses, BDSM, the clitoris, and a host of other interesting topics. The quickies have a sweet sort of homemade feel, featuring staff in the stores and on the street interviews.

In addition to introducing people to the range of services Good Vibrations offers, GVTV also is a great educational tool. As if sex education in the schools could ever get this good—they debunk myths about sexuality, talk about how to use cock rings, and discuss various lubricant options. It’s certainly worth checking out and, er, turning your friends on to, no matter what your level of sexual experience is.

I think that open discussion about sexuality is important, and something that doesn’t happen nearly enough in our society. I am hoping to see future episodes covering sex and disability, STIs and an active sex life, and similar issues. It’s refreshing to see the on-street interviews with people who seem to range from looking distinctly uncomfortable about the whole affair to being deeply into it, talking passionately with the interviewers about topics that interest them. I would hope that if nothing else, GVTV will open eyes that were previously closed, and might, er, stimulate some interesting conversations.

It is also, of course, a great way to waste a good hour or two when I should have been working, but that’s beside the point.

[GVTV]

My most read post, interestingly, is one from last December: Omnis Animales Post Coitem Triste Sunt. Apparently my readers have a burning interest in annual exams. I actually received a lot of commentary from medical professionals, who said they appreciated hearing a patient’s perspective on the experience. Since it was such a popular post, I think we’ll make it an annual tradition (hah hah).

Without further ado, kiddos: Annual Exam 2006! YAY!

Naturally, having moved, my doctor has changed. Since I’m poor, I go to Planned Parenthood. It’s an interesting experience. I hadn’t been to a Planned Parenthood before…the Mendocino Coast Clinics handled all kinds of stuff, so it wasn’t just a reproductive health center.

It didn’t really occur to me until I arrived that people, you know, bomb abortion clinics. Even in progressive places like San Francisco. So it was a little intimidating walking up to this super secured building, taking an elevator up, and having to be buzzed through a series of doors to sit and wait in the waiting room.

My appointment time? 1:30.

Now, I know that Planned Parenthood is a busy place. There are all sorts of emergencies that need to be handled, and an annual exam is pretty routine care. So I figured it might take a little while to be seen, and in fact it did: I was ushered through the back at 2:00, where I had a quick interview with Hazel, who totally rocks. (Shout out to Hazel! I love Hazel!) She basically asked all of those “new partner in the last year, any side effects from the bc, etc” kind of questions and we went through that pretty fast. Then she used a wicked cool disposable thermometer on me, and I sat in the hall to wait…for another half hour.

Curiously, no clean catch urine sample adventure for me. And I had even prepared, too. Damnit.

Then a nurse practitioner came to collect me and ushered me into “Room Six.” It was actually a really nice exam room…it had these, uh, bay windows (with blinds on them), but natural light still streamed in and made it really comfortable. There was also an ultrasound machine in there, which reminded me that Planned Parenthood handles baby stuff too. (I think it wasn’t a regular exam room, and was actually specifically an ultrasound room, because it was so roomy and nice.)

The nurse left while I changed into the exam gown, although “gown” is not the word I would use. I’m used to looking like death on a cracker in a faded exam gown with at least one broken snap, but this thing…yeah, you know what, Planned Parenthood? D- for exam gowns. I had a paper vest, I shit you not, with a bigger piece of paper that I was kind of supposed to drape across my middle. My ass was hanging out. My, uh, other stuff was hanging out. Everything was hanging out. I think I would have preferred out and out nudity, honestly.

The nurse came back in to do my examination, and let me tell you: this lady got down to business. She asked if I had been before and I said no, I have recently moved, and I mentioned that I was living on Treasure Island. So she kept asking me about the Island all through the exam, which was a little wierd.

Have you ever had someone palpate your bosoms and ask if you live with a bunch of poor people? Yeah, it’s a little wierd. Not a little wierd…it’s really wierd. While I stared at the ceiling, she chattered on about low income housing and how she was really intrigued by the Island.

Then the fun part began…the part where I got to put my feet in the stirrups and scoot down the table.

“Uh,” I started to say. “Er, I have kind of a…”

And with that, she impaled me with the speculum. No foreplay from her, no teasing about palpating the ovaries—she just went for it.

“Do they have a grocery store on the Island,” she says, all casual like we are meeting for coffee.

“Ugh,” I say. “Uh, no, we have a little convenience store thing, but we have to go into the City for stuff. Ergh.”

“Really? Wow, you think there would be a store or something, don’t you?”

“Agh.”

And with that, she was out, snapping off her gloves and tossing them in the trash.

“Well great,” she said. “Everything looks normal, I’ll step out so that you can get dressed, ok?”

Slightly shell shocked, I nodded. She stepped out, I dressed, and we moved on with our lives.

I must say, although it essentially took me an hour to be seen, I did like the efficiency. I can see how other people wouldn’t, but I kind of enjoyed just getting it over with as quickly as possible. I’m certain that had I asked questions or expressed needs, they would have been addressed, but otherwise: I’m busy, they’re busy, let’s just get in an get out, you know? Overall I would say it was a pretty positive experience…but next time, I’m bringing my own exam gown.

[annual exam]

In Japan, a society where many young adults live with their families and generations share a small space with thin walls, love hotels seem like a logical extension of life. A quiet place where you can slip away for a few hours to satisfy your basic human needs. They run the gamut from grim and minimalistic rooms by the hour to elaborate love dens, and the prices vary accordingly as well.

While I have never stayed in a love hotel, I am intrigued by the concept. A love hotel is a simple and honest thing which does not hide behind a facade. You come to a love hotel to have sex. You pick out a room you like, you pay for it, a key is slipped across the counter, and you go get it on. When you’re done, the sheets are changed and the room is tidied up for the next customer.

We have many skewed perceptions about the sexuality of other nations. Japan, especially, seems to confuse the Western mind because from Japan comes tentacle porn, but also the tea ceremony. Shibari, and cherry blossam festivals. Japanese erotic art is some of the most intriguing, stimulating, and…interesting in the world.

Misty Keasler has a photo set up at Photographs Do Not Bend which consists entirely of shots of love hotels. The technical skills demonstrated in the set are impressive: the composition and lighting of the images is impeccable. But in addition, the photographs have a strange poignancy about them. They are glimpse into another, magical world, much like love hotels themselves.

I particularly like the traditionally styled Japanese room with sliding doors and tatami mats that is obviously fitted out for bondage. Another bondage room features a giant red and black bed along with traditional Japanese erotic woodcuts on the walls. A number of the rooms artfully integrate a St. Andrews cross—I think I might need to acquire one. I think it would accent the hall beautifully.

[love hotels]