Had an interesting conversation with my mom the other day, while sitting in an airport sports bar. One way or another, we got on the subject of prostate stimulation, and my mom - who has always been more than a bit squeamish about my working where I work - was surprisingly interested in discussing the benfits of said activity!

So, I had a blog all set to go on a much sexier topic for today, but after last night I’m just not really feeling up to writing that last orgasmic paragraph… you know?

I know the riots don’t really have much at all to do with what we’re about here at the Art of Loving, but I think there’s some relevance. I found this image particularly striking:

You know when someone insults you and then you think of the perfect comeback, like, twenty minutes later, but it’s too late? I had the good Samaritan version of that just now, with a lovely, if slightly panicked gentleman over the phone.

He was calling to ask about pain he was experiencing in his genitals, and wondered if I had any soothing words of advice or miraculous epiphanies as to what it might be. I told him I’m not a doctor by any stretch of the imagination, but that he should go and see one if he was experiencing any sort of prolonged pain. He then informed me that he was overseas, and didn’t trust any of the doctors in his immediate vicinity to inspect and accurately diagnose his junk.

That left me stumped.

“Humm,” I said. “Go online?”

For some reason, I spent about twenty minutes of my trip to New York last week watching coverage of the much ballyhooed Royal Wedding.

And I would be lying if I said it didn’t inspire occasional flutter from the tail of the cold dead fish inside my chest cavity. When Kate smiled with a disarming sort of nervousness, for example, like she was just any girl getting married to just any boy, and she was in love. Or the way she comforted the little girl who was afraid of the jets. I came over rather grandmotherly at that point, thinking it was about time she and old William started popping out some curly-haired, scowling tots of their own. Or the way he looked at her and told her she was beautiful, which was truthful of him, and also quite sweet.

I liked those bits.

This weather! I say! It puts me in mind of many lovely things, like flowers, and blowjobs in the park.

What with school mostly done, I find myself daydreaming of fun outdoor date ideas in between internship applications. And, as we know, all good dates end in sex, so what better way to end an outdoor date than outdoor sex?

I’ve only done the nasty in the open air once, but it whet my appetite for sex of the riskier sort. So what are your favourite locations for indecent exposure? A friend advised that the beach might sound snappy, what with all the connotations of bikinis and Jason Priestly, but what about the sand? Ahhh. Now that I think of it, even the fewest of granules would horrible. Basically the opposite of lube, as she described it. Yeugh. No.

I've been poking through Sex at Dawn, one of the newest additions to our book section, on the advice of one of my favourite people, noted homo and heretic, Dan Savage. I'm not far in, but I highly recommend it already. Not only is it a roaring good read, but rife with fascinating historical trivia as well. Did you know that Darwin, in his bachelorhood, once made a list detailing the pros and cons of getting married vs. getting a dog?

If the term “evolutionary psychology” doesn’t whet your appetite as far as genres of non-fiction go, fear not. This isn’t some drab research paper full of technical jargon and obscure quotes which aren’t translated out of the original Old High German. It’s extremely accessibly written, and, in fact, quite hilarious.

Here is an excellent protest that I wish I could go to:

http://www.thestar.com/news/article/965577--mallick-what-to-wear-for-slu...

Too many police officers, journalists, “concerned” mothers, and any other number of ignorant sexists in the media have taken to blaming the victims of sexual assault for their own attacks. Recently, an 11-year-old-girl in Texas was blamed for her own gang rape, both in a New York Times article, and at a town hall meeting by a number of her neighbours. The article stated that she “dressed older than her age” (http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/09/us/09assault.html?_r=3).

More recently, a Toronto police constable advised women to “avoid dressing like sluts in order not to be victimized.”

Here's a fun date night idea for all you perverts out there: porn in public!

Last week the student-run theatre on campus was playing Pirates - famous in some circles for being the most expensive adult film ever made (reported budget of US $1 MIL!) - so the boy and I decided to check it out. What would it be like, we wondered, watching some good old fashioned porn in a room full of strangers? Sexy? Awkward? A bit of both and also kind of ultimately hilarious in ways both intentional and un?

It was the third one.

Is it just me, or does the new bro-tastic bro comedy, Hall Pass, look about a decade more sexist than it should be? I mean, I know Hollywood is no stick against which to measure the progress of the subversion of social iniquity, but… really? I mean, aren’t we at a point now where we’re at least pretending we no longer buy into the whole boys will be boys because women don’t like sex thing?

Maybe I’ve just been getting a little overexcited about the progressiveness of our society lately, what with all the Dan Savage and Sex at Dawn I’ve been reading. Maybe my perception has been skewed a little too far to the left, and I forget that the majority of people are still buying into the bullshit romantic and sexual narratives being fed to us by popular culture.

I write to you from a place of blissful calm, dear blogosphere. Some pickled ginger crunching juicily between my teeth, spicy tuna and a few tempura prawns swimming lazily in my stomach... and a brain full of even jucier, spicier (not lazier) sex flashbacks. Yum.

I’ve taken lately to gifting various sex toys and books to friends for birthdays. A while back a gay male acquaintance was the lucky recipient of the treatise “How to Live with a Huge Penis”, along with a pin that said “I ♥ Being a Slut”. A few friends have received various condom/lube grab bags. I had to restrain myself from buying sex toys for my family at Christmas (the discount! So convenient!).

I was kicking around facebook a while back, wasting time, when an unfortunate thing happened, which was that my eyeballs fell out of my face and burned to ashes on the floor.

You're all like "what HAPPENED, Shauna, why did they DO that??" and I will tell you; an aquaintance of mine, some dude I went to highschool with (and also Mennonite Youth Group actually, in an excellent twist) had posted pictures of himself and his girlfriend HAVING A ROMANTIC BUBBLE BATH. WITH, LIKE, ROSE PETALS AND CANDLES AND SHIT. AND NUDITY. AND ALL THE NUDITY.

Ok. I know. I work in a sex shop. I am pro-sex and having sex and talking about sex. I blog about being too horny to focus and needing to go home and masturbate. But like.

Going to bed and getting a good night’s sleep being a thing that is overrated, I decided late last night to get involved in a lengthy facebook debate about the movie “(500) Days of Summer”.

You know when your grandparents send you cash in the mail for Christmas and you use it to take advantage of the staff discount at the sex shop where you work? Yeah. Yeah you do.

Since I can't very well send them a thank-you card detailing what I bought with their money as I usually would, I figured I'd do it here.

Except I've been deciding and undeciding, ringing through and cancelling, combing through the demo vibes like a deranged chimpanzee on a hunt for the perfect banana, and I still can't pick just one! So I'm going to get two. And an all-natural 100% beeswax candle. And some Nag Champa incense. Oh god, I can't wait to go home and jill off in the bath.

I've been reading and listening to A LOT of Dan Savage lately. I find it alternately depressing and reassuring. But mostly, there's just nothing to get you through a low point in your love life like reading about the girl who's not sure if it's safe to leave her boyfriend locked in a cage while she runs errands, or the woman whose husband keeps asking the neighbour to make fun of his tiny penis.