“Try to shut us up by throwing us some scrote.”

Heh.

So, this is a thing that exists.

Animated Tom Waits with a stripper. You’re welcome.

Have sex, save the world.

Meet Fuck for Forest:

Berlin’s Fuck For Forest is one of the world’s most bizarre charities. Based on the idea that sex can save the world, the NGO raises money for their environmental cause by selling home-made erotic films on the internet.

So, basically, they make hippie porn, sell it online, then donate the proceeds to environmental groups.

They also do live sex acts.

The group gained notoriety when two of its members had sexual intercourse on stage during a 2004 Quart Festival concert featuring Norwegian singerKristopher Schau and his band The Cumshots, after delivering a brief talk on the impact humans have on forests. The group then faced legal action as a result (including a fine imposed on the group after its male member dropped his pants in a Kristiansand, Norway, courtroom), and consequently moved its headquarters to Berlin, Germany.

But, moving to Berlin didn’t solve all their problems:

The Norwegian chapter of the Rainforest Foundation Fund as well as the WWF both in the Netherlands and in Norway have refused to accept donations from FFF. As a result, Fuck for Forest is working on a project to work directly with indigenous communities in Costa Rica and the Brazilian Amazon rainforest.

The leader of the organization vaguely resembles Russell Brand if you ran him through a Portlandia sketch. (That may be redundant, now that I think about it.)

Michał Marczak has made a documentary about the group.  It was released on Earth Day:

The list of screenings can be found here.

(H/t: Sannion.)

I love eating pussy. There’s little I prefer in the world.

So why is it so hard for me to imagine that someone could really, truly enjoy giving me head as much as I love giving it?

It’s a common kind of thing.  I’ve heard it from men and women, both.

He’s got a theory:

This is in the category of what some call “pathogenic beliefs,” a belief (no woman possibly could enjoy the act of giving me pleasure for its own sake) that has its origins in my infancy, probably, and serves to explain and/or protect me from some childhood wound.

And, maybe he’s correct.

I wrote about what the Romans thought about oral sex back in 2011.  It was taboo, but apparently widespread. I mean, sure, maybe it is the result of some Freudian primal wound to believe that cocksucking is inherently boring (even though for some people it totally is boring), but there are still long-standing cultural ideas about oral sex floating around out there.  It’s probably still illegal in some states.

First, it triggers our adaptive ability to feel disgust–it’s strong scent and strong flavor, in some cases.  Our body does it’s best not die from poisoning–anything that can trigger a gag reflex is suspicious.  You’ve got to overcome that, if you’re going to become an oral enthusiast.

Second, there are implicit power differentials in place.  Not to go all Dworkin on y’all, but oral sex is still something that carries around shades of implicit degradation.  That’s why we end up with sites called “Oral Abuse.” Rough fellatio is it’s own genre of porn. It’s still all wrapped up in our ideas about who fucks and who gets fucked.

These two concepts add up to certain conclusions about oral sex. There’s a lot of hand-wringing these days about “hook up culture” and a big chunk of that is reserved for bemoaning the obligatory, joyless hook-up blowjob, because at some point, ideal oral sex became a tit-for-tat back-scratch-exchange sort of thing.

Witness what I like to think of as the “Louie gets date-raped scene” in episode  302 of Louie:

“Do you know how many dicks I’ve sucked that I didn’t want to? Because I’m a good kid, because I do what’s right. I’ve never left anyone hanging. How dare you!”

So, there’s the idea that no one really enjoys giving it. It’s work. It’s a job. Deep Throat isn’t a documentary shot in real time. Giving is an act of service based on the idea that your partner will reciprocate. The assumption is that everyone enjoys receiving, so you do it so you can get it.

Only some people do get off on giving.

And not everyone enjoys receiving.

Harper Eliot wrote a while back about how she doesn’t enjoy being on the receiving end. She, too, has a theory:

I always appreciate the sentiment; it seems to be the mark of a good man if he obliges without being asked, and it’s relatively rare to come across women who don’t enjoy it, but to us there is something very solitary about the act. At some point in the course of this conversation I said “It takes me too much into my head” and my friend heartily agreed.

In general, if a person says they don’t like receiving, the world will tell them no one has done it right, yet. This goes for men who find it boring, and women who find it lonely. It gets zoned somewhere in that space where lesbians just haven’t met the right Almighty Peen. Which, etiquette-wise, makes it incredibly rude to say out loud.

So, believe someone when they tell you that they do (or don’t) like giving or receiving oral.  (Or when they tell you they’re a lesbian.)

Very few people will admit they’re looking for someone dumb.

It’s no longer fashionable.

“I hope she’ll be a fool—that’s the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool.” (The Great Gatsby.)

Something like this?

Wouldn’t really fly today.

Usually the list is something like: smart, funny, good taste in media, a childlike sense of wonder, etc.

A wide-eyed pretty-thing that will mirror all the things I admire most about myself and gently correct the things I like least.

You’re supposed to want your equal. You’re supposed to find the librarian sexy–or, at the very least, you’re supposed to want to subdue it. Rip off the glasses, take down the hair, and reduce her.

I’ve run across the random dude who flat-out states he can’t stand to date someone as smart as him–heaven forbid he stick with someone smarter. It’s a wee pathetic, but I can admire the honesty.  I’ve also run across the Best Friend that’s pissed off his pal is dating someone that’s running around with a female brain that works like mine.

And, there are boys that dumped me for my expansive vocabulary.

I’m not even a MENSA genius.

I’m not even formally educated.

But, hell.

A girl who writes is scary. A girl who will argue with logic is even scarier. A girl who tells you exactly why you’re wrong? You might was well give up.

There’s the guy that’s up for the challenge.

But, I never really trust the challenge-type guy.

The worshipful thing? The bit where they want some teacher lover? Fuck that.

The boy who doesn’t know he’s out of his league? Worse. A thousand times worse. Unless he’s pretty.

The boy who’s unimpressed? Close to acceptable.

But, mostly?

You giggle. You keep that vocabulary at bay. You resist the urge to tell his best friend that “string theory” doesn’t mean what he thinks it means.

You giggle and wait.

No, really. Give this a listen. But not at work. Or in front of children. Or anyone that’s easily scandalized.

Then imagine that your great-great grandma might have known all those words. Heh.

This is a preview for a real movie feature film about how a box of porn attempts to destroy a family.

No, I’m not kidding.  If I had to guess, these people are Mormon.

Also, why on earth would it actually be in a box?  What is this, 1993?

The comments at YouTube are, um, less than 100% supportive.

I haven’t been a very good blogger.

I’d go into the whole shebang about why, but Henri is more entertaining.

Mostly, I’ve had the head cold that just won’t quit.

Let's celebrate with some champagne.

You know what this culture lacks?

A proper sex holiday.

There are a few that come close.  Valentine’s, of course.

However, Valentine’s isn’t really about sex.  It’s about romance.  And, martyrs.

Halloween can be pretty risque, but it is about death and transformation–close, but no cigar (Freudian rimshot, hello.)

Prom night, here in the States.  Which, generally, happens at about the right time for these sorts of things.

Really, the closest thing we’ve got to a holdover sex festival is Easter. Think about that. Easter.  Wherein the tortured, mutilated, dead virgin-God finally ascends. The crowning moment in a religion that totally eschews physicality.  Bunnies laying eggs on Golgotha while inferior women weep below.

That is not sexy.

What we don’t have is something like this.