Frottage might be one of my favorite words but, when it happens to me, it’s one of my least favorite acts.

As to best define the act, I’ve requested the help of one

Frottage: The act of rubbing against the body of another person, as in a crowd, to attain sexual gratification.

You don’t have to be naked to frottage, and frottage happens anywhere that one person can, if so desired, rub up on another person. Places like the subway, Times Square at Rush Hour or a Ben Harper concert are prime examples of places where “stranger skin” to “stranger skin” contact so often occurs.

To me, it happened on the subway last night..heading downtown on the four train just after work. I was completely absorbed in my book at the time (Herman Hesse’s Narcissus and Goldmund) and wanted to finish the last few pages. I thought the train was really crowded as I grabbed on to one of the silver handrails positioned over the seated passengers and continued to read as the train doors closed. I didn’t think much of the warm body pressed directly in my ass cheeks, and I kept on reading.

At about 23rd Street the person in my butt became a sheer annoyance and I decided to see why this woman had decided to stand so close. (I had thought a woman was standing behind me on the train this whole time) but when I turend around I was both surprised and disgusted. It was a fat, short, greasy man with plenty of elbow space who didn’t need to be in my butt on the damn four train. I gave him an evil eye and slid away a bit, but it was too late. I had already felt violated. And angry. For not spitting in his eye for getting too close.

I got off at the next stop. But it didn’t matter…I had been frottaged.

Sometimes it doesn’t matter how strong I am, I still feel weak.

Uppity Update

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So, I’m back once again, from the land of fake breasts and fake tans. Unfortunately, since my return last night, I have been called back out to LA LA land for a business venture on July 18th. That means I have to be back there sooner than I would have liked, but it’s for a good cause.

According to the overly friendly folks at Jet Blue, we didn’t know if we were going to be able to land last night because of some inclement New York weather. They told us they were putting extra fuel on the plane just in case we had to circle for a while, but in the end, we landed in a sea of some of the thickest fog I’ve ever seen. In fact, I didn’t even know we were close to the ground until we actually made impact, and as the wheels hit down on the runway, I jolted out of my seat, unprepared for the impact. But I landed safe and made it home to meet my new roommate for the first time. I totally fucking get karma now…perhaps I will explain some other time. Then again, maybe not.

SO…in other exciting news..the bosses watched my fellatio video, the one I shot for Playgirl (I host, not star in this vid) and actually liked it..A LOT. They want to submit it for some AVN award… which it probably won’t win because there isn’t that much sex in it, and I’m about to start editing my next video..Then there’s talk of more videos, and the potential of my career and HOLY SHIT..I feel great!!!

Oh, and in the August 2005 issue of Playgirl Magazine, I have the two lead cover stories. One’s an interview with Annie Sprinkle, a rockin’ sex educator and the other is a fellatio boot camp piece to go with the video. Support the freakin’ magazine…I think it’s the first time I got cover bylines..and it’s not one byline (is that what you call it?), but two!!!

So, I’m overly happy right now..Plus I get to see the boy tonight..

Yes, for the moment, life is pretty damn good.

LA la land…

I’m in LA.

I don’t think I’ll be booking any more early morning flights for a while, well, hopefully, like I stated in a previous blog, I won’t be booking anymore flights for a while. I need to spend some time in my new abode, which I have decided feels more like I’m living in Berkeley then in San Francisco. Regardless, I love it and can’t stop talking about how much I love it. Have I told you lately that I love Williambsurg???

Uhm..what else…I should be outside soaking up the LA weather, but instead I’m inside sitting at the kitchen table sort of hiding my face in the computer. Well, maybe hiding is the wrong word, but sometimes a computer is a good way to not have to talk when you’re not in the mood.

There’s something about LA that I really don’t like. I have my ideas, but I’m not sure what it is exactly. It’s definitely not a place that I could call home…watch, now I’m living here in a year…no, really, I don’t think that will happen.

The lady at the car rental place got pissed at me this morning. In fact she told me that I didn’t have to be so mean. I didn’t think I was all that mean, but what the f— is the deal with being able to reserve a car, only to get to the car rental place to find out that the car you rented at the price you rented it at, doesn’t actually exist, or there’s no more of that car in stock? This has happened to me more than once, and I think it’s some sort of bullsh-t scam.

I wasn’t going to hear of it. I told her I didn’t want to upgrade for $5 a day, even though in the end, I am paying that money for the insurance, and even if, in the end, $5 isn’t really a big deal. It’s more the principal of it all. Don’t let me reserve a car if you don’t have the car in stock..and then, because she was so visibly upset that I refused to pay the $5 upgrade, she told me how she wasn’t making commission and that she would give me a car for the price I was quoted and then the car she gave me was on empty..meaning the gas tank was actually on the red E!!! I didn’t want to lose my sh-t any more than I already had, so I decided to just call Enterprise and let them know the deal. I’ll have to see if they charge me for gas when I return the car. All I know is that if they do then *Belinda (that’s the name of the girl I spoke to today) will get another piece of my mind..and Enterprise won’t like me anymore…and won’t that be a shame…and…

I’m grumpy in LA..maybe that’s why I don’t like it here. LA makes me grumpy…

Update: Me

Wow…what a selfish title for a blog, but as this is my blog, I’m allowed to be selfish.

So, here’s the ld on the dl (low down on the down low) although I’m not sure what the dl is…

First off..I am officially moved..and moved rather quickly I might add. Fuck, the fire alarm is going off in my cubicle..IN MY CUBICLE…it won’t stop flashing and making siren type noises and it’s going to give me a bigger headache than the flourescent lights that are saturating my skin…okay, now the noise has stopped but the light keeps going. Thank goddess I’m not an epileptic..

Okay, back to the move.. well, actually it’s hours later now too, but nobody has to know that..sometimes I’m too honest… I didn’t realize how quickly I moved until Monday, when, on my LAST PERMANENT FLOOR SHIFT at Babeland I was talking to another SE (sex educator) when I realized that just that following Monday I was going to LOOK at an apartment, and one week later I had already moved in to said space.

I love Williamsburg. I feel like I’m living in San Francisco, although that might seem a bit strange, and most people would argue that it is most definitely not San Francisco. But still, the lack of overly tall buildings and larger streets (and apartments) and overly hip people makes me feel like I’ve moved to another state, fer sure.

I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to move to Brooklyn.

And I’m glowing again, as in feeling really good about myself. My piece for Steppin’ Out is all about glowing this week, it’s really cheesy but if you’re bored or not so bored you can check it out here *as of Thursday. It feels really good to feel like myself again, and it’s changing my relationships with the people I care about…in a really good, positive way.

Tomorrow I am off on my last flight til hopefully late August when I head out to Burning Man. Tomorrow it’s LA..a lot of family things and that can go either way…

Last time my whole family got together in LA for this type of affair, my sister and I both wound up passed out in different bathrooms of the house..drunk off our asses, well, actually she was on her ass, but that’s a story she might not want me to share.

I will blog again…

But not today.

I just moved to Williamsburg, I am heading up a meeting in 45 minutes, and today is the summer solstice.

Life has changed dramatically in the past week, and I mean dramatically and quickly. But, then again, that’s the only way I know how to do change.

Tomorrow is another day and hopefully it’s a day where I can write more. Much more.

Things 2 No about Me

and yes I intentionally spelled “know” wrong..I don’t know why really, or as I would prefer to write right now, I don’t no Y.

1. I am moving to Brooklyn this weekend..well, as long as the moving company doesn’t screw me over. I am ova Manhattan right now. Ova the lack of a sense of community, the lack of nature, the constant hustle and bustle of the place and the people and the noise pollution. I am moving back to the same piece of land I grew up on, only it’s not the same. Still it freaks me out just a little bit.

2. I am stressing about this move. I’ve decided to move within the course of two days, yes TWO DAYS..and tomorrow morning I must meet the landlord at 9AM!!! Then I must tape some extra segments for my video project. Aren’t Saturdays a day of rest in my religion?! Oh yeah, I only pull the Jew card when I find it helps, and now, I find it helps.

3. Yes my move is on Fathers Day, and while I love my dad very much, I want to move badly. Plus, I think a nice father/daughter dinner bond is in order, and that’s not something you can do on Fathers Day…a Hallmark holiday designed for dads.

4. I feel good but sarcastic. I stopped eating cheese 1 1/2 weeks ago. It makes a huge difference.

I’ve been stalked

And although this isn’t the first time, “Jamye no likey being followed.”

Okay. Last night. Why, btw, do I feel like I have much less time to post on this blog than I used to? Is it really because I have less time, because there is still the same amount of time in any given day, or is it that I just don’t find the time to post as often as I once did?

Okay. Let’s try this again. Last night. Walking on 49th St and 7th Ave. in Manhattan, I passed the entrance to one of the many subway stations this great city has, and there, walking by, was a slightly retarded man in a really ugly, loud, red, yellow and white print shirt. He commented on my bag, well, the fact that my bag had a lot of pins on it (pins like I love my cunt and polish your pearl)…and I politely smiled and kept walking. I turned the corner and sauntered into a pub to meet up with someone and that’s when I realized that he was still admiring my pins, or something like that.

The greeter at the front door asked if we needed a table for two, and while I didn’t turn my head, I knew he was behind me. I told her “no, Jamye no likey being followed.” Okay, I didn’t say the Jamye no likey part, but I like writing that today. I did, however, continue walking forward and realized that now he was in the bar with me. Fortunately I found the girl I was meeting and as soon as I told her (and the bartender) that some guy followed me into the bar, he left.

Don’t follow me retarded man!!! I don’t care how much you like my pins. I should have turned around and screamed “Stop following me,” but I just didn’t have the energy to shout. I was really hungry.

Oh, and I should have mentioned that last night I was on Sirius Radio’s Derek and Romaine show on the OutQ channel. Playgirl Magazine got me the gig, and I should have posted it so that maybe someone could have listened, but yesterday was so busy and I didn’t. The past is the past. Live and learn. Maybe you can hear it in archives?

Although that would be a form of following too..only very different than stalking…very different..

Big Steps

A photo I took in Williamsburg. I think I’ll call it “Le Voyeur”….

Something changed in me upon my return from Santa Fe. Actually, I don’t think it was just something, I think it was more than one thing, and it’s been a really strange physical tranisition back to New York. First it was how I feel about the boy that’s more than a friend. While I want to keep that part of my personal life personal, let’s just say that the way I felt about him before I left, and the way I feel about him now, are not completely different, only they sort of are. Now how I feel is so much better. More genuine. Purer. Ivory clean and fresh. Understanding. Things like that.

Turning to my career. I’ve taken certain steps to make more of an impact at one of my various places of employment. The other place, well, that’s an even bigger decision that I’ll be able to share more about tomorrow. At least I hope that I have more to share tomorrow.

And I’m taking steps to move out of the projay’s. I can’t stand coming home to a place with so much hostile energy. I know that might sound strange, but the truth is I’m very affected by other people’s negative energy. I’ve always been affected, although this is something I’m just really learned to come to terms with. I’m torturing myself in this apt. I don’t have AC or a fan and it’s been disgustingly humid here on the good ole ninth floor of my building. Even if I’m giving up an amazing view, I want more of a sense of community, and I’m not sure that Manhattan provides that for me anymore. Although I do have a community of roaches in my apt, but that’s not the community I’m looking for. Seriously, I see at least 5 roaches a night now, and I’ve resorted to keeping a shoe in the kitchen just in case I get lucky enough to kill one. So, I might move off the island. But that’s a story for when it actually happens. Lets just say I’m seriously looking.

Big changes. Big steps. That’s because I ain’t no baby anymore.

Another - This is NOT making me happy - sort of thing:

From’s Sexploration column:

This article, which I cut down, is on Vaginal Tightening. In most circumstances, the whole concept is majorly f-ked up.
Women, have become much more assertive in their own desire for sexual gratification and cosmetic enhancement. They are coming to plastic surgeons, ob-gyns and a hybrid specialist called a urogynecologist for procedures to nip the inner labia, plump the outer labia, tighten the vagina and even restore the hymen, the little membrane that breaks during first intercourse (or for any number of reasons before ever having intercourse like riding a mountain bike or a horse, or just falling on a playground).

Or maybe the reason is that society tells us we have to be ultra-firm and younger looking in order to feel beautiful and desired. Why is it that men mature and women age? Men get lines and women get wrinkles? Why is so much of beauty focused on youth and tight vaginal lips?

(I think he’s a doctor) Stubbs performs what he calls “the Toronto trim,” a combo procedure that includes a reduction of the inner labia and a slight “unhooding” of the clitoris so the little man in the boat isn’t being quite so reclusive.

That slight unhooding sounds like circumcision. Or genital mutilation, a less nice but accurate term. Yes, let’s just clip off some of the skin that protects your clitoris, the most sensitive organ on the female body, and the only organ designed for the sole purpose of pleasure. A little snip, snip and you’ll be small. And in America small=beautiful.

In case you think this is yet another sign we’re all going to hell in a giant SUV loaded with sub-zero freezers and TIVO, and looking gorgeous all the way, well, maybe you’re right. But Wendy Lewis, the self-crowned “knife coach,” a consultant who matches a worldwide female clientele seeking cosmetic procedures with medical practitioners, says the surgeries are big in the U.S. In Los Angeles local magazines are stuffed with ads promising to give women the yoni of their youth.

Knife coach? Your’re mother must be so proud of you, you fucked up lady, you.

Just as women clamored for the Jennifer Aniston hairdo during the early “Friends” era, men and women want to be as pretty down there as the people they see on their TV screen or in magazines.

Bit different dude. I wouldn’t compare hair to genitals. Hair grows back. Your genitals don’t.

“People have suggested they’ve looked at Playboy or Penthouse,” confirms Dr. Ronald Blatt, medical director of the Manhattan Center for Vaginal Surgery. “They come in and say, ‘Make it look like that.’”

Not that this is any better, but Playboy and Penthouse use a technique called airbrushing. A lot safer and less expensive.

Men and women also have these surgeries to impress each other. “I even had one older female client who was having a torrid affair with a man who was her junior by a decade, and she had some work done just to please him,” Lewis says. “I had another lady from Saudi Arabia who had five children by the time she was 30, and was planning to go to Switzerland for [tightening] surgery so that she could keep her husband happy and interested.”

Like my mother always said, if you can’t please them, get major plastic surgery, because everyone loves a tight twot (No my mother didn’t really say that).

But the example of Lewis’ client who had the children also points to the fact that women do this for themselves, too, in the hopes of enhancing their own pleasure. This particular woman had what is known as “vaginal tightening,” a procedure to firm up the outer ring of muscle leading into the vagina. Childbirth stretches this muscle and it may never fully recover, even with months of Kegel exercises (and every woman should do Kegel exercises).

In fact, every woman should try kegel exercises before they do anything else. You can find your kegel muscles by holding back the flow of urine. I would hold back the pee one time only, or only until you understand what you’re doing, and then you can tighten your muscles anytime you’d like. Why, I’m tightening mine as I type!

Men like the results of the surgery because it makes for a tighter fit and women like it, say doctors who perform it, because, well, it makes for a tighter fit. Some doctors advertise that the surgery can radically enhance a woman’s sexual experience, but Blatt worries this is over promising. “I hope women become more sexually satisfied but there is no guarantee.”

Nothing in life is guaranteed, but if you’re going to sexually enhance my pussy you better guarantee me that it’s going to make a hell of a difference buddy. No guarantee?! What the fuck?! Maybe women should become more sexually educated and then see if they’ve become more sexually satisfied. Gawd, sometimes I hate this society we live in. Or maybe I should just tighten up, er I mean lighten up. No not really.

The Genetics of Female Orgasm

This is my new bonnet. I was told no one under 50 ever wears a bonnet, but I liked my spontaneous purchase. And yes, I am intentionally sucking my thumb in this pic. So, what do you think of bonnets?

LONDON, England (Reuters) — Women who have difficulty reaching orgasm can blame it on their genes. Like heart disease, anxiety and depression, scientists discovered in a study of 1,397 pairs of female twins that there is a genetic basis to female orgasm.

Great. Another thing for women to think about. I mean, maybe it’s psychological for some women, and they can’t reach orgasm because they think too much. Maybe some women can’t orgasm because they don’t know that their clitoris will get them to orgasm faster than trying to find their G-Spot or through vaginal penetration. Maybe women can’t orgasm because they don’t know how and it’s taboo in their culture, or in their religion to figure the damn thing out. Sure, it might be genetic, but it might not be. Until you now FOR SURE, don’t you think you should stop putting out all these studies?

Between 12 to 15 percent of women don’t have orgasms compared to about 2 percent of men. Males are also quicker at 2.5 minutes, while the average time it takes for a woman to reach orgasm is 12 minutes.

Well, maybe more women don’t reach orgasm because, heterosexually speaking, men don’t take the time needed to make the cum. Or maybe they don’t take the time needed to make themselves cum. If it takes a woman 5 times longer than it takes a man to reach the Big O, then maybe, just maybe, women who aren’t aware of this don’t know what’s wrong with their bodies and after a few minutes get frustrated or depressed and stop trying to orgasm. I don’t know, I just think these studies keep coming out and saying absolutely nothing.

One in three women, or 32 percent, said they never or infrequently had an orgasm. But 14 percent said they always had an orgasm during intercourse.

And 12 of 15 children prefer chocolate to vanilla. Actually, that’s probably not true at all, but that’s not my point. Studies are tainted. One of out four people don’t necessarily all prefer to wipe back to front, and people lie. Okay, bad analogy. Basically what I’m trying to stay is this still tells me nothing.

“More women were able to orgasm during masturbation, with 34 percent always reaching orgasm,” the researchers said in the journal.

Okay. Duh. No pressure during masturbation, no added stress of coming for a partner. I mean this isn’t rocket science.

The frequency of orgasm was higher for identical twins with a partner and by themselves which suggests a clear genetic impact.

Did the twins actually masturbate together?

“There is something biological that explains some of this large variation between women.”

Yeah. It’s called genetics, dude. We’ve already established that one.

If scientists could discover which genes and how they function, it could potentially pave the way for future therapies to treat women who cannot reach orgasm.

And if scientists could discover genes linked to cancer we could potentially pave the way for future cancer treatment. And if scientists can find a way for my thryoid condition to go away, I could potentially lose weight quickly. And if scientists could find a way to unfreeze Disney, we could potentially bring him back to life. This is a fun game - you should try it.

But Spector said orgasm is a very complex process which is poorly understood. Little research has been done because it is still a taboo subject.

So, what’s all this research about then, anyway?

Anatomical and biological features and psychological factors may all play a part.

So basically this study is saying NOTHING. Some women can’t come and it might be psychological, it might be anatomical, and it might be genetic. No exact pinpointing here…just guessing. Is this a study or a waste of time?

© Copyright Jamye Waxman M.Ed.