Half Empty, Since 1998

In the world of sex, girls are usually a pretty necessary element. However, in the consumer sex world, girls are often excluded or made to feel bad for having “healthy desires.” I don’t feel bad, and you shouldn’t either.

Sleaze For Sale — No Girls Allowed!

Dana J. Robinson. December 31st, 1998

Nudie Bar Action

What’s a girl to do on a Saturday night when the regular bars are boring and the only parties available are lame-ass frat parties? She goes to the local topless bar, of course!

Ok, so it’s probably a little less obvious than that. I suppose most girls wouldn’t go to a topless bar, unless they are planning on getting topless. Maybe that’s why admission is generally free for chicks and a little pricey for guys. Maybe that’s also why the desperate men drool on themselves when a group of girls walks into such a bar. (Or maybe these men are just farm animals and cannot help themselves…who am I to say?)

Whatever the reason, I think it’s pretty crummy that boys can enjoy naked chicas on stage and girls get the shaft (so to speak) in the eye candy department. We have lots of singles! We have raging hormones! And damn it, we want to see tits!

The first night I went to the topless bar in the college town I am temporarily living in, I saw some serious action. I also paid out the ass for a freaking Miller Lite, which I am less inclined to do at a “normal” bar. The girl-on-girl action was the same sort of action as the girl-on-boy action going on, but for some reason it was treated much differently. When Trisha (one of the dancers) pulled Lyn (one of my more racy friends) onstage and recreated a sort of “69 position,” the men went nuts. NUTS, I say!

Later, when Trisha pulled some random khaki-clad, flannel-wearing frat boy onstage and pulled his belt off, unbuttoned, and unzipped his trousers WITH HER TEETH, no one seemed the least bit interested (except maybe the boy on stage who had suddenly pitched a fierce tent in said khakis.)

My group of friends tried to simulate the same harassing cat-calls and hoots and hollers Lyn got when she was on stage to no avail. I guess we’re just not as cool in the degradation area as the boys are. A pity, too, because we have a certain knack for being obnoxious.

We’ve since become semi-regulars at this bar and the rude behavior of the boys has lessened slightly. Of course, every now and again a newcomer will enter the bar and try to grope us or say dirty things to us. That’s when I know we haven’t exactly conquered Mt. Nudie Bar. But we think we’ve come a long way, baby.

Consumer Sex-capades

One day, my friend Laura got her big, fat financial aid check in the mail. She and I were pondering some of her purchase options now that she had some cash. We came up with the notion of stocking her sex toy collection. She had none and wanted lots. Seemed easy enough, so we set forth on a mission I fondly call, “Operation Dildo.”

This same town I temporarily live in that is home to one topless bar is also home to three so-called “sex shops.” I say “so-called” because they suck and hardly deserve the title, but I digress.

As we entered The Pleasure Palace, we were asked to show our IDs to prove that we were 18. I was 21 and she was 22, but I guess that didn’t matter much to the fuckwad behind the counter. I noticed he didn’t card the two punk-ass, zit-faced boys who walked in after us. Why? Who the hell knows? But I’m pretty damned bitter about it.

Anyway, Laura suggested that her girlfriend might like it if she came home to find Laura in bed with a strap-on strapped on. Ooooh! I got excited just thinking about it (no, not about the thought of Laura in bed with a strap-on on, pervert!)

So I asked the counter jerk where they kept their strap-ons. It was a very innocent question worded something like, “Excuse me, where do you keep your strap-ons?” He got incredibly embarrassed and wasn’t very descriptive with regards to their whereabouts. He kind of pointed off to a corner where all sorts of vibrators and dildos and harnesses were located. He didn’t even utter one word of advice. Yeah, thanks, dorkass, for your explicit directions and recommendations.

Anyway, we found the perfect strap-on, no thanks to the sex toy vendor behind the counter. We also picked up some “Hot! Lesbo-action! Live!” videos that were on sale. All the men in the store were staring at us as we read the captions on the boxes of the videos. I wanted to shout, “Pay your money and go spank it in the damned arcades in the back…and don’t you dare fantasize about me naked, asshole!” Of course I didn’t, I just glared at them. I think I made my intentions relatively clear.

It really think it stinks how I have to deal with this kind of shit when I go into a store to buy some simple sexual aids. I mean, they make vibrators for a reason, right? Namely because men suck and women still like dick from time to time.

Besides, what else are we going to spend our financial aid on? Tuition? Food? Rent? Yeah right.

It’s What Polaroids Were Made For

I’m planning a trip to go visit my newfound sex partner this weekend. Long distance partnerships aren’t always fun. They are especially frustrating when the sex is amazing and you have to wait a week or two between romps.

Of course, when I actually manage to free up a weekend for a visit, I plan to make the most of it. He and I talk about things we could do while I am there to really take advantage of the time we can spend (naked) together. Recently, I mentioned Polaroids. I think I made him smile.

As it turns out, he owns a Polaroid camera. Oh, I so know how to pick the good ones! I think that should be one of the pre-requisites for dating me. I’m sure that’d weed out the boring bed buddies.

So we were discussing various poses and shots we could finagle with our limited experience as centerfold models. One of my favorite ideas was the one where I am doing my business and look up at him as he snaps a picture. A boy’s eye view, if you will. I think he’s probably pretty excited to be able to capture that moment forever. The guy’s at Kodak would be proud (and probably a little envious, I’m guessing.)

Then the issue of confidentiality came up. I don’t want to experience the whole Dr. Laura Phenomenon when I’m rich and famous someday. But also, I might enjoy having these pictures myself. Why should my boy get to keep them all?

So I suggested that we both get to have copies of the pictures. Or he could simply snap two of every pose. Why not? I believe my argument to him was, “Girls need wank material too!”

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t think this boy of mine minds in the least that I’m a little perv-o-licious. In fact, I’m sure he doesn’t. But I know plenty of boys who do mind or who raise their eyebrows when I mention it or who just sport wood at the thought of it. Am I so rare? Do no other girls get off on naughty pictures and/or dirty videos? I doubt it. I am just one of the few who actually admits it.

You see, boys tend to believe it when girls tell them they don’t masturbate. It’s kind of like when girls tend to believe it when a guy says he’ll call. Don’t be fooled! Girls jack off just as much, if not more than boys do. Afterall, there’s little or no mess when we’re done and we can do it again and again and again—and again, if we’re lucky—in a very short amount of time. This is one of the many ways girls rule.

Anyway, I think this is another arena that’s crappy with regards to boys and girls and sex. I’m a perverted voyeur just like the next guy…except that I’m not a guy. I like to watch! No, scratch that. I LOVE to watch. And I don’t think it should be a big crime against humanity that I do.

I think this weekend will be an interesting one. Hopefully it’ll provide me with some gifts that keep on giving, if you know what I mean. They say a picture is better than 1,000 words. I think they’re probably right. Oh, yeah!