joseyvogels.com

The Ex Files

Thu, 4 Feb 2010 14:36:42 -0500

I still have all the letters my high-school sweetheart wrote me during an eight-month separation at the height of our five-year relationship. Eloquent 10-page musings on the daily grind of his KP duty in the local pen. That, and the occasional rock-album art pencil sketch. He wanted to be an artist, or a rock star. Dealing hash oil was just his ticket. Too bad one of his regulars was a narc.

We hung on for a few years after he got out, I even followed him to Toronto. I finally realized I had to let him go when someone clued me in to the fact that the glazed, half-closed eyes he brought to yet another of my attempts to drag things out were thanks to his new passion: heroin.

Still I’ll never forget him. I’ve mentioned this relationship before as the one that saved my sexual life. We still talk once a year or so. He’s since kicked junk, and the last time we spoke he was trying to give booze the boot. Poor bugger.

After him there was Tim (all names have been changed so the guys I’ve gone out with can have fun trying to guess if I’m talking about them), the film guy from Van who hooked me on sushi, and Doug, who hooked me on some less healthy habits and put all my closest friendships to the test. Then came the only guy I’ve ever lived with, Mick - who brought me back down to earth with a good bout of domestic bliss.

Richard turned me on to world music, Ethiopian food, and the internet way before it exploded, and John turned me on to what a complete fool I can be when I fall for someone less interested in returning the favour.

Paul got me to like myself again and, well, I haven’t quite “ex”-tracted myself long enough from my current entanglement to judge what I’ll take with me to the next round. Beyond his sense of humour (I determined this requirement first time out), I grew rather attached to his brand of loyalty. That’ll be added to the requirement list and, oh yeah, his appreciation of family. That was a new one for me. As for his inability to communicate and his need to always be in the driver’s seat, no thanks.

Next.

The guy you first orgasmed with, or the one you had really raunchy sex with; the guy who made you feel good about your body, or the guy who ripped your heart out - every relationship leaves its mark, something to take into the next one en route to what we have been led to believe will eventually be the one. Some lessons are easier (next time a guy tells me on his first date that he’s still working things out with an old girlfriend, I’m outta there), others take time, and there are usually a few repeat offences (the aforementioned lack of communication, for example - no matter how many times I learn this lesson, I keep going after the mute ones).

But exes aren’t just test runs. They are a connection to your past, reminders of where you’ve been, how far you’ve come. I still have a sweatshirt John gave me. Every time I wear the damn thing I am reminded of how I let the immature twerp break my heart - same principle as rubbing Fido’s nose in his own poop.

Sometimes you hang onto something that reminds you of your ex as you wait for the day you can face it without going into relapse - proof you’re over him. My friend has a roll of film she can’t yet bring herself to develop because there are pictures of “him” on it. But every so often she says, “I think I could develop those pictures now.” She still hasn’t, but she’s getting there.

At the very least, most past relationships are good for one or two Kodak moments worth dragging out once in a while for a nice, self-indulgent stroll down memory lane.
Sometimes you end up with some cool stuff - a nice flannel shirt or a tacky lamp or two - leftover by an ex. Or not. Every time my friend comes home to find something else her dog has chewed up because she didn’t get home in time to take him out, she is bluntly reminded of her ex, who gave her the dog as a gift.

Noisy Nookie

Thu, 28 Jan 2010 16:53:46 -0500

Brit Catherine Cartwright is facing possible jail time for having loud sex as a result of 100s of complaints from neighbours about her noisy sex romps.
Which begs the question: how loud is too loud when it comes to sex?
“I was with this women who made so much noise during sex that at one point, I playfully flipped her over so her face would be in the pillow to try and muffle the sounds.” Safe to say you’re not so into loud sex then, I ask the guy telling me this story. Either that or he’s got great serial-killer potential. “I don’t mind some appreciative moaning and groaning but this was embarrassing,” he answers. “I was constantly worried the neighbours would come over and wonder if we were sacrificing small animals.”
Sounds to me like she was having a good time. There is nothing quite as fabulous as having someone completely let go with you in the sack. But, it seems, when it comes to noisy sex, some people would rather not hear about it.
Maybe it’s because women tend to be more expressive in other areas of our lives, but it does seem that women are generally more, um, expressive in bed.
“I find men need to be encouraged to be more vocal, especially WASP men. They’re really quiet and subsequently not as good a lay,” says one very expressive female friend.
Not all boys keep quiet, however. “I was with one guy who was screaming so loud it was scary,” laughs one woman.
Maybe it’s because I grew up in a house full of noisy people, but I like a little racket in bed. There’s nothing like a little vocal encouragement to acknowledge a job well done. Good for the ego. It’s also helpful in getting what you want. Just crank up the volume a notch when he gets something right and he’ll get the message.
Our anti-WASP friend agrees. “I like noisy sex. For me it’s an indication of what I’m doing right.”
Besides its practical value, noisy nookie can be a turn on. “I have been told that I am quite vocal in bed,” a presumably unstereotypical WASP ex-boyfriend of mine recently told me. “One girlfriend told me that she orgasmed after hearing me have a very vocal orgasm.”
Sometimes just knowing people can hear you can be pretty sexy. “One night, my girlfriend and I were going at it quite wild and loud,” continues my ex. “We really got into it when we started hearing my neighbour banging on the wall yelling at us to keep it down. We laughed it off but also found it quite exciting that someone heard us making love.”
And the fun goes both ways. One woman I know found out her neighbour had been inviting his friends over to listen to her and her boy have loud sex.
Not all noise is welcome. You have to admit, sometimes it’s hard not to wonder if maybe your partner has seen When Harry Met Sally one too many times.
“There is no bigger turn off than a rehearsed performance,” exclaims one noise-sensitive friend of mine. “Slow moans, kitten-like purrs and growls are all good. But too much, ‘Oooo, yeah, baby’ stuff is a turn off.”
“I hate guys who do the grunt stroke, you know, with every thrust they grunt like a wart hog. Very unsexy.”
Some of us are less discriminating. “I’m a pretty visceral person and not embarrassed by much,” says a less critical female friend. “Farts and sudden weird noises, like when you want to be sexy and you end up sounding like a rutting animal are okay with me. What I hate are predictable reactions, saying stuff like, ‘You’re so good, you’re so tight.’ Ugh!”
As far as I’m concerned, sex noises need not be elaborate, just sincere. And while it might be nice to come up with something that doesn’t make you sound like a bad porn movie, “Yes, yes,” “Oh God,” (though, maybe it’s my Catholic upbringing, but that one really bugs me when it slips out) and “I’m coming,” if you need to get more specific, all work. Whatever gets you through the night and lets the other person know things are good pretty much works. Though insults, jokes and maybe armpit farts are probably best avoided. Unless, of course, that’s what you’re into.
It might also make things easier if the other person understands whatever comes out. “I was seeing a woman who kept screeching in Spanish. My Spanish isn’t that good but it sounded something like, ‘Lick the sheet! Lick the sheet!’“
But let’s face it, as one woman said to me, if you’re thinking about what you’re saying or what noise you’re making, you’re doing something wrong. “The best kind of sex, for me, is when you are so wildly passionate that you don’t know if you were loud or not.”
I hear ya!
What do you think? Do you like your partner to make some noise in bed?

Canadian Sex Report

Thu, 14 Jan 2010 14:50:17 -0500

Canadians generally pride ourselves on being sexually progressive. And certainly, compared to the U.S, where people like Bill O'Reilly believe teaching kids that babies grow in mommy’s uterus “is beyond their capacity to understand" and will rob them of their “childhood innocence” -- as he did in response to supporting sex education for younger children – Canada looks like a sexual paradise.

But then you realize that when it comes to abortion, the only option for women in PEI is to pay for a private procedure, it makes you feel a little less smug. In fact, while abortion is legal [only as recently as 1988], it is not uniformly accessible.

Hospitals are not required to provide abortion services and only 15.9 per cent of Canadian hospitals on average do, with B.C. at the high end of the scale with 29 per cent providing services and Manitoba at the low end at four per cent, just ahead of PEI’s zero per cent.

Birth control information and services were legalized in 1969 with the legalization of the Birth Control Pill, but birth control still isn’t covered and access to information as well as rules for parental and/or partner consent vary from province to province.

When it comes to STI/HIV testing, counseling and treatment, this is done through specialty clinics and isn’t part of regular wellness care. Because doctors aren’t well trained in sexual health care, and many patients aren’t confident raising concerns in this area, many people – usually society’s most vulnerable – slip through the cracks. Sex workers, for instance, might fear judgment by disclosing what they do and, as a result, don’t get the sexual health care they need.

Gay rights in Canada have certainly improved since Everett Klippert was sent to prison indefinitely as a “dangerous sex offender” back in 1965 for having consensual gay sex, a decision that was backed by the Supreme Court.

Pierre Trudeau got the law out of the bedrooms of the nation in 1969 with amendments to the Criminal Code that decriminalized homosexuality. In 1995, the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms included the prohibition of discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation and in 2005, Canada became the fourth country in the world to legalize same-sex marriage.

Things aren’t as rosy for transgendered folk. Still classified as a mental disorder in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-IV), gender identity disorder must be diagnosed before one can undergo reassignment surgery. And while B.C. and Quebec provide some coverage for transition treatments, most consider the process “not medically required” and therefore don’t provide coverage.

Canada has official guidelines for the teaching of sex education, but they are just that, guidelines. As a result, sex education is inconsistent across Canada, schools are not required to provide it and teachers aren’t trained to teach it.

Age of consent rules are confusing at best and the decision of the Conservative government to raise it from 14 to 16 in 2008 succeeded mostly polarizing our national attitude towards teen sexuality. Those in favour of raising the age said the previous AOC of 14 turned kids into crazed horn dogs while those against raising the AOC believe it unjustly criminalizes and pathologizes sex among young people and leaves their older partners vulnerable to a permanent criminal record as a “sex offender.”

Toss Canada’s increasingly diverse cultural population into the mix and you’ve got a whole other set of culturally sensitive sexual rights issues to consider. Our laws are based on individual rights, but what about family rights, in the case of contraception and parental consent, for example.

Or what if polygamy was permitted in your country of origin but is illegal here? What if you go to a doctor or sexual health clinic and are asked questions considered offensive in your culture? You may not go back. Or what happens if you’re an immigrant woman with no official status in this country and you are a victim of sexual assault? Our justice system isn’t structured to deal with the implications of cultural differences.

We have many sexual rights on paper, but our rights are failing as government shirks its responsibility for insuring these rights through social policy and spending. And unfortunately, this usually affects society’s most vulnerable – immigrants, women and minorities – the most.