Summer Sex and Philip Weiss

I straddle Gabriel’s skinny hips while he lies back perfectly flat with his hands behind his head, his erection hard against his stomach. I’m distracted by the crease where his bicep meets his deltoid - I think it’s one of those details that’s inexplicably hot to me, like his hips and his hands. I want to run my tongue along that line.

Outside, it’s humid and hot. I grew up in a hot climate - I’m used to high temperatures - but the air here is so thick and damp that the street dirt sticks to your skin. You’d think summer storms would signal a break in the humidity, but then you wake up the next morning and your summer dress feels like too much clothing, so you walk around naked.

I hold his cock in my hands and stroke it in a slow, lazy way while we talk. At some point, he reaches forward and puts his hands on my waist to pull me against him so he can take my breast in his mouth. I’m leaning over him, his hard-on pressed between my pelvis and his stomach, and we’re moving in sleepy slow motion, his hands on my back, his mouth at my shoulder, and then I’m flipped onto my stomach, my legs spread. I grip the corner of the mattress for stability.

I’ve been gripping furniture all week. I’ve got a fading bruise on my hip from the frame of his sofa. And when we took pictures of my pussy the other day, I noticed light bruises on the insides of my thighs. Little coital contusions.

I’m bruised from days and days of this, from the furniture and the friction and the thrusting and the humping. It’s summer, it’s hot, it’s skirt season, and I need to remind myself to cross my legs.

*

The other night, I saw Philip Weiss on a re-run of the Colbert Report. He was promoting his article in New York Magazine, the now notorious think piece that attempted to complicate our assumptions about monogamy. The article included an odd and off-base attempt to describe what I look like, based on rumor, and while I was interested to hear what he had to say, especially given the criticism his piece received, the first thing I thought was, “So that’s what he looks like.” I hadn’t realized I was curious.

Gabriel was with me at the time. We were on the sofa, my legs draped across his lap.

“So would you fuck him?” he asked.

I watched Weiss for a bit and said, “Yeah. Probably.”

Then Gabriel called me a slut and we made out.

Worker Owned Peep Shows in History - Part 1

Here I am pretending that I leave my laptop long enough to, if not have extravagant sex, at least contribute to and facilitate some for others.

+ Excerpts from the "Sovereign Whores and Seditious Technology" Panel Presentation podcastat Eyebeam, with artists Norene Leddy & Andrew Milmoe, and my fellow panelists Krzysztof Wodiczko, Tracy Quan, Natalie Jeremijenko, and panel moderator Amanda McDonald Crowley. There's a longer version of this I hope to get and put into whorecast (hey, I know -- I owe you all), but this one covers the conversations we had together and with the audience on the tracking of cops and sex workers, proprietary GPS vs. open API's, tensions between safety and technology, and potential commercial plans for the Platforms Project.

+ Michael Butler's Rock and Roll Geek Show sound seeing tour of the Masturbate-A-Thon, which I'm listening to right now -- lots of narration of the cocks we saw, Adam Curry's tranny chasing, my accidental impersonation of Cheryl Merkowski, and our impromptu interview with a quite erudite veteran volunteer who has lots to say about how he & his wife negotiate his sexual adventuring and his own take on why he wouldn't see a pro. (Also: disclaimer, in a big, big way -- Michael, judge not lest ye never get to jack again. You're on notice.)

(PS: I'm giving the reporter at the Chronicle another few days to respond to my request to correct my quote before I get into the whole story, but let me say for now, if you get a call from the photo editor there asking if they can come shoot you "at work" and you're an even occasionally hot/naked/girl, I don't believe it would be too over-the-line to preemptively assume that they want you to do implied nudes for them. The one-woman camera crew they sent was pretty fair about it, but I still didn't know they wanted me at all undressed until about 5 minutes before we shot. Note to the mainstream press: if you want to ape porn images, learn to speak with at least as much candor as your worst stereotype of a feel-good feminist smut monger er. "You know, shoot you, like, while you're at your computer..." does not cut it. Even with a naked cam-girl.)