Sense & Sensuality

Female* sexual desire and/or beauty appreciation week: the saga continues

2008-06-19T10:03:00.000-07:00

(archiving here)

Liya Kebede

Lauren Ambrose objectifying Mena Suvari in "Six Feet Under"

(*personally would also welcome expressions of queer/genderqueer desire by not-necessarily-female persons)

...has been informally declared and is being celebrated, among other places, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, and here.

Since I'm both lazy this week and in awe of this woman's efforts to display the gorgeous, week after week, I'm going to kick this off by both paying her homage and shamelessly lifting some of my favorite images from her treasure trove (hope that's all right). Yes, she has way, way more where these came from--98 pages' worth of women alone, and a whole passel of gentlemen (almost as many as women), and art pics to boot. Thanks, skywardprodigal, you are an inspiration, truly.

You can also see my contributions to earlier versions of this celebration on my other page. Also see this recent post for teh slash, I guess.

Most of the following, then, are cribbed shamelessly from skywardprodigal, with a few additions of my own, can't be arsed to remember for positive which now alas--a Maggie Cheung, I think, Aishwarya Rai, and some Alex Kingston. (ETA: and Rachel Weisz, and Grace Park, and Kera Knightley, and...screw it, I lost track. sorry if I broke anyone's Internets).

Sunna Gottshalk

Freema Agyeman

Lauren Ambrose

Grace Park

Patricia Clarkson

Justina Machado

Evan Rachel Wood

Eve Myles

Nichelle Nichols

Aishwarya Rai

Lucy Lawless

Sheryl Lee Ralph

Rachel Weisz

Naoko Mori

Alex Kingston

Wang Wenquin

Frances Conroy

Kiera Knightley

Lisa Nicole Carson

Mumaith Khan

Mena Suvari

Renee Cox

Sandra Oh

Heidi Klum

Gong Li

Josephine Rukia

Michelle Forbes

Tina Baltzer

Aimee Mullins

Maggie Cheung

Pam Grier

Joan Chen

Michelle Rodriguez

Deborah Ann Woll

Sophia Myles

Julie Nicol

Caroline Chikezie

Madhuri Dixit

Katee Sackhoff & Mary McDonnell

Meryl Streep & Anne Hathaway

Omahyra Mota & friend

Anna Cleveland and Pat Cleveland

Candis Cayne and Cyndi Lauper

Maggie Cheung & co-star

Omahyra Mota and Boyd Holbrook

Helen Mirren and Olivier Martinez

Aimee Mullins & Matthew Barney ("Cremaster")

Carmen Del'Orifice & friend

Evan Rachel Wood and friend

Indira Varma and Sarita Choudhury

Brandi Quinones & friends

Gena Rowlands

Female Desire/Beauty Appreciation Week: the "What About Teh Menz" edition

2008-06-19T10:00:00.001-07:00

(archiving here)

Kwon Sang Woo

Because, hey, I am all about equal opportunity objectification, even if slightly choosier with my objects on this side of the aisle. Lots of aesthetic appreciation here for sure, though, plus, spot the fangirl (eyeroll). As with the female OOD post (AKA POST WITH LOTS AND LOTS OF WOMEN PLEASE FEEL FREE TO PERUSE AND COMMENT), many of these cribbed from the excellent skywardprodigal, with some additions of my own interspersed. Enjoy.

Kian Mitchum

Gordon Modibame

Shunei Hosimi

Renald Seme

Jo Ji Hoon

Porter Garner

Alexander Skarsgard

Tyler Christopher

Anthony Stewart Head

Won Bin

Nelsan Ellis

Djimon Honsou

Nir Lavi

Daniel Henney

James Marsters

Michael C Hall in "Cabaret"

Anderson Cooper

Kevin Aviance

source

David Tennant and Billie Piper

Anthony Stewart Head, David Walliams, and a very frustrated policeman

John Barrowman & Eve Myles

Alvin Goh & friend

Michael C Hall & Matthew St. Patrick ("Six Feet Under")

Kim Sung Soo & friend

from a play called "Dorian"

David Tennant and John Simm

Ian Somerhalder & friend

Tony Leung Chiu Wai and Leslie Cheung(?) ("Happy Together")

John Barrowman and James Marsters ("Torchwood")

David Tennant & co-stars in "Casanova"

David Tennant

Female Desire/Beauty Appreciation Week: the "What About Teh Menz" edition

2008-06-19T10:00:00.000-07:00

(archiving here)

Kwon Sang Woo

Because, hey, I am all about equal opportunity objectification, even if slightly choosier with my objects on this side of the aisle. Lots of aesthetic appreciation here for sure, though, plus, spot the fangirl (eyeroll). As with the female OOD post (AKA POST WITH LOTS AND LOTS OF WOMEN PLEASE FEEL FREE TO PERUSE AND COMMENT), many of these cribbed from the excellent skywardprodigal, with some additions of my own interspersed. Enjoy.

Kian Mitchum

Gordon Modibame

Shunei Hosimi

Renald Seme

Jo Ji Hoon

Porter Garner

Tyler Christopher

Anthony Stewart Head

Won Bin

Djimon Honsou

Nir Lavi

Daniel Henney

James Marsters

Michael C Hall in "Cabaret"

Anderson Cooper

Kevin Aviance

source

David Tennant and Billie Piper

Anthony Stewart Head, David Walliams, and a very frustrated policeman

John Barrowman & Eve Myles

Alvin Goh & friend

Michael C Hall & Matthew St. Patrick ("Six Feet Under")

Kim Sung Soo & friend

from a play called "Dorian"

Ian Somerhalder & friend

Tony Leung Chiu Wai and Leslie Cheung(?) ("Happy Together")

John Barrowman and James Marsters ("Torchwood")

David Tennant & co-stars in "Casanova"

David Tennant

Female desire "week," part XXX or something

2007-04-04T08:00:00.000-07:00

(parking this here more permanently)

so, yeah, continuing...

This one is (very) roughly themed around "funny is HAWT," at least to start with. (theatre, performance, gender performance...you'll see).

First off, Marga Gomez:

Dawn French:

Margaret Cho:

Eddie Izzard (yeah, i'm probably about a Kinsey 4-5, with non-standard deviations)

not a comedian, but still on pretty performers: some stills of Cillian Murphy in "Breakfast on Pluto:"

BoP costar Ruth Negga ain't bad either:

Back to standup, this time more performance art division: Staceyann Chin:

and finally, someone whose work i -haven't- yet seen, (unfortunately, it sounded really good) (via Feministing, looks like i just missed one of her performances at Nuyorican Poet's Cafe), but I'm including her anyway because I think she's rawther attrectif: Helena D. Lewis.

Why yes, I do take requests

2007-04-04T07:58:00.000-07:00

(parking this here more permanently)

petitpoussin of Truly Outrageous has asked for more Diana Rigg, please.

Your wish is my command.

A little Julie Newmar too, as long as we're on the general subject:

While searching, i found a pic of this "sixties actress" without a name. (dropped the link alas) Does anyone know who this is?

Meanwhile, from a completely different era, but as long as we're on "old tyme beauty" anyway: Lupe Velez.

Female desire week, 4

2007-03-26T07:21:00.001-07:00

It was dusky in the dining-room and quite chilly. But all the same Bertha threw off her coat; she could not bear the tight clasp of it another moment, and the cold air fell on her arms.

But in her bosom there was still that bright glowing place--that shower of little sparks coming from it. It was almost unbearable. She hardly dared to breathe for fear of fanning it higher, and yet she breathed deeply, deeply. She hardly dared to look into the cold mirror--but she did look, and it gave her back a woman, radiant, with smiling, trembling lips, with big, dark eyes and an air of listening, waiting for something...divine to happen...that she knew must happen...infallibly.

Mary brought in the fruit on a tray and with it a glass bowl, and a blue dish, very lovely, with a strange sheen on it as though it had been dipped in milk.

"Shall I turn on the light, M'm?"

"No, thank you. I can see quite well."

There were tangerines and apples stained with strawberry pink. Some yellow pears, smooth as silk, some white grapes covered with a silver bloom and a big cluster of purple ones...

When she had finished with them and had made two pyramids of these bright round shapes, she stood away from the table to get the effect--and it really was most curious. For the dark table seemed to melt into the dusky light and the glass dish and the blue bowl to float in the air. This, of course in her present mood, was so incredibly beautiful...She began to laugh...

...And then Miss Fulton, all in silver, with a silver fillet binding her pale blond hair, came in smiling, her head a little on one side.

"Am I late?"

"No, not at all," said Bertha. "Come along." And she took her arm and they moved into the dining room.

What was there in the touch of that cool arm that could fan--fan--start blazing--blazing--the fire of bliss that Bertha did not know what to do with?...

...At that moment Miss Fulton "gave the sign."

"Have you a garden?" said the cool, sleepy voice.

This was so exquisite on her part that all Bertha could do was to obey. She crossed the room, pulled the curtains apart, and opened those long windows.

"There!" she breathed.

And the two women stood side by side looking at the slender, flowering tree. Although it was so still it seemed, like the flame of a candle, to stretch up, to point, to quiver in the bright air, to grow taller and taller as they gazed--almost to touch the rim of the round, silver moon.

How long did they stand there? Both, as it were, caught in that circle of unearthly light, understanding each other perfectly, creatures of another world, and wondering what they were to do in this one with all this blissful treasure that burned in their bosoms and dropped, in silver flowers, from their hair and hands?

For ever--for a moment? And did Miss Fulton murmur: "Yes. Just that. Or did Bertha dream it?..."

--Katherine Mansfield, "Bliss"

Female desire week, 3

2007-03-26T07:18:00.000-07:00

Trin made me realize that actually, I, too, would really like to capture -dynamics- at least as much as still images. It's tricksy. I don't feel like posting text right now--maybe later.

But, so okay, since I've already revealed myself to be a shameless fangirl/geek, I'll bring BTVS into it. I was trying to find stills and images, but it wasn't really what I wanted.

Then I went onto Youtube looking for clips, and found a few, but mostly I found a lot of fan-made videos. A lot of 'em are, well, fan art; but some of them are actually quite...well, I like 'em, anyway.

Female desire week, 2

2007-03-26T07:17:00.001-07:00

I know it makes me a total fucking cliche, but what the hell: Lucy Lawless, goddamit:

annnnd as long as we're going all the way into SF fangirl territory: more Gabi:

more BSG:

Gina Torres, in "Firefly" mode and otherwise:

AND as long as I'm in total fucking cliche mode anyway:

More Tilly:

Michelle Rodriguez:

Mira Sorvino:

and a little ear candy to wind up with:

Female desire week

2007-03-26T07:14:00.000-07:00

Just housing these here for more permanent storage.

***

Because Cassandra says it's Celebration of Female Desire Week.

then well clearly i have to celebrate.

i will start with a pointer to a few earlier impromptu celebrations.

I'm not totally satisfied with the stills I'm finding for her, but: Katharine Ross.

And--I'm in old-school mode for this one, I think--another Kate: Hepburn:

Going way way old-school, because why not: Clara Bow.

Pop! Bam! Poooooooooowww!!!

2007-02-26T06:06:00.000-08:00

(just parking this one over here for more permanent display)

This website: Dan-O-Rama productions.

I wanted to post direct links to my favorite bits, with images, but i can't seem to do that, somehow. So instead, an invitation to go there and look around, with a few recommendations:

make sure you mouse over "hits" before clicking "enter."

Go to the Club Room: my personal favorites are Joan Crawford megamix, Blue Moon/Anne Heche, and "I'd rather be burned as a witch."

and i confess that his Ann-Margret homages have me absolutely smitten. They don't make 'em like that anymore...

you kind of really need to see the moving image for the full effect, though

aged well, too, i think.

she kind of -is- the sixties, though, you know? Besides everything else. Pop! Bam! Poooooowwww!!!

I really love the sheer vitality. Besides everything else.

and you know what else i really love about the Dan-O-Rama site? -There's- someone who truly raised obsession to an art form. And it paid off.

anyway, check it out: fun times.

Eye candy

2007-02-26T05:55:00.001-08:00

(Just parking this one over here for more permanent display)

Inspired by Renegade's gorgeous tribute(s)

(thank you!)

as well as by a comment by Cassandra Says at the end of this post

First of all, the baby Diana Rigg from "Tipping the Velvet," aka Rachel Stirling: (on the right)

Then I started thinking about pretty let's say genderfuck candy from some other movies.

Here's a still from an obscure movie called Journey to Kafiristan:

Another movie I'm awfully fond of, Stage Beauty, with Billy Crudup as the last of the male "actresses" and Clare Danes as the first woman to take the stage, during the Restoration:

To wrap up, a bit more Rachel Stirling:

and, what the hell, some Diana herself:

Awesome.

2006-07-01T09:10:00.000-07:00

A handy-dandy illustrated quick-and-dirty (!) guide to What Lesbians Really Do In Bed:
Girlfuck 2005.

Vulvas are like snowflakes, no two are identical, and when it gets really cold they flutter down from the sky, getting stuck in your eyelashes.

Tip of the labia to a commenter at BitchPhD.

ETA '09: Sadly, in the wake of this bullshit, I am going to have to retract my endorsement of this artist as a whole, although I really did like the strip originally posted here and a lot of her other work. Cissexist objectification = v. uncool. Lack of a responsible response, even more so. Suckage. :(

Want

2006-06-01T09:43:00.000-07:00

...just about everything in this UK shop. I am so in a dress-up mood lately. FairyGothMother.

god only knows what shipping and the rate of exchange would add to the already not-cheapness. and it's not exactly as though I have many many occasions for this sort of thing, at least in my current lifestyle. someday when I win the lottery. or get an actual fairygothmother. boo hoo.

The Queen of Wands

2006-05-23T18:19:00.000-07:00

And I am the Queen of Wands.

Okay.

Here is how the world works:

It is all like nets.
ever golden, evergreen
the fruits fall
into hands-like-nets
the fish are hauled
into jaws-like-nets
the insects crawl
into claws-like-nets

and the thoughts fall
into minds-like-nets
it is all like nets.

On the other hand
a spider lives in the topmost branches of a pine,
her house a god's eye gleaming among the needles.
On hot days
she pays out her line and
twirls on down
to the surface of the lake or pond
to get a little drink of water
and to wash her face. She's such an
ordinary person.

The trees line the earth, great and small,
dogwood, plane, maple, rubber,
the elegant palm. The scrubby oak. The elm.
We're ordinary persons, too. We have our
long time friends across the distances,
our urgent messages and our differences.

And we have our parties.
We sugar up our petals just to get the probes of bees in us.
Most green ladies love everything the whipping wind can give them.
The avocado tree hung with her long green breasts,
she aches for fingers pulling at her;
the cherry, peach and nut trees with swollen balls
long for hands and mouths and claws;
the fig tree with her black jewels tucked between her
hand-shaped emerald leaves, is happily
fondled by the dancing birds, wild and raucous and drunk on
natural fig wine.

almost any summer morning
sun beams fall into my arms like lovers
giving me everything they've got
and they're so hot oh honey
I take it all

give it to me, baby
is my song

And I am the Queen of Wands.
The people honor me.
I am the torch they hold over their own heads
as they march like insects
by the billions
into the bloody modern world,
over discarded corpses of their ages past,
always holding me, aloft or in their arms,
a flame in the hand of the statue,
a bundle of coals
in their inflammatory doctrines, calling me
a chalice of fire,
essential light,
the Flama
and the stuff of which their new world will be made.

Sophia (Helen) they call me, enlightenment,
"God's light," wisdom, romance, beauty, being saved,
"Freedom" and the age of reason.
Progress, they call me, industrial revolution,
"People's rule," the future, the age of
electronics, of Aquarius, of the common man and woman,
evolution,
solar energy and self-reliance. Sexual self-expression.
Atomic fission, they call me, physics, relativity,
the laser computations in an endless sky of mind,
"science," they call me and also emotion, the aura of
telepathy and social responsibility, they call me
consciousness, "health," and love
they call me, bloom of Helen.
Blush upon her face, and grace.

And here I am a simple golden shower
and here I am only a spider
webbing their minds
with pictures, words, impulses
feelings translated into moral imperatives
and rules for living, like leaves
upon a tree, to catch the sun's attention.

The (the billions of people)
dance like Fairies on my smallest
twiggiest branches
whistling in each other's ears,
collecting and dispensing
seeds, wearing gold and
pretty clothing, worrying and not
really noticing all the other worlds
around them
how the sun center of my eye sews them
how the silver dream filaments direct them,
how their own thoughts connect them, how
the baton smacks their knees to make them
move their feet, that baton
at the end of the claw
of the Queen of Wands

And I am the tree
with candles
in its fingers
Menorah
Yule-flame
tree of life

the tree-shaped candle-holder
on the mantle
on the altar
on the flag of being.

And I am the Queen of Wands
who never went away
where would I go?

the flame is central
to any civilization
any household

any bag of bones. Any motley mote
you've got, of
little mustard seed can grow
into a yellow spicy flame
as you must know.

The sun is a weaver
and the rock earth her instrument.
Slender-fingered threads of light
and heat, dance like birds
shuttling.
Winds and the rain,
seeds and feet and feathers
knit the knot
making the great coat,
the coat of all colors.

The coat of all color;
over the whole earth, a caught fire
of living logs, brown and red,
tan and white, black and yellow
bobbing like a forest;
each a magic stick with
green flame at its tip

a green web
my leaves, my green filaments
like fingers spread
to catch the sun's attention, spread
to catch the sun like thread,
like sexual feelings, like
the gleam from an eye, or an idea.

and I am the Queen of Wands
I am who stands
who always will
and I am who remembers
the connections woven, little eggs
along the message line.

I remember giving dinosaurs
to the tall unfolded ferns to entertain them.
and immortality to the cockroach.
I remember the birthday of the first
flower, and the death of so many furry
animals and kinds of people, and a star
that fell. I remember a continent
of green
green wands of grass
burning into the knees of
buffalo queens, a landlocked
ocean of fire. Replaced by the
picket fence. Almost equally complex.
Sky scrapers like spikes.
But that's another song.
And I am the Queen of Wands
who burns, who glows, who webs
the message strands,
who stands, who always will.

--Judy Grahn, "The Queen of Wands"

An ode to my yoni, womb, and other beloved womanly bits:

2006-05-10T17:58:00.000-07:00

the risen tide laps gently within my caves
slosh slosh
oh! the undertow!
oh! the breakers!
oh! a frigate!
if you don't let the moon's gift flow free pretty soon
i am coming in after it
with headlamp and pickaxe

"Tipping the Velvet," or topping the fop.

2006-03-24T04:58:00.000-08:00

Somewhere between the world of genderfuck (crossdressing, tranvestism, what have you), and the world of D/s, there is a certain kind of fetish fantasy which is pretty common, as these things go: the transformation itself, usually at the hands of a dominant woman (sometimes and/or a man as well), of man into girl (and I use those terms advisedly), sometimes known as "forced feminization." There's a lot wrapped up in this, if you want to, uhm, unpack: the dominant/submissive dynamic, first of all, and (usually) the assumption that to be feminine is somehow shameful, yet thrilling (from which comes the erotic tension), especially for a man: he gets to give up control and revel in the luxury of sensual fabrics, sweet smells and sticky paints, to be a sexually wanton, shameless "slut." To be allowed to be small and vulnerable and taken care of, even for a little while.

Erotic fantasy, or at least the actual erotic bit, tends to not hold up well under the glaring light of sociopolitical critique; but the assumptions behind this one are still worth examining, if not actually taking apart with the intent to destroy (a pet peeve of mine; do people think that one can simply will one's erotic map to get in line with--submit itself to, even--one's adopted ideology, even assuming that one should, which I don't? anyway). The primary one being played with here, of course, is that man/male="dominant" and woman/female="submissive." Which makes sense, as it is (still) considered the norm, pretty much, in maninstream het society. At any rate, certainly more so than the reverse. (Would "Secretary" have had as good box office if it had been a female boss and a shy, nervous young man who really just wanted to be her secretary? anyway it's a movie I'd like to see. even with Spader and Gyllenhaal, still, perhaps). But in the "forced-fem scenario," even if you have a woman doing the topping, the male-->female transformation is pretty much by definition a step down. Hence the erotic charge.

In the lesbian BDSM world(s), there exists a reasonably common dynamic of femme top to boi bottom. And of course, there are butches; and drag kings (alive, alive-o); and all kinds of ways of playing with the fetish of masculinity or "boy-ness" as artifice, among women. Usually these performances, explicitly erotic or no, take a leaf from the pages of gay male sexuality, and/or (more among drag kings, I guess) exaggerated hetboy "macho." It's all jolly good fun, of course.

But what I don't see or hear much about is something like the inverse of a "forced fem" scene; that is, forced masculinity. Submissive "boy," perhaps; but the fetish of the transformation itself, which is always what draws me (the same thing that drew me to fairy tales as a child and theatre later on, perhaps), the positioning of being a woman in boy's clothing as submissive in itself, the sensuality of the clothes--that, not so much.

The closest thing I've seen in literature is the section in Tipping the Velvet, (by Sarah Waters), where Diana, a cruel rich mistress in classic tradition, has lured Nan, male impersonator formerly in the theatrical halls, now in the streets as a "boy" prostitute to men, into her silken trap. Class, here, is what puts Diana firmly on top. Well, mostly that, but--erotically, at least--also something more ineffable, perhaps. At any rate, I read this passage with a great deal of interest:

"If you were King of Pleasure," she said, "and I were Queen of Pain..." Then, in a different tone, "You're very handsome, Miss King."

I took a long pull on the cigarette; it made me giddy as a glass of cham. I said, "I know." At that, she raised her hands to the front of my jacket--she was still wearing gloves, with the rings on top--and ran them over me, delicately and lingeringly, and sighing as she did so. Beneath the wool of my uniform my nipples sprang up stiff as little sergeants; my breasts--which had grown used to being as it were put aside with my corset and chemise--seemed at her touch to rise and swell and strain against their wrappings. I felt like a man being transformed into a woman at the hand of a sorceress. My cigarette smouldered at my lip, forgotten...

The lady, unnamed still at this point (the power of withholding, there), sends Nan into another rich overheated room, once she's undressed, or half-dressed, clutching a small, cold key:

At the bottom of the bed there was, as she had promised, a trunk: a handsome, antique chest made of some dessicated, perfumed wood--rosewood, I think...I knelt before it, placed the key into the lock; and felt the shifting, as I turned it, of some deep interior spring.

A movement in the corner of the room made me turn my head. There was a cheval-glass there, big as a door, and I saw myself reflected in it: pale and wide-eyed, breathless and curious, but for all that an unlikely Pandora, with my scarlet jacket and my saucy cap, my crop and my bare bare bum. In the next room all was hushed and still. I turned to the trunk again, and lifted its lid...[O]n a square of velvet lay the queerest, lewdest thing I ever saw...

It was, in short, a dildo. I had never seen one before; I did not, at that time, know that such things existed and had names. For all I knew of it, this might be an original, that the lady had fashioned to a pattern of her own.

Perhaps Eve thought the same, when she saw her first apple.

Even so, it didn't stop her knowing what the apple was for...

The lady now spoke. "Put it on," she called..."and come to me."

I struggled for a moment or two over the placing of the straps, and the tightening of the buckles. The brass bit into the white flesh of my hips, but the leather was wonderfully supple and warm. I glanced again toward the looking-glass. The base of the phallus was a darker wedge upon my own triangular shield of hair, and its lowest tip nudged me in a most obscenely insinuating way. From this base the dildo itself sprang...

When I took a step, the head gave a nod.

"Come here," said the lady when she saw me in the doorway; and as I walked to her, the dildo bobbed still harder. I lifted my hand to still it; and when she saw me do that she placed her own fingers over mine, and made them grasp the shaft and stroke it. Now the base's insinuating nudges grew more insinuating still; it was not long before my legs began to tremble and she, sensing my rising pleasure, began to breathe more harshly...

With my hands still clasped in hers she led me to one of the straight-backed chairs and sat me on it, the dildo all the while straining from my lap, rude and rigid as a skittle...With her hands close-pressed about my head and her legs straddling mine, she gently lowered herself upon me; then proceeded to rise and sink, rise and sink, with an ever-speedier motion. At first I held her hips, to guide them; then I returned a hand to her drawers, and let the fingers of the other creep round her thigh to her buttocks. My mouth I fastened now on one nipple, now on the other, sometimes finding the salt of her flesh, sometimes the dampening cotton of her chemise...

I had one brief moment of self-consciousness, when I saw myself as from a distance, straddled by a stranger in an unknown house, buckled inside that monstruous instrument, panting with pleasure and sweating with lust. Then in another moment I could think nothing, only shudder...

After a second she eased herself from my lap, then straddled my thigh and rocked gently there, occasionally jerking, and at last growing still. Her hair, which had come loose, was hot against my jaw.

At length she laughed, and moved again against my hip.

"Oh, you exquisite little tart!" she said.

The idea of the strap-on as a sort of pleasure prison (even as the gilded cage of the house itself becomes to Nan, later), was a new one for me. It's not just that the femme is (literally) on top. There's no power in that phallus, fun as it is to play with; the power here comes from Mistress Diana's purse. (Later, Nan takes some power back by using her voice in rebellion, but pays dearly for it. There is a sharp socioeconomic critique throughout the book, which is largely glossed over in the BBC teleplay).

Also new for me was the idea that male clothing could be erotic--I mean in a non-butch (I guess) way. Throughout the book, there is a distinctly loving, I'd say fetishistic, tone to the descriptions of the various male outfits Nan and Kitty wear. The red "military" uniform Diana first picks Nan up in is fairly classic, of course. But from there on her outfits, picked out and paid for by Diana, get distinctly...foppish. And very sensual indeed:

There was a jacket and trousers of bone-coloured linen, and a waistcoat, slightly darker, with a silken back. These came wrapped together in a box lined with velvet; in a separate package I found three pique shirts, each a shade lighter than the one before it, and each so fine and closely woven it shone like satin, or like the surface of a pearl.

Then there were collars, white as a new tooth; studs, of opal, and cuff-links of gold. There was a neck-tie and a cravat of an amber-coloured, watered silk: they gleamed and rippled as I drew them from their tissue, and slithered from my fingers to the floor like snakes. A flat wooden case held gloves--one pair of kid, with covered buttons, the other of doe-skin and fragrant as musk. In a velvet bag I found socks and drawers and undershirts--not of flannel, as my linen had been till now, but of knitted silk. For my head there was a creamy homburg with a trim that matched the neckties; for my feet there was a pair of shoes--a pair of shoes of a chestnut leather so warm and rich I felt compelled at once to apply my cheek to it, and then my lips; and finally, my tongue.

This interests me because Nan is still "objectified" here in the classic femme/female way, including lots of self-admiration in mirrors; and yet this only happens when she's wearing male clothes (she doesn't enjoy or look good in dresses, we learn early on, and in fact her build and features are such that she "passes" pretty well).

More interesting to me is how much pleasure can be gotten out of male clothing; and yet the author had to go back to the 19th century to do so. Why is menswear today so boring?

Proustian food meme

2006-01-17T12:11:00.000-08:00

Just to jog this page awake again: a blog meme culled from the archives of Chocolate and Zucchini. Five childhood food memories. (no, I wasn't tagged, but what the hell).

1. A restaurant in South Bend, Indiana, where I lived until I was eight or so. "Bill Knapp's." Specifically, they had these giant chocolate chip cookies at the end of the meal that for some reason I always associated with the intro from "Come Together" ("Sssshhooopp," little bass run). Something about the fact that they were abnormally BIG. That "ssshhooop" always frightened me just a little, and I used to hide under the coffee table whenever it was played in our house. The cookies didn't scare me, though. They were properly soft, just sweet enough, and melty in the right places. Crunchy, brittle chocolate chip cookies are an aberration.

2. A hot cereal called "Maypo." Oatmeal flavored with maple syrup, I believe. It is one of the few foods of my childhood that I'm not at all sure I'd like today as well as I did then. I believe it's discontinued. Commercial tagline: "I want my Maypo!"

3. Spaghetti with butter only, or maybe with garlic or parmesan cheese added, but nothing else. It was the only pasta sauce I'd tolerate. Unlike the Maypo, this one will forever be in my heart (one way or another). There is something elementally satisfying about this dish, in a way that bread and butter or rice and butter or even potatoes and butter just can't replicate, at least for me. Noodles in general have that effect on me, really: they're a mood elevator.

4. Prime rib. Tender, juicy, rimmed with soft white fat (which I considered then the best part, and to my regret I am not at all disabused of that impression even now), and oh-so-glamorous. There was a time when I could imagine nothing "fancier" or more wonderful than going out for prime rib, particularly at "Sportsman's Lodge" in Los Angeles. The ritual was absolute and perfect: coke with a maraschino cherry, rolls and butter, a nibble or so at whatever they put on the table (olives and carrots, I think). Then the prime rib, medium rare (I hadn't yet progressed to "rare," but I did love the pink even then), with its accompanying cup of (say it like it's one word, or a sneeze) "au jus." Something chocolate for dessert, no doubt. And then, I would gather up all the remaining rolls, and my father and I would go outside to the small pond in back, and I would feed the swans, all the while dreaming of fairy-tale princesses.

5. The dinner that I would always order when the family (including grandparents and sometimes great-uncle) went to a small restaurant called "Alouette:"*

1) Potato-leek soup, hot, smooth and velvety
2) A small crisp salad, undressed, until I learned better
3) Coq au vin, with the soft inside of a roll to mop up the tangy winey juices. On the side, their famous twice-baked potato, soft and rich with cheese, sparked with paprika (I think) and black pepper, topped with pleasing golden crunchy scallops. And maybe a few peas and tender baby onions, or slender green beans.
4) Pear "Alouette." This was their own version of what I now know is "poire belle Helene," but I've never had any quite as good. It was poached to (not mushy) softness, probably in a bath spiked with liqueur of some sort. Bittersweet melty chocolate coated all of one side. It was then placed on a bed of marzipan cake, and surrounded by fresh whipped cream.

I loved the food for its textures and tastes, obviously, but I'm sure the whole experience has a Proustian resonance for me. "Going out to eat" was a happy time, and had a feeling of Event to it, somehow, even at the most casual place.

*(sadly long defunct; it was a down-to-earth, not-too-pricey, non-nouvelle, homey, set-menu-having French restaurant of the sort that one still finds in New York, particularly around the theatre district, but is now rare as hen's teeth in L.A., if not actually extinct. That I know of, anyway).

The Delicious Grace Of Moving One's Paw

2005-12-19T20:21:00.000-08:00

A quirk of kitties--at least my kitty--that I never understood:

The whole mousie is never half as interesting as the tail of the same mousie just protruding under the door, or around a corner.

And then I thought: well, in a way it's the same impulse that makes humans find a half-dressed, half-lit figure more attractive than a straightforward nude. Or why the scariest part of the horror movie is right before the monster reveals itself...and why that's also often the best part.

Anticipation. Almost always more exciting than the event itself. Which requires a certain amount of imagination, or so I would have thought. Maybe it does, at that.

It's just not something I would have attributed to a cat, imagination. Because we don't, generally speaking. It seems too sophisticated. And yet, there it is. In fact, sometimes if the game's not challenging enough, he'll go around the corner and hide himself. Peekaboo. It's not the having; it's the stalking. But why?

I Want Candy!

2005-12-09T18:12:00.000-08:00

...Now that I've been poking around the Candy Blog, which is, appropriately enough, all about the sweetmeats. (The sugared kind that you chew and swallow, yes).

I am learning a lot from this blog. Did you know that Kit Kat bars come in dozens of flavors, most of which are only available outside the U.S.? I didn't 'til I read Cybele's review of several of them, including the Japanese-specific wine flavor.

I don't know why the idea of this last (wine-flavored candy! wine-flavored Kit Kats!) sends me so. I don't even know if I'd like eating it, although I'm certainly willing to try. Something about the familiar made exotic, I suppose, if you want to get all quasi-academic about it. It just strongly gives me the surreal-yet-banal feeling of some of my dreams, which, in addition to the usual compendium of ravening wolves and flunked exams and so on, often feature such motifs as supermarket shelves stocked with "cherry milk," which I've looked for in real life, in vain. (Strawberry, yes; green tea, even, yes. Cherry, no. And no, I don't actually want to drink any of them).

Lipstick on your (lace) collar.

2005-12-02T12:47:00.000-08:00

Oh, the joy of naming. This is one of the few sites I've seen that makes a distinction between "femme"--i.e. a feminine lesbian who's into butches, and a "lipstick lesbian" --i.e., a femmey lesbian who's into other femmes. Well, no, I take it back. It's one of the few sites I've seen that's celebratory of the latter without throwing attitude about the former (or vice versa, for that matter), and the only one specifically dedicated to the joys of femme-on-femme that's not aimed at men.

anyway, it works for me. I'm kind of a low-key femme--for me, lipstick and heels are dress-up, not daily--but I love women across the femmey spectrum as well as all the yummy accoutrements. Silk stockings. Crushed velvet. Creamy decolletage. Lashes for days. (erm, I meant to say "eyelashes," there, but the other kind can be fun as well...) And, of course, lipstick, satiny and sweet-tasting. Is there such a phrase as a "femme fetish?" I guess there is now.