Sex
Look away, Dildo Land
The author of "Sex in the South" whoops it up at a sex-toy sales meeting in Arkansas.
Editor’s Note: Suzi Parker is a journalist who lives in Little Rock, Arkansas. She’s been working on the book “Sex in the South” for about five years, looking for the most compelling, unusual stories that would make up what she calls “one girl’s whirlwind tour though the sexual South, rather than a dry, academic study.”
She found a lot of the stories in her native state, but after doing research she found that a whole sex underground network existed in the South — even though the outward image of that part of the country is socially conservative. Mostly it’s religion that defines the region. “We’re a region that is absolutely dominated by religion,” says Parker. “It’s not uncommon to find a town with more churches than liquor stores. In such an overtly religious region, folks naturally develop split public versus private personalities when it comes to sex … that kind of repression leads to some serious pressure building up, a pressure that gets released in some unusual, creative ways.”
This excerpt is from the first chapter of “Sex in the South” and it’s definitely about pressure being released.
“Dildo-a-rama”
Vacuums and Vibrators
MAUMELLE, ARKANSAS — It’s hard to focus on the Scriptures when you are thinking about the EZ pleaser.
Only in the South would a girl like me go to church on Sunday morning, attend the monthly Methodist potluck after the preaching, and then show up a few hours later at a local hotel to learn the art of selling sex toys to housewives. But after all, this is Arkansas, the land of split personalities, where nobody is ever what they seem.
I gobble down the last bit of Jell-O salad, a frothy green concoction of whipped cream, lime gelatin and pineapples, on my paper plate at the potluck before saying my good-byes. I don’t bother to tell my friends my afternoon agenda — that I am headed to a sex toy sales meeting at a Ramada Inn.
The motel sits perched on a hill between a chain-owned Mexican restaurant with oversized floppy sombreros on the fiesta-bright walls and a chain-owned Chinese restaurant with jumbo glittery goldfish in a man-made stone pond. I walk into the mauve and beige lobby, and before I even approach the front desk to ask where the sex toy mavens are meeting, a stern-faced man points down a hall. He obviously knows what I am looking for on a Sunday afternoon — jiggly, wiggly sex toys.
In a small conference room, a group of women — who clearly enjoy shopping at Wal-Mart and prefer casseroles to Donna Karan and personal trainers — bubble with giddy electricity. This afternoon isn’t about 12-inch dildos, fuzzy lavender handcuffs for light S/M, or even vivid violet vibrators. No, it’s all about introducing these modern-day sales folk to a new product: Pure Satisfaction.
Pat Davis, the president of Passion Parties in Brisbane, California, has flown in for this seminar. This, I soon learn, is a big damn deal. She was formerly a motivational speaker at San Diego’s Millionaires in Motion before she found a home at Passion Parties. It’s not every day the common housewife or beauty operator who sells sex toys on the weekend meets Pat Davis, a brassy woman who tells the crowd she’s been married for more than 30 years and a little romance and hoochie-coo never hurt anyone.
It’s no surprise that the president of the company would embark on a tour of the South. It’s the best-selling area in the country for sex toys. And Passion Parties, hosted by perky Passion Party hostesses (think 1970s Tupperware parties but with rubber penises instead of plastic ice trays) are all the rage in small towns across the region. There’s nothing like a bunch of women getting together on a Friday night and giggling naughtily about a piece of rubber in the shape of a dick. Unless, that is, it’s on Wednesday night. That’s when husbands think their wives are at choir practice at the Southern Baptist church, but then they come home with edible undies and a love swing under their arm instead of the Bible.
The women in this cozy conference room range in age from a bashful 22 year old to 60-plus. Some are married, some single.
“Have you tried it?” a Big Gulp-sipping woman beside me asks me point-blank.
I shake my head no. Last time I tried such a sexual aid I got into serious hot water. I prefer to go the natural route now, and if a screaming banshee orgasm fails to happen, so be it. I’ll play it safe for a while.
Oh, honey, you’ve got to try it. Make her give you a sample.”
I smile and nod. Yeah, sure thing.
Here’s how the Passion Party catalog describes Pure Satisfaction UniSEX Enhancement Gel: “An exclusive UniSEX gel for enhanced sexual satisfaction in high demand by today’s men and women. Passion Parties is the first to present a safe and natural topical Unisex gel that induces more intense orgasms in both sexes, allows for greater intimacy and maximum sexual fulfillment.” You get the picture.
Just in case I didn’t get the picture from that description — written by an established romance writer who shall remain nameless (something tells me it’s not Danielle Steele) — some of the women in the room decide to give testimonials. Just like church: Time to testify!
“I’ve always had a fantasy about having an orgasm so intense that I pass out,” says a woman in her thirties with curly brown hair.
Damn! I think, suddenly picturing this housewife starring in a snuff film.
“My husband and I applied it to my clit and to the head of his penis. Then you feel it. It’s tingling, burning, on fire. He slid into me and banged me until I had the orgasm of my life.”
The woman gasps and sweat pops out on her face. Her eyes glisten at the torrid memory. I’ll have what she’s having, I think to myself.
“But that wasn’t enough so I made him go again, and I came again.”
Oh, yeah! I’ll definitely have what she’s having.
“Then, he just couldn’t go anymore but I could. So that’s when we got out the sex toys.”
Perk! Definitely want me some of that.
“And I came so hard when he kept pushing the sex toy in and out that I passed out. I was gone. I think it scared my husband, but I came to after a few minutes.”
Hmmm, not so sure I want what she’s having after all. I’m not ready to quasi-meet my maker following a screaming O. But everyone else seems receptive and claps loudly. I’m reminded of an old-time riverbank revival: same passion, different scripture.
Suzi Parker is an Arkansas writer. More Suzi Parker.
Massage therapists rubbed wrong by sex talk
A Jennifer Love Hewitt show and the Travolta allegations have masseuses tired of being confused for sex workers
(Credit: iStockphoto/sybanto) Joe, a licensed massage therapist, knows what it’s like having a famous client who expects something extra. He had an Academy Award-winning actor begin gyrating on his massage table before raising his hips in the air to show off his erection. “He was hoping that I would play with him in some shape or form,” he says.
Needless to say, Joe isn’t surprised by allegations by two masseurs that John Travolta got handsy during massages. (Travolta’s attorney has denied all the allegations, and called them “ridiculous.”) “It happens all the time,” he says, and not just with celebrity clients. He frequently encounters men who try to fondle him, usually while he’s working on their glutes or lower back and their hand happens to be level with his crotch. “They think they’re so original, but they’re all so much the same,” Joe says, his voice rising. “They all use the same tactics, the same body movements, the same gyrations and grinding my table, the [heavy] breathing.”
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Tracy Clark-Flory is a staff writer at Salon. Follow @tracyclarkflory on Twitter. More Tracy Clark-Flory.
A night at the vibrator museum
Early vibrators were hand-cranked, two-person jobs -- and prescribed by doctors. How far we've come since then
(Credit: Antique Vibrator Museum) I can now say that I’ve used a turn-of-the-century vibrator — on my hand, but still.
The silver, hand-cranked contraption is usually kept behind glass at Good Vibrations’ Antique Vibrator Museum in San Francisco — but staff sexologist Carol Queen made a rare exception. “This is very special,” she whispered, unlocking the case and carefully pulling out Dr. Johansen’s Auto Vibrator, a relic from 1904. The “auto” part is not so much: It was a two-person job, with her having to crank the device’s handle to get it thrumming. Pressing my finger tips to its inch-wide circular platform of pleasure, I was pleasantly surprised by its power.
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Tracy Clark-Flory is a staff writer at Salon. Follow @tracyclarkflory on Twitter. More Tracy Clark-Flory.
Maggie Gyllenhaal on sexual liberation
The beloved indie star tells Salon about her "vibrator movie" and why she loves playing transgressive women
Maggie Gyllenhaal (Credit: Reuters/Mark Blinch) When I met Maggie Gyllenhaal about six weeks ago, she was enormously and gloriously pregnant, stretching out on a sofa with her shoes off and feet up in a Manhattan office building. (Since that time, Gyllenhaal and husband Peter Sarsgaard have welcomed their second daughter, Gloria Ray, to the world.) We were there to talk about “Hysteria,” the charming, lightweight feminist farce from director Tanya Wexler that explores a key event in the history of female sexuality: the invention of the vibrator by Mortimer Granville, a Victorian doctor who was seeking to cure the mysterious “female malady” that lends the movie its title.
Continue Reading CloseMother-daughter sexperts
Susie Bright and her daughter, Aretha, make parental talks about sex look easy -- and fun
Most parents loathe talking to their kids about the birds and the bees, let alone pubic hair grooming, faked orgasms and “water sports” — but most parents are not legendary “sexpert” Susie Bright.
Better than talking about these things, she penned an advice column in 2009 with her daughter, Aretha, then 19, for the ladyblog Jezebel. Their answers to questions about everything from porn to Paxil were unflinching but playful, and at times controversial. Now the pair have collected those columns into a new e-book, “Mother/Daughter Sex Advice.” Together, they read as an irreverent version of “Our Bodies, Ourselves” for the Internet age. The mother-daughter team also reflect on what the experience of writing the column was like, and it turns out it wasn’t as weird as many would think: For the most part, it was just a continuation of conversations they had been having throughout Aretha’s life.
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Tracy Clark-Flory is a staff writer at Salon. Follow @tracyclarkflory on Twitter. More Tracy Clark-Flory.
On the rack: A cultural history of breasts
Did breasts evolve for lactation or to enhance sex appeal? A new book explores why they matter
(Credit: iStockphoto/NadyaPhoto) It’s hard to be boobs. Sure, breasts are cherished as givers of milk and the pinnacle of sex appeal, but the modern world hasn’t been good to mammaries.
As Florence Williams writes in “Breasts: A Natural and Unnatural History,” they’re the most tumor-prone organ in the human body. They “soak up pollution like a pair of soft sponges,” and transmit environmental toxins to babies through breast milk. “Breasts are bellwethers for the changing health of people,” she says. While we’ve “genetically modified our crops to be able to protect them from the ill effects of pesticides,” Williams writes, “we haven’t yet figured out how to modify our breasts.” Aside from using saline and silicone, of course.
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Tracy Clark-Flory is a staff writer at Salon. Follow @tracyclarkflory on Twitter. More Tracy Clark-Flory.
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