A fantastic infographic from Sheer Luxury Lingerie on what lingerie looked like in the early 20th Century! Visit their website at http://www.sheerluxurylingerie.com/ for their sexy outfits!
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Yesterday, June 2nd, was Aunt Leona’s 82nd birthday. Last week I asked her if she’d like me to have a party for her, and she said no. I suggested a small dinner instead might be preferable as a celebration, and again she said no. Then I went to the desert for the long Memorial Day weekend, returning late Monday night, at which point she telephoned saying she’d changed her mind and that she did indeed want a party. She decided to invite four people, then waffled about when the party should take place: whether it should be on Wednesday, the actual day of her birthday, or whether it should be the next weekend, or perhaps the following week, because she hadn’t made up her mind soon enough to give advance notice, etc. etc. Knowing that this event could loom large on the horizon if something weren’t decided quickly, I told her I believed the party should be on her veritable birthday, that we should get on the phone instantly and invite the people we wanted. If they could come, Fine, and if they couldn’t, Too Bad! She agreed, the guests were invited, and I spent the next day shopping, cooking, and preparing.
Karen arrived an hour before the party was to begin in order to help me set up. Instead of setting up, we sat on the porch and drank martinis. Jon and Jeff had offered to bring Aunt Leona, and when they were half an hour late, we concluded that they’d either decided or been asked to redo her outfit, and sure enough, an hour after that, they arrived, the three of them. Leona was in black from head to toe, glowing, with her newly cut white hair crowning the somber ensemble, in complete contrast to her personality, which is as mischievous as ever. She loved describing her change of attire after fashion consultants Jon and Jeff got to her door. Jon was elegant wearing a dark silk shirt with fine linen trousers, and Jeff very handsome in a blue, mock workshirt with pearl buttons, chino trousers, and a high-fashion tan leather belt with a silver buckle. They entered giggling, because she had greeted them wearing different shoes on each foot, asking which one they preferred.
Two of the people Aunt Leona invited, Tom and Tim, arrived even later. Tom, whom she calls “The Tomster,” is a refined, delicate young man of about twenty-five, whom I’d met once before at Leona’s house. He’s clever, bright, and good-humored, as well as just a little fey. His other half, Tim, surprised me in that he looks as if he could be Tom’s brother. They are both the same age, slender, delicate and handsome; both have abundant dark hair, fair skin and wear elegant, casual clothes with great style. As they walked in, Jeff whispered: “Awfully Junior League, aren’t they?” and two minutes later, Karen, appraising their entrance on her own, cupped her hand and muttered quietly in my ear: “Girls!”
We enjoyed drinks, hors d’oeuvres and small-talk outside on the deck. Several of the guests arrived even later than Tom and Tim; as a result, cocktails were served at some length. I’d placed pâté, crackers, almonds and cheese on a stool for easy access. When Wayne arrived, Leona asked him to sit with her, moved the cheese off the stool, and announced that cheese doesn’t require a seat.
By then the evening air had taken on a chill; consequently I changed my original plan to have dinner outside around the picnic table. The interior dining table is too small for a large group, so it was decided at the last minute to serve a buffet. We arranged pillows on the floor by the coffee table with candles and wine goblets nearby; chairs were pulled up to make a comfortable circle for those who wanted them, and the meal was presented with complete informality, creating an intimate atmosphere conducive to good conversation among a group of people who were not all previously acquainted.
Talk was spirited, sometimes silly, and always amusing. Jeff told me he overheard Aunt Leona ask Karen, with some puzzlement, in the kitchen: “Tom and Tim, are they awfully Junior League?” Karen answered, “I don’t know. What’s Junior League?” After the meal and before birthday cake and presents, we continued to sip our wine and converse. Someone asked Tom how he and Tim had met, they exchanged glances, and Tim exclaimed: “Oh, we’re not going to tell THAT story, are we?” Everyone said: “I hope so!” and we all urged them on. In response, together they recounted how they had met in college, then became room-mates and good friends, but not more than that. After graduation, they made a date for a night on the town, and rather late in the evening, after several stops and diverse entertainments, decided to go to a bar called The Louie, located near a downtown freeway in a somewhat questionable neighborhood. The patrons of The Louie usually leave their cars at an adjacent parking lot which is well lit and supervised by an attendant furnished by the club. For some reason, the attendant was out of sight as they parked, and before they realized what was happening, the car was surrounded by four muscular black men armed with knives who told them to get out and start walking. They were hustled across a footbridge over the freeway, where the thieves took their car keys, money, wallets, and finally, all their clothing. They were left naked, in a state of shock and terrified, in a dangerous part of the city. We all wondered: what happened? The answer: they burst out laughing and fell in love. There was nothing else to do. It was too late to knock on a stranger’s door, they were doubtful about walking around naked, and they weren’t certain what course of action to take. Fortunately, soon after, a woman drove by, took pity on them and provided them with a sheet to wear. (She happened to have a sheet in the car because she was in the process of moving.) Too frightened to ask two naked men into her car in the middle of the night, she told them to wait right there, that she’d call the police from a pay phone and not to worry. Later on, the police arrived; were characteristically neither sympathetic nor friendly, but eventually returned the boys home. The car was not found until weeks later, completely trashed, and ever since, Tom and Tim have been sweethearts.
It was a sensational story, and no one could top it, so cake was served and Leona was presented with her birthday gifts. The last one to be opened, a surprise from Jon and Jeff, proved to be a life-size, inflatable man-doll, with an open mouth, a similar size opening at the crotch in front, and another similar size opening at the backside. With the doll, although packaged separately, was an oversize phallus, dismembered and wrapped in cellophane, cleverly designed to fit into any of the doll’s orifices: mouth, crotch, or backside, in any direction. We blew up the doll-man and inserted the cellophane-covered phallus into the normal front position, so it appeared as if he were wearing a condom. Jeff introduced him as Doc Johnson. Aunt Leona grabbed him by the cock, shook it admiringly, and said “Pleased to meet you.”
Then we sat him on a chair while we continued talking and laughing hilariously. When it came time to leave, Aunt Leona grabbed him again by the cock, waved him in the air, and said: “Come on, Honey. Let’s go home!” Then she delicately took Jon and Jeff, each by one arm; still holding on to Doc Johnson. Off they went, the four of them out to the jeep, three of them giggling into the night.
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First of all, what is a “Man Cave”? The following is quoted in wikipedia:
Man caves have multiple purposes: they are a place to be alone, to be away from women and from female sensibilities, to indulge in hobbies, and to hang out with male friends. It is, loosely, a male-only space to retreat to watch sports matches, or play video games. Some psychologists claim that a man cave can provide refuge from stressful surroundings and be beneficial to marriage?
A man retreating to his man cave may be a good idea for him, but what about the woman who has to deal with his sudden need to get away?
From a woman’s perspective, she may feel left out while he retreats into his cave, especially after an argument or disagreement. This will make many women feel insecure about the relationship and shutout.
A man going into his man cave can send some women into a complete frenzy, trying to figure out how to get him out of his cave or wonder how long he plans on staying in there. Sometimes, retreating to a man cave can also imply an emotional retreat away from her, which for many women, they seldom understand why …
When a man uses his man cave as a way to not deal with an ongoing problem in a relationship, it is usually frustrating for a woman because she is left wondering what to do, and it can drive some women to the brink of insanity. For a man, this not a recommended way to deal with an ongoing problem, as this type of continued behavior from any man is usually a sign that he may not be a good mate and needs some maturing and communication skills.
What makes a man want to retreat into a man cave?
It is not all that complicated even though women tend to make it more complicated in their minds.
When a man feels like his partner is not appreciating him, or he is being punished, pushed too hard, nagged, overwhelmed, not ready to commit or needs space from her, he may retreat to his man cave. Depending on the man, or the coaxing of his partner will determine how long he stays in his man cave. There are men as well that need space from time to time in a relationship, which is understandable, and if they don’t get it they begin to feel trapped and want to hide. If he retreats, which for some men may be a missed phone call, or wanting to take time away with friends, or after an argument, there are a few things that a woman can do depending on the relationship and his reason for retreating. Men tend to retreat more than women, and women tend to want to talk things out….
A few tips on what a woman can do when this happens in the relationship.
Five ways to deal with a man when he goes into his man cave mode.
For some women it may be helpful to understand that when a man goes into his man cave, it can be compared to a woman having her period, (grumpy, wanting to hibernate, moody, hurting, upset and needing time to just chill out and be alone) of course without the cramps, bleeding, fluctuating hormonal moods and bloating…
Communication
Learning how to communicate with a man can be frustrating for many women because they are used to communicating with their girlfriends in a way that men do not typically speak. Expecting a man to have the patience to listen to their problems without wanting them to solve the problem, can leave a man feeling helpless. Most men, especially younger men, are not used to this type of communication. They want to solve the problem and be done with it, whereas women on the other hand like to talk about their feelings so that they can get it off of their chest and have another person agree with them.
When women expect to have this type of communication with a man on a regular basis, most men will lose patience with her after a while and either retreat or say something to aggravate her and then it ends in an argument. Telling your man beforehand that you just need him to listen as a friend for a bit without a solution, can give him some clues as to what he is supposed to do and what is expected of him. Remember that he is not a girlfriend and at some point going on and on about a subject is best left to discuss with the girls. Too much complaining and he may run into his man cave again, for fear of getting corned into another lengthy emotional conversation.
As always, there are men that are more apt to lending an ear better than others from time to time, but for most men their instinct is to solve problems. That is what their mind are wired to do.
This article has been republished with permission from Dr. Dawn Michael.
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So I decided to go to Perth, the other side of Australia, where the mining boom has given the average tradesman a six figure salary. Again the scene, was very different but the receptionists were lovely and supportive, so that was good enough for me. It was smaller with less girls, thus it was a bit cliquey, with even the owners engaging in workplace gossip. The main thing that shocked me was the proliferation of methamphetamine amongst the workers and clients. Western Australian state brothel laws prohibit the consumption of alcohol on premises. What shocked me was how open they were about their recreational drug use.
Clients would come in and say ‘Sorry I might not get hard, I blazed pretty hard just before I got here’ (NB ‘blaze’ refers to smoking a meth pipe). Many times I would strike up conversation with girls only to be constantly interrupted and eventually just watch them ramble on and on. On Saturday nights we would watch and laugh at the resident heroin addict who would go on the nod and spill tea all over herself. It was a relief really because as long as she was unconscious, we wouldn’t have to protect our stuff. She was a kleptomaniac.
Because of the alcohol restrictions and the unavailability of cocaine in WA, it was actually a lot easier to work there. In the Shoe on a Saturday night there would be a 50/50 chance that we would have to spend hours getting lock-jaw sucking on sheathed and flaccid dick. In Perth, besides the 1% on meth, the worst they could do was drink too much making them rock hard and unable to ejaculate which is still better than flaccid dicks.
Being an isolated city, Perth has a higher proportion of Australian clientele, and not the cosmopolitan kind that can be found in Sydney and Melbourne. I don’t care what anyone says, us Australians are pretty fucking funny.
Bearing this in mind, I decided to move to Perth and go private. The only thing holding me back from going private in Sydney was not being able to afford a place of my own. With its more affordable housing and wealthy laid-back population, I decided to take the plunge.
Looking back, I do not think I could go back to brothel work. Then again, as they say in this industry, ‘never say never.’ Hell, I walked away from the Shoe three times. I get to choose my clients, work when I want and earn over twice as much as I did in brothels where management garnished 30%-50% of whatever money
we made.
What I do miss most is the camaraderie between the workers. The gender stereotype that all women are bitchy and compete with each other does not apply to the work environment in brothels. Any worker who did subscribe to this stereotype quickly became a pariah. Never did I experience an environment that was more supportive and non-judgmental than the brothel. Our backgrounds, income, identity etc. didn’t matter. There, we were all equal.
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With respect to receptionists and management, I have to say the Shoe ranks as the worst for me. But it has the best reputation out of all brothels in the state so it had a higher number of clientele. I worked there on and off for two years. I suspect that the management has engineered certain rules to make sure that working girls have a shorter shelf life, which means a constant influx of new workers which is attractive to clients. Some receptionists were lovely and there for us workers. But the business was run with a ‘customer’s always right’ mentality. This is all well and good for when you’re selling inanimate products or a normal service like house cleaning or dentistry. But when you are dealing in an industry that essentially sells personalities, it is a whole different scenario.
Personalities are malleable and dependent on so many external factors. For a worker that is good at her job, the only thing that will affect her performance is the way a client treats her. I tell my clients all the time, as long as you are polite and respectful, you will get the best from me. Of course in this world sometimes people don’t click. When a dispute erupts between a client and working girl, chances are it is the client’s fault.
The bookings I walked out of that stick in my memory are the guy who was so drunk he could barely stand and after about 20 minutes he must have told me to ‘Shut tha fook oop’ at least ten times. There was also the guy who just went and shoved his dick up my anus on one of my first ever shifts. As a brothel worker I did not allow clients to finger me, be too rough or indulge in certain extras without paying first. Most of us would just warn him the first time a client crossed our boundaries, the second time we would walk out.
At the Shoe, though, there was an implicit pressure to put up with clients’ shit, no matter how bad we were being treated. If it wasn’t because receptionists recorded everything in a diary and sacked girls who had had too many run-ins with clients, it was because many times I saw certain perpetrators be welcomed back in to the establishment and piss off some more workers.
The first time I left it was because I went traveling for months, fell in love, then got a normal job. When that short-lived romance ended I wasn’t quite ready to go back there. On its own the Shoe is overwhelming. So I worked a few shifts at one Eastern Suburbs establishment where the receptionists were the nicest I had ever come across but dammit, they just didn’t get enough clients.
I moved on to another brothel right in the middle of Sydney’s central business district. Because of its location I stood a chance of making a similar amount to what I made at the Shoe from the suit-wearing clientele. Unfortunately, the management were a bunch of meth-addled, paranoid, MMA-type men. The brothel was much like those found in Melbourne where rather than being put in a room, introduced to girls one-by-one and told to choose, clients could sit at a bar and talk a bit more with girls. This is all well and good but many time-wasters would come in, sit at the bar for ages, perv on the girls then leave. Others would stay for hours then only book the cheapest service.
Initially the owner and his MMA mates were vigilant about making these wankers leave but after a while they started assuming the ‘customer’s always right’ mentality a la Shoe. Furthermore, the beefy owner would sit at the end of the bar watching everything going on like some pimp. Most owners would employ a female manager for this, so clients and even the workers wouldn’t be put off.
Some of the workers there weren’t particularly nice either. There were many older women who had been working there for years who took an instant dislike to me. There was a more competitive atmosphere because of the bar setting. I suppose because we didn’t have our own room to hang out while waiting for clients, we couldn’t really relax.
Eventually, I wound up back at the Shoe but every few weeks, I’d take some weeks off to dedicate more time to my studies or travel some more. One year later I left because I had an argument with the manager who yelled at me for not wanting to take a one hour booking 15 minutes before my 10 hour night shift was due to end. She said when I offered to do the booking for half an hour “It’s not up to us to tell the clients how long they can stay or not. If you do this again you won’t be welcome back here.”
Feeling like I had no autonomy over my own body I left to work at a rival brothel. Here many of the girls and even one of the receptionists had worked at the Shoe and left for similar reasons to mine. I remember my first booking; as soon as I brought the client up the room and finished his health check he leaned in to the shower and began pissing. In my surprise I told reception over intercom. The receptionist arrived immediately, sternly told the man that all he had to do was ask me which way to the toilets and asked me if I still wanted to go ahead with the booking. My standards were low after working at the Shoe for years so I said yes. As we were walking downstairs to sort the money out the client yelled down to us to stop talking about him. The receptionist went up there, yelled at him to put his clothes on and kicked him out. This would not have happened at the Shoe and it made me feel really good about this new place, Whitney’s I’ll call it.
For brothel workers it’s important for our morale to know that the receptionists are on our side. To watch us like hawks and not back us up when we have legitimate grievance with a client damages our psyche. We no longer like our work, making us more likely to give bad service. It also makes us more likely to burn out quickly and disappear, which is probably what the Shoe was aiming for. Meanwhile, other business struggle to find enough variety of ladies and appreciate if a worker can bring in regular clients. Unfortunately, I just couldn’t make enough money at Whitney’s, there weren’t enough clients coming in.
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Come April, Thailand will be the host to Asia’s largest gay circuit party. Songkran9 is a three day circuit party event organized by gCircuit. This year, Songkran9 will span from 10 to12 April. This massive event will include three night parties and two pool parties with established DJs from around the world. One can expect to hear great music, see hot go-go dancers and meet wonderful people while parting the night away. gCircuit has created a solid brand that is known to all those who love to party.
The gCircuit brand is also synonymous with their founders, Tom and Oui. Tom and Oui are a loving gay couple that has been together for over 15 years. They met during Tom’s first trip to Bangkok. On his last night before flying home to Singapore, they crossed paths on the dance floor of a gay club and both knew it was love at first sight. However, the deck was stacked against them. On top of coming from a conservative family, Tom was only back in the region because it was his NYU summer vacation, hence adding more miles between them. In an effort to be together, Oui decided to fly to New York to study English. Upon Tom’s graduation two years later, Tom decided to settle down in Oui’s native country, Thailand. The couple has built their life in Bangkok ever since.
During the mid-2000s when Nation Party, a gay circuit party that was held in Singapore, was discontinued indefinitely, Oui suggested that they start their own circuit party. Base on their love for the dance floor and coupled with their entrepreneurial background, they decided to take on the journey and were determined to succeed. Tom felt that if they want to do a circuit party, then they had to do it right. The party should have the best DJs with the best go-go boys and be held at the best locations. There were many gay parties at that time that were held in rundown straight clubs and these were struggling to stay alive. Being mediocre was not an option for the couple. Tom and Oui wanted to have a party that was unique to Thailand, just like how the Nation parties was unique to Singapore. Hence, they choose the Songkran festival—a well known wet and wild water festival in Thailand that welcomes the Thai New Year.
This year, gCircuit celebrates its ninth circuit party and its success can be attributed to Tom and Oui’s passion and persistence. The couple has a lot of love for the LGBTQ community. They believe in listening to people and giving back. When they started, they only had a two night party. It subsequently expanded into three, when the demand grew. When the Bear community wanted a space where they would not feel judged, they decided to have an exclusive Bear pool party. The outreach and contribution of gCircuit goes beyond just a three day party. In 2013, gCircuit helped Standard Chartered bank roll out a suite of products called We+. This range of products allows unmarried couples, regardless of sexual orientation and gender identity, in committed relationship get loans and mortgages. This year, they are focus is on addressing the increase in number of HIV cases reported by UNAIDS. They want to help to create an innovative way to bring the awareness for the need for safe sex to the new generation. gCircuit is definitely headed towards bigger and bolder things.
The LGBTQ calendar is shaping up to be an exciting one with SongKran9 opening the year. So come April if you are looking for a place to power up your soul, remember there is a massive circuit party with a rich history down in the City of Angels.
Image courtesy of gCircuit
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Australia; the land of tranquil beaches, relaxed people and numerous predators. Many a traveller has disembarked Sydney Airport and marveled at the sparkling harbor, blue skies and cosmopolitan structures. One would hardly suspect that this city is also home to a number of legal brothels that are large and grandiose enough to rival any in Berlin or Amsterdam.
I made my first foray into the world of Sydney’s brothels over three years ago. After following the directions according to the brothel’s website I arrived at a large, nondescript grey building. It was on a busy road, appeared somewhat new and had no windows. I rang the doorbell and was ushered in to what was a complete contrast to the outside. In front of me was a spiral staircase and a water feature. Carefully controlled lighting and unobstructive bar/lounge music created a tasteful atmosphere. I was led around a corner to a full stocked bar decked out with leather seats for a formal interview. Then I was given a tour of the establishment, from the ‘girls’ room’ where the workers could watch TV, enjoy a fully stocked fridge or set up their laptops on tables while they waited for ‘meets.’
In the meetings, clients would ring the doorbell and be greeted by smiling receptionist who would lead him to an allocated room. As she seated the client, the receptionist would tell him what to expect (‘The girls will come and introduce themselves one by one. Please remember their names and feel free to ask them any questions’) then leave him to peruse the price list. Afterwards she would come back, consult with the client, then go to the girls’ room to retrieve the working lady of his choosing.
The chosen worker would collect the client, bring him to the staircase where the receptionist would tell her the number of which room to go to, then take him upstairs. Upon entering the room, she would lead the client to a special lamp where she would instruct the client to drop his pants so she could give him a thorough health check. With all things clear (which happened about 95% of the time) she would ask him how long he wanted to stay, take the money from him and put him in the shower.
Then she would go to the cashier’s office at the end of the corridor, say the type of service and the room number, e.g. ‘1 hour plus kissing in 5.’ The cashier would record this and the worker would take her ‘condom bag’ from the cupboard and go back to the room where the client would have by then finished his shower. Every room had an intercom where the cashier would ring a buzzer five minutes before the booking was due to finish. The worker and client would shower, get changed, then be ready to leave the room by the time the second buzzer was rung. She would lead him down the back staircase where the receptionist would meet them to see the client out.
What I have described is a very formulaic process that was common practice for every brothel I have ever worked at. As clinical as it sounds, it was quite fun a lot of the time. Despite the processing each brothel had its own individual character, depending on the workers, the receptionists, the management and the décor. There wasn’t much difference in clients as far as demographics are concerned.
Watch out for Part 2 of Australia’s legal brothels this weekend!
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What do you mean you didn’t know there was a connection? There is. Think about it. Think about where you feel sexual tension in your body—feel it—now think about where you feel tension releasing from in your body when you climax and now think about where in your body you can feel that build up … in your ass.
Many months ago I wrote an article called ‘Sexual Frustration Causes Haemorrhoids: Discuss’ on my blog that covered a very simple practice that you can do to re-circulate the energy associated with sexual frustration. Piles (haemorrhoids) are caused (energetically speaking) by stagnant sexual energy or ‘Chi’ as the Chinese call it. It stands to reason that if you circulate that energy this practice could, just could, help alleviate some of the symptoms associated with those grapey little suckers hanging down in an oh so unsexy fashion but wait … there’s a far more important point to this article … stay with me.
In Parts I, II and III of Masturbation: A Series on How to Get You Off we looked at new and intense ways to get to know yourself sexually by exploring your body in perhaps a fresh way. This builds sexual energy in the body. Just writing this to you now; I can feel it building. Can you feel it? Just by recalling those articles on masturbation I can feel it building, can you feel it?
Energy—whether sexual, physical, emotional etc—has to go somewhere. It must move in order to prevent stagnancy and to alleviate pressure. If our bodies start to swell, stiffen (no, not that kinda stiffening) or bruise then we know that something somewhere is stuck. So to get the most out of the previous articles (and to prevent/help symptoms* associated with piles) it really is best to work with me in getting into our bodies, ‘grounding’ ourselves even deeper into those bodies and, yes, doing some very important exercises to keep that energy moving which will … drum roll please … lead to better sex, more intense orgasms and an ‘earthier’ more complete climax.
So this maybe a little too practical for you and you might be thinking ‘God this is boring, I clicked onto SimplySxy for some titillating fun!’ but trust me on this one, it only takes a minute (or two, or three) and you really will feel the benefit if you keep this exercise up. In fact … for you men reading this, I can tell you how this exercise benefits me: it gives me stronger erections, helps me to last longer, intensifies my climax and gives me more control. Yeah … I thought that might get your attention. Ladies, I’m not a lady and don’t want to go making claims I can’t prove, you know, with the lawyers watching an’ all, but just humour me on this one and do feel free to report back … ready … steady … let’s go (some of what follows has been reproduced from my blog).
Firstly you need to know a little bit more about this sexual energy that I keep talking about. The sexual energy is housed within the perineum or ‘root Chakra’. We need this energy to circulate around the body freely, travelling up the spine, around the brain and down the arms, through the palms of the hands and so on.
This is needed in our everyday lives—not just when we are having sex.
You can probably feel it awakening now, reading this. You will most probably feel a tingle at the top of your head, a rush down your arms and maybe even a heat in your groin. This is your body responding to my words, the sexual energy resonating with the energy of my intentions as I share this information with you.
When the energy stops flowing and/or if there is a blockage preventing full movement of energy, this causes obvious sexual symptoms: loss of sexual appetite, impotence, dryness, frustration, premature ejaculation, inability to reach climax etc. It also causes a more physical build up of blood in the anus and rectum due to the lack of movement. The stagnant sexual energy has, quite simply, resulted in stagnancy in the blood circulation and this combined with vascular weakness/valve failure, causing piles (haemorrhoids).
The Solution:
Stand with your feet hip-distance apart, knees softened, limbs relaxed. Imagine a chord pulling you upright (keeping knees soft) from the centre of your head. Relax your jaw and close your eyes.
Now curl your toes under as if digging them into the ground. Now ‘pull up’ your anus and perineum. If you cannot maintain this tension (eventually, with practice, you will) just keep squeezing and pulling up. This will feel like a ‘pumping’ sensation. To maintain the squeeze is preferable, but pumping will do.
Now you will probably feel a heat from your perineum/anus rising up the spine. This is the stagnant sexual energy and you are now waking this up, drawing it up the spine.
Can you feel that heat?
Now visualise that you are THROWING this up and out of the top of your head—DRAMATICALLY. Throw it up in the air and let it disappear. Keep that tension in your perineum/anus and keep bringing that energy up the spine and throwing it out of the top of your head.
Relax your toes but maintain the anal tension. Continue to throw the energy up and out.
Now relax everything but stay upright. That completes the practice, dead easy or what?
Now just to finish you off (pun intended):
VERY IMPORTANT—Ground Yourself: Stamp your feet, shout, scream (this releases energy, don’t ask, just humour me and do it) and then return to the initial knees-soft standing posture (without tensing your toes or anus) and visualise roots growing out of the soles of your feet. You might even want to go outside and do it or stand with your back against a tree and do it. If you are a wheelchair user, you can of course, do all the above in your own way and easily visualise growing roots out of the soles of your feet. You can back your wheelchair up against a tree, no problem.
The grounding after an exercise of this nature is important and also can be very helpful before and after masturbating. Try it and see what difference it makes. Put as much effort into your grounding practice as you did throwing the energy out of the top of your head.
We are now with this article and the series on masturbation, really getting to know how to work with our sexual energy. I ask this a lot and will continue to ask you: can you feel that heat?
Wonderful.
Matt xXx
Here’s to your intimate adventures…
*This article is written based on Matt’s personal and professional experiences and does not make any claim to be in replacement of treatment for Haemorrhoids or the symptoms of Haemorrhoids and makes no claims to improve sexual performance. NB Please seek medical advice before attempting the exercises mentioned in this article should you require this. Matt cannot be held responsible for any adverse effects experienced as a result of not taking this advice and this article is not to be used in replacement of medical, psychological or emotional treatment.
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In Chinese culture, we grow up without having many celebrating our success with us. People around us tell us we are not good enough, that we “ought to” do better, that there is still room for improvement. Sounds familiar?
Did you know that this lack of celebration in our lives affects the way we approach relationships? Having coached many individuals, I realised that the lack of celebrations in one’s growing up years have hindered his/her ability to “loosen up” and have fun. It is very important to know how to celebrate different milestones in life and as a couple.
Recognition and motivation
Celebrations give us a sense of recognition for even the smallest accomplishments and milestones. Being recognised allows us to feel good about ourselves and take pride in whatever we do in life because we know that someone who matters cares. It motivates us to do better in life knowing that we have someone to celebrate with us.
Relationship Builder
Celebration helps create a sense of unity among couples. It feels good to know that someone cares and is always there for you to celebrate your success. Seeing each other grow and progress and to know that you are part of the other’s person success is a tool for bonding like no other. No condemnation, only celebration, how does that sound?
Morale Builder
Our morale often gets a boost when our efforts are recognised through celebrations. The feeling of appreciation helps to improve our attitudes towards life. Celebrations create excitement and expectancy that breaks the regular routine of daily chores and act as an additional morale booster. When morale is high between couples, love grows and this relationship becomes positively productive.
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A soldier defends his country with pride. He fights for the people he loves and for the land that he grew up in. Assuming that soldier wanted to be a soldier in the first place. But for Singaporeans like me, being a soldier is not a choice because of the mandatory conscription
Don’t get me wrong, I love my country. It’s a small country with low crime rates, no natural disasters, and delicious food. Aside from the fact that I can’t get married here and I can get arrested for having gay sex, it’s a lovely place.
I have been in the army for almost four months. Running, marching, and doing push ups in the sun while getting yelled at is something I am pretty much used to by now.
Like most Singaporean boys, I dreaded my enlistment, two years of my life taken away while my female counterparts get a head start in their higher education and careers. However, as a GAY Singaporean boy, I had more things on my mind. Do I declare my sexual orientation to the army and let all branches of the government know I’m gay? Effectively destroying any chance of getting a job in the government sector? If I don’t declare my sexual orientation to the army, which is what most gay Singaporeans do, then I would have to go back into the closet.
I don’t have a problem returning back to the magical world of Narnia. All I had to do was say “Bro” all the time and know the names of female porn stars.
“Bro, check out Maria Ozawa’s tits in her new video, she gets jizz all over it.” or something like that.
My platoon mates are nice guys (mostly). But like most straight guys, their anuses tighten up whenever another vaguely gay comes up in conversation.
“I don’t have a problem with gay guys, as long as they don’t be gay around me.”
“Gays are fucking disgusting.”
“Eww, faggots.”
“Don’t be a faggot.”
“Did you see the way that faggot was staring at us?”
And all that jazz, all of which I have grown used to hearing. I would love to bitch them out one day about their homophobic remarks, but there’s just too much at stake. I risk outing myself, which would make me an outcast to be picked on. I risk losing any “friendships” that I had forged. We are brothers in arms, comrades for life, unless you liked cock.
The Singapore Armed Forces obviously isn’t the best place for homosexuals. We’re not allowed to serve openly and homosexuality is still listed as a mental disorder on health declaration forms. Any lack of masculinity made you a target for others to mock and jeer at.
I tell myself that I am proud to serve my country even though it treats me like a second class citizen for being gay, I tell myself that the words of others don’t matter, I tell myself that these “brothers” of mine will accept me for who I am. But are they just lies I feed myself to give me the strength to push through? The next twenty months will tell.
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