contraman

I'll help. I offer reasonable rates and I won't use peanut oil if you're allergic...

I am not a doctor, but it's my understanding that without sores or lesions within the mouth, that DFK is a low-risk activity. That said, if you require NO-risk sexual activity, there's phone sex and spankwire.

Sushi shop sign too offensive for neighbourhood By QMI Agency The sushi bar menus will wear soon be changed to something more "appropriate". (Chantal Poirier/QMI Agency) MONTREAL - A Quebec Superior Court flipped the bird to sushi restaurant Fukyu. The name "Fukyu" might be a Japanese word for a form of martial arts, but a judge ruled in August that it was "clearly inappropriate" in the Montreal context. Sushi bar owner John De Melo, 28, told QMI Agency he wanted to name his Montreal resto something "catchy and Japanese. We didn't think it would be inappropriate." So the sign outside his restaurant read "Fukyu" since last February. By July, De Melo's landlord began receiving complaints from other tenants. The landlord, L.G. Plaza, filed a lawsuit claiming De Melo was obliged to get consent before erecting the sign that the landlord claimed was provocative. Judge Kirkland Casgrain agreed and ordered De Melo to hide the offensive words within 24 hours of the court ruling, which was released at the end of August. De Melo said he didn't think the ruling would have negative impact on his business. "I think the financial impacts on my company will be positive," he said, adding that the case has given his sushi bar increased exposure to the public. Additional Comments: Condoms? They're tough. And if you don't believe me, then a quick view of this video, involving a condom, 8 Mentos, and a bottle of Diet Coke will prove it. Make your own jokes...

I know there have been threads here about body hair removal for men. Apparently, according to this Amazon review, Veet for Men is not a recommendation: http://www.amazon.co.uk/review/RMSBINADT0S6S/ref=cm_aya_cmt?ie=UTF8&ASIN And frankly, I'm not convinced by a lot of the other reviews either. YOWWWWEEEE! "Imagine sticking a rusty razor blade into your favourite eye, before tying your hands behind your back. Then imagine that you use the entrenched razor blade to slice open a raw onion. All the while being butt naked. This product is slightly more painful than that. However if we ignore the blinding, crippling and debilitating pain I should point out that this product is remarkably effective. Before, all manner of organisms great and small lived down there, now nothing can grow; not even on a cellular level. Sadly this includes my genitalia; I've spent the last four hours staring fixedly at Carol Vorderman's arse, all to no avail. My tinkywinkleton hasn't even so much as perked up, so if my review seems a bit harsh, it's only because I wanted children."

I've put a hold on this book at the library, but I also have an entirely selfish idea, since I've already read it -- how about "Full Dark No Stars" by Stephen King?

I'm a pretty giant music fan. I'm wondering what music other people find the perfect accompaniment to a romantic interlude. For me, one of my favorites is Lhasa, a great singer who died a couple of years ago, way too young.

for Nathalie Lefebvre's skill in these matters. She crossed a couple of items off my bucket list.

Hate to be a drag, but I wouldn't care if they ever went back. I'm an auto racing and bike racing guy.

Next? Cameras to watch the cameras that watch the cameras, and so on, and so on... New cameras to watch cameras that watch you PALMER PARK, Md. - Many people find speed cameras frustrating, and some in the region are taking their rage out on the cameras themselves. But now there's a new solution: cameras to watch the cameras. One is already in place, and Prince George's County Police Maj. Robert V. Liberati hopes to have up to a dozen more before the end of the year. "It's not worth going to jail over a $40 ticket or an arson or destruction of property charge," says Liberati. Liberati is the Commander of the Automated Enforcement Section, which covers speed and red-light cameras. Since April, six people have damaged speed cameras. On April 6, someone pulled a gun out and shot a camera on the 11400 block of Duley Station Road near U.S. 301 in Upper Marlboro, Md. Two weeks later, a speed camera was flipped over at 500 Harry S. Truman Drive, near Prince George's Community College. Police believe several people were involved because of the weight of the camera itself. Then in May, someone walked up to a camera on Brightseat Road near FedEx Field, cut off one of the four legs, and left. "I guess that makes a statement, but we were able to just attach another leg," says Liberati. But when someone burned down a speed camera on Race Track Road near Bowie State College on July 3, Liberati and his colleagues began to rethink their strategy. "It costs us $30,000 to $100,000 to replace a camera. That's a significant loss in the program. Plus it also takes a camera off the street that operates and slows people down. So there's a loss of safety for the community," says Liberati The Prince George's County Police Department decided it needed to catch the vandals, or at least deter them. "The roads are choked, there are lots of drivers on them. I think traffic itself is the cause of frustration (towards speed cameras). But, we have a duty to make the roads safe, even if takes a couple extra minutes to get to your destination. Unfortunately, that's the Washington area, the place we live in," says Liberati. Speed cameras themselves can't be used for security because under Maryland law speed cameras can only take pictures of speeding, says Liberati. "We've taken the additional step of marking our cameras to let people know that there is surveillance." Liberati says the cameras aren't a case of Big Brother nor a cash grab, police are simply trying to keep the public safe from reckless drivers.

I had to be picky and drop a half-point from location because you do have to ensure you're giving yourself enough time on the parking meter. Be careful! Ottawa meter folks are nothing if not diligent. But enough bitching about minutiae. I'm still navigating the complexities of hobbying. But what I can say is that as an assistant navigator, you could do a lot worse than Nathalie. If you're looking for a pneumatically-enhanced woman with a big head of hair and see-through heels, move on. Nathalie is not that. If you're looking for someone whose repertoire of moves comes from watching tacky pornos, move on. But if you're looking for an experience that defines intimate and can move into profound, then yeah, Nathalie is who you should get to know. I've seen Nathalie several times in the last little while. She makes you feel a welcome guest in her place. And she's (IMO) as sexy as hell in a frank, funny, charming, and unaffected way. And if you are interested in finding someone who can help you explore anal play with things like strap-ons? Ummm. Yeah. Or should I say Ohhhhh yeah. I'm not going to give you a play-by-play, because what happened or happens with me may or may not match up with what happens to you. But I will say that my experiences have been remarkable ones that I suspect that I will think about for a long time coming.

National Lampoon's Animal House

A view to a kill

I'm a little busy, a little new, and a little shy, to attend this social, but I hope everyone has a good time.

PORT ST. LUCIE, Florida -- A teenager is recovering after police say he shot himself in the penis and testicle while cleaning a gun he just bought. It happened Thursday morning at a home on the 200 block of Verada Street in Port St. Lucie. Police say 18-year-old Michael Smeriglio first lied to police saying someone shot him while he was walking down the street. After being questioned by police he admitted to accidentally doing it himself. Doctors say the bullet went through his penis, his left testicle and then lodged itself in his thigh. Smeriglio told police he bought the gun last month at a party. While police were investigating at the home where it happened, they discovered marijuana in the house. That led to the arrest of the homeowner Joseph Lamar James, 22, on drug charges.

Under the Tuscan Sun. Ahhh, Italy.

Oy. Zealous, talk about a moodkiller! Neither of those women do ANYTHING for me.

Springsteen -- "Fire" (which a lot of people may know as a Pointer Sisters tune)

Let me try this. So since the last song was "History Repeating", here's a song about history repeating itself from Joe Jackson: "Forty Years"

I seem to be a contrarian in a lot of things. So ... contraman. My superpower? Able to oppose any opinion!

Malaysian cops crack down on "free sex after nine car washes" Here's an offer that a lot of drivers would have a tough time turning down: free sex after nine car washes. CAPTIONBy Saeed Khan, AFP/Getty Images Police near Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, cracked down last week after getting wind of the unique offer from the teaming of a car wash and a massage parlor in the suburb of Sunway Mentari, the Malay Mail reports. Nine Vietnamese women, ages 18 to 28, believed to be prostitutes were arrested. Police got wind of unique partnership between the car wash and sex ring when they kept finding car wash loyalty cars in the pockets of alleged customers of the sex ring. The Mail quotes Emmi Shah Fadhil, the officer in charge of the area's Crime Prevention Division, as saying: "To get the extra 'offer', customers must send their cars for washing nine times within a certain period. The 10th car wash will entitle them to free sex," said Emmi Shah.

I guess the term celebrity is a broad one. But my picks: Bree Turner (now on Grimm) Natascha Mcelhone (Californication, Solaris) Maruschka Detmers from "Devil in the Flesh" [/img]

[URL="http://jezebel.com/5941073/how-to-tell-your-parents-youre-a-prostitute"]This article from women's blog Jezebel[/URL] is interesting, but some of the comments are WAY over the top crazy. How to Tell Your Parents Youâ??re a Prostitute Robin Hustle I never thought I'd come out to my parents as a prostitute. It happened by mistake. My mom dropped hints on the phone that she knew, my dad did the same by email, and since the cat was out of the bag, I figured we should talk about it. Turned out they were doing a fabulous job living in denial. I was a typical pink-diaper baby: I sat in on my mom's feminist book clubs, we had family outings to protest U.S. imperialism in El Salvador, and I was into Joan Armatrading while my classmates were obsessed with New Kids on the Block. Fortunately, my crushing unpopularity was alleviated by a wonderful home life. All told, I can safely say I am a product of good parenting. I was encouraged, not coddled. I learned to be responsible at an early age by being given, within limits, a great deal of independence. My appreciation for my family goes well beyond their parenting skills. They aren't guilty liberals who stir into action when an election or a war rolls around; they have always been fully engaged in living and working in radical ways. They never imposed their politics on me â?? my own politics mirror theirs because they taught me to think critically and set a powerful example of how to live. I'd be embarrassed by my uncanny similarity to my parents if I didn't think they're, well, totally amazing. We rarely talked about sex, and lord knows I didn't mind. When my kindergarten teacher called home in a huff to report that Marco Torres and I were having a horizontal make-out session in gym class, my parents sat me down and told me I could do whatever I wanted with kids my own age, so long as I didn't do it at school. When I came out as queer in junior high, it was a blip on the family radar, though a few years later my parents felt obligated to ask if I was having safe sex, and then ask me to educate them on how lesbians have safe sex. While discussing non-monogamy a few years ago, my mom casually said "Well, I've never really cared about sex anyway," which raised a host of disquieting questions that will forever go unasked. To each her own, I guess. I got into sex work for the same reason a lot of women do: the work I enjoy doesn't tend to pay well, and I needed a job that would take up as little of my time as possible so I could concentrate on the work that I actually care about doing. For me, that's writing and drawing, for other women it's raising children or going to grad school. Initially, it just seemed like a decent way to get by in a culture that devalues the work that women and artists do, so I was surprised, from my first client onward, to realize that I loved the job. I help men feel comfortable with their own desires and comfortable with the desires of their partners, acting as an educator and as a confidante. I have sex with men who have been deemed unattractive because of their size or disability or age; it's striking how often I'm asked, because I've never been "grossed out" by a client's body. I get to snoop around other people's houses and have intimate conversations with strangers, and going to work never feels routine. I occasionally have sex with men I'd sleep with anyway if we'd met under different circumstances. Yes, in the near-decade I've been a sex worker, I have encountered a few clients who made me feel uncomfortable or afraid. In that same time, I've been made to feel uncomfortable or afraid far more often outside of my work. Welcome to womanhood. Working as an independent escort has only two drawbacks for me, the tediousness of putting up ads and answering calls and emails, and the uncertainty of dry spells that leave me short of work. These happen to be the same problems encountered by all types of freelancers. Prostitution isn't something I'm doing "for now." It's something I plan to do for as long as it suits me. There are some things we're better off not telling our parents. Mom doesn't need to know about your creepy obsession with Chatroulette or your predilection for Sarah Palin porn. And when it comes down to it, talking about your job is (in most cases) the most boring, soul-sucking kind of small talk there is, so it's sort of nice when that's off the table. But hiding your life as a sex worker from your parents doesn't feel like acting on a need-to-know basis. It feels like lying. Deception is a shitty fact of life for a lot of sex workers, and de rigueur for plenty of people who really have nothing to hide. That's not the kind of relationship I want to have with my family, though â?? and after years of stressing out about what I would do if xyz happened and my parents found out, it was actually something of a relief when they did. Or when I thought they had, anyway. Whatever we may choose to share or hide, our parents have all kinds of tricks up their sleeves to avoid knowing what they don't want to know about us. Mine had googled my pseudonym a dozen times and decided I was probably writing about prostitution from, you know, a totally abstract, impersonal, or maybe fictional perspective. My dad's idea of a fun night together when I was a kid was talking through the principles of logical reasoning, and here they were totally defying Occam's razor. They didn't let themselves think through the simplest explanation: that I was doing sex work and writing about it. They knew I'd done some foot fetish work when I dropped out of college, and while we hadn't talked about it since then (and mostly-legal fetish work and prostitution are hardly the same thing), it wouldn't have been an enormous leap. I thought I was opening up a conversation about what they already knew and were hesitant to ask about, for the sake of my privacy or their own comfort. Really, I was outing myself as a prostitute and forcing them into a conversation they'd gone through a lot of mental hijinks to prevent. The revelation itself, after years of white lies and what-ifs, was strangely uneventful, characterized by anxious silence. My mom had called to say that she'd run into so-and-so who told her about my "pornographic slide show," a presentation of text and drawings about working as a prostitute that I'd performed a few nights prior. The woman, an art professor, had talked to me about the piece afterward, and I had no idea that she knew my mom. I would've given this woman the benefit of the doubt, assumed she'd mentioned seeing me perform while omitting the subject of the performance, if it weren't for the ambiguous email my dad had sent earlier that week that already had me reeling, convinced that they knew. A friend of mine was over for drinks, so I gulped my way off of the phone to sort things out. We drank, we talked, and when she left I gathered my whiskey-courage and called my parents. So... I'm pretty sure you know about the thing I haven't told you about... so I'm calling to see if you want to talk about it. What thing? What don't we know about that we're supposed to know about? Uhh I mean you know... There just wasn't any getting out of it. Odd how something you've said casually to pretty much everyone you know can get trapped mid-larynx when your parents are waiting silently on the line. Well, I work as an escort. And it was followed by the longest silence ever. And then one of them said, "Why don't we think about this and call you soon," probably the best response they could've given me, and also the most difficult. The silence extended through the week, and then the real work came along. My mom started sobbing, uncharacteristically, the first time we saw each other after my revelation. She blames herself for permissiveness or some kind of abstract "bad parenting" that made me this way. Her perspective insists that there's something inherently unhealthy about doing sex work, and that she is at fault for decisions that I know are mine. She'd be horrified by the same narrative if it were applied to a queer coming out story, though I don't point that out because it would only make her feel worse. It's not easy to assure your mom that you think she did an incredible job of raising you when she thinks your perspective is warped. Fortunately, since that initial encounter she has slipped back into Don't Ask, Don't Tell; telling was way too rough on both of us. I felt guilty, she felt guilty, and we're both better off feeling guilty privately and moving on with the rest of our relationship. I take after my dad in my conviction that if you don't like a feeling, you can just out-reason it. So every few years, he brings this up and we have a deeply uncomfortable discussion to try to make sense of the whole prostitute daughter thing. No tears, no guilt â?? just enough awkwardness to make me shudder for weeks. There was the time I tried to reassure him that my clients weren't misogynist assholes by saying, "They're really just like you," meaning that they're mostly kind, intelligent men but coming across as "I have daddy issues." Ewwww. In our most recent attempt at The Talk, he told me he just couldn't help thinking of prostitution as inherently exploitative, and then I finally got pissed. "You've known me for 28 years. When have I ever struck you as someone who would choose a demeaning profession? I can sort of understand the fucked up reasoning that makes Catherine MacKinnon and Andrea Dworkin look at me and tell me I'm being exploited whether I think so or not, but you should know better." And then we finally started getting somewhere. What I've never understood is why my parents can't wrap their heads around the idea that sex work might be a healthy, positive choice for me, and why they haven't worked harder over the years to try. I understand why my parents are concerned for my safety. I'm concerned for my safety too, and have a better grasp on what I need to do to keep myself safe than they do. But understanding sex work on a conceptual level seems like something they could handle. Maybe they could read everything ever written by every sex workers' rights activist from Priscilla Alexander to Carol Leigh and still think that sex work is degrading towards women-towards me. I really don't think so. They're too smart for that. It hadn't occurred to me that they were too emotionally involved in this to even consider rethinking it abstractly. Allowing my own anger to come through, insisting that he work toward a different understanding, affected my dad much more than any cautious explanation of my work ever had: a week later, he asked me to put together a reading list of essays by and about sex workers. While they may never be completely comfortable with my job, it's a fine place to start. Some friends have told me that I should be grateful to have parents that support and love me despite knowing that I'm a sex worker. I am incredibly grateful that I have supportive, loving parents. I am fortunate that my family hasn't disowned me or physically harmed me or reacted in any other number of physically and emotionally violent ways to learning that I'm a sex worker, but I shouldn't be expected to be grateful for that. No one should. I am grateful that this is something I learned from them. Robin Hustle is a writer, artist, and musician living in Chicago. She is the editor of the Land Line, a collaborative print journal, and self-publishes the zines Curdled Milk, Leftovers Again?! and Mirror Tricks. Her writing has appeared in $PREAD Magazine, Vice, and the Journal of Radical Shimming, and her visual art has been exhibited in group shows at Woman Made Gallery, Roots and Culture, and Gallery 400. She archives her writing and drawings at robinhustle.blogspot.com.

Animal House !!! FOOOOOOOOOOD FIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT

It seems like there are lots of escorts who advertise duos. There's no doubt that clients (like me) find that prospect exciting. But I'm wondering a couple of things and would appreciate the thoughts of the service providers who offer duos on the list: 1. Were you bisexual before entering this business? 2. How much of your decision to offer duos a "marketing" move -- give the customer what he wants -- or was it motivated by something else? 3. How do you find your duo partners? Is it important to you to have some chemistry with the third leg of the triangle, or is it more of a "we're both on the job here, let's take care of the client"? Hope these questions don't offend.

Somebody forgot Y! Y tu mama tambien (a very erotic movie, btw)