Best Sex Writing 2010 (27 page)

The performance model gives us room to expand comfortably beyond the hetero paradigm. This model encounters no conceptual problem when two men or two women or more than two people have sex. Their collaboration will produce a different performance because their histories and preferences differ, as do all people’s, and the result is influenced (not constrained) by the bodies people have. The performance model even has better explanatory power than the commodity model in looking at a queer man and woman having sex. The commodity model does not differentiate this scenario from that of a hetero couple; the performance model predicts that this union will be different. To stretch a metaphor perhaps too far, the musicians come from different genres and will play music differently, even when they are writing it for the same arrangement of instruments.

A performance model is one that normalizes the intimate and interactive nature of sex. The commodity model easily divides sex into good and bad, based on the relative gains from the transaction, mapping closely to conservative Christian sexual mores. Under a performance model, the sexual interaction should be creative, positive, and respectful even in the most casual of circumstances, and without regard to what each partner seeks from it.

The performance model directly undermines the social construct of the slut. That is why the music-slut paragraph that begins the essay is so obviously a sex reference. There is no such thing as a music slut, and the concept makes sense only if it blatantly borrows the idea of slut from sex—an idea available to us because
we are so used to talking and thinking about sex in a commodity model.

By centering collaboration and constructing consent as affirmative, the performance model also changes the model for rape. Forcing participation through coercion in a commodity model is a property crime, but in a performance model it is a disturbing and invasive crime of violence, a kind of kidnapping. Imagine someone forcing another, at gunpoint, to play music with him. It is perhaps a musical act (as rape has a sexual component, more central for some rapists than others), but there is no overlooking the coercion. The fact that it is musical would not in any way distract from the fact that it was forced, and sensible people might scratch our heads at how strange it is for someone to want to play music with an unwilling partner. Certainly, nobody would discount the coercion merely because the musician performing at gunpoint played music with other people, or even with the assailant before, which is an argument rape apologists make regularly when the subject is sex instead of music. B. B. King has played with everybody, but no one would argue that he asked for it if someone kidnapped him and made him cut a demo tape with a garage band of strangers.

Under a performance model of sex, looking for affirmative participation is built into the conception. Our children take their conceptions of sex from their parents first, and from the wider culture. If our boys learn from their preadolescence that sex is a performance where enthusiastic participation is normal and pressure is aberrant, then the idea that consent is affirmative, rather than the absence of objection, will be ingrained. In such an environment, many kinds of rape that are accepted, tolerated and routinely defended would lose their social license to operate.

 

 

I’m a voyeur. I like watching without being seen, and I find comfort in big cities and subways, places where I can feel anonymous. A few years ago, I was hired by a voyeur, a true voyeur, a fetishist. I was working as a role-play girl at the time, specializing in various forms of psychological domination, but this request was unusual. He wanted to watch a woman sit in a chair for a few hours, and nothing more—which, in itself, was an amazing idea, that a client could be satisfied by simply looking, but the thought of being watched so intensely made me uncomfortable. It was only after my agent pushed the issue that I reluctantly agreed. “Get a push-up bra,” she said.

I dashed out for a quick lingerie run, browsing shops until I settled on a black satin bra so thickly padded that it felt more like a prosthetic than a garment. It was overkill, a defensive purchase, as though the padding could work as a protective barrier. And when
I dressed, I cloaked myself in the archetype of the sexy secretary, the tight skirt, the silk stockings, the mile-high heels, the ruby red lips. All role-play requires some illusion and fantasy, but I wanted to inflate the illusion to deflect his attention.

We met in his hotel room. He was a good-looking man in his forties, a media professional in town for a few meetings. After some small talk, he settled into the sofa. On the coffee table in front of him, he’d laid out a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, an ashtray, and a copy of the
New York Times.
There was the understanding that I’d keep to myself—no conversation, no eye contact. I was seated directly across from him in a single, straight-backed chair. After a pause, I started to fidget with nervous energy. I crossed and uncrossed my legs, dug through my purse, pulled out some gum, put it back, pulled out some reading material. I tried to avoid looking up, but in my restlessness, I snuck a quick peek. When I saw that he was hidden behind an open newspaper, I relaxed, lowered my eyes, settled into my chair, and began to read.

The experience was strange. At first, I felt very in control, fully embodying the persona of a secretary. I think my mannerisms must have been contrived and affected, but as time passed, I became aware of the silence. Every sound in the room caught my attention, the muffled noise from the street below, the sound of luggage being dragged down the hall of the hotel. I stopped thinking about how I looked and just listened while I tried to read. He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and turned the page.

Then I became aware of my body. I could feel myself breathe, and with it I could feel my blouse pull taut across my breasts with each inhale, the silk on silk of my stockings when I moved my legs. I was aware of my skin and its surface sensations, the places where I’m sensitive, the pressure of the bra digging into my ribs,
the tightness of the skirt at my waist and hips. When I glanced up a second time, I caught him watching me, intensely, the way I would’ve watched him if we’d been strangers on the subway. And that’s when it changed. It wasn’t about two people reading in a room anymore. His attention was aggressive and focused, and I felt a kick of adrenaline and blushed, part surprise, part embarrassment. I wanted to turn away, but I just lowered my eyes and tried to slow the pounding in my chest. I tried to restore control and think like a role-play girl, but his attention was intimidating and exciting.

The entire room felt sexual. I could feel it in my chest, my thighs, my pussy. My skin. When I crossed my legs, the silk of my underwear pulled tight across my cunt. I felt like prey, which was exciting and unnerving. There were fight-or-flight butterflies in my gut for what felt like hours, but I kept my composure and stayed very still, and when the adrenaline subsided, I was aroused. I wanted something to happen; to undress, spread my legs, crawl on my hands and knees, lift my hips like a cat in heat. I wanted to be violated. I kept my eyes down and let my mind drift to images of raw, rough sex.

He whispered, “Stand up.” Another surge of adrenaline. I stood up slowly.

I heard a slow drag on a cigarette, a slow exhale, and then he whispered again, “Undress.”

I steadied my hands as I unbuttoned my blouse, excited by the thought of stripping. I reached behind and unzipped my skirt, shimmied out of its tightness, and stepped out of the material pooled at my feet.

“Stop there,” he whispered. I wanted to keep going.

He approached me, but I kept my eyes averted, taking him in through my peripheral vision. He walked toward me and moved
his hands near my waist, pausing for a moment before drawing them back, and the anticipation, the frustration was excruciating. I was breathing heavily as he walked around me, like I was some kind of freestanding sculpture, half stripped but very naked. My heart was pounding, and I was thinking,
Just touch me.
His attention and the restrained sexual energy had me desperate for physical contact.

The intensity reminded me what it felt like to want, and not have. He hadn’t touched me, but in all the silence and focused attention, I’d slowly let go of my resistance, transformed from defensive affectation to open, raw lust. I don’t know what it was that he found gratifying, whether it was the act of looking or my own slow unraveling to a state of eager submission, but after several long minutes, and several long, slow drags on his cigarette, he whispered, “Excuse me,” and left the room.

I stood there, half naked, waiting, throbbing. I became aware of the silence again, the noise from the street, the movement in the hallway. He returned with a healthy tip, and with that, the session was over. I dressed awkwardly, thanked him, and left the hotel to step out into the noise of New York.

It was hours before my body was quiet again.

BRIAN ALEXANDER, guest judge for
Best Sex Writing 2009,
is the writer of
MSNBC.com
’s “Sexploration” column, author of
America Unzipped: The Search for Sex and Satisfaction
(2008), and a frequent contributor to national magazines. He is also at work on another book. It has nothing to do with sex.

 

JESSE BERING is director of the Institute of Cognition and Culture at Queen’s University Belfast in Northern Ireland, where he studies how the evolved human mind plays a part in various aspects of social behavior. He writes a weekly online column for
Scientific American
magazine called “Bering in Mind.”

 

DAVID BLACK is a journalist, novelist, screenwriter and producer. His articles have been published in the
Atlantic,
the
New York Times Magazine, Harper’s
and
Rolling Stone.
His novel
Like
Father
was named a notable book of the year by the
New York Times
and he received the Writers’ Guild of America Award for
The Confession.

 

VIOLET BLUE is the sex columnist for the
San Francisco Chronicle,
notorious blogger, high-profile tech personality, best-selling author and editor, podcaster, GETV reporter, technology futurist, public speaker (ETech, Google Inc.), sex-positive pundit in mainstream media (such as CNN and
Oprah
Magazine), and a Forbes Web Celeb. Find her at
tinynibbles.com
.

 

After spending years working on an arcane and socially irrelevant doctoral dissertation, DEBAUCHETTE dove into the world of sex work. She has worked as a nude model, a fetish worker, a call girl, and a courtesan, before retiring to work on the online magazine F/lthyGorgeousTh/ngs, which she cofounded with a fellow sex enthusiast.

 

JOHN DEVORE writes the “Mind of Man” column for The
Frisky.com
. A former
Maxim
Magazine editor, John has written for
Comedycentral.com
,
Playboy.com
, and for the infamous political parody
Whitehouse.org
. For two and a half years, he cohosted the radio show “DeVore and Diana” on Sirius Satellite Radio.

 

BETTY DODSON (
dodsonandross.com
) has been one of the principal voices for women’s sexual pleasure and health for over three decades. Her books include the feminist classic
Liberating Masturbation: A Meditation on Selflove
,
Sex for One
and
Orgasms for Two
. In 1994, she earned a PhD in clinical sexology. She presented the first feminist slide show of vulvas at the 1973 NOW Sexuality Conference.

 

SETH MICHAEL DONSKY is a filmmaker whose work has screened at the Berlin, Seattle, London and Cinequest International Film Festivals and MoMA, New York. As a journalist he has been published in
Los Angeles Confidential, Gotham,
the
New York Press,
and the online versions of
ELLE Décor, Metropolitan Home
and
Home.
Contact
sethmichaeldonsky.com
.

 

ELLEN FRIEDRICHS lives in Brooklyn where she teaches health to middle and high school students. She also teaches human sexuality at Brooklyn College and runs the GLBT teens site for About. com. More of her writing can be found on her
SexEdvice.com
website and on the
gURL.com
State of Sex Education blog.

 

WILLIAM GEORGIADES worked in Manhattan media for over a decade, as the editor in chief of
BlackBook,
as the book reviews editor at the
New York Post,
as an assistant editor at
Esquire,
and as a contributor to
Vanity Fair, GQ,
the
Advocate
and the
London Times,
among others.

 

JOHANNA GOHMANN has written essays, articles and reviews for
Bust, Elle, Publisher’s Weekly, Red,
Babble.com
, the
Irish Independent
and others. A native of Indiana, she spent nine years in New York City writing about everything from werewolf erotica to the Queens Mineral Society. She currently resides in Dublin, Ireland.

 

CHRIS HALL is a bicoastal sex nerd who keeps one foot in San Francisco, one in New York, and his mind permanently in the gutter. Chris is cofounder of the website Sex in the Public Square (
sexinthepublicsquare.org
) and senior editor of Carnal Nation (
carnalnation.com
).

 

The author or coauthor of ten books about relationships and sexuality, JANET HARDY has traveled the world as a speaker and teacher on topics ranging from ethical multipartner relationships to erotic spanking and beyond.

 

DIANA JOSEPH (
dianajoseph.net
) is the author of
I’m Sorry You Feel That Way: The Astonishing but True Story of a Daughter, Sister, Slut, Wife, Mother and Friend to Man and Dog.