What Do You Put On Your Business Cards When You Have an Alter-Ego?

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Oh, business cards. How I love thee.

You may be impractical in this modern, paperless age. You may be expensive to print and difficult to design. You may languish on my desk in boxes, largely untouched, because I so rarely have occasion to hand you out.

And yet, still, I love you.

Recently I got annoyed with my old biz cards because I noticed they didn’t have my Twitter handle on them. I think your Twitter handle is one of the only pieces of information people will ever use when you hand them a business card, at least in web-based industries like the one I work in. So it seemed like a massive oversight that my card was missing mine.

I typed “business card” into Pinterest’s search box and pored over the results for design inspiration. I sketched out possible designs on index cards, because I am a dork. Then I opened up InDesign and Photoshop and got down to business (cards).

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I’d had the idea to make my card reversible. The upper-left corner would list all my “real-life identity” details, like my journalism portfolio website, vanilla Twitter handle, and phone number. If you spun the card 180 degrees, the new upper-left corner would have all my Girly Juice deets: my blog URL, email, Twitter, and so on.

While I keep those two identities staunchly separate on the interwebz, most people I meet in real life will find out about my sex blogging sooner or later. So I don’t mind handing out a card that “outs” me as a loquacious, lascivious loudmouth.

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The back of the card bears a circle filled with sex-related words and phrases. This helps unify my sex journalism with my sex blogging, while pointing out some areas within sexuality that are of particular interest to me: feminism, gender, body image, masturbation, sex toys, and so on.

My old business card design had a big silhouette of a rabbit vibrator on the back. I liked it, but I got feedback from some vanilla friends and colleagues that they sometimes felt embarrassed if they opened up their wallet in public and someone got a glimpse of my card in there. So I decided to go with a (slightly) more low-key design this time around.

I designed the card in my blog’s colors, which are also my favorite colors: bright turquoise and hot pink. When they were printed (by VistaPrint, if you’re wondering), the pink came out darker than it looked in my original design – it’s more of a deep fuchsia. But I don’t mind; I still think it looks pretty rad.

Sex-industry peeps: how do you deal with the issue of business cards? Do you keep separate ones for your vanilla life and your sexy life, or do you combine them somehow? Do you even use business cards at all? I’d love to geek out about ’em with you in the comments section!

 

GJ Reads Grey, Chapter 6 (first half)

Want to go back? Read the previous chapter or the first chapter.

I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that chapter 6 starts with Christian climbing into bed next to Ana and watching her sleep for hours. Watching someone sleep is the creeper pastime, after all.

I have never slept with a woman. I’ve fucked many, but to wake up beside an alluring young woman is a new and stimulating experience. My cock agrees.

In the morning, he places some orange juice and Advil next to the bed to soothe Ana’s probable hangover when she wakes up, and then leaves to go for a run. Seems like you should stick around if you take a drunk person home with you, so that they won’t be hella disoriented and terrified when they wake up. But then, of course, this is Christian, and he’s bad at everything.

He’s still calling her “the delectable Miss Steele” in his internal monologue from time to time. This bums me out.

I knock on the door and enter. To my delight, she’s sitting up in bed. The tablets are gone and so is the juice. Good girl.
She pales as I saunter into the room. Keep it casual, Grey. You don’t want to be charged with kidnapping.

Totally, ’cause taking a drunk woman back to your hotel room without her consent and taking her clothes off is A-OK. Right, Christian?

“Did you undress me?”
“Yes.” Who else would have undressed you?
“We didn’t – ?” she whispers, staring at her hands.
Christ, what kind of animal does she think I am?
“Anastasia, you were comatose. Necrophilia is not my thing.” My tone is dry. “I like my women sentient and receptive.”

It strikes me as a form of pre-emptive gaslighting for him to insist to her that he’s not into “animalistic” kinks like necrophilia, when in fact he is going to ask her to enter into a strict BDSM contract without her having any past experience with kink or even sex. He’s pretty self-deluded if he believes that necrophilia is monstrous but dominating someone you’ve manipulated into uninformed submission is just fine.

They engage in more “flirty banter” about the events of the previous night. Christian refers to himself as a “dark knight” and also tells Ana that if she were “his,” he would punish her with a severe spanking for “putting herself at risk” at the bar. I want to smack my head against a wall because Christian is so dense and seems completely unaware of what a hypocrite he is.

An image of her shackled to my bench, peeled ginger root inserted in her ass so she can’t clench her buttocks, comes to mind, followed by judicious use of a belt or strap. Yeah… That would teach her not to be so irresponsible. The thought is hugely appealing.
She’s staring at me wide-eyed and dazed, and it makes me uncomfortable. Can she read my mind? Or is she just looking at a pretty face.

Then he “grants himself permission to touch her,” and after rubbing her cheek with his finger, he tells her, “Breathe, Anastasia.” This is not the first time he has told her this, as if he thinks his mere presence is enough to steal her breath. Arrogant ass.

When I [return from my shower] she’s out of bed and searching for her jeans… She really has great legs. She shouldn’t hide them in pants.

I had a creep literally say this exact thing in a comment on one of my outfit photos. It is so classic male creep to moralize women’s physical attributes, as if we have an ethical and aesthetic obligation to show off our bodies for the benefit of penises everywhere. This is also the same “logic” that’s used to shame fat or “ugly” women into hiding our bodies: beauty and ugliness are reframed as moral issues. Ugh. I haaaaate it.

A boring scene passes in which Ana showers and they eat breakfast together. Christian comments to her, “Your hair’s very damp,” as if he either forgot she just took a shower or is the most boring conversationalist in the galaxy.

“Anastasia, I’m not a hearts-and-flowers kind of man. I don’t do romance. My tastes are very singular. You should steer clear of me. There’s something about you, though, and I’m finding it impossible to stay away. But I think you’ve figured that out already.”

“I’m not right for you. And I don’t want to be with you. But I do! But I don’t. But you should stay away! But I want you. But I’m annoyed by you! But I want to flog you. But…!” Oh, shut up, Christian. Pick a lane.

My mother once told me that if someone warns you to stay away from them, you should listen. HEAR THAT, ANA?

Her hair is beautiful. Lush. Long. Thick. Idly, I wonder what it would be like to braid.

Christian braiding Ana’s hair is one of the moments in the movie that consistently makes me giggle like a loon. I love the idea that such a supposedly macho man enjoys braiding hair.

However, any affection Christian won from me is instantly decimated again in the next scene. Despite having just told Ana he’s “not going to touch her” (not before she signs the BDSM contract he has in store for her), he looks over at her in the elevator, gets hard “instantly,” and then tells her, “Fuck the paperwork” and aggressively kisses her while pinning her arms above her head.

Granted, she seems pretty into it. If he were to ask her afterward whether she consented, I think she’d give a resounding “yes.” But, as we’ve established, Christian’s notions of consent are troubling at best. I don’t think it’s okay to physically trap/restrain someone during your first kiss with them, unless they’ve explicitly told you they want that. If Ana wasn’t into this kiss, how could she escape? She’s in a moving elevator in a stranger’s hotel and her body is immobilized. Dial it back, Christian.

“You’ve brushed your teeth,” I observe with wry amusement.
“I used your toothbrush,” she says, eyes shining.

Oh god. The banter in this book is intolerable.

As he’s driving her home, Christian tells Ana that what happened in the elevator “won’t happen again… unless it’s premeditated.” Okay, good. So he sees why that kiss was problematic, I guess. Although his usage of the word “premeditated” still seems to indicate that as long as a kiss isn’t spontaneous, it’s still allowable even if it’s not mutually consented to. Or am I reading into this too much?

Chapter 6 is a long one, so I’ll be back next week with the second half of it! (Click here to keep reading.)

Monthly Favorites: Smulder Smut & Cumshots

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Toys

• I’m still diggin’ on the rechargeable Magic Wand. When you want an easy, quick orgasm to alleviate stress, the Magic Wand is the natural choice. That was my situation this month: I had so many deadlines and work gigs that most of my orgasms were of the perfunctory sort. And the Wand was, indeed, Magic in that respect.

• My G-spot’s favorite plaything this month was, once again, the Njoy Eleven. I don’t know if I’ll ever get over it. Sometimes I fall asleep cuddling it. Sometimes I take it in the bath and stay in there for an hour or more. Sometimes it makes me come so hard that I fall off my bed. What can I say? I’m smitten.

• When I could convince myself to use a dildo that wasn’t the Eleven (a rarity), I usually reached for the Tantus Uncut #1 this month. Its girth is ideal for my current preferences, and its realistic-ness went well with all my recent Fox Mulder fantasies (see below).

Fantasy fodder

• I binge-watched season 1 of The X Files in July, and, well, you know me: if I love a show, I love its fanfic too. Archive of Our Own is absolutely rife with Mulder/Scully smut and I am 100% on board. Of particular interest? Scrabble-fuelled fucking, sexual tension + nipple orgasms, and asexual Mulder/bisexual Scully. (I have a thing for oral servitude, obviously.)

• I feel like I say this in every Monthly Favorites post, but I watched a lot of amateur blowjob porn this month. (There’s that oral servitude kink rearing its head again.) At one point, I typed “best blowjob” into XTube’s search box, and it gave me this. I hit the replay button more times than I care to divulge.

• Do you have dirty-talk phrases that haunt you in your pre-orgasmic moments? Particular words and turns of phrase that, for whatever reason, push you over the edge? Some of mine this month: “You like that?” “Let me make you come.” “Come all over my cock.”

Sexcetera

• SO, I POSSIBLY SQUIRTED. I know I should blog about this properly, but I’m still so paranoid that it was just pee (hence the word “possibly”) that I’m hesitant to write about it in depth, incase it was a total fluke. But here’s the combo that seemed to make it happen: an upright position (as opposed to my usual supine pose), James Deen porn, very fast thrusting of the Eleven, the aforementioned Magic Wand, and a longer-than-usual build-up to orgasm. I looked down right after coming and the handle of the Eleven was dripping, as though my lady-come had spurted down the length of the toy. And then I slid the Eleven out and some more liquid sprayed out onto the floor. Hmmmm. Cool!

• I’ve been noticing lately that it feels best to position vibrators on the upper-right quadrant of my clit, instead of in the middle where I’ve traditionally preferred to be stimulated. Interesting how bodies and preferences change over time! Right now, the closer I can get to my internal clitoris, the better it feels for me. Innnnteresting.

• I started a new dayjob this month and it is in the sexual realm (I can’t say any more than that, unfortunately). It is making me think a lot about the way sex work affects our feelings toward sex in our personal lives (though I should clarify that the work I’m doing probably doesn’t count as sex work, or is at least one of the mildest possible forms of it). It’s strange that I can spend an entire 6-hour shift talking and thinking about other people’s sexual experiences and fantasies, but it isn’t until I’m home with the toys and fantasies that get me off that I actually get turned on. (If you know of any good resources about sex workers’ real-life sex lives and how their work affects it, let me know! I’d love to read about that.)

Femme stuff (fashion + beauty)

• I want to wear MAC Red lipstick every damn day. The satin formula is very comfortable and I love the shade on me. It doesn’t last as long as I would like it to, but it’s so perf that I don’t mind.

• I’ve been wearing my GAP 1969 legging jeans a lot. They’re a faded black color so they go with everything, and they’re stretchy enough to feel good whether I’m working all day, shopping, hanging out, or even doing yoga. Hell yes.

MAC pigments are soooo glittery! I got one in the color “Rose” recently and I just want to rock sparkly copper eyelids all the damn time.

What turned your crank the most this month, my loves?

Porn Review: Crash Pad Series episode 196

I love Crash Pad Series because their porn is obviously made for the non-male gaze, unlike all mainstream porn – but it lacks the frustrating clichés that tend to show up in “female-friendly” porn.

Crash Pad’s founder and director, Shine Louise Houston, understands that just because women may not always like the rough-and-tumble, penetration-focused template of mainstream porn, that doesn’t mean we want our porn to depict only soft, “romantic,” gentle sex. We like rough and kinky sex too – we just want it to be geared toward our gaze.

Crash Pad’s porn is also racially diverse, sexually varied, and features folks from all the way across the gender spectrum. Basically, if you’re tired of mainstream porn’s boring template, by-men-for-men pandering, and racist tropes, you’ll probably dig Crash Pad.

This month I was allowed to review episode 196, which is based on a super interesting premise. Arabelle Raphael and Daisy Ducati are tired and overworked sex workers who have recently spent so much time catering to their clients’ fantasies that they haven’t had much time for the kind of sex they like.

Daisy is wearing the cutest pink sequinned halter dress, while Arabelle’s decked out in leopard print. Their friendship seems very genuine: there’s lots of giggling and finishing each other’s sentences. Arabelle complains about all the cis straight dudes she’s been boning lately, and whines adorably, “I wanna fuck something pretty.” Which, of course, leads to Arabelle and Daisy playfully starting to make out.

The ensuing scene is so much fun, and so unstructured, which is one of the things I love most about Crash Pad scenes. It always seems like the performers are just doing whatever the hell they want, instead of following some pre-ordained schedule of events like so many mainstream scenes do (kissing, BJ, 15 seconds of cunnilingus, then fucking in 3 different positions). Both performers alternate between finger-fucking each other, going down on each other, 69ing, using a goddamn leopard-print Hitachi on each other (!!), sitting on each other’s face, and so on. And they seem to do it in whatever order they feel like, for however long they feel like.

Although this clip is femme-on-femme like most mainstream lesbian scenes, it doesn’t feel like those at all. The performers are clearly actually attracted to each other, obviously have experience fucking other women and know how to do it properly, and they do acts that actually get them off (vocally and repeatedly!) instead of trying to make their scene appealing to a straight male eye.

The one mainstream-girl/girl trope that appears here is super-long fingernails, but Arabelle actually refers to hers and makes sure that she’s not hurting Daisy when she fingers her. This is such a nice touch! I am always terrified of the talons that women subject each other to in so many lesbian scenes.

As per usual for Crash Pad, this scene is shot beautifully. The cinematographic style captures the action without being distracting.

Some highlights for me: Arabelle telling Daisy, pre-cunnilingus, “This is gonna fuck up all your makeup.” Daisy going “Yesyesyesyesyesyes!” as she’s about to come. The aforementioned customized Hitachi. Daisy’s curly red pigtails. Arabelle’s backseam tattoos. The performers telling each other, “Treat yourself!” and “This is better than a spa day!” while they lie in the afterglow.

Episode 196 is damn cute and I think it could entertain and arouse anyone who’s a femme, a sex worker, or both. It’s incredible to see folks on screen who actually represent you and the sex you enjoy having, and that is something Crash Pad Series does exceptionally well.

GJ Reads Grey, Chapters 4–5

Want to go back? Read the previous chapter or the first chapter.

As if Grey hasn’t been enough of a nightmare already, chapter 4 begins with Christian having a nightmare.

I’m smothered in sweat, with the stench of stale beer, cigarettes, and poverty in my nostrils and a lingering dread of drunken violence.

Christian has some fucked-up classist notions, of which this sentence is just one example. “The stench of poverty”? Earlier in the book, he also remarked to himself that both Ana and Kate looked privileged and spoiled. It seems that Rich Boy was unaware of how ironic it is for him to feel that way about anyone. He’s got issues around money, to say the least.

After he wakes from his poverty nightmare, he ruminates on how he kinda regrets rejecting Ana. He mentions that his psychiatrist is on vacation in England, which makes me wonder if this entire disastrous relationship could’ve been avoided, had Christian been able to talk with a mental health professional about his predatory tendencies before acting on them with Ana.

He hears someone talking about Jane Austen on the radio and it gives him the idea to send bookworm Ana his first-edition copy of Tess of the d’Urbervilles. The way he talks about it, though, it seems less like a romantic gesture and more like a contemptuous act to prove to Ana that he’s not as vapid as she seemed to think.

Christian goes to work at his company, where one of his assistants asks him about “the Darfur project” (what does Grey Enterprises Holdings even do?).

“Would you like milk [in your espresso], sir?” Andrea asks. Good girl. I give her a smile. “Not today.” I do like to keep them guessing how I take my coffee.

Yes, this seems like a good use of your work time, Christian: guesspresso games. I can see why you’ve become so successful in your field, whatever it is.

Christian calls up the private investigator who did the background check on Ana before, and asks him to find out when her last exam is. Increasingly, Christian is doing things that would cause me to call the cops on him if he did them to me IRL. He has zero chill.

We see him interact with his “number two” and a couple of female assistants, and he’s categorically an asshole to all of them.

He chooses a quote from Tess of the D’Urbervilles to inscribe on the notecard he’s sending Ana along with the books. The quote is essentially a warning telling her to stay away from him, or at least guard against him. I wish she would listen, but I know she won’t. Sigh…

 

As chapter 5 begins, Christian gets a phone call from his brother, Elliot, who says, “Dude, I need to get out of Seattle this weekend. This chick is all over my junk and I’ve got to get away.” Don’t you love when middle-aged British ladies try to write like twenty-something American jocks and fail spectacularly?

Elliot sleeps most of the way to Portland. Poor fucker must be fried. Working and fucking: that’s Elliot’s raison d’etre.

Do you pay any attention to your own life, Christian? Literally all you do is work and fuck, too. (And hike, apparently.)

After a day of bro’ing out – mountain biking and watching a Mariners game – Christian and Elliot are hanging out at the Heathman hotel when Ana calls from a bar. She’s drunk… because she’s an adult and can decide to drink if she wants to.

Anxiety blooms in my gut. She’s a young woman, drunk, somewhere in Portland. She’s not safe.

This guy knows that bars in Portland (hell, bars everywhere) are filled with drunk young adults, right? That’s kind of how bars work.

“What’s the problem?” Elliot calls over from the sofa.
“I’ve just been drunk-dialed.” I peer at him and his mouth drops open in surprise.
“You?”
“Yep.” I press the callback button, trying to contain my temper and my anxiety.

When Christian shows up at the bar to “save” Ana from her own drunkenness, he spots her being accosted by her friend, José. This is one of the only instances (maybe the only instance?) in the book where Christian seems to understand the importance of informed, enthusiastic, level-headed consent. He can comprehend that Ana is incapacitated and José is taking advantage of her and advancing on her in a way she doesn’t want. Why can’t Christian apply this understanding to his own behavior?

I seem to remember that in the movie, this altercation involved Grey punching José. In the book, he just says, “I think the lady said no,” and José backs off. It’s unusual for Book Christian to be a better dude than Movie Christian; this is one of the few times that’s the case.

Then José says “Dios mío,” which is essentially his catchphrase, because E.L. James doesn’t know how to write non-white characters without being shitty about it.

I grab her hair and hold it out of the way as she continues to throw up everything she’s had this evening. It’s with some annoyance that I note she doesn’t appear to have eaten.

Oh god, I love that Christian apparently a) studies Ana’s vomit closely here and b) can diagnose her recent eating and drinking habits from reading her vomit like tea leaves. Amazing.

“It’s about knowing your limits, Anastasia. I mean, I’m all for pushing limits, but really this is beyond the pale. Do you make a habit of this kind of behavior?” Perhaps she has a problem with alcohol. The thought is worrying, and I consider whether I should call my mother for a referral to a detox clinic.

Are you fuuuuucking serious. She goes overboard on one night of drinking and you automatically assume she’s an alcoholic who needs to go to rehab? Without even knowing her?! Aaaargghhh, Christian. (Also, for the record, this is literally Ana’s first time being drunk. Of course she didn’t know her limits yet.)

Let me take Miss Drunk Bookworm home, but for some reason she seems reluctant to go.

Could it be because she’s drunk, has just learned that awful men will try to take advantage of her when she’s drunk, barely knows you and has no reason to trust you? Could those possibly be the reasons she’s hesitant to go back to your hotel with you, Christian?

I know I should take her home, but it’s a long drive to Vancouver, and I don’t know if she’ll be sick again. I don’t relish the idea of my Audi reeking of vomit. The smell emanating from her clothes is already noticeable.

It is a mystery to me how anyone reading this book could possibly think Christian cares about Ana, let alone loves her.

After Grey undresses Ana (!) and puts her to bed at his hotel, he contacts his private investigator again to find out whether Ana’s friend José has a police record. I feel conflicted about this. One dude with problematic ideas about consent is trying to keep another dude with problematic ideas about consent from enacting those ideas…

Then he emails his driver, Taylor, with a detailed list of clothing items he wants Taylor to buy for Ana: blue jeans (size 4), pretty blue blouse (size 4), black Converse (size 7), socks (size 7), underwear (size small), and bra (“estimate 34C”). I know this is supposed to seem sweet, but it’s just creepy.

I text Elliot. “Ana is with me. If you’re still with Kate, tell her.”
He texts by return. “Will do. Hope you get laid. You soooo need it. ;)”
His response makes me snort. I so do, Elliot. I so do.

I know he’s not going to attack Ana while she’s sleeping, but… I still wish I was there and could tell her to get the fuck out of this dude’s hotel room.

Stay tuned for the next chapter; I think it’s the one where Christian non-consensually bites Ana’s toast. Riveting stuff, people!