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Thursday, September 4, 2008
Dolly's Home
Alaska. I think bears, snowy mountain peaks, glaciers, whale-watching. I don’t think prostitution (let alone legalized prostitution). When my mother invited me to go on a week long cruise to Alaska to celebrate her sixtieth birthday with the rest of my family, I didn’t imagine that learning about a notorious prostitute would be on the itinerary. What’s more, I didn’t think I’d come away from the experience with such a profound sense admiration and appreciation for the prostitute in question or “sporting woman” as she preferred to be called.
Dolly Arthur, born Thelma Dolly Copeland in Idaho in 1888, was the most popular sporting woman in the small town of Ketchikan, Alaska. Leaving her troubled home at the age of thirteen, she migrated north. It didn’t take long for Dolly to realize that prostitution was the most lucrative and fulfilling career option available to her. In 1919, at the age of 31, Dolly purchased a home on Creek Street in Ketchikan, where she worked until prostitution was outlawed in the early 1950’s (and even after that, by some accounts). She lived in the house until shortly before her death in 1975. Dolly Arthur remains the most famous person to have lived in Ketchikan, and she seems to be respected and appreciated by locals and tourists alike.
Alaska is a cold harsh place. Ketchikan in particular gets an average of 152 inches of rain per year and 37 inches of snow. In fact, the average high temperature in July is just 57 degrees Fahrenheit. When I was there in August, wearing my scarf and a disposable poncho, it was easy to see that such a place could make one feel not only cold but desolate. I can almost imagine that Ketchikan is an underwater village; it is located on an island and rain blankets the town in a sea of wetness most days of the year.
On the cold rainy day of my visit, it was very easy to see how Dolly’s house might have served as a respite for the loggers and fishermen of yesteryear. Her home is a beckon right in the middle of town. It is a quaint little mint green house with red and white trim. It looks much like the houses that I drew in my childhood – two windows with window boxes evenly spaced below an A-frame roof with a chimney on one side. I half expected to see a bright yellow quarter of a sun wearing sunglasses drawn hastily in the corner of the page. Maybe if the rain had let up.
In this cold dreary place Dolly sold sex, but more significantly, she sold comfort. In fact, if her customers paid for their liquor, she would just sit and visit with them, if that is what they wanted. (Interestingly, for much of her career, it was the liquor, not the sex, that was illegal.) As is the case with many sex workers, even today, companionship is a prized commodity. Dolly made a pretty penny supplying it. It is said that she would not close her doors until she’d made at least one hundred dollars in a day. That’s all the more impressive when you realize that her clients paid as little as two bucks a pop, so to speak.
While prostitutes are often portrayed as lifeless leeches, Dolly appears to have been quite the opposite. Evidence of Dolly as a symbol of nurturing comfort is all over her house-turned-museum. In her well-stocked kitchen I could almost imagine her 5’10” frame stooped over the recipes she’d carefully collected in a large scrapbook. Dolly was also a seamstress (coincidently, “seamstress” was a common front used by prostitutes of the time). Her upstairs bathroom shower curtain is adorned with delicate flowers that she fashioned from French silk condoms (I would like to talk to the fellow who invented those; Dolly clearly put them to better use). Downstairs, she made a urinal for her guests by cutting a hole in an old water tank. Dolly even had a secret back door entrance for those who wished to do their business more discreetly.
Looking at the many photographs of Dolly that adorn the walls of her former home, it is easy to feel her presence there still. The staff of the museum have brought it all to life with their animated storytelling and flamboyant costumes. The personal touches of the museum seem to be just as Dolly herself would have wanted them: post-it notes indicating what ought not be touched; grainy sound recordings placed throughout the building explaining various displays; gold foil star stickers lovingly adhered to picture frames to indicate all the actual photos of Dolly. Even as a museum Dolly’s house feels like a home.
Dolly’s creativity and ingenuity are inspiring. In a time when many women did not dare hope for more than marriage and motherhood, Dolly thrived doing what she loved. She was an entrepreneur – she took stock of her skills, saw where there was a market and went there. She is a fantastic counterexample to the crack-addicted dependent whores we see in the media. Dolly made her life what she wanted it to be, despite the circumstances.
While I certainly can appreciate whales and glaciers, the most inspiring part of my trip to Alaska was learning about a self-made woman whose pioneering spirit allowed her to live, and thrive, by her own standards. I came away with a newfound appreciation for the freedom the West of yesteryear had to offer and the culture it spawned.
(Dolly's House at 24 Creek Street, Ketchikan, Alaska)
(Shower curtain flower made of silk condoms)References:
1. http://www.sitnews.org/JuneAllen/050702_dolly_arthur.html
2. http://www.margaretdeefholts.com/dollyarthur.html
3. The fabulous tour guide at Dolly's who wore her flapper dress even in the cold
Labels: hero, law, prostitution
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Bucking the Trend
Wow. I find myself totally and unavoidably mesmerized by this human being. I am at a loss for pronouns, but I am certainly not lacking in the fascination department. Right on, Buck Angel!
Labels: body image, pornography
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Go Team Vagina!
Sometimes I fantasize about moving away from the San Francisco Bay Area, and then I learn that I am privileged enough to share this unusual city with fantastic people like The Vagina Lady. This fabulous female spends her time making elaborate vagina costumes. No, silly! Not costumes you put on your vagina (that's a different post), but big, pink, shiny fabric vaginas with a perfectly placed face hole where a clitoris would normally live. Not only does she create these fabulous outfits, she wears them around town and smiles and waves and hands out chocolate. Jeez, vaginas that give out chocolate? Maybe I should consider the whole lesbian thing more seriously.
When The Vagina Lady is not dressed as a big, beautiful vagina at events like Bay to Breakers and The Exotic Erotic Ball, she is making vagina art and composing comprehensive lists of vagina vocab. Thanks to her, I now have more words than I ever needed. I am having a hard time picking favorites between "mouth that cannot bite" and "cunnikin." And I thought "vajayjay" was novel. Thank you, Vagina Lady. I am glad to be your neighbor.
Labels: body image, rant
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
My New Blew Tooth Mouth Piece
I have spent the last two weeks chasing my husband around the house trying to give him head. While I am sure that this is a normal phenomenon occurring daily in households across America, it is not something that generally happens in our home. The reason for my husband's sprint was a new toy I picked up called Blowguard. This clever little device was one of the few truly novel things I encountered at the Adult Novelty Expo (ANE) last month in Los Angeles.
The Blowguard is, essentially, a silicone bite plate that fits over the teeth and prevents them from "leaving their mark" on the person at the effect of fellatio. The dentist who created this gadget did so originally to appease a client who wished to keep her dentures in place whilst pleasing her partner orally. Although both the dentist and I agree that her partner may have preferred the "gumming it" approach, the woman was adamant and explained that her partner knew not of her toothlessness. Hence, the Blowguard was born.
Since its humble debut in the mouth of a nameless, toothless woman, Blowguard has seen some improvements. While the dentist/creator does not offer custom-fit models as yet, the standard silicone tray is surprisingly comfortable and malleable; I kinda wanted to chew it. The Blowguard now comes with a removable mini-bullet vibe that fits neatly in the front of the device. I imagine, that with proper placement, it could do a number on the super sensitive frenulum.
Since acquiring a Blowguard of my very own, I have been chomping at the bit, so to speak, to give it a go. My husband, who I would consider to be fairly adventurous, has not been so eager to be my research partner. Perhaps I should take it as a compliment to my "natural" skill, but he wasn't super turned on by the thought of “guarding” the “blow,” or “taking the job out blow jobs,” as the company’s motto suggests.
Finally, late one Saturday afternoon, we struck a deal. I readied the Blowguard with the cherry flavored lube that was included in the package and placed it in my mouth whilst trying to override my strong urge to mouth breathe and tell Luke I was his father (Maybe there is a market among the Star Wars obsessed -- I know there must be a fetish community somewhere that worships those who can give good Vader). If I ever try the Blowguard again, I will wait until after dark; the bright flesh-colored loop that holds the vibe in place is a little too reminiscent of my retainer days, and having to look at it did not make me feel like the sexiest of sex-pots. Note to Star Wars fans: wearing it at night would also maximize one's resemblance to the Dark Lord of the Sith. Bonus points!
My husband is not part of the Vader fetish community, but he was very patient with my unintentional (ok, and then kind of intentional) imitation of Shelly Marsh ("Skyler!"). He also gave me ample time to try and figure out the darn thing. While Blowguard's website clearly indicates that the device should go on one's bottom teeth, the package does not have such clear instructions. Having not explored the website prior to usage, I experimented with the Blowguard in both places. Gravity was not my friend with the Blowguard on my top teeth, and I ended up having to bite down harder to keep it in place. Not fun. Wearing the Blowguard on my bottom teeth worked much better although, I like being able to get my lips around my teeth, and the mini-vibe inhibited this.
While I certainly see that there could be a market for the Blowguard, I am sad to say that I don't think I am it (at least not until I lose my teeth or gain a greater appreciation for lightsabers). I am all for trying new things, but I found myself thinking, "If it ain't broke…" That said, I am glad that Blowguard exists, and I think it could make a fun gift. There is such a dearth of sex toys geared towards men, and I welcome this creative newcomer. Boys are hard to shop for as it is, and it is great to be able to buy that special someone what is, essentially, a blow job in a box for under thirty bucks. I imagine that just the thought of what's to come might be enough to get many a motor running.
Overall, the unusual sensation of vibration in my mouth was my favorite part of the Blowguard, but my husband did not share the love, and we ended up turning off the vibe. The Blowguard experience was definitely an entertaining one, but my man had a hard time seeing what all the buzz was about, and ultimately told me to "buzz off."
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Lashings and Lace
My friend May had on the coolest shirt the other day. It was a lovely shade of pink, and hidden amongst the beautifully embroidered flowers that caressed her collarbone were the the words (in delicate cursive) "I Like it rough."
May pointed me to the designer of her shirt in hopes that I might find a treasure of my own. Boy, did I! Nicole Locher has perfectly combined naughty and nice. Each of her elegantly embroidered designs contains subtle little messages like, "Will Fuck for Shoes," and "Petite Salope," which I just learned means, "Little slut," in French. I love learning new languages!
In addition to the glee I feel wearing something delightfully beautiful that happens to say something nasty, I am also thankful to Ms. Locher for helping me with my language skills. With her shirts I can now announce when I am "sans culotte" or without panties. Shucks! Speaking French makes me feel like such a high class dame. Oui oui and ooo la la!
Hit the Sheets, Part 4
Sheet Set
OK, I thought I was done, but I found one more irresistible item of bedding. Last week I whined a bit when I couldn't find sexy photographic bedding with boys on it. Thanks to Al Gore and his fantastical Interweb, I managed to track down not only bedding with a naked man on it, but, even better, a headless naked man. Now I am able not only to live out my fantasies of attaching my head to a man's body, but also those of making love to someone prone to chasing Ichabod Crane on horseback.
The makers of these sheets are admirably detail oriented; the backside of the duvet is complete with a backside. Spooning has never been easier. Now my bed buddy can't complain when I tell him he has a flat ass. I mean, first off, it's true and secondly, he hasn't a head with which to produce complaints.
As if I wasn't completely satisfied with my headless man, I also have the option of acquiring a headless woman and a headless couple. I never thought I would get to live out that neck-less necrophiliac ménage-a-trois fantasy. My dreams are coming true all over the place!
Friday, August 1, 2008
Hit the Sheets, Part 3
Cheat Sheets
Velcro sheets? Piece of cake. Kama Sutra sheets? No problem. Little did I know I would spend an hour and a half shifting through the sheets to try and find a link for a company I saw last January at The Adult Entertainment Expo (AEE). Anyone hear of actually marketing your product? I digress…
Have you ever wanted to sleep with a woman chalk-full o’ silicone without actually having to communicate with her? Do you fear the prospect of maneuvering the curves of an actual female or the conversation and emotions that may come along with her? Worry not! Now you can sleep with a two-dimensional diva (or several) for only $65 (including shipping and handling – yes, once your payment is received, you can handle her as much as you want). All this and you don’t have to buy her dinner. Heck, you can eat dinner off of her, and she’ll never complain. You can even throw her in the washing machine when you’re done.
It seems several companies have taken advantage of the cutting-edge printing technology available and brought to market photo sheets. FantaSheet is the company I saw in January at ANE. According to TechCrunch, their competitor, Reality Bedding, fell asleep on the job and let go of the dream last year. Vision Bedding, which had planned to collaborate with Reality Bedding at one point, not only offers photo bedding but custom photo bedding. They may not go for the photos like the schoolgirls offered by FantaSheet, but they seem to have the most versatility. Heck, they even make custom dog beds, for the spoiled bitches in your life.
FantaSheet promises a future full of custom sheets and sheets with male models, but for now, if you want to catch your Z’s from them, you’ll have to do it on double D, 2D T’n’A. Sweet dreams…
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