Georgetown has never been known for its eroticism. But in the brick courtyard of Canal Square—an upscale piece of real estate nestled between M Street NW and the C&O Canal—gallery owner David Quammen, 70, has carved out a space for the risqué. Since 2005, Quammen’s MOCA DC has exposed Georgetown passersby to paintings of childbirth, photographs of Playboy Bunnies, and sketches of Quammen’s own nude body, all via the gallery’s 12-foot-long front window.

But next month, the gallery may very well shutter its doors over a pair of nipple pasties. Why now? The modesty-preserving devices appeared on the breasts of a live woman, not in a work of art. “I think that having live nudity at an opening reception is akin to having it on the wall,” Quammen says. “But a lot of people don’t like what I do.”

Quammen has never figured out how to move very many nudes in Georgetown. So over the years, he’s learned to supplement his exhibitions with exhibitionism. Three times a year, the gallery hosts opening receptions for shows of figural art: “Erotica” in March, “The Celebration of the Figure” in July, and “Heads or Tails: Fine Art Portraits and Tasteful Backsides” in November. In the gallery’s front room, Quammen displays works by local artists. In the back, he conducts live erotic events.

MOCA’s rear room has hosted belly dancers, swimsuit competitions, walk-in body painting (one memorable human canvas had the words “Warning: Choking Hazard” painted on his sizable stomach, complete with an arrow pointing to his penis), live nude statues, and even Playboy model Angelina Leigh, who’s posed naked for photos on a MOCA rug. Quammen keeps the party lubricated with six flavors of boxed wine.

Quammen’s openings have survived by keeping the business in the front and the party in the back. But MOCA’s parties—which can draw hundreds—can’t always be contained.

On March 5, Quammen celebrated the opening of his “Erotica 2010” exhibit by staging a burlesque competition hosted by local strip-tease star Kitty Victorian. During the performance, participants and gawkers were confined to the gallery’s modest rear room, where their activities were shielded from unsuspecting Georgetown bar-goers. But at some point in the evening, one of the amateur competitors managed to wander out into the open-air courtyard wearing little more than a pair of strategically-placed tassels.

Soon, Quammen got wind of some corporate backlash from the courtyard display. Beyond MOCA DC, Canal Square also hosts a few more traditional art galleries, Sea Catch restaurant, and the offices for R B Properties Inc., the real estate management company which rents Quammen his gallery. On March 10, Quammen drafted a letter to Ted Vogel, vice president of real estate for R B Properties, in an attempt to preempt any pastie-based concern. “I understand...that there was a complaint about one of the performers last Friday night going outside without proper clothing,” Quammen wrote. “While she was not nude, her attire was improper and not authorized to be anywhere but the rear portion of the gallery.” Quammen promised to rectify the situation by installing a guard at the gallery’s front entrance to help herd scantily clad attendees toward the rear.

On April 7, R B Properties replied to Quammen’s letter with a list of administrative complaints. “While you recognized the inappropriate attire worn by MOCA participants on March 5th, there were other issues that we find unacceptable that were not addressed in your letter,” the response read. Beyond the pasties, the MOCA party represented an “unauthorized use of the plaza area.” Some MOCA patrons had also utilized the Sea Catch restrooms, which proved “very disruptive to the restaurant’s business” that night.

“We look forward to many well-managed events by MOCA...and appreciate your cooperation and attention for years to come,” the letter finished.

That was before R B Properties discovered it wasn’t stuck with MOCA for the long haul. This summer, Quammen learned that MOCA’s lease with R B Properties—which Quammen had overseen for the gallery’s former director, painter Michael Clark, since 2005—had been a month-to-month arrangement all along. So Quammen approached the company to negotiate a long-term lease in his own name. He got his reply last month, when Vogel arrived at the gallery to tour the space with a new potential renter. On June 24, R B Properties gave Quammen a notice to vacate the premises by July 31. Calls to R B Properties were not returned.

Quammen is convinced that prudishness is to blame: “For being a liberal city, there’s a lot of conservatism here,” he says. After all, R B Properties hasn’t always been leasing to an “adult” gallery. For more than a decade, Clark had run MOCA DC with a focus on contemporary art, with the occasional phallic piece. The nudity began in earnest in 2002, when Quammen established his Figure Models Guild to connect local artists with nude models. Since assuming director duties in 2005, Quammen has heard plenty of snide dismissals of the gallery’s increasingly disrobed offerings. Of the Canal Square galleries, “MOCA is the pig of the bunch,” says Quammen. But for nearly six years, he scraped up enough rent to make sure it stays that way. “Eroticism is the carrot that God gave us for going ahead with this thing, having some children, and raising them,” he says.

So when Quammen received his notice to leave the space, he sent out a call to the gallery’s 1,400 member contact list, asking them to help the gallery keep doling out carrots. Last week, Quammen held a meeting in the gallery to discuss MOCA’s future. Unlike his erotic displays, the administrative event was “short on attendance,” Quammen says; one friend stopped by the space, and a few more participated via live-streaming Internet video.

Meanwhile, Quammen’s own body threatens to fail him. He wears a black eye patch over his right eye to mitigate a childhood injury; recently, his left started going, too. Over the past two years, he’s fought both prostate and colon cancer into remission. After two heart surgeries, walking a block leaves him winded. “Even with that, I have managed to do more than many half my age,” Quammen wrote in a letter to R B Properties. He’s now seeking out more expensive locations in Arlington and Dupont Circle. He hopes to supplement the price hike with a PBS-style pledge drive. How many are willing to pay a monthly fee for Quammen’s previously gratis events remains to be seen.

The July 31 quit date will, at least, provide Quammen an excuse to throw a party. “As far as the artwork is concerned, I’ll make a statement. I’m going to put the most brazen things out front I can find,” Quammen says. But he remains dedicated to keeping the live demonstration under wraps. “I’m going to respect the right of people, who are coming into the courtyard for other reasons, not to have somebody shove nudity in their face,” says Quammen. He will, instead, use his own face as the scene of the protest: In place of the eye patch, Quammen plans to affix a nipple tassel over his right eye.

Photo by Darrow Montgomery

Last week, I wrote about the second KinkForAll unconference to bring ad-hoc alternate-sexuality education to the D.C. area. Below, some video evidence of kink educators from around the country talking everything from oral herpes at orgies to erotic Harry Poter fan-fic. (I'll post videos of that story's anti-porn conference later today).

"Sexy Fun Time With Google Apps", with Maymay and Emma, on the way Google's suite of applications can be applied to sex, from spreadsheets for calculating orgasm rations to calendars for annotating past sexual experiences.

"The Language of Touch", with DDog, on gender politics and touching. One participant: "After i came out as trans and started using male pronouns and presenting more male, it became more OK for me to be touchy-feelie and cuddly with people than I had previously, because for some reason a lot of my straight female friends then saw me as a straight guy instead of a gay woman—neither of which have ever been true!"

"How'd You Get Here? Rocky Horror, Fanfic, and Gateways to Kink", with Julia, on how nerdy subcultures can facilitate exploration of kinky sexualities—from the Rocky Horror Picture Show to Harry Potter fan fiction. Engorgio!

"Sex, Gender, and Pathologies", with xMech, on the scientific language of "gender identity disorder," and how it hurts the trans community.

"Taboo Erotica," with Jack Stratton, on erotica that defies social norms. He begins the session by having participants name "some horrible things." A working list: Scat play, piss play, incest, bestiality, furries, underage people, rape, edge play, snuff, race play, slavery, cuckoldry.

"Kissing," with Molly Ren, on navigating life as an orgy-attender with oral herpes. "I've dated mostly in the kink scene for the past two years, so I don't know what vanilla people do anymore," Molly says. "My first reaction when I would tell people, 'Oh, I can't kiss'? They'd say, 'Oh, Molly has a dom that's telling her not to kiss anyone but her! This is really hot!'"

"KinkForAll: What and Why?", with Maymay and Emma, on the reasoning behind this whole thing.

Players of first-person shooter game Team Fortress 2 have discovered a new accessory to aid them in offing other players: Images of English pin-up models Lucy Pinder and Keeley Hazell. Users are inserting the cheesecake photos into the game's environment in an attempt to distract other players long enough to sneak up and kill them. They call the tactic "Hot Girl Backstabbing," and judging by the confusion of the targets—many of whom linger near the photos for several seconds before getting blasted—the strategy appears to be working. Is this another instance of feminist-inspired simulated murder, or just another way to apply the exploitation of women to gaming? Judging by the players' enthusiastic use of the word "boobies," I'm going to guess it's the latter.

Hip-hop moguls have a long tradition of multitasking: Over the years, rappers have doubled as actors, restaurateurs, clothing designers, videographers, and snack promoters. But local rapper Imani the Misfit is pretty sure he's charting new territory, as far as side-projects go: He bills himself as “Maryland’s First Bisexual Porn Star Rapper.”

Sure, there are bisexual rappers—Nicki Minaj comes to mind. There are porn star rappers—porn performer Pinky recently entered the rap game. There could even be another bisexual porn star rapper somewhere out there. But Imani thinks he's the first to accomplish the feat in the state of Maryland. "It's basically a title I've never heard anyone claim before," Imani says. "I don't know if I am the world’s first, but I wouldn’t doubt it." And even if he were, he'd still hold on to the local flavor. "I want people to know that I’m from Maryland," he says. "It’s just kind of a rapper’s thing to want to put your area on the map."

Of all of Imani's qualifications, the "rapper" part was the first to emerge. "I was a musician first," Imani says. Growing up in Maryland and then New Jersey, he learned drums, keyboard, and vocals in his church's gospel choir. He started rapping at age 13, but focused on playing keyboards in friends' go-go bands before he starting rapping in earnest in 2004. Last Friday, Imani released his latest single, "My Definition of a Drug," on Amazon and iTunes; he's still at work on his upcoming full-length effort, "The Gold Pill."

After coming out two years ago, Imani started thinking of himself as a "bisexual rapper," he says. "But then I realized that just saying 'bisexual rapper' didn’t fully describe what I do. I also pose for nude erotic art. And I think that the combination of me being a musician and being in porn, it adds to the sensation of it all. It's a unique combination."

The "porn star" part is still in development. Imani began posing nude within the past year—including shoots with local photographer Sean Dibble, for whom he's posed naked and dripping in blood. He's yet to get into the video market. "In Maryland, the porn industry is mostly guys starting up a porn company and looking for girls," says Imani. "I've had a few opportunities to do movies, but every time an opportunity comes up, something stops it from happening," he says. "I'm starting to wonder if there’s like some spiritual force trying to stop me from doing a movie."

There are more immediate forces attempting to stop Imani from speaking out about his sexuality. "Especially in hip-hop, that's something that you don’t say," says Imani. "I’ve heard rumors of people being on the down low, but they're not going to say it because in hip-hop, being bisexual is like the last thing that you want to be," he says.

Imani says he's received death threats over his sexual orientation. He's also received letters from fans thanking him for helping them come to terms with their sexuality.  "There is a fascination that some people have. I’m kind of one-of-a-kind. I say a lot of things that will alienate me, but those things also make me special in other people’s eyes. And a lot of people who are bisexual or gay will support me just [because I'm] open about it."

There's only one demographic he's not representing: "My age is something I don’t really like to talk about," he says.

Daniel Nardicio has served as the director of marketing for Playgirl magazine since August of 2009. Since then, Nardicio has introduced three crucial developments to the long-time beefcake mag: (a) Acknowledgment of the magazine's gay readership; (b) a nude Levi Johnston; and (c) "The Shaggin' Wagon" (above).

Yesterday, Nardicio circled his magenta, man-centric wagon outside of the Georgetown University campus in search of hunks for the magazine's annual "Campus Hunks" issue. I spoke with Nardicio over the phone about the strength of D.C.'s hunks, the lingering perviness of  driving a man van, and straight dude recruiting, post-Levi:

SEXIST: How was Georgetown? Did you meet any hunks?

Daniel Nardicio: Tons! The great thing about the van is—once we decided to wrap the van, we thought it would be really funny to do a college tour and drive it on to all these campuses. What I’m learning from this now is that I don’t even have to leave the van. I thought I’d have to get out and walk around and humiliate myself, but I don't. People will just come up to the van and ask us things. We're giving away t-shirts, posters, and we have some of the last Levi Johnston issues in the back. So it’s been great. We have a lot of guys coming up, and some girls coming up too, telling us they want to see their boyfriends in Playgirl. It's very progressive.

Do you think straight guys are turned off by it?

DN: No! I have to say, I love the South, because contrary to what people think, people are so friendly. They're really respectful. Sure, some people walk past the van and look down or look away. Most people—like over at Georgetown yesterday and at Rutgers—are coming over to pull their shirt off to show their abs. I get a lot of cat-calling in the van. Sometimes I think the guys wish a hot girl were driving it—I kind of wish it was, too! I kind of wish it wasn’t me sometimes! But they’ve been great. The main reaction I get from straight guys is, "My buddy would love to be in this," or, "Do you think I’m hot enough to be in Playgirl?"

So, were any of them hot enough?

DN: Oh my god. Yeah. I have to say, Georgetown is beautiful . . . We drove around around the area and walked around the campus itself, and people were really friendly, and there were a lot of beautiful guys.

Do you think you have to advertise the magazine differently for straight women and gay men?

DN: I was handed a great gift with Playgirl, because it appeals to both straight women and gay men. So straight men feel more comfortable with it—it's not like I'm driving up in a van for Honcho or Inches magazine. If I did that, I'd get things thrown at me. I consider Playgirl to be the classic American brand. It comes out of a feminist background from the 1970's, and so there's a lot of goodwill toward it. So I'm just really trying to find the most interesting, attractive guys for the magazine and promote it that way.

When I came onto the magazine, Playgirl wasn't really acknowledging its male readership. I succeeded in getting rid of the "Entertainment For Women" byline—it was doing a disservice to the gay readers. Now, we're the most open to both. Playgirl was the first magazine to be doing this male erotica in the mainstream, and now, we're embracing our gay guys, straight women, and smattering of straight guys that buy the magazine—believe me, there are a few of those. And we’re very proud of the fact we really put a dent in Sarah Palin’s reputation. We're very, very proud of that.

So do you think Playgirl is in this sweet spot where it's insulated from criticism both by feminists and by homophobes?

DN: You know, what’s good for the goose is good for the gander. Women were objectified for so long, and now straight men are being objectified. It's a great position to be in. I'll drive my van down the street and yell at construction workers—"Hey! Show me your dick!" I do this for fun, and to let them know what it feels like to be cat-called. Of course they yell things at me, but let’s face it—it’s hilarious to turn the tables on this. But the van is so in-your-face—I don’t want to say it's so "gay," because it’s not necessarily "gay"—it's just in-your-face male sexuality. There's a brilliance to it in a weird way, because it's all about beefcake men, and it's in a position where people are really forced to acknowledge that. So it's fun to watch their reactions.

Unlike the construction workers, though, it seems like some of the straight guys are really into this.

DN: Oh my god, yeah. It's great! At first, I was a little scared going into Rutgers yesterday. I felt like Chris Hanson was going to jump out, like To Catch a Predator. I felt very pervy for a few minutes. But the great thing is that the reputation of the magazine isn’t really hardcore, and guys seem to respond to it really well. The greatest response guys have for me is, "Do I measure up?" Of course, I’ll still get called "faggot" now and again, but that's something you learn to live with when you drive a magenta van. It's like being in a pride parade 24-7.

Do you think gay men particularly like seeing straight guys in the magazine?

Yes. As a gay man, I think there’s something about the power of turning the tables. Growing up, a lot of us were bullied. I know I was bullied by straight guys in high school for being gay. And I think there’s something to be said for straight guys, you know, stripping down for us. Even with Levi, you know, there was that satisfying elment of the straight cocky stud from Alaska taking off his clothes. Levi is now actually amazingly, amazingly gay friendly. He's even pro-marriage.

Where are you going next?

Tonight I'm headed to Chapel Hill. We're going to work frat row, driving around the frat bars. I'm a little nervous about what the reception is going to be like in Chapel Hill. Hopefully you won't hear any news of my car being torched. . . . But I'm meeting some people I know, and they told me that they recruited a couple of really cute girls to help us out. So that will help. I think we've got three girls and a couple of gay guys to work frat row with me.

Interview has been condensed.

In a rare moment of synergy, City Paper's Arts Desk has written a post of particular interest to Sexist readers: An interview with Monica Nolan, the pulp satirist behind such sapphic titles as Bobby Blanchard, Lesbian Gym Teacher. In Nolan's future is a book dedicated to lesbian journos. The tentative title:  Maxie Mainwaring, Lesbian Reporter.

The Washington City Paper's Best Of D.C. reader's poll debuts today, and we're inviting District residents to file their favorites in the worlds of food, drink, shopping—and, of course, the commercialized end of sex. Need some inspiration? Let's revisit some ghosts of Sexist past for possible nominees in the poll's sex-related categories, from Best Strip Club to Best Local Scandal:* Best Strip Club: If you're not into strip clubs, but are interested in delivering a pity vote, try Good Guys. In 2007, convicted arsonist Vasile Graure set fire to Glover Park's Good Guys strip club after being ejected for snapping a cell-phone photo of one of the dancers. The incident sparked a lengthy trial in which many of the club's dancers were forced to testify about being forced to run, unclothed, out of the flaming building. These women deserve your most generous tips.

* Best Gay Bar/Club: If you'd like to support gay bars that reach out to a wider audience, pick Cobalt. Recently, the club made an effort to move past the traditional GaGa/Madonna/Cher house mix by hosting alterna gay night SHIFT. And last year, Cobalt made a good-faith peace offering to District women when it retired its longstanding anti-high-heels policy.

* Best Local Scandal: Councilmember Marion Barry put a woman out in Denver 'cause she wouldn't suck his dick.

* Best Adult Novelty Shop: Want to support a return to extravagance in the novelty shop world? Pick The Leather Rack. Due to the recession, the District's go-to joint for BDSM and leather gear has experienced a slight downturn in sales for the most elaborate of its fetish ensembles. Customers in the Dupont shop, a manager told me last year, have been trending toward the more demure items. Going balls-out just isn't practical in the current economic climate. "Let's say you buy a whole Army uniform. That's all you can wear," he said. Here's to hoping the Leather Rack's days of subtlety are soon ended.

* Best Drag Queen: Last year, local drag queen Charles McWilliams, a.k.a. Ophelia Bottoms, surrendered all his drag secrets to the Sexist in an hour-long display of falsies, ponytail bumpers and drawn-on diva brows. How can you argue with that face:

Your turn! Get over there and submit your picks.

Photo by Darrow Montgomery

Today, Tucker Carlson launched The Daily Caller, a Web site that has been hailed as the conservative answer to the Huffington Post. Given my peculiar obsessions with Arianna Huffington's left-leaning political tabloid, I had but one question for Carlson: Will there be nipples?

Last June, I noted the Huffington Post's regular publication of "nipple slips," or the accidentally bared nipples of major and minor celebrities. I argued that the promotion of these red-carpet snafus encourages readers to objectify women's bodies, while denying those women the agency to control their own nipple exposure—and that these non-consensual erotic displays compromised the Huffington Post's ostensibly progressive bent. (Recall this intensely zoomed-in image of the outer reaches of Beyonce's areola to reveal the depths of HuffPo's obsession with accidental nipples).

When pressed on what it all means, editor Arianna Huffington insisted that a nipple slip is divorced from political ideology: "As Freud said, 'Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar'—and a nipple slip is just a nipple slip." (Translation: Sometimes a cigar does not mean a "penis," but sometimes a "woman's nipple" does mean a "woman's nipple," and that means lot of page-views).

Huffington's armchair psychoanalysis failed to shed any light on the matter: How is the objectification of women justified by political progressives? With the launch of Carlson's Caller, I was presented with a rare opportunity to see how a right-leaning Web site might deal with women's boobs peeking out of their dresses. Would it lean toward the side of abstinence-informed modesty? Would it tend toward boy's-club objectification? Or would it just publish, like, real news?

I e-mailed Carlson to ask him about his site's political ideology, and whether it would embrace nipples. Carlson's response: "I can't promise the site will be areola-free—in my experience these things are hard to predict—but even at this late stage we haven't settled on a firm nipple policy," he wrote.

So far, the Daily Caller has yet to promote images of any accidentally naked celebrities on the Web. A perusal of the Daily Caller's "Entertainment" page reveals some tabloid fare ("Lohan in paparazzi incident...again"), and some sexy news ("Avatar was supposed to have a sex scene"), but, alas, no nipples:

Yet.

Welcome back to Sexist Beatdown, the erotic weekly chat wherein Sady of Tiger Beatdown and I discuss our innermost desire to be raped, forcibly married, and impregnated by a handsome and affable doctor of our parent's choosing.

Shit, no, no—that's the subject of our $39.99 Pay-Per-View edition of Sexist Beatdown (check local listings). This Sexist Beatdown is actually about how a handsome and affable doctor who rapes, forcibly marries, and impregnates a young woman is a totally awful and fucked up hero to write into your romance novel!

Or is he?

Are rape fantasies—and the Romance Novelists who love them—any more disturbing than all the other strange sexual fantasies being parsed out there in pages upon pages of awkward prose? Before you answer that: You should know that some of these strange sexual fantasies involve sexy role-playing as "Friends" character Chandler Bing.

SADY: hi there! i'm glad we're taking on something tasteful and uncontroversial this week. such as RAPE FANTASIES!

AMANDA: Yes, and furthermore, I believe that in order to fully haze Sotomayor this week, I think it's time we create the New Litmus Test. The New Litmus Test is: Rape fantasies? Eh?

SADY: Well, I have to tell you that I really loved your take on the whole matter. And this is tied to a personal anecdote about the first romance novel I ever owned. May I tell you my personal anecdote?

AMANDA: please.

SADY: All right. So I had these two cousins, who were in their teens when I was about eleven. And they felt I needed to get a boyfriend, and gave me many romance novels in order to further my boyfriend-related education.

AMANDA: cool.

SADY: One of the romance novels they gave me had the following plot: a young woman is betrothed to a wealthy family friend, whom she has never met. She wanders around the city to process this, with a high fever, and stumbles into a BORDELLO, where she is given LAUDANUM. in this drugged state, a doctor comes, looking for a prostitute! he is sent into the drugged young lady's room, due to an entirely understandable error, and they end up fucking like two wildcats, or, more accurately, one wildcat and one seriously drugged and basically unconscious young woman. then in the morning she wakes up, remembers none of it, and goes home to meet her fiance. can you guess who he is?

AMANDA: the doctor?

SADY: YES! AND THEY GET MARRIED!

AMANDA: but ... she's been sullied!

SADY: and she is like, "i don't know who you are, Dr. Rapington, but for some reason I feel totally uncomfortable having sex with you." but eventually she learns to love him and his prostitute-raping ways and also she gets pregnant and has his baby.

AMANDA: i see. and so, did you finally land a boyfriend?

SADY: um, i was never able to land enough laudanum, as a middle-schooler, to really make the scenario work. i had to try other methods, such as consensual makeouts.

AMANDA: do you remember, did a lady write that book?

SADY: well, yes, the name on the cover was a lady name.

AMANDA: sounds progressive then. So: i have a rape fantasy lit story as well!

SADY: hurrah!

AMANDA: in college, i worked for this "women's fiction / erotica" literary agent. my job was to read the unsolicited manuscripts, which were not just any unsolicited manuscripts, but unsolicited manuscripts for erotic romance novels targeted at women.

SADY: oh, lord. you had the best job in the world, it appears!

AMANDA: i grew up fast that summer.

SADY: hahaha

AMANDA: anyway, a lot of the people who liked to target their erotic romance novels at women were dudes. i remember one dude's fantasy, err, novel, in particular: aman and a woman meet at a Chinese restaurant. they're acquainted in some way – maybe they work together. anyway, they eat some lo mein or whatever and one thing leads to another, and all of a sudden some old mystical Chinese woman is beckoning them into the back room, of course.

SADY: right, as you do

AMANDA: where they eat this magical Chinese herb, okay, and then the woman falls into some sexy trance.

SADY: this sounds totally realistic. i'm compelled to learn more!

AMANDA: so—paraphrasing here—he ends up with his penis inside her, and then his penis magically expands, until it's this really long magical penis that goes through her vagina, up past her entire body and then pokes out of her mouth. thus raping her in two orifices, at once! and i thought, i wonder if this guy thought i would actually pass this on to a literary agent to consider it for publication? or did he just want the intern to read his bizarre one-dude double penetration rape fantasy? and i realized: it was probably both.

SADY: Yowza. I mean: leaving aside this dude's one (RESTAURANT-SPECIFIC) rape fantasy, I get that people's fantasies, in general, are weird. I knew a girl who worked at a phone sex operation and one guy would call her up, constantly, to discuss his fantasies about the cast of "Friends." She would play Rachel, and sometimes maybe Phoebe; he would be Chandler.

AMANDA: wow. this guy fantasized about being chandler! chandler would make some hilarious ironic comment about this, were he here.

SADY: but, in your article about romance-novel rapings, you do touch on the fact that some women have rape fantasies. and they totally do! because people's fantasies are weird! but what worries me is when the raping just (a) isn't addressed as such, or (b) is in EVERY SINGLE ROMANCE NOVEL, which – it was a major part of the romance novels I read as a pre-teen, I'll tell you that.

AMANDA: yeah, i think the world of the romance novel is an interesting space for discussion of the rape fantasy, because it's a space that is a) largely written by and for women, and b) embracing (probably too much) of what is a very taboo fantasy for women to have. But at the same time, these novels are also c) EXTREMELY derivative and conformist, and one wonders what exactly they are conforming to.

SADY: right. like, at one point, i just did a study of romance novels, because they're one of the only "acceptable" outlets (or were, for a while) of porn for ladies. and they follow a very recognizable script. like, the heroine is never "classically beautiful," and she's often though not always working-class, and they always have to hate each other at first, and etc. and when the rape thing crops up so often (along with all of the stuff about "taking" and "possessing" and etc.) it just seems like part of the script is that women aren't sexual and men are and men have to "break them in," as it were, so that they can enjoy sex. which is remarkably similar to many rationales of actual real-live rapists! what with the "she wanted it" and "she said no but didn't mean it" business we all know and fear.

AMANDA: and yet ... people, like, read these books. and supposedly identify with them. women-people.

SADY: yeah... that's totally true. and i think we can talk about rape as a real-live thing that is unconscionably evil, and also own up to the fact that a rape FANTASY (which is pretty much within your control, seeing as it exists only in your head) is not the same thing.again: dude porn is almost always based on some kind of sense of transgression. so lady porn might be the same way, for similar reasons. maybe ladies enjoy this stuff because it's one of the most extreme taboos in existence, if you are a lady-person.

AMANDA: yeah. ive always thought that "rape fantasy" was a bit of a misnomer, though i guess calling it "actively desiring someone to have sex with you while pretending as if you don't actively desire it fantasy" takes some of the punch out of it

SADY: yeah, exactly. i mean, "rape fantasy" is such a contradiction in terms. but i think a lot of people's sex fantasies are about (a) feeling that what you're doing is "dirty" and (b) pushing past the feelings of "dirtiness." and having a fantasy that is about losing control is a really easy way of just not feeling "dirty" or "guilty" in a way that inhibits your enjoyment.

AMANDA: and if the guilt extends all the way from your vagina, through your organs, and out your mouth: bonus.

SADY: well, you know: i suspect that dude is not someone you'd want to be trapped in an elevator with. i do give him credit, however, for not including matthew perry.

Photo via flickr user anoldent

Romance writer Moriah Jovan notes a disturbing new trend among the youngsters in "Romancelandia" (that would be the realm of romance novel fan-dom). Women "who love romance novels" are mocking older romance novels for their fantastically retro covers, dated cultural references—and rapist love interests. Not fair!

Writes Jovan:

In the 1970s and 1980s, there was a host of “rape romances” that are routinely sneered at by younger romance readers and/or people young to romance reading. The device is that the hero is cruel, arrogant, and (as I saw in a comment about my favorite one, written in 1974) he “rapes her until she loves him.” Sounds harsh now, right?

Yes. Raping a woman "until she loves him"—shit, that could take forever!—does sound pretty harsh. Kids today, with their expectations that the idealized coupling presented by the romance novel not involve incessant raping! Jovan?

Let me put this in some context. [Great -ed.] In the early 1970s, a lady named Nancy Friday interviewed women on the subject of their sexual fantasies and published them in a couple of books: My Secret Garden (1973) and Forbidden Flowers (1975), just at the cusp of the “rape romance.” Without taking Friday’s scholarship into account, I find it interesting that many women’s fantasies at that time featured rape prominently. I also find it fascinating that these books were published nearly simultaneously with the early rape romances and thus, probably didn’t inform each other.

Mind, this definition of “rape” is not a legal one; it’s a highly stylized one in which it allows the female to retain her Good Girl status while still A) having sex and B) enjoying it because the hero is a different kind of rapist: One who is attractive, who is uncontrollably attracted to the heroine, and who gets her off after he’s made it possible for her to have an out, i.e., “I was raped.”

Why did she need an out? Because, at the time, a woman’s enjoyment of sex (especially outside of marriage) was still taboo.

Jovan's insight into why women were attracted to "a different kind of rapist" isn't invalid. And the idea that women might turn to fantasies of sexual control in order to satisfy their own desires while wiggling out of societal constraints didn't expire in the 1970's.

But if young fans of mainstream romance novels now find this idea silly, outdated, and ripe for mockery, why not respect their own idea of what's romantic? Shouldn't we focus on the positives—girls feeling comfortable expressing their desire for consensual sex—instead of attempting to force young women to appreciate rape in context? Remember: The great sin these women are committing is nothing more than gentle mockery—putting concerns like "I can't believe that guy is so rapey!" on the same level as "I can't believe they printed that ridiculous stallion on the cover!" or "I can't believe they're listening to Fleetwood Mac!"

Still, Jovan tries to convince young readers to appreciate the "zeitgeist" of the romance novel—even though they've expressed a clear "unwillingness to go along with [it]":

I’m not sure why there’s this unwillingness to go along with the zeitgeist of the time in which the book was written, but instead to apply today’s standards of fashion or technology or pop culture as markers of timelessness. We don’t expect that of our historical novels, so why do we expect it of “contemporary” romances that cease to be “contemporary” the moment the galleys are finalized?

I'm not a fan of romance novels myself, but I do think these vintage genre works can prove relevant to modern women—just not in the way Jovan suggests. Young readers don't just find the fashions and soundtracks of 70's romance novels ridiculous—they find the very romantic ideals they're based on offensive. To me, that's a sign that the role of women in sex and relationships is flexible, socially informed, and changing fast—even in the relatively mainstream world of romantic paperbacks. That doesn't mean we throw out vintage romance entirely—Jezebel's Sadie Stein, for example, has done some great work discussing the trappings of dated romance novels from a modern context—but if we're not allowed to mock, why would we even read the old stuff?

After all, romance novels are written to indulge women's sexual and romantic fantasies. If the fantasies in the book—like, you know, rapist boyfriends—aren't getting the job done anymore, what's left to appreciate?

Well, Matt Roberts, President and Founder of mytinge.com—and maker of the Tinge vibrating razor—has got me. "Our records indicate you have never purchased this or requested a press sample for review," he writes. "If you had you’d know there is no danger with our product at all as it cannot be used as a razor and vibrator simultaneously" (demonstration above).

I'll admit it: I have never masturbated myself with a razor.

The Tinge-fomercial is indeed eye-opening.What's creepier—that the Tinge razor is designed discretely so as to "finally allow all of us to keep a fabulous adult toy right under their ["your kids'"] noses," or that Roberts keeps a master list of every human who owns one?

If the vibrating razor rubbed you the wrong way, perhaps this attempt to spice up the act of shaving your vagina will be more up your alley. Probably not, though, because it's pretty racist. It also implicates the house cat in ways I'm not entirely comfortable with.

This ad for the "Wilkinson Sword Quattro for Women Bikini"—a razor/trimmer duo—turns pubic hair shaving into a rousing gardening ditty, complete with racially-informed stereotypes about female sexuality and cruelty to animals!

So, the black woman's bush is big (wink), the Asian lady's bush is small (tee-hee), and by the end, the pussycat (oh, the subtelty) is completely hairless. Women of all races and vaginal styles spend their time enthusiastically grooming a slutty suburban wonderland that recalls Stepford, but with shorter skirts. I think the thing to take away here is that no matter how hairy your vagina is (if you're unsure, review the ethnic rubric above), just get rid of the damn thing, seriously. Also, make me a sandwich.

This ad comes recommended by the creepy dude who watched the whole thing over my shoulder while I was blogging about it in a coffee shop. He especially liked the pussy.

Earlier this week, I explained, ever-so-respectfully, why I thought sex-positive feminism was boring and dumb. In this edition of Sexist Beatdown, a chatty-thing, Tiger Beatdown's Sady kindly explains how she came to personally identify as a "sex positive feminist" by being the only employee in a sex shop who didn't know her anal nerve endings from the ones in her "cooter," and I realize that a preponderance of rope restraints may be the only thing keeping me from the dark "sex-positive" side. Enjoy!

AMANDA: ok. so. sex sex sex sex feminism sex

SADY: Indeed! I have, at times – many, many, MANY times – identified as a "sex-positive" feminist. Yet your article demonstrated for me some of the reasons why that can be annoying even to my very own ears!

AMANDA: yeah, and the issue is actually a lot more interesting than the form it was presented in my post ("rant")

SADY: Well, I feel like "sex-positive" is kind of a necessary construction, or was, at a certain point, when people were arguing with each other over whether porn, or heterosexual intercourse, was inherently oppressive to the ladies because of The Sexism. I even feel like right now we need to talk about ladies having sex drives and bodies that can enjoy sex and how that is not just necessarily some thing women inexplicably do to gratify man boners!

AMANDA: incidentally, i identify as a man boner gratifying feminist. i definitely agree with you, and i think the history of "sex positivity" and "feminist" is part of the reason it sort of nonsexually rubs me the wrong way. i just think at this point it's so obvious that feminists are not sex-negative. but i am a young female feminist-identifying person, so maybe it's not as obvious to, say, feminist-hating middle aged men.

SADY: RIGHT? They probably think you are out luring the man boners into wood chippers or something. OR marrying dudes so you can then divorce them, which I hear is quite popular. OR, you are a big old slutty slut slut boner slut. ALL OF THESE THINGS ARE TRUE, in the mind of the Middle-Aged-Feminist-Fearing-Dude.

Return to Sender: Postcard advertising "Classic Erotic Art" presented "in a special live exhibition photoshoot," featuring Playboy's Angelina Leigh and "internationally acclaimed photographer" Jerry Harke.

Promotional Info I’m Not Interested In [crossed out]:

- Playboy's Angelina Leigh's jorts.

- Playboy's Angelina Leigh's legs spread over the armrest of a wicker chair

- Playboy's Angelina Leigh's areola peeking out from her bra

- Playboy's Angelina Leigh

- Internationally acclaimed photographer Jerry Harke (spared: Hey, I wrote my first City Paper arts feature on the guy!)

Exhibit A: They just haaaad to put "Classic" in there.

Exhibit B: Did I mention the areola?

I Rest My Case: Oh course Jerry Harke's photo is juxtaposed to make him appear to be staring directly at her breasts.

Introducing “Daily Palin,” in which we detail Sarah Palin’s refusal to go away—every day. The morning news from across everyone's favorite bridge to nowhere:

* DON'T READ Sarah Palin Erotica—that way you won't be forced to contemplate Palin's brain and her vagina in the same breath:

She stands in the cramped bathroom and stares at her reflection in the small, dirty mirror. An aide is rapping his knuckles against the door insistently, but she ignores him, the roar of plane engines, the incessant buzz of the press corps, her cell phone beeping in her purse. “I am Sarah Palin. I am the future president of the United States,” she says softly, allowing the corners of her mouth to curl. Carefully, she smoothes the wrinkles out of her blouse and skirt, makes sure she’s showing some cleavage, and gives her shoulders a little shake. She has been repeating this mantra for weeks now and every single time, she feels a rush of sensation between her ears and her thighs. In these vainglorious moments, she doesn’t think of the old man who brought her here or Todd or the kids or the one on the way. No. She thinks about herself and she likes it.

* OPPOSITE DAY: The Altantic suggests that Sarah Palin's pulling out of this month's CPAC dinner is meant to shy from the national spotlight . . . in order to later reclaim the national spotlight. Writes Justin Miller: "Sarah Palin is pulling back from her post-election media spree by withdrawing from CPAC, a move that can only help her if she wants a national political role. Palin's pull out CPAC is striking because it represents a break in her media modus operandi, which has been to make waves every month since the election. . . . With continual attention from August to January, Palin courted overexposure, but looks to be avoiding it this month."

* OBAMA & PALIN: PEN PALS? On natural gas pipeline: "Gov. Sarah Palin wrote to Obama last week asking him to discuss the pipeline with Prime Minister Stephen Harper when he visits Canada next week during his first foreign trip as president."

* OKAY: "Sarah Palin "plans to travel to struggling villages": "The governor said again she's willing to travel to rural villages, but some villagers are wondering when that's going to happen. Palin says members of her staff have taken a number of trips to the remote village of Emmonak, but at least one lawmaker has said he would like to see less talk and more action."

* HUBBA HUBBA: AlterNet claims Palin's brief Veep candidacy ushered in "the rise of the Playboy electorate": "The truth is that Palin owes a lot to men. Men influenced her message, her method and certainly how she was marketed to the American public."

* FIRST DUDE WINTER SPORTS CORNER: The Fairbanks Daily News-Miner thinks the Tesoro Iron Dog race, the Alaska snowmobile race in which Todd Palin is competing, is for pussies: "it could be a lot tougher if racers didn’t get to sleep more than they ride," writes Tim Mowry, before totally backpeddalling! "Don’t get me wrong, I have the utmost respect for Iron Dog racers. They’re tough as nails and have a lot more guts than I do racing their snowmachines across the Alaska wilderness at speeds of more than 100 mph in the middle of the night."

* OKAY. More Palin erotica! Fun game: Is it Obama or Biden?

She will stare at her reflection in the TV screen and imagine her opponent standing behind her, one hand in her hair, yanking her head back, bruising her lips with his, nipping his tongue with her teeth. She’ll imagine her opponent twisting her nipples between his fingers until she cries out, then twisting them harder, hard enough that her knees buckle. She imagines him pulling her back up and slapping her hard enough to make her jump. She imagines him making her say his name. She imagines him making her beg. She comes, thinking about her opponent buried deep inside her, fucking so hard that her body starts to come apart. Then she will remember Conor.

Photo by er3456