Super Sexy Bad Ass/The First Real Post
I've chosen for my first real post on this thing, a piece I wrote last month for Portland Uncovered. It's a sex industry magazine in Portland, OR. I'd also like to mention that the editorial is saved on my work computer. Also, don't expect this blog to be all about sex.
SUPER SEXY BAD ASS
By Rachael Parenta
Basically, my sexual fantasy is this: A man 10-15 years my senior throws me up against the wall of my childhood bedroom while my parents are out of town. During the fantasy I realize there are no condoms in my childhood room and so I have to disengage from the intercourse, and settle for some alternative methods of stimulation. I know I should imagine a world where I’m sterile and all STDs have been eradicated; or, at least a world where I make enough money to terminate a pregnancy. But that is just how crazy I am, dare I call it deviant? I say yes. But others disagree, like this dude I dated. He thought of me as repressed and vanilla. I would not classify creating obstacles in my imaginary sex life as “run of the mill,” seems more like insanity to me. And we all know the crazy girls have the best sex.
What constitutes sexual deviance, anyway? Is sticking a gerbil up your ass deviant or is it the norm? I have yet to see a USA Today poll on animals in the anus. How do you know if you’re part of the majority? Where’s the data? Go ahead conduct a private study. Ask strangers from varying races and socio-economic backgrounds if they enjoy wearing tiaras and tutus during intercourse. Good luck getting results—people get all uppity and offended when you ask them about their dance attire.
Since no empirical data exists I say my critic should get over himself, because those who suggest playing office should not throw stones. He proposed just that over e-mail—as I was shirking my temp responsibilities. I laughed so hard I disturbed the office monkeys diligently working in their cubes next to me. The office is my hell. Imagining fucking under fluorescent lights; in a cramped, gray cubicle; serenaded by the low hum of 72 computers keeps me pretty dry. But then again I am vanilla, what the hell do I know! I guess hot, wild, deviant sex involves my man dressing like my supervisor; all gussied up in the sexually confused fashions of a misguided straight woman. Maybe he is a sadist and thought he’d get off commanding me to click the print icon for 8 hours as my soul slowly shriveled and died. Perhaps he thought it would spice things up by having sex with a partner who harbors a shitty, despondent attitude, only completes enough work to avoid termination, and never arrives on time.
I don’t know. I believe if a person wants to go out on a sexual ledge and do something that no one else is doing they should try playing Rachael’s HBO Comedy Special.” Seriously, I think that is hot. I’d have my partner play the production assistant who has to pick the cheese off my Caesar Salad. After my set he’d be waiting for me in my dressing room I’d tear his clothes off and he would fuck me, all the while screaming, “You’re the funniest! You’re the Funniest!” Or even hotter, play Rachael’s three-picture deal with Miramax Films. He could be the P.A. that brings me coffee, as I prepare for my big role in “The Rhea Perlman story,” where I play Rhea Perlman. He would watch my brilliance all day, and then we’d meet back in my trailer. I’d rip his clothes off and fuck him while he asked me, “Who knows your name baby?” and I scream, “Everybody! Everybody!” Now that’s a turn on.
So who’s the deviant one? Let’s do the math. I know approximately 200 people on this planet. Also, I am not famous (as you know because you have never heard of me) so, I would say that about the same number of people are aware of my existence. Two hundred out of the over six billion people that reside on this planet ain’t many. In fact it’s a hell of a lot less people than those familiar with Mine Sweeper. And, you know what? Vanilla tastes pretty good, especially when it is infused in vodka.
Who knew I was on the cutting edge of sexual experimentation.
By Rachael Parenta
Basically, my sexual fantasy is this: A man 10-15 years my senior throws me up against the wall of my childhood bedroom while my parents are out of town. During the fantasy I realize there are no condoms in my childhood room and so I have to disengage from the intercourse, and settle for some alternative methods of stimulation. I know I should imagine a world where I’m sterile and all STDs have been eradicated; or, at least a world where I make enough money to terminate a pregnancy. But that is just how crazy I am, dare I call it deviant? I say yes. But others disagree, like this dude I dated. He thought of me as repressed and vanilla. I would not classify creating obstacles in my imaginary sex life as “run of the mill,” seems more like insanity to me. And we all know the crazy girls have the best sex.
What constitutes sexual deviance, anyway? Is sticking a gerbil up your ass deviant or is it the norm? I have yet to see a USA Today poll on animals in the anus. How do you know if you’re part of the majority? Where’s the data? Go ahead conduct a private study. Ask strangers from varying races and socio-economic backgrounds if they enjoy wearing tiaras and tutus during intercourse. Good luck getting results—people get all uppity and offended when you ask them about their dance attire.
Since no empirical data exists I say my critic should get over himself, because those who suggest playing office should not throw stones. He proposed just that over e-mail—as I was shirking my temp responsibilities. I laughed so hard I disturbed the office monkeys diligently working in their cubes next to me. The office is my hell. Imagining fucking under fluorescent lights; in a cramped, gray cubicle; serenaded by the low hum of 72 computers keeps me pretty dry. But then again I am vanilla, what the hell do I know! I guess hot, wild, deviant sex involves my man dressing like my supervisor; all gussied up in the sexually confused fashions of a misguided straight woman. Maybe he is a sadist and thought he’d get off commanding me to click the print icon for 8 hours as my soul slowly shriveled and died. Perhaps he thought it would spice things up by having sex with a partner who harbors a shitty, despondent attitude, only completes enough work to avoid termination, and never arrives on time.
I don’t know. I believe if a person wants to go out on a sexual ledge and do something that no one else is doing they should try playing Rachael’s HBO Comedy Special.” Seriously, I think that is hot. I’d have my partner play the production assistant who has to pick the cheese off my Caesar Salad. After my set he’d be waiting for me in my dressing room I’d tear his clothes off and he would fuck me, all the while screaming, “You’re the funniest! You’re the Funniest!” Or even hotter, play Rachael’s three-picture deal with Miramax Films. He could be the P.A. that brings me coffee, as I prepare for my big role in “The Rhea Perlman story,” where I play Rhea Perlman. He would watch my brilliance all day, and then we’d meet back in my trailer. I’d rip his clothes off and fuck him while he asked me, “Who knows your name baby?” and I scream, “Everybody! Everybody!” Now that’s a turn on.
So who’s the deviant one? Let’s do the math. I know approximately 200 people on this planet. Also, I am not famous (as you know because you have never heard of me) so, I would say that about the same number of people are aware of my existence. Two hundred out of the over six billion people that reside on this planet ain’t many. In fact it’s a hell of a lot less people than those familiar with Mine Sweeper. And, you know what? Vanilla tastes pretty good, especially when it is infused in vodka.
Who knew I was on the cutting edge of sexual experimentation.
Comments
Congratulations on your movie!