Gloria's Oversexed Mind

Gloria: (attempting in vain to dislodge poodle from ass) Damn. This poodle is heavier than water. She's 20 pounds of pressure per inch. No wonder I wake up in the morning at the edge of the bed.

Will: Trust me, I know.

Gloria: How does she do that in her sleep? It's like she's being sucked by horizontal gravity.

Will: It's called the Coriolis Effect

Gloria: .....

Will: That's the physical phenomenon.

Gloria: For a minute I thought you said the Coriolanus effect.

Will: .....

Gloria: That's the Shakespearean play.

July 21, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges, Pets and Animal Love | Permalink | Comments (1)

If you're looking for a great small restaurant in Atlanta, where you can have a conversation while eating a truly delightful savory meal prepared by a master chef, check out Restaurant Eugene. Ketzl and I dined there with two lovely men on Saturday evening -- and not only was the food fantastic but we could actually have a conversation while eating because the booth provided a fabulous sound barrier. My dish (a perfect cut of rib eye) was prepared with fingerling potatoes, torpedo onions, a horse-radish/mustard sauce, and hen of the woods mushrooms , and WOW, the (new-to-me) fungus was delicious in every way -- texture, flavor, preparation. My dinner companions were also happy with their dishes (Ketzl had an authentic Japanese fish dish that brought back happy memories of her recent trip to Tokyo), and the desserts were spectacular. Portion sizes were pretty perfect too. Costs about what you'd expect to pay in any world-class restaurant, with entrees running $30-$40. All in all, well worth the drive. (Of course, our male friends were worth the drive anyway... but somehow I think they looked even sexier over thrillingly tasty food. And if I wasn't on my best behavior, that booth could've allowed for a little...you know. Sometimes a long table cloth is a sadist's best friend....)

One note: don't expect the menu you're given to be the menu they list on-line. We went there knowing what we wanted to order, only to discover none of it was available. I can't fault them (much) for that (though getting someone to update their website weekly would be a big plus): the chef uses as much locally grown produce (and even meats) as possible, so the menu is constantly changing according to what's fresh and in season. Perfect!

July 14, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges | Permalink | Comments (2)

What do you get when you add up one sex kitten and one kinky sexologist? I'm glad you asked! Last night's show on BlogTalk Radio was an hour packed with merriment, perversion, education, information and candid sex talk. If you missed me my hour of (opinionated) power on the Cult of Grace last night, the next best thing listening to the archived version
.

July 10, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges | Permalink | Comments (2)

Setting: the three of us sitting on my bed, discussing how we'll have paid off our mortage in 10 years. 10 years! Wow. On so many levels.

Ketzl: (confident) "Of course, by then, we'll have a successful poultry and goat operation going."

Me: (wistful) "If only I had the time, how I'd love to have a dog rescue by then."

Will: (pensive) I would like to start a prostitute rescue.

July 8, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges | Permalink | Comments (2)

Some of the stuff (minus bags of greenbeans) Jen harvested from our garden today.

Link

June 29, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges, Pleasures of the Garden | Permalink | Comments (3)

-- I was on the panels of judges for uncontested contests this year, along with Hardy Haberman, Kali Ward, Lenny Earl, and the Head Judge, Victoria Gayton. The shortfall of contestants was in part a comment on the economy (winning a contest always entails burdensome expenses). But I've heard activists all over N. America talk about a flagging interest in leather contests. Explanations range from changing demographics (not too many young professionals can make the time commitment) to new generations of kinksters being less interested in activism and more interested in fun. So, the judging boiled down to determining if the candidates deserved a sash on their own merits v. in competition with peers. There were two fine candidates and then some last-minute entrants who, IMO, were completely unprepared on every level to represent the SM/leather communities. What really got me was catching them in a lie about their time in the Scene. If you can't remember how long you've been in the Scene, say so: making up phony dates to look like you're super-experienced only works on gullible Internet dweebs. Call me a bitch (as I'm sure they later did), but once someone lies to me, I can't trust anything else they say. The other two candidates did us proud and will go on to rep the Southeast at other events -- congrats to Ms. Southeast Leather, Miss Bettie, and to Southeast Bootblack, Girl Commando.

-- Not that I wasn't happy enough just to see familiar faces and catch up, but I got to meet a bunch of people I'd only known by reputation, and was delighted to find out they were even cooler in person than in pixel. Hardy, Kali, Steve Hagen, Ray Castro, it was an honor putting faces to your names. Additionally, met a bunch of people who'd corresponded with me in the past and was so pleasantly surprised by how lovely they were in person; bumped into some beloved clients (who must remain nameless, but ooh, got to see them in their fetish gear! so edgy!); and caught up with some wonderful folks I hadn't seen in years (kiss kiss to Adrian and RedWitch), and even met a few new hotties (you're at the top of the list, Eric). :) I know I've left a ton of names out, so forgive me or better still remind me, and I'll give you a shout-out too.

-- In retrospect, I realize that the female to male ratio at this event was, well, redonkulous! Redonkulously weighted, that is, in women's favor. A far cry from the mid-80s when you'd look out over a sea of submissive men at events and clubs, with only a tiny handful of femdoms and perhaps a few femsubs being led around by their masters. There were dozens of femdoms at SELF, tons of them in permanent relationships with their subs/bottoms/bois, more non-pros than pros too. WOW. And I couldn't even count all the femsubs. Also impressive in number were the transmen (including some who I last saw before transition and now passed in the halls, positive they were gender males -- they looked THAT GOOD). It was the coolest, most eclectic mix ever and I loved the blast of estrogenic energy throbbing throughout the event. Of course, where femsubs are, so too are many fine maledoms, and it was inspiring to see so many happily partnered couples, poly people, and leather families.

-- All I can say is THANK GOD about this one: it was the most diva-free event I've ever attended. Considering that some of the women who organized the event ARE bona fide BDSM divas (including my buddies Lady Catherine and Victoria), this was a delicious surprise. See, there's good diva and bad diva: the good diva is the gracious lady who has earned respect through accomplishment and generosity to the Community, who accepts the worship and love and service as her due but without attitude or rudeness, and who demonstrates through deed, not just word, that she is IN CONTROL -- not just of others but most especially of herself. The bad diva is usually the one with a ridiculously hi-falutin monicker, and who has not earned a thing; more likely, she's faked her way in or used others to create her reputation for her, and believes the community exists for her profit. You can almost always count on the bad diva to create drama, to snub or otherwise insult people, and generally act more like a wicked witch than a divine bitch. One bad diva can destroy the soul of an event. So kudos to SELF organizers for pulling off one of the most relaxed, down-home, diva-free events I've ever attended.

Now for some "moments"....

At the local Starbuck's with Ketzl. Forgot to remove my conference badge.

The java slinger notices. "Oh, are you at that Holiday Inn thing? What kind of convention is it?"

"Leather," I smiled.

"Oh." Pregnant pause. "Are you a tanner?"

Um Um Um...

"No, no. BDSM leather." Noting his growing embarrassment, I added. "Basically, it's a big bunch of perverts having a party."

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," he said, glancing down, bright red now. "That's cool."

The low-point of the weekend happened just after my class on Sunday. I had noticed at one point that some couples walked out but just assumed they had something else to do, and didn't take it personally. I should have. I was later confronted by a distraught woman who told me that I had deeply hurt their feelings (!). During class, a couple of femdoms in the audience raised the issue of dealing with maledoms who treat them disrespectfully. Complaints centered on maledoms who treat femdoms as if underneath their femdom'ly exteriors they are actually subs in denial -- based on the sexist assumption that all women are, by nature, submissive. This opened a dialogue about sexism in the Scene, and how seldom it is discussed. For a community which celebrates diversity, is anti-racist, size-positive, gay/lesbian-friendly, and generally holds important humanistic values overall, sexism IMO absolutely remains our dirty secret.

I attributed much of the sexism to the possibility that the maledoms are uncomfortable in their own shoes, possibly question their own dominance, and need to see women as inferior or submissive in order to boost themselves: typical bully mentality, where it's always the cowards who try to pick on people they perceive as weaker or less socially empowered. One femdom who works as a pro made the point that she's had plenty of visits from guys who, in public, pretend to be all dom, all the time, then swear her to secrecy when they come in for sessions. Since I've always pretty much believed that the people most likely to be homophobic are latent homosexuals, and the people most likely to be anti-trans must have their own gender issues going on, I tend to believe that, indeed, the maledoms most likely to treat femdoms like subs-in-denial are likely torn on the inside about their own hunger to submit to a powerful woman. Couldn't help pointing out that I live with a maledom who has NEVER had a problem accepting that some women are truly dom-by-nature. Actually his POV, more accurately, is that while society has tried to beat women into social slavery through conditioning, there are nonetheless some of us who were just so dominant we overcame the rotten system through sheer dint of our indomitable willpower! Aw, yeah, there's lots of reasons I love my man. :)

UNFORTUNATELY, as I bloviated about this during class, I opened the question to what I *thought* were cross-dressers sitting with their Mistresses, assuming that, like most of the TV's I've known, they'd be particularly sensitive and insightful about what bullying fools some men can be -- TV's often possessing that extra perspective on masculinity from their own experience of embracing both male and female within themselves. But DUH. They weren't submissive cross-dressers at all: they were MTF Transsexuals, who felt no identity with men and were hurt that I treated them as such. As their rep explained, her friends were and had always felt like females and my singling them out as males felt like a slap in the face.

Oy. So they were the ones who walked out on me, in anger as it turned out. Agh. I felt like crap about it. Hope my apology to their representative helped make amends. But since there's nothing like a public apology, this is mine: real sorry, ladies. Totally my bad.

There was a Friday night "CarnalVal" with various booths set up. You bought your tix at a main table, then spent them on a wide range of silliness in support of various good causes. I was tempted to jump on the bootblack service (love a good boot shine, oh yes I do) but then remembered that under my sexy dress that night...was nothing but my sexy naked body. Had I hopped on a bench, the whole world could've had a glimpse of Gloria Brame as they'd never seen her. Naturally, Ketzl, the shit-disturber, thought this was a wonderful idea and wished I'd air my hoo-ha to the group but, what can I say, I have a more personal relationship with my thighs and didn't really find the idea overly appealing.

Later I paid Ketzl back for her gleeful impertinence by making her "Ride the Thunder," i.e., compete at a booth where you got to spin a wheel of fortune when you successfully "covered the boob" (don't ask). When the wheel landed on number 17, I got to deliver a nice refreshing SHOCK of electricity to Ketzl. Ha ha. A dom must always get her revenge.

Ketzl did well at the "cock toss" but I can't remember if there was any kind of a prize for her skill in throwing a dildo through a vagina-shaped hole. It was funny, though. Note: she handled that dildo like a pro. And I do mean a pro.

We didn't get to use the dungeons as I'd hoped, in part cuz Ketzl was somewhat out of commission but also because I didn't see a space available that felt right to me. There were two big dungeon rooms, which were reasonably private (had doors, that is) but already reasonably busy. In one, someone was doing a bullwhip scene which essentially took up most of the space. The third space was the lobby connecting the various ballrooms. Though I'm not exactly shy or inhibited, I confess that the lobby thing did not work for me. Just too wide open, lacking in intimacy, too many people drifting around the bondage/play stations. My personal preference is a station where you can safely stow your stash (not having to worry if a passerby will help him or herself to one of your toys), and can create an illusion of privacy, with voyeurs kept at some minimum safe distance so your scene can't be interrupted or otherwise disturbed should they sneeze or trip over your junk as they wander through.

However, there was a charmingly basic little room off to the side where a private femdom group was hosting a fund-raiser called "Spanked Tails." Since we had a few tix left over, it made sense to spend them here. I offered up Ketzl to the spank-mistress in attendance. As she probed for some possible scenario to enhance the festivities (asking Ketzl, "were you a bad girl?") and since Ketzl is, by nature, a spunky brat who wasn't about to help a top along, I chimed in with some fodder.

"She masturbates all the time!" I exclaimed as Ketzl turned pink and began giggling maniacally. "Not only that -- but you know those motorized toothbrushes? The kind you're supposed to use on your TEETH? You know where my naughty girl uses them??"

That was all it took. The room burst out in loud expressions of shock and Ketzl was hoisted on the bench for a very sound spanking that left her thoroughly red and even very lightly bruised for a few hours.

Payback's a bitch..and so, of course, am I.

And speaking of bitchiness...

Mouthing off about something or other, and Victoria responding in kind, Mistress Kali choked with laughter, and expressed amazement at how unapologetically bitchy we were.

"You know honey," I joked, putting my arm around her shoulder. "Men don't like us because we're NICE."

Just got an email from Kali a little while ago, thanking me for the lessons in bitchery. Hilarious.

Finally, just a happy note about Saturday night. Got to spend a few hours totally partying it up in our room with the coolest little group of people. Oh my, it was merry. And my Ketzl got to get in some foot-worship on one of the hunkiest maledoms at the event. A pleasure to watch her and his sub wiggle and writhe with joy over his masterly feet (while wriggling and writhing against each other too). As I'm partial to foot worship myself, and always love to see sexy pervs having fun, it added a certain luster to the atmosphere, if you know what I mean. Also was totally delighted by the lovely Kali, who was sweetly affectionate. Did I mention she is a true beauty? She put a bright twinkle in my typically heterosexual eyes, I must say. The coup de grace was grabbing a sweet submissive man of my (formerly email only) acquaintance in the lobby and dragging him off with us to satisfy our late-night munchie attack. He turned out to be a truly delightful gentleman, and the next day when I saw him obediently trotting after Kali, carrying her bags, he looked sublimely happy. Ah, yeah, it was all good.

June 16, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges, Sex and Sadomasochism | Permalink | Comments (8)

...and anyone else who needs urgently to get in touch with me this weekend...I will have my cellphone and my laptop so if it's an emergency, don't hesitate to call or email. Can't promise I will be able to reply immediately but will do my best to get back to you asap. You can also call my office and leave voicemail -- someone (i.e., my husband) will be here to make sure I get the message.

Be back Sunday (if there's time, I may even blog live from SELF).

June 13, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges | Permalink | Comments (0)

Penguin Dust

(with special thanks to the best Beat poet that ever was, Gregory Corso)

June 5, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges | Permalink | Comments (0)

My housemate Jen just put up a great slide-show to give you an idea how things have been growing here. These were shot yesterday afternoon. (And fyi, Mike Esslinger is a local artist who makes large-scale garden sculptures. We're hoping to invest in another one of his works soon.)

Picasa Web Albums - GardenPics 05/31/08

June 1, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges | Permalink | Comments (1)

Have you ever come here and wished you could totally revamp my blog to make it hotter, more interactive, more....how shall I put it...more BETTER? Yeah? So how would you like to pimp my blog?

I desperately need someone with the time, energy, expertise, commitment and enthusiasm to work for me (part-time) in redesigning this Typepad blog. You'll need:

- experience doing Typepad blogs

- good coding skills

- awareness of the latest and greatest in web design and tools

- a creative vision for this site

and, perhaps most importantly,

- a professional attitude if you want to get and keep my respect.

A blog slave, a masochistic volunteer, a graphic artist who'd love to add me to their portfolio, or someone who'd like to barter services are all welcome. If you want to be paid at a professional rate, that's fine too, but please give me your rates up front. All terms negotiable, but keep in mind that I am a strict task-mistress. I take commitments seriously and will expect the same of you.

Drop me an email if interested. Please include a URL where I can look at some of the pages you've already done.

Gloria

May 29, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges | Permalink | Comments (0)

For a peek into the personal, check out my post on MySpace today.

Happy BBQs to you all.

May 26, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges | Permalink | Comments (0)

So...I thought 2007 was pretty hairy but 2008 is getting so ridiculously crazy I'm almost starting to develop a grim sense of humor about it. In this week's news: my mom broke her hip on Wednesday and had surgery yesterday (her 87th birthday, no less). The surgery seemed to go okay but we'll know more soon. She is completely zonked on drugs and saying a lot of strange things right now. Ergo: I haven't had time or focus to research an art show completely for today. The Yiddish word for my current mood: fertumult.

Meanwhile, just found out from Jen that her co-worker and our good friend, totaled his car last night (walking away with bruises but no serious injuries, fortunately). Jeez. (Feel better soon, Al!!)

I think of the people of Myanmar and China and such troubles seem petty but I also know you can never compare such things. Are you having a cavalcade of bad news, affecting you or those near and dear to you? Is it something in the stars? The water? Or maybe, at least in my case, it's just TIME: that sad period in life when the members of the previous generation in your family (and your aging pets) simply reach the end of their days. In the past two years, we've lost six close relatives and three beloved pets.

Will is so stoic. Keeps repeating "death is a part of life, life is a part of death." Oddly, it helps.

May 16, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges | Permalink | Comments (1)

Did you have a good Mother's Day? Are you thinking about the poor people of Myanmar and China? Are you wishing Hillary Clinton would get out of the race already, fer chrissake?

Life has a way of going on even when blogs grow silent. Apologies to hard-core Mind junkies who haven't had your daily fixes in a while. I haven't been up to blogging recently. Still semi-reeling from the events of last month, plus significantly overwhelmed with new, albeit less momentous, ones. You ever have periods where you wait for that other heavy shoe to drop and then a rack of socks collapses on your head? Kinda like that, yeah. Fortunately, all the latest crap can be fixed with money, sweat and time, and lots and lots of over the counter remedies. And possibly some goggles.

When things get real dicey here I go outside and get lost in the garden, which is where I've spent much of my free time the past couple of weeks. My wondrous hubster, Will, has been a lifesaver, doing the work of two men out there, digging, dividing and replanting some monsters that I'd despaired of ever moving. Ah the joys of living with an archaeologist who can meticulously excavate giant root systems without disturbing the things around it. I stand in awe of his artistry with shovels and picks. The results are splendiferous. And despite a bout of food-poisoning, Jen, our gleeful canna-worm-crusher, has been doing her part by marching about, fingers pinched, to murder the pests that would make our leaves curl. Also gathering blossoms to create incredible ikebana arrangements (her March trip to Japan left its aesthetic mark). Everything's looking so healthy, you'd never know the gardeners have been feeling like crap.

We so need to have a massive garden party this year.

Anyway, onward, and with any luck, upward. Will be catching up on some stories and stuff today, plan to get the art show Fridays back in gear, and etc. etc. etc.

May 12, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges | Permalink | Comments (0)

Today was "Faery Fest" in the small town of Comer, Georgia and with a name like that, how could we possible resist? The very quaint, tiny, and artsy town of Comer was lined with little booths and fairy silliness, and people walking around with wings on their back. Two of our best buds came along with Jen and me for the fun, and one even brought her beautiful little sheltie boy. I put Venus in pearls and a scarf, tied a pom-pom collar around Apollo and off we went, four women and three dogs. I'd grimly surveyed my closet last night, wondering how I'd find something fit for Faery dom in that sea of black -- but did find a few colorful things, duded it up with bright scarves and voila: I felt like a Flower Child all over again.

Me holding Venus; the elegant T-Rex holding Apollo; and our beauteous red-headed friend hugging her own adorable pup. (Jen shot all photos.)

Jen thinks I was voguing. I'm thinking..."we've got to get ourselves back to the garden"

Queen of the Faeries: Tina McCullough, co-owner of Bluebell Gallery and Comer's unofficial art ambassador par excellence.

May 3, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges | Permalink | Comments (2)

Sorry, oh faithful readers. For those following this blog, you already know the last couple of weeks were, how shall I put it, challenging. Two individuals I loved very much died, one unexpectedly and the other too soon. In my effort to de-stress, I went guerrilla on the garden. It was great therapy to murder weeds, grabbing great fistfuls of them and giving them the killer dominatrix treatment. Unfortunately, in my single-minded zeal to punish the weeds for the vicissitudes of life, I managed to get pollen or some other crap in my right eye (the tear duct, to be precise) which consequently triggered the infection from hell. Didn't realize this, of course, until I woke up with a big pink puffball where my eyelid used to be. Ooh, gruesome. And fucking painful too. I saved the best of myself for therapy--and there wasn't much left after that. I slept and slept, and had lots of bizarre fever dreams. In one, our pup Apollo had grown hands and was distributing food. AGH! That scared the daylights out of me. Death, despair, disease -- I can take a lot of pressure...but dogs with hands?! Holy fucking shit. I agreed to let Jen drive me over to our local emergency clinic. Naturally, it being That Kind of a Week, it had closed early that day for unknown reasons, leaving us to flap our hands and repeat the obvious in the parking lot, like primitive peoples trying to conjure the spirit of shamans. But taking up valuable resources at a hospital emergency room for a minor affliction like this seemed beyond the pale, so I stopped instead at a local drugstore, where the pharmacist offered super helpful advice. Over the counter drugs are your friends. Now, many pain and sinus pills and allergy eye drops later, I'm doing fine. Swelling's almost completely gone, fever long-since passed, I don't look like the Beast With the Big Eye anymore, and my dogs are all paws, THANK GOD. The weekend's jam-packed though so it may be a few more days before I resume blogging. Thanks for understanding. Me and my now-normal sized eye will be back at it soon.

May 3, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges | Permalink | Comments (1)

I've been too bummed to blog but coming out of it now. Late Friday, exactly one week, almost to the hour, after Bobo died, my mother-in-law passed. She was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer almost 16 months ago, and so we knew it was only a waiting game. It was a hard and long wait, further complicated by a lot of very complicated family history but I loved my mom-in-law. She was more of a mother to me than my own mother: she listened; she cared; she accepted. Even though I rarely got the chance to let her know, I hope she did -- I think she did. Will is handling it well -- we've been expecting this news for over a year, alas, and he was very reconciled. He is amazingly stoic when it comes to life to death.

Meanwhile all these existential shifts in the nature of our familial realities has driven me to direct emotions and energies at the garden. Everything is feeling so good and so right out there. So many plans, made so long ago, are coming to fruition. Shrubs planted as scrappy pathetic little seedlings, which stood in a limp row like disaffected orphans, are now turning into the hearty, fecund bushes of my imagination. Dead sandy gunk where even weeds wouldn't grow is sweet, wormy loam now, swelling with lush perennials. From a few seeds scattered five years ago, which refused to find purchase in the soil of old, there is now a jungle of yarrow, some already beginning to blossom. Plants I gave up on have decided to live after all, and are putting up robust new stems and leaves. From three tiny primrose starts which barely survived the first year, their third-generation babies have colonized a central bed, poking pink heads up through azaleas and around blueberries.

In trying to bring order to the chaos of the woods here, I opted for something one might call Darwinian Gardening. It was all about the survival of the fittest. I planted thousands and thousands of things out there, in every possible stage of life, from seeds to mature shrubs. The first year was pretty disastrous because almost everything I planted failed or looked unhappy, including mature plants I'd dug from my Atlanta garden and which had been super-reliable for me there. By year two, I realized I could not make any assumptions about the soil, water or light conditions here, and reconciled myself to continuing to lose plants until I amended soil throughout the 2 acre garden area. Years three and four were pretty much dedicated to that effort. I still haven't achieved perfect soil everywhere but I have definitely learned a lot about the land.

Meanwhile, I kept planting and planting and planting, experimenting with everything I could find that I thought might enjoy living in this ecosystem. Once established, though, plants received only minimal care. Weeding, occasional fertilizing (or composting), light trimmings, and dead-heading -- but no fussing. Species that failed more than twice here were never planted again. Everything got a chance to be moved to at least one other spot but if they still couldn't make it, they got crossed off the list. To live here, you have to be a survivor: independent, vigorous for your own reasons, determined to adapt. I've visited home gardens where you can tell that each and every plant has received loving daily care, carefully coaxed to flourish. Not here. I kept my focus on improving living conditions, and let the plants worry about the rest. Embarrassing but true, I had any number of hellaciously scraggly looking suckers out there, and was kind of waiting for them to die to try other species in their spots. Some did crap out, but others (particularly two mock orange bushes I planted as twigs and which had done absolutely nothing but get slightly taller for four years) are now all pumped up with leaves and buds and ready to bloom.

I switched to organic gardening a few years ago and don't use fertilizers or weed-killer. A steady supply of leaf mold, courtesy of the mixed hardwood forest, helps: plants are thriving on "forest food." Anything and everything organic gets added to the soil, from bone meal and lime brought home in giant bags to coffee grounds and shredded newspapers carried out of the house (aka "lasagna gardening", where you layer organic materials on your beds). We keep an eye on bugs but try to stick with organic methods of control. Honestly, I don't mind chewed up leaves here and there, so tend to be lenient unless they get out of control. Probably my favorite form of organic bug control is to send Jen on a canna leaf-roller killing expedition. The girl just loves to crush those little leaf-rolling worms....with a demented look of glee in her eyes, I should add.

Anyway... it's becoming a naturalized garden, which is what a forest garden should be. Formal would look bizarre in the midst of woods with a country-style house. I figured that plants that weren't quite right for these conditions needed to die, leaving room for the plants that love it here. Those species have finally taken over and I'm hoping for a spectacular summer show.

In the comments section, someone mentioned the link between gardening and sex and dominance. Yes. Flowers are sex organs and that is part of the thrill of it. So beautiful, so strange, so fragile, so intoxicating: so very deeply sexual to be in a garden. So alive. There's a link to my dominant side too and the power to create positive change. In five years, you can take a barren woodland clearing and transform it into an oasis. It requires a lot of hard work, a deep focus, and commitment. You control the life and death of not just the thousands of visible plant lives, but a million seldom seen or invisible lives. Everywhere you stick a shovel these days, you find wriggling worms and a dozen other fat little creatures of the soil. Everywhere you go there are frogs and lizards and insects and rodents and garden snakes who have taken up permanent residence. Hundreds of wild birds visit our feeders. Sulphurs and swallowtails are dancing all over the sunny sky. At twilight bats excitedly careen overhead. The satisfaction of this, the feeling of "wow I made this happen" is a lot like the high I get from dominating.

But there is a crucial difference. Gardening keeps you humble. You may have created a garden but to the garden itself you are only the help: the real gardener, unseen and mystical, has done you a favor by giving you the opportunity to serve. You are there to provide, to guide, to assist. But your power is limited. Your success depends on a confluence of events that will always remain beyond your control -- climate, predators, pests, diseases, and, sometimes, the depredations of time.

April 27, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges, Pleasures of the Garden | Permalink | Comments (4)

Come take a walk through our gardens with us. Will took all these shots earlier today with our nifty new Canon PowerShot A590.

First, a view of the house as seen from a row of very vigorous blueberries.

Some friends gave us a Buddha Dog for the garden (thanks R&C!), and he now occupies a shady little shrine outside the front door. Behinds him (in pots) variegated ivy and a variegated creeping hydrangea.

I was working on a planter when a bright red light flashed in my eye. I realized I was staring into the psychedelic neck feathers of a hummingbird. He recognized me as friend. If he'd recognized me as foe, he would've dive-bombed my head. Hummers are as viciously territorial as they are beautiful. I've planted a ton of things to lure them here.

The old canna bed, now about one fifth its original size with some of the giant rocks Will dug up. For scale, the cannas are about 2 ft. tall now.

One of the new canna beds, at the edge of the woods. Same cannas, same height, in a new sunny area we had cleared last year. They can grow and grow into a wall now. One day, there will be a huge pond back there

Close-up of my favorite irises

Same irises, with blue lobelia in the boxes behind them (and daylilies and yarrow surrounding them)

Heavenly bamboo berries.

A now-destroyed red ant hill. It was massive -- this is after I chopped it down with a shovel. It ate one of our lights.

These euonymous were about one foot tall and scraggly when I planted them. Now they are beginning to overgrow the azalea they're surrounding.

Some fruit-bearing trees that Jen planted: fig trees and, on the right, a paw-paw.

A leather mahonia, ripe with berries. The red behind them are lorapetalum.

Native phlox (in a weedy tree box) beside an oak. The irises will be blooming soon.

Some photinia we planted near the wood's edge.

Happy pieris in a box by the front deck. The boxes out front were filled with rocks and sterile soil when we got here.

Potted geranium between pots of sedum.

Red azales in full bloom.

Small bed of annual salvia, filling in where mums will take over later this year.

View to the garden shed, past azaleas and hydrangeas.

Shady rock bed at the end of the deck.

Geraniums don't feed hummers but the flowers draw them in. They love to see red flowers in a garden and will move in early if you put some out.

And, finally, Bobo's peaceful grave

April 22, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges, Pleasures of the Garden | Permalink | Comments (1)

Jen found two fantastic quotes about dogs
"You think dogs will not be in heaven? I tell you, they will be there long before any of us" ~ Robert Louis Stevenson

"I have sometimes thought of the final cause of dogs having such short lives and I am quite satisfied it is in compassion to the human race; for if we suffer so much in losing a dog after an acquaintance of ten or twelve years, what would it be if they were to live double that time?" ~Sir Walter Scott

We're doing much better. We gardened ourselves to the point of exhaustion yesterday and came in feeling happy and whole. Will undertook the monstrous task of excavating a stand of giant cannas that were about to eat the garden. Some of the original bulbs were about 16" in diameter (!!). We then relocated them (significantly divided) to a new, tilled bed by the driveway, and to another stretch of newly tilled soil at the edge of the woods, behind our burn-pit. Last year some of these cannas were about 8 feet tall. I'm hoping they'll be even more robust in their new spots. My rural community is known as "city of cannas" and, with any luck, this year anyone driving by will see our community spirit.

We have lots more work to do out there--I've let most everything mature in its spot for 2-3 years and the reward now is that everyone is super healthy -- so healthy they've wildly outgrown their spaces. This will be a season of dividing. I've reached the point where I no longer NEED to buy new plants to fill in the scape. Now I've got to move everything around and fill in spare spots with overflow perennials. It's been five years in the making but my original vision for the garden is finally starting to emerge.

Meanwhile, Jen's vision of an edible paradise is about to bear fruit, literally. It's been a great spring and the garden is loving it. Looks like we are going to have amazing crops of figs, blueberries, raspberries, strawberries, and asparagus this year. We are totally stoked!

More gardening today. The weather is divine. I feel Bobo in the garden with me. I can almost see him running around, keep an eye on me, with that oddly perverted grin on his face that sometimes made him look like a dirty old man.

It's all good. I'm starting to feel good that I had the chance to live with such a great, kooky dog.

April 21, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges, Pets and Animal Love, Pleasures of the Garden | Permalink | Comments (0)

A few more things I need to say and then Will and I are going out to the garden to work as hard as we can.

On the last day of his life, when I gave him the last walk I'll ever give him, Bobo stopped to smell all the pretty new flowers planted outside the vet's office -- and made sure to pee wherever other dogs had peed, with a truly gleeful look on his face.

On the floor of the operatory, I managed to scoot around and position myself so Bobo could rest his head on my chest. I told the vet it was his favorite thing in the world, what I call "the boobie hug." Yes, when it came to human ladies, Bobo was totally a breast man, and totally loved burying his head in my rack (and Jen's too). Then, softly in his ear, so only he could hear, I sang him his favorite song, one I've sung a thousand times since he was a little pup: "You Are My Sunshine." I always change the last line from "please don't take my sunshine away" to "please don't take my Bobo away." Though he was barely conscious, he smiled and sighed when I did. Will believes that Bobo said his goodbyes to us then.

I thought we'd have Bobo cremated but Will wanted to bury him on our land, near Malachi, our darling cat who also died unexpectedly last year. Will wanted a grave to visit, and wanted to dig it himself. When we got home, my Herculean husband (if you've never seen Will, well, he's a cross between a bear and a weight-lifter in frame) took a pick-axe and a shovel, and asked me to pick a spot. I chose one between Malachi's grave and a flowering dogwood. Then I had to go inside and talk to some clients, as I had a long-standing appointment scheduled. When I was finished, I came back out: Will had dug an enormous hole in the tough Georgia red clay, and had also excavated some boulders to build a cairn. We put Bobo's favorite toys (including a few he'd eviscerated as a puppy, and which I'd saved), his collar and tags, and his favorite treats in the grave with him. I said a prayer and threw down a handful of dirt (as Jews do when they bury their dead), then we shared the work in filling in the grave and covering it with rocks. It is a very fine grave, in a spot in the woods that Bobo often visited. And then the sun broke through the clouds that had covered the sky all morning, and the garden glittered with light.

Bobo died as the sun set and Passover 2008 began. As a lapsed/non-practicing Jew, and a person who doesn't believe in organized religion altogether, Jewish holidays are not very important to me. But I am still a Jew -- and much of my Jewish identity derives from my family's history, as survivors of the Nazi Holocaust. Bobo died on Passover. But more importantly he died on the eve of April 19th. This is the date of the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising (April 19, 1943); a date which has always held profound meaning for myself and my parents, who were born and raised in Warsaw and were friends with some of the martyrs who died in a spontaneous, doomed effort to defy Nazi occupation. The confluence of Pesach, April 19th and Bobo's passing was emotionally overwhelming. Life and death and survival: all wrapped up in 24 hours of grief.

Blogging about Bobo helped. The kind words on the blog, and phonecalls and emails, helped beyond all reckoning. Gardening a little yesterday helped. But what seemed to help more than anything was therapy. Some clients in crisis needed extra help this weekend, plus I had some regular therapy sessions to deal with as well. Helping other people -- shutting down my own grief, focusing on the living, on people who have needs in the here and now, giving me something useful and positive to do in taking care of them -- was balm to my soul. Helping them helped me more than anything else I could have ever done for myself.

And finally....and to me, maybe the most poignant and bittersweet and mystical thing of all....

Among the many things we offer the wild birds is a small hand-made cage containing fluff and hair and other tiny bits of softness the birds can use to cushion their nests. This year, I saved a big ball of Bobo fur and stuffed it in the cage, figuring they would be delighted by it. It sat out there totally neglected for months. When we got home from bringing Bobo in for surgery I glanced out the window and noticed a little bird holding a ball of his fluff in its beak before flying off. I looked at the cage and was amazed and delighted to see it had been picked clean. OMG. When did that happen? I check it almost every day. Pretty soon baby birds wild be born into a world made soft by Bobo fur. I was so happy about it. After he died later that day, I couldn't stop thinking that little bird. Even though he is gone, Bobo will still be protecting a new generation of the little creatures who live here.

April 20, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges, Pets and Animal Love | Permalink | Comments (2)

Too sad for words. This is how I will always remember him.

April 18, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges, Pets and Animal Love | Permalink | Comments (19)

We just spent a couple of hours at the vet's. Bobo had a significant set-back requiring a blood transfusion, and we had to race there to be by his side, just in case. Lots of encouragement and cuddling and reassurances...can't say for sure that they helped but he finally stabilized. He was responsive to our love, and definitely recognized us. Maybe it helped him. When the call came, we literally raced out the door so we're back now for a little bit to feed/walk the furry babies. (Jen is out of town for the weekend, alas, so isn't here to help.) The doctor will call if anything changes; we'll head back once we've fed everyone (including ourselves). It's going to be a long night of watching and waiting. We haven't lost hope. I'll log back in when I know something more concrete. (And thanks in advance for any good vibes you can send Bobo's way.)

April 18, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges, Pets and Animal Love | Permalink | Comments (4)

The vet just called. He's awake! Said Bobo had no problems coming out of anesthesia. Yay!! The downside: it was a long and difficult surgery because the tumor was "very vascular." He lost a LOT of blood and is very woozy, so can't come home until this evening. They warned me that he is a total Frankenpuppie too, since they had to staple him like crazy. Also, apparently he's going to ooze disgustingness for a while, so now we're trying to figure out how to protect carpets, furniture and bedding. Bleh. But woozy, oozy, who cares as long as he will recuperate to enjoy his life fully again. I'll update again when he's home safe and sound.

April 18, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges, Pets and Animal Love | Permalink | Comments (2)

My apologies to anyone disappointed that I didn't get my usual Thursday late night "intimations of immorality" image up. I've been going back and forth in my mind on whether or not to run an erotic art show this week. I'm feeling kind of bummed. Our eldest dog, Bobo, the first dog I've ever owned, is undergoing cancer surgery today. In fact, the vet is probably working on him right now. It isn't the cancer I'm worried about -- fortunately, is very slow-growing and this surgery is a "debulking" of the tumor to relieve the pressure (and thus give him more years). But he's going under general anesthesia. Bobo's getting to be a pretty old fellow and older dogs don't always do too well with that. He has been through an astonishing number and intensity of medical interventions, starting at age 4, when he nearly died from a ruptured disk. He has always been a real champion about his seemingly endless series of afflictions, bouncing back every time and wagging his tail through most everything. At the ripe age of 11 1/2, though, I can't help feeling all kinds of anxious about whether he has the will to keep fighting.

He was acting pretty pitifully a couple of weeks ago (his seasonal allergies have been through the roof this year -- as you'll see below by the damage he's done to himself with incessant chewing and licking). But the vet put him on pain medications and antibiotics, and he's been acting sprightly and happy again the last few days. So we're hopeful that he still has lots and lots of fight left to get through many more years of life.

my poor old baby

All this to say that I didn't feel as jovial as usual last night, and didn't feel like forcing myself to kid around on the blog.

But after much thought this morning I've decided to go ahead with the art show anyway. Thinking about Bobo and where he'd be today, at first, made me feel like brushing off the show. But thinking about Bobo also always makes me remember how NOTHING, not even dire illnesses that must cause him the most hellish of discomfort, have EVER kept him down. I'm going to do a show. And with luck, by the end of the day, will be able to report that our little old baby is home.

April 18, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges, Pets and Animal Love, Sex and Arts | Permalink | Comments (0)

A couple of readers have asked to see some new pics of our pups...as if I needed the encouragement :) These were snapped the other night. (Apricot poodle is Venus, and the black & white chinese crested is Apollo; our eldest dog, Bobo, was camera-shy). Hard to believe Apollo's only been here a few months. He and Venus are as inseparable as litter-mates. They have so much in common now, they even agree that our television choices are BORING. BTW, my feet are totally anchored under that cozy faux fur blanket that they love to snuggle on. Every night they make sure to claim some part of me as a pillow or bed before passing out. I can't move a muscle without waking them. Which, of course, is their diabolical plan. Keep the Mother Figure in helpless dog bondage!

Apollo a.k.a. Cujo, our enfant terrible, at rest.

Perhaps a bit more exciting was this trippy-dippy lunar moth that affixed itself to our kitchen window a couple of nights ago. Will got this incredible shot of the beautiful green beastie:

April 17, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges, Pets and Animal Love | Permalink | Comments (2)

Why am I spending time on myspace when I should be blogging here? Ayyyy! It's so addictive!

Anyway, just uploaded a bunch of G-rated pix for you G-rated voyeurs.

April 7, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges | Permalink | Comments (0)

So being an antique who takes a little longer than most to catch up with what the kids are doing these days...I *finally* created a little myspace page. Please feel free to add me/friend me. Even better: maybe you can explain to me the point of even having a myspace page! :) I felt obliged somehow to create one -- but now what do I do with it?

April 6, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges | Permalink | Comments (4)

To those who've emailed to inquire if I'm still alive.....

I'm here, I'm here, just having a hellaciously intense day. Have a few news items I've been meaning to blog but just don't feel like so they'll wait another day.

Meanwhile, a coupla bloggy things. First, thanks to the folks who entered my little "if I could write for you for a day" contest. I'm mulling over your suggestions and requests and will fulfill my part of the deal later this month. Lots of great ideas and requests, so thank you all.

Many of you asked that I write more about myself, my home life, my pets, etc. I'm mulling that too. I mean, what else could anyone possibly want to know about me? Even my cup-size is buried somewhere on my site. Talk about transparency!

I've always been split on just how personal to make this blog. Do people really wanna read about what I did today? Hear details of my sexual depravity? Read about how overwhelmingly cute all the pets are (omg, I could just die, they're so cute)? Do they wanna gaze into my heart? Or worse, upon my navel?

I myself can't stand reading blogs that plumb too many personal depths. I gravitate towards places with more, er, worldly, even mercantile content (if God told me that from now on I can only visit two websites, the ones I'd have to pick were my yahoo newsreader and eBay. Embarrassing but true). Possibly because I am a therapist, when I go on-line I don't really want to find myself psychoanalyzing bloggers, much less spend time reading about what they ate or who they fucked last night. There's just a limited amount of room in my brain for the minutiae of life and I try to reserve it entirely for my family, my friends, and my clients. (And of course the pets, whose every nose-twitch or ear-quiver sends me into paroxysms of delight. Yes, yes, something is seriously wrong with me, I know.)

So I guess I do let my own browsing habits influence this blog's contents. I tend towards news and opinion pieces on an array of political/social/legal issues. I browse science and alternative media sites. I like information. Preferably useful information -- but then, you just never know what may prove to be useful down the road.

And here's another argument against getting too personal here. I'm such a nerd that you're probably already fidgeting Yeah, that's right. I'm the living proof you can be a dry, airy-fairy intellectual and a bombshell dominatrix MILF all at the same time.

Anyway, hope you liked my April Fool's blog yesterday. Not a single comment from readers makes me nervous that y'all didn't realize it was prank content and just thought I was being my usual goofy self.

Back to blogging as usual tomorrow.

April 2, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges | Permalink | Comments (2)

Brief share:

Was happily munching some pizza late Friday night when a bolt of lightning went through my jaw. As in "YEEEEOOWWW!" Almost blacked out and stayed kinda shocky for a couple of hours. I've had tooth-aches and broken bones and other unpleasant stuff but never felt anything close to this in sheer overwhelming intensity. Thanks to the kindest dentist in the universe, who agreed to see me off hours, I found out it was an abcessed wisdom tooth (ow), which is not half as bad as what I was expecting to hear (root canal! agh!). Pretty hard to write anything or even to think clearly when you're throbbing in pain from scalp to clavicle. But with antibiotics and pain meds, I am now feeling WAY better. Will probably have it extracted mid-week so there will be at least another day or two of being away from my laptop. But thought I would just share this exciting (not) event with y'all. And a comment: my family was amazed at how well I was handling the pain. I just want to say: I owe it all to my dog, Bobo. :) Really. When you live with a dog who has been through so much agony, and endured it all so bravely without complaint (much less self-pity), it makes you remember that the force of will is sometimes the best medicine for getting through life's little (and not so little) vicissitudes. So I didn't really let it get me down. Viva le Bobo. (And viva my dentist, to whom I incredibly grateful.)

March 9, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges | Permalink | Comments (6)

So my two little dogs climb all over me and have grudgingly accepted that they must share me. I'm in bed under the cover right now (have had a helluva cold/flu all week and this is my first chance to lounge in bed for some much needed rest), and the little dogs have carved up my back (from thighs to shoulders) as their personal pillow rests. But little new dog (Apollo) had to go check out some excitement at the door and temporarily lost his place. He sprang back on the bed, and crept carefully forward: in the past week he's learned two important lessons. 1. We do not walk on Mommy's keyboard and make her Internet connection go kerpluie; and 2. We do not walk on the poodle (especially if we wish to retain all our fur and limbs). With much dainty positioning, he managed to sail past Scylla and Charybdis (by climbing over my shoulder and down my back) and plopped onto a pillow. I rewarded him for this slow and graceful maneuver with soft words, a cuddle and then, because he looked so relieved that he'd done it right, a tiny kiss on his little ebony lips. He swooned! Can a dog swoon? He fell back into the pillows in a limp heap, eyes closed, a blissed out look on his face. Then he opened his eyes and gave me that look that rescuers know, the look that makes rescuing a stray so incredibly worth it, the look that says, "Can this miracle really be true? Am I really home now?"

Oh yes, Apollo. You are home for sure.

February 10, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges, Pets and Animal Love | Permalink | Comments (1)

Last one of the bunch! And it's a golden oldie I never saw on-line before. No idea how or why someone dredged this up from the Washington Post to republish in pixels. Needless to say I totally forget I'd done it but it rings a vague and distant bell. Did this in 1993 (!), the year that DifLove was first published in hardback. (The soft cover edition available these days was first published in 1996, on Valentine's Day.)

And may I say....Fuck, I am old!

Bawdy Bytes: The Growing World of Cybersex| The Washington Post

The sexual issues in cyberspace can be decidedly out of the mainstream. "A married woman discovered in the course of communicating online that she is a transsexual," said Gloria Brame, who wrote about the case in the just published book "Different Loving." "She formed a relationship with a gay man online."

---

February 3, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges, Sex and Relationships | Permalink | Comments (1)

No I DI'NT!

Yet another interview I don't remember doing, this time published on a site I don't know, and without a mention of where the piece (quoted in its entirety by the blogger who posted this) originally appeared. Yet there she is, Gloria P., blabbing and blabbing. Go figure.

The Family And The Society: Reasons You Don't Have an Orgasm.

Erotic acrobatics are always a fun way to keep your sex life exciting, but testing out all those pretzel-like positions in one sitting actually makes it harder to orgasm. "The key to satisfaction is steady stimulation in a position that hits your pleasure points," Brame points out. "You need to develop a rhythm, and once you feel yourself building toward climax, the sensation must be consistent or you'll lose momentum."

February 3, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges, Sex and Relationships | Permalink | Comments (0)

And yet another interview I seriously do not recall giving. Can't remember talking to a reporter about the Lilo (though it's a great vibrator), much less this whole weird oceanic metaphor (Sawyer, are you listening? Don't get Lost - get Lilo!).

OTOH, Men's Health usually gets it right so I guess I did...hummmm.

Take her for a ride :: Be The Best In Bed :: Mens Health

If you're lying low on a lilo, paddle out to sea, not the swimming pool - less chance of having to endure either the urine or the stares of small French children. Going for it around sunset will not only be more romantic, but there'll be fewer prying eyes on the beach. Have your little mermaid let out a little air from her buoyancy aid to make it easier to mount. Head for deeper water- breaking waves create turbulence. "You can play under the surface, which adds tension, "says Dr Gloria Brame, clinical sexologist. Have her lie on her front across the middle of the lilo and take her from behind. Use the rhythm of the sea, but make sure you bring a pot of silicone-based lube that won't wash off.

February 3, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges, Sex and Relationships | Permalink | Comments (0)

Stand back! Not only didn't I talk to this place (which mangled an article that appeared all over the Net)....but I am NOT the inspiration for mile-high sex! Wish I was, but I was only asked by a reporter (from ABC news) to comment on the story of an Atlanta-based entrepreneur who was offering couples a fly-and-frolic option in his private plane. And by the way, I wasn't even living in Atlanta (had already moved to Athens metro) when I gave this interview.

Ah the Internet: fucking up news since Al Gore invented it.

Marketing News Blog » 2006 » September » 15

Bob Smith took the term sex on a plane to the extreme. Those looking to join the “Mile High Club” can now do so for only $299. The man is offering Atlanta, GA residents the opportunity to have sex on an airborne craft (nothing as big as a 747). Smith commented that the participants will receive “a custom fit bed, brand new sheets and a complimentary bottle of champagne.” The inspiration behind this stunt comes from Atlanta sex therapist Gloria Brame who told ABC News that “Sex on airplanes has been around for almost as long as flights have existed.”

February 3, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges, Sex and Relationships | Permalink | Comments (0)

And speaking of kinky things that are now viewed as delicious spice for the non-kinky set....

What you don't know about sex | Women's Health

There is an indescribable transformation that takes place when a woman steps into a pair of knee-high boots, whether they have chunky soles or spiked 3-inch heels. Images of Wonder Woman, go-go dancers, and rock stars flash across our subconscious, not to mention soldiers, revolutionaries, royalty, and pirates. In short, we feel and look like a badass. "There's an enormous amount of symbolism in the tall boot that we register immediately," says Gloria Brame, Ph.D., a sex therapist based in Athens, Georgia. "Because of their historical associations, boots give us a feeling of added protection while at the same time increasing our sense of power - and that translates into a very sexy feeling that's almost predatory." Grrrowl!

February 3, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges, Sex and Relationships | Permalink | Comments (0)

What's been especially interesting the last few years is that, little by little, most of my interviews have been on vanilla sex issues (as opposed to the first few years after my books came out, when I was the "go to kinky sexpert"). It's cool, since a chunk of my practice (and this blog) is devoted to sexual function and health of the very vanilla variety. It may also speak somewhat to the fact that kink has become way more mainstream, to a point where creative sex, once associated with perviness, is now encouraged in mainstream mags as acceptable spice in conventional relationships. Dressing up, mutual masturbation, sex toys, and other things considered risque even in the 1980s and 1990s, etc., are now typical fodder for advice magazines.

10 sex cravings all guys have: there are certain things your man needs to be satisfied in the sack but just won't ask for. So we did some randy reconnaissance ... and we're sharing our findings with you. | Cosmopolitan (May , 2007)

Women, as you know, need time to get revved up. Although your man may be more than willing to pull out all the stops to get you hot, he wouldn't mind if you gave yourself a running start. "A number of women still believe that it's solely a man's job to arouse them," says Georgia sex therapist Gloria Brame, PhD. "To have a really fulfilling sexual experience though, you have to put some effort into getting yourself into a sexual state of mind."

February 3, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges, Sex and Relationships | Permalink | Comments (1)

Gloria P talks to Cosmo a LOT. Their reporters are always pretty fun - and they usually get my title right too thanks to a solid staff of fact-checkers

How Clothes Make Sex Hotter - Cosmopolitan.com

"Staying partially clad builds anticipation and makes sex feel spontaneous," says Georgia clinical sexologist Gloria G. Brame, Ph.D. "Plus, you can use clothing and accessories as props to enhance tactile sensations."

February 3, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges, Sex and Relationships | Permalink | Comments (0)

This popped up from 2005...and I have absolutely no memory of it. Glad to see Gloria P is pro-swinging, though :)

Swingers

Gloria Brame, a licensed sex therapist from Georgia says she has never seen swinging destroy a marriage. She says that most couples who jump into swinging are very well educated on the activity and have talked with each other about it.

Brame even goes as far to say that swinging is a great way to avoid marriage-threatening problems. Couples who swing have very little to worry about infidelity because each partner can fulfill his or her sexual urges to have sex with other people while his or her partner is there. “The great thing is that swingers never have to lie,” Brame says.

BTW, have you noticed how many different (and occasionally erroneous) ways people credit me? I try to be clear but something often gets lost in translation. Lots of confusion around that one as reporters tend to assume clinical sexologists are psychologists (we are not) who are licensed by state boards (we are not). All credentialing/licensing for sexologists, clinical and otherwise, comes through professional sexology organizations (AASECT, ACS, inter alia). Similarly, psychologists may specialize in sex therapy but are not technically clinical sexologists until they've been certified by one of the professional sexology organizations. (FWIW, I'm licensed by the ACS - the American College of Sexologists.)

February 3, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges, Sex and Relationships | Permalink | Comments (0)

Day 1: Monday - Test Day - Men's Health

"Before you try to experiment with wild positions, be the best student of her body that you can be," says Gloria Brame, Ph.D., a sex therapist and author. To find more spots, slow down your kissing, feeling, and touching so dramatically that it barely feels as if you're moving. "It's all about slowing sex down to find where she's receptive," Brame says.

February 3, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges, Sex and Relationships | Permalink | Comments (0)

This killed me. Someone did Gloria P.'s astrological chart!

Astrology: Gloria BRAME, born 1955/08/20, Horoscope, biography, planets, picture and map of the heavens with Astrotheme

Gloria BRAME, The Fire is dominant in your birth chart and makes you intuitive, energetic, courageous, self-confident and enthusiastic! You are passionately inclined and are able to assert your willpower, to go forward and ride against the tide, to reach your goals and your dreams. The relative weakness of this element is a kind of boldness and rashness that sometimes makes it difficult for you to stand back.

IOW, fools rush in where angels fear to tread?

February 2, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges | Permalink | Comments (4)

Guide to the Male Body | Women's Health

Given that a solo session doesn't even come close to the satisfaction of partner sex, opt for the real thing more often. Not in the mood? Doesn't matter. Experts say that consulting your in-the-mood-o-meter before you've so much as smooched is useless. "Your body may react more eagerly than you think once you get going," says Gloria Brame, Ph.D., a sex therapist in Athens, Georgia. "

February 2, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges, Sex and Relationships | Permalink | Comments (0)

My Girlfriend's Kinky Threesome - Men's Health "What was your first time like?"

It was her sexual coming-out party.

"This is usually harmless, sometimes hilarious, and rarely threatening," says sex therapist Gloria Brame, Ph.D. "Sharing this kind of personal information is a sign of trust."

February 2, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges, Sex and Relationships | Permalink | Comments (0)

What? Gloria P. recommended that a man touch the woman before fucking her? What?

21 Little Sex Moves That Will Rock Your World (and His!) - Redbook

Sexy moments can strike when you least expect them. So seize the chance to spice up a night on the couch. "Have him use his fingertips to slowly, gently caress your skin," suggests sex therapist Gloria Brame, Ph.D. "The light, sensual touch creates a tingling sensation that will wake up your body while also relaxing you for sex."

Methinks that quote was a little garbled. Or that the wine was especially fine that day. :)

February 2, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges, Sex and Relationships | Permalink | Comments (0)

(This is probably a reprint of a piece that was in the US Cosmo.)

Cosmopolitan Philippines | 4 Sex Tips Just for Newlyweds

"Couples often create an image in their minds of how much better sex will be once the rings are on," says Gloria G. Brame, PhD, a clinical sexologist in Georgia. "But a wedding ceremony doesn't transform your intimate life; you have to take charge of breathing new energy into it." To find out how to do that, Cosmo went straight to some of the US's premiere sex and relationship experts for their essential advice.

February 2, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges, Sex and Relationships | Permalink | Comments (0)

Bust Out of Your Romance Rut

Explore her. Focus on her thighs and lower belly. Make a mental circle 2 inches around the outside of her vagina, and don't cross the line while you kiss, lick, and caress, says Gloria Brame, Ph.D., author of Different Loving. You'll ignite her nerve endings and bring her close to her red zone. It makes sex about discovery, not some destination. "Goal-oriented sex isn't sexy," Brame says.

February 2, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges, Sex and Relationships | Permalink | Comments (0)

As a largely reclusive person, I tend to think of myself as working quietly, like a monk in his hermitage.

Then I remember mine is a hermitage with high-speed Internet and multiple phone-lines.

It's a strange kind of life: I seldom see people in the flesh, but talk to scores of them all day, on phones, in text, on AIM, in email. Daily life is dull and routine. I feed birds. I take care of dogs. I garden. I watch TV at night with my family. Most of all I work. And work and work. I love to work and I love working in solitude. The silence is a healing balance to the intense feelings evoked by my life's three obsessions (SM, therapy, and writing). I do some of my best thinking about clients when I'm gardening or bird-watching. I get writing ideas in the shower or playing with the dogs. Without the world and its distractions, I can focus with amazing intensity on whatever I do, whether it's helping someone cope with a life-crisis or losing myself in a writing project.

I get so engrossed in this life of solitude and work that sometimes I forget how many gezillions of phone interviews I do in any given month. There are an awful lot of sex journalists out there and as a former sex journalist myself, I know how hard it is to find and rely on interviewees so I usually say yes. A Cosmo writer once told me they put me on some kind of a rolodex so people know who to call in an emergency. You know, in case they're going to deadline and haven't figured out yet which hole their readers should use.

Anyway, much as I enjoy talking to them, the reporters sort of vanish into the amazing number of hours I'm on the phone (and, needless to say, my clients are much more memorable than the average reporter). As somebody who hates doing personal appearance, "live" interviews (with cameras), or, as a matter of fact, even leaving my woodland dwelling, it's weirdly funny to note that my doppelganger, Gloria "Public" Brame has her own life out in the world, popping up in all kinds of highly respectable, mainstream places.

I did a vanity search last night and came up with a ton of links to things my public persona said (or allegedly said) all over the Net. So because she's a shameless media whore, purely delighted to find a sudden raft of good blog fodder, tonight and tomorrow, I'm going to indulge Gloria P. and run links to a long litany of recent quotes and a couple of surprises. I tried to avoid links to stuff I've shared before but if any avid blog reader finds a duplicate here, my apologies. Please don't blame me. Blame Gloria P. She just won't shut up.

February 2, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges | Permalink | Comments (0)

Awww. Received this incredibly lovely letter from some readers of Come Hither a couple days ago, and with their permission thought I'd share. It just made my day week month! I count my fans as my life's greatest blessing.

Dear Gloria,

I have just finished reading your book, Come Hither, with my wife of 24 years.

I have tried to come to terms with my need for kinky sex for many years. I know that the feelings and needs go back to being a small child, well before I had any idea about sex, I just knew that some things felt really nice, for example wrapping myself tightly in the bed clothes so I couldn't move and the feel of the satin edge on a particular blanket.

I have recently made considerable progress in how I feel about my needs. I have previously tried to discuss them with my wife but without much success. I bought one book written by a Prodom that Amazon recommended as an introduction. I asked her to read it, the end result was not good and left her feeling pressured and uncomfortable.

I then found your book and it has been a revelation. It is easy to read, full of humour, warmth and humanity.

Your book has enabled us to talk honestly and openly with each other about our feelings about kinky sex. My previous attempts to do this were pretty much along the lines of the less than successful approaches you have described in the book. Not quite the "Diver Dan surprise" approach but the coy, guilty, negative make your partner feel unloved thing was definitely in evidence.

The quiz near the beginning of the book made me realise that my wife is far kinkier than I ever realised. It got us talking and has really helped to deal with our feelings towards each other and kinky sex.

The outcome is that we both feel like 17 year olds again. It is like an enormous weight has been lifted off both of us and a whole new chapter of life has opened up for us. I am so excited I can hardly sleep.

Your book has been an enormous help to both of us and I wanted to thank you.

I wish you a long happy and healthy (and kinky of course) future. I hope that you will continue to write as I am sure that there are countless others out there who could benefit from reading your work. I feel that your work is of particular value to couples like us who are unlikely to join the club scene but who are quite happy to be regularly kinky in the privacy of our own homes.


Thank You

January 26, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges | Permalink | Comments (2)

When I was a graduate student at Columbia U., spending sleepless nights on my Master's degree thesis ("Metaphor and Metonymy in the works of Charles Baudelaire and T.S. Eliot"), I figured I'd be a literature nerd for life. Little did I know that when I grew up I would (as I just did) grant an interview to Cosmo to discuss Brazilian waxes and how having a hairless pussy may add or detract from your sex life.

I don't regret the many detours. I like to think that everything I ever was has led to being who I am.

January 9, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges | Permalink | Comments (0)

Having mentioned how I happily frittered away time over my winter vacation, I thought I'd put up a few links to some of the Net places where I did said frittering.

For example, it took me a good ten minutes to conclude that, yep, the webmaster's correct, this is enigmatic.

My best guess is, um, a Rorschach test for acid-heads?

If you have any idea what it is or is supposed to be, PLEASE share.

January 2, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges, Post-Modern Pop Culture | Permalink | Comments (2)

So today's my first day back at work since Christmas Eve...and, ok, I'm ready for another vacation. I figured that out when the alarm rang this morning and I realized I could no longer just roll over and ignore it because I felt like it.

There were a few mornings over the past week when I grinned like a cat upon waking up and realizing that, dammit, I really did NOT have to do a THING unless I felt like doing it. YAY. In fact....I could live like the lazy teen I once was! And so I did...staying up all night, watching movies and sleeping until midday. Spending HOURS watching the endless procession of tiny critters visiting the wildlife feeders and playing with the dogs. Hunkering down with the novel I'm working on, and just plunging myself into it without interruption for endless hours, earphones piping dreamy music into my brain. There was even time for slathering exotic muds and creams on my face and playing with other spa products that make a woman feel beautiful. Time to repot and root a bunch of plants to create a (modest) indoor garden; time to shop on-line with reckless abandon (amazing how giddily easy it is to fritter money away on beautiful eBay trinkets). We briefly hosted a house-guest (our housegirl's mom came to visit), enjoyed the very festive light display Will hung on the deck, ate a lot of incredible food (Will was inspired by the season to experiment with a bunch of new dishes, plus he cooked up some impressively authentic latkes for Chanukah as well as a traditional Christmas dinner a week later). It was, without a doubt, the most relaxing winter holidays I've ever spent.

Still, I was relieved to see 2007 come to a close. Maybe it's just my imagination or maybe I'm projecting, but it seems like an awful lot of other people found 2007 to be one of the suckiest years ever. For us it meant unexpected expenses, terrible family illnesses, the deaths of two elderly relatives, endless problems with home renovations and major appliance failures, and on and on and on.

And then...the pet sorrows. Regular readers may recall that one of our dogs, our elderly bichon Theo, died over the summer. You might also recall that, more recently, our red cat, Malachi, had a terrible bout of peritonitis that nearly took him from us. For the first three weeks after he got home, we all waited on him paw and paw. We were congratulating ourselves on his splendid recovery. But then we got word from the vet that when the pathologist ran a more precise screen on him, they discovered that way under all the crap she pulled out of him there was lymphoma. It was a kick in the head. We had been so hopeful that he was going to make a full recovery. It was an aggressive cancer, and she warned us it was unlikely surgery had cured it. Still we all wanted to hope that Malachi would beat it. But we couldn't help noticing that, at a certain point, he wasn't getting better anymore. He hit a plateau and stayed there for a few days, but then things started going downhill. It was barely noticeable at first. He seemed just slightly less happy. Just the teensiest bit less affectionate. His appetite was phenomenal, but his interest in going outside was diminishing.

If you own pets, you know how it goes. They seem totally fine one day, then the next you start to get a funny feeling something's not right...and within days, it all seems to go to shit. Until late last week, we figured he was just adjusting to life with 1/3 less intestines (the surgery was SERIOUS) and body weight (he'd lost a ton of weight before surgery and during early recovery). By Saturday, we realized he was really not acting like himself. We obsessed over it all day Sunday, especially when we observed that he now seemed to be having some problems breathing, was losing interest in food, and didn't want to drink either. Oh shit. So Monday, New Year's Eve, we took Malachi to the vet's as soon as she opened to see what she could do for him. We were hoping she'd tell us that with proper medication, he could be with us for at least a few more months. But as the vet checked him, her face grew sadder and her eyes got teary. She confirmed our worst fear. There was no time left. Medication would give him, perhaps, a few more days, maybe a week - but she couldn't promise he would even be comfortable.

All of us here agree on one thing: it's all about quality of life. We will never hang on to pets because *we* can't let go. We put their own happiness and comfort first. Animals are much more accepting of their own deaths than the humans who love them could ever be. There was no doubt that Malachi was letting everyone know, including the vet, that he was ready to be free of his pain. And so we let him go.

We buried our baby on New Year's Eve in a beautiful spot on a high ridge that he loved, overlooking the woods and gardens that made him so happy.

We handled it okay. We had been somewhat emotionally prepared. There's the comfort of making the right choice and of making the choice as a family, and grieving together, and sharing happy memories of Malachi together too. We ended up canceling our dinner plans that night, but that too was okay. It felt better to spend a quiet New Year's Eve at home, lavishing love on our four remaining fur babies and on each other.

Now I'm just determined that 2008 be as happy as 2007 was crappy. So my mood today is (optimistically) New Yearian! Even though my vacation, in the end, was bitter-sweetian.

How about you? Are you glad it's a new year?

January 2, 2008 in Autobiographical Urges | Permalink | Comments (4)

Just a quick note to let folks that I will be on vacation starting next Tuesday (Christmas Day) until Wednesday, January 2nd.

For blog readers: I'm going to try and force myself to stay off the blog. Still working on my book, and want to see what it's like to spend a whole week focused on only one writing project.

For friends and acquaintances: I'll be reading and answering email but will likely be even SLOWER than usual in replying. Thanks in advance for putting up with me :)

For professional queries/requests/favors/permissions etc. etc. etc.: Email always welcome but I will not be answering business correspondence during this time. Please forgive the day - I'll get back to you in January.

For counseling clients:

Consider yourselves in the "friends/acquaintances" category when it comes to email. I'm here and will read but please don't be disappointed if it takes me a while to get back to you.

However, I will only accept emergency appointments during that time (12/25/07 - 01/02/08). See my therapy FAQ for the details and special fees for emergency and on-demand counseling. If you were hoping to speak again in 2007, please let me know ASAP (and I do mean ASAP). A few openings are still available for Saturday 12/22 and Monday 12/24, but they're going fast.

Otherwise, I'll look forward to catching up with you in 2008.

LOVE TO YOU ALL!!

G.

December 20, 2007 in Autobiographical Urges | Permalink | Comments (0)

Before you get too excited, no, I'm not going to detail my fantastically complex and perverse personal life. It's long been my belief that if I ever stopped long enough to describe everything I'm up to at any given moment there'd be no time left to do it all.

But seems like I might as well explain a little better why my blogging habits have been so spotty lately (and will continue to be through January, I suspect). For a long time (maybe 5-6 years) I've been working very sporadically, or at least thinking about, a novel I want to write. A novel I have to write. With all the other stuff I do, that dream was getting further and further away. Life keeps getting busier, not calmer. Meanwhile, there's a non-fiction book (or more precisely proposal) I was trying to sell last year: totally focused on that project and, now, a year later, still have not found an editor/publisher who will take it. (I believe my ideas about sex are too subversive....at least that's one of my more consoling theories.) I was crushingly depressed about it all summer. Almost as depressed as the year before, when a script I wrote got optioned (yay!) and then got dropped (sob!). So depressed I was seriously contemplating giving up book writing altogether and just focusing on the blog and my practice, both of which I do so love and which offer a lot more immediate satisfactions and rewards than the business of writing and publishing books.

But I can't. I'm a writer, always was a writer, will die a writer, whether or not I publish another book. Been here before too, with poetry and literary writing, where frequent rejection is the name of the game. Before I became known as a kinky writer, I was building a teeny tiny but very sweet reputation as a serious poet. But I didn't have the commitment to push to get my book of poetry published. Maybe I will down the road. But right now...I have this novel I need to write. And, of course, the only antidote to an artist's depression over failure and rejection is to get going on another project and find new reasons to feel inspired, if not temporary blissed out by the process itself. I'm committed to this novel, more committed than to anything else I've worked on over the years. (Though I tend to feel that way every time I write a book, so take it with a pillar of salt, please.)

Anyway, that's what's keeping me offline these days. Using all available free time/creative energy to concentrate on the novel. As of last night, I'm 140 pages into it and on a mission to finish it. It isn't about SM; it probably isn't anything that anyone who knows me would expect me to be writing; but there it is. It's become a mission for me and I intend to carry it through, whether or not the book ever sees the light of day. Though...this time around, I'm not even expecting anyone to publish it. A serious, off-beat subversive Orwellian little literary novel set in the year 2088? It's no chicken soup for the Da Vinci coded soul, that's for sure. I may have to publish it myself. I will if I must.

I haven't shown anyone a word of it yet (well, a minor fib, as I've read the occasional paragraph aloud to Will during some of our late-night marathon talk-a-thons - we're both crazy addicted to sitting up to the wee hours talking about history and writing and politics and etc. etc. etc.). I've decided pretty much to wait until the first full draft is done. Then I'll send it to a handful of trusted readers, and see what they say. I hope it won't be "Holy shit, this reeks, what were you thinking?" That would be a bit of a let-down :) :) Ah, the vicissitudes of writi