@DearRedhead Naugh-Tee" src="http://toywithme.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/12/Naughtee-014-300x225.jpg" alt="Yep, this is me!" width="300" height="225" />Right before Thanksgiving, I sat down with my laptop to catch up on an entire season of Mad Men I’d missed. I’ve long been a fan of eras past where women wore skirts to the supermarket and men hats and vests. Times in history where gender roles were visually distinct. Garter belts…stockings…undershirts…vests with buttons to be unbuttoned. Hats that were placed on the counter when a man walked through the door each evening.
I remember three seasons ago when I first laid eyes on Joan Holloway. Yes, my inner lesbian screamed. YES! Porcelain skin, auburn tresses and hips that would bring an aircraft carrier coming into port to a halt a clear mile away from the pier. Now THAT was a woman, I thought. I wanted to kiss her.
Moreso, I wanted to run my fingertips across her cheekbones. Down her neck. Feel her breasts stashed inside a Playtex bra underneath her feminine frock-du-jour. Run my hands over her hips and celebrate the fact that she had hips and was shaped more like an hourglass than Pete Campbell
There have been moments throughout the past three seasons that I have wanted nothing more than to have Joan Holloway (now Harris since she’s gone and married some dipshit wannabe surgeon. I applauded when she smashed that vase over his head in season three. If you haven’t seen the episode, sorry I fucked that up for you…). I am a girly girl who is a flag-waving fan of the good ‘ol Texas Hangdown (read: dick), but I’d totally hit for the same team if I could have Joan.
Call me crazy, but I think there is something completely luscious in dressing for dinner and putting on your good pearls for the evening. Dabbing on a shade of lipstick in a gold, ridged tube that stains your lips even after a man’s kissed it off completely. I wonder what it felt like the first time a man’s hand slid up past your hemline, feeling the tops of your stockings. Hormones ranging and society shouting whore! as you pushed his hand away and your heart settled from your throat back into your chest beneath a bra shaped more like a straitjacket than a piece of lingerie.
Joan’s got it: the sex appeal, the moxie. The body that would turn a priest to male prostitute. She has what porn is lacking: a package. Pictures are pretty, but when Joan’s red hair tumbles down from her pent-up ‘do, I have no shame saying that, with every ounce of my heterosexuality, I want it to fall on my face. Strands, in my mouth. I want to bite them. Bite her, the ample apple she is. You can’t tell me there’s not something…wickedly sweet…about the prospect of messing up something so pretty as one of these ladies. And knowing you were the one who did the deed. It’s possession, pure and simple. To have something so feminine and seemingly delicate and remove her from her shell by its back zipper and garter belt. It’s private – that’s what attracts me. I can imagine a bedroom or boardroom, the door slammed closed as the frantic undressing begins.
But this, I know: Joan would probably bite me harder than I’d ever dare bite her, the naughty, naughty little bitch. In the morning, I’d send her a hand-written Crane thank you card.
My lust for Joanie Dear is the perfect occasion for announcing: Dear Redhead has a new column sponsor AND a new contest this week to win an awesome prize! If you tell me about your number one never-to-be-had TV or movie crush (and the scene that “had you at hello”), you’ll win the sexy OhMiBod iPod-compatible vibrator! Just plug this baby into your iPod or iPhone and you, too can have the music in you. Oh My. Leave your comment below and I’ll announce the winner on Thursday December 10th!
This week’s question for The Redhead:
My boyfriend grew up in a very sheltered home. I understand this and try and explain stuff to him as best as I can when he asks me about things relating to sex. The other day though…he struck me speechless with the question: “So what actually happens when a guy masturbates?” Now, I’ve answered his queries about periods, tampons and wet dreams to name a few but this one totally threw me…a guy who doesn’t understand masturbation? Do you know of a website, book, or something I could show to him to help him out?
Dear Sex Ed~
Sounds like you’ve got a real project on your hands, sister! First, you must really care about this guy to spend the time being his sexual guide. It’s no simple undertaking. There are a few thoughts I’ll put out there as you work with your guy on putting out. I hope they help:
- Does he have many male friends? It sounds like he might be flying pretty light in the dude department. Encouraging your guy to pursue more male friendships could do wonders for having some “guy input” on his sexuality AND lighten the load on you to explain every little detail.
- Don’t know a gentle way of saying this, but have you ever jerked him off? I think that simple act alone would answer his question. If he’s new to masturbation, you’re probably going to be waiting in line behind Left Hand and Right Hand for awhile once he gets a grip on the concept!
- I’ll be the asshole here and say that you need to embrace the concept that you’re this guy’s first. And you probably won’t be his last. You don’t need to feel obligated to send him off to the Land of Strange with a matching set of luggage and a new sofa.
- As for books, why don’t you try the Good Vibrations Guide to Sex and perhaps Sex for One? They could be excellent places for a beginner to begin his sexual journey (and lighten your teaching load in the process!).