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Sex Advice With An Edge — Podcast #09 — 04/09/07

Hey sex fans,

I have a great show for you today and it has a very international flair. We have correspondents from all over the globe…and LA! —

  • Hiroshi, from Japan, is no fan of lace curtains.
  • Fay, from LA, is a silly twit with zero social skills.
  • Karol, from Poland, wants to find a nice gal who will bugger him senseless with a strap-on!
  • Joanne, from Toronto, can’t be naked no how. Even the BF can’t see the goods.
  • William, from the UK, is a fledgling butt pirate.

And finally, a Sexual Enrichment Moment

  • Finessing That Ass Fuck — A Tutorial For a Top

BE THERE, OR BE SQUARE!

Check out The Lick-A-Dee-Split Connection. That’s dr dick’s toll free podcast voicemail. Don’t worry people; no one will personally answer the phone. Your message goes directly to voicemail.Got a question? No time to write? Give dr dick a call at (866) 422-5680. Again, the toll free voicemail number is (866) 422-5680.

DON’T BE SHY, LET IT FLY!

Dr Dick is now on iTunes.  You’ll fine me in the podcast section under the heading — Health, subheading — Sexuality. Or search for Dr Dick Sex Advice With An Edge. And don’t forget to subscribe. I don’t want you to miss even one episode.

Today’s podcast is bought to you by: Dr Dick’s How To Video Library.

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10 Things You Always Wanted to Ask an HIV-Positive Guy


 

By

I’m a gym homo. I love Neapolitan pizza. I hate scary movies. I have six tattoos. I take cock like a champ. And, I’m HIV-positive.

After living with HIV for four years, I’ve heard the same questions over and over. Sometimes I wish I could present quick, pre-packaged answers — a list of “saved phrases” on my phone — but then I remind myself how desperately I asked questions during that first impossible week after getting my test results.

So today, I’m answering the questions that everyone secretly wants to ask an HIV-positive guy. What would you like to know?

1. Do you know who infected you?

I don’t. Most HIV-positive guys I’ve talked to do not know who infected them.

Few people intend to give someone HIV. There are random crazies, but most guys are just doing what I was doing — fucking around, having fun, and assuming everything is fine. You can give someone HIV without knowing you’re positive.

The virus has to “build up” to a certain point in your body to trigger an HIV test, which means you can test negative and still have transmittable HIV.

There’s an ugly myth that HIV-positive folks recreationally go around infecting others. That’s a lie regurgitated by fearmongering, anti-fact, sex-negative, poz-phobic people. It’s likely that the man who gave it to me did not know he had it. I feel for him, whoever he is, because at some point after playing with me, he got news that no one is ready to hear.

I do not, but don’t take that as an indicator of what most HIV-positive guys do. Many HIV-positive men become more diligent about condom use after seroconverting.

In the age of PrEP, condoms are no longer the only way to protect yourself (or others) from HIV — or the most effective. PrEP — a once-a-day, single-pill regimen that has been proven more effective than regular condom use at preventing HIV transmission — is something I urge all HIV-negative guys to learn about.

I play bare. I accept the risks of catching other STIs and STDs as an unavoidable part of the sex I enjoy. I get a full-range STD check every three months, and sometimes more frequently.

3. How did sex change for you after becoming positive?

Since seroconverting, I have more — and better — sex. Forced to see my body and my sex in a new light, I started exploring fetishes and interests I had never tried. In my early days of being positive, I played every week with a dominant. Today, I’m a skilled, kinky motherfucker.

4. Has anyone ever turned you down because of your status?

Many times. When I was newly positive, those refusals really hurt.

I remember one occasion that was especially painful. I was eating Chinese food with a friend and started crying at the table because several guys that week had turned me down on Grindr.

He let me cry for a few minutes, then said, “HIV is something in your blood. That’s all it is. If they can’t see how sexy you are because of something in your blood, they’re boring, uneducated, and undeserving, and you can do better.” He was right.

5. How old were you when you tested positive?

I was 21. I didn’t eat for a few days. I slept on friends’ sofas and watched movies instead of doing homework. Somehow I continued acing my college classes.

I walked down to the Savannah River every night to watch cargo ships roll through, imagining their exotic ports — Beijing, Mumbai, Singapore, New York — and their cold passage across the Atlantic. I wanted to jump in the black water every night but I knew some drunk tourist would start screaming and someone would save me.

I made it through those months, and I’m glad I did. The best of my life came after becoming positive.

6. What does “undetectable” mean?

“Undetectable” is a term used to describe an HIV-positive person who is diligently taking their meds. In doing so, they suppressed the virus in their body to the point that their viral load is under 200 copies/m — unable to be detected on a standard HIV test (hence, “undetectable”). Put simply: the virus is so low in your body that it’s hard to transmit.

“Hard” is an understatement. The PARTNER study monitored 767 serodiscordant (one positive, one negative) couples, gay and straight, over several years. In 2014, the results showed zero HIV transmissions from an HIV-positive partner with an undetectable viral load to an HIV-negative partner.

Being undetectable means the likelihood of you transmitting HIV is slim to none. It means you’re doing everything scientifically possible to be as healthy as you can be, and you are protecting your partners in the process.

7. Have you had any side effects from the meds?

Yes, but side effects today are mild in comparison to what they were in the past. AZT was hard on the body, but we’re past that. New HIV drugs come out every year. We’re in a medical age where new treatment options, such as body-safe injection regimens, are fastly approaching realities.

On my first medication, I had very vivid dreams and nightmares, an upset stomach for a week or two, and I developed weird fat deposits on my neck and shoulders. I switched meds a year in and couldn’t be happier.

There are options. Talk to your doctor if you have shitty side effects and ask about getting on a different medication.

8. What’s it like to date after becoming HIV-positive?

It’s just like dating for everyone else. There are losers and jerks, and there are excellent, top-quality guys I love. My HIV status has never impeded my dating life.

I’m non-monogamous, polyamorous, and kinky, and I think these characteristics drive away interested guys faster than anything else. My status never comes up. I put my status loud and clear on every profile, and I say it directly before the first date. If you don’t like it, don’t waste my time — I have other men to meet.

9. How do you respond to HIV stigma?

It’s an automatic turn-off. Disinterested. Discard pile.

I have active Grindr and Scruff profiles (and a few others). Each profile reads: “If you’re afraid of my HIV status, block me.”

I’m not interested in someone who, in 2017, walks around terrified of HIV. Learn your shit, guys. Learn about how HIV is prevented. Get on PrEP. Use condoms.

Educate yourself and learn how it’s treated, and what the reality of living with HIV is like today (it’s so mild and easy that I forget about it, TBH).

Yes, you should take necessary steps to prevent HIV. However, you don’t need to live your life in fear or abstain from having sex with people merely because they’re positive. I no longer believe HIV is the worst thing you can catch. Hep C is way worse. Scabies is pretty miserable. And bad strains of the flu kill people.

HIV? It’s one pill (or a couple of pills) a day. Yes, you will have it forever. Yes, you will face stigma for having it. But, the people who stigmatize you are ignorant and out-of-date. Dismiss them.

10. What would you tell someone who just tested positive?

Welcome! You inadvertently joined a club you didn’t ask for, but the membership includes some of the greatest minds in history, so you’re in good company. The virus felled many of the greatest campaigners for LGBTQ rights and freedoms that ever lived. They struggled so that you can get up in the morning, pop your pill, and live a long life.

Those who lived and died paid your initiation fees. They fought, protested, rallied and organized so that you can be here — so that you can stick around and enjoy your fabulous, queer life. Always respect their sacrifice and dedication.

You are loved. You will find love. You will find impossibly good-looking men who want to fuck you (or want you to fuck them) who don’t give a shit about your HIV status. And if it’s in the cards, someday you’ll marry one of those fellas.

You have brothers and sisters who share this quality with you. In the words of Sister Sledge, we are family.

Complete Article HERE!

Fun Sex Facts!

What Happens To Our Bodies When We’re Fucking?

Coming down from the high:

What I learned about mental health from BDSM

By Jen Chan

Not too long ago, I took my first step into the world of kink. I was a baby gay coming to terms with my borderline personality disorder (BDP) diagnosis, looking for any and every label that could help alleviate the lack of self-identity that comprises my BPD.

I knew I was queer. I knew I identified as femme. But I didn’t know if I was a dominant (top), a submissive (bottom), or a pillow princess; I didn’t even know if I was kinky.

So I tried to find out.

I began to notice a pattern. The sheer rush of euphoria and affection created a high I felt each time I “topped” my partner, and it would sharply drop the minute I got home. I was drained of energy and in a foul mood for days, often skipping work or class. I felt stuck on something because I wanted to feel that intensely blissful sex all over again, but I couldn’t figure out how to get it back.

If you’re familiar with the after-effects of taking MDMA—the crash, the lack of endorphins, the dip in mood for up to a week later—then you’ve got a pretty good idea of how a “drop” felt for me. Just add in an unhealthy serving of guilt and self-doubt, a pinch of worthlessness and a dash of contempt for both myself and my partner, and voila! Top drop: the less talked about counterpart to sub drop where the dominant feels a sense of hopelessness following BDSM—bondage and discipline, domination and submission, sadism and masochism—if after care is neglected.

In the BDSM community, it’s common to talk about the submissive (sub) experience: To communicate the expectations and needs of the submissive partner before engaging in consensual kinky play, to make sure the safety of the sub during intense physical and/or psychological activities is tantamount, to tend and care for the sub after the scene ends and they’re brought back down to earth.

Outside of this, the rush of sadness and anxiety that hits after sex is known as post-coital tristesse, or post-coital dysphoria (PCD). It is potentially linked to the fact that during sex, the amygdala—a part of the brain that processes fearful thoughts—decreases in activity. Researchers have theorized that the rebound of the amygdala after sex is what triggers fear and depression.

A 2015 study published in the Journal of Sexual Medicine found that 46 per cent of the 230 female participants reported experiencing PCD at least once after sex.

Aftercare is crucial and varies for subs, depending on their needs. Some subs appreciate being held or cuddled gently after a scene. Others need to hydrate, need their own space away from their partner or a detailed analysis of everything that happened for future knowledge. But no matter what the specific aftercare is, the goal is still the same: for a top to accommodate a sub and guide them out of “subspace”—a state of mind experienced by a submissive in a BDSM scenario—as directly as they were guided in.

I asked one of my exes, who’s identified as a straight-edge sub for several years, what subspace is like. As someone who doesn’t drink or do drugs, I was curious about what it was like for them to reach that same ephemeral zone of pleasure.

“It gets me to forget pain or worries, it gets me to focus only on what I’m feeling right then,” they told me. “It’s better than drugs.”

My ex gave up all substances in favour of getting fucked by kink, instead. I’m a little impressed by how powerful the bottom high must be for them.

“The high for bottoms is from letting go of all control,” they added. If we’re following that logic, then the top high is all about taking control.

We ended the call on a mildly uncomfortable note, both trying not to remember the dynamics of control that ended our relationship.  Those dynamics were created, in part, by my BPD, and, as I would later discover, top drop.

In the days to follow, I avoided thinking about what being a top had felt like for me and scheduled a lunch date with another friend to hear his perspective.

“Being a dom gives you the freedom to act on repressed desires,” he told me over a plate of chili cheese fries. This is what his ex said to cajole him into being a top—the implied “whatever you want” dangled in front of a young gay man still figuring himself out.

He was new to kink, new to identifying and acting on his desires, and most of all, new to the expectations that were placed on him by his partner. He was expected to be a tough, macho top to his ex’s tender, needy bottom. His after-care, however, didn’t fit into that fantasy. If that had been different, maybe he wouldn’t have spiraled into a place where his mental health was deteriorating, along with his relationship.

The doubt and guilt that he would often feel for days after a kinky session mirrored my own. We both struggled with the idea that the things our partners wanted us to do to them—the things that we enjoyed doing to them—were fucked up. It was hard to reconcile the good people that we thought we were, the ones who follow societal expectations and have a moral compass and know right from wrong, with the people who are capable of hurting other people, and enjoying it.

For my friend, there was always a creeping fear at the back of his mind that the violence or cruelty he was letting loose during sex could rear up in his normal life, outside of a scene.

For me, there was a deep instinct to disengage, to distance myself emotionally from my partner, because I thought that if I didn’t care about them as much, then maybe I wouldn’t hate them for egging me on to do things I was scared of.

My friend has since recognized how unhealthy his relationship with his ex was. These days, he identifies as a switch (someone who alternates between dominant and submissive roles). The deep-seated sense of feeling silenced that was so prevalent in his first kinky relationship, is nowhere to be seen. He communicates his sexual needs and desires and any accompanying emotional fragility with his current partner. He’s happy.

I’m a little envious of him. My second-favourite hobby is rambling about all of the things I’m feeling, and it’s a close second to my favourite, which is crying. I credit my Cancer sun sign for my ability to embrace my insecurities, but there’s still something that makes me feel like I’m not equipped to deal with top drop.

There’s an interesting contrast between how a top is expected to behave—strong, tough, in control—and the realities of the human experience. When a top revels in the high of taking control, but starts to feel some of that control fading afterwards, how do they pinpoint the cause? How do they talk about that insecurity? How do they develop aftercare for themselves?

One of the hallowed tenets of BDSM and kink is the necessity of good communication; to be able to recognize a desire, then comfortably communicate that to a partner. Healthy, consensual, safe kink is predicated on this.

Complete Article HERE!

The Ties That Bind

 An Exploration of Anchorage’s Kink Community

by K. Jered Mayer

“Here’s a couch you can sit and relax on, or whatever. I like to suck dick while the guy is reading. It’s the sapiosexual side of me.”

Surprised, I glanced at the man guiding me through the rooms to see if the statement was meant for me. It was not. Not all of it, anyway. Everything after introducing me to the furniture had been an aside to a friend of my leather-clad cicerone as they passed by, but it had been said so offhandedly and received so earnestly that I knew right then I had never been in a place quite like this before.

The Alaska Center for Alternative Lifestyles–mercifully acronymized and more commonly known as ACAL–has been labeled in the past as “Anchorage’s only sex club.” It’s an oversimplification that people are quick to correct, not least of all the Center’s founder, Sarha Shaubach. The website she set up for ACAL is done so in a way as to put focus on the real purpose behind the organization’s inception. Not for scintillation nor sexploitation. Certainly not for orgies, which require “a lot of planning and connection” to arrange. Instead, the focus is on community.

“Your Kink Community Home Base” graces the top of the main page, followed by a description promising “elevated kink education and foundation building,” as well as a “judgement [sic] free, body positive environment,” and protection and equipment for healthy exploration.

The FAQ section on their website goes even further into detail. Here, BDSM is defined as a more complex, overlapping number of ideas, and not just whips and chains and ball gags. There are answers in this area to questions about privacy, membership costs and advantages and various other things to expect regarding dress codes (there isn’t one), alcohol–there isn’t any of that, either; it’s critical there is zero confusion regarding consent–and what else is offered for those not interested in the tying or whipping side of it. And there is plenty offered: card games, movie nights, bootblacking (the polishing of one’s leathers) and regular classes on rope and knot work to promote healthy bondage and prevent serious injuries.

While the club itself had some initial troubles starting up–Sarha notably sent the Press a letter in December 2014 detailing her struggles getting ACAL up and running in the old Kodiak bar building while co-leasing the space with “Fuck It” Charlo Greene–classes, play sessions, recurring memberships and group events have proven strong enough to keep the community thriving.

So much so, in fact, that it was inevitable a larger venue would someday be needed. When that day came this last summer, ACAL didn’t need to look far to find it. Back in June, weekend events began being held in an 8,000-square foot space on 3rd Avenue. By July, they were fully moved in.

When ACAL finally came to my personal attention last month, they had fully settled into the location and I was chomping at the bit to write about it. Sexuality has always fascinated me in its myriad forms, as has people’s reactions to it and how readily some subscribe to an opinion based on what they think something is and not based on what it actually is.

I wanted to know. I wanted to learn.

ACAL offers a text-based subscriptions service to alert people of upcoming events. When I reached out to Sarha for the first time, she asked if she could sign me up for what she called “the same spam stuff” she gave to anyone interested in attending the Center for the first time. I agreed–I wanted to approach this from the ground up.

So it is that I found myself downtown on New Year’s Eve opening a door with a leather pride flag draped over it. I ducked inside and scaled a gray stone staircase, then waited my turn as the woman in the box office window politely explained to a couple men that no, this wasn’t the entrance to the Latin dance party that was also going on, that was the other side of the building, this was something much, much different. They shuffled back past me. It was my turn.

“Yeah, I’m here for the, ah…” At the time, I only knew it as the Alaska Center for Alternative Lifestyles, which was a rigid mouthful, or as the “fetish club,” which seemed remarkably ill-informed. Which I was. So I stammered.

“Are you here for the dance night or for ACAL,” she asked. I confirmed the latter. When she asked me if it was my first time attending, I confirmed that too and she handed me a five-page pamphlet on the rules to follow, appropriate and inappropriate behaviors and the safe word. Safety, discretion, clear-mindedness, consent and a zero-tolerance policy on hate speech were all heavily emphasized. I signed a consent sheet and returned it to the box office, where I was quizzed on what I had read before being allowed entry.

I passed my quiz with rainbow colors, paid my $25 non-member entry fee and had my license number written down and filed away with my paperwork. Once that was finished, I was assigned a guide to give me a tour of the facility.

“Normally, we’ve got the whole floor,” I was told. “But sometimes, like tonight, we rent out the big room to other events. Only this side is open tonight, but that’s okay. Sometimes I like that more. It’s more intimate.”

The first room I was led into was the social room. Cell phones are allowed here, but strictly for texts. Pictures are prohibited and people are asked to take calls outside, to maximize privacy. There are plenty of seats around the space to relax or recline upon. Snacks or food are customarily set out for guests, as are sodas and water. The night I went, there was a hummus plate. It was delicious.

The social area serves multiple purposes. Members and guests can meet here to discuss activities for the evening, or to shoot the shit, or to take a break from anything that was too exhausting or discomfiting in the play room. I saw an even mix of men and women sprawled out under a number of fantastic art pieces. Variety was the spice of life in the social room when it came to age, body types and dress. T-shirts and jeans here, corsets and leather chaps there. I saw smiling faces. I heard giggles, chuckles and guffaws. It felt safe. Relaxed.

From there, we moved into a second, transitional room. The room with the couch. While my guide took a moment to discuss oral sex preferences and unrelated plans for the weekend, I took in the small area. Some pornography sat on top of a cabinet for anyone needing a primer to get in the mood. On the walls were photos of bound men and women. There was a bookcase packed with books on sexuality and erotica. There was also a healthy collection of close-up, black and white photographs of vaginas with varying grooming situations and piercing statuses. It was fascinating to me, from an artistic perspective, to see such a display of body variance.

The last room, just beyond, was the playroom. Low-lit, blue themed. A long, padded table was positioned near the door for massages or wax play. A mattress was pushed against one corner on the right, covered in a Minions blanket that honestly struck me as the most out-of-place thing in the room. The bed was unoccupied, but the other corner on the right side was not, as a young man practiced different knots while binding his girlfriend. They moved thoughtfully, conscious of each other’s bodies, a sensuous grace about them.

To their left, against the center of the back wall, was a stand meant for kneeling over. A couple was wrapping up their spanking session. It was loud and vigorous and I could feel my cheeks flushing as aggressively as, well, hers.

And still there was more. Directly in front of me was a cushioned bench. A wooden overhang had a metal ring affixed to it. A man walked by me, trailed by a woman, as my tour guide described the layout. He stripped down to his underwear and his companion helped slip a restraint through the ring, binding his wrists above his head. She followed that with some light whipping and tickling. She massaged his bare back. She slapped his ass. The entire time, they communicated clearly.

There was one more room, an off-shoot to the left, that held a cage and two X-shaped structures one could be bound to. Whatever had been going on before I stepped in was over and the women there were busy getting dressed and cleaning the equipment.

My tour ended then, with an, “And there you go! Have fun!”

I did have fun, though I couldn’t help but feel a little like an outsider. I watched these men and women during intimate moments. A woman undressing while her friends bound her with thin rope. A young couple using the open floor space to wrestle, asserting dominance over each other. A lady in a frilly blue skirt being digitally stimulated by a man who looked like a sexy train conductor. I was a voyeur, drinking in the sights, but though I was fascinated, I wasn’t quite prepared for the role. I retreated after a while to the social room. Did I mention the hummus plate was delicious?

I left around midnight. The New Year. The ball had dropped, people were toasting. I left with nothing but positive impressions in mind.

But Sarha and I had agreed that you couldn’t gauge the Center based off one experience. And so a week later I returned. The full floor was open this time for a 12-hour lock-in event. I brought two women with me, neither of whom had ever been, to see how it felt to others.

On my return trip, the playroom I experienced the first time had been rearranged into a general activity room. There were more attendees as well, but fewer sexual activities. Instead, everyone was more focused on games like no-money strip poker and Cards Against Humanity.

My friends and I checked out the other half of the floor eventually, walking into a room I can only describe as cavernous. The floor was bare concrete, which tied up the winter cold and exposed it to us. Heat bars were plugged in, to little effect. A handful of lamps provided gloomy illumination.

There was plenty more room here to put on a show. Tables and mats were set up to lay and play upon. At the back, a silhouette screen and photographer were set up for discrete erotic photo sessions. To one side sat a Sybian. If you’re unfamiliar with those, it’s a sort of vibrating saddle to which you can secure a synthetic dick. A box nearby had an incredible assortment of different lengths, girths and angles.

The room was impressive and filled with orgasmic opportunities, but with so much cold and open space and with so few people occupying it, it felt almost too bare. I recalled my guide’s preference for the more intimate arrangements, and it made sense to me now. This felt less like a shared moment and more like an impersonal display, a sentiment shared by one of the women with me.

All the same, both of my companions–neither identified as particularly fetishistic or kinky–told me they could definitely feel the sense of comfort and community that permeated the walls of ACAL. It was a reminder, again, that this place was meant to be more than just a “sex club.”

My friends and I left and talked about the evening over drinks and in the days that followed I reached out to other members of Anchorage’s fetish and kink community to talk about their experiences in general and to see what their relationship with ACAL–if any–had been like. The majority of responses were positive, but not all of them.

In fairness and full disclosure, I did hear back from a pair of women who had been decidedly turned off by their visits. One lady told me she had been pressured multiple times by men ignoring the No Means No rule–victims of this harassment are encouraged to approach management immediately so the violator can be dealt with. Astoria, who gave me permission to use her name, told me she didn’t have confidence in the level of security or protection the club promised.

I can see how this could be a concern. Aside from having documented signatures and taking down license and ID numbers, there isn’t a way to effectively run background checks on everyone rolling through. Instead, members and guests are expected to be self-reliant and cautious through conversation. When it works–as in the case of convicted sex offender Daniel Eisman who broke his probation by attending last October–the nefarious entity is quickly rousted from the club. But when it doesn’t work? Well, it comes down to observation, communication, crossed fingers and a knock on wood.

That being said, my experiences with ACAL and my research into the community around it left me with the firm belief that these types of incidents are in the minority and that the heart of the organization beats around the desire to provide a sense of normalcy to lifestyles different than what most might be used to. They do this by promoting education, patience, discussion, acceptance and understanding that not everyone is going to get off to the same thing. And that’s okay! The lesson is to be comfortable with yourself.

Wrapping this up, I thought it best to end with something for people who might be on the fence. For that, I went back to the community. I asked Astoria–a 26-year-old local fetishist who says she’s tried just about everything–for one thing she would tell anyone curious about alternate lifestyles.

“SSC,” she said. “Safe, Sane and Consensual. That phrase is a big part of being kinky. People are in the lifestyle because it’s something they enjoy or need to get by with the rest of what life throws at you.”

Being safe, considerate of the comfort of others and treating people rationally. Crazy how key behaviors in an “alternative” lifestyle are the same things everyone should already be doing regularly.

And was there anything else I took home from the experience, I’m going to assume you’re asking. Did I come away with any new interests myself? Well, I’ll just have to get back to you. I’m a little tied up at the moment.

Complete Article HERE!