Friday, December 4, 2009

Dudes Don't Moan While They're Fucking

So, academia. Many of you know how this system works. Some of you don’t. In academia, you do research by reading other pieces of research in order to help thought around the subject matter progress. You use language and jargon that is completely inaccessible to anyone but people in your field. You write papers that no one reads. You read books that have nothing to do with what you’re interested in. Your line of thinking works within a theoretical space that doesn’t always align with reality, but you hope someday to make that theory real. And at the end, if you make it, you get letters by your name. M.A. PhD. EdD. Even though what you’ve done for the previous four years probably don’t prepare you for any sort of practical employment, because you’ve put in your time (and your money, don’t forget that part), you’re now legitimate.

I have issues with the whole academic system from K – grad school. But what I learn as I get older is that when you’re working in unfamiliar territory, you have to have a cultural token that is familiar. When I go out swinging and advocating for Sex Education, people will hear Dr. before they ever hear the word sex, and it will work to my advantage hopefully. Maybe then, and it’s still just a maybe, the populous will be distracted enough by the degree I’ve bought to listen.

So what is the relevance of that rant to this blog?

Right now I’m in the ‘writing papers that no one will read” phase. And when I write these papers, they’re written in the hierarchicalized jargon of my field. So people ask, “Can I read your papers?” And I’m like, sure you could read them … but you’ll probably be bored.

So, every now and again, here on this Blog, when I get the time and the energy to write (because nothing has killed my urge to write for pleasure more than being in Grad School….) I’m going to start translating my papers into language that’s both fun and accessible. You may not see my rock solid logic, you may not be blown away by how well my research is done, but you’ll get the important punch line. Should you ever want the original academic work, feel free to hit me up.

My 1st Paper was a 3 pager, so we’re starting small.

The original title of the paper was “Effects of Cultural Expectation on Emotional Expression in ‘Real Men’.”

This translation will be titled:

Dudes Don’t Moan While They’re Fucking

There are lots of different kinds of men in the world, but this paper is talking about the type of man I’ll call the “dude” or “dudebro”. These are the kind of men who walk through life trying to live up to the standards of being macho and never crying and liking sports and shit like that. For the dudebro, the cost of not following those rules can be high. These men are made fun of by those protecting the dudebro way of life, they aren’t considered sexually desirable, and sometimes they even get beat up for it.

If the dude doesn’t want to have to deal with the costs associated with stepping outside the rules, he has to adapt. Most dudes learn how to adapt by only letting anger out. So, let’s say for example a dude’s partner breaks up with him. He’s been taught that crying or talking it out makes it so that he can’t be a real man anymore. So instead of taking out his emotions by crying or talking it out, he punches something or someone or screams or some other sort of anger related outburst. And mothers, fathers, brothers, girlfriends, etc, applaud him and tell him that’s he’s doing what he’s supposed to be doing. He still gets to be a real man.

Chill, right? Not really, because here are some places where this whole ‘only being able to be angry’ thing can get in the way of life.

#1 It makes it so that, sometimes, when dudes want to talk to other dudes about their feelings … they can’t. They’re afraid if they start talking about their emotions, the dude they’re talking to is going to make fun of them. These guys also have no idea HOW to talk about their emotions. I mean, they grew up only being able to be angry, so they don’t even know what words to use to describe how they’re feeling.

As a result of this, a guy may never feel a real connection to his best guy friend. They might be able to talk about football for hours on end, but they don’t feel comfortable getting past that moment. And when this dude is lost or hurt or sad, and he tries to talk to his best dude friend about it … they both get all uncomfortable because they’ve been taught that they’re not supposed to even HAVE those feelings, let alone want to talk about them.

So being a dude makes it hard to get close with other dudes, even if one really wants to.

#2 Following dudebro rules also makes it so that dudes don’t understand themselves. There was this dude Herold who wrote this article on how he sometimes feels really alone. He tries to talk to his guy friends about it, and because of #1 above, it doesn’t work. Then, he tries to talk to lady friends about it, but he waits until all this crazy emotion has built up. So then, he spits out everything he’s been feeling in a 5 minute rant, and then she doesn’t understand him. Rather than trying again, he’s like, ‘well I’m not supposed to be feeling these things anyway and because I’m a man, these emotions don’t affect me anyway.” But they do. So instead of working out what’s really going on, he just feels anger. He’s angry that his lady friend didn’t understand him, that his man friends can’t understand him, and that he doesn’t understand himself.

See, because of how society expects men to act, this Herold guy never learned how to express his emotions other than to be angry. So because he doesn’t know how to express his emotions, he can’t talk about them with anyone else. Because he can’t talk about them with anyone else, he can’t get any opinions on what might be going on. Because he can’t get opinions about what’s going on, he doesn’t understand what’s going on.

So he gets angry. Because that’s all he knows how to do. And his conclusion was that it sucks, because he wants to not be angry about things all the time. He wishes he had more emotions to choose from that wouldn’t get him made fun of or get him called non-manly names.

#3 So this whole, not being expressive thing. Real men can have emotion when a) they’re angry, or b) when something awesome happens during a competition.

Women are expected to be expressive. Its okay for them to talk about their feelings and express when they’re happy or sad or whatever emotion it is that they’re feeling, regardless of context.

That why when you see video depictions of sex (porn, etc), you often hear the ladies letting loose and moaning and screaming and praising jesus, or whatever. Because women are expected to be emotional and are allowed to let their emotions take over without that being a threat to their identities as women.

We already know that dudes are supposed to be in complete control of their emotions and can’t express emotion unless it’s anger. So when you watch porn, dudes are allowed noises like grunts, and that one big moan when he comes, but otherwise there’s a tendency toward silence. Because if he starts to express his pleasure vocally, then he’s roaming into lady territory, which definitely means you can no longer be a real man.

Which is why dudes don’t moan while they’re fucking.

End of Paper Translation

Now, my personal opinion is that this sucks.

And the problem is many of us reinforce it either without thinking or completely consciously. We reinforce these random rules by calling men ‘pussies’ when they cry. Or by convincing your mom that your 13 year old brother should join the football team because he’s too sensitive (sorry lil’ guy). Or by telling your best friend that he’s way too gay acting sometimes (sorry doobs).

I’ve perpetuated it, and I feel bad about it in retrospect. Because while I thought that I was protecting the men in my life, maybe I was really just forcing them into this space that’s emotionally devoid and isolating. I want them to be able to break free of that stunted emotional space, and I have not helped that process through my own actions…

As an ally, it’s my job to feel okay when a dude is trying to express his emotions. It’s my job to do my part to try to understand him, and maybe even help him out with the words that I’ve been raised to have and use. To encourage him to do it, and not make him feel guilty when he can’t.

And maybe, just maybe, when dudes start to learn how to express all of their emotions and not just anger … they’ll moan more during all stages of fucking.

Liberating AND super hot. Mmmmhmmmm.

The End.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Good Vibrations Magazine: Sex Educator Profile

So, it’s official. I’ve been slacking because of crazy life transitions and school.

Life in PA has been … interesting … thus far and I have been incredibly distracted.

But check it out! I’m a featured Sex Educator for the Good Vibrations Magazine Blog! Holler!

You should definitely read it, and I am going to use this opportunity to get this big bad blog restarted. (Hopefully, heh).



Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Football and Feminism

It is football season, and I am FUCKING STOKED. Always. Every season. Love me some college ball.

Now, due to my positionality within this world, my taste in college sports comes into question every year. Every year, the peeps from my pro-womyn crew are like, “Becca, say it isn’t so. How can you continue to support something so in the realm of patriarchy and hyper-masculinity?” Okay, so they don’t put it that way, exactly, but if I had to refine it down to something simple, that would be it.

Up until this point, I’ve just talked about my sense of history and community with the sport, but haven’t really critically analyzed how I can still be me and not feel hypocritical about supporting football. Today, I’m going to turn that critical eye on football and tell you why, at the end of the day, I will still bleed blue and gold and drive to NYC and fly to Minnesota and Cali just to catch a game.

“Becca … come on… Football is simply a sport that perpetuates hypermasculinity and violence…”

To this I say … true and not true. Yes, it is true that football is an aggressive and violent sport. It’s sometimes up to 4 hours of men beating the shit out of each other. Tens of thousands of people show up to watch it, and the harder the tackle, the more brutal the defense, the more excited the crowd gets. I will not say that football isn’t a celebration of violence. It definitely is.

But, at the same time, it is a celebration of consensual violence. When those boys step out on that field, they have consented to be tackled. They have consented to the risk of torn ACLs, brutality and violence. And I think, that places where aggression and violence are allowed in a consensual nature, it can be a good thing. I would rather a young man get all his aggression out on the football field than get it out by say, slapping his partner or drinking himself into oblivion or both. (I would also prefer that men learn how to talk it out, and think that someday that will happen, but right now, am realistic about reality…)

AND, although high levels of athleticism are expected and necessary for a good ball team, inappropriate displays of hypermasculinity are actually discouraged and regulated. Getting all up in someone’s face can get you a penalty for unsportsmanlike conduct. And as we’ve all learned from LaGarrette Blount … if you can’t deal with your sense of aggression and you punch Byron Hout in the face, your football career is over. There are consequences when violence is enacted outside of the bonds of the consensual contract.

So when my pro-femme friends ask me how I can support football it really does boil down to the fact that the violence being enacted is highly regulated and consensual.

And while this is not something that I may have thought about before this analysis, I take issue with the fact that I’m not allowed to celebrate violence. That as someone who believes very much in female rights, I’m somehow transgressing a standard that women are all supposed to be anti-violence. Yes, I’m against bombing innocent people and people battering their partners … but just because I’m a woman and agree with many of the tenets of feminism doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy watching two consenting people beat the shit out of each other.
Okay … but what about the hierarchilization of Male Sports over Female Sports?"

This one is tough because of my personal feelings about sports as a hetero woman and as a sports fan. I like watching sexy men touch each other (and that's not to say that the only body type and gender expression I find sexy in males is the hypermasculine. It's one, but not the only one). There is an element of eroticism and objectification in my personal reason for viewing. That’s one reason why I prefer male sports to female sports.

Then there’s also the level of athleticism. While I do feel that there are definitely women out there that could compete shoulder to shoulder with the boys if we could get over our ridiculous essentialism when it comes to genitals, the fact is that many can’t. Our bodies are physiologically different, and the physiological difference that occurs between the bodies makes for a difference in the level of play. Male sports tend to be more aggressive and more explosive.

With that being said, I think that female sports could be WAY more aggressive, but the ideas about how ‘ladies’ are supposed to act get in the way of truly allowing aggression into female sports. For example, when I was still at Cal, I attended my fair share of basketball games, both men’s and women’s. At men’s games, they let the players get away with a much higher level of physicality than they do the women. Women weren’t allowed to be as aggressive and would get fouls called for contact that would have been ignored or considered ‘standard’ in the men’s game. Also, at women’s games, fan interaction is more regulated. At men’s games, fans are allowed AND encouraged to talk shit about the opposing team. It’s almost expected and can increase the level of play and competition. At women’s games, heckling from the stands is discouraged because (and this is me projecting) we might hurt those fragile women’s feelings. Just like always, female aggression is institutionally seen as distasteful and women are not viewed as being able to handle adversity and need to be ‘protected’ by the refs. And if they changed the regulations, maybe at first shit would hit the fan. But I think eventually the game would adjust and be more successful for it.

Now, there’s also the argument that games should be about the skill of the sport and the execution. To that I say … duh. But, as a fan, I watch because I can’t play and since I’m not a former player, my understanding is only really enough to follow and understand the flow of play. Nuance isn’t exciting to me personally. The emotion of the play is what keeps me coming back for more. Aggression and explosiveness and passion are the elements that make sports exciting for me. Thereby, it’s my personal assertion that the institutionalization of ridiculous attitudes about female aggression is one of the reasons why female sports are not in the spotlight more. We assert that aggressiveness is a specifically male phenomenon, and don’t allow our women to bring it to the field or the court or whatever. And for the lay fan, if there is no emotion, there isn’t as much of a draw.

So what’s my reconciliation? Hypocrisy, I guess. I’m going to continue to watch male sports because they are more exciting and I like watching co-eds run around in their pads and get all tangled up in one another. It gets me excited and turns me on, and I will not deny myself that because I ‘should.’ (Also, I know that I have talked about watching because of the objectification of the men playing. I would only ever do that in voyeuristic sense, and would never actually treat any of those men as an object. ...unless they asked me to.)

And on another note, I always get asked if I think women should be allowed to play college and pro ball. Hells yes. But if and only if they can compete at the current level of competition. I hate the way female sports are regulated and think that it needs to be changed, and I sure as hell wouldn’t want to see the sexist notions about female capability affect the current rules of football. But I also believe that there are women out there who can compete at the level of the fellas, who can take being tackled, who can go deep for a pass, whatever. I’d love to see it happen. I don’t think that women’s sports leagues should be dissolved either, but I think that if a woman can go for gold and glory in a men’s league (and vice versa for that matter) I don’t see why not.

"What about players who abuse their privilege and celebrity status?"

Yes, there is an element of all college and pro sports where there is an attitude of superiority, whether morally or financially or whatever. There are players out there who think that their status as players makes them above the law and above reproach for their actions. I wish that football programs would do more to encourage both the personal and professional integrity of players.

It is true that there is this sad and stunted element to football. And I understand that I am complicit in this when I pay to go to games. But at the same time, I also feel like there are so many legit, decent, and respectful men who are playing the game of ball less for the gold and the glory than for the love of the game. (Or even those who are playing for the money, but aren’t d-bags about it.) Don’t get me wrong, I love when our team has playmakers, but it’s the players that play with 100% of their heart that tend to make the game just that much better for me. The Vinnie Strang’s of football. That dude was 4 feet tall and weighed less than I do, but when he made a big play, it was amazing.

So should I stop watching football because there are rapists and sexists and ignorant players on the field? I could, but that would be like not interacting with men at all for the same reasons. I prefer instead to speak out when shit like that does go down. To call for action and suspension and disciplinary action when players act in ways which strike me as reproachable. If football wants to keep me as a female fan, they need to understand I won’t watch if they don’t punich the sexist/rapist player. Because, just like with masculinity in general, I don’t think the path to reform is through punishing innocents for the actions of perpetrators. I think that celebrating the good ones encourages others to be good ones. Not letting people who are assholes rise to star status in my personal sphere of consciousness. Because the truth is, I love the game too, and I’m not going to let the assholes ruin it for me.

"Anything else?"

So, even when my ladies and feminist fellas don’t like those reasons, I do also have some personal reasons for my pro-football leanings.

The first is community. Much of my own personal development as a human being happened with Cal Football as a backdrop. If Cal Football didn’t exist, the Cal Band wouldn’t exist, and I would have dropped out of college. I would never have met some of the most incredible friends a woman could have, and I would never have started upon the path I am currently on. So while Cal Football is not directly responsible for my success, in an oblique way it provided the arena for my success to exist. And thinking about where I could have been without Cal isn’t necessarily frightening, but it’s definitely not favorable.

Reason number two is gender based. Even if I’m not in the stadium, when I’m watching football, it’s the one place where I can swear and be a potty mouth and talk shit and not be looked at as this crazy anomaly of femininity. Everywhere else I go, this aspect of my personal timber of gender expression is something I have to fight for, defend, or tone-down. I grew up, for all intents and purposes, as a boy, and Cal Football is one of those spaces where I can get my ‘boy’ on without getting the resultant confused, dirty, or disgusted look. In fact, in terms of the privilege within the oppression, being a woman who understands even the slightest elements of football is given more respect than a dude who has a more nuanced understanding. I’m working to have a better understanding, but you know, there is more to life than football. (On the flip side of this, I also like football because it’s a place where men can express more emotion than just anger. Yes it’s related to football, but still.)

And the third and final reason. Football is a great escape. For up to four hours (and sometime longer if one engages in pre and post game activities), nothing matters but the game. Whatever’s wrong, whatever emotions are happening in life, during the game, the only emotions that come up are associated with what’s happening on the field. None of which occur as my own personal fault, and there are no emotions that I have any stake in. I can just be and feel and not be personally invested. And it’s nice to have that. It’s nice to be able to just let yourself get caught up in the game. And it’s temporary. Once the game ends, you have to return to reality and figure life out, of course, but sometimes you need to get away from yourself so you can even do that.


We’re #10. Go Bears, Beat the Eagles.


Friday, August 21, 2009

The Transition: Day -1 and 1

This is a sex blog. I know this.

However, the next few posts will not be about sex. Since I'm assuming most of my audience is comprised of friends and family, I thought I'd relate the story of my road-trip to Philly for the next few posts.

The SexBlog will make it's return once I'm done with the story of transition. (Plus the delayed gratification will make the return to sex so more exciting.)

Enjoy the transition as much as I am!


The Final Countdown

The plan was to leave on August 15th, hop in the car at 8a, and start driving across the country.

I knew about this plan for months. I prepared by doing pretty much nothing until the 48 hours before I left. I started packing and sorting my clothes on the 13th, and then worked from 6a on the 14th to 7:45a on the 15th. As many of you know … that’s just how I roll. Here is what I accomplished in that 48 hours:

• Sorting all my clothes.
• Donating 6 kitchen sized trash bags full of clothes to Nicaragua.
• Cleaning my entire room (with Debbie’s help!).
• Packing boxes to be kept, shipped or tossed.
• Cleaning the common spaces in the grotto (okay, I toothbrush cleaned the grout in the shower and swept. Debbs cleaned everything else.)
• Cleaning all my personal files off my desktop.
• Washing 4 loads of laundry.
• Eating Dinner with an old friend.
• Getting drinks with camp friends in the East Bay.
• Eating dinner with my family.
• Watching the final 3 episodes of season 3 of Six Feet Under.
• Playing an Epic rockband finale.
• Experiencing my final moment of ‘Becca’ time with the Hitachi before tossing it in the trash. (It’s been 7 years … it was time.)

I’m not going to lie … despite pulling an all nighter … the final 48 hours of my time in SF were incredible. Thanks to my friends and family and Debbs, there was a great deal of smiling and laughter and love. (Okay and some bittersweet tears as well…)

At 6:45a, I hugged Debbs goodbye, said my last goodbye to the Grotto with Commander Nanikins in tow, hopped in Lil’ Berry and headed to SSF to pick up Papa Brewer.

80 E; Eighty E; Eighty East; EIGHTY … EAST!

After giving my Momma a nice long hug goodbye, my dad and I hopped into Lil’ Berry and headed out for the beginning of our crazy cross country journey.

I was really nervous. There were so many unknowns. Would my dad and I be able to get along for 9 days? Would my dad and I be able to get along for 9 days … travelling across the country … in a tiny car? What are people going to think of a young woman of color traveling with an older white dude? Was Lil’ Berry going to make it across an entire country? Was Lil’ Berry even going to make through the mountains? Were all these weird roadside attractions that my dad planned to see be totally weaksauce? Would my dad’s and my idea of what this roadtrip was about vary so greatly that we would fight the whole way? Would my dad’s wide sitting stance get in the way of me being able to manually shift Lil’ Berry? If we didn’t shower everyday … would it get gross smelling in the tiny space? Would all our shit fit? So many more.

But, the reality was, all of those questions didn’t matter. Only getting in that car and driving mattered.

And my stubborn ass wanted to be the one to start the road trip. Even though I had been up for longer than 24 hours, something inside was pushing me to be the one to be the agent in moving my life across a country.

Behind Lil’ Berry’s wheel, half crazy from exhaustion, I pulled away from the only childhood home I had ever known and embarked on the beginning of one of the hugest risks I feel I’ve ever taken.

I drove and drove and drove until my body starting slightly nodding off at the wheel. I drove all the way out of California. It felt like a good solid start. Once we were out of California, we started to rock our roadside attractions.

You’ll notice that one thing that wasn’t on my list of final countdown activities was planning the road trip. Luckily, PB took care of that for me. We planned the basic route together weeks before, but he spent time looking up stuff to break up the monotony of driving 3000+ miles. At first, I was skeptical of this plan.

Before I left, I kept thinking of this roadtrip as purgatory. Not necessarily between the Heaven of Cali and Hell of Philly … but more like the no-mans land of my life in between locations. I kept feeling like we needed to just go like hell and make it there so I could start things.

I didn’t want to make waves right away, and I figured day 1 was cool for taking shit kinda slow considering I was exhausted anyway. So we starting stopping places.

Our first stop? The Mustang Ranch.

No, I did not go into the brothel (I was with my dad, brah … damn), but we stopped outside, took some photos, and drove into the parking lot to check things out. It looked kinda skeez-tastic to me, but hey, I’m always down to see America’s sexual culture, so it totally worked.

We drove for a while longer, checked out Register Rock, which was this rock that had old-school graffiti from the 1800s carved into it. I got to climb a big rock, and that made me happy, because I like to climb stuff.

Our first food stop was in Lovelock Nevada, which also happened to be the first of many towns that to me, represent ‘small-town’ America. You know, a couple blocks by a couple blocks of shops, and then a few more blocks of houses … and then miles of NOTHING on either side. Crazy.

We ate at a diner that actually had veggie burgers. It was surprisingly grubbin’!

Then we went to the local Safeway to pick up Sunflower seeds (they didn’t have any … strangely enough) and had our first “What in the hell is that?” moment with Lil’ Berry. While we were inside, the four people working at this Safeway all crowded by the window and were pointing and wondering. When we headed outside and hopped back in the car, one of the employees hopped out and asked, “Where’s the back seat?” (Or something to that effect)

To which PB replied, “We left it at home. It’s cheaper that way!” True.

We rolled out of lovelock and moved on to enjoy Nevada’s beautiful scenery. Oh wait … I forgot … Nevada scenery is pretty much miles and miles of endless desert. Hella boring. Not gonna lie, I slept a lot.

Our original plan was to drive through and stop for the night in Wells, Nevada. However, PB kept saying, “If we’re still full of Piss and Vinegar, we can keep driving until Twin Falls, Idaho.” Which we did.

It’s important to note that before we got to Twin Falls, we stopped in Podunk, Nevada (not a really city … I don’t remember which city this one was in) to see the World’s Largest Dead Polar Bear. It was in the saddest, seediest Casino. Let’s just say you knew there were regulars and most peeps in there were already drunk at like 4p in the afternoon. The polar bear was pretty cool though AND f’in huge, not gonna lie. It was at least 15 feet tall, but may have even been taller. (I, in my exhaustion, only took one photo the first day, sadly, so cannot share with you the monumental nature of this crazy stuffed polar bear.)

Although our plans were to camp our way across the country, we decided that day one would be spent motelin’ it because it was already dark, and it would have been difficult to set up a tent. We picked the Park Motel, which was cheap as shit. The bedspreads were like Navajo print from the 1970s, and the pillows looked pretty flat. I felt fortunate to have brought my own. We went to the local market, bought some tall cans (I got a Miller Lite tall can, PB got some Hurricane), and watched some bad TV until we both passed out.

Above: Our First Road-Trip Sunset

Next Stop: Yellowstone

Friday, July 3, 2009

Episode II: The Deflowering of Skywalker

Here's the end! Enjoy! -Becca


When they returned to Angeleno, Luke Skywalker was waiting for her at the top of a precipice. His month of isolation was long over, but she didn’t want to push his comfort level, so she merely greeted him with a touch on his shoulder. They discussed the journey, and they discussed each other. They hadn’t much time to build trust, and although time was short, conversation was necessary to assuage any nervousness before she began his training.

At one point, they both agreed it was time to proceed. In his time alone on the planet, Luke had prepared a training space.

The emotions she had felt when seeing Angeleno for the first time resurfaced. She was more than impressed with the space Luke had created. It was an indoor space, complete with space for bathing. The bed provided ample space for the both of them, and looked as soft as a cloud. The ambience was perfect and she could tell that much thought had gone into his choice.

She sat at the edge of the bed next to him.

“Tell me, young Skywalker. How have 21 full rotations of your planet’s moon transpired without you ever experiencing the touch of another?”

He explained that those who had given him opportunity had never done so in a way that felt appropriate. That one awkward situation after another had arisen, and he had declined several advances as a result. She was glad that he had not cited the anti-sex ideologies spouted by EASE. Had he been corrupted by their influence, he would not have been appropriate for this training. But his purity was not based upon lack of desire, only lack of opportunity. She would help him harness this desire and show him the power of The Thrust.

She relieved herself in the area set aside for bathing, and returned to him. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, and his clear blue eyes drank her in as she returned to him. Deep inside her senses, she knew it was time to begin.

“If I started kissing you right now, would you object?”


He sat upright on the bed, and she straddled his strong legs, bringing her mouth down upon his. His arms enclosed around her and their breath quickened in time as the power of The Thrust began to work its way into their bodies. She appreciated all he had remembered from the lessons learned so long ago in the Cantina. His mouth was soft and warm, and he took his time, enjoying the taste of her mouth on his.

Sensing his body strain from keep them both upright, she pushed him down onto the bed and removed his shirt. As she brought her hands across his chest, she enjoyed the juxtaposition of her bronze skin gliding over his fair coloring. Her moistness increased, and she guided him in removing her shirt. Of a purpose, she had worn simple undergarments – small flowers of modesty covered her nipples and areolas, anchored in place with simple adhesive. It warmed her when he had giggled at the sight. She knew it was easier than some of the other more complicated undergarments she could’ve worn – but the lessons surrounding complex undergarments would come later. After informing him flowers of modesty could be removed by simply peeling them off, they continued his first lesson.

She fully undressed him and released his hard phallus from his trousers. She was very pleased. For a moment, she was wracked with desire, imagining him taking his very pleasing phallus and thrusting into her. Moistness trickled down her thigh as she remembered the first time she had felt the touch of another. What it was like when she had willingly entered into the arena of The Thrust. The awe and inspiration she had felt as her first partner moved slowly with her at first, and then increased his pace. She had felt The Thrust radiate through her whole body, and understood the indelible change.

He was not yet ready for all that yet, so she decided on beginning manually. Naked only from the waist up, she kneeled between his legs and her hands moved deftly on his rigid manhood. Aided by a bit of lubricant, she brought her fingers in long fluid strokes from base to shaft to tip, pre-cum glistening in the opening. He lay still, no doubt taking in the immensity of what was occurring. She could feel the blood pumping through his cock and her breath quickened. The Thrust moved through her as she worked, causing her clitoris to come to attention. Her time would come, but her pleasure at this moment came simply from pleasing him. She worked laboriously on him, impressed by the fact that he had not exploded into orgasm within moments. After an impressive amount of time, she decided it was time to move on.

She ran her hands up his body and took her mouth to his once more, their bodies both slick with desire. Having wanted to feel their bodies move together since the moment she felt his presence, waiting was taking its toll on her. The vasocongestion in her labia was getting unbearable, The Thrust intensifying all of her want to an almost unbearable breaking point. It was frustrating, but she knew her readiness was not necessarily his. There was an enormity for him that was not present for her. Should he be set on the correct path, he would have to give himself over to readiness.

She would wait.

There was one moment when he expressed his readiness, but as she went to apply the protective sheath, she realized the error in their judgment as his erection softened. He had been overconfident – she had not been adequately aware of his progress.

“Don’t be nervous Luke. The Thrust is with you.”

“I can’t. It’s too big.”

She assumed he meant the enormity of the situation. It was time for another lesson.

“Size matters not. Look at me. Judge me by my size do you?”

Straddled across his thighs, in all her naked and resplendent glory, he could give good measure to her size. This lesson he needed to learn well.

He shook his head.

“And well you should not for my ally is The Thrust. And a powerful ally it is. Life creates it, makes it grow. Its energy surrounds us and binds us. Luminous beings are we. You must feel The Thrust around you.”

A look of determination held in his face and she knew he understood. Perhaps before they experimented with the full power of The Thrust, it was time for a different lesson.

She pulled him above her so he could see, and spread her legs wide so he could learn. She ran her hands along her labia and breathed sharply as the sensation travelled through her body. He watched and listened intently as she explained the importance of the clitoris. She instructed him to find it. He ran his tentative hands along her vulva, and found it swiftly. With her guidance, he was able to make pleasure radiate heat along her pelvic floor. She luxuriated in his hands stroking the part of her with the most erogenous potential, and could feel her body releasing even more moisture. She was pleased with his progress. It was time to instruct him on how the inside of a woman responded to touch. His next lesson would be in accessing the G-Spot.

“The approach will not be easy. You’re required to maneuver straight down this trench, and skim the surface to this point. The target area is only two centimeters wide. It’s a small bulbous point, right behind the pubic bone. The shaft leads directly to the reactor system. A precise hit should start a chain reaction which will lead to intense sensation. Only a precise hit will set up a chain reaction.”

Taking in everything she had said, Luke attempted to bring his fingers into her wet and desirous pussy, but with the inexperience of his youth, he needed assistance.

“Am I in?”

“Negative. Negative. It didn’t go in; it just impacted on the surface.”

She smiled and remembered how tentative she had been the first time she had been given permission to enter someone with her fingers. She grabbed his hand, and helped him inside. Once there, his fingers were talented and he soon found her G-Spot. The come-hither motion she had proscribed was working wonders for her. Her hips gyrated on his fingers and her voice, husky with arousal, portrayed her gratitude for her pupil’s rapid knowledge acquisition. Knowing that an orgasm achieved too quickly would put her out of commission, she reluctantly pulled his fingers out of her and planted a long grateful kiss on his soft, desire swollen lips.

They played shortly with the erotic potential provided by the skin, but Luke Skywalker’s phallus was straining with blood. There was a sense in her that it was time.

“Your destiny lies with me, Skywalker.”

She rolled the protective sheath over his phallus, and lay on her back.

“Concentrate. Feel The Thrust flow.”

Heat radiated off his body, and she placed her hand on his phallus, guiding him into her. Although this was for him, it was glorious for her after so much time without having felt the touch of another. His pace was slow and rhythmic – he was in no hurry. He plunged into her repeatedly, and she wrapped her legs around him, allowing for a deeper penetration. She had been right, they did fit well together. Not wanting to frighten him with the full force of her pleasure, she only allowed small moans escape from her lips into his ear. He moved inside her in calm, languorous strokes, until the sensation overtook him and wracked his body with orgasm.

Slick with sweat, he pulled out of her.

“How was it?”


While he moved to the bathing space to collect himself, she asked the C3 droid the hour. It was 11:59p. Before the hour turned, she recorded a message for Debbers the Ewok.

“Happy Luke Skywalker Day.”

It seemed an appropriate message. Had Debbers not come through in that clutch situation, all would have been lost.

He returned and they enjoyed the comfort of the bed, while she relayed to him lessons of proper cuddling and pillow-talk. The rest of the night was spent alternatively in rest and in training. Grooming techniques. Showers. Pick-up etiquette. Erogenous zones. Touch. Nipples. Lubricant.

As the sun rose over their space, she wanted to ensure that he would get one more experience of being inside her.

As morning sex goes, it started slow. Lazy, gentle kisses; their bodies still waking. She runs her hand lightly across his cock, and his body shudders with pleasure and anticipation. She caresses and guides him and allows the anticipation to build. Finally, the draw of The Thrust makes it so that she can no longer wait.

“Do you want to be inside me?”


This time, they use the sheaths he had made while in isolation. Trojan in construction. She should have warned him. She should have told him to learn and follow the Lifestyles, or even Durex, sheath styles. Although the Trojan style had flashy appearance, the thickness was cumbersome and had a tendency to rip lubrication away, interfering with the transmission of sensation.

But a Trojan sheath they used – some lessons must be learned through experience. He penetrates her. From above, his hips pushing into her. From behind, his hands placed firmly on her hips. At one point she pushed herself on top of him, breasts pendulous and swollen. She moved his hands to her nipples, and he provided resistance for her to thrust against. As his vigor subsides, she gives him permission to come.

He can’t. The sheath is too thick. After the hours and hours of stimulation, her vulva is full to bursting with blood, and although his pleasure is important to her, she needs a release as well. It is time for his final lesson.

She pulls out her vibration droid, and prompts Luke to touch her. Having learned much about bodies earlier in the night, he pulls on her nipples as she places the vibration droid on her clit. While she expected that it would be Luke who would come quickly, it turned out it would be she who would get pushed over the edge with the quickness of a 21 year old virgin. She requests his fingers inside her, and with the expertise of one long trained in The Thrust, he locates her G-Spot.

The pleasure is raw and almost unbearable in its intensity. Not longer than 30 seconds after his fingers entered her, her orgasm began. He continued to caress her G-Spot and The Thrust pervaded her body, pleasure overtaking in her in waves. With the combined force of his surprisingly deft fingers and the vibration droid on her clit, she allowed the orgasm to flow through her for at least 45 seconds. She could have maintained her climax longer, but was afraid to overwhelm young Skywalker with the full capabilities of her body.

Female ejaculation came much, much later in the training.

She stopped her orgasm short, and pushed his fingers out of her.

“You’ve learned much, young one.”

“You’ll find I’m full of surprises.”

She smiled deeply.

Her satisfaction and reverie would be short lived. She felt another tremor in The Thrust. Vader was near, and with a sense of calm, she knew she would have to face her former pupil to save her current one.

She began to dress and informed the C3 droid of her plans, complete with instructions for Luke.

When she returned to the bed, Luke was standing near it, only in his undergarments. She kissed him, hard, on the mouth, knowing she would probably never see him again.

It was time for one last lesson.

“A Jedi’s strength flows from The Thrust. But beware of the Dark Side. Anger, fear, aggression – The dark side of The Thrust are they. Easily they flow, quick to join you in a fight. If once you start down the dark path … it will dominate your destiny. Consume you it will.”

He nodded.

“And remember, The Thrust is with you, young Skywalker, but you are not a Jedi yet.”

She wrapped her arms around him, planting one last lingering kiss on his lips, and walked out of the room.

It was time to face her destiny.


Brenna Morsan faced Vader and lost.

Luke Skywalker escaped the moment she was slain.

Her sacrifice would inspire Luke to redouble his efforts in his apprenticeship of The Thrust.

He would fly in a Rebel attack against the Empire and use The Thrust to destroy the Life Star.

He would become an extremely powerful Jedi – steeped deeply in the light side of The Thrust.

He would go on to face Vader and the Emporer – and win.

The galaxy would rejoice in orgiastic reverie.