Here Comes Incest, Just as Predicted

mom-son-anal-incest-sex-mother-gets-fucked-in-tight-buttIf all human beings should have the right to marry the one they love, as proponents of same-sex “marriage” constantly tell us, then why shouldn’t adult, incestuous couples enjoy that same “right”? Hollywood director Nick Cassavetes is the latest to say, “Why not?”, and I for one am not the least bit surprised.

Simply stated, with the public endorsement of same-sex relationships, the endorsement of consensual, adult, incestuous relationships is inevitable. Consider the following:

  • In May 2010, Salon.com ran an article on “Gay Porn’s Most Shocking Taboo,” namely “Twincest.” As expressed by one of the twins, “My brother is my boyfriend, and I am his boyfriend.” One commenter wrote, “I have total moral and legal integrity here: These boys apparently consented to do this. There is no possibility of deformed or retarded children: Therefore it is not a crime or your business.” But of course. Not surprisingly, a colleague reported to me that on other gay websites, the same argument was frequently raised in support of the twins.
  • Real Mom Sex Tips for Getting in the Mood

    marina-son-masturbating-in-front-of-his-mom-mother-son-incest-pornA few weeks ago, I wrote an article for mom.me about how often parents were doing it or how often they “should be doing it,” according to a sex therapist. (Instant recap: once a week, or four times a month was a solid number to aim for.) A lot of people wrote to me and said they could totally relate to the subject matter, but more than one of them also asked, “How am I supposed to get in the mood if I’m just not horny?” Good point.

    This is a super common dilemma for tons of new moms—as the sexpert also mentioned—having a baby can often fulfill that need a lot of us have for closeness and intimacy, leaving sex in the lurch. I mean, could sex ever make you feel as fantastic as you do when your toddler hugs you with all his might and says, “I love you and you’re my best friend”? Maybe sometimes, but not always. But since you can’t always rely on baby cuddles for those dopamine boosts, are there any tricks for getting your mojo back when you just don’t feel like doing it anymore?

    I actually have my own, personal trick that always works for me, even when I really don’t want to do it, for the usual reasons. (I just want to sleep. I’m annoyed with my husband for something, probably child-related. I’m wearing a Rocky Balboa-style sweatsuit to bed. I feel sick since my toddler is a germ factory and passes everything on to me.) But what always gets me going is to just start with a really good make-out session.

    While we’re kissing, I can feel him getting turned on, which then makes me turned on. I also feel a closeness with my hubs, something that often takes a backseat to catering to our demanding little prince. From that point, it’s easy to want to take things further. I asked other mom friends if they had their own tricks to get their minds and bodies in the mood. (*All names have been changed!)

    “This may be weird, but I sometimes look at my ex’s profiles on Facebook and fantasize about them,” says my friend Brianna* with one toddler. “Not because I still love them or want to be with them, but because one time I know I had great sex with them. We were younger, with no kids or demanding careers. We had energy to be wild and did it in elevators and bar bathrooms. I like to remember those days.”

    “All I really need to do is put on sexy underwear,” says Amy, who has two young ones. “Just the act of putting on something pretty and silky or a thong makes me want to be sexy for my man. I want him to actually look at me, but when I’m wearing the granny panties I want him to just look away.”

    “Sometimes if my son is at school or a playdate and I have a few moments to spare, I’ll look at some naughty stuff online,” says another friend. “The images tend to stay with me when we’re in bed later.”

    “I’ll occasionally text or email my husband something sexy or even blunt, like ‘Let’s do it tonight,’ so we’ll both be thinking about it, or at least feel committed to it,” says Jenny.

    “The only way I know I’m going to have sex is if I do some serious preparations during my morning shower in the form of grooming,” says Alison. “I don’t like surprise sex anymore if I feel hairy and gross. But if I’m all groomed, I’m much more likely to initiate it since I know my body is smooth!”

    “The first step for me is to try to make it to our bed without falling asleep in front of the TV,” says Lila. “It’s harder than you would think.”

    “Sometimes I just do it. I just cave in to my husband’s advances, even if it’s the last thing I feel like,” says a friend who confesses she’s never the initiator. “Once we get going, I’m always into it.”

    How to enjoy an orgy

    1369368Group sex induces a fugue state of touching, where your vision tunnels into a starry blur of hands and mouths and your vocabulary narrows, by necessity, into yes, no, please, stop, and harder. After my fifth glass of wine I decided I wanted to lie down and have people grope me gently, as though I were Marina Abramović performing Rhythm 0, unrated and uncut. I lay down on a futon that had been folded out for the night and put my arms above my head, where my hands dangled off the frame.

    Somewhere above my head, people were kissing. A girl asked to remove my underwear, which I would lose in the apartment, and walk home without later that night.

    In spring of 2012, an acquaintance of mine was preparing for a performance piece in which she would return all gestures directed at her. If the participant took their shirt off, so would she. If they kissed her, she would kiss back. “What if someone penetrates me?” she wondered aloud. “How would I penetrate them back?” I didn’t think she had anything to worry about, but two years later, I can say that there are many ways to penetrate someone, and I think I saw most of them that night.

    How many people can be engaged in full coitus in a two-bedroom apartment? Quite a few, as it turns out. Two couples on the futon; one on the couch, bent over and standing, curiously, instead of horizontal; another two can fit on the giant beanbag the host dubbed the Love Sack, which measures at least five feet in every direction and is made of memory foam, to better embrace your body as it is railed into the sack. This in the living room alone.

    Like oceans, orgies move in waves, the activity ebbing and flowing. After my Abramović stunt my body felt like jelly, sumptuous and tired; I moved to the periphery of the room, where my company was dominated by the few straight men of the place, all in boxers, hugging the wall like they wished to break out of orbit. If you pen an invitation, however selective, to come to a place and sleep with people, straight men will come. This is no question. But there was no doubt that the party was by and mostly catered to queer and queerly sex-positive folk like me, who rolled about with abandon. One of the straight boys asked, haltingly, if he could stroke my hips. I looked at his soft, uneasy face, and said no. A thing no one tells you about orgies is that you can and should say no.

    He was confused and upset: with hetero whiteness comes entitlement. Straight men are always surprised that you do not want to sleep with them. Though an orgy may seem like a free-for-all, all tangled limbs and flesh slapping together, in reality it proves to be more like a place in which ordinary dampers on the act of boning are simply lifted. Due to the complete erasure of standard courtship narratives, propositions are frank, conversation runs wildly personal, and — this particular to the orgy itself — even time’s passing seems reconfigured. Was I being fingered for a few minutes, or forever? Even so, even if an eternity had passed and I was at the end of time and space and the heat death of the universe hinged upon it, I still wouldn’t want to sleep with that guy.