The Brazen Hussy
(or "Your Friendly Neighborhood Carnal Quandary Consultant")
A Column by Hannah Levin

Less Lists, More Dicks

Well, where to begin? It’s been an active couple of weeks. I’m sorry y’all haven’t heard from me in so long – especially since I got such an avalanche of good loving after my launch column. Such a warm, wet welcome deserves a deep, reciprocal thrust, so here it is:

Ah, the holidays. I’ve always felt sort of freakish in my enjoyment of them. I’ve always hated Valentine’s Day, but consistently reveled in Jesus’ Birthday. It’s a fine time of year for excess vice and goofy, drunken expressions of love and lust between friends (and strangers, for that matter). On top of that, my family holiday gatherings always consist of four people – yours truly, Mom, Dad and my husband. No siblings, no cantankerous extended family members, no screaming children to pretend to find charming…. I’ve always considered myself blessed; most of my friends are either estranged from (or exiled by) their families – and even if they do like them, they typically find the whole frenzy of manic gift-giving and orchestrated "quality time" to be more than mildly exasperating. For the past 7 or 8 years, my holiday traditions have consisted of throwing a decent party for my friends, spending some hard time in my favourite bar of the moment, and taking in a slew of good rock shows and open-bar industry parties. I then recover pleasantly in a haze of Mom’s garlic-rosemary chicken with wild mushroom gravy, some comfortingly sarcastic banter about sex and religion with Dad, and a good 4 hours worth of Alfred Hitchcock movies. What’s not to like?

Unfortunately, this year was quite the mixed bag. I keep trying to be grateful for what I did have: hard time in my favorite bar of the moment (the Bad JuJu, of course, but you all know that already), a few good rock shows, a plethora of open-bar industry parties, and a good 2 hours of Hitchcock. Sadly, I keep dwelling on what was absent or disastrous. The inexplicable disappearance of the garlic chicken has resulted in a significance over-consumption of Marie Callendar’s Chicken and Mashed Potato TV dinners. My annual party was all set to be a typically invigorating and sweetly debauched affair. Alas, a rather unpleasant exchange between myself and one of my dearest friends along with the very uncouth theft of a whole fifth of Maker’s Mark by some uninvited guests resulted in a rather apocalyptic glow to the soiree (although I did have fun watching the sun rise while listening to Black Sabbath with the Delusions’ Dave Keppel – I love that man).

On top of that, the family gathering was one person short. I very regretfully separated from my husband this summer – and the awareness of an impending divorce has a way of taking the joy out of everything – even the pleasure of top shelf booze flowing freely, the gilded naughtiness of Grace Kelly and Jimmy Stewart’s kiss in Rear Window or even in finding common ground with Pops on de-criminalizing prostitution. My most brazen advice for the Millennium: Don’t get married unless you can stomach the idea of a potentially perpetual emotional vivisection that flares up significantly at the most inopportune moments. Now don’t worry – self pity is not the tone of the whole column, but the experience of having a shitty December is one I’ve always been happy to be exempt from, so being welcomed into the Bah-Hum-Bug club has rattled me a bit. I think it’s time for me to focus much more energy on Halloween.

That said, I certainly wasn’t crying in my bourbon the whole time; there were some other significant highlights:

The Stranger Christmas Party at the Breakroom: put together by the ridiculously foxy Jen Gapay of Thirsty Girl Promotions, the Stranglers celebrated Christ’s Day with an erotic carnival – an often done, but consistently satisfying theme. The Magmavox Troupe of fireaters were there in all their combustible glory. Sometimes I think they could drop the fire entirely; just being in the room with the bayou-steamy sexuality of the lovely Serafina and her playfully wicked boy, Eros, tends to keep my body temperature well above normal for extended periods of time. Throw in Kissing and Spanking Booths hosted by the Lusty Ladies, Blammo the surly, drunken clown, and Jeremy from Modest Mouse dressed as an elf, and you have a REAL party. I may have woken up feeling like Withnail ("a pig shat on my head"), but it was a damn good time.

Good stiff drinks at The Gibson House with two of my favourite bad boys and an evening with Vic Chesnutt: His set wasn’t as earth-shattering or heartbreaking as the one I saw at the Tractor a while back, but that man never fails to tell a great fucking story. If you haven’t had the pleasure of being introduced to his brand of Athens-bred grizzled, sickly-humorous-yet-romantic folk, I recommend checking out "West of Rome" or "About to Choke". Oh, and incidentally - if you’re a woman, don’t go The Gibson House alone unless you’re feeling like you have the fortitude of Tank Girl and Diamonda Galas combined. I’m all for women claiming their space in the dive bars of the world, but that place is creepy beyond belief.

The WTO Band (Jello Biafra, Kim Thayil, Krist Noveselic) at the Showbox: I was working at the Showbox in a variety of capacities the week of the convention, which proved to be quite a little learning experience. I discovered that even I still get star-struck (or punk-struck, I guess). I was furiously writing a press release to let the public know that "the show must go on" when Jello Biafra tromped in to the back office and proclaimed (in his most distinctive, mosquito-y, authoritative voice) that he "diiidn’t knnnoow the Showbox wasssnn’t all-ages anymore!". I managed to simultaneously experience over-21 guilt, giddy admiration and break two Sharpies in half with all my nervous energy. The tear gas was almost worth enduring to actually hear Dead Kennedys’ songs live and to see Kim Thayil grinning like a 12 year-old living out his "Holiday in Cambodia" dreams. I also managed to have my belief confirmed that our city government (with the glaring exception of that bad-ass Women’s Studies major Judy Nicastro) is a sad, pathetic sack of indecisive yet reactive idiots. How stupid can you get? Resign already, pal.

So, continuing with the mixed-bag theme of this edition of the BH, I’ve received a few really great questions, and a slew of phenomenally soft-headed ones. Read on and judge for yourself:

Dear Brazen Hussy:

Does size matter?

Sincerely, Small Fry

Dear Brazen Hussy:

Does size really matter?

Sincerely, Not All That

Dear Brazen Hussy:

How do I know if my dick is big enough?

Yours truly, Wondering in Wisconsin

Dear Size-Conscious Boys:

Sadly, this is only a select few out of the zillion or so letters I’ve received asking this question. What is the deal, kids? I can’t believe people are still talking about this! This is the sexual equivalent of the chicken and the egg (or more idiotically appropriate: "where’s the beef?"). Yes, of course it does (and, no, it ain’t length, it’s width). It matters more to some women than others: some are going to care a lot more about your oral sex technique, others, such as myself and my friend Max are real size queens – and frankly, we’re your worst nightmare. We were spoiled by big boys early on and are not interested in um, reducing our expectations. But so fucking what?! Everyone finds different things attractive and/or arousing – I’m sure there are plenty of boys who find my whole small-breasted-fake-blonde-chain-smoking-loud-mouthed persona decidedly unattractive. If you are getting hung up on your size, please, for the sake of yourself and your future lovers, put some thought into improving another area of your allure that is within your control. Your insecurity and self-consciousness will do more to turn a partner off than any body part ever could. The sexiest people on the planet are the ones that clearly feel comfortable in their own skin. If you want to be pro-active, become the best kisser ever – a highly overlooked erotic skill. I may not be one of them, but most girls care an awful lot about foreplay and romantic attention, not to mention cunnilingus. There are plenty of more worthwhile (and practical) areas for erotic self-improvement. If all else fails, start carrying around a copy of that AA prayer: "…grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference." Sheesh! Next!

Dear Brazen Hussy:

I'm a 26 year old single male who has been single for well over a year now. After a painful breakup I needed to take some time and just not be with anyone. Except for a couple of very short interludes, I haven't enjoyed the touch and feel of another person for this whole time. Now, after 18 or so months of putting my head back together, my body is demanding some attention. Of course I've been taking care of myself in the meantime on a pretty regular basis, but mainly as a stress relief. I haven't been paying the matter much attention. You know, a little lube, some appropriate reading material, and a few strokes. Boom, I'm done. Now that I'm ready to really look for someone and get back in the game, I'm a little worried that I'm going to have a hair trigger. That's no way to impress a new partner (long term prospect or not). Plus, it really isn't that fun for me either. Can you suggest anything to help me learn how to slow down on my own in anticipation of actually meeting someone? I'm willing to try and increase my will power, but when it's in my own hands, holding back is hard. What's the best way to stop myself as I start to build up tolerance? And when I am with a woman again, and I'm even more excited, is there any way to immediately increase staying power? Drugs? Herbs? Positions?

Sincerely, It's Hard Waiting

Dear HW:

Probably the most efficient way to increase your tolerance immediately is to change your masturbation routine. Drop the visual aides and (sorry!) the lube for now. Both of those elements are making you come faster; if you force yourself to spend time masturbating sans these accoutrements, you will be resetting your arousal cycle to require more time and stimulation before orgasm. Try this pared-down routine for 10-14 days and then re-introduce your visuals. After another 10-14 days, try using lube again. As far as herbal assistance, ginseng is believed to help out in this department. Stay away from yohimbe; it will just make your hornier (for whatever reason, this ingredient occasionally shows up in herbal products that are supposed to slow down orgasmic response time – why? I have no clue). I also would not waste your money on "de-sensitizing creams", regardless of whether or not they are "natural". They can temporarily fix the problem, so they’re tempting, but if you want long-term control, you’ll be much better off following the routine I’ve suggested above.

When you do find yourself in bed again, stick to the girlie-on-top positions at first: no missionary style and absolutely no rear entry! Yes, everyone’s wired differently, but chances are those two positions will set you off much faster. If you are fortunate enough to find yourself in bed with a frank and attentive woman, you might just want to let her in on your concerns. Most erotically savvy women are familiar with the squeeze technique (squeezing near the base of the penis just before orgasm) and other anti-hair-trigger tricks. Quite honestly, if a boy tells me he’s scared he’s going to come too fast ‘cause he’s getting so turned on, I take it as a spicy little challenge – and it’s waaaay better to know that it might be a problem ahead of time. Not only that, if it results in a continuous dialog about how close you are and that whole starting/stopping routine, I’d probably beat you to the orgasmic finish line anyway…

That’s all for now…coming in the next issue:

Brazen Hussy Links – looking for cerebrally-oriented adult sites? Or perhaps just the really, really trashy ones? I’ll divulge my personal picks of the web.

Sexiest Comp Tape Ever Follow-Up – everyone seemed to have an opinion on this one – you’ll get yours in the next issue

Plus: Non-monogamy, blowjob basics, obnoxious women I love, first-time girlie sex and more!

Send your questions to the Brazen Hussy at brazenhussy@bust.com . If you don’t want to see it published in BH, please specify this in your email, and I will do my best to respond to you privately.

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Previous Editions of The Brazen Hussy

Brazen Hussy #1 - Introductions, Lickless In Seattle