Sue Katz: Consenting Adult

National Secretary’s Week: I’d Rather Role-Play

The last time I worked as a Secretary, I got fired for being very naughty. It was about 1970 and my first out-of-control passion. I could not get enough of her. I would even come home to “eat” during my lunch hour. Then my boss went away for several days and, after my midday meal, I brought her back with me to the office, in an isolated industrial zone. We loved role-playing, so I sat her on my lap to take some dictation. From lap to desk, one pleasurable thing led to another in that otherwise wretched environment.

That secretarial job was about as much fun as sucking face with a porcupine. In the two-room office, there was only me and my boss, a very minor water treatment tyrant with only me to abuse. When I came into work two days later, on the day he returned, I found him standing stiffly next to my desk. Keeping his distance to avoid my cooties, he hissed that I had “30 seconds to clear out.” I was fired. Oops. I had neglected to think about the warehouse man who, after watching me dine on my lover through the back window, had snitched.

I can’t say that at the time it was very amusing, especially when I was (temporarily) turned down for unemployment insurance after my boss wrote to them that I had committed unspeakable acts all over my desk. This was the end of my career as a Secretary, so I’m no longer qualified to be celebrated this week in its honor.

Well, that used to be its name. Now it is National Administrative Professionals Week. But the conditions – at least at the junior level – are too often much the same: crap pay, drooling male bosses and overwork. Of course there have been secretaries that really enjoyed their positions, not the least Lee Holloway, Maggie Gyllenhaal’s character in the flawed but fabulous 2002 film “Secretary.” Although it's hard to read on the poster image to the left, the movie’s tagline, “Assume the Position,” hints at the sexually kinky role she happily plays to James Spader’s pervy boss character.

Ironically, today is also Equal Pay Day and according to the rather reliable Alternet.org, women still receive just 77 cents on a man’s earned dollar. In addition, it’s Sky Awareness Week (for those on hallucinogenics?) as well National Scoop the Poop Week (for journalists who write about crap?) Let’s party!

Q&A: What are man-nipples for?

ASK A CONSENTING ADULT

Richard, 55, writes sheepishly to ask, “Am I the only man who is completely turned on by having things done to my nipples? I’m always embarrassed about my reaction if I’m lucky enough to have a lover who pays attention to my nipples. My cock twitches like crazy and I find myself gasping. Aren’t nipples all about women?”

Richard, you little bundle of passion, thanks for writing. Nipples are one of those happy human protuberances that, with the right kind of pampering (or abuse), can give you thrills all out of proportion to their size. All that erectile tissue, all those glands – called unnervingly enough “lactiferous ducts,” all those sensitive nerves and all those historical associations (dinner!) Whew! I feel my little areola bumps going all animated, just talking about it.

I see that, like me, you’re in your fifties. I find that nipple play works great for older people: to really get wild with our breasts, we don’t need a steel erection, a gushing pussy or the flexibility for some gymnastic position.

But I’m not sure where you got the idea that nipples are just a girly erogenous zone – they’re pretty universal among the two-legged. After all, what else are man-nips for but pleasure? And even if you were unique, why be embarrassed? You should welcome any erogenous zone you can find – on your body or your lover’s.

Aside: Recently my back has become the focus of my passion. My lover scratches it just like I want because I am yelling in breathless hysteria, “Left! No, up a bit! Yes, yes, no, softer! Harder!” I find it builds up and up until I can’t take it any more and I have an intense back cum. It’s the easiest, most reliable warm-up we’ve ever played with.

Now that we’ve established that you are the lucky, rightful owner of two electrifying nubs, here’s a few suggestions of activities to explore together – or even alone. You can lick and blow for sensuous chill or apply ice cubes for a more hardcore sensation; you can delicately close your teeth as the nipple erects or you can nibble vigorously; you can pinch and twist the buds, and you can massage the tits by tweaking or palming or go over the top with a couple of sharp slaps. And that’s without getting into all the available toys (clips, clothespins, pumps, floggers, fur mittens, piercings and more.)

All you need in order to practice this form of safe sex is your chest, your imagination and a friend (or two.) No toy-bag necessary. That’s part of the magic of nipples, Richard. You are unlikely to forget them at home.

Worldwide Lust: China’s Kinky Pu Pu Platter

When I was young, China was a shining revolutionary example of liberation from feudalism, eradication of disease and deep thoughts stuffed into a little red book. Look at how times change.

Penile Morsels: There are restaurants in China specializing in cock and ball torture in a cuisine kinda way: they serve dog dick, donkey dong and apparently a double snake organ. If you aren’t tempted by the “penis hotpot,” you could always splurge ($5,700) on a tiger putz.

China Comes Out: An internet TV channel out of Hong Kong has, at last, launched the first-ever gay program. I wonder if Google in China is allowing folks to find it.

Only Foreigners Get Laid: Modern stress over the combo of career and family has wilted the sex lives of Chinese couples in more ways than one, a survey of 33,000 urbanites confirms. A quarter of under 30s and a third of mid-lifers have given up nooky altogether, with a terrifying 45% of men complaining of erectile dysfunction. In contrast, a westerner’s English-language blog, full of adolescent bragging about all the Chinese women he scores, tops a Chinese blog list. Boo to imperialism.

Talking Dirty: Number 411 Hospital of the People's Liberation Army has opened a sex hotline in Shanghai for middle-aged and elderly people. Many of the 5,000 callers are lonely and horny, so the hospital is attempting to fix up them up with each other by organizing lectures. Even better, as a social icebreaker, there’s talk of a tour of the city’s sex museum.

Love Your Parents, or Starve: In an attempt to sustain old school values, one county in Henan province – and I apologize in advance that although this is pretty kinky, it has nothing to do with sex – is demanding that all job applicants prove “filial piety,” ie, pampering the parents. I picture myself there as permanently unemployable.

All Males Kneel: Come to Shuangqiao (you know, that 2.3 square km district in Chongquing) for a bizarre entertainment and retail center. When construction is complete, “Woman Town” will be a Domme haven in which disobedient men will be “punished by kneeling on an uneven wooden board or by washing dishes in a restaurant" if they question women’s decisions. What decisions? Is it how to overhaul the education system? Whether to institute a multi-party structure? Nope. It’s shopping. Sigh. So much for revolutionary communism.

Breaking NYT News: Plain Jane Austen is No Sizzler

Just because she wrote a bunch of books that have been bestsellers for over 200 years doesn’t make Charles McGrath any less critical of her visage and form. This editor of The New York Times Book Review laments that Jane Austen – Jane Austen, for gawd’s sake!  arguably the greatest novelist ever – wasn’t more of a tasty morsel.

Mr. McGrath thinks Austen wasn’t really really a writer: she was just sublimating her sexual frustration. He asks, “What if, to put it bluntly, she became a writer in part because she didn’t have the looks to land a husband along the lines of a Mr. Darcy or a Mr. Knightley?” Or a Mr. McGrath, he was too modest to add.

Instead of the incomparable blessing of having her very own hubby, Austen is left with mere film adaptations, pilgrimages to her homes, fan clubs and historical societies celebrating her – not to mention millions of readers.

Mr. McGrath’s distaste is based on a “dreary” sketch scribbled by her sister Cassandra, which McGrath describes in neutral language as showing “a rather plain woman on the wrong side (sic) of 30 in a spinsterish cap, with what may even be a hint of a scowl.”

OK, I know it’s not about me, but one glance at his jaunty comb-over and disheveled tie confirms, alas, that I don’t stand a chance to score with this hunk. To put it bluntly, I’m on the short side of 60, unmarried and scowling as we speak.

Holy Reefer

So it’s Passover, the holiday that marks the escape of the Jews from their slave status in Egypt. They schlepped across the desert, constipated from all that unleavened bread – matzo. Today the Jewish people continue to suffer as we sit starving around the table, reading the Haggadah – a long “retelling” of this story – waiting to dig into the feast. Could it be worse than listing plagues and eating bitters?

The Israeli pro-reefer political party – The Green Leaf Party – has informed their members that dope is not kosher for Passover. Now we’re forbidden a medicinal crutch to help us through this long eight-day festival where there’s no wheat in sight – not cookies, not pita, no white bread for BLT.  

Perhaps there’s actually an upside to this prohibition on smoke. Imagine having the munchies while waiting for the interminable Haggadah to finish.