Sunday, November 25, 2007

Ode to the Quim

This weekend, the Quiminology labs are pretty quiet. Most of our tecchies are home unzipping their pants (after eating too much!!!) and those who ARE in the lab are wandering around looking for leftover turkey recipies. So our research has dwindled, but before we left for our holiday, we paused for a moment. It's the time of year to give thanks...what better to give thanks for than the most important body part we know? Thus it is our pleasure to present....

A Woman’s Ode to the Quim

I’m thankful for so much these days
My breasts, my hair, my bum -
Yet there’s a place I value more…
The place that makes me come.

Warm and dark and tucked away,
It rests between my thighs.
Waiting for my lover’s touch
To rouse it and bring sighs
Of pleasure to these lips of mine
(the ones beneath my nose)
The “other” lips are dewy moist
And blushing like a rose.

Yes, it’s my Quim I hold so dear,
My twat, my slit, my muff -
Whatever name we know it by
It’s never quite enough
To tell of shivers, thrills and pleasure
Incited by a kiss.
That single thought brings heated tears
And moments of sheer bliss.

O Quim, O Quim, I honor you
My private woman’s treasure.
You hold my secrets, hide my dreams,
Your worth I cannot measure.
So giving thanks to Mother Nature
Is something I must do.
O Quim, you magic place of mine,
Mother Nature gave me - YOU.

Thursday, November 22, 2007

Booty on the Brain

Why don't we ever hear about studies comparing men's physical measurements to their intellectual ones? Or even for that matter old saws about the relationship of, say dick size to intelligence, like the old inverse relationship of breast size to brain power? That was supposed to be a bone thrown to small-chested women. Now, here's one for those with plenty of junk in the trunk--but only if their waist is small. The latest actual scientific study in this realm posits that the smaller the waist relative to the butt, the smarter the woman--and her children!

Now the Chicago Tribune is exhorting us to measure both and divide waist by hip size to find out how dumb we are. The smaller the number, the smarter we are supposedly. As if we aren't already comparing ourselves to impossible standards, they tell us that Jennifer Lopez (26-inch waist and 39-inch hips) is a .67.

Oh goody, another way to prove we don't measure up.

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

All You Need Is Oxytocin

Oxytocin, a hormone used to induce labor, is also the ultimate love drug. It is released during sexual arousal, orgasms and birth, and produces feelings of love and attachment. Just the sight of a baby releases the substance in adults and fosters acceptance and bonding. Maybe we should replace bullets with oxytocin darts in war zones and see if peace comes raining down.

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Risky Business

If you and your honey go for organics over pharmaceuticals when it comes to erectile enhancement, beware. Turns out a lot of that "all natural" stuff contains the very same active ingredients as prescription drugs like Viagra, Cialis or Levitra--sometimes in considerably higher doses. If dh is on nitrates for heart disease or high blood pressure, one of those supposedly herbal staff stiffeners could give him a heart attack or stroke.
St. Petersburg Times said sales of such woody-enhancers totalled almost $400-million last year. Associated Press reported that even some men in their 30s have been admitted to emergency rooms with severe headaches or blurry vision after taking the supplements. The spread of this story has plenty of earmarks of a pharmaceutical company campaign to discredit rivals and present prescription drugs as a safer alternative. Maybe they are, though I wouldn't give a nickel for a stamp of approval from the limp-dicked FDA, which has allowed plenty of dangerous substances into the marketplace. If the ingredients in the "organic" alternative match those in prescription drugs, then both are dangerous.
With all the toys and tantric sex manuals out there today, a stiff dick is not utterly essential to a good sex life. In fact, a squishy just might force couples to get a little bit more imaginative and experimental. Would that be such a bad thing?

Monday, November 12, 2007

Tits Up!

I got a flyer in my mailbox this week bearing a lovely decolletage under a headline saying "The first Friday in April is National Cleavage Day." In veeeeery tiny gray print buried under the breasts was this: "(in Britain and South Africa)" At first I thought it said April first, which made perfect sense to me. What better day to celebrate cleavage than April Fool's Day? After all, how many perfectly smart men are turned to blubbering idiots by the sight of a woman's cleavage? How many perfect smart women are deemed dummies when they show said cleavage? Remember the old blokes' tale that a woman's IQ is inversely proportional to her cup size?

Being a small but perfectly formed b-cup myself, I figured out pretty quickly that we're nowhere near April right now. That's when I saw the other headline: "Dr. Luria can help you celebrate anytime." The flyer goes on to explain the importance of cleavage and how much more comfortable breast augmentation and breast-lift surgery are than push-up bras and bustiers.

On the reverse side, Dr. Luria also suggests "other uplifting surgical experiences," including a browlift, facelift, armlift, thighlift, necklift and tummy tuck. His photo reveals the good doctor to be not much of a looker himself, a bit saggy about the jowls and neck, and looong of forehead, if you catch my drift. I wonder if there's a National Hairline Day anywhere? If so, I do hope Dr. Luria will be going in for that 18-hour hair plug surgery he so badly needs. I'm sure it's way more comfortable than wearing hats or hairpieces.

Sunday, November 11, 2007

Art and the Quim

Being women, we have a tendency to want to improve on nature. We paint our lips, color our eyes, lengthen our lashes and paint our nails. Is the quim exempt from this decorative obsession? Nope.

Of course the quim has been painted - reproduced on canvas in oils, in photos, digital art and just about every media you can imagine up to and including chocolate. There are probably some cave drawings featuring early quims. However, these days, we're very inventive when it comes to adorning our quims. From the whimsical - as in this little stick fellow with the lawnmower...

to the extremely elegant and creative (our Quiminologists believe the face and the birds are body paint rather than tattoos but adore them anyway).

Then there's the category that falls into "Ummm...", as in the rather startling devilish tattoo, which would, we imagine, be a pretty big surprise to an unprepared lover when revealed at an intimate moment. We conclude that a healthy "EEEEEK" would not be inappropriate.

No matter what the style,
there's always someone out there anxious to take what nature gave us and improve on it. Whether with tattoos, paint or even the occasional piercing, it's one of those things that's just asking for some art. Is it unique? Yes. Is it our cup of tea? Well, not really. But then again we're wimps when it comes to pain.

Of course, there are those who take their passion for the Quim to new heights. We have to wonder about that - see the gentleman who has expressed his adoration in body art. Our only question - has he realized he'll be living with this for the rest of his life?

Friday, November 9, 2007

The Quiminology Files

Twat's In a Name?
Twat is in a name? A rose by any other name would smell as sweet. Okay, so that's a horrible twisting of poor Juliet's words as she bemoaned the last name of her beloved Romeo. Though Shakespeare never used the word "twat," it does appear that word for ladies' lower petals may have its origins in poetry. Some scholars say poet Robert Browning used it erroneously in an 1841 poem thinking the word referred to a nun’s headgear. They traced his misconception to a 17th century satirical poem that referred to "a cardinal’s hat and an old nun’s twat," but others say they have been unable to locate that poem. Whatever the true origin of this unlovely term for our sexual equipment, it seems obvious neither poet meant it as an affectionate reference. So here’s our sentence, written in unwieldy archaic poetic meter with a toast to bygone vaginophobic poets: “If you would plot to make me hot and lay me down upon a cot, don’t call my honey pot a twat—or ride me to ecstasy you will not.”

For more details on the origins of this word, check out this month's Twatchamacallit column in Lady Jaided magazine.

Monday, November 5, 2007

Empress on the Mount

Dear Empress:
I keep reading that sex keeps you young and that some women in their 70s are still doing the nasty several times a week. I'm 69 and after a night of hearing my dh cough, snore and fart in his sleep, the last thing I want to do is touch him--even if he could get it up. Don't get me wrong. I still love the old bastard and he loves me. We do things like working in the garden and reading to each other. He says he's willing to try Viagra if I really want him to, but the truth is, I'm content just to hang out with him and enjoy his company in other ways. Is there something wrong with us?
--Over It

Wrong with you? Hardly. It sounds like you and your husband are happy the way you are. So don’t let a multibillion dollar pharmaceutical company tell you differently. If you get a sudden urge to wade through the coughs and farts and bonk like bunnies, then go for it. Otherwise, spend your money on plants, not pills.

For more pearls of wisdom from Her Highness, check out her column in Lady Jaided emagazine.

Thursday, November 1, 2007

Yoga, Pull-ups and Orgasms

You might be surprised by what the three have in common
By Erin Aislinn

Being a woman and a member of a statistical minority means you’re either very special or have a tough road ahead. According to Dr. Elisabeth A. Lloyd, author of the book The Case of the Female Orgasm: Bias in the Science of Evolution, 30 percent of women rarely or never have orgasm in intercourse, and among those, 10 percent say they never have orgasm under any circumstances.
In my early 20s, after a few years of indulging in my newly discovered sex life, I considered it might be best if I just accepted the fact that I was one of those 10 percent. I mean if I couldn’t climax with a lover who’d turned sex into an art form and applied every trick in his vast bag of experience to make it happen for me, then under what miraculous circumstances could I ever have the Big O?
To read the rest of this story, go to our emagazine, Lady Jaided