GIGI GOES GAGA

THE SEX INDEX?

First there was the Hemline Index, then the Lipstick Indicator. More recently we've seen the Nail Polish Effect and the Necktie Index. Even bra sales recently pointed the way, it seems. But now the latest consumer category to lay bare signs of our economic condition is, literally, a much sexier one.

Consumer behavior changes accordingly as confidence in the economy falls, we've seen that time and time again. For instance, I'll still part with $25 for a luxury lipstick or limited-edition nail polish occasionally (although I'll give it way more thought than I used to), but I haven't purchased a bag or pair of shoes in a while. Still I have to admit that I was a bit surprised when I read that sex toy sales have boomed as a result of this bust.

According to the online sex toy distributor quoted in the CNBC article published last Thursday, “At a time when unemployment is high and bank account balances are low, people are passing the time by getting busy." I suppose it helps that with more people unemployed, there's more time for couples to spend together; after all, one can only update and send out resumes for so long until feeling disheartened and weary. And when one's spouse or partner is also homebound from being unemployed, there's not enough funds in the piggy bank to dine out or watch a movie (around $10.75 per person in my neck of the woods!). So what do you do?

At least, that's the theory. My guess is that because you can now buy your pack of condoms or vibrator along with, say, your beach read and sunscreen at Amazon.com, doing so is just not as daunting a task as it used to be. Once upon a time, it would require a drive to the nearest sex store (which usually was not just around the street corner, depending on where you lived) or remembering to clear your internet browser history when you searched for "sex toy online stores." And while friends and associates may not necessarily give you a gift certificate to The Pleasure Chest or Good Vibrations, they have absolutely no idea how you'd spend your Amazon gift card (my former boss sure doesn't know what I did with his Christmas present to me -- thankfully).

In other words, I'm wondering if, once again, sex has benefited from technology, more than from the faltering economy. We can go down the list of all new technologies from the past couple of centuries and discover how sex was always right at the forefront. For instance, many early filmmakers tantalized audiences with depictions of sexuality until government censorship came into the picture. And even if online shopping has been around for a long time, there are considerably more places to shop on the internet now. I still remember when I certainly wouldn't have looked for lube at a bookseller site!

Whatever the reasons may be for this sales surge, it's clear that sex sells -- always has, always will. Even when not much else does, apparently.

Note: You know the Swedish product that Stefan Dallakian of Paris Intimates describes in the CNBC article as “the Bentley of vibrators at the price of a well-equipped Hyundai"? I'll spare you the research: It's this brand, I bet. You can take it from this gal who remembers what it was like when it wasn't so easy to shop for a little self-satisfaction.

THE DIRTY DOZEN

There's this gazillionaire golfer all over the news right now. He's made explosive headlines for the past decade -- but nothing like this. Apparently he's been cheating on his gorgeous blonde wife for years, and with several women at that. I'm not paying attention -- I am purposely NOT paying attention, I should say -- but I've heard that there about a dozen now who claim to have slept with him.

I've heard my guy friends say they're surprised because these women aren't really attractive ("He could do so MUCH better than that!" they exclaim). My girlfriends seem to wonder why these "other women" are not more accomplished or from "better" backgrounds. My husband, a golf enthusiast who, unlike me, has been paying very close attention to this story, throws around the term "ragdoll" every time one of these women appear on TV -- in reference to the athlete's preference for rough-and-tumble sex apparently.

As for me, I started tuning off when the women began to come forward with their stories and proof straight from their cellphones. If the story is on the news, I change the channel or walk away; if it's on print I don't read it. I don't even know the names of these women -- and I prefer it that way. And here's why.

If a woman's going to have an affair with a married man, if she's going to insinuate herself between him and his wife, the only decent thing left for her to do -- I believe -- is to simply shut up. Not for his sake surely, but for his wife and (any) children. If she wants only sex from him, then she's getting it anyway. If she wants money or material things, she's probably receiving that, too. If she wants him only for herself, then letting his wife know about the affair will not serve her purpose because it will only get him incredibly annoyed and she'll never have him that way.

My concern isn't for this famous wayward husband, but rather for the innocents -- his wife and kids and the rest of their families, who are now subject to constant public humiliation, thanks to all the gory details being revealed practically every hour. (Seriously, if you were the wife who found out that her husband was cheating on her, would you really want to know everything?) These other women who for the past week have dominated the daily news aren't coming forward for honesty's sake (the act of cheating with a married man alone already stripped them of any semblance of honesty, let's face it), but for what they can get for their brief moment of infamy. 

I was walking by the living room the other day while my husband was listening to one of the women explain how betrayed she felt at discovering she wasn't the only one in his life as there were many others also. She continued to say that she often wondered why he never had much time for her; she thought it was only because of the demands of his career.

I stopped right in my tracks and yelled at the TV: "What you stupid whore? You thought you were the ONLY ONE? What about his wife, you idiot?"

Sorry, but I'm never going to listen to any sob story told by any mistress; I just won't hear of it. When a woman chooses to get involved with a man who belongs to another, she knows exactly what she's getting into. His wife, however, may not have had the fortune of such clarity when she married him. So I don't listen and I don't read anything about this story because I don't want a single television program or publication to profit from my patronage. I also hope that when no one else is paying attention anymore, that these women (and their new lawyers and agents) finally go away silently in the night, where they should have stayed in the first place.

HIDDEN CAMERAS

OK, I'm going there. I can't resist, see. Here's all I have to say about the topic du jour in the Philippines -- those sex videos, of which I've seen a few. I don't plan on seeing the rest of them, should they become available. (There are about 40 out there, alleges a senator who now postures himself as the defender of Filipino women and womanhood. Has anybody suggested to him, by the way, that cheating on one's wife repeatedly is not exactly a sign of respect towards women? Just wondering.) I've seen lots of porn in my lifetime, and they always involved at least a moderate amount of physical exertion. I think someone forgot to yell "Action!" in these videos, but I suppose when one of the stars isn't aware she's being filmed then the filmmaker has got to be as quiet and unobtrusive as possible. Which he was, really.

1. Be very careful about sleeping with a man, especially one known for his many sexual encounters and affairs, who doesn't wear a condom. (I didn't see him put one on -- did any of you?)
2. If you plan on videotaping your - uh -- private and intimate affairs, be sure to get your partner's permission. Even those "hidden camera" television comedy shows need their "victims" to sign a release form to get the footage on air or else risk getting sued. In other words, they need to give their expressed permission to get humiliated in public, on air. Same thing here, yes?
3. The guy planned on being filmed for posterity. You would think the least he would do -- since he's obviously a narcissistic jerk -- is try to look as impressive as possible. Puzzled why he didn't do just that, I mentioned this to a friend of mine, who suggested that perhaps he thought he had. Oh.
4. Just my opinion here. Unless you think being immortalized in a sex video can catapult your acting career or celebrity level by quite a few notches, don't agree to do it even if your partner begs. In this internet age, it's simply too risky. If you've ever seen that Friends episode where Ross and Rachel film themselves having sex -- and then watch it later in agony -- you would know why it might not be such a good idea, as tempting as it sounds at the moment. Anyway, my friend and her husband have a few of their own private sex tapes stored securely, but can't remember where they are now. They're dreading the chance that their sons, now teenagers, find them before they do. Yuck.

       

EX

I helped my friend move into her new apartment many years ago, long before we ever thought we'd settle down in any one place long enough to unpack completely. She shared the space with two girls, and I hit it off with one of them immediately. She was a real character, and such a babe – feisty, flirty, funny, and oh-so fierce. She wore the shortest skirts and the teensiest tops, and to prove that she always dressed this way she opened up her closet for us to see. Not one thing, I swear, was more than 17 inches long. At first glance it looked like she had hung nothing but baby clothes because there was so much space between the rod and the floor.

As we sorted and unpacked, my friend whispered to me a secret. Her new roommate in the tight outfit was actually a he, or at least used to be. She didn't know for certain if she had undergone sex reassignment surgery, but the tattletale who in turn had told her this didn't think so. The only thing they knew for sure was that she took hormone medication regularly.  There was nothing overtly masculine about her except her lithe boyish figure and perhaps a hint of an Adam’s apple (only if you were really looking). Otherwise, she truly was all-woman.

That evening the guy I was seeing came over to pick me up. When the doorbell rang, the roommate let him in because the rest of us were moving stuff around in the bedroom. At first we heard stunned silence and then loud expressions of delighted surprise. When I walked over to the living room the two were locked in a warm, friendly embrace.

And that was the day I met my guy’s ex.

If I didn't know what I had just discovered, I might have been a bit jealous; now I was only perplexed. Nothing made sense to me at first, then eventually some of it did. Although my man was a charmer with rock-hard abs and muscles in all the right places, I’d highly suspected that his tales of sexual conquests were nothing but mere boasts. Once he told me about an ex-girlfriend whom he discarded simply because none of his friends approved of the match. He didn’t tell me what exactly they didn’t like about her except they believed she wasn't right for him and certainly not good enough. He also said she had been devastated by his betrayal and that he felt sorry for what he had done. But perhaps sensing my alarm he explained that he was young and immature then and added that despite his feelings of regret he had no intentions of going back to her and that was that. Later he also revealed that she was his “first" and tossed in a few details I really didn't want to hear at the time, and certainly not since the day I met her.

So now as we all stood around I looked at my new acquaintance, the girl he had hurt once – the girly-girl who wasn’t always so – and closed my mind to the torrent of new questions and all the too-obvious, too-vivid visuals that begged for some kind of explanation. I never told him what I knew after we left the apartment, nor ever asked him to explain how certain things could have happened between them as he said they had -- not for his sake, but for hers. You see, not too long afterwards I found myself in the living room of that same apartment again, bonding with my new friend over stories of how our guy turned out to be such a jerk after all. And we talked like two girls conspiring and giggling, just like girls often do. Just like we were after all.

MOUTHING OFF

Any time I want, whenever I feel like it, I can express whatever I'm thinking or feeling in this ol' blog of mine. Sometimes I regret it the next morning, but more often than not I'm happy to get things off my chest. Fortunately, because I have this ready forum for my thoughts and opinions, I don't normally go mouthing off anywhere and to anyone else. Once in a while, though, I'll read something that stirs me up so much that I'll make the exception and react on someone else's space.

Like today, for instance, I emailed a newspaper advice columnist because I flat out disagreed with how she replied to a reader seeking help. I tried to walk away, I really did, but I felt compelled to say something. First let me say that I don't regularly seek out or read advice columns unless they deal with fashion or beauty topics. Next, I don't often pick fights or even discussions with those whose opinions differ from mine because I think we should all be entitled to our own, period.

I've only written in response to an article or column twice before. The first time was for an assignment in my college freshman english class. The professor had instructed us all to write a Letter to the Editor to one specified daily newspaper. Those who got published received bragging rights and extra points for the class (I did, although I no longer remember what I wrote about). The second time was when a columnist wrote something negative about my father -- not out of spite or malice but because she didn't have enough information to base her opinion on -- and I promptly called her out on it (she apologized). And then today.

Today I happened to come across a letter from a reader whose cheating husband came back to her and was making obvious amends. There was one catch, however -- he no longer seemed interested in having sex with his wife. So she wrote the columnist, listing possible scenarios why this might be the case, and asked for a bit of, well, advice.

The columnist, in a nutshell, told the wife to be grateful that her husband was back and to show him the same kind of tenderness he was now exhibiting. Fine. But what irked me was that in responding to the letter writer's hypotheses regarding her husband's lack of desire for sex with her, the columnist simply asked, "Who knows what men think?" -- without advising the wife to ask her spouse for the answers, to engage him in conversation, to discuss what they both expected now from each other and, in doing so, attempt to restore some honesty back into their fractured marriage.

Instead, the columnist wrote to the wife:

"Despite accepting him back, must everything be analyzed, every hair split, and every action in the remaining years you have together put under a microscope?

That very astute saying “don't look a gift-horse in the mouth” couldn't be more apt in your present predicament. Why not just enjoy his company and the peaceful existence that's happening between you two? Don't you realize how short life is? Why are you making your life shorter?"

In other words: forget about sex until he brings it up again. You get what he gives.

Here's what I think. Sex might not be the most important thing in a marriage -- or in any relationship for that matter -- but it is important as long as it matters to the people in it. This woman's husband strayed outside the marriage and had sex with another woman (or women) so obviously he still feels desire. There is a serious problem, then, if he doesn't feel those same stirrings for his own wife -- especially if she still feels the need to be physically close to him and craves that kind of intimacy.

I don't think it's ever enough to simply stay married for its own sake, contrary to what many might say. I believe in committing to a marriage, to working for it and fighting for it, and for being a true partner to my spouse. I don't believe in ever settling for anything less than what we deserve, especially when we can have what makes us whole. No marriage is perfect, to be sure, and spouses can hurt each other even without meaning to. But I believe in keeping open dialogue, to working things out, to forgiving each other, and accepting each other's weaknesses and imperfections. And, yes, I believe in lifelong, loving sex as long as both are capable.

But this isn't about me, it's about the wounded wife. She had nowhere to go perhaps and, unfortunately, reached out to a newspaper advice columnist in desperation. Only to be told that she was worth only whatever he would give her, even if he was capable of so much more.

And that is why I wrote today. No one should ever be told that they are worth less, or so little.

SEX AND MY STATS

A good friend recently announced with not-quite-mock-horror that my blog has been linked up to many salacious sites, something which has repeatedly worried him these past few years. I looked up at him angelically, smiled warmly and sighed, "Well I really haven't been writing about sex recently."

"Yeah," he quietly agreed. "And your stats have actually plummeted because of that." I love how my friend simultaneously frets about just who clicks to see my blog and why not so many people have been clicking as much.

Sure, I could write lots of things about sex. I'm not a prude, I'm open-minded, outspoken, and honest almost to a fault. My past posts have mentioned shopping for vibrators, condoms, and even porn; revealed the existence of a sex book collection that's now mostly boxed up in the garage because of my husband's intense shame in having them so openly exposed on my bookshelf; and even about making out in cars and kissing all kinds of boys.

I could certainly write about the discussions my girlfriends and I engage in -- gleeful stories that would make even a shameless lothario blush. And, yes, I've had many similar conversations with my guy friends, too. (The trick is to stay cool and maintain the demeanor of someone trying to explain, say, how to drill a nail securely into a wall so no one thinks you're getting turned on. Otherwise it can get pretty icky.)

Recently my bestfriend texted me right in the middle of Girl's Night Out: "You should be here. You would be in your element." And I didn't have to text her back and ask what they were talking about at that particular moment.

I suppose a part of me is concerned about people misinterpreting straight conversation for an open invitation. And even though I continuously harp on about the importance of responsibility and safe sex, there are those who would consider me irresponsible and even dangerous for broaching the topic at all. But the simple truth is that sex is only one of a myriad of things I think about and consider important, and I certainly don't write about it to generate more traffic around here.

Even if I could very well be in my element when I do. But right now there are so many other things I want to write about (even if I am quite intrigued why there are more and more sexual products sharing my name). My stats be damned...for now at least.

CHASTITY FOR CLOTHES?

My friend Charmaine alerted me to this Reuters news item tonight:

NEW YORK, Feb 5 (Reuters Life!) - For most women, the choice between sex and a new wardrobe is simple -- they go for the clothes.

Women on average say they would be willing to give up sex for 15 months for a closet full of new apparel, with 2 percent ready to abstain from sex for three years in exchange for new duds, according to a new survey of about 1,000 women in 10 U.S. cities.

Sixty-one percent of women polled said it would be worse to lose their favorite article of clothing than give up sex for a month.

So Charmaine asked me if I would give up sex for new clothes. No, I quickly answered, but not for the obvious reasons, what most people who know me well would expect me to say.

"I already have a lot of clothes. If I got a closetful more then I'd have to figure out what to do with the ones I already have. Like, where would I store them? Or would I give them away to charity, sell them on eBay? Ay, hassle pa!"

But I've got to admit, this survey discusses valid points I hadn't considered before.

"Some people say clothes make the man, but the right clothes can even replace him," fashion designer, stylist and TV personality Carson Kressley from the reality TV show "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy" said in a statement accompanying the poll.

The study also suggested that clothes often wear better than relationships.

The average woman between 18 and 54 years of age has hung on to her favorite article of clothing for 12 and a half years, a year longer than she's held on to her longest relationship.

Almost three-quarters of respondents, or 70 percent, also said they believed in love at first sight when it came to finding the perfect article of clothing, while only 54 percent of women were as confident in spotting the right man.

Nearly half of the women, or 48 percent, taking part in the survey by consumer products giant Unilever said their favorite article of clothing was more reliable than their man in giving them confidence and making them feel sexy.

Okay -- so just for the record, I happen to think sex is one of life's greatest pleasures. Which certainly explains why any suggestion that I give it up can make me turn grouchy in a heartbeat. But ask me if I'd give it up for good hair.

No -- on second thought -- don't.

MIDLIFE MANIA

I'm beginning to suspect men go through their mid-life crises sooner than women do. I haven't read any studies or seen any statistics proving my theory, but sometimes I just know the things I do (like I know, for instance, that people's libidos tend to go haywire in the month of October).

A friend of mine recently turned 40 and got a divorce. Now he's going to bars with women who only recently became legally allowed to drink; in fact, one of the girls he's trying to make his move on is only three years older than his daughter. I find myself hoping the next time I see him won't be on television, where he'll be standing right next to Dateline's Chris Hansen, staring straight into the lens of a hidden camera.

Now the other night I was chatting with another old (oops, wrong choice of word, perhaps?) friend, who was complaining about how one day he woke up and felt his mortality. I don't think he has any serious health concerns (except for a nasty smoking habit he never got rid of), so I think he was merely feeling his age (which is 45). I suppose if I ever woke up and realized I was 45 years old I might be slightly alarmed, but I'd like to think that if I were still in good health and in good shape by then I'd pat myself on the back for a job well done and slather on a bit more eye cream than usual.

So my friend -- just like that other friend of mine -- has been finding himself more and more drawn to younger women. And I don't mean women in their late '30s or early '40s, we're talking about young, nubile things who still own the right to wear a miniskirt. Luckily for him many of these leggy creatures seem to be attracted to older, successful men -- which he happens to be -- so he hasn't exactly been scaring away the ladies. But when he describes himself as a "dirty old man," I don't disagree with him. After all, I still vividly remember when men twice my age would hit on me (those days are, thankfully, over because the only thing a man twice my age could hit me with now is his walking cane), I'd cringe and call them pathetic and gross.

He then explained to me that being with a younger woman is like a shot of youth serum in the arm. Then he asked me if I didn't ever fantasize about having sex with a strapping 19-year-old man.

DIFFERENT STROKES

Sometimes I forget that my opinions can shock people, even those who know me pretty well. I suppose it's easy to think that how we see the world is the same way others view it, although reality or the truth is often exactly the opposite.

For instance the other night I was having dinner with my girlfriends, gossiping and laughing it up as always, when someone revealed how she and her husband were asked to join a porn-viewing group which meets monthly apparently. We were all taken aback, but it turns out my reasons were different from all the rest: I simply couldn't understand the thrill of watching porn with a bunch of other couples in someone else's home; you see, it's something I would choose to do only in private, either by myself or with a special someone. Yet for the others, the word "porn" itself was enough to generate shock, disbelief, and even outrage. "If he asked me to join, I'd tell him to get away from me and then I'd pour Holy Water on him," one of the girls even said.

At that moment I realized my casual nonchalance about XXX-rated films was not so normal, at least in a few of the circles I belong to. Honestly I would much prefer to spend an hour or two watching couples go at it with lust rather than pound each other with hate or violence (and, yes, there are forms of porn that are violent, destructive, and demeaning I admit and I have absolutely no taste for them). In general, XXX is just another genre to me, I suppose, one that rational adults can choose to enjoy or ignore.

Then later, as the night was winding down and only a few of us were left, I had this brilliant idea of introducing one of the guys, who was newly divorced, to a single girlfriend whom I fondly describe as "trisexual" (she'll try anything sexual). My other girlfriend was horrified -- don't do that, she said, you know how she is. But why not, I replied -- he's single, she's single, and they both don't want a commitment? (I then turned to the guy and asked him if was looking for a committed relationship. "Hell no!" he replied almost violently.)

So I turned back to my friend and continued to make my case. "And besides, she's a lot of fun, she makes us all laugh and they might even get along." By now, the guy was intrigued.

"So what," my friend asked, "You think they should get together only for sex?"

"I'm not saying that, but if they do so, that's their choice -- they're both consenting adults after all."

"Ay naku, why even go there, it would only make things complicated!"

"Sex isn't complicated, it's relationships that often are."

And then the room suddenly became quiet as three sets of eyes peered at me curiously. I should really learn how to keep some of my thoughts to myself, especially when I'm sleepy and my mental brakes are slow in halting the words running away from my mouth like a freight train derailed from its tracks.

Good thing for me, too, that my Holy-Water-toting friend had already gone home; she would have given me one shocking cold, damp wake-up call otherwise. I don't know if I would have deserved it, though -- just because I see things a certain way doesn't mean I advocate that others do the same. And really now, I certainly would never invite friends to get together and watch porn or offer a man a purely sexual relationship.

Although I have absolutely no qualms if other people do. There's always the option of saying "No thank you," after all.

FOOT IN MOUTH DISEASE

There's nothing like a group of girlfriends talking about sex. Sometimes it's the ultimate bonding experience because it's conspiratorial in nature, feels a bit taboo, is a whole lot of fun, and you get to discover the most surprising things about your friends that normal day-to-day chitchat just can't reveal. Once you find out, for instance, that someone doesn't like receiving oral sex or so-and-so loves to swallow and that this one's boyfriend has the annoying habit of asking for sex in his "babytalk" voice, then there's really not much you can hide from each other after that, is there?

Yet there are days I learn I need to get before I give. Information, that is. Because sometimes it's just too easy to assume that your impossibly sexy, party-hardy, single friends are having better sex than anyone else -- and you're simply dead wrong. Today was such a day.

Me: So I knew this guy in college and he liked to fancy himself as some kind of playboy. And I guess he had that tall, dark, handsome, Latin thing going on, so fair enough. But the weird thing about him is that he could only do it in the dark. And ONLY under the sheets. So no one ever got to see what he looked like without his clothes on, even if he was completely naked. He must have had some really serious mental issues going on because he looked perfectly fine -- at least he looked terrific with his clothes on, so I can't imagine what he could possibly have been hiding.

(Uncomfortable few seconds of silence.)

She: I can only do it in the dark. And also only in the bed and under the sheets.

(More silence.)

Me: (Talking really, really fast now and hoping she doesn't notice I'm quickly backtracking.) No, but this guy not only wanted lights out but curtains drawn also. Like complete darkness so it was like you were completely blind. He also didn't want you doing anything to him so you could actually see him up close and personal, you know? I mean, where's the fun in that?

She: That's just like me.

Me: So you mean no spontaneous, let's do it on the dining table...

She: (Shakes her head.) Nope.

Me: And you really need to be under the sheets?

She: Yup. I think it's because that's always how I saw people do it on TV and it just seemed to be the normal thing to do.

Me: (Pause.) So September 4 is Labor Day and we get the day off, right?

She: Yup.

Me: Yaaayyy!