Good Vibrations Magazine

By Judi B.

What’s Mark Morford’s favorite sexual position? You’ll never know, because that wasn’t one of the questions.

#

A few years, some kind person turned me on to something called The Morning Fix. Every morning at work, an email would appear in my inbox—an email that would make me put down my spreadsheets and hang up the phone. Mark Morford was the king of my 10 o’clock hour, as I read his take on that day’s news headlines. MM was blogging before blogging existed, and his commentary on the world at large was sometimes scathing, always witty, and terribly, terribly funny.

Now, sadly, the Morning Fix has been put to rest, but Mark Morford and his dexterous rhetoric are alive and well at www.sfgate.com. Still discussing such topics as sex, George W. and friends, evil corporations, religion, the Right, homosexual marriage, pop-culture, and cheerleaders, Morford’s Notes & Errata column makes for the perfect “I’m at my desk and therefore I’m not really on lunch break” afternoon reading break. And for some readers of the not-so-liberally-inclined mind, change “break” to “infuriating, rant-inspiring, blood-pressure-raising break.” They don’t have a banner with Love Him or Hate Him on the homepage for nothing.

Always an advocate for good lube and quality sex toys (and sex-toy stores), MM is a local sex-positive superstar, and I recently was lucky enough to capture a few of his thoughts about your favorite subject and mine—Angelina Jolie. Oops, I mean, SEX. He graciously answered my questions about such important topics as…well, you’ll see. Just read the article….

JB: What’s the first thing you usually do after sex?

MM: Massive sigh, slow blink, sly grin, mental note to self to send the gods/goddesses of cosmos a generous gift basket for inventing sex; reach for soft towel, think about chocolate, crave a sip of wine/coffee (depending on time of day), check for haphazard stains, sigh again, admire flushed skin of lover, sip some water, begin thinking about the next time I’ll get to have sex

JB: If you had to take one sex toy and one celebrity with you to a deserted island to live out the rest of your days, which toy would you take and which celebrity? (and you can’t say the Commando and Angelina Jolie because I already chose them)

MM: Here is my advice, my sincere wisdom: It would behoove anyone stranded anywhere for any length of time with any nubile female (my gender of choice) to have a toy that simply guarantees her pleasure for all those weeks and months and years. What price sanity? What value a satisfied female? Exactly. So then, the obvious answer: Hitachi Magic Wand. However, my dirty-pleasures side scoffs at my munificence and suggests, instead, a large gorgeous curvy Pyrex glass dildo (I got my favorite on eBay). So otherworldly smooth, such a variety of uses, for both sexes. Also doubles as pleasant art piece to ogle and appreciate on endless desert-island days. Keep your acrylic and your silicone and plastic—Pyrex glass is simply God’s gift to sex toys. Why don’t more people know about this material? What is wrong with the world?

Celebs stir me almost not at all. I find very few genuinely hot and I find most who think they’re hot to be unbearably cloying and overrated and unsexy (hi, Halle Berry) and part of that has to do with how precious they know they are and therefore I imagine them all to be absolutely bland and unadventurous in bed because they just don’t give a damn and don’t swallow and don’t do anal and won’t strap anything on and don’t want you to mess up their hair. That said (and since you already nixed my bad-girl Angelina), I’ll say: Cate Blanchett. Or Virginie Ledoyen. Or Belladonna. Or Jenna Haze. Or Isabella Rosellini, circa 1985.

JB: How many sex toys do you own? When did you get your first one, and what was it?

MM: I now own about 15 or so, with about five of those reserved exclusively for my girlfriend (I mean, obviously), not counting her two Hitachis. I have a number of others still in their packages, mostly beginner stuff like small anal beads and tiny bullet vibes, to give as gifts.

First sex toy: I was 15 or 16. Let’s say 16. It was Spokane, Washington. It was 1983 and downtown Spokane had a new, small, relatively unsleazy sex shop, one of the few in the entire whitebread conservative town at the time. Recall: There was no Internet. There was no Goodvibes.com. There were no easily accessible rabbit vibes or pocket rockets or butt plugs or ten thousand lubes at your shopping fingertips. There were only scattered sleazy sex shops and therefore entering such a place was the only way to educate oneself, firsthand, into the ways of porn and adult goodies. It was also forbidden. 21 and over only. But no matter. I had to try.

I drove downtown. I parked out front. I took a deep breath, steeled myself, and waltzed in, all alone. I was so excited, so nervous I was going to be instantly busted and kicked out for being underage, I thought I might spontaneously combust. My heart was beating like a hammer.

To my horror, the place was completely empty; I was the only one there. The manager glanced my way as I strolled by the counter and I avoided his eye and pretended to act mature and assured and casual and waited for him to say, hey kid, what the hell you doing, get the hell out of here.

He didn’t. I was astounded, breathless. I wandered a bit, unsure what to do. I ogled the magazines, the handful of VHS porn tapes (VCRs were just beginning to hit their stride and porn videos, not yet mass produced, were still easily 75 bucks apiece), and then sauntered over to the glass case of sex toys, which housed only a handful of goodies: leather straps and a couple boring plastic vibes, a few lubes, leather bracelets, etc.

Oh yes, and cock rings. About a dozen, heavy smooth silver metal hoops, different sizes. (Hell yes I knew what they were. I’d read my Penthouse Forum like a goddamn bible and had done my homework and was as sexually well-informed as a 16-year-old kid in Spokane in 1983 could possibly be, which is probably more than you think but less than I actually recall).

I stood at the counter, staring. The manager chimed in: Can I help you with something? I was petrified. I was too excited and too thrilled to have lingered this long without getting kicked out. I had to buy something.

In my most manly, adult voice, I asked for a medium cock ring. He lifted it out, handed it to me. I fingered it, said yeah, that’s about right. He said, anything else? I said, uh, nope, just this. He put it in a brown paper bag and I paid my 20 bucks and I left quickly, elated and turned on and giddy and massively horny in the way only carrying an illicit and naughty thing around with you in public after your first successful jaunt into a good porn shop can do.

I did indeed try the cock ring on for size a couple times, never found it to be much help. Never really used it for its intended purpose. But I still have it. I still have that original ring from over 20 years ago. And I still use it, every single day. It’s my keyring.

JB: What’s your favorite lube, and don’t say Crisco because we don’t carry it.

MM: Why do we wallow in sad realms of ignorance? Why does the world not know of luminous and helpful joys? Why do people still have sex without lube? Sure nature is fabulous, but oh my God, Astroglide changes everything. It should be, along with the Hitachi, handed out to every girl (and boy) as a rite of sexual passage as soon as they turn 14. I am so not kidding. I’ve tried probably a dozen other brands, and nothing else comes close to Astro. God uses this stuff. Jesus seduced Mary Magdalene via its divine slippery powers. The angels coat their wings in Astroglide, to give a glossy shine. Satan pours it over his New York Super Fudge Chunk. It’s true. For masturbation: Men’s Cream. Or lavender massage oil. Astroglide for everything else.

JB: What do you think the sexiest/hottest occupation is?

MM: Modern dancer? Yoga teacher? Puppet fluffer? One of those tiny adorable super-strong Japanese reflexology foot-massage girls at that cool place in Japantown in SF? Naked pastry chef? I know there’s a clever answer to this one, I just can’t think of it. Wait: Columnist? Is it columnist? I’ll say columnist, though most others in my profession tend to look more like Jim Broadbent than Johnny Depp. Sadly.

JB: Does being a writer get you lots of play?

MM: Lots of play? As in, do I get laid a lot or get free sloppy oral sex from hot salesgirls in the Macy’s dressing room as a result of my unusual writing style and topic selection and my odd lack of shame to discuss sexuality in columns and my weird insistence on inserting more anal sex references per column than the Chronicle has published in 40 years? Well, no. Not really. Not anymore (see hookup question below). But man, it sure is fun to think about.

JB: Jennifer Aniston or Angelina Jolie?

MM: This is a joke, right? This is like asking if you prefer Porsche Carreras or tricycles, right? This is like asking if you prefer single-malt scotch or grape Kool-Aid, right? Dude, Angelina Jolie eats Jennifer Aniston for breakfast. Angelina uses Jennifer as a toothpick, flicking bits of Brad Pitt from between her teeth. Angelina uses Jennifer as a cute little warm-up butt plug and then immediately tosses her away for larger and more energizing fare. Angelina scrapes Jennifer from the bottom of her black Jimmy Choos with a switchblade. And etc.

JB: Brad Pitt or Vince Vaughn?

MM: Neither. Dave Navarro.

JB: What’s your favorite porn flick?

MM: Mainstream porn? Changes by the week, but I’ll say: any of John Stagliano’s (AKA Buttman’s) early ’90s stuff, or any of Seymore Butts’ later ’90s stuff, especially with Shane (do you sense a theme? I sense a theme). At the moment I’m really enjoying the Jack’s Playground and Jack’s Teen America series. Funny and light and honest gonzo focusing on lots of well-shot, non-aggro, one-on-one action and reasonably sexy setups and (mostly) genuine heat because oh my God I am so sick of the new trend of overlit, hyper-gynecological, gaping anal, throat-choking, pile-driving, spit-sucking, gang-banging, ATM (ass-to-mouth) gonzo stuff right now. Even Buttman and Seymore have lost me, and I was loyal. They dumped the sexiness, the heat, the buildup, the honest tease and replaced it with aggro ‘tudes and jackhammer cocks and endless garish reverse-cowgirl positions and massively stretched sphincters and constant obnoxious pauses in the action to display same to the camera. So unsexy. No finesse. Some of the amateur stuff from Shot At Home (shotathome.com) is very good. Oh wait, I know! Best all-around, all-time faves? Bodyslammin’ 1 and 2. That’s it. Yes yes yes.

JB: Has anyone ever written to you, in response to one of your columns, to tell you that you’re a pervert and/or that you were going to burn in hell because of something you wrote about sex?

MM: Praise Jesus because the Good News is I am, apparently, as I write this, right this minute, being prayed for by many well-meaning, deeply confused, sexually terrified Christians who consider me a pervert first class, a sodomite, a heathen, a disgusting homo (I’m straight, but no matter), a miscreant, the problem with America, and so on. It is a frequent refrain, most notably in reply to any sex-oriented columns (obviously), though not exclusively. Is it wrong that it pleases me greatly to disturb and secretly titillate them so? It probably is. Thankfully, many feel I’m so far gone it’s not even worth trying. What’s amusing is how I actually have a deep and well-honed sense of spirituality, a fairly relaxed sense of the divine. I believe in many moist celestial things. I meditate. I trust in a divine interconnectedness. I am, in fact, a Zen atheist Buddhist Neo-Taoist Pagan Wiccan Zoroastrian Orgasmican. But only when I’m awake.

JB: Have you ever been asked out by one of your readers? And if so, did you go?

MM: Yes, and hell yes. My (now defunct, but hugely successful) Morning Fix email newsletter for sfgate.com, in particular, was very racy and intimate and sexual and raw, and in it I would often post some replies to reader emails. Back when I was single for a brief period I would often discuss, in these replies, my singlehood and sexual proclivities with a sort of casual openness, and as a result I was flattered with numerous offers for dates and drinks, from both genders. Photos and further info were sometimes swapped (via my personal email account, never using work email because I’m not completely insane). Many successful dates were enjoyed, some very rich and emotionally satisfying, others merely resulting in fabulous slidings and moanings of flesh. But it didn’t last long before I found myself in a deep monogamous hookup, again. Tends to be my way.

JB: The theme for the GV Holiday party this year is High School. What fetish outfit suits you best: naughty librarian, stern principal, star athlete, creepy janitor, slutty cheerleader or foxy schoolgirl?

MM: Naughty librarian meets foxy schoolgirl in the research stacks and bends her over a study table and sodomizes her gently with the janitor’s mop handle while reading John Donne interspersed with passages from Story of O as the slutty cheerleader masturbates nearby.

JB: What’s the sexiest book even written?

MM: Naturally I want to say The Bible just for effect and because it’s the sort of obvious answer and because it annoys those literalist Christians, but I just don’t think it is, all that sexy I mean, even though it’s rife with sex and blood and sin and censorship and I won’t say Story of O or anything by Anais Nin either, because that’s too obvious in a wholly different way, and so I’ll have to say maybe Jitterbug Perfume. Or maybe Paradise Lost. Is there a funnier answer to this? Like, the phone book? Or Chilton’s Repair Manual for the 1972-1976 Chevy Vega? What am I missing?

JB: Okay, I have a thing for journalists…especially anchorwomen (take Ann Curry for example)…Who do you think is the sexiest journalist?

MM: Have to be careful to distinguish, at least for me, between “sexy” and “I wonder what sort of sounds she’d make with a ball gag and some large anal beads?” Aren’t there upwards of 4,000 female anchors now? Aren’t they virtually interchangeable? I have no idea how to answer this. I watch almost zero network news. I’d have to look them all up on Google and compare, because the ones I have seen tend to look exactly like the kind of carefully manicured sexually inert soccer moms I see driving their four blond children to the mall in the Range Rover to visit Pottery Barn Kids. Which is to say: about as much my type as a parakeet to a spider monkey. Christiane Amanpour used to be kinda sexy, before she became all and grubby and masculine. I recall Maria Bartiromo was hot for awhile, during the dot com boom. I have no idea who else. I’m a language slut, after all. TV anchors do almost nothing for me. Where are the hot female columnists? The lithe seductress with the luscious pen? I suppose Maureen Dowd is sorta sexy, in a strictly lick-my-boots kinda way. Does that count?

Mark Morford is the two-time winner of the online category of the annual National Society of Newspaper Columnists awards. His Notes & Errata column appears every Wednesday and Friday on SF Gate (www.sfgate.com) and in the Datebook section of the SF Chronicle. You can check out his work here:

http://www.sfgate.com/columnists/morford/archive/

and here:

http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/blogs/sfgate/author?blogid=3&auth=16