Full-length windows framed daffodil blooms bright against vibrant and deep greens. For the comfort of bare flesh, the furnace was turned up, and turned up again. As dusk gathered, six of us breathed, coming together consciously with intention. We were here to explore ourselves. Together.
The room was full last Friday for a public viewing of the Bodysex Workshop DVD in Portland, Oregon, where I make my home. I had hoped we’d have twenty-five people show up, and almost twice that number attended. Many friends were in the room, and seeing their curious, supportive faces in the audience calmed my loudly thumping heart. I’d hosted a private viewing in my home last year, but this was the first time I’d shown it publicly, my own body, face, cunt, and orgasm flickering on the screen behind me.
I saw the curve of her jaw, the way her lips rested together, the tension in her forehead that smoothed out as I continued to look. We were matched, eye to eye. I noticed the red rings, the puffy places under her bottom lashes. She’d been crying.
As the gaze lingered, under the spotlights of being seen, something shifted in her eyes. She was basking in being seen as much as I relished doing the seeing. It felt like forever since we’d done this. I had missed her, missed noticing her actively, instead of just passively hauling her around my life.
Eventually, I broke the spell when I stepped back from the mirror by the back door. I flipped off the light, picked up my towel, and went outside to the hot tub.
The collective gasps, laughter, nods, and the rustling of audience members crossing and uncrossing their legs delight me. Attending something sexy, whether a film festival or a play or an event that is billed “sex-positive,” inevitably has me smiling in appreciation at my fellow attendees. We are all there for the same reason: we are interested in sex.
You really don’t want to miss this. If it is remotely possible to get yourself to a showing of Bike Smut as it crosses North America, I urge you to make it happen. Minneapolis gets it Saturday 9/22. Milwaukee gets it Thursday 9/27. Then Chicago, Detroit, Toronto, and more. In fact, you might be able to get Bike Smut to come (or cum) to you. Write them at email@example.com. The tour is in process. See bikeporntour for the ever-updated information.
Portland, Seattle, Bend, Salt Lake, Boulder, Denver, Ft. Collins, Bozeman – we’ve already been gloriously Bike Smutted. And it was good. So very very good.
What is it? you’re probably wondering. Because they say is so damn well, I’m taking this right off their tour site:
This was my designated Summer To Get On A Bike. (Eventually I also came to think of it as Getting Off On A Bike.) Perhaps it was overdue, or perhaps it happened right on time. But early last spring I vowed that I would not go another summer without spending a significant portion of it on a bicycle.
During the first few weeks, I was sore and raw and I cringed at the prospect of mounting up. Getting my crotch accustomed to the pressure was a challenge. But in a surprisingly short period of time, long stints became much easier, even pleasurable, on my tender bits.
Part of that ease and pleasure was perseverance, as well as installing a cushy, wide saddle for my ample hips and ass. Then I got some padded shorts. I wasn’t about to let soreness between my legs dissuade me from my goal.
“Pornography is inherently exploitative and damaging to women,” she said, wide-eyed and earnest.
It was all I could do not to roll my eyes at this friend-of-a-friend. With as much diplomacy as I could muster, I began talking with her about pornography, feminism, and the intersection of the two.
“Oh, no, I completely disagree that all porn is exploitative and damaging,” I said. “Are you aware of feminist porn?” She was not.