SEXIS WRONG

along with bananas, Power Bars, vanilla-scented shampoo,
and candles. There are a few moments of slight awkwardness,
but they quickly fade. It’s a relief to focus solely on our
bodily pleasure without any dating drama. It’s amazing how
easily I’m able to adjust to his transition from relative stranger
to new sex partner. Even though I know he wouldn’t be
a suitable boyfriend, once I accept that this is casual sex,
nothing more and nothing less, I can focus solely on my
physical pleasure.
I’m fixated on his long, soft fingers, and suckle them one by
one until he makes me stop so he can undress me. I’m already
wet and don’t protest. “Welcome home,” he says, referring
to my six sex-free months, as his hands stroke my pussy until
it feels like a continuous round of palms caressing me.
He’s brought a Hitachi Magic Wand, as befits Betty Dodson’s
boy toy, and shows me various positions I’ve never heard
of—one leg straight and one leg raised up on a pillow, one
with me on my hands and knees while he stands behind
me—all interesting but also distracting. I’m used to using my
Magic Wand at home, alone, in a very precise way. We try
these out and go back to more familiar positions.
A Revolutionary Relationship
I’m a little nervous when I pick up the phone to call Betty
Dodson. After all, I had sex with her live-in partner, Eric, only
a few weeks ago. While I know they have a long-term open
relationship, that doesn’t mean she’ll exactly welcome me
with open arms, even though she’s agreed to the interview.
But from the start she’s warm and friendly, punctuating her
words with laughter and the occasional “ew” of annoyance,
mostly when she’s talking about concepts like monogamy and
jealousy, which are anathema to her. I listen with rapt attention,
because at 75 Dodson has truly seen and done it all. Before
she became the Mother of Masturbation—displaying her
erotic art at feminist conferences, leading workshops where
women examined and played with their pussies, and writing
her classic tome, Sex for One (originally entitled Liberating
Masturbation)—she was married to a man she describes as
not very sexual: “Sex was always a challenge for him.” She
cheated on him, and while he never found out, the experience
haunted her. After her divorce, she delved into various
scenes, participating fully in the sexual revolution with orgies,
multiple partners, and later, the lesbian BDSM community.
I’ve had to pee since I arrived but forget about it in the midst
of my arousal. When we’re done with round one, I can’t wait
anymore and get up to use the bathroom. As I’m sitting naked
on the toilet, poised with my legs spread, he comes in without
asking. I’m all set to tell him to go away, but he shushes
me and I let him stay. Then his hand reaches between
my legs. I’m not prepared for the immense shock waves of
arousal his touch brings me. I’ve only been in
this situation once before, and I couldn’t pee
at all. But Eric stares at me as he strokes my
oversensitive clit, and the more he does, the
more I tremble. I still have to pee, but now that
desire battles with my need to come. My toes are pointed
and my legs shake so hard I have to hold onto the bathtub’s
edge. I shudder for several very long moments as I pee over
his fingers. It’s hotter than anything I could’ve planned, perhaps
because I’m part horrified, part turned on.
As I’m sitting naked on the toilet,
poised with my legs spread, he
comes in without asking.
Her attitude toward nonmonogamy (she hates the word
polyamory) is that it’s freeing. Instead of hiding and cheating,
people can partake of their desires for others while still
returning to their primary partner. And while her relationship
with Eric is “open,” not every detail of their extracurricular
affairs gets discussed. “He doesn’t need to report in,” she
says. The rules she and Eric have customized, including seeing
other partners only outside their home and him having
sex with a given woman no more than once per month, were
ones he brought to her. They’ve worked so far, but nothing
is set in stone, and both are open to reconfiguring those arrangements.
After we’re done fucking, I tell him he’s adorable. “Dashing,”
he corrects me. As he rubs baby powder onto my back and
massages my legs, I sink into the bed in blissful exhaustion.
He tells me about the other women—about three a month—
he shares similar trysts with. “Girls often call me their Oasis
Cock. It’s like you’ve been in the desert for so long and then
here I am, waiting for you.” It’s such a sweet image, slightly
at odds with his pee fetish, yet it fits. He’s thought of things
many guys never would have and is willing to try almost anything.
Full of lust and pheromones, I walk him back to his
apartment, not sure if I’ll see him again.
Much of her current understanding and practice of nonmonogamy
stems from the intergenerational aspect of their
relationship. Because he’s younger and has yet to fully explore
his sexuality, she doesn’t want to hold him back from
experiencing life’s erotic thrills. Then she says something that
blows me away: “The day that Eric comes home and says,
‘I met the woman of my dreams; I’m gonna move out,’ I will
find the strength to wish him well, because I love him. His
happiness comes first, not my happiness, and believe me, I’ll
find some adorable lesbian to take his place.”
It’s this kind of statement, expressed with grace, honesty,
BETTY DODSON’S REVOLUTIONARY OPEN RELATIONSHIP 69