North American Journalism schools pour out thousands of graduates every year.

Maybe one out of six of those graduates actually get jobs in the rapidly shrinking journalism world.

Which means that those who do get jobs are desperate to hang on to them. Which, in turn, means that their only loyalties are to their bosses and they’ll do what they’re told because of all those other journalism graduates pushing booze in bars just waiting for a chance to grab those jobs.

Now, journalists who just do what they’re told by their bosses aren’t journalists. They're employees. They don’t buck the system, they become part of it. They have no dedication to balance, fairness and integrity, no sense of journalism as an essential cornerstone of democracy.

Instead, they see journalism as just a job, like selling shoes. Their loyalty is not to a higher cause, but to whoever pays the cheque.

At the same time, these recent  graduates certainly aren’t ready for prime time journalism. It takes a minimum of ten years before recent graduates can genuinely earn the title of journalists by proving that their first loyalties are to the people, that they’re truly servants of the people and dedicated guardians of the free marketplace of ideas.

So here’s the problem — news organizations get rid of senior journalists (mentors) to save money and don’t train  younger ones coming in. As a result, the entire culture of newspaper, TV and radio newsrooms changes. Newsrooms  turn into mere offices.

And I’m terribly afraid that without older, seasoned journalists who truly believe in the honourable profession of journalism and its ethical base, free and democratic journalism as we know it will disappear and all our democracies will be in very grave danger.


(Samantha Jones is a Canadian TV journalist publishing her erotic memoir My Life In The Great Sexual Window at www.lulu.com)

I’ve never worked the streets, but back in my wayward youth I earned a living in three different brothels and a fair number of sweaty hotel beds. So, naturally, I got to know a lot of cops, sometimes professionally, sometimes as opponents.
 
We had a lot in common. Neither whores nor cops have friends outside the profession. Each is a separate, distinct, paranoid, suspicious clan — a guarded, secret, hidden sub-culture. Both whores and cops have values that set them apart from the rest of society, define how to behave, how to dress, who to trust, what to believe in.

Both whores and cops get paid to hire themselves out in the service of others.

Cops use power, the awful power of the gun, to do their jobs. They sell protection, see themselves as the righteous thin, blue line that protects the lives and property of respectable people — those who have — from the less-than-respectable people who haven’t, but would like to have. Cops feel misunderstood and under-appreciated.

Whores, in turn, use power, the awful power of the pussy, to do their jobs. And whores, like cops sell protection. They see themselves as righteous, unfairly stigmatized outlaws who protect society from the violent, animal lusts of men who, if it isn’t for them, will undoubtedly murder and rape innocent wives, mothers and children. Like cops, whores feel misunderstood and under-appreciated.

Gun power and pussy power are brother and sister. So what will happen if society gives either cops or whores more freedom?

Cops with more freedom will naturally and instinctively become more authoritarian and aggressive. It’s in their nature, their training, their code, their DNA. The thin blue line will become thicker, more powerful, more and more eager to turn democracies into police states.
 
Whores with more freedom will come in from the outlaw cold, become normal, unafraid, tax-paying members of society. And as a result, some of the world’s most violent criminals who live off whores — particularly the Mafia, biker gangs and crooked cops — will lose millions of illegal dollars and eventually be forced out of business.

It’s simple. For a better world, tighten control of cops and free our scarlet sisters to do their thing in safety.


(Samantha Jones is a Canadian TV journalist who's written an erotic memoir available at www.lulu.com and Amazon.)

paranoia |ˌparəˈnoiə|noun:
a mental condition characterized by delusions of persecution or exaggerated self-importance, typically elaborated into an organized system.
 
There’s an unexpected and scary paranoia poisoning the air in the land of the free beyond our southern border.

True, American politics have always been nasty, fiercely dividing two almost identical conservative, capitalist parties into different camps which are incredibly difficult for us simple Canadians to tell apart. But since Americans elected a man with a better tan than most of us some nine months ago, I believe the nastiness has turned delusional, irrational, edging on insane.

Take the “one-world government” scare. Substantial numbers of Americans believe that Obama is a foreign agent secretly planning to make America part of a “one-world socialist government”. Doesn’t matter to them that the only existing socialist gatherings to join are a few odd-ball religious cults who, anyway, mostly just want to be left alone. (Socialism is a system under which “the means of production, distribution and exchange are owned by the community as a whole”).

Take the theories that Obama is a commie mole, a closet Nazi, or the Antichrist. Seemingly normal people actually believe these things and say them out loud while bragging that their personal right to own guns is America’s  only defence against various, evil conspiracies (see above), both domestic and foreign.

A lot of these people, of course, are the same wackos who believe that Franklin Roosevelt deliberately let the Japanese bomb Pearl Harbour to push America into World War ll, that the moon landing was faked up here in Sudbury, that Bush the Younger allowed 9/11 so he had an excuse to invade Iraq, that Elvis is alive and well and living in Podunk, Iowa, and that God uses them to send messages to planet earth. Just the same old lunatic fringe.

But this is a whole lot more serious. Powerful politicians warn that the Obama administration’s proposed “evil” health plan is part of a fiendish plot to kill grandma. Right-wing commentators claim Obama hates whites. "Patriotic” armed militant groups substantially increase membership. Threats to the president's life increase by 400% since Bush held the office.

Now it’s time to really worry.

In all my years as a journalist (including a stint covering the White House) I’ve never felt such extreme fear and loathing directed at the U.S. head of state. But then I look at the pictures of all the other 43 relatively tan-less presidents and start to understand.

To many Americans, the democratically elected 44th president of the United States is so obviously not “one of us.”

Instead, he’s “one of them”. And they are inferior and different and dangerous and un-American and must be defeated at all costs so God’s country can go back to being white which, of course, is what He in His wisdom always intended.


(Samantha Jones is a Canadian TV journalist whose erotic memoir "My Life In The Great Sexual Window" has just been published by Amazon and Lulu.)

Today, Monday, September 21, is the 27th annual United Nations International Day of Peace.

It’s supposed to be “a day of global ceasefire and non-violence.”

So look around you and search for peace in Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Israel, Palestine, Somalia, Sudan, Columbia, Congo, Kashmir, Chechnya, Sri Lanka — to name only the most obvious war zones where people are killing each other on this International Day of Peace.

Now weep over a number. The International Committee of the Red Cross and the United Nations estimate that some ninety percent of all casualties of war are civilians. That’s ten civilians — men women and children — who die for every soldier in warfare.

The military, who love euphemisms, call the slaughter “collateral damage.”

I call it obscene.

A brief pause if you will, and let us pay honour to elusive peace in our violent world.

Where have all the young men gone?
Gone for soldiers every one
When will they ever learn?
When will they ever learn?
Pete Seeger
 
I’m gonna lay down my sword and shield
Down by the riverside
And study war no more.
The Weavers

They will beat their swords into plowshares
and their spears into pruning hooks.
Nation will not take up sword against nation
nor will they train for war anymore.
Isaiah 2:4 & Micah 4:3

Since the “My Breasts” blog last week (see following blog) I’ve had lots of Direct Messages and emails from people (well, mostly men) who want to know more about breasts — in particular, what it’s like to have the damn things.

It seems we women don’t talk much about our breasts to men — although, god knows, they're an endless subject of discussion with other women, particularly when said breasts are bounteous like mine. I guess we figure giving chosen men privileged access to them is enough. They’re welcome to see, touch, fondle, lick, suck etc. so no need to do a lot of talking about them. Just lie back and enjoy.

From the reaction to “My Breasts”, a lot of men are strangely ignorant when it comes to “the two soft, protruding organs on the upper part of a woman’s body” and how they effect us.

So here are some of the questions I’ve received, along with my answers, as best I can:

Q — That was fascinating about your breasts. Never read anything like it. May I ask how big are your breasts?

A — Of course. 36DD most days. Time of the month effects their size, of course.

Q — When I notice a woman’s nipples protruding through her top, does she know that’s happening?

A — You betcha! There are some bras — filmy, fragile, lacy things, some with cutaways for the nipples, that are designed to show nipple. I’ve got a few.

Q — Being a devoted breast man, when I walk down the street I naturally look at every women’s breasts coming towards me. Do women mind that?

A — Depends. We don’t like leering or comments but we do like to be admired. Even so, I learned as soon as my breasts became spectacular when I was in my teens that the best way to handle men’s stares is to simply ignore the ogling. Most of the time now I’m so used to it that I don’t notice.

Q — When I’m in bed with my wife or girlfriend, I never quite know how to handle their breasts. Should I be very gentle because I know they’re sensitive or should I be rough (which turns on my girlfriend more than my wife)?

A — Again, it depends on the woman and the circumstance. Sometimes, for instance, I like sensitive, mostly at the beginning, other times a bit rough if it’s not too hard. In fact biting, particularly biting my nipples, is very exciting, partly because it’s taking a risk. What if he bites my nipple off! Ask your women. They’ll tell you. And use your instincts.

Q — Have you had breast enhancement or considered having them reduced?

A — Dear god, no. The way I see it, my breasts are a gift from whatever gods may be and a splendid prize for the lover of the moment. I adore them just as they are, spend lots of time slathering breast firming cream on them (just in case) which, not surprisingly, turns me on, makes me love them even more.

Q — Are lesbians as fascinated by breasts as most men?

A — In my experience, yes. And lesbians are usually much better at making love to breasts, presumably because they have their own and they know what they like so they know pretty much what I like.

Q — Will you send me a picture of your breasts, please, please, please? I promise I'll respect you in the morning!

A — Since you ask so nicely, here's a fairly recent pic. Sans face because there's a morals clause in my contract. Enjoy!

Ever since I developed breasts when I was a late teenager I’ve been fascinated by them. It’s like they have their own personality, separate from the rest of me.

They don’t even move at the same time as the rest of me. I’ll turn abruptly left, for instance, and my breasts will follow, but only in their own time, a little later. Even then, they sway to the right of me before returning to centre where they’re supposed to be.

And when I bend down after a shower to dry between my toes like my mother taught me, they hang down like two swinging, dangling watermelons and are almost never in the same place at the same time as the rest of me.

Don’t get me wrong. I love my breasts. In fact, I adore them. But sometimes they seem to belong to someone else — a woman who’s slim and boyish like I was as a girl and somehow had these enormous mammary glands transplanted onto her when she wasn’t looking.

Then there’s the way other people look at me. They stare at my breasts before checking my face. Not just men — which I guess is understandable because you know what men are like about breasts — but women too.

Women make immediate and often final judgements when they meet me. With heavy breasts like these puppies thrusting, bobbing, swaying out in front of me, I’m a serious threat to them. Am I after stealing their husbands, boyfriends, sons? Can there really be a god if I have this all-too-obvious mammiferous advantage over them?

My breasts define me more than anything else about me. In the eyes of the world I’m the middle-aged, slightly touched-up blonde with the big boobs. Only afterwards am I Samantha Jones, semi-famous Canadian TV journalist and pseudonymous writer.

So, do I try to hide my breasts? On-camera I have to of course, because I’m a serious journalist and nothing must distract from the news. So, off-camera do I wear modest, shapeless tops that hang loose and hide more than they reveal. Am I crazy? Not when I have this huge advantage over most of my sisters.

Instead, I wear clothes to show my breasts off. Low cut, filmy tops flashing cleavage over fragile, lacy bras that do little to hide my nipples, particularly when it’s hot or cold or I’m excited or it’s Tuesday or I just need some attention.

Sure, carrying them around all day can sometimes be a drag. I probably get more back-aches and neck-aches than most women. And you should see the red, bra-strap marks on my shoulders after a long day!

But I promise you, every single ounce of gorgeous boobage is worth it when I think of all the pleasure my breasts give to me and other people. Come to think of it, over the years rather a lot of other people.


(Samantha Jones is a Canadian journalist publishing her erotic memoir at www.lulu.com)

Today is the tenth anniversary of a dear friend losing the love of his life.

He wrote a lament after she'd left and read it to me last night after we'd made love.

We both wept.

Thought I'd like to share it with you.

When you left me
Smiling sweetly
When the tears
And darkness came
While the plane
Stood by for somewhere
And you softly
Said my name
Kissed me gently
Held the red rose
Smiling bravely
Took the blame
 
I turned my head away
So you could not see the anguish
In my eyes.
 
Through the darkness
And the dying
Through the deadness
And the pain
Other women
Came to hold me
Came to love me
Sooth the pain
Called me darling
In the darkness
Said I love you
Made their claim
And I hoped
‘Twas not the same
 
And I turned my head away
So they could not see the fear
In my eyes
 
Other women
Came to hold me
Held me close
And spoke my name
Loved my body
Sensed my longing
Filled my need
And played my game
But the holding
Didn’t last long
And I shrugged
When leaving came
 
And I turned my head away
So they could not see the nothing
In my eyes.

One gave me moments
In the darkness
In the deadness
And the pain
When she loved me
Chased me laughing
Through the sunlight
And the rain
But the laughter
Didn’t last long
Sunlight died
When evening came
 
And I turned my head away
So she could not see the hunger
In my eyes.
 
Then the one
The one who’d left me
Asked to meet
And talk again
Kissed me softly
In my darkness
Lips that burned me
Christ, the pain
And she told me
Of the other
And she softly
Spoke his name
 
And I turned my head away
So she could not see the love
Still in my eyes.
 
From the darkness
Through the healing
Came a letter
In my name
How are you dear
How’s it going
How's your life dear
Bloody shame
But no word of you love
Are you well love
Are you happy
Is he worth it
There's no blame
 
Please don’t turn your head away
I want to see the blueness
I need to see the blueness
I'd love to see the blueness
Of your eyes

Just one more time.


(Samantha Jones is a Canadian journalist publishing her erotic memoir at www.lulu.com)

The salacious erotic/romance sensation that everyone's talking about, I Kissed a Girl: A Virgin Lesbian Anthology, has finally been released.

Already, its Ravenous Romance's number one seller and has a rave review and highest rating from You Gotta Read Reviews:

"This book is what erotic writing is all about! I highly recommend it for all avid readers of erotica or for those willing to explore a new genre."

My Overstuffed Bookshelf has another rave:

"WOW! If you don’t have a fan blowing on you before you start to read this, be sure to break it out! This book breaks the wall down on sexual relations and the people who are afraid to admit their sexual fantasies."

And Dark Diva Reviews suggests the anthology as appropriately sensual bedtime reading:

"The I Kissed a Girl anthology is a collection of twelve short, erotic stories about women’s first same-sex experience. Each story is very erotic and well-written. I would recommend this book to be kept handy, say on your nightstand, for those nights that you need a quick story to get your motor running."

(In the interests of shameless self-promotion I confess that "I Kissed a Girl" includes one of my own stories adapted from my erotic memoir, My Life In the Great Sexual Window).

Here's the all-star lineup:

Freckles by C. Margery Kempe
Two’s Company by Louisa Bacio
Champagne by Inara LaVey
Get Thee to the Nunnery by Samantha Jones
Lady’s Maid by K. Ann Karlsson
The Tiger’s Tale by Kilt Kilpatrick
Passions, Like Storms by Nola Erus
When I Taste Like a Waste I Breathe by Farrah J. Phoenix
My New Roommate by Jen Bluekissed
The End of the World by L.A. Mistral
Show Me Yours by Lucy Felthouse
Defining Lines by Regina Perry

I Kissed a Girl is edited by the lovely and talented Regina Perry who describes it thusly:

"You’ve heard Katy Perry’s hit song, now read enticing stories of heterosexual women exploring new boundaries. 

"College dormitories become breeding grounds of inquisitive minds and libidos with roommates discovering desire for each other as they relate past experiences, undress in each other’s presence, seek refuge from a storm, discover a dildo or share men.

"Continuing life’s path, ingenious women find ways to enhance marriage or the workplace. Champagne cellars, riding stables, tanning salons, even historical English bedchambers become hotbeds of lesbian experiments. Converting or not, all embrace the journey of sexual exploration.

"Warning: Stories contained within this anthology may elicit arousal, regardless of sexual persuasion."

I Kissed a Girl is available  through Ravenous Romance (http://ravenousromance.com), Amazon, Fictionwise, Audio.com and All Romance.


(Samantha Jones is a Canadian journalist publishing her erotic memoir at www.lulu.com)

To: America
From: Sam
Subject: Cool it

Dear Cousins,

What is it with all this hatred that’s venting in your country ever since you elected a new president?

Most of the rest of us around the world were hugely impressed that you’d finally broken through your troubled racial past, abandoned politics as usual, and elected an intelligent, relatively young, obviously sincere agent of change who happens to have a better tan than a lot of us.

In fact, we were jealous. Very jealous. The rest of the world had to put up with more of the same-same political hacks (see Canada’s Stephen Harper, Britain’s Gordon Brown etc.) while you went for a superstar, by far the most promising American leader since Bobby Kennedy and a breath of fresh air to the nations.

And then it turned to ratshit! First, the man inherited the mother of all wars and the father of all recessions from Bush the Younger, then he tried to fix your healthcare system which everyone except your rich agrees is an international disgrace.

Now people are yelling and screaming and venting scary hatred at these “Town Halls” that have suddenly appeared on the scene and the media really have no choice but to report on them, effectively displacing the necessary sober discussion of your country’s very real and basic problems.

My point is that under Barack Obama we rather thought you’d moved away from the Ugly American caricature and were embarking on a new America where your history of democracy and decency and hope would prevail and your history of violence would be just that — history.

But it isn’t happening that way at all. And those of us who want to admire you and look to Barack Obama to lead us to a new and more honourable world order hear the screams, threats and lies pouring out from the haters and greatly fear for you and your democracy.

The promise of "a more perfect union" that you made 222 years ago is not being kept and our world is a far more dangerous place because of that.

Sadly, but with lots of love,

Sam


(Samantha Jones is a Canadian journalist publishing her erotic memoir at www.lulu.com)

Name: Samantha Jones
Sex: Female
Occupation: TV journalist, erotic writer, lover
 
1.) Are you a feminist?
Yes. How could I be anything else?

2.) What does feminism mean to you?
Being a feminist is being pro-life and I don’t mean it in the silly way the anti-abortionists do. Being a feminist is like being anti-racist or anti-homophobic. To me, it’s simply a movement which works for equality and legal protection for  all people, female and male. It’s anchored in liberal democracy and human rights and decency and honour. I can’t imagine not being a feminist.

3.) Who is one female (other than your mother) you admire, and why?
Oh, the list is long and fairly predictable. Sojourner Truth, of course. Gloria Steinem, Berry Friedan, Angela Davis, Simone de Beauvoir and Germaine Greer come to mind. They were the women to led us into a shining new country which we’re still trying to settle.

4.) Are there enough women in leadership positions in your field?
Erotic writing seems to be run by women. At least, the groups I’ve come across are. Maybe men do pornography and women do erotica? I don’t know. But in my other life, TV journalism, women are doing very well on-camera and in middle management in both Canada and the U.S., but not so well at the top yet. We’ll get there.

5.) Are men and women being paid fair and equally in your field?
Don’t be silly. No writers, whatever our plumbing, are ever paid fairly or equally although we’re probably equally underpaid. In journalism, it’s probably pretty close except for the big boys who take all the cream in any profession.

6.) How do media generally portray women? What is a good example of this?
I hate to be positive in this, but I think over the twenty years or so I’ve been a broadcast journalist, media depiction of women has improved so much there’s hardly a discernible, significant difference left. Now, don’t get me wrong, the ridiculous right still thinks we should be confined to kitchen and bed but even that’s dying out. Anyway, there’s really no such thing as “the media”. The various outlets range from fascist left to fascist right with every shade in between.

7.) What can men and women do to reduce violence against women?
Abuse of power is to me one of the most awful of all crimes. Most women don’t have the same upper-body strength as most men and never will. Which makes us terribly vulnerable to male violence all our lives. It should be the sworn duty of every woman and man to educate children — our own and everyone else’s — to abhor violence against women and to make sure that it gets to be seen as a repulsive, despicable crime punishable by very harsh sentences.

8.) How do you achieve balance between work and personal/home life?
I don’t. It just happens. I have a lover — well, a few lovers — but no husband at the moment, don’t have kids so that leaves me lots of time to do the TV thing and write and party when I want to. I think the art is to balance the person so everything else falls into place.

9.) What is the one thing you’d like to see happen for women in the next 5 – 10 years?
I’d like our daughters to understand that their freedom now is because other women over the centuries fought and sacrificed so we could be free. Feminism is like the civil rights movement — when it’s not front and centre and obvious, people tend to forget it exists. We owe an incredible amount to feminism and we must, must pay it the respect it deserves so that it thrives and doesn’t just dwindle, fade away.

10.) What is the one piece of advice you’d like to give to young girls today?
We still have to liberate ourselves from the male-driven religious nonsense that demeans us and forces us to play second and third-class roles in life. Don’t fear your sexuality. If I wasn’t a fervid atheist, I’d say our sexuality is god-given and an incredibly important part of our lives. For instance, to orgasm is to live. Orgasm is the closest we come in life to touching death. We should teach our daughters how to make love and masturbate and orgasm and live every facet of life to its very fullest.

Samantha Jones is a Canadian journalist publishing her erotic memoir at www.lulu.com)