I believe that feminism means much more than merely demanding equality, regardless of gender, race, religion, ethnicity, sexual preference or any of those other bad things we're supposed to be regardless of.

Surely, to have real meaning, feminism also has to mean liberation from the ancient male God-ordained, male-serving insistence on female virtue and subservience. Male ownership, in fact.

For thousands of years, male representatives on earth of male gods in heaven have relied on upper-body strength to enforce dominance over females. It's a simple case of "I’ll keep beating you until you do what my ever-loving God tells me to tell you to do."

But the rise of feminism has freed us to live our lives — particularly our sex lives — the way we want to, not the way we're told. This means ignoring those self-serving male gods invented by men back there in those miserable deserts so very long ago.

Anyway, which of the multitude of gods to listen to? Judaism and Islam have one each and can't live on the same patch of desert without slaughtering each other. Christianity has three and a long history of murdering people who don't do what the threesome tells them to do. Hinduism has something like 10,000 and is based on a brutal caste system which damns millions of Dalits (Untouchables) as less than human. Buddhism (thankfully) is more a system of beliefs and practices than a religion. The only similarity these faiths share is that, by and large, they fear and despise women and fantasize endlessly about keeping us chained to the kitchen and bedroom.

If I have to choose a god, I'll go with the females — Isis, Ishtar, Aphrodite, Cybele and Mahimita — with the vague and desperate hope that they, at least, will favour love over war. Even here however, I have to remind myself that religion, like power, has a nasty tendency to corrupt even the best.

Meantime for divine guidance, I study Germaine Greer's The Female Eunuch, Machiavelli's The Prince, Sun Tzu's The Art of War and anything by Gloria Steinem, Bill Maher and George Carlin.

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

I had sex with Sue yesterday.

Don’t misunderstand me, we didn’t actually do it (not that there’s anything wrong with that and, anyway, she looks pretty good). I just tuned into Sue McGarvie’s web site, www.sexwithsue.com, to find out how Canada’s self-styled “International Sex Expert Therapist Syndicated radio and television host” is doing.

She’s doing fine. All sorts of good advice on improving the female libido (apparently more than half of us women have a problem here), finding the G Spot (don’t worry about the urge to pee, it will go away), female ejaculation (give me 40 minutes and we’ll train you to have her reach an incredible G spot orgasm), improving your guy’s penis size (be the guy who has women falling at your feet and writing your number on bathroom walls) and handling his premature ejaculation (recondition his head, penis and orgasmic triggers, train his muscle memory).  

All quite fascinating. But the part that really interests me is her review of Hedonism ll, the notorious clothing-optional, all-inclusive resort in Negril, Jamaica. You see, I spent last Christmas there (my sixth visit over the years) and have pictures to prove it, most of them taken in the nude beach grotto known as The Fornicatorium where many come and anything goes. I’d love to show you the pics but doubt if my TV employers would be amused. Morals clause, you know!

Anyway, here’s the Sue site where I blogged her:

Interested in going to Hedonism? If you’re looking for a 5-star hotel with a gourmet restaurant where everything works impeccably, things happen on time and as advertised, the staff call you sir or madam and the rooms are better than home, this isn’t the place for you.

In fact Hedonism ll, 3-star at best, is a little battered (except for a huge, incongruously splendid gym), the food mediocre (don’t even think of eating at the appalling pseudo-Japanese restaurant), the nude beach small, the ocean shallows rocky underfoot, marine life over-fished and rooms worse than home if you don’t count sexy mirrored ceilings.

However, it has all the usual Caribbean pleasures (scuba diving, sailing, water skiing, tennis, squash etc.), is reasonably priced, pours free booze (never once seen a real drunk there!) provides superb jerk chicken at the nude beach and, best of all, offers that ultimate, indefinable delight which only comes when the weather is hot, the sea warm, the sand soft and your fellow guests spend almost all their time naked (never once seen an inappropriate erection there!).

There's something about hanging around a beach in the hot sun drinking cold Red Stripe with delightfully friendly naked people that lessens inhibitions, clears the complexion, raises the breasts, tightens the tummy and even (when appropriate) makes the uterus contract.

Sue’s advice (I agree) is “every woman should celebrate her divorce, bachelor party, or experience the liberating safety of Hedonism once in her lifetime.”

If you decide to go, let me know and maybe we’ll meet at the nude bar next to the nude pool near The Fornicatorium one warm and sensual frangipani-scented evening.


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

This is my first blog so please be gentle.

I'm the author of the new book a lot of people are talking about, My Life In The Great Sexual Window. It's about that magic window for women (and men) — after the invention of the pill and penicillin and before the AIDS plague — when we women could have sex (mostly) without fear of pregnancy or disease. The book's selling so well that I'm already working on a successor. Which is why I'm here blogging.

I'm looking for ideas, particularly from people who've read My Life In The Great Sexual Window (available through www.lulu.com) and enjoyed it.

For instance, last Christmas I had a lovely time on my sixth visit to Hedonism ll in Negril, Jamaica, notorious for its louche, sybaritic and (delightfully) debauched lifestyle. Chapter 53 (The Honey Trap) is set in Hedonism.

I'm wondering if people think it would be interesting to focus my next book entirely on Hedonism. The place isn't just sun, sand, sex and dope, although those are fascinating enough in themselves. Its also developed whole clans of guests with websites, newsletters and names like Jon's Fluffernutters, Tub Time Slushers, Grin And Bare It and Traveling Bares who seem to centre their lives around visits to Hedonism. Some of the groups also contribute to local charities in the name of Giving Back To Jamaica.

Or do you think I should concentrate a lot more on my life and loves while working as a TV journalist (which I really only touched on in My Life In The Great Sexual Window)?

Hugs.


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