"a performance of absolute painful authenticity and honesty... Moore’s timing has the natural rhythm and cadence of real life. And so does this tense, breathtaking little show."
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First of all, the writer’s name is Nick Hardwick. That sort of name hasn’t really been in play since Chaucer, and for good reason: it makes you look like a twit. It also completely removes you from the field of people who should be giving anyone any serious advice about sex. Sorry, Nick, your sex tips in this article are invalid. No, actually, they’re Terrible!
For starters, I firmly believe that, when assessing sex tips, we need to start at the very beginning. The writer presumably considers the first paragraph to be the important point of the article. With this piece, we have the following:
Stringing together a series of intense multiple orgasms that keep your woman coming all night long is one of the most entertaining and empowering ways to make her sexually addicted to you.
When I make this blog post into a Terrible Sex Tips video—and I most certainly will—I will ask the editor to add an ominous echoing effect right there. Being stuck in text format for now, I’ll just repeat it for emphasis:
“… make her sexually addicted to you.”
“… sexually addicted to you.”
“… addicted to you.”
Creepy, right? Never mind that the author thinks it’s entertaining to get someone dependent on you for sexual satisfaction—ha ha, look at that slut, slobbering and begging for all those multiple orgasms!—but they also picture physical compulsion as the only way to keep someone coming back. This is someone who doubts the attractiveness of their own personality, is what I’m saying. It smacks of PUA (pick-up artistry), and at the very least it is a shitty fucking conceptual framework for sexual chemistry.
This article also promotes overriding your partner’s verbal, conscious participation in sexual pleasure. I’m not overstating this.
If your girl believes she can’t have multiples, and she thinks you’re trying to give them to her, her subconscious brain will team up with her body and work together to keep it from happening.
But, like, what if she notices that you are in fact forging forward over her recovery time? She’s just trying to catch her breath, and you keep going and she just, like, shuts down. Maybe this is not her being afraid of her own majestic orgasmic power. Maybe she just needs a rest! Eh, who cares, right? Clearly you know her body better than she does, so go on ahead!
This attitude is also very aggressive and narcissistic; her orgasms are all about proving how “skilled” you are, presumably
to keep her from ever wondering if anyone else could do it better to show her what a prime catch you are!
Here, and look at this:
Let’s say you just finished using your favorite fingering technique to give her a glorious g-spot orgasm that sent her out of orbit… but you’re just getting warmed up. You still want to make her come some more, you stud.
You. STUD. Don’t ask her what she wants. Make her come!
The advice that follows? It’s not problematic in any way, except that it reads like a very specific road map to one woman’s very specific pleasure points. It reads like a checklist, right down to when to kiss her and when to “tell her how sexy she looks.” (After she comes, apparently, is the prime time.) This article reads like the perfect sex storm—and I mean that in the negative sense—a nightmarish convergence of pick-up artistry and overachiever and hipsterism and egotistical asshattery. It is the brash confessional of a writer who made it big with one girl and thinks that means he is qualified to dole out the step-by-step manual.
Or do a video of 67 ways to make her come. That’s what Nick Hardwick is doing with his terrible sex tips. Don’t buy that video. It may have some useful sex tips, but it’ll leave you feeling so battered by his attitude you won’t be able to get it up again for months.
I write these Terrible Sex Tips posts because I love you and I want you to have the fullest, least physically and/or emotionally damaged sex life that you can have. If you appreciate my work and have some spare cash, now is a great time to become a patron of mine over on Patreon. Put down a small amount per piece and help keep the Cameryn Moore Sexy-Time Machine chugging away!
"a smart, complex, sex-positive one-woman show, with a sadness that is buoyed by Moore's darkly brilliant humour and ability to see the humanity in everyone."
"... beautifully and insightfully written, precisely directed and exquisitely, unflinchingly acted. ... Cameryn’s play is the kind of show you’d expect to see off-Broadway or in London’s pub theatres as is her performance and we’re getting to see it here in the little Artpoint Gallery space."
"She appears nervous at first, stammering out apologies to the audience in between frantic phone calls to see when her fellow performers are going to arrive, but it’s clear that Moore’s in full control the whole time, playing on our sympathies for the person who’s laying her heart so bare to a room full of strangers. She’s also got perfect comedic timing and a knack for casually dropping hilarious one-liners."
"Cameryn Moore bares all. She enters the stage with breasts flying and body exposed, and by the end she reveals a pound of absolute humanity in a visceral and honest performance.
nerdfucker starts of as comedy but naturally evolves into a dramatic character dissection that will leave you in comedic stitches and guttural feelings."
In the last six months or so he’s become something of a regular, much to my dismay, because he’s got a thing for ass-to-vadge—in addition to his foot fetish and trigger phrase of “hairy cunt” and his sly, whiny voice—and something about all of this together has always made me feel a little icky.
People have asked me why this bothers me and not, say, the incest stuff. Because, yeah, I’ve handled much more graphic content, subjectively speaking. I think I’m dealing with two different things here:
- a caller’s fantasy is less likely to bother me the closer it is to some of my I do age-play, remember? and
- it’s more likely to irritate me, the closer it is to something problematic that I regularly see depicted out in the world, either in porn or what people actually do in sex. Hence ass-to-vadge, or insisting on “she-males” passing, etc.
And then there's how the caller presents himself. This guy is not even mean, he’s just insistent, which yes, is something I see out in sex tips. Lately I am being particularly set off by his insistence that I orgasm two or three times in a 10-minute call.
There are logistical reasons for my reluctance to do so. For the past six months I have been billeting in other people’s houses, with walls of unknown thicknesses separating my room from the neighbours’ flats; one orgasm can be excused as a thing, but three in rapid succession is stretching credibility. I’ve also been on tour, which means I have to take care of my voice, and fake orgasms are even harder on the vocal cords than real ones!
I can tell some of my guys that I can’t be loud; oddly enough, Extreme Top has been very good during the times when I am either protecting my voice or taking calls in a place where I can’t be loud. He accepts my quiet whimpers and manages to get off just fine.
But this “hairy cunt” mommyfucker is one of a cadre of callers who demand only the “best” and the loudest from me, and they won’t come without me coming, and if I accidentally or casually give them a second orgasm in the middle of a call, then they demand that from me ever after, until they get jaded on that and want a third one, etc.
It’s too much now. This is the sign of me burning out, I realized: when I can’t be bothered to act turned on, and faking an orgasm annoys me, and in the middle of my anger, I want to freak out and tell them The Truth, like “your stripper hates you” kind of truths.
In that moment, I give myself teeth marks on my hand from biting down hard enough to keep myself from screaming BUT "HAIRY CUNT" IS THE GROSSEST PHRASE EVER AND YOUR WHINY SLY VOICE DISGUSTS ME AND THE WAY YOU TALK ABOUT PUTTING YOUR DICK FROM MY ASS TO MY HAIRY CUNT MAKES ME THINK THAT YOU KNOW NOTHING ABOUT SEX HYGIENE AND ALSO THAT MAYBE YOU ARE TRYING TO DEGRADE ME BECAUSE YOU THINK THAT HAIRY CUNTS ARE NATURALLY GROSS AND SO WHAT'S A LITTLE BIT OF GERMY ASS JUICE IN A GROSS HAIRY CUNT FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FINE I'LL COME A SECOND TIME FOR YOU FINE I'LL BEG YOU TO FUCK MY HAIRY CUNT FUCK YOU…
In that moment, I realize that I will never get that relief that I crave so much from telling off all of my annoying customers. I will never be able to give anyone a loud sex-ed take on whatever physical act they just described. I will never be able to sit down and ask a caller, so seriously, you know stealing underwear is some shady shit, you may need to think about a contingency plan if your girlfriend ever figures out what you’re up to.
I will never be able to turn on Extreme Top in the middle of one of his more baroque concoctions and say, YOU STUPID, UNIMAGINATIVE, WANNA-BE DOM, I AM QUITE SURE THAT I COULD ACTUALLY KICK YOUR ASS, AND BY THE WAY, THERE IS NOTHING YOU TELL ME THAT ISN’T ALREADY ON FETLIFE SOMEWHERE, JEEZUS CHRIST, STOP ACTING LIKE YOU PERSONALLY DISCOVERED SCAT, INCEST, AND BUCKETS OF BABY EELS.
I can’t say any of this stuff to my clients; I can’t do a grand “fuck-you” screed at the end of my time on the lines. That would hurt my company, and I don’t want to hurt my company. They’ve been good to me. So… I have to keep going with the fake orgasms, and the only real satisfaction I will have is the only satisfaction I have ever had: blog posts and Facebook status updates. It’s not enough, but I guess it has to be.
Become a patron of mine on Patreon and be part of the financial life raft that will keep me afloat and creating while I transition out of phone sex work. Oh, and DON'T WORRY: I have plenty of other sexy and/or fascinating shit to cover.
I’ve been a full-time broke-ass artist for nearly 10 years, and yet somehow I never put it together in one sentence: poor people aren’t supposed to enjoy anything. We’re either arting and starving, or we’re scrambling through three part-time jobs and not arting. If you are not suffering, if you have time for anything else, you are not trying hard enough, either at being an artist or at not being poor. You should not have the time or the resources to be doing something that you love.
I catch a bit of this blowback any time I have to argue with someone over the phone about, say, why I can’t pay back my student loans in the amounts that they want, or why my taxes are so damn weird. The people on the other end ask, like it’s the natural question, why I’m not making hand-over-fist money if I’m touring. Surely touring artists must be rich, right? And if I’m not, then I need to get a different job. I need to give up. Poor people shouldn’t be trying to do this stuff; we shouldn’t be trying to do anything other than struggling and striving for more money. Talent and vision and desires and joy are not for the likes of us.
I shouldn't be out here doing this, I said to UK Muse, when I realized--within the last week, why did it take me so long to realize this?--how very much my desires clashed with my economic footing. Who do I think I am? I shouldn't be performing. I shouldn't be traveling. I shouldn't have met you. Clearly we shouldn't be together, I said to him, otherwise it wouldn't cost so damn much to get residency there.
UK Muse is also poor, and his committing to bringing me to the UK is going to cost. "I should have married a nice English girl," he agreed quietly, "and be doing DIY improvements around the flat on the weekends." But he has other dreams, bigger dreams than what he was born into, dreams of succeeding in his own solo-preneurial work, and now making the minimum income to buy my residency requirements and then take a vacation to an ocean-front cottage in Wales, because we both want some time away. What do people call that? A vacation. Holidays, in the UK. They call them holidays, I think.
Anyway, as poor people, we are not entitled to holidays, we are not allowed to do that, to take time for what will basically be a honeymoon. Poor people don’t take honeymoons or holidays. They maybe go sit in the park on a blanket and eat sandwiches they made at home and think about when the next bill is not going to be paid.
I have nothing against sandwiches in the park. But I want more than that. In spite of it all, I want to tour and create, and I want that goddamned vacation to that cottage in Wales.
Under the current rules of the game, we aren’t supposed to have room for holidays or working on one’s art and not starving. It’s unseemly, it’s debauched, it’s inappropriate, they say. Suffer for your art, or give it up and slog away in the trenches of capitalism. You are of the suffering class. You do not get to choose anything else.
I say fuck that noise. Monkey-wrench that machine. This is the original “life hack”: when you are jumping off the grid in pursuit of Someone or Something You Want/Need, well outside the bounds of what you are expected to do in your life. This is not finding a new use for an empty 2-litre bottle; this is not learning the fastest way to fold a fucking tee shirt. This is actually hacking your life, tenaciously shaping it into something that this world never meant it to be, something that perhaps the world is actively taking steps to keep you from doing.
The great part is, it’s the poor people who life hack the best. We have lifetimes of making do, and jerry-rigging, and scraping together, and pushing through. Putting all of that in service of creating, or going to the person you love, or both? That’s easy. I will totally hack the fuck out of that.
Something that helps me hack through this creative jungle is Patreon. Your small per-piece financial pledge becomes part of something larger, which enables me to keep making the good stuff. If you read my stuff and like it, consider becoming a patron!