Monthly Archives: February 2014

Do people really follow the 90-Day rule?

90-day rule

I had the distinct pleasure of watching Iyanla Vanzant on Oprah the other day (at my mother’s house of course. Y’all know I don’t believe in cable).  They were talking about “Daddyless Daughters,” and the treacherous lives these women face (feel free to agree or disagree, but that ain’t what this post is about). This one particular chick tells the oh-so-classic story about how being a Daddyless Daughter has compelled her to date and have sex with a string of (emotionally) unavailable men, and she wants to end this cycle.  And then, with her arms open wide as if to usher us all to the Grand Alter of Respectability, Iyanla Vanzant says, “So, for example, everybody should be practicing the 90-Day Rule.”

::insert severe side-eye here::

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Why are all the cats and magic-sticks bald?

It’s no secret that the hair removal industry makes a ga-bazillion dollars every year in this country. It is also no secret that some genitals walking around out here resemble pre-pubescent children.  I mean, think about porn for a quick second: no one has hair on their genitals (or anuses for that matter) in porn!  And why is this? Why exactly do some adults refer to their pubic hair as “unwanted,” “unsightly,” and even “gross?”  How much of our genital hair maintenance is dependent on what our partner’s desire? Or better yet, what we think our partner’s desire? And how much of it is another (very successful) marketing scheme meant to make us hate our body/smell/sex/sexuality etc.?

Here is a bit of honesty that my mother may find offensive if she reads this post, but, I have to own it and confess: I only “groomed” my “down there” because I thought that’s what folks wanted to see.Nothing. I thought that having a bald vulva was akin to finding the meaning of life. I thought that if I could keep my partner from having that random ass piece of hair caught in the back of their throat, I was a god-send. Period. Well, that’s not exactly all; I also struggled with what I thought was this horrible odor that came from hair (I’ll tell you how I got there later), only to find out that there is nothing wrong with the way the vulva smells. Again, more on that later.

American Apparel Display

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Sex + Lyrics

Way back in March 2011 I attended a symposium at Morgan State University where the  keynote speaker, Dr. Antonia Randolph, did something radical: she talked about “queerness” in Hip-Hop. ::gasps:: ::clutches pearls::  She discussed at length, the premise that although Hip-Hop has long been labeled one of the most homophobic music genres, there is an awful lot of “gayness” happening within the lyrics. She talked about the infamous kiss between Lil’ Wayne and Baby (although, the kiss seems to have been magically erased from the memories of people who loved Cash Money circa 1999). She discussed hip-hop “couples” and their “breakups”: Pac and Biggie, Jay-Z and Nas.  She talked about the “queer” bro-mance that’s  pervasive in hip-hop but never gets talked about. Continue reading

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The (non-judgmental) Discussion about Side-chicks

So, here we are on the other side of St. Valentine’s day, a day where I’m sure many many couples became engaged. From there, there will be dresses to try on, china to register for, favors to order that guests will never see let alone use, and a plethora of other expensive things that will be purchased in the name of tradition. And somewhere in all of that, there is a really, really small (presumably continued) conversatoin about what the actual marriage should look like. Somewhere. Hopefully that marriage will look like something all parties involved actually want.

olivia-pope

And then, the wedding ends and the marriage starts. The sex goes from 3 times a day to 4 times a month. The weight shows up around the belly and the belches get louder. The panties become holey relics of their former silky selves.  The real sh*t begins.  Continue reading

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Dear St. Valentine…

Dear St. Valentine,

I have a favor to ask and it’s a little long. Well, I want all the people who have spent a mini-fortune today on your behalf to have the best sex of their lives tonight. If not the best, then at least a really, really close second.  I realize that some people hoard their most romantic selves until this day, but I think it’s a little petty. I mean, no offense but there are 364 other equally amazing days to buy flowers, to shave legs really close, to manscape (if you’re into that), to go to an exorbitantly expensive restaurant, to make sure your bra and underwear match… You see where I’m going with this. So, I just hope everyone who is getting ready at this very moment, 6:13 pm EST, have really good orgasms by 10:15 pm EST tonight. Oh, but wait, I also hope that they take advantage of the other 364 days to do all the aforementioned things, too.  So, if you can find it in your heart (HA! Pun intended) to make this happen, I would be the happiest girl in the world.

Sincerely,

Your most hopeful orgasm enthusiast… LaShay.

 

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Hello world!

Well shut up! Look at you being here with me right now! How crazy is this?! ::screaming:: Well, let me be the first to welcome you to LaShay Holds Court… and thank you for stopping by on your way through the vastness that is the blogosphere. In the words of my great-grandma, I ain’t gon’ keep you long, but I do want to tell you what you will find here over the next 60 years I plan on doing this.

So, this blog is the extension of my professional life as a sexologist, professor, and researcher. There are going to be all sorts of posts and discussions about sex, sexuality, race and sex, what else republicans are trying to stop around sex, what hilarious lyric I heard in hip-hop about sex, and so on and so on…

This is a place where we get to talk (or be a voyeur if you so choose). I’d be content to just sit here and talk to you; for as long as you like, and about whatever you like. You see, talking is the core of the erotic if you ask me. It is what you can do for hours with someone who understands you. It is what we spend hundreds of dollars on cell phones to do.  It is what separates lovers from one-night stands.

Talking.  About sex.  About the things that hurt, the things that make us feel amazing, the desires we had no idea we were hiding, the things that scare us.  We are going to talk about why parents pretend that their children will never, ever have sex (yeah, ok, right…), why teaching children about the word “vulva” is no different than teaching them about their ears.  We are going to talk about how not talking has gotten us into a sh*t load of trouble.  It is all fair game here.

I’m LaShay.  This is how LaShay Holds Court, and this is your invitation to keep talking…

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