This Sexologist Is Glad To Be Underfoot!
It’s lovely to be able to grace the virtual pages of a site which Mr. Science subtitles “sperm brain.” Though the possessor of another sort of gonads and a complementary set of secretions, I always wanted to be an honorary Sperm Brain, and now I AM one! Sort of. Kind of. Maybe. In any case, I have been invited to contribute to this fine and amusing – not to mention, educational – blog.
So, who am us anyway? (To borrow a line from the late, great Firesign Theater…) Well, we is a whole heap of things – you can check my profile – but one of ‘em is a “sexologist.”
I like to put “sexologist” in quotes because that’s what the right wing blogs do whenever they want to refer to me as a nutcase for my comments on Objectum Sexuality. The quotes are supposed to impersonate a question mark, oddly enough, as in questioning my credentials. Or even the validity of the term. I sometimes have those feelings myself, especially when I watch “Erin, the sexy sexologist” on the Pick Up Artist YouTube replays, as she smolders in her flimsy lingerie in a dark, dark room while hapless male virgins grope their way towards her smoldering errogenous zones, all in the interest of teaching the poor fellas how to get a date. I am tempted to point out the flaws in her methodology, because few first dates take place in a dark room furnished only in pillows, but perhaps I needn’t bother. I have only to fall asleep with the late Alfred Kinsey’s biography under my pillow and I awake refreshed and ready to face the world again, with or without the quotation marks.
Yes, sexology is a grand and glorious undertaking. If you are a young person of immeasurable curiosity and a dedication to watching hours upon hours of erotic material – even those sorts (especially those sorts) that hold no sort of appeal for you whatsoever – then I encourage you to consider sexology as a career, or at least as a calling. For one thing, people will either back away slowly or pulsate in your personal space until you have no air, when you announce what it is that you actually do.
Announcing your profession can occasionally backfire, however. It did for me when I was on The Tyra Show. When the makeup artist found out what I did, he just couldn’t help cougarizing my face: “I’m going to make you look like one of those women on ___ Avenue who SHOP first thing in the morning!” I was too intimidated by the process to do anything but meekly submit to the false eyelashes and far too gooey/glossy lipstick. I figured he knew what looked good on TV and I, being most prone to Berkeley Therapist Drag when in professional mode, thought I did not. Well… needless to say, I should have asked him to make me up like one of those Berkeley Therapists who squeeze organic produce first thing in the morning. Sigh. At least I can say I lost my talk show virginity to Tyra Banks. Someday my hypothetical grandchildren will be proud.
You might wonder (or you might not) – what sorts of grand sexological projects are on my “to do” list today? Well, I am currently spending far too many frantic hours creating a series of sex educational slideshows for adults with developmental disabilities. This is massively fascinating work, and I owe a tremendous debt of gratitude to the brave souls who submit their genital photos to Wikimedia Commons, as an offering to the public domain. As I am doing this work for a nonprofit, and have no money for stock photos, these genital snippets allow me to create tasteful and purposeful illustrations for my slide shows. Unlike Erin, the sexy sexologist, these folks are probably not aware they are performing a valuable public service in the midst of their pulsating exhibitionism. I only wish that fewer images were shaved, and that more of the photos were reflective of human diversity. Most are too big, too bald, and too white – sadly. And thus it was ever so.
Yes, I’m pleased to be here on Sex Your Brain!
Thanks, Mr. Science!
-Dr. Amy Marsh