Speaking of ads, the Toys in Babeland “Pet Your Bunny” ad is being rejected all over the place. The ad shows a woman in a short leather skirt holding a Rabbit Habit vibrator in front of her crotch like she’s about to take it for a ride. It’s sexy, but it’s not obscene.

Most of the publications in which we advertise put us in the back with the sexy stuff. So there’s our ad, surrounded by ads for escorts of all types, each depicting scantily clad male or female pulchritude and swelling mounds of flesh.

Call me a feminist, but I think the fact that our ad is promoting something for female sexual pleasure (it’s safe to say most escort customers are guys) is why it’s rejected. It’s fine to advertise escorts, virgin-again, and erection enhancers but try running a sexy ad focused on women’s pleasure, and out come the red pencils.

Papers that have no problem running a sex advice column focused on shit-eating or necrophilia won’t run our ad. I guess they have to draw the line somewhere.

I heard a comic tell a joke the other night about the “dyke at Abu Ghraib,” and I knew just who he meant.

Of course we don’t know if she’s gay or not, but she sure has a butch haircut and way of carrying herself.

It sounds like the abuses were part of an interrogation plan devised much higher up (hello Rumsfeld), but even so those photos make me wonder about the role of American sexual repression in the abuse.

When we aren’t honest with ourselves about our sexuality, it can come out in weird ways. That dyke-y looking soldier looks like so many of my friends. But I think my pals would have the integrity to not participate in those acts. They know the power of sexuality, because they’ve walked through the fire of self acceptance.

I can imagine that a 20 year old from a rural community who may be fighting against her gay nature would be easily led. Anyone who is closeted or struggling against acknowledging their heart’s truth is less likely to stand up for what’s right. They are too busy trying to fit in.

Being true to ourselves and our desires gives us strength to stand up for what we believe, even against the group.

I hope this Gay Pride every queer person on the face of the earth has a moment of genuine pride in themselves. I imagine each of us taking one step, whether it’s marching in a parade or coming out to a relative, toward being free, courageous and true to our desires.

I swear, the medical establishment just can’t seem to get it right when it comes to our G-spots. I saw a brochure today advertising a service called the G-Shot ™, a so-called “G-spot amplification procedure”. Upon closer investigation, I found that women are being invited to pay a gynecologist $1850 to get collagen injected into their urethral sponge, to make it swell up for four months. (This gynecologist, Dr. David Matlock, is the same one who is famous for performing Laser Vaginal Rejuvenation™, a fancy term for performing cosmetic surgery on women’s inner labia.) How do you like that?  In 2001, the G-spot was likened to a UFO by none other than the American Journal of Obstetrics and Gynecology. So, gynecologists, which is it? Is the G-spot a myth and our experiences with it all in our minds, or is it of such great consequence to our sex lives that we have to drain our savings accounts to make sure it works properly?

The arrogant dismissal! The  fear-inducing hype! Both make me so mad! We don’t need a panel of medical experts to verify that we just had an earth-shattering orgasm and soaked our sheets. Sex-positive, woman-positive sex educators work tirelessly for decades to understand the G-spot and female ejaculation and then educate others, and along comes a gynecologist to exploit our consciousness-raising efforts. He even uses feminist language to draw women in – his mission is to “empower women with knowledge, choice and alternatives.”

We don’t need his brand of empowerment. We don’t need surgery of any kind on our vulvas – no collagen injections, no inner labia trimming. Our pussies are beautiful and our G-spots are functional.

All we need is love – self love.