Eden (Club Review)

The life cycle of a successful club turns hard when it becomes a festival of lag. In comes another new club, often one fitted on its own sim, to fill the void. You know a club is too crowded when it tells people coming in to detach not only AO's but prim clothing. Eden is the latest entrant into the sweepstakes for top end escort club.

The build is at a high standard of quality, with sleek rock gardening and smooth biege tile. The girls are at the level of emote quality that you would expect. Eden is not generous with its girls, it demands minimum hours, 150L for training and exclusivity. The girls don't stand head and shoulders above other top clubs at the present time, the are good, but they are not better than Arsheba, which is the reigning queen of quality dancing - an Arsehba birl would never chat when she meant to emote. But while Arsheba is the queen, uneasily sits that crown as examples like this show:

Ambrosa Jano pants gently as her head leans to one side of the pole Her body glistening with sweat being on stage so long. She moaned out as she slide up to the pole again playfully grinding her hips against it. The slick lips of her pussy spreading her moist juice as she slide down. Her face came close to the pole licking it off as she stared over to the people blushing a deep crimson.

A bit long for a more crowded space, but well crafted work. Kudos dear, if they don't get warm on that, they don't have a pulse. Yes it is basic slut, but it is rocco in its execution.

And already the tip jars are telling the tale: most were well over the topless line of 150L when I was there, and it was not a crowd in full swing. This is a place where the serious tippers are going to come, because the smooth animation is just so much better than the herk and jerk of a laggy club.

The smooth low lag environment and incredibly spacious build are destined to draw people in, is there anything here that isn't in the standard package? No, not really, but the uncluttered easy to nagivate design means that even as traffic comes in - and it will come in - people will still be able to get to the floor, to the dancers, or to the nooks for more intimate conversation.

There are, as should be expected from this kind of ambitious build, a few rough edges to smooth out. Security was not inevidence, and I was harrased when entering the sim. Ours is a business that attracts people who haven't learned good manners unfortunately. The staff was polite, but not particularly so. Instead they were, as they should be, focused very heavily on the paying clients. There was a small amount of roleplay going on with a master and his slave that added a nice touch to the procedings.

Another area where Eden is strong is managing expectations. They have automatic shouters with prices for stripping and lap dances, and senior people all over the floor and poles to make sure that patrons have a good guide into how to enter the demi-monde of SL. So many clubs leave patrons wondering what to do, and how to do it.

In short, if the top club you go to has lag that is driving you crazy, and you want to go to the newest and freshest, I can almost assure you that Eden and it's alt arty competitor NC-17 are where you will visit, and many well end up. And given the very professional and focused nature of the staff, which shows through in the layout, employees, decor, music selection and details, what ever small problems there are will be ironed smooth in very short order.

There are several other clubs trying to be the next fresh place. Eden is it.

The river of joy

It isn't sex, until someone gets wet.

The change from our walking state, where we are so drive and divorced from the sensations of our body, to that other state, where rain comes to the mountains and the rivers flow, is the transformation that we must leap over, from that cold winter of waking life, to the spring of fertility, passion and desire. It is why the slut trick of talking about how wet she is works, and always will.

But this transformation is far more complex than simply the flowing of effluvia itself. It is the chnage from a body, and a self, that are trying to protect, to one that is receptive, sensitive, and ready to have life leap across the gap from one physicality to another, and to bond tightly with that other being.

From the perspective of fertility, the crucial task is to create a river over which will flow the sperm and down which will float the ovum. From the perspective of bringing the results of that union to fruit and harvest, the task is to create a bond within two people so powerful that over time they will be attached to each other as powefully that they will be attached, as well, to that fruit. It is not just the body that becomes fluid, but the brain as well, where hard nerves bend like stone that has heated until it burns.

It must also be a bond so powerful that either of the two people involved must be willing to give their lives for the results. Hence the power of water in sex and death paintings and music. Women throw themselves into the sea for their lost lovers, it is a ship and the sea that flows around the sex and death of Tristan and Isolde, and potion which draws them into it. Andromache is chained above the sea. The failed love in Schubert ends with the brook taking in the wanderer.

But this is the teleology of this river, it is not the phenomenology. Or to put it a simpler way, the end isn't the ride.

/me shifts her hips back and forth as she leans first on one foot and then the other.

In second life, describing the visible mechanics of the coming of spring, wetness flowing, touching oneself, chats that talk about "how hot it is in here" are often the way to to create the impression that sex is about happen. When working a club floor and there are many men about, it creates the compulsion for the men to pay for sex. They know someone is going to get it, and they aren't paying for sex per se, but to cut to the front of the line.

The orgiastic female who holds the troop over is fertile and all the boys want their throw with her. She is the physical goddess, a reflection of something more primal even, than humanity itself. And corresponding to the woman's river of fertility, must be the man's own moisture, that drop of rain that falls down.

/me flushes as she takes the rose from your hand and looks down shyly.

But these outside forces are pale to use, compared to the solidity of our own feeling. While the weight of ages may weigh on us, we could care less at that moment that our whole consciousness drops from our heads, down into our lower body, and we stare at a person or avatar and can only say "uhhhhhn." Feeling that is easy on sl, we can all be pretty if we want. It is easier and safer to send the signals of availability. And it is easier and safer to express sexual apprecation for someone else.

/me looks softly into your eyes, and gently lets her fingers play over the back of your hand, half leading, half pleading, to take the dance floor.

But what is most seductive about Second Life, is that it is possible to be drawn across the line by one's avatar. I, and I know other people, have slid into intimacy with others, because of the lethal effectiveness of the slow dance pose balls, whose touching and kissing and swaying make the mind imagine a pulsing rhythm and warm touch. The mind can imagine the body doing by seeing, so long as there is that all important identification between avatar and player. His hand caresses your hip, your mouth touches his neck, your breasts ache to slip out of your dress.

Blood flows to the skin, and its ice thins as the warmth wells up from below, and showers down from above. The river is flowing.

Once this moment has happened, there is a powerful urge to unclench that that band that runs round the inside of our skull, like an iron mask from Dumas, that is the tight grasp of our inhibitions and control. The mental dam that is meant to hold back the flood. Once unclenched, the spirit flows down, the muscles relax, and the warmth flood to the midriff with it. The exposed midriff is sexy because it is through there and from there, that the animal emotions must be controlled.

/me rolls her abdomen and gyrates her hips wildly.

Every society knows that the inhibtions of the working days, where raising food and building houses are the order of the day, are also lethal to formation of this flood of river. As the savannah needs its rainy season, so does the sexual spirit. We have carnivals, both fixed in time, and impromptu, to help this unclenching. Second life is such a carnival.

/me places her hand over yours, and slides it down the curve of her waist, pulling at the fabric from the pressure, until it is firmly planted on the back of her hips.

In such moments, the flow ceases to go from player to avatar, and goes in the other direction. In such moments it is clear that on the screen the inevitable animal logic is to follow the warmth to wear it leads, and seek the moisture that is welling up from below.

At this point there is a need to imagine closeness, and reinforce virtual physical intimacy with emotional intimacy. The next step of spring is to make the spirit flow. To admit some deep fear, feeling or fantasy. To look into a soul, even across the ether, and allow a some hidden part to coallesce into words, from scattered droplets.

Intimacy is what created the bond. And around the fear of loss must flood that intimacy. It is perfectly reasonable, how better to know whether someone will desert you or hurt you, then by giving them a chance to do so right at the outset? Sometimes the harsh put down is really just the test of the other person, to see if they will take rebuke as a challenge to do better.

/me fixes her gaze on yours, her face seemis to fall towards you and places her lips close to your ear until you can feel the breath from her pursed lips. She whispers in a very low, barely audible tone.

This is the floating time, when your feet have been lifted up off the floor, your spirit up off the pedastal of its every day repose. You are waiting and hoping. Either hoping for that admission, or hoping that it will flutter and alight, and be handled with care like a butterfly.

Once this moment has come, the rest is preparation, anticipation, because already within, there is flowing that river of join, and it seeks nothing more, than to meet a passionate tide, from distant sea.

The Second Sex of Second Sex

I didn't have a blog until recently, now I have two. The first one is the public blog on sex, this one is the "not work safe" blog. This division is, to me, a bit strange, but it is also reality. So here will be product reviews of xcite, sexgen, sexxxdrive and so on, from the no holds barred perspective of sucking face under pressure. I'm going to need to post pictures, and descriptions, that just won't make it in Dilbertia.

People often come to SL for their fantasies of power, sex, or a combination of sex and power. On the "white" blog I will talk about social fantasy, but here, let's talk about getting it on.

One of the most common SL sex acts which is more prevalent here than in rl is anal sex. It is something that many, many, many, many, many men want. It is something that is deep within the erotic forbidden, both for men and women. The problems with anal sex rl are pain, infection and the fumbling inexperience of most men in their throes of passion. This last makes the first two worse. In sl, the first two problems are non-considerations. You can, after all, fuck a belly button or ear here because of interpenetration, you can fuck someone's leg or nose. That leaves the third, which is the occupational problem of sl sex: the blood flowing out of a person's brain.

However, there is still the erotic forbidden. And this, the ability of the brain to conjure up ghosts of sensations even when all that is there is text and image, is the power of anal sex in sl. I can remember the first time I client wanted it. There was a momentary palpitation, a gritting of my real world teeth, a click to accept the animation, a feeling of plunging forward through the water, like the gate in Stargate-1.

And then it was happening, not just on the screen, but between my hips, inside my midriff. I could feel my self expanding upwards, straightening, stiffening, a pressure upwards on my diaphram, a sucking inwards on my belly.

And then the twit ruined it by telling me he was pumping once in my ass and once in my cunt. Possible sl, no infection remember, but well, it says something gross about the guy. But then, that is why they pay, so that they can do degrading and stupid things to women, and then go away. This particular fantasy, alternate pumping, is something I've done many times since.

The momentary wave of sensations however, made me want to seek out a man who I knew to be better and who would give me something of touch of reality. So I sought out a gay man, by wandering gay clubs. I want to note, though I didn't find a man there, the club at Sterling Mall, which had a very tight friendly group of people and was a blast. I didn't stay long where I found the bi guy who would give me a tour around what a man could do with the out door.

One of the most important skills of sl sex is preventing cognitive grind between words and images and internal sensation of the partner. The body can imagine playing a guitar, running, jumping, or dilating and taking a man into one's most nether of nether regions. It is a common aspect of myth to "descend" into the underworld, to face the terrors there and enter for the prize to retutn. Anal sex is exactly like this, at the gate, stands Kerberos, the hound of hell.

In the physical sense, this is the muscular ring of the anus. It is both the reason for the allure of anal sex, and the terror of it, It is a powefully tight rong of muscle, that can easily and voluntarily clench down on the man, and whose ordinary dryness makes it a sharp prodding pain to penetrate. This plunging penetration, this breaking through the barrier between the ordinary world and the world of the darkness, this is the moment that makes or unmakes the act.

/me rolls her hips backwards until the ring of her entrance rests on his crest, and parts sligthly like a gentle kiss.

The key word here, and I wish more animators would get this, is that there needs to be a long moment of hesitation, of preparation, of anticipation, of perspiration, of trepidation, of imagination. The whole of the receptives's body is tense, coiling, and then he or she must, must, must let this spasm pass and relax, relax, relax, relax. I want an animation that has this prequel before looping very, very, very slowly down.

/me breathes up deeply lengthens her torso, readying to draw him into her.

Each milimeter of anal sex is hard won. It is a long descent into that thing that urges a man onwards, to be totally engulfed by the partner. The partner in turn, is not at equipoise, until the pelvis rests completely against the body, whether the hips behind, or pressed against the sex in front. Another note to animators, perpendicular anal sex is perfectly possible and a different sensation, so don't hesitate to have one partner and a 90 degree angle to the other.

/me clenches and unclenches, in a pulse that rolls over the cheeks of her hips and tightens them, thrusting against his pectorals, and then softening to draw him in.

At the other side of passive receptivity is the deep collision of the bodies, the virtuoso moment of anal sex, when the other end of the sphincter, the softer deeper barrier, is kissing the crest of the cock. This is Persephone, the queen of the underworld as she embraces the hero in his dive. It is the song of the stream in Schubert's Miller's daughter, the dark love that is the mirror the the bright love. In every woman the two entrances are rivals, the one who is destined to win gives love, fertility, pleasure, softness. Even if she must do some exercises to catch up with Lillith next door, Eve is destined for victory. But Lillith has what Eve does not have. It is she that is the home of the first erotic sensations, it is she that is the avenue which is shared completely by men and women. It is she that haunts Eve. Always the mistress in women, never the bride, but also always the sorceress.

At this tight intersection, there is the possibility of rolling back and forwards over the crest, and engage in that, the deepest kiss.

/me lets her body grow limp as she settles completely over his manhood, his crest nestled in her farthest depth, and caressed by a deep ring that is hungry for him like a mouth. She is so soft there.

In sl, these are all accomplished by means of emotes, poetic and graphic descriptions of the sensation and action. The quest to imagine and then have that imagination pour down equally through the body and the fingers, where it is lapped up by an eager partner.

But what is often forgotten in str8 pornography, but far less so in porn that the boyz make, is that the receptive partner is not always the passive partner. One can be fucked in the ass, but one can also fuck one's partner with one's ass. Riding and grinding with a muscular force that melts the mind. It is the ultimate in the feminine, to be able to take this, the most degraded of passions, and turn inactivity into activity. Pulsing, clenching, and then rising and falling, by lifting from bent legs with the power of one's thighs, pressure on the knees, compression on the ankles, the bare bent foot turned at the toes.

/me tightens the muscles of her ass, and rolls her hips forward, causing the ring of her entrance to slide back and forth around the base of his shaft, lips of unearthly strength that knead on the skin of his shaft and through to the deep hardnes below.

But the descent into the underworld, even if it is a whirlwind of revelation, must be completed by the ascent back into the light. This, irl, is as crucial a path as the descent. Ask Orpheus, you can't look back. Sliding out pulls on the inside of the same muscles and skin that that pushing in pulls on. If anything, this surface is more fragile and more delicate than the one that faces the world, it is also, if the act is proceding well, slick with moisture and other fluids.

There is in this an element of pain, both of the stretching of muscles, of the length of the distending of the body, and of the tearing at the skin. These pains are, if roughly handled, crude and violating, if gently handled they create a bubble of pressure within the belly, an expansion.

/me quakes in a rumbling pleasure, and lets an animal moan escape her lips that is mixed with a powerful tearing wail of pain.

At the peak of any sexual congress, all shut doors open, and the penetrator passes easily in and out of the penetrated, whirring like the wings of Satan in the depth of Dante's hell, a perpetual and unceasing activity which both attempts to pull up, and by irony fixes more tightly to gether the faster it is. The lines between in and out, pleasure and pain, all of these catagories of the cautious world, blur, disslve and alloy. Until all pleasure is an aching pain of longing, and all pain is a pleasure to want someone so much that even pain is part of that.

The self, the sole self, dissolves. Even across the ether.

Now boys, if you are going to do your anal fantasies on sl, compete with Orpheus in the power of your poetry.

Not Work Safe

This is the not work safe companion blog to 2nd Sex.