A Rustling In The Bushes
Four years ago, when art professor Elizabeth Stephens filmed the documentary Ecosexual Love Story, in which she and her partner licked trees,
I could just stop there, really.
the term “ecosexuality” was still somewhat unknown.
If, by some chance, the term is unfamiliar,
Annie Sprinkle and Beth Stephens… authors of The Explorer’s Guide to Planet Orgasm… describe being ecosexual as this: “You don’t look at the Earth as your mother, you look at it as your lover.”
And so, inevitably,
We shamelessly hug trees, massage the earth with our feet, and talk erotically to plants.
Interest in this form of auto-erotic activism – a sort of frottage al fresco – has apparently been spreading:
The concept was recently featured in Teen Vogue, for example, which told its young readers about a concept called grassilingus, which was accompanied by a description of a musician laying face-down in grass and licking it. “Whether it’s masturbating with water pressure, using eco-friendly lubricant, or literally having sex with a tree — a person of any sexual proclivity who finds eroticism in nature, or believes that making environmentalism sexy will slow the planet’s destruction, can be ecosexual,” the magazine explained.
Readers are invited to ponder the question of consent, and whether the ladies are in fact advocating tree molestation.
Those whose appetite has been whetted will be thrilled to hear that the trailer for the aforementioned documentary can be viewed here. For the delicate among us, I should point out that said trailer does feature scenes of suggestive rock rubbing, references to coal mining as “a protracted form of genocide,” and free-swinging breasts being daubed with mud. A second, more recent film, on the delights of “ecosexual” weddings, complete with displays of hardcore Gaia-loving, can be savoured here.
Loving Mother Earth, sexually. There’s an Oedipal turn of things if I’ve ever seen one.
We shamelessly hug trees, massage the earth with our feet, and talk erotically to plants.
As long as it doesn’t involve bananas which, as we have recently learned, is triggering because of raycissism.
We shamelessly hug trees, massage the earth with our feet, and talk erotically to plants.
And my dog humps the couch.
grassilingus, which was accompanied by a description of a musician laying face-down in grass and licking it.
Two words. Dog pee.
or literally having sex with a tree
…at which point she screams, “What the hell are you doing?!?” To which he replies, “Checking for squirrels.”
The more sophisticated and worldly readers I’m sure recollect the context.
After going down that rabbit hole (hopefully only metaphorically), reading G.K. Chesterton is good for restoring health and sanity:
It seems to me that the more likely a person is to anthromorphize Nature, the less likely they are to have ever spent time actually dealing with it in all its amoral glory. And no, rubbing your yourself on a tree doesn’t count.
frottage al fresco
Band name.
I thought there’d be more breasts.
I thought there’d be more breasts.
No refunds. Credit note only.
I have to wonder, what sort of trauma(s) did these people suffer that caused their emotional development to stop at age three?
Believe it or not, Annie Sprinkle used to be attractive – back in the 1970s when she was a pornographic film actress.
back in the 1970s when she was a pornographic film actress.
I won’t ask how you came by that knowledge.
I have to wonder, what sort of trauma(s) did these people suffer that caused their emotional development to stop at age three?
Are we sure they made it to age three? Years ago, we had a dog which had a very meaningful relationship with a particular patch of grass in the backyard. Alas, said patch was in front of the dining room window, which caused deep angst in my mother and ultimately resulted in the dog going on a trip to the vet for surgical “rehabilitation.”
Of course, none of us were “woke” then, it being the puritanical ’70s and everything.
Ah, grassilingus. Don’t get me started. You do all that hard work to get Mother Nature off, and what do you get in return? Nothing!
That’s how I see it. Or am I just being selfish?
I won’t ask how you came by that knowledge.
But wait, there’s more! “Annie Sprinkle” is actually a stage name she adopted back then, based on a particular, uh… talent she has.
based on a particular, uh… talent she has.
I may faint.
So…should I remain unalarmed re hedgerow-based bustles, or has that paradigm shifted?
I confess, after a nice time out in nature I sometimes feel a little randy. It’s the supposedly-back-to-basics nature of it all, a return to a primitive and potentially brutally Darwinian environment, surviving in the wild with nothing more than my wits, my strength, and a few thousand dollars in hyper-modern backpacking gear, that makes me feel more than usual like propagating my genetic line. From my observations this is by no means uncommon.
But I’ve not yet gotten to the point of digging a hole and sticking my dick in it. I can see stage one, and stage three has been described, but stage two is a big “???”
I confess, after a nice time out in nature I sometimes feel a little randy…But I’ve not yet gotten to the point of digging a hole and sticking my dick in it.
Denial is one of the signs…Lord Bob, you wouldn’t by any chance be Canadian? See back in the 80’s there was this Penthouse Forum letter…about a Canadian guy…who got “randy” in the wilds…who vowed to travel to every Canadian province…
All the usual “feeling more alive” of being out in the wild – a little chill air, absence of fellow man, absence of order, a place quiet of artificial sounds, awareness of smells, the power of being “the only human/s”, and the exercise of having gotten there having gotten the blood flowing…
It’s not surprising for there to be a knock-on effect to “feeling alive”. What’s disordered is to immediately begin looking for an unwitting deciduous partner.
Though I suppose if dryads were real and charged money, they’d make bank these days.
“If there’s a rustle in your hedgerow, don’t be a lawman. It’s just some frottage with the May Queen”
With apologies to Led Zeppelin
This is why cacti have spikes.
The narrow twig clusters found in some trees may well be a naturally developed equivalent to the “rape whistle”.
“…at which point she screams, “What the hell are you doing?!?” To which he replies, “Checking for squirrels.”
The more sophisticated and worldly readers I’m sure recollect the context.”
Old Tarzan gag from memory…..
@Flubber. I believe it was Fawlty Towers. The same episode that gave us the timeless “Pretentious? Moi?” IIRC.
… and if I remember that, it has a lot more to do with vintage than with either sophistication or worldliness I’m afraid….
Well if it makes people happy, doesn’t actually do any real harm and gives us boring old straights something to chuckle over . . . go for it. 🙂
“Literally having sex with a tree”
Did the tree give affirmative consent?
Did the grass give consent?
Did the mud and rocks give consent?
Did the tree give affirmative consent?
I’m given to understand the Lorax speaks for the trees. Might need to ask him before commencing with naughtiness.
Might also be careful which ones. Rush said something about trouble with the maples – they might have got all political on us.
To the dulcet tones of Fir Elise
I wooed my Spanish Fly
Never wondering in the least
Why a fly was wooing I
[I promise never to do this again]
“I’m given to understand the Lorax speaks for the trees.”
And to think that I saw it on Mulberry Street.
Rush said something about trouble with the maples – they might have got all political on us.
Trees are evil beasts. They’re simply getting what they deserve. They’ve killed more people than the Kennedys and Clintons combined. That’s a fact. You can look it up.
To our compatriots across the pond, get ready for Queen Matilda, who will be ousting those upstart Windsors any minute now.
This is why cacti have spikes.
[ Slides wedge of fancy gateaux across bar. ]
The concept was recently featured in Teen Vogue, for example, which told its young readers about a concept called grassilingus,
Yeah, that’s the permanent problem with deciding that there is and must be a 24 hour news cycle all the time, instead of merely when something is actually occurring to pay attention to. Once the announcement has been made of The sun was seen to appear this morning, one gets stuck having to fill the remaining 23.9 hours of the day, as well as having to pay all that staff to whom one has given the assignment of frantically attempting to fill the empty air time . . .
“literally having sex with a tree”
Er. No. Not literally. Not unless you’ve managed to grow flowers instead of mammal bits. What you’re literally doing is wanking with a lump of dirty wood.
But that makes it sound so… (ohgodimsosorry) seedy.
“get ready for Queen Matilda”
Listen, strange women lying in ponds distributing swords is no basis for a system of government. Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical aquatic ceremony.
If you are going to get closely involved with Gaia, be careful. She’s bipolar
Point: [S]trange women lying in ponds distributing swords is no basis for a system of government.
Counterpoint: A system which has the potential to deliver . . . Jeremy Corbyn?
Listen, at this point I feel strange women lying in ponds distributing swords deserves a try at being the basis for a system of government.
Bad news, Sam. Literally no longer literally means literally.
And apparently, news to me, it literally hasn’t for ages.
https://www.merriam-webster.com/words-at-play/misuse-of-literally
Send them all down to the Florida Keys Thursday and don’t let them leave. If they survive, ask them again about loving Mother Nature.
“I thought there’d be more breasts”
I confess to being titillated enough to click the link but I soon regretted it.
Oh God I would so happen. Nothing left but to dig a hole and insert myself into it.
“Yeah, that’s the permanent problem with deciding that there is and must be a 24 hour news cycle all the time…”
Yes, but I think the chief problem here is that these publications are increasingly staffed by people with a deep interest in “transgression” for the sake of destroying social norms.
Oh God I would so happen.
I knew those letters were real! Thank you, sir! You have restored my reason to live.
Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical aquatic ceremony.
“I thought we were an autonomous collective.”
“You’re fooling yourself! We’re living in a dictatorship! A self-perpetuating autocracy in which the working class is-”
“There you go, bringing class into it again…”
“I *told* you! We’re an anarcho-syndicalist commune!”
(Sound like antifa?)
Between the constitutional peasants and the Judean People’s Front (of Judea), when your ideological opponents are something out of a 1970’s Monty Python sketch it’s hard to know how to respond.
“You do all that hard work to get Mother Nature off, and what do you get in return? Nothing!”
What do you think triggered Hurricane Irma?
told its young readers about a concept called grassilingus, which was accompanied by a description of a musician laying face-down in grass and licking it.
STOP RAPING MOTHER EARTH!!!!!
Between the constitutional peasants and the Judean People’s Front (of Judea), when your ideological opponents are something out of a 1970’s Monty Python sketch it’s hard to know how to respond.
Oh, of course you do. Just grab a cup of of larks’ tongues and wrens’ livers and watch the show.
mattj2217
2 years ago
This is pretty much the experience of scrolling through my facebook feed.
I’m surprised no-one has mentioned Iowahawk: “Mother Earth – the ultimate MILF”.
…Loving yew isnt the right thing to do…
Kids, turn to the oldies channel, and listen to Mr Buckingham on just this one point.
Progressive on Monday: “Don’t assume X is heterosexual – that’s so reactionary. You don’t know what X’s sexual likes”
Progressive on Tuesday: “Although we haven’t asked, we know exactly what Mother Earth’s sexual desires are”
There are people who like dressing in Rubber and having a Japanese woman in stilettos walk up and down their back. (It’s a friend, honest). How do we know Mother Earth isn’t similar. She might be a masochist into concrete and pain: “I want a bare Brazil and I will create the creatures that give me one”.
There are people who like dressing in Rubber and having a Japanese woman in stilettos walk up and down their back.
It takes all sorts.
Don’t try this at the dog park, children.
The professor advocates tree rape. A tree cannot consent to sex. It cannot say ‘yes’, or ‘no’.
This anthrocentric, hegemonistic attitude is part and parcel of toxic hyperfeminity which places satisfying a woman’s needs above all else.
I meant what I wrote – feminity. If a man can declare himself to be female, and vice versa, I can spell whatever I want however I want.
I remember well the puritanical ’70s. You couldn’t walk across the street without getting some on you.
I think it’s very racist to insist that the lady walking on your back be Japanese.
And very sexist to insist on a lady.
And very able-ist to insist that she be able to walk–why can’t she roll a wheelchair over you?
And very [anthro-ist?] to insist on a person–why not a goat or a large dog?
Screw camping.