RESPONSE
You raised some interesting issues and asked good questions in response to my blog yesterday.
(Image below: Predator Control)
First, on an unrelated topic (as she was careful to point out, lest I think her that kinky 
) I want to answer lupa‘s request for my thoughts and opinions on the extermination of the Denali Park wolfpack.
It doesn’t surprise me that the state board of game refused to issue an
emergency ban on trapping and hunting in the area. That’s
consistent with its historic role in Alaska. This organization is
not quite like the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. The Alaska
Department of Fish and Game has as its mission the preservation of
“game” animals for the benefit of hunters, anglers, and trappers.
In this state, there is strong competition between the sport and trophy
hunters and those who depend on the animals for their
subsistence. The state’s policies favor the sport hunters (the
city-dwelling, tax-paying majority), and the subsistence hunters and
natural predators are being squeezed out, despite eloquent and well-reasoned protests from
wildlife biologists.
Besides being viewed as competition with hunters for caribou and moose,
wolves this time of year wear prime pelts. The fur trade is a big
deal here. When I was new to Alaska, I was drawn to the fur shops
in downtown Anchorage. I passed several of them on my daily walks
to work and back home again. I window shopped, and once I went in
and tried on some parkas. They were way beyond my reach
price-wise, but oh-so-pretty.
The most beautiful, luxuriant garment I have ever worn was a wolf fur
parka, its hood lined with something fine and soft like mink or ermine,
with a black bear ruff edging the hood. I was told that black
bear doesn’t “ice up” from the moisture in one’s breath. That
wolf fur felt wonderful. I can understand why some insensitive
people might want to wear it. I shuddered as I stroked it.
Then I took off the parka, handed it to the clerk and walked out of the
fur shop and never went back. Wolf fur coats belong on wolves.
I shed some tears last night when I read that the alpha female of the
Toklat pack had been killed. The pack has been steadily
diminishing over recent years, and her loss could signal its end.
She was much more than just another member of the pack. She was
its mother, alpha for very good lupine reasons, the pack’s dominant
female. I suppose that someday the majority of Alaskans
may wise up and realize what they have lost, exploited out of
existence. Maybe by then there will still be enough of those
wolves who were recently reintroduced to Yellowstone, that a few of
them can be transplanted to Denali. But it just won’t be the same.
SEX
Now that I have your attention… I might have anticipated that
I’d get more than the usual number of comments when I posted an entry
that used the word, “fuck”, not once, but twice. If I’d been
thinking about predicting, I could have predicted that more of the
comments would be from women than from men. Of the two men who
commented, one thinks I’m cute and the other one likes my smile ’cause it makes me look good.
Aren’t they sweet? Thanks guys. You really know how to
cheer a woman up. 
Luckily, I was in a pretty good
mood already. A good cry always does that for me.
Now, where do I start? How about orgasms, masturbation and sex
toys?
That’s a good place to begin. Masturbation is where I began my
sex life — or it might be more accurate to say that the bathtub was a
gigantic sex toy I could crawl into, like Barbarella’s
Orgasmatron. I’ve written here about my sex addiction. I have been addicted to orgasms since I was seven years old.
Dopamine is what I was actually addicted to, and through the years I
found a number of other ways to get my supply. Dopamine is the
neurotransmitter that is released in connection with such pleasurable
activities as orgasm, bowel movements, surviving risky situations, and
learning. Dopamine defines “pleasure.” It has been
theorized that what makes the difference between a person with normal
intelligence and a genius is that the genius gets a bigger jolt of
dopamine with that “Aha!” moment of learning — the love of learning is
really just another dopamine addiction.
Maybe I’m misinterpreting, but I think some of you were equating “getting laid” with orgasm. theprincess_diaries
expressed the hope that I orgasm in my dreams. I don’t. As
I understand it, “wet dreams” are a form of release for… oh, let’s
call it “sexual energy” for want of a better term. I haven’t ever
gotten that much energy accumulated that it sought release in my
dreams. Daydreams, yes — fantasies, waking head trips. I
have no shortage of orgasmic opportunities. The skills for
bringing myself to orgasm have been developed and refined over more
than half a century.
soul_survivor would prefer, “an adult toy over a mediocre fuck…” and Kabuki
said, “Hey now, just cuz you can get it don’t mean it’ll be
good.” The only “toy” (read masturbatory aid) I really enjoy is a
forceful stream of hot water. Add a big tub to soak in, bath
salts or bubble bath, and music, and I’ll orgasm myself into boneless
cross-eyed relaxation before the bathwater has time to cool and be
replaced more than once or twice. In my youth, I’d indulge in
such addictive binges almost daily. In recent years, here where
there’s no running water, there are still occasional “hotel getaways”
in town, but they’re not as good as getting laid — more like a junk
food binge at McDonald’s as compared to a fine nutritious candlelight
dinner.
Regarding “mediocre”, inferior or less-than-good sex, there’s just no
way to say this without sounding smug. On the one hand, I know
how to pick ‘em. And I know what to do with them, too. That
comes from experience, and is perhaps the only advantage to a loose,
lascivious, promiscuous past. Before I was out of my teens, I
learned to steer clear of any man who didn’t want me, who showed any
reluctance if I came on to him. If his motivations were anything
other than lust for my body, the chances for a good fuck would be very
slim. Likewise, too much lust, an overeager, desperately hungry
come-on from a man is a turn-off for me. That one’s got an
emotional agenda, some wounds or kinks I’d prefer not to deal
with. Let him get some counseling first. Mild “erectile
dysfunction” — not a problem if the vibes are right between us.
It’s usually physical, like lubrication deficiencies in a woman, and
some understanding persistence usually fixes it. In such cases,
as men say about older women, they’re grateful, too.
I mentioned yesterday that I wouldn’t look for a sex partner in a
bar. Alcohol kills libido, judgement, “humanity.” There are
other drugs that affect sexual appetite and performance, either to
enhance them or destroy them. I’ve tried many drugs and I’ve had
partners who tried even more than I did. It’s too big a
subject to go into in depth here, too many combinations and
variables. I no longer play in that arena. Mensa is “where
the eggheads go to get laid.” In general, most of them need
to get drunk first, and they tend to be kinky (not always in fun
ways). That’s another place I won’t go to look for a mate.
In 12-step programs, the Thirteenth Step is sex. I meet many
attractive men at meetings. Besides physical attributes they have
additional attraction for me in their street smarts, emotional
sensitivity and spirituality. But it would be unwise for me to
get involved with any of them. I value their friendship, and
wouldn’t want to endanger that or anyone’s recovery, or make it awkward
for either of us to encounter each other at meetings. The good
ones are already taken, anyway. Being so picky does tend to
narrow my options, doesn’t it? It also minimizes my risks.
Michelle wanted to know how tall I am. I’m 5’7″. Then she asked:
“And second… Are
you sure it was the actual sex that brought relief from an ailment, or
the orgasm? Or hell, was it maybe the prolonged state of arousal?
I’ve noticed that a good lay doesn’t always ease my asthma or rid me of
a migraine, but a good vibe induced orgasm (or two or three or four)
will generally do the trick!”
The answer to that goes back to my two blogs a month or two ago, about Dr. Helen Fisher’s book, Why We Love,
and the neurochemistry of lust, limerance or “romantic love”, and human
attachment. When I mentioned “remission” I was referring to
lengthy, months- to years-long relief from symptoms that each time
convinced me that I had been “cured” or “gotten over” the chronic
disorders until eventually the remissions ended. I’ve gone
through several of those cycles since my adolescence, and until I read
the book I hadn’t seen the pattern or made the mental connection, even
though my behavioral patterns suggested that I was unconsciously
seeking the effect. I was “in love with love,” going from one
limerant relationship to the next, through many years and many men.
I had migraines when I was young. I learned to make them go away
with orgasms, and for decades have caught them before they get to the
pain stage. That never worked for me with “asthma” but I have
since learned that there are several conditions that cause
dyspnea. All of them tend to be called asthma and treated with
bronchodilators, even though the biochemical mechanisms of the symptoms
and physical condition of the lungs may vary from one disease to
another. Dyspnea is one of the symptoms of myalgic
encephalomyelopathy (“fibromyalgia”), and also of chronic obstructive
pulmonary disorder (emphysema). I have both of those, and may
never have had classic asthma.
It wasn’t lust or sexual activity, nor prolonged arousal, that “cured”
my allergies and other chronic disease. It was romance:
being “in love.” What made it possible for me to make the mental
leap to realize that, was the finding of Dr. Fisher’s research team
that romantic love is characterized by elevated levels of dopamine and
norepinephrine and reduced levels of serotonin. I already knew
that norepinephrine and its analogs and agonists relieve symptoms of
allergies and asthma. I also have known since the early 1980s
that serotonin is my enemy, so to speak. Drugs that are known to
increase serotonin make me feel dead intellectually, psychically and
emotionally. The “smart drugs”, cognitive enhancers, that I’ve
been using for a quarter of a century are known to decrease serotonin
levels and increase acetylcholine. Put all that together and you
have my “love cure” theory.
As a theory, it needs refining and testing. I think it should be
easy to find enough people in love with love to provide at least
sufficent anecdotal data to justify further investigation. As for
me, now that I’ve derived the theory and published it here, I’ll leave
it to others to prove. I’m looking at socio-cultural
manifestations of the benefits of limerance. A few weeks ago,
while I was driving along in the car thinking about this, I happened to
think about courtly love. In the Middle Ages, educated and
highborn people were enjoined and encouraged to fall in love with
unattainable love objects, to focus their passion on other people’s
spouses for example, and adore them from afar. That had to have
some salutary effects on their brain chemistry. Food for
thought….
One of my favorite mushers might not run the Iditarod this year.
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