This past week over 16 million people watched former Olympic medalist Bruce Jenner ‘come out’ (air quote theirs, not mine) on national television to answer questions about his gender transitioning from male to female – an issue that has been the subject of salacious tabloid fodder ever since Jenner’s public profile was reignited as the husband of Kardashian matriarch Chris Jenner.
Any one who knows me will tell you that I am an unapologetic fan of the practitioners of the Sapphic arts. The thought or sight of two comely lasses holding hands, kissing or working each other up into a lathery state of tribadic ecstasy is one of the true delights of my tortured existence. To me, a guy banging on a woman like she was the cowbell in a Blue Oyster Cult song is just sex. Whereas two (or more) intertwined pink angels sans garmentry is a vision so rapturously pure and beguiling it makes the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel look the mural at a Walmart bathhouse. Continue reading
Bullseye Records of Canada
Segarini: Don't Believe a Word I Say 