31 December 2011

The Jupiter Hotel

He lay on the bed, watching me undress.
I watched his face.
This was no slow tease. Months in between and mere hours to go.
My movements were deliberate and efficient.
His expression shifted.
It was subtle, but I saw...hesitation.
"What?" I paused, feeling suddenly self-conscious.
"You know I think of you as a friend right?"
I laughed, relieved. "Where did that come from?"
"I just...I don't want you to think that this is the only reason I'm here, with you."
"Aw, that's sweet” I grinned as I moved to straddle him “And I know that. But we only have a few hours. We can talk later...on the phone, after you leave town."

2 December, 2012
Jupiter Hotel
Portland, OR

All Content Copyright 2011, Juliana Tobón. All Rights Reserved

16 September 2011

Bye Bye, Butterfly!

"Do you know why I asked you here?"

Butterfly Boy visibly paled.

"You're breaking up with me."

The proverbial light bulb over my head---

YES! Yes, that is exactly what I'm doing.

Until he uttered those words I had made no decisions, had no clear plan of action, merely some nebulous outline for one of those loathsome "talks". I despise "talks".

All we've done is talk, I thought--- talk about what he could do, should do, should be doing...

Months of listening to the litany of things he needs to do for himself--- to grow, to overcome, to evolve...and then he'd put that daunting mental list aside to make me an origami peacock out of a Comcast bill.
No time for the difficult, internal, mental/emotional work that we all need but hate to do. No, he had cakes to bake for me, potholders to sew for me...
And I was taken in by the loving subterfuge, trying to be a good woman to a wonderful devoted man.
But what an insidious trap, being the "good woman", the supportive girlfriend, the cheerleader/caretaker/counselor/healer.

"I need to...I need to...I need to..."

"You need to have a support network that isn't me" I'd said "I'd like to just be your girlfriend."

So he finally sought out and talked to the people I found, called people I'd spoken to on his behalf. He dutifully considered the advice and suggestions we made...and followed none of them.

I watched him spend countless hours admiring and praising all of the information, all of the tools he had amassed, and then sitting, paralyzed and bemoaning his failure before he'd even begun.

I tend to take people at their word.

His words of late spoke only of failure, despair, self-loathing, and self-sabotage.

Should it be surprising that a person's words should make them more or less attractive to a writer?

Give me words like passion, confidence, hope! Sex?

How about a phrase?

How about: "Fun, passionate, carefree sex"?

It doesn't exist when you feel more like a cheerleader/caretaker/therapist than a girlfriend.

In my heart of hearts (and loins), I wanted to want BB, but it would have felt like a pity-fuck.

I would have snapped sooner, had we not had an open relationship, and I'd not had an outlet.

But the day came when I finally did snap. Desperation (and a very dear and sympathetic friend) took me away for an impromptu beach getaway.
After months of feeling physically and emotionally drained, and being unable to discern the cause, I got a reprieve. After two days of being completely apart from BB, I felt more like myself than I had in months. I finally had the moment of clarity I needed.
I began to piece things together: I found him this person and that person to talk to, I'm always suggesting solutions/angles/perspectives. What has he done? Has he done things based on his own initiative or merely gone along with my suggestions (read: nagging).

When did I become this person? The cheerleader? I hated cheerleaders!

All of my energy and hours of every day spent reassuring, encouraging, supporting to the point of feeling like I was the only one actually trying to shore up the whole toppling mess while he stood by, throwing his hands up in bewilderment and cooking me dinner instead.

Rather than get trapped under the rubble, I made my exit.

"I love you, but in true Leo fashion--- I love me more."

It remains to be seen whether that house of cards will stand or fall, but whichever way it goes, it's not my responsibility and never really was.

There is something so very freeing in that realization.

And in helping him realize that it is, in fact, his.

Owning up to that kind of responsibility has not been his strong suit, however, at least not where our shared experience is concerned.

It's the reason why, for two years, I lost my Blowjob Mojo---but that's a story for another blog...


Infamous CoatCheck Girl

All Content Copyright 2011, Juliana Tobón. All Rights Reserved

13 August 2011

A Peek Behind the Curtain

You're very open about your relationship of 2yrs. Is there a downside to everybody knowing? I can only imagine, but I'd like to hear your thoughts...
(via MagsHoop)

Over the six or so years I’ve been writing this blog, I have written about many of my lovers, sometimes in great detail. I make it a point to never post anything I haven’t said or wouldn’t say to that person’s face. Almost everybody gets a nickname in order to protect his/her privacy. My friends and acquaintances typically respect this enough to refer to people by their nicknames even if they know or suspect their real identities. Even two years later, I still have friends who, upon meeting BB, will discretely whisper to me “This is BB right?”.

Granted, the blog has caused some friction over the years. Everyone thinks it’s hilarious until they recognize themselves in a post, then suddenly it’s not so funny anymore.
It certainly has affected some of my relationships, but I make it a point to warn people: anything that happens to me, anything I do or observe is fair game. That’s the risk you take when you get involved with an artist; you will, inevitably, end up in their “story”--- regardless of their chosen medium (you’ve no idea how many songs about me, both sappy and angry, I’ve had to endure!).

This medium is, first and foremost, an exercise for me. Of course, it has evolved over the years; Formspring has added a new dimension. Over the entire lifetime of the blog, readers have emailed me privately with questions or requests for advice. Those can now be submitted anonymously and answered publicly. One of the things that has always intrigued me the most about this particular medium is reader feedback, whether it be questions, comments or interpretations of what I’ve written--- they are all very revealing of people’s unique filters.

Ultimately though, this is where I practice the craft of writing, the art of writing. It is a 6+ year study and exercise in creating a character and maintaining that same tone and voice, regardless of the subject matter I’m addressing. The Infamous CoatCheck Girl is a one-dimensional character existing in cyberspace. While the posts are based on my real-life experiences they are written from her distinct point of view.

Most of the people who matter to me understand that.

BB has been one of my strongest supporters and advocates where my writing is concerned (one of the many reasons I <3 him!). He understands the difference between the person and the persona. He is also absolutely confident in himself and in our relationship. Of course, BB does present a unique problem, in that he has brought with him an entire audience of his own...an audience predisposed to dislike, criticize, and speculate upon every minute aspect of our relationship. Most of them, however, lack the courage to address it directly and openly so it is a mere buzzing, like that of a fly: annoying but inconsequential. BB has never, and would never ask me to censor myself. If anything, I think he’s rather amused by all the speculation and rumor. It’s been said that the best place to hide something is in plain sight. I am honest about the fact that BB and I have an open relationship--- it’s not something we’re coy about. Nor are either of us shy about our kinks. Posting something like that, however, does not paint a full portrait of who either of us are, so neither of us feels as though our privacy has really been compromised. Speculation and gossip are just that. Despite the buzz, buzz, buzzing the only opinions and points of view that actually matter in this relationship are mine and his. xo, Infamous CoatCheck Girl

Have any burning questions for the Infamous CoatCheck Girl? Ask me anything!

All Content Copyright 2011, Juliana Tobón. All Rights Reserved

09 August 2011


Have any burning questions for the Infamous CoatCheck Girl? Ask me anything! http://formspring.me/coatcheckgirl

I just found out that you have a page on IMDB. I was surprised and disappointed to see there was no picture of you or description of information on you. Is this your choice?

Behind the Scenes

It is by choice that I do not have a photo posted on my IMDB page. I’m not trying to be an actress--- the times I have ended up in front of the camera or on the stage (I did a couple of productions for Miracle Theater in Portland) it has always been by special request of the directors. I haven’t the slightest idea how the audition process even works.
I much prefer being behind the scenes, in production.
Most of my production work has been in catering and/or craft services. While not my life’s ambition, it is the one department that always gets paid something, regardless of the budget--- everyone has to eat. Besides, when you’re the one with the M&M’s and the Red Vines, everyone is happy to see you!
Ideally, I like to do Production Stills, though usually that’s one of the last things accounted for in a film’s budget.
A pretty picture of a pretty face is irrelevant to what I’d want to pursue in production work. In fact, it can even work against me. I look very young for my age, and while that’s great for an actor, it’s not as good for crew. I feel like you have to work a bit harder to prove yourself to the veteran crew and be on guard against exploitation.
The very first film production I ever worked on, it was with the same producers who are currently in town filming a TV show. I was a locations intern but asked if I could snap a couple of shots during the production. After the first day, the UPM’s assistant asked to see my photos.
“Wow, these are great! Can we have them?”
After I stopped laughing and caught my breath I responded “Ha...that’s cute! Uhm, no. But you can buy them!”
He looked utterly confused and wandered off. Later, we became friends and he admitted to me that he (and the producers) had thought I was just another young and eager 20-something intern they could exploit, that I would just hand over my work for the glamour of it all.
Ha! That’s cute...
They did try again, too. They threatened lawyers, they tried to go around me and get my images from the department head for whom I was interning. I sent them a more-polite-than-polite “fuck you” letter: “I’ve been informed by so-and-so that you are still interested in acquiring my images. As you were unable to contact me directly, I can only assume you have misplaced my contact information. Included for your convenience...etc.”
I never did hear back.

My youthful good looks also almost cost me at least one job, that I can remember..
I was interviewing with Judy Becker (production designer on Brokeback Mountain and Garden State, to name a few). We were having a great chat, I’d won her over with my very frank answer on dealing with the egos of actors and musicians. I was practically hired. Then she asked me how long I’d been shooting professionally.
“Fourteen, fifteen years...” I said.
“What? Since you were eight?”
I assured her I am much older than I look. She stared at me for a while as though she were trying to decide whether I was lying.
Finally, she smiled “Ok. We’ll see you Friday!”
Relieved, I shook her hand. Then I realized something was amiss. “Oh wait, do you want to maybe look at my portfolio before I leave?”
It’s that Colombian charm--- works every time!

So yeah, until I get a wild hair and decide I want to be an actress, there’s really no need for a photo. With the exception of a rejected on-set suitor (or two) and the producers who tried to steal my work, any of the people with whom I’ve worked (some of the best in the business!), would vouch for me. They know I work hard, am pleasant to have on set, and that I’m equally respectful of everyone (from the interns to the UPMs)--- that’s worth more to me than a flashy IMDB page.

Behind the Scenes

Have any burning questions for the Infamous CoatCheck Girl? Ask me anything!

08 August 2011

You have stated that you are voluptuary and have had various trysts if someone catches your eye. Has a woman every caught your eye? or do you prefer a couple that may catch your eye?

I’m a people person, an equal-opportunity lover! :-)
I have been in relationships with men and women.
I’ve also had trysts with men and women, couples and trios, straight, bi, gay (some gay men seem absolutely fascinated by me for some reason), younger/older, tall/short, fat/skinny...you get the idea.
My friends have long given up trying to figure out my “type”.
I’m either attracted to somebody or I’m not--- and those mysterious qualities that make somebody attractive to me have little to do with their outward appearance. I’ve seen some “pretty” faces turn very ugly, very quickly once they started talking. Likewise, I’ve seen “plain” faces utterly transformed once I got an inkling of the passion and intelligence behind them.
Though I am curious and frisky and do enjoy sex for the sake of recreation, my partners definitely need to have something that intrigues me intellectually, at the very least a curiosity about life that matches my own; if they don’t stimulate me intellectually they’re not going to stimulate my physically.

There is, however, the rare occasion when I just want and need a release...that’s when a ball-gag comes in handy!


Infamous CoatCheck Girl

Have any burning questions for the Infamous CoatCheck Girl? Ask me anything!

03 August 2011

Do I hate Fat People? (or: SOMEbody was reeeally bored)

Do you hate fat people or is it just an easy thing to make fun of?

Somebody posted this question on my Formspring, which tagged it as “offensive or rude”, and subsequently deleted it.

I thought I should still address it, as I am sure many of this woman’s cronies have wondered the same. I know it was asked by a woman belonging to the “fan-dom” of a certain actor/musician and band. It is not the first time they have asked me loaded questions in order to have fodder on which to feed their dislike of me. I know it’s not somebody who actually knows me, or the question would never have been asked. Over a year ago, I made general comments about the median size of said fans. I have even made public mea culpas, and still they persist, now with this question.
Well, these ladies are obviously bored, and I have plenty to say so...I’ll play.

Do I inherently hate fat people? No.
Is it an easy thing to make fun of? Well, in the case of a specific group of people I felt was antagonizing me: yes. Granted, it was a low blow, but no less true for that. Unfortunately, I did not care enough about these people to put effort into Rostandian insults, so I went for the obvious.

While BB and I were in Colombia, he said he was amazed that he only saw 2 people the entire time, who could be considered obese. We visited 2 major, highly populated cities: Medellin (pop. 2.4 million) and Pereira (approx. 500,000 people), not to mention numerous other smaller towns. In Colombia the streets are teeming with people, at any time of day or night. We saw a lot of people, but only 2 people who were grossly overweight. Only two people of a size that would not be seen as out of place in the US.
Go pretty much anywhere else in the world and you’ll encounter a similar phenomenon...although that is beginning to change as other countries adopt an American-style diet. The average American diet is disgusting--- most of what they eat doesn’t even resemble real food.
It’s all about fast and convenient, which often means highly processed, sugar/salt and fat-saturated foods. My idea of a “fast and convenient” meal is dumping out a bag of organic greens onto a plate and drizzling it with olive oil and balsamic vinegar. What’s yours?
I’m living below what’s considered the poverty line in the U.S. and I am getting by without food stamps, so finances are not (always) an excuse for poor diet. I know government assistance programs don’t make it easy, either--- in some cases you’re almost almost forced to make unhealthy food choices. I have a friend who often bemoans the fact that he can’t buy his favorite VISO drink (sweetened with real sugar and enhanced with vitamins) but would be allowed to buy Cheetos and RedBull with his Oregon Trail card, were he so inclined. However, it’s not impossible to buy and eat nutritious food on a budget.
Some would say it’s easier to eat well and inexpensively in a place like Portland, with its granola-hippie bent and emphasis on local, organically farmed produce. However, eating healthily is not as expensive as one might think. Most Americans are just too lazy--- it seems a lot easier to go get BigMacs and Happy Meals at the drive-through than it is to make a big pot of lentils and rice (which would be cheaper, healthier, AND feed a small family for a few days).

A Canadian acquaintance of mine once commented on the American obesity problem “They’ll say it’s a ‘glandular condition’, but isn’t it odd that this glandular condition exclusively affects Americans?”
I don’t really buy the “I have a health condition” excuse. You don’t end up 50-100 lbs overweight over-night. And, statistically speaking, I have a hard time believing that a group of several hundred women, from different parts of the U.S., from varied backgrounds/age groups, with the same rare “glandular condition”, would all end up in one room at the same time. I mean, really...what are the odds?

It’s not a prejudice against size I have...if anything, it’s a prejudice against prolonged self-pity and inaction.
As I observed before, one doesn’t just wake up 50+lbs over-weight one day.
Given my background with Reiki and other forms of energy work, I believe that weight is armor--- just a physical manifestation, a symptom with an emotional or spiritual cause. It’s a form of protection and a way of hiding, from oneself and others.
During my adult life, I’ve fluctuated between a size 2 and a size 12 (I think--- the Colombian booty is an x-factor where pant-size is concerned). I have never “gone on a diet”, I don’t eat as healthily as I feel I should, and I certainly don’t get as much exercise as I should. I am older than I look and past the point where I can just rely on a youthful metabolism to keep me thin. I have a hearty appetite, yet I’m the most slender I’ve been in my adult life.
It’s not magic. It’s a matter of being self-aware and at peace, or at least working on the things I need to work on.
Sure, it’s also a matter of making healthy choices: drinking water instead of soda, eating foods that aren’t processed or high in sugar and trans-fats, cutting out HFCS, chewing food slowly and mindfully, getting a little bit of exercise...
But I truly believe the most important component is the mental/emotional. The heaviest I’ve been has always been when I was trying to hide from the world, whether it was after a date-rape, after my father died, after I was attacked by a burglar/stalker or while dealing with an ovarian cyst the size of my head. I put on a protective layer of padding until I was ready to reclaim my strength and drop the protective armor--- which I quickly did once I did the emotional work.

My general comments from over a year ago are still bothering you, so I think it’s pretty safe to say you think you’re fat and you’re unhappy about it. Sure, you can take it personally, play the victim and get mad at the world... but the truth is, even if you magically woke up a size 2 tomorrow that would not resolve the issue, the true root of the problem.
While it’s true that sometimes obesity has a genetic component, it’s largely a result of a sedentary lifestyle coupled with unhealthy eating habits, and emotional factors (like emotional over-eating).
On the small chance that it is a health issue in your case--- what are you doing about it? What did you do when you “suddenly” gained an extra 25 lbs, an extra 50lbs?
Which leads me to the more likely culprit, and that is the emotional component.
I know some big beautiful ladies who make me feel like an inadequate specimen of womanhood; they ooze confidence and sex appeal from every pore and carry themselves with strength and grace. They are shining examples of what it is to be comfortable in your own skin.
Any lover or friend worth having in your life is not going to care about your dress-size--- they’ll just want to see you happy and healthy. You’re better off shedding the excess emotional baggage than you are focusing solely on weight-loss.

Basically, what I’m saying is: get over it.

Do something. Do the internal work. It’s difficult, it’s painful, and nobody wants to do it, but it’s absolutely worth it! Sure it would be easier if you had a job/better job/nicer house/more time...whatever...it’s never going to be a perfect time or a convenient time.

Or...you can just go back to sitting in front of the computer with a pint of Häagen-Dazs and bitch about how a stranger across the country singled you out of several thousand other women she’s never met, and called you fat.


Infamous CoatCheck Girl

All Content Copyright 2011, Juliana Tobón. All Rights Reserved

15 July 2011

F*ck Apathy

I don't really use this as a forum to plug campaigns or causes...except my own, I suppose. My house, my rules, so to speak...this is my little play land, a place to be as frivolous and flippant as I like, but my last post and the responses to it, have left me feeling just a little less glib.
I'm better with words than I am with numbers, so when I see statistics they don't really mean much to me. I've also worked in market research, and I know how questions, the answers gathered, and the resulting numbers can be skewed to support whichever point one is trying to make.

Many of us have heard the "1 in 4 American women will be sexually assaulted in her lifetime" statistic. The Bureau of Justice Statistics claims .8 of every 1000 females over the age of 12. Another site (I can't even remember which one, I looked through so many) claims that every minute, 2 women are sexually assaulted in the U.S.
(Incidentally, I was unable to find any current information--- the most recent statistics I was able to find for the U.S. are from 2009.)

What we have to remember about these statistics is that they only represent women over the age of 12 who reported one incident of sexual assault.

In the few days since my last post, I have received private messages from people telling me their own stories. Over half of the women (and a couple of men) with whom I've had any significant interaction over the last 2 months are survivors of sexual assault. Most of those went unreported.
Besides being heart-wrenching, it also tells me that the aforementioned statistics don't even begin to reflect the real numbers.

So, when my friend, local film director Andrew Warnecke approached me for help in spreading the word about his latest project, I had to help. I know that the new statistics coming out of the Congo, alarming though they are, probably only hint at what's really happening there.

Please check out this campaign, spread the word, and donate to the project if you can!

From the producers of the F*ck Apathy PSA and campaign:

New statistics show that over 400,000 women per year are raped in the Democratic Republic of Congo, where armed militias are using rape as a weapon of war to terrorize communities.

Since this statistic does not include men and children, the actual number is much higher.

By comparison, as of the last census, the population of Portland, Oregon was about 584,000.

Think about that: Almost the equivalent of the entire population of Portland, violently raped. Per year.

Seventy-seven aid organizations agree that the number one thing we can do to help stop this violence and put an end to the use of rape as a weapon of war is to convince President Obama to send a special envoy to the Democratic Republic of Congo, often referred to as "the worst place on Earth to be a woman."

All Content Copyright 2011, Juliana Tobón. All Rights Reserved

09 July 2011

What, if any, was the most traumatizing sexual experience you have had? And how did you heal? (advice for the rest of us)

It was my 20th birthday. I had spent an idyllic summer with some of my neighbours: Maverick and Blondie, a couple who had only recently moved here from Florida under suspicious circumstances---less than a month later he was arrested in an FBI raid, on computer hacking charges--- and The Hippie, the stereotypical aging hippie-stoner type complete with patchouli, Birkenstocks and an old VW van.
It sounds like the start of a bad joke or a movie...welcome to my life.
They were my closest friends at the time and we were absolutely inseparable that summer. Every night we’d hang out, drink beer, and chat while Maverick sat at his computer or while The Hippie worked on his van (he was ALWAYS working on his van). We’d take little day trips to Sauvie Island or to different parks to watch the moon rise. We went berry picking and made pies from scratch. We basically lived in our very own buddy comedy for 3 months.
So on my birthday, I decided on a quite night at home with my three buddies. By quiet, I mean we got completely drunk and stoned in my apartment and listened to music. At some point during the festivities there was a knock at the door.

I hadn’t seen this guy in over a month.
“I remembered it was your birthday today!” he said.

We met at one of those telephone survey places where we were both working at the time, and “hung out” for about a couple of weeks.
Some of you may recall me mentioning before how I was a rather late bloomer. I’d only lost my virginity a few months before that and, although I was certainly “making up for lost time”, I was just as clear then as I am now about my desires or lack thereof. We’d make out for hours and that was as far as I was willing to go with him at that time. He would beg and pout and plead and be generally obnoxious about it, but I would point out to him “It’s been a week and a half! Give it a couple of days, will you?!”
The final straw came one morning (at that point we’d been “hanging out” for a whole two weeks), when he pushed things too far. I am a lady and expect to be treated with respect. None of the verbal coaxing had worked so he made a physical advance and was rewarded with a slap across the face. He stormed out.
Later, when I saw him at work, he approached me during a break and said it was over, that he would not let a woman “disrespect him like that”.
“Ok!” I happily chirped.
“No woman slaps me!”
“I’m going to go upstairs and quit, right now!”
“Ok!” I repeated, a smile on my face the entire time. Good riddance!


He had, indeed, quit that afternoon, so I hadn’t seen him...until he showed up at my door, wishing me a happy birthday. I was already pretty drunk and having such a great time with my friends that I allowed him in. I was in my own home, with trusted friends and felt perfectly safe.

I’m a bit of a light-weight so it was an early night. Blondie got me to my bed, tucked me in, then ushered the boys out of the apartment.

I hurt. Pain woke me from my alcohol haze. I could barely open my eyes and I couldn’t move. All I could feel was pain and his weight on me before I passed out again.

He was still there in the morning. I couldn’t talk. I didn’t know what to say. I had a hellish hangover, naturally, but I was also struggling with flashes of images from the night before and a flood of conflicting emotions. I was angry but also inundated with all of the stereotypical guilt and self-blaming bullshit that you read about and think “that’s so stupid, I would never do that!”.

I blamed myself: I shouldn’t have let him into my apartment in the first place, I shouldn’t have got so drunk, I should have seen it coming...

I told him to just go. I talked to Blondie about it that afternoon. She was wracked with guilt for letting him back into my place “He said he was just gonna run in for a sec and say goodnight!”

For about a year and a half after that I was utterly depressed. I have come to call it my “dyke phase”. I cut off all my hair, stopped wearing make-up, wore big t-shirts and baggy pants (think raver or skater pants....hey it was the early 90s!) and generally did everything I could to minimize any traces of femininity in my appearance. I would find myself crying for no reason. Male attention made me fearful and paranoid.
It was the time of The Great Penis Ban.
My libido eventually won out and I did seek male company but it always had to be on my terms. Making out was fine, but I couldn’t bear to see, let alone touch, a penis.

I am a lusty Leo, and stubborn to boot, so I persisted.

I. Wanted. Cock.

After a few months of frustrated and frustrating attempts that ended with bouts of crying (‘cause that’s so attractive, right guys?), I decided desperate measures were in order.
I devised a plan of action. I contacted The-Love-Of-My-Life (yes that’s how I have actually referred to him since I was 17). He still sets my heart a-flutter, and I his. We had a two-month “relationship” our junior year of high school during which we did nothing but hold hands and exchange the most chaste of kisses. Though we have never really dated since, we’ve been doing this little dance since we were 15.
I still trust him implicitly and love him utterly.

In my usual forthright manner, I laid out my plan: I would play with his penis.

“Uhm, what?”

The best way to overcome a fear is to face it, head-on...so to speak.

I proposed that we just play. Because of the comfort level and trust between us, I felt safe and also knew that he would gently push my boundaries...just enough. I also knew that he would not judge me or take advantage of the situation so I threw in an extra request.

“I want you to teach me how to give great head!”

Remember, I had only been sexually active for a couple of months before the year and a half-long penis embargo. The first guy I’d asked to teach me how to give him head said “just put your mouth on it and bob up and down, I guess” (thanks asshole, you saved yourself a few months of blowjobs!).
Not so with The-Love-Of-My-Life--- he was a wonderful and patient teacher. Of course it was pleasurable work, but he actually understood and respected the situation for what it was, as I had known he would. In between moans, he would remember himself and give me actual useful feedback and instruction. It was fun and educational, but more importantly it was exactly what I needed to heal from my traumatic experience.

I needed to experience sex again in a context where I felt completely safe, comfortable and loved.

This approach is not for everyone.
I happen to have a very straight-forward, stubborn DIY style of dealing with things. I never went to counseling or support groups--- I’m pretty self-aware, knew what it would take to get me over it, and sought it out.
Sexual trauma takes so many different forms and everyone deals with things so differently that I can’t really give one-size-fits-all advice on the subject. I can, however tell you a few things that are pretty universal:

-You didn’t “ask for it” in any way.
-Share your story. Whether it’s with trusted friends/family, in a support group, counseling, or an anonymous hot-line/forum, write about it/talk about it--- even if it’s been years since it happened and you think you’ve completely dealt with it. If nothing else, sharing your story could help somebody else cope with their own.

A touchy subject within a touchy subject: legal ramifications. I didn’t pursue any legal action against my rapist. For a long time I was convinced it was my fault. I regret that now. As recently as a year or two ago I had a panic attack when I saw a guy on the street who merely resembled him.
One of my few regrets in life is that I didn’t send that son of a bitch to jail.

I hope that this helps you (the original inquirer as well as any others who may relate to this post) on your journey toward healing from your own traumatic experience. I hadn’t know how much I needed to write this, until I realized I was shaking while typing.

For those who would like to share your stories with me privately, I can be reached at infamouscoatcheckgirl@gmail.com


Infamous CoatCheck Girl

Rape Abuse and Incest National Network: http://www.rainn.org/

National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1.800.656.HOPE

Have any burning questions for the Infamous CoatCheck Girl? Ask me anything!

08 July 2011

you seem to be very knowledgeable about sex so could you recommend a good lube for rough vaginal sex please?

Ooh, Sliquid Sassy! I love the Sliquid line in general: it's free of gluten, propylene glycol (found in many lubes...and anti-freeze), parabens (preservatives shown to contribute to different cancers) and glycerine. Do you know what I see when I look at lube that includes glycerine? I see: YEAST INFECTION IN A BOTTLE.
The Sliquid line has extra good stuff in it, like citric acid and other extracts (depending on the formula) that help keep girl parts healthy and happy.
The Sassy is great for your purposes, I'd say. It's water-based, so you'll also be able to use it with silicone toys, it's not gloopy or sticky but thick enough to stay put (good for anal play as well), and it lasts a good while.
I don’t have as much experience with their products, but Blossom Organics makes a really good lube as well.

Of course, this is all taking into account that your partner is primed and ready and just as excited about the rough stuff as you are...

Have fun!


Infamous CoatCheck Girl

Have any burning questions for the Infamous CoatCheck Girl? Ask me anything!

30 June 2011

2 Years---Holy Crap!

He who binds himself to a joy does the winged life destroy,
But he who kisses the joy as it flies lives in Eternity's sunrise.
--- William Blake

"Feliz aniversario, love!" I texted Butterfly Boy upon waking...in another man's bed.
While I admit the timing of this tryst may have been a bit awkward perhaps, it also seemed a fitting way to celebrate my two-year anniversary with BB.

As a devoted voluptuary I had little interest in settling into a relationship that would curtail my activities or natural inclinations. I have tried that before, and it does not work for me, at least not for very long. Eventually, the weight of my desires and the repression of those desires and inclinations has become an unbearable burden on both myself and those partners with whom I tried to make a go of monogamy.

I had decided single, footloose and fancy-free was the way to go: a free agent, as I've always said. But there is a romantic buried somewhere deep beneath this lusty exterior, so part of me wondered if it might be possible to find somebody. Not "the one", or any such nonsense, but perhaps "a" one. One who had the qualities I wanted in a partner, including the confidence to be in a non-monogamous, yet deeply loving and committed relationship.

Friends (all male) told me it was impossible. "You're not going to find a guy, not one that is worthwhile, who will be ok with sharing you."

Well, I've always been stubborn. And I'm used to getting my way.

I found what I was looking for in a most unlikely candidate.

As we were driving around on the actual date of our anniversary, talking about my romp the night before, I told him how lucky I feel to have found somebody who allows me to just be me.

"Most of the guys I've dated wanted to have all of me...they didn't feel comfortable with the the idea of sharing me," I told him.

"I feel like I do have all of you...by letting you be exactly who you are." he replied. He pointed out that if he or I were to deny that aspect of my personality, well...he wouldn't really have all of me.

He's a wise one. He figured out very early on in our relationship that the best way to "keep me" was by making no attempt to do so. And hey, what do know? It works!

I know people find it puzzling. I am often asked "So, wait...he's just ok with you fucking other guys?"
Well, dears, it works both ways.
He is also free to pursue extra-curricular activities which, incidentally, works out well for a touring musician!
It is, however, one of those cruel twists of fate that makes it much easier for a woman to pursue these sort of "secondary" relationships or trysts. I have found my partners (male and female) to be much more comfortable with the idea that I have a serious boyfriend but that we have a non-monogamous relationship.
Many of the women BB has encountered, on the other hand, try to figure out why he's "cheating on me" or when he's planning on dumping me so they can take my place as "the girlfriend".
I know he's a catch, but I still find this thinking rather quaint and naive.
There are some women who understand the situation, but aren't comfortable in the role they deem that of "the other woman".

I have to wonder at their position.

Is it out of an ingrained reluctance to be a home-wrecker? Given that everything is out in the open and very much "approved", that hardly makes sense.
Is it a fear of just being used for sex? Self-proclaimed monogamous people do that too...and they're usually much more sneaky about it.
Unfortunately that approach is much more socially acceptable than open and honest non-monogamy.
There are so many misconceptions about non-monogamy. A lot of people think it's about having a free pass to screw anything that moves. It's not just about recreational sex, although it can be. Many people in open or non-monogamous relationships form very close emotional bonds with more than one person. These are sometimes described as "secondary" (or even tertiary, etc.) relationships. I think these terms a bit old-fashioned and misleading in their implication that one relationship is more important than another, although some people do implement such hierarchies in their open relationships.

I've never been one of those girls who views every person I'm attracted to as a potential mate. I just let things unfold as they will. During my two-year relationship with BB, I've experienced the gamut--- from one-night romps with out-of-town visitors, to a deeply emotional connection/relationship which I held in equal regard to my relationship with BB (that one got a little complicated). As for BB's experiences? Well, those are his to tell, aren't they?

This was never intended to be a discourse on the wonders and benefits of non-monogamy*, but I could hardly sing the praises of my Butterfly Boy and our relationship without touching on the subject.

Love does not consist in gazing at each other, but in looking outward together in the same direction.
---Antoine de Saint-Exupery

I feel very blessed to have found such an amazing human to walk beside me (in a literal and metaphorical sense) these last two years. He inspires, delights, and challenges me. He has shown me the utmost trust by laying bare his vulnerabilities, and has given me a safe place to bare mine (metaphor, you pervs!).

And...he's turned me into a freakin' girly-girl!

*For those of you who do have questions about this whole non-monogamy thing (or anything else really), you can submit them here anonymously:


It's a complex subject so I can only speak from my personal experiences--- everyone has a different approach to it, a different set of rules, different code of ethics.

Suggested reading:

-Opening Up: A Guide to Creating and Sustaining Open Relationships by Tristan Taormino

-Sex at Dawn: How We Mate, Why We Stray, and What It Means for Modern Relationships by Christopher Ryan and Cacilda Jetha

All Content Copyright 2011, Juliana Tobón. All Rights Reserved

10 May 2011

Going Home

Well, after 18 years it’s happening. I am going home again. Home to Medellín, La Ciudad de La Eterna Primavera (the City of Eternal Spring): home to former drug cartels, civil war and kidnappings, but also home to one of the most welcoming, beautiful and bio-diverse little corners of the world.
More importantly, it’s home to my family.
The Misadventures might lead a reader to believe I have a rather tenuous grasp on family traditions and the fine moral fiber of my Catholic Aunties, but their influence does show itself here and there.
My eighty-something, Tia (auntie) Ligia, still runs her own business, and has never been seen in public in anything less than full make-up, heels, and not one silver-white hair on her head out of place. In fact, I don’t think anyone at home has seen her looking less than perfect. My mom has childhood memories of being woken at 7am by the clack-clack-clacking of Tia Ligia’s heels in the corridor.
Ligia’s sister, Tia Olga, is the firebrand; the Auntie Mame type. She still dyes her hair red, works 5 days a weeks, then jaunts off to her boyfriend’s country house every weekend.
Then there’s the other Auntie, Estella. Within the family we call her “La Monja Voladora” (the Flying Nun). She was secretary to the head nun (no idea what she’d actually be called) at the Vatican for many years. I have fond memories of chatting with her as a child--- she was one of the few polyglots I knew. We’d chat in Spanish, English, French and Italian, while studiously trying to avoid the subject of religion.

What does one say after 18 years? To family one has never even met?

I’m also showing up making a pretty bold statement. Here’s a boy: my Butterfly Boy. In a country where most women my age are married and have children, the family has been curious about me, to say the least. To them, I’m a hippie. I have not followed the expected path and they have no idea what to make of me and my “bohemian” ways.
They’ve heard stories throughout the years, but they stopped trying to keep up with the ever-changing list of boyfriends years ago. Now I’m bringing BB. Not just a guy, but the guy.

I’m sure they’ll be relieved!

Well, the time nears to board our plane. Upon our arrival in Colombia I’ll be seeing my biological father, who I most commonly refer to as “The Sperm Donor” or “The Donor” for short.
It should be interesting.
I was raised by a wonderful man: my father, The Donor’s one-time best friend. But the donor and I do share DNA, and by all counts, very similar personalities.

Stay tuned for updates of our travels, reunions, and Misadventures abroad!


Infamous CoatCheck Girl

All Content Copyright 2011, Juliana Tobón. All Rights Reserved

26 January 2011

Where do you and BB rank on the myers briggs personality test? are you opposites or something else?

I had to look this one up. I don't know that I've ever taken one of these tests, or if I have it was some little Facebook quiz.
But, dear readers, never let it be said that I won't go to great lengths to bring you the tough answers to your probing questions...
Ok, so it was just a quick email to BB and a few minutes of answering questions, but it's the thought that counts, right?

It turns out I'm an ENFP, which is described as an Idealist/Champion. BB is an INFP which is described as an Idealist/Healer.

From what I gather, we're pretty well-matched--- just don't rely on us to be anywhere on time or keep to very rigid plans.


Infamous CoatCheck Girl

Have any burning questions for the Infamous CoatCheck Girl? Ask me anything!

22 January 2011

How much does size (shape) really matter? Too Big? Small? Foreskin?

The skill is definitely more important than the equipment!

Though I've said before that I always keep some XL condoms around out of an eternal sense of optimism, the truth is I've never been a size queen.
I'd rather have a lover who is skilled, or at the very least enthusiastic, attentive and capable of taking direction.

Size is easy to work around, though it's a question which has concerned humans since the very beginning. Ancient sex manuals such as the Kama Sutra and The Perfumed Garden described in great detail how to overcome such discrepancies.

The Kama Sutra described a man according to the size of his sexual organ as a hare, a bull, or a stallion. It further described the respective (ideal) female counterparts: doe, mare, and cow-elephant. (While Richard Burton's translations of both the above texts do include references to zoophilia, those last are in fact, meant to reflect the width and depth of the women's anatomies, though one does wonder...)
Furthermore, advice is given on how to proceed when a couple is not matched in one of the ideal pairings; specific positions are described which either dilate the vaginal canal (Blossoming, Expanding, and The Queen of Heaven) or contract it (The Box, Great Pressure, Envelopment, and The Mare).

In other words, if you're having issues with size, you're just not being creative enough!

As for shape...well, I'd say the same. I've personally never encountered any gross disfigurements, but there are some variations in curvature and such, which simply require finding the correct angle.

Now, the foreskin issue is certainly a matter of individual preference. I'm not particular in my preference except in matters of hygiene. I dated one young buck who was uncut and had an aversion to daily showers. I refused to even allow him in my bed, let alone get intimate with him unless he was freshly showered. There was a considerable age difference which became further, uncomfortably, emphasized by what became a daily ritual: "C'mon, it's bath-time, junior!". Needless, to say, our relationship was short-lived. It's a very fine line between a sexy musk and just...ew.

It was fun while it lasted. Though it does also stress my original point on the importance of skill. Nature had certainly favored this young man, and he had the stamina to match his size. Unfortunately, until he met me (at the tender age of 23), he had only been with girls his own age who had apparently swooned at the, admittedly, impressive size of his appendage. I was the first one who had taken one look and said "Ok. But what can you do with it?" then proceeded to put him through his paces. He wholeheartedly thanked me a few years (and conquests) later.

All of these issues--- size, shape, foreskin--- they just come down to personal preference, really. Me? I rather enjoy life's grab bag of choices!


Infamous CoatCheck Girl

Have any burning questions for the Infamous CoatCheck Girl? Ask me anything!

All Content Copyright 2011, Juliana Tobón. All Rights Reserved