A Thank You To Dancing (And My Body) by Carolyn Busa

At 5-years old I mimicked my sister's hitch kicks to New Kids on the Block. At 9-years old I joined my first jazz class. I learned how to tap dance when I was a Follie Girl my freshman year in our production of Crazy for You. My senior year I danced to Kanye West so hard in my parent's living room that my knee popped out of place causing me to scream, my mom to think I somehow got shot in our gun-free house and my dad to think quick and pop it back into place. Point is, dancing has always been somewhere in the background of my life. But this past year, dance has been itching to take a step forward. Dancing no longer asks permission. Now, I have to dance.

When I explain to people how I am 'sexually peaking', their minds immediately travel down south to Dirtyville. Who? What? Where? When? How many times? All fun stories to tell, but the truth is, those stories wouldn't even exist without the presence of dance. My sexual peak would fall flat if I was not lifting myself and my confidence through my own movements. But that wasn't always the case. I may have learned how to Pas de bourrée and step-ball-change when I was 5, but I only just learned how to let myself go. 

I remember the various dance classes I took over the years. Surrounded by mirrors, forced to look at myself and others. Comparing, competing, pointing farther, looking sharper, flexing flexier. I'd turn bright red when we had to work on our stretches as I hunched over my sad split. More embarrassing than helpful. Now if there is a mirror in the room when I dance, I try not to look. I dance to feel, not to perfect. To quote Shania Twain, when I dance 'I feel like a woman.' But not a woman burned by man or her boss or a bad hair day. I feel like woman - the creature.

Did I lose you? I've never been to Burning Man (although I fear that will change in the next few years) and every time I have to do a group sigh or breathing exercise I roll my inner eye. I'm still sarcastic and snarky when it comes to mindfulness. But now, more than both of those combined, I'm super sensual. When I dance I can't help but feel the sexual, female force within me that, until recently, only a vibrator has been able to bring out. Now I am unplugged, battery-free and using nothing but my body to create feelings of ecstasy. I feel pretty fucking grateful.

I'm also grateful because this year I found people that love dancing as much as I do. I found music that makes me feel primal. I found people that embrace all these things without so much a molecule of judgement. Thank you. In their absence I dance alone in my bedroom as my dog watches skeptically without interruption. Thank you, Remy. I dance when I am frustrated or sad or angry when the leader of our country proves himself a monster once again. Thank you, dance. 

I've recently started dancing with my hair down. It gets stuck in my mouth, my eyes, it sticks to my sweating neck sometimes even trapping itself between my armpits. Afterwards, only then will I make a point to look myself in the mirror. Sometimes I look like some sort of goddess. Sometimes I look down right crazy. I see the shape of my lips outlined by the red lipstick I obsessively wear. I see my face aging in certain ways. I see my hair growing. I see the same freckles I've had since a child but now the freckles mark the face of a woman. I also see my blemishes, my tears, my brow when I'm pissed. My life isn't perfect. I am not perfect. But it has taken until now to truly love this woman I see. I love the woman I have become. The woman that my body has allowed me to become (despite still being unable to do a split).

Thank you.


I am MissToiletSlave by Carolyn Busa

At the rare chance I do a podcast or an interview, the question I get asked the most is 'What does your Twitter name mean?'

'MissToiletSlave', I tell them, 'is a lyric from a song about taking a shit.'


There's hardly ever enough time to get into it so I end up sounding like a freak. And that's fine. But with origin stories being all the rage these days I figured it was finally time for MissToiletSlave to get hers.


Back before I dreamed of doing comedy, I came across a semi-secret track on a Fischerspooner album. It started the same as their other tracks, synthesizers, bass, you know, electronic noises (I don't review music for a reason). However, instead of the male voices I was used to on previous tracks, a sexy, strung out, female voice began a laid-back rap of sorts. "Oh!" my brain said. "I like this."

I was a junior in high school who knew nothing about how sex worked and probably kissed with tongue roughly four times at that point. But this song! This song made me want to FUCK.

She sounded like a Vogue-era Madonna, except instead of 'Gene Kelly, Fred Astaire and Ginger Rodgers' I caught phrases like, "My man calls me cherry" and "I just smoked a pack of my Kool fags" and oh boy - "There is cum stain on my panties and jizz in my wig." Those words meant SEX and I was IN. 

A bit later when Twitter came into my life, it came time to think of a username. Had I known a few years later I'd be promoting myself as a performer, I may have just been @CarolynBusa. But because I was a child of AIM and screennames, I had to be creative and quirky and put my entire personality into a few letters. I was a little older at that point. A little more experienced. And I remembered that Fischerspooner song. I remembered how sexy that woman sounded. Especially when she said at the end of the song: "I've got to be strong. Got to be brave. Don't want to bear the title, MissToiletSlave." Yes! MissToiletSlave! MissToiletSlave was sexy! MissToiletSlave would turn heads! MissToiletSlave would never buy drinks herself! Sure, she'd spend the next day hung over but damn, she'd look good doing it. 

It wasn't until a bit later when I was at a bar with friends and they questioned me about my questionable handle. "Oh, it's from this sexy Fischerspooner song!" I happily said. But they weren't buying it. Using whatever first edition iPhone he had, my friend Pete looked up the lyrics online.

"Carolyn." he said. "This is a song about taking a shit."

"What! Nooooo." I laughed. "It's about a girl and being sexy and fucking and margaritas and jizz!"

He started reading to me.  

"Moaning and a heaving on a hot sticky can..."

"Yeah like! Sex moans!" I said.

"Storing up my supper, coffee and my snacks..."

"Hangover snacks, duh!"

"Ok." he said. "Explain this then, 'The shits piling up kinda feels like a cramp. Instant relief is what I need to ease the megacolon that's inside of me.'"

I couldn't think of an explanation for that one. He continued reading, each line more damning than the next until finally it all came crumbling down: "The shit got soft, creamy, slick. It came out in a blast that was really foul. Forget the White Clouds I need a Bounty towel."

"Ok, stop!" I begged. "You're right! It's a song about shit!"

I've gone through life obsessed with a song about shit. More embarrassing, I thought it was sexy as hell. My wet dreams were shattered. My brain somehow blocked all the shit-related lyrics leaving only the 'sexy' ones. And yes, the song was called 'Mega C' but like maybe the c stood for cool or cunt or even Carolyn!

Nope. Colon. A big, long, shit-filled colon. After that I thought long and hard about my web presence. Would people expect only poop jokes from me? What if I got famous and was known for my shit-handle rather than my actual jokes?  I opened up the settings on my Twitter account. I put my cursor in the username box and backspaced until only the M was left. I hit Delete a final time. In it's place I wrote 'CarolynBusa.' My profile page was updated and all my tweets stripped of any poop presence. No longer a slave to the toilet.

I spent the next couple days studying my page. CarolynBusa. CarolynBusa. CarolynBusa. Yeah, sure, that was indeed my name but I don't know, CarolynBusa didn't excite me! Sure, MissToiletSlave had a bad case of diarrhea but man, before that she was having margaritas and Chinese food and there's no way she got jizz in her wig doing something boring. 

With the urgency of Dr. Jack Shephard I again opened my Twitter settings. I had to go back.

I feared in those two days MissToiletSlave would no longer be available, gobbled up by another freak like me. But of course, there she was. I reclaimed my throne (!) and felt a sigh of relief flush, I mean, rush over me. 

Years later, my Twitter handle remains the same, I have an Instagram with the same name and my web series That's MISS Toilet Slave To You is premiering at the end of 2018. Okay, that last one isn't true but the point is, I love my MissToiletSlave identity. She's sexy for reasons you can't quite grasp. She's nasty, yet relatable. And yes, she finds humor in dark, sometimes hard to wipe, places.

Seven Ways to Keep Your Dog Occupied While Giving/Receiving Oral Sex by Carolyn Busa

If you’re like me and have a dog with bigger anxiety issues than your own, then you know how difficult sexy time can be. Simply closing the door on Sparky is not an option. Believe me. I've tried it and it always ends in a puddle of pee outside my door. Neither sexy nor sanitary.

For me, the most challenging part as a dog owner when bringing someone home isn’t the actual sex. My dog could care less about watching me bone (Get it? Bone!). There’s nothing for him to do except fall asleep to the hypnotic, rhythmic sounds of passion. Yes, passion. But, if you’re lucky, more importantly, if your partner isn't a selfish jerk, you’ll experience hours and hours of oral sex. This is where things get tricky for you and exciting for Sparky. Oral sex is wet and sloppy. Plus, if you're doing it right, there's going to be a lot of moving and shaking and your dog is gonna want IN. So what can you do?

1)     Bring a Playmate – You already have your playmate, which is probably making your dog super jealous. Get them a friend!

2)     Lay Back and Fetch – If you’re receiving, take this opportunity on your back to tire puppy out with some fetch. Be careful it doesn’t lead to tug of war. We don’t want to disrupt!

3)     Train Your Dog to ‘Play Dead’ Using the Command ‘Oh my God, Yes!’ – Chances are you’ll be repeating this phrase a lot. Make things easy on yourself.

4)     Maintain Eye Contact – It’s no secret dogs are better behaved when you pay attention to them.  WARNING:  This has the potential to get very creepy very fast. Use sparingly and with precaution.

5)     Compliment…A LOT – Dogs want to know they’re being good little boys or girls and luckily, so does someone who has their face in your crotch. Kill two birds.

6)     Gonna Be Awhile? Peanut Butter! (Not in a weird way) – If you know it takes you a little longer to get where you want to be, buy yourself some time. Spread a healthy amount of peanut outside your room and let your pup go to town while someone goes to town on you.

7)     Sex Toys –DO NOT GIVE YOUR PERSONAL SEX TOYS TO YOUR DOG. Get your dog their very own! Well not sex toys, exactly. But a toy that you only allow them play with when it’s sexy time*. They’ll be distracted playing with their rare toy, you’ll be excited playing with yours.  

*Avoid squeaky toys. Unless that’s your thing.   

Ten Gift Ideas for the Sexually Peaking Woman in Your Life by Carolyn Busa

Do you know a woman in your life who entered her thirties and started walking differently, talking differently and reminding you of how horny she is? Congratulations! You know someone who is sexually peaking!

Whatever you already bought her for Christmas, return it! A sexually peaking woman needs a gift that considers this new phase of her life. A gift that says 'You're sexually peaking and I support you. But not in that way. Unless you want it to be that way. Whatever. We can talk about it later.'

So what do you get the sex-crazed lady in your life? Well, there are a lot more options than you think. Gifts that go beyond the predictable vibrator and gag gifts from Spencer's, although I'm kinda obsessed with the Life Size Allie McSqueal Love Doll. Give her something she'll remember as she peaks into 2017 and beyond! 

1) Uber Gift Card
A sexually peaking woman is more open to adventure and exploring new positions, er, territories. However, when the exploration is over, there is a chance she finds herself somewhere inconvenient, perhaps even New Jersey! An Uber Gift Card guarantees she gets home in style. 

2) Beyonce Dance Class
Sexually peaking while watching Beyonce is like being high and listening to Pink Floyd: It feels so right. Beyonce's movements paired with lyrics like 'I'm feeling myself' and 'Hand prints and good grips all on my ass' is a sexually peaking woman's elixir. Luckily, there are now Beyonce-themed dance classes to support a full-blown Bey addiction. These dance classes are great for times when a woman wants to peak alone.

3) Full-Length Mirror
Not only will this come in handy when she goes home and practices her dance moves, a full-length mirror is A MUST while a woman sexually peaks. Vanity is important in this stage of her life because damn, she looks good. 

4) Touch Gloves
Don't let cold weather get in the way of her nonstop sexting. Spend the extra money for a good pair with ten-finger access. Mmmm. Ten-finger access. 

5) Velvet Leggings
She's gonna be touching herself more either way so why not make it smooth and fun? Velvet leggings are perfect for cold weather excursions as well as a good personal rub down. Think Prince. 

6) Cooling Sheets
The brain of a sexually peaking woman is often cloudy with a side of fiery loins. It's hard to snuff the peak but necessary when it comes to a good night's sleep. Cooling sheets from SHEEX guarantee 'the cool side of the pillow all the time' as well as, brace yourself, 'moisture-wicking technology.' I don't know what 'moisture-wicking' is but boy do I want it. 

7) Ink for her printer
This has nothing to do with peaking. It's just so damn expensive. 

8) Boudoir Photography Session
Boudoir photography, the art of intimate, sometimes sensual photography, has been trending as the perfect gift for brides to their husbands. I say, screw the husband. This is a gift for her. She is in her prime and deserves to be photographed as such for her eyes only. She can even get a wallet-size print that will fit perfectly next to her pocket vibrator. 

9) Tickets to a Peaches Concert
Peaches has been telling us for years to 'Fuck the Pain Away' but she's also been schooling us with lesser-known gems like 'Dick in the Air', 'Diddle My Skiddle' and my personal fave, 'Stuff Me Up.' A Peaches concert will surely speed along the peaking process. Her shows come fully equipped with blow-up dicks, vagina back-up dancers and the occasional strap-on. Strap in. 

10) Selfie-Stick
This isn't a code word for vibrator, dildo or 'massage-wand.' I mean an actual selfie-stick. After she gets her boudoir photos printed, she'll realize the full potential of her curves and angles and the selfies will begin. 

11) *BONUS GIFT* Donation to Planned Parenthood
And finally, if you can only get one thing for the horny woman in your life, get her the guarantee of protection for her beautiful peaking pussy.