23 July, 2011

so, like...

y'all know i'm in a book club. overall, the books we've read have ranged anywhere from "oh christ, please make it stop, make it stop now before i gouge out my eyeballs with whatever implement happens to be handy" to quite enjoyable. this month's selection (no, not mine, not fucking mine) is a total fluff bunny of a romance novel. however, the book has brought into sharp relief two very interesting facts:

1. god, i wish i was filthy rich. sadly, the desire comes at a time when i no longer have the body/looks to gain wealth in the time-honoured non-respectable way, nor the energy to gain it the hard and slow respectable way.

2. romance novels are for women, what porn is to men - a dangerous path leading to ridiculously high expectations and consequently disillusionment. why, just now, i chided my beloved husband for not possessing either a chiselled chest nor the ability to bring me hourly to the brink of well lubricated madness. and also, for not driving a maybach (to which he level-headedly replied that hitler drove a maybach. (i knew that. but still...))

to return to the whole porn/romance novel thing, though, i find it curious that we (both boyses and girlses) choose to entertain and titillate ourselves in a way that is pretty damn close to impossible to replicate in real life. after all, few women are so cock-hungry that they'll enthusiastically devour a plastic dildo as the perky-chested heroines of many a pornographic cinematic feature, and few cold hard distant men reveal themselves to be vulnerable and loving providers who know all about foreplay and are willing to joyfully engage in it for hours at a time until the woman faints from sexual exhaustion and full emotional satiation as they are wont to do in romance novels.

christ, who picked this book* anyway?


p.s. and why is it that in romance novels every sexually charged relationship starts with animosity? wouldn't it be nice to actually like the guy you are aching to bed?

p.p.s. and furthermore, why is it that they never ever progress to that tragically underrepresented but glorious part of the relationship where one can fart in the beloved's presence? i, for one, would be nothing but a grey faced spectre of my current self if i had to live in the gasless wasteland of nothing but ripped clothing and heavy breathing. just sayin'.

p.p.p.s. and another thing, why is it that romance novel heroes always have names like hardy and gage and slade? what is it about your run-of-the-mill bob or floyd that makes him eminently unsexy, huh? unfair, is what i say.

p.p.p.p.s. and finally, why, for the love of pete, does the woman have to get pregnant in the end? a. with all the hot fucking that they do, you'd think birth control would have popped up on their to-do list and b. since when are babies romantic? especially in the first 2 months of a relationship? jesus!


* a teacher did: one more reason to savour childlessness.

22 July, 2011

tits in tulsa and tales of sexual lactation

we have just returned from a pot luck gathering at which we learned that, given enough time, patience, and correct pressure, any woman's breast can be persuaded to produce milk. the young man who shared this little scientific tidbit with us, was dead serious. apparently 15 minutes of vigorous breast palpitation can generate milk. the girl in question was moaning whilst being milked, and no, it was not moans of pain and discomfort from being thus manually stimulated for a full quarter of an hour.  and no, she was neither pregnant nor recently delivered of a child, just a random sexual encounter. apparently, said our talented guide to the world of sex and dairy products, he can make any woman bring forth milk.

how did we come to this rather unusual topic? our host had recently returned from a month-long company-sponsored trip to oklahoma where he visited a strip joint in which the lap dancer kindly allowed him to touch her c-section scar, and, like the rest of the girls, wore tasseled pasties to discourage public lactation. she had two children and a sad life. she was 19. kinda makes you want to go to tulsa, no?

a young couple in love leaving the party:

he: tonight, i'm gonna milk the shit out of you, baby!
she: let's go!


p.s. did you miss me? i'd say i was too busy doing fun summery stuff in the great outdoors, but that'd be a big fat lie, since it's been cold, raining and bloody miserable here more often than not. unusually hot and dry summer, my ass!