Monday, 15 July 2013

Insert pussy pun here

Ho ho ho, "insert".

I think we could all learn a lot about sex from cats. My own feline beast has been responsibly neutered, so he doesn't see much action, but his attitude to physical affection is an example to us all.

"Hug me! Tickle my head - cheekbone - right under the chin, yeeeah, chin's good, more of the chin. I'm sitting on your lap now. Keep on the chin stuff. No - no more chin, back to the cheekbone. Don't touch my belly, I don't like it. If you keep touching my belly I will slash you with my gigantic panther paws. Okay, good hug, I'm off now, don't follow me."

There's no obligation, no awkwardness, no "that's not actually doing much for me but I'll tolerate it because I've been socialised to think that if I refuse your ministrations you will leave me and I'll deserve it," no "well, if it doesn't actually hurt, I'll grin and bear it and gently try to hint that actually I'd prefer something else".

Sure, in a hopefully equal relationship between humans you can't really go "THIS IS WHAT I WANT OKAY I'M DONE NOW BYE", but having such a clear idea of what you want - and communicating that to your partner - is surely something a lot of women could learn from.

I wouldn't recommend the 'trading affection for food' model, though. That's just creepy.

"You do not appear to be hugging me. Please address this."

Monday, 1 July 2013

Beneficent boners / dead inside

I feel that the fact that I got out of bed at all this morning merits some sort of parade. That I came to work, in clothes I did not sleep in, and have actually achieved things and interacted with real human beings, is clearly grounds for a national holiday. All of which is to say that given that staying in the shower long enough to rinse off the fever sweat was a feat comparable to a marathon, so the idea of shaving my legs - or wearing tights in this heat, still running this temperature - is to be met with the phrase "you're having a fucking giraffe".

So I feel that my response to the gentleman who passed negative comment on my appearance was positively polite, under the circumstances.

"Oh no! Does that mean you don't want to have sex with me? I am crushed, Random Dude I Have Never Met Before; I am CRUSHED at the thought that I have failed in my sole endeavour in this life, which is, of course, for you to want to touch me with your penis. Want me! Need me! How else will I justify my futile time on this earth? BLESS ME WITH THE BENEFICENCE OF YOUR BONER!"

I mean, he was a hundred yards away by the time I'd finished, but I still felt better.


Do forgive the radio silence. Blogging requires an awful lot of feelings, and I am at that very special stage of A Depressive Episode where the most I can muster in the way of feelings is a rolling wave of unfocused 'meh'. I mean, I still want to die, but I don't even give much of a shit about that. Hopefully I'll resurface one day and be able to generate the necessary level of anger of the Daily Mail website sidebar.