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21 posts categorized "masturbation"

July 14, 2008

Relationships in the Modern Age: From Christie Brinkley to Frilly Theories on Male Behavior

Christiebrinkleyb Christie Brinkley's divorce has appeared in many shows and magazines. The divorce aired her ex husband's dirty laundry across the world, everything from his affair with a teenager to his addiction to Internet porn, with allegations of his web cam masturbation sessions. It's a tale of yet another celebrity relationship biting the dust for reasons that can (and do) affect non-celebrity couples: infidelity, addiction and humiliation. It's like agreeing to certain relationship terms and finding that the errant partner disrespects the mutual terms, taking a secret detour to find temporary nirvana. Although celebrity relationships are viewed as a unique example, the issues aren't unique or exclusive to celebrities. Infidelity and betrayal are equal opportunity quantities that rear their heads in most relationships, which raise further questions regarding contemporary society, and whether this information driven society is compatible with traditional relationships.

Peter Cook won't be the first or last errant husband to use the Internet to get his jollies off. There are many who opt to reveal their private parts to maintain anonymity, to satisfy their yen for a different partner. The virtual partner or fuck buddy is a popular mod-con; anonymous, distant and open to suggestion, the virtual fuck buddy won't create problems, until Internet histories are discovered or one is busted in the act of preening online. I'm betting that Brinkley didn't see this coming, or anticipated her husband's infidelity or Internet porn addiction. There are things that are impossible to predict, so the statement made by a court appointed psychologist was really interesting because it indicates that some psychologists either have no clue or live on an intellectual pedestal.

Psychologists are renowned for discussing their theories on gender. Some are guilty of promoting their theory of biologically unfaithful men; it's all in the DNA! Where is the proof? Are there any prehistoric cave paintings that prove man's natural need to sow his seed with every vagina he meets? Of course there isn't. Never has been. I feel that the polygamy theory is social and is more closely related to contemporary society. I mean, in an age where all parents are financially responsible for the children they bring to this earth, it doesn't make sense for a man to procreate with every woman, and the same applies to bygone eras. But the present economic world is about disposability, convenience and sales. Thousands of years ago, it was the opposite and closer to the idea of sustainability. Only the wealthy could afford more than one wife, and many royal families featured many wives but the unions weren't sexual or based on the modern idea of romantic/sexual infatuation. It was about bloodlines or maintaining bloodlines within a dynasty. Ordinary men, or men without royal or aristocratic means, couldn't afford to have more than one wife, but not only that, there is no proof to support the theory of men being naturally or genetically promiscuous.

The court appointed psychologist allegedly said (of Brinkley) that Brinkley needed to start working on deeper issues, including her choice of male partners.

I don't think that Brinkley has a bad track record. Her marriage to Peter Cook wasn't an overnight affair and it doesn't seem to be based on whim. Sometimes it is difficult to penetrate the mask that people wear. One marries and sees the bad behavior later. What is the real difference between living together and marriage? Hardly anything. What is the point of cohabiting with a person for years before deciding on marriage? Common law partners are still treated the same way during the separation process and all are legally responsible for the children within a common law partnership. The law in most countries doesn't differ. Why isn't the court appointed psychologist quoted about Peter Cook and his activities? Where is that? Nowhere to be found, that's where but women 'need' to investigate their deeper issues relating to partner choice: here's news for them – sometimes it isn't so easy, and it is impossible to be clairvoyant on such matters.

As a woman, I'm sick and tired of the 'men are naturally promiscuous,' excuse. I think it all a bunch of bollocks, a cop out. Men are conditioned to view women as sex objects, and this conditioning has become something else after research on conditioning was published in the 20th Century. Psychological manipulation is prevalent in the world of commerce. Advertising operates on subtle psychological principles and conditioning and association is popular. You watch a television advert on household cleaning products and you see a woman starring in the advert, in fact you see women in these commercials for decades, so it comes as no surprise that women are associated with housework and cleaning products. Ask a man about the best oven cleaner and chances are that he'll have no bloody clue whatsoever. And no, let's not be rash and blame the entire 'patriarchy' because many executives in the business of conditioning and association are female as well. So it's not that simple to blame the patriarchy. After all, in order for a patriarchy to exist, it had to be supported by the female sector, and by support I mean the subtle support or nonchalant attitudes that exist. The idea of women removing themselves from the patriarchal equation is naïve and tends to be the easy way out or the easy argument. The world isn't about a mysterious Bilderberg-like group named The Patriarchy. It's about commerce, economies and profit. These three things dominate. Take the porn industry as one example: the idea of promiscuity is widely explored in pornography. There are more girls than a guy can handle, but in the ideal world of porn films the guy can handle more than one girl without his dick going soft. In fact, there are no soft-cock episodes in the world of porn, and while a portion of female actresses earn more than men, the idea of 'man conquering' pussy in porn can be considered patriarchal in the modern sense or according to the theory of male biological promiscuity, but it isn't purely patriarchal because women are also making the choice to participate in the films and there is also a portion of women purchasing the films to augment their sexual fantasies. In other words, the theory of supposed genetic infidelity is a fantasy and it is a commercial fantasy.

How can a woman like Christie, or any other woman, anticipate relationship disaster? Is it obvious beforehand, when a person puts on their best clothes for a date or displays perfect manners and conduct? After the relationship enters a regular routine, people find themselves living their life according to the agreements they made, and I'm not talking about wedding vows here, just the regular agreements and they can be anything. Even couples in open relationships have rules. Every individual relies on some code of conduct. It all boils down to knowing where one stands in a relationship.

You're an individual in the contemporary era and you're a female who is advised to analyze choices or the reason behind certain choices. It's what women have been advised to do for many decades but there are never any clear answers, and each relationship is different because people are different. There are patterns of behavior, definitely, but they often materialize differently (different time intervals), and it's not easy to step into the subconscious and demand instant answers. In Christie's case, one can't say, 'oh it's easy, all her partners were philanderers,' because they weren't. Thus, the issue is more subtle or subtle to the point of escaping the individual; the closer one gets to the reason behind certain choices, the reasons elude the individual and when coupled with the modern era of convenience, relationships become more difficult to negotiate in the long term. Is Christie's latest statement, vowing never to marry again, wise? It probably is wise. What does that say about the idea of marriage in contemporary society?

Don't put all your eggs in one basket and always have an escape hatch ready; have your finances sorted, a career ahead of you (and Christie is a great example: maintaining her own career), because we're living in a volatile era, and life isn't a romance novel.

Image: US Magazine

March 25, 2008

Coming Round that Mountain

I whipped out the vibrator last night to increase the intensity. It is no joke, but the medication I am on has done things to my nocturnal sexual motivation. I’d hate to think about the possible issues it could present in a relationship, and have to admit I’m relieved that I am not in the throes of regular sex. It is nightmarish enough to deal with the officials at work, but this medication works to elevate or keep serotonin around for longer periods of time. Sometimes I think of it as a low G.I. diet, where sugar levels are maintained or kept constant. The SSRI does similar things with neurotransmitters.

The libido is an interesting motivation and, now, I think it works in tandem with the sense (or feeling) of deprivation; the need to get one’s fill - the antagonizing craving - is what fuels the sexual urge. What happens when the happy chemicals are on an even keel? Minimal antagonism and a decreased need some days.

It takes me so much time to manually please myself. It feels as though my mind, or thoughts, are slowed or rerouted in terms of sex generation (fantasy, textures, etc) and my hand is just going through the motions. A better description: being sexually out of synch. I wasn’t sure about the ideal method with the sex toy. Do I turn it on and get to it, in an effort to dupe my sluggish sexual centers or wait until my mind turned into the sexual avenue?

Ultimately, I decided to get the brain going, this - I thought - would aid things. I turned to the erotic reads that I know and trust, and this time opted for a classic piece of work - Fanny Hill: Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure. Fanny Hill (John Cleland) is set in  England during the turn of last century, and details the rise of Fanny, and all her bawdy experiences, observations and pleasures. And I had imagery of rustling skirts, stockings and corsets in my mind. I superimposed them with fragrances, or simpler fragrances of then, such as rose water. Surprisingly enough, it got me in the mood -for myself. It felt like entering another era, and I’ve always been curious about sexual encounters in different eras - what people were like, what they thought about certain sexual practices, and so on.

It did take me a while, even with the toy, but not as long as the manual way - more often than not I’d give up, and sleep. And I managed it well, ascended up the hill (although it feels like a mount) of sexual arousal, to climax, and be awash with endorphins. A double whammy, considering the extra serotonin in my head, but the puss was purring!

July 17, 2007

Gravity

I’m in bed, doing things I shouldn’t be doing in a bed like blow smoke rings toward the ceiling. My masseter and temporomandibular joint work away, producing silver-gray rings. The muscle and joint are also responsible for…blowjobs.

I think of nothing, or minor things, like the way he invokes pleasurable images. I think about the texture of his skin and I take a leap, explore his obsidian-like rod between his legs. The image shifts, he has an erection and he’s planning a blitzkrieg. I’m the target, of course, with a pink painted bulls eye across my pubis.

The target can be round, or painted like a love heart. I can be his biological Valentine card, complete with a jagged pulse. Each undulation alarms, twists me into a tight helix. The muscle is beastly, powering at high speed. 7 Horsepower; a stampeding wildebeest powers through my chest until my flesh tears open and slick innards coat the pastel walls; blood arcs in the air. We’re talking 200/180, for my blood to slide down until my bewitched eyes throb. Gravity is an elegant dancer, affecting everything, including my roving fingers and arm. Smooth, rhythmic and fluid. A dynamic that is taken for granted; what would Galileo think? I’m not playing with balls, I’m playing with myself and like Copernicus, gaze toward the distant star -Penis Centauri. He’s such a fine specimen, and I’m a mere cosmonaut. I float briefly, to come like a supernova, disappearing further into a black hole, like…

Smoke.

July 16, 2007

Life's Little Sexual Introspections

I thought I was a step ahead, two actually, but he was far more advanced than me and this realization dawned later, and it came to mind as I really forced my ass down this weekend to continue with one large project, and two erotic short stories. I think the erotic stories kicked it off, because I had to travel to The Place in order to create the sexual ambience.

One of his first affirmations, once we shifted our communiqué away from the PC, astounded me. I wasn’t sure if it was a joke, or an arrogant aside. It jolted me because no one I’d come across made such an admission.

“I’m not the type of person who dates on the Internet,” but he just happened to do it, stumbled across the new wave and thought he’d give it a whirl. Is there a specific type, I wonder? Sometimes I think there is, particularly when a person is a serial online dater. I can appreciate people with children using this medium, but I’ve had difficulty understanding why a single unit or a person with no kids or big arsed responsibilities (such as children) uses the Internet to date and the thought is due to the single person always having more time to date (compared to one who has to juggle a job, children and domestic responsibilities, who also has to make arrangements prior to leaving the house). So no, I’m no sympathy mama when single units (male or female) whine about the difficulty of it all. I just think they’re plain lazy, insecure and expect everything to be delivered to them like an Amazon package. I often feel like telling the person who goes on and on about the difficult of actually meeting a potential lover, partner and so on, ‘it’s not like you have to arrange a sitter in advance, thereby nullify spontaneity, so shut your cake hole.’

Continue reading "Life's Little Sexual Introspections" »

June 16, 2007

High Rise

I  posted this in a temporary haven, but it belongs here. Fiction for a rainy night.

High Rise

It’s always about the neighbors; they’ll surely complain or think all sorts of things, if I turn the volume up until the walls vibrate, keeping in time with moans, moist slides or the sound of fucking. The view, thirteen floors up, spells high risk. My feet rest against the glass, and my hand rests between my legs as the portable DVD player spins the disc. My eyes gaze toward the building across, waiting for silhouette to stand at the window.

Male or female, it’s hard to tell but tonight they’ll be male, waiting for me to part my legs to give them a show as the disc burns a straight line path into my pleasure center, like a fired up laser, slicing through tendons and flesh.

I slide my jeans down, revealing my naked flesh. My hips jut upward, and the film plays; each stereophonic moan jolts my core, wetting my pussy. They lick and I swirl my clit, fingers running wild.

Ring-a-ring-a-Rosey,

My pussy’s a little toasty...

The silhouette looms, hovering like a specter, haunting my solo one-woman act. It feels so…

My finger skates, and I drive it in deep, until the tip can’t go any further as I raise my hips to present my cunt to the silhouette standing at the window across the street.

I imagine all sorts of things. He scopes out my cunt, with binoculars, peering at me as saliva drips onto his chin, and for that silvery string to drip onto his sweaty chest, for his hand to grip his cock, a cock he’d like to torture me with. He yanks it upward, straining it slightly until his visceral moan condenses the glass before him.

‘I’d like to fuck you,’ he’d say, ‘open your legs for me. A little wider so I can shove my cock all the way inside, until your breath dissipates, until you feel faint.’

My ears tingle in response to the sound of a woman receiving a cock…

The figure shifts to my right. The two fingers within me push harder, transforming into a cock.

‘You want it? Take it if you want it. Fuck it all the way to the bank, Jack.’

I stuff my fingers in, visualize each drop spilling out of my slit, to coat the groove as it spreads outward to moisturize my inner thighs. Goop…

Drip, drip…

Fuck.

Me.

I tell him so with each whimper.

I’m a gluttonous feline that needs to be fucked a hundred times a day.

He presses his left palm against the window, while his other hand drops down, to disappear in the vicinity of his cock.

‘Oh yes…fuck me with it’ and my clit burns brightly, knowing he wants to take his stiff cock and rub my soft wet ring as an appetizer, before he shoves it in; round and round we go, into the hole we go.

A tissue, a tissue…’cos I’m going to cum…

June 14, 2007

Objects d’Art: LELO Nea Mini Vibrator Review

My not so fond memories, of sex toys are related to high powered (or noisy) vibrators, that have a distinctive phallic flavor, one of which was the source of some impromptu embarrassment in a public café on an afternoon I decided to open the surprise -prank- birthday present from two girlfriends. Luckily things change over time; sex toys have benefited in the area of design and technical innovation.

The Nea, from LELO (Luxury Erotic Lifestyle Objects), offers discretion that is second to none. Its ornate porcelain-like finish, and rounded curves add an artistic edge . It reminded me of a bent egg, with a subtle pleasure point. Its floral motifs accentuate each curve, and when added to its petite size; if it wasn’t a sex toy, it could sit in the high fashion accessory section of any clothing boutique. Such is its finery.

Black1I took the risk and slipped it into my bag, took it to work and revealed it when the coast cleared a little. I sat at my desk massaging my neck with the curvaceous toy, to be asked a few questions such as where I bought the nifty gadget. The person posting this question did not know or realise that the Nea pleasure object was a sex toy.

‘It’s gorgeous, what is it?’ one said. When I activated it, and rubbed my temples, they assumed it was a new line facial massager. ‘Ideal for office stress,’ I replied, gazing at my new little baby Black Pearl affectionately.

‘It’s light,’ another began, to conclude that it felt quite fab pressed against the junction of their neck and shoulder. Its gentle hum, or vibration, added more points.

I didn’t reveal its elite sex toy status. I would like to point out that I had not, as yet, intimately trialed the Nea. Nonetheless, it proved to be an interesting non sexual experiment. I did fear for its safety; its floral décor, smooth texture, curves and lightness appealed to a high degree. Those I showed could not stop touching it, and neither could I after I returned home.

The LELO Nea makes a ideal gift, and its ingenious shape and lightness (39 grams of mind altering pleasure) make it a fantastic introduction to clitoral vibrators, especially for women who are yet to make their first purchase. A sex toy need not be shaped like a penis to provide pleasure when the clitoris is the prime pleasure zone. The Nea may be small, and fit in the palm of the hand, but this doesn’t limit its capacity to pleasure.

Nea is a chargeable toy, thus eliminating the need for battery purchase, and has a one-year warranty from the date of purchase. It comes with its own charger, and three socket outlets, that should enable anyone, from any part of the world, to charge it on any outlet. It operates on an internal Lithium battery, and once charged has a stand by time of up to 90 days. It takes two hours to charge fully, and can provide seven hours of erotic delights. Simple to use; it has two buttons, framed by a LED screen. The minus button acts to turn the toy off, and to descend from a high setting, whereas the plus button increases the intensity of the vibration.

Fully charged, and ready to go, I initially whirled it up and down, over my pants. There are no marked lines that demarcate vibration levels, as you increase the intensity using the + button. Spontaneity lies in the Nea’s simplicity. I pressed until I reached the highest intensity, and felt comfortable with the fact that its soft hum didn’t remind me of a large dentist drill (that resonates with every suture in your skull). This toy can be safely placed in your panties; it was the most fun I had washing the dishes for a long time.

Things heated up in my boudoir. I introduced it to my pudenda, one that has been accustomed to directBlack2  digital stimulation for a few years now, and rested the Nea so its pleasure point curved over my clitoris. Reaching orgasm in this position takes a little longer, but it’s pleasurable just the same. The merits of its shape enable a comfortable grip. I started off by stimulating the outskirts, the crease between both sets of labia, arcing the pleasure point around the area. It offered a steady, gentle hum. I then roved further inward, caressing the inner labia, working my way upward to tease the clitoral hood, where I remained.

The curved shape of the pleasure point offers gentle stimulation, regardless of the setting. The Nea’s shape guarantees a smooth ride, regardless of intensity. There is no danger of overshooting the mark, for your clitoris to cry out in pain or discomfort. My strokes varied. At my clitoris, I started with the tried and tested circular strokes that reminded me of my fingers, with added pizzazz. I then worked the pleasure point up and down, from clitoris to perineum. The steady vibration extended to my urethra, and added vivid hues or spices to the experience.

Throughout all this, I felt myself relax, right down to my feet while my arousal ascended. I have to admit that it was a longer climb for me, not the same as my usual orgasmic outburst. Nonetheless, the fruits of my vibratory pleasure proved as the toy demands respect, and perhaps forces one to appreciate the steady climb. It was as I reached the peak, as I swirled the pleasure point over my clitoris (strangely enough, it brought to mind playing a guitar using a pick to pluck each note), that the first orgasmic rippled sashayed through; deliciously smooth, it was a far cry from the immediate orgasmic jolt I usually experience with manual stimulation. The Nea is a clitoral stimulator and serves this purpose, but it also stirs every skin receptor surrounding the clitoris, taking each receptor to the next quantum and keeping each receptor suspended in a pleasant state of arousal As an added post orgasmic bonus, I ran the pleasure point down, over my clitoris, to intensify the post orgasmic contractions.

Pluses:

Discreet, quiet vibration. Ideal if you’re sharing a residence and don’t want your roomies listening in. Barely audible under the covers.

Two buttons mean easy navigation. No knobs to twist and turn.

Ideal for gentle clitoral stimulation.

Ideal for any one new to sex toys and/or clitoral stimulators.

Its size minimizes travel dramas; can be locked by simultaneously pressing the +/- buttons to prevent accidental activation.

Packaging, shape and presentation make for an ideal romantic/sexy gift.

LELO products do not contain Phthaletes.

Orders from Black Label also include a plush pouch for luxurious storage.

~~

Price: AUD $125.00, US $105.31, GBP 53.50 & EURO 78.83

LELO Nea is available from Lelo, and from many major sex toy distributors 

May 24, 2007

Letting my Fingers do the walking, while the Nose is Running

There once was an Australian television advert for Vicks Vapor Drops that would have me laughing; it featured a loving couple seated on a park bench, and the kiss that unraveled between them. They get close, in that tentative kind of manner, and their lips finally touch, for them to press ahead and turn it into a snogfest and then you see the man collapsing… all because his nose was blocked from a cold or flu. He didn’t use Vicks Vapor Drops!

It’s a funny ad, and it reminds me of my current state. There I am counting down the days, hoping that my little caper will turn a corner and gain a little more heat. There are countless images in my mind; I tend to compare kissing with the film Microcosmos (except my mental version is more X rated, and involves the human sexual response), where every little move is captured, and magnified. Everything from the light tickle of a tongue over the top or bottom lip, to the penetrative lingual dance that parallels intercourse…

The unfortunate thing is that I’ve caught a cold, and I’m hoping it’s not the flu. Everyone at home has been doing the ‘Oh my God, I’m dying (they’re male – joke)’ routine, and I’ve soldiered on. I awoke this morning, feeling the familiar sandpaper within my throat; I swallow and it feels like I’ve ingested a bag of tacks. My eyes tear over randomly, and my nose may as well be a beer tap. Don’t you hate it when your snot changes consistency, and becomes a runny gush of, well…mucous, that sneaks out of your nostrils during moments where you’re out of facial tissues?

So much for the sexy routine (what the?), and I’ve ingested a shit load of paracetamol, followed by endless cups of tea (and I don’t know why, it doesn’t help any). I don’t like tea, and yeah, I'm too much of a diehard vino drinker; I can get my anti-oxidants from a good glass of red (muahaha). Tea is like, I don’t know. It's not the beverage equivalent of a dick, and It’s more making do with a vibrator when a cock is nowhere to be found. Odd analogy, but pardon moi...I'm ailing here; my nose sounds like a shoddy trumpet.

We were left with Earl Grey…and the taste (and aroma) of Earl Grey is enough to decolorize, render me to ash. Sometimes I think people like to utter it, ‘I’ll have some Earl Grey,’ complete with rounded vowels and bullshit. I really don't know what I'm whining about; I can't currently taste coffee, or tea for that matter...probably the ideal time for fellatio and swallowing, right?

So I’m left with kissy-kissy fantasies. I’d feel terribly guilty if I kissed any one in the state I am, to pass my flu germs. Besides this, I’d have to overdose on Sinex to clear out my sinuses so I wouldn’t suffocate, and this may come across as half-insane (or totally insane) but I’ve noted that I have difficulty getting myself off when I have the flu. It’s like the fingers are doing the walking, walk-walk-walk (may as well make it into a freaking fund raising Walk-a-thon down there), and it ends up being a pussy marathon down there; my brain and hands are saying, ‘yesssssssssss…. let’s get a move on, and climax already,’ but my body is saying, ‘I’m sick! Gimme a break, you solo nympho!’

There I am, trying to go for it…and wouldn’t you know it, one of my sinuses will clog up, I'l inhale deeply and my brain will feel like it's an extra from Scanners, as it prepares to explode from the snot build up…

May 12, 2007

Midnight

I think phermones hang about like bacteria on cold surfaces. The teensy weensy molecules are up and about at first, whirling in the air, and as we all know what goes up must come down, so I think his pheromones are surrounding my work desk, and oh my…

This afternoon I sat with on leg over the other, punching in data and my mind randomly drifted into the place of want, lust, daydreams and sex. These elements twirl round and round, like an x rated ceiling mobile. I can be in bed at night, staring at the ceiling above, picturing all sorts of things as I’m stuck in my own languor.

It eventually fades, and I continue on with the domestic chores, but my return to the daily grind these last few weeks has seen a small transformation and I’m considering the evolutionary aspects; there has never been anyone remotely arousing in the domain, not until he walked in, and I’ve been preening like a peacock except I don’t prance around with my arse in the air shaking my tail feathers.

Continue reading "Midnight" »

April 13, 2007

Suck, Inhale & Blow

Is it possible to go off the idea of self pleasure? Not permanently, of course. In the interim?

The question floated around, spiraling up toward the ceiling with my cigarette smoke.

I did think about it. I’ve been doing a lot lately; time is limited, and there’s so much to occupy oneself with. The hours run off, and there are evenings I don’t have time to wash the dish and spoon.

Solo thrills?

I didn’t feel like it, and couldn’t bring anything to mind. That’s where it hit me square. Do you really have to? A stark question, it smacked me across the head. Not really, I replied and then I took a detour, rambled down an unknown street. The idea of giving myself a guess-timate frightened me; Is it possible that masturbation has overridden my sexual repertoire in terms of frequency? It is possible if each self help session is taken as a sexual encounter. After all, one walks away with the orgasm and it’s like undergoing the entire dance.

‘It’s insane,’ I said, to the room. The cat snoozed in the corner, and I did ponder the insanity of it all; it’s easier for me to go a day without masturbation than a cigarette, and there is no other activity more tedious than smoking. I was over blowing smoke rings years (and I mean years) ago, and that’s all a person does. Suck, inhale and blow. Sounds great doesn’t it?

Suck, inhale and blow.

Porn, at this point in time, doesn’t give me lift off; it’s another phase I’m going through. I lay on my side, on my comfy bed and tried to thumb through a few erotic stories, and that didn’t tip the balance, and yet I can drool instantaneously when a handsome stranger crosses my path. Even so, I shy away from any flirtation, or anything that serves as a precursor to closer contact. A friendly enquiry, the kind that tries to wriggle through my first layer, is enough to set off the internal siren.

‘There’s a security breach in the sector seven…Alert…Security breach…’

Sector seven can be anything from asking me how I spent my weekend, to how I take my coffee. If it arrives from the opposite gender, and it’s from left field, it gets tagged as a breach simply because I’m unable to process it all.

I was reading one of those dumb arsed psychic advice columns in a magazine, where a woman - completely mortified by her dismal relationship history - asked the psychic if she’d ever get it right.

‘You need to believe that you deserve to be loved,’ the psychic replied.

Has anyone told the psychic that love can be a difficult or rare commodity in this world? Lust is often mistaken for love, and sex can be thrown into the mix as well. Sex and love, or sex equaling love. I thought about it, just before making a grab for the toilet roll and knew that love didn’t lie at the bottom of my cerebral pit, then again neither did sex, or the one night shag. It’s as though I can see the dots, and their associated numbers but I can’t link them to form a picture for myself. It’s all right if it’s make-believe, but the idea of getting naked with another in real time is enough to make my pubes turn gray overnight.

It’s what I term sexual purgatory: psyche’s mosh pit. To and fro, being shoved in all directions with little hope of an easy exit. There is no love. As for sex? Moreover, the libidinous urge appears to be elsewhere, or absent from roll call.

‘Libido: Anastasia?’

….

‘Libido: Anastasia? Last call!!!’

….

Maybe it’s on its way to Hogwart’s…

April 12, 2007

Autoerotica

Pornnovel I was reading about this new innovation, the virtual boyfriend (or girlfriend, it all depends on what you desire) or as virtual as the word Tamagochi implies. Is it for people who have had enough online dating? Does it provide a relationship run-through before you get railroaded?

It works in the same way as the original Tamagotchi, except that you have to keep your partner happy and you do this by taking them out, giving them compliments, being sexually inventive and so on. Doing this gives you points, and the more points you accumulate, the more chance of the relationship surviving.

The idea of a bona fide virtual partner isn’t new. An older article from 2005 (New York Times) discussed the merits of a virtual partner - at length, I may add - and it’s quite scary considering a person is highly likely to come across a person with a crap general knowledge of the world. There are many instances where one is on a date and one is faced with a partner who is devoid of a large chunk of general knowledge. Vivienne, the virtual character in the NY Times article, can converse on 35,000 topics, everything from philosophy to sculpture. It is scary because the chances of dating someone like that are quite low.

Continue reading "Autoerotica" »

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