This is going to come as a shock to many people but I am not exactly what one would term a connoisseur when it comes to the male member. I have had some experience and seen a number, in both the on and off positions. I can't actually remember the first time I saw one - I mean it obviously made so little impression on me that the vision of it is lost in the ether of my mind or it shocked me so much that the memory was suppressed. I felt a lot of them through clothing and various grinding positions and, probably like many young women was a bit afraid of them until I was fully deflowered. The first time I really got to study one was one of my first boyfriends (the one who did the deflowering) and he allowed me to play and discussed all the little irregularities and idiosyncrasies that men have. That was an interesting game! I always thought myself very lucky with him, looking back, his was one of the nicest that I have ever come across and although it wasn't the first that I had seen, it was the first that I 'felt' in 'that way'. It did become my yardstick, he would probably be quite proud if I ever told him that, so if by any chance he's reads this - hey, it's true.
Until eighteen months or so ago I considered myself very fortunate compared to the horror stories that I had heard from my friends. I had never seen a bent one, a small one, anything slightly out of the ordinary, up until then my penis experience was pretty fantastic actually but then the end of 2006 hit and I was blindsided by a spate of bad ones. It got pretty horrific. First there was Matt. He was a friend of a friend of mine - a very good-looking chap, taller than me, stocky - I have to admit I had expectations. We dated for a bit, late nights out in London, you know the drill. After a few dates I obviously got touchy-feely and felt for it but had trouble locating said appendage. It was winter and there were many garments but after 15 or so seconds of fumbling against his trousers I had to give up, nothing would look worst than admitting yeah, sorry can't find it! I changed the 'trying-to-locate-a-penis-to-squeeze-it' move into a general torso/body rub and then pressed my body against his hoping he hadn't noticed my inability to locate his member. The terrible thing was I started to doubt myself then. Now, even then, I was not an inexperienced girl but all those pre-virginity loss paranoid feelings swamped me. Had I felt in the right region? Maybe he didn't have one? It never occurred to me that it might just be too small to be found. The answers would all come later. Our next few dates went fine and then came the time for him to come back to mine. When he undressed I was a little concerned as there really wasn't much there. He hadn't drunk that much and this should have been a warning sign I guess but he couldn't get it up either. I did and said all the usual stuff about it not being a big deal but after weeks of anticipation and great kissing I was mildly frustrated, ok, ok, more than mildly frustrated, fucking pissed off would be a more accurate description. Again though, being the understanding person that I am and pushing the fact that I had been unable to locate his hard member to the back of my mind I figured maybe he was a grower, a big lad like that can't be this small. I am saddened to report that the following week when I went to his and the relationship was finally consummated, my worst fears were indeed confirmed. Now I am not loose down there, guys I have been with have had issues getting in before now but this - I am ashamed to say I had my first (and only, thank God!) 'Is it in?' moment. Can we just imagine...it was awful but not satisfied with that, fate dealt me another blow - the condom fell off - ok, you may have to read that again but it was so small the condom came off! This was a great start. Afterwards, as he slept I remember lying in his bed and thinking that I was one of those women, one of those women that men hate. A woman who is only interested in a big dicks who just happen to have a guy attached. I didn't want to be that but I couldn't help what I felt. Nothing. I felt nothing as I lay there. All that flirting and kissing, all that shit and for me there was no payoff, he got his rocks off and I was just left, as was, all revved up and no place to go - you get the idea. All those times I had heard from my friends the 'it's not the size it is what you do with it' speeches I had half listened, basking in the warm glow of my big-cocked past. Now, I was faced with having to trot out that tired old speech myself, only now did I start to question it. Did they really believe that? Maybe they were with men who gave great head even though they were poorly endowed. I was with a guy who was limited in both equipment and imagination, if tonight was anything to go by. I hankered for the good old days and my yardstick came into my minds eye, this guy was falling pretty short. I know that this sounds so shallow and confirms men's worst fears about women but I was disappointed and the cavewoman inside me wanted to feel a real cavemans club, not some limp sapling. He didn't make an effort - that is the important point. It was all about him, though I am not sure quite how he was stimulated either but he seemed to manage. Anyway, we split, inevitably. I thought I will just put it behind me, my next biggun is just around the corner. How wrong I was......
We split in the March, the next exciting installment in my rollercoaster introduction to the bad cocks hall of fame was called Lenny. He came (appropriate choice of words! Sorry!) later that summer. Now there are certain details that I will omit as this blog entry is purely about the penis and I hate to have to say the next sentence but this blog is also about honesty so here it goes - it was tapered. It did get very narrow, it must have been half the diameter at the tip that it was at the base. Now this was another new experience for me but there is more and this portion more than the tapering made my girlfriends pull faces of disgust when it was mentioned in subsequent conversations. He wasn't circumcised. Now I have seen a variety of cut and uncut ones but when hard most uncut 'peek out' if you catch my drift but there was none of that, even when fully erect it was still like a roll neck. It was actually repulsive - the whole situation. Ugh! I have to move on, forgive me. Maybe the next one would be good but as they say these things come in threes...
Next came Jimmy a few months after, it was another brief affair. His was probably the worst of the bunch, no, actually I refute that, it is probably just as it was most recent and so is freshest in my mind. Even describing it brings back memories that make me want to retch! I am just going to dive staight in and will use his words so you can get the full effect (this was said over the phone) 'it has quite a bulbous end which will give you pleasure'. I mean doesn't that just sound gross. Getting to this bulbous end, which many penises have and can be both ornamental and useful, this was neither. Jesus wept, it was shocking because the bulbous 'end' took up half the cock! Not that said cock was especially small, it was a respectable 5 inches or so with a reasonable girth but the so-called 'end' took up more than 2 inches. The end's circumference was also a lot more than the cocks so it had the look of a circular hair brush. Oh God, the memories - I am going to have to stop again.
Moving swiftly on. There is no point in denying it, I was scarred, horribly scarred: mentally, spiritually, I was spent.
The next man in my life was Tim (from NA blog fame!) again, he also appeared briefly back there between Lenny and Jimmy so if you have read that entry you will be aware that there was no willy-waving in this brief encounters at all. I never saw it, I never even touched it.
And then there was Trey. When we dated I was scared to even touch it through his clothes. I was afraid of a repeat of the Matt situation. Until we actually saw each other naked I never went near it, he must have thought I was a bit weird but even when we stood infront of each other in just our underwear I had to force myself to slide my hand down between our bodies to get it. That first time I felt it relief flooded me, an actual feeling of physical warmth ran through my whole body and once I had it I didn't want to ever let it go. It was beautiful, to look at, to touch, to feel, to have everywhere! It is my new yardstick. Although that relationship didn't last Trey single-handedly brought me back from the brink, from the dread that was starting to engulf me that I had run out of hot cocks and had only poor ones left. I love him for that alone.
Thursday 7 August 2008
Monday 4 August 2008
N.A.
What are the chances that both Emma and I meet guys who are not interested in sex within a couple of months of each other.
Ok, so mine first...so I start dating this guy back in July last year, let's call him Tim. We met in a pub in Covent Garden. I like him, he is good-looking, tall, funny, gets my weird sense of humour. There are lots of plusses - he owns his own place, likes his job and the industry that he works in, all round he's ok. We chat a lot on the phone over the ensuing weeks, email, have a few dates and then with no real explanation, other than he's 'depressed' (his words not mine!) he finishes it, which is fine. After a few days I think no more of it. Anyway, that September I finish with another boyfriend and on a lonely Tuesday night just feel the need to reach out to someone and chat. I call Tim and he answers. We talk and we end up arranging to meet the following week. Seeing Tim again was nice (such a bland word, I know but appropriate in this instance), like old friends we just slotted back into our old ways. We talked, he took me out, I went to his house, it was nice.
Now, things with Tim always moved slowly, both times that I dated him I was coming out of very messy/complex situations and I didn't want to just sleep with another guy and get myself even more confused, so here we were in mid-October and we still hadn't slept together, hadn't done anything in fact but that suited me at the time. We had arranged to go out in Angel, which remains one of my favourite places to socialise in London. Let me set the scene - we were in one of the pubs there, I forget which one, sat at a table for two together in the window, he had a pint of something yellowy, I had a vodka and something. Now, it was an evening after work so I was in my office attire but I knew we were going out so the outfit had been picked accordingly. I had on a, let's be honest, very tight, black, pencil skirt, white blouse (opened one button lower than I would at the office) with red vintage beads and red shoes. I sat holding my drink in one hand, with my legs crossed infront of me, pushed forward to one side of the table, shoes resting ontop of each other, hair swept over one shoulder falling in loose curls to just above my bustline. I was leaning back in the chair, pulling my shoulder blades together just enough to show my boobs off to their best advantage without being too obvious. The other hand rested on the outside of my thigh, altogether things were looking ok. He was leaning in and we were just chatting, then with me poised so perfectly in my red 'fuck me' shoes, he blindsided me. He looked me square in the face and told me that he wasn't that sexual a person. I felt myself actually slump, I wasn't able to control it but I felt as if I had been punched in the stomach. I mean I hadn't even felt his cock and here he was telling me, one of the most sexual people he will probably ever meet, that he is 'just not that sexual a person'. After that for me, it was over, we were done. I saw him maybe once more but my heart wasn't in it anymore. All my illusions that he waited because he cared that I had been through traumatic times were well and truly shattered. He didn't want to shag me, not because of that but because he just wasn't that interested in it - never had been apparently. I never took it as a personal slur, maybe I should have done. I just moved on and he became one for the Blog but when Emma told me that she had had a similar experience I was shocked. It was almost like the 'No-Actions' were taking over - surely they should have all died out, you know, survival of the fittest. If they don't like to procreate then their genes should have died along with them. Maybe these were the last two - let's hope.
Anyway Emma's fella - he is another one from her work circle. Emma works in one of those shared office conversions in Soho where lots of different businesses occupy the different floors. He works in a different business to her but their offices are next door to each other and they often meet on the way back from the kitchen or (in a rather hideously cliched way) at the watercooler. They are involved in the same industry so they are always at the same functions but never plan to actually go out together. They had flirted for months, like nine months. Emma said they had great chemistry, him confidently joking, her coquettishly laughing, running her finger around the edge of the plastic cup, you get the idea. Then in late May he told her he had a new girlfriend, which was fine, he had often shared this sort of info with her as she had with him. One night though shortly after this him and Emma get it on. Well, they are out together on a work night and end up snogging in a darkened corner (his girlfriend wasn't out that night) and then back at his house in St. Katherine's Dock. Now Emma thinks that she has maybe struck it lucky, they really get on, they work in the same field, he understands the pressures of her work, they have great chemistry, he's a great kisser. This could be something really special. (For the more moral amongst you, she does ask about the girlfriend but is given short shrift as he intends to finish with her now he has Emma, whom he states he has wanted for months). So they eat a little, watch a little TV, have some wine, time slips by and they make their way to his bedroom. Emma gets undressed seductively and slides under the duvet. She rolls over towards him, shuffles her head further over on the pillow. He lifts his arm so she can rest her head on his chest. She leans up and they kiss. Her hand starts at his nipples and then slowly travels down, meadering across his stomach, down further to below his navel and the next thing he slaps her hand away. (I know this sounds bizarre but totally true I swear!) She looked up at him quizzically and he says 'I think you'll find in England (Emma's American) that girls just like to kiss and cuddle'. Fortunately the room was dark and so Emma's open-mouth shocked face was partially disguised. Feeling just a little humiliated she rolled away, there was no more kissing or cuddling. She did manage to sleep a little, albeit on the other side of the bed, that night. The next day was Saturday and so she awoke early hoping they would head over to Borough Market for some breakfast. She again rolled over and put her arm across him, not to intiate sex but was greeted with him loudly announcing 'Emma, it's 6am!!!'. That finished it for Emma. She waited 'til he had slipped back into unconsciousness and then dressed and exited speedily. She called me early from Southwark Cathedral where she sat on the grass eating her Borough Market breakfast, whispering much of what had happened as she was sure that a tramp on a nearby bench was judging her.
As we chatted about her pretty horrific night, my very own 'No Action' Tim came to mind and I reminded Emma of him. The conversation quickly became Blog orientated. Emma and I did the only thing that we could in this situation, we met up to go out on the pull that night but we still had a nagging feeling about our early morning conversation - after years of fighting off men, does it seem now that we have both found a new breed of man? Guys who just don't want to be intimate. The holy grail - men who just want to cuddle - shame that we are not 14 anymore and require something more. I don't think that it makes us sluts - I just think that it makes us human.
Ok, so mine first...so I start dating this guy back in July last year, let's call him Tim. We met in a pub in Covent Garden. I like him, he is good-looking, tall, funny, gets my weird sense of humour. There are lots of plusses - he owns his own place, likes his job and the industry that he works in, all round he's ok. We chat a lot on the phone over the ensuing weeks, email, have a few dates and then with no real explanation, other than he's 'depressed' (his words not mine!) he finishes it, which is fine. After a few days I think no more of it. Anyway, that September I finish with another boyfriend and on a lonely Tuesday night just feel the need to reach out to someone and chat. I call Tim and he answers. We talk and we end up arranging to meet the following week. Seeing Tim again was nice (such a bland word, I know but appropriate in this instance), like old friends we just slotted back into our old ways. We talked, he took me out, I went to his house, it was nice.
Now, things with Tim always moved slowly, both times that I dated him I was coming out of very messy/complex situations and I didn't want to just sleep with another guy and get myself even more confused, so here we were in mid-October and we still hadn't slept together, hadn't done anything in fact but that suited me at the time. We had arranged to go out in Angel, which remains one of my favourite places to socialise in London. Let me set the scene - we were in one of the pubs there, I forget which one, sat at a table for two together in the window, he had a pint of something yellowy, I had a vodka and something. Now, it was an evening after work so I was in my office attire but I knew we were going out so the outfit had been picked accordingly. I had on a, let's be honest, very tight, black, pencil skirt, white blouse (opened one button lower than I would at the office) with red vintage beads and red shoes. I sat holding my drink in one hand, with my legs crossed infront of me, pushed forward to one side of the table, shoes resting ontop of each other, hair swept over one shoulder falling in loose curls to just above my bustline. I was leaning back in the chair, pulling my shoulder blades together just enough to show my boobs off to their best advantage without being too obvious. The other hand rested on the outside of my thigh, altogether things were looking ok. He was leaning in and we were just chatting, then with me poised so perfectly in my red 'fuck me' shoes, he blindsided me. He looked me square in the face and told me that he wasn't that sexual a person. I felt myself actually slump, I wasn't able to control it but I felt as if I had been punched in the stomach. I mean I hadn't even felt his cock and here he was telling me, one of the most sexual people he will probably ever meet, that he is 'just not that sexual a person'. After that for me, it was over, we were done. I saw him maybe once more but my heart wasn't in it anymore. All my illusions that he waited because he cared that I had been through traumatic times were well and truly shattered. He didn't want to shag me, not because of that but because he just wasn't that interested in it - never had been apparently. I never took it as a personal slur, maybe I should have done. I just moved on and he became one for the Blog but when Emma told me that she had had a similar experience I was shocked. It was almost like the 'No-Actions' were taking over - surely they should have all died out, you know, survival of the fittest. If they don't like to procreate then their genes should have died along with them. Maybe these were the last two - let's hope.
Anyway Emma's fella - he is another one from her work circle. Emma works in one of those shared office conversions in Soho where lots of different businesses occupy the different floors. He works in a different business to her but their offices are next door to each other and they often meet on the way back from the kitchen or (in a rather hideously cliched way) at the watercooler. They are involved in the same industry so they are always at the same functions but never plan to actually go out together. They had flirted for months, like nine months. Emma said they had great chemistry, him confidently joking, her coquettishly laughing, running her finger around the edge of the plastic cup, you get the idea. Then in late May he told her he had a new girlfriend, which was fine, he had often shared this sort of info with her as she had with him. One night though shortly after this him and Emma get it on. Well, they are out together on a work night and end up snogging in a darkened corner (his girlfriend wasn't out that night) and then back at his house in St. Katherine's Dock. Now Emma thinks that she has maybe struck it lucky, they really get on, they work in the same field, he understands the pressures of her work, they have great chemistry, he's a great kisser. This could be something really special. (For the more moral amongst you, she does ask about the girlfriend but is given short shrift as he intends to finish with her now he has Emma, whom he states he has wanted for months). So they eat a little, watch a little TV, have some wine, time slips by and they make their way to his bedroom. Emma gets undressed seductively and slides under the duvet. She rolls over towards him, shuffles her head further over on the pillow. He lifts his arm so she can rest her head on his chest. She leans up and they kiss. Her hand starts at his nipples and then slowly travels down, meadering across his stomach, down further to below his navel and the next thing he slaps her hand away. (I know this sounds bizarre but totally true I swear!) She looked up at him quizzically and he says 'I think you'll find in England (Emma's American) that girls just like to kiss and cuddle'. Fortunately the room was dark and so Emma's open-mouth shocked face was partially disguised. Feeling just a little humiliated she rolled away, there was no more kissing or cuddling. She did manage to sleep a little, albeit on the other side of the bed, that night. The next day was Saturday and so she awoke early hoping they would head over to Borough Market for some breakfast. She again rolled over and put her arm across him, not to intiate sex but was greeted with him loudly announcing 'Emma, it's 6am!!!'. That finished it for Emma. She waited 'til he had slipped back into unconsciousness and then dressed and exited speedily. She called me early from Southwark Cathedral where she sat on the grass eating her Borough Market breakfast, whispering much of what had happened as she was sure that a tramp on a nearby bench was judging her.
As we chatted about her pretty horrific night, my very own 'No Action' Tim came to mind and I reminded Emma of him. The conversation quickly became Blog orientated. Emma and I did the only thing that we could in this situation, we met up to go out on the pull that night but we still had a nagging feeling about our early morning conversation - after years of fighting off men, does it seem now that we have both found a new breed of man? Guys who just don't want to be intimate. The holy grail - men who just want to cuddle - shame that we are not 14 anymore and require something more. I don't think that it makes us sluts - I just think that it makes us human.
Friday 1 August 2008
A.A.
From the title of this blog you may be deceived into thinking that I have become dependent on the hard stuff and have been attending local meetings but this abbreviation is slightly more disturbing - at least in my world but we will get onto that.
Ok....so we met this guy. Actually let's start at the beginning - my friend Emma (the other single one who will be providing material for this blog) works in the entertainment industry. She invited me to one of her work do's. It was nothing too serious, just a night of cabaret (they had hired a comedy singer for the evening) above a pub near where we both live. Just a sort of social get-together after work - you know the ones that they always say are morale-boosting or some such rubbish. Just before the singer was due to go on, Emma introduced me to a consultant who sometimes works for her agency, on an as-and-when basis. He seemed nice enough and very polite but I do remember thinking that he had a small face and titchy hands, not that that is of any relevance - just odd! In the interval, she shared some interesting information with me. She also told me that the reason she hadn't shared it before was shock. I think she was unable to take it immediately on board and so if she told no-one maybe it could be like it never happened. She has known said gentleman, let's call him AA, for six months and they had been involved in a brief fling, which broke down to a couple of dates and a couple of nights of action. Maybe a couple is a little misleading...maybe half a dozen...anyway, the nights of action were like nothing she had experienced before and not in a good way. They had started innocuously enough, movie, drinks, dinner and after a few of these post-work meetings the suggestion of a coffee back at his. The first time they slept together was normal enough though AA was quite obsessed with Emma's ass and seemed generally quite enamoured with that area. They had regular sex but he did keep trying to slip 'it' up there, which Emma resisted as it was their first night together. In the cold light of morning, it didn't seem like anything she should worry too much about and they arranged to meet up again. So the next time whilst they were in the throes of passion he whispers softly in her ear, suggesting she open the cupboard. Emma eyed the closet in the corner, a little worried about what may be in there. She rolled out of bed and padded softly over, opening the door with some trepidation. What was in the cupboard was a (not small) selection of (not small) dildos. Great, you may think but no, no, hold on my friends. These are not for her enjoyment but for his. His next words being and I am paraphrasing and censoring here, that she insert one into his 'chocolate rose'.
Back to the night of the work do, she is telling me all this in the toilets which, owing to the fact that it is a traditional Victorian pub and that we are trying to avoid other users, are cramped and very hot. We are crammed into a corner, my shoulder pressed against the cold, hard, shiny wall, leaning over to avoid blocking the mirror and talking in code just in case anyone else from the office comes in. This conversation was doomed to be repeated many times but I needed more information to make an informed decision/useful suggestions.
All through the second half of the act I couldn't really concentrate on the comedian as I felt my eyes being unconsciously pulled towards the back of AA's jeans as he sat in front of us, occasionally turning round to smile or wink at Emma, a gesture that was always followed by a snap of her head to me, a rolling of her eyes and a smirk from me. It's not that either of us meant to be judgemental but we were unsure of what we were dealing with. AA classes himself as straight but I feel he is heading towards a long vacation in Gayville. The argument that maybe he is just experimental came up but he wasn't experimental about anything else. He liked missionary most of the time, there were no handcuffs or whips evident, he wasn't keen for Emma to dress up. Now, as a good friend I told Emma that she should live and let live and yes although it is unconventional and just plain gay that if she didn't like it, she should just move on (our 'One for the blog!' saying was coined during this phase) but, like a good rebellious blonde, she ignored my sage advice. Now I have spoken to male friends since who seem to think that it is more of a fetish than a gay thing, which is why I feel the need to share, to prepare anyone else who may come across this obviously increasing trend.
The rest of that evening passed without incident, I was able to drag myself away from contemplating AA's ass and go home as I had a much earlier start than Emma. The next morning I was having a morning mosey through my emails not expecting one from Emma's home account and so therefore I have to admit I was a little shocked when one blinked up and I read, still in code, that there has been a repeat of the tryst with AA after I left the previous evening. (I would just like to clarify that at no point during these encounters did Emma acquiesce to his request). There was further dildo talk that night but Emma feigned shyness and went home in a cab at 3am.
The sex is good but the extra requirements are not, is probably what it boiled down to. When I grilled Emma the following week she told me that she was wasn't really sure how it had happened, you know, one of those things - they had slept together before so no surprises (I differed with her on that point). She just fancied a bit of action and he was there, he was a good lay and is well-endowed - just like his collection. Anyway, there were further promises that it wouldn't happen again, both on the phone and via email through the week but once again Emma went back on her word. She saw him yet again, against my advice but what was said that time would be the dildo that broke the prostitute's back. Things had been going normally enough, there had been copious amounts of snogging and between all the tongue action Emma had almost forgotten what lurked in his closet in the next room as they lay spooning on the couch but the next sweet nothing that he whispered in her ear would change Emma's mind forever (thank God!). He suggested that 'they', yes they, buy a strap-on. Not only had Emma never encouraged the whole dildo fantasy but now AA was, in a very warped way, suggesting a future together. Although Emma appreciated the sentiment, she saw then herself that it was over. No matter how nice a guy he was or what he could offer, it just wasn't for her. In her eyes he should be the only one doing the penetrating. She still sees him at work but their relationship is now strictly professional. Ass Action will unfortunately have to find someone else to expand his collection with....
Ok....so we met this guy. Actually let's start at the beginning - my friend Emma (the other single one who will be providing material for this blog) works in the entertainment industry. She invited me to one of her work do's. It was nothing too serious, just a night of cabaret (they had hired a comedy singer for the evening) above a pub near where we both live. Just a sort of social get-together after work - you know the ones that they always say are morale-boosting or some such rubbish. Just before the singer was due to go on, Emma introduced me to a consultant who sometimes works for her agency, on an as-and-when basis. He seemed nice enough and very polite but I do remember thinking that he had a small face and titchy hands, not that that is of any relevance - just odd! In the interval, she shared some interesting information with me. She also told me that the reason she hadn't shared it before was shock. I think she was unable to take it immediately on board and so if she told no-one maybe it could be like it never happened. She has known said gentleman, let's call him AA, for six months and they had been involved in a brief fling, which broke down to a couple of dates and a couple of nights of action. Maybe a couple is a little misleading...maybe half a dozen...anyway, the nights of action were like nothing she had experienced before and not in a good way. They had started innocuously enough, movie, drinks, dinner and after a few of these post-work meetings the suggestion of a coffee back at his. The first time they slept together was normal enough though AA was quite obsessed with Emma's ass and seemed generally quite enamoured with that area. They had regular sex but he did keep trying to slip 'it' up there, which Emma resisted as it was their first night together. In the cold light of morning, it didn't seem like anything she should worry too much about and they arranged to meet up again. So the next time whilst they were in the throes of passion he whispers softly in her ear, suggesting she open the cupboard. Emma eyed the closet in the corner, a little worried about what may be in there. She rolled out of bed and padded softly over, opening the door with some trepidation. What was in the cupboard was a (not small) selection of (not small) dildos. Great, you may think but no, no, hold on my friends. These are not for her enjoyment but for his. His next words being and I am paraphrasing and censoring here, that she insert one into his 'chocolate rose'.
Back to the night of the work do, she is telling me all this in the toilets which, owing to the fact that it is a traditional Victorian pub and that we are trying to avoid other users, are cramped and very hot. We are crammed into a corner, my shoulder pressed against the cold, hard, shiny wall, leaning over to avoid blocking the mirror and talking in code just in case anyone else from the office comes in. This conversation was doomed to be repeated many times but I needed more information to make an informed decision/useful suggestions.
All through the second half of the act I couldn't really concentrate on the comedian as I felt my eyes being unconsciously pulled towards the back of AA's jeans as he sat in front of us, occasionally turning round to smile or wink at Emma, a gesture that was always followed by a snap of her head to me, a rolling of her eyes and a smirk from me. It's not that either of us meant to be judgemental but we were unsure of what we were dealing with. AA classes himself as straight but I feel he is heading towards a long vacation in Gayville. The argument that maybe he is just experimental came up but he wasn't experimental about anything else. He liked missionary most of the time, there were no handcuffs or whips evident, he wasn't keen for Emma to dress up. Now, as a good friend I told Emma that she should live and let live and yes although it is unconventional and just plain gay that if she didn't like it, she should just move on (our 'One for the blog!' saying was coined during this phase) but, like a good rebellious blonde, she ignored my sage advice. Now I have spoken to male friends since who seem to think that it is more of a fetish than a gay thing, which is why I feel the need to share, to prepare anyone else who may come across this obviously increasing trend.
The rest of that evening passed without incident, I was able to drag myself away from contemplating AA's ass and go home as I had a much earlier start than Emma. The next morning I was having a morning mosey through my emails not expecting one from Emma's home account and so therefore I have to admit I was a little shocked when one blinked up and I read, still in code, that there has been a repeat of the tryst with AA after I left the previous evening. (I would just like to clarify that at no point during these encounters did Emma acquiesce to his request). There was further dildo talk that night but Emma feigned shyness and went home in a cab at 3am.
The sex is good but the extra requirements are not, is probably what it boiled down to. When I grilled Emma the following week she told me that she was wasn't really sure how it had happened, you know, one of those things - they had slept together before so no surprises (I differed with her on that point). She just fancied a bit of action and he was there, he was a good lay and is well-endowed - just like his collection. Anyway, there were further promises that it wouldn't happen again, both on the phone and via email through the week but once again Emma went back on her word. She saw him yet again, against my advice but what was said that time would be the dildo that broke the prostitute's back. Things had been going normally enough, there had been copious amounts of snogging and between all the tongue action Emma had almost forgotten what lurked in his closet in the next room as they lay spooning on the couch but the next sweet nothing that he whispered in her ear would change Emma's mind forever (thank God!). He suggested that 'they', yes they, buy a strap-on. Not only had Emma never encouraged the whole dildo fantasy but now AA was, in a very warped way, suggesting a future together. Although Emma appreciated the sentiment, she saw then herself that it was over. No matter how nice a guy he was or what he could offer, it just wasn't for her. In her eyes he should be the only one doing the penetrating. She still sees him at work but their relationship is now strictly professional. Ass Action will unfortunately have to find someone else to expand his collection with....
Thursday 31 July 2008
The Beginning
That's it! I declare the hunt officially over. My friend and I had a long discussion the other night and we no longer believe in happy ever after. In fact as the night wore on I became more and more attuned to the fact that it probably never existed, except in Cinderella.
The movies would have us believe that all men are heroes, who sweep you off your feet and you ride off into the sunset together. Too many movies to mention (even men-vies) have a heroic rescue scene to satisfy the female movies goers and girlfriends in the cinema. Even Back to the Future, a popular men-vie trilogy, has a knight in shining armour who sweeps in to save the girl - albeit he is a white haired eccentric professor on a oh-so-realistic hover-board but he still saves her from death. Others too have similar instances: in Blade II the main character almost sacrifice himself in order that his love interest will survive. Superheroes all have love interests and how many times do they use their powers to save the women they love, even if they can't be together.
There are many other examples, not even to mention the chick-flicks, rom-coms and period dramas that all follow women in their quest to be married/be loved. And it has always been this way. Classic novels shadow the female lead through her ups and downs leading to matrimony and interestingly the novels always stop there. Jane Austen and her contemporaries seemed to believe that women's lives ended at this point, once you were married it was all over, there was nothing more of interest to the reader, the women have fulfilled their potential, the novel ends. Modern movies have us believe that too, hence the term happy-ending. How many times have you seen the women 'get her man' and we all leave the cinema fulfilled and buoyant.
I mean, it is just not realistic but we are fed this in both visual and written format right from when we are knee-high. Children's movies are often great romances too: Beauty and the Beast, The Little Mermaid, Snow White all have heroines who manage to secure royalty as their husbands (a holy grail never actually accomplished except for literally a handful of people who are in the right place at the right time). Being spoon-fed this for so long we expect it, we expect to get this and then are disappointed when we don't.
So, my new thing is to expect nothing - that way I can never be disappointed. Now, I don't want to sound bitter because I'm not (much) but I just don't buy into the notion that there is only one guy out there for me. I think that is very dangerous territory. That would also mean that I accept that I am incomplete now and I refuse to do that. I think I can learn a lot from every relationship that I have but no one person is going to complete me. Now, my friends (the married ones) say that it is only because I haven't met 'him' yet but what if I never meet him? I have to acknowledge that as a possibility and then what - if I don't meet this 'fictitious' man I have to spend my life as a half-person, never fulfilling my true potential. I can't believe that. I am whole and fine as I am now and will continue to be with or without a man. Anyway I wouldn't want to put that sort of pressure on anyone, that it is his destiny purely to be my other half. What if he wants his own destiny? and I definitely don't want to be seen as just the other half of him. Although sometimes the most beautiful thing to be intertwined with a man, sometimes the extrication is just as beautiful, to know that when you close your front door after him that you are still you, still whole, not wanting.
So now after our discussion we are out, as women who don't believe in the happy ending and just believe in making sure the ride we have is fun. If anything comes of it, great but that a ring is not the be all and end all of my life. You see, as a man if I made a success of my professional life and chose never to marry, I would be considered a bachelor playboy and would still be worthy of my friends and colleagues admiration but to be in the same position as a woman I would be pitied no matter how much money or success I had. What is this inherent need to marry and reproduce? Does everyone have it? I know women who have chosen not to have children, just because they are physically able but choose not to does that make their decision wrong? If you had a beautiful voice but chose to pursue some other avenue would that be a waste? In this world where we have so many choices it is inevitable that we have to say no to some options.
The further I get from the age that I thought I would be married by the more cynical I become. I don't want to be cynical, it is a natural progression following the tears, lies, heartache and break-ups which have littered my adult life. All my friends (bar the one above) are married or in long term relationships leading directly to the altar, two of them are pregnant, two already have babies. As much as I want to be happy for them, all their cosy contentment reminds me of my lack of it. Until now. Today is the day of my mental switch, the day I stop expecting men to be my life and just let them be a part of it with no strings attached. Just fun and frolicking, ok, maybe not frolicking exactly but you get the idea. And I would just like to clarify that I am not going to become a slut, well not much of one (!) and I am going to use this blog to chart mine and my friends adventures with members of the opposite sex. Let's just hope that something interesting happens!
The movies would have us believe that all men are heroes, who sweep you off your feet and you ride off into the sunset together. Too many movies to mention (even men-vies) have a heroic rescue scene to satisfy the female movies goers and girlfriends in the cinema. Even Back to the Future, a popular men-vie trilogy, has a knight in shining armour who sweeps in to save the girl - albeit he is a white haired eccentric professor on a oh-so-realistic hover-board but he still saves her from death. Others too have similar instances: in Blade II the main character almost sacrifice himself in order that his love interest will survive. Superheroes all have love interests and how many times do they use their powers to save the women they love, even if they can't be together.
There are many other examples, not even to mention the chick-flicks, rom-coms and period dramas that all follow women in their quest to be married/be loved. And it has always been this way. Classic novels shadow the female lead through her ups and downs leading to matrimony and interestingly the novels always stop there. Jane Austen and her contemporaries seemed to believe that women's lives ended at this point, once you were married it was all over, there was nothing more of interest to the reader, the women have fulfilled their potential, the novel ends. Modern movies have us believe that too, hence the term happy-ending. How many times have you seen the women 'get her man' and we all leave the cinema fulfilled and buoyant.
I mean, it is just not realistic but we are fed this in both visual and written format right from when we are knee-high. Children's movies are often great romances too: Beauty and the Beast, The Little Mermaid, Snow White all have heroines who manage to secure royalty as their husbands (a holy grail never actually accomplished except for literally a handful of people who are in the right place at the right time). Being spoon-fed this for so long we expect it, we expect to get this and then are disappointed when we don't.
So, my new thing is to expect nothing - that way I can never be disappointed. Now, I don't want to sound bitter because I'm not (much) but I just don't buy into the notion that there is only one guy out there for me. I think that is very dangerous territory. That would also mean that I accept that I am incomplete now and I refuse to do that. I think I can learn a lot from every relationship that I have but no one person is going to complete me. Now, my friends (the married ones) say that it is only because I haven't met 'him' yet but what if I never meet him? I have to acknowledge that as a possibility and then what - if I don't meet this 'fictitious' man I have to spend my life as a half-person, never fulfilling my true potential. I can't believe that. I am whole and fine as I am now and will continue to be with or without a man. Anyway I wouldn't want to put that sort of pressure on anyone, that it is his destiny purely to be my other half. What if he wants his own destiny? and I definitely don't want to be seen as just the other half of him. Although sometimes the most beautiful thing to be intertwined with a man, sometimes the extrication is just as beautiful, to know that when you close your front door after him that you are still you, still whole, not wanting.
So now after our discussion we are out, as women who don't believe in the happy ending and just believe in making sure the ride we have is fun. If anything comes of it, great but that a ring is not the be all and end all of my life. You see, as a man if I made a success of my professional life and chose never to marry, I would be considered a bachelor playboy and would still be worthy of my friends and colleagues admiration but to be in the same position as a woman I would be pitied no matter how much money or success I had. What is this inherent need to marry and reproduce? Does everyone have it? I know women who have chosen not to have children, just because they are physically able but choose not to does that make their decision wrong? If you had a beautiful voice but chose to pursue some other avenue would that be a waste? In this world where we have so many choices it is inevitable that we have to say no to some options.
The further I get from the age that I thought I would be married by the more cynical I become. I don't want to be cynical, it is a natural progression following the tears, lies, heartache and break-ups which have littered my adult life. All my friends (bar the one above) are married or in long term relationships leading directly to the altar, two of them are pregnant, two already have babies. As much as I want to be happy for them, all their cosy contentment reminds me of my lack of it. Until now. Today is the day of my mental switch, the day I stop expecting men to be my life and just let them be a part of it with no strings attached. Just fun and frolicking, ok, maybe not frolicking exactly but you get the idea. And I would just like to clarify that I am not going to become a slut, well not much of one (!) and I am going to use this blog to chart mine and my friends adventures with members of the opposite sex. Let's just hope that something interesting happens!
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