With this post I am on such thin ground I can feel the ice breaking under my feather weight.
Today I found the assertion that “Erotic lovers view marriage as an extended honeymoon, and sex as the ultimate aesthetic experience”. Be that as it may. I most certainly would never describe sex as the ultimate AESTHETIC experience. It’s gore. If not blood most certainly sweat. Enter condoms – that most evil of inventions since Lord Byron used dried oxens’ bladders to keep population under control; condoms re-instated AFTER a brief and most marvellous interval in the sixties and seventies. The contraceptive pill. Happy days. All we were concerned about was NOT getting pregnant. Yes. Those were the days. Now sex is sex with surgical gloves on. How I do my washing up. Barrier method: Marigold – yellow – guaranteed to keep a skin between hot water and my fair hands. I hate condoms. With a vengeance. Seriously. Has anyone ever considered the exhilarating surge when sperm, unhindered, hits the end of a woman’s tunnel and what it does? No. Thought not.
Where were we? Aesthetics. To me rubber is as un-aesthetic as it can get. Enough to drive you back into the nunnery and dream of better times.
PS Don’t forget to wash your hands next time you touch anyone (by accident)
PPS I wonder how sperm feels being tripped up at the first hurdle
Bike Hike Babe drew my attention to Tiger Woods.
I am not familiar with the notches on his bed post. Neither do I care. What consenting people do in their free time and behind closed doors is their business. As is dealing with the emotional fall-out afterwards.
There was a time when life was simple: Wives at the ready with their wooden rolling pin on the late return of their husbands. When roles reversed, men usually just suffered in silence or, if given to temper, re-enacted Shakespeare. Now we have “Hello” magazine.
Judging by BHB’s clip poor Tiger Woods is paying through his balls for what comes natural to him. Having had his trousers unfastened in public, his (golf) balls will now miss many a hole. I feel for the guy. Wish I were his sister. I’d have words with his wife as to emasculating her husband in full view of everyone; and give her a state of the art rolling pin as a belated wedding present, so much more useful than letting it all hang out on the playground of the media and its salviating readership.
What does the world and his wife expect from someone who swings it like him? It’s well known that testosterone levels run high in men of power and success; and power, on whichever stage, attracts groupies only too willing to tempt with their candy. Some of my aunts and my mother are still hyperventilating since it came to light that their hero, the man who managed the Cuba Crisis and averted the threat of the Third World War, yes, the good JFK himself, availed himself of many a woman.
With power comes prowess. It’s simple. And if I had been an intern under the charming Bill Clinton himself the only reason I would NOT have taken advantage of his attention is because I don’t touch, never have, other women’s men.
I despise women who can’t keep their mouths shut (after the event as it were). Do have sex with a married man if you must but do so with integrity and discretion instead of dropping the guy in it afterwards.