Wednesday, May 18, 2005
Too Lethargic For Sadomasochism
I'll admit it. When it comes to sex, I'm pretty much all talk.* I can throw out references to dwarf porn, double penetration and geriatric rim jobs with relative ease. But, with the exception for some extraordinary cunnilingus skills, my sex life is pretty vanilla.
I think this explains why one of unfinished short pieces, Genocide and Other Deli Meats, remains unfinished. The storyline deals heavily with sadomasochism, aka S&M, and, quite frankly, I don't get the appeal of the whole scene.
I understand that it's not just about beating the shit out of someone for your sexual pleasure. It's about power or the lack of it. Domination, Submission, Omnipotence, Impotence, blah blah blah. It all just becomes white noise to me. Doesn't the whole thing just seem like an over-complicated way to get yourself off?
I mean, I can understand it if you need to shove an eggplant up your ass to achieve orgasm, but when you are adding a private dungeon onto your house to satisfy your sexual needs? Really? That's where I draw the line in my pursuit of carnal pleasure – construction. (Well, that and having anything shoved up my ass.)
Take this contraption for instance.
First off, if I wouldn't sit on/in something for my own personal comfort, I'm not having sex on it. This isn't some new rule for me or just me trying to be funny. I've had some bad experiences.
Secondly, look at that thing! Ikea isn't mass-producing something like that. It's a custom job. You need to build it yourself or pay someone to build it for you. Either way you are investing some disposable income and/or valuable leisure time getting that bad boy up and running. Then, I’m sure there's upkeep and maintenance. Just volunteer at the local library or donate to cancer research if you got extra time and money.
Because you just know that you'll eventually get bored with that and need to upgrade to something else. Probably something that spins like this.
Now that you got the rack and a prop from The Corsican Brothers movie, you’re going to need a dungeon. These things just won't fit in your closet or fold away under the bed. So, now your sexual obsessions are affecting the resell value of your house, That's a point where I'd have to stare down at my penis and think about what it's gotten me into this time.
Imagine this. You have this great new house and you invite your family over. You start giving the grand tour, they ask what's in that room and you have to make something up. You have to lie about rooms in your own house. Then, you're short a chair at the dinner table and the only extra one you can offer is this.
How do you explain that? Like I said, it just seems like a lot of work. (Plus, I wouldn't want furniture with better abs than mine.)
Then again, I could be wrong. I could just be lazy but there is one thing I am sure of. Someone is going to find this site by doing a search for "geriatric rim jobs".
wojr
*Of course, if I actually admitted to some grandiose sexual history, I would be thoroughly interrogated when I got home to the fiancée.
I'll admit it. When it comes to sex, I'm pretty much all talk.* I can throw out references to dwarf porn, double penetration and geriatric rim jobs with relative ease. But, with the exception for some extraordinary cunnilingus skills, my sex life is pretty vanilla.
I think this explains why one of unfinished short pieces, Genocide and Other Deli Meats, remains unfinished. The storyline deals heavily with sadomasochism, aka S&M, and, quite frankly, I don't get the appeal of the whole scene.
I understand that it's not just about beating the shit out of someone for your sexual pleasure. It's about power or the lack of it. Domination, Submission, Omnipotence, Impotence, blah blah blah. It all just becomes white noise to me. Doesn't the whole thing just seem like an over-complicated way to get yourself off?
I mean, I can understand it if you need to shove an eggplant up your ass to achieve orgasm, but when you are adding a private dungeon onto your house to satisfy your sexual needs? Really? That's where I draw the line in my pursuit of carnal pleasure – construction. (Well, that and having anything shoved up my ass.)
Take this contraption for instance.
First off, if I wouldn't sit on/in something for my own personal comfort, I'm not having sex on it. This isn't some new rule for me or just me trying to be funny. I've had some bad experiences.
Secondly, look at that thing! Ikea isn't mass-producing something like that. It's a custom job. You need to build it yourself or pay someone to build it for you. Either way you are investing some disposable income and/or valuable leisure time getting that bad boy up and running. Then, I’m sure there's upkeep and maintenance. Just volunteer at the local library or donate to cancer research if you got extra time and money.
Because you just know that you'll eventually get bored with that and need to upgrade to something else. Probably something that spins like this.
Now that you got the rack and a prop from The Corsican Brothers movie, you’re going to need a dungeon. These things just won't fit in your closet or fold away under the bed. So, now your sexual obsessions are affecting the resell value of your house, That's a point where I'd have to stare down at my penis and think about what it's gotten me into this time.
Imagine this. You have this great new house and you invite your family over. You start giving the grand tour, they ask what's in that room and you have to make something up. You have to lie about rooms in your own house. Then, you're short a chair at the dinner table and the only extra one you can offer is this.
How do you explain that? Like I said, it just seems like a lot of work. (Plus, I wouldn't want furniture with better abs than mine.)
Then again, I could be wrong. I could just be lazy but there is one thing I am sure of. Someone is going to find this site by doing a search for "geriatric rim jobs".
wojr
*Of course, if I actually admitted to some grandiose sexual history, I would be thoroughly interrogated when I got home to the fiancée.
