Friday, April 22, 2011

Feathers v Ferocity

A male friend of mine has recently started dating a girl. He is a man of high expectations. For the last few months he has rejected one girl after another due to them being ‘un-fuckable’. I am not sure what reduces women’s ’fuckable-ness’. This is new territory to me. Is it hairy legs or spinach stuck between one’s teeth? I thought all women were fuck-worthy. A juicy bit between the thighs. What more does a man need? Clearly a lot more – at least according to my friend.

My friend’s search for a fuck-able female came to a head the other week. He thought he had hit a home run with a svelte girl who sparked his attention and was sexy enough to stir his libido. Score? Win? Unfortunately, no. The fucking happened yes but it was not what he sought. She didn’t purr as he required her too. She didn’t beg him for more. She was non-committal. She was bored.

This threw my friend. He had been searching for someone who would satisfy his sexual demands and make him think his penis was the new sensation. He failed to think that he might need to put some effort in himself. Clearly, his genetic luck in being endowed with a larger than normal asset was not going to bring the sexual success he expected. He may have to work at it.

In my mind, I praised this girl. In her situation, I may give in and make the man think he was god. Moan, groan, pretend to orgasm 5 times in a row, shake as though I was breaking into a new sexual frontier. Every non-feminist move under the sun to move the situation along quickly so that I could pursue a more interesting activity such as eating cheesecake in a white floaty dress, reading Zadie Smith novels under a sun umbrella. Like most women, I am a damn good actor and can use it to my own benefit. But this girl. Well, she was different. She didn’t pretend. She just was. She just is. Respect, girlfriend, respect.

He did not have the same respect for her. I’m off to get some Philly this weekend he said. I was baffled. Why do you need some Philly? I was unsure how Philadelphia cheese would resolve his dilemma. No. Phillys were actually a pseudonym for young female girls at the racers, blindly drunk and easy prey. He was going to ditch his new found mate for a bit of racecourse action that would probably take place behind a portaloo with feet sliding in the mud and grass with every ramming and a satin dress held high above her head, hiding her from view. Fool, fool, fool.

Once again, I realised that men don’t necessarily understand female sexuality. Penetration is not gold. In fact, it is rarely copper. I prefer the sexy glance while we wait in the IGA queue, the times when I laugh with you til my stomach hurts, when I have a cold and you make me French onion soup, the text message that says ‘ I miss you’ and the cuddle while I cook us spaghetti sauce. It is these elements, combined within a massive bubble of tantric energy, that get me in the mood. Ferocity and macho-mojo wins no brownie points. I need kindness, affection, fun times, compliments and love. I am a person, not a plastic porno puppet.

Fellas.. we need feathers not ferocity.

Love Sierra xx

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Is there hope for the hound-dog yet?

I am sorry that I disappeared on you my lovelies. Things have been .. well complicated. I did not hang the hound-dog. Instead, I took his word for things and allowed the fun to run its course. It has been a jolly ride.

I have been spoilt and I cant remember when I have had someone look at me this way. It is as though he literally cant take his eyes off me – they stare into the depths of my soul. I feel like a fancily wrapped lolly pop being stared out by a drooling child through the sweet store window. That is right – I feel damn lickable. He says ‘I fancy the pants off you’ and that tickles me. He buys me fine wine and feasts and tells me ‘I am doing my best to woo you’. Have I snagged the remaining decent man from the everlasting drought?

If it only it was this simple.

This is the thing with the man drought. There are so few men that they all come with baggage. My last male lover had been left destroyed and wild by his girlfriend’s prevalent cheating. Before that, an Oxford don made me laugh til I cried and I thought I had scored - he later told me his girlfriend was waiting at home. Essentially, thank you for the ‘ride’, Im heading back to my nest. Then there was the French guy who had the ‘I don’t really want to see her but I am stuck in the relationship’ girl in his life. At least he lived up to his promises and left her.

I attract baggage. I attract drama. I fucking hate it.

Those of you who know me will be able to verify that my life is not ordinary. I work in a field that is full of emotion and my job, my volunteering, my study is all about trying to find rationality in all the emotion that comes with this sector – the sector that deals with crime. So when I walk away from that part of my life and head into my social life, I just want to let my hair down. I want to get loose, laugh, drink a bucket of wine and dance in hello kitty pyjamas on someone’s kitchen table.

What I don’t want is to try and counsel the new man in my life. I don’t want to give advice about techniques for ditching baggage. Especially not baggage with a broken zip and fragile sticker attached. So I do what I always tend to – I tell them to deal with it and come back when they are ready. Few return.

And this is where it stands with hound-dog. Not only has he just escaped a fresh break up but she is clinging like a sticky bug. Crying, pleading, persuading and now.. convincing him to go to a counselling session with her. Yes, you heard me. Next Tuesday, counselling, him and her. But don’t worry darlings. The session will not be about their relationship but to do with her issues with her father – how very Freudianly appropriate. The electra complex avenue of pity to try and pull your fish back in off the hook. It’s a damn good line.

Trust me. I feel for her. Have we not all been there? She is wrecked and wanting and I have been her. I have been her so many times. I can almost feel her ache and taste her tears. But it puts me in an awful bind.

So I have cancelled our date this week. I am off to play basketball with my favourite bunch of lesbians. Manly ball throwing, ass shoving, referee-demonising court tactics and hopefully a pounding three pointer should hopefully get my emotions back on track.

There will be more to this. Stay hooked.

Sierra x