Pillow Talk

If you drew blood after sex and examined it under a microscope, I'm sure we'd find it was full of rainbows, starbursts, heavenly choirs and popping champagne. Researchers should investigate this immediately.

The breathless effects of the sex last a while; awesome. It's a Zone apart from everything. In The Zone comes the pillow talk, which is not to say that PT requires The Zone, only that it's better.

I like the pillow talk. I like it because it's about as intimate as talking can get, meaning that we're both more vulnerable and free of everyday thinking than usual. In a way, it's the opposite of arguing, where one or both sides operate from a bunker of hurt or manipulation. When you're in bed, both in the moment, there are no agendas or power-plays. It's a time for innocence. It's a time to meet.

However. Nobody will ever warn you about the dangers of pillow talk. Because of the mental nudity involved, one might spill stuff, stuff that should probably otherwise stay hidden. Little secrets, small indiscretions, gossip; all the bullshit daily human mud that we normally filter - in the interests of harmony - can slip out.

So beware. Sex is wonderful. Pillow talk is beautiful. Being positive keeps it that way. Best not to drag the outside world in to share the moment. 






Bottoms Up, Happy Horizontal Chatters.

Man 1.0

Photo credit. 

Civilization depends in large part upon men curbing their instincts. Restraint, self-discipline, filtering, gratification denial; call it what you like, it's all about out-thinking the first reaction.

In a monogamous relationship, it's natural for a woman to want to see a little (or, umm, a lot?) of the unrestricted male. I don't mean violence, of course. That's where trust comes in. But for everyone's benefit, raising the gate on a few more basic instincts leads to a happier experience. How many times have I heard women ask:

How do you really feel?

or

Just let go!

or variations thereof.

Not so easy. Curtailing the civilization software and (temporarily) re-installing Man 1.0 requires practice and understanding. My practice and your understanding.

Now. Where are those 5 1/4" floppy disks?



Bottoms Up, Coders.

Smoke and Penises

Elena's pic credit.

A work colleague used the expression "head job" last week.

It wasn't an inappropriate use of the phrase, despite the nauseating level of "sensitivity-" and "harassment-" and sundry other politically correct "-training" insanities that bejewel working life thesedays.

No-one was insulted or harassed or made the victim of smutty innuendo - it was a simple anecdote in which "head shop" was misunderstood as "head job".

Okay, so it's a predictable spoonerism. More of interest is the unfashionability of the term "head job". It sounds so eighties to me - something that a drunk film star would say on a late-night chat show. Or how a teenager would shock its' parents.

"Head job" has, of course, been replaced with "blow job". It's a matter of record that the BJ involves the male ejaculate, whereas giving head is the oral precursor. In a way it reflects the supersize- me mentality: Give me the most of everything you can, whether I can stomach it or not.

Frankly, I'm wistful about the head job. It's a remnant from a (slightly) less debauched time, more about the fun of the penis than the end result. Head celebrates the journey rather than the destination. Head is innocent; blowing is intentional. Head is bucolic. BJs are industrial.

I'm just a funny old romantic.





Bottoms Up, Smokers.

The Girlfriend Experience

I want to write something along the lines of:

The Girlfriend Experience is about the closeness of two people meshing at inter-dimensional levels for spiritual reasons.

But that doesn't ring true - the contradictory evidence in my life alone is overwhelming.

Maybe that's because the whole relationship-dating complex tends toward hard-bitten-ness as people age. We begin to appear as - or begin to look for - financial saviours or mental leaning-posts rather than specially connected individuals.

My golden age was from fifteen until twenty-one. Innocent of wordly motives, a girlfriend was just that - about having a girl as a friend. Girls are soft and smell great and feel different and look at shit differently. That's nice. I want one of them close to me, on my side.

Innocence. That's the key word, implying a voyage of discovery with someone. From innocence to knowledge. And then to BDSM, but only after a decent interval.



Girlfriend Experience illustration from here [link]