Sexy is as Sexy Does

 Catherine Bell's cleavage credit.

Be advised that anything I write about online dating refers to women only. Although you would think that checking out the opposition [read: other guys hawking their fork] a smart strategy, doing so is beyond me. Comfort with one's sexuality is one thing - deliberately investigating dudes is quite another.

Can't. Tell. Internet. I. Want. To. Look. At. Men.

So I rely on you, dear reader, to tell stories of male profile quirks.

Spectacular as bulk online Lady Catalogues are, my interest is in the detail. One popular specific self-descriptor is that of "sexy", as in:

"...I'm a sexy, giving, mother of two looking to find a real man..."

I see. A cynic might translate this as:

"...I like sex (a lot) but will be restricted by these damn kids and your own dick's reliability..."

But I'm not a cynic. I'm a realist, and therefore think that sexiness lies in the eye of the beholder.  Surely I get to determine if you're sexy?...And your very presence online contraindicates.

Hmmm. Perhaps I am a cynic.




Bottoms Up, Self- Assessors.

Zombies Can be Gay, Right?

The meager circumstances of my life might be about to change. Blogging don't pay much y'all (as they say here in the South) so I've been busily diverting my creative goo into a screenplay. It's more of a treatment, in truth, which is what I might really be needing once it's made into a movie. Called "When Worlds Collide", I've cleverly weaved a number of popular themes into one.

The covering letter (39 networks, publishers and agents so far) in part reads like this:

When Worlds Collide is a funny and heartwarming story of two zombies. Zach and Augustus are two gay zombies recently fallen in love. With TriBeCa as the backdrop, they move into a cute loft to start their lives together eating brains and doing what zombies do. But there's a hole in their life. They want a family. So, given their keen sense of community, they do what any other gay zombie family would do - they adopt! In their case, a gorgeous little Venezuelan girl, orphaned at birth. WWC follows their antics learning how to raise a normal human baby in the midst of zombie mayhem. It's a triumph of the un-dead spirit!

Yes, it's a niche tale, but it has 'Indy cult film finds mainstream audience and fame for the writer' written all over its gorgeous derriere. See you at Cannes.




Bottoms Up, Zombie Lovers.

Information Age with Larry Flynt

Image credit.

Larry Flynt. I heard part of a Larry interview on BBC radio, an unlikely combination if ever.

The topic was along the lines of the social value of pornography, another unlikely combination.

Questions about (and to) porn stars and their problems with STDs featured along with Larry, a critical mistake by the man from the Beeb. When did porn promoters like Mr Flynt concern themselves porn feedstock's medical issues? Frankly, the Limey's line made him sound like an effete wanker, and Larry effortlessly took him apart at each turn.

Oh, that's right. I have a point. When Mr Elite Reporter asked Mr Flynt about the redemptive value of porn, he replied in the following way: (I'm paraphrasing.)

Sex is the most primal and most direct way by which we communicate with each other. It also happens to be the means of communication we least understand and talk about the least.




Bottoms Up, Communicators.

Nymphomania

Nymphomania is more or less the same as insatiability, I guess, although there must be some degree of difference. Perhaps insatiables do it with one person, and nymphomaniacs do it with anyone.

Whatever it is, I hope that the word is no longer a term of approbation. Nymphomania used to have the clinical descriptor 'furor uterinus' whereas thesedays it's called 'hypersexuality'. It's still considered an abnormality, but it's one you can wear on your sleeve.

I knew a girl once who was a sort of oral nymphomaniac. She wouldn't engage in intercourse with any one but a steady boyfriend, but she'd happily fellate any fella who asked. She turned up at my place one night, late, jumped into bed with me, had her way and left. If that sounds like a Hustler letter, it's not meant to, because it's true.

I think it was a hobby - instead of a notch on her bedpost, she had another swallow.

Whatever. None of the guys I knew who were in the 'Kate Club' considered her a nympho, and in fact we all conducted regular social intercourse with her. It was just her thing. Indeed, had she been a full-blown all-out nympho, we'd never use the word as a pejorative - we'd just want a piece of the action.

But maybe that's just my experience. I wonder if women with strong sex-drives are still feared by men, rather than seen as someone to whom the red-blooded man introduces himself.





Bottoms Up, Nymphos!