undefunctification

This blog is apparently defunct. In order to undefunctify it, I present the first in my at-least-one part series: Guest Blogs. This evening's blog was written by one of the Watergate burglars. Or maybe that gay librarian from QC. You decide.

As an aside, I'd like to just mention how pleased I am to be a Publisher. There is a certain power in it, a kind of sense of responsibility to journalistic integrity coupled with a knowledge of the power to make false attributions. To influence thought by promulgating the thoughts of others. It's exciting. -ed.

I have been considering various topics of bloggage since mjec so graciously extended the offer. I thought I should write about sex. Why not take the opportunity to drastically and embarrassingly over share, right? Surely the polite thing to do. I had various headings in mind "Can you enjoy doggy style and still be a feminist?" was an early contender. I wasn't really sure about what to say apart from YES! And that seemed just a little brief, and I hate the phrase "doggy style". I think someone just needs to re-brand the position with a more appealing name really... [hitting it with a lower case h? -ed.] Anyway, I'm sure that I must be the first person in their early twenties to decide that sex is really quite fun.[1]

It is though isn't it? These days I find myself remembering this at the oddest moments, on public transport I suddenly remember that horribly/deliciously dirty (in a kind of clichéd way) thing you said when you had your fingers THERE and just THAT look on your face and your voice was hoarse and... oh. Much more concerning is the thought at the family dinner table, just after my mother passed me the potatoes.[2] I think of the way sex used to make you sweat, raking my fingers through your slightly damp head of hair as your fingers grabbed at the sheets. My mother must have some kind of psychic abilities, because just then she asks about you, or something that refers to you. But if you want to read about that kind of stuff you can read Fear of Flying which is much better written.

I fleetingly considered writing about the horrible disillusion that comes from realizing that I am fast reaching the age of being a grown up. Terrifying. I refuse to be responsible. I have options - apparently education can't stretch on forever into the distance. On a tangentially related topic, whatever happened to us? You know, you and me. Sitting on the back seat of the bus telling each other everything. Writing lists of the people we like in our class, swapping food - my muesli bar for your roll up. And what about you? We used to talk late into the night, I liked you so much I almost forgot amongst the strange joy of being the first to know all those secrets. You were sweet and clever.[3] What about you? Who actually physically held me together when I cried my homesickness out, you read French novels in our sun soaked apartment and developed a liking for vegemite. I used to borrow your clothes.

The answers are disturbingly simple of course. You and I no longer live on the same bus route. You like the ones with the strange piercings and I like the ones with the glasses. Perhaps you weren't so clever or so sweet. And now neither of us really have the time to stay up late talking about pointless shit. Maybe all we have in common are 4 months under the sun, learning how to eat noodle soup with chopsticks and the proportions of rice wine to coke which make it almost bearable. Don’t worry, at least we still have Facebook.[4]

The same goes for the other, I never remember feeling comfortable being a teenager (perhaps just before my 20th birthday). This doesn't bode well for my poor, possible-future children (will I EVER adjust to that?).

You know in the interests of keeping this under nanowrimo length I should probably stop here. Except to say: go out and fuck someone hot tonight. [I'm not sure I will ever do this and that makes me sad -ed.] If this isn't an option/desirable I would suggest downloading Page France - We Remain as Two, drinking a few glasses of wine and really obsessing over past loves and kindred spirits. You'll regret it but it'll be nice and poetic.

[1] Although apparently some disagree... why?
[2] Ok, major telepathic play list moment. Just as I was tying this the song Dirty Girl by the Eels started playing (the opening lines are "I love a girl with a dirty mouth" - don’t we all? [Yes. Yes we do. -ed.]).
[3] http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7B7bVD_DkM4&feature=related
[4] Look, this is a good final line. I’m not as cynical as it implies though. I am glad we still have Facebook.

my mind haunts me

Ok, here's what I don't get.

I finally went to bed, I read for while, got up and watched two episodes of Daria, then went to bed again. I read a little bit more, went to sleep. I was pretty certainly depressed.

So would somebody please find the source for the following dream.

I was with a whole bunch of people and we were watching the Boston Pops Orchestra. I have never seen the Orchestra, but it's fairly clear that's who we were watching. We were moved from the stalls to the gallery (along with everyone else) for no apparent reason. For equally no reason, the gallery closely resembled the public gallery of Committee Room 1 at Australian Parliament House. I sat next to a girl we've seen before. We giggled together, started holding hands... you can see where this is going. In this instance to sex by everyone's definition (except Bill Clinton's). Which still doesn't necessarily imply the right thing. Probably reverse what you're thinking. And if you weren't around to know the details of the Clinton impeachment then you're too young to know what I'm saying anyway! Why, back when I was your age, Pluto was a planet! Of course, if you're smart enough to check Wikipedia and read about an interesting time in US political history then you can know. But you have to learn before you know. I'm like an incentivising teacher.

Anyway, there are a few interesting questions. The first is why I had a dream pertaining to sex at all. No consideration of it had taken place recently, no discussion, nothing on TV. I don't think I'd even emptied my spam folder. The second question is why her? I mean, don't get me wrong, she's someone with whom I would, if provided an opportunity, undertake these activities, but I lack any current obsession, even with her. Regardless, I never have these dreams about people with whom I'm obsessed. As anonymous said, they're always with the wrong person. Except they're not, because I would never say she were the wrong person. It's just very strange. And two such dreams without an intervening similarly-themed dream about another? Perhaps it's just that whenever I dream of her it always leads to this. Again an absurdity, but with a sample size of two it's very difficult to know. I'm really quite confused.

Two untriggered sex dreams about the same person, two weeks apart. This must be love, right?

something completely different

The topic of this post is light bondage. Like, the sexual practice. It comes up because the bed I'm on has a metal frame which, it has occurred to me, could be used for handcuffing quite easily.

You're totally freaked out right now, you're like running for the door.

Let me explain.

I'm not into that stuff. But I understand it. I think it can be healthy. I am not aroused by the thought of handcuffs and all that stuff but... well, let me explain. I hold the belief - popular with some, unpopular with others - that sex is a "special" thing - a bond between to people. An expression of a feeling (this is traditionally called love but can, unlike the feeling most people associate with love, be transient; having sex with someone should involve, I feel, a strong attachment to them. This can fade but at the time it was still love). And this is where light bondage is relevant. Because it is about trust. Some people just get the arousal stuff from it, but that's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about the submissive side. In that position you are placing an absolute trust with another person. You are giving them complete and irrevocable control of your body. In one such scenario you're actually being chained up and the other person could do anything - anything - to you. That is true trust. And that's why most people aren't comfortable with it - because they don't get the arousal and they don't really truly trust their partner that much. To do so is pretty fucking hard. There aren't many - if any - people I would trust that much. Certainly those that come to mind for immediate consideration are part of my family.

I'm not sure what the point of this was. I just wanted to ramble about a fetish for a while. Next week, feet! I'm kidding, that's one I just don't get. Like, I don't mind feet, but there's nothing sexy there. Then again, I don't necessarily see being tied up as sexy, it's just... trusting. And that's why it's cool. I get that you'd want to show how much you trust someone. You'd let them do anything because you know they love you.

On a totally, totally unrelated point, once again Annabel's blog has said something I've often thought: "if i died it wouldn't matter, because i wouldn't really be dead". I tend to think like life is a computer game and I can just go back to a save point. Not all the time, but often enough to be worried by that. It's like I'm playing Deus Ex and I've only used quicksave, so I've only got one save point. And that was ages ago - like six missions - and I'm not sure I'm on the right track. I think I can make it through the game from my *current* position but I had more opportunities previously and I don't know that I've made the right decision. So just in case I want to keep the old save. And only when I get somewhere I know I want to be will I save again. Except that in life it's really hard to die so I just keep playing.

I think this post is perhaps the best demonstration yet that my mind is fucked up.

another bad thing

Today Nikky came over. She brought KFC that I had asked for but didn't need. Following the feast, we retired to my room to watch Night at the Museum. Then we had sex. We finished watching the movie (because, of course, sex had interrupted) and then she left. Then there was a storm and a powercut and I played cards and I watched house.

I'd like to concentrate on the sex. Please, feel free to skip this entire entry if that bothers you. Sex has never held a particular allure for me. The unbelievable asexuality I expressed, to be surely cured by sex, has not been cured. Sure, it's fun, but it's not worth the mess or effort or secrecy (not that there's really much of a secret, clearly). I just... it's just not important. Sally once suggested that this might just be Nikky but I don't know. I'm entirely uncertain, not having a great deal of experience of sex with people other than Nikky. Indeed, I think I've had no such experience. Curiously, I feel the same need as everyone to ejaculate once in a while (though I guess it's a slightly different, though in many ways similar need for girls) but there's no real desire for sex in me. I just don't care. It does provide something though, which is nice. And there's a certain feeling lying there hugging someone afterwards that brings to mind a lyric: closed eye watching me, listening. The lyric is from R.E.M.'s At My Most Beautiful, one of the greatest love songs ever, in my incredibly humble opinion. Reminds me still, sometimes, of Canberra, thinking of Clara... was ever THAT a long time ago. Anyway, the point here is that sex sucks but doesn't suck enough to make me stop doing it, or even starting it once in a while.

But today was different. Today really did suck. Well, not really, but... there was nothing. No enjoyment at all. There was ejaculation, but that's not exactly the same. I don't know if this is a symptom of depression or something more sinister: me finally deciding that I don't love Nikky at all and can't stand to be around her and her terrible taste in movies. Not to mention the fact that she has only four CDs in her car, one of which is the Oops I Did It Again bumper disc from Brittany Spears. Took me so long to figure out how to spell that. But worse than merely having that CD, she listens to it, regularly. And voluntarily, apparently.

I'm sorry for dragging you all through this. I'd regret writing this but it's something I want to talk about, but this isn't the sort of thing you start a conversation with, is it?

I don't know what to do with myself.

Oh yeah, one other thing. Nikky called me "Bunky" today. She's never done that before. It's an old, old nickname of mine, abandoned around the end of 2001 if I recall correctly. I'm curious as to where she found it and why she's using it.

Sex and things that aren't

I'm really quite sad that my tagline ("just another steradian in the blogosphere") won't be appreciated by others. I actually don't want to keep this to a few people, I just want to keep it away from a few. Or maybe just one...

Next point to make absolutely clear is that I do mean unadulterated. Things will be said here that you don't want to know. I will mark them with this type of formatting so you can avoid it if you'd like. Of course, none of you will skip those sections, but I like to head off complaints before I get them.

One more thing: Emma, I know I owe you an email, I in fact have a draft saved from 20 October last year. It contains one irrelevant greeting line and that's it. Hopefully this is some consolation and I will get around to emailing you, I promise. Probably. I've been busy and stuff. I know, I know, I suck. But please don't let that stop you from staying in touch.

So, I guess I'll start with a few things about today (by which I really mean Sunday, yesterday, technically). Firstly, there's the fact that I spent all day with Nikky. That was fun. We spent all day in bed. There were DVDs and books and suchlike. There was also sex and things associated with it. Nikky's become a lot more ... enthusiastic about oral sex recently, I think because she thinks it makes me happy and she's afraid I'm going to dump her. So she's trying to stop that happening. Stupid really, but that's the way things go. After that I watched two classic movies that I hadn't seen, both romantic comedies. Man, should I ever never watch romantic comedies. They always put me in a mood to break up with Nikky.

Two other things to talk about. Firstly, that today I had a conversation with Anne (not her real name, but I'll use it) which was really good. I hadn't spoken to her in a while and we just chatted. It's important to have conversations with friends or you lose touch. To chat about nothing. She also said she'd lend me West Wing, so double plus there, hey?

The second thing was a conversation with Sally (again, not her real name). We talked about sex, which isn't something I normally do, but it was good to be able to do that without too much giggling. There was definitely a little though, at well deserved times. Phrases like "I think he used to fuck her pretty rough" still make me feel a bit weird. I'm really not mature at all, or ready for sex. Little late, I guess. The whole idea of sex is still off-putting, though it doesn't bother me at the time, that's just a different me.

Actually, this is a fair time to say it: I don't like sex because I think the joy of it doesn't justify the mess.

And to close with a few housekeeping matters: firstly, the first person to figure out the real identities of the nicknames I'm using will get their comment deleted. Secondly, please do comment, and tell me who I should let read this thing. Give email addresses. Finally... welcome to my new blog. Old stuff is still accessible at http://me.mjec.net/index.old.html and http://me.mjec.net/archive.html.

I have Seasons of Love (from Rent) stuck in my head.