Birthday Letters

Ah. Back to it.
As previously mentioned, last week it was my birthday and I spent a few days with friends in snowy Sweden. And now I have a thick-headed cold to show for it.
I went to Gothenburg. The chill air, frozen canals and lingering, three week old snow did nothing to deter me from throwing myself headlong into hedonistic oblivion. It’s a funny thing: A heroic amount of alcohol and a seemingly endless supply of wolf-eyed, flaxen-haired Swedish women and you barely notice the Scandinavian winter gloom.
So after a “quiet” night at a pool hall - which was thankfully free of any “St Patrick’s Day” nonsense - on Saturday night we headed into the centre of giddy Gothenburg, with it’s wide avenues and buzzing bars and clubs.

After an extensive pub crawl we repaired to a club called - aptly enough as it turned out - Sticky Fingers, the dancefloors of which were positively groaning with violently beautiful Nordic sylphs. Luckily by this time I was free of much inhibition, driven, as I was, by the demon booze and some strange inner mania.
The ground-floor dancefloor played an indie-ish mix of tunes. I dived right onto that and wasted no time in getting friendly with the locals.

Hejsan! To the dark-haired girl from Jönköping who liked Kings of Convenience. We danced together for a bit before having a drink by the bar. You seemed quite amused by the excited, burbling nonsense I was coming out with, what a pity you had a boyfriend.

Hej! To the blonde in the glasses from “a very Swedish town, up north” the name of which I couldn’t compute, let alone had heard of. Where did you disappear to?

Hej hej! To the really really gorgeous blonde girl who I asked to translate what the singer of the live band was saying inbetween songs. You were nice about it and proceeded to sing/translate the lyrics into my ear. You also later took me by the hand into the ladies toilets where, in one of the cubicles, we got to know one another a little better. It’s been a long while since that has happened, let me tell you.
If I had a bit more about me I would’ve even taken your phone number or email address or something. But, I’m afraid, I was very, very drunk and too hyper that night to think straight. I can’t even remember what your name was or anything.

And hej to any other girls who I continued to pester, like the two blondes in the burger bar afterwards who looked a bit horrified when I asked if they were going “partying anywhere later” when it was about 3.30am and I was obviously pissed out me head. Naturally I don’t remember anyone’s name, but tack så mycket all you sweet Swedisher ladies! I’ll have to go visit you again sometime.

Things were a bit more subdued after that. On Monday we even climbed a hill that rises steeply above the north part of the city which afforded us grand views of the docks, central Gothenburg and surrounding countryside. As it was caked in crisp, icy snow, climbing up this bastard was an interesting affair. Even the winding pathway was made perilous by the compacted snow. Fun, invigorating stuff though, and amusing seeing as we often had to scrabble about, almost on all fours at times, to keep from sliding right back down on our arses.

Anyway, that was my birthday weekend. Blogging may now continue. Just to warn you.

cafe

she sits by the window lost in her hair.

no one looks your way.

subdued, yet very much aware of my surroundings.

no one talks to her. she talks to someone on her mobile.

you do realise you've just put salt in your coffee, don't you?

so many teenage mothers stare back at me from the gaudy windows of the mcdonalds

we're all running wild or waiting to explode

nobody listens, just waits for their turn to talk

i must stop making enemies of my friends

this life, i tell you.

i appreciate this anger.

suppose the world wasn't ending

in a room at the top of some stairs i found you

ahh. i hope i locked the door.

i want to find a bed to crawl in and sleep away the rest of these days. can you help me out with that?

that was a wistful tune.

so easy to let the time just slide by

i can't do this if your heart belongs to someone else!

he sits in the sunstreaked window of the cafe waiting for his friend he wants us to think will eventually show up.

i dont even like espresso im just happy to sit here.

that girl took two minutes deciding what flavour muffin to have. in the end she didn't have the right change.

i lie in an late bed.

you turn me on.

whispers in the night

kisses that feel like christmas morning

you need to be touched
hugged
and held
you need to feel
my gaze
on your neck
my breath
on your ear
you need to
turn your head
around
you need to
hold my
hand
face
my everything
you need to sit
still with me
you need to
hold me

this isn't working

six a.m and six foot down, already up with the lark. i watch you dress and go

you should be happy that you are not a stereotype.

there just never seems time for anything.

can you forget about him?

if you didn’t want this you wouldn’t be here now

don't go

people you love die, people you despise survive

i don’t want to hear the truth

i always feel i’m in the wrong place. there‘s somewhere else i should be.

mother, i’ve disappointed you

fingers crossed for happiness

dead at 30 buried at 70.

shopping is not creating.

monsters exist.

we barely use our minds

most of what we do is a hoax

remember earth clearly.

you are your own sex.

i promise, one day sweetheart, i will buy you fifty dresses.

your quiet, gentle fingers, they somehow slipped from my hand

purchased experiences don't count.

there is no worse enemy than the one incapable of knowing why they may be wrong

i'm not a liar, i'm a hypocrite

how do you do it, how do you glide through life like you do, as if living is an easy thing

where are you, i’m on my way

some people don’t know what it means to have a real real good time.

i’m going to try

i'm not worth looking at twice today.

it seems, in the end, we settle for less

forget it, it’s nothing




“take a strand of your hair
on my fingers let it fall
across the pillow lift to my nostrils
inhale your body entire

“sleeping with you after
weeks apart how normal
yet after midnight
to turn and slide my arm
along your thigh
drawn up in sleep
what delicate amaze”
~(adrienne rich, “memorize this”)



i'm going away you'll be pleased to hear. it’s my birthday on sunday. i’ll be in sweden then. back after.

35 Things Men Shouldn't Find Sexy But Do

Here be a filler-article list I’ve cribbed from one of those men's magazines, to use as a filler-article list on my weblog. Handy, eh?
As the title implies it’s all about those little, irregular things that, though they may not be “sexy” in any intentional or overt way, are somehow… quite distracting.
I found it quite funny but didn't agree to all points so I’ve jettisoned the ones I don’t agree with (Joan Collins? The Virgin Mary? Leopardskin?), and added some of my own on the end.
Y’know, for fun.

Here's the amended list anyway, with my own comments added.

"35 Things Men Shouldn't Find Sexy But Do"

1. Barmaids (pass them on the street and you wouldn't look twice)

I think the bit in parenthesis is key here, and the same, of course, applies to waitresses, shopgirls, etc who I, and many men, do sometimes give extra attention to (be it smiles, flirtation or, okay, leering) merely for the role they are in. And, yeah, it’s not as if they’re always so attractive that you would pay particular notice to them out on the street.

2. Female newsreaders

Oh this old chestnut. I suppose we’re supposed to be watching soberly and detached from our loins when we’re being fed current affairs and serious ishooos, but even while we may take our newsreaders seriously we can’t help but become attached to familiar faces over time. I myself find my heart sort of sinks whenever I realise that K@tie R@zzall won’t be appearing on Channel 4 News, for instance.

3. Slightly fat tummies in crop tops

By “slightly fat” I think they mean the soft convexity a woman’s belly naturally has when it hasn’t been aerobicised to the muscle. In which case, right on brother! Feels nicer too.

4. Female colleagues bending over

This is sort of obviously sexy, but I take that it’s inclusion here is that it means “you should really be concentrating on your work, not letching at your coworkers”. But, of course, what can you do?

5. Women who hate us

Ah-ha. Sounds aaaall too familiar. Sigh.

6. Unconscious women in clubs

Err… Can I add girls fainting? It’s in more of an urge to look after them rather than a “right, let’s jump on her while she can’t refuse” thing. I hope. In which case I’d also add girls crying. It’s a vulnerability thing, which is quite potent.
(A friend added ‘Girls being sick’ to this, as in you hold their hair back for them. That’s on the same lines I suppose, yeah, though the whole ‘being sick’ part of the equation moves it to a too, too far distance from seXXXiness for me. I mean, RLY?)

7. WPCs

The whole women in uniform/as authority figure kink isn’t really my cup of tea, but the I’d admit the cuter ones can be distracting. I like it when they try to look all stern.

8. Helga in Allo Allo

Arf! For those that don’t know ‘Allo ‘Allo was an ‘80s wartime sitcom set in, would you believe, Nazi occupied France. When bumbling German officers, French resistance fighters and English spies begin to convene at a small French café run by a beleaguered comedy Frenchman who only wants a quiet life, “hilarity” ensues!
There was quite a lot of sex in it, actually - of the nudge-nudge-wink-wink variety. Lots of saucy French waitresses and innuendo. I remember quite fancying the female resistance fighter go-between, with her typically overstated Fruuuurnch ax-urrnt. But Helga, IIRC, was the rather timid assistant, or whatever, to the comedy SS officer, Herr Flick.
Thinking back now though, the relationship between the mousy, eager-to-please Helga - who occasionally ended up in her black lacy underwear for whatever (no real) reason - and the bossy, sadistic, leather greatcoat wearing Herr Flick, was the most explicit, though comedic, representation of a D/s relationship mainstream TV has ever had I think! In retrospect it’s sort of the funniest thing about the show now.

9. The automated voice on the Odeon cinema ticket line

Another one that often crops up: the clear, precisely enunciated if cold primary school teacher-ish tones of female automated voices. Not “sexy” exactly, but can be pleasing. The voice on the Jubilee line is a particular favourite; it‘s just that little bit breathy, could listen to her for hours.

10. Girls fighting

Hm. To a point, I suppose, yes.

11. Libraries

Something to do with the stillness, the calmness, the muted atmosphere. Plus, chicks who dig books: rowr!

12. Sitting on the bus

This is a vibrations thing, yeah? Plus all that time you spend daydreaming. A stiffy is almost guaranteed. And then your stop comes all too soon and you have to get off holding your bag in front of your crotch, or pulling your coat right around. Gah. Always!

13. Teachers who seduce their pupils (Ropey old boilers but we're jealous of the tykes whose 'innocence' they steal!)

Well, whether it’s male teacher/female pupil or female teacher/male pupil it’s that thing of someone getting to act out a common fantasy/taboo. Wouldn’t like it to happen to our child though, would we?

14. Visible panty line

Yeah, and visible bra straps. It’s just “that’s her underwear!”.

15. Nurses taking urine samples

Huh? I‘ve never ever been in hospital myself - other than to visit - but a friend of mine was a few years ago and when he was out cold a nurse had to attach a catheter to his penis, which we all found a bit… thought provoking. I ‘spose this goes under the banner of a nurse touching, seeing or having anything to do with your penis. And then there’re the apocryphal tales of nurses “administering” blow jobs/hand jobs/vagina jobs…

16. Girls hugging each other

Haha. Right. And girls holding hands. Girl-girl signs of affection, in other words, which are sort of perplexing and lovely to the male.

17. Condom instructions

It’s been a while since I read them, but I suppose it’s tied in with sexual discovery as well as slight frisson from the incongruity of reading sexual language on an instruction leaflet. I remember being ten or eleven and reading the instructions from a box of tampons, which really opened my eyes, but still left me with more questions than answers. Like the realisation that there was a whole secret world for females that I was not party too.

18. Shoe-shop assistants tying your laces

Another one at the very low wattage end of the sexual circuit board. Reading through this list I wonder how many are hangovers from childhood, where pleasant encounters and so on are translated into dimly sexual feelings when filtered through an adult perspective. Having your laces tied though: that spins you right back to nursery school years, but now mixed with having a young woman kneeling at your feet helping you and all that goes with that. It’s a crazy mix-up for sure.

19. Elves

Elves? Women dressed as elves with their tight leggings and false pointy ears? Or real, actual, imagined elves? I dunno, I think you’d have to be more of a Lord of the Rings fan than I am to fully appreciate the qualities a lady elf can bring you. But if I did have to choose between mythical beings to get off with - and who can honestly say it won’t come to that? - I think I’d probably go for a mermaid or something. Fairy, possibly? Bit small though. Or maybe even a wood sprite. I also have a sneaking suspicion that Medusa was a bit of a goer on the quiet.

20. Lingerie departments

I don’t think any man can ever feel totally relaxed in a lingerie shop. There’s always a nagging feeling that you’re trespassing on private territory, and that you shouldn’t be there. This feeling x100 when shopping alone w/o female company - all those suspicious glances from other patrons and the uncomfortable feeling of being surrounded by so much… frilly, lacy bits of material that barely classify as clothing. That’s not all, even after you’ve summoned up the nerve to go up to the counter and purchase something - while making loud noises about how you’re buying this for your GIRLFRIEND, you just know that as soon as you’ve gone they’re going to turn to each other and go “he’s buying that for himself”. You just know!

21. The stuff girls do when they know you're watching them (arse wiggling, "i'm not pouting" pout, hair tossing, clavicle touching, it still works)

Aren’t we men supposed to be attracted to those, unconscious or otherwise, presentations? Therefore it needs hardly be on this list. “Arse wiggling”?? Sounds a bit overt.

22. Ladies' loos (mainly because girls go in there to take their pants down. Amazing.)

No, mainly because, like #20, it’s a mysterious female only enclave, and who knows what really goes on in there? Something secretly female and unknowable to men, I’ll wager.

23. Tan lines

Fair enough.

24. Slow-dancing (must... not... get... stiffy... No, No! Noooo!)

Again, “shouldn’t find sexy”? The end-of-the-night slow-dance section in nightclubs isn’t called The Erection Section for nothing, y’know. But, okay, getting an obvious-to-everyone hard-on in a club is something you’d rather not happen, and does cause embarrassment. So, given that, fair enough.

25. The lower back

I’m especially drawn to those darling little dimples that appear above each buttock. Actually I find the naked female back to be wonderful all over.

26. Wonderbras (we really should know better)

Another one for the obvious list, but here they’re saying we’re dupes for falling for the obvious. Perhaps I should make a list of things I/we/men are supposed to find sexy, but don’t. Actually, that’d be fun, if much shorter. As I’m discovering, just about everything to do with girls is attractive.

27. Women filling cars up with petrol

I can’t honestly say I’ve given much notice to this phenomenon, but I’ve included it here for curiosity’s sake. Why would a man find this attractive, I wonder - is it because she’s penetrating something?? Good grief.

28. Girls riding horses

Mm. Nice get-up they wear too, isn’t it? The jodhpurs are especially fetching, but then there’s the boots, the little hat… very nice. Quite prim, but saucy. Do I need mention the fact that they’re also straddling and rocking up and down on a mighty stallion into the bargain? Nah.

29. Girls who actually request anal sex (Danger! Warning sign of psycho-bitch! Is it worth it? Probably.)

A glimpse into the mind of a men’s magazine writer here. Why would she be a “psycho-bitch” exactly? The implication is that we shouldn’t find taboo sex - which anal sex more-or-less still is I suppose - or those who enjoy it, very sexy; but we sort of do, tee hee! How shocking.

30. Women who smash crockery when angry

A fiery temperament suggests exciting sex, and that line about women looking beautiful when angry is sometimes true. Especially when they've spent the last thirty seconds bashing ineffectually at your chest going, 'I hate you, I hate you!’

31. Bare feet

I’ve included this one, and it’s specifically not from a foot-fetishists viewpoint. Although girls’ feet are cute, it’s not the feet themselves that I’m focusing on here, but there’s something attractive about a bare-footed woman, something that suggests a free nature perhaps.

32. Argyle socks or tights

As suggested by a friend to counter the above point. The Argyle thing might be narrowing it down to a very particular interest, but I take the general point about patterned socks, tights - primness can definitely be sexy!

33. Messy hair

I break this down into two categories:
i. Windswept hair: Recently a female coworker came into work complaining that her hair looked “shit” because the blustery weather had blown it all about. She was wrong; her hair had never looked better.

ii. Bed head: I luff long, straight hair on girls the mostest, but so often it can be very sleek and styled and just yay. That’s nice enough but it’s dead sexy to see it all tangled and ruffled, esp first thing in the morning when she comes down wearing one of your shirts, her hair all over the show. It’s endearing

34. Long skirts

Hurrah. Are short/mini skirts played? I’m tempted to say yes but of course it wouldn’t be true. We’ll always love them. But let’s hear it for the long - ankle length even - skirt. Back to the primness thing again, in a way. But to conceal can be more sexy than to reveal.

35. Women applying make-up

Yes, and checking themselves out in a mirror, especially craning their neck over a shoulder to look at the reflection of their arse when trying on a new dress. And - just so I won’t add another point therefore keeping it at a rounded 35 - women brushing their hair or, EVEN BETTER, having another woman brush it for her. On my bus to work some mornings two female college students get on, one of which obviously hasn’t had time to do her hair, so she gets her friend to brush it out and then plait it for her. I have to tell you, for some reason it never fails to arouse me (esp as it‘s in conjunction with point 12). But the particular rituals of female grooming are, on the whole, fascinating to behold.

Bushwhacked

(Or: How We Should All Stop Worrying And Learn To Love Our Pubic Hair)


Lone voice in the wilderness time. Shay’s informative piece on shaving got me [re-]thinking about this growing epidemic of fanatical hair removal and the ceaseless, futile chase after the “perfect” body image - which appears to be that of a shop window mannequin.

I’ll cut straight to the chase. From underarm hair on women and back hair on men to now: favouring complete removal of all body and pubic hair for both women and men. This is a growing culture of revulsion at body hair and further anxiety regarding body image, about what is “acceptable” and desirable and what isn’t.

I remember an ex-girlfriend of mine trying to shave her pubic triangle into an ever smaller, neater, rigid and geometrically correct shape. Each time she would check in the mirror after shaving a tiny bit from one side and this, however, she would see it still wasn’t quite equilateral and would shave some more. Soon enough she ended up with an absurd little triangle of hair free floating in the middle of her lower stomach. Much mirth did this give me, but I wondered, and asked her, why she even bothered. After all, I was perfectly happy with the size and shape of her natural-grown bush. She told me it was sexier to have the smallest amount of hair down there as possible. Well, this was news to me, but pubic topiary is all the rage so let’s all join in shall we?

But, for women especially, it isn’t stopping at compulsively shaping and sculpting bushes into ever more narrower shapes. Now, even the not-particularly-sexy “sexy” landing-strip has been discarded in favour of the completely hairless, doll-parts look. Men aren’t too far behind now, either. Gay subcultures are typical trailblazers when it comes to male grooming and style. And emerging from it’s origins in gay porn, the Back, Sac & Crack waxing procedure is now a popular and readily available service for any/every man who wants to “look good”, even if that means a somewhat undignified and eye-watering few minutes on their hands and knees in a beauty salon having wax strips ripped off their balls.

All this anti-hair madness is chasing after porn star fashion. But while a shaved pussy affords us a clear view of what a woman’s cunt looks like when it’s being penetrated, it’s effect when it has seeped into the mainstream seems to be one where pubic hair is seen to be distasteful and is to be got rid of as much as possible. Not to mention a decidedly unpleasant cultural side-effect of where a prepubescent look is idealised in adults: shaved/hairless chest for men; smooth, hairless mons for women (that plucked-chicken skin look, as well as visable labia, is also out).

Natural body oils and pheromones be damned: everything must be plucked, shaved and over-washed and doused in chemicals. Perhaps people actively want dry skin, pubic stubble and asthma, who knows?

It’s all part of a self, and bodily, disgust which just keeps on growing and growing. It’s tendrils reach everywhere, everyone.
All those allegedly enlightened women who have short words to say about anyone who wrinkles their nose at anything gynaecological or female “extra padding”, and who don’t waste a single second of their waking day loudly proclaiming how “open minded” they are compared to everyone else, are still the same people who go “ew ew ew, he’s got a hairy bum!!”

But men might still be worse. The world is teeming with fools, of course, and the internet is the perfect place for them to wallow in their own crapulent ignorance. Recently one site posted up topless pictures of all the Best Actress Oscar nominees; cue plentiful guffawing and outrage at the apparent shortcomings of all the actresses breasts. Amid all this one commented on a still of Rachel Wiesz from the film Stealing Beauty where she is sunbathing nude with just a piece of material draped over a hip to cover her modesty, but not enough to conceal evidence of pubic hair. “Eurgh! Who is that woman with the nasty, hairy bush?” he shouted, clearly a connoisseur of the non-hairy variety of bush.

But even if you’re completely waxed free of every hair on your body, don’t think you’re safe from fretting about your ugly, ugly form. Vaginal surgery can now take away any “unsightly” bits of skin to give you that “Playboy” look (or, rather, the look of a prepubescent girl but, shh, don’t say it). And isn’t it about time all men were circumcised? Yeah, let’s just keep propagating these half-cocked myths about “cleanliness” and even aesthetics. Despite the fact that cut penises look like sausages that have burst open one end under a hot grill, circumcision butchers away the “male clitoris”, the frenulum, leaving sensitivity vastly reduced. But so what? This is what is “acceptable” now, cuz, duh, it’s what porn stars all look like, duh. And, ew, uncut cocks? Ew ew ew, they’re all dirty!

Fucking hell.

How did we get here? What has made us like this, where we are striving for the look of children? More to the point why do we so readily accept this infantilisation of our culture and collective body image?
We now snigger at shots of naked women in the 1970s with their wild’n’wooly bushes, but will future generations be aghast at how we traded soft, pheremone rich, pubic hair for tight, bristly micro-bushes and then kindergarten sex chic? Or will they have found ways to go even further with it, via god-knows-what plastic surgery and enhancements blahblahblah.

As The Smiths once sang “on the day that your mentality / catches up with your biology”, then we can talk.

Dear [Random Person], I Love You. #36

Dear checkout girl,
Thankyou for attempting coversation with me, asking me if I live locally (“because I’ve just seen you in here a few times” you said). Sorry for my off-hand, mumbled response and for shooting off so quick, it was rude of me. It’s just that you caught me off-guard as I have a lot on my mind at the minute. I just want to say that afterwards, while walking home, I was really cheered up by it and what with your shy smile and the sudden unseasonal sunshine, for a few moments I clean forgot all my troubles. For that I love you.

Dear girl working in The Swan pub last night,
You may remember me, I was the one buying all those gin & tonics. In fact you might think I’m a right old boozer who fritters his time away drinking himself into oblivion. Not true, I want you to know I lead a fulfilling life which involves Co-Op own-brand museli, daydreaming and the internet.
I’ve noticed you several times: you’re hella cute and daft and cheery and lovely, but you’ve made it clear you’re not in the least bit interested in me. That’s okay. I still hope you live a rewarding life, and that your acting career takes off. I notice you work nights in the interim to make a bit of cash. I hope your days are filled with the light and happiness enjoyed by only the most deserving of souls. I hope you find a man (or woman) to care for you and equal you in understated wit and quiet beauty.
Don't listen too much to those nerdy, loud uni boys that congregate around the corner of the bar and keep demanding your attention. Stay free. Don't share their grating and unrelenting ironic love of bad heavy metal and ‘80s trash TV. Don't sully your soft skin and luminous eyes with their dirty piercings and cheap ink. You’re so far above them. I think you’re so funny and different, and… and I… I love you.

Dear “Moves2makeUCum2 25/F London, London, United Kingdom” who featured on the Adult Friend Finder ad that annoyingly keeps popping up, I doubt that by joining this damn thing I’ll actually get to hook up with you, in fact what are you doing with this tawdry nonsense anyway? You look so cool and gorgeous in your shades and stripy top you hardly need advertise yourself. Oh well, even if I can’t be your “Adult Friend”, I still love you.