Of Sex, Porn and Cousins.

I believe I now have an idea of how my mother felt when she found my box of condoms and realized I was on the pill. I had made not the slightest effort, mind you, to hide either, but the poor lady was struck speechless for a few good days after.

A couple weeks ago my little cousin asked me for porn and I felt a kind of cold numbness originate in my belly and ooze outward to my extremities. I had to twice ask him to repeat himself. My ‘little’ cousin is one month younger than me.

What unnerved me was how excited he got when I was able to unearth two CDs and a DVD of the ‘stuff’. I was finally able to see first hand the physical manifestation of a description I often read in novels: his eyes actually shone.

I’ve always wondered how the parents of teenage parents feel. Is it that they are angry that their children have burdened them with another mouth to feed even after they themselves have taken family planning precautions, or is it that they are more appalled at the realization that their innocents have been not only boinking their brains out but have been doing so without protection?

Y’know, it’s funny; when I was still in school, I remember eavesdropping on a rather steamy conversation between two of the more – uh – popular girls. Apparently the previous night was the setting for a clandestine encounter between one of the chicas and her then boyfriend. With all the giggling and the who did what to whom and how, you’d swear they were the only ones who had ever had sex. Ever.

I’m sure I’m not the only person who has noticed this predilection in today’s youth; how they blithely go about with their new found sexual consciousness, ‘discovering’ vibrators, KY and doggy style as if people haven’t been getting fucked since Adam ate the goddamned apple.

When next I stock up, I should probably purchase some extra condoms for cuz. After all, I may not believe in abstinence, but I sure as heck am an advocate for sensible sexual practices. And who knows, if he’s for porn now, the possibility exists that he may also inquire the directions to Villa Capri.

Love and Literature

Well that’s it. There is officially no hope for me now. I have no choice but to relegate myself to the fact that I shall share the same dwelling with my mother - mate less- for the rest of my natural life.

After the inevitable failure of my last relationship, I decided that the next male I snare would need to have more than a modicum of intelligence before he gets the privilege of being referred to as my larger half; I fancied myself somewhat of a sapiosexual. Then I discovered that all the intelligent men I would more likely prefer, read and analyze Dostoyevsky, Hemingway and Naipaul. Hey I like to discuss a good book too, but as opposed to having an indepth discourse on man’s struggle with both his internal and external environments, I’m more of a ‘hmmm…interesting…’ kind of girl.

And too besides, I prefer low-brow fiction anyway. Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass remain two of my all time favourites and I wouldn’t part with my copy of The Wind in the Willows for a pound of the purest gold. Make it ten pounds and we could talk - but I digress.

Every week, the Express Woman’s Magazine runs a twenty question interview with some local ‘celebrity’. Being the stalker that I am, I pay particular attention to the answers given by the studly males and I am always perturbed and disappointed when the response to “The best book you have ever read?” turns out to be The Bible. Huh? Hey it’s nice to know men have a sense of spirituality, but unless he’s open-minded (and personal experience proves to me that whoever considers a religious tome a good read, is anything but), conversations would soon get boring. I mean, there are only so many times one can hear about begetting after begetting after begetting before going insane.

Seriously though, I can’t remember the last time I met a man who infused the butterflies in my belly with such excitement as to remind me that they yet live. Ok, so actually I can, but it’s been a while. It would seem that finding one who is mature enough to not take himself too seriously, yet doesn’t make behaving like a jackass a routine thing, is about as easy as locating a sack of flour and a bag of rice these days.

I wonder if I’ll get laid at all this year.