Saturday, May 10, 2003
It's very late at night and I've just got off the phone with my Addy. I am aroused. I am alone in my flat. I have a supply of condoms.
I could, in theory, enter a chatroom, find myself a man and bring him home in the next couple hours. We could fuck really hard and then part ways. It would be easy. But I'm not going to do it. What's stopping me?
1. Fear. This is where being a woman is less advantageous than being a man. Modern science has corrected the possible pregnancy disadvantage. Nothing has yet been done, however, to compensate for the fact that women have a vagina that can be used without their voluntary participation, by men, whose penis more often than not becomes operational only with their voluntary participation. Aside from this, I am also tiny, not very fit and not trained in self-defense. (Note to self: learn Wing Tsun!)
2. A desire to avoid complications. What if the guy wants to see me after tonight and I don't? What if I want to see him after tonight and he doesn't? What if I get an STD? (I have condoms but no gum shields. And I like to swallow...) What if the sex is lame but he wants to sleep over?
3. A determination not to sell my soul for nookie. I've slept with 6 people, but have only had casual sex with one, and it was my least memorable experience. Great sex takes a great mind connection, and that's just does not lie around every corner. I could get lucky and find a perfect intellectual match, but it is more likely that I won't. In any case, the span of time I'm willing to allocate for sex tonight would not allow for that connection to be formed.
Hmm... Am I, maybe, subconsciously thwarting my plans before I even start putting them into practice? I don't think so... I'm simply analyzing the situation of a tiny, pretentious woman who would like to get laid at 3:00 AM. :)
Another thing I could do is call an escort. That would be even better that chatting somebody up. But I would have to pay...
On top of the above, I am really tired, though aroused. So I think I will just retire to my bedroom and tell myself a vividly colorful story before drifting to sleep...
I could, in theory, enter a chatroom, find myself a man and bring him home in the next couple hours. We could fuck really hard and then part ways. It would be easy. But I'm not going to do it. What's stopping me?
1. Fear. This is where being a woman is less advantageous than being a man. Modern science has corrected the possible pregnancy disadvantage. Nothing has yet been done, however, to compensate for the fact that women have a vagina that can be used without their voluntary participation, by men, whose penis more often than not becomes operational only with their voluntary participation. Aside from this, I am also tiny, not very fit and not trained in self-defense. (Note to self: learn Wing Tsun!)
2. A desire to avoid complications. What if the guy wants to see me after tonight and I don't? What if I want to see him after tonight and he doesn't? What if I get an STD? (I have condoms but no gum shields. And I like to swallow...) What if the sex is lame but he wants to sleep over?
3. A determination not to sell my soul for nookie. I've slept with 6 people, but have only had casual sex with one, and it was my least memorable experience. Great sex takes a great mind connection, and that's just does not lie around every corner. I could get lucky and find a perfect intellectual match, but it is more likely that I won't. In any case, the span of time I'm willing to allocate for sex tonight would not allow for that connection to be formed.
Hmm... Am I, maybe, subconsciously thwarting my plans before I even start putting them into practice? I don't think so... I'm simply analyzing the situation of a tiny, pretentious woman who would like to get laid at 3:00 AM. :)
Another thing I could do is call an escort. That would be even better that chatting somebody up. But I would have to pay...
On top of the above, I am really tired, though aroused. So I think I will just retire to my bedroom and tell myself a vividly colorful story before drifting to sleep...
Friday, May 09, 2003
"Healthier than slouching on the settee, taking swigs from the gin bottle" -- Leitch would have said that. Coming from me, it sounds counterfeit. Because I cannot drink.
I had my first taste of heavy inebriation when I was 14. It was a June afternoon, a few weeks before my highschool admission exam. I had been out with a few friends, one of which happened to be my object of romantic interest at the time, and I was counting on returning in their midst after a brief run by home. My parents, however, were not of the same opinion, and I had to stay in. I was angry.
So I poured out a number of tall glasses of white wine, and I drank until the room started spinning. After a couple hours, I was horribly sick.
I retired to my room and fell, belly-up, on the bed. Big mistake. I had to struggle back to my feet and run to the bathroom in as unconspicuous a way as possible. Repeatedly.
The second time I got obscenely drunk was probably a few weeks later. I'd had one taste of the poison, and was eager to experience some more. I was alone at home, and made myself a concoction including every spirit in house. The room spun more violently, more quickly than the previous time, and I was able to pass out on my bed without being sick. The next time I tried alcohol, however, a few days later, I found I couldn't stomach it. I attempted to make myself drink on several occasions, but to no avail...
... Until New Year's Eve 2002. My parents had gone out to celebrate, and I was left with the internet connection and a bottle of Finnish vodka. I drank a few shots, and felt fine. At around 3 AM, I went to bed. At around 5 AM, I woke up in horror, managed to find the floor, used it for full support and crawled to the bathroom where I spent the next 30 minutes alternately contorting in a half-upright position and collapsing on my side, with the toilet brush for a pillow. I haven't really drunk since.
And it's not so much the sickness, as the fact that alcohol doesn't do anything for me. I have got drunk to the limit of physical tolerance, but have never managed to at least lose the ability to tell what's going on (which is what people like about alcohol, right? the fact that they can get out of their heads...). I don't really feel good when I drink.
Which, considering my naturally addictive personality, is a very good thing...
I had my first taste of heavy inebriation when I was 14. It was a June afternoon, a few weeks before my highschool admission exam. I had been out with a few friends, one of which happened to be my object of romantic interest at the time, and I was counting on returning in their midst after a brief run by home. My parents, however, were not of the same opinion, and I had to stay in. I was angry.
So I poured out a number of tall glasses of white wine, and I drank until the room started spinning. After a couple hours, I was horribly sick.
I retired to my room and fell, belly-up, on the bed. Big mistake. I had to struggle back to my feet and run to the bathroom in as unconspicuous a way as possible. Repeatedly.
The second time I got obscenely drunk was probably a few weeks later. I'd had one taste of the poison, and was eager to experience some more. I was alone at home, and made myself a concoction including every spirit in house. The room spun more violently, more quickly than the previous time, and I was able to pass out on my bed without being sick. The next time I tried alcohol, however, a few days later, I found I couldn't stomach it. I attempted to make myself drink on several occasions, but to no avail...
... Until New Year's Eve 2002. My parents had gone out to celebrate, and I was left with the internet connection and a bottle of Finnish vodka. I drank a few shots, and felt fine. At around 3 AM, I went to bed. At around 5 AM, I woke up in horror, managed to find the floor, used it for full support and crawled to the bathroom where I spent the next 30 minutes alternately contorting in a half-upright position and collapsing on my side, with the toilet brush for a pillow. I haven't really drunk since.
And it's not so much the sickness, as the fact that alcohol doesn't do anything for me. I have got drunk to the limit of physical tolerance, but have never managed to at least lose the ability to tell what's going on (which is what people like about alcohol, right? the fact that they can get out of their heads...). I don't really feel good when I drink.
Which, considering my naturally addictive personality, is a very good thing...
