Context

Property of Stormberry.

 LITTLE ANNOUNCEMENT: only after I posted I realized I had already written about this "making love" vs "fucking" exchange. I'm not rewriting the post, but consider this an extention on my thoughts on the matter. A little bit more... processed thanks to the weeks that have passed since. Clearly, it made an impression on me.

For a few weeks now my life has gone back to the usual - or sort of the usual - way, at least regarding my sexual life. My friend has gone now, and by being far away, the chance to exchage a few texts and reserve a room at our signature hotel spend the night together having sex is gone as well. Of course I'm going through those days where I miss our encounters, and my friend in general, and the bits and pieces of our interactions pop up in my head and linger for a while.

One of the thoughts that came to my head was about the words and expressions used to refer to sex.

The first time we had sex, my friend refered to the activity as "making love", which I found strange, since we had agreed that this was a no-strings-attached kind of liaison. From then on, my friend used a small sort of euphemisms, but the direct words they used was "fuck". I didn't make any mention on their new word selection, but it gave me food for thought.

When I reference having sex, I call it "having sex", which for me it's a rather neutral, unemotional expression for an activity that should be about pleasure, and which I have practiced for many years now for that exact reason. I seek pleasure in sex, both mine and that of my partner. However, I am aware of the fact that sex tends to be heavily tinted with all sorts of emotions and expectations that may not have anything to do with sex itself. In our society, sex is not "for pleasure" plainly, but it carries a whole bundle of heavy tags and expectations. Sex can soil you if it fails to tie you down. It can brand you if you exercise it with the wrong people and it may even taint you if you practice it in unapproved ways, if you make or demand certain concessions. Depending on your gender, it can cheapen you or increase your value.

As such, sex is heavy with context, and this is the context I discovered in the words chosen by my friend. If it wasn't a delicate, elevating, "respectful", romantic act - such as making love -, it had to be a dirty, degrading, basic act, such as fuck. Are those the only ways most people see sex as? And it's not like fucking is bad - well done is really pleasurable ;) - nor does it mean that my friend thinks this way - they may not feel like using the expression "have sex" or maybe are not even giving a negative subtext to "fuck". However, as you insert the words in the social context, neither "making love" nor "fucking" are free of subtext. Not yet, in anyway. And though we may not think of the words we are using, and we speak those we hear around us, without delving into the origins and the social connotation of them, they are there, and deep down they carry on a lot of weight.

We say more with our words than we imagine we do. Our words carry not only our message, but also the thoughts and the context printed on them by the culture we are immersed in.

Relationships

Property of Stormberry

First of all, Blessed Litha! Another Litha celebrated in the mids of the Pandemic, but we can still find reasons to celebrate, if we so wish. In spite of what goes on with the humans inhabiting Mother Earth, the planet turns and the celestial bodies sail on, go on retrograde and pulse on the deep skies, bringing the longest day of the year. Our work is both internal and external, we still work hard, even if we don't do it as before. Our activites have changed, but they demand the same effort from us, and this we can celebrate today.

Also, in the mids of this pandemic, I wonder if people are keeping their Quarantine Journals, and how those journals may look like. Have they kept them? Have those journals become just journals, inadvertently recording the process of human adaptation, from one world obssessed with traveling and out-of-home, social gatherings and picking locations of all types for the perfect Instagram/Tumblr/Pinterest pictures, to another masked up and full of new expectations and concerns?

My own journal had a page, an entry marking the beginig for me, of this new reality, but other that that, it's filled with the same sort of entries: thoughts, gossip, venting. My daily moves have changed, but the person I am have not.

Property of Stormberry

The seasons keep turning, we are adapating, we are getting he hang of this life with more cleanliness - which is always a good thing -, more physical distance and an ample range to discover new ways to show affection. This is becoming also a world and a time where physical intimacy holds a deeper meaning because of the risks associated and the care one must practice.

In my previous post I wrote about a date I had. My first date or "going out" with a friend I have had since the pandemic has began. This date of sorts have evolved, and we have been meeting for casual sex, though not as often or as regularly as the "have been meeting" might suggest. We have talked and decided we want to sleep together one day, and so we booked a room at a nice hotel, met there, had sex, spend the night and then each has gone on their merry way. And then again, last night, though this time my companion couldn't stay the night.

And so, when I was alone in the room, it felt like a stolen moment from the days before the pandemic, when I traveled and stayed in hotel rooms alone, and enjoyed that wonderful solitude and the limitless freedom it grants on you.

We talked before he had to go, and at one point he said he would not hide "what we have" if he was asked, and that got me thinking. What we have? And what do we have? I had not stopped to consider it. I had to ask him what he meant by that, "what we have". He said we were friends with benefits, and it stroke me that he might be right, but I never really stopped to think about that, and maybe realize that I am, inadvertently, entering a sort of relationship. Yes, I guess we are friends, and we have a lot of things in common, and sex is good, but just because we share sex together on a very random, casual manner, does that stamp a new name, a new label on our friendship?

I wish sex could be seen like sharing coffee with friends, or books, or music, and so friends who sleep together, because they enjoy it, could simply keep unlaterated the tag of friends without having to add words that let others know they also have sex.

There are things about this too. Now our friendship is part of his "love life", and I wasn't even considering him or our encounters as part of my love life. The first day he refered to us having sex as making love, and I also found that not only outdated (in my mind you don't "make love", love needs no making, but also, I don't like mixing sex and love, as love is an emotion that can permeat everything you do, and sex is an activity like eating, walking or spending time with someone), but also weird. Why "make love"? Now he simply says "fuck". I find it interesting that he doesn't say "have sex", which is more neutral, and yet chooses words or expressions that charge sex with a social or emotional connotation. He qualifies the sex between us, and with it, his mind expands and he qualifies the rapport between us, labels it, boxes it and so the thought in his mind arises about whether do admit or deny what happens between us, while in my head there is nothing to admit or deny, simply a connection that pertains only him and me, and nobody needs to know about it.

So I wonder if it could be the effect of the Pandemic, filling casual contact with more intimacy, deeper meaning than what it had previously, or whether we are still exactly the same, we still related to each other the same way, and only the logictics have varied.

The Nookie

Today I've a really awesome topic, or should I say I "HAD" a really awesome topic for the post. It's really good and I haven't even forgotten it, which is rare, and it's perfect! Yes, except that it's almost 22h, and today my boyfriend and I had a lot of things to take care of regarding our soon-to-be home, and one of those things was cleaning. We did hire a cleaning lady, an adorable, sweet Transilvanian lady (they speak Hungarian and refure to be acknowledged as "Rumanians" even though they are, but rather like to be considered as a Hungarian minority) wearing her beautiful traditional clothes - yes! People today wearing traditional clothes! I still can't get over it - but we helped in because the work was quite some for such a small place, and so we are tired to death with the scrubbing of the kitchen. Honestly, it was also quite disgusting to scrap up from the walls, the floors and the stove the remnants of other people's dinners. Bits of bread on the windowsill, baby bottles stuffed in the closets, and old pieces of noodles and onion, rice... stuck all over the stove? Come on, people, really?

Some parts of that kitchen looked like we would need to call in a HAZMAT team.

Work isn't finished, but we certainly are. God willing we would be buying our furniture on Monday and start the moving (in and out, as all the old furniture I haven't personally approved is a goner), or busing in Tuesday, but still tarting the moving on Monday, and you know Ikea furniture, you gara ensamble it yourself because "that's part of the fun"? Whadda fuck? Freaking Skandinavians, they creat a LEGO and then they think all people wanna do is DIY. So we are up to our eyeballs in tasks and chores, but right now we are TIRED. I mean, I could go on for a little bit more, but I've got an ultimatum from my boyfriend: either I'm in bed within 30 minutes or he'll be asleep, and that means, no nookie. So sorry, nookie beats blogging, so that awesome topic shall be written some other time!

Peeling back the Skin on Sex

Today I feel like lashing out. Be out there, broad and brutally honest. Plaster a smirk on my face and talk about the favorite topic of all times: Sex. Not like there isn't much left for discussion in the topic, nor like I would think I've such an important or ground breaking position to reveal that would mark a milestone in the history of sex as we know it. I'm sure, however, that everybody has at least one story or topic to develop that would raise eyebrows, halt breaths or tint cheeks. Those who don't, well, I'd advise them to live a little bit more.

Now, the topic of the day is not whether sex and love and love and sex are one or separate. If we take the overly stressed and not for it true stance that no real sex is possible without love, or whether we take the stance of sex and love are separate and you can have either of them with or without the others. Won't go into the social manifestation about sex, and how it is or is not proper, taboo or an act that should or shouldn't brand people who do it. You wanna read about that, learn Spanish, or practice it, and go read Carepicha's Blog. He certainly has much more patience to delve into the subject than I do.

So certainly the topic isn't where or when or with whom, but basically what and who. Place on the mask, focus while I take the scalpel and proceed with the live autopsy of the matter.

Most people would agree that one of the few, purest pleasures in life is sex. It's not like eating or drinking, where though it can be pleasurable, you often do it to avoid something unpleasant, such as hunger or thirst. Though indeed the lack of sex or sexual release could make you really uncomfortable - urban legends talk about men with blue balls and women who develop hysteria :-) - no one has really ever died for lack of sex. In this sense, sex is something people go for - extracting here any socially imposed idea or duty - out of the sheer want for it. You take sex for the pleasure of sex, not to avoid a certain type of discomfort or pain. From this point on, if we all agree on this, it should be clear that sex should be about the pursue of pleasure, of a sort of physical gratification that could bring also pleasure to other senses, to other levels, such as the emotional. I say could for it not necessarily needs to bring that type of satisfaction. However, as a thing pursued for the pleasure of it, it becomes contradictory if by the pursue of it one experiences any discomfort or suffering. Here I take out the suffering willingly experienced for the pleasure of it, a.k.a. masochist sex. In other words, though the emotional gratification isn't necessarily a byproduct of sex, if the act itself generates emotional suffering, where the fuck is the point of it?

Sex makes sense when people having it enjoy it, feel good about it and experience no suffering related with it. Due to the way we are all "wired up", this can't always be attained for several reasons, many of which can be traced back to socially imposed dogmas and criteria that  can effectively obstruct the capability of individuals to enjoy something that was mean exactly for that: to be enjoyed. Rationally approaching the subject, it amazes how much a thing is often regarded with shame. How many people can openly describe what they really like without blushing? It's as if the inner source of desire were some damp, murky place you don't want to go, nor should you invite anyone else. Well, you normally don't, but then if you step into the realm of one-nightstands, veils and masks fall and strangers request from one another the most basic favors. Touch, lick, put it in there, stand against the wall, hold it up, raise it, tie it down, show it, make it, let it see, look at it, feel it up.

The scope of it goes into a wider range than one would guess from porn tapes and daring R-rated movies and  series. Interestingly several things are not "hard core" all related to orgies, beatings, exhibitionism, voyeurism, and ass-fucking - as the popular imaginary loves to think - but to the most amazing, simple yet unthought matters. Then again, I guess there wouldn't be anything kinky enough about a guy who likes to lick the ankles of his partner while this gives him a blowjob, or a chick who likes a blowjob that includes fingers inside her pussy and her mouth. Desires are wide, and like any other need considered by social scientists - economists among them -  are unlimited. Theoretically, as long as you enjoy sex, and you get your desired fulfilled, and well fulfilled by a willing partner, there's no reason to fall into a rutine. Say you voice your desire to... get a handjob with a belt wrapped thightly around one of your thighs. Your partner is confident and tells you their desire to have sex with a vibrating ring. You might feel liberated to the think about something new, something simple, not necessarily something that outdoes the previous.

It doesn't now you'll come up with something new for every time, it means you can come up with something new whenever and you can get your desire fulfilled. It means that there's nothing wrong with a good old missionary position if you enjoy it. However the matter of enjoying sex isn't just about the position you choose, the foreplay - if any -  you engage into, or where your hands, mouth and other bodyparts land, but it's a matter of the people that take part of it. Whether alone, with someone else, or more than one other person. Whether younger or older, opposite sex or same sex - only, really, make it always HLLC: Human, Live, Legal and Consensual! - and in the end it doesn't really matter what you normally claim yourself to be, it's a matter of what provokes you. More often than not, people has been puzzled, if not downright attracted towards a given trait. It isn't unheard the case of friends who decide to experiment among each other - and this doesn't happen only in porn movies and x-rated books. It isn't unheard either the case of people attracted to someone way out of their "type" or usual range. 

Moral implications about the attraction or the actions are quite out of place. Unless harm is dealt, the attention being non consented - openly or not - there isn't a real reason to enjoy a given experience. It must be clear that not all sexual attraction case develops into a relationship, nor all of them reach actual "consumation" so to call it that way, but as long as it's enjoyable, as long as it renders pleasure, why should it be denied?

Sex remains as a murky, dark, shameful thing, provider of pleasure you don't really have to buy or compromise or give something in return for. Sex is one of those few things in life you can actually pull from the social grid, extrincate from the economical planes and just enjoy it when you find someone to enjoy it with, or more than one, or why the fuck not? something you can enjoy with the unconditional aid of your hand... or hands :-).

It's somewhat rough to talk about these things in this society... in any human society, but at the same time, lets rip away from those tangles and think about the fuck we are doing about fucking. It's just fucking, not the splitting of the atom. So the next time you've the perspective of getting some nookie, fuck society, fuck complexes, shame, prejudices and go for it.

How a Spartacus related to the Truth behind Relationships

Finally I've got my hands on a copy of "Spartacus: Blood and Sand". Not owned, mind you, but rented. My local blockbuster did pushed its luck with me on this matter, as it took it forever to secure me a copy, inspite the fact I specifically requested to be informed the moment the SOLE copy was available again (honestly, which self-respecting video renting joint keeps only one copy?). Two weeks of waiting to finally have it in my hands yesterday - even went as far as run to the store as soon as I was called - and at once watched the whole first CD. This, of course, explains why I'm so tired now, and sustain myself on coffee alone.

It's too early to give any comments or pass judgments over the series, as there are parts somewhat disappointing, parts that are good and... 9 unseen episodes. So far I can tell you that at least in the begining the poor acting is evident, the stiff and awkward lines are the norm, and the abundant crass language a resource abused to stamp a feel, an environment that better acting, directing and writing could better succeed in. But - and this is important -  our hero looks beautiful. Nice eyes, nice eyebrows. Evidently airbrushed ass, so I can't say anything about that.

Originally I was thinking about writing something on relationships - since it seems to be a topic on the go now -  but suddenly a series seemed more important to me. This series in particular, famed for its profuse blood spilling, and I tell you, it's like hosing with blood and throwing buckets of blood at the smallest sign. "Oh I cut my finger" and the garden sprinkler is full on. I'm not talking Kill Bill-like, or 300-like, I'm talking Saint Seiya like, where you thrust a sword into a guy's chest on the top of the Everst, and his blood covers the mountains and leaks to the Ocean. But then again, blood sells. The series is also famed for its profuse and uncovered sex scenes. It's advertised as an "all you can eat", no restrictions, slave-on-slave action, and yeah... sure.

So we have blood and sex - the first one in cartoonish amounts, the second in hard efforts to be presented as modern-society-shocking yet still stiff and gathered - and it sells while trying to push the attention away from the points where shortcomings are evident. Hell, the lines are bad, but look at all these worked out men running around in briefs! The plot is a little bit too stupid, and it's a sloppy second of many other series and movies, but don't pay attention to that! There's lots of sex! Look! We can even have slaves performing for the enjoyment of their masters and the masters' guests! Like ancient times porn!

This kind of pulled me back to the topic of relationships. (The Mind works in Mysterious Ways.)

The other day I was reading a post posted by this guy I read, and he was talking about this topic, much related with a line he has been developing on the subject, focusing on the social pressure, the behavioral patterns observed and the expectations. (So far a collection of 3 posts on condescending attitude towards hooking up, mutual satisfaction and the time to have sex in a relationship.) These topics, often a sort of taboo in "much more educated, polite circles" are also the topics that draw people. In a way to say it, these are topics that sell, such as the unrestricted blood shed, and the unrestricted outlashing of sex in a series. Why do they sell, because by being labeled as "unproper", "dirty", they arouse the imagination of people, and pull them towards a sense of different, higher pleasure. Topics are not new anymore, and in a way people kind of expect that - by walking into the taboo - they'll uncover something new, something that breaks the routine, that still has the power to astonish them. More than a revisiting of the old, dirty pleasures, there's a sort of hope to catch a new bit. At the same time, it's interesting how the attention still focuses on the same thing, on the taboo of hurting and killing as well as on the taboo of sex. People wouldn't go looking for a new way of entertainment by now exploring the developments of solar explotions.

I won't even delve into why 'sex&violence', but make a farfetched connection. On one hand we have the social requirement to have a relationship, a commited sexual relationship with a partner, that would make you fall into the "Social Schedule" in order to form a social cell - commonly known as "family" - in which you'll produce a given number of new elements - commonly known as "children" - to keep the well oiled social machine running. All elements or individuals, born into the "single" status, are systematically ushered into a series of "in a relationship" status, often pushed forcefully into, like two not matching pieces of a puzzle, by the muscle of society - this muscle commonly refered as "pier pressure" - seeking the production of new elements, and hammering them into line. Though in some societies the kind of relationship pressed forward is marriage, others settle for at least  common law marriage, partnerships and so on.

Once the elements are steered into this status, the hammering towards the production increases.  This, however, due to the profuse set of programs and rules related to the status, tend to difficult the sustainability of the pairing. Obligations, adjusting, jealousy, commitment, expectations, dos-and-don'ts and so on, could easily push the individuals out of the social lock, back into the untamed "single" status. Thus, aside from the social bullying consisting on the taunting of the single, the name-calling and the debasing, bits and pieces are pulled into attention from relationships - here mainly the sex - in order to sell it and keep people "in schedule". Push forward the "fact" that you need a partner to have sex (debase those who have sex without a fix parner, in the meantime), and also, well, that you can't cheat if you don't have someone to "cheat on". In the end, exactly like with the series, the package of the relationship is sold world wide through sex, throwing in a few "beaten into shape" complimentary concepts such as trust, love, being aproved of, never again being alone (which you must avoid or you'll be a loser and get depressed and die of sadness and bitterness), self esteem boost because finally someone saw something worthy in you (your own appreciation of yourself, of course doesn't count, because you are not objective about yourself, so you don't really know how worthy you are and besides, what do you think of yourself?) among other similar minor goodies, usually aimed at the "sensible" market composed by women - because they fall for that kind of corny, mushy shit - though truth is this is what you sell women, because they can't openly admit to love sex, so you have to push in the excuse for them to fall, as a matter of fact, for the same selling propaganda (sex).

Okay, this is all nice and good, but technically - if you REALLY don't give a flying fuck about social expectations and social bullying - you can get all that and still avoid the relationships. The "Social Schedule" and social muscle will keep your mind away from this insurgent idea. One thing the social program can't really keep out is the notorious contradiction happening here. On one hand we are told that relationships are not only about sex, but relationships as sold through sex. If they are not only about sex, why are they not actually sold through any other of their attributes?

As a consequence of this move, people often step into a relationship moved by the sex, and then find themselves holding a bundle of complications they can't even mention, and stand there -  often feeling desolated and more alone than ever - trying to figure out what is what and is that supposed to be that way. You look around trying to find help or clues to solve this thing, but everything points you again towards sex ("Are things going bad? Change your sexual position! Have sex in an unsual place! Go on vacation and have sex in a strange bed!"), or towards obscure elements and advises that basically are resumed in "suck it up". Sex is easy, it's pleasurable and just like booze, it can momentarily take your mind off other things. And if there's no mood for sex - because of all the other things - blame it on the shitty sexlife, and thus you are back to the one root you are allowed to attack: sex.

But what other matters actually enter the whole relationship package? Well, for instance the bringing into the relationship of all your other relationships (family, friends, pets, coworkers, so on), the managing of personal interests, personal time, managing of temperament differences - simple acceptance and behavioral modification are not acceptable to my standards as I believe no one should give up him or herself for anyone else - management of ideologies, management of individual and cojoint plans for the future, management of dreams and ambitions, handling of believes and habits, managing of the concept of relationship itself, handling of the rules of the relationship, management of the emotions and what goes in and what goes out, and well, the actual content of the relationship itself, whether it becomes a co-ownership of each partner, whether it is acceptable to keep up a friendship relationship with the counterpart, and how much the sexual element must be tied to all the "extra goodies" sold in the package. Does sex actually mean love, or can you keep loving your partner when he or she doesn't provoke any sexual attraction in you? And what is actually this love thing? Is it absolutely necesary in a relationship? Are its mutations - organic or externally induced - detrimental to it still being love, or are these acceptable? Is the developing of the same sort of emotion, called love, for someone else, necesarily mean the termination of the ongoing relationship? Is love an emotion attached to one person each time, just as one body can occupy only one space?

Then, what is really heartbreak? A broken heart really stays broken or does it regenerate to end up as good as new? How much must be endured in a relationship? Shall anything actually be endured in a relationship? Is it possible for two or more people with different views and different concepts of life get into a relationship without compromising necessarily the integrity of their views and concepts, or must necesarily be sacrificed until the prevailence of only one?

What is a "functional relationship" anyways and do we actually want one of those?

Yes, I know, though questions, and these are only the tip of the iceberg. Socially these are conveniently solved with "these you must talk with your partner about and get to an agreement", and "no relationship can fructify without a lot of compromise from both parts", which, as you've noticed, actually gives you no reply to your concerns. The concept continues in sale. Go for it, go for sex and you'll be successful, loved and worthy. If something is off, remember "improve your sexlife", "talk it over" and "both of you need to commit to it to make it work". Fix a smile on your face and swallow the mess in your hands. Smoke screen. Men in briefs, and pretty eyes, profuse shallow sex and buckets of blood to ignore the fundamental flaws in the construction. Sex and hazy advise to take your eyes from the fact that the social structure of a relationship is failed.

So what are you gonna do? Suck it up and adjust to a diminished satisfaction, focus on sex and ignore the rest, or kick it up, go single and make your own?

The Bragging Rights of Mankind

Lately I'm getting kind of mixed up with the "numbers" of the dates. My last entry was on the 29th, but that constanty felt like "yesterday" or something around "tomorrow". Well, it was not. It was Wednesday, and Today, thanky the All Mighty and small miracles, is FRIDAY. Shall I express with a usual "happiness dance" just how freaking happy I am that it FINALLY is Friday? Then again, this week I wouldn't mind any other day of the week. I have finally moved to another area, and am out of the process of Mr. B. Thanks Hyne for the small favors.

New office, new functions, new assignments, new boss, new guardrobe, new furniture... Yes, life is good, and it's even better when you are doing what you like to do. Don't you think? ^_^

And talking about what you "like to do" (and this is not another plotbunny for a sassie SNP slash fic, though I do have in mind this awesome idea about a --- never mind), the other day I was watching an episode of Girls of the Playboy Mansion (yes, I watch that, thank you), and there was this "seek for the 55th aniversary Playmate". Well it happened that one of the contestants was the daughter of a Playmate, which Mr. Hefner had as girlfriend for around 3 years. Nothing unusual there, only that it got me thinking about, why a man would publish pictures of his girlfriend all naked and for other men to lust and jerk off to her. I mean, one would think that men are usually jealous and they don't want to share their women with other men. Well, most of them are not wiling to share. I mean, if I were to tell Kari that, hey, I'm flying over to California to pose for Playboy on the nude, I'm pretty sure he would not like the idea, and probably would even make an attempt, however feeble, to keep me from getting naked for the camera. And it's not because he thinks I'm not pretty enough, for I'm too fat for the pictures, or too small chested, or too brunet, or whatever. It's a matter of him not really liking the idea of having other men drooling and lusting over my naked body. (Not like his feelings in this matter would stop me if I were set on doing it, but whether I'm sensible to his opinion or go after my own head, he would still have those feelings...)

So why would Hefner actually have his women spread in glossy paper for his subscribers and ocasional newstand purchasers? Well, first, because he can, and second, because there comes another feature seen both in men and women alike: the bragging instinct. Of course, most men don't parade their women on "gentlemen" magazines, but must of us know how men like to show of their women with the sexiest clothes ever. Either for their own pleasure, or for sharing with the crowd, when a man has a beautiful women at his side, he usually (unless he's somewhat unhinged) like her to dress sexy so that other men can see, desire and die of envy because HE has that sexy piece of ass. Many women, also like to be displayed that way, so I guess there's no hurt in that, but before the feminist society roars up and tears down men for objectify them and display them as prizes or "just bodies", let's get clear with something first: everybody brags.

Sure, us women don't usually dress our men in skimpy clothes and have them walk around half naked for other women to admire their body, but we do objectify men, and we are not more subtle about it. I mean, you sure know the case where the chick shows around the engagement ring she got, or the jewelry, the car, the purse... Our society is not used to display the body of men naked, so we don't dress them in a boxer and a wife beater, but the "worth of men" is actually on other things. Socially, that worth is his capability to "provide". Women sit around and brag about what their men bought them, and what they have. His job, his car, his bank account. Seldom someone brags with the brain of the other, and I don't mean about winning prizes and competitions, but brag about just how good the other is at some intellectual task.

Though objectifying people is wrong, I'd say the need of bragging has a double purpose: first, we want to be assured of our choice, because probably looking for another mate is a very difficult task, and we don't want to be doing it again, and second, we need our entourage to accept our choice. Here's either because we want our entourage to see out mate as one of their own, or for a merely competitive impulse, where we want to be assured that we have "the best choice ever", and therefore, in the eyes of our entourage, that improves our standing. Kind of like a "hunter thing": the better the prey you get, the better and more skilled you are, and truth to be told, none of us want to be a "collector", a "reaper" in this: we all want to be the best hunter.

So, what makes us that "best hunter"? Bragging so much and so good we "talk" ourselves into the "best hunter" position? Certainly, our "prey" makes us a hunter, and the prey's qualities and how our entourage receive them ranks us into the different degrees of huntership. My question now is: what do we brag about?

Looks, money, skills, bed skills, connections, social standing... but what do each of us tend to brag more about? What makes us prouder?

In my case, two things are simply invaluable for bragging: sex performance and education. Sex I rate considering different categories, which is much like an Iron Chef America grading. There goes creativity, delivery, wording, sounds, rhythm, ease or confidence, lenght of each "time", number of times and how many times and how good does he make me cum. (I had years of experience to perfect my metrics, so yeah, I can go that detailed.) But when it comes to education, a lot of factors come in consideration, and they are mainly related to what interests me or what can impress me. Certainly a man who can quote and work into a conversation the physics' treaties worked out by Albert Einstein won't amaze me, or a man who knows just about anything about stars and planets won't sweep me off my feet, but they would rather bore me, but a man who knows his classics, can make references to good books... that can make me surrender. These are the things that impress me from a man, and the things I brag about.

On the other hand, we also tend to brag about things we suddenly find awesome about our mate and which we want others to admire. So, at the end, while we don't get tired of our mates and don't think of them as our "worst half", we handle around this box of "bragging items", some of them standard for us, and some of them that come as "extras" attached to the given person, that may or may not end up included into our permanent standard item, and so we go around publishing them to our entourage. If each of us were owner of a magazine, how many of our "significant others" would have made it to their pages? Covers, centerfolds... you name it. And that's because, in the end, we all brag. It's part of who we are.

Some Have No Shame

Politics. This one is about politics, but I promise to keep it short! Ain't much what I have to say, because from politics it will flow into sex. Oh, don't give me that look! Sex and politics are far more interrelated (much to my regret) that you would think. So, how are we rocking this? Well class, please open your CNN news mail of the day and pick that funky little link about John McCain and Sarah Palin, you know, Sen. McCain's handpicked running mate for vicepresident. What about then? Well, it happens that Sen. Palin has this daughter, Bristol, 17 years old, who is pregnant. Yeah, another unmaried, knocked up teen. Everybody knows that Sen. McCain and Sen. Palin are Republican's right? The ultra conservative "we hate gays and everything that is not puritan christian" party, right? Well, imagine the shock of the party and the people when they found out that the POTENTIAL VICE PRESIDENT has such little control over her own family that she let her teen girl (with a name that sound more like a farmaceutical brand than a human name) get pregnant! and she's unmarried. Oh, but the papers made SURE to say that the baby's father WILL marry Bristol. Well, with a whole party making pressure over them, the poor fucker will have no other choice.

Trying to get a positive out of this, some lawmakers and senators that this actually make the Republican party more... "American" and brings it closer to the real life. Why? The Republican Party was far from America before? They pretended to live in an alternate universe? and they wanted to regulate the U.S, in this universe? Oh, how odd is that! Don't you find it so?

Look people, Bristol got horny, got a men and fucked. For some unknown reason, either they didn't used protection or the rubber was defective, or whatever method they where using made them part of "that other" percentage that doesn't get what they paid for. The kid, in a really stupid move, decided to keep the baby. Either she was forced to because an abortion would be a bigger scandal, or because ... who knows? She's 17 and it's her life being fucked up, not mine. And whatever circumstances that kid is coming to this world, well, it's their shit, not mine. I do believe the girl is way too young and she should have an abortion, both for herself and for the baby. Kids just don't deserve to have unprepared parents who might just blame them for cutting their lives and depriving them from a lot of cool experiences. Because lets be real: did Bristol wanted to become a mom at 17? I kinda doubt it a lot, but then again, today's youth is coming out really stupid, so maybe she does think she wants to be a mom. So why did she had sex? Well, dude, why do all of us have sex? Because it fucking feels good! Because it is tha shit! Yeah, yeah, some people do it to breed more people into this already overpopulated planet, but the vast majority of people fuck because it feels good.

Will her family support her? Well, the senator lady just gave birth to a Down syndrome child, and they are in campaing right now, so... it's gonna be a tough call.

However, one thing that surprised me is that this woman, Sen. Palin, representing Alaska (to my imperferct knowledge) said that the kind of sexual education she believes in and she supports is abstinence-only. Well, no fucking wonder her daughter got knocked up. Abstinence-only is a primitive, antinatural way of thinking where the point is to satanize (sorry, that's that they do) and supress a perfectly natural human instinct. There's no talk about contraceptive methods because "that puts ideas into kids". No condom giving away, because that's like giving kids a ticket to have sex. Give me a break. When people feel likt having sex, they WILL have sex, so, ain't better if they know how to protect themselves? Because Bristol only got pregnant, and she should consider herself lucky. What would have happened if she gets AIDS? So lets get a few things clear:

1. "virginity" IS NOT a "virtue". A virtue is a good feature of of you, like being hard working, honest, positive, respectful, gently, kind, tolerant, loving, capable of defending what you believe in.
2. Sex is not a dirty, bad thing, nor it is a sign of love. It is a antural instinct present in several species, ours among them, that may or may not end in pregnancy.
3. In a world of information, denying information is not a way to prevent something. People may go around it and find out things the bad way.
4. There's a reason for education, and that is to educate people. If you don't teach kids about proper safe sex, where do you expect them to learn that? At the church?

The topic of virginity always makes me mad. Why to prize a condition that will not come back, when there's notthing to it? Virginity is like a brand of "still in the box toy". So yeah, a virgin has never had sex. Shall we also prize analphabets because they have never been teached to read and write? Shall we prize people who only speak one language because they have never learned another? Shall we prize unexperienced people because they have never worked? Shall we prize the first instants of a baby before it's fed because it had never been fed before? Virginity was, back in the day a value assigned to women, because women were seen as only good for bearing children, and a "used" woman could be bearing the child of someone else. Besides, a virgin is ignorant, so a virgin has no way to compare the sex she or he receives. Is it good, is it bad, can something else be done? Virginity is a seal to make sure your purchase will not turn back on you and tell you that you are a lousy fuck.

Has someone ever thought about what happens when the virginity is gone? Because at one point it has to be gone, and then what? A fuck and the person is worthless? No more value? No more "virtue"? Why to place the worth of a person on a condition that can be taken by someone else, which you can't make grow, enhance and learn from it?

While the people don't fucking understant that sex and who we fuck do not define us, while we don't learn that education and access to information makes us better and eases our life, while we don't learn to tolerate others, respect others, respectr opinions, allow others to make decisions and until we don't understand that we live our lives only, not the lives of others, and others can't live our lives, then we will still have mistakes like that of Bristol, we will have horrors, misunderstanding and a long line of problems for which we already have the tools to correct.

It is not a matter of whether Sen. Palin is fit to be a vice president, it's a matter of people seeing in her and her family what a close minded attitude can provoque. When you vote, America, do not forget Bristol Pailn. Lo there your future.

Fag to the Rag

My friend Sandy, from South Africa said that my Haiko Pet, Locky Schönenreese, an adult gay bunny is quite a queer. Maybe too much "Queer as Folk" for us. I wouldn't say my pet is outrageously queery, but truth is that there ain't much nice options when it comes to pets and stuff for pets on this particular application. You have either blue or pink scarfs, and after I fought to have scarves for the pets, I was quite bound to get one for Locky. Now, Locky is BLUE, which doesn't make me happy because Blue and I don't get along. However, a blue bunny with blue a blue scarf would look... weird. Then again, I want to make him comfortable, and I ain't one to stand a poor pet out in the winter with no clothes, so I gave him his scarf to wear and a matching hat. He looks good like that. As for the wings, he had them there stashed for a while now, and it was time to put them back again, don't you think?

This app is really limiting.

Then I was thinking, what makes a pet "outrageously gay", and by default, what makes a person outrageously gay. We have a coworker here who is quite effeminate, but would hardly come out to any of us. It's not in the way he dresses, since I believe he dresses quite like everybody else, but more in the way he acts and how he moves and speaks. He has that "queery quality". It's fun because last time I checked, I believed that being "gay" was about "sexual orientation", not about how you dress. Then, I might be mistaken. Maybe whom you want to fuck affects your way of life. Your lifestyle is defined by whom you want to fuck. The way you behave is defined by whom you want to fuck. The way you think, you move, you dress, you speak, you eat, you choose, you laught, you chew, you buy, you drink, you smoke, you wipe your nose, you pick up the phone, you listen to music... all is defined by who you want to fuck. Shit, that damned motherfucker has some power upon us, don't you think?

I think we msut rethink and redefine the concepts we speak with, because stuff ain't fitting anymore.

Sex Related Scandals as a Democrat Campaing Weapon

This is growing just a bit too suspitious. Before the candidate campaing, when Republicans and Democrats were scouting for votes to win the House elections, dirty Republican senators and lawmakers popped up by the dozen. Add to it, all of them were related to gay sex. Mark Foley, accused of seducing underage pages at the Hill, Richard Curtis accused of paying a male escort for sex (other versions say he just paid some regular bloke to have sex, or others that he simply seduced the man), and Larry Craig, who was detained by the police for requesting sex in a public bathroom from other men (the thing about rubbing the separation between the stals).

(In order: Mark Foley, Larry Craig, Richard Curtis.) All these came to light when the Democrats needed to win. And in each case, they did. Well, what does this tell you? That it is a proven and effective weapon to make your opponent fall. So why would you go into reasoning, trying to win the people with smart and duable proposals, and philosophy, political vision, when unveiling sex scandals is far more funny, easy and it doesn't compromise you? It would have been just a coincidence (for most people. Even as they went for Mr. Foley, I smelled a scheme, but with Mr. Craig it was crystal clear.), but when they slam down on Ms. Clinton's right hand man, Governor Elit Spitzer, it is too much. Well, at least we can narrow down now where the "Mastermind" of this winning formula might be. Search among Mr. Obama's people. It does come to my attention how they have not picked a gay man this time to satanize the party, but rather just some poor fellow seeking for the services of a whore. Could it be because they don't wish to scat the Democrat party's image that much, or because it was just so beautiful to use a sex scandal to say: "You all say one thing and do the opposite". Either way it was low and they should really start considering what they are doing. These are today's Canuck Letters, and they are not fun. (Canuck Letter: a bogus letter sent back in the seventies, allegedly written by Sen.Edmund Muskie (Dem.) where he shows prejudice against French-Canadians. The letter was part of a White House operation, then under Republican controll.)

What's the deal? Well, Gov. Spitzer was promoting a law to fight prostitution penalizing the men who sought out the prostitutes. Funny thing, as you read the articles on the case, it is a matter worked out by Feminist Groups which seek to protect women from sexual exploitation. Question: what about men? They can be exploited? What about men who seek male escorts for some paid sex? That's okay? I admit I do not know details of this law, more than what the papers have published, but so far, the prostitute is seen as a victim rather than a partner in crime, because "she has been forced into the business". Well, what about women who like it? What about women who want to do it? There are cases, plenty of them where women chose this path because it is easy money. Prostitution takes form in many ways that go from the poor person (male or female, underage or legal) who stands in a corner selling his or her body, all the way to the golddiggers who offer their body and company to people with the means to give them expensive gifts. Of course, these golddiggers call it love or their "right to seek a better life". lets come clear with this right now: sex for any kind of material gratification is prostitution! Money, jewels, cars, furs, clothes, trips, houses, a promotion, a bigger office, a job, a grade... these are all ways of paying sex, these all turn sex into prostitution. People offering or agreeing into this kind of exchage, giving sex for them are soliciting.

Are they victims? Yes, in some cases, but not in others. Assuming by default that they are victims is a mistake. Now, let's do a little fight for Equity of Gender. Perhaps this will come as a shock for the world, but men are also prostitutes. Yes. Men also sell their bodies for money. They sell it to men and women, mostly men since allegedly men are more into hiring whores than women. (It is not part of our culture.) Anyway, it would be nice for once that these humanitarian groups, particularly the feminist groups, would start showing some consideration towards men too. Why is everything always about women and women and women and no one stops five minutes to consider men and how we are not letting them be equal to us? Why do we have to absorb all they do, but we don't let them get to the things we have enjoyed, or the things we have done?

A friend of mine was complaing a little while ago about how uncivilized and unpolite we are becoming (okay mostly "they", you know the case), and told about not holding doors and pulling out chairs. Yes, indeed it is nice to be treated like that, but if we are fighting for equity, and I do mean EQUITY and not only "now it is time for women to get to boss", then why don't WE pull out chairs for our male companions and hold doors for them? Because that would make them feel weak and "feminine"? Because you only hold doors and pull out chairs for the weaker, fragile and helpless "women-creatures"? Oh yes, women are the victims of prostitution. And what about men? And what about the circumstances of men who seek prostitutes? Why do they feel compelled to pay for sex when us women can perfectly well live without ever paying for a fuck?

Truth is we are living still in a hypocritic world. Now you would hardly dare to question the equity of the sexes, or say that something is not for "women", or you'll risk something from a heavy purse repeatedly smacked againt your head to a law suit, and probably both of them. But at the same time, MEN are not considered in the least equal to women, because they HAVE to give up their chairs, get all uncomfortable, please us, serve us, play for us, and all for what? Because we have the babies. What about those of us who do not plan to have kids? It doesn't matter, we could, so we are entitled to get our share of male servitude. Well, in face of these things, I do understand that they wish to keep a few of their old prerrogatives such as do no home chores . But what do they get? Our bitching. They say: "You don't cook like my Mom", but we say "That's not how I told you to clean up? Are you mental? Can't you do it right?". Honey, poor guy needs practice, and he won't feel like doing shit if you keep telling him that all he does is wrooooong, and when he finally gets it right your compliment goes in the line of "About time! It sure took you long to get it!". Please bitches! Let the poor dude breathe!

So, we get their jobs, we FORCE a legislation where at least 40% of the "Power" (management and such) jobs and Government positions must be filled by women. And if we get 90% women? Oh that's okay. No men? Well, at least we fulfilled the 40%, right? What would happen if a law is passed where there should be at least a 60-40 of men and women? Outrage! What if that one position could be filled by a smart woman but has to be given to a man to keep the 60-40!? But it is perfectly okay if it happens the other way. If a man is caught with a female hooker he gets to jail and she gets help and social support. If a man is caught with a male whore would it be the same or we will just slam both motherfuckers into jail?

Feminism has long been corrupted when it stopped being about equal rights and equal oportunities and equal consideration and it has become about teaching men who is the Daddy now.

The Truth of Society is Bigger than the Market

On Friday I finished a workshop about the "7 Habits of Highly Effective People" -- Manager's version. No, I am not a manager, as you all know that, but my boss thought it would be a nice seminar for me to take. He said it could help me organize my time, if I wanted to. I agreed out of "what the hell". Would I not been so stressed, I would have considered the workshop an absolute waste of my time, but this way I took it as nice vacations. As it was, I walked expecting a load of shit served in a nice hotel, with no access to Internet, but thankfully some chance to write my journal or read Némirovsky under the table. Then, the following things stood out:

- The consultor/expositor was some American guy from California with a really strong accent and a terrible grammar. He's tall and has a very nice body, clad very nicely, perfect preppy "Trunks"-like haircut and nice eyebrows. However he's as fake as a three dollar bill, full with the 7 Habits shit, which he can't let go and uses as his magic formula for everything. It's his shield and his worktool, both of them locking away whatever real "Eric" (that's his name) into the depths of a person consumed by a job where he probably needs constant reassurance that what he's doing is what he really wants to do.

- Fabricio, a self-procclaimed "Italian" with deep rings around his eyes, short and so desperate to become a clon of Eric, he seemed to me as gay as it comes. and add to it, a desperate bottom crying out for Eric The Master's attention. It was so pathetic the way he ran to comply with each suggestion and "homework" the American gave. Really... for someone posing as a leader, he's such a pussy it's ridiculous.

- Cristiane Alkim, the Brazilian economist chick. Smoking hot, great body, blonde and smart, until you find out that she's an obsessive person who speaks so much and so fast he cuts your windpipes with talk. Rather irrational, as the only thing she is willing to hear is her self, she's a lot like me, and that made me think: am I also that asphixiating? I could be and that worries me.

- A bunch of stupid managers who really thing that paying the workshop and sitting in there already downloads into them the Escence of Sucess and Effectiveness, and from now on they will be super-managers because now they the "Stephen Covey" power in them.

- Thomas Saccone, a French man who impressed me.

I didn't learn much from the workshop, but I learned fron the people. I learned from Cristiane what I look like, what am I achieving with my aggresiveness and my forcing of my point of view. The first day I was convinced Eric wanted to fuck Cristiane, and I was pretty sure she was interested too, but then... well, I don't know, but it sure didn't look like that the next day. On Friday Eric paid the drinks of the people who would stay after the seminar was done. Surpeinsingly, a lot of people was gone quickly, as if they would have been waiting desperately for the chace to escape. Well, it says much of Eric's work, right. People stayed then for the promised beer, the ten of us, and then, in less than two hours, everybody was gone. I wanted to stay because I had nothing to do, and so Eric and I stayed for like two more hours until 21-21:30 or so. He seemed more relaxed then, though he never undid his tie. He move to full English mode and we talked a lot of things, me sharing more info than what he did, all about personal things, personal believes, and then my trademark inciscive remarks like: "You strike me like someone as fake as a $3 when you talk at the workshop, save when you are fanatically speaking of Mentor Dr. Covey... really Alternative Church-like. Then you follow formulas so much, fuck! You pretend to be polite but ignore the people you are speaking with?" And this was the soft-core stuff. The hardball came when he told me he loved working with a student exchange program because it gave him a fulfillment feeling, and I told him it was selfich bullshit and that program only stroke his god-complex.

I've got my own share that ranged from "people-user" to "superiority complex" all the way to "You are a very attractive woman, but your cinicism makes people stay away.... then again, your openness, your attitude towards sex makes you again attractive."

It was a nice chat and it was nice to hear him laught. We talked about his girlfriend and he asked me about my time of man, then he drove me to the bus station and kissed my cheek so soundly, his face so pressed to my face, it was as if he would have almost Frenched me. It was odd as well that, him being American, said good-bye to me with a "Bon nuit". French get to me, but did I mentioned it to him? I'm sure I didn't. I only say to him that my type of man was the European one, and that nothing meant ... oh.

I told him how it broke me down and how it got to me when a guy shared something with me such as a quote from Sartre or his own broken attempt to translate a part of Lermontov's poetry to me.

Like in most series, sexual tension was high there, but it never came resolved. Either he was too involved with his girlfriend and affraid of trying something new, or my cinicism scared the hell out of him and so he decided to decline. Me? Well, I was in for the "free ride": good if it happened, and fine if not. Too bad Thomas didn't came the second day, though. That would be something.

You see, something that I have learned, and not now but for some years now, is that men should not be chased, should not be sought, but you must let them come by. See something nice, reach for it, but don't run into the wild with the idea of hunting down someone. The moment you see a man, without looking for one, you can take him in as he is, with his humanity, his shields and the guy itself, withouth the added filters your eyes could add up, such as "make it a man", and the see only the gender. Men are beautiful because they are more than a gender, a dick that hangs with his balls between his legs and hardens at the rights stimulation. Men are also the smile, the smirk, the narrowing of eyes and the sparkle in the corner of their beautiful, colourful, rich eyes. They are the arms goind behing the head with locked fingers to hoist the head and show off their hard earned biceps. They are the focusing eyes, that see nothing but the concept in their minds, their soft voice as they slowly speak out their minds, as they unwrap their beautiful feelings, as they let out the simple and gorgeous threading of thoughts, wishes and emotions. You must let them come, appear in your life and happen and then, like flowers in the wild, birds in the forest, you reach out for them or let them come close, like the beautiful deers and stags they are, and enjoy themmm within their freedom, never take them home, never change them, never domesticate them, but let them be, as beautiful as they are.

I am happy there are men in the world.

It seems I have it in Me

Checking a little over my last entry, damned, it sounds like I still want to fuck Jules. So it makes me think: Do I still want to fuck Jules? I make a mega effort to keep myself honest, since, really, "honesty" and I are a repelent-mix. Fuck, I'm a "crab", I have a hard time going ahead unless it is for a frontal attack, which I don't do often. (This wasn't my main topic of the day, by the way. The title was meant for something else...)

So do I?

Truth to be told, me being a man in a woman's body (namely a gay man in a woman's body), I'm so into sex that damned, I would pretty much fuck anything nice and fuckable... within standards. If it gives me the hots, I'll land it. That sounds like I'm a whore or something, but I don't see myself that way. I just don't waste my time skirting around the topic and beating around the bushes. I get bored fast, so I better fuck the dude right when I'm interested. Why would I wait? So that the guy thinks that I'm "interested in something else" and starts considering a "relationship"? Fuck no!!! Like that ain't the point, dude! Perhapst that's why I prefer random encounters with men who I will probably never see again. Okay, sometime that sucks because, really, some guys are SMOKING HOT and MINDBLOWING GOOD and real gods among men, but that's the way it is. It's better a good memory and the desire to repeat it than a relationship gone sour where you can't even remember those times when sex and conversation was out of this world.

Achieve this level of balanced no-strings-attached-sex with friends is usually complicated, since you see your friend often, and guys may take it the bad way when you only want to fuck without paying for it with castration (monogamy) and other commitments and stupidities as a "higher level friendship with priorities". Or otherwise, a "VIP Friendship". Dude, a fuck is a fuck. Good or great, really, sex is sex, so leave it like that! Enjoy it! It's like eating: just because we ate together or we cooked for each other once or ocasionally, it doesn't mean I'll only eat with you or cook for you. Geez... I have a few friends with whom I occasionally sleep, and I love them to death because, really, they don't care that I score randomly, and they also score randomly and we talk about the people we get, and it's cool.

I do tell Jules every single detail of my sexcapades, (save the juicy parts like: "... and as we hit the bed, he reached down on me and rubbed me up so good he had to put a pillow on my face or the police would have come knocking down the door... and then he did this thing, like he held me down by the neck, and stilled his hip so I would fuck myself on his cock. Really... great.") but would that be the same if I would land him? Honestly, after the higher quality of my last influx of men, there's nothing in Jules that could arouse me. Do not misunderstand me, I love him to madness and I feel a deep tenderness for him. I would do anything in my power to make him happy, honest, but... he doesn't have what it takes to make me wanna rape his ass. (Not like I have raped anyone in my life.) His eyes are not green or blue or grey, nor expressive and big enough to hold be breathless. His physique is not as shapely as I like them, and he lacks that certain flirty, "malin" attitude I love in man. He's too much of a gentleman to be the hot, self-assured, cocky, mischievous conqueror that can sweep me off my feet. Someone a bit more "up to the moment", with an easier smile and less troubles to bring into a quick rumble. Someone who can stick is dick into something without falling in love into it and wishing for a long relationship. Perhaps the problem is also that we have too much history to just go bed-hopping. Not like I couldn't, fuck, I could break a few beds with him and then continue all happy-go-lucky as if nothing would have happened. If he works me, most likely he can get me in bed, but... he has the same chance anyone I have ever considered as a potential "fuck" for "lean times". Not like that's an extensive list. But then, why would I eat chicken when I can have lamb? Or deer? Or the best dish of France? (hehehehehe...) The problem is that he wouldn't be any special. He would be just another "fuck" in my book. Another notch in my bedpost. Can I give him more than a notch? Truth to be told? No. Only what I give him now. I couldn't certainly offer him a relationship other than friendship. Does he want that? I believe not.

Then again, he doesn't want to fuck me because he's not into me. Odd, but yeah. Not every mortal worships the same god or goddess. I don't have what he wants. So, we are even. Yeah, friendship is our thing.

Kate obviously like chicken and she wants her "chicken". Hey, I like finer meats, so she can have her chicken, have it at home and have her daily influx of chicken. I'm more the hunter, so I walk the woods and look around for that delicatessen that would make the envy of everybody else raise like fever.

As a matter of fact, the prey seems to follow me. I hooked another flight attendant. It was the Taca's Flight Attendant Officer, Mauricio Montoya. Too bad I'm not really into him, but he engrosses my list of "food for the leaner times". He does have a coworker, some Erick or something like that that does look like calf, and calf is good. (He's latin, so he will never raise to lamb or deer, since I have a distinctive preference towards Europeans...) It seem that hooking up people up in the air is far easier than one would think. And actually, I hooked up a complete stranger in Paris, right off the Rue Maubeuge. This is what I have in me: this capacity to hook up with men, in situation other would only dare to imagine or would think possible only in porn movies. I'm gifted! Fuck, I'm hot.

Trip

I can't say I'm already adapted to Hungary, but slowly I'm getting used to it again. The first days were impossible with my allergies and my asthma and I felt like coughing my lungs out or ripping a hole into my throat any minute. By today, I feel already better on the breathing department, and my eyes are not as sensitive to the cold and the wind as they still were yesterday.

Managing two or more journals sometimes can be hard when you feel you have to stick to certain information in each of them, so "breaching" that lable can prove being difficult. However, as I was telling a friend of mine today, the more people can free themselves from lables, the happier and fuller they can live. So here comes something I would usually write in Hókisasszony, but which I will write down here so some of my non-Hungarian speaking friends can read it as well.

«(_.^._)»

To say that my trip home was "rocky" it would be a crass understatement. A harrassing boss, months of anguis upon the cruel uncertainty about my actual chance to go, the money matter both at purchasing the ticket and then the Saturday right before my departure... I was ready to snap. I was going crazy! Of course, the extra 3Kg of baggage wasn't for fun either! The uncertainty about whether the boxes of disfruta would be squeezed and fload my luggage in pineapple and guava juice wasn't very reassuring. It's fairly safe to say I was nervous when I've got to the airport. So much, I couldn't even remember the way to the Gate from which I would depart, even so the plane departs always from the same gate. LR 631, SJO-CCS, 10:30, Gate 2. They write "Gate 4" but it's always Gate 2. Since I couldn't go smoking (fucking asthma), I walked around and ended up at a foodcourt with my stomach revolted from all the foul smells of pizza and burgers, trying to imagine how people was able to down that crap. I wanted to write. Write a letter, my journal... something, and I had to score a breakfast, since, really, breakfast was in place. So I went for a "liquid breakfast". consisting on:

1 Heineken can
1 Adrenalina can
1 pack of Doritos

Okay, maybe the Doritos was out of place and not as healthy and fortifying as the rest, but it was the only non-liquid thing I felt I could down. I made a few calls, and did try to write something. I couldn't get through with the letters, so I fished out my journal and wrote a few things. My handwriting was shaky and very erratic. I was carrying a pink gift bag (HUGE) with my winter coat, a big pink ballet-bag with Omi and a pink ballet purse. How do I manage? Oh, it wasn't that hard.

Near the Gate were I had to board my flight there's this jewelry store. I wasn't looking at it since it has a lost of stuff that's not my style. Too "native" or too big, too flashy, to "old lady with money". Then there was this collection of amber, which is a personal call, and I saw this magnificent necklace with an amber peacock. Had to take a picture of it. ^_^ Two of my favorite things together.

Once up in the Taca flight, I was finally relaxing and truly entering "vacations" attitude. Perhaps up to that point I was afraid the asshole of my boss would call me with some idiotic demand or just a new, invented problem made exclusively to fuck up with my peace of mind. Really, his sole work is to viciously concentrate in selected members of the team to sistematically fuck up with out peace of mind so he can feel powerful. Now I was the lucky. Well, someone should have told the s.o.b. that this bitch has:

1. A psychological problem
2. Bad temper
3. Short fuse
4. Tendency to involve Unions and Labour Relations.

Really, it will be so messy, that if someone were to take it on tape, it could be sold as the "unpublished work of Tarantino". However, up in the air, after I've got my adrenaline fix from the speeding up before the take off (my fave part of flying), I was nice and smiley. I was feeling so nice, I took a middle seat and gave up my favored "aisle seat" so a family could sit together. I always ask for aisle seats so I can get up and go to the "bar" of the plane (aparently called the "kitchen"), to have easier access to the bathrooms, but mostly to be the first in running of the plane when it has landed and I have to go for my connection flight.

Caracas was a slight set back. There was no post office at the place, where I wanted to send a few postcards to my friends and colleagues, then everything looked so fucking expensive I almost had a heart attack. I decided to lunch some sushi, and so I went to this place where I took a nice table, sat down my journal, ordered alaska rolls and wrote while waited for my food. I had an allergic fit at the middle of a piece of sushi. My eyes watered and I coughed and heaved until my throat was raw and my tongue hurt like a bitch. I then tried to finish the sushi, but couldn't. So I went to pay. It was 36000 bolívares. At 2500 bolívares per USD, it was like $14.4. They didn't tell me that if I paid in USD, I would get bolívares back, so after a lot of mambo-yambo, I've got back 5600 bolívares. In other words, $2.24. Would I not be recovering from the fit, I would I told them it was sad that either they were robbing passangers or that they couldn't do the maths. Not like I mind some lousy $4. P-Lease! But it was the shameless way in which they did it. I mean, FUCK, my friend Jules knows I'm usually a generous tipper. I mean, You could charge me 20€ for some little lunch and I would slip you a 10€ or at least a 5€ instead of the customary 10%. I would have left the rest of the change with them if they would have been more decent, more honest, Like this, they just made sure I would never return to that place. And actually, for everybody to know, the place it's a quite sweetlooking restaurant in front of the entrace of the Gate 16. It's all surrounded by glass, and separated from the foodcourt that rolls behind it. Don't go there: they will cheat the pennies out of your pocket!

After thatm and with some bolívares I had to spend, I went to look for postcards I intended to send from CDG, the airport in Paris. I found some very beautiful postcards, and them walked slowly to my Gate (14), to be close for the boarding. Close to it was this place you can see in the photo. They sell magazines and postcards and some books, but they also have a cyber. The price was cheap: 400 Bolívares for 30 minutes, 800 for an hour. The place is incredibly nice and the guy working there is a honey! I was thinking in actually using up my bolívares to check on my mail and perhaps write a few lines here, when I noticed the HUGE line for the plane. Whadda... it was still almost 2 hours before take off! Well, they were boarding. I went to the line, as as I looked back at the cyber, I noticed they had made a huge "at" in front of it. I found it so cute and so creative that I had to take a picture of it. It's a simple and creative way to express an idea.

The boarding took some time since we were checked three times. Really, what in the hell am I supposed to smuggle in from the entrance of the "sleeve" to the middle of the "sleeve" that takes you to the plane? Since I was planning spend ten hours in Paris, I checked the news papers offered at the plane (actually a few feet away from it in the sleeve), looking for Le Figaro. There was the chance of a strike, so I wanted to read news on that regard. There was no Le Figaro, only Le Monde and some Le Journal de Dimanche. I do asked the flight attendant lady if there was, by any chance Le Figaro, but there was not.

Flight AF461. Oh, I know it already.

My seat was the 42C. Such a big number freightened me, asi t meant it should be in the rear or near the rear of the plane. However I would have never guessed it's actual location: next to the kitchen. I stared down at the seat in horror. It was narrower than usual and crampy. Oh boy. I managed in somehow, and then had a father and daughter seated next to me, who proved to be upthight and obnoxious as hell. The passanger in front of me was an s.o.b. who reclined her seat almost into my lap, regardless of it being lunch or whatever time. So I placed the journals, unfolded the table and started finally writing my letter to Jules. (Attempt 10.) I was doing well, then suddenly came a flight attendant and gave me an Elle. I looked at him and smiled, thanked him and paged through it a little. Naturally, as he was turning, I checked out his ass. It was so nice I smiled for myself. One thing you can count on with Air France are the hot flight attendants.

However, once his firm, pert ass was out of my sight, I was somewhat annoyed, since I wanted to keep writing, but felt it would be unpolite to just stash the magazines away. There was something in being given Elle magazines that I took, at that moment, as "offending". It's not offending per se, but it was a bit "offending" in the labeling way that "women read and are interested in women magazines". Then, the guy appeared again and gave me an Elle Decoration. I smiled again and took the magazine. Okay. That was for the letter-writing. I stashed away the letter and pages through both the magazines. It wasn't bad, since there were advertizings with very hot guys with towels wrapped low around their hips and stuff like that.

When I finished paging through them, I went for my papers, and started scanning headlines and so. The guy appeared then again, now asking me if I had found the magazines interesting. I don't recall the conversatin precisely but it was something like:

"Oh yes, there are interesting things in them."
"So you liked it?"
"I actually would prefer to read Le Figaro."

I know, that was very mean, unpolite and uncalled for. If I have a problem, that poor guy has nothing to do with it, so he should not be the receiver of my frustraton. He smiled and went away. I was feeling really bad. That was really uncalled for. So I decided that the next time I saw him I would apologize. I then took in hand again the magazines and scanned them carefully, finding an interesting article abour Ingrid Betancourt. I wanted to be truthful to the guy and show I do have liked and I do have read the magazines. To further understand this, all conversations and all reading were entirely in French.

"I'm sorry! I would like to thank you for the magazines! It has been so nice from you!"

He smiled a huge smile and asked me what did I like to read. He actually took the time to listen to me as I explained him that being an economist working at a telcos, I was interesed in economical topics and telecommunications. He was gone and little after he offered me two magazines related to business, politics and telecommunications. These were Challenges and Le Nouvel Observateur. Naturally, all in French. Air France flight attendants are normally very friendly, and very out-for-the-customer. They do make the extra mile to please you and make you thing they are giving you a priviledged treatmen nobody else is receiving. I'm a sucker for those things, so I was happy, he was taking such a good care of me. Little after he was paying me sweet compliments, telling me about my "jolie sourire" that made me blush and smile further. He did made me laugh when he pulled on some black bloved which had skeleton hands printed on the back with neon paint that glows in the dark. I just found that so sweet and character-full. He laughed with me, made all kinds of "scary moves", which kept me laughing so loud people in first class should have noticed. He then took of the gloves and offered them to me. I put them on and flexed my fingers. It was so much fun!!!

"Come on! Work in the kitchen!" he joked with me, since these where the kitchen gloves. I wonder if people would have eaten their food if they knew skeleton hands prepared them. I took off the gloves and gave them back.

He was so nice and such a nice sport all the time, I was off my feet. He wished me bon appetite for the lunch (which was half unsavoury) and then spoke to me as if I were a child.

"That's it? You won't eat it all?"

Little after, as the Ass-Pain father and daughter fell asleep, I stood up and walked into the kitchen for a drink. He was there and we started talking. For a moment he was called by a colleague, so I finally went to the drinks and a very nice passanger fixed me a Mimosa. I'll keep drinking mimosas from now on. We kept talking and got along quite nice. It turned out that he's Basque or however you write that in English. He was born the same year I was, 1976, but he's a May child, a Taurus. We talked loads and loads and he did all these fun questions of which I took to be "expected flirting". Even asked me if I was married, to which I answered that I would never do that, and the proceeded to explain him how the most humanitarian behavior was to share your love with as many people as possible instead of selfishly giving it to one person only. He laughed and found it fun. We kept on with some fun remarks in are real camaraderie environment. At one point he asked me if I had plans in Paris. Oh, I told him I wanted to see the city a little.

"Are you meeting someone?"
"Oh no, all by my own."
"Would it bother you if I invite you to lunch? I know a good place."
"Oh, that would be great!" I bounced.

He smiled and asked me the next question.

"What kind of food do you prefer?"

Well, I stood in silence trying to figure it out. Perhaps, if my stomach were not as revolted, I could have answered that, but honestly, I have no idea if I have a favorite cuisine. I mean, I like the French cuisine, I like the Hindu cuisine and then, of course, I'm a sucker for Hungarian ciusine, but also like Caribbean. It's not a matter of what I like, but more like what do I feel like, and right then I felt like I didn't want to eat, or perhaps only something light or something to drink. I was taking longer than it should and I tried to explain that it was a difficult question because I'm really not so food centered...

"I mean, what you like to eat, something other than men." he joked.
"Oh hell, men are not in the menu?" I followed the joke.
"There's a restaurant at the hotel..." he offered with a sassy, mischievous smile.
"There's room service..." I added.
"I think only you will be doing the eating." he said.

After that, there was no mistaking of the matter. His smile and my mind racing with "I HOOKED UP A FLIGHT ATTENDANT!!!" put all things on track. As I returned to my seat, he was on my way attending a passanger or a fellow flight attendant, so I placed my hands on his waist to move him. He turned slowly at me and growled on Spanish:

"Don't touch me... it makes me react."

He did his rounds, or whatever they do in the plane, and then came to my seat, leaned/squated and whispered close to my face:

"Gara go sleep. Will be back in an hour and a half."

Then he rubbed his nose against my lips and cheek, his mouth brushing close to mine. May I ask my dear readers if anyone could sleep after something like that? I do id my best. After that, he was back and it was casually rubbing against each other, pressing chest to chest in tight places, kissing and then some heavier frottage in a bathroom stall. His idea, not mine. I have such a high aversion to risk I would have not entered if I didn't have my exit covered. Our exit wasn't covered. One of his coworkers found out. For a moment I was worried I would be scolded, but then I thought that, honestly, I'm the client, and if they, as much, as say something, I would give them a piece of my mind about if that was a no-no, they should instruct their personal to avoid such situations. It is not my fault I took advantage of... well, such a good opportunity.

He asked me if I had an European passport, which I have, me being Hungarian, and he said that was great, since then I could exit the airport. I was surprised. I had no idea the migration laws have changed. We made arrangements to meet outside the airport, exchanged phone numbers (his number and my Hungarian number), and then we met. It was the first time my phone worked with the roaming sistem on France. If you must know, it hooked on Orange. ^_^

We met neat the 2F Terminal. He hugged me, we kissed and he called me "mi novia", as a little flattery or "pet name". Due to it's meaning (girlfriend/bride) it freaked the hell out of me, but then he explained me he meant it as a little... "kedvesség".... how do you say that? A galantry, a sweet thing, a nice nick name. The no-string-attached policy was firmly drawn at that moment. Oh, he wouldn't have it otherways either, so I was safe. He then told me that there was another flight attendant, a darker one (not really someone I would call black, but for him he is), who also thought I was pretty, and who told him that I was his fiancée. The Basque teased him that he should go and talk to me then, but the darker one wouldn't, yet warned him to stay away from me.

"He fancied me?"
"Yes." he said with a smile.
"Call him! Quickly! Let's bring him with us!"
"WHAT????"

I laughed hard. I so caught him in the joke. Yet, he took it well, as I explained him it was a joke.

As we went for the bus that would take us to the hotel, he told me he had offered me the magazines because he saw me with the French papers and he was glad to find someone who spoke French. He thought I was nice and sweet. ^_^

"What did you thought about me?"

There was no pretention in his question, but rather something closer to genuine interest and a bit of aprehension that he might be intrusive.

"I tilted my head as you turned and checked out your ass. I thought you have a great ass."

His eyes widened and I noticed, for the first time, they are green. His cheeks tensed with blush, but he did not became red.

"You checked out my ass??"
"Yeah..."

He was flabbergasted. For a good while he kept saying he couldn't believe I checked out his ass. Well, women do that. We check out asses and baskets. I'm more of an ass-checker since the groin can be deceiving.

We got to the hotel, put the room, and then it was clothes off and finding out that he has a body that looks better naked than dressed. Firm, toned, tall, perfect, hard... and, really, he's the size of Italy. I felt like the luckiest person in the world... dead and living included. It proved to be that I AM the luckiest person in the world. Great sex, jokes, and quoting of Sartre in bed. And all of this on a No-Strings-Attached basis.

Sex-Sleeping-Sex-Sleeping (he did the sleeping. I do was tired, but I only slept 30 minutes affraid of breaking my time-zone adjusting), and then he took me back to the airport, where a more relaxed me, with a goofy smile and a "I didn't see Paris, but I do climbed the Tower" pasted all over my face, got in, back thought the customs (who spotted me because they had never seen a Hungarian passport before and wanted to take their time to admire it --- really, the French are all so nice!!--), out to the gate. I made a round and ended up in a store, which I shouldn't have, and purchased a silvery charm bracelet and a scarf. Really beautiful, but I'm not supposed to be around spending money!!! Oh, it worth it big time.

Then it was off to my next flight, with Malév, where I was informed that my ticket got upgraded, and therefore I would be flying on Business Class.

"Why?"
"The system said so."

Who am I to argue with the system? ^_^ I had my wintercoat hung in the guardrobe, was offered champagne, aperitif and had my dinner served in real china china and metal cuttlery. Add to it, the flight attendant talked to me on nice Hungarian and laid out a perfect, spotless little white tablecloth on my table for my dinner. I think I want to continue flying on Business... well, taken that I do will have the chance to hook up with more Flight Attendants! ^_^