Balls and Walnuts
more than you ever wanted to know
Category Archives: Sex
SBD: Boys Need Romance
My son has kindly posed for today’s Smart Bitches Day post, but he urges me to tell my readers that he is NOT reading this romance, he is only pretending to do so to make his father happy.
Oh, well. His loss. He’ll miss all the hot sex scenes.
I’m not the kind of guy who obsesses over his past, looking back a week, a month, or twenty years, putting each and every conflict and conversation under a microscope, second-guessing himself, anguishing over mistakes made, paths not taken. That’s just not me.
Much.
Aaack. Who am I kidding? I regret things I did in dreams. When I was five. If I could remember my dirty diapers, I’d probably regret those, too. If only I had held it in a little longer.
When you obsess over the past, sometimes you manage to figure a few things out, but then again, sometimes you spin your wheels for decades. Does any of this help? Maybe. If it keeps you from effing up your life in the present, then yes, it helps.
Recently I had the thought, If only I had read romance in Junior High. Romance could have transformed my adolescence, could have saved me from missed opportunities and botched relationships. But, no. I was reading Robert Heinlein, whose idea of romance went something like this:
Middle-aged male protagonist surrounds himself with beautiful women who hang upon his every word and give him all the sex a man of his brilliance deserves.
Heinlein’s male characters did not model good courting behavior. (I have strong suspicions that most male SF writers of the 60s and 70s were virgins or had to pay for it.) My brother, father, and friends were all atrocious models, too. I needed something different.
I needed Romance.
The bestest part of the Foley scandal
Republicans. Gotta love those sanctimonious, hypocritical, self-defeating bastards. With the Republicans working overtime to sabotage their chances in November, the Democrats will have to really sweat to, as Markos said recently, snatch defeat from the jaws of victory.
The good part: Hypocrite Rep. Mark Foley (R) left an e-paper trail a mile long as he sent naughtygrams to a 16-year-old page.
The better part: “Top House Republicans knew for months about e-mail traffic between Representative Mark Foley and a former teenage page, but kept the matter secret and allowed Mr. Foley to remain head of a Congressional caucus on children’s issues, Republican lawmakers said Saturday.”
The bestest part: the 16-year-old was a guy. Election year dynamite! Here’s a snip from the messages — see for yourself. Would a man write these things to a 16-year-old girl?
Nastiness and schadenfreude below the cut.
Thirteen things I learned from Cosmo, Part Trois
Balls and Walnuts reads Cosmo so you don’t have to. In this issue:
- How not to get raped by that special guy!
- The secret to gorgeous skin!
- WTF is wrong with 68% of men?!
- Couple fights from hell: get a life, people — I outdid all of these in my first year of marriage!
And much more . . . below the cut.
Sugar is for wimps
If you’re gonna do the ultimate deed, I say revel in it. None of this sugar or jelly or honey. Who wants a sticky butt? You ought to be more considerate of the rimmee.
Just sayin’.
Hat tip to the only woman who truly understands the depths of my depravity (aside from Karen, naturally).
***
Jake’s watching nature programs, Karen’s playing WoW, and I’m blogging. A typical Friday night in the Walnut household.
What are you folks up to?
Going live in 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . .
D.
SBD: SDB (So Does Brad)
Smart Bitches Day today, droogs, and I’ve been remiss of late. Call it failure of imagination, call it failure of the normal sleep/wake cycle, but I haven’t had a single bright shiny SBD thought in weeks.
However.
While editing yesterday morning, I listened to a netcast of one of my favorite radio stations, KFJC, and the DJ played “Time Warp” from The Rocky Horror Picture Show, and my SBD theme came to me in a flash of inspiration:
Loss of innocence.
I know what you’re thinking. “Walnut, you nailed the loss of innocence theme over a year ago, didn’t you?” Or you would be thinking that if you had read my blog as compulsively as I’ve written it.
Still, I might have another miniscule thing or two to say on the subject.
Loss of innocence is such an emotion-laden subject, it surprises me it isn’t tapped more often for fiction and film. It especially surprises me that I haven’t milked it for the novel I recently finished. Here I am writing about two twenty-something-year-old virgins who finally give up that one last trapping of childhood, and I haven’t even scratched the surface.
My problem is, I’ve approached this story as a romantic comedy, and I’ve consciously tried to downplay most of the serious bits. When I first began writing it, I was burnt out by writing my trilogy/tragedy, and my muse wanted cotton candy. That’s my excuse, anyway.
Loss of innocence is a serious bit. I can’t mine humor from something so inherently sad — nor, I suspect, can anyone else. Case in point, any teen sex comedy (including, yes, American Pie). Puerile is not funny.
Although I do dig the band camp girl.
Alyson Hannigan. Mmmm. Guys and girl-lovin’ gals, google that name with SafeSearch OFF. You won’t be sorry. But I digress.
In editing this novel, I feel a strong urge to address this topic. There has to be a reason why these two have held onto their virginity for so long, right? Something beyond, “Oh, we were too busy to have intimate relationships.” A better reason than that. And there should be some emotional cost to finally kissing it (literally) all goodbye.
I worry a bit that any such attempt on my part will kill the comic buzz, but on the other hand, I trust my muse. I think she has a much different ending in mind, and I for one am looking forward to reading it.
D.
The true meaning of slash
I suppose I have a few readers who aren’t Smart Bitches . . . not many, it’s true, but a few. This link is for you:
Candy showcases a YouTube vid of Spock & Kirk TOST bits set to the tune of Nine Inch Nails’ Closer. ‘Nuff said.
From the comments, I found Sarah‘s remarks interesting:
The original meaning of Slash fiction was the “/†between “K†and “S†as in K/S or Kirk/Spock. The very first slash fan fiction was written about these two. So, yeah, makes absolutely sense.
Not that I didn’t believe Sarah, but I had to check. And, guess what? She’s right.
What’s your favorite slash? Just the other day, I read some Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter figging slash . . . but Draco was at the receiving end. So out of character.
D.
And now, a health care advisory from Dr. Walnut
This Crystal Jelly Double Dong could be hazardous to your health.
(What? You want to know if the stuff below the cut is work safe?
Lyvvie knows best
As much as I tried to steer last night’s Live Blogging conversation back towards oral sex, everyone else wanted to talk about different things. Like writing. Or the weather. Or what the Ancient Romans used for sex lube.
Thanks, Lyvvie, for remembering what’s important in life: unscented crotch. Oh yeah baby.
Note to my son: stay away from that link. Here, click on this instead: mend your atheist ways. (Hat tip to Falafel Sex.)
D.
Best foot forward, and all that
In the hopes of turning a few of those Crooks and Liars visitors into regular readers, I’m going to re-post one of my old favorites: The Sociobiology of Boobage.
In 1983, Vincent Sarich taught a course at Berkeley called “The Evolution of Human Behavior.” He let us know on the first day that the class was experimental. He had some rough ideas about course content — some things he wanted to talk about, a handful of concepts he wanted to share.
Sounded like good clean fun, and we really did have a blast, too. Professor Sarich (that grizzly teddy bear on the left) was good to his word. He talked, we listened — and argued with him, of course.
For a final exam, he asked us to write three short essays on topics of our own choosing. They had to be somewhat relevant to the course, but beyond that, we were on our own. My three topics:
Genius, a maladaptive trait
Why are hiccups contagious?
The Road Warrior: a sociobiologic perspective
I got an A+.
Funny thing, though. I’ve only retained two things from that class. One is a concept: the Tragedy of the Commons (see the Wikipedia article here, or the original article here), which suggests that folks will always choose their own self interest over the common good, even to their ultimate detriment. If you’re curious about this, I recommend you start with the Wiki article, since it is shorter than the original article and has considerably more perspective.
The other thing I learned in Professor Sarich’s class is why men love cleavage. “I want to talk about breasts today,” he said, except that with his slight speech impediment it came out “breashts.” “Why are they so appealing?”
The traditional sociobiological interpretation is that large breasts are desirable because they translate to well fed babies. Sociobiology was big back then. Still is, for all I know. In case you’re unfamiliar with it, here’s the basic idea. Our behavior is ruled by our genes, and in particular, our genes’ desire to pass on more of themselves to the next generation. “But,” you argue, “genes are not sentient.” Pshaw! Genes don’t have to be sentient to find ways of furthering their own interests.
Back to boobs. Professor Sarich contended that the sociobiologists were wrong. Men don’t love breasts because they want well fed babies. Men crave hooters because of a cross-wiring problem. You see, men get boobs confused with butts:
Recalling that the missionary position is, anthropologically speaking, rare (and dreadfully European), this is the view most men have during sex. Butt cheeks. According to Prof. Sarich, guys crave cleavage because it reminds us of butt cheeks in general, sex in particular. When a woman shows us her décolletage, she’s giving us an invitation to the dance.
Theories like this are only useful if they can shed light on other inexplicable phenomena. For me, Sarich’s idea worked because it explained why, when I was a kid, this old cover for Roald Dahl’s James and the Giant Peach
always gave me wood.
It’s gotta be true.
D.
Hot-blooded? Check it and see.
I’m a little tardy, but here’s my Flickr Follies for the week. IMG_5929 hails from rbowden’s flickr stream. Raised among humans, Don Guillermo has identity issues. I’ll let him speak for himself.
Closer, my succubus, and with my claw I will take the strap of your bikini top and tease it from your succulent frame. Then I shall lap at your breasts as if they were the finest imported mangos, teasing the nipples to raisin-like firmness. I’ll teach you the meaning of savage lizard love.
Oooh, slimy? No, not really. If you stroke my flesh — yes, there, lower still, aaaah. Do you feel? I’m rough as a cat’s tongue and three times as fast. With a strike of my tail I can kill flies midair or, if you prefer discipline to displays of agility, I might lash your soft thighs until they are banded pink and you beg for mercy.
Watch me shake my head. Watch! I daresay you have never seen such an impressive head-shake, no? It means I respect you, my love, and crave your attention. Come closer. Put your lips near mine so that I may sneeze salt upon them, that we might share our essences.
What? You doubt that I can satisfy you? I have but few words for you: two penises. When one tires, the other takes over. I can last all night. Can your human lovers say as much?
And when at last we have pampered one another into a state of bliss and beyond; when, afterwards, you smoke your Virginia Slim and I scratch your back where you crave it most; when we promise everything to one another, and nothing; then, at long last, you will agree: once green, never back.
No, it does not rhyme. But with our perfect love, what will it matter?
D.