Oooh baby, let me manipulate your gonads

You would think that lust would be the perfect catalyst for the creative process. You have huge amounts of hormones raging through your body and creating a firestorm of neural activity, after all. Isn't that what drives all of our friends insane when we first fall in love? We can't shut up, can't sit still, can't stop panting and drooling and pawing our lover until their damn skin is about to fall off. You could probably power a mid-sized city if you could channel all that electrical activity - or at least a large town. Full of strippers.

So why the hell is it that we still can't engage in dirty talk without sounding like raging idiots?

If you don't think dirty talk is all that moronic, type it out. It may sound erotically charged when you whisper it into your lover's various orifaces, but trust me, you sound ridiculous, and if you write out your sweet nothings onto paper for future reference at a time when your pants aren't around your ankles, you'll know I'm right.

That's why cybersex suffers most. You lose all the hot, steamy immediacy and gain paragraph after paragraph of text even Jackie Collins would reject. If you enjoy reading Jackie Collins - forget I said anything and go read my last entry, since you're obviously not in touch with your inner twit.

Frankly, I think we should take the time to add to the English lexicon words appropriate for cybersex with no sounds that may induce inappropriate giggling or rolling of eyes (in disbelief, not orgasm). As it stands, either we all end up sounding like an annual convention of reproductive scientists or a scene from a low rent porn video. I mean, who the hell thought up "penis" anyway? Probably some Greek asshole. Sounds like a disease involving large welts. And vagina. I expect a vagina to be a traditional English dessert involving some kind of molded and chilled custard and served at high tea. Care for another slice of vagina, Mildred? Oh dear no, Harold, I'm stuffed - couldn't eat another bite. Chip chip, cheerio. It just gets worse from there: scrotum, labia, vulva, clitoris, gonads, testicles, mammary glands, prostate, urethra, pubic hair - those aren't sex words, those are annual physical words. Bend over, sir, and relax. *snap* What, pray tell, is the hot button in saying "pubic"? If someone said, "Oh baby, let me ruffle your pubes," I would immediately start looking around to find the dead cat that obviously turns my lover on. It sounds revolting, not romantic.

The other alternative, however, is also quite appalling. Heat-seeking meat missiles, manhood, beaver, melons, knockers, tits, a flower whose petals unfold under the touch of one's fingers/tongue/breath (I think that one just made me throw up a little in my mouth), muff, over-the-shoulder boulder-holder, pussy, dick, prick, cunt, cock, shaft, shlong - does no one have any damn imagination or sense of sonic appropriateness? Do they even know how difficult that makes our task of eroticizing each other with a straight face?

First of all, men have an awfully high opinion of their penises' relative power and magnitude. Guys, while I realize the thing takes up a huge amount of space in your cerebrum, you'll be sad to know that, in fact, it weighs about half a pound, tops, and when flaccid rather looks like part of your lower intestine just fell out. It is not, in fact, a missile, a volcano, a stick of dynamite, a towering skyscraper, or a monolith, and trying to get us chicks to actually buy into that makes keeping the giggles down to a minimum a little difficult. As for women, it appears that we are, in fact, not mammals, but produce. When a man starts describing what he's going to do to my hot, sweaty body, I can't help but think he's making a grocery list.

I was trying to think up some new terms to use to get balls rolling, so to speak. My first thought was to begin referring to every penis as "the mighty fung". It has just enough hyperbole to keep the guys engaged in the whole idea, with a sonic appropriateness that makes it easy to pronounce for women with their mouths full. My friend Gabriel thinks it sounds too much like a band name, but hey, it is an instrument after all.

My lover was skeptical at best, and said such messing around with the natural order of things could lead people to start using terms like "fleshy interthigh tube of lust indulgence". Either that, or in the middle of erotic conversation one or both participants may begin to wonder if the sex talk had ended and a recitation of Lewis Carroll's Jabberwocky had begun. He has a point, but I think it's a risk worth taking.

In fact, I think this issue is urgent enough to take all the way to the top.

I should file a complaint somewhere.

Maybe the US Poet Laureate can do something about it.

make idle gossip (10 comments so far)

come hither - back off

Last 5 entries:
01.14.2007:Finally, a support group we can all get behind
01.09.2007:The City That Ever Reeks
01.08.2007:Waiter, there's a uterus in my soup
01.03.2007:Long Lost Mummy of Nefertiti Found in Smoog's Apartment
12.30.2006:New Year's resolutions we can actually keep

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