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Saturday, January 12, 2002

You know what I've been thinking about? Masturbation.

Yeah, I knew that would get your attention.

I started thinking about this because of my roommate's cat. Wait, that sounds wrong. Anyway, I live in a big loft apartment, and have no wall or door blocking entrance to my part of the space. My roommate's cat, for some reason, seems to prefer sleeping on my bed. He also has incredible timing, as he tends to walk in and stare at me while I'm beating up the little man in the boat. I've gotten pretty good at ignoring him, but it's pretty disconcerting when he is sitting on the bed with me while I'm interfering with myself. And it's especially strange when he decides it's a really good idea to curl up between my feet when I'm auditioning the finger puppets.

Now, when I rub one out, I like a little privacy. Which makes it tough for me to feel comfortable getting a stinky pinky when we have houseguests sleeping on the futon that's 15 feet away from my bed. I can hear them breathing normally, so I can assume they would hear the change in my breathing patterns when I'm polishing the pearl. But there are just some nights when I can't sleep without the stress release that accompanies buffin' the muffin, so I go right ahead. I mean, damn, it's MY house, after all.

This brings me to another thought: people who claim that they never polish the pickle or caress the kitty really don't seem all that credible to me. It's rarer among men - most of them will fully admit to seasoning their meat on a regular basis. In fact, most of the guys I know are pretty damn proud of their pud wrestling frequency. I've actually heard quite a few of them bragging about how often they shake hands with shorty. Conversely, I've met quite a few women who claim that they never shoot the pink marble. Granted, a lot of the girls who say that they never shuck the oyster are quite young and really haven't become fully comfortable with their sexuality, so I can buy that claim for some of the younger ladies. But for any woman with a reasonable amount of sexual experience, I'd say that those who deny tickling the taco are not telling the truth. Sure, they may only open the honey pot on rare occasions, but I can't believe that they never feed their meter. That's crazy talk.

For example, I have a good friend who says that she never parts the petals. I have a hard time believing this for a couple of reasons, but one stands out as the most prominent: she's never stressed out. Ever. Now, I know there are some people who are just naturally calm, but I don't buy it that she's that calm without ever relieving a little tension by buttering the biscuit. Even when everything is going well and I have no reason to be tense, sometimes I feel the urge to rough up the suspect a little. Obviously, tension release isn't the only reason to frost the muffin - I've stirred the cauldron on quite a few occasions when I've read some incendiary material (like Maxim- yeah, I know I'm superficial) or when I've missed an opportunity to have a sushi party with others involved. Hell, everyone gets a little horny on occasion, right? And aside from jumping on the first person you see and humping their leg, the most immediate way to take care of that urge is to spend a little time praising the orchid.

I'm sure there are lots of ladies who feel the way that I do about punching the chipmunk. If you do, or even if you don't, email me. Tell me stories about your rosebud rubbing adventures. I'm dying to hear them.

babbled by Kat @ 8:02 PM |