Wednesday, June 29, 2005

That's Erotic?

What’s really truly erotic? Is it sexy naked long-legged 19-year old girls with big tits and narrow hips? Is it buffed tan college athletes strutting about with their alcohol-induced bravado? What about navel rings? Belly shirts? Pouty lips and sultry eyes? Thong panties? Tattoos? Cock-rings? Lap dances? …

So far, none of those things have ever truly done much for me except grab my attention for a little while. Sure, I like to look at some of the pretty people with all their attention-getting devices. They might be sexy as hell, but sexy isn’t the same as erotic. Erotic stuff is personal. It’s personal between my lover and I.

I once had a lover who was exceptionally good at holding hands. I loved going to the movies with him because I knew that he’d hold my hand the whole time. His hands were exactly the right size for holding mine. He’d move his hand just enough to be stimulating, but not too much so that it became irritating. Sometimes he’d wrap his hand around and gently squeeze, and sometimes he’d lace his fingers through mine and tenderly caress up and down. It drove me crazy, but I didn’t want it to stop. It was established early on that he was always in charge. The few times that I tried to take over, he quickly regained dominance. I didn’t struggle too much. I liked letting him be in charge of that part. And while all this was happening, he’d be watching the flick, as if nothing else was going on. In fact, he actually expected me to be able to have an intelligent conversation about the movie afterward.

There was a period of time not too long ago when I was really tired. I needed to sleep but couldn’t seem to relax long enough to get the good kind of rest that my body needed. One afternoon, I stopped to see a new guy who I’d been seeing. He invited me to cuddle on the couch with him while he read. I fell asleep curled up against him. That was the best nap of my life. When I woke up, he wasn’t complaining that I was making him hot or putting his arm to sleep. He was simply content to have me there with him. Something about that moment was such a turn-on.

Almost 15 years ago I had a one-night stand. He wasn’t supposed to call again, but I liked him so I gave him my real phone number. He called a couple days later. That was one spectacular night that turned into a 10-month roller coaster ride. I don’t remember how well he held my hand, but I do remember the tingle I felt when he looked at me with his gorgeous green eyes. I remember the way my knees went all wobbly when he stood behind me and held my arm to show me how to shoot darts properly. And … I’ll never forget how breathtakingly beautiful he looked the last time I saw him … the day I said goodbye. He called again yesterday. I still get excited every time I hear his voice.

Sometimes the truly erotic part of a relationship happens in a moment. It’s the moment when you notice the thing that is honestly beautiful about that person. You don’t want to lose it, so you capture it and hold it in your heart. It grows to be more extraordinary and exciting because you make it so.

Monday, June 27, 2005

A Rose by Any Other Name ...

I was trying to remember all of my past lovers today. I realized a long time ago that I couldn’t remember all of their names … no, not even their first names. However, at the time I was with them I did know their names … or at least I knew a name. I didn’t just scream "Oh god!" the whole time. That gets boring, and boring sex is a tragedy I always avoid. So, I always asked for a name, both first and last, even if I only planned to play with him for a little while. Who knows if they all gave me a real name though? I didn’t have background checks done on everyone I slept with … just the one.

At this point, I’ve stopped trying to recall the lost and forgotten names and have opted to catalogue them by what I do remember instead:

Photographer guy
Crazy Red Brillo Head Man
That one guy’s cute nephew
The car dude with the good weed
Really, really icky-what-was-I-thinking-?guy
Scary big-muscle freak
Minneapolis Dreamboat (sigh)
Soft Condom South Dakota
The First One (yeah, for real, I don’t remember his name)

I’ve never had sex with someone with an unusual name like Rudolf, Elvis, or Indigo. It’s always John, Matt, Mike, Mark, Bill, Dan, Dave, Dave, Dave, Dave, or David. Not that those are bad names, or that any of them were bad lovers, it’s just kinda funny. What’s the deal with the Dave’s though? I’m going to have a baseball team of them pretty soon.

I’ve decided to do a better job of remembering the names of my lovers from now on. I’m getting up there in years and my memory is worse than ever, so I need a system to keep track properly. I was thinking that a nice Guest Book would be a good idea. They could sign in to the Love Goddess Guest Book and jot down a little note for sentimental remembrances. That might be sweet.

Friday, June 17, 2005

Fairy Tales

While I was growing up, I lived in a home that was made beautiful by the hard work and industry of my dedicated parents. They took a broken down old 1876 house, restored it to it’s former splendor and filled it will love and laughter. Of course, we had our trials and tribulations, but that isn’t the point of this post. I’ll pass over those things at this time and get on to the point.

In this beautiful home of ours, there was a formal living room with a grand fireplace. It was planked with built-in oak bookshelves on either side. Recessed windows sat above the shelves to allow light in from the ivy-covered porch on the other side. As children, we were only allowed to play board games and read in this room. No horseplay! No goofing off! No acting like hooligans!

As the oldest of the K . . . berg brood, I would often read aloud to my brother and sisters. We would sit near the fireplace on big over-stuffed
floor pillows that our Mom had made, and huddle around the chosen book. (I know … you’re thinking Saturday Evening Post. But really, I just don’t want to get into the creepy uncle and the mental illness shit right now). Anyway, my favorite books were the fairy tale stories. I loved all the handsome heroes and beautiful princesses, horrible beasts and scary dragons, elaborate castles and little forest cottages; and mostly I loved the happy endings.

As I’ve grown older, I’ve some to realize that fairy tales are all make-believe. The magic of our lives is the magic that we create, and the fantasy is within the power
of our imagination. Unfortunately, in letting go of these stories, I also lost sight of with wisdom that I might have learned about Love.

In many of these stories, the Love and devotion of the princess is bestowed on only the most worthy of the heroes. He must pass a test by being brave, patient and clever. He does this because he believes that the prize is worth the risk and effort. Recently, a very kind and gentle friend reminded me that my Love is valuable. It made me sad to think that I’ve suffered a great deal because I’ve not held it in such high regard. Perhaps that’s why some of the people I’ve given it to have also been careless with it. Maybe I need to take a lesson from these Fairy Tales and let my future heroes earn my Love. This Love of mine is good stuff. It’s really worth the effort.

Recommended Reading for adults and children of both genders: THE MAID OF THE NORTH: Feminist Folk Tales From Around The World, by Ethel Johnston Phelps.

Sunday, June 12, 2005


My pussy is pissed. She hasn’t spoken to me since early this morning. While I admit that she has every right to be mad, it was an honest mistake.

Last night the boys went out to play poker at a friend’s house. I had a blessed 4 hours at home all by myself. It was FAN-FUCKING-TASTIC!!! I took advantage of my precious private time by treating myself to some special personal attention. I know what you might be thinking … and of course you’re right. I am the Love Goddess for the love of Pete. However, aside from making love to myself, I also had time to attend to other oft neglected pampering. I washed and sorted all my pretty delicates, painted my tootsies, buffed my feet, filed my fingernails, rubbed scented oil into every inch of my skin, and tidied up unwanted body hair, including trimming Ms. Lovely. This is where things went terribly awry.

I borrowed Monkey Man’s beard trimmer for the task. Shhh, don’t tell. He hates when I do that, but I figure that his face has been down there, so what’s the big deal? Anyhow, I forgot to check the guard setting before I began the trimming process.
It was set to the very closest setting … like 5-O’Clock shadow close.

Once I realized what I’d done, it was too late to turn back. I had to finish the job … or go around with one big strip down the middle like some lead singer from an 80’s Punk band. After I was finished, Ms. Lovely and I checked ourselves out in the mirror.

Ms L: Bitch! I’m practically bald. You can see everything!
Me: Oh relax. It’s not so bad.
Ms L: Fuck you! I look like a puffy pink bald baby butt.
Me: No you don’t. Just think, now we can see all your beauty beneath the hair. Some people like that sort of thing.
Ms. L: Are you nuts? Do you actually expect me to go out looking like this?
Me: Okay … but, do you have to be such a drama queen about it? Come on, before you know it, it’ll all grow back.
Ms. L: Easy for you to say. You don’t look like you just enlisted in the fucking Marine Corps!
Me: Aw come-on, it could be worse. I could have given you a mullet!
Ms. L: Paybacks, Baby! Just you wait …

So I spent today at an amusement park with Monkey Man because his job gave us free tickets. It was horribly hot and humid the entire day. Guess who has a miserable itchy burning heat rash? Yeah, Ms. Lovely didn’t waste any time on her little payback scheme. All that nice fluffy hair that used to provide air circulation is gone. Now it’s just me, hair not much longer than stubble, and a bunch of red irritating bumps.

Friday, June 10, 2005

Frightening the Monkeys

I’m in the mood for Crazy Jungle Monkey Sex!

What exactly is that, you’re wondering?

Well, it isn’t having sex with monkeys. However, if done properly, it will scare the little buggers right out of their happy little trees.

Crazy Jungle Monkey Sex is the kind of sex that is completely out of control. It’s noisy with grunts, moans, whimpers, sighs, gasps, screams, groans, panting, and screaming. Your bodies are desperate to connect and entwine. Sweat slides along your skin as you twist and wrap around one another. Your pulse races with your rabid enthusiasm.

The force of your bodies uniting knocks over furniture and sends the dog scrambling for cover under the coffee table. Fabric tears and buttons fly. The mattress moves with such force that it turns up somewhere between the dishwasher and the laundry room.

Nothing else matters except feeling the energy and passion of your mate. You are insatiable for one another. You can’t drink enough. The only thing that finally stops you is pure and utter exhaustion. In your final panting, you lay in a heap with no idea where you are, what time it is, or possibly even what day it is.

Whoa … Now, I’m really in the mood …

Thursday, June 09, 2005

Things I Want To Be When I Get Big

  1. A Professional Arm Wrestler
  2. A Baton Twirler
  3. Hugh Jackman’s date to the Tony’s
  4. A Potter (fun squishy clay ! ! !)
  5. A Super Hero
  6. A Dune Buggy Racer
  7. An Irish Bartender
  8. The World Champion Make-Out Queen
  9. Madonna’s date to the Oscars
  10. Paid a generous salary simply for my cheerful disposition and pleasant company
  11. A columnist for the NY Times
  12. A Fairy Goddess-Auntie-Hot-Chik

Tuesday, June 07, 2005

Same 'Ol Every Day Southern Baptist Same-Sex Wedding

On May 28th, JT and Mark finally got hitched! It was the most beautiful wedding I’ve ever been a part of in my life. As I stood near them witnessing their vows, I thought to myself "Dead Puppies".

I had to do something. The tears were streaming down my cheeks, and I could feel a big ‘ol sob rising up to the surface. I just knew that if it came out, half the wedding party was either going to join me, or they were going to burst into giggle fits. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t actually imagine dead puppies, I just thought the words in my head. It's a special technique I borrowed from a Hot Actor Chik around here. It works every time!

Anyone who didn’t get a little choked up at this wedding couldn’t have been paying attention. It was beautiful in every way. The minister opened the ceremony by welcoming everyone and comforting us with the reassurance that it would be just like every other Southern Baptist same-sex wedding we’d attended before. Everything was perfect from the flowers to the music to the beautiful groom … and the other beautiful groom.

I have to take a moment to focus on the music.

Not every wedding has professional classically trained singers to perform an intregal part of the ceremony. Our long-time friend, Mark W. and his lovely fiancé performed before, as well as, during the wedding ceremony. It was a really special treat. We aren’t talking about any ordinary wedding singers. These kids can really belt it out! … Oh yeah, and Mark is a total Hottie! (Yummy! I’d do him)

Just for fun (and to make JT scream like a little girl) lets do a little survey:
Who’s the more do-able Wedding Singer?

(click on their names to check them out)
Mark W.
Adam Sandler

Cast your votes in the comments section.

* If there’s a tie, I suggest both Mark W. and Adam meet me for a make-out session. I’ll judge the winner after sufficient and rigorous testing.

More about the wedding later. I need to prepare for a possible tie-breaker ... yeah, yeah, I know he's engaged. This is imaginary, people!

Friday, June 03, 2005

Rotten Good For Nothin' Computer

2 Hot Chiks is experiencing technical difficulties.

I don't care for "technical", and "difficulties" are definitely on my list of least favorite things.

I think 2 Hot Chiks should experience sexual non-difficulties soon, just for some balance!