In the name of parenting I have sat through some of the most mindless drivel that Disney and the likes can muster. There was one delightful occasion when I watched some banal film about the Rugrats and some other cartoon family lost in some cartoon wilderness whilst I lost myself in a vat of popcorn wondering when I could get out of the cinema.
On this particular visit to the cinema, I had suggested to the children that we actually watch another mindless Disney epic, namely Pirates of the Caribbean.
Being selfish, I thought that if I had to sit through another dire effort, then at least I could be humoured, in a very clichéd way, by the looks and mannerisms of the very gorgeous Johnny Depp. But no, we got cartoons instead.
We eventually watched Pirates on DVD at home a few days after Christmas, and the children decided that they had made the wrong decision in the previous summer. My youngest then spent the next month re-watching it at every opportunity. I almost began to get sick of the sight of Johnny fopping his way across the screen doing a very dodgy impression of Keith Richards, and smirking with those glinting, come to bed brown eyes, and looking sensational in the flowing Mr. Darcy shirt and making me go all girly and gooey every time he delivered his awful lines. Almost!
Okay, it is pathetic in many ways and it is so tedious to be attracted to a man that half the heterosexual women in the world would like to bed, and it is something that I have never done. As I have said previously, I have never been an avid fan of the man of the moment – of Cruise and Clooney, or De Caprio or, well, any of them. But I don’t think I would kick Johnny out of bed.
It’s those damn eyes again. I really am a sucker for vivid, warm, embracing eyes.
I want to fuck them every time.
News today is that they are making yet another Pirates film. As if the last two weren’t bad enough, for I actually enjoyed the first one, they have decided – I am sure totally shaped by monetary reasons – to get Jack Sparrow out of wherever he sailed off to, for I cannot remember, and yo ho ho away in another swashbuckling horror.
The reason for mentioning this is that he apparently is going to discover that he has a long lost brother. And who is going to step into this particular limelight? None other than our very own Russell Brand.
Call me a cynic but these Disney folk know their audience don’t they? Sad, under-sexed women of a certain age who will gladly grab the first child that they can find, drag into the cinema and in a statement of insincere selflessness, declare themselves the marvellous mother or aunt or cousin who will forego an afternoon shopping to toddle the toddlers off to the movies.
I have already mentioned the potential numbers of women worldwide who swoon over the man that is Johnny Depp.
British women, in the main, have similar thoughts about Mr. Brand.
He oozes sexuality. This is in part because of all the stories, his self-confessed addiction to fucking women but it is more than this.
I can genuinely say that I saw this man on television before I had heard about his various addictions and antics. Despite his bizarre appearance with his gothic matted mess and his facial hair, there was seriously something exciting about him. A quickening movement between your legs was apparent and you knew that this man had the potential to seriously excite you.
I did a short straw poll last night. My friends gathered together, huddled around the fire and we discussed Russell and his sexiness. One of my younger friends almost orgasmed at the very mention of his name. She’d fuck him without a doubt, irrespective of his somewhat chequered past. My older friends were slightly more ambivalent but nonetheless agreed that he was at the least, pretty horny.
As for me, well there is no doubt that he is a horny beast. I am sure that if I met him, and if he were remotely interested in chatting me up, I would probably fall for the charm of the man, and I wouldn’t mind a quick snog or something else, though I would have to insist on condoms, for he has done the circuit. Though come to think of it, I cannot imagine a man who is so sexually extravagant and needy would even contemplate wearing a condom.
Following on from a previous blog, I think I would be very interested in having some sort of sexual occurrence with him. Maybe he would be turned on and would be self-gratifying if he watched me having sex with my lover. Maybe my lover would like to see me giving him a hand job. Maybe they could both do their incredibly wonderful and sensual movements in order to give me one huge orgasm. Maybe they would both like to stand in front of me whilst I arouse myself and splash my cum all over them. Maybe.
This is of course assuming that Mr. Brand is as wonderful as he says he is. Maybe his dick isn’t quite as spectacular as he thinks. I somehow doubt that even one of such alleged sexual magnitude would get me going as quickly as I seem to do now.
But getting back to the main point of this writing.
The Disney thing is interesting. All wholesome and pure. All virtuous and prissy. Yet they are clearly considering those women when they are making a film with Johnny and Russell. They know that those mothers and various other female relatives will be going to off to the cinema to fall into a fantasy of infatuation and lust for these two.
Shame on them!
This brings to mind the piece in the newspaper today, written by Pamela Druckerman.
Again, this links with another blog that I wrote recently - French and British women and their sexuality.
In it she explains the difference between the sexual openness of the older French woman and that of her British counterpart.
According to this piece, French ladies of a certain age have no qualms about having sex after the age of forty. They have a propensity for engaging in sexual relationships with younger men, and are confident with themselves as very sexual beings. Having just returned from France I would certainly reiterate this. French women are incredibly sexual and sexy, and older women do not think they are sexually finished on turning 40, 50 or 60. They naturally embrace their sexuality and actively seek to ensure that they remain sexual. French women say that having a married lover isn’t an ideal companion but it is preferable to celibacy.
As Roger Moore says in the newspaper today when asked whether sex was important, “We wouldn’t be on this earth if it wasn’t for sex – it’s as important as eating.”
Hallelujah! I feel vindicated!
The article goes on to reiterate that us Brits are not getting as much sex as our friends over the water. Only 15% of French women in their fifties compared with 34% of British women said they had not had sex for a year. That is an astonishing difference. And why is there this gulf, this massive difference? Well it appears to be in how we view ourselves for starters. French women are more concerned about getting their cunts filled than whether their bum “looks big in this”. Their rationale for this is that as men age their visual arousal declines – when a man wants to make love to a woman, he just doesn’t care. All he wants too is cunt!
Apparently, according to this article, men want intelligence too. Men are aroused not only by the thought of having sex with a sexually proud woman but also by the charm of their intelligence.
Now, I am not particularly prolific at being self-congratulatory or even finding the positives, but I do hope….. no, I will change that, I do know that one of the reasons that I am so lovingly fucked is because my intelligence (in the broadest sense) is arousing too. And that gives me an immense amount of pleasure and gratification, for I also fuck not just body but mind. I want my lover to feel overwhelmingly fucked and not just physically, and I am attracted to his mind as much as the welcoming sight of his approaching cock.
However, it is not just as simple as looks and confidence and affirmative action. The writer also suggests that there is a more liberal, fluent view of love by the French, and she goes on to paraphrase a new book, “What French Women Know About Love, Sex and Other Matters of Heart and Mind”. Now there is something that I would very much like to read.
What she is saying on behalf of Debra Ollivier, the author of the aforementioned title, is that French women don’t have the same expectations of ‘love’ as the Brits and Americans do.
For us it appears there is an either or – he loves me or he doesn’t. With the French, it is a question of “he loves me a little, a lot, passionately, madly, not at all”.
The article continues, “Unlike Americans or Anglo Saxons, the French are willing to embrace experiences that don’t necessarily lead to a particular outcome or goal, but that are still very essential aspects of love and sex and being human. They don’t particularly need emotional experiences to fit neatly into a tidy box or resolution. They’re comfortable with ambiguity and grey zones”.
Many would say that this last quote sound like many a man. I for one, find this very refreshing and quite liberating. Personally, I cannot set aside the sex from the feelings that I feel for someone, but I can see how the sex itself can be a means to itself. Just sex. It is just, at present, that is not what I want. What it does illustrate is a less conventional approach and thought on love which is quite alien to the likes of us Brits. The fact that there is not one thing or another and that the love is a fluctuation is something that we should all be more accustomed to. Love is as love does! Indeed. You cannot be wholly engulfed in love all the time. You cannot expect passion to be a constant for every moment that you spend with someone. If passion was a constant then it wouldn’t BE passion for very long. The joy of passion is that it waves over you and overwhelms you and sends you into a state of oblivion. The passion consumes and waves you through to satori and bliss and wonderment. This is such an important lesson that I, for one, am still in the process of learning, and I am not sure that this piece of writing is doing justice to what I want to say. It seems to me that the French have a more logical approach to love and sex. That is not to say that they are incapable of feeling love, and that they are not as engaged in passion as described. They are just more bloody rational about it, whereas we have a very ingrained view that you are monogamous for life and that within that monogamy there is a simple choice, either you are loved (all the time) or you are not.
This is a phenomenally tricky and complex discussion and I think I am going to leave it for tonight as I want to get this posted. However, I think I will have to return to this imminently after I have had some further thought.
My final comment is about the article itself. For me, who others would call promiscuous and outrageous merely for the fact that I am not being monogamous, it is almost a relief to read that I am not an abnormal human being. I am being a Francophile and subliminally living a life that in another country would be accepted as potentially quite common.
I embrace my sexuality more readily these days, and I have no guilt for what I am doing, though this statement would be contemptuous to others.
And there must be plenty of other women in this country who have the same attitudes, the same feelings and the same occurrences as me.
We are not alone, we are not weird, we are not hopeless cases who should be locked in some sort of anarchic chastity belt.
We are just women who are coming to terms with a newness and refreshing openness about our sexuality. We are women who are happy to acknowledge that we both want and need sexual stimulation and lots of it. I want the love and affection as well, when the time is right, and I am not going to deny that, for in doing so would be denying something about me. I do however also acknowledge that there may well be a time when my need for sexual stimulation will outweigh a need for love and affection and that is absolutely fine.
And on that note, I want sexual stimulation now. In fact, I get sexual stimulation frequently, without the affection, every time I get my vibrator out, for I am pretty sure it doesn’t love me!
More later……
No comments:
Post a Comment