Why I didn't get a tattoo.
A while ago I was considering a tattoo. A psychologist might attribute this to a mid-life crisis. But I’m not sure I believe in the concept of a mid-life crisis. It strikes me that it’s a term used by middle-aged women to try and explain why their husbands don’t want to be trapped in a boring home, with a boring job, with a boring and no-longer-sexy middle-aged woman, instead of running away to
Maybe a better
term than ‘mid-life crisis’ would be ‘common sense’.
But we farang are in truth far too hard on Western women. The fact is that most eighteen year-old men find eighteen-year-old women attractive. And as men get older and reach their twenties, most men still find eighteen-year-old women attractive. And as men get older still and reach their forties, do the objects of their desire age correspondingly? No. Most forty-year-old men still find eighteen-year-old women attractive. And some of them control these attractions, subvert them, and build model railways, collect stamps, or grow vegetables.
They explained that they couldn’t pass underneath the clothesline, because this would not only dissipate all the power that their tattoos gave them, but even possibly create some sort of negative energy that would weaken them. But it seemed a slightly obscure belief.
They explained that a woman’s undergarments are often hung on a clothesline, and that nothing in Thai society is considered more taboo and disgusting than a woman’s knickers. No woman will ever allow another to wash her knickers, and for a man to wash them would be somewhat akin to jumping in front of Thai bus. They further explained that the man’s head must never be below a woman’s waist. I think you can probably guess already what concerns were growing in my head.
But at the same time, their fear and shock is almost always equally matched by curiosity, and it generally doesn’t take a tremendous amount of persuasion to peel the fingers one by one away from the treasure they conceal. But, the act of cunnilingus is often misinterpreted. It is sometimes seen as a sort of selfless act by a man – an act entirely devoted to bringing pleasure to the woman, an act of almost charitable proportions. Well, I don’t blame men for trying to gain some sort of sexual currency through the act of cunnilingus. There is often the implication that if a man goes down on a woman, it is purely for the woman’s pleasure, utterly unselfishly, and thus a woman really should feel somehow indebted, and when the man asks for some small, strange, and slightly disgusting favour in return, the woman should feel obliged to reciprocate. “For goodness sake! I went down on you for twenty minutes yesterday. Do you have any idea how horrible it is down there? But did I grumble? No. I did it for you darling. I did it to make you happy. And now when I ask for just one little thing to make me happy, you won’t help out. You don’t even love me that much. I’ve told you that it won’t hurt for more than a couple of hours…”
And historically throughout time, men have successfully brainwashed women into thinking that their pussies are dirty, horrible malodorous things that bleed and pee and excrete vile substances. And it all works in our favour. But since no woman would ever be seen dead reading this pervy little website, can we, just between us men, acknowledge that this is crap.
nothing on the planet as extraordinary and mysterious and unique
as the pussy. And the even more amazing this is that
they’re all different – every single one. You will never ever
find two the same. I’ve never investigated identical twins, but
I’m told that even on identical twins, the vaginas are
discernibly different. That’s why we can’t stop looking at
them. That’s why there will never come a time when a man says,
“No, I’ve seen what a pussy looks like. I really don’t need to
see any more.”
Every one is different. And I want to see them all. I want to get up close and stick my nose in there and see exactly what’s going on. I want to publish a book, just of pictures of pussies. Don’t tell me it wouldn’t be a best seller. And another thing. They all taste different. Some are coppery, like licking on a handful of coins, whereas others are sweeter like a velvety custard. Why in books do they so often describe the ‘musky’ scent. What the hell is musky? The dictionary describes ‘musky’ as ‘or of like musk’. And musk is “a substance secreted in a glandular sac under the skin of the abdomen of the male musk deer”
Excuse me, but I’ve never met a musk deer, and even if I did meet one on a dark night, I probably wouldn’t go sniffing around his glandular sac. So please, quit with the musky! Some girls are so brainwashed to think that their private parts are also their most disgusting parts, that they shower obsessively before sex, which is such a pity, as any natural flavours are utterly masked by the artificial odor of Dove soap. But what a delight when a girl doesn’t ask for a towel for the dreaded shower, but instead can be taken just as she is, with a day’s scent upon her, and all the pent-up excretions can be swallowed up by our willing tongues. Am I going too far with this? Have I lost some of you? What I’m trying to question is this: Is it not true that the act of cunnilingus is pretty much as selfish as just about everything else that we do? Is it not true that we couldn’t really care whether they’re enjoying it or not, as long as we get a mouthful of hot snatch? Is it not true that when they twitch and buck, it pleases us, but only because it adds to our pleasure, and we don’t really give too much thought to theirs.
Keep it to yourselves.
And for God’s sake don’t tell Thai men!