March 13, 2010
The other day, in the post office parking lot, there were two vans sitting side-by-side. One license plate read EXCITED and the other read NAUGHTY.
I hope that the following excerpt from "A Week and a Whip" will elicit both of those feelings in you.
To set the scene, our protagonist is with her girlfriends, venting and lamenting her boyfriend Jesse's wham-bam-when-will-this-be-over-ma'am approach to sex.
"You told me once that Jesse is the first guy you've dated who has no interest in, um, in pornography, right?"
It's true. Jesse isn't a sleaze, please type of guy. None of it stimulates him. Not if it's captured on celluloid, not if it's circulating in cyberspace. He flinches at the sight of women in the throes of faux ecstasy, winces at the plight of vixens immersed in violence, voyeurism, and vulgarity. Even Sapphic smut fails to whet Jesse's appetite. Soft-core or hardcore, it's all an eyesore to him.
"Maybe it's not disgust that he feels when he looks at those kinds of images. Maybe it's envy."
Finally, a gem of advice amongst cubic zirconias.
"Perhaps he hasn't told you how he feels because he's worried you'll think he's depraved."
That's just like Jesse, worried I'll think he's depraved. He doesn't even curse in my presence, because he's afraid he'll offend my delicate sensibilities.
"You're a sex life saver," I gush, giving her a much-deserved squeeze and thank you.
Well, it looks like the old in-and-out has gotten old and is on its way out. I need to start thinking outside the box. To be more precise, I need to start thinking outside my box. (Hey, when I get horny, I get corny, what can I say?)
I can say that I'm confident I can fix this.
Just give me a week.
And a whip.
Curiouser and curiouser,