26 March 2007

You know you're getting older when...

Someone says to you:

"Oh my God, that's how old you are? Does that mean you actually remember Kurt Cobain dying?"

It doesn't feel like it was that long ago.

22 March 2007


I sat on a stool by the wall at a club, people-watching.

I saw a really cute girl. As I watched she made a bee-line straight for me! She asked me for a cigarette. I gave her my pouch.

As she rolled one, she leant up against me, grinding her crotch into my knee. She then coughed up the corniest line ever:

"So, do you come here often?"

My brain was mush. I gave her a really lame answer.

She made some small talk, which I barely managed to respond to. All I could think was, oh god oh god oh god this really cute girl is cracking onto me! What do I do? Quick, think of something witty to say -

Then she thanked me for the cigarette and disappeared into the crowd. In my state of total shock, I obviously didn't give off strong signals of interest - or any signals at all.

I spent the rest of the night glued to that stool, the sensation of her crotch still on my knee and a goofy grin on my face.

Partner and I have an agreement about me indulging my desire for female action. But so far I've never done anything about it. Firstly, because I've been in open relationships before, and there's always a strong chance it will get messy and complicated and go wrong for someone, if not everyone. But secondly, and more importantly, I want to maintain the monogamous bond I have with Partner. I enjoy the intimacy, and the feeling that we share something with each other that we share with no-one else. I don't want to lose that, and I'm willing to be a non-practising bisexual to maintain it. Giving up girls is a small price to pay for what we have.

But it's still nice to have a really cute girl try to pick me up.

16 March 2007

Strange Children

I went to the bowling alley with some friends. While we were there, a small boy - only two or three years old - came up to me and took my hand.

"Where's your mum? Show me where your mum is," I said to him. I looked around, but couldn't see any adults who seemed to be missing a kid. "How about your daddy? Is your daddy here?"

He dragged me by the hand, but only to the pinball machine and pointed to it. Then he dragged me to the basketball ring and pointed at that, then the row of little yellow ducks, and the crocodiles that pop up so you can hit them on the head with a mallet. He walked me around all the sideshows, smiling and pointing, and all the while I was looking around for his parents and asking him where they were.

Suddenly a wrathful mother charged over to me and snached him out of my hands, her eyes flashing.

"Thank God!" I said. "He grabbed me and I kept asking him where..." She didn't stop to listen. She dragged him away from me, and over her shoulder shot me a look of pure venom.

I felt dirty. I wanted to explain to her what had happened, but she wasn't interested. I can understand the fear parents have of child abduction. I wasn't doing anything wrong. But I know I would be horrified to see a stranger hand in hand with my child. For five minutes this kid was latched onto me before his mother noticed he was missing. It wasn't a case of me letting him go - I wasn't holding him. I hated knowing that his mother was suspicious of me, and I felt really bad. I couldn't have convinced her that I wasn't about to steal her child.

Then I remembered something that happened when I was a kid myself. My mum was driving me somewhere. Near the end of our road, she noticed a very small child lurking by the side of the road. We lived out in the sticks, so the properties were quite large. There was no one else around.

She stopped the car and asked the kid where he lived, but he didn't answer her. So she said to me, "I'm not leaving this child to get run over. I'll take him to the police station." She took the kid by the hand and started walking him to our car.

Just then a car came around the corner, and screeched to a halt. His mother jumped out. It turned out he lived just behind where we found him, and obviously had been sent outside to wait for his mother who was on her way home (a bloody stupid thing to do, leaving a child who's only about three or four to wait alone by the side of the road). The woman looked at my mother like she was a child abducter, snatched the kid away and hurried inside.

My mother felt bad. She knew the woman would have thought the worst of her. But she said to me, "No matter what she thought, no matter how I feel now, I couldn't have lived with myself if I saw a child that young alone on the street and didn't try to help him."

And that's how I feel now. If there's a child who is alone, who looks lost or frightened, I will stop and try to help. I know I'm a good person. But I can't guarantee that the next person who comes along will be so good. Even if to the parents I'm a frightening stranger, I couldn't live with myself if I ignored a child in need.

15 March 2007

Stale Anger

Has someone ever said something to you that made you so angry, that you mulled over it for years, and even fifteen years later whenever you think of it you still boil over in anger?


Er, me neither. Nothing to see here. Move along, people.
I'm reading a book at the moment called 'The case of the female orgasm: bias in the science of evolution' by Elisabeth A Lloyd. It is primarily a critique of the different theories about why women have orgasms. It's quite an interesting book.

But it reminded me, yet again, of something that happened in my year 10 science class which made me so angry, I still haven't got over it. Why, I don't know. I'm hopeing that blogging it will finally lay this demon to rest.

We were at the point in science class where we were studing sex. We had a test. I got 60/60, quite a good mark you may say. But I was actually marked wrong on one question, and made the perfect score by getting the bonus question right.

The question I was marked wrong on was: What is the female equivalent of the penis?

My answer was, of course, the clitoris.

When I got the test back there was a big red X next to my answer, and the words 'the vagina = complimentary organ.'

I was so angry. He hadn't asked what the complimentary organ was, he asked what the female equivalent was. And I knew it was the clitoris. All the literature I've read before and since says it's the clitoris.

Let me quote from this book I'm reading (pg 108):

It is crucial to note that the penis and the clitoris are the "same" organ in men and women; there is an organ in the primordial, undifferentiated embryo that turns into a penis if it recieves a dose of particular hormones; otherwise it matures into a clitoris. In other words, the penis and the clitoris have the same embryological origins and are thus called "homologous" organs.

The clitoris has a hood (a prepuce, homologous to the foreskin). It has erectile tissue which becomes engorged with blood during sexual excitement. It has the same amount of nerve endings as the penis. It is the female equivalent of the penis.

I know I was right. And I got full marks on the test anyway, so why am I still bitching about it so many years later?

Partly because I was right and he was wrong, and I didn't have the gumption to get up and argue my point more forcefully. Partly because I object to a man telling me about my sexual organs when he evidently has no idea. Partly because there was no mention whatsoever of the clitoris in the science curriculum, as if the only female sexual organs that matter are those related to popping out babies and being penetrated by a dick. But mainly because he was a bloody teacher, and he was not only teaching stuff that was wrong, he was deliberately leaving out an important part of the female sexual organs in a class where we covered everything else (ovaries, fallopian tubes, uterus, labia, the menstrual cycle etc). And I knew that a generation of girls would have to sit through this curriculum.

Every time I read another account of how the clitoris is the female equivalent of the penis, I feel vindicated. But it doesn't stop me being angry, for I am still powerless to change the curriculum and give girls the information about their bodies that they deserve to be taught.

14 March 2007

So slow

We've been shunted onto dial-up.

It takes me ten times longer to load a page than it does to read it. Hence, I'm only reading a couple of blogs a night, and it takes about a week to get through my blog-roll. Commenting just doesn't seem worth the effort; although there's been some interesting posts I'd like to comment on, it may be well after the fact. Oh well. I should stop reading and just get on with writing.

In other news: still looking for a new house. Still plugging away at the new job. Hang on - that amounts to no news, doesn't it?

5 March 2007


The doorbell rang. It was our next door neighbour's son.

'Have you got any Baileys?' he asked shyly. What the fuck, I thought. This kid is only six years old!

'No, sorry, we don't have any,' And even if we did, I wouldn't be giving it to you.

He looked confused. 'But your Partner said you've got some,' he said. Hang on, there's something else going on here.

'Is it for your mum?' I thought maybe Partner had offered her some kind of alcohol and she got confused about what we had. But he shook his head.

'No, it's for me.'

'Well, we really don't have any. Sorry.' The poor kid walked away looking totally bewildered.

When Partner got home, I told him what had happened. He nearly pissed himself laughing.

'You duffer! He's looking for bay leaves for a school project!'

I ripped a small branch off the bay tree and scuttled around to the neighbours to make my red-faced explanation, his laughter still ringing in my ears.