Ah, interestingly it was an evening with Friend that got me re-reading a former chapter that interestingly -- among other things -- enumerates the things I want(ed) in the Soul Mate...and was definitely sure I didn't want to compromise on. Hmm, did the reminding help? "And the whole idea of a Soul Mate is someone who has no flaws. Perfection? Of course not, because my vision is flawed. But perfection is wanting all the flaws I want." Why is it so difficult to find The man or even A man who can thinks/has/gives all that I want? Here goes the list:
16.11.06
6.10.06
'Platonic spooning' a big lie
What's the most irritating thing that can happen when you're sleeping over at another person's place? Realising the next day that you've forgotten to bring a fresh set of panties. It's even worse if you're changing into jeans. Going commando in denims isn't that cool. Luckily, and when Murphy's Laws aren't working: you will forget the panties and carry a skirt. Convenient. Though there are women I know who are absolutely horrified at the idea of not wearing panties...at all times. I wonder if they take them off when bathing... I dont understand wearing underwear in bed either. I sleep in the buff, most times. Unless time, convenience and company is not to my liking. Anyway.
Went for a lounge music scene last evening that turned out to be part of a rock fest with some bands I was really not that keen on. The Educated Rocker was there with gang and so was his Nightingale. Had a vodka-on-the-rocks with a dash of cordial and took off. The idea was to head out for an at-home-movie and nightcap at the Thinker's pad. All was cool till the talking... it was the drive back where I got weird.
Thinker and me think alike, have a lot to talk about and he would be one of the men who stimulates me....mentally, the most. And he's an attractive man. And we've been attracted to each other for quite some time now, but have never felt the need to explore it further. Except last night when I got weird. Dont know about others, but I can pretty much tell when a situation is leading to sex. And the guy does not even have to look at me for me to know that. So I got weird...I wanted sex (well), but not with the Thinker.
"Why are you getting weird on me...dont deny, you are": Thinker
"Not on you, have become somewhat weird about sex.": Me
"So we wont have sex. When i think of you, I just want to cuddle..what you would call spooning in one of your writings. Harmless" : Thinker
REALLY. Think about it: you have a virile man, a wanting woman, who both decide not to have sex. One is drunk, the other slightly and stoned. Wearing a tee shirt and shorts. Smelling nice. You definitely want to cuddle. So you want to hold me against your chest, pull me closer and "spoon" me into you. How nice. Very comfortable....I can almost feel the stubble on my neck, the warm breath like a comfortin thought down my spine, that assuring arm around my waist, my heel (particularly after recent discovery of sensitive nerve endings thanks to Sole Male) beinng tickled by your toes.....sigh. And your penis prodding into my butt. It sort of spoils it all. When I am not in the mood for penis, or a particular penis. Or any particular penis. Or particularly a penis. Hmmmm.
The other day I was told -- it was an observation by Sexy Buddha -- that I was taking a little too much interest in Yogi Baba's very beautfiful, buxom and extremely do-able Model Wife. What a pretty name she has. Hmmm. I was. I want to shoot her. On film. With her hair open.
But am digressing. And thanks to all the probing-penis-in-your-butt thing, I missed my shag. :(
Thats me and my thoughts and no probing penises...not the way I dont want them. More on that later....
Went for a lounge music scene last evening that turned out to be part of a rock fest with some bands I was really not that keen on. The Educated Rocker was there with gang and so was his Nightingale. Had a vodka-on-the-rocks with a dash of cordial and took off. The idea was to head out for an at-home-movie and nightcap at the Thinker's pad. All was cool till the talking... it was the drive back where I got weird.
Thinker and me think alike, have a lot to talk about and he would be one of the men who stimulates me....mentally, the most. And he's an attractive man. And we've been attracted to each other for quite some time now, but have never felt the need to explore it further. Except last night when I got weird. Dont know about others, but I can pretty much tell when a situation is leading to sex. And the guy does not even have to look at me for me to know that. So I got weird...I wanted sex (well), but not with the Thinker.
"Why are you getting weird on me...dont deny, you are": Thinker
"Not on you, have become somewhat weird about sex.": Me
"So we wont have sex. When i think of you, I just want to cuddle..what you would call spooning in one of your writings. Harmless" : Thinker
REALLY. Think about it: you have a virile man, a wanting woman, who both decide not to have sex. One is drunk, the other slightly and stoned. Wearing a tee shirt and shorts. Smelling nice. You definitely want to cuddle. So you want to hold me against your chest, pull me closer and "spoon" me into you. How nice. Very comfortable....I can almost feel the stubble on my neck, the warm breath like a comfortin thought down my spine, that assuring arm around my waist, my heel (particularly after recent discovery of sensitive nerve endings thanks to Sole Male) beinng tickled by your toes.....sigh. And your penis prodding into my butt. It sort of spoils it all. When I am not in the mood for penis, or a particular penis. Or any particular penis. Or particularly a penis. Hmmmm.
The other day I was told -- it was an observation by Sexy Buddha -- that I was taking a little too much interest in Yogi Baba's very beautfiful, buxom and extremely do-able Model Wife. What a pretty name she has. Hmmm. I was. I want to shoot her. On film. With her hair open.
But am digressing. And thanks to all the probing-penis-in-your-butt thing, I missed my shag. :(
Thats me and my thoughts and no probing penises...not the way I dont want them. More on that later....
5.10.06
I am Vagina; and am not a p***y
Hmm. Was re-reading what I wrote earlier and was mortified to realise that I shy away from calling my vagina, a p***y. I didnt call it a vagina either, but called it a 'Kat' instead (Kat = cat=pussy). Hmm. Why? Is it because I consider 'p***y' derogatory? what about snatch, c**t, venus mound, flytrap, etc etc? How come a vagina is called everything else but a VAGINA? And no, its not about how a penis is often (mostly) referred to as a dick either. The point is: you will still have it being called a penis, which is what it is!
However, when it comes to a vagina: somehow it is always a p***y. How many times have you heard? "Yo dude, watch that hot vagina coming our way!" Of course, call it a hot p***y and everyones instantly knows whats being talked about. Somehow calling a vagina a vagina takes away the p***y-sting. YES. it is a sting. I dont want my vagina called a p***y. So you wanna get into my pants? For my VAGINA. Not the p***y. The only puss I had was borrowed and is currently at Dude's place. [and will remain there :( ]
Its funny how despite having seen Monologues, the entire point about having the audience scream out "VAGINA" aloud, is making sense now. I have a vagina. I think of it everyday. I definitely touch it everyday. And I would accept its presence and existence everyday too. No more p***y, Kat, and all other p***y-names given for it.
Feministic? Umm, no? Have never understood the word. But definitely something I dont want to live with anymore.
Much has happened in and around my Vagina, for me to be calling it a mere p***y.
However, when it comes to a vagina: somehow it is always a p***y. How many times have you heard? "Yo dude, watch that hot vagina coming our way!" Of course, call it a hot p***y and everyones instantly knows whats being talked about. Somehow calling a vagina a vagina takes away the p***y-sting. YES. it is a sting. I dont want my vagina called a p***y. So you wanna get into my pants? For my VAGINA. Not the p***y. The only puss I had was borrowed and is currently at Dude's place. [and will remain there :( ]
Its funny how despite having seen Monologues, the entire point about having the audience scream out "VAGINA" aloud, is making sense now. I have a vagina. I think of it everyday. I definitely touch it everyday. And I would accept its presence and existence everyday too. No more p***y, Kat, and all other p***y-names given for it.
Feministic? Umm, no? Have never understood the word. But definitely something I dont want to live with anymore.
Much has happened in and around my Vagina, for me to be calling it a mere p***y.
21.9.06
I am Mom, this is my monologue
"Good news? What would that be?"
"I am being sarcastic? not with you. When have you bothered about what people -- least of all your mother -- has to say?"
"Good news? You're NOT thinking love, not again."
"And your good news is very different from other peoples'."
"All the things you keep saying: keeping your boyfriend because you don't want to sleep with too many men!"
"Maybe I am conservative and old fashioned."
"WHAT about your happiness? We were also educated, but we didn't think orgasms all the time. Marriages are not made on orgasms."
Click. Bleep. Whirr. Static. Dead.
Phew.
Marriages are not made on orgasms. Hmm. But broken due to the lack of them? And wonder of wonders, no marriage and STILL fucking no orgasm. Not the screaming my lungs, need-to-change-the-sheet, marks on me, kind. Uhm. I will go think about Office Beefcake. More than think. :) Imagination rocks. And men think they need to drink to screw women. Hah.
"I am being sarcastic? not with you. When have you bothered about what people -- least of all your mother -- has to say?"
"Good news? You're NOT thinking love, not again."
"And your good news is very different from other peoples'."
"All the things you keep saying: keeping your boyfriend because you don't want to sleep with too many men!"
"Maybe I am conservative and old fashioned."
"WHAT about your happiness? We were also educated, but we didn't think orgasms all the time. Marriages are not made on orgasms."
Click. Bleep. Whirr. Static. Dead.
Phew.
Marriages are not made on orgasms. Hmm. But broken due to the lack of them? And wonder of wonders, no marriage and STILL fucking no orgasm. Not the screaming my lungs, need-to-change-the-sheet, marks on me, kind. Uhm. I will go think about Office Beefcake. More than think. :) Imagination rocks. And men think they need to drink to screw women. Hah.
I am Sunita and I get beaten everyday
I am Sunita, 30-years-old, three children: two daughters aged 17 and 14 and a son who is 10. Today I was beaten up, first when i was being beaten for myself and then when I was trying to save my younger daughter ...who was trying to save me.
My husband -- an alcoholic, without job and with another woman he spends my money on --- was hitting me this morning. As usual. We had an episode last night too. As usual. so my younger daughter got in the way, trying to stop him from beating me. She thought if he hit me too hard i would die. You see, just two years back (i was 28), I had an open heart surgery. But he hit me, because I warned the Other Woman that she has to stay away from my husband.
So when my younger daughter tried to protect me, he throttled her. And said he would fuck me and my daughters. How can he? They are his children, his flesh and blood. How could he say that? Why does he treat us like this? I didn't get the kids from my parents'...they were born here. Of him. How can he talk about screwing his own daughters? what if she does? What should I do?
Should i leave him? what will the world say? what will happen to my daughters? who will marry them? Will they also have a life like me?? I am Sunita. I got married at 18. I am a maid in a swanky household. WHAT IS MY FAULT?
(as narrated)
My husband -- an alcoholic, without job and with another woman he spends my money on --- was hitting me this morning. As usual. We had an episode last night too. As usual. so my younger daughter got in the way, trying to stop him from beating me. She thought if he hit me too hard i would die. You see, just two years back (i was 28), I had an open heart surgery. But he hit me, because I warned the Other Woman that she has to stay away from my husband.
So when my younger daughter tried to protect me, he throttled her. And said he would fuck me and my daughters. How can he? They are his children, his flesh and blood. How could he say that? Why does he treat us like this? I didn't get the kids from my parents'...they were born here. Of him. How can he talk about screwing his own daughters? what if she does? What should I do?
Should i leave him? what will the world say? what will happen to my daughters? who will marry them? Will they also have a life like me?? I am Sunita. I got married at 18. I am a maid in a swanky household. WHAT IS MY FAULT?
(as narrated)
My Vagina Monologues
After having heard about Eve Ensler's celebrated play, The Vagina Monologues, I finally got to see it -- performed by Mahabanoo Modi Kotwani and her team of actors.
Four women talking about other women and their stories from the world over. The rapes of Bosnian women. A 72-year-old Parsi woman, shamed for the orgasm she never really had. And somewhere between watching that play and starting this blog, the realisation that the stories sound the same. Sound real.
I am not at all confident about this liberated, knows-her-mind, ball-breaking, board-moving, super-all-rounder creature that the 21st century woman is supposed to be. That I am supposed to be. Or am some of those things. Or I was...
A broken heart, broken spirit and broken body later: I really don't know. Am I emancipated? Finding myself, finding my Eve, finding my vagina. Literally and figuratively. Go figure.
I am, therefore I start...
Four women talking about other women and their stories from the world over. The rapes of Bosnian women. A 72-year-old Parsi woman, shamed for the orgasm she never really had. And somewhere between watching that play and starting this blog, the realisation that the stories sound the same. Sound real.
I am not at all confident about this liberated, knows-her-mind, ball-breaking, board-moving, super-all-rounder creature that the 21st century woman is supposed to be. That I am supposed to be. Or am some of those things. Or I was...
A broken heart, broken spirit and broken body later: I really don't know. Am I emancipated? Finding myself, finding my Eve, finding my vagina. Literally and figuratively. Go figure.
I am, therefore I start...
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