When a few delightful ladies gather together for a natter over a strong cup of the fine roast bean juice, it's almost a certainty that the topic of sex is never far from the table.
The housemates and I this afternoon, strayed onto rather disturbing ground, we discussed the disgusting, mortifying, perverse and often downright unbelievable subject of : First sexual encounters.
We cast our minds back to a time when you thought that to perform a blowjob was to purse your lips and blow down a willie, (or as Housemate B confessed, she had been tricked by her older, wiser, sister into believing that said blowjob was,'blowing air into a boys mouth until they fart') and recalled how we had all taken our first intrepid steps towards the big S-E-X.
These sexual tidbits were the start of it all, a slippery downhill slide, one hand job, some heavy petting behind the recycling bin and Bobs your uncle the cherry was popped. I'm sure there was more to it at the time, but it all seems so hazy years on.
All sorts of interesting stories came to light, including one from Housemate C who had been to school with a couple of girls with rather interesting pasttimes, one enjoying a dabble downstairs with a wooden spoon and the other who preferred to use a rolled up newspaper covered in clingfilm. Whatever floats your boat.
However, the conversation soon took on a slightly more serious tone as we realised, looking back almost a decade to these little misadventures, just how very young we were at the time. Between the ages of 13 and 15 we had all lost our 'innocence' and were moving into quite an adult world of emotional involvement, potential pregnancies and very importantly, the sex associated health risks which come as part of the package.
I could never understand at the time why the parentals had so protested my older boyfriends, couldn't possibly have forgiven them sneaking a peak at my diary (leading to an interesting incident involving my dad, a crowbar and some delightful threats in the name of preserving his little angels goodness, but thats another story altogether) and the curfews, well, at the time, I could have just blown my top over the matter.
At the age of just 22, I am already fully aware that I would, without doubt, follow in my parents footsteps if the time ever came that I should have to suffer the 'coming-of-age' daughter.
These acts of unconditional love performed in the hope that when your Beloved's hormones settle, her fairweather friends fall by the wayside and the teenage angst subsides, she too will look back, smile fondly, and feel thankful that she was never allowed to fall too far off the rails.
Tuesday, 27 January 2009
Monday, 26 January 2009
Stitch 'n' Bitch
The delights of magical Bristol City never cease to amaze me and with the discovery of the Folkhouse Cafe my horizons seem ever exanding before me.
The Folkhouse has a huge prospectus of interesting and alternative classes to choose from : tarot card reading, creative writing, cartooning, yoga, Spanish, the list is diverse and seemingly endless.
I finally - pain stakingly - weedled down my options to a Knitting and Crocheting class, two skills I have always secretly hoped to master, the sole purpose of this being the passing of my knowledge to a couple of doe eyed grandchildren who think, I, their knitting Nana, am the bees knees ( or who will at the very least begrudgingly wear the bobble hats I knit them.)
The Folkhouse has a huge prospectus of interesting and alternative classes to choose from : tarot card reading, creative writing, cartooning, yoga, Spanish, the list is diverse and seemingly endless.
I finally - pain stakingly - weedled down my options to a Knitting and Crocheting class, two skills I have always secretly hoped to master, the sole purpose of this being the passing of my knowledge to a couple of doe eyed grandchildren who think, I, their knitting Nana, am the bees knees ( or who will at the very least begrudgingly wear the bobble hats I knit them.)
Feathers and Leathers
There are few things in this life which rival my passion for the fashion, but by God, Burlesque is one of them (and some of my fashion inspiration, both clothing and interior decoration, is derived from it's influence.)
My lust for all things burlesque is insatiable. Quite a few people I talk to about the art of the strip tease give me a sideways squiffy look and assume I'm some sort of pervert. It is difficult to describe verbally an event which is such a visual and auditory feast for the beholder.
Burlesque is a bit lude, crude and naughty, but it's not your average back alley strip show by any means, it's an overt expression and empowerment of femininity.
Burlesque it more than just an evening of merriment, it's a lifestyle choice.
Its a choice to be a woman who is proud of her shape, who oozes sexuality from every invisible, perfectly powdered pore and who embraces her right to be as (or more) interesting, funny and talented as any man.
When those curvy women waltz onto the stage draped in luxurious fabrics and perform a simple tantalising removal of their glove, the audience are mesmerised, their eyes wide with excitement and anticipation. These are stunning ladies who have perfected the art of seduction and entertainment to a tee - Think Dita Von Teese, there are very few more feminine and sultry than she.
To give an over view of Burlesque in just a few words to those of you who are unfamiliar : extravagant, vibrant, sexy, freedom of expression, red satin, black lace, feathers, leather, saucy, vintage glamour, elegance and charm. It's the ultimate 'lady on their arm, but a whore in the bedroom,' every mans fantasty and every womans secret aspiration.
The last burlesque I attended proudly presented contortionists, acrobats, phenomenal singers, an evil tooth fairy and even a man playing a saw as if it were a cello. I left on a high that stayed with me for a week.
With my heart shaped Nipple Tassles now in the post, I am already mentally preparing for February's fancy dress theme, Valentines.
My lust for all things burlesque is insatiable. Quite a few people I talk to about the art of the strip tease give me a sideways squiffy look and assume I'm some sort of pervert. It is difficult to describe verbally an event which is such a visual and auditory feast for the beholder.
Burlesque is a bit lude, crude and naughty, but it's not your average back alley strip show by any means, it's an overt expression and empowerment of femininity.
Burlesque it more than just an evening of merriment, it's a lifestyle choice.
Its a choice to be a woman who is proud of her shape, who oozes sexuality from every invisible, perfectly powdered pore and who embraces her right to be as (or more) interesting, funny and talented as any man.
When those curvy women waltz onto the stage draped in luxurious fabrics and perform a simple tantalising removal of their glove, the audience are mesmerised, their eyes wide with excitement and anticipation. These are stunning ladies who have perfected the art of seduction and entertainment to a tee - Think Dita Von Teese, there are very few more feminine and sultry than she.
To give an over view of Burlesque in just a few words to those of you who are unfamiliar : extravagant, vibrant, sexy, freedom of expression, red satin, black lace, feathers, leather, saucy, vintage glamour, elegance and charm. It's the ultimate 'lady on their arm, but a whore in the bedroom,' every mans fantasty and every womans secret aspiration.
The last burlesque I attended proudly presented contortionists, acrobats, phenomenal singers, an evil tooth fairy and even a man playing a saw as if it were a cello. I left on a high that stayed with me for a week.
With my heart shaped Nipple Tassles now in the post, I am already mentally preparing for February's fancy dress theme, Valentines.
Sunday, 25 January 2009
Nipple Pasties
PAYPAL - CONFIRM PAYMENT - YES - PURCHASE COMPLETE.
I can hardly believe it. Two red hot, burgundy, satin, lace trimmed nipple tassles (I think Americans call them "nipple pasties," however I don't fancy the thought of baked goods on my baps) are soon to be winging their way to my very doorstep. I honestly hope my housemates don't get to the package before I do otherwise I've got some explaining to do.
Factoid of the day : Insomnia and Ebay induce uncontrollable impulse buying.
I can hardly believe it. Two red hot, burgundy, satin, lace trimmed nipple tassles (I think Americans call them "nipple pasties," however I don't fancy the thought of baked goods on my baps) are soon to be winging their way to my very doorstep. I honestly hope my housemates don't get to the package before I do otherwise I've got some explaining to do.
Factoid of the day : Insomnia and Ebay induce uncontrollable impulse buying.
Guilt Free Garbs
I'm in love with Charity Shop hunting, it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention (in the pleasantly stimulated kind of way.)
The thrifty goodness of second hand garbs thrills me and fulfils me and with the current economic downturn now in full swing, if you can look better for less, hell, don't knock it!
Our local town centre boasts a whopping 12 charity shops which span over a length of less than a mile, thats some seriously densely packed bargains, the prospect of all the treasures awaiting is enough to make my plastic bag of pennies twitch.
Hopefully if I can work out this newfangled computing business I'll post a few of the prize pieces I've managed to snare over the past couple of weeks to get you in the bartering mood.
Leave your inhibitions at the door, roll up your sleeves and prepare to sift through and sniff out the unexpected. Ditch all of your specifications, this kind of a job must be done with an open mind and a passion for experimentation and when your friends ask where you managed to get your unique apparell, you can truthfully tell them that the store had only stocked the one piece and you were lucky enough to get in there first (not neccessarily mentioning how you helped the aged or aided cancer research with your purchase. Smile smugly inside.)
One thing I've discovered through my charity shop hopping :
classy area = better branded goodies (but) = way more painful price!
Never forget, if there's a scratch here or a mark there, smile sweetly at the little lady knitting behind the counter and when she peers at you over her bifocals, ask her to REDUCE THE PRICE! Charity shops get everything for free, so technically they're not losing anything.
Above statement has just secured a down payment on my penthouse in hell. FACT.
On a side note: I read a little chuckler in the Sunday Times about Chav-Free holidays entitled "Wayne, Wayne go away" apparently the middle class should start standing up for themselves and by going with this particular tour operator they won't be surrounded by the Waynes, Chardonnays or Chantelles of everyday society (according to an unspecified study children with these names do worse in school than the Duncans and Carolines of the world.) Genius.
The thrifty goodness of second hand garbs thrills me and fulfils me and with the current economic downturn now in full swing, if you can look better for less, hell, don't knock it!
Our local town centre boasts a whopping 12 charity shops which span over a length of less than a mile, thats some seriously densely packed bargains, the prospect of all the treasures awaiting is enough to make my plastic bag of pennies twitch.
Hopefully if I can work out this newfangled computing business I'll post a few of the prize pieces I've managed to snare over the past couple of weeks to get you in the bartering mood.
Leave your inhibitions at the door, roll up your sleeves and prepare to sift through and sniff out the unexpected. Ditch all of your specifications, this kind of a job must be done with an open mind and a passion for experimentation and when your friends ask where you managed to get your unique apparell, you can truthfully tell them that the store had only stocked the one piece and you were lucky enough to get in there first (not neccessarily mentioning how you helped the aged or aided cancer research with your purchase. Smile smugly inside.)
One thing I've discovered through my charity shop hopping :
classy area = better branded goodies (but) = way more painful price!
Never forget, if there's a scratch here or a mark there, smile sweetly at the little lady knitting behind the counter and when she peers at you over her bifocals, ask her to REDUCE THE PRICE! Charity shops get everything for free, so technically they're not losing anything.
Above statement has just secured a down payment on my penthouse in hell. FACT.
On a side note: I read a little chuckler in the Sunday Times about Chav-Free holidays entitled "Wayne, Wayne go away" apparently the middle class should start standing up for themselves and by going with this particular tour operator they won't be surrounded by the Waynes, Chardonnays or Chantelles of everyday society (according to an unspecified study children with these names do worse in school than the Duncans and Carolines of the world.) Genius.
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