Things happen. Of a faecal nature.

Not one of my sob story blogs. Also not a reference to recent non-existent or existent sexcapades. For those who wonder, as humans are wont to – I lie a lot when I drink. Largely by omission, but also by being willfully unclear with my declarations.

But this is actually in reference to certain decisions I have come to regarding this blog, and more importantly, my life. Things are not as settled as I would like them to be, but I doubt that will ever happen. But to a large extent, I have considered my options and have settled on what I would do depending on how things pan out. Am I being cryptic? Yes, but it gets better. Slightly. For those of you interested in what I think about my life and Delhi, this will be passable. For other more normal folk, hopefully the writing won’t suck.

I had a conversation with a friend recently concerning people who read my blog. To begin with, this particular aspect of the conversation concerned was brought up and sustained entirely by me. I wouldn’t want to give the impression that my friends are at all interested in theories about the mental state of the four people who read this. We were already talking about the blog and I mentioned that at some level, I don’t trust the… affection? regard? Whatever it is that you have for me.

Don’t get me wrong – I love that people like what I write about and presumably, the manner in which I write it. I have naught but respect for your good taste. Tee hee. What I don’t trust is your ability to like me after you meet me. I would hate to meet one of my favorite authors and realize they were mean or bigoted or unfriendly or worst of all, boring. Something I told an old friend a long time ago comes to mind – I think people who know and like me from minimal and limited interactions expect an eternal fountain of wit and knowledge. Once they get to know me a bit more I’m afraid they’ll find out that I already used up my best material – those were all the cards I held.

But that’s largely my self esteem talking. I’m sure that in real life, I must be just a treasure to have around twenty-four-seven. But all of this brings me home – literally and figuratively. I was in Goa when S, N and I got to talking about Delhi. We were wondering where we would live our lives before eventually retiring in Goa, and I was the only one who said Delhi. It’s not a very popular city and it probably never will be. And I tried to explain my reasons orally, but as usual, failed. Its a lesson I have learned over time and it bears repeating – if I have anything more complex that “I want that” to convey, I should write it down first. Talking is not my forte. So let me try again.

I told S and N that as far as I’m concerned, Delhi is the best place for writers in India. Which started off an argument that sort of derailed the conversation. So I will elaborate. The Indian writers I like and the ones who inspire me tend to settle in Delhi. Admittedly, there is no great number of Indian writers that I’m a fan of but of those ones, the majority live in Delhi. And I’m not just talking about fiction writers.

That of course is not enough reason to want to live in Delhi, certainly. But I think the reason it appeals to me as an aspiring writer is that it is rich with people. The most unfriendly, unhygienic, unhelpful and lecherous people you’ll have the dubious honor/ misfortune of meeting. And you see, that is the stuff of legends.

I hate to admit my dad was right about anything, but living amongst Delhi-ites makes my writing better. There is nothing better to write about in the world than people who don’t realize they could be written about. Or people who don’t realize exactly why they could be written about. People in Delhi are the least meta people I have met. They live up to their stereotype as much as people in any other city, but their stereotype is more colorful, more grotesque and brash and fun and real. Interacting with people in Delhi is like interacting with caricatures – entirely human, complex and utterly heartbreaking caricatures.

Spending a day around Delhi for me usually meant writing at the speed of… Boleros in Delhi after twelve – in a notepad that I had to keep beside me at all times. People very rarely see me do that in college. In college, inspiration comes slowly – through books and movies. Sometimes, through incidents, and very rarely through sheer people-osity. In Delhi, even as I hated parts of my Court internships, I would literally write while walking from one courtroom to the next. Once you get used to the people, you also begin to understand them. And as far as I can see, understanding is the key. Truth reveals itself through conflict, and there is no conflict unless my perceptions are challenged. Which is why I go about clinically asking questions like, “So how do you reconcile your faith with conflicting knowledge of science, or philosophy if that’s your thing?”; or “What exactly do you guys do for Ugadi? Do you do anything?”; or “Explain to me your thought process when you purposely hurt someone you love?”; or “what do you mean its five bucks more?!”; or “Who’s that? And why are we talking about them?”; or “Do you want to go get jiggy with it?” – that last one was a lie-joke. I stopped propositioning people like that after I turned 12.

I have a lot of questions, and if they’re answered well, I remember the answers. If they’re not answered well, I get a bit internally angry. When someone doesn’t answer honestly when they said they would, I tend to feel like I’m being patronized. Most of my angry posts stem from not getting answers that satisfy me.

So coming back on point – I plan to stay in Delhi unless inconceivably good opportunities from other cities present themselves. That they are inconceivable should indicate the probability of their actual happening in real terms. It may not be the best, happiest version of life, but I don’t really want the happiest version of my life right now. Later, probably when it’s too late to have , I’ll want it, but for now I want the life version – where I make mistakes and feel unhappy sometimes, where I fight with friends and laugh at TV shows, and possibly cry in the shower after a shitty day in at a job I don’t like. And I plan to write. And write better for living in Delhi. And for getting out of college.

Which sort of brings me to my long ass absence from this space. Many things have contributed to this – I went to Goa a few weeks ago and as amazingly splendiferous as it was, I came back without a functioning power cord for my laptop – which due to the obscurity of the laptop company has been a major set back. After Goa I was busy with college fest stuff, which was a surprisingly fun thing to do. After that I got wicked wasted at the Farewell thrown by juniors and said some stuff (very little of which is actually what happened, sadly) which is apparently one of the various talks of the town, if the town were an unbelievably pseudo bunch of five hundred people. After that I got roped in to “decorate” at Southie Fest, which like all Fests was pointless, as far as I can see. And right now, there is project submissions. And the looming threat of yet another drunken episode.

But more importantly than all of the above shenanigans, the main reason for aforementioned long ass absence is ennui. I have not been feeling good about what I have written over the past few weeks. As previously elaborated, I think being too happy is not good for my writing, which ultimately is not good for my mental state. I don’t plan to be depressed or heartbroken or to use hard drugs, but I think a reality check in the form of Delhi, outside of college will be a good thing. Everything I have written in the last few weeks and even before that, including posts I have actually published sort of seems … meh. I don’t think they mattered, least of all to me. I wasn’t enthusiastic while writing them and I wasn’t looking forward to or happy with the results once I did.

I think it may be because as someone mentioned to me recently, when you know you’re writing for an audience, and even worse, when you know who that audience is, you’re less honest. Not in terms of revealing details about your life, but in terms of what you do decide to write about and how you write it. I have been writing keeping college in mind. Knowing that people see me here every day. That they’ll see me and who I interact with and how I behave and will come to their own conclusions. And I think at some level, my last few posts have been about trying to mold those conclusions. Not consciously, but at some level, my writing has degenerated to commentary on what people in college are already seeing or experiencing.

To be clear – I don’t hate my writing. I just know it could be better. And less… conventional. So I have conclaved with myself and come to the conclusion that I will not be posting here after college ends. It’s time I made a few changes – I’ve been in limbo for too long. I’ll put up a couple more posts – probably one about the incident with the media at our farewell party, and another about leaving NALSAR. After that – new blog. It’ll still be me writing about stuff that I come across, but hopefully, a little less self-consciously. I’ll still put it up on Facebook when I do write, and I’ll drop in a link to the new blog here. But yes, I’m leaving college after five years – I need to work the atrophy out of my system; and maybe a new start, with fewer WordPress notifications of how many posts I have, and far fewer badly written posts about inane crap would help. If not, I reserve the right to come back to this blog, and live in the past for the rest of my life.

Okbai.

– Billy

 

Headless Obese Lecherous Policemen and Secrets Of The Girls Revealed.

Well, lets see…. Embarrassing secret…. I once had a rape fantasy pleasure session. It involved the faceless guy. He’s the guy in every session. His body varies – from Jayne from Firefly all the way to Eric from That 70’s Show. I’m a complicated woman. Anyway, I don’t know if I ever actually want any of the things faceless guy does. Scratch that, I definitely want some of them things, just not the rape one. I guess one time imagined rape was enough to satiate this woman. No joke. So if shit happens to me, this is not, I repeat, NOT a testimony to my actually wanting whatever forcible peanuckle I may have the misfortune of facing in the future. Though knowing me and my reputation, that battle is already lost. Asshole society.

So that’s the embarrassing secret. And for the record, this is not a sign to send me “invitations” to the “BDSM Sex Chat Forum” or something. The BDSM Literature Forum is good enough for me, thank you.

I have been busy. I made props through the weekend, had my best beef steak yet, went to Blossoms in Bangalore and bought Moab is My Washpot (Rs. 200) and Curtain (Rs. 100), got happy high, and felt like a pedophile though I’m not.

I didn’t sleep last night because I was busy drawing something for friends. What was it, you ask? (Not really. You don’t really ask) It was a fat headless lecherous policeman from Bihar. Its part of the tableau for a film we’re making. Its not very high budget, so at some point they plan to use the life size fat man I painted over last night and digitize it. I don’t understand the intricacies but they’re gonna CGI the crap out of that painting.

Or it could to be used as a photo front for people in the Awadh Magadh Fest, i.e. U.P., Bihar, Uttarakhand, Jharkhand, etc. fest in college. I’m being told anyone I allowed to join in the fest, i.e. pay money for it, dance for it, and serve people food at it, if your jiya is Bihar ka. That deal sounds funtashtic. Pay, dance, serve, and be from poor ass state mentally. ‘Ppreciate the Wasseypur though.

Said fest was good, probably because it was the last one. That sucks about fifth year. All the silly things that were just silly things that I didn’t give a shit about before become important cause ‘it’s the last time’. I’m not even being sarcastic. Going soft in my old age. Soft in the brain. But watching three of my best friends get their groove thang going, Bihari style, was fun. Especially because two of them had to get their groove thang going with each other and they were very uncomfortable. That’s what friendship is – when you laugh your ass off at people to their faces.

Anyway, in (dis)honor of my coming out last week as an ex Edward-liker, I will be talking about all the things about me that I consider girly, largely by traditional definitions of girly. In the process we can analyze gender perceptions. Really, we can. Cause I’m qualified to do that. My non-straight friends have assured me of this. And you know, they never lie cause they’re gay. *fail

First, something I did just a while ago, and may or may not be doing right now, I wrap sheets around my body, gown style, while I’m in my room alone. And while this is largely for convenience, because bed-sheeted woman is the show I want to give peeping toms and not naked woman, it’s also secretly because it feels nice. In a girl way. There, I said it. What? Girls are not naked in their rooms sometimes? Yours truly begs to differ. And my parents and sister can testify that I was at least born a girl. I could get more witnesses to my girl parts in recent times but they made me sign some dumb contracts. Literally, I have to be dumb about it. Political Correctness wins again.

When I run into make-up, and if I’m alone, I often try it out just to see what it looks like and if I can do the stuff properly. I can. The steady hands are useful. Also, I do it cause it feels good. Down in the south cause it’s a girl thang *human beat box*. Not really. I just went on rap song roll. It does not feel good in my vajayjay. It feels good in my brain. Cause of endorphins. That get released because it’s a girl thing.

I try on clothes once I get them home and spend at least 10 minutes looking at myself critically. Then I read some Germaine Greer and feel my inner tigress. No, I get off my ass like a strong woman and realize that I’m beautiful inside and out. No, I just cry for ages. No, really, I just get distracted cause I think of something more interesting. Like Life of Pi being made into a movie. That’s the stuff.

I once had shitty self clicked pics. Still have one or two of them in my facebook. I took down the really shitty ones. I don’t wish to comment on that period of my life. I had just discovered digital cameras and hi5 and the lyrics to backstreet boys songs on the interwebs. It was a dark time. Say no more about it.

I remove hair a lot. I don’t want it cause I likes me skin smooth. Maybe not all the time, maybe I just go wild sometimes, but eventually, I take it all off. I will probably never stop and I don’t care what you say, mega feminists I meet every now and then. I don’t care if you don’t remove your body hair, so can you not bother me when I do? I do what I want, cause I’m a strong, brown woman.

Sometimes, I just feel shitty when I think everyone around me looks like a million bucks and I feel frumpy. Then I actually end up looking frumpy cause I have a frumpy expression on my face. This endless dark cycle of bad looks- bad feels is often spoken about in what girl magazines I have perused. As an asocial person forced to socialize every now and then, I can tell you what works for me here – A raging mask of bitch face. I get so frumpy that I get angry and pissed. So I put on a bitchface, wear whatever I want and ignore the fuck out of everybody and everything. This works for about a few hours. Then I come back to my room, watch some TV, and go to sleep, and wake up feeling better. Sometimes, you just got to let out the bad ass bitch. Even if that bitch doesn’t really do anything bad ass, but in fact, just sits around and reads a book in public to avoid looking at said public…. Said beautiful, happy, smart public that I will never be a part of…. Oh Oscar Wilde, I hate how your snarky little comic commentaries on life are so true. But then I feel good, cause I finished a book I wanted to finish for a while. Girl Power. Woot.

When I watch sports, for the most part I’m thinking stuff like, “He’s hot”, “gross, what’s up with his hair?”, “he needs braces”, “the fuck is going on? I don’t understand why these people play this stupid game”, “OH MY, that body…..”, “*humming Call Me Maybe”, “Shit, this is one ugly ass group of men”, “Holy crap… take me….-”

I have researched extensively, every single part of things of a sexual nature that can happen to me. I know weight distribution, positions, balance issues, clothes issues, birth control issues, pee issues, crap issues, teeth issues, hair issues, dirty talk issues, BDSM issues…. Literally, I think I became well versed with pretty much everything, what with the internet and the graphic Kama Sutra my friends gifted me. I have not read anything for about a year that shocks me. Call me anal (no pun intended, but go ahead if you want) but I will never have to be shocked into not bonking when I want to bonk. I’ll know what I want. Come on, that has to be something girls do, right?

What else? Oh yeah, when I have a crush, I do that 12 year old girl thing of ignoring the crap out of them for about a week. The next week I spend finding out stuff about the guy. The week after that I’m back to crushing on Jon Stewart and Tina Fey cause I found something irritating in the guy.

Man, I’ll run out of a lot of embarrassing things for future infractions if I keep this up. No worries. I’m sure I’ll keep doing/ saying/ thinking embarrassing things.

When I see a nice dress that I like, I imagine me in it with the body of someone who exercises, walking into a room where everyone goes quite – cause I’m that stunning bitches. I felt some intense as shit connection with Michelle in American Pie 3: The Wedding because of this. Oh yeah, I connect with American Pie characters. Eat shit if you’re surprised.

I watch Romantic comedies a lot. Half of the time because the guys are hot. The other half cause the guys are sad little pussies when they fall for the girls. That’s how I want guys to fall for me. Then, because they’re sad little pussies, I’d reject them. No joke. My friends can testify to this rather fucked up side of me. This is as close to romantic as my fantasies have ever gotten. It’s the basis of me liking desperate guy songs like “Cecelia”, “The Reason” by Hoobastank, “500 Miles” by The Proclaimers, “Jealous Guy”… you name it.

ME: Enough! Neuroses are only funny in small doses. This is overkill. Seriously man, just. Stop.

me: I think it as going rather well. And I hoped you were gone forever.

ME: Not when you’re bugging me into activity with this crap. This is pitiful. You were going to write creatively, but you’re too lazy and scared of being politically incorrect so you left that half way done and now you’re writing this fluffy piece of rubbish.

me: Hey! Just…. That would have taken time and I didn’t want to put off this week’s post also. I’ll run out of acceptable embarrassing secrets to tell.

ME: Damn right. And I know exactly why you stopped having me around. You can keep your safe secrets. I have better and you know it. The secrets I keep are anything but acceptable. They could seriously damage some calm.

me: Hey! Jayne reference!!

ME: Stop trying to distract me! My point is, you’re not bold enough.

me: Oh, I’m plenty bold. I got bold all over. I just refuse to upset things more than necessary.

ME: Fine. Just. Write the other thing so you can put it up next week.

me: …..

Anyway, we’ll leave it there, shall we?

Bye-bye.

 

Promises Promises, Mind humping Faizal and Ni!

I have insane amounts of time this semester. Above everything else, my one Friday class is probably going to get rescheduled. So I may as well get on with things I shouldn’t leave off. One would be worrying about the future. Note that I say worrying which is not necessarily the same as doing something about it.

The other would be writing and reading. Writing being more important.

To wit, I give my word to the interwebs and my dog JD that I shall write at least one 2000 page post every week. I know I can’t do it every day. And as penance in case I don’t write, I will tell one embarrassing secret/ fact about me every time I renege on my word. And the policing authority, for lack of any actual people who are interested, would be ME; and the fact that this is in writing and I would find it very embarrassing if I didn’t. Nobody judges me quite as harshly as ME. So there’s that.

 

Also, I am officially willing to hump Faizal and/or Khan from Wasseypur and Kahaani respectively. I would be very disturbed by possible Freudian reasons for this latent love for moustaches, if it weren’t for the fact that certain other predatorial women have also found this to be attractive. *cough S *cough. So here’s that.

 

This may have something to do with the intense jaw action. I don’t even like ass chins usually.

 

Again, usually not my type. But as S said “there’s a bloodthirsty Gult woman in me.”

 

This is internal reaction to above. Maybe not so non-stop. And the Wall Street thing is obviously not meant to be here.

Don’t mock me taste.

 

Also, following awesome things have been found.

 

I want to go to there.

 

Ni!

I hate  that you can see 9gag neeche. I know I can edit it out, but who has the energy?

 

Also, I need to stay up all day today to get my sleep cycle in order. I may have to take drastic measures. So if I spend an hour in the shower, please know that its so I can stay up, and only that reason. I have a single room now, so, yeah, shower can go fuck itself.

 

Also, this doesn’t count as this week’s post.

 

– Billy.

 

That Stuff

I don’t know in which class it was though I think it was 9th or 10th. One of our teachers told us about a workshop she went to where they were asked to do the funeral thing. Basically, write down what you think your funeral should look like. I thought it was interesting and wrote down my own version. I don’t have a copy or anything, but I do remember the gist – I looked shiny in the coffin, everyone I knew was there, and everyone cried. Also, the few guys I had had crushes on felt heartbroken cause they never got to tell me how they secretly fancied the pants off me.

Now there are a few variations. It’s more along the lines of the wake they give Gerard Butler in P.S. I Love You (It was the one good part of the movie). But yes, all the people I know are there. Also, anyone who knows me I guess.

I think that’s the important part. I wouldn’t want someone at my funeral who didn’t know me. I guess it would be ok to have a few strangers who came to support those who are actually grieving, but nobody else. I always felt it would be insulting to go to someone’s funeral whom I didn’t even know of and who didn’t know of me. It’s insulting to the dead and it’s insulting to the people that actually knew him/her and are genuinely grieving.

It’s always upsetting to know someone passed away before their time, and I guess it’s hard not to think about it. But it’s not my place to declare it. If I can pray lying down in bed without folding my hands or closing my eyes, I can have respect for human life and its passing without any such trappings.

Not that I think everyone should feel as I feel and do as I do. It’s just the way I think, and I don’t see anything wrong in it. I don’t ask anyone to follow my lead.

So, to whatever spirit/soul/nothing that managed to live through this shit – salut and adieu. You are obviously remembered and missed by many, and no doubt, with good reason. That is the most I am entitled to say.

– Billy

 

Friends

Am very sleepy so forgive any grammatical, spelling errors. Got a worm to write right now.

The other day, I was with some of my friends, randomly talking, and out of god only knows where, I had this amazing feeling. I knew, somehow, that here was where I had nothing to prove, nobody to please. I lucked out, finally. I have friends. I have more than 3 people in my life who are not related to me but whom I trust to stick around come what may. After 20 technical years, and about 11 conscious ones on this planet, I realize that is something I really have to be thankful for.

Finally, something in my life is like how they are in the movies, and that is the most spectacular revelation I have ever had.

I guess that’s another reason for not being able to hate NALSAR. And if we’re coming right down to it, I guess Bluebells, but I really like that place anyway. So there, College was useful in some ways after all.

That’s all – sharing my discovery with the cosmos 🙂

– Billy

P.S. – and also, this is not a method of deterring the ultimatum/time bar I’ve been given for getting some guts for certain stuff. I keep striving for courage there….

 

AHEM- AHEN -yes, the “N” is on purpose

This is hardly enough, but hey, whatever helps.

I generally pride myself on very few things- my excellent views on organized religion, a few of my art work, and most importantly my ability to be a rather good friend and I actually love the latter, a lot. Vanity may come before a fall, but since I manage to have so many friends, at least I’ll bring down a few others along with me if I do fall. And hey, I have to have a few negative points in my characters. “Nobody wants a saint. Saints are boring.” Trust me, you don’t wanna give a shit where I referred that from.

Anyway, there is one aim alone for me writing this blog right now. I wronged a friend. Well, not so much as wronged her. In the great scheme of things, what with undisposed nuclear waste and global warming this really doesn’t matter, but it feels wrong, and that’s as good a reason as any to apologize.

I forgot Neha’s birthday and realized it the next day. Then I decided that maybe I can try and avoid that fact by not even mentioning it. Don’t ask me the logic behind that, I’m very mindfucked, and my usually rational brain has lost quite a few of its cells lately.

And I owe a lot to this girl. For those who know me now, and know that I’m commitment-phobic, yall should know, you’re seeing the best version of me as of now. This chick, Neha, was the one who finally was able to make me say the word “love” between the words “I” And “you”- only platonically used mind you, but hey, that was an achievement in my personal history of extreme fear and dislike of affections. And yall should be thankful to her, or I wouldn’t have uttered the words that caused much amusement among my batchmates recently 😀

So Neha, I love ya, and I think you know that- again, I only love ya platonically, should clarify 😛 Really sorry about the goof -up. Repeat that a thousand times and you got how sorry I am.

*puppy-dog-face??

 

Normal

One of the things that disturb me hugely about the way homosexuality is perceived, is the fact that gays and lesbians are called “queer”. If you think about it, it’s rather an odd name to give to a group of people isn’t it? “Queer”- as if who they are make them strange. And from there, as if everyone else is not queer, and completely normal. And picking it up from there, what exactly is normal anyway?

I’m not even going to start discussing the law here, since I have learnt that no matter what side you’re on, it’s a long, cliché debate that refuses to end no matter what anyone says.

I don’t have a problem with gayness. In fact, being a girl, I have often wished I found the female form attractive, since quite obviously, there is not much to like in the male form (for further information on this, check out the part in that sucky movie “Gigli” with Ben Affleck and Jennifer Lopez in it where she’s doing yoga and he asks her why she prefers women). I definitely find women more aesthetically appealing than men, but regretfully, I have yet to be attracted to one. Plus women are too whiny sometimes; I don’t think I want to deal with that.

However, my view on what gayness is all about, i.e. “how does it start?”, “are you born with it”, “are you just imagining it”, etc. is slightly different. As far as I’m concerned, these questions don’t matter. And I don’t mean that in the “they don’t matter because they are humans too and we’re going to treat them just like one of us” way, although that would be great, if people thought that. What I mean is, these questions are of no consequence whatsoever even while looking at gayness in a supportive, scientific, rational manner.

I remember when I first thought of this. I was watching “Transamerica” – brilliant movie btw – and something Toby’ character struck me. He was a prostitute for both men and women, and he did not mind or like or dislike one more than the other. He had an aim, a sad one from most standards, but an aim nevertheless – he wanted to get to California, dye his hair blonde and star in gay porn. And the strange part was, he wasn’t gay, at least not by the definition we generally tend to give to gays. He had no problem with sleeping with guys, and no problem sleeping with girls. And he was definitely willing to try and sleep with Bree (don’t let me get into the goosies- the bad kind- the incest thing gives me) despite the fact that he knew she used to be and still sort of was, a man. And in the end, he does get a job as a gay porn star, and he doesn’t seem disgusted at all by kissing a guy (albeit a good looking one) even if he did have problems getting an erection despite a blue pill.

That movie made me think of homosexuality in a completely different way. Think of a marriage with one gay party. In general, this marriage would have issue, i.e. there would be kids in this little happy family. Now, if gay guys were attracted to guys only how on earth did he (to put it crudely) get it up enough times with his wife to produce at least three kids? And before yall start screaming and waving your arms about, let me clarify. I’m not saying the guy is imagining it, and he’s actually straight. What I’m saying is that the definition of homosexuality and gayness is very narrow. It can’t simply be understood as a situation wherein a person is attracted to a person of the same sex only. Not all gay people are disgusted by the thought of sleeping with someone of the opposite sex, although that may be the case with some.

In the same way, straightness is an over-rated condition as far as I can see. Quite simply, while I’m not currently, nor in the past have been attracted to women, the thought of being with a woman is not disgusting. It’s ok. I would prefer to be with a man as of now, but if I ever end up falling for a woman, I won’t think it’s weird.

I have read several period novels and history books, with references to homosexuality. And the thing is, in most or some cases, homosexuality isn’t just that. Someone may be attracted to both men ad women, and may in society not talk about the part that makes them gay. While no-one talked about it, it was acceptable (btw, yes I know of the term bisexual and there is a reason I’m not using it).

In fact, one’s sexuality should ideally not even be of any bother to society. As long as you’re not forcing things on people, what you do in your own bedroom (or kitchen, or living room, or floor) is your own business. It is with religion that the question of sexuality even becomes an issue. I don’t know what most religions have got against sex, but as far as Christianity is concerned, sex and any pleasure you derive from it (you should try not to though) should have one primary aim- to produce kids. Thus, the anti-contraceptive policy of the Catholic Church. And if you’re gay, dear God, you’re can’t produce the little rascals even if you wanted to!

As far as I have learnt of Hindu Jurisprudence, progeny seems to be the primary aim of a marriage here as well. But other than the prejudice that exists in modern society against homosexuality, historically, I don’t think Hinduism minded homosexuality too much, at least judging by sculptures in various Hindu temples. Or sexuality at all for that matter, since we did come up with the world’s best known sex-book. Relax, from this point onwards, I shall leave my organized-religion-bashing for another day.

Maybe we’re all just a little bit gay; and this next bit I can say with a bit more conviction- most of us who are straight, are probably straight because we’ve never wanted to try it with someone of the same sex, maybe we’ve never met some one who makes us want to try.

To sum up, my thoughts match quite accurately with this line from Trainspotting (I like the movie, btw. And definitely more than Slumdog Millionaire) – “if you ask me, we’re heterosexual by default not by decision. It’s just a question of who you fancy. It’s all about aesthetics and its fuck all to do with morality.”

 

perversion

Well, I was going to write about the carpe diem but it seems pointless. It was brilliant! Despite the fact that we lot we managed to have an awesome time and next year we’ll know its much more than just this little event we all thought it was.

But now, down to more important things, like the topic of today’s pearl. For the record, I don’t think I’m a pervert. Not much anyway. Quite distinctly I would simply like to say that I’m not even half as perverted as most of the guys I know.

My perversion is to this extent- I know what I like in a man. I know from quite a few accounts, from friends as well as the published kind, that sex can be pretty damn good thing and I’m not disgusted by the thought of doing it with someone I like or love or whatever the situation may be. Mostly, I don’t try and hide these fact and openly admit them- among girl and guys.

Of course, wherever yall bring up my perversion, it generally is about when I talk about anything graphic. But the fact is bitches, that yall are not averse to talking about it are you? You quite openly do so in front of everyone. And yes, I am directing this to the guys. So to get this straight, when a chick express her non-disgust, in any way at all, towards sex and all its various forms and implications, it’s not all right. So there. I like the thought of sex, and I’m not at all disgusted by almost anything that surround sex, except for overtly sado-masochistic sex. And although this is the World Wide Web, and I can’t really deny it like I would like to (having a reputation as a pervert is fun if nothing else), the fact is the only way the thought of sex would disgust me would be if I really didn’t like the guy or wasn’t attracted to him. Then sex would be disgusting.

Which is why I was always of the opinion that the best way to lose your virginity is with someone who’s already lost theirs. Love is all good and well, but the kind of love that would translate into great sex without any experience is extremely rare, and frankly, I cannot wait for something that will probably never happen (for the record, I believe in love, just not for myself, but more on that later). So when you don’t love the other person, but really do want to sleep with him, then wouldn’t it be better, since you’re not in love anyway to have this person be someone who knows what they’re doing? Fumbling around the first time in bed is not really something I look forward to.

I think next time I’ll talk about statutory rape- as in doing it before 16. Spoiler alert – not something I approve of.