Tuesday, August 19, 2008
No, Thank You. Go Sit On Your Own Face.
You know what's really flattering? When you're walking down the street and a total stranger offers to let you sit on his face. Because how did he know that I had just been sitting at my desk at work thinking to myself, "You know what I want right now? A nice, long face sit"? It's like when you're sick and someone brings you an ice cream cone without even asking if you want one. How refreshing. He read my mind.
It reminded me of my favorite scene from Gone With the Wind when Rhett Butler sees Scarlett O'Hara at Twelve Oaks and says that immortal line, "Miss Scarlett, won't you do me the honor of sitting on my face?" It makes me swoon every time.
I love it even more when the guy doesn't say anything at all, just makes a noise like an ejaculating bull moose.
"Muuughhnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn!" as Spencer Tracy once said to Katharine Hepburn. One of the most memorable movie quotes of all time. Adam's Rib, if I'm not mistaken.
The laws of courtship are millions of years old. And I'm sure that at one time long ago, the grunts of the male tyrannosaur made a female quiver down to her freakishly tiny forelimbs. But I'm not sure that does it for me.
Admittedly, I have simple tastes. I'm fine with a dude having a brain, a torso, at least two limbs, and a mustache. But if nothing more comes out of his mouth than "Hey, baby. Come over here and sit on my face," or "Oooooh, sexy, sexy," I'm probably going to just ignore him. And I do realize that when oversized man-children engage in their street-side fuck me banter, it's really less about courtship and more about dick length comparison and reminding me that I'm just an object. But, I mean, at least be a bit clever about it, random dude. Or say please. There's a pretty wide gap between, "Hey, you! Come over here and sit on my face!" and "Excuse me, madam. But would you allow me to perform an extremely gratifying sexual act on you over there in my van. I think you'll find my skill to be top notch."
Not to mention that it's pretty presumptive of anyone to assume that I get any enjoyment out of said act. It's like me walking up to a random dude and saying, "Hey, buddy. How would you like me to dress all in leather and stick this lampshade up your butt?" like Bette Davis said to William Holden that time. I actually might start carrying a lampshade around in my purse for such occasions. (It's probably a good thing that I already dress all in leather every day for work. Ah-tcha.)
I just wish sometimes that I could be pleasantly surprised by how people act in public. That when I sit down at a baseball game in front of four guys in their early 20s, they'll have something to talk about besides who has the hairiest balls and which one of their girlfriends is a contortionist. That's not too much to ask, is it? And when I see a guy leering at me on the sidewalk, he would just once say something like, "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate..." Who knows? I might even sit on his face for his efforts.