Reunion

So my friend Rob has been putting all her efforts into organizing a school reunion. 20 years. Geeze that sounds old, but it's been 20 years since the day I walked out from school to a whole new life. I didn't cry because I was leaving, because I had nothing to cry for. I hated school. Things looked so simple that I thought they were a waste of time. I hated having to go every day. I hated the flipping uniform. I hated it all. There was nothing I didn't hate about school. And finally I left. And it's been 20 years. And I'm not very keen on meeting all the girls who are now grown up. 10 years ago, I couldn't get out fast enough. It was a ten years later reunion, and all the talk was about baby pooh and diapers and breasts and pumps (not the sexy kind), and secretions (again not the sexy kind). I had nothing in common. What will it be like this time? I guess all the baby pooh will have stopped and talk will be about condoms and kids going to Muzew and schooling and husband talk, and there will probably be a lot of grown up girls trapped in grown up unhappy marriages for whom I don't have much sympathy. They looked at me as if I were some sort of alien last time, just because I hadn't walked down the aisle. Just imagine what a freak I'll be to them when at 35 I still haven't walked down that fucking aisle. And I really am in no hurry to do so. What's so special about aisles anyway? But all this apart, I have been saddened today. Out of a 120 girls all coming out so fresh and snooty from St. Joseph, 1 has died. She was my friend, my excuse to go and have a smoke in the loos. I loved that friend and she is no here no more. It makes me angry, sad and angry again. A quiet girl who had to inject herself because of a condition which doesn't kill. I don't know what happened to her. I'm not sure that knowing why would ease the sadness. I just know that she died. She never got to 35. And that's so sad.

THE Cycle

I read my last entries and realise just how cocky (pun not intended) I can be. But I'm getting so less cocky it's amazing. Probably what kept me awake last night. The cycle. The usual cycle, the only time when I want to be a man. And I really want to be a man so perhaps I could have my balls tied with an elastic band so that it cuts off blood circulation until they shrink and fall off somewhere. But we're not that simple alas. I don't know what I could tie. I would if I could. I really really would. But I am a girl, that much I've been certain of for a very long time. Being a twin to a boy makes you realise there are heaploads of differences at a very early age. And yet I never asked my mum anything. I probably figured she'd tell me a fat lie because I was young. Yep I never had exactly a low I.Q. It's only now that I've turned sort of stupid and mentally challenged sometimes. Age does that to you, well it does to me. But there are other differences, not just of the physical kind. If I open my bathroom cabinet there are plenty of tampons, (enough for all the klandestini at the closed and open centres), face cleansers, serum, tonics bla bla bla. Mister only has a cleanser and a moisturiser. No tampons. It's not fair. We should be given an allowance for this thing. So so uncomfortable, it so happens that once a month, my whole perspective on life changes. I get depressed, I feel irritable, and I not just bark but bite also. Suddenly everything sucks. I suppose it's nature and life, but one thing will not be sucking anything lest it bites... and that's me.

The C String?

A friend has brought my attention to something quite new on the market. It's a C string. I have plenty of those in my viola case, because for us musicians G strings or C strings are what makes our bread and butter and we are comfortable enough to talk about them because there is nothing sexy about it all. Not so in the real world. Say the two words G string, and you'll get a giggle. But my guess is that if you say the two words C string you will get no giggle, only a confused look. It's the in-thing for 2009... the brand spanking (pun intended) new C string. It should be the best type of underwear available, at least you get no visible pantie line because there is almost no pantie anyway. It looks just like a fig leaf and reminds me of Adam and Eve. Perhaps the apple was in fact something in the shape of a C? Whatever, these type of pants come in the shape of a C, just like an alice hair band. You do not put them on, rather you struggle to get into them. And woe betide you if you get caught wearing a skirt in a gust of wind. You'll look as if you're really kinky, because it'll be just as if you've given your underwear a miss. Are they sexy? The concept is. Real life... they chafe, they're smaller than your hand. But it works ok in the s and M world where pain is all part of the deal and where rules are rules and not to be broken... or else.

Power Freaks

I seem to be stuck in a rut. All this power talk. But I like to call it personal research, perhaps one day I too will sit down an pen a self-help book although it will be all terribly censored. Censorship. Big sigh. I know three men who are into that kind of stuff. By the look of one, you'd just never even think of it. By the look of the other perhaps you'd start thinking of it. And by one glance at the other the word is spelt all over his face. And all are, must be... power freaks and... men. It is indeed a power bestowed by I don't know who to get to choose who sees what, who reads what, who experiences what. They are people who are controlling our eyes, our minds. And that's not very fair. I want to see what I want to see not what someone else decides what I see. The world is really getting all about censorship. Don't eat this, don't drink this, don't read this, don't write that. It's getting a big too much. In a matter we will have shit censors, yes telling us which way to shit and what to shit. Sex... we have that already and as if that's not enough, even the Church thinks it has the right to invade sexual intercourse, so much for sexual intercourse being a pleasurable (or not) experience between two people, it's graduated to a threesome. Because the Church wants to be in too. More Churches; in a matter of time it will be a multicoloured gang-bang. And yet there will still be power freaks. Interestingly one man I know who goes about censoring movies is a priest who does not look like a priest and certainly does not behave like a priest. And I know him well enough to know what I'm saying. And God certainly knew what he was doing when he made 'the call' to this man. Had he married, he'd have had his poor wife in the madhouse in three days. And yet I still believe that underneath all that power freakishness lies a man desperately crying out to be dominated. Go figure.

Yet more sex...

I can't even begin to understand why this thing called sex gets so much under my skin. Should get inside I suppose, but I'll leave that out as in physically out for now. I still cannot shake the image of the domineering. What a hoot. That is something which will never get underneath or inside And it will never make me tremble because the days of the Holocaust are over. I like men. That should come as pretty normal. I also like a variety of men in the fact that I do not have 'a type' of man. I have dated men who all look so different to each other. For some I have felt nothing at all, for some I have felt lust, for some I have felt love, and for the very special ones I have felt love as in 'love changes everything'. All have been men, all different as in Andrew Lloyd Webber's 'Aspects of Love'. And somehow as I look back, I realise they all had a common factor; none was domineering. I'm not sure if they even had a dominant streak, but I would have coped with that. Perhaps a girl keeps looking for her perfect man, when her definition of that perfect man is either exactly unlike or exactly alike her daddy. Yes I am still a daddy's girl, always have been, always will be. Life, as riddled with strife as it may have been threw me a lucky dice; my daddy. But it is only now that I come to the conclusion. That is the reason why I had so many sugar daddies. That is probably the reason why I only dated old men for a period of time. Somehowe, sitting dangerously on sugar daddies' laps is an experience in itself. It made my real dad upset because he thought he hadn't been much of a dad. Because that is what all psychological self-help books state. Wrong. It can really work in reverse. Another reason, perhaps I, myself am domineering. I cannot exlude that if my equation is to hold. Dating old men can give a girl a kick, a very powerful one too. There goes this girl at 20 watching men of 50 and 60 lust after her like dogs on heat. It's all so powerful, because in women stakes, beauty and intellect together with a high sex drive are powerful aphrodisiacs to men. It's so very simple. And yet I ended up happy with a Mister who is not even a year older than me. So much for my let's-ravage-old-men symptoms. So I have explored all the concepts which turn women on. But what turns men on? It's not so different. It's also all about power. But the poor men have power in reverse. And with the men it always gets physical. They think they have the power. In reality it's us making their poor old members rise to attention or scurry away into hiding. That's why it's called foreskin because it's all so skin deep anyway.