Fear Factory


Yes, it's Halloween, so I'm supposed to write something scary. But I'm not sure just what is spooky or creepy.

I think it's quite scary that some people really do believe in witches, demons and time-delayed curses that are corrupting your children tonight.

But I think it's scary that some people think Uri Geller isn't a stage magician, climate change is a liberal conspiracy and someone in Nigeria really does want to make you a millionaire, so what do I know?

So here's a selection of things about my humble existence, and you tell me if any of them gives you the creeps. Or the raving ab-dabs, or the screaming heebie-jeebies.

1) Last night I had the most astonishing sex in the world with a guy who considers himself "straight but occasionally bi". I asked him how a straight (but occasionally bi) guy could give such fantastic oral sex, and he said he practices - a lot - on women. But not as much as he'd like.

So there you have it, straight cunnilingueurs (that's a word I just made up) give the best gay blowjobs.

I like to think I held my own. Though I was actually holding his, just not with my hands. They were, um, otherwise occupied. Well one of them was - the other was quietly getting cramp, which remained completely painless until we disentangled.

He's a nice guy too, and during our post-langulolipal-glanofellation (another word I just made up) huggings, under the romantic full moon and warm night air (what?) I found myself thinking I could probably fall for him. But it's probably not a good idea to fall for your straight (but occasionally bi) fuckbuddy, so I decided not to.

2) You may remember that we have mice in the house.

We've got three dogs of a breed bred as ratcatchers, but they seem much happier as slightly pampered pooches that curl up all around you the moment you lie down. Occasionally they do see a mouse...and bark at it nervously.

I've got two mice in my bedroom. One is (I think) an occasional visitor from next-door via some permeable walls, and the other seems to live in the plumbing on the opposite wall. They're called Bert and Ernie, though for all I know they could actually be ten females who only appear two at a time.

They're soft brown hemispheres with tails and bright dark eyes, and I haven't actually seen either of them for weeks. But I can hear Ernie. Rustling around in papers and plastic bags, chewing on...something.

Is it the unspeakably greasy and tasteless fried chicken I threw away six weeks ago, that's still waiting to be taken away in a sealed black plastic dustbin liner in one corner? Is it the cardboard storage box of magazines documenting socialist theoretical debates of the 1970s - that I once in a moment of insanity thought I might scan and OCR?

I don't know. But like me, Ernie is an insomniac and night snacker, rootling around at odd hours of darkness inside something the rustles, pausing presumably to eat, poop and doze. But not, I think, breed.

I once found a half eaten bar of chocolate on the floor. That is, half eaten by me and the remaining half half eaten by small sharp teeth scraping away, leaving it looking like tree bark.

3) Tommorow is the start of NaNoWriMo, and I'm wondering if I should:

(a) Come up with a plot in the remaining two hours till midnight, then start writing,
(b) Admit to myself that my bedroom recording studio is not going to get any more ready no matter how many more final preparations I invent make, and I should actually start using it - instead of using NaNoWriMo as yet more displacement activity, or
(c) Go and have another one of mother's home-made chocolates, and then decide.

Oh yes, mother and me are on a diet, but it's slightly hindered by her newfound passion. Today's experiment involved mixing the chocolate powder from a dozen cappuccino kits with butter and peppermint oil, melting the result in with a block of cooking chocolate and setting the result in rubber molds from ebay.

Yesterday it was two thin layers of hard 70% cocoa chocolate sandwiching a dark paste made with castor sugar and various spirits, thickened with whipped eggs.

Tomorrow...will be even darker and more adventurous I'm sure.

So do I scare you? Am I deeply creepy or sleepily unfreaky? Would you let your daughter marry me? Would your daughter let you carry on with me?

Or are you the scary one?

Mmmmm. Chocolate.

11 comments:

  1. I wouldn't let my daughter marry you - only because she'd never be able to get her fanny up your arse, so it'd be a bit pointless.

    As for that sordid stuff with straight cum bi guy... Why exactly did yuo have cramp?

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  2. You sure you don't mean "Gay First!" or "Buggery Yay!"?

    My left arm had cramp for the very boring reason that I was lying on it for 45 minutes. The index and middle fingers of my right hand also developed a cramping sensation, but for different reasons. Fortunately they got uncomfortable at the same time as he got sore, so we took a break.

    It might not have been exactly 45 minutes - I haven't used a stopwatch to time sex for years.

    Sordid? I simply report what happened. If you found it sordid, that's your attitude, not my lifestyle. So there.

    So there.

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  3. Yes, I do find you scary. But only for this: "the cardboard storage box of magazines documenting socialist theoretical debates of the 1970s".

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  4. @IDV: Oh it's not so difficult. Mostly it's gradualism vs revolutionism - the debate of whether capitalism can slowly reform itself into socialism or not.

    FWIW, I think it's like the question of whether you can morph between a mouse and an elephant. At first glance yes, but each stage of the morph would have to be viable as an animal in its own right - and if you imagine something that's 1/4 mouse and 3/4 elephant, it wouldn't be a very good animal, and probably wouldn't survive.

    No, the 70s were a weirdly optmistic time for socialists. Debates got complex in the pessimistic 80s.

    Thanks for stopping by, BTW. Nice to have you. So to speak.

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  5. The scariest thing in this post for me was imagining that I have a daughter. Good gawd, I'm not ready for children! I don't think I'll ever be ready to have children!

    I'd be freaked out if I found a half eaten chocolate bar on the floor. I mean, are you sure it was a mouse and not some tiny little monster living under your bed? Reading your magazines? Watching your porn when you're not there? Who knows if he's making long distance calls or running up your utility bills?

    I envy you benefiting from your mother's chocolate creations kick! If I want chocolate, I have to go buy it from the store!

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  6. The scariest thing in this post for me was imagining that I have a daughter. Good gawd, I'm not ready for children! I don't think I'll ever be ready to have children!

    That probably means you'd be a good parent. Just think of all those parents who're sure they're really good parents...and how stupid and fucked up they are.

    I'd be freaked out if I found a half eaten chocolate bar on the floor. I mean, are you sure it was a mouse and not some tiny little monster living under your bed?

    Well I've got Bert and Ernie...I suppose my monster under the bed would growl "Cookieeeee!".

    Reading your magazines? Watching your porn when you're not there? Who knows if he's making long distance calls or running up your utility bills?

    That sounds like what your daughter would do.
    I envy you benefiting from your mother's chocolate creations kick! If I want chocolate, I have to go buy it from the store!

    Ah, it's not the same. Shop chocolate is gone and forgotten in a few munches. Parental chocolate is made with lots of sugar and butter and cream and brandy. Shop chocolate is like a bit of a boogie at the local pub. Mother chocolate is a 24-hour party at Studio 54 coked up to the tits with a dozen movie stars. Now that's a party in your mouth.

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  7. In between not falling for your fuck buddy (good move that, btw), you could perhaps wave a dictionary under his nose and introduce him to the meaning of the word 'bisexual'. A man who mainly has sex with women but occasionally has sex with men is bisexual all the time. If he'd said 'straight, but occasionally gay' i would have let him away with it, on the grounds that he could have been referring to the sexual acts, not a state of being. But 'occasionally bi'?! Sorry, i'm a pedant.

    And breathe...

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  8. @Aethelread:

    I know, I've said the same thing to him, but he prefers to think of himself as "occasionally bi", presumably because although he has gay sex, he wants to distance himself from the idea of being at all gay.

    I can't see any difference between being bisexual and being gay and straight at the same time, but a lot of bisexuals take a (to my mind) rather silly pride in having a separate sexuality.

    Actually, today I came across an interesting idea, which in retrospect seems obvious. Gay people aren't repulsed from hetero-sex, they've just uninterested, and the converse for straight people.

    But if there are some people who're interested in both, there could be people who're just uninterested in both. Bi-asexual, if you like.

    What this means to me is, it's not just my interest in men that makes me gay, it's my disinterest in women. In this sense, disinterest isn't a non-attitude.

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  9. "Gay First!" ...

    Hahaha!!!!!

    What Piggy said about a daughter but if I had a poofy son, I'd send him right over!

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  10. Gay people aren't repulsed from hetero-sex, they've just uninterested, and the converse for straight people.

    This is what i've always said. I can recognise that women are beautiful, i even have a pretty good idea of when they're sexy, but both of those are aesthetic judgements - i have no desire to have sex with them. With men, on the other hand, i can rcognise when they're attractive, i have a good idea of when they're sexy - but those aesthetic judgements are reinforced by the fact that i do want to have sex with them.

    I think it's this that leads to a lot of straight people saying 'we're all bisexual really' - they don't recognise that there's a difference between being able to tell someone is attractive, and actually wanting to have sex with them.

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