May 05, 2005

First orionoir challenges us to all speak openly of sex.  Then our beautiful hostess is silly enough to wander off for a week leaving the blog keys where I can find ‘em.  When the cat’s away the ‘mouse will play his second-favorite sport – livening up the Google hits around here. Without futher ado:

One Man’s Nearly Foolproof Recipe for Sex as Good As Bakerina’s Multiple-Chocolate Orgasm-Causing Trianon Cake


Begin with touching.  Sometimes it starts with the caress of an earlobe, sometimes a kiss, sometimes a full-body massage.  Then, as you move together in bed be sure to touch each and every part of her skin, from toes to the back of her knees to her collarbone and the insides of her elbows.  Gentle.  Rough.  With fingers.  Leg.  Foot.  Tongue.  Feather.  Whatever.  Just remember, her whole body is covered with nerves.  Wake them all up and let them all participate.

Anticipation and Withholding

Where would you rather be than right here, right now, making love?  Personally I can’t think of a single place.  My mind is a complete blank.  Therefore, I’m ready to lick nipples, caress the small of her back or stroke her pubic hair for hours or days.  I find the longer I hold out myself, the better it is for me, so I am never in a hurry.  After all the foreplay, just penetration itself can often take another 5 or 10 or more minutes.  It should progress in agonizingly slow stages.  As a rule of thumb, it occurs sometime after she uses her fingernails to make it clear that if it does not happen RIGHT NOW, you will pay with blood.  Why rush these things?

The Multiple Male Orgasm

Next, borrowing liberally from “The Joy of Sex,” it is critical to learn that most men can, with practice, completely control when they come, can learn to stay hard without a rest period and can experience multiple orgasms.  Put those onanastic urges to good use.  Practice makes perfect. 

A Woman’s Body Is a Fine Instrument

Women are complicated.  They let silly things like their brains get involved in sex.  But by the time you’re naked and the wet parts are rubbing together, a guy’s sole goal has to be to deliver pleasure so as to get invited back.  Therefore, she sets the rhythm.  As I’ve said, I’m easy.  I can finish any time between now and next Tuesday -- the longer the better -- so she’s got one hundred percent of my attention.  It’s her trip.  She comes first and as many times as she’d like or is capable of.  Only when she’s done are you done.

Post-Coital Cigarette

Then there’s afterward.  She wants to cuddle?  Sounds good.  A quick shower?  Shall I join you and soap your back or would you prefer a little time alone?  The only thing on my mind is that she gets exactly what she wants so we can do this all again.  The sooner the better.

As for stories about actual sex, well, you'll just have to wait until Bunni is out of town and her place is left unlocked... .

Posted by 'mouse at 10:43 PM in • (2) Comments • (0) Trackbacks
May 04, 2005

As those of you who know me, the infamous Mademoiselle Lapin, have indubitably discovered, I have a huge amount of rage. Over the years, Jen has told me that her therapist has encouraged her to express her own repressed rage. Before she left, I told her that I had an idea for a post in which I would, shall we say in the manner of Fight Club, become Jen's rage, but I was worried about poisoning her site, as she is so sweet and amiable, and I have the temperament of a crack addicted pit bull on his third espresso shot. But Jen was delighted with the idea, and so I give you now a full dose of rabbit fueled anger.

Dear Human Race,

I suppose we knew it was doomed from the very beginning. I suppose my early, almost terminal, bout of cancer should have been a hint that Things were Not Meant to Be. Strange that an English professor would miss out on such obvious signs, but I was so young then, so hopelessly young. It's not that things between us even started out that well, the doctors, surgeries, treatments, hospitalizations, specialists. It was, in a naive way, very romantic. The struggle to get through every day, the few moments of joy, and of course the rush of discovering new and mysterious joys-a swimming friend in Florida, the Boston Aquarium, a Broadway show, the windows of Saks Fifth Avenue at Christmas, making snow angels, real cornstalk scarecrows, cows, dairy fresh ice cream, babysitters who could enchant ducks, fairy tales. And these joys were amplified by the struggle and even the misery of our early association.

I would like to think it was the books that really came between us, the way that Lifetime television destroys the reality of female experience. It presents a totally unrealistic view of how humans can behave, it creates so many false expectations. Romantic, heroic, even reflective and in the rush of discovery it is easy to imagine that those books reflect reality in the same way that sappy romance novels seem to reflect reality when you first meet that special someone. But time moves on, the roses on the pillow, the special dinners, the phone calls, the chocolates, the gifts, slowly dwindle, perhaps to nothing at all, or perhaps to only grudgingly bestowed on Important Occasions, and then only after much wheedling and warning about possible repercussions, IE the withholding of sexual favors.

Not that only you changed. Sure after the newness became more comfortable, more predictable, there was the my shift in attitude as well. The woman who tried to beat her husband to death with a frozen squirrel was no longer a tribute to the strangeness and originality that people can achieve, but rather just plain stupid. It became yet another moment where I thought "What the hell is wrong? Why can't anyone think straight? A squirrel? Why not a frying pan or some Drano or for crickey's sake a gun?"

And then there are the bad qualities revealed. Not just the small annoying habits, people who try to walk through me,  students who pay 30,000 dollars to come to class and then act like they can't be bothered to, you know, actually learn, but the really awful dark should remain repressed in your id side. My favorite professor killing himself after losing his job, his longtime lover, and his apartment. All the friends who have died of cancer and AIDS. And this is just what I know of you personally. We shall ignore what I hear from other people, about holocausts and wars, rape, serial killers, and the backalleys of corporate America.

And I suppose that is where we really diverge. The real problem is, of course, that we want different things. I want people to be able to act in a reasonable fashion, to achieve small goals (show up on time not an hour and a half late, call on the day he/she claimed he/she was going to, actually read the six page assigned reading) and be at least vaguely concerned with the welfare of others and you, apparently, don't. You think it is too much for me to ask that my friends occasionally show something vaguely reassembling interest in my trouble when I spend hours on the phone listening to them, that passing grades should actually reflect the level of learning achieved not that higher education has become another business where grades are just another purchase, that most people should actually enjoy thinking and being intellectually challenged.

And it's not even that there is no good left. That little girl I saw last week with the pussy willows, the dinner party in Paris, the Nick Hornby book I am currently reading they are all small joys, but they are simply not enough. Better we should go our separate ways now while we both still have some good memories, some dignity, than completely degenerate. And so I hereby resign from the Human Race.

Best of Luck,

Miss Lapin

Posted by Bakerina at 03:02 PM in • (1) Comments • (0) Trackbacks

Alligator_piggybackHere we see the wild and wily New Yawkers Lloyd and Bakerina, headed far far and away to their magical mystical getaway place.

Coach class, for all the latest new-fangled seating and arrangementiere, reportedly still makes them feel as though they are lying on top of one another (hey, who wouldn't like the chance at a monkeypile on you-know-who?  Count me in, mister man). And don't even get our kitchen-fisted egg-juggling sweetheart going about what that recycled germ-laden airline AIR does to her skin.  Yeesh.

Posted by Bakerina at 03:31 AM in stuff and nonsense • (0) Comments • (0) Trackbacks
May 01, 2005

Well, okay, I'm playing a bit fast and loose with time, as I have not, as yet, gone to Scotland. But we're close, dear friends. We're at T minus 7 hours and 40 minutes before our car picks us up. Although our plane doesn't leave until 7:30 p.m., we're hedging our bets against hell traffic on the Van Wyck and long security lines, to say nothing of my lingering fear that our seat assignments, which I made last night, somehow didn't take -- because heaven knows that I can't just relax and enjoy the trip, no, apparently I need to work myself into a lather about *something*. (I can already hear my mental health professional weeping in frustration.)

Before I rabbit on much further, I must dispense applause and thanks to everyone who stepped up to the plate and offered to guestblog, as well as everyone who sent me such nice e-mail, in the wake of my mewling and puking a few weeks back. Hopefully you're not all tired of my continued observation that one really does meet the nicest people on the World Wide Internets, because, well, one does. I am pleased to say that the raucous caucus that guestblogged for me last year when I was in Arkansas (that would be Snowball, orionoir, 'mouse, goliard, Tvindy, Mir, Walt and Anne) will be joined this year by McBeth, bunni, Kimberly, Kenneth, Jo (who also blogs here), nakedjen, C. JoDI, Lulu and Aimee, and possibly also ellamiel and Tristan (ladies, your invitations are still open!). Dear friends, I can't wait to see what transpires over the next two weeks -- although since I'll be offline until May 14, when we get home, I'll have to. Remember, if anyone tells you that I convinced them to blog by showing him/her my boobies, s/he is lying. Probably.

Lloyd and I have been talking about taking this trip ever since our last trip abroad, which, I'm ashamed to admit, was almost ten years ago. We booked our tickets in February. It still feels a bit unreal to me that the trip for which we have waited so long, with varying degrees of patience, is now hours away. Of course, I know people who have planned big trips for years, so I shouldn't be so amazed by the fact that the day is finally here. Last night my mom called to wish us bon voyage and told me that my brother and sister-in-law have decided to celebrate their fifth wedding anniversary with a big family-and-friends party in Hawaii (so start saving your dimes now, Jen!). It should be mentioned that their fifth wedding anniversary will be on October 11, 2008. It sounds glorious, and I have to pat him on the back for it, but myself, I'm all focused now on our itinerary for the next 48 hours. Hawaii will just have to wait.

At the risk of sounding like an unseemly gloater, here is what the next 48 hours holds for us: we wait for the car while Lloyd does sensible things like vacuum the rugs and I do things like plan to clean the entire apartment, top to bottom, and then gradually scale back until I settle for wiping the coffee grounds off the spice cabinet and maybe picking up some dust bunnies. We go to the airport, wait wait wait, get on the plane, fly fly fly, arrive at Heathrow bright and early in the morning. Hopefully we will not have to sit on the tarmac for 45 minutes because a jetway has not been made available for us, but I'm not holding my breath. We get through Customs, we pick up our luggage and, either via the Tube or the Heathrow Express, we head into London. Since it will be too early for check-in, the nice people at our hotel will allow us to drop off our bags. We perambulate around the city, propping each other up at the Tate and the British Museum, possibly heading over to Kings Cross to pick up our train tickets to Edinburgh. Eventually we check in, we collapse in an exhausted heap, we struggle awake the next morning when we get our wake-up call, we go back to Kings Cross, we get on the train to Edinburgh, ride ride ride. From Edinburgh we catch a bus to Galashiels, where we walk for about 10 minutes until we spot the cafe and the chip shop three doors down from the guest house where we will be staying.

This is when things will start to get *interesting*. smile

Dear friends, Lloyd and I will be back on Saturday, May 14, hopefully around dinnertime. I will have pictures.

Posted by Bakerina at 10:40 AM in • (0) Comments • (1) Trackbacks
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