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Girls’ night

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Last night Glenda and I had our girls’ night out at a pub on the other side of town. This venue looked like cougar country, but we’re neither in that class yet. I catch the eye of a young hunk, tanned so that his face is darker than his blonde hair. But I start to think I might have been too daring when he comes over to join us. I give him a little smile, and we introduce each other to him the way we always do with a guy. I get more interested when I see his earnest grey eyes, and the calm firm way his hands move. Steady hands are always a turn-on for me, and I’m just imagining how he might hold a girl.

He’s surprisingly well spoken for this neighbourhood, and for a guy who wears tattoos. We say the obvious about him being a stranger around here, and he says he’s over from Adelaide for the spring races. “Don’t talk to me about the races, after what I lost on the Melbourne Cup,” I exclaim. I’ve been told I’m attractive when I pretend to be a bit shitty, wonder if it’s true.

But Glenda is the one he has his eye on, even though she holds her hands in a position where he can’t help seeing the rings on her left. “My hubby is a trucker”, she drops into the conversation. Is that a warning, the guy must be wondering? “He’s off interstate at the moment,” she adds. Is that flirting? I nudge her under the table. Anyway, the three of us joke around.

While Rick (our new mate) is off at the bar, Glenda and I exchange a look that speaks volumes. I try to talk sense to her. “Some guys will never risk getting a single girl knocked up, figuring how much they could end up paying and for how long. But they won’t have that worry with another bloke’s wife. If she has a baby, who’s to say it isn’t her old man’s?”

“Big prize to win, nothing to lose”, Glenda says as the nearest poker machine boils over and splashes out its gold.

“Yeah, but I wonder if they see it that way. Is getting a kid such a big deal for most guys? Or do they just think married women are safer and easier?” I have the uneasy feeling that she’s ready to pay the jackpot – we only have these nights out when we’re both yearning for male company, then we end up guarding each other’s virtue.

When Rick returns we somehow get talking about threesomes. I want to see his reaction to an idea. “No, no, silly. Not one guy and two gals. I mean one woman, her husband and another guy.”

“Now, that’s evil,” he says. After all, I should remember he’s younger than me.

“But, Rick, wouldn’t the situation be really intense, emotionally, for both men?” He’s thinking, or just smiling to be polite. “Specially if they know the wife might have an egg waiting.”

He might be blushing, but we can’t tell. “God, he’d want to be careful. The other bloke, I mean,” is all he can say.

“Bet you’re always careful, Rick. I mean, you don’t have any kids back in Adelaide, do you?”

Now he’s laughing again, “No way, Honey! And don’t want any, either.” He discreetly slips the Trojan packet from his top pocket and shows it like the badge of a secret society.

“I guess I’d be safe, then,” Glenda murmurs.

She holds out her hand as she looks up at him, asking demurely, “Can I see that?” He’s only too eager to hand it over for inspection, but freezes when she savagely rips it in half and tosses the rubber away across the floor.

“It’s okay Rick,” she laughs at his stunned expression. “I want to go on to another place, can you give me a lift? And see me home, of course.”

“I’d be glad to, Ma’am,” he replies gallantly.

“Cos I still trust you’ll be careful. And that’s not a promise, it’s a dare,” she ends up almost whispering.

“Well, time for me to go. I gotta pick up my kids from Mum’s place and get home,” and then I’m standing up, leaving Glenda and Rick to decide what to do with the rest of the evening.

TTC Blinkies

That’s life

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It seems like every second cream brick-veneer in our neighbourhood houses a single-parent family. Single parent means a woman alone with kids. I don’t say single mothers, because as well as us unmarried mums there are divorced, separated, widowed ones and some who can’t quite figure out their marital status.

It’s a kids’ town, where life is ruled by the needs of our kids. Playgrounds, family entertainment and child health are the big topics of interest. School and kindy set the daily routine and the calendar, with each year marked by sports seasons, school breakup and christmas. A mum’s life revolves around shopping, cooking, laundry and getting children off to school.

And there’s romance – on the telly, in books, and maybe even in real life. You see, our only assets are ourselves and if we can make a good match, do a good deal, we sure will.

When I moved to this street, Alison took me under her wing and explained how we single parents survive. There’s a network of those mums who want to be part of it. The way she tells it, all the girls dream of meeting Mr Right. Maybe he’ll put a contact ad in the Sun, maybe friends will introduce you, maybe you just meet him in a shop. Mr Right being anyone with a steady job and no ties who you can get to make a commitment. The idea is that you please him so much that in his rosy cloud of arousal he takes to your family as well.

Only it never works out like that. You may find yourself doing the most outrageous things for that guy – and even enjoying them!

Some Sims pictures

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Here’s some pictures of my The Sims 2 characters.

Jillian came to live in our street with her grandparents, from a small country town.

Jillian is one of my favourites, she’s cheeky but also very straight and innocent. Alas, she finds life in the city is a lot trickier than she ever expected.

Last dance at the debs’ ball in our local town hall.

This pic shows what can be done with lighting and a bit of post-production colour balancing. I’d love to have a hairdo like that for a change, but where to wear it (apart from a production of Hairspray?)

Gladys arose slowly, remembering the night before.

This lady really is called Gladys, she lived in a cosy flat above her shop in my parents’ neighbourhood.

Kevin realised he was not alone

The lady in period costume is meant to be a ghost but I couldn’t quite make her transparent. Kevin is a student who lives in an old house, cheap rent because people say it’s haunted.

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I’ve got a new gravatar – I’m not trying to be rude by turning my back, but was just reminded that it mightn’t be safe to publish my face or anything that could identify my family. So for the public, I’m just a lady living somewhere in Australia. If you become my friend you might find out more.

Just now

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This is just my backyard Hills hoist (that’s an Australian clothesline), today. Usually it’s full of children’s things, with Mum’s hidden on the inside rows, but today was time to catch up with my own laundry before the rain starts. It’s spring here, though this picture doesn’t look it.

And it’s school holidays so I’ve got Sue home to help and kids playing outside to make the place lively.

Ever tried karezza?

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Back in 1896 the American feminist Alice Stockham wrote a little book called Karezza, Ethics of Marriage about love and the practicalities of sex.

The ordinary hasty spasmodic method of cohabitation, for which there has been no previous preparation, and in which the wife is passive is alike unsatisfactory to husband and wife. It is deleterious both physically and spiritually. It has in it no consistency as a demonstration of affection, and is frequently a cause of estrangement and separation.

Karezza so consummates marriage that through the power of will, and loving thoughts, the crisis is not reached, but a complete control by both husband and wife is maintained throughout the entire relation.

At the appointed time, without fatigue of body or unrest of mind, accompany general bodily contact with expressions of endearment and affection, followed by the complete but quiet union of the sexual organs. During a lengthy period of perfect control, the whole being of each is merged into the other, and an exquisite exaltation experienced. This may be accompanied by a quiet motion, entirely under subordination of the will, so that the thrill of passion for either may not go beyond a pleasurable exchange. Unless procreation is desired, let the final propagative orgasm be entirely avoided.

With abundant time and mutual reciprocity the interchange becomes satisfactory and complete without emission or crisis. In the course of an hour the physical tension subsides, the spiritual exaltation increases, and not uncommonly visions of a transcendent life are seen and consciousness of new powers experienced.

If Dr Stockham’s language is a bit too discreet for modern readers, this is what I think she meant:

After some romantic foreplay, the girl takes her lover’s unsheathed penis into her vagina. They hold still, while kissing and caressing gently as they talk intimately. Or they can make some slow careful movements, trusting each other to stop whenever the boy is close to ejaculating. This could go on for hours. Eventually he relaxes and his erection will go down without any need for an ejaculation.

Maybe, with practice, a girl can even have an orgasm like this, and her partner can calmly enjoy every sensation of her melting beneath him. But if they both go without an orgasm, they have still had so much of the other kind of sexual pleasure!

By this pure ideal a profound reverence for all of nature’s mysteries and unfathomable secrets is developed; a conservation of energies is accomplished; while through the baptizing consecration of thought, the generative organs are redeemed from the desecration of the past, and their powers and functions justly and wisely appropriated.

This conservation of power is both possible and effective for the unmarried.

I like that last sentence! My only doubt is that Dr Stockham thought that karezza was a perfect form of birth control (barring accidents) by itself. Now we know that a guy always lets go a few drops of semen long before his orgasm: he can’t help it, and I think he doesn’t feel it. So if you want to try this, please, please make sure you’re safe. And if the male partner is still learning, a condom might give him confidence about self-control, too. 🙂

Strange undies

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A long-established swimsuit and underwear company began the trend with their leopardskin-print men’s bathers. (Just what is it about the leopardskin pattern that’s supposed to be sexy? Did guys of previous generations like to play Tarzan at the beach?) Later their designers used the print for daring underpants, and over the years their range expanded to other animal skin prints, even snake skin, in various colours.

Suddenly the shock value become fashionable with the young bucks, and they produced bathers in fish scale patterns, and octopus tentacles in livid blues and greens. These were hot sellers, at least for one summer. Next season one designer dreamed up gooier patterns for the teen market. Graphic patterns of flayed musculature had a short vogue among the rich and decadent, even appearing in the dormitories of the most select boys’ school. Then it was armour of shiny insect-like segments, and the previous year’s octopus was reinvented as a stylized pattern of suckers-and-eyes. A season later these had become a mosaic of glaring eyes, and simple worm segments in maggot white or verdigris blue.

“Our boy’s bought himself some new underpants, of all things. With his own pocket money, too.

“Leopardskin, or something like that I suppose. It’s supposed to be the latest thing among the teenagers.

“Worse than that! They’re in a segmented pattern like some grisly graveworm.

“What’ll they think of next?

“That’s the fashion. They have them with little beady eyes on each ring, or two big staring eyes, anything to look horrific.

“Maggot britches”, exclaimed a disdainful young miss. But something analogous was devised for girls too young to wear the voluptuously flowering underfashions of the over-18s or the grownup girdles embroidered in patterns that hinted at the womb within. That year, girls’ undies featuring roes masses, toad spawn or even an embryonic face were scary reminders to any swain who succeeded in glimpsing them. Hexagon-tiled fabrics with wasp faces glaring from some cells, or mosaics of fanged mouths, gave an even blunter warning.

“You wouldn’t want to touch them for fear of getting bitten.”

“Well, we’re not supposed to be touchable in our undies, are we?” was the unanswerable retort, justifying a flirty fashion as a protection of virtue.

By the spring, variations on the fad had reached the outer suburbs. A stand at the Agricultural Show had racks of T-shirts in last year’s snake and insect patterns, while guffawing lads around the novelty stall dared each other to buy the plump white worm balloons that even had short orange antennae.