© livingos (sxc.hu)

Part I of a series ”Sex and relationships”

I love this time of the year. I’m not sure if that really requires further clarifications. At least if you happen to be a Finn, or at the very least living in Finland, you should know why I – and probably you too – love spring time.

Well, duh, how about the weather? Of course I’m referring to the warming weather you damn fool!

Though in fact I could easily live without those midsummer (not our misguided ”Midsummer”) days that can get too hot (ouch, probably said that too early on – it is after all only just May – and you can legitimately say something like that here in Finland certainly not before July and even then people will think that you have lost all perspective), scorching the earth to dust and causing all the beautiful flowers to wilt and die.

If it is hot then why can’t I say it out loud without people calling me a cry-baby and an ungrateful s.o.b.? If you want a constant dry heat hovering around the 30 degrees celsius digits in the shade feel free to move to south-west USA.

If humans were meant to be living in such conditions, we had evolved into reptiles. 

Anyways, there’s another reason why I dig the spring time. A lot of you can probably already guess what it is but for those who can’t or won’t I’ll just go out and say it: bare legs and napkin-sized garments that these days double as a socially accepted attire. 

Unless you are a real hard core feminist, you’ll steal a peak at some of those abs, six-packs and well-rounded asses that some men – not I – happen to sport. At least I’m pretty sure you do.

I guess most feminists only do that from a safe distance – or most likely just when their friends happen to be looking the other way, probably yakking away about some new theory that explains how men are still keeping sisters down.

And sometimes, when you were supposed to say it only in your mind, it slips from your lips – because you clearly weren’t paying enough attention in trying to deny perfectly normal reactions when one sees something that she likes. So you go: ”Damn. Wouldn’t mind trying some of that ass.”

And then it gets just a little awkward for a moment or so, until your grey brain cells come to the rescue suggesting you to just say that you we’re being ironic, or using males’ own standards in empowering your full woman-ness (whatever that means).

Phew. A close call. IKR.

What I can’t for the life of me understand, though, is why is it so terrible to just admit that you – just like 99% of people on the planet – appreciate beautiful things when you see them.

You might even get sexy ideas, too, to boot.

I don’t know about you, but something like this obviously never happens to me. You see, I have this rare medical condition where I can’t get aroused no matter what the situation.

Umm…  right about this time of the year I actually more or less wish that I could get infected with a less rigid form of that disease, you know.

It’s killing my neck, but what am I to do? Only time I don’t do it is when I deliberately choose to exercise will power. But since I’m no superman, I tend to fail quite often. And I rarely have regrets that I didn’t stand fast.

I know it’s just another ass and a pair of tits. I’ve seen them before. Just not that particular ass or those particular breasts. They are as much different as they are the same. I am intrigued by them. Why wouldn’t I be? What’s the harm in that?

Female form is a curse – for both sexes. Titties and asses just are there for everyone to see. Like it or not, they were not only designed to be seen but positively to be shown around as much as you possible can. This much we know.

And today’s ladies certainly aren’t exactly trying to hide their goods. Or, if what I see on the streets on a daily basis is of any sign, then they aren’t very good at it. At least anymore.

Chicks – guys, too, of course – love saying stuff like ”I only jog/work out to feel good” or because ”it’s healthy” or because ”it gives me more energy to do other stuff I want to be able to do in my life”.

You people serious expect me to believe that you work out 3-5 times a week, every week, just to feel good about yourself? Just so that you can muster the extra energy to watch your favorite show on tv?

Please. Now, it would be somewhat more plausible if you didn’t feel the need to wear the skimpiest clothes that you can find every time when you go out doing whatever it is that you do that you call working out.

Why is it so hard to admit that you do it because it makes you feel good – or at least better – about your own body. What you are in fact empowering is your own sex appeal.

And when you say your own body you actually mean the body that others will see.

I’ve been in a gym maybe 10-20 times in my whole life, and not really once because of my own accord. I just generally find those places at best pretentious and at worst obnoxious. Usually pretty shitty music too, if any one asks for my opinion.

What can I say: there’s a lot to hate and little to love.

Sometimes I just agree to tag along because I tend to see my friends pretty sporadically and it’s at least a non-alcoholic – and therefore in theory more healthy –  way to catch up on the latests news.

Sure I will check tits here and asses there but I generally have this – admittedly exceedingly biassed – notion that these ladies probably don’t have the kind of qualities I personally look for and appreciate in a woman.

To me they either seem like the types who are heavily into gaining muscle mass ie. body building, most likely because they are or have dated some muscular guy who got them interested in the game in the first place.

Or they seem like the hang-around kinda types who might pedal for 10 minutes, stretch 20 minutes and yak with their friends for 40 minutes before hitting the shower. And not once failing to register and appraise the patrons, particularly if they are not one of the regulars. Just like they never fail to catch a good look at their own body from all those mirrors.

They say the mirrors are there so it’s easier to see if you are doing it wrong, and that could be a valid point if it was actually true.

How the fuck do you know if you are doing it right or wrong – or even kinda right or kinda wrong? Most of us ”learn” by imitating others patrons who in turn have ”learned” by imitating – again – other patrons.

For all we know it’s a just a ring of stupidity. And do you think there would be million personal trainers around if we’d be in agreement what works, why and when, and what doesn’t, or less so.

And that is why mirrors aren’t there to help us. They are there so we can admire ourselves from the mirror – from all angles (which most of us can’t do at home or anywhere else either). AND – of course – other people. From more angles than normally possible. 

So, now you know.

But how can you tell if you are vain or not? Simple.

If you keep checking out your reflection from shop windows every 10 feet or so, you are probably vain.

If you keep dressing like – and I’m being deliberately generously politically incorrect here just to make a point a cross – a slut, again, you are most likely A) more or less vain, B) more or less shallow, and C) more or less a woman who aims first and foremost to please men – at least some type of men, and D) naive in you demand that you should be left alone even if you weren’t wearing anything at all because it is your right not only as a woman but as a human being.

Frankly I’ve never understood that concept that once you are in a relationship with someone, you immediately stop being that sexual being that you were before you two decided to be girl- and boyfriends.

No, now you only have eyes for him/her. Forever. Because s/he is that perfect being we all know from Hollywood movies.

For the record I’m not married in any official capacity. But we’ve been together for 12 years which – I feel – certainly says something (in the US the average time until separation is about seven years for couples who end up getting divorced). 

 In my heart I know I’m spoken for. My brain just won’t listen, that’s all.

I think you feeling what you feel is the only thing that really matters. From whose bed you choose to wake up in the morning day after day and year after year, is what counts.

And if you happen to wake up from someone else’s bed once – or twice or thrice (who gets to draw that line?) – in your life, it automagically means you don’t actually love this wo/man and you never did, you’ve just been tricking her/him for years and years and years, let her/him to believe like you did, only because you are – as is pretty commonly phrased – a pathetic loser adulterer, the wickedest of the wicked, the sickest of the sickly?

See, this line of thinking I just don’t comprehend. Never have and likely never will. YMMV.

Also in ”Sex and relationships”:

Part I: People Are Vain.

Part II: People Are Vain – with a Vengeance!