When I’m with a guy, I tend to become addicted to his many smells. Because, of course, a man doesn’t produce just one smell. His hair produces one, his neck produces another, his armpits produce another still … and then there’s a whole symphony of smells that he directs, hopefully, towards the toilet. (Fortunately, I haven’t been with any men who pride themselves on the pungency of their farts, but I do believe they’re out there, somewhere, feasting on buckets of beans right now.) Continue Reading
I wouldn’t say I’ve “stolen” things from my boyfriends, as much as I have elected not to give certain items back. Which, yes, I know, is the same as stealing, by the letter of the law, but I doubt that the boys and girls in blue are going to nail my arse for holding onto a scratched copy of Leonard Cohen’s Songs of Love and Hate. Especially if I can explain to them why.
Everyone thinks they’re a “nice” person. Well, nearly everyone. I’ve met a few folks who knew they were rampant arseholes and were really quite at peace with that aspect of themselves. I don’t know if that makes it any better, but it’s always nice when someone isn’t deluding themselves. Continue Reading