song du jour: Dance 10, Looks 3, Kelly Bishop from the original cast of A Chorus Line

mood: a bit over it already

Physical Intimacy 101

I have decided, in the interest of women everywhere, to break the girl talk only boundary and share some of the most profound wisdom I can offer to the men out there. (Listen up, guys, V's blogging about breasts yet again!)

From the bedroom to the boardroom men often seem to mistake a take charge role as their way is the only way, and to relent, or for just even the briefest moment think otherwise, would be to let the hens take over the rooster's job. Perhaps some of the best wisdom I might impart is that just because you can do something, doesn't mean you should. Before making a move on anyone else, engaging in a little empathy would go a long long way toward making the right moves instead of the just most obvious ones, and so I offer the following test:

Melons are to squeezing as breasts are to a) penises; b) testicles; c) grapefruits; d) baseballs. The answer is 'b,' and if you got it wrong I can guarantee there are a few women out there, who still remember you and cross their arms instinctively.

With few exceptions, I will admit from personal experience that most have seriously erred in this area (sorry, boys). - I say "few exceptions" thinking, surely there must be someone out there I've temporarily forgotten. - There have been moments in my life that I've thought, "Thank God, they are real for surely anything man made, liquid, and sealed in a plastic bag would have just ruptured!" Personally, I am not yet old enough for a baseline mammogram, and there's already orange juice in the fridge.

A few handy tips, guys: they do not bend direction half way up (or down). They are not designed to bear the entire weight of another person in a grasp and shove upwards move. (Even the worst plastic surgery jobs are not intended to attach at the collar bone.) They are not meant to be grabbed forcefully when a woman is lying on her stomach by thrusting a hand between sheet and flesh (what I've termed the nipplectomy move). They are not as dense as the average remote control and are not designed to spring back after being crushed like a beer (or Red Bull) can, and upon (hopefully) distinguishing between a gasp of passion and a cry of distress,"That didn't hurt." as a verbal assessment of another person's experience is perhaps one of the all time stupidest phrases human beings ever utter.

I understand the testosterone driven zeal of finding a new set of toys with which you are not always allowed to play, but it's important to keep in mind that they weren't designed solely for the pleasure of another person, so ask yourself: if you were given a night of passion with Aphrodite, Goddess of Love herself, would you ravish her by way of wild devotion, or act like a boa constrictor, who's just spotted 2 rats for dinner? Careful, your answer could get you banishment to a remote mountain, killed at the end of a 10 year war, or a curse that extends through your great grandchildren, who won't likely be her descendants.

I have a friend, who is an eternally perky A cup, who gets annoyed (to put it mildly) when a man "doesn't even act like they're there." Pondering the frustration of both the is the bread fresh move or ignoring the chest region entirely has gotten me thinking. Perhaps I'm choosing now to express my distress on this topic because I'm a little over the lack of respect, empathy, and the general ignorance of how women's bodies work. Perhaps my hurtling toward an age of 'higher risk' has me a little scared of my own body parts, lest their very presence become lethal.

Somewhere in processing the feelings of fear there emerges a little respect for my own body and its many parts. I'm beginning to figure out that part of not being 25 anymore means I'd better treat my body differently, not merely obsess about what I don't like, not merely go on some freak eating plan with an agenda to change it, but accepting and maybe cherishing it a little now would go a long way in how it functions when I'm 80 or insures that I'll even make it that long, and so in respecting it myself, I've become even more intolerant of others, who do not. I'm becoming so intolerant that, should I encounter yet another squashing of the melons, I'll very likely check the firmness of someone's plums, no longer caring if it ruins the moment. ;-)

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