This weekend is a glorious weekend for a certain type of sports fans. Baseball, the great American past-time, has returned and for the first time since the days of the Ottoman Empire, the Chicago Cubs are defending world champions. That alone is something to marvel at.
I know it’s an odd combination, a man being a fan of both erotica/romance and sports. I love many kinds of sports. I certainly hope I’ve made my love of football abundantly clear. I also have a soft spot for baseball. One of my favorite summer activities is to come home from a long day of writing erotica/romance, pop open a cold beer, and watch a ballgame. I won’t say it’s as great as sex, but it’s still pretty darn great.
It’s also personal for me. I played baseball as a kid. I also loved playing catch with my dad in the back yard. Baseball is full of all sorts of fond, happy memories for me. That’s why I’m more than happy to dedicate this week’s edition of Sexy Sunday Thoughts to the new baseball season. Here’s to hoping we all hit a home run.
“A woman with a great butt appeals to many grown men. A woman with great tits appeals to both grown men and infants. Advantage: great tits.”
It’s a debate as old as civilization. Which is sexier, butts or breast? Many heated debates and bar fights have erupted over this debate. Men and women are so fond or proud of both. It may very well be an unwinnable argument.
That said, when it comes down to pure numbers, tits have the edge. A great butt is beautiful and all, but it won’t feed a crying infant. That’s an advantage that even the roundest, sexiest of butts can never match.
“In retrospect, we’re grateful that our parents had sex to make us. However, we still get queasy when we think about how much they enjoyed it. Does that make us hypocrites?”
It’s another instance where our built-in gag reflex keeps us from appreciating how we came to be. Face it, our parents had to have sex in order for us to exist. Chances are, they probably enjoyed it too. The fact that they enjoyed making us should make us feel proud and loved.
Even so, a part of us still twinges at the idea of our parents enjoying the beautiful act that gave us life. Does that count as hypocrisy? Given the reflexive nature of it all, I’m not sure. I just hope that my parents did enjoy making me. If my stomach hates me for that sentiment, then so be it.
“Most people tend not to wonder who invented thong underwear. We’re more curious about why it took so damn long in the first place.”
Some inventions aren’t a matter of necessity. Some aren’t even a matter of practicality either. They’re just a natural byproduct of human ingenuity. The rock, the hammer, and the nail certainly qualify as such. I would also put thong underwear in that category too.
For as long as there have been humans, there have been efforts to augment the sexier parts of our bodies. Sometimes it involved fancy gowns. Sometimes it involved cod-pieces. However, it’s easy to imagine someone in any era imagining something like thong underwear.
“In a literal sense, we treat public nudity the same way we treat spam email. We’re eager to remove it the second we see it.”
I hate spam email. We all do. It deserves to be hated. It’s one of those things we instinctively attack the moment we see it. When it comes to nudity, though, I think those instincts are misguided.
I’ve said before that I’m a fan of nudity. I think the world would be a better place if we allowed and celebrated more nudity. At the moment, though, nudity triggers this instinct in all to be appalled by it. I don’t think that’s healthy or natural. I intend to fight that instinct as best I can with my novels.
“If money makes certain women horny, then do they consider large alimony checks a form of extended afterglow?”
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying all women are gold-diggers looking to plunder a man’s wallet using the full force of draconian marriage/divorce laws. However, there are some women who take that practice to extreme levels.
The prize of those extremes are a fat alimony check from some rich guy who wanted to have sex with a beautiful woman and had the necessary resources to do so. By any measure, that’s not a bad prize. Considering sex was needed to get it, I do wonder how afterglow applies.
“Men don’t like to think of themselves as whores, but still pride themselves on their ability to sell their skills.”
I find it odd, and a little ironic, that men use the term whore as an insult. However, when it comes to selling their skills and their abilities to the highest bidder, the only difference between them and a classic whore is the absence of boob jobs. When you think about it, being a whore and being successful go hand-in-hand. They both require the same skill. One just requires the exchange of more body fluids.
“Softcore porn is to adults what Saturday morning cartoons are to kids. In addition, hardcore porn is to adults what classic Disney movies are to kids.”
I loved Saturday morning cartoons as a kid. They were a simple, basic pleasure that put a smile on my face. When I discovered softcore porn on premium cable, I discovered another simple, basic pleasure that gave me a similar smile.
Like many kids, I also enjoyed Disney movies. They always raised the bar for cartoons, story, and drama. In that sense, hardcore porn had a similar effect on me as an adult. It raised the bar for what put a smile on my face. It’s kind of poetic when you think about it.
“When you think about it, a lesbian gynecologist is the most motivated doctor in all of medicine.”
We’re all motivated when it comes to our jobs. If we’re not, then chances are we won’t keep that job for very long. That’s why it’s important to find a job we’re highly motivated to do and do well.
By that standard, who could possibly be more motivated than a lesbian gynecologist? Seriously, I dare anyone to find a job where the incentives are that personal and that strong.
That’s it for now. Now get out there, buy yourself some peanuts and cracker jacks, and enjoy a ball game. If you’re alone at home, clothes are entirely optional. I think you all know which option I’ll be exercising.? Man