The Beautiful Kind

Morbid Week is drawing to a close, and I find myself wishing it was Morbid Month! There are so many more things to cover when it comes to the creepy…sigh.

But I shall leave off with my thoughts on the Necrophilia site Will pointed out earlier this week. I’ve been reading it for days now, and I have to say I’m impressed. The guy behind it, Rob, is incredibly honest, thorough, thoughtful, and respectful.

I find myself exploring all the taboo sex fantasies one by one, whether in real life, in my head, or through research, and I always end up coming to an understanding about them, maybe even getting turned on and adding it to my masturbation roster: bestiality, rape, incest…

Of course when I first visited the site, I thought, “FREAK, OMIGOD,” and felt almost scared to click on the next page. And of course I found the topic fascinating - can’t get any more sensational than doing it with the deceased. And Rob knows it - the site has all kinds of cautionary barriers, notes to parents, a “panic” button you can hit that takes you to Google. If you keep digging, you find gems like:

What does it mean to have these “strange” sexual feelings? Well, you are human…

There is a somewhat sexually spiritual aspect to my corpse love making. I love to carry and position the body.. watching the body move limply in my arms…seeing the breasts jiggle with each movement. I love to kiss a lot and in these fantasies I spend a lot of time kissing every inch of the body. I do have a fetish of sorts…I love arms… girls’ arms. I kiss and nibble every inch of a lady’s arms…especially under her arms…burying my face into were the arm just begins to meet with the breast. Just a quick point to interject here… decay or blood of any kind does NOT hold my interest. I prefer a clean “partner”.

Over the past 5+ years my interest in necro has evolved into a more subtle, passionate experience. I find I want less for an actual dead corpse as much as simply an unconscious girl…someone willing to allow me “access” when they are out. The experience is to make soft tender love…lots of carrying and body handling…with actual sex occurring in many positions, one of which is her in my lap with me inside and slowly moving her limp body back and forth on me, her arms limp over my shoulders, legs spread wide across my legs. The fantasy is about finding a willing girl who allows herself to be made unconscious (how to do that safely is the question) and me to video our love making for her when she wakes up. Actually this fantasy is sometimes called “sleepysex” and is also very common.

Which brings me to a post I made a while back about a woman who preferred her man to have sex with her in her sleep - at least a couple guys left comments asking for her number. I thought, “what the hell does THAT mean?!” and I thought they were freaks. But now I get it. And now I wouldn’t mind trying out sex while “sleeping” (I already like being woken up by a hard cock, so what a fun contrast that would be, for me to have to lie still and be quiet, as opposed to my usual bucking and hollering.)

So now that I’ve come to terms with necrophilia, this just leaves a couple taboo fantasies I still don’t get, and god, hope I never do: clowns, adults wearing diapers, and scat.

The Nutshell Studies of Unexplained Death takes two of my favorite things and combines them - dollhouses and true crime. Frances Glessner Lee, a rich grandma, built miniature death scenes for the local police department as a teaching tool. These little houses have blood splattered on the walls and girl dolls thrust headfirst under the frozen running water, stiff legs in the air.

Lee knit stockings with needles the size of straight pins, and constructed tiny nooses. Most of the items in the dollhouses are actually functional - the pencils can write, the knives can stab…

Many of the scenes portray adultery gone wrong, such as the log cabin scene, where a man is found facedown, a gun, his hat, and cigarettes scattered around his body. Did his lover do it, or was it suicide?

Some people speculated that Lee took her dislike of women out on her dolls by “murdering” them. So odd that she spent HOURS working on these models, a rich woman recreating lower class tragedies in miniature. A crush she had on a charming young medical examiner is what inspired her to follow her tiny life of crime.

Though she went through life eschewing religion, towards the end, Lee converted to Catholicism.

The other day I was hanging out at a coffee shop waiting for my drink, when this weird guy came up and started hitting on me. At first he acted like he knew me, but oops he got me mixed up with someone else. I told him I was from out of town.

This would have been a good moment for him to move on, but instead he told me he lived right around the corner and kept staring at me, waiting for me to say something. This was awkward, as I had absolutely nothing to say to him and I didn’t much like knowing that his lair was nearby.

Suddenly my instincts kicked in, and I grabbed the sock monkey that was sticking out of my bag and said, “This is my sock monkey. He likes to go wherever I go.” And then I started petting the monkey.

This finally prompted him to excuse himself, mumbling “have a nice day.”

Phew.

Thanks to my friend who feeds the feral cats at his school, I now have a squirrel paw in my Little Mummy Creatures collection. While down in the well by the side of a building where the cats hide, he called out, “There’s part of a squirrel down here.” No doubt he expected me to squeal with disgust. Instead, I asked, “Ooh can you bring it up for me?” I can only imagine what he was thinking at that point.

But he’s a nice guy, so he scooped it up with a plastic cup and delivered it to me (squirrel cocktail!) It was an entire back leg, with the bone sticking out. So I wrenched the part I wanted off, the cute little paw, and voila, new conversation piece.

I meant to include the mystery jaw bone I found on a walk in this picture (click on it to enlarge if you dare), but it’s sitting in my car in case I run across any dentists or biologists who might be able to tell me what animal it came from.

Got soul? Mary Roach tries to figure this one out in her book, Spook. She looks into many scientific studies of the afterlife, and so far, despite a lot of gruesomeness, no research has indicated that we do anything else except stop being when we die. Poof.

Reincarnation - Back when my daughter was a baby, I got excited when she started talking about her “other family” - the one where her dad drove a truck and she had siblings. But nothing really came of it, and she eventually stopped talking about it. This sort of thing happens frequently in India - a kid starts talking about his old family two villages over. But it’s difficult to gather good evidence on this, (is the child amorously eying the attractive widow he supposedly left behind in a past life enough proof?) so it’s still inconclusive.

Weighing the Soul - Scientists have tried weighing the soul of men, dogs, sheep, mice… It was a guy testing this out on people dying of TB that came up with the theory that a human soul weighs 21 grams, but that was only one example out of six he got to convince to die on a scale. The others had things happen like someone bumping the scale and messing things up (”Crap, can you please die again? We goofed.”) And not much has come from people drowning mice and trying to capture their breath and killing a bunch of sheep (some actually gained a few ounces upon death.)

Near Death Experiences - It looks as though being sliced open and having your oxygen intake toyed with can cause one to see white lights, feel like they’re floating outside their body, and hallucinate about departed loved ones. Still, there have been some pretty interesting cases, like the woman who could describe the odd instrument used on her despite her eyes being taped shut and her flat EEG, or the woman who described a shoe lying on a ledge outside the hospital building she saw when she floated away from the scene of people trying to resuscitate her.

Sigh. As much as I want to believe in the spooky stuff, the older I get, the more I begin to realize I’m more suited for Skeptic than Coast to Coast.

PS: Ooh, I KNEW I was onto something by reading Mary Roach! Her next book out (Fall 2007) is about the physiology of SEX.

The other day I went over to my parent’s and saw the St. Louis County Coroner’s Records, 1826-1873 lying on the kitchen table. I filched it and took a lookie.

Not only was it interesting to read the names of the deceased (Abram, Asunder, Maven) and places of death (Des Peres pond seemed to be the hip place to fling yourself in despair back then) but check out some of these causes of death in the good ol’ days:

visitation of God

incautious use of gunpowder in driving out mosquitoes

unknown man - unknown; nothing found except bones, vest, shoes and tress

infant female body found in a privy

voluntarily swallowing arsenic while laboring under a state of mental derangement

convulsion and neglect from an idiotic mother

In addition to my game of collecting imaginary people as friends (I’m friends with Beethoven, Cookie Monster, Darwin, and of course, EDGAR), I have a new, subtle psychological game I like to play on myspace.

Everyone has their share of ex’es as friends, and the insecure ones will keep an eye on their page. So I like to post slightly flattering comments on other people’s profiles, nothing outrageous, just something clever and possibly with double meaning. Such as, “I love how you hold that fiddle.” Or, “You should start up a program with Nelly that teaches urban kids how to play poker.”

Turns out some people actually read other people’s profiles - study them! and see my comment and go on alert and then investigate my profile and interrogate the person - it’s great! It helps if you’re attractive, as you pose more of a threat. You only know the game was successful when the person you posted the comment about comes to you and says, “So [insecure and jealous ex] saw your comment on my page and wants to know what your thing with sock monkeys is all about.” hahahahaha!

PS: My sister showed me MyDeathSpace, a site that pairs recent obituaries and articles with the deceased’s myspace profile. It totally creeps me out, as the deaths are for the most part tragic and untimely. Which leads me into

MORBID WEEK. All this week I will be posting heebie jeebie entries. I need a break from all the sex. And nothing is more arousing than a bit of death - by the end of this week I’ll be so turned on from facing my own mortality I’ll be humping couches. Preferably not the kind fashioned from dead cow skin.

The following people are cunts:

Olga España

Ann Coulter

Tina Flammer

Sylvia Browne

The Beautiful Kind wants to know: Is it possible to overload a bookmark category in your internet browser? For instance, my “yummy” category (featuring veg and ethnic restaurants) has about 14 websites stashed.

My “bad animal people” category has three links saved - one for a website promoting fur, one for hunting safaris, and one for live animal auctions.

My “sex” category, on the other hand, has 83.

Is there going to be a point, say, when I try bookmarking my 100th sex site, and my internet browswer is going to cut me off, and a box will pop up that says, “All right, that’s enough you pervert!”

I wonder if I should break them down into more specific categories, such as “gay” and “fetish.” Hopefully you perverts can assure me that you have 200+ sex sites bookmarked and your computer is not about to buckle. And hopefully you will share a good link or two, hint, hint…

http://luriddigs.com/ (Thanks to my friend in Denmark!)
http://nondairycreemer.blogspot.com/ (Thanks to my breast cancer researcher scientist friend! As you can tell, he realllly loves breasts.)

The other day my baby sister, who still lives with my parents, needed a clean pair of socks, so she helped herself to a pair from my mom’s sock drawer. She put them on and walked down the hall, and was puzzled to feel something crinkling in them. She stopped to check and found $700 in cash in one of the socks.

I am dreading the day when my mom dies, but am also very intrigued to go on a treasure hunt in her bedroom, much less the rest of the house. It’s interesting to consider how much value can be found in the mounds of crap everywhere. It would be terribly foolish to just toss out the piles of laundry and stacks of precariously balanced books, file folders, and garbage glutting the path from her bed to the bathroom.

For instance, she collects “black” quarters. This is a jar of tarnished quarters. She also has a bunch of bicentennial quarters scotch taped together. In a recipe box, she keeps a wad of $2 bills. Her bra drawer has a pile of half dollars. She stashes cash in things like books and pill bottles and then forgets about them, like a giant squirrel.

My siblings and I will have our work cut out for us, that’s for sure. And if you’re thinking of tracking down my parent’s house and cleaning up yourself, get your shots first and be mindful of the menacing Puerto Rican Shepherd guard dog. In other words, if you’re going to spend exploring my parent’s house, you need to prepare as if you’re about to travel to Africa.

Normally I’m all about celebrating the human body, but when you break it down like this, I have a hard time getting it up. These folks were very brave to take this experiment as far as they did:

http://www.homemade-sex-toys.com/sexdoll/

How about pretend excretions? Boogers, semen, dingleberries? And omigod regarding the foot that comes with a vagina - talk about pussyfootin’ around.

Dear Slut,
Do you think that sexual experience makes much of a difference in bed? Two of my past boyfriends were virgins when I met them, and they turned out to be great lovers. Is it possible that less experience can be a plus in that people have more of a spark, curiosity and openness for learning new things?
- The Devirginator

Dear D,
Look at you, corrupting the virgins. Yes, I’m jealous. Oh my god, a thousand times yes - sexual inexperience has nothing to do with how good a person is in bed. I haven’t been with a virgin since I was 16 (I run in a different circle than you). He was my second sex partner, the same age as me, and much better in bed than the 24-year-old douchebag who took my virginity (I’m terribly embarrassed I fucked a guy named Greg).

As for lately, to be fair I think a lot of swingers are talented due to their experience, but I’ve had great luck with men who have only been with a small number of people or who haven’t had sex in a long time. Being with them is like getting to experience all the firsts again for the first time - masturbating in front of someone, spending a lazy day in bed, etc. Also in my book, if you haven’t had sex for more than a year, you become a virgin again. To be clear, I never ever ever want to be a virgin again.

Finally, the best people in bed are the ones you share open communication with. And if both of your goals is to put the other person’s pleasure first, then everyone wins. And is happily exhausted.

A friend of mine spotted this enterprising ad on Craigslist:

Hello,my boyfriend and I will have sex while you watch from across the room. no participation is allowed on your part. you may pleasure yourself, but nothing can come shooting our way and if you come to our hotel then we would request that you bring a blanket to sit on the couch and clean up the mess with. $100 for a 30 minute show, including oral and sex between the two of us. You can tell us what position you want us in, etc. Kinda like directing your own live porn.

Would this be considered prostitution? I mean, you’re doing the exact same thing you always do (fuck your boyfriend in a hotel room), only you’re letting some guy watch for a fee. If someone else pays you to fuck your boyfriend, does that still make you a whore?

My beau recently left for a trip to Mexico, and was told by the friend he went with to pack “sunscreen, a camera, and condoms.”

I said, “Ooh what does he have in mind?” and my beau pretended not to know.

Anyway, it reminded me of the time I went to a Mexican whorehouse.

I went with my future husband (now ex-husband.) We had shared a couple fantastic 3some/4somes stateside, so we thought while we were down in Cancun we would try for another one, and why not pay for the experience?

The cab driver who took us was very intrigued that a couple wanted to go, and asked us a lot of questions. We got to the whorehouse, which was a lot like a seedy strip club, and were nervous as hell. The cab driver acted as our interpreter, and we interviewed several prostitutes in order to find one who would be down with getting with us both. Apparently it’s a big taboo for women to get with women in Mexico, and none of the attractive women were willing to do it. There were several horse-faced, misshapen, ugly women who were more than willing to do whatever we had in mind, though.

We finally settled with a beautiful woman who said I could be in the room and watch her have sex with my guy, but I wasn’t allowed to participate. At this point, we should have left, but we felt we came so far, we decided to go through with it. BIG MISTAKE. We were young and inexperienced, and weren’t ready for what we signed up for, which included exploiting women and feeling creepy about it.

She led us to this courtyard that had hotel-like rooms. I sat in a chair with my arms crossed as he went through the motions with her, trying to communicate that he wanted her to suck his dick, and her acting like she didn’t understand. She was gorgeous, but was not into it at ALL, acted like a glass faced doll. As soon as he came, she jumped up and scrubbed herself in the shower. I felt like doing the same thing, as did he. The experience cured me of kink for about five years.

Meanwhile, I’ll bet my beau is getting one hell of a sunburn right about now.

Recent group photo of local Monkeyville.

Check out their friend’s sock monkey blog! Such delightfully naughty creatures…

My dad moped around quite a bit last Sunday. The reason?

He thought it was Father’s Day and everyone had foresaken him. I can’t say I blame him - I mean he had five kids, that should be plenty of insurance that you’ll get a gallon jar of peanuts or a six-pack of beer or a phone call from some offspring (no tie, no way).

Anyway, now I know what to get him this Sunday - a calendar.

My mom said to me,

“Everyone says I’m fat and should exercise, but I don’t want to go to one of those hideous gym things, so I thought I’d go to Bellfontaine Cemetery and walk around there, it’s much nicer.

But I drove up north and got lost, so I got out of the car and asked a couple of

black guys with crack in their eyes

for directions.”

“What? How did you know they were on crack?”

“Oh, it was very obvious, they had their malt liquor and everything. Anyway, they were very nice.”

“So did you ever get to the cemetery for your workout?”

“No, I gave up and ate fried chicken instead.”

Lately I’ve been experimenting with spanking. Years ago I had a girlfriend who wanted a riding crop for Christmas, and I thought, “Oh my!” and I’ve been to more than one party that featured a flog where I was just a voyeur, but now I’m beginning to see the appeal. I’ve got the perfect ass for it - round, inviting, big enough to take it. (And this Friday’s Panty Parade shot will be perfect for this theme!)

So far all I’ve used is the strong hand of a man, and I think that will do me just fine. I like for the butt to get all nice and pink, not bruised. It’s fun to compare the rosy hot cheeks to the cool white flesh of the thigh. And all that evidence of butt whuppin’ fades after a little while with no problem.

I told the guy I’ve been playing with that I had sub tendencies, so he suggested that I bend over his knee. I’ve been slapped on the ass during sex, but have never “assumed the position” like this. I balked for oh, about negative one second, then decided to give it a try. Oh my gosh it was hot. He’d spank me and get me all hot and steamy and wet and then finger fuck me, then spank me again. I liked feeling his hand leave my ass, which meant it was about to come back down. And more than two spanks in a row is deliciously unbearable.

One time we were talking about it, and he said, “I don’t really understand the spanking thing - I mean, it’s fun, I don’t mind doing it, but I’m not sure what it’s all about.” I said, “Dude it was YOUR idea! I’ve been going along with it! … and I LIKE it.” As you all know, I’m a irksome little shit who deserves punishment often. Sometime soon I want to try alternating spanking and fucking, mmmm!

There’s a picture on Spanking.com’s home page right now that I find incredibly hot - scroll down to see the “Wizard of Ass Productions” still of two girls in skimpy Catholic schoolgirl outfits doublestacked on some mean bastard’s lap. One of the woman’s hair is damp, as if she has been through quite a bit…

And of course check out the Spanky Spanky video. Doesn’t it look like such fun?!

- The Beautiful Kind

The other day I met a couple who had a week old baby boy nestled in a snugli. I feigned interest in their new addition and asked, “What’s his name?”

“Kingston,” the mom replied with a straight face.

I managed not to burst out laughing. I mean, the name would have been fitting had they been talking about their 90 lb. German Shepherd, but this was a 7 lb. lima bean for godsake. WHO HAS TO GROW UP SOMEDAY. And what, be a frat boy? A lawyer? Will his friends call him King? Sheesh.

I guess it’s a good name to say during sex though, very romance novel. “Ohhh Kingston…” That should be a test every new parent tries with the name they’re considering for their kid: imagine it being moaned during sex. “Ohh Andrew…Ohh Ashley…Ohh Burt…Ohh Bonnie…”

PS: Are ALL women named Rachel bitchy? Just wondering.