Sunday, 21 August 2011

Revealing Comments

I was on the phone at my desk in the open plan office, having a conversation with a lady who was waiting for an operation and consequently in some pain. "Oh, poor you," I sympathised. She went into some detail on the nature of the afflicted body part and how frustrating it was waiting for the medical profession to fix it. "Awww," I offered by way of response. And "Oh dear." I made noises indicative of my understanding and empathy.

While I was having this conversation a bad tempered male colleague at a nearby desk muttered "God, she sounds like she's having an orgasm," before gathering up his things and presumably moving to a less distracting part of the building.

Leaving aside the whole inappropriateness of this comment, I couldn't help but be amused by the unwittingly high level of intimate detail it revealed. As I later pointed out, I was making sounds of sympathy and concern and if that was what he usually heard, if that was what he thought an orgasm sounded like, then this was a pitiful state of affairs and he had been seriously misled by the women in his life.

Saturday, 6 August 2011

These Pants Aint Big Enough for the Both of Us

It is very difficult to get into my pants unless you happen to be me.

It's not that they are too small or tight. Quite the reverse. They are capacious, roomy, capable of fitting both my plentiful arse and a medium-sized roast chicken within their cotton/lycra confines should I so choose. They are big pants.

No, my pants are not going to be accessible for most because of the defensive forcefield surrounding them. An impenetrable barrier of superiority, self-worth, occasional violence and a triple stitched reinforced gusset.

Only the most interesting and determined of adventurers will get into my pants and even then the chances are I've already slipped out of them and into a concrete girdle.

What am I banging on about now, you may wonder? Simply this: the ease of getting into certain people's pants. I marvel at the free and easy nature of those sex bloggers who remove their undergarments for friends, partners, photos and readers with gay abandon. "Dear Mystery Blogger X," writes the enthusiastic reader, "I love your blog. Let's meet in the nearest budget hotel without delay and throw caution, and our pants, to the wind."

"You're on," replies Mystery Blogger X and the next thing you know there's another award winning blog post in the bag.

But where's the challenge, where's the mystery in such encounters? I blame our instant gratification culture. Life in soundbites. Long conversations, the art of letter writing, even lengthy blog posts have all declined in popularity as the convenience of instant messaging, Facebook and Twitter updates submerge more creative, time consuming passions. People view online personas much as they would peruse a fast food menu - lots of colourful photos of glossy dishes that bear little resemblance to what you eventually unwrap - and order accordingly. I'll have that one. And if it's taking too long I'll have that one instead.

Here in the Boudoir we'll have none of that. Fast is not a word which applies to me in any context. Obtaining anything of worth takes a certain investment of time which is why my pants remain so impenetrable to the casual chancer. That and the high elastane content.