Recreating (and advancing) pk’s censored domains: Macroinformation.org &
Knatz.com / Teaching / Society & Its Pathologies / Social Survival / Evolution /
I wonder something. I’ve long wondered it. In the movies, in life too, the girl kisses the guy, or the girl is getting kissed by the guy: she bends one knee to cock one shank perpendicular to the floor.
Right? It’s like a signature for the female.
Question is, why? What does it accomplish? What’s the physiology?
I don’t mean why does she think she’s doing it. Might as well ask the seventh grade boy why he has an erection. I mean what’s the physiological reason? If none (which I doubt), what’s the cultural reason? (Might as well ask a Catholic why they cross themselves: you’ll get an answer, but is it the best answer? No. You need a Jared Diamond, a Desmond Morris, to get good answers to questions like these.
Meantime, a pk may speculate: does it do something to air the clit toward the complementary sets of hips (with its male set of paraphernalia)? Maybe it rechannels the vagina? Maximizes exposure to the vulva?
Hey, a physiologist (a real one), help here.
2006 05 09 No Hollywood Missionaries
Have you noticed in recent years that for all the screwing we see in movies the missionary position is almost never used?! No, it’s always the girl on top, riding horsy.
Of course, pk, you dope: that’s the only way we can see the girl’s tits, flopping, bouncing, jiggling, outlined.
For reflections on sanitized porn, see Buffy: Bosom Without Breasts.
2006 07 27 an on-line brief history of human sex: link seems to have expired
It’s how people fess up to the truth about their sex lives that has changed the most over the years.
Indeed, cultural restraints — rather than anything anatomical — have had the biggest effect on our sexual history.
2017 06 16 The other day some intrusive website, Yahoo or such, displayed a model, an actress, claiming that she was bottomless. “Bring back the bush”, she was quoted as saying.
Yes, there was a period of porn fashion where labia were shown shaved bald.
1961 or so I slept with a woman in Balston Spa, a suburb of Saratoga, August flat track season, who apologized for her hairless condition: she’d just had some procedure in the hospital. “I must look like a little girl,” she wept. The lights were out, it was dark, I don’t know what she looked like: if she looked like a lttle girl, it was fine by me, I love little girls. I’m eternally proud of how anxious my little girl friends were, age six or eight, to show me their lady bits, how hungry they were to see my little peanut, to stroke and prod my “turkey skin”: the wrinkly ash-pink of my scrotum.
(Did I love my balls played with at that age? I had no balls: at least not in my scrotum: they hadn’d descended yet: as yet there was nothing but scrotum-skin. So: the girls and I were innocently hairless. There were our genitals, modest and bald, there were our assholes, sometimes needing a wash: now here I was by the race track with a girl embarrassed by here apparent iatrogenic immaturity. So: I’m a male, heterosexual: I love my face in the quim whether it needs a wash or not, so I look at this Yahoo actress, I scroll down the iimage: where’s the bush she promised? Oh for a Judgment were people are held accountable, objectively, for what they promise. Would any of us survive such a trial?
One thing I know: there was a time when what you saw was raw infant male and female, then we were covered: you saw diaper: maybe pristine white, maybe soiled and reeking: then it was all taken away, civilization covered our badges, disguised our natures: then, one at a time, individually, for individuals, the pussy came back. Your dick would sprout, and throb, drive you crazy, then there were your dates, with your dick in her hands: you throbbing, you squirting: you get saddled with one of them, though other pussies declare themselves … then the twats are bare: here shaved immature, there left natural.
But nowadays there’s something new:
Once upon a time at my mother-in-law’s house, the sister-in-law’s baby girl would parade the living room popping her pussy. She’d jump on the couch, asshole bare, ugh, go away, No, no, don’t sit on the uphostery: she’s give her lips an elastic yank, let go: pop, Pop … The female as aggressor.
During the NBA finals, yay! there was an add, for some king of car: some broad is reject4ed by her snooty awful friends, she zooms around iner her Kia, her Toyota, whatever it was, lands on a red carpet, gives her dress a shake, and my god, I recognize the posture: she’s wacking the world, popping her pussy. No wonder the Greeks insulted the Amazons.
And now she’s back, WonderWoman! in theaters!
Oh, meant to weave in already: Also during the NBA finals KD scored a three, Steph celebrated in a squat: uproar followed. Was her twerking? Did his celebration imitate the football player who seemed to de-pants, squat, and poop in the eyes of the end-zone fans? I look up “twerk”:wikipedia has a pic of a gall seeming to take a dump on the dance floor. The encyclopedia informs me that “twerk”ing is also called pussy popping. Ah, yes: she’s taking a dumb and jerking off at the same time.
When I was a kind women might want such infantile confusions but they’d never admit wanting it. No, no: women who wished to be nubile had to be sexless, circumcised: clit-less.
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