Jonny Cox's Blog
December 5, 2015
Why do men sin?
It’s an ancient and layered question. A question which women have probably asked since they were first blamed for bringing sin into the world. The Ancient Greeks blamed Pandora, Christianity and Islam blame Adam and Eve.
I think the answer depends upon the concept of sin: the first layer of the question. Collins dictionary uses a Christian definition: sin is a transgression of God’s will. A simple concept but the Bible seems contradictory because it says that Adam was without sin until he ate the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge. He did this at the behest of Eve but he knew it would be a sin because God had forbidden him to eat it.
If he were without sin, he would not have eaten the fruit. He must have had, therefore, a more fundamental motive and it seems to me that the presence of naked totty, as Eve is always depicted, was sufficient provocation for him to transgress God’s will. Eve did not bring sin into the world on her own, which still begs the question of why men sin.
For me, perhaps in the same vein as Adam, the answer was that I could not resist temptation and avoid the trouble with girls. This poses the further, and second layer, question of why women offer temptation, why they want to make men sin. Is it to attract a mate, satisfy an ego, satiate libido or simply to have what they cannot have; be it one man or many?
And how do women offer men such temptation that they are so willing to sin; the third layer of the question? This brings us back to the forbidden fruit. The Bible does not mention apples. The book of Genesis only refers to the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge and an apple being the fruit of sin was the invention of Renaissance painters in Europe.
So, if not an apple, what is the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge? It seems to me that the forbidden fruit is warm and soft and comes in pairs. A woman grows with them and quickly learns of their power, soon realising that once a man has tasted such fruit, he’ll be forever a sinner.
This was certainly how I fell into temptation. I had been on patrol to al Qu’rna where the two great rivers of Mesopotamia, the Tigris and the Euphrates, meet in Southern Iraq. The Shia claim it is the Garden of Eden. When I got back to HQ in Basra there was a young female corporal on duty.
“You look a bit hot,” I said. It was a casual remark.
“Yes, sir. I’ve been to the gym,” she replied. Then she looked at me directly. “I forgot my underwear.” She gently shook her shoulders and I tried to resist temptation but like Adam, I transgressed; she had such lovely fruit.
I think the answer depends upon the concept of sin: the first layer of the question. Collins dictionary uses a Christian definition: sin is a transgression of God’s will. A simple concept but the Bible seems contradictory because it says that Adam was without sin until he ate the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge. He did this at the behest of Eve but he knew it would be a sin because God had forbidden him to eat it.
If he were without sin, he would not have eaten the fruit. He must have had, therefore, a more fundamental motive and it seems to me that the presence of naked totty, as Eve is always depicted, was sufficient provocation for him to transgress God’s will. Eve did not bring sin into the world on her own, which still begs the question of why men sin.
For me, perhaps in the same vein as Adam, the answer was that I could not resist temptation and avoid the trouble with girls. This poses the further, and second layer, question of why women offer temptation, why they want to make men sin. Is it to attract a mate, satisfy an ego, satiate libido or simply to have what they cannot have; be it one man or many?
And how do women offer men such temptation that they are so willing to sin; the third layer of the question? This brings us back to the forbidden fruit. The Bible does not mention apples. The book of Genesis only refers to the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge and an apple being the fruit of sin was the invention of Renaissance painters in Europe.
So, if not an apple, what is the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge? It seems to me that the forbidden fruit is warm and soft and comes in pairs. A woman grows with them and quickly learns of their power, soon realising that once a man has tasted such fruit, he’ll be forever a sinner.
This was certainly how I fell into temptation. I had been on patrol to al Qu’rna where the two great rivers of Mesopotamia, the Tigris and the Euphrates, meet in Southern Iraq. The Shia claim it is the Garden of Eden. When I got back to HQ in Basra there was a young female corporal on duty.
“You look a bit hot,” I said. It was a casual remark.
“Yes, sir. I’ve been to the gym,” she replied. Then she looked at me directly. “I forgot my underwear.” She gently shook her shoulders and I tried to resist temptation but like Adam, I transgressed; she had such lovely fruit.
September 12, 2015
Ghost Town
I have been away for a while: away from work, from home, from friends, from goodreads. I don't think anybody missed me. Maybe I was only actually away from myself, lost amongst the reality around me, wondering where I am, and more importantly, where I am going.
I have been writing, musing, drinking coffee and sitting looking at Lake Windermere. High up on a hill; above me buzzards circling, around me sheep grazing, below me, far below me, people wandering like ghosts in a dream. I used to go to the hills of Langdale when I was on leave from Northern Ireland many years ago. I went to hide from the tension of sectarian violence, from the responsibility of trying to stop it. I used to wander across the fells like Wordsworth; lonely as a cloud.
But this time I went to hide from my own ghosts. I found them in a box as I cleared out the remnants of my past in order to move into a smaller home on my own. Pictures of women who were once close companions, intense lovers, good friends, and wives, but they are now mere photographs, memories, almost ghosts. The women are smiling, happy, often naked; playing on a beach, walking in a forest, lying in a bed. I liked to photograph my lovers to capture their beauty or the beauty of the moment, and the images invoke happy, almost visceral, memories.
In her song, Madonna describes two souls in a ghost town being together as the world goes to hell. It is a nice idea, but Adam Lambert's song of the same title is less optimistic. I am not sure where I am in this context: the memories are wonderful, but that is all they are. My children ask me if ghosts are real and I say no, they only exist in Scooby Doo programmes, and even then they are usually just the janitor in a costume. So it seems a little ironic, given that I don't believe in ghosts, that I am so haunted by former lovers.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Trouble-W...
I have been writing, musing, drinking coffee and sitting looking at Lake Windermere. High up on a hill; above me buzzards circling, around me sheep grazing, below me, far below me, people wandering like ghosts in a dream. I used to go to the hills of Langdale when I was on leave from Northern Ireland many years ago. I went to hide from the tension of sectarian violence, from the responsibility of trying to stop it. I used to wander across the fells like Wordsworth; lonely as a cloud.
But this time I went to hide from my own ghosts. I found them in a box as I cleared out the remnants of my past in order to move into a smaller home on my own. Pictures of women who were once close companions, intense lovers, good friends, and wives, but they are now mere photographs, memories, almost ghosts. The women are smiling, happy, often naked; playing on a beach, walking in a forest, lying in a bed. I liked to photograph my lovers to capture their beauty or the beauty of the moment, and the images invoke happy, almost visceral, memories.
In her song, Madonna describes two souls in a ghost town being together as the world goes to hell. It is a nice idea, but Adam Lambert's song of the same title is less optimistic. I am not sure where I am in this context: the memories are wonderful, but that is all they are. My children ask me if ghosts are real and I say no, they only exist in Scooby Doo programmes, and even then they are usually just the janitor in a costume. So it seems a little ironic, given that I don't believe in ghosts, that I am so haunted by former lovers.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Trouble-W...
April 14, 2015
Simple Pleasures.
No, not a blonde girl, I mean taking my boots off at the end of the day and drinking red wine in quiet contemplation. It’s a time for reflection and as I sit and rub the dog’s ears, my mind scrolls through the day’s events to review what went well and what could have been done to greater effect. I consider also that which has yet to be done, what tasks I have not completed or even started, which people are awaiting my attention, relying on my efforts to satisfy their needs.
My reflections turn to the future for I am soon to be divorced from the Army Bitch, finally to be free of her constraints and demands. I will need to do something else, find another way to feed the mortgage monster, but also find another way to define myself, for a man is surely defined by the way he earns a living and I will no longer be able to call myself a soldier, dubious honour though that has been.
Friends in similar situations have embraced the corporate world, found jobs in the City, started successful businesses, and stepped out along another wage earning career path. But that is not where I see my horizon. I am not much interested in the trappings of financial success and wish now to pursue my own ambitions.
I want to be a writer, have always wanted to define myself not by the money I have earned or the deeds I have done but by the words that I assemble into prose. I have been an army whore for long enough and as I review my day and realise that no one is shooting or even shouting at me, I can call it a success.
I am not especially fond of Bob Dylan’s music but sometimes a salient philosophy is found in unexpected places:
"What is money? A man is a success if he gets up in the morning and goes to bed at night and in between does what he wants to do."
Hopefully, my day will be filled with the simple pleasures of words and wine.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Trouble-W...
My reflections turn to the future for I am soon to be divorced from the Army Bitch, finally to be free of her constraints and demands. I will need to do something else, find another way to feed the mortgage monster, but also find another way to define myself, for a man is surely defined by the way he earns a living and I will no longer be able to call myself a soldier, dubious honour though that has been.
Friends in similar situations have embraced the corporate world, found jobs in the City, started successful businesses, and stepped out along another wage earning career path. But that is not where I see my horizon. I am not much interested in the trappings of financial success and wish now to pursue my own ambitions.
I want to be a writer, have always wanted to define myself not by the money I have earned or the deeds I have done but by the words that I assemble into prose. I have been an army whore for long enough and as I review my day and realise that no one is shooting or even shouting at me, I can call it a success.
I am not especially fond of Bob Dylan’s music but sometimes a salient philosophy is found in unexpected places:
"What is money? A man is a success if he gets up in the morning and goes to bed at night and in between does what he wants to do."
Hopefully, my day will be filled with the simple pleasures of words and wine.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Trouble-W...
March 19, 2015
Total Eclipse of the Heart
Tomorrow, apparently, we in the UK are going to have a 97% solar eclipse. Evidently, as the moon covers the sun, it will get darker the further North you go, but that has always been the case. I heard the ubiquitous Professor Brian Cox on the radio this morning suggesting that being in an eclipse is like being on another planet. He also suggested the theme tune should be David Bowie's "Starman". A female commentator said it should be Bonnie Tyler's "Total Eclipse of the Heart", which does seem more appropriate.
I have only once before experienced an eclipse. It was many yeas ago in Costa Rica where I was driving along the Western coast with Emily Fisher. The Pacific Ocean was peerless blue and eternal in the bright sunshine, lush rain forest swept down from the hills, almost to the sea and Emily was gorgeous in her summer dress, tawny hair shrouding her shoulders like the palm trees on the beach. It was a perfect moment.
Then it started to get dark. Inexplicably; it was mid afternoon. I stopped the car and we got out into the quickly darkening world. It felt as if God himself had drawn the curtains. Even the orchestral insects went quiet, stilled by the sudden night. Only the waves made a sound as they continued to crash onto the beach.
Emily and I were a little awed, huddling together like children.
"It's an eclipse," I said in hushed wonder, not daring to break the silence. Emily's arms were tight around my shoulders, her hair caressing my neck. It was too much to resist. I gently turned her and bent her over the car's bonnet, sliding the hem of her dress up to reveal another pale moon.
"You're incorrigible," she whispered, which sounded bad. But not that bad; she didn't deter me.
Happy Eclipse, everyone.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Trouble-W...
I have only once before experienced an eclipse. It was many yeas ago in Costa Rica where I was driving along the Western coast with Emily Fisher. The Pacific Ocean was peerless blue and eternal in the bright sunshine, lush rain forest swept down from the hills, almost to the sea and Emily was gorgeous in her summer dress, tawny hair shrouding her shoulders like the palm trees on the beach. It was a perfect moment.
Then it started to get dark. Inexplicably; it was mid afternoon. I stopped the car and we got out into the quickly darkening world. It felt as if God himself had drawn the curtains. Even the orchestral insects went quiet, stilled by the sudden night. Only the waves made a sound as they continued to crash onto the beach.
Emily and I were a little awed, huddling together like children.
"It's an eclipse," I said in hushed wonder, not daring to break the silence. Emily's arms were tight around my shoulders, her hair caressing my neck. It was too much to resist. I gently turned her and bent her over the car's bonnet, sliding the hem of her dress up to reveal another pale moon.
"You're incorrigible," she whispered, which sounded bad. But not that bad; she didn't deter me.
Happy Eclipse, everyone.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Trouble-W...
February 16, 2015
Bedtime Secrets
My bedtime secrets used to be a multi layered experience. It might be a regimental tie used to restrain my lover’s wrist or ankle, centuries of military tradition woven into the bright coloured stripes, now holding fast a naked supplicant, waiting to be explored. Or the secret might be a polka dot kerchief fashioned into a blindfold to deny the visual indications of what is to happen and release the wearer from such lies, allowing her to luxuriate in the freedom of her more reliable senses.
Sometimes the secret might be a hand against naked flesh, the air resounding to the sharpest caress. Even the riding crop’s sting on the smooth skin of an upturned buttock might entice secret excitement, ironically, more often felt on the flank of a girl than that of a horse. And sometimes I shared the secret with a friend; extra hands to caress and worship and explore, open up to adoration the adventuress spirit; an extra man to fill the void.
Such secrets were rarely constrained to bedtime, preferring instead to conspire with my lovers amongst the sand dunes adjacent to a beach, or the forest cloaking a hillside. Secrets can be shared even amongst a crowd, on an aeroplane or train, amidst the forced silence of a library or department store changing room. Surely, a secret is yet more secret when it is kept from those close around us, their proximity making them unwittingly complicit in the secret adventure.
I shared secrets with many girls as I looked to find one that could hold and enjoy my secrets with the same enthusiasm; they didn’t know it was a test. Eventually, I thought I had found a girl who could share my secrets forever but she let them slip and left me alone. I’m now a solitary man and my priorities have changed. Now, my bedtime secret is that I wear cotton flannel pyjamas.
They are not sexy. But they are warm as toast and I sleep with the sonorous depth of a grizzly bear in midwinter.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Trouble-W...
Sometimes the secret might be a hand against naked flesh, the air resounding to the sharpest caress. Even the riding crop’s sting on the smooth skin of an upturned buttock might entice secret excitement, ironically, more often felt on the flank of a girl than that of a horse. And sometimes I shared the secret with a friend; extra hands to caress and worship and explore, open up to adoration the adventuress spirit; an extra man to fill the void.
Such secrets were rarely constrained to bedtime, preferring instead to conspire with my lovers amongst the sand dunes adjacent to a beach, or the forest cloaking a hillside. Secrets can be shared even amongst a crowd, on an aeroplane or train, amidst the forced silence of a library or department store changing room. Surely, a secret is yet more secret when it is kept from those close around us, their proximity making them unwittingly complicit in the secret adventure.
I shared secrets with many girls as I looked to find one that could hold and enjoy my secrets with the same enthusiasm; they didn’t know it was a test. Eventually, I thought I had found a girl who could share my secrets forever but she let them slip and left me alone. I’m now a solitary man and my priorities have changed. Now, my bedtime secret is that I wear cotton flannel pyjamas.
They are not sexy. But they are warm as toast and I sleep with the sonorous depth of a grizzly bear in midwinter.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Trouble-W...
January 20, 2015
I Kissed a Girl and I Liked it.
The lady with the distracting habit of pushing her glasses onto her head came to my office for a meeting recently. It was nice to see her although I felt a little threatened as she stepped onto my island.
I don't think she realises how disarming she is when she sweeps her hair back and smiles at me. She probably does not realise that her glasses are a tool of seduction. Perhaps I find the gesture so alluring because my first girlfriend did the same thing, although for her it was a deliberate act. She felt that glasses were ugly so I tried to reassure her that they were, in fact, quite provocative, especially with a couple of buttons undone on her shirt.
"You look like a wanton secretary seducing her boss," I told her. "Or a frustrated librarian demanding attention behind the reference section." So, whenever she wanted loving, she took her glasses off. That was thirty years ago but it still seems to have the same effect.
On my desk was a pair of soft, black leather gloves that I was supposed to be returning to Amazon as an unwanted present for my mom. The glasses lady tried them on and held up her elegant hands for my admiration, adoration.
"Keep them, they suit you," I told her.
"Thank you. I can wear them with my new coat."
"You should wear them with high heeled boots, hold up stockings, red lipstick and not much else, apart from your glasses, maybe," I wanted to say but didn't.
So she just smiled her farewell and leant forward to kiss me goodbye. Her cheek was soft, fragrance subtle, glasses still on and I felt unsure, uncertain as to what to do. The office was empty, my desk inviting, had she taken the glasses off, she might not have gone home. But she kept them on and left me alone on the island. It's starting to get a bit lonely.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Trouble-W...
I don't think she realises how disarming she is when she sweeps her hair back and smiles at me. She probably does not realise that her glasses are a tool of seduction. Perhaps I find the gesture so alluring because my first girlfriend did the same thing, although for her it was a deliberate act. She felt that glasses were ugly so I tried to reassure her that they were, in fact, quite provocative, especially with a couple of buttons undone on her shirt.
"You look like a wanton secretary seducing her boss," I told her. "Or a frustrated librarian demanding attention behind the reference section." So, whenever she wanted loving, she took her glasses off. That was thirty years ago but it still seems to have the same effect.
On my desk was a pair of soft, black leather gloves that I was supposed to be returning to Amazon as an unwanted present for my mom. The glasses lady tried them on and held up her elegant hands for my admiration, adoration.
"Keep them, they suit you," I told her.
"Thank you. I can wear them with my new coat."
"You should wear them with high heeled boots, hold up stockings, red lipstick and not much else, apart from your glasses, maybe," I wanted to say but didn't.
So she just smiled her farewell and leant forward to kiss me goodbye. Her cheek was soft, fragrance subtle, glasses still on and I felt unsure, uncertain as to what to do. The office was empty, my desk inviting, had she taken the glasses off, she might not have gone home. But she kept them on and left me alone on the island. It's starting to get a bit lonely.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Trouble-W...
November 25, 2014
Island Life
“Island Life” was an eclectic mix of songs released by Grace Jones in 1985. It was an iconic collection incorporating records from her early career as a singer and songwriter and it was one of my favourite ‘80s albums. It was ironically called “Island Life” because its constituent songs were originals from Island Records, not because it depicted a solitary life surrounded by the sea, which is often how I feel now.
Actually, it is not a new feeling. Sometimes I feel as if I have lived my life on an island, remote from other people. Perhaps that is why I have had so much trouble with girls. It is a feeling that visited me again this afternoon during a long business meeting which, like walking around an island shoreline, always seemed to bring me back to where I started.
The meeting was chaired by a lady who had a very distracting way of pushing her glasses up onto her head, which brushed her auburn hair away from her face.
“What do you think, Jonny?” she caught me off guard: I was not thinking the same as everyone else.
“I was thinking that I would like to sweep your hair behind your ear so I can kiss your neck.” I was on my island, a sentiment which was exaggerated because I was attending the meeting by video-conference, alone in the room, talking to a group of people who were some distance away: connected but not close.
Her elegant neckline and dark eyes were enchanting. I found my self considering leaving the island to reach out and take the apple of temptation that she offered with a coy smile. But I have eaten a lot of apples and find them to be a bitter fruit. It was not so long ago that I would swim through shark infested oceans if the fruit seemed ripe enough, but now an apple, even two, is not enough to make me leave my island.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Trouble-W...
Actually, it is not a new feeling. Sometimes I feel as if I have lived my life on an island, remote from other people. Perhaps that is why I have had so much trouble with girls. It is a feeling that visited me again this afternoon during a long business meeting which, like walking around an island shoreline, always seemed to bring me back to where I started.
The meeting was chaired by a lady who had a very distracting way of pushing her glasses up onto her head, which brushed her auburn hair away from her face.
“What do you think, Jonny?” she caught me off guard: I was not thinking the same as everyone else.
“I was thinking that I would like to sweep your hair behind your ear so I can kiss your neck.” I was on my island, a sentiment which was exaggerated because I was attending the meeting by video-conference, alone in the room, talking to a group of people who were some distance away: connected but not close.
Her elegant neckline and dark eyes were enchanting. I found my self considering leaving the island to reach out and take the apple of temptation that she offered with a coy smile. But I have eaten a lot of apples and find them to be a bitter fruit. It was not so long ago that I would swim through shark infested oceans if the fruit seemed ripe enough, but now an apple, even two, is not enough to make me leave my island.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Trouble-W...
November 7, 2014
All for One…
Alexandre Dumas’ tale of 17th Century French Musketeers was a boyhood favourite of mine. It had all the ingredients of an enduring legend: romance, adventure, goodies and baddies, dark castles, and four dashing heroes striding about in big leather boots, waving their swords in the air. When faced with adversity, the four fellows would touch swords and with a cry of “One for all and all for one!”, they would overcome any challenge. Those words made me tingle. They still do, but perhaps for different reasons.
I have always craved adventure and whilst it is okay for a man to ski, dive, trek mountains, explore jungles and crave adrenaline like a drug, it is less acceptable to seek the same adventure in a carnal sense. Why is that?
Are attitudes changing, acceptability broadening? Perhaps electronic reading devices mean that as people can read stories of a more elicit nature, they are looking for more adventure in their lives. Not long ago, stories of group sex seemed to be reserved for seedy sex shops and magazines but now the plethora of stories touted by Amazon would suggest that this is changing.
I enjoy these stories but they are often not believable or engaging. Writers seem to struggle to explain how the cuckolded husband is able to reconcile his simultaneous jealously and arousal at seeing his wife with other men. This leads to implausible plots with contrived situations. There also seems to be a trend for the man in the situation to be humiliated by the experience and I don’t understand this. I have tried ménage sex and did not feel any of the humiliation that is prevalent in stories of this sort. Indeed, I felt exultant that my girlfriend was so strong that she could indulge in such adventure, yet remain self assured.
Watching your wife or girlfriend with other men should be exhilarating, empowering, because it would be as if she is being worshipped by followers whose only purpose is to satisfy her: a very different way of saying “all for one”. And when they’d gone, she'd come back to you, as if she was saying, “I have used them and now I only want you”.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Trouble-W...
I have always craved adventure and whilst it is okay for a man to ski, dive, trek mountains, explore jungles and crave adrenaline like a drug, it is less acceptable to seek the same adventure in a carnal sense. Why is that?
Are attitudes changing, acceptability broadening? Perhaps electronic reading devices mean that as people can read stories of a more elicit nature, they are looking for more adventure in their lives. Not long ago, stories of group sex seemed to be reserved for seedy sex shops and magazines but now the plethora of stories touted by Amazon would suggest that this is changing.
I enjoy these stories but they are often not believable or engaging. Writers seem to struggle to explain how the cuckolded husband is able to reconcile his simultaneous jealously and arousal at seeing his wife with other men. This leads to implausible plots with contrived situations. There also seems to be a trend for the man in the situation to be humiliated by the experience and I don’t understand this. I have tried ménage sex and did not feel any of the humiliation that is prevalent in stories of this sort. Indeed, I felt exultant that my girlfriend was so strong that she could indulge in such adventure, yet remain self assured.
Watching your wife or girlfriend with other men should be exhilarating, empowering, because it would be as if she is being worshipped by followers whose only purpose is to satisfy her: a very different way of saying “all for one”. And when they’d gone, she'd come back to you, as if she was saying, “I have used them and now I only want you”.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Trouble-W...
September 29, 2014
I have become the Gay Friend.
I became quite friendly with a female colleague who, when we first began working together, had serious girlfriend potential. She was confident, intelligent, outgoing and fun to be around. Her smile was broad and persistent, bewitching and sympathetic and at the same time teasing and provocative. She was single. So was I. The whole office seemed to be anticipating it.
But we were looking for different things. She wanted an enduring relationship and I was looking to defend my newly single status and had gone to live on an emotional island. So we became friends instead. Quite good friends as well, but there was always a question mark about our relationship. She was the Sally to my Harry and as Sally began to look elsewhere, I found myself in the guise of gay friend:
“He looks nice.”
“He looks fun.”
“That was kind of him to say.”
“He didn’t buy you flowers?”
I tried hard to play this unfamiliar role but found it difficult to be convincing, not least because I’m not gay, but also because I came to realise I was jealous. This was tortuous; all I had to do was reach out but my island was too far away and the gulf between us only got wider. So we continued to be friends.
And friends obviously have to go out together and then it is hard to be friends because a man, especially one like me, can’t be friends with a woman who turns up for dinner in ass hugging jeans and a skimpy camisole with no bra.
“What do you want to eat?” she asked, looking at the menu.
“I quite fancy some burger.”
“It’s not on the menu?”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. What about you; fancy some hand reared sausage?”
But she had chicken and I continued to try to be the gay friend, watching from my island hideout.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Trouble-W...
But we were looking for different things. She wanted an enduring relationship and I was looking to defend my newly single status and had gone to live on an emotional island. So we became friends instead. Quite good friends as well, but there was always a question mark about our relationship. She was the Sally to my Harry and as Sally began to look elsewhere, I found myself in the guise of gay friend:
“He looks nice.”
“He looks fun.”
“That was kind of him to say.”
“He didn’t buy you flowers?”
I tried hard to play this unfamiliar role but found it difficult to be convincing, not least because I’m not gay, but also because I came to realise I was jealous. This was tortuous; all I had to do was reach out but my island was too far away and the gulf between us only got wider. So we continued to be friends.
And friends obviously have to go out together and then it is hard to be friends because a man, especially one like me, can’t be friends with a woman who turns up for dinner in ass hugging jeans and a skimpy camisole with no bra.
“What do you want to eat?” she asked, looking at the menu.
“I quite fancy some burger.”
“It’s not on the menu?”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. What about you; fancy some hand reared sausage?”
But she had chicken and I continued to try to be the gay friend, watching from my island hideout.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Trouble-W...
July 29, 2014
I Need.
I finally finished Fifty shades of Grey; only two years after everyone else. A female colleague gave it to me although I had not expressed a desire to read it. I hope it was not her way of saying she wants to be spanked over my desk. I am a little embarrassed to admit that I quite enjoyed it (I mean the book, not spanking a colleague). That was until the end when Ana acquiesces to Mr Grey’s perversions and then suddenly decides that because it hurt more than she’d thought, she can’t love him after all because he does not need her. I had two contentions with that sentiment, the first being that he probably does need her in order to fulfil his perversions, and the second is that even if he does not need her, he can still love her. Also, he’s a young, handsome billionaire helicopter and glider pilot (unlikely as that seems); clearly, he does not need her. I found that sentiment very frustrating.
It does bring in to question the nature of need in a relationship. I needed a woman who I could love for who she was, not because I needed someone, anyone. I needed and sought excitement through climbing, diving, skiing, sex and a number of other adventures, but I did not need a lover. I wanted one, but that’s different. Mr Grey changes his attitudes and behaviour to accommodate Ana because he loves her but then she decides she can’t reciprocate that love because she had wanted to drag Fifty Shades into the light. So frustrating; why fall in love with someone only to want them to change? I’ve heard this several times.
“Why can’t you be like other men?” a girl once asked me as our relationship came to a sudden stop.
“Because I am not other men. Why did you want to be with me at all if you wanted me to be some-one else?”
“You were so different; adventurous and exciting.” She stopped, realising the irony of such thoughts.
Perhaps that is why I have had so much trouble with girls: I did not need them, no matter how much I loved them. I have few needs that are not accommodated and my sons mostly exercise my limited need to be needed and on the weekends when I am on my own, I have no need to leave my man cave. Short term needs can be paid for and this approach to need management has no baggage. Furthermore, if there’s enough money, I can have two. So, having established that I am, if not an island, at least a peninsular, I’m wondering whether to struggle through book two. I think it might just annoy me.
It does bring in to question the nature of need in a relationship. I needed a woman who I could love for who she was, not because I needed someone, anyone. I needed and sought excitement through climbing, diving, skiing, sex and a number of other adventures, but I did not need a lover. I wanted one, but that’s different. Mr Grey changes his attitudes and behaviour to accommodate Ana because he loves her but then she decides she can’t reciprocate that love because she had wanted to drag Fifty Shades into the light. So frustrating; why fall in love with someone only to want them to change? I’ve heard this several times.
“Why can’t you be like other men?” a girl once asked me as our relationship came to a sudden stop.
“Because I am not other men. Why did you want to be with me at all if you wanted me to be some-one else?”
“You were so different; adventurous and exciting.” She stopped, realising the irony of such thoughts.
Perhaps that is why I have had so much trouble with girls: I did not need them, no matter how much I loved them. I have few needs that are not accommodated and my sons mostly exercise my limited need to be needed and on the weekends when I am on my own, I have no need to leave my man cave. Short term needs can be paid for and this approach to need management has no baggage. Furthermore, if there’s enough money, I can have two. So, having established that I am, if not an island, at least a peninsular, I’m wondering whether to struggle through book two. I think it might just annoy me.
