Sunday, October 30, 2005

Missed Opportunities

Remember Anthony, my good-referral shag (ref: Sept 26)? I recently got the following text message from him:

Hey baby. Am going to be in HK on the 6th. Will you be around?

I replied in the affirmative and followed up with the somewhat obligatory reply of how I have been swooning about Hong Kong with my loins in the throes of absolute lust waiting for him to return. (A bit of an exaggeration really. At least the swooning bit - I am perfectly capable of lusting for someone without losing consciousness, thank you.)

He replied:

Great, I look forward to pleasing you soon. Can I bring a friend? She’s blonde, beautiful, German. Wants to meet you and eat pussy all night.

Greeted with this scenario, I hesitated. Instead of a resounding yes, I couldn’t quite make up my mind how to reply to Anthony, which I thought was extremely out of character.

You see, confession time: I have never actually been in a threesome with another woman and contemplating it was making me feel a little odd. I tried to put my finger on exactly why.
Was I uncomfortable with the display of another woman’s naked sexuality? Would Jesus still love me if I put my fingers up another girl’s pussy? What if she had crooked teeth or big feet – would I still be able to clamber into bed with her? Was I simply being - horror of horrors- a prude?

The thing is, I actually like other women. And not deodorant-shunning, breast-strapped, baggy-panted dykes either. It’s the lipstick-wearing delicately-perfumed women with luscious curves and supple skin that I find sexually intriguing. And just in case you were wondering…Yes, I have kissed and made out with a few. Yes, sometimes for the benefit of the general public. Yes, just like in porn.

And I have long been enamoured with the idea of being a full-fledged bisexual. It just seemed to be a position that offered the best of two worlds. Strawberry tea, afternoon cuddles and incestuous Tupperware parties with the girls. Impulsive flings, extravagant gifts, wild and crazy sex with the boys.

However, I have to admit I’m only recreationally bi. For one, I am a bit too attached to my meat – thick, fleshy, hard, pulsating, self-lubricating, hanging slightly to the left and preferably belonging to a lean mean virile male.

A buzzing vibrator, though deftly handled by another woman, just doesn’t do the trick. I mean technically it does, but ultimately, 8 inches of rubbery silicone and flashing lights does not a cock make. It doesn’t have a foreskin. You can’t tug on its balls as you rock back and forth. It doesn’t ejaculate on command (“Cum now for me baby, please…Now. Hard.”) And it’s just a little bit silly to be putting it into your mouth.

Second, I can’t quite eat pussy. I’ve tried. But well, I find it intimidating. Pussies are complicated pieces of machinery – every one is slightly different and there are lots of fiddly bits (flashlight not included). They need to be treated with a level of finesse and skills I’m not too confident I have at this point. I can just about cope with the incessant demands of mine. And the pressure and responsibility of getting it absolutely right with another woman is crushing.

If I failed to get her to orgasm (and being female, I would know the difference between a faker and a real quaker), then it would be a disaster that would strike deep into the heart of all womankind. I might have to go into therapy. And you might even have to boycott this blog. Horrors.

I’ve tried my best to be as liberal and un-Singaporean as possible about thinking through these issues but alas, I fear it is a mental barrier I can’t quite overcome right now. (I have though started learning how to tie better cherry-pip knots with my tongue. So I am working on the situation.) Maybe I am destined to spend my life just being completely straight after all. How disappointing.

All this means a FFM (2 females 1 male) threesome, whilst not completely out of the question, would be a lot less fun for everyone involved. I wouldn't be able to participate to the fullest of my abilities. And in my opinion, it would be selfish to just lie there and make the other girl do all the wetwork, so to speak.

I would like to be a team player and share my toys. Really.

I also have doubts about how sexually fulfilling a FFM scenario would be for me. I’m insatiable enough when I have dedicated attention – and quite up to the task of handling 2 men at a go. But having horny, multi-orgasmic me, multiplied by 2, in a room together demanding satisfaction? All I can think is that Anthony, capable as he was in the sack, had better have a good backup plan ready. And it better not be a movie and ice-cream either.

Misgivings aside, I was of course curious to how I would react to Anthony’s “blonde, beautiful German” in person. There was always the slim possibility that Angelina Jolie might have bleached her hair, changed her name to Olga and started working for Luftansa, incidentally scheduled to stop off in Hong Kong on the 6th. And that she might be just the person to turn me into a raging lesbian. (Really, I think it would be horribly unfair not to consider a serious lifestyle adjustment under those circumstances.)

So after much deliberation, curiosity won the day. I decided to leave my fate to the threesome gods. I sent Anthony a tentative reply:

Ok but only if you think we’ll like each other. No guarantees. And I have the right to demand a refund.

I held my breath. I had made a big leap into what sociology professors in the U.S. would have called the realm of “subverting gender stereotypes”. I was proud of myself - I would not just be another sexuality statistic. Anthony had better start taking his vitamins.

He SMSed the next day:

Just checked. She’s not around on the 6th. Dang! Trust me, she’d have loved you. Next time then. See you soon.

I felt both disappointed and relieved at the same time. So I was to be deflowered another day. Oh well. Back to my cherry pips and the comfort zone of being only 30% gay (of course it’s a spectrum, stupid).

I can just about hear the tempered rejoicing from the religious right (some of whom obviously read and comment on this blog faithfully for reasons that mystify me). As well as the collective exhalation of the Singapore government who want my fecund, heterosexual ovaries to solve its ageing population problem.

So I am fairly happy about pretending to be an upstanding citizen and pillar of our uptight lil community for a while more. But excuse me if I go to bed occasionally dreaming of Angelina.

Sexually deviant, moi?