A Philosophical Treatise on Women...
"Blond, hard body, bit tits," has been a common description of the idealized woman, this example coming from American Psycho, a novel by Bret Easton Ellis, (A very intriguing book).
I don't find a strong attraction to this particular lot of the female population, they aren't unattractive, but I do find something terrifically boring about them. Fashion models don't appeal to me: angular bony, tall and thin, it makes me feel as if I might have an eye poked out by an elbow or shoulder.
This having been said, what do I like? I like women who are alive, who could very well kick some one's ass, not body building bronzed breast-less women, but not the feeble or sickly. I like women whom feel good when you hug them, whose skin and flesh are supple and tender, that have an actual warmth to them. I like women that would actually survive the idea of 'survival of the fittest,' who'd be around if it were still for cruel evolution.
Having mentioned breasts, I face the inevitable problem where one must choose between the two schools of thought concerning size: 'the bigger the better' and 'a handful is enough.' Although opposed to addressing that argument directly, I will do so in a more round about fashion: I like women that are natural, that don't seem like they are going to fall flat on their face due to the lop sided nature of their figure, I like women who don't have to complain about back pain due to breasts. Every one enjoys some cleavage, but all things in moderation, one neither wants to believe they are looking at the chest of a twelve year old boy nor feel as though they are going to be crushed by two huge, globes seems like an accurate synonym, that seem to movie independently of a woman's body or seem as though they have to catch their breathe and then follow a woman when she turns around. Several of these thoughts were brought into the foreground by the recent movie/musical, Chicago of which I felt scared for my life upon seeing Queen Latifah's breasts.
That being said, if I had to die, and had the choice between dying from some boring method or from the onslaught of two big breasts, I would choose the latter of course. It is much cheaper while at the funeral home to get rid of a hard on and smile, than a frown.
Let us move away from breasts for a moment. Never let them go completely from ones mind though. They are the meaning of life, and they can be the first thing a guy gets to see in this world, when his vision finally comes into focus after birth.
I like women that well rounded, this is a very cheesy pun in reference both the physical and intellectual aspects. I don't by any means say that I desire a woman that is approaching spherical by any means or that obesity is a turn on for myself. I want to feel flesh and not bone though when I run my hands down her sides and hips, warmth, I don't want to be able to run my hands down her glaringly visible ribs like a xylophone. Legs are something I admire, strength in them too, from ankles, to calves, to the bad of the knee, to soft warm thighs: yielding and resilient to the touch but strong below.
Plump is good. Extra padding is good. And so is a woman with more than that, if she is proud of herself.
Another part of the female anatomy that I find extremely sexy is the back, its often ignored as the other side is often preferred, but there are women whom I would kill to give a 'friendly' back rub, to please them and to knead their flesh along the largest expanse of uninterrupted skin on the human body, the muscles bellow, stretched liked cords under the skin, cool skin is something I love, not that I mind the hot and sweaty variety but the tingle both members get with the touch is wonderful, feeling the skin warm under ones hand, to replace the emptiness with one's presence, all is supremely erotic.
Like many others I find myself very similar to Ruben, the painter, whom we derive the word 'Rubenesque' from, meaning buxom used to describe supple women, although virtually all of the euphemisms fall short and carry an edge of insult under them. Ruben was also fascinated with the backs of women, not the 'baby got back' kind of back but the reverse side of the torso down the hips. He would paint these luscious women with their elongated backs, sitting coyly facing away from him. To touch a woman's back is a wonderful thing and I can still remember when I would become physically aroused at the feeling of bare or lightly covered flesh under my hands.
Now, I have called this 'A Philosophical Treatise on Women,' and I've only spoken of the physical and in vague terms. I have expressed these thoughts in measurements or other inhuman assessments of a woman's appearance, not 36DD or 34-25-32 or anything like that, because they don't mean anything really to me, it's the touch of a woman that I savor the most and not their status as Victorian mock-ups or trophies, it is the feel when one embraces that matters. I have also left out specifics: race, skin color, hair color, eye color, freckles and so forth. I don't find these details necessarily meaningless, but I don't feel that I have developed a particular taste for such in my so far short life and that it is really a one-at-a-time basis that I find to judge this, the combinations and possibilities of attractive women are infinite and not reserved to a single set of lips, of hair, of eyes, of breasts and so forth.
Now there is a difference between the back of a woman and the buttocks. The latter is something I have been researching for years. The variety of bums, their form, function, and how they relate to the mind of a woman and how she might perform in the area of carnal delights.
Unfortunately I am unable to find any research grant money for this research as when I mention that it is more of a sexual gratification thing, I get shown the door.
Probably means that the halls of academia are filled with people who are not ass men.
Most of all I have not touched upon a woman's emotions or thought, these things evade me and will always continue to do so, though their external factors give men glimpses at times.
I consider my interest in the female form, either brain or body, as a work in progress. Searching for the answers but knowing it is a work of pleasure and can lead to joy or sorrow, but nearly always a learning experience.
I don't find a strong attraction to this particular lot of the female population, they aren't unattractive, but I do find something terrifically boring about them. Fashion models don't appeal to me: angular bony, tall and thin, it makes me feel as if I might have an eye poked out by an elbow or shoulder.
This having been said, what do I like? I like women who are alive, who could very well kick some one's ass, not body building bronzed breast-less women, but not the feeble or sickly. I like women whom feel good when you hug them, whose skin and flesh are supple and tender, that have an actual warmth to them. I like women that would actually survive the idea of 'survival of the fittest,' who'd be around if it were still for cruel evolution.
Having mentioned breasts, I face the inevitable problem where one must choose between the two schools of thought concerning size: 'the bigger the better' and 'a handful is enough.' Although opposed to addressing that argument directly, I will do so in a more round about fashion: I like women that are natural, that don't seem like they are going to fall flat on their face due to the lop sided nature of their figure, I like women who don't have to complain about back pain due to breasts. Every one enjoys some cleavage, but all things in moderation, one neither wants to believe they are looking at the chest of a twelve year old boy nor feel as though they are going to be crushed by two huge, globes seems like an accurate synonym, that seem to movie independently of a woman's body or seem as though they have to catch their breathe and then follow a woman when she turns around. Several of these thoughts were brought into the foreground by the recent movie/musical, Chicago of which I felt scared for my life upon seeing Queen Latifah's breasts.
That being said, if I had to die, and had the choice between dying from some boring method or from the onslaught of two big breasts, I would choose the latter of course. It is much cheaper while at the funeral home to get rid of a hard on and smile, than a frown.
Let us move away from breasts for a moment. Never let them go completely from ones mind though. They are the meaning of life, and they can be the first thing a guy gets to see in this world, when his vision finally comes into focus after birth.
I like women that well rounded, this is a very cheesy pun in reference both the physical and intellectual aspects. I don't by any means say that I desire a woman that is approaching spherical by any means or that obesity is a turn on for myself. I want to feel flesh and not bone though when I run my hands down her sides and hips, warmth, I don't want to be able to run my hands down her glaringly visible ribs like a xylophone. Legs are something I admire, strength in them too, from ankles, to calves, to the bad of the knee, to soft warm thighs: yielding and resilient to the touch but strong below.
Plump is good. Extra padding is good. And so is a woman with more than that, if she is proud of herself.
Another part of the female anatomy that I find extremely sexy is the back, its often ignored as the other side is often preferred, but there are women whom I would kill to give a 'friendly' back rub, to please them and to knead their flesh along the largest expanse of uninterrupted skin on the human body, the muscles bellow, stretched liked cords under the skin, cool skin is something I love, not that I mind the hot and sweaty variety but the tingle both members get with the touch is wonderful, feeling the skin warm under ones hand, to replace the emptiness with one's presence, all is supremely erotic.
Like many others I find myself very similar to Ruben, the painter, whom we derive the word 'Rubenesque' from, meaning buxom used to describe supple women, although virtually all of the euphemisms fall short and carry an edge of insult under them. Ruben was also fascinated with the backs of women, not the 'baby got back' kind of back but the reverse side of the torso down the hips. He would paint these luscious women with their elongated backs, sitting coyly facing away from him. To touch a woman's back is a wonderful thing and I can still remember when I would become physically aroused at the feeling of bare or lightly covered flesh under my hands.
Now, I have called this 'A Philosophical Treatise on Women,' and I've only spoken of the physical and in vague terms. I have expressed these thoughts in measurements or other inhuman assessments of a woman's appearance, not 36DD or 34-25-32 or anything like that, because they don't mean anything really to me, it's the touch of a woman that I savor the most and not their status as Victorian mock-ups or trophies, it is the feel when one embraces that matters. I have also left out specifics: race, skin color, hair color, eye color, freckles and so forth. I don't find these details necessarily meaningless, but I don't feel that I have developed a particular taste for such in my so far short life and that it is really a one-at-a-time basis that I find to judge this, the combinations and possibilities of attractive women are infinite and not reserved to a single set of lips, of hair, of eyes, of breasts and so forth.
Now there is a difference between the back of a woman and the buttocks. The latter is something I have been researching for years. The variety of bums, their form, function, and how they relate to the mind of a woman and how she might perform in the area of carnal delights.
Unfortunately I am unable to find any research grant money for this research as when I mention that it is more of a sexual gratification thing, I get shown the door.
Probably means that the halls of academia are filled with people who are not ass men.
Most of all I have not touched upon a woman's emotions or thought, these things evade me and will always continue to do so, though their external factors give men glimpses at times.
I consider my interest in the female form, either brain or body, as a work in progress. Searching for the answers but knowing it is a work of pleasure and can lead to joy or sorrow, but nearly always a learning experience.
posted by Advocatus Diaboli @ 12:33 a.m.
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