Tuesday, May 29, 2007

Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar

There are two things I’d do if I had a penis.

One. Pee. Everywhere. Make that burbling hollow sound in the toilet. Pee in a corner of the parking garage. Pee on trees. Write my name in the snow with a lovely yellow stream of pee. Pee pee pee. Directionally and with great glee.

Two. Make love to a woman. What’s that like? I have a good imagination, I’ve been on the girly end, and I know what I like. I see how guys do it, the experienced and sexy guys, all their little tricks and traps, the Kama Sutra positions and in-outs counting to 10, with 10 being the most forceful. I think I could do it. I just want to know what it feels like from the poking point of view. I’m sure my tendency to get carried away during the act would result in something ‘premature’, but I could always rub her back and flip her over and do it again.


Given my dishing on penises, I must also say, I don’t have Penis Envy. I like them, I enjoy them, I wrap parts of my body around them. I enjoy the pleasure they give me, and like to see what pleasure I can give them. I think they’re handy little conduits for waste and wee swimmers. But. I have no real desire to obtain one for my own genitalia.

Given that, I was stymied the other day by a male co-worker's suggestion that I was afraid of penises.

Because I’m afraid of snakes.

Check that.

I HATE snakes.

The whole stinkin’ lot of ‘em.

They’re nasty, creepy, squirmy creatures who live only to freak my shit out.

I have touched a boa constrictor before, in some class or other. Yeah, I didn’t die, but the thought of barfing was a real possibility.

If I’m reading a book or magazine that has a photo or illustration of a snake on it, I have to turn the page, and the next page, and the next, until I’m sure there’s no way the snake could come to life and attack me.

When I was 10 years old, going down into the basement for a jar of strawberry jam, I nearly stepped on a garter snake that had made its way onto the basement floor’s dank darkness. Such a scream my parents never heard…they thought I was dying. I’m still scared of their basement.

When I know there are snakes in the area, I become this paranoid Snake-Hunter, nervously watching the ground, the floor, the drains in the bathroom, for any sign of wiggling or forked tongues poking the air, sniffing for my fear. I pee several inches above the toilet seat.

There’s rumour that the vacant lot beside my office holds tons of snakes. I didn’t believe it until a female co-worker came into Cubeland and left a snake’s skin for another co-worker of ours.

A big snake skin.
Recently shed.
More than 3 feet long.

Now my feet are propped up and I’m searching the carpeting for any signs of slithering. Freaked out.

It has nothing to do with penises. Peni. Whatever.

Penis = good.
Snake = horrible, ugly, slithering death monster.


At 9:24 AM, Blogger Orange said...

I'm okay with snakes. Don't want one in my house, no, but no primal fear. Centipedes and millipedes, on the other hand, are the stuff of nightmares.

At 9:33 AM, Blogger Stroll said...

Snakes are left to suffer the hatred of humanity for the sins of their forefather in the Garden of Eden. But they are so clean and elegant, even if they are reduced to slithering on their bellies for all eternity, and they kill rodents (which are truly loath-worthy), and they are harmless unless of course they are poisonous.

Penises are cool too.

At 12:58 PM, Blogger Maggie said...

I just don't get the snake fear = penis fear. I get the obvious visual correlation I suppose - but seriously. I'm not fond of the buggers - snakes that is - but I used to play with garter snakes when I was kid. I had three brothers, I had no choice. But spiders - well that's another story.

As for peni or penises - I think they rock especially when they are hard as one. Yeah. I have to go call my husband now.

At 1:01 PM, Blogger Dan said...

Mona, what a delightful post! Since I can't think of anything to say that isn't completely naughty, I'll stop there. :)

At 1:26 PM, Blogger patches said...

Trouser snakes versus rattle snakes....big differences between those two. Ironically both will cause you to scream like a girl.

At 1:33 PM, Blogger meno said...

The plural of penis is penes. I swear it's true.

This reminds me of a joke.

Two mens are talking. One says, "Your daughter's boyfriend's name is written in pee in the snow outside your house."
The other dad say, "I'm gonna teach that little bastard some respect!"
"There's worse news, it's in your daughter's handwriting."

At 2:45 PM, Blogger Sergei C. said...

I can testify that Mona loves the cock. Her genuine fear of snakes has never served as an impediment to her entertaining my turgidity, as far as I have been able to tell. Co-worker fails at psychotherapy: sometimes a snake is just a snake.

At 7:59 PM, Blogger jo(e) said...

Such a classic Mona post!

At 1:04 AM, Blogger Lucia said...

A veritable roller coaster ride of a post!

At 6:23 AM, Anonymous d-man said...

It's like sticking your finger into warm apple pie. Or something.

At 10:46 AM, Blogger Irrelephant said...

Mona, I don't even know where to begin. *lol*

For starters, tell old boy that Freud was debunked a long time ago, and maybe it's only him that feels that unnatural connection between snakes and his member.

As for how it feels... hooooo. There is no feeling in the world quite as exquisite as that first long, slow, breathtaking slide into a woman's body.

At 11:13 AM, Blogger Nancy Dancehall said...

Um, yeah.

Any guy who takes the snake=penis thing to that level has his own penis issues.

Me, I like both. :-) (Though not at the same time, mind you.)

At 8:00 AM, Blogger Mother of Invention said...

I hate snakes, bats and spiders. I don't even want to know what that might represent!

At 4:48 PM, Blogger Gordo The Geek said...

The novelty of bring able to write your name in the snow wears off. Although, my brother won some weird points with his wife for writing her name in the snow once. LOL

I can testify that my wife's snake phobia does not include snakes of the trouser kind.


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