Tag Archives: sex

Decade

Decade: (n) a period of ten years

I guess if we’re working with averages, most of us get to live in seven decades.

The first ten years are so out of our control that it would be difficult to know if the time period and the circumstances really mean that much to us. I do remember things from my first decade, but it’s more like a motion picture being played in the background or a series of fast trains speeding by.

My second decade was mostly about sex.

It was the discovery of it, the curiosity about it, the pursuit of it, masturbation and finally ending up in the arms of a woman, completely hapless.

My third decade was based around having children and figuring out how to pay bills, while still honoring my occupational dream. As you can tell by the conglomeration, I didn’t end up doing any of them particularly well.

Now, in my fourth decade, I started gaining some solvency.

What that meant to me was, when the electric bill showed up, I paid it instead of negotiating it. It was a pleasant step. Unfortunately, simultaneously I was dealing with children—some of whom were watching life whizz by and others, completely occupied with their groins.

The next decade I did a lot of traveling, performing and writing, at a time in my life when I was not in as good shape as ten years earlier. But contrary to popular opinion, life gives you a hamburger but really does not ask you what you want on it.

Now that I’m in my sixth decade, I don’t really care if people agree with me. I’m not out to impress anyone, I have enough money to get by and still buy a treat or two, and I have fun acting much more mentally spry than people believe I should be.

I have no idea how much further I will go in the decade pursuit.

Maybe some—maybe not.

But I will tell you, as long as you can go to bed at night, laugh at your mistakes, and get up the next morning believing you can do better, you will survive the war.

Danger

Danger: (n) risk, peril

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

Perhaps danger is in the heart of the fearful.

There is legitimate danger. Becoming too familiar with a tiger during feeding times is not faith, but rather foolishness lending itself to lethal danger.

But some things are not dangerous. Some things are poorly marked that way, by the timid minds of those who are afraid of human freedom.

My last year of attending church camp was froth with controversy.

The counselors were convinced that the best way to avoid difficulty was to cut any danger off at the pass. “Danger,” in this case, referred to activities which might stimulate teenagers to think about sex.

It is fascinating to me that once people cross the age of twenty-one, they forget that sex, to a teenager, is not a thought nor a temptation but instead, oxygen to breathe. Curiosity, sensuality, raging hormones and immense amounts of energy always collide in some way to manipulate an indiscretion.

We were given five simple rules for high school campers:

  1. Boys and girls were never to be left alone without supervision.
  2. Girls could not wear bathing suits around boys, only knee-length shorts and appropriate tops.
  3. Dirty jokes were forbidden, and if continued, would result in expulsion from camp.
  4. Girls would dine with girls and boys with boys.
  5. When swimming in the lake, a distance of two feet must be maintained between a girl and a guy.

The list ended with this admonition:

“In following these guidelines, we hope to avoid the danger of promiscuity and illicit behavior.”

Yet, nature always makes a way.

That summer, all the guys and girls learned of a cave just outside the camp, which was quickly referred to as “The Humping Hole.”

The girls—adorned in their knee-length shorts—would go in with their favorite guy, and hump through their clothes.

I will tell you—it was much more popular than the class on the missionary journeys of the Apostle Paul.

Girls and guys also learned how to sit in such a configuration that they could hold hands behind their backs, and counselors never saw what was going on.

There was always a way, where there seemed to be no way, for teenagers to be horny.

For you see, the only danger in life is ignorance.

The more you know about a situation and the greater the knowledge you can possess, the better chance you have of escaping tragedy and forming a plan that is blessed by honesty and truly works.

Dam

Dam: (n) a barrier constructed to hold back water and raise its level

I am often surprised at my own conceit.

Perhaps some folks would not consider it conceit—to relate every word, subject and category in life to one’s own limited experience. Even though I know there is a great Hoover Dam, and these barriers are often constructed by busy beavers, and without the concrete which holds water where we want it, many human beings would never get a drink of water, I persist.

Yes, I am fully aware of all this information.

But when I hear the word “dam,” I think of necking.

Making out.

Parking.

Or coming as close as possible to “going all the way.”

In my small village, one had to be careful on Friday or Saturday night to choose where to make out with your girlfriend or boyfriend.

There were eyes everywhere.

And even though all the grownups in the town knew, on good authority, that boys and girls did things that made them become men and women, they still chose to put off that metamorphosis for as long as possible, for their particular caterpillars.

So we had to have someplace to go, to find out how far we could go before falling off the edge of the Earth.

The spot favored by nearly everyone was a little dam outside our town. It was about eight miles away, located on what we referred to as the Hoover Reservoir. (As I write this article, I have no idea why they named it Hoover or how it “reservoired.”)

It was an amazing place.

There was a little roadside park, and right next to it was another road that careened down into another large parking area, which overlooked the overflow to the dam. (Forgive me if I overused the word “over.”)

On Friday and Saturday nights—and for brave souls who could slip away any night of the week, for that matter—the very young drove to the location just as nightfall was peeking around the corner. There they parked their cars and commenced to give one another tonsillectomies, followed by physical exams and searches for moles and blemishes.

Now, let me explain that there were two types of people—those who were dating, who went to the dam to do things which might make them end up damned, and those who had no significant other and chose, because of their insignificance, to go to that parking spot near the water, and flash headlights, honk horns and even get out of the car to pound on the hood of smoochers, disrupting their pleasure.

It was a nasty practice.

We called it “bushwacking.”

Truthfully, the only people in the world who thought it was humorous or clever were the few pathetic souls that found themselves doing the ugly deed out of frustration for not being able to participate in the competition.

Many a day I defended bushwackers for their light-hearted effort to have fun.

That is, until I met someone who was willing to go to the dam place and kiss me until I couldn’t breathe. Then I was infuriated for the interruption.

Now, I realize, as I warned you at the beginning, that this outlook on the word “dam” is very myopic and certainly foretells of an egocentric mindset.

Yet since I have not lied to you up to this point, I cannot do so on this day.

The word “dam” does and always will remind me of either the pursuit of happiness with my nimble fingers or being a loser, honking my horn with a giddy revenge.

Dakota

Dakota: (n) a former territory in the United States—in 1889 divided into North Dakota and South Dakota.

I spent nine days in the Dakotas.

I only did it once.

Please don’t misunderstand—my singular visit does not portray my feeling about the region.

I just don’t think anybody there liked me.

I’m sure that’s not true—it isn’t like I saw them head over heels in enthusiasm, dancing in the street about anything.

My grandpa would have said they were “sturdy people.”

You’d have to be. Lots of storms. Regularly over a hundred degrees in the summer and below zero in the winter months.

A rural atmosphere.

Close-knit groups, many well aware of each other or even related.

So about five days into my visit, I became a bit paranoid about the treatment I was receiving. I asked one of the sponsors who brought me in for the concert series what was up with the populace.

Interestingly enough, he didn’t say, “Well, what do you mean?” Or, “They seem fine to me.”

Instead, he replied, “To be honest, these people have been alone, abandoned, unnoticed and even made fun of so often that they can’t imagine why anybody from the outside world would choose to come into their area unless that person was an escaped convict or a fraud.”

I crinkled my brow and replied, “So what you’re saying is, they think I’m trouble because I came to their state.”

“They figure if people had a choice, they would never visit.”

He nodded his head.

So I went to my concert that night and tried to address this dilemma with the audience. I would like to report that my dialogue made all the difference in the world.

But it didn’t.

They seemed to resent the fact that I was aware of their insecurity and preferred me to shut up, get back into my van, and travel on to more appreciative places.

Still and all, I managed to learn a lot about Mount Rushmore, and also the Battle of the Little Bighorn, with General Custer, which happened right over the border in Wyoming. Matter of fact, I took a couple of hours and read up on both things so I would seem knowledgeable.

It did increase my conversations by a few more sentences. But then they froze up and once again nervously stared at me.

If I may draw a conclusion:

Perhaps one of the worst things we do to people is make them feel “less” because we don’t think they live where there’s “more.”

What I uncovered in my journey to the Dakotas was this:

There are children born—therefore there are people having sex.

There are radio stations—so music does penetrate the silence.

And the grocery store was filled with all sorts of meat, from cow to bear to rattlesnake. So someone likes to hunt and eat.

You see?

If you work at it, you can find things you have in common with almost anyone, anywhere.

(Pass the steak sauce.)

Cushion

Cushion: (n) a soft bag on which to sit, kneel, or lie.

I must warn you that if you are sensitive, parochial or very squeamish about sexual matters, you probably shouldn’t read any further.

So now that I have everybody’s attention…

I will tell you an embarrassing story.

When I finish telling you this tale, I will share why.

When I was eighteen years old, I had a girlfriend who went off to Europe and didn’t contact me. It was understandable in the sense that what we had shared was a high school affair. She experimented with me and I with her. She just thought the experience was done sooner than I did.

Problem was, the experiment brought about a pregnancy in the Petri dish.

Therefore, the lack of hearing from her left me upset, bereft, and dare I say, horny. (We all know that once you awaken the magical worm or open Pandora’s Box, there’s no going back to hand holding and kissing.)

Yet, I had no intention of finding another girl and having sex.

But no one—and I say NO one—ever taught me about the miracle of masturbation. I had no idea.

Even as I write this, I realize how unlikely that seems. But all I knew was that I had a penis that was looking for a vagina, and absent a vagina, an adequate stand-in was needed.

So one day, lying on my couch, I unzipped my pants and let my little wanderer out. I noticed that when I rubbed it against the couch cushion, it felt pretty good. After a few minutes, though, it also hurt.

It was a contest.

Does it hurt more, or does it feel good more?

I persisted—so much so that my little trouper got all inflamed and angry. It was very sore.

Trying to figure out what to put on my friend to make him feel better (because alcohol was bad and Ben Gay was out of the question) I opened the medicine cabinet, and there was my mother’s bottle of lotion. I put some on my hand and reached down to comfort the reddened area.

Eureka!

I not only comforted my penis, but ended up discovering, in that moment of time, what was missing from my training.

It was a magnificent moment.

Earth-changing.

I was grateful.

My girlfriend did come back and she became my wife.

But I will tell you one thing: it’s a damn shame if a young boy does not know the correct male usage for hand lotion.

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Culottes

Culottes: (n) women’s trousers, usually knee-length or calf-length, cut full to resemble a skirt.

I have seen enough things come and go, enough rules altered–opinions ransacked by reality—that I can no longer abide just accepting a set of regulations without asking why.

In my lifetime, I was informed that long hair was effeminate.

I was told that divorce was forbidden.

Masturbation was considered to be a sin.

Dating between the races was anti-Christ.

And one summer, Camp Jesus Something-Or-Other refused to allow the girls to wear culottes.

It was absolutely ridiculous.

None of the boys objected to the restriction, because girls in skirts would be running, sitting oddly and the fellows would get a great vision of their panties, which would last until the next time they were alone in their sleeping bags.

Everybody—and I mean, everybody—knew the rule was bullshit.

Even when the counselors were asked why the stipulation was in place, they parroted off some answer given to them by the founders of the camp (which they didn’t believe).

I comprehend the process. For instance, for ten years we had to whisper that we “passed gas” instead of bluntly saying we farted.

You could talk about dating and love, but you weren’t allowed to mention sex. That is, until you suddenly were permitted.

Can we shorten this agonizing delay?

Matter of fact, let us decide that if there isn’t a legitimate health, well-being or realistic moral reason for a guideline to exist, we will call it meaningless and request that it be reviewed.

Once and for all, can we come to a conclusion that sanctifying our race by trying to corral human emotions is fruitless?

Culottes look good on girls. They make girls more comfortable. And the only time a girl wears pants and looks like a man is if she decides she wants to go for the whole butch persona.

 

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Cue

Cue: (v) anything said or done, on or off stage, that is followed by a specific line or action

The cues are off.

Somebody has stolen the script of human behavior and has messed with the stage directions so that we, the actors, do not know when and how to respond.

It’s subtle.

There was a time when someone in pain would cue empathy.

There was certainly a season when belligerence would cue disfavor instead of a bizarre outburst of admiration.

Do you remember a time when sitting by a fire would cue some intimacy or even singing without us feeling phony?

I’m telling you—the cues are off.

We used to rely on romance to cue sex.

Now we appear to hope that a well-planned calendar of sex will initiate romance.

A discussion of women’s rights used to cue men to consider the misogyny that still existed in them. Now such a conversation just makes guys get quiet—pretending to give a shit.

The cues are off.

There are fewer and fewer prayers of thanksgiving because there are too many prayers for victims of tragedy.

There is less holding of doors for others.

It’s become inexplicably important for us to enter first.

Free-flowing conversation among friends has turned into a chess match as we carefully pick our words so as not to offend or come across unenlightened.

Where is the cue that welcomed humility instead of the stiffness of foolish pride?

The cues are off.

Therefore the play acted out every day doesn’t seem to make sense. It fails to develop a plotline which leads to a story which gives us hope that the conflict in our second act can be resolved by the denouement. (Sometimes we even fail to get the cue to look up the word “denouement,” but instead, decide that the writer is too fancy.)

What are the cues?

How do we know how to be human beings on the stage unless we’re prompted to provide our best performance?

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

 

Cuddle

Cuddle: (v) to lie close and snug; nestle.

Among the great myths floating down to us mortals from Mount Olympus is the assertion that women “like to cuddle” just as much or more than actually having sex.

This particular fable is favored by men so they don’t have to worry about the female orgasm and can spend about two-and-a-half minutes with their arm around their girlfriend and then roll over and go to sleep.

Meanwhile, the young lady is supposed to be completely satisfied having her face stuck into the hairy armpit of a gentleman friend, who really only desires to stop panting so he can go to sleep.

Let me give you a clue:

A woman who has had an excited sexual experience and orgasmed also wants to roll over and recover from the experience.

A woman who did nothing but permit the pleasure of her mate may wish to settle for a squeeze, a hug and a hair stroke and call it a day, but any member of the human race who has sex and achieves orgasm is not that interested in confirming it or enhancing it by being a cuddle bug.

I know there are people who will disagree and there are women who insist that they “just love to cuddle.”

(Actually, some men voice this as well, but we won’t get into it.)

When human sexuality is done correctly and a little bit of surface sweat breaks out all over the body and the toes tingle at the highest point of arousal and breathing is heavy, the natural conclusion to celebrate the experience is to bless one another with a great night’s sleep.

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

 

Cryptic

Cryptic: (adj) mysterious in meaning; puzzling; ambiguous

Some examples of cryptic thoughts.

It certainly was fortunate that there were ignorant black people in Africa so that American slavery could prosper.

President Trump would be a fabulous leader if he knew where he was going.

It is ironic that the Jews would consider it anti-Semitic to be blamed for the crucifixion of Jesus, even though their Council cast the votes.

Men and women are equally talented and intelligent—and there the equality ceases.

I shot an arrow into the air and I sure as hell hope it didn’t kill anybody.

I am happiest when I know some people are sad because there seems to be a limited amount of happiness.

The best Republican President acted like he was a Democrat.

The best Democrat President was probably a secret Republican.

People don’t seem to be able to just enjoy sex without thinking they are the best at it.

The more we envy others, the less the chance of ever possessing what they have.

Religion is about as close to God as politics is to freedom.

You can always tell when a nation is failing—it attacks its poets.

I blame myself for trusting you to have the intelligence to make the decision that has now ruined us both.

These are some examples of cryptic statements.

Such talk is fun.

Such talk is clever.

Such talk can start wars.

 

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

https://jonathanrichardcring.substack.com/

Crave

 Crave: (v) to long for

I am very familiar with three great cravings.

They are not unique to me nor can they be labeled by the simple titles “good and evil.” But I know that all three of these have, do and funny wisdom on words that begin with a Cprobably will wiggle their way into my thinking and manifest themselves as desires.

The trouble is, each craving demands that I take on a certain responsibility. Or maybe “responsibility” is over-spoken. It’s actually more like a chore.

1. I crave orgasm.

It feels good. It’s a pleasant burst. There’s just enough unpredictable about it that each encounter possesses uniqueness. It is a few brief seconds when I no longer care that I am human, and I allow all the animal stoked deep inside me to roar.

With this craving comes a chore. It’s called sex. Although we insist that sex is pleasurable, it is actually the orgasm that brings the ecstasy, and to achieve that we go through the practice, interaction, danger and mediocrity of sexual relations with another person.

This certainly is why masturbation is so popular.

2. I crave companionship.

The chore that comes with this particular quest is people.

Yes, unless I plan on having just dogs, cats and miscellaneous domesticated animals surrounding me, unable to carry on conversations, I will have to learn, understand and tolerate the actions of other Homo Sapiens.

The payoff is great, but the process is—well, shall we say, unending.

3. I crave immortality.

The chore with this, if you will, is dealing with God.

There is no evidence that I possess any likelihood of longevity beyond a century without a belief in an eternal home.

God becomes problematic.

He is so loving that He includes fools, religionists, shysters and the most boring theologians ever conjured in a seminary.

In my craving for orgasm, companionship and immortality I must survive the chores of sex, people and God.

There are times when I wonder if it’s worth it.

There are occasions I wish to be free of the entanglements and the conditions brought on in satisfying my cravings.

But usually, a good nap, a meal or allowing my mind to be free of pressure makes me once again a willing participant in the pursuit of what I crave.


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