June 08, 2006
Nice Girls Don't Do That
Yet another thing I am probably going to hell for finding amusing. Christopher Hitchens weighs in on America's national pastime:
"The magic and might of her own soft mouth … " Erotic poets have hymned it down the ages, though often substituting the word "his." The menu of brothel offerings in ancient Pompeii, preserved through centuries of volcanic burial, features it in the frescoes. It was considered, as poor Humbert well knew, to be worth paying for. The temple carvings of India and the Kamasutra make rather a lavish point of it, and Sigmund Freud wondered if a passage in Leonardo da Vinci's notebooks might not betray an early attachment to that "which in respectable society is considered a loathsome perversion." Da Vinci may have chosen to write in "code" and Nabokov may have chosen to dissolve into French, as he usually did when touching on the risqué, but the well-known word "fellatio" comes from the Latin verb "to suck."
Well, which is it—blow or suck? (Old joke: "No, darling. Suck it. 'Blow' is a mere figure of speech." Imagine the stress that gave rise to that gag.) Moreover, why has the blowjob had a dual existence for so long, sometimes subterranean and sometimes flaunted, before bursting into plain view as the specifically American sex act? My friend David Aaronovitch, a columnist in London, wrote of his embarrassment at being in the same room as his young daughter when the TV blared the news that the president of the United States had received oral sex in an Oval Office vestibule. He felt crucially better, but still shy, when the little girl asked him, "Daddy, what's a vestibule?"
...Through the 1950s, then, the burgeoning secret of the blowjob was still contained, like a spark of Promethean fire, inside a secret reed. (In France and Greece, to my certain knowledge, the slang term used to involve "pipe smoking" or "cigar action." I don't mind the association with incandescence, but for Christ's sake, sweetie, don't be smoking it. I would even rather that you just blew.) If you got hold of Henry Miller's Sexus or Pauline Réage's Story of O (both published by Maurice Girodias, the same Parisian daredevil who printed Lolita), you could read about oral and other engagements, but that was France for you.
Posted by Cassandra at June 8, 2006 08:54 AM
Good thing we're not nice girls, huh? This was amusing, thanks.
Posted by: Maggie at June 8, 2006 10:29 AM
Posted by: Cricket at June 8, 2006 10:32 AM
Well, I had to do *something* while I was waiting for the indecent rejoicing of the reich-wing over the death of the greatest Freedom Fighter this century has ever known to blow over...
Posted by: Cassandra at June 8, 2006 10:44 AM
I giggled about this. One of my college roommates had gone to Italy and told me that even the town of Pompeii was (forgive the pun) laid out in the shape of male genitalia. I wonder if there is a satellite photo to prove that?
hm...off to google.
Posted by: Cricket at June 8, 2006 10:47 AM
Only the really really nice girls.
Posted by: Hummer at June 8, 2006 11:46 PM
Dogs lick their own balls. Cats lick their own ass. That's why we trust dogs.
Darlin', if I could do it doggie style I wouldn't need you. Hell, I'd never leave the house.
Posted by: Sonar at June 9, 2006 03:57 AM
Good girls go to Heaven.
Bad girls go everywhere...
Posted by: camojack at June 9, 2006 08:45 PM