A Cunning Linguist
By John Thursday • Jan 7th, 2009 • Category: Erotic Philosophy by John Thursday, FeaturesHow fondly I recall my ménage a trois’: the quiet conspiracy, the jealous glances, Dusty Springfield on the stereo.
Yet, I have never had a ménage a trois, for ménage a trois’ have been rechristened. One night, when no one was looking, they became three-ways.
Some fool stole a hyphen, added a number and voila, a house of three became a conference call, romance became business.
It may seem like a small thing, but for such a physical pleasure, our sexual delights are all about language.
A ménage a trois is something that takes place in a pied a terre. A three-way takes place in your cousin Steve’s living room.
Indulge me in some examples.
Diddling a dame is completely different from balling a babe.
You lay a lady, but you do a chippy.
It’s easy to finger-fuck a floozy but you had better bang a broad.
I, myself, have gotten dirty with damsels.
I’ve been randy with Rapunzel, raunchy with Cinderella, and used the whole fist on Thumbelina.
The back of a trollop in back of an alley differs from the front of a strumpet in back of the bar.
You can spank a skank or snog a bird, but snogging a skank will leave you quite rank.
I’ve spent money on a honey but only taken home a doll.
I’ve gone all the way with a betty and fell in love with a stone fox.
I’ve suckled a breast and thrilled to see boobs – but I’ve only cum on a pair of tits.
I’ve pinched a tush and slapped a bottom – but I’ve only fucked an ass.
It’s anal sex if she went to college. Butt sex if she didn’t. And get-the-hell-out-of-there! if she’s Presbyterian.
If the word is wrong, all is lost.
Ever been topped by a pushy bottom leaving you bottomed while on top?
Howard Stern once got in trouble over a conversation he had on the air concerning an act he called a “blumpkin”.
The only word I’ve ever heard for an act combining oral sex with a bowel movement is “blumper”.
So, if there’s no such thing as a blumpkin, should Howard Stern get in trouble?
The word is the thing.
A blumpkin sounds like something a hobbit eats at Christmas while a blumper, well, that’s just dirty, filthy; in fact, it’s worthy of a skank.
Felching sounds like an act not for the feint of heart. It’s a word well suited to encompass an ass, a straw, and an orgasm. What would 19-year-olds look forward to learning if not for words like felching?
Queef is a wonderful little word: only cooters and pussies queef.
A cunt farts.
And a vagina pretends nothing happened.
In the same way, only a penis can be flaccid.
A dick is soft.
A prick is regrouping.
And a cock pretends it never happens.
In the beginning spooge and smegma are wonderful things, things we look forward to, moist onomatopoeias of a job well done.
But then, like a couple who doesn’t know when to leave, they stick around; falling into crevices they will later ooze out from. Spooge and smegma, the evil twins of post-coitus.
Who coined these terms? We’ll never know. But these unsung heroes have provided us with a quick and easy way to describe our sexual world.
Not all these words are in daily use, (my spell check barely recognized any of them), but they are there for the taking as a way to enrich our experience. Which brings me back to the lout who stole my hyphen.
You cannot own the act until you own the word.
I did not have a three-way.
We did not make triangles of ourselves. There was no geometry, no directional signals.
A three-way is something you boast about. It is a phrase without grace, a phrase reflecting the numbers, not the experience. There is nowhere to go from a three-way. The story has been told, you’ve jumped to the end, and you’ve climaxed too soon.
A ménage a trois is a memory to keep you warm on a lonely night.
A ménage a trois, a house of three, only sets the scene. There’s the feel of sex, there’s the house, and there are the three people.
It begs the question, “What was the house like?”
Once I had a ménage a trois with a doll and a dame. Another time it was with a betty and a fox.
There were no blumpers or felching involved.
In the beginning there were breasts and bottoms, but by the end it was all tits and ass.
Vaginas were perfumed, pussies queefed, and in the end I was very, very flaccid.
John Thursday >> John Thursday was born and raised at Harbin Hot Springs, unaware there was such a thing as clothing until he was 15. He has since renounced all things Hippie. He earned a doctorate in Erotic Philosophy by defending Kant's lesser known The Critique of Pure Fellatio as a seminal work. he was hit on by Allen Ginsburg twice but not even once by Sami Beinstein, a non-hippie jewess. He currently beds a shiksa named Misty.
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Thanks Judah for a fantastic article!
[Thumbnail image from Uncyclopedia: http://uncyclopedia.wikia.com/wiki/Cunning_linguist
you are a Dr. Seuss for the loose
The best Judah article ever!
ROTFL!
Hey John Thursday!
Rachel Kramer Bussel posted about your piece on her blog Best Sex Writing 2009!
http://bestsexwriting2009.wordpress.com/2009/02/11/a-cunning-linguist/