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Saturday, December 29, 2001

Ode on the Mute Button


The fact of the matter is that, on occasion, one must burp.

There is an Italian saying that roughly translates into "Hey, would you die for me?" It is spoken in place of where Americans apologetically mutter "excuse me." The gist of it being that burping and other unpleasant emanations must occur, so why make a fuss?

And, the irony here is that there is no end of sloppy sound effects that are generated in the actual course of human sexual interaction. I`m pretty sure there isn`t a sexually active heterosexual in the world who doesn`t know what a "pussy fart" refers to. Between the juices and the slapping of flesh and the pressure applied to otherwise delicate areas, there is just no end of audio surprises that pfft, orrph, and ummph their way into existence. And this doesn`t even take into account the things we grunt and groan while in the midst of such activity.

But, as a phone slut, burping up the Pepsi you were sipping on an hour before a call can kill a mood.

They say when you remove one of the senses, the others become more alert. Somehow, I guess that translates here, too. Denied the actual physical contact and interaction, everything said and heard becomes exponentially more intense. And the tremulous spun web of phone sex fantasy can be easily broken when just so much as one thread unravels.

This is a very long-winded way of saying after one call today, I`ve realized that I need to be faster with my mute button...or drink less Pepsi.

Ooops.

PS


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