A Nasty “Pornographic” Post

So here’s one for you. A nasty pornographic post by nasty-gram Grandma.

So last week I took my daughter and her two adorable but somewhat whiney kids to the airport. We stayed at a very nice hotel by LAX. It was the Marriott Residence Inn. It was there that my very pornographic thought began to take shape and a few days later it morphed into something quite disturbing. By then the grandkids had been gone for four days and it felt “safe” and not so unseemly to be having thoughts that consisted of anything less that coloring books, reading fairy tales and giving my arms a workout by pushing the little squirts high into the sky as they chorused “Higher, Grandma” at the local playground. Seems I needed a little down time from Doc McStuffins to get my mind back in the gutter.

It was at the check-in at said hotel that I first noticed Wally. He was one of those slick and shiny kind of dudes. You know, the kind who you pay just a little bit of attention to and he is at your beck and call for life. The kind your mother always warned you about, yet, I couldn’t help myself… I found him fascinating at first glance. We got to “talking” which was a little difficult because of his accent but his manners were impeccable and he was easy to talk with…straightforward while saying all the right “feel good” words. I fantasized inviting him to my room but unfortunately I was not alone. I had my daughter and the grandkids sharing my room. And so I reluctantly bid him goodbye knowing that had the circumstances been different I might have taken him out for a little test drive. Frankly, I have rarely felt that kind of electrical current with anyone and never with someone like him before.

I went downstairs a little while later with my granddaughter just to see if I could get a glimpse of him. Sure enough, he was standing by the elevator. While perfectly polite he seemed a little nervous around “the little one” acting like he was afraid she might just push his buttons. I didn’t know what to make of it. That and the fact, he kept waiting for the elevator and if anyone came to use it he wouldn’t get on and would wait for another. Strange. I began to doubt my initial impression. Maybe it was my punishment for being a little too friendly with Wally when I am, in fact, still married to B. Come to think of it, it did feel kind of like cheating but he was so cute and the flirting was harmless. Frankly, what is good for the goose is good for the gander and B would never know any better. I began to fantasize about letting Wally park his boots under my bed for a night of fun.

“This is how affairs begin! Shame…shame…shame,”  giving my conscious a bit of a flogging while saying ten “Hail Marys” for good measure. Sure it seems all sweet and innocent now, I reminded myself, but we know how these things go…broken hearts and tears. Buckets of them. Families ripped apart by lust. It just wasn’t worth it. But still….

Fast forward two hours and I was parched. I decided to call down and order room service. After I placed my order I heard some background noise and the clerk replied, “Wally will be bringing your order up shortly.”

Wally! My Wally? Oh crap I thought. How am I going to explain this to my daughter. I was mortified. I tried to get her to take the kids down to the pool but she wouldn’t. I offered her $50 bucks to take the kids to dinner but she wasn’t biting.

“Geez, mom. Are you trying to get rid of us?” she said with a laugh.

If she only knew.

Ten minutes later the phone rang and Wally told me he was outside of my door with my order. I suddenly felt weak at the knees and a little faint yet my body began to feel slightly tingly all over. Wally wanted me! I mean, what sort of creature did this sort of thing? It was something straight out of a Hollywood Movie.

So after a slight hesitation, I opened the door, and there he was in all his glory.

“I have your order, Madame”

I wanted to die right then and there.

“Who is it, Mom.?”

“It’s Wally the Butler”

” I didn’t know this place had butlers,” she called out from her bedroom suite.

“Yeah, its a new feature,” I replied nervously as I grinned at the man of my dreams.

I reached for my order and as I did my arm brushed against him. Suddenly I felt him go cold as he turned to me and said:

And just like that he was gone.

It’s been a week since I last saw Wally and my heart aches. The things he could have done for me (that’s where things get a little x-rated). The things I could have programed him to do!

“That’s right, Wally, a little more to the left. Ohhhhhhhh….yes. Right there. That is perfect.”

Yep, welcome to the 21st Century, Grandma! If this is what the future holds then I am all in!

Candy Porn

I’ve seen a lot in my life and I have been regarded as very liberal and progressive for most of it. But today, my conservative side began to twitch just a tad before it went into a full ride spasm. Let me take you there.

We were in Boca Raton at a large outdoor mall when we took our tween daughters into a candy shop. Now I have to admit I was oblivious to everything around me as I began to froth at the mouth like a rapid dog contemplating on just what type of sugar fix I would be indulging in. Would it be Zotz, Jelly Bellies, or maybe a variety pack of Gummy Bears? Cherry, strawberry or watermelon became the next most important question of the night. Just as quickly I began to contemplate some chocolate to go with the Port I have stashed in my luggage so if things became a little intense with the diving moms I could take a little nip now and then to say sane and not say something I would later regret.

My head was spinning as I became high just thinking about the many ways of quieting my sugar addiction. That’s  when the grandmother of one of our 12 yo daughters began to have a conversation about something with the clerk. I will say in my own defence that I was too busy shoveling just the right amount of Juicy Pear Bellies into my bag to pay much attention to what was being said.

“Hmmm…..should I get more pear or maybe a little buttered popcorn flavored bellies?” I was muttering to myself when I realized that the conversation had just gotten a little louder and more intense. All of a sudden my senses were on high alert. For goodness sakes just what was going on?

Turns out this company was selling more than your average bear kinds of candy. They were selling this candy:

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And this candy:

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And this too

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And these were the more missionary position tame ones. Suddenly, I noticed there were sexy, outlandish, x-rated candies everywhere I turned.

I have to admit at first that I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. But then I began to see this lady’s point. This was a candy store for God’s sake full of M&M’s, Sweet Tarts and Nerds. This is supposed to be a sanctuary for children where they can start out on sugar before moving onto the more adult addictions of booze and porn. But here I was standing in this store with my 12-yo-daughter looking at chocolate covered pussy cats and big candy dicks and it began to piss me off.

First of all, and straight to Grandma’s point, the x-rated candy was not just to be found in a x-rated candy aisle. No, it was mixed in on every shelf in the store. No matter where you looked (except the big binds that my head had previously been buried in) naughty treats were in plain view for any 5-year-old to see.  Frankly, having to explain to a five-year-old boy why it would not be proper to ask Grandma for a chocolate vagina for Christmas made my bowels tie up in knots. Even worse, I envisioned the child authorities arriving at my door for some comment my kid had made about all the dicks in a box he had under his bed alongside a Hustler magazine made of fudge and a box of gummy bear condoms. I began to seriously sweat with the kind of fear that makes you carry around a baseball bat when you are home alone.

“You know, she’s right!” I thought. What the hell!

A candy store is a place where children of all faiths, ethnicities, and races should be able to innocently prowl the store with nothing on their minds except how they can hide their stash before their mother starts innocently “picking” through it.  They shouldn’t have to endure a peep show on every aisle. They are toddlers, Girl Scouts and choir cherbs for goodness sake. Let them be kids and drool over the sugar, the additives and the red dyes but for goodness sake they should not tempted to drool over sinfully sugary porn candy!!!

So I am calling out the It’s Sugar candy store in Boca Raton. Stop selling candy smut to our youngsters because childhood is supposed to be a safe place where innocence runs amok and camels are free from noticeable genitalia. I would also like to remind you that once you see IT you cannot un-see IT so please put your balls behind the counter where they used to keep Hustler magazines away from us kids and our fathers back in the good ole days when candy shops were candy shops and porn was rated X.

Porn

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The other day I mentioned porn and that got me to thinking. After much consideration I have come to the unequivocal conclusion that men should be forever banned from the making of porn films. Not only that they should not be able to write porn, direct porn, or cast the stars of these low budget features; they probably shouldn’t be able to watch them either.

I will confess right here I am not a big fan of the genre. I don’t like how women are demeaned and objectified. I don’t like “please me no matter what” attitudes of the men involved. But most of all I don’t like the plots. Actually, there are no real plots and that is exactly where the trouble lies.

Men make porn the same way they played with their toy cars when they were kids.  First off, they look for the most elusive or expensive model there is. Always.Who cares about what the color is as long as it’s a Porsche! This is followed by further scrutiny about how they will look driving the car and how fast can they can get into it and go. Next up: Leather or cloth seats? Pumped up tires or standard? With a bra or without? Essentially nothing has changed. Just pull it out back and let it rip. Banging into as many as they can becomes the name of the game, both young and old.

Now, I am not advocating more porn but I know that if women made porn there would be real plots. Instead of sex occurring one minute after the show began, it would take at least a half hour of fancy dresses with numerous costume changes, plenty of castles, and lots kissing and foreplay. The sets wouldn’t be sleazy formica kitchen countertops but fancy feather beds, lush tropical beach settees, and foods like grapes, whipped cream and caviar acting as aphrodisiacs.

I guarantee you that if women made porn the actors would all have straight dicks and perfect teeth. The men would have normal sized tools instead of scary looking tree trucks and the woman would all be able to walk upright instead of bent-over due to the size of their breasts. The actors would all manage to look like your fantasy lover not something that was drug in off of the street. And the sex act itself, well, it would last exactly 22.2 minutes because we all know what happens to our tender parts if you go much longer than that. No woman should ever be put in the position where she has to say, “You are wearing out your welcome.” THAT look of “GET THE HELL OUT” that always crosses the woman’s face in man-made porn would never occur in a film created by gals.

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If women made porn they would turn it into a series in which the viewer knew everything about the characters and cared for them like their own family members. Debbie would do Dallas but she would also do it in the blooming rose gardens of Versailles. By the end of the show you would know all of Debbie’s friends, her parents and her favorite food. She would be a fully developed person, not just a sex machine. And while Debbie and Grant were getting it on in the opera box but we would also get to see the Joffrey Ballet set the mood as they performed a portion of The Nutcracker at the same time.

You see, if women made porn it would be something grand.It would be something your husband would call you about to remind you to chill the wine because tonight is “our night to watch Upstairs and Downstairs too.”  And if there were English accents involved it would be all the better to set the mood.

Women based porn would be something women wanted to watch and men too. It would increase desire and promote safe sex. And I am willing to bet if this were the type of porn that we spent watching with our partner we would all be having a whole lot more pleasurable and sexy sex instead of demeaning sex…and isn’t that what the goal should be in the first place?

 

Sleep

 

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Sleep is a glorious thing. Sometimes it is even better than sex. (Okay, it is often better than sex according to many women) My entire life I have never had trouble sleeping. If my head hits the pillow and I am not asleep within five minutes, I consider myself an insomniac. So imagine my discomfort and consternation at being unable to sleep the last three nights in a row. It doesn’t bode well for the family.

As I type this I am watching claws replace my hands and my back is itching violently as I scratch it against the chair. Suddenly, going to a stream in Yosemite and dunking my head underwater to catch a salmon sounds enjoyable. And my voice is also developing an edgy kind of roar.Yes, I am turning into a grumpy bear and there is not a damn thing I can do about it UNLESS I GET SOME SLEEP which seems about as likely to happen as winning the lottery.

It used to be I could handle sleep deprivation. Not anymore. When I was younger I could party with the best of them.  Pulling an all nighter wasn’t a problem. When I was in college I would stay up studying until two or three in the morning and get up at six a.m. to get to class on time. Even when Andre was a baby and was up seven to twelve times a night (now I know that can be a sign of autism) I could still function and that was when I was in my forties! But not anymore. Now I just feel like I am going to stroke out as my brain operates with a dull roar going on in the background.

I have tried everything to turn the tide. Soft music. A warm bath. A white noise maker. Going to bed early, going to bed late. Changing beds. Not eating before bed. Open windows/shut windows. Silk pajamas. No pajamas. Flannel pajamas. Aspirin. A three-year-old muscle relaxer from when I threw my back out which comes with a warning not to operate farm equipment when using it. I brought a boring book to bed and then an exciting book. I read every singe research study about sleep and scared the crap out of myself. In desperation I began counting sheep…yeah… I made it to 20, 363 before I bagged one of the annoying little B*******.

At this point I have no idea how I am going to make it through the day. My nerves are on edge, my head hurts and I can feel synapses trying to fire but they don’t have the energy. In desperation I am even considering renting a porn movie on the cable channel because if anything could put me to sleep it would be that. But I’m afraid that if I do happen to fall asleep and the kids come home from school only to see Debbie Doing Dallas I will be out of contention for The Mother Of The Year Award.

Wait a minute…the school district called to cancel our IEP so I am on the telephone explaining to them special education law as it pertains to this case AND thankfully…I feel a yawn coming on!