The enormous popularity of 50 Shades of Grey got me thinking about kink; bestiality in particular. Not that the novel has anything to do with sexual relations between humans and animals. It doesn’t. But it does have to do with BDSM, which is kink. And bestiality is pretty kinky.
I wasn’t thinking about BDSM or bestiality or fetishes because I’m kinky. I’m not. I was just thinking about kink because my brain happened to bring it up during one of the lively musical jam sessions inside my head.
I have those because my brain makes its own music. Lots of it. Often. There is, of course, a logical, rational explanation as to why this happens…
When the screws rattle around inside my head they create snappy, happy little tunes. It’s really pretty cool. It’s just one of the many blessings of being…eccentric (my kinder, gentler buzzword for crazy).
So while drinking my morning coffee I was reading an article about 50 Shades of Grey and I accidentally dropped my coffee spoon on the floor. The act of bending to retrieve it started a tuneful jam session. The melody was clanky and clinky which, naturally, made me think of kinky…you know, because of the rhyming thing.
When I sat straight up again, my gaze landed on an ad for dog food, which got me thinking about how much I miss our dearly departed little cocker spaniel. And since kink had already come to mind, the natural progression was for me to think about bestiality.
You can see that, can’t you?
Not that I would ever dream of engaging in bestiality with a cocker spaniel, or any other household pet or farm animal or jungle animal or—
Wait a minute…
I thought about it for a moment as the brain music clinked and clanked and I realized that, yes…yes, maybe I might consider engaging in bestiality of a certain kind after all.
The image flashing through my mind made me laugh, which caused the stuff inside my head to rattle more, creating bouncier tunes, until all the joy and frivolity and music up in there made me jump up from my chair and do a happy dance on the kitchen floor.
Just so you don’t think I’m a sexual deviant as well as a total nutcase, I should explain that I’m not sexually coveting anybody’s cocker spaniel, milk cow, potbellied pig, mountain goat, or rooster. The animal would have to be a shapeshifter, you know, like the hot, sexy ones in the fantasy romance novels. I’ve written a few of those myself. They’re always hunky, gorgeous, muscular, fearsome half-human and half-animal super sexy creatures.
So that would automatically rule out this type of shapeshifter:
They wouldn’t work because the wrong half is animal. I mean, who’d want to look at a horse’s face while having sex? Unless you’re like really into horses and maybe have a kinky horse fetish or something. Remember all those girls in the schoolyard who used to run around pretending they were horses? Like that. I never got that. So, I don’t know…maybe those little horsey-obsessed girls grew up to become devotees of bestiality, which means they might like to look at a horse’s face while having sex.
But then…if the shapeshifter had a human head and torso, and an animal bottom, then you’d have to deal with the animal’s totally foreign private parts during intimacy. That could get sort of clunky and awkward. I know women talk about men who are hung like a horse but, seriously, doing it with the actual real, live horse part? Nuh-uh. I don’t think so. I mean, just the smell alone…
So shapeshifter sex would have to happen in that brief period of time when the changeling is in full human form with a nice, handsome human head and human dangly bits, and no barnyard odor. For purposes of copulation, that shouldn’t be a problem, considering two minutes is all a male shapeshifter would really need to remain in human form.
Just because I (well not me, actually--it was my shameful, naughty alter ego, Daisy Dexter Dobbs) wrote a whole bunch of erotic romance novels over the last decade, I’m still a fairly Doris Day-ish sort of woman in real life. (If you’re too young to understand that reference then you shouldn’t even be reading a blog that uses the words bestiality, BDSM, fetish, or kink. You belong here instead.) Although Doris, like Betty White, has always been an animal lover and crusader, I’m pretty damn sure neither she nor Betty has ever engaged in bestiality.
I was going to draw a funny picture about that…but I don’t really even want to think about it, and I doubt you do either.
Times have certainly changed since Doris was in movies. If Doris Day and Rock Hudson were making those romantic comedies today, you never know…there might be some bestiality involved. I can just imagine a modern day version of Pillow Talk…
I think what bothers me most about bestiality is the ridiculous, illogical spelling of the word. Since it has to do with beasts, why isn’t it spelled BEASTiality instead of BESTiality? What does having sex with animals have to do with being best? Fooling around with fowl is just plain foul.
Wait…you know that question I just asked about what’s best about bestiality? It was rhetorical. If you seriously have an opinion on the subject, please don’t tell me because I’m pretty damn sure I don’t want to hear it. If you’re a zoophile who feels the need to discuss what makes bestiality totally awesome, then you’d probably be happier here instead.
If Seinfeld were still on the air, I wonder if they’d be writing jokes about bestiality…not that there’s anything wrong with that.
(If reading this post has caused you to look at Rover, Mittens, or your pet turtle in a different, covetous light, please accept my profuse apologies.)
UPDATED: So it looks like I may be going to hell…in a doggie bag (I figured since this post is about bestiality, my mode of transportation will probably be a doggie bag instead of a handbasket). As result of this post with its shockingly shameful bestiality cartoonage, I’ve lost 3 followers and have received 2 rather unkind, chastising emails from “churchy” type people who felt it necessary to warn me of my imminent destination because of this “deeply disturbing” post. I think they’re convinced I must be Beelzebub’s daughter.
Come on, folks…seriously?
It’s okay though, I'm not really upset. I only succumbed to the ugly cry for about 10 minutes.
Actually, I think it's pretty damn funny that my silly cartoons have caused such a stir. As a humor writer, I know better than to expect everyone to embrace my peculiar sense of humor, and I’m perfectly okay with that. Honest. I basically just write what makes me laugh, and hope it will make some of you smile too. If this off-the-wall little post actually offended those people (and it did), they shouldn't be reading my blog (or most others) anyway, so hasta la vista, baby! :D
This whole ridiculous feedback thing has given me some deliciously naughty ideas for future posts, so it’s probably best if those super straight-laced churchy people don’t come back.
If you’d like to help me get my confidence back (PLEEEEZE!), it would be GREAT if you’d follow my blog--you know, as a sort of protest against those who unfollowed me because of the Beelzebub Jr. thing. This isn’t like me putting up a cheesy PayPal “support-my-blog” link because following my blog doesn’t cost you even a single penny! Yay! The trouble is, since I removed the little Google Friend Connect box with all the little faces, no one seems to realize they can still follow me (even though people who want to unfollow managed to find the link IMMEDIATELY—LOL). So here are some different ways you can follow my blog:
The links are right at the top of my blog. You can’t miss them. THANK YOU!!! :D
*end of update*
--Super Earthling…roger wilco, over and out
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