There’s an old saying in the UK “Boys don’t make passes at girls who wear glasses”.
Glasses are like the smart business suit. The tight, skirt the strict adherence to protocol … the pleasure of taking the suit off the formerly prim and proper woman before you roger her senseless. You can tell Suze and I have done that particular role play can’t you hehehe.
Glasses imply intelligence, they are a form of shorthand for dammed up desire. Well they are for me. You see despite the fact that sometimes (especially in my fiction) I can imagine the weirdest and most fantastical scenarios for sex, underneath it all I’m a sucker for the old clichÃ©s.
I almost felt like I was apologising there for what turns me on. That’s wrong because what turns me on varies. Sometimes it’s a complex mixture of circumstance, setting and Suze. On other occasions it can be very, very simple. If any man tells me that they feel otherwise, that they don’t become aroused by simple, basic, often clichÃ©d sights, sounds, smells … they’re lying.
Men are about being instinctive and instinct bypasses the intellect. That’s the nature of a primal urge. But hang on, the recognition of a visual queue such as a spectacle wearing woman surely contradicts that? For a man’s brain to be cognisant of the link between the inanimate object of steel and glass and the implied concept of repressed yearning there must be some thought process other than the automated neural activity primeval brain.
Reacting to a stocking clad leg, a certain item of clothing, a particular “damsel in distress” scenario requires association with a memory or concept that triggers desire. Doesn’t it? I mean it’s not like a reflex action that never gets past the brain stem.
Or maybe men’s brains work for the most part at an instinctive level and therefore the processing information and semi-abstract concepts is carried out by the same little grey cells as those concerned with sexuality and the basic urge to fuck.
That got a bit deep. Never mind, here are Suze’s tits to look at.