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December 21, 2007

3. Dirty Nights: “Gimme head!”

6 comments
Glug. Smack. Ah. Glug-glug-glug.
“This beer sucks. I like my Kingfisher in pints.”
“Uh-uh.” Glug.
“But nothing beats chilled beer.”
“Yeah.”
“Got to take a piss.”
“Uh-uh.” Glug.

They stand together, one next to the other, surveying the scene before them. They stand in the darkest corner. They don’t mind the light, just that the darkest corner is also the closest to the makeshift bar. One of them is the group commentator, the other agrees to everything, the third just looks… and drinks and looks some more.

“Legs, nice.”
“Fuck the legs, check the tits.”
“Hubba-hubba.” Glug.
“Too bad her face sucks.”
“Uh-uh.” Glug.
“Yeah, too bad her face sucks, wouldn’t mind those red lips around my…”
“Hell yeah.”
Glug.Glug. Glug-glug-glug.

They stand watching a group of girls on the terrace outside. One of them is wearing a backless and gets a glance. There’s another girl covered from head to toe, she isn’t spared a look. The third is wearing a short skirt that is riding high on her thighs, showing off cellulite. The fourth girl is wearing a bright red off-shoulder, which after five drinks has turned into nearly-off-boobs. She is top heavy and her breasts are straining to break loose. She is wearing bright red nail paint, bright red lipstick and her hair is not long enough to cover her ample bosom. The girls are talking amongst themselves, casting furtive girly-looks around. Sometimes they break into a giggle, at other times – when a guy is looking at them, they will strategically place their hand on their neck or on their heaving chest while a hitherto unheard throaty laugh will come from deep inside their gut, jiggling things further.

“He’s looking at you.”
“Are you sure? He was talking to the slut sometime back.”
“Never mind HER silly. I am sure he was looking at you. He likes you!”
(Blush) “He is cute.”
“I love his dimples, say you love them too…”
“Umm…and the way his eyes crinkle. But I just lurve his arms, they look so… safe.”
“There! He looked at you again. He positively likes you sweetie! I am so happy for you.”
“Do you really think so? Do you think he will talk to me? I hope my flatmate stays out tonight…”
“Of course honey! You are pretty in an unconventional sort of way, which is quite in these days and you are smart. Just look confident. I can sense it, you two will look so good together…”
(Blush) “Sigh.”
“Listen, let’s go to the bar and get a drink.”
“No, no, he is standing there, it will look too obvious.”
“Don’t be silly. Boys are shy creatures you know and we are just getting a drink. You have to let him know you have noticed him…. C’mon.”
Shuffle, shuffle, clickity, clackity

Glug. Smack. Uh??
“Shit. No more beer, but there’s rum. Now I have had whiskey, vodka and beer, am smashed, might as well do the rum. Old Monk, my friend…”
“Uh-uh.”
“You want one… oi!! Ugly-face is coming this way…”
“Nice jiggle.”
“If she trips on those heels, do you think they will pop out?”
“For sure.”
“Too bad her face sucks.”
“Uh-uh, cover face, fuck base.”
(Bwahahaha) (Back slapping)
“And dude, when she’s down and I got my eyes closed, who cares about the face? Good head, is good head.”
(Bwahahaha) (More back slapping)
“Let’s get that rum and see if ugly-face can talk."

Pop. Fizz. Pour. Tinkle.
“No more ice?”
“Sucks.”
“Coke’s cold though…?”
“Uh-uh.”
Sip. Smack. Ah. Somewhere a TV comes on.

“That shit’s watching TV while his chick is flirting with the other guys.”
“Poor guy. Nice guy.”
“Yeah, is always well stocked with alcohol in his parties.”
“Uh-uh.”
“His chick has nice tits though.”
“Uh-uh.”
Sip. Smack. Ah.
“Whattafuckinhouse! They always show cool fuckin’ places in these shows and this one has a swimming pool.”
“Uh-uh. With nekid girls in it.”
“With THAT house and pool, the naked girls will come for free and… Dude, I just saw ugly-face giving me the eye.”
“She is hot for you.”
“Yeah, that house, that pool, naked pretty girls and ugly-face sucking my…”
(Bwahahaha) (Back slapping)
“Oh. Here she comes. Keep your mouth shut.”
“Uh-uh.”

Clickity clackity. Shuffle, shuffle.

“Oh! There’s no ice here sweetie, that’s a bummer.”
“And no clean glasses either and he is watching TV with his friends.”
“Oho, don’t be silly sweetie, men do things in groups. But he has been looking at you for sure.”
(Sigh) “Perhaps and… oh my god. I think he just saw me looking at him! I want to die…”
“Don’t be silly. He likes you I told you. And his friends have been laughing and smiling too, that means he positively likes you. No guy tells his friends about a girl if he doesn’t like her. But he might be shy…”
“I like shy boys… and he’s sooo cute… how do I talk to him?”
“Wait, leave it to me…”

Clickity clackity.
Sip. Smack. Ah.

“Hi guys, is there any ice?”
“Uh-uh.” Sip.
“Pardon me?”
“He means there’s none, sorry. The Coke’s cold though.”
“Oh right, thanks, how silly of us…hahaha…” (Helplessness, crinkles nose, shrugs her shoulder and does the cute laugh)
“Here…can I get you ladies a drink?”
“Oh really! How sweet of you, thankyou…”
Shuffle, shuffle. Pop. Fizz. Pour. Shuffle, shuffle.

“Sorry about no ice…”
“Don’t be silly, haha, not your fault, haha, you have been really sweet…”
“Cheers!”
“Cheers!”
Everybody stands silently staring at the TV.

“Uhm, what are you boys watching?”
“Ads.”
“Pardon me?”
“No, no, he means we were watching some show on expensive houses and now they’re running ads.”

Everyone watches the ads. There is one where the guy puts a necklace with 20 diamonds on it around a girl’s, well, neck. The girl in the ad is beaming.

“Awww! What a sweet ad, her eyes were sparkling and he looked so happy.”
“No he didn’t.”
“Pardon me?”
“Erm, don’t mind my friend, what he means is, if you ask us guys, no guy looks happy giving that many diamonds.”
“Awww, haha, c’mon, if you loved a woman you wouldn’t mind giving her stuff like that. But boys! (Rolls eyes) When have men accepted being in love easily? What do you have to say sweetie?”
Sweetie aka ugly-face is blushing, the red on her cheeks could be booze, embarrassment or anticipation. Ugly-face and suck-my-cock are standing next to each other.

“I don’t like diamonds… I prefer platinum. Looks classier.”
“I wouldn’t give anything.” Sip.
“Pardon me?”
“Erm, what he means is that no man looks happy giving that many diamonds… think like a man you know, that’s what my friend means.”
“No. I mean, if I gave as many diamonds, I would fucking fuck her whole family in exchange.”
(Bwahahahaha) (Back slap)
The girls leave horrified. No one gets laid.

December 20, 2007

2. Dirty Nights: The Slut

9 comments
So she is the party slut. Actually, she would make a good office slut too. Or a holiday slut. Or a you-can’t-make-her-meet-your-mate-because-she’d-screw- your-boyfriend slut. But overall, she makes the best party slut.

She would be the one to always sit in men’s laps and hit bull’s eye. Or bull’s crotch. She never sits on the knee, always perches on the crotch. And the guy – owner of the crotch – is supposed to continue having his drink nonchalantly. You’d think he has low alcohol tolerance to be going red in the face on his second drink.

His girlfriend meanwhile will smile benignly, and will have the oh-they-are-friends and she’s-such-a-fun-girl look. Other men will think the bloke’s lucky to have a chick on his lap and a “cool” girlfriend. Everyone will live happily in a happy world of tolerance. Then, in the loo, while reapplying her gloss, the unsmiling girlfriend will say, “She’s such a slut.”

In another corner, two blokes will be gulping beer and will be joined by the now-glossed-over girlfriend. After she’s kissed them on the cheek and shown her preference by standing closer to the better looking of them (will keep touching his arm, perhaps rub thighs accidentally too), she would say, “She’s such a slut.” All three will be looking at the slut, who is being generally slutty with all men around. The men would nod and one of them – usually the one who has not laid the slut – would say, “Yeah. But she is known to be a good fuck.”

The guy who's having his thigh rubbed would perk up at that bit of information. The chick would roll her eyes and say, “Really? But then sluts are supposed to be, aren’t they?” She would look horrified and innocent at the same time, or try. Then she would ask, “But how do you know?” and look conspiratorially. He would smirk and lie, “I had her in the back of my car.” He would wink. She would groan and say, “Uff, you are such a player. Disgusting. She is such a slut.” And yet, oh-so-subtly, she would shift to adjust her jeans. She's a good girl, she's never had it in a car.

They will all sip their drinks and she’d move to another group after a bit to share the information. She would say, “She slept with someone – I wont take names! – at the back of a car. Had her legs around the rear view mirror. She is such a slut.” Others would nod their acquiescence. Most have heard the car story. Someone else will talk about the time the slut stripped off her top in another party (five years back). “Then she wore the host’s shirt, tied a knot right under her breasts. Her tits were erect, she had lost her bra. You could SEE them.”

“Lord,” they will all groan in unison, “Such a slut.” Then the guy who is usually seen hanging with the slut – arm candy – will join in the group. Someone will ask, “Are you dating HER?” he will scoff and scowling reply, “Of course not. But I have fucked her.” Everyone nods and says, “She is so obvious, such a slut.” No one will mention that she is a good fuck.

December 19, 2007

1. Dirty Nights: The Storyteller

6 comments
Chapter One
The storyteller makes a party. The storyteller breaks a party. Without the storyteller, there is no bloody party.

There are all types of parties that you attend in any given year. There are club openings with orange strips around your wrist for all-night-free-booze (only Indian Made Liquor please). There are book readings followed by cheap wine with bad cheese. There are parties around festivals and the after-fashion-show parties and the let’s-get-drunk-for-no-reason parties (my place, you get the booze type). Then you have the Delhi blacks and Delhi white parties… Funny there are no Delhi browns given that research says Indian women prefer all shades of brown for their lipsticks and majority people in Delhi ARE brown.

However, MOST parties can safely be categorised into two slots: Boring and Interesting. I am not going to write about the boring parties (who cares?).

The interesting parties are the ones that have stories unfolding. Sometimes people share life stories. Some people enact the stories, facial expression, hand movements and pelvic thrusts included. Other people just tell stories. Some stories are very good. Sometimes you see a story unfolding even as another is being told…

Sometimes, the story might not be that good but you enjoy the way the chick bends forward at the Most Important Moments and all eyes – gender irrespective – go down to her breasts as the neckline plunges further. You notice that her breasts are double-shaded: tanned and hitherto untouched by the sun; tungsten and UV lights do not tan.

The other women watching the bending-story-teller will lick their lips. Men will gawk. Those with girlfriends/wives present will quickly raise their glasses for a sip and look from behind the rim. Some glasses will magnify the twin-shaded breasts; some also magnify the eyes. The said girlfriends/wives – who usually know their man is doing the sip-and-see – will use their peripheral vision to see if their man is checking out the breasts.

Most of these women will then feel very sick about the men they are dating. Some will suddenly sit straighter and surreptitiously try and pull down their dresses. Others will cross their arms right under their breasts to push their twins up. The lacks-in-subtlety ones will repeat the storyteller’s moves and lean forward, rest their elbows on their knees and look the picture of interest.

All of them will think the same thing: “The bitch is flashing her breasts.” Most will flash their own, but they are doing it to keep their man’s attention. Sure. Bring on the breasts, may the best set win.

PS: The storyteller thinks her story was a hit and repeats it at another party. Today she is not wearing her cleavage. No one fucking bothers about the story. End of story.

Dirty Nights: A Series

2 comments
Author Chuck Palahniuk – for those who don’t know, this is the guy who wrote Fight Club (‘now a major motion picture!’) – says in the foreword to the start of his new book Non-Fiction, “We get there, and we’re alone. And we’re lonely.” Then he continues to say, “The world is made of people telling stories,” and “the people fuel the storytelling.”

His book is about people getting together, sharing a passion and the stories that revolve around those shared interests. So taking a leaf out of Chuck’s book (and brain), I am starting a series on another shared passion: Parties.

And what happens in the parties, who happens, what should have happened… After all, everyone loves a good party and everyone loves a good story. This is not fiction. Some stories might rub some the wrong way; just ensure it’s a good rub though. Shrug.

A look at the city's party scene in a series of 10 short stories (or five, or seven!). Let’s party.

PS: Probably the end of me being invited anywhere, but whaddaphuck.

December 12, 2007

The man, the boss and the rapist

12 comments
It’s been happening a bit too frequently now. Each time I plan out a fun post, something happens that sends me reeling back to angry writing. This time though, it’s not something that happened to me. So this girl went to a house party with her colleagues where her boss tried to jump her. Rather he pinned her down on the bed and tried to force himself on to her. In legal parlance, it’s called attempted rape.

What is the girl doing about it? Nothing. She quit her job and when asked as to why she wasn’t taking the matter further, the girl said, “Oh but he is a good man. He was only drunk that night.” Interestingly, this “nice man” has three other attempted-rapes to his 'credit' and all three girls left the organization. And of course, like all “nice” men, he has a wife and a kid and thus needs to get drunk to force other women.

Listen up women. A nice man – whether drunk, stoned or baked out of his head on cocaine – will NEVER try to rape a woman. For those (stupid) women who have not bothered to find out: RAPE is a crime of power and dominance and NOT about sex or physical gratification. If a man tries to rape you, please lose all notions that he is a “good” man. He is not. He is a fucking raging criminal who will eventually get bolder with each attempted rape that is NOT reported. This is a man - even if he is/has been your boyfriend or husband -- who has issues with women and usually would like to dominate and subjugate women. "NO" is a fucking perfectly understandable word. If you say no and the guy still tries to force himself on you; that's a bonafide rapist you are looking at. He WILL try it again.

(Much like women-beaters. Please UNDERSTAND, men hit women NOT because of provocation -- no matter how many times a man tells you that the woman asked for it; a woman perhaps ask for it when she does a Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction, comes at you with a fucking knife -- but because that man CAN hit a woman. If he does it once, he will do it again. I have had it from two men in life; and prior to testing their strength on me, both men have had a record of hitting other women. And am sure will hit others)

However, let’s stop for a minute here. WHY don’t women report cases of sexual harassment at work or in this particular scenario, an attempted rape? Usually people will tell you that the women are scared of societal retribution and what their families will say and what people will think about her. It could ALSO be a case that the girl was guilty of encouraging the man in the first place. Thinking that they can keep things under control... and of course they can't.

Please get this straight: NO woman wants to be raped. However, I have known women who have willingly encouraged attention and cheap jokes and a casual touch here and there from their bosses or superiors. Why do they encourage these things if they don’t want situations to lead further? Simply because these women think that if a little flirtation furthers their careers, there’s nothing wrong with it. What's wrong with it is that you are sending out the signal that you are okay with the man being a sleaze ball with you. If you are okay with raunchy jokes and your boss frequently putting his arm around your shoulders or your waist, or are discussing your sex life with your boss and thinking it’s cool: fucking think again. While today office environments and office decorum is much more relaxed than it used to be earlier-- you put people together, eventually they will fuck -- some basic rules don’t change.

1. you don’t flirt with your boss, more so if the dude is married.
2. If you are flirting, be prepared when the boss would want the things to go further; and that he is not used to a no since you have been cooperative so far.
3. if you are discussing your personal or your sex life details with your colleagues and friends; there is a certain image you are portraying. In simple words it’s called being an “easy” woman. It has nothing to do with being comfortable with who you are or being liberated enough to say what you want to say. Some things should not be discussed in the office; and your sex life is one of them.
4. There are people who meet and fall in love in offices. HOWEVER, office flings are not looked at kindly. And you should be prepared for the sniggers and the looks and perhaps even people thinking that you are not professional enough. And of course other sleaze balls thinking you are fair game for them.
5. if ANY man tries to rape you or forces you in ANY fucking way, it is NOT a good man. It’s a man who has been getting away with shit for far too long. If it's your boyfriend, get out of that relationship and report it. If it's your boss, fucking report it, that's a predator who needs to be in the dock. Please understand that your boss is a man first and then a superior. ANY man (the sort we are discussing here) if given encouragement and signals that the woman is okay with advances, WILL fucking make those advances. You cannot run complaining that you were okay sharing dirty jokes and dirty looks and a little flirtation and not anything else. Either play it the entire distance or if you are not going to be comfortable with what ensues, nip it in the bud.

And for the sake of other women who will be working in that organization and who perhaps don’t want to lose their jobs, PLEASE take your pawning your body OUT of the office. YOU spoil things for other chicks who are only interested in their work and advancing their careers the right way – it’s called hard work – and not by pimping themselves to their bosses. Often we women ASK for things to happen to them. We give these bastards (and it does NOT mean all men so don’t you guys dare write back with how-can-you-hate-men) a chance to do what the fuck they want because we give them the fucking encouragement. Kindly stop it.

Don’t let a man or men get the better of you. It’s your body, it’s your integrity, it’s your professionalism at stake. If you don’t safe guard it and look after it, no-fucking-one is going to be doing it for you anyway. It’s fucking disgusting how women let things happen to them especially in scenarios (like an office) where’s it’s avoidable. Pissed off.

PS: Many write in asking if I hate men. For the record: NO I don’t hate men. I am in much love with a very good man and he and others like him make it worthwhile to love and believe that certain good does exist in the species. HOWEVER, there are jerks and bastards around and I will continue writing exactly how and what I have been writing. Those who are pissed off are fucking most welcome to not read. Loss of hit counts (and idiots) really doesn’t bother me that much.

December 11, 2007

The Good Girls and Jerk-ing Off!

11 comments
It was an interesting meeting, last evening. An old friend and me were sitting and chatting over coffee and assorted cookies (she had two, me guiltily gorged on at least 8) in her new office. My friend – let’s call her Usually Calm Friend – is bright, smart, beautiful and with a sense of humour that makes her fucking hot; if were she a man, she’d be mine. And yes, she’s mostly seen dealing with situations calmly. Except of course when it comes to men.

Now Usually Calm Friend has recently purged herself of Ex-Memorabilia. For those who don’t get it, Ex-Memorabilia are things – letters, moments, reminders of special dates on your phone calendar, gifts – that were once given to you (lovingly even!) and now ONLY serve to remind you of times that were good, of a man that was a good till he turned into his real self. A man’s real self is the one that no other woman but his mother will love. (Such men should also only stay with their mothers)

So Usually Calm Friend serially went on a purge-drive where she tore letters, cut out pictures, flushed an expensive perfume, donated another expensive jacket and so on and so forth. After narrating the trail of destruction she’d been on and which – “was so greatly soothing” – she said, “I feel so stupid for wasting so much time and emotions on him. And ALL because he came across as intelligent. WHY do I fall for the same type each time?”

(And why do good girls like jerks? thought the Romantic while the Cynic had a good laugh and has a black eye now)

The two of us went on to discuss the qualities/traits that make us notice a man or talk to him at a party or take things further. Both of us agreed – after going through a list of “our kind” of women we knew, which would be pretty, pretty smart, independent, etc – and realized that most of us (read women) notice a guy because he SPEAKS well… Yes, even if a guy has dreadlocks reaching his knees and red-eyes (would normally be avoided), but if he can talk well, well that’s a girl hooked. A little word play here, some smart comeback there, another well-timed one-liner, someone who can take some fun and give it back… verbally.

(And no, if you see a woman dressed in red and black, asking her, "Are you a vampire?" is a very bad idea and a very bad line!)

And you see, most bad boys – call them jerks, call them Players, call them Don Juans – the kind that GET a girl are the same type, they do the how-to-hook-a-girl right. (Of course when it comes to keeping a girl, they either lose the rule book or are bad learners) The guys know how to spin words (and webs). They know how to present the package, they know how to throw the bait and more than anything else, they are CONFIDENT that they will get the girl.

Point being: Give yourself and your other women friends a break: NO ONE falls for a jerk knowing that it’s a jerk. No guy wears a placard/tag that reads, “I am hideous, come date me.” When a (smart) woman falls for a jerk, she usually falls for the (superficial) good qualities she sees in him. It’s just a matter of time for those qualities to vanish and the hideous Mr Hyde to surface… If you have dated a jerk and are now suffering, PLEASE don’t make the yuckiness (the nausea you feel thinking of exactly HOW stupid you were and why didn’t you see it coming) worse by blaming yourself for FALLING for the guy. He showed you things you liked, you fell for the bloke. Period. Now you are out of it – forced or per choice – get on with it, purge him out of your system and get your perspective back. ALSO know that there are no guarantees that you will NOT fall for yet another jerk.

Next time you meet a man, you have to take your chances because chances are all we have. It either works or it doesn’t. There really is no mid way and no way of finding out beforehand

Hmm. Except for these two little tests on how-to-spot-a-jerk that OFTEN work:
1. Check how he talks to his mother: If he is being nasty to her, baby there’s no way the bastard will be good to you. But chances are you might not meet his mother (It's an A-grade jackass who has his family in on the game as well, the mothers always support)
2. Is it your bill or his?: Yes this is the age of liberalization and moneyed women and guys and girls split the bill and all that. BUT. A real man (usually) likes to nourish, cherish and look after what is his (includes you), which usually translates into him NOT asking you to foot the bill. It doesn’t make sense that he is taking you out for a movie (or wherever) and you are paying. It’s understandable when one partner foots the bill because the other is broke or out a job or whatever; that’s cooperation and understanding (and you pitch in once you have as it as well girlie). However, if the guy CAN pay the bill but does not even mention taking it up and somehow you ALWAYS end up paying… dudette, you are just a cash cow for him. (Same rule applies for men who become walking banks for certain women, get out of it lad)

For the boys, here's one test: If she spends the night with you, or subsequent nights and you give her the royal treatment hoping for a lay and she gets all cosy with you BUT insists on talks and hugs, she be jerking you around dude. THIS is what a male pal of mine who has recently declared he hates cockteasers says, "I hate those women, especially the pieces of shit who get all closey-closey and say "All I want to do is talk and hug". Fuck them in the ear." Ah well, I'd say turn her out of the house that very instant... but call a cab for her (you are a gentleman and yet you show that you have balls). On that note will go check how he's doing today...

PS: This is something I had written in August: A post about what makes a man stand out. Some of you guys reading Eve* should perhaps go through it as well!

Wind me up, turn me on (read full text)
Nothing, I tell you, is more turning on than a sharp mind. OH! No lines and no charm works better than someone who has presence of mind, quick wit and the nonchalance to pull it off. And the few people I have in my life – the new and the old – are fucking so bright that it is thrilling. And I want to hold on to them and not let them go and therefore I become a pile-on (me thinks) or what we here, in the northern parts of the country, call being a ‘chep’. (Literally means someone who ‘sticks’)

December 5, 2007

(Too Fucking) Frequently Asked Questions

3 comments
Still answering the fucking FAQs...

These were the first batch of 7 Too-Fucking-Frequently-Asked-Questions that were answered in Decembre 2006... some questions are STILL being asked. The CURRENT additions to the questions follow below the original:

1. Why do you make so many spelling mistakes on your blog?
A: Because I type with one hand.

2. Why dont you use both your hands?
A: I always use one hand to type and the other to frig.

3. Arent sex blogs supposed to be Anonymous?
A: No.

4. People know your identity...isnt the idea of such a blog to be anonymous?
A: The idea of this blog is to be able to fucking write what i WANT to fucking write. With name, with a pseudonym or with a placard declaring my name, phone number and directions to my house.

5. Why isnt there much sex on this blog?
A: There's not much sex in my life. when there will be...and if it leaves time for me to blog :) -- you get to read it too.

6. Will the sex be raunchy?
A: No. we sit across the room from each other and type out things we want to do to each other. We LOVE blogging!

7. Who's the WE?A: those involved.
________________________________
NOW

8. Hang on, this is the longest you have gone missing: Anything significant?
A: Yes, lot's of sex.

9. Is it good sex or bad?
A. Answer will depend on whether you feel happy for me or not.

10. Does that mean there's going to be more sex on the blog?
A. No.

11. But you said "when there's sex in my life..."
A. Shrug. It doesn't leave much time to blog.

12. Will you still be called Clit Chatting?
A. Yes. I still use it you know... the name, I mean.

13. Does more sex in your life make your blog more popular?
A. No, people hate the fact that am happy and orgasming. At least when I was moping, many felt better about their sorry lives.

14. So now you are feeling cocky?
A. Erm, not cocky. Pus... maybe? (Bwaaahahahaha)

December 4, 2007

Boob bakwas and crotch my heart and hope to die!

0 comments
I think boobs are to women what the crotch is to men: An obsession, a full-time occupation and even the reason that can get you killed. And yet, the way men and women behave wrt boobs and penises, is rather different.

Many a times I have noticed women walking down the road, their head bent down, ostensibly looking at the ground. The reason many give is that since men (the road-Romeo variety, can also been seen at swanky pubs flashing swanky brands) are always letching at women, the best way to avoid eye-contact with sleaze balls is to stare at the ground while walking.

HOWEVER, a large number of women also look at the ground while walking because they are not looking at the ground at all! They are in fact checking out their own boobs. Is it jiggling too much? Does it have the right ‘hop’ as I walk? Is the center of my ‘vee neck’ shirt right at the center of my boobs…or has it shifted to the right? Is it obvious that my right boob is bigger than my left one? Oh shit, it’s cold, are my nipples erect?!

And of course if a woman is flashing a load of cleavage – strictly for the women who flash their cleavage to be noticed as against those chicks who flash theirs “because I believe in myself and my individuality and my feminism and I have excellent cup size” – she is mighty bothered when no one looks at her. So down goes the head to check if the right amount of cleavage is being flashed. Point being: Women are as conscious about their breasts as men are about their penises, but only the women are not as open about it.

Like while you will see a man gladly and fondly scratching his crotch in public; sometimes they even give it a complete-palm-squeeze, women unfortunately are never seen fondling their breasts. While a guy will feel absolutely comfortable adjusting his Package, a woman will suffer a wedgy with a tight smile but will NOT pull it out (in public). Even today I have chicks come up to me with a ‘my god you are naked’ look when ALL that’s showing is a bra strap.

Sigh! I wish could fondle myself as fondly as the guys do… AND then this morning, I was nearly run over by a truck BECAUSE my autorickshaw driver insisted on driving with one hand. His other rested firmly next to his crotch. On that note… read this one from early January 2007…

Eve* saying crotch my heart and hope to die