Quack Yeah

I feel too socially active, so much so I may have forgotten what this blog is all about: me.
I’m ‘sposed to be sharing. Well by request of my good friend Brenton whose feedback was to the effect I was a high brow wanker I thought I’d talk about my various fetishes. Dolly Parton was covered in ‘A dream I once had part I’ but I have others. Don’t you worry. The most notable is ducks. Ducks? ducks. It’s the one I understood the least. Until my brother described some book featuring a dysfunctional couple who had sex on their honeymoon and then never again until he bought an Antique cupboard and put that together with the antique four poster bed at the honeymoon venue to discover his wife had a fetish for old furniture. Supposedly such irrational fetishes can be traced back to first sexual thoughts. It clicked, I remembered vividly going to see a stage production of peter and the wolf at Ballarat Civic Hall. They were pulling the cast from random audience members who turned out to know there lines and fit the costumes suspiciously well. I can’t remember the plot of Peter and the wolf but they had this ballet dancer who wore this little tailfeather piece that she waggled like a duck. I dread to think my teacher could have looked around and seen me red in the face sweating profusely with the leer on my face that later became my winning poker face. A perfectly reasonable sexual experience except for the fact that I was a tender young innocent. Infact I probably didn’t know what the hell was going on and somehow it just got imprinted so a subliminal cue goes off when I see ducks that puts a lear on my face (though now a subtle one) I mean officers don’t single me out as a shady character in parks, and I don’t want to do the ducks or anything (though I’ve seen a picture of that too) I just wanna have sex with someone, you know.*
I was reading some sketches I’d written about policies of mine last night and came across some other fetishes of mine too. I generally develop a policy every time I make a poor purchase decision such classic examples include ‘The bigger the big pants the better’ even though having too much waistline does strange things to your fly when you belt up and ‘You can never buy underpants too small’ which really I applaud myself for because happiness comes from appreciating what I’ve got. As an aside there was a kid in primary school who had to wear gumboots everytime his mother needed his basketball shoes (which was most days) had the nickname fungus and not a chance to be cool in life. At Sovereign Hill the Jewell in Ballarat’s crown for reasons I still don’t understand kids love to buy boiled sweets and this poor kid bought two lollypops with the 50c spending money he had received. He got one that was fine and one that was just a broken lollypop stick. Me having my mothers penny-pincher instincts told him he should take it back (he was hard done by enough) but he said defiantly ‘I like the stick part!’ and you should have seen him relish this stick. He taught me a valuable lesson that day.
Anyway in high-school in my late blossoming love life a generally dated girls my height and unfortunately close to my build. I mean if I stood on tippy-toes I could see the top of their head. Later I ended up in a longterm relationship with what my family would call a ‘short-arse’ I’m technically short but my body’s out of proportion I have like six foot man legs and a shortarse torso so my arse is reasonably distant from the ground but I can never where my pants up around my hips because I look like a grade 6 teacher tucking her breasts into her pants. Anyway in the spirit of appreciating what you have I devised another ill fitting policy of ‘the shorter the better’ figuring less height meant tighter distribution of curves (my probability teachers would be glad to see I use their theory in practical applications). And I think we’ve all seen the Guiness World Record pictures to back that up.
The last fetish I’ll discuss came from different rational again, namely just being impressionable and pie-eyed around a girl that was older than me. She just stated that ‘forearm hair makes you a good lover cause it means more testosterone’ it’s something I still look for even though I later realised that a year older isn’t really jack in terms of maturity (infact age isn’t really as good an indicator of maturity as behaviour) it stuck. There you go, fetishes can come from youthful imprinting, obstinancy, general advice and dream visitations moral of the story if you’re a short Ukranian Duck Keeper who sings folk music give me a call.
I’ll need some alone time now.

*not someone YOU know just a figure of speech.