Today I woke from a strange dream where I was having a raging affair with Rab C. Nesbitt. Actually, it wasn’t quite as bad as me being turned on by a fat man in a string vest, because my lover was more the actor who plays Rab, Gregor Fisher, rather than the überslob himself.
I do remember his rather drab brown clothes hanging over a chair (the trousers were those polyester ones that go shiny with wear at the knees), while Gregor sat on my bed naked, his gut hanging between his legs like a pregnant belly, tears coursing down his face as he rambled about how he couldn’t live without me. In this dream I was in love with Gregor too and, I believe, turned on by him, gut and all. Anyway, the point is that I have always considered myself a fairly superficial person, so I was impressed that I had a fat lover in my dream.
I told my husband about the dream and asked, “What do you think attracted me to portly TV actor Gregor Fisher?”
“His bank balance?” he replied.
Blast him! Actually, I think he’s wrong, I truly believe that I have become less shallow.
Now, it’s not so hard to understand how my subconscious cooked up that dream. Firstly, I watched this documentary the other night about an American Fat Camps for kids, which was strangely uplifting. I’d been expecting myself to hate these kids or at least hate their parents for making them this way and keeping huge packs of chips around the house. But I found myself really feeling empathy with them, even the sixteen year old boy who was 350lb. They were all simply sensitive kids who had blocked out their negative feelings about themselves with food. And then the hell had really started, because they’d started getting picked on at school for being fat and consequently eaten more.
Most of the kids dropped forty or fifty pounds by the end of the summer and felt better about themselves, but most of them had put it all back on by the next summer. The saddest girl was Tammy, who was only a bit chubby, 5ft 2 and 145lb, but in comparison to the rest of the girls she was thin, and all the guys were hitting on her. And she said, “When I’m at school no one notices me, no one hits on me. And in a way I like it that boys are after me here, but in a way I just want to crawl back into my hole.” At the end of the summer she had got down to 130lb but still hated the way she looked and told one guy, “I look disgusting.”
The other component which created the sex with Gregor Fisher dream was skim reading a book in a bookstore by Catherine Millet called The Sexual Life of Catherine M., in which an upper middle class French intellectual chronicles, in rather uninteresting fashion, her experiences of sleeping with hundreds of men, one on one as well as in orgies. She didn’t really know why she did it, not did she particularly care. But I did want to know her motivations and actually, I reckon I do know why. She didn’t care what the guys looked like, fat or thin, short or tall, she was mainly into their penises, and manipulating and pleasuring the penis and got an incredible thrill every time she was told she gave the best BJ ever. Her fascination for penises was somewhat obsessional, and she went into detail about all the penises she’d known, the minute differences between them and how each type of penis had to be wanked off with a different technique: the short fat ones, the circumcised, the uncircumcised, the long ones with not much foreskin, the ones with a lot of foreskin etcetera etcetera.
At this point my head began to spin. Are there really different masturbation techniques for each type of penis? Wow, I never knew that, and quite frankly, couldn’t care less if there are. However, this woman is clearly an expert wanker and I bow to her expertise. Her appreciation of the penis simply knows no bounds.
Dear Catherine, we are chalk and cheese. I am a pretty artistic person who appreciates beauty in all its forms, and yet, I don’t think a penis is especially beautiful, nor for that matter, a vagina, and have rarely, if ever, stared at one for long enough to commit its every contour to memory. In fact, I doubt I could pick my husband’s penis out of a line up, nor, alas, my own vagina. Catherine Millet, however, could probably have sketched all the penises from her past from memory!
What was interesting was that she was extremely submissive to men and lived to service them and got great pleasure out of it without expecting or needing any emotional intimacy from them. I had often wondered whether truly subservient women really exist, and Catherine Millet proved that they do. I mean, sure, many men dominate women, forcing them to be subservient to their whims and sexual needs, but I don’t know if women who live mainly to please men sexually are commonplace. If you are a man, have you ever met such a woman who was totally unselfish and in fact got most of her pleasure from satisfying you?
Oh and by the way, sorry guys, I don’t have Catherine's phone number. But I have posted her pic so that if you are ever at an orgy in Paris you will know who to go to for the best BJ. Glad to be of service!
And lastly, have you ever had sex with any odd people in your dreams?
Who am I? Displaced Londoner now living in the States with my two little girlies and long suffering husband. Co-author of hilarious parenting book Cocktails at Naptime www.cocktailsatnaptime.com
My mom's an Austrian, my dad's a Brit, which makes me a Britaustrian, or possibly an Austrish?