sex

46 posts

Grape Expectations: Wine and Monogamy

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Have you ever blamed being over-served as an excuse to cheat on your lady love?  Sorry guys, that excuse doesn’t hold water (or wine) anymore.

Two wine economists (who knew those existed?) noticed that societies which embraced multiple wives, polygyny, do not consume alcohol.  Two notable examples of this in today’s world are parts of the Muslim world and parts of the Mormon church.

Pondering over a glass or two of wine, these economists  pondered two questions:  “is this ad hoc observation representative of a true phenomenon? Does a real (positive) correlation between monogamy and alcohol consumption exist?”   I recommend you read this study, “Women or Wine? Monogamy and Alcohol” as it is fascinating. The bottom line is summed up nicely by Mara Squicciarini, one of the co-authors:  “We were surprised to find that there is a trade-off between alcohol consumption and the number of sex partners that men tended to keep at any one time.”

Notable points in this paper:

  • Apparently there is a ton of data on “frequency of drunkeness” – data that goes back centuries.
  • Greek and Roman Empires were the only societies who consumed alcohol in that point in history.  They were also the only societies who embraced ‘formal monogamy.’
  • Alcohol consumption did not alter the number of sexual partners a woman had.  Slut shaming strikes again!
  • The Catholic Church may have its issues, but the Church was critical at spreading viticulture around Europe.  They were also helpful at spreading breweries around the world too.  Servicey!
  • The Industrial Revolution appears to be the tipping point for both alcohol consumption and monogamy.
  • Lord Krishna was said to have 16,108 wives and King Solomon had 700 wives and about 300 concubines — all without any social networking or Gawkerdating.

So when you open up that bottle of bubbly with your loved one this evening, you may want to ponder: do we drink because we are monogamous, or are we monogamous because we drink?

The question all parents dread…

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We all asked it when we were children, or we really, really wanted to: How are babies made?

How does it work? He sticks what where?!?!

As a child I was fascinated by it all, and to my mother’s dismay, asked endless questions about peepee’s and weewee’s and whozits and whatzits galore (I also liked The Little Mermaid.)

My mother was conservative, but also a nurse and therefore believed it was better to answer the questions in a straightforward manner, lest I seek other more embarrassing sources for the questions that kept popping into my little head. Rather than describing things for my more visual-oriented mind, mom sat me down with a book instead.  “Where Did I Come From” By Peter Mayle along with it’s companion, “What’s Happening To Me” became frequent sources of information for me growing up- I would read the descriptions of sex, ( One page reading, “By this time, the man wants to get as close to the woman as he can, because he’s feeling very loving to her. And to get really close the best thing he can do is lie on top of her and put his penis inside her, into her vagina.” left little to the imagination.) and look at the diagrams showing the stages of puberty in awe, feeling very enlightened for a 7 year old. Being let in on the big secret of the adult world opened the floodgates of my inquisitive mind. Did the man always lay on top? Did it always feel like “scratching an itch, but a lot nicer”? What happened after? How often did it happen? Did my parents do that? I never had “THE TALK” because the topic of sex and puberty was always open for discussion (In privacy, of course) with my mother.

This behavior on her part came from growing up in the 60’s with a cold-as-stone mother. Think Betty Draper, but instead of being the pampered wife of a New York Ad Executive, being the poor wife of an alcoholic farmer in the middle of nowhere. When my mom asked my Baba (Grandmother in Ukrainian) how she would know if she had gotten her period, Baba replied curtly, “You just will.” And the discussion was never to be brought up again. My mother never wanted her children to grow up distressed with unanswered questions and feeling shameful for having them in the first place,  like she was made to feel.

Now I ask, how did you learn about the birds and the bees? And if you have children of your own, how have you dealt with their questions?

Valentines Kisses

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Ok, so I’m a happily married Gay who gets kissed more than his fair share, sometimes as gratitude for a taystay dinner and sometimes – the best times – just because.  Let’s review some smooching stuff before Monday, ok?

Kisses derive from something immensely gross – an adult mammal passing chewed-up food to a youngun.  But we love to kiss – at least, those of us with passion do, and it is a language all its own.

The Blown Kiss: “Daddy, I’m on a roller coaster!” or “You vicious ex-wife.” Either way, it has little meaning.

The Euro / Hollywood / WASP Air Kiss: This one says “I publicly ally myself with you, and I respect your makeup artist.”

The Kitty / Doggie / Toddler Kiss:  You have always been nice to me, and as a fine judge of character, I pronounce you to be desirable company.  The intent is pure and sincere.

The Neck Rub With Scruff: Obviously for men only.  Dude, take your unshaven (but clean!) chin and run it down the side of the neck of your beloved, very lightly, while adding kisses along the way.  He or she will go absolutely insane.

The Face Caress: For either gender, but women are better at it.  Softly run your hand along your beloved’s jawline, then kiss him or her.  This makes them “yours”,

The Big Bro Kiss: “I am secure in my masculinity and honesty to the point where I can publicly take you in my arms and declare that you are my family.  I do not care if you are my buddy or my best friend’s wife, you are someone who I would take a bullet for and I don’t care who knows it. ” (Often tear-inducing.)

The Big Sis Kiss:  “Were you having a crisis? You aren’t now.  I’m here and you can let it all out.  And, since I’m a Strong Woman, I will fix it.  Oh, and about Mom?  Yes, she is a bitch, and no, it isn’t you.”

The Man Sex Kiss:  “You’re the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen and I must have you right this minute and please do me the honor of letting me take you, over and over again, because you’re so damn hot and all I can think about is you and your body and where to touch next.”

The (Straight) Woman Sex Kiss: “If you don’t take this to the next level I will scream and I may scream anyway because you smell like a man who I want to make a baby with even though I can’t do that now and your eyes make me feel like the most desirable thing on the planet and I want and need and need and want.”

The I Love You Kiss: There are no words, but there is a process.  It’s a kiss, followed by eye contact, then another kiss.

When Chicken Thighs Get Your Own Thighs Open Wide

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Cap’n was working late last night.  A psycho decided to kill his stepfather, girlfriend and her mother, then stab a random pedestrian, then carjack someone and stab her too.  Since he was tearing around Brooklyn in a stolen Pontiac with every cop in the NYPD looking for him, it was Cap’n’s job to find out if he had any prior arrests.  And he had four, two of which were sealed because he was a juvenile… at the age of 20! How ridiculous is that?

So, the joy of my Valentine Party Basket was somewhat diminished in his office after this, which irked me.

There are few restaurants in his gritty precinct, and he wasn’t going to order in, so he’d be ravenous when he got home.  I decided to do it up even though I’d likely be asleep.

Chicken, Risotto, Broccoli feast

4 chicken thighs, skin on

1 shallot

¼ cup olive oil

¼ cup lemon juice (1 medium lemon)

2 tablespoons sherry

Black pepper to taste

Sea salt to taste

Fennel seeds

½ tsp. thyme

½ tsp oregano

Peel and slice the shallots thin.  Insert the slices under the skin of each chicken thigh.  Whisk everything else together in a small bowl.  Line a small roasting pan with parchment paper and arrange the thighs on it.  Pour marinade over it. Sprinkle with more pepper, if desired.  Roast at 425 for 45 minutes to an hour.

Risotto: I use Rice Select Italian Rice and follow the package directions, BUT – I use chicken broth instead of water, and the last cup of liquid added is sherry.  I also add mushrooms and cooked shallots.

Broccoli – frozen florets, blanched for 2 to 3 minutes in water at a rolling boil, then plunged into ice water.  To serve, microwave for one minute with 1 tbsp. butter and the juice of half a lemon.  Serve with lemon wedge.

I whipped all this up, covered it carefully, and left a note about the really good chardonnay in the fridge door and the bagged salad in the crisper.  Then I took a place setting of the china he got me for Christmas out of the cabinet and stacked it next to the serving dishes, along with a linen napkin and one of our crystal wine glasses.  Then I took shower #3 of the day and went to sleep.

At 2 AM, I should not have been surprised to find my ear being nibbled and a scruffy chin running down my neck as the long t-shirt I sleep in was expertly removed.  But I was.  I mean, we both put in long days and Sex Night is usually Saturday.  Spontaneous Sex Night usually happens when we’re both home at the same time.  But there we were, and ’twas glorious.  More glorious was going to the kitchen for the last of the chardonnay and finding that he’d done the dishes.

I make no guarantee that making this dish will result in what P.G. Wodehouse would call “the pash”.  But it will increase your chances.  If it does, plan on Saturday being a Lazy Day.