My first post as an official MILF

I'm typing this with one hand, as my other hand is occupied, supporting my half-sleeping daughter in a cross-cradle hold while she lazily nurses. I'm wearing some sort of weird spit-up-stained men's bathrobe I picked up at the DAV that sort of reminds me of Brad Pitt's workout attire in Fight Club, my hair is bleached out with auburn roots and a rat's nest, and the last time I had a shower (2 days ago), I skipped the soap because I was holding my baby while I bathed and she was slippery enough as it was without suds.

Now you know why, even though my daughter is 3 weeks old today, this is the first time since she was born that I've gotten around to writing an actual post.

Last night, I was once again referred to as a MILF by a high-school boy (not that I'm that much older; I graduated last spring). It blows my mind. I am not what I consider sexy. As has been alluded to, I am a huge Lolita fan. Lolita is exactly my unconventional conception of sexy.

I say unconventional because, despite current trends towards the unhealthily thin, what men consider to be sexy is basically influenced by evolution. In the desire to produce healthy offspring, men are attracted to signs of health (slightly plump, clean teeth, shiny hair, clear skin, odor-free) and signs of fertility (large tits, wide hips). Even the cliche blonde-haired bombshell is perpetuated by evolution: Because blond hair is a recessive trait, blond haired men who procreate with a blonde woman and have a brunette child can be assured that the child is not theirs, while the paternity of a blond child is assured.

Feminine once meant plump and voluptuous. Think heart-shaped lips and Sir Mix-A-Lot's 'Baby Got Back.' But modeling trends bend towards boyish and sickly. Think Twiggy, Kate Moss, and Penelope Tree.

The flapper girls of the thirties were probably the first sign of the changing times. Jordan Baker of The Great Gatsby was attractive to men with her cropped hair, cadet-like stance, and 'faint mustache of sweat on her upper lip'-- all decidedly male characteristics.

And in the fifties we got Lolita. This is my idea of sexy. Poreless skin, boyish figure, mousy hair, holes in her jeans, smelly tennis shoes, peachy orange skin, candy-stained tongue, crooked white teeth. What a contradiction. Her skin and daintiness suggests she is healthy, a prototype of what is to be desired. Her habits are unclean and disgusting. "Does not chew nails, although it would be in character if she did." She is rude and thrives on shock value. But oh, so dainty.

Humbert Humbert, the narrator of her tale, once so attracted to her, finds her ruined when he encounters her later, pregnant, 'ripe with another man's child'. Evolutionarily, a perfectly acceptable reason for not finding a girl sexy-- having sex with her wouldn't produce any healthy offspring for him. Her arms are thin, ropey, milky-pale; her veins in her hands pop visibly. Shew now wears glasses. Like fruit, she is now overripe; spoiled. No longer appealing. Again, a contradiction. She looks older, and in comparison to her 12-year-old, sexy self, now actually old enough to be appealing. She has better hygiene, and by evolutionary standards, her ripeness should be attractive. Instead, she is spoiled; at 17 she is past her prime and ruined.

Like Humbert, I see the ruined self in the ripeness. I recall the immaculate, dirty, stone-cold Lolita. The high-school boy's comments cannot be believed. My title of MILF is a parody.

My first post as an official

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Foot Fetish (Part 1)

I'd first like to say congratulations to MILF on the birth of her beautiful baby girl last Saturday (I think)!

This isn't really a full blog--and since we don't have any readers (yet?), I don't think anyone minds.

I, personally, do not have a fetish with feet. I don't have the irrational fear of them that seems to plague the general population of men and women in America. If they're not dirty, I don't freak out. I just don't get off on them.

I'm writing this because during Inglourious Basterds, there is a scene when Hans Landa tells (the very sexy) German actress Bridget von Hammersmark to lift her foot into his lap. While the scene itself has nothing to do with the subtle eroticism that is Landa slowly pushing Hammersmark's dress from her calve and undoing the strap on her silver-studded high heel, I couldn't help but notice. It's something I would like to recreate (in my own way, of course, without doing a silly fan fiction or plagiarizing the script).

Anyway, I love Lolita about as much as MILF here does, but I won't steal her thunder. I will only mention that the narrator, Humbert Humbert, has an equally sexual fixation with Lolita's small feminine feet. The movies capitalize on her use of them to seduce and tempt her step-father--displaying them wet in the sprinklers or pampered while painting her toenails.

Manual Labor

Here's my first actual post. A side-note about this concubine: my fetish for men's hands is immeasurable. I'm obsessive. Here's a brief explanation that I'd recently written for another blog:

Forgive my grammar. I'll use the excuse that English is only my second language.

I love men’s hands.

I enjoy a man’s lips as much as anyone; a soft kiss on the cheek, a sweet pure-lip peck, a ravenous melting of two mouths that are responsible for initially manifesting the hunger one feels to unite entirely with another person. I especially enjoy a surprise kiss, being caught off guard with little option but to respond with my own lips. I crave eye contact, too, whether innocently sharing an unspoken joke or communicating a mutual desire.

I think that the ability of the hands to seduce is vastly underrated. No one thinks about the brush of a thumb over parted lips, the warmth of a palm on one’s cheek during the sweetest of kisses. A hand on the back of the neck is something more heated. There is a certain eroticism in the feeling of two hands clutching one’s waist, pulling the body closer during the most raw moments of a relationship.

Think of everything hands do:

Hands parts legs, pin hips to the ground when they buck, claw at the sensitive skin of the back, sensually link fingers, enflame and then sate the embers of sexual desire. Hands have the ability to comfort one who is distressed or punish one who has done wrong.

The first hint of attraction I feel for a man comes from watching the ways in which he uses his hands. I watch the degree of expression, I watch how each knuckle bends and to what angle. I watch how long his hands remain on certain objects and how they hold things.

I love the rough, calloused skin of a working-class man’s hand. I love the smoothness of a librarian or teacher with short, practical nails and smooth palms. I love long, piano-playing fingers and short, thick phalanges.

There are few things sexier than a man who knows how to use his hands.

Introductions, Part II

Now that you've gotten to know a little about the Crafty Concubine, here I am: MILF. I chose this super-secret sexy screen name because I'm due to have a baby, like, now. Or at least this week sometime. I'm not a college student, but rather an ex-high school student with a few college credits kind of floating around while I wait to have this baby and get back in school.

Like Crafty Concubine, I'm a huge Nabokov fan, and am near-obsessed with Lolita. I like to sit around and consider how she managed to capture Humbert so completely, and how her spirit embodies all that is 'American'.

My other great source of literary inspiration is Breakfast at Tiffany's, hence the profile picture of Holly Golightly. I'm no Lolita, by any means, but I think I have something in common with our Holly. To sum up her life for those of you who haven't read the book/ seen the movie, she started out as uneducated Lula Mae on a farm in Nebraska (I believe, could be wrong), left home and got married at fourteen, had four kids, gave up on the hillbilly life and moved to Los Angeles where she became fluent in French, then somehow wound up in New York City as a call-girl and "a phony, the most real phony you'll ever meet." Holly Golightly's somehow Gastby-ish Platonic conception of herself is a source of endless fascination for me.

And finally, I'm here a little to help me develop the theme of a novel I'm writing, which centers on gender roles and sexuality in suburban versus rural America. Perhaps I'll post some short excerpts, but mostly I will be contemplating the complex issues of sexuality: in America, around the world, in little bars, under trains, in literature, by each gender, through genetics, behind hay bales, on pin-up posters, with drugs, without inhibitions, and with more than enough run-on sentences.

Introductions

Being the pretentious girl I am, I have decided that bold type is the most appropriate choice for my introduction.

The basics:
I'm a college student in Kansas. No, it's not an extremely fascinating mecca of all that is erotic or gloriously entertaining. Yes, I enjoy it nonetheless. I think it's appropriate for you to be aware of my belief that sexiness is not necessarily contained within the social world of the glamorous big-tittied (pardon my callous use of colloquial sex-terms) celebrities or the supposedly underground Hipster culture of boys in tight underwear and plaid vests. I'll elaborate a little later but for now I'm setting this as a guideline for the rest of my posts. Almost anything can be sexy if you look at it at a different angle.

Anyway, the purpose of this blog (for me, at least. I'm sure MILF will post her get-to-know-yous sometime this weekend) is to express my opinion on what is sexy--be it through found erotic poetry, my own musings/articles, photos, or music. Today while walking through the only--and very tiny--adult film store in the city I found myself denouncing everything that could be considered "erotic material." My idea is to provide an alternative to the general societal beliefs about what is sexy based on my opinions and definition of the word.