Monday, January 16, 2012
Sex in the Summer
The heat has finally hit the far far north. This being Miss Mich’s sixth summer it would be assumed that Summer is as Summer does. But this summer is different. For lots of reasons.
Allow Miss Mich to elucidate.
Firstly, the Libertine and I are engaging in something new. Something new and exciting. It could be described as a little bit naughty, but for liberals such as us, we see it as a natural progression of this thing we have going on…
Some may call it a ménage a trios. Some may call it fooling around with nature. Whatever, the window to engage is brief and fleeting, the timing must be precise, the fit just so and the delivery delicate and with intent.
Get all of the components just right and the excitement at the moment of coupling is exquisite.
Flower Sex. Yes. Capital letter for a capital bit of flower hanky panky.
I prefer to set the scene with a little Marvin Gaye or Barry White. As you know I love to fool around in the morning, well anytime really. But it appears that these males and females prefer to make themselves alluringly available first thing in the am. That’s all right by me. The delicate perfume of the frangipani’s and the dew underfoot makes for sensory heaven. No wonder the female chooses the softness of sleepy 6am to spread her petals and expose her sticky stigma and all her feminine wiles. This is where the third player comes in. I slip into a little slip so that we all feel something silky against our skin and search out the upstanding male. He is more than happy to be assisted to expose his sprightly and ready stamen. (reminds me of you know who – always at the ever ready, hmmm). It is then the delicate matter of bringing anther and stigma together. We all blush but I can’t look away Dear hearts, such is our moment of conception. We all release a little sigh as pollen does what pollen does.
Our valiant males’ work is done and it is now up to our enduring female to carry on.
Who would have thought that gardening could be so much fun.
The Libertine and I watch closely the progress of our progeny and look forward to reaping the fruits of our labour and our flowers’ loins. I love a good metaphor Dear hearts and this is just too much fun.
Back to the summer. It is also the summer of Cricket. I’m giving it a capital letter, I don’t care. Whilst I endured all those Scot’s College schoolboy cricket Saturday’s, just waiting for my darling boy to finish fielding so we could all go for a well deserved surf, I didn’t realise how entertaining cricket could be. God love those little darlings, Michael Clarke and David Warner they were not. Lough Park Double Bay was charming, but no WACA, no SCG.
I am beginning to understand the nuance, the subtleties and the precision of a five day test. I admit that I was initially bowled over by the intensity of 20/20. I love wacking the ball as you know, so could appreciate the big hits of said 20/20 play. But now Dear hearts, we have David Warner bringing the two together. And as long as he doesn’t speak, he is a joy to watch. Michael Clarke of course, can do whatever he pleases. Please.
I am a hungry student as you know, so the Libertine must endure my questions. I love manners and gentlemen as you also know. The tradition of cricket provides form, style (except for those Big Bash uniforms) and etiquette. The baggy green is adorable. Mr Cricket is adorable, whereas the less said about the aberration that is Shane Warne since becoming Mrs Liz Hurley, the better.
So here you have a snapshot of summer in the far far north. Afternoons playing with the beach cricket set on the lawn of the Cottage with that beautiful mauve puppy fielding, flowers lying back languidly post coital letting the afternoon showers bathe them.