Quote:

Quote:

Holly: Since you found the French porn guy SO attractive, why not go to Paris. Dress up in the "sluttiest" of your most fashionable "mint condition" cocktail dresses, point yourself at the cutest French guy you can find, and do what Wellington did to Napoleon:

Make a proud Frenchman your bitch!!!



[btw, use condoms. Personally, I think all pretty boy French dudes are "Bi", at best]



Since my mother is British, she'd never forgive me if I do that.

Seriously though, I'm at a point in my life now where I don't think I can have sex with someone unless I have a deep meaningful connection with them. I know that sounds totally gay, but it's true. I'm prepared to go without for a long time-- it's already been 8 months or so, and before that it was over a year...



Once, I read an essay about a gentleman who had sexual intercourse with around 10.000 women, if I remember correctly, keeping track of his encounters in one or more books and pointing out preferences as well as unique details. His name escaped from my memory.

He seemed to consider dating rituals a mere test of worthiness for what he thought a woman deems her most precious good, the ultimate prize to be possessed - her cunt. He called it that way, which is fine today, but not so much in his time, I think. Hypocrisy is timeless anyhow.

What Holly Randall wrote seems to concur with this.
Another approach is the one upheld by the protagonist of Peter Høeg´s novel "Smillas Fornemmelse For Sne" ["Smilla´s Sense Of Snow" (US), "Smilla´s Feeling For Snow" (UK); according to IMDB], seeing sex only as the beginning of a potential relationship.
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