007 is not a penis

My questionable theory for today:

When boys send me pictures of their penises (well, not boys, only one specific one at the moment, I'm not a total hussy), it makes me want to giggle. They just look so . . . cute? Oh I know, penises are not like bunny rabbits and midgets, but try and tell me you have never seen a boy standing proud with his pecker to attention - look mom! see what I did! - and tell me the cute word never flickered across your mind; this is obviously before they flipped you over and morphed into a sexy hunk of man flesh that made you quiver in desire (I once had to read a Harlequin book for English Lit. one-oh-something; Australian education is sexy).

Girls bits, on the other fortunate hand of the ambidextrous, are fascinating. I wish I was gay enough to be able to back this up with some lesbian sexual fantasy, but unfortunately for all - except aforementioned lucky lad - I am not. There is something about vaginas that is so turny ony (for want of a much better phrase). They glisten and they're moist and they have the most intimately intricate folds. Even as a straight girl, albeit with mild scoliosis, I love them! Maybe it's because I haven't had sex in months (long distance relationship is building my right arm muscles), or maybe I have penis envy, or even possibly I was really good at that game when you were a kid and you had to put block shapes into the right hole, but I think vaginas are far more sexually intriguing because you can put things in them!

If you think of the rate of maturation between boys and girls you can very loosely - loose like a celebuslit* - liken our differing genitals. My best friend is an aunt to a set of niece and nephew twins (they came in a Happy Meal). One evening we were looking after the little tykes, and uh wow. While the little girl built block houses and organised her brother to bring his dumptruck over to pick up the garbage on her hypothetical Wednesday night, little brother just squatted nearby on what could only be assumed to be the "wrong side of the tracks", fiddling with his penis and giggling - until he peed on the floor and ran over to smash down the wooden block housing estate. (Please note, we were about to put them in the bath - my friend and her family do not generally condone free peeing indoors) The metaphor I'm vaguely conjuring - in my head at least - is that penises, like little boys, aren't particularly intelligent. They require little else but themselves to amuse them.

The very long winded point I'm somehow, maybe, making, is that penises are physically available and require attention, acknowledgement and most importantly announce themselves when they're ready to play, or whatever. Vaginas tend to encourage the mind to be imaginative; they spread (ha!) the boundaries of possibility.

And thus I conclude that a penis could never be James Bond because they lack the stealth, subtly and style of their moist, tender counterparts.


*celebuslit: a celbrity vagina that can be googled