Sally Forth

Hey, remember The Fourth of July, 2003? We don't, but found this in our archives:

Fourth of July Fourthiness.

Independence is on the march, patriots.

& Recently . . .

Kurt Cobain's Ghost with an Invitation to a Fourth of July Picnic and Fireworks by Angela Genusa

"B.L.T.": A Review by Will Layman

Ten Tiny Poems by Brian Beatty

Angry Words from a Gnome Who to This Day Continues to Think the Human Genome Project Was Actually The Human Gnome Project by David Ng

Key Party, N.Y.C., Circa Always by William K. Burnette

A Day on the Phone with Mythological Norse Firewarrior, Bringer of Storms by Aaron Belz

Polish Fact

Land Area
304,465 sq. km
(slightly smaller than New Mexico)

Learn a Foreign Tongue!

Sprechen Sie Deutsch?
Was ist im Leben am besten? Ihre Feinde zerquetschen, sie sehen, gefahren vor Ihnen und die Wehklage der Frauen hören!
What is best in life? To crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentation of the women!

Y.P.aRt Gallery

Syndicate! RSD | RSS I | RSS II | Atøm
Large Print | Spanish Bea! Add to your Kinja digest Creative Commons License
This journal is licensed under a Creative Commons License and powered by Movable Typo 3.15.
© MMV, Y.P.R. & Co.
Friday, March 5, 2004   |    Fiction

The Rules

by Kathryn Koromilas

To Mature Adam
C/O No Longer Lonely Personals
2004 The Long Drive
Sydney NSW 2000

Dear Sir:

Your questions are not in the least offensive, my dearest Sir! I am a mature woman, a bold, thinking woman and I am convinced that it is the wiser choice to address such issues immediately, for when the time comes there will be no time and it will then be much too late. Had you not initiated this course of questioning, I most certainly would have.

Now, to your point:

Sexual intercourse is very much of interest to me as I have been without for a good many years. Well, that’s not quite true. There have been random unions, made possible by this very agency, but not at all to my taste.

I mean that rather literally. Every single lover with whom I was matched possessed an inclination for a certain mixing of the genres, shall we say, of pleasure. My bed had, for a time, been transformed into a picnic of gustatory confusion. The natural wonders of sex were served up with the added paraphernalia of food and beverage: sugared-strawberries, whipped cream, cheap champagne (sipped from the body, might I add, not from a glass), skinned bananas, and frozen zucchinis.

Having, at first, curiously received food into my sexual vocabulary I Later found myself to be degenerating into one of the rarest of psychological dysfunctions: culinary dyslexia. When I observed food objects I could no longer be sure of what I was ‘reading’. What was the correct course of interaction with a frankfurter? Mastication or copulation? In Pavlovian terms, I no longer salivated for food.

At our age, proper nourishment is essential, and this sort of bedroom behaviour has now become a detriment to my health. I have therefore made the following decision:

I will no longer mix sex and food. Sex will no longer happen in the kitchen and food will no longer happen in the bedroom. Both activities may occur in all other rooms. However, they must never occur at the same time. Not anymore. No, Sir, not anymore.

Is this too severe? I believe not. The logic of sex is found in the body’s most basic instinct: survival. What we seek—what our ancestors always sought—is, in the first instance, nutrition: digestible raw products that may be utilised. First, the body must survive and then it may procreate.

So, I must insist. My three primary orifices will now have dedicated tasks. For example? Well, my mouth will consume: taste, bite, nibble, gobble, scoff, swallow, and ravage, but only nutrients recommended in the health-food triangle. That is, I may go so far as a kiss, but I will only open my mouth if I can usefully digest whatever enters it.

It follows from the above that my other two orifices will also be solely committed to the common tasks normally associated with them. That is, sexual intercourse will happily take place in the region of my vagina, but there will be no copulating, screwing, humping or fooling around, no nookies at the rectum, which will now always be reserved for the function of relieving me of kitchen gluttony.

These are my only rules. Please do not mistake my resolve for ethical purity based on misguided interpretations of the Bible. My decisions, I believe, are Epicurean in essence: by practicing the limitation of desire to what is most necessary and natural the separate pleasures of sex and eating will surely be increased.

If you believe I could be the perfect partner with whom to count down your mortal hours in sexual ecstasy, as you yourself state, then I shall happily await your rapid response.

Yours should you choose,

Experienced Eve.

Kathryn Koromilas left Sydney, Australia, in 1998 and travelled to Greece with a heavily underlined copy of Plato's Symposium to find her "other half," which, central to this bio, she promptly did and now lives with him on a beach by the Ionian. She alternates between exploring and writing about Greece but also writes fiction fiction, poetry, and recently completed a novel with a bunch of geeks.