Sometimes Sharing is Not Caring

Sharing is Caring?

Lots of people sext these days. Many do it as a naughty spice up. Nothing wrong with that. Sex is a basic human need like food and water. If you eat the same vanilla-flavored food every day you get sick of it pretty quick. The photos usually go back and forth and no one is the wiser. Easy peasy. Sometimes they go awry which embarrasses some and creates new careers for others (Yes Kim Kardashian, I’m talkin’ about you.), go figure.

But sometimes hitting the share button is intentional. One party knows and the other doesn’t. The conventional wisdom is this is a disgusting cadish male trait for which the boyfriend deserves evisceration. But apparently there are some women out there who enjoy the titillation (pun intended) of sharing the pics with friends.


“Laurie” says she’s “awfully proud of her husband’s package”, inordinately so. She started sharing pics of her hubby’s Johnson in a Facebook group comprised women who are close and share, or over-share, as the case may be. The ladies loved it like an out of control bachelorette party. The show and tell climaxed (another intended pun) with the Full Monty. Penetration. Photos of it all. The only problem is hubby doesn’t know wifey is sharing him on her electronic “coffee dates with her girlfriends.” Besides, the other women share in the Facebookery too. Laurie said she’d be OK if her hubby shared his with friends. I guess turn about is fair play as long as you don’t bend over to pick up the flogger.

After all, sharing is caring.

Now if everyone consented to the arrangement it’s no problem. Whatever blows your skirt off as they say. But hubby didn’t get a vote. Maybe he’s a little self-conscious about the Little General. Perhaps he abruptly bends into an attack on the right flank instead of attacking the front lines head-on. Maybe hubs has unsightly pimples on his ass. Maybe he’d shrink like a member of the Polar Bear Club on an annual swim if he knew. The point is he didn’t get a say in the matter, even if wifey thinks he’d stand to attention and be as “awfully proud of his package” as she is.

Exhibitionism aside, isn’t this where sharing may not be caring? Doesn’t it signify a bit of an issue with basic candor, truthfulness, even intimacy of the non-sexual kind? What if he’d freely bandied her furry fetish about to his buddies? I’d think even for her showing pics of her in a sexy raccoon costume might not be the best decision he ever made. I’d also think most women would be pissed about it, especially ones with a golden shower fetish.

I’m not a moral monkey and I’m usually OK with whatever people do short of hurting children, small animals, or unnecessarily scaring the bejeebers out of fundies by doing it on their front porch – though I suspect Rick Santorum might secretly like that last one. Who knows, I might even find my hidden 49 shades of grey…as long as I get to vote on the show-off ticket and maybe take care of those pimples before the big show. After all, I am middle-aged.

So what’s the verdict? Ask or not ask? Rip down the curtain or pay no attention to the man behind it?

It’s time to care to share.

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You’re an Idiot

Hate mail postcard.

I got a Facebook message from someone I didn’t know the other day. Spam? A blog fan (hey, it happens)? Fan mail from some flounder? I clicked and saw three words, “You’re an idiot.”

Maybe being called an idiot by a total stranger isn’t a daily occurrence for you – unless you’re Mitt Romney. For me, it’s an avocational hazard as a blogger. In fact, “idiot” is one of the kinder things I’ve been called. All kinds of invective gets slung my way by an unending army of monkeys flinging flaming poop. I try to inflame passions when I write and sometimes it works. When it does, I’m never offended. I always take it as a badge of honor. It means I’ve done my job.

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Thou Shalt Not Eat Cookies (They’re Gay You Know)

OK, we get it. You don’t like gay people. You somehow think they don’t exist if you don’t ask and they don’t tell. You think that if they marry they denigrate the institution more than straight people who divorce, covet thy neighbor’s wife, or beat each other until one of them snaps and pulls a Lizzie Borden. But boycott cookies? Really? Cookies?

Gay Pride Day was last week and any number of companies, people, and locales other than San Francisco celebrated it. They prize the diversity gay people bring to the country or at least acknowledge that whatever gays do behind closed doors is nobody’s business other than their own. But the audacity of Nabisco posting a picture of a rainbow colored cookie threw homophobes into a real and violent tizzy.

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