Another Life – Chapter 2

We were on our way to see the three sisters, when Marty cleared his throat.

– “Umm – there’s probably one more thing I should tell you. It’s the oldest one. Sam. Ah … she’s … not that bright.”

It didn’t sound like the end of the world to me. There wasn’t much time to think about it, anyway, as Marty pulled up in front of their house. It was a big split-level, definitely a cut above my place.

All three girls came out to greet us. Caroline was a short, slender brunette. I pegged her right away as a wallflower. She had that ‘future librarian’ look. She shook my hand.

Samantha was a slim blonde – almost skinny – with bright blue eyes.

– “Call me Sam!” she said, with a giggle.

The youngest, Tanya, had reddish-blonde hair, and a facial expression that I can only describe as halfway between a smirk and a sneer.

– “Hey.” was all she said.

Since it looked like it might rain, Caroline invited us into the basement. We had to meet their mother, first; I stayed on my best behavior, for Marty’s sake.

– “Let’s play some records!” giggled Sam.

The group dynamic became immediately apparent. Caroline was the serious, smart one – the responsible one, too. If you had asked me, I would’ve guessed that she was the oldest. Tanya was the precocious jailbait, quite confident that she was by far the coolest of the three, and would one day be smartest and hottest – if she wasn’t already.

As advertised, Samantha – Sam – was a complete ditz. Dumber than a bag of rocks. At first, I thought her airhead routine was just an act. There are girls out there who pretend to be dumber than they are, who hide their brains, so as not to intimidate the guys.

Sam wasn’t one of those.

Caroline suggested a Michael Jackson record. Sam wanted the soundtrack from Grease. Tanya laughed out loud when she saw the expression on my face – and Marty’s.

– “They don’t want to listen to that.” said the youngest sister. “Here, put this on.” She passed over a Foreigner record.

– “Much better.” I said, with a nod of approval.

– “Oh, I know what guys like.” said Tanya, with a little grin. “I like the same stuff. Wanna see my records?”

– “Sure.” If I could get the two blondes looking at albums, that would give Marty a chance to talk to Caroline. Personally, I couldn’t quite see what he saw in her – but beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and all that.

I have to admit, Tanya surprised me. She had Queen records, AC/DC, The Police, and even Van Halen’s 1st album.

– “Wow. I’m impressed.” I admitted.

– “What sort of name is Van Halen?” asked Sam. “Who would call their kid Van, anyway?” She was examining the album cover. “Which one is he? The singer?”

I didn’t quite know how to react. Tanya just rolled her eyes.

– “That’s a last name, dumbass.” she told her older sister. “The guitarist and the drummer are brothers: Eddie and Alex Van Halen.”

Sam wasn’t offended. She just giggled.

– “Oh! Hee hee.” I took a wild guess: that wasn’t the first time she’d been called a dumbass.

– “She thought Fleetwood Mac was a guy’s name, too.” Tanya told me.

– “Did not!”

– “You did too.”

Caroline stepped in as peacemaker. That spoiled my attempt to give Marty some ‘alone time’. She suggested that we play a game. The sisters had a collection of board games.

Dice were rolled, pieces were moved, and Caroline and Tanya fought it out – tooth and nail. Very competitive, they were. Sam tried, too, but in a game of strategy, she’d obviously brought a knife to a gun fight.

She sat right next to me, and frequently giggled before she touched my arm, or looked at my face. Sam was cute, I suppose, but – damn! I’d never met anyone quite so … stupid. I don’t mean it as an insult. This girl was just colossally, monumentally ignorant.

But she was also foolish. Given two simple choices, Sam often had difficulty reaching the obvious conclusion. She knew it, too. She would just giggle, make the wrong decision – and then giggle again. Absolutely amazing. How had she ever graduated from high school? She worked in a department store – I couldn’t picture it.

– “Sorry, Marty.” I said, when we were on our way home. “You didn’t get much time alone with Caroline.”

– “No problem.” he said. “Slow and steady wins the race.”

That sounded ominous. I took it to mean that Marty would be calling on me to spend time with the three sisters again.


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Things some Wives are Doing That Destroys Their Marriage


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More Love for Legs

I love women’s legs. I remember intentionally dropping my crayon on the floor in 2nd grade, just so I could check out my teacher’s legs as she dangled one shoe off her foot while sitting there reading us all a story. I can’t learn that. It’s just something in me that I love about women.

This subject is actually a bit complex, I think, because there are both biological and cultural factors involved. Yes, from the standpoint of evolutionary biology, we could definitely point to strong, shapely legs as an indicator of fitness, and no doubt human legs have evolved in terms of both length and shape because of both natural and sexual selection. However, I tend to think that various cultural factors overlaying all this are probably even more important for “leg men,” who imprint on their particular focus within a specific cultural context.

The accidents of personal experience play a very significant part. If you come to associate women’s legs with sex during puberty, that will probably stick with you for your whole life. And it could be for various reasons: seeing sexy pantyhose commercials on TV, noting a particular girl’s legs in school (because of how she’s dressed), talking about women’s legs with friends at the time, etc. And then perhaps this association becomes even more strongly reinforced by envisioning and dreaming about women’s legs (including images from the media and real life) while you masturbate.

Our culture definitely tends to treat women’s legs as sexy, so there’s also a very potent trans-personal cultural dynamic at work. Personal experience hooks into that quite readily, because it’s out there in various forms in the media and everyday life. Just seeing, say, a dance by a “leg goddess” such as Cyd Charisse in an old musical might imprint on your mind for life.

A culture doesn’t have to grant women’s legs this particular sexual emphasis, and not all do, but it’s a non-arbitrary association, because their legs lead directly to the obvious.

And this association is enhanced by cultural norms in various ways. First, in our culture, women shave their legs, making them smooth and even sexier and also yet more different from the legs of men. (They’re already naturally much less hairy, more rounded, and more shapely.) Women also often exercise them specifically in order to improve their tone and shape and perhaps tan them as well. And use skin softeners and so forth. Further, they wear stockings or pantyhose, which gives them an even smoother, sheerer texture and conceals minor blemishes, suggesting physical perfection. They also wear high-heeled shoes, which flex the muscles of the legs with each step, emphasizing shapeliness and fitness. And they sometimes wear short skirts or slit dresses or whatever that draw the eyes to the legs and emphasize them. A male who grows up surrounded by all this can be forgiven for developing an obsession with women’s legs.

And what’s not to like? Legs appeal to multiple senses: sight and touch. There’s a superb shape and line as well as an enticing texture (enhanced, of course, by shaving and perhaps nylons). At the sight of a woman’s legs, a man might well dream of running his hands over them and coming between them. And that smoothness in turn suggests and evokes what? Well, the vagina itself. So it’s no “accident” at all that shaving and wearing nylons are cultural enhancements that even more strongly allow legs to evoke feminine sexuality and enhance female sexual power.

With clothing, legs can also very handily be both revealed and concealed, which makes them almost uniquely empowered to allow women to tease and seduce men and inflame their imaginations. Legs being long, a little can be revealed, then a little more, then …. and so on, all the way up. It all depends on how much she wants to show. And sometimes less can be more. In addition, the momentary flash of legs through a slit skirt while a woman is in stride or crossing her legs can burn a potent image into a receptive man’s mind, both because they are beautiful in and of themselves and also because they suggest sexual availability. And if they are subsequently concealed, you yearn to see them again and also to see more. Dresses and skirts are all about advertising accessibility while also concealing and withholding.


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