Just so long as it's duly noted that not only is Jack a better lover than Sebastian, he could spot him 30-40 points on an IQ test and still come out ahead. But yeah, I'm definitely playing with that trope a bit--there's the contrast between what they (and the reader) know to be a well-rounded relationship that's as much about true minds and kindred spirits as physical passion and what the world around them thinks they're about when their affair is discovered.
There, of course, you're getting into the territory that keeps me prickly: the idea that the woman mustn't actually enjoy the sex.
Note to historians:
Girls like orgasms. Orgasms are fun. You'll get my multiple orgasms when you pry them from my cold dead -
Never mind.
If they do that, it's time to call paraphilia, no?
Deb, you made me choke. Hee!
Beverly, I was just about to say Clive Owen. That is a nifty (cough, cough) picture.
I think ima have to pull an allnighter to complete an essay and get everything together.
I have chugged a latte with an extra shot, I'm wearing comfy jammies, I have a full pack of smokes, and goddamn am I pissed that my real job is getting in the way of the job I really want.
Allyson, bebe, go get 'em. Draw blood, honey.
Bev, I missed the Clive Owen meeting, but if you want to substitute Nigel for Clive in the "unmoanable names" category, I'm down with that...
Go, Allyson!
I cribbed the Owen shot off ita's site. Where she also has many shots of Mr. Firth, just to give equal time to a nummy treat for you.
Looking at Mr. Owen again, I appear to be missing some sort of girly gene - might be the same one that would find Orlando Bloom sexy.
Mr. Firth, OTOH, and his laughlines and grin - well, now.
I appear to be missing some sort of girly gene - might be the same one that would find Orlando Bloom sexy.
Nah. Clive Owen is more the ordinary-roughhewn-bloke-but-better type, and Orlando is the he-only-looks-innocent woobie type. (Clive does nothing for me, incidentally. Orlando? Mmmm.)
