I did a silly survey on Deviant Art today, and it asked me the name of a famous person I would wish to have lunch with, if I could. I would presume that when you had lunch with a famous person, you’d want to get to know things about him that were not already known, and with famous people, how much is there left to find out that he would tell you over lunch?
So I added in another question to the survey, it’s terribly clichéd, but a great deal more fun to give an answer to. You guessed it. One famous person you’d like to sleep with.
The primary consideration I had was, what sort of famous. The generic MTV marketed fame is a definite no-no. They get so much sex already, sleeping with such would be a perfectly pointless endeavor; you’d be just another lay. And anyway, as the Postmodern Courtesan puts it, Actors and media personalities in general are stupid. (I fear for presidents too often seen on television).
Sex should not be just sex, because when it is- as a particularly sexually licentious friend puts it, it’s masturbation with a warm body. (Or as the Boy has placed it; comparing a dollar hotdog to a tete a tete at the Claude Colliot.)
People really are like cities (and cities like people), with their own brand of vibrancy and laws and sets of cultures. There are some cities you’d like to discover and soak in, learn something from the experience and leave, and some you want to be in forever. And lunch can only be a fling, like bypassing a town, only to stop for fish and chips at the local diner. It’s simply not enough if you really wish to unravel anything.
And I don’t ever think there’s a feeling quite so wonderful as lying in bed naked, with your fingertips touching, and asking silly questions like why is cotton candy always cheerful.
But perhaps I’m simply philosophizing sex to get away with promiscuous behaviour. I could be doing that, but don’t suppose all I’ve just said are whole lies either.
And pertaining to my answer on one person I’d like to sleep with, today it’s Neil Gaiman.
xoxox
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