l*y
发帖数: 21010 | 1 由美国著名的作家Neal Stephenson撰写
I don’t suppose that graduate students of either gender are exactly sought
out by sexual connoisseurs for their great fucking skills. We think about it
too much. Everything has to be verbalized. A person who believes that
fucking is a sexual discourse is simply never going to be any good in the
sack.
I have a thing about stockings. They have to be sheer black stockings,
preferably with seams up the back. When I was thirteen years old I actually
shoplifted some black pantyhose from a grocery store just so that I could
play with them. Walking out of that store with those L’eggs in my backpack,
my heart was pounding, but the excitement of the crime was nothing compared
to opening up the package and pulling them out, rubbing them against my
fuzzy, adolescent cheeks. I even tried pulling them on, but this just looked
grotesque—what with my hairy legs—and did absolutely nothing for me. I
didn’t want to wear them. I wanted someone else to. I masturbated four
times that day.
It disturbed the shit out of me when I thought about it. I was a smart boy.
Smart boys are supposed to be rational. So, when I was in college I figured
out a rationalization for this. There wasn’t that many women who wore sheer
black stockings in college, but sometimes I would go into the city and see
the well-dressed office workers walking down the street on their lunch
breaks and make scientific observations of their legs. I noticed that where
the stocking stretched itself thin to go over a wide part of the leg, such
as the muscle of the calf, it became paler. just as a colored balloon
becomes paler when it is inflated. Conversely, it was darker in narrow
regions such as the ankle. This made the calf look more shapely and the
ankle look more slender. The legs, as a whole, looked healthier, implying
that just above the place where they joined together, a higher class of DNA
was to be found.
Q.E.D. My thing about black stockings was a highly rational adaptation. It
merely proved how smart I was, how rational even the most irrational parts
of my brain were. Sex held no power over me. It was nothing to fear.
This was quintessentially sophomoric thinking, but nowadays most educated
people hold quintessentially sophomoric opinions well into their thirties
and so this stuck with me for a long time. My wife Virginia probably had
some equally self-serving rationalization for her own sexual needs—of which
I was not to become aware for many years. So it’s no surprise that our
premarital sex life was mediocre. Neither one of us admitted it was mediocre
, of course. If I had admitted it, I would have had to admit that it was
mediocre because Virginia didn’t like to wear stockings, and at the time I
was too concerned with being a Sensitive New Age Guy to admit such heresy, I
loved Virginia for her mind. How could I be so shallow, so insensitive, so
perverse as to spurn her because she didn’t like to pull filmy tubes of
nylon over her legs? As a pudgy nerd, I was lucky to have her.
Five years into our marriage, I attended the Comdex convention as president
of a small new high-tech company. I was a little less pudgy and a little
less nerdy. I met a marketing girl for a big software distribution chain.
She was wearing sheer black stockings. We ended up fucking in my hotel room.
It was the best sex I’d ever had. I went home baffled and ashamed. After
that, my sex life with Virginia was pretty miserable. We had sex maybe a
dozen times over the next couple of years.
Virginia’s grandmother died and we went back to upstate New York for the
funeral. Virginia had to wear a dress, which meant she had to shave her legs
and wear stockings—something she’d done on only a handful of occasions
since our marriage. I practically fell over when I saw her, and suffered
through the funeral with a big, scratchy erection, trying to figure out how
I could get her alone.
Now, Granny had lived by herself in a big old house on a hill until a couple
of months earlier when she had fallen down and broken her hip, and been
moved into a nursing home. All of her children, grandchildren, and great-
grandchildren came together for the funeral, and that house became the
central gathering-place. It was a nice place full of good old furniture, but
in her declining years Granny had become something of a compulsive pack rat
and so there were heaps of newspapers and accumulated mail squirreled away
everywhere. In the end we had to haul away several truckloads of junk.
In some other ways, Granny had been pretty well-organized and had left
behind a very specific last will and testament. Each one of her descendants
knew exactly which pieces of furniture, dishes, rugs, and curios they were
going to take home. She had a lot of possessions, but she also had a lot of
descendants, and so the loot had to be sliced pretty thin. Virginia ended up
with a black walnut dresser which was stored in an unused bedroom. We went
up there to have a look at it, and I ended up fucking her there. I stood up
with the flimsy trousers of my dark suit collapsed around my ankles while
she sat on top of that dresser with her legs wrapped around me and her
stocking-clad heels digging into my butt-cheeks. It was the best fuck we’d
ever had, bar none. Fortunately there were a lot of people eating, drinking,
and talking downstairs or they would have heard her moaning and hollering.
I finally came clean to her about the stockings. It felt good. I’d been
reading a lot about how the brain develops and had finally come to accept my
stocking kink. It seems that when you are a certain age, somewhere between
about two and five years, your mind just gels. The part of it that’s
responsible for sex becomes set into a pattern that you’ll carry with you
for the rest of your life. All of the gay people I’ve ever discussed it
with have told me that they knew they were gay, or at least different, years
before they even began thinking about sex, and all of them agree that
gayness cannot be converted into straightness, or vice versa, no matter how
hard you might try.
The part of your brain that handles sex frequently gets cross-wired into
other, seemingly irrelevant areas at this age. This is when people pick up
an orientation towards sexual dominance or submission, or when a lot of guys
pick up highly specific kinks—say, rubber, feathers, or shoes. Some of
them are unfortunate enough to get turned on by little kids, and those guys
are essentially doomed from that point onwards—there is nothing to do
except castrate them or lock them up. No therapy will unkink the brain once
it has kinked.
So, all things considered, being turned on by black stockings wasn’t such a
bad sexual card to have been dealt. I laid this all out to Virginia during
the trip home. I was surprised by how calmly she accepted it. I was too big
of a jerk to realize that she was thinking about how it all applied to her.
After we got back home, she gamely went out and bought some stockings and
tried to wear them on occasion. This was not easy. Stockings imply a whole
lifestyle. They look stupid with jeans and sneakers. A woman in stockings
has to wear a dress or a skirt, and not just a blue denim skirt but
something nicer, more formal. She also has to wear the type of shoes that
Virginia didn’t own and didn’t like to wear. Stockings are not really
compatible with riding a bicycle to work. They were not even really
compatible with our house. During our frugal grad-student days we had
accumulated a lot of furniture from Goodwill, or I had hammered it together
myself out of two-by-fours. This furniture turned out to be riddled with
hidden snags that a person in blue jeans would never notice but that would
destroy a pair of stockings in a moment. Likewise, our half-finished house
and our old junker cars had many small sharp edges that were death to
stockings. On the other hand, when we went away for an anniversary trip to
London, getting around in black taxis, staying in a nice hotel, and eating
in good restaurants, we spent a whole week moving in a world that was
perfectly adapted to stockings. It just went to show us how radically we
would have to change our circumstances in order for her to dress that way
routinely.
So, much money was spent on stockings in a fit of good intentions. Some good
sex was had, though I seemed to enjoy it much more than Virginia did. She
never achieved the shocking, animal intensity she had shown at Granny’s
house after the funeral. Attrition reduced her supply of stockings very
quickly, sheer inconvenience prevented her from renewing it, and within a
year after the funeral we were back to square one.
Other things were changing, though. I made a lot of money by cashing in some
stock options, and we bought a new house up in the hills. We hired some
movers to come pick up all of our junky furniture and move it into that
house, where it looked much shabbier. Virginia’s new job forced her to
commute in a car. I didn’t think our old junker was safe, and so I bought
her a nice little Lexus with leather seats and wool carpet, all of it nicely
snag-free. Soon, kids came along and I traded in my old beater pickup truck
for a minivan.
Still, I couldn’t bring myself to begin spending money on furniture until
my back started going bad on me, and I realized it was because of the slack,
twenty-year-old Goodwill mattress that Virginia and I were sleeping on. We
had to buy a new bed. Since it was my back at stake, I went out and did the
shopping.
I ’d rather stub out cigarettes on my tongue than go shopping. The idea of
hitting every big furniture store in the area, comparing beds, made me want
to die. All I wanted was to go to one place and buy a bed and have done with
it. But I didn’t want a shitty bed that I’d be sick of in a year, or a
cheap mattress that would mess up my back again in five years.
So I went straight down to my local Gomer Bolstrood Home Gallery. I had
heard people talk about Gomer Bolstrood furniture. Women, in particular,
seemed to speak of it in hushed, religious tones. Their factory was said to
be up in some New England town where they had been based for the last three
hundred years. It was said that loose curls of walnut and oak from Gomer
Bolstroods block plane had been used as tinder beneath the pyres of
convicted witches. Gomer Bolstrood was the answer to a question I’d been
ruminating over ever since Granny’s funeral, namely: where does all of this
high-quality grandma furniture come from? In every family, young people go
to grandma’s house for Thanksgiving, or other obligatory visits, and lust
over the nice antique furniture, wondering which pieces they will take home
when the old lady kicks the bucket. Some people lose patience and go to
estate sales or antique stores and buy the stuff.
But if the supply of old, high-grade, heirloom-quality furniture is fixed,
then where will the grannys of the future come from? I could see a situation
, half a century in the future, when Virginia’s and my descendants would
all be squabbling over that one black walnut dresser, while bringing in
Ryder trucks to haul the rest of our stuff straight to the dump. As the
population grows, and the supply of old furniture remains constant, this
kind of thing is inevitable. There must be a source for new granny-grade
furniture, or else the Americans of tomorrow will all end up sitting in
vinyl beanbag chairs, leaking little foam beads all over the floor.
The answer is Gomer Bolstrood, and the price is high. Each Gomer Bolstrood
chair and table really ought to come in a little felt-lined box, like a
piece of jewelry. But at the time, I was rich and impatient. So I drove to
Gomer Bolstrood and stormed through the door, only to be brought up short by
a receptionist. I felt tacky in my white tennis shoes and jeans. She had
probably seen a lot of high-tech millionaires come through those doors, and
took it pretty calmly. Before I knew it a middle-aged woman had emerged from
the back of the store and appointed herself my personal design consultant.
Her name was Margaret. "Where are the beds?" I asked. She stiffened and
informed me that this not the kind of place where you could walk into a Bed
Room and see a row of beds lined up like pig’s feet at a butcher shop. A
Gomer Bolstrood Home Design Gallery consists of a series of exquisitely
decorated rooms, some of which happen to be bedrooms and to contain beds.
Once we had that all straightened out. Margaret showed me the bedrooms. As
she led me from one room to the next. I couldn’t help noticing that she was
wearing black stockings with seams up the back—perfectly straight seams.
My erotic feelings for Margaret made me uncomfortable. For a while, I had to
restrain the impulse to say "just sell me the biggest, most expensive bed
you have." Margaret showed me beds in different styles. The names of the
styles meant nothing to me. Some looked modern and some looked old-fashioned
. I pointed to a very large, high four-poster that looked like granny
furniture and said. "I’ll take one of those."
There was a three-month delay while the bed was hand-carved by New England
craftsmen working at the same wage as plumbers or psychotherapists. Then it
showed up at our house and was assembled by technicians in white coveralls,
like the guys who work in semiconductor chip fabrication plants. Virginia
came home from work. She was wearing a denim skirt, heavy wool socks, and
Birkenstocks. The kids were still at school. We had sex on the bed. I
performed dutifully enough, I suppose. I could not really sustain an
erection and ended up with my head stuck between her bristly thighs. Even
with my ears blocked by her quadriceps. I could hear her moaning and
screaming. She went into erotic convulsions near the end, and almost snapped
my neck. Her climax must have lasted for two or three full minutes. This
was the moment when I first came to terms with the fact that Virginia could
not achieve orgasm unless she was in close proximity to—preferably on top
of—a piece of heirloom-grade furniture that she owned. | c**c
发帖数: 2593 | 2 Cryptonomicon，很多很多info-dump的杰作。
sought
it
actually
backpack,
【在 l*y 的大作中提到】
: 由美国著名的作家Neal Stephenson撰写
: I don’t suppose that graduate students of either gender are exactly sought
: out by sexual connoisseurs for their great fucking skills. We think about it
: too much. Everything has to be verbalized. A person who believes that
: fucking is a sexual discourse is simply never going to be any good in the
: sack.
: I have a thing about stockings. They have to be sheer black stockings,
: preferably with seams up the back. When I was thirteen years old I actually
: shoplifted some black pantyhose from a grocery store just so that I could
: play with them. Walking out of that store with those L’eggs in my backpack,
| R******k
发帖数: 4756 | 3 求摘要。。。
sought
it
actually
backpack,
【在 l*y 的大作中提到】
: 由美国著名的作家Neal Stephenson撰写
: I don’t suppose that graduate students of either gender are exactly sought
: out by sexual connoisseurs for their great fucking skills. We think about it
: too much. Everything has to be verbalized. A person who believes that
: fucking is a sexual discourse is simply never going to be any good in the
: sack.
: I have a thing about stockings. They have to be sheer black stockings,
: preferably with seams up the back. When I was thirteen years old I actually
: shoplifted some black pantyhose from a grocery store just so that I could
: play with them. Walking out of that store with those L’eggs in my backpack,
| wh
发帖数: 141625 | 4 还真有个丝袜控啊，我以为ldy假托Stephenson的名字写的，呵呵，惊叹英语之好。
【在 c**c 的大作中提到】
: Cryptonomicon，很多很多info-dump的杰作。
:
: sought
: it
: actually
: backpack,
| S*********e
发帖数: 3006 | 5 典型的肤浅的小资心灵鸡汤。
1)自己欺骗自己，觉得可以以技术手段(让老婆穿丝袜、买家具)来解决感情问题，解决
男人的本能冲动。
2)夸大外界影响、缩小自己错误：跟别的女人睡觉？完全是丝袜的错、而且是她的丝袜。
3)充满了小资的虚荣和浮华。买“高贵”家具的时候一副“我其实不在乎啊”的虚伪，
却夹杂了对每个购买细节津津乐道的品味和惊叹。而且对“高贵”家具付与了如此典雅
的天顶星功能---性高潮！Allah Hallelujah ，这个世界真完美。老婆没有性高潮吗？
也许是你挣钱不够多，床的等级不对。
sought
it
actually
backpack,
【在 l*y 的大作中提到】
: 由美国著名的作家Neal Stephenson撰写
: I don’t suppose that graduate students of either gender are exactly sought
: out by sexual connoisseurs for their great fucking skills. We think about it
: too much. Everything has to be verbalized. A person who believes that
: fucking is a sexual discourse is simply never going to be any good in the
: sack.
: I have a thing about stockings. They have to be sheer black stockings,
: preferably with seams up the back. When I was thirteen years old I actually
: shoplifted some black pantyhose from a grocery store just so that I could
: play with them. Walking out of that store with those L’eggs in my backpack,
| s**t
发帖数: 17016 | 6 犀利，一眼看穿了理由和借口之不同
袜。
【在 S*********e 的大作中提到】
: 典型的肤浅的小资心灵鸡汤。
: 1)自己欺骗自己，觉得可以以技术手段(让老婆穿丝袜、买家具)来解决感情问题，解决
: 男人的本能冲动。
: 2)夸大外界影响、缩小自己错误：跟别的女人睡觉？完全是丝袜的错、而且是她的丝袜。
: 3)充满了小资的虚荣和浮华。买“高贵”家具的时候一副“我其实不在乎啊”的虚伪，
: 却夹杂了对每个购买细节津津乐道的品味和惊叹。而且对“高贵”家具付与了如此典雅
: 的天顶星功能---性高潮！Allah Hallelujah ，这个世界真完美。老婆没有性高潮吗？
: 也许是你挣钱不够多，床的等级不对。
:
: sought
| l*y
发帖数: 21010 | 7 感觉你反驳的跟作者想表达的完全驴唇不对马嘴
袜。
【在 S*********e 的大作中提到】
: 典型的肤浅的小资心灵鸡汤。
: 1)自己欺骗自己，觉得可以以技术手段(让老婆穿丝袜、买家具)来解决感情问题，解决
: 男人的本能冲动。
: 2)夸大外界影响、缩小自己错误：跟别的女人睡觉？完全是丝袜的错、而且是她的丝袜。
: 3)充满了小资的虚荣和浮华。买“高贵”家具的时候一副“我其实不在乎啊”的虚伪，
: 却夹杂了对每个购买细节津津乐道的品味和惊叹。而且对“高贵”家具付与了如此典雅
: 的天顶星功能---性高潮！Allah Hallelujah ，这个世界真完美。老婆没有性高潮吗？
: 也许是你挣钱不够多，床的等级不对。
:
: sought
|
|
