I got to my car today & there were little footprints on the trunk.  Since I’m not in the outback with Emma Bond I quickly deduced that they were cat.  Apparently there is bird shit on my roof that the beast stepped in & slid down the ass-end of my window.  Now, I like cats just fine but this seemed uncalled for.  I thought of Ci Ci’s cat & hoped it was feeling better.  Then I thought of the only cat I ever hated.  Jake.  He belonged to Marcie.  I used to wake-up & Jake would be sitting on my chest with his face in my open mouth, trying to suck the breath out of me.  I read about cats killing infants this way.  Jake was jealous about my attentions towards Marcie, obviously, & was actively trying to murder me in my sleep.
 I dated Marcie for years.  She was a hippie chick who had moved into some kind of holistic-new-age-Shaman-alien-sweat-lodge kind of existence.  You’d think the sex would be amazing.  Marcie made love tenderly.  She wouldn’t do BJ because "in a past life I died from suffocation."  This was one fear I’d be willing to help her “work through” but it wasn’t to be.  There was a small list of  “off menu items” with her.  No trips to Greece: “I’m not built for that.”  (Although she loved a finger in the rim during oral.  But it wasn’t reciprocated, unfortunately.)  No dirty talk or role-playing because lovemaking needed to be about…well…making love.  
 I read the guys on the TER discussion board adamantly demanding that love & sex are separate entities.  Marcie proves them both right & wrong.
 Wrong:  because you can have great sex with Marcie, but only if you love her.  (Every position in the Kama Sutra was successfully attempted.  (Except the ones entailing me to do the full splits…or that one with the rope and pulleys.)
 Right:  because I can’t imagine Marcie in my sex life now.  There’d be no room, for example, for exploration between pleasure & pain.  (She wouldn’t bite my nipples...it’d be disrespectful!)   A toy? Not unless it was made of rose quartz (the rock for fertility) and purchased from the Psychic Fair.
 But an expression of love during sex, however nasty that sex may be, is a bit of the heritage I’ve kept from Marcie.  It’s in my make-up now.  So I give a little piece of my heart to a provider. Hell, why not?  I can grow more tenderness to replace it so simply.  That's one of the few gifts I've got to offer.  (Some don’t want it but it’s left under their pillow, without me thinking, in case they need it later.)  A little respect.  A little affection.  
 If I’m ever having trouble coming up with a bit of the primal heart to offer, I can always think of Jake the cat (the  murderous fiend.)  For the love of Marcie he would suck the breath out of me.  Jealousy is a powerful aphrodisiac.
 That’s the report from the field,
 With true love,
Jockeypants.