It's summer, which means that my husband is thinking about buying a convertible of some sort. We won't. We never do, even though he's been fantasizing about getting one for the past 10 years. The truth is that most convertibles only have four seats, and it would be ridiculous to buy a car that we can't travel in as a family, but he's already taken that into consideration. Although an Audi or a BMW would be his first choices...hmm, no, I guess a Porsche or Mercedes would be first, first, with the Audi and BMW as his more realistic (and sportier) second choices...he's been looking into getting one of those new five passenger removable top Jeeps. I gotta say, I don't really care about status symbols too much. I like what I like, and if it happens to be high end, it is, but I never like something
because it's expensive, you know? I'm guessing husband loves the idea of how he'll feel in one of these cars. Successful? Young? The irony is that we could never even drive with the top down, 'cause we all burn like crazy and would turn into a family of cooked lobsters after one trip. I can't even stand the moon roof open in our Chevy, because the sun is always in my eyes. Husband tells me we'd all just have to wear hats. And lots and lots of suntan lotion. Though somehow I doubt his fantasy involves tooling around in a fancy car with his wife and three kids, no matter how much he loves us.
Which brings me to something I was thinking about when I first woke up this morning.
Every time I come across one of these fanfics that has Giles, um, pleasuring himself, I have to laugh. (Ironically was thinking about it before I read your SoG contribution today
ladyforash, which, btw, was excellent and does not fall into this category.) Giles is not going to be sitting around getting off on reading Fanny Hill or Madam Bovary, no matter how intellectual and sensitive he may appear. He's not going to be lighting candles or lying down on a bearskin rug in front of a fire, preparing his favorite scented oils in hopes of a few hours of uninterrupted wanking. Rather, he's gonna pop into his local convenience store, buy the latest copy of Barely Legal or Asian Babes or Jugs, depending on his particular mood or fetish, and then he's gonna go home and jerk off to the dirty pictures just like 99% of all guys on the planet. Men are simple. They are visual creatures, and they likes the naked ladies. Or men, I suppose. Either way, I doubt many would turn the simple act of masturbation into a romantic evening at home, including our wonderful Mr. Giles.