Deep down towards the very back pages of the erotic underwear catalogues of our souls lies one particular article we do not really like to refer to, which holds our deepest, darkest desires. It is that place where it is even possible for us – however briefly – to entertain the erotic possibilities of a politician, a cheeseburger or even a delphinium (suitably restrained, of course).
There are so many things that haunt us when we are out in the everyday world, going about our normal perversions with all the enthusiasm – and requisite moistness – we can muster. Normally, of course these dark desires are so far away, almost as if they belong to some other person, some other extremely perverted soul, who wallows in a far deeper morass than we know the wot of. Sometimes I think these are the very demons that must torment those – usually of a loudly professed religious bent – who seem obsessed with the rude and naughty doings of others of a more adventurous nature than the censorious busybody who so loudly proclaims that all except he (or even, she) are wallowing in some slough of despond.
But deep, deep – even deeper - down, we know in our hearts of hearts that deviation, perversion and even just mere extreme naughtiness of a more moderate and modest moistness and rudeness is indeed a noble , proud and – quite often – upstanding tradition that we should hold close to our throbbing hearts and cherish.