Wednesday, May 07, 2014
A ghostly experience
A married woman who claims she had sex with a ghost has appeared on British TV:
“I couldn't see anybody but I could feel the pressure, the energy, the warmth pushing in different directions,” said Natasha Blasick, a lissom young brunette. “The first time I was very confused by all of that but then I just decided to relax and it was really, really pleasurable.”
This confession was received with the utmost sympathy by the folks in TV-land, who never thought to inquire whether Natasha had felt any guilt over her adulterous liaison. Everyone seemed to assume that being with a ghost was an exceptional situation that entitled her to behave like a hoochie.
One has to pity her husband, of course. It’s unlikely that being cuckolded by a ghost is grounds for divorce, and he’s probably afraid of being haunted if he makes a fuss. He’s in a similar position to Uriah the Hittite after King David had his way with Bathsheba. May the Lord protect him in his tribulation and woe.
On the other hand, it’s quite possible that Natasha imagined the whole thing. I’ve heard stories about women getting sexually aroused by electromagnetic fields or fungal spores. In my view, her husband would be well within his rights to jump on top of her the next time she has one of her ghostly episodes. If a man can’t give his wife a good seeing to while she’s fantasising about being ravished by a spectre, he may as well shave his head and become a Buddhist monk.
Perhaps we should all be thankful that this ghost, if it exists, is just a horny rascal with a taste for hot brunettes. One that modelled itself on Jack the Ripper doesn’t bear thinking about. I’ll never forget how disturbed I was by the opening scene of Unforgiven, the Oscar-winning western starring Clint Eastwood (“He who befriended the orang-utan”, as he is known in the jungle). Those who have seen the movie will recall that a cowboy slashes a prostitute with a knife for giggling at his tiny todger. After watching the film, I immediately phoned my friend Smacker Ramrod to ask whether the cowboy’s grievance had any legitimacy.
“None whatsoever!” he declared emphatically. “Loads of women have chortled at my John-Thomas and it never bothered me in the slightest. When a woman laughs at something, she’s a hair’s breadth away from petting it like a poodle. I would often make self-deprecatory remarks about my dick to encourage a few titters. It’s when they react with horror or disgust that you’ve really got problems.”
“Oh Smacker!” I exclaimed. “You were the wisest of swingers and the noblest of rakes! When I hear you opine on the issues of the day, my affection for humanity grows bigger than a hippo’s arse!”
Perhaps Natasha Blasick should consider what would happen if she giggled at the appendage of the lecherous phantom that enjoyed her sexual favours. I wouldn’t be surprised if it blew her out of the window.
Labels: ghost, ghost sex, laughter, todger, Uriah the Hittite
