Wednesday, July 13, 2016
Tasting the spice
The Spice Girls have admitted that they used to kiss each other “once in a while”.
“Because of what we went through together, there's a bond that no one else understands,” explained Emma Bunton.
I think we can take it as read that it was mouth-to-mouth kissing with probing tongues. It wouldn’t be much of a confession if they were giving each other an affectionate peck on the cheek.
I don’t know how their fans will react to this revelation, but it all sounds completely natural to me. They were young, passionate women with pumping hormones, sharing hotel suites and borrowing each other’s toiletries. Their close camaraderie was bound to spill over into something more intimate in moments of high emotion. And don’t forget all the dancing they did together, shaking their booties in perfect synchrony. It could only have stimulated their mutual attraction.
Having admitted to kissing in private, should they now do it in public? The reunion concert planned for next year would be an idea venue for a spicy exhibition of smooching. When I asked the manager of the safari camp for his opinion, his answer was unequivocal.
“Of course they should do it!” he declared. “They’ve created the expectation, so now they’ve got to follow through. No one likes performers who are all talk and no action.”
“Which pair would you like to see press lips?” I asked.
“They should take it in turns to snog Baby Spice,” he replied. “Make her blush and pant for breath.”
“That sounds disturbingly similar to a ‘gang bang’ scenario,” I remarked. “Maybe you should browse vixens.com for a suitable movie instead.”
In truth, I don’t really want to see them kissing on stage. Madonna and Britney Spears did that many moons ago and it wasn’t at all erotic. It never is when it’s done purely for show. In an ideal world you’d want to watch the Spice Girls kissing in a private, intimate setting, but if you did that you’d be a Peeping Tom. It’s depressingly difficult to enjoy the simple pleasure of voyeurism in a decent and wholesome way.
It goes without saying that the Spice Girls don’t have to kiss each other to remain popular. I can think of very few musical acts in which kissing was an essential part of the entertainment. Did Sonny and Cher kiss after singing I Got You, Babe? I’m not convinced that they did, even though it would have been artistically justified. And what would it have proved anyway? They soon got divorced after their double-act lost its appeal.
That reminds me of another thing I admire about the Spice Girls – they never got bitchy with each other after they parted company. I’m pretty sure Cher insulted Sony Bono after he got into politics, implying that he was a midget who was useless in bed. It was an ugly slur against real midgets, who are often as good in bed as people twice their size.
Labels: kissing, peeping tom, Sonny and Cher, Spice Girls
Monday, July 23, 2012
Keyhole art
On balance, I think that the new peeping tom exhibit at London’s National Gallery will be a force for good. For those of you who aren’t avid followers of high culture, this work of art consists of a bathroom in which naked women are viewed through carefully positioned peep holes. The women are models, I should hasten to add, and fully aware that visitors are spying on them. One hopes their skin retains its natural oils and juices after being washed and dried on a continuous loop.
Why do I approve of this exhibit? Because I believe that giving peeping toms a lawful outlet for their perversion is better than letting them run amok in respectable society. As well as causing their victims much anguish and annoyance, these fiends have to be hunted down at considerable cost in time and labour. I speak as a gorilla who was dragooned into anti-voyeur duties during his circus career. The female acrobats expected me to guard their changing and showering facilities, as well as apprehending any rascally swine who dared to spy on them.
Although I was happy to protect the girls from intruding eyes, and dealt with offenders as mercifully as the dictates of justice allowed, I would much rather have been reading comics or harvesting root vegetables or competing in toe-wrestling tournaments. No gorilla on his deathbed has ever said “I wish I’d spent more time chasing peeping toms”. Even the biggest dullards of our species have better things to do with their leisure.
I have often wondered why humans, of all the animals, feel shame on exposing their private parts. I think there are two reasons. First, there is considerably more variety in their size and shape than in other species. Imagine a world in which all humans had standard-issue genitalia. Would a man be ashamed of displaying his todger if it were identical to every other human todger? I think not.
The second reason is that humans have less control over their sexual arousal than other species. This is obviously true of men, who dread being discovered with an involuntary stiffy, even when they are fully clothed. Yet there are also women, so I’ve heard, who can be tricked into unwanted nipple-hardening and dilation of the vulva. This is a major biological weakness, because the animal in heat is an easy target for predators. Hence clothes are an essential cloaking mechanism for humans.
The models in the National Gallery have clearly learnt to master their shame, but I’m not particularly keen to watch them in action. Looking at naked humans through peep holes is not the gorilla way. I would much rather view the exciting banana exhibition being held in a museum in Somerset.
The banana is a noble fruit which feels no shame when you peel it. Yet curiously enough, the man whose artefacts are being displayed at the museum was inspired to start his collection by the sight of a woman furtively eating a banana. Why in the name of all that’s white and tasty would a woman be embarrassed about eating a banana in a public place? I admit to mystification.
Labels: Art, banana-peeling, peeping tom, shame, todger
Monday, September 21, 2009
Peeping Yeti
A 19-year-old woman is claiming that she was stalked by a yeti who watched her as she bathed in a river. She should be so lucky. I don't know whether yetis exist, but I’m certain they wouldn't waste time spying on women if they did. Life in the wild is tough. You've got to forage for food, keep predators at bay and find a mate to breed with. Watching women splash about in rivers is a frivolous diversion from these essential activities. Nor would the yeti have got any pleasure from the spectacle. There’s no point getting excited about females you can’t impregnate.
It’s the old story. An arrogant human intrudes into a wild habitat and behaves as if the resident creatures were trespassers. Perhaps the woman got some sort of satisfaction from imagining that a big hairy monster was ogling her with lustful eyes. The whole thing sounds like pure fantasy on her part. Instead of making spurious allegations about yetis, she should join a dating site and find some unshaven roughneck who’ll sweep her off her feet.
Even if a yeti did happen to be in the vicinity, his only interest in the woman would have been to make sure she didn’t foul his drinking water. Had I been there, I would have offered him some friendly advice:
“Mr Yeti,” I would have said, “humans are big-headed creatures. If you observe them intently they inevitably think you want to have sex with them. Nubile women who paddle in rivers are particularly susceptible to this delusion. Give them a casual glance and they automatically assume you want to put your head between their jahoobies and make gurgling noises.”
Let no one forget that the Peeping Tom is an exclusively human archetype. Back in my circus days, the female acrobats always made me check their changing room for strategically placed holes drilled by villainous schoolboys. I soon became adept at sniffing out such apertures and filling them with cement. I once offered to stay in the room with the girls in the hope of catching one of the rascals in the act and giving him a poke in the eye. They thanked me for my concern but decided, on reflection, that prevention was more important than punishment. I shrugged my shoulders philosophically. It made no difference to me, of course.
This suggests another possible explanation for the alleged yeti incident: that the creature stalking the woman was a man in disguise. A cowardly human voyeur would think nothing of framing an innocent yeti for his own depraved acts. I’ve a good mind to organise an expedition to trap the impostor. We would need porters, a medic, a guide and a woman in a bathing suit to act as bait. I’m sure there would be no shortage of volunteers for this noble venture.A plague on all the stalkers, peepers and flashers who make life uncomfortable for their victims. Small wonder that women are skittish about yetis when they have to put up with such vexations in their everyday lives. Why are men so hung-up on visual stimulation? It’s a mystery to us silverbacks. We’ll pamper any female who smells good, feels good and makes good noises.
Labels: jahoobies, peeping tom, stalker, Yeti
Monday, August 27, 2007
The Portland Peeper
Every so often, I receive a piece of news that brings me closer in spirit to my human cousins. This one comes from Oregon, home state of Sassy Miss Kara, the dirty-blond scooter-maid. In a forest campsite near Portland, a man of 63 years lurks next to the ladies’ lavatory, pressing his face against a crack in the woodwork. An alert male camper spots him in mid-ogle and raises the alarm. The peeper flees into the undergrowth, but is chased down by a hunting party. He is frog-marched back to camp and tied to a tree, pending arrival of the gun-toting sheriff. It is not the activities of the peeping tom that bear any resemblance to the behaviour of gorillas. Everything happens outdoors in the wild, so a female ape powdering her nose is of no great concern to anyone but the insects scuttling below. Even the sight of apes mating is only enthralling to human naturalists who are into that sort of thing. If I happen to pass a male gorilla mounting a female, I give him a polite grunt and hasten on my way (unless he is mounting one of my females, when I punch his lights out).
No, it is the humans who apprehended the miscreant who acted in a manner worthy of their hairy cousins. First, in the robust action they took against an intruder who had violated their sacred taboo. There are times when a bit of mob violence is necessary to disrupt the designs of the lone nut who would bring dishonour to the neighbourhood. But what really made my heart soar like a hawk was their instinctive awareness that the prisoner should be tied to a tree. This is an age-old gorilla custom that is standard operating practice for keeping scoundrels under lock-and-key before deciding upon their ignoble fate.
I myself have spreadeagled countless simians on trees before bringing them to justice. Not for being peeping toms, of course, you have to do something far worse than that to taste bark in the jungle. The most serious offender I ever dealt with was a murderous chimpanzee whose reign of terror had decimated the local chimp population. I mercifully spared his life. His punishment was to be butt-fucked by a kinky gorilla (not me) in front of his former subjects, who jeered and taunted him as his dignity dissolved in rapine. This utterly broke the spell he had over them, allowing me to release him back into the community. We gorillas favour a progressive policy in the rehabilitation of felons.
Although Portland seems like a cold and windy place, inhabited by unhealthily pale humans, I am now tempted to spend a few days there. I won’t live in a campsite, of course – a rented villa in town should be satisfactory. After paying my respects to Miss Kara, I think I’ll visit the peeping tom in his jail cell. Why would a man spy on a woman in a toilet when he could pay a prostitute a few dollars to piss right in front of his face? The answer, I believe, is that he cannot gawp at any woman who is aware of his presence, for fear of provoking her contempt. As a gorilla who has grown quite used to the scorn of his own females – and indeed has learned to enjoy it – perhaps I could give him a few pointers on curing his mental block.Labels: Oregon, peeping tom, tree-bondage
