When I started this blog, I wanted it to be an outlet for whatever popped up in my mind. It was my own little experiment. Could I really write about everything openly and honestly online? The first part was rather easy. Yes, you can write about anything. And from my own experience, the bolder you are, the less consequences. Of course there were times when I had to defend my blogging. How could I tell everything seemingly as is? What were the impact on my family and friends? “Little” was my reply.
However, when it came to honesty, the real honest truth, it was something different. There are moments which I am not so proud on, and others of embarrassment. I decided to omit these from the blog. But lately, I have this real urge to get back to basics. Where it all started…the girl (because I refuse to call myself a woman, although I KNOW Mark Jan that I am!), who just wanted to have fun, and experiment, and strengthen herself through putting it all out there.
Sorry for this little prelude but it is leading to somewhere, I can assure you…
It’s been a rather hectic day. A lot of discussions on our new concept. At the end we were all pretty tired and as usual, on a Friday afternoon our conversations were drifting towards things entirely different. I don’t know how we all got there, but suddenly I had the urge to share a very private moment. So I blurted it out.
“Well once as I was going to give my husband a blowjob, I came in with an arsenal of babywipes to clean it up as it was too smelly.” I continued… “Perhaps it’s just a Swedish thing, but who wants to have a dirty dick in their mouth?”
H surprisingly agreed with me. “I don’t think it’s a Swedish thing, my wife does the same.”
I facilitated more information. “But my husband completely deflated when he understood my intentions. There was no more sex for at like a week.”
S completely understood my husbands feelings being hurt. “Every girl I am with has to accept me and my smells. If not it’s bye bye.”
We ended the conversation there as the laptops were wrapped up and people were ready to go. But the idea lingered on me. The Dutch (in comparison to the Swedish) are much more willing to accept smells, dirty handles and I suppose dirty penises too. I am convinced it must be a Swedish thing. It’s in our upbringing, in our genes. As we were little kids we were rigidly taught to wash our hands after the toilet, before dinner, when sneezing, and at all other occassions when bacteria was anywhere near. God forbid touching a waiting button on a stop light, or the pincode numbers when withdrawing money. Perhaps I have become close to phobic when it comes to smells and dirt, but is it really too much to ask for a clean penis?