This is not a tale about the perils of too much nose candy. My only real jones, from an early
age, is women. When I was 10 or so, I saw the animated version of Hans Christian Anderson's tale of the The Snow Queen.
An updated live action version of the tale was broadcast on CBC television,during the xmas season.
I have asked people for ages, for at least the past 30 years, if they were familiar with the story.
Most are not. The story is set in Medieval Europe. While playing in the snow, a pre-pubescent boy-Kay-gets a snowflake
wedged into his eye. He is instantaneously transmogrified into an evil uncaring child. Kay's cold hearted demeanor
positions him to be seduced by the Snow Queen and summarily carried off, to her Ice Palace, leaving his sweetheart Gerda behind.
According to Google, I saw the original animated version of the tale created, in the late fifties,
in Soviet Russia. I was about 10, the first time I saw it and was totally captivated by the tale. The fiery eyed
albino vixen swept up the boy and took him off to her ice palace. The notion of being abducted and seduced had great
appeal to me. Even at 10, I secretly wanted some mature vixen to steal me away from my parochial existence, even to
a palace of Ice. I had yet to contemplate what an unscrupulous grown woman might do with a young pre-pubescent man all
day: maybe skate and eat ice cream?! I certainly have different ideas about it now as I write this essay. As I
was watching the updated version I found myself just as captivated by it today as I was as a child.
Sexuality Versus Sex
At age 10, I didn't really understand what compelled me to stare wantonly
at Mrs. Coleman's mouth while she ate her lunch or Mrs Dungy's breast as she stood in front of the chalk board or why I liked
sitting at the edge of the basement stairs so I could look under our housekeeper's blue jean skirts. My lust just evolved.
After a day filled with examining the anatomy of all my teachers at school, I would get home
just in time to recklessly eyeball our voluptuous housekeeper as she was preparing my family's dinner. She would be
sitting at the kitchen table, peeling or chopping or mixing something. She had huge banana yellow thighs that would
not allow her knees to touch. She would plop down in a chair and sit like she had pants on but always wore a skirt.
I could not resist.
Grendel was in her late twenties. About 5'4" with over 200 pounds on a small frame.
She had big thick ankles, bulging calfs, those huge thighs and a big round ass. She was much younger than most of the
housekeepers we had had in the past. She was sexy in a very proletariat way. She even wore babushkas. We
were 16, 10 and 6. She was the only other female my mother allowed in the house. Traditionally, the other housekeepers
had been chosen for their matronly appearance. My brother and his friends treated Grendel like she was one of their
girls. When they wanted something from her they demanded, they did not ask. Grendel was very responsive to their
demands for cigarettes and attention. If they came in the kitchen and stood over her, she would giggle like an excited
young girl.
Grendel was my first sex object. At some point, I sat at the edge of the stairs the entire
time she was in the kitchen. She enjoyed the company. I would study her every move. That mammoth ass had
a six part movement, when she walked around the kitchen. If something was on the radio that she liked, she would stand
at the kitchen sink and shake those big hips to the music. I was smitten.
As time passed, my gonads began putting the pieces of the puzzle together. If she was standing
at the stove or in the refrigerator, I would rub against that comely ass while attempting to get around it, to get to and
from the basement. There wasn't much space between the refrigerator and the kitchen table. She was oblivious to
my lechery. The snake in my trousers had not yet come out of hibernation, so she viewed the contacts as incidental.
At 10, my fantasies had yet to be defined by physical acts. It was still mostly cerebral.
Lust without a cause.
Evolution of A Libido
The Snow Queen and my sweet Grendel (and my aunt that looks like Pam Grier,
who bared her humongous breast to me at age 12!) played major roles in my adult choices about women. I love aloof women
of all ages, shapes and sizes, I love happy big butt yella women and I never met a titty I didn't like. What a dichotomy.
And my precious Gerda has only made one brief appearance in my life (see "Tell Tale Heart, July
2005).
The first woman to really grab my attention was very aloof (See "You Want It When?!, August 2005).
I have chased after aloof women, my entire adult life. I have exercised even less caution when it comes to big
butt yella women. The last one (Dracula, my ex-wife) left me financially and emotionally drained AND leary of big butts
and a smile. The last aloof big butt woman just left me broke but I seemed to enjoy the experience much more than when
I was riding big yella Dracula. I eagerly await round 3.
Ice Ice Baby To Go
Maybe this year I'll grab the attention of a woman with Snow Queen disposition
(and a palace), a big butt (hue is optional) that moves to the beat and titties like Pam Grier. My post pubescent
catharsis may resolve it self.
Happy New Year.
