The Soft Swears

Once upon a time I had a great big house with a great big lawn and a lot of stuff.
The whole place was carpeted, even the bathrooms and, gack, the kitchen. So, my then husband and I decided to renovate.

First, the carpet and subfloor in the kitchen had to be removed. We hired a big guy to do that job.

It was a hot summer day. I hid up in my bedroom because, while in fantasyland having a big sweaty workman in the house and hubby nowhere in site is a good thing, in my real, pre-erotica writing days, the dude gave me the creeps.

Oh how he worked! Great heaving sounds emanated from below, punctuated with exclamations like, 'Shit!' and 'Fuck! and 'Christ!' and 'Goddam!' and 'Piss!'

Finally, all was silent. I ventured downstairs to survey the scene. Yes, the subfloor was up. Yes, the big workman was mopping his brow.

'Tough job,' he said.

'I could tell,' I said.

He looked at me, surprise etched on his big man face. 'I was only using the soft swears,' he replied.

Hmmm. Made me wonder. What are the hard swears?

The Humiliation Cup

I keep a mug on my desk. It has Prince Charles' goofy face on it. And I call it my humiliation cup.

You may recall awhile back, when Charles and Camilla were still lovers, and his cell phone conversation with her was picked up by some curious hacker and broadcast all over the world. Charles, ever the sweet talkin' dude, claimed he wished he were Camilla's tampon so he could be close to her.

I'm going to repeat that. He said, 'Oh wouldst that I could be a tampon inside that snatch, that I might touch those soggy red walls.'

Everyone knew. And Prince Charles had to get out there and face not just his mother, Queen Elizabeth, who very likely was not amused,and his kids and so on but the whole world.

He had to get out there and meet the people, knowing that everyone knew that the Heir Apparent to the Throne would rather be Camilla's Tampon than King.

I keep the cup, which I call my 'Humiliation Cup' on my desk to remind me that however much I might humiliate myself, I will never, ever be as humiliated as Prince Charles, Heir to the Throne of England.

I take solace in that.

Today, my sister, whom I shall call Demi, takes comfort from it, too.

Here's her story:

i just don't know why but on the same day as the most amazing gig, my period showed up. Of course it did. But it wasn't a problem, not that heavy and no cramps. so i did the gig and then next day is the cool jazz friends open house. so i put on a tampon and a pad and off i go.



the party goes late, the main guest leaves. out comes the pole dancing. the main pole dancer is this young hot blonde babe who has done it professionally.


my friends know me as having had them laughing so hard, so then they call me up right after her. "Demi Moore, you're up!!!"


so i decide forget following her act. i'm going for the humour. There was a drumset sitting there and we've all talked about jazz being just like sex and how I play a really hot groove. so this was a logical thing to do . . i just went the drums, grabbed a stand and a cymbal, threw it on the ground near the pole with a crash, and then got down and dirty with it. you can imagine the implications - i had them howling as I pretended to hump this cymbal stand and caress the cymbal and so on.


it was all going so great until i did the backwards crotch exposing summer sault. I heard my friend kinda tip me off that it wasn't a good move, so i finished my routine and it was all great.


well, moments later we're sitting there and i realize i need to change my pad, so i go the bathroom and learn to my horror that yesterday's light flow had suddenly and for no reason turned into like a mount st helen eruption-yes, the pad was soaked and a huge embarrassing stain was all over the crotch of my pants.

you know i should sue the tampon company. I really should. They don't work even when you back them up with a pad,


just brutal brutal brutal.





Ah Demi, it is, indeed, brutal.

By the way, the above picture is not really a picture of a couple of tampons. Why, Madeline Moore would never post such a pic on her blog. It's a picture of a stun gun disguised as a couple of tampons. But I digress...

My sister has asked for her own 'Humiliation Cup' and I think you'll agree that she should have one. But let us all remember, should our tampons leak as we are wrapping ourselves around the pole - 'Hey, at least I don't wanna BE a tampon!

Finally, Demi mentioned that she's been suffering about her little accident ever since it occured, and the only laugh she's had is imagining me giving my first reading ever at a club where people in fetish costume were opening the door between the library and the live sex room and poking their noses in to see what was going on. While the some of my audience looked like this:



which I'm sure you will agree is quite pleasing, from time to time the door would open and folks would poke their noses in to see what was going on. One of them, who looked horrified at the scene he encountered,(people listening to a woman read from a book?!) looked like this:



Not humiliating, of course. But my sister Demi is right, it is fucking funny.