Sex sex sex! That’s all anyone thinks of these days. It’s just sex sex sex!
Look at that young woman there, walking down the street. She’s dressed to the nines. All in the latest fashion. It’s nothing but sex sex sex. That’s all she’s thinking about. She dresses like that because she has sex on the brain.
It never used to be like that. And look at that man there. Barely eighteen, and you can tell by the way he licks his ice cream as he walks along that he’s thinking of nothing but sex. SEX! That’s all he ever thinks of.
And all these people out doing their shopping. Hundreds and hundreds of people. Every one of them the result of sex. It’s not as if each one of them was conceived with just one go. Oh no! There were dozens of attempts before most of them were conceived. The world is obsessed with sex sex sex.
Every one, just EVERY ONE, is harbouring little secret sexual fantasies. You can feel it. The air is heavy with all this testosterone and oestrogen and all that. I can smell it. I don’t know how many times, even this morning, I’ve been stripped naked by people’s eyes.
GET YOUR MINDS OUT OF THE GUTTER you stinky oversexed generation of sex- sex- sex-starved nymphomaniacs. The modern generation. In all my eighty-seven years it seems to get worse by the year.
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Weave a Web 
It’s good to have something to talk about when you’re 87. I hope there’s still sex around when I’m 87.
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It makes a change from having to talk about the weather.
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Or bursitis.
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Do you know… bursitis is a complete new word for me. You’re always introducing me to new words. I always called it a “pain”!
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These look like clothes patterns from the golden, olden days. They never appeared in public unless they looked their best. I guess they were guilty and rotten to the core because today people go out in their pajamas and still have sex on their minds. Tsk. Tsk.
I hadn’t given it a thought today, but now… oh heck!
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Those old fashion clothes patterns are visual wonders! And… I hope I haven’t ruined your day!
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87 isn’t too old to get laid!
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!!
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Whee, only 7 years to wait, then!
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You’re just a spring chicken (sometimes headless but spring nonetheless!)
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😀
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Your blog (and comments section) may near an “R” rating soon. And, that’s not all bad …
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What I meant was “need”, not “near”. It’s all that sex talk affecting my eyes and fingers . Oh, dear, that sounds a touch risqué.
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“Need” “Near” It’s all the same if one is going blind!
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And, [oh dear someone has to say it] we all know what makes you go blind!
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😀
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Hi Yvonne….It’s near midnight in my neck of the woods and as I am having a stiff drink and surfing the web for just a bit, I keep getting notices of your “likes” of my comments on earlier Weave A Web posts….It’s fun to go back and read earlier ones, isn’t it? I haven’t been much for commenting today because my dog Chloë was euthanized and I am at sixes and sevens. I am getting a chuckle, nevertheless about some of the comments, including yours….it pays to be almost pixillated and half asleep, sometimes, when reading all of this……
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Oh no, I’m so sorry to hear that you’ve had another companion taken from you. No wonder you’re at sixes and sevens, Cynthia. My love to you from Down Under Here.
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Thank you so much, Yvonne.
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I swear I never once thought of sex when studying those patterns in the 1940s http://derrickjknight.com/2014/08/26/schnittlinie/
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You were always (relatively) pure of heart I believe.
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Nah – just a late developer
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Sex is a primal need but it’s been sexualized in society and bastardized. It’s promoted as the be all end of all of being a man. I’ve fallen victim to worrying about it too much. It should just accompany any basic part of life, without it feeling forced and used as a crutch to validate what a man is supposed to be. Or some notches on a belt.
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I agree. sExactly.
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Of course I still have sex at 87. I live at 89 so it’s no bother.
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That’s a relief – I live at 88!
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Ha!
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