Nipples

Warning: a brief tale containing pornographic violence follows the pictures, don't read on if this is the sort of thing you don't like.

It was really only a matter of time before I came round to the subject of nipples. I am unashamedly a tit man, I have a prominent and sensitive pair myself and I appreciate the same on another man. The whole cardigan thing probably arises from some notion of convenience of access and the excellent view offered through some materials when distended by a party in the tits department.

You don't see many men with prominent nipples, they exist in a small proportion of men and a number of those are in denial and may even seek a surgical solution to what many of us would consider an asset.

Fortunately there are men willing to show off, albeit bereft of the obvious joys of the gentleman's cardigan. For example

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UG7O5dJT9DU&feature=related

And just for a laugh

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E0-HFeeLJ9I

Although I'd pay good money to get mine to do that!

While you don't see many men with prominent nipples you see even fewer with what, when they're found on women, the straight boys call "puffies"  (see the lower picture in my illustration below). I knew a man with a prominent pair of such nipples some time ago. He was also afflicted with the sort of sensitivity that made them, to use his expression, "go off" at the slightest provocation.

It will seem judgemental, but I have to concede that those occasions when his nipples did "go off" were a source of some discomfort to me. I just don't like the sight of these, seeing them induces the gag reflex (a reflex which has long since ceased to respond to anything pushed down my throat). I mentioned surgery earlier on, I'd be happy to see the NHS spending my tax money to help this person or anyone similarly afflicted. I'll not use your name, but if you're reading this and recognise yourself, do yourself a favour; a doctor, a bit of local aneasthetic, a swift flick of the scalpel and a couple of stitches should make you more than acceptable in polite company. .

I’ll get back to cardigans next time, I just had to get that off my chest. And that top photograph, photoshop or what?

 

Back in the day, aboard the pirate ship Cardigan, cap'n Fisheye wouldn't have tolerated any of this nonsense. He'd have had the man brought on deck before the assembled crew. Roger the cabin boy would have been given the job of rubbing the offending nipples with raw meat, stimulating and flavouring in one go.The crew would mutter as the cold meat produced a tumescence in the man's nipples that they all knew would be his last, many would reminisce about their responsiveness and sensitivity. The captain's pet rottweiler, "ooh arr, 'e be proper nasty today, cap'n", would then have been encouraged to chew them off.

With a ferocious growl, saliva dripping from it's canines, the dog leapt forward and gripped the man's left nipple in it's jaw. The dog's head swung vigorously and rapidly from side to side, its grip on the now bloodied nipple never tiring. Left, right, left, splattering blood and saliva to either side, the dog was relentless until finally it fell back, the now detached nipple in it's mouth. It didn't stay there long, two chews and down it went, soon it would be poop on the poop deck.

The right nipple had lost none of its tumescence during the onslaught on it's partner, it was as protuberant as ever it had been in many a seedy backroom ashore. The dog had lost none of its blood lust, it was attacking again as soon as it had swallowed. This one held out for nearly a minute before the dog fell back as the tasty morsel finally parted company with the man's chest. Having swallowed, the dog was led off and the man taken down to the ship's surgeon to be cleaned up. Roger the cabin boy threw up over the side of the ship.

In the insanitary conditions found below decks the mans wounds were unlikely to heal. If the wounds failed to show signs of healing or became infected, the ship's surgeon would have him thrown overboard.

I read somewhere that to be a writer one should write something every day; I doubt if the author had anything like the above in mind when offering that advice.

Work of the devil

I have mentioned in the profile, to the right of the postings, that I consider zips to be the work of the devil.

I am first and foremost a buttons man, but only if they are a certain minimum diameter and attached to a cardigan; if I encounter them under other circumstances my reaction verges on the phobic. Such, it would appear, is the curse of a fetish, approximations won't do. How many times have I had to take a stout piece of 4x2 and strike a potential partner about the head before throwing them down the stairs screaming after them, "call that a cardigan?". Well, as it happens, never. Neither do I possess a piece of 4x2 to hit anyone with. But be warned, turn up with a zip if you've promised a cardigan and I shall be ever so cross.

I have spoken to people for whom zips do the trick, in fact are interchangeable in their minds with buttons. I must admit I simply don't get it. Don't misunderstand me, some of my best friends like zips and they have my sympathy, for they will perforce lead sad and lonely lives, seeking out the few others with whom they can share their interests. I am sure society will eventually be able to accommodate them and they will be able to show themselves in public. Perhaps one day they will be able to parade openly and proudly through our city centres, or is it just cruel of me to raise their expectations? Really, as long as they wear proper button-up cardigans in public which of us can truly bear them any ill feeling?

To illustrate this particular posting I have found a garment whose constitution frankly disgusts me. It combines buttons and a zip and, if I'm not mistaken, pop fasteners on the pockets. This item is clearly the outcome of the miscegenous coupling of...well, what exactly? I shudder to think; some sort of ghastly three-way in the back of the wardrobe. How I wish I'd been there with a piece of 4x2 to prevent it. Alas, dear reader, I was not. And this is the result.

If you want to buy one they're available at

http://www.espyclothing.com/mens-knitwear.php

about two thirds down the page.

Anyway, thanks for reading, I’m off to the local timber merchant...catch you soon!

Gay Times

Did anybody read the December '09 edition of Gay Times? Me neither, but I saw the cover and that nearly made me buy it. A man in a cardigan, next to his skin, woo hoo! Too good looking to be real, probably a straight model (they do exist) for whom the agency was happy to find an easy pre-christmas gig.

My point? I have two things to say, one is about a magazine like Gay Times. What's it for? To attract advertisers, that's all; the pink pound is plentiful and somewhat recession resistant. There's a bit of editorial in there to fill in the spaces between the adverts but like in-flight magazines their main aim is to be as general as possible and not scare anybody away. I see they've done an item about that vile bitch who wrote about poor Stephen Gately in the Mail, well radical. But hey guys, lets put all that behind us and spend those pink pounds. Oh yeah, if you're poor and queer, fuck off!

Bitter, me? Anyway I'm supposed to be writing about cardigans, so to the second point. The cardigan on this cover reminds me of one I had many years ago which despite regular washing became so encrusted with gentleman's relish, if you get my meaning, that it cracked. Yes cracked, it didn't tear like a fabric but cracked like a sheet of plastic. You didn't need or want to know that, I fully understand but I just wanted to poison the well of all that is Gay Times with as unsavoury a cardigan related image as I could muster. I may be alone in this, but I feel so much better now.
It's snowing outside at present, time to button up and get down the shops.

Further to my post yesterday, I decided to dig out one of my shiny crimplene cardigans and wear it (not on its own, you understand) as I trudged through the snow we're experiencing in the UK at the moment to get to the supermarket. I bought my usual pot noodles and bottle of vodka (it really would have helped if I'd given breakfast some thought yesterday before the snow got so bad) and trudged back to Cardigan Towers.

Well, I should have guessed, those buttons, that plasticy material; I had to discharge myself as soon as I arrived home.

The crimplene years

There is a species of cardigan that comes up on EBay from time to time; they are always described as vintage and sometimes the subject of heated bidding wars. I've never seen anyone wearing one, but I do own a couple.

Quite when they date from is unclear to me; I'm guessing late 60's or early 70's. They are characterised by three major attributes each of which I'll deal with separately.

First, the material; they were made of a polyester fibre of some thickness and inherent stiffness. The kind of texture I associate with the period. Think drip dry shirts or crease resistant trousers (they will have been called slacks at the time, I'm sure) made of a substance called crimplene. These materials were lifeless, didn't relax or "fall" into a shape and felt like plastic. They were inclined to build up massive charges of static electricity in normal wear. It's a tragedy, but we knew no better at the time, these things were modern and groovy. Patterning on the material was geometric, often squares. A peculiarity of the design was that the patterning was applied only to the front, the back and sleeves were in a plain finish.

Probably arising from the properties outlined above we see the particular cut of these cardigans. Laid out flat, they were essentially square, no sculpting to body shape or any effort to contour them to mimic a real or idealised body outline.

The finishing touch was the buttons, nearly always five in number and large diameter, 19 or 20 millimetres, 2 hole fixing in the fisheye style and often quite thick. These are the real attraction for me in these cardigans and the ones illustrated below capture that period and look exquisitely.

I can imagine a cardigan fancier of the time spotting a fellow cardigan guy across a room at a crowded, noisy party. Trying to look discreetly butch (this was the sixties) he would advance stealthily through the dancing throng, moving his arms and shoulders in time to the music. His imagination taking flight at the possibility of a night of mutual cardigan fun ahead, he nonchalantly approaches his quarry. As the two figures converge the partygoers hear a loud crackle and see a blue flash as the two men evaporate in a million volt discharge of static electricity, leaving only feint cardigan shaped stains on the ceiling. Jumping jack flash by the Rolling Stones crackles slightly but continues to play on the Dansette record player in the corner.

Perhaps this is why one sees so few on EBay.

These two have been pinned to give them some semblance of shape.

These posts are enough to get going, I'll post once a week from now on.

Another day, another post. I thought I'd expand a little on yesterday's topic, the letter or letterman cardigan.
These are a uniquely American phenomenon and intended basically as billboards to display one's school award letters. Chenille letters were awarded by schools for participation in sporting activities; this was later extended to other activities such as music or drama. One can only speculate what the one which illustrates yesterday's post was awarded for!*

They seem to date back, in cardigan form, to the thirties or perhaps a little earlier, before that they were pullover style. The older ones are made of wool, quite thick and cleverly combining all the weight, suppleness and sheer erotic allure of the trench coat (in the case of the last of these qualities, none at all; sorry trench coat fanciers, this is a cardigan blog). They were succeeded by the letterman jacket, which we would probably call the baseball jacket.

I gather it was considered a mark of some intimacy for a boy to give his letter cardigan to his girlfriend so that she might become a billboard for his sporting prowess. Are we getting any nearer to an idea of what the one illustrated above might have been  awarded for?**

Here in the UK our exposure to them will probably have been mostly through Happy Days when it made it to our television screens in the mid seventies. By this time wool was out and acrylic was in, for he most part with five buttons instead of six, made of shiny semi-translucent plastic (slobber..).

The acrylic ones are machine washable, though why I (or you) should find that interesting I can't imagine.

They're still available, though these days considered costume items rather than practical everyday wear. I don't think they were ever considered sleepwear or erotic, except by me.

http://www.bristolproducts.com/sweaters/Gallery%201/41.html

and

http://www.mountolympusawards.com/ph/lettermansweater.htm

among others. They can be found on EBay too.

I particularly like the white ones.

Thank you for your time, feel free to reread, there'll be a test next week.


*I don't think finishing a sentence with a preposition has ever warranted an award in America or anywhere else.
**Strike two as they would say in its country of origin.

Cold last night.

Here in the UK we've had it a bit cold of late. I like to sleep with a window open, so the temperature in my bedroom got down to 3°C. There was only one solution to keep warm, cardigan in bed, which is something I don't often do (except when... never mind, I'll leave it to your imagination). But which to choose, there are the golf cardigans in acrylic and alpaca, the more modern cardigans in lambswool and various artificial fibres, five button, six button, by this time I was loosing sensation in my toes and fingers, so chose this.

I like these, they fuel my fantasies about getting a good seeing to from a well built jock. Must go now.