September 30, 2002 | 7:35 PM

Just waiting for Tara to come by and thought I�d write another entry because I�m in that kind of mood, so this entry, spinning off the sex entry, is about bodies.

Throbbing squirm, gurgling bloody mess
I'm not a discharge
I'm not a loss in protein
I'm not a throbbing squirm

And lets start off talking about my body, eh, since that�s the one I�m most well acquainted with.

Anybody who reads this already knows the overwhelming whoas me-ness of my relationship with my own flab. That being said, compartmentalizing myself, there are really quite a few things I like about my body. I like first of all, my breasts. Mostly because they are fun to play with, but I really like that no matter much weight I gain or lose, they don't fall or lose their original perkiness. They really are quite nice, lovely shapely, large breasts and they make me very happy. I also like my legs�not my thighs, which are flab ridden, but from just above the knee on down, I do have lovely calves and feet. And I like my hands. They are small and cute. And I really do like my face. Except for the fact that it gets oily and breaks out when I�m stressed or not eating well, and that it registers every emotion I am feeling crystal clear. I cannot bluff, folks. My face tells no lies. I also am blessed with great hair (though it tangles real easy and must be brushed twice a day otherwise it looks like something Nancy Spungeon would have sported during a three day junk binge, and not on purpose.)

And overall I like my body�s flexibility and its curves. Really, without all the excess fat, it would be quite a nice body�proportionate and reasonably graceful. Despite the various problems it has, I am pretty thankful to have it. Because everything that�s wrong with it can be fixed or at least kept under control.

My body likes to dance. It likes to sleep. It loves to be submerged in water. It likes to be hugged and kissed. It loves sex�

Oh yeah how could I forget �I love my clit. God I love it. I am so pleased to have it that I want to get down on my knees and express my gratitude to the fucking lord that I have such a wonderful instrument to use at my disposal whenever I damn well please (which is usually like three times a day.) What a magnificent organ, the sole purpose of which is pleasure. If I could bend down that far I would kiss it myself. Instead I�ll just pat it on its pointy little head in a few minutes and say, �Good girl. Very good girl.�

I don�t like the gigantuous half moon of fat on my belly. I really don�t like that at all. Not that I want a hard belly. I don�t. I want a nice soft little belly. A nice soft quivering mound of flesh on my abdomen. I think that�s sexy. I like hard bodies on other people, but not on me. Which is a good thing, because I�ll never have one. I want to be strong and muscled but soft all over.

Which is I suppose what I am becoming right now.

And men�s bodies. God how I love men�s bodies.

I�ve already talked dick enough for one entry. So on to the rest of it.

I love long torsos and I love tummies. Hard soft�whatever. I just like running my hand from a man�s chest down to his tummy and feeling the flesh tremble. I like treasure trails on tummies and I love pubes. Don�t ask me why. I like petting pubic hair. I like the texture�wiry but soft.

I love men�s legs. Oh man. I wish men wore skirts so I could look up them and see those beautiful calves, stong and sturdy like red wood tree trunks or lithe and awkward as a colt�s. Men�s legs manage to be both sexy and endearing all at once.

And men�s arms. I always make boys flex their arms for me. I don�t care for lots and lots of muscle�even hardly any muscle is fine. I just like the way a man�s flexed arm looks. It gives me a girly hardon, no doubt.

I love men�s faces. I love their eyes. I love their hair.

God I just love men.

Most of all, I love their brains. I love talking about sex with men. It�s almost as much fun as doing it. Just talking about it. Especially with geeky boys�indie- rock- listening-video-game-playing-hip-sneaker-wearing-Jim-Jarmusch-worshipping geek boys know how to talk about sex if you get them going. Because they usually really respect women and so they aren�t talking about girls like they�re blow-up dolls.

Bodies bodies everywhere, and not a drop to drink.

Too bad I don�t enjoy sex without love (of some kind.) I�d get me to a bar right now (sipping of course my cleansing lemon drink), buy some Harvard grad student a martini, take him back home, and force him to recite Cooleridge while I unzipped his fly with my teeth.

Well, one can dream.