“Would you still do Antonio Banderas if he was an octopus from the waist down?”
My husband asks things like this all the time, bizarre and inappropriate questions, delightful questions, which I usually answer with good humor and perhaps a thrown shoe. That time, however, I was caught by surprise.
“No!” I said. Then “Yes!” followed by “Maybe!” and at last, an anguished “Hell, I don’t know!”
I’d voluntarily watched and enjoyed movies like La Blue Girl, and I had a computer file full of graphic hentai tentacle pics, but hey, what budding geek pervert doesn’t? After that question, though, I began to suspect that I had a thing for tentacles. Not a major one, but it was sort of like driving a red car: suddenly they were everywhere. And not in the way I had expected.
