Become a columnist. Or write an article. Or head back to the homepage.

Columns

Fluffy's Slot: There's Something About Fluffy

Ms J.S., of Dublin, writes: "Tell me Fluffy, truthfully, are you a bloke?"

Fluffy: Oh my, dear readers - I'm coming over all queer! As soon as I received her e-mail, I flew into a tizzy, and replied to Ms J.S. in person, to reassure her of my full feminine credentials. I may have resorted to use of 'chicken fillets' on occasion, but apart from this small vanity, my breasts are actually one hundred percent bona fide, female and real. As are my legs, rump, thighs, oysters and any other bits of plump flesh you care to mention. What I am not, repeat not, is 'meat and two veg'.

You might think that behind the photo of a vacuous bottle-blonde with a suggestive nom de plume, most female sex columnists are really male. After all, it's a well-known fact that one of the British labour Party's best spin-doctors lost his literary cherry penning soft porn for Forum magazine. However my readers, I can assure you that DirtySomething is a different brace of Pheasant altogether. And most certainly not a Cock. Although possessing the imagination of a Mills & Boon writer on Viagra, Fluffy Dutton never, never lies.

Yes, I might lack the 'New Ladette' charms of Ms Sexpot, of Hot Press, (whose stern expression on the cover would look quite at home standing at the foot of the bed in an SS Uniform. "Ve have vays of making you come, Miss Dutton!").

And I may not share the lyrical prose of Anais Nin, the sensual style of Madonna, the breathlessness of Marilyn or the feminine abandon of Catherine M. But I am, nonetheless, very much a girl. Like others before me, I simply speak my mind.

So why is my gender in question? Maybe Ms J.S. watched 'The Crying Game' before she logged onto my column? Did the revelations of the recent TV Show, 'There's Something About Miriam', plant the seeds of doubt in her mind? Or perhaps it was my salty choice of phrases, born from an adventurous youth and keeping questionable company in Dublin's seedy underbelly? Whatever was going through her mind, chances are there are others who harbour the same doubts. And although Ms J.S. is now convinced of my authenticity, there will be readers out there who unlike her, are too lazy to put their pens where their mouths are. So for you, my idle doubters, let's quash this rumour once and for all. Let's, in fact, nipple it in the bud. I am a one hundred percent, natural, biological female (well, apart from the odd collagen jab, of course sweetie - if that makes me a man then so is Angelina Jolie for starters. And Ru Paul.).

In fact, many are prepared to swear that I am an attractive specimen of womankind (even those who are not being hog-tied to a chair and flogged at the time). I was not born a man, although I did lack some mothering in my early years (Frou Frou made up for this when she took me under her wing, which may account for my love of sequins, corsetry, and outrageous style). In fact, the only extra appendages I possess are purely of the strap-on variety. And I'm willing to stand by my (wo)manhood. I don't do personal appearances, but I am prepared to send photographic proof, for a small fee. Brown envelopes c/o Simon at Tuppenceworth, or mail fluffy@tuppenceworth.ie to arrange a drop. If you are a member of Fianna Fail, the usual footlocker in Markiewicz Swimmimg Pool will be fine.

Re. request for 'small contribution to party funds': unfortunately, no donations will be forthcoming until Mr N.D. settles his tab - at least, the one he runs with Frou Frou, who is rather, ahem, less accommodating than me in these matters.

Love and Lashes.

Fluffy Dutton
23rd March 2004

Discuss This Article

Topics