What makes someone sexy? This week’s guest blogger – Dee Emm Elms – lays down some significant truths about desire, via a really unusual crush. Her post is one of the best things anyone’s ever sent me, and I truly hope you understand why.
Ain’t no man like mine ‘cept mine
So, there’s this guy I like, yeah? I’ve harbored a monster crush on this dude since I was 13. I’m 43 now. So, yeah, this has been a thing for a while. 30 years is a long time for a crush. But there it is. And here I am, writing about one of the biggest crushes of my entire life. On someone who doesn’t even really exist. And who is also a raccoon. Named Rocket.
I bet a lot of people who went to see Guardians of the Galaxy have no idea that Rocket has been around in comics for decades, popping up here and there as a sort of in-joke character. “Look – it’s Rocket Raccoon! Remember him? No? That’s okay – neither do we, really. WAH WAH WAAAAAH.”
But over the course of 30 years, practically every time Rocket would appear, I’d be falling backward onto my bed while clutching the comic to my chest and sighing dreamily.
Because that’s how bad of a crush I have always had – and still have – on Rocket Raccoon. That’s why I’m writing here. In putting this little post together, I’m also trying to explain to other people just why he makes me so happy – why he makes me feel so good in my brain … and body. Because, yeah, it’s that kind of crush, too. The kind that’s both physical and mental at the same time. The kind that inspires you and makes you weak-kneed. The kind that makes you giggle hysterically but also makes you want to do better in your real life. And the kind that makes the teenaged you involuntarily moan really loudly at certain particular moments, which leads to your parents barging into your room at midnight but, hey, it’s okay, because you’re under the covers and you’re not looking at pictures of hot naked human men – just a comic book raccoon dude, so, hey, that can’t mean anything, right? So, false alarm, mom and dad, okay? Yyyyyeah. Good night. Door shut? Alone? Locked this time? Whew. “Mmm, your tail is so bushy, Rocket! Your ears are so pointy! Your teeth are so sharp!” Lather, wash your food in a forest stream, repeat.
So, yeah, I do get hot and bothered by him, tail and all. I love his tail. I especially love when artists draw it sticking up and bushy. I think of it over my waist or stomach or legs or face.
But don’t get the wrong idea. My crush on Rocket isn’t some kind of general raccoon fetishizing or anything. I love raccoons; they’re one of my favorite animals. But I’m not talking bestiality here. I’m just talking about Rocket – who, I should note, walks and talks like a human and is extremely intelligent.
And I love his intelligence. In more recent comics – and the media inspired by them – Rocket’s intellect isn’t really brought to the fore, but throughout his story he’s been portrayed as being something of a tactical genius.
So he’s not just the guy who brings the Big Gun. He knows how to use it. He knows how to work with what he has. He’s good with his hands. He can fix things. He can build things. He can hotwire a space station and turn a power generator into a rifle. He’s mentally-strong and he’s capable.
Those are things that make me hot. Downright wet even. You want me to melt? Say “I’m good with my hands” and prove it.
And you know what else makes me hot? A guy who’s basically only himself – who isn’t beholden to what other people think or want him to be. And is original about it all. “Ain’t no thing like me ‘cept me,” Rocket says in the Guardians of the Galaxy movie, and I commence to purring deep down in my area regions. That’s perfection to me. A man who isn’t like anything except himself. A man who is unique in all the universe, and who – even if it’s in my imagination – cares about me. Because there ain’t no thing like me ‘cept me, either.
So, there you go. I admit that it’s a very physical thing. Fur is soft, and fangs can grab onto shoulders and shake back and forth playfully, and a cold wet raccoon nose can poke you in a way that makes you squeak in the night.
But, ultimately, I need a man who’s good with his hands, who can tousle and bite and be rough, who lives life hard, who knows how to use the tools he’s given. I need a man who’ll walk through hell for the people he cares about, who proves friendship and love even if it’s in unspoken ways.
A man like that is the hottest kind of man, the sexiest kind of man.
And, sometimes, he’s also a raccoon.