You're Never Alone With a Clone

I've been thinking about clones a wee bit of late. This train of thought has partly been inspired by the recent visit of a very old friend. Her husband took the first photo and helped break the story of Dolly the cloned sheep.

Needless to say even though Dolly has passed on, the royalties from the images still live on and of course many fine pictures of Dolly grace the walls of their house. All very fitting for a crofters son from the Isle of Lewis.

The other tangent of clone pondering is one I've visited before that has been reawakened due to the sudden cold snap in the weather and the fact that I'm somewhat jaded at present. The intense stress of work over the last few weeks coupled with an equally busy round of parties has left this lesbian feeling a bit wrung out, a la dish towel. One feels like climbing into the pink fluffy, curling on the sofa in front of the non existent fire while snuggling up with a warm body that does not have fur as it's usual form of attire. Advanced sofa'ing.

Here enters the clone. As much as one does like the blissful pleasure of skin on skin contact, the ex-ex and I keep sleepovers to the bare minimum, it's how it works best for us. However, there are times when one feels the urge to snuggle into bed next to the desired warm body when the jadedness becomes all consuming. This is when the clone is needed.

Unlike Steve Martin in his classic movie, I wouldn't need the clone to converse or communicate in any manner. It wouldn't even need to stay over and would probably be urged to vanish. It's only role would be to be there to snuggle up to when desire struck, and then to discreetly vanish once I was in deep sleep zone.

I yearn for a clone.