Hotter Women, Better Sex

There are a lot of false impressions circulating about the motivation behind men’s Darwinian struggle to fuck the most beautiful women.  Of course, the cultural explanation is gibberish so I won’t bother to address that here.  What interests me is the oft-repeated claim, mostly by women but also by some men with beta issues, that the primary drive for men’s unstoppable lust to score only the hottest girls is to boost their ego by being seen in public with arm candy.

This is not true.  The essential motivation for scoring the best-looking women is the visceral pleasure signals it sends to the reward centers of the male brain.  To gaze on a beautiful woman’s face, admire the curves of her body, and make love with her all night long is its own reward.  The little bit of ego-massaging that comes from walking into a crowded room and showing off the hot girl in your company pales in comparison to the ecstasy of privately kissing her lips in a quiet room with the blinds drawn.

I suspect the people who think that men chase hot girls the most feverishly so as to lord it over other men have an agenda.  They want to believe that human nature is not immutable; that with the right amount of peer pressure and fist-shaking at the media juggernaut men’s desires can be altered — tamed — to accommodate their conceit.  And pride is malleable where thermonuclear blasts of lust are not.

If, on the other hand, men pursue the best-looking women at the behest of hidden compulsions buried deep in the reptilian cores of their brains, then there is nothing can be done to change this fact of manhood and what it means for less attractive girls.

How your body responds to a woman during sex tells the tale.  The hotter I find the girl, the better the sex is, all else being equal.  Since men remember sex acts with crystal clear clarity, it’s easy for me to recall the exact specifications of my sexual encounters with each woman in my life.  Not to put too fine a point on it, but my jizzbombs were heavier and the distance ejected farther with the prettier girls.  Since this is something I cannot consciously control, it is proof of the innate characteristics of the male sex drive.

In the interest of science, I’ve put my beauty-to-cumload comparison in a handy chart:

hotness of woman               size of load               squirt distance
0                                            *                                *
1                                            *                                *
2                                            *                                *
3                                            pre-cum only           had to be squeezed out
4                                            droplet                      dribble
5                                            <5 grams                  2 cm
6                                            fills bellybutton        3 inches
7                                            1 tbsp                         8 inches
8                                            2 tbsps                       1.5 feet
9                                            1/4 cup                       3 feet
10                                          gallon**                      5 yards**

*insufficient data
**extrapolation                  

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Unmanliness from a Woman’s POV

I checked out a link to this woman’s blog and she has a useful chart listing the differences between traditional men and metrosexuals.

I really liked this part:

Traditional Man
Ignores or disapproves of feminism.

Metrosexual Man 
Claims to be supportive of feminism with women, but inevitably disses it when drunk with his male pals at the pub.

She’s pretty as well.  I could see myself becoming vulnerable in her presence.

Of course, whenever I read a woman’s opinion on what she likes in men I always ask if these are the men she claims to want to sleep with or if they are the men she actually sleeps with.

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Bald Man’s Lament

A friend, who is a good person despite his penchant for finding humor in the suffering of others, trawled one of those sad-sack internet support groups and forwarded me this plaintive wail from a man(?) who is losing his hair and blaming it for his collapsing marriage.  My friend, for purposes of this blog I shall call him Zeets, thinks this tormented ululating from an anonymous balding man is slap-the-knee funny.

The wife was having sex with the new man while I cried to other people that I wanted my wife back. She was having fun and laughing and having sex with her new man and stuff like that while I was crying and confused and being very very depressed. I had no idea why my wife left me and why she was with another man and I was just wanting the nightmare to end. When someone told me it was my hair I actually got a little angry with him and looked at him like he was nuts. I kind of growled at him so he stopped talking to me. I didn’t want to believe that it was my hair. I didn’t get it even though I had lost a bunch of hair but the new guy had a full head of hair. I simply refused to see the light. I cried and told everyone around me that I was imagining my wife having sex with the new man and I said it was killing me. And I was right, she was having sex with the new man. She would lay under the new man and thrust her pelvis into the pelvis of the new man so she could get the new man’s penis as deep into her vagina as she could make it go. She wanted the new man’s penis as deep inside of her as she could get it to go so she would force it deeper by thrusting her pelvis into his pelvis while she was laying under him. She would do this with her new man in the very bed that I helped to pay for. And while she was doing this I was crying and complaining to everyone that I loved her and wanted her back and saying how I didn’t understand. Then I would go to my studio apartment and lay down in bed and masturbate before going to sleep while my wife was in the bed bought by me, her husband, giving sex to a new man who had a full head of hair. And the worse part of this story is that she will take me to the cleaners and leave me no money to pay for hair replacement surgery.

OK, I admit I laughed.  Well done, Zeets, you have shown once again how to lift one’s spirit at the expense of a tortured soul.  What have we learned from this?

The internet is a rain catch for every flavor of tear shed by man.  If you have a malady or a despair, no matter how peculiar, you will find someone else in the ASCII ether who shares your special brand of misery with whom to bond.  This is good for wallowing, bad for personal growth.

Laughing at the misfortunes of others comes disturbingly easy.

This benighted bald man needs an IV injection of Game, starting with deep deep deeeeeep inner game work.  Visualizing in technicolor brilliance your wife/girlfriend/mom boffing another man is the mental equivalent of plucking out your scrotum pubes one by one… slowly.  He should drown himself in tequila or punch brick walls if that’s what it takes to stop hearing the siren call of self-flagellation.

Make your penis go as far into the vagina as it will go, because it is good.

PS: Congratulations to anon for leaving my 1,000th comment.
anon, if you are a woman, i blow you a kiss.  please… keep your window open so that it may find its way to your lips.
if you are a man, i blow you a manly hug with three (and no more!) pats to the back.  please… keep your window open so that my macho hug may find its way to your open arms.

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Separate Species

I recently heard this story about two girls, good friends, who were spending time together catching up.  They decide to help each other rub on self-tanning lotion (not the spray kind, but the wipe-on kind).  So what did they do?  Why, they stripped naked of course!  Two heterosexual girls sat butt naked together and rubbed self-tanner all over one another, including those hard to reach nooks and crannies, like it was no big deal.

Now, a quiz for the guys reading this.  Think of your best guy buddy.  The guy you get drunk with and wing for when he makes a sloppy pass at a chick.  The guy you discuss baseball stats with or bust on for throwing a football like a spaz.  Now try to picture sitting naked with him in extremely close proximity rubbing self-tanner on his hairy dimpled ass, making sure to get an even application.  Maybe he lifts a cheek so you don’t miss a spot?

Not happening, is it.

Two separate species.  There isn’t a better explanation.

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Another Convert

An American friend, let’s call him Phil, has discovered the bounties of East European girls.  After a lifetime of drama dating compatriots of every known taxonomy, he recently hooked up with a cute Polish chick and, in his words, “there’s no going back”.  We had an IM exchange where he explained his revelation:

Phil: she gave me a BJ in the park
Phil: behind a tree
Me: how long have you been going out?
Phil: a few weeks
Phil: she is completely sexually uninhibited
Phil: have you ever had a girl lick your asshole?
Me: she’s already doing that for you?
Phil: well, not quite. i didn’t want her to. so she licked the taint.
Me: TMI
Phil: that’s not the half of it
Me: your game must be exceptional
Phil: actually, i used very little game on her
Phil: she said she was going for a walk and i said “why don’t you join me for a walk near my place”.
Me: and two weeks later her tongue was on your taint
Phil: as if it was the natural progression of things
Me: no shit tests?
Phil: not a one. her sincerity actually confused me at first.
Me: how old is she?
Phil: 23 [editor’s note: considerably younger than my friend]
Phil: i told her i was going to tell my friends about her, the sex stuff and everything
Phil: and she said “it’s OK to share our joy with your friends”
Me: wow
Phil: she treats me like a king
Phil: she loves sex
Phil: you should see her smile when she sees me.
Me: is she shorn?
Phil: yep, and she offered to shave mine
Me: i hear wedding bells
Phil: i can’t believe what i’ve been missing all these years
Phil: no more yentas for me

And so another red-blooded American male urbanite has succumbed to the sweet nectar of foreigner love, forever turned off to the idea of dating the homegrown talent.  Phil said that if, in the future, he found himself in the company of an American girl his expectations for her would be much higher.  Thanks to the eye-opening experience with this girl, there are certain behaviors and outlooks on life he just won’t abide anymore.

I asked him, as good as things were with his Polish girl, if he thought there was a catch.  His answer?  “When is there not a catch?  At least with her, getting caught doesn’t feel like a power struggle.”

Phil is now a big proponent of importing into the US millions of young women from former Communist countries.

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Big Fat Phony Smile

If the eyes are the window to the soul, the smile is the neon vacancy sign outside the motel.

I don’t *feel* high maintenance.

Girls love to smile, whether it’s justified or not.  A broad smile illuminates the face and makes the world notice her.  There is probably some Freudian oral delights aspect to it as well.  The next time you are walking outside, try counting the number of people you see smiling or who smile at you as you pass.  It’s usually no one.  For a girl during her peak beauty years, every waking minute is a good reason to smile and advertise her exalted place within humanity.

There can be too much of a good thing.  The smile’s impact wanes when it becomes a fixture on the face, like the nose.  It loses any meaning and begins to suggest mental vacuity.  So many American girls (European girls seem to be immune to this affliction) have such inflated self-esteems that they flash insincere smiles constantly lest anyone forget to be entranced by them.  The impossibly wide phony smile is the tool in trade of the attention whore.  Now when I see a girl like the one in the photo above smiling like a prom queen I conclude she is a vapid girl with a non-existent inner world who will need to be gamed high-energy style.  The problem with dating girls who smile obsessively is that if you ever give them a reason to drop the smile they will hate you for life.

True sexiness is a lost art.  A woman is incredibly sexy when she balances her time smiling with the detached expression of a relaxed mouth.  She lets her eyes pick up the slack left by the smile.  When I’m talking to a girl whose eyes do most of the subcommunication I get the sense the hamster has not fallen off the wheel in her head.

You won’t see guys smiling as much because the pursuit of women is serious business.  Or maybe they think a straight face looks tough, cool, and emotionally self-contained.  In the dating field, guys who smile just a bit too much are approval-seekers rather than approval-givers.  They want the girls to notice how good-natured and fun-loving they are.  In other aspects of life, men who smile too much are looked upon with suspicion.  In fact, there is a word for perpetually smiling guys — used car salesmen.

One thing the naturals do well is the friendly smile when approaching women.  This automatically sets them apart from most men.  But they drop the smile before it gets stale.  The smile alternates with the serious face and is punctuated with the occasional cocky smirk — it all plays into the girl’s desire for an unpredictable man.  If she’s smiling because of some deliberate action on my part, all is good.  If she’s smiling like a retarded billboard ad, I tell her she has a piece of food stuck in her teeth.

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Hottest Lovemaking Ever

according to a girl whose opinion I value.

Set the scene.  A man is returning home after having been away for months, maybe years, sacrificing his body in war or his comfort in third world charity work.  He is scarred from his experiences but has kept the memory of his lover close throughout his ordeal, giving him the strength and willpower to complete his mission and fulfill his duty to his principles.  All he could think about during his lonely nights that stretched into lonely weeks without end was the face of his lover.  Sweating under a hot sun and surrounded by suffering he had imagined her soft kisses and the light touch of her fingertips.  In moments of despair he visualized himself home, racing into her arms, lifting her up as her hair tumbled around them.

But now, the reality is even sweeter than his dreams.  They rush into each other, kissing until they are short of breath, grasping and clenching so tightly there isn’t a shard of daylight between their pressed bodies.  He carries her into bed, his hunger from months of forbearance suddenly released in a cataclysm of desire, his heart pounding so hard she can feel it through the sheets which have twisted into knots between them.  Overcome by his lust, she falls back and lets him soak her in.  She has never felt more feminine.  To be loved so absolutely that every worry vanishes and happiness shrouds her in serenity makes her feel almost ashamed.  They drift off in bliss.

Me, personally… I like it on top of the kitchen counter.

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