A Scandal And A Link

Standing in the last minute Valentine’s Day checkout line at the supermarket with twenty other men carrying roses, cards and chocolates, I paid for my one economy sized bottle of grape seed massage oil. They eyed my purchase curiously.

Suckers.

***

Behold the world’s funniest (and most bitingly insightful) new blog:

http://stuffwhitepeoplelike.wordpress.com/

If you are a blue state status whore, you will get uncomfortable reading this blog.

I agree 100% with the #56 Lawyers entry.

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Vaj Day

‘Cause, really, that’s what it is. A day to celebrate vaj.

So in the consumerist spirit of the occasion here’s the Valentine’s Day card I plan to send out to my stable of regulars.

For my extra special girls, I’ve put the effort and love into making homemade cards:

I’m a romantic at heart.

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Litmus Test

It’s easy for me to tell when I really like a girl, and it has nothing to do with banging her.  Banging just means the girl has met my minimum attractiveness threshold, but only those who far exceed it will be worth an extended edition of my time, energy, and resources.  I know that the things I do for a girl and the way I behave or feel when I’m in her company change depending on how attracted I am to her.

If I go down on a girl on the first night, she is in the upper tier of girls I bang.  The hungrier and more voraciously I attack her genitalia with my mouth, the more I like her.  Looking back on the girls I fell in love with, one commonality they all shared was my reckless disregard for personal hygiene and unpleasant odors when I buried my face deep into the folds of their furrows.  I think I orally devoured the vagina of one girl for half an hour before I even penetrated her.  To me, that is the equivalent of getting on bended knee and slipping a 6-month salary rock on her finger.

If I envision spending the rest of my life with her I will stick my nose into the canal and lustfully inhale her bouquet of womanhood, hardly noticing the pube floss or pussy juice mustache when I come up for air.

Other things I find myself doing with a girl I like a lot:

Cook her dinner.  (This is a big deal since I don’t even cook for myself.)

Write her emails longer than two sentences and properly punctuated.

Paint her.

Photograph her.  (B&W only.  Try this sometime, it is a huge turn-on for women to be instructed how to pose for the camera.)

Get nervous around her.  (Trust me, after many years in the field you will begin to miss the adrenaline rush of nervousness.)

Steal flowers from the neighbor’s garden for her.

Do a version of this.

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Sex Machine

I strongly suspect there is a correlation between a woman’s body type and her preferred method of lovemaking.

Narrow hips + muscular upper body + high and tight ass + abs + dark forearm hair = Fucks like a man.

built to be on top with a riding crop

Curvy hips + baby fat + wide and plump ass + delicate upper body + small belly pouch = Makes love.

oxytocin factory

The farther a woman is from the ideal feminine, the more likely she will be to fuck like a sex machine, all pistons and friction.  She will be the type of girl who is not as emotionally hollowed by bed-hopping.

The closer a woman gets to the superfeminine in body shape, facial features, and temperament, the more submissive and tender will be her lovemaking.  For her, the culmination of the act is not in orgasm but in the bonding and the joy of knowing she is pleasing her lover.  Expect her legs to wrap around you during sex in a subconscious display of possession. 

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Dodged The Same Bullet Twice

Many years ago, a girl I had been dating once offered to marry me, and I once offered to marry a girl I had been dating… within the same relationship.  This is possible because the two events happened a year apart.  She was quite a looker; tall, slender, exotically sculpted face… and an accent that directly aroused me via soundwave.  After a few months of dating, she probed to see if I was ready to marry her (probing is the female equivalent of asking).  But I was a rake and still intrigued by the pursuit of the fresh notch, so I hemmed and hawed and strung her along and generally treated her as an accessory.

Naturally, my complete indifference to her needs made her fall deeper in love with me.  The more she clinged, the more I went to bars without her to try and supplement my relationship with sexual variety.  The harder I pushed, the stronger she pulled.  It did not help that when we went out together other women paid more attention to me.  My girlfriend had become the perfect pickup prop.

Unless you are so deeply in love with your girlfriend that all other attractive women become abstract entities to you, you will find that having her accompany you on nights out is tantamount to psychological torture.  You will get so much more flirting from women than you would have as a single man, and yet you will be able to do nothing about it.  It’s like a thirsty man in the desert with one glass of lukewarm puddlewater to quench himself stumbling across an electrified cooler full of ice cold sodas and beer.

So the struggle in her was apparent.  Her logical brain was telling her to leave me, while her emotions were running red hot to stay.  It went on like this for another year, until the overtightening of reality finally started to strip the threading holding us together.  She attempted escape a couple of times, but the aloofness was strong in me, foiling her intentions.

Lesson One:  If you want to keep a girl around, act like you don’t mind if she’s not around.  It helps to really feel this way.

Then the fates turned.  It is only when a woman makes herself scarce that I want more of her.  As she gradually, painfully extricated herself from the relationship I became drawn to her in a way I hadn’t felt since the first week of new lovers sex.  The gears had shifted and were now grinding in the opposite direction.  I stopped hitting on other women.  I proactively suggested progressively more sophisticated and romantic dates and I began paying her way every time.  Phone calls increased.  Declarations of love poured forth.  I didn’t realize at the time how my actions were poisoning the well.  I just thought “Hey, she once wanted to marry me, so she’ll welcome my professions of love now.”

Lesson Two:  If you want a girl to fall out of love with you, shower her with love.

Unsurprisingly, she grew cold and distant.  The first warning sign was the extra time it took her to return my phone calls.  The last warning sign was her saying “No, I don’t love you.”  When my runaway emotions had crescendoed and I finally told her I wanted to marry her, she tsked and rolled her eyes.

The afternoon before the breakup we had the best sex ever.  She orgasmed freely.  There is something about breakup sex that brings out the animal in women.  Perhaps it is the only time they can completely sever their emotions from sex and just let their vaginas take over with a man they trust.  Or maybe it’s a last hurrah.  I felt used for my body.

So that is how you have two marriage proposals in one relationship that don’t actually lead to marriage.

The breakup was painful but in retrospect it turned out to be a blessing in disguise.  I went on to many exciting adventures with women that I would have regretted missing out on if I had closed off the option by marrying my honey-voiced siren.

Lesson Three:  When you really love a woman it will be A to B.  Not A to D to B to C.

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Player’s Pop Quiz

Your girlfriend, who is thin, asks if you think she looks fat.  Among the following responses you could give which is most likely to make her smile and kiss you?  Which is most likely to piss her off?  Which is most likely to make her more dependent on you (AKA love you)?

The Sarcastic Answer
“Oh yes, you’re huge.  So fucking round.  I’ve seen beach balls with more sex appeal.”  *rolls eyes*

The Sincere Answer
“No, you are thin and beautiful, as I have always known you.”

The Coy Answer
“Hmm, lemmee see, turn around.  Hm, you know, it’s weird… maybe it’s the lighting in here.”

The Scornful Answer
“Are you on drugs or are you blind?  Give me a break, you know you aren’t fat.”

The Psychotherapy Answer
“If this is a cheap pity ploy to boost your sagging self-esteem or a test of my devotion I suggest a more subtle alternative route that doesn’t involve ridiculous assumptions.”

The Mendacious Insurance Policy Answer
“Yeah, now that you mention it, you did put on a few pounds, especially around the hips.”  *makes frowny face*

The Sly Answer
“Not that I would notice these things, but if you did put on a little weight, it looks good on you.”

The Non-Answer
“Girls!”

The Satirical Answer
“Does my penis look bigger?”

The Smartass Answer
“Define ‘fat’.”

The Goofball Faux-Reassurance Answer
“Don’t worry, baby, I like a little cushion for the pushin’!”

The Evasive Answer
“Hey, I love those shoes on you.  Amazing!  They really accentuate your long legs.”

The Pimp Answer
“Why don’t you work off your fat ass by getting on your knees and sucking my cock, bitch.  Don’t let me see no tears.”

The New Age Answer
“You’re coming from a fear-based place.  Let go of your ego and trust in the universe that my love is enough.”

The Charming Bastard Answer
“I can’t judge these things with clothes interfering.  A proper analysis can only be done by candlelight… with a warm bath… and a bottle of pinot noir nearby… to be sure the results are as… biased… as possible.”

Silence
*walks slowly to her, puts his hands on her cheeks, brushes aside her hair, looks in her eyes, leans in, runs his lips softly up her neck to her ear.  sits back down.*

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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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