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Archive for the ‘The Pleasure Principle’ Category

It’s true for most non-r-selected men that female thinness trumps everything else about women’s attractiveness. As a consequence, fat chicks get nosex, nogsex, or dregsex. Them’s the breaks for the bulbous brigade.

It’s also more or less true that as a man’s sexual market options, real or perceived, shrink, his standards loosen to accommodate girls with “cushion for the pushin'”. (Or so he will try to convince himself.) This means, for example, that older men who haven’t any compensatory attractiveness traits will “unexpectedly” discover the latent fuckability of chubby younger women. (But never the fuckability of chubby older women. Even LSMV men have a floor to their mate criteria.)

If options = instability, then lack of options = floating standards.

So we may conclude that shrinking sexual market options from, say, rapidly advancing age or sudden bankruptcy, contribute to men’s willingness to rut with juvenile manatees. But there’s an additional factor at play here. I have gleaned from random conversations I’ve had over the years with buddies that we all agreed there was a time in our lives — middle school to high school — when we exclusively craved the skinny chicks with 0% conspicuous body fat, and wouldn’t look twice at any sweet sixteen girl who had a touch of mature woman plumpness round the hips ass and thighs. (In Lolita, Humbertx2 called these plumply ripe women older than the age of 12, “cows”.)

Then, as we entered our 20s and as our SMVs were rising, our whoreizons BROADened and the allure of egg-laden, exquisitely curvy, hourglass-shaped feminine women became more apparent than it had before. Note that exquisitely curvy doesn’t mean FAT. It means Gal Gadot. Or a randomly chosen Playboy Playmate of the Month.

I suggest this minor male hindbrain phenomenon is related to the subconscious fear in every man that the woman he eventually chooses to make honest will get fat on his watch. The Fear is mostly relevant when considering those women who are marriage material. It doesn’t factor as urgently in short term flings or one night stands, which is why less-than-super-skinny chicks with future porker potential don’t turn off horny men just looking for fun. However, when a man is seeking a life sex partner (so solly, that’s what the marital dotted line amounts to for men), he will shoot for a younger, skinnier woman safe in the knowledge that she will stay desirably thin and fuckable even if she puts on five or ten pounds over the years.

Commenter Days of Broken Arrows explores the same topic:

“If I’m being honest, though, and obviously I’m biased, I think that the skinniness fetish is more a modern thing promoted by the homo fashion industry…”

DoBA: Some of it is. But some of it is also a form of insurance that helps protect against the woman putting on so much weight after you get married that it seems like you’re with a man. I addressed this in a post that disappeared. But you notice this as you get older.

Too many wives of my old high school friends gained weight and cut off all their hair. They now look like drag queens. They’re so masculinized that you’d never guess what they looked like in college.

While marrying a thin woman doesn’t prevent this happening, it makes it a better bet than exchanging vows with a female who is already porking out.

Like I wrote above, when I was a stripling teenlord I wouldn’t notice any girl who had even an exxxtra half pound of fat on her. It was the slimmest babes who grew my meat flue. As I got older, I still was disgusted by fat chicks, but a pound or two in the right places no longer offended my senses with the same intensity. I think that DoBA’s theory is right, we (White) men are programmed to prefer especially skinny chicks when screening for an LTR girlfriend or wife because it’s insurance against them getting too fat when older.

This theory — Skinny Chick Insurance — is related to the concept of women’s “residual reproductive value” (you down with RRV?), which has been discussed at CH. In sum, men prefer younger-than-prime-fertility women and thinner-than-normal-weight-according-to-the-1950-MetLife-weight-tables women because those women give men access to their total fertility window and to the longest time they are at a sexy skinny weight. If a man invests in a woman, he wants that beauty rolling off the lot brand new and the interior smelling like patent virgin leather.

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Comment of the Week winner is Pill, with this compare and contrast of sex with a tightbody waifu and sex with a fatbody average american woman.

In my limited experience. My first bang was a chubby girl. Great curves, tits, hips. But she just had too much weight. And a belly at times almost looked egg like and pregnant. Her Vaj was average tightness for me. Nothing special. NEVER CAME while fucking her. I used condoms, but still. Never came in out 5 month relationship.

Had sex recently with an asian girl. Much better body, lanky with subtle curves. Nice butt. Zero tits. But her pussy was Tight. It hurt her just a little getting it in. (using condoms). 1st time fuck, never came. 2nd time, (changed to bigger condom that didnt constrict as much). First time ever I came while fucking a girl. Blew my load while inside her. Felt goodman.

Moral of story, looks matter. Condom matters (probably better feeling without one, duh) Tightness matters.

First girlfriend when she was on top. All I could feel was her weight crushing down on my pelvis, and I swear I forgot I even had a dick. I couldnt feel anything and would go limp. Lil, asian tight puss. Bouncin on me, and can feel every stroke squeeze my shaft.

I laughed very hard when I read this comment. Should I have? I feel shame that I was so easily amused, but this comment hit the G spot in my funny bone, ymmv.

By the by, if you can’t come with a girl after five months of sexing her, it’s time to abort emission.

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Reader mendo earned himself an honorary Chateau post with this gem of a comment in which he explains his “beauty-boning correlation” categories of varying intimacy.

Reminds me of a recent categorization I’ve been developing in regards to rating a women’s face.

Beautiful–making out whilst boning her

Pretty–looking at her whilst boning

Okay–looking at the boning

It’s hardcore cuz it’s true.

Okay-looking chicks get the “straight to doggy style” treatment and a denouement hastened by staring intently at the insertion point. Pretty chicks get missionary and eye contact, and a perfunctory effort to engage the cum-stumping kegels. Beautiful babes get a marathon lovemaking session afforded by a pre-date rub-out to take the edge off, deep passionate kissing, eye contact so profound that the iris juices commingle, and intimacy that makes it feel like you’re jizzing straight into her heart.

Related: Hotter women = better sex. And SCIENCE! agrees.

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In a neighborhood I once occupied, I used to see a man — an avatar of vibrancy — around town who was “suffering” from some kind of medical condition that caused his genitals to swell to immense proportion. Elephantitis of the nuts, although his entire package, beans plus frank, was uniformly yuge so maybe he hit the jackpot and got pachyderma of the penis too. Anyhow, this guy would stroll happily and confidently from cafe to cafe and bar to bar, on sunny days and sultry nights alike, chatting up random girls with the biggest shit-eating grin imaginable, his old man pleated pants stretched to smoothness by the extraordinary bulge that traveled the length of his thigh and bubbled like an active caldera at least a foot outwardly. A truly swole gentleman, his eighth wonder of the world could easily have been mistaken for a basketball stuffed down his pants.

For an astute observer of human nature such as yours unduly, the reactions of the girls were primetime entertainment. Swollen Genitals Man made no effort to hide or otherwise minimize the assault of his bursting crotch into the personal spaces of the girls he approached. He’d even put his hands on his hips and ever-so-subtly sway his King Dong pelvic region in a hypnotic figure eight.

I say hypnotic, because from the looks of them the girls couldn’t tear their eyes away. I can recall not one girl who turned away disgusted or promptly waved him off. Some smiled, some giggled, and some bantered with him, but all of them stared at that super sack like it was a T-bone to a hungry doge.

I wouldn’t say this is ideal Game, because I doubt he actually bedded any of these girls, but it was an object lesson in how fascinated girls are by a man’s impudent, remorseless, intrusive sexuality, because they hardly ever experience it surrounded by neutered corporate manginas.

PS One time SGM approached a mixed table from a bad angle, resulting in a hilarious awkwardness when his pride and joy nearly grazed the cheek of one of the men sitting at the table. The man jerked his face toward SGM and almost took every pound of that junkernaut in his mouth. The unfortunate victim was, physiognomically, a shitlib male. Another man at the table sitting about five feet away was, physiognomically, a shitlord. CH readers can guess how each man reacted to the scene as it unzippered (hint: their reactions were what you’d expect).

PPS Open borders and mass third world invasion means grotesque exotic diseases coming to a neighborhood near you!

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A natural red-head early 20s girl in a summer dress riding a bike on a warm spring day as a gust of wind catches the hem and lifts it just enough to glimpse sheer pink panties caressing a smoothly perfect ass cheek. Praise Cleft.

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You can ramp up a woman’s ardor with a few simple “powerlust moves”. One that has never failed to generate hot hot heat beyond the usual steamy release is when I sidle up to my ladyhawke from behind, put my arms around her waist (one hand slithering to a shaded resting place in her underboob), and, as she begins to twist around to meet my intrusion, whisper in her ear “Ah ah, don’t turn around”.

Her head might swivel backward a little after that, revealing the corner of a lip-parted arousal, and I’ll reiterate, “Don’t look”. Now she’s stuck facing forward, maybe over the kitchen sink noticing tree leaves ripen in the summersun through the window, engulfed by my body while my patriarchy presses into her behind. I lift her dress, or unzip and yank down her pants, and explore like a White colonialist of old. All the time she is yielding to my loving molestation, her back is to me; she never locks eyes. This combination of male entitlement, commanding presence, and her sensual vulnerability is lethal to the female limbic system, dynamiting her dendritic fuses in a volcanic shower of molten gash-ash.

Male dominance is the female rationalization hamster killer. No woman can resist. No man should underestimate the allure of his controlled dominance to women. The Powerlust Moves are about projecting dominance through aesthetic, physicality, and word. Set the romantic scene, invade her personal space, and issue the command. The pussy has been waiting to submit for too long.

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The revolution will be atomized.

Here’s Le Chateau back in 2007 writing on sexbots and the existential threat they pose to the sexual market, and hence to civilization.

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