Saturday, September 27, 2008

Just fucking fuck me, already

This is from Craig's List and I have no idea who wrote it, but I love it....

Dear Men;

Look, I know you men have it difficult. Women are just about impossible to understand, much less please. In a post-feminist society, you never know exactly what you should be doing. Women are bloody picky, I know we are. It can be scary, too, when women freak out about what appear to be benign issues. And men who do their best to be respectful, female-positive humans, I salute you, I do.

But please, please just fuck me already. Honestly, I appreciate your thoughtfulness. I like that you want to take things slow. I can totally get behind the idea of emotional connection, but dearjesusinheaven, FUCK ME. We've done dinner and drinks. We've gone dancing. We've cuddled and watched a movie. I'm wearing a low cut shirt and you've been staring at my breasts all night. Goodgodalmighty, get to it and fuck me.

When we get hot and heavy, please take charge. Please, please fuck me. Trust me, I'm not going to just lie still - I'll get involved. But don't make me force your hand into my panties. That makes me feel like a rapist. We've been kissing for a half hour and your hand keeps grazing my ass. That's nice, but it's time to move forward. Get on top of me. Don't make me get on top right out of the gate and start bobbing up and down on your cock like I'm practicing some crazy new aerobic yoga because YOU won't go down on me. Roll on top and start dry humping like a good boy should. Don't gently suck my nipples and then pull back when I moan with pleasure. You being coy is totally not what I want. It's not what WE want.

OK, I know it's scary. There are lots of women out there who make fucking really difficult. So, I have compiled some handy tips. Don't think of this as complaining, or as schadenfreude for the Andrea Dworkins of the world. Just some simple tips, for timid men who have forgotten what it means to fuck like men:

1. Taking charge is not bad. Oh, there will be some women who feel that you are pushy. If you are making out with a woman, and she starts to push back, ask nicely if things are moving too fast. If she says yes, say something like "I'm sorry - you just look so fucking delicious. I'll go slower." Otherwise, skillfully move forward. If you start kissing a woman, and she responds well, and before long, you're both on the floor with her skirt pushed up, and you on top of her, it's not the time to roll onto your back and start awkwardly stroking the top of her head. Seriously, grow a goddamn pair. YOU'RE the man. Act like one.

2. Ohmyfuckinggod, please learn to respect the clit. It's different for every woman, so ask what she likes. Do not, I repeat, do not just wiggle your fingers around her pussy like you're trying to tickle her. Do not drum your fingertips against her vulva like you are impatiently waiting at the Sears Tire Center for your receipt. Do not push the clit like it is a doorbell at some house that you need to get inside of. Start by using all four fingers with firm yet gentle pressure against the outside of her pussy. Do not charge in with a single finger and start jabbing at things. And if you really don't know what to do, ask her. Just ask. "How do you like it?". It's a simple question, and most women will answer straight out. If she's being all coy, ask "Do you like pressure? Is it sensitive?" The clitoris is a varied item, indeed. Treat each one as though you have never encountered one before. Forget everything that your last partner liked.

3. Most women like to be fucked, and fucked well. Yes, there are women out there who want to "make love" every time - sweet, gentle, rocking love with lots of eye contact and loving kisses. Those women are not the majority. The majority like to be pounded. The majority like to have their hair pulled. The majority like a good, solid jackhammering. When a woman is bucking wildly against you, it's not because she wants you to pull back and slowly swirl your cock around her vagina like you're mixing a cake batter up there. It's because she wants you to hold down her arms, or grab her hips, or push her legs above her head, and fuck her harder. Don't be too afraid of what this means as far as gender equality goes - I am a raging feminist bitch, but I still want to be penetrated like you are planning on fucking my throat from the inside out.

4. A little roughness is nice. Do not pretend that you had no idea that some women like their hair pulled. Do not act shocked if she wants you to spank her ("Really? Spanking? Won't it hurt?" - yes, it does. That's the fucking point). We know you've read Stuff and Maxim, and that's all those laddie mags talk about in their "How to Please Her" sections. Start with light, full handed smacks to the area of her ass that she sits on. Judge her response and continue on from there. You don't have to bend her over one knee and tell her she's a naughty girl and that Daddy's going to punish her; save that for the fifth date. Women are less delicate than you think, so don't worry about breaking her hip.

5. It's OK for you to make noise. Otherwise, we feel like we are fucking a ninja. Unless you actually are a ninja, and have sneaked into our rooms with vibrating nanuchaku and zippered black pajamas, please, please make some noise. If you're banging a woman, and she's crying out and saying your name and moaning, and you can't even manage a grunt, she's going to feel like an idiot. You don't have to make the sounds she is making, but do SOMETHING. You know how when you are watching porn, and the girl does something great to the guy and the guy kind of goes "Ah!", half grunt, half yell? That's HOT. Do that. Whisper our name (assuming you know it) gruffly. Groan against her neck when you're in missionary position. You don't have to grunt like a mountain gorilla, but if you are totally mute, she's going to get worried.

6. Most women like dirty talk, in addition to the grunting. If you'd like to get some dirty talk going, ask her if she likes the way you fuck her. If she responds well, continue with something like, "I love fucking you. God, you look so fucking hot." Is she still moaning in response? "Your tits are so beautiful." Does that work? If she doesn't respond well to the term "tits", you might have to stop there. If she keep moaning or responding, pass Go and collect $200. Try the following:

"Oh, god. Your pussy is SO tight."
"You're so wet - are you wet because you like the feel of my cock ramming you?"
"I think I'm going to come inside you. I'm going to fill up your little cunt." It doesn't matter that you're wearing a condom; we LOVE hearing this.

If all of those work, you can then progress to things like "sexy little bitch" and "dirty whore". Tread carefully, but please, tread. Do not tiptoe. Do not sit down. Charge.

6. You're not obligated to eat a woman out. In return, she's not obligated to choke on your dick. Don't skip one and expect the other. If you do eat a woman out, the only comment you should make about her pussy is how nice it is. The length of her labia minora, the color of her interior, her waxing job or full bush - you are not John Madden. No time for color commentary.

7. Do not bitch about condoms. Oh, we hate them. Trust us. They hurt us more than they hurt you. But we don't want to be preggers, and you don't want to catch anything, right? Don't whine about condom sex. Do not explain that you can't come with one on. LEARN to come with one on, or if not, help us figure out what to do with you once we're satisfied and it's time for you to let loose your load.

8. We really like it when you come. It's called a money shot for a reason. Watching semen shoot out of you is one of the most gratifying things EVER. However, do not assume that she wants you to jack it off onto her face. She might, but don't assume. Seeing and/or feeling you come is rewarding for us, so there's no need to deprive us of it, but please do consult us before unleashing. "I think I'm going to come - how do you like it?" is a fair question that shouldn't rob you of your testicles.

In recent memory, I've been fucked by a very aggressive, manly guy, and I've been... well, fucked is the wrong term here. I've been penetrated by a total and utter wuss. Who am I going to run back to when I'm ready for my fill? Manly McHardon, that's who. ----------------------------------------------------

Friday, September 26, 2008

Who am I then? Tell me that first, and then, if I like being that person, I'll come up: if not, I'll stay down here till I'm somebody else. - Lewis C

So I watched a movie. That was the beginning of the whole "remove the head from the butt" journey. It was not a special movie, just another Mel Gibson adventure flick, full of hot, half-naked guys. I don't know why that particular show spurred me in the direction I am now headed, but hey whatever wakes us up...

Fifteen years of dedication to a child and to one's conception of what makes a good parent can really do a lot to fuck up your sense of self. After all that concentration on one person, what do you do when that person begins to move away from you? If you don't want to become a fat, unhappy nag, overly-dependent on her vibrator, you decide to get your life back. Remember when you had friends? Played games? Travelled the world? Took karate? Learned the flute? Wrote stories, drew pictures, acted? What the fuck happened to that person? Look deeper, she is still there.

I liken it to leaving home for the first time. Whether you left your safe and comfortable home to go to college or move in with your first boyfriend, or even if you ran away from a shit situation, having your kid grow up and discover his life as his own has that same refreshing, slightly terrifying, my-whole-life-is-ahead-of-me-now realization. Even if such remaining whole life is a wee bit shorter than it used to be, that same excitement is there. The same questions pop up. Now what do I do? and how the fuck do I do it?

Why do we have to keep going down the dusty normal road because society says so? It works great for a while, gets the kid raised and on his road to whatever, but do we really need to keep it up after he is cooked and gone? I think not. As far as I know, we only have one go-round, and I plan on getting as much out of it as I can.

Like quitting smoking, you just make the decision. Once that decision is made, it all falls into place. Pull those rusted, creaking, cobwebbed instincts out of the trunk you have them buried in, and let them free. Follow them and see where they lead you. They didn't do you wrong before, they won't let you down this time. Pick up the damn paintbrush, scream into the microphone, spread your legs and get fucked. That is a good start.

Me? I took a long weekend and went to California. Actually, I flew to Vegas on the spur of the moment, rented a car and drove down Route 66 to Indio, met a shitload of artists and a movie star or two, and began my love affair with Mexico. I realized then that I do still have a creative bone, thoughts, opinions, passions, life inside me and I needed to nurture these things before they completely crumbled away.

What better way to commemorate the occasion of my rebirth then to get a really bad tattoo at the Mandalay Bay in Vegas, between checking out the Star Trek and Atomic Test Site museums, while waiting for the flight home. So, okay, kind of like those tats I got 20 years ago, maybe that instinct didn't seem so smart at the time, but it worked out in the end.

While everyone else my age is happily planning their retirements, building additions on their homes, weathering their mid-life crises through purchasing power, I am taking the low, low, low road. I don't want to be a happy homeowner anymore, growing roses, proud of my new shower faucet, my RRIFs, GICs, estate planning. I believe I would rather drive my big ugly1978 panel van, with the floorboards through which my feet fit nicely, and hope it will make it to wherever the hell I am going at the moment.

Of course, good thing I actually have a house and a career of sorts, else how could I fund my bohemian rants... But baby steps, baby steps. Start with the realization, move on up to disposing of all possessions and living the monk's life.

Monday, September 22, 2008

I promised no navel-gazing, but...

How do we reconcile our youth with what we have now become, especially when a message from the past suddenly appears in your inbox like an oasis in a dust storm. If that message comes from your first, and likely only, true love, it vomits up a whole lot of emotion. How can those same feelings felt at the age of 15 reappear so quickly, and just as intensely? How do we deal with feelings that have been so carefully buried and which suddenly appear like an atomic blast? Me? I guess I write and write and write.... Damn morals are cramping me again.

Love Song of the Day

Sunday, September 21, 2008

Help me Stephen Hawking, you're my only hope

I badly need a relativity-related method of transport that will take me back a quarter century to that two-room apartment in the big old house in Kits, the one where the bathroom was shared with the neighbours, and the fridge was full of stolen food. Or back further to the basement suite where old horror movies were watched on the little tv, and where two young bodies pressed together. Where mushrooms grew in all the lawns, which a crew of idiotic teenagers could pick and eat and then walk to the beach to sit on logs and watch the sunset while discussing the universe and solving all its problems.

I just need five minutes back there with my hindsight and wisdom, to tell that stupid girl to not be quite so stupid and to resist the temptations and to hang on just a little tighter, and tell that crazy boy he will be always be cherished, no matter what, and tell them both to go back to school and wait just a few years for maturity to set in and to go about their lives in the right order and yah yah yah, blah blah blah. Neither one of them will listen anyway.

They will go back to lovemaking with abandon on the mattress on the floor, he will save his pennies for that ring, and she will leave, because that is what they end up doing. The sun still rises, the moon still waxes, we move on, give other rings, produce other children, make other lives, while time ticks away.

But ok, Stephen, since you haven't figured out how to physically get me to where I need to go, and I am therefore trapped in the present, the question is, do I continue to reread those words, relive that scene, and regret those actions taken by a stupid child, or live in joy with the present shiny, happy, but somewhat disconnected, life I have made?

I guess I choose the shiny path, though it may be walked with a little less contentment and a little more unrest. I will have to be content with the hope that a promise made will someday come true.

Video of the Day - made for my partner in crime...