And as is the case in all wars there has been collateral damage. Think of the countless porn starlets that have had their cervixes pummeled into a bruised pulp while moaning in feigned ecstasy upon the screen. Think of the countless, sad-faced college girls who have attempted to take 9″ balls deep down their throats and ended up with their past 4 meals on the dorm room floor.

But this post isn’t really about the Huge Cock Bomb. That was just my inspiration for what is the meat of this post. Is there a female equivalent to the Huge Cock Bomb? I began searching.

Of course the first thing you have to do is to look at the things that drive women from their normal level of controlled insanity to the depths of real psychosis. The first thing to come to mind, obviously, is weight. The written record of women being crazy about their weight predates the fucking Bible. Hm… Men have never really flinched from their true feelings with regards to a woman’s weight, on the whole preferring slim women to big girls (fetishes excepted), and in spite of the Real Women Have Curves Crusade. Hmm… But no. It really can’t be considered in the same class as the Huge Cock Bomb for the simple fact that body weight can be controlled by the individual with nutrition knowledge and exercise. And while the psychological pain might be similar, the mere fact that the pain can be defeated by choice eliminates it from the conversation.

The next on the list is Tits. Tits, like it or not, are a woman’s sexual business card. Nothing either sex possesses can generate a response in the casual passerby like a pair of happily bouncing tits beneath a light fabric blouse. And size is coveted by men and women alike.  Hmmm…. Lack of size has forced many young women into psychotic episodes upon viewing their naked bodies in the bathroom mirror whilst getting out of the shower. Hm, hm, hm. But no. You can’t place Tits in the same category as The Huge Cock Bomb because the issue can so easily be rectified through medical intervention. Hell, the majority of female media stars of that past 2 decades have been surgically enhanced. So…scratch that off the list.

A side note to the big tit thing. It has been my experience with a variety of women that huge tits, while visually arresting, seem to be less sexually sensitive than smaller ones. I would say in my, oh-so-unscientific, opinion that rarely have I found the nipple response in big breasts to be that of smaller breasts. Perhaps it is simply that there is so much more distance from the point of stimulation to the brain that the signal just says “Ah fuck it” at the halfway point. A cruel joke for big tit lovers if ever there was one.

So what the hell is the equivalent? Women certainly aren’t impervious. Ass? No. Face? No. Feet? No. Vagina? Hm…No, but close.

The answer should be obvious if you are to view it from a parallel viewpoint. In order to do so you have to go inside a woman’s pants, or up her skirt if you aren’t dealing with someone who hasn’t completely vilified everything distinctly feminine.

No, I’m not talking about large labia. That was the last post. I am, however, talking about the little man in the boat that resides at the summit of the labia, The Clit, and, more specifically, its size.

A large breasted, hard-bodied woman is a somewhat rare individual, as is the large labia sexpot. But there is no rarer female creature on the planet than the big-clitted woman. I did a quick survey last year on a popular sex newsfeed and got a total of 6 responses from women equipped with large clitoris’sssssss. 6 measly responses when not a month later a post on Pubic hair generated over nearly 1000 responses in 1 day.

Oh yes, the big clitted woman is the snow leopard of human sexuality. Far more rare than the horse-cocked man. But does the big clit have anything to offer other than its visual impact? The answer is yes.

In my experience with women I have had the luck of being with 1 woman who possessed a somewhat over-sized clit. And while it certainly wasn’t the size of shown in the “scientific” photos I have displayed here, it was definitely discernible when she was aroused. Bigger than any of the women’s clits that followed her. This was relatively early in my dating/sexing life, and being a dunder-headed 17-year-old I really didn’t make any conscious connections at the time to the size of her clit and how it correlated to her sexuality.

In hindsight I can see that the differences were, and are, quite great. First off, even now, a decade and a half,  and a good amount of women later, I would easily proclaim her as having, by far, the highest libido of all. I have had an embarrassing high number of women who early on in the mating dance proudly proclaim to me that they were “hypersexual”, or “nymphomaniacs”. With every one of these women their proclamations went down in flames after a couple months. Except with Big Clit Girl.  BC Girl (that’s what we are going to call her from now on) had sex drive that could rival the horniest of guys. She wanted to fuck 3 times a day, 7 days a week. Luckily I was 17 at the time. And it wasn’t some ego compensation thing that you sometimes see in women. Big Clit girl seemed walk around with a perpetually moist vulva in need of a willful, pounding animal fuck daily. Multi-daily! Interestingly enough she never made any statement about her juiced up sex drive. It just was. I don’t think she she ever considered her libido remotely odd, or abnormal. If only she knew.

My weak, still forming male brain at the time thought that her sexual personality was simply due to my awesomeness in the sack. Hardy, har har. Looking back, I can see that it doesn’t take gynecologist to understand what was going on with Big Clit girl. A big, sumptuous clit is the direct result of how much testosterone is present in the womb. Just go and take a look at some female body-building porn and you can see the same results synthetically. The other result of this testosterone boost in the womb, according to a layman’s conversation I had with one of the leading gynos (I make friends with people who share my hobbies) in town, is that the libido can rise above well above “normal” female levels. He did qualify that with a CAN, but that is just because he was being all scientific and subdued. The truth is that it definitely increases the libido in women. Even with my weak little survey last year, which had no specific questions regarding libido, every one of the responders reported having a heavy duty libido.

And since I mentioned female body building let me allow my memory to serve me with regards to BC Girl. Contrary to what you might thing BC Girl didn’t’ show any of the overtly masculine features that sometimes hinder roid girls. She was simply a petite girl with small breasts, a tight athletic body, and that thumper of a clit.  Aside from that you would never suspect she was anything other than your average girl. She painted her nails. Still liked girly things. She just wanted her pussy licked,sucked and fucked 24/7.

Looking back through the years, and comparing her to the women that followed her, here is the most definitive thing I can say about her. Sexually, she was the closest thing to an equal partner as I have ever come across. Our sexual adventures were like two climbers on their way to the top of Everest. A single shared goal focus: Carnal Fulfillment.

We parted ways due to our mutual need for exploration. Considering our ages, that was a good thing. For one thing had we stayed together I would have grown to think that she represented all female sexuality. Ha!

I am truly grateful to BC Girl because she gave me a glimpse of the awe-inspiring, yet extremely rare, possibilities of a woman’s sexuality. She revealed to me that there is a creature out there in the world, so rare and unique that you might just consider her a myth like the mermaid, or Arc of the Covenant. Because of my experience with BC Girl in my early days I know she is not a myth. She is real.  She is out there. She can make other women seem like you’re fucking a dead person. She is…the big-clitted woman.

SGH – February 2012

It would take a year before we were both sufficiently unencumbered by relationships. Our first date was to the symphony (her idea). We met at the entrance and as I watched her walk through the doors my eyes drifted down to her marvelously manicured toes in her sling-back heels. Raising my gaze up to where her legs disappeared beneath her skirt I could detect no visible panty line. “Down boy!” It was a damn good thing we were going to be sitting for the next hour and a half.

After the show we had a quick bite to eat and ended up back at my place for a nightcap. Upon stepping into the entryway she reach down to undo the backs of each of her shoes and slipped them off, then proceeded to walk barefoot the rest of the way into the house.

I was riveted by the sight of her now naked feet. I think way too many people blow off the pure eroticism of a woman’s foot (well, an attractive foot). It is usually the first part of woman’s body we get to see unclothed. I am by no means some kind of foot fetishist, but I have to tell you that this woman kicking off her shoes that night awoken in me some hidden erotic fascination with a nicely shaped, well cared for, female feet. I don’t jerk off to images of feet, nor do I entice women to jerk my off with their toes. Yet from this point forward I have to say that a woman’s feet have the ability to make or break my attraction to her. Not my choice, it’s just the way it is.

She stayed on my heels as I walked into the kitchen to retrieve the promised nightcap. I had the first wine glass filled when she put her hand on my arm and turned me to her. Before I knew it I was leaning down to meet her kiss. With our tongues dancing inside each other’s mouth my hands set out to feel every inch of her still clothed body, still finding no hint of undergarments beneath the dress.

We stumbled into the living room. I reached down to the hem of her skirt and began to lift it. As it began to rise she pulled back and pushed her skirt back down.

What the fuck kind of girl crazy is this? I moaned to myself.

“Turn the lights off,” she said.

“It’s just the lamp. Besides, I want to see your body.” I could see she was still hesitant. And you know exactly where my mind went. She’s either on her period, has a huge herpes sore she doesn’t want me to see, or…she has a cock. Now, with the first two options kind of getting ruled out, due to her lack of panties, that left……the cock. Or…the remains of what used to be a cock. Fuck me!

“What’s the problem? You’re stunning. You’re not gonna tell me that you once used to be a guy, are you?”

She hesitated.

Holy fuck, she did used to be a guy!

“I’ve always been a girl.”

“Good to know. So there is no problem.” I proceeded to lift her skirt back up.

“I need to warn you, I’m a little…big down there.”

Big? I lifted her dress over her head, tossed it on the floor, then picked her up and set her down on the sofa. I was completely expecting to see some enormous clit, which actually would be just fine in my book. She smiled and parted her knees.

There before me hung the longest, thickest pussy lips I have ever seen. Without exaggeration they were up near the 3” mark. Birthing lips.

As she watched me stare at them she said, “Most of the guys I have dated are a little weirded out by them.”

Stunned by her labial size, I continued to take them in visually before finally speaking. “Your pussy lips are…the most beautiful pussy lips I have ever seen.”

“You don’t have to say-”

Before she could finish I was between her legs. A drop of her white creaminess had just made an appearance at the bottom of her vulva and seemed intent on jogging down to her asshole. I cut off its path and scooped it up with the tip of my tongue, which I ran up through her glorious folds until I found her clit.

Tasting her wetness I said, “I’m serious when I say this. Your pussy is an absolute work of art.”

“You’re just saying that because you want to fuck it.”

“On the contrary, that’s the second I want to do with it.” With that I dove back down into her pussy with every micron of my lust focused in my lips and tongue. I wanted to feel every fold, every texture, through my tongue; I wanted to taste deep inside her. I wanted her to cum flowing rivers of her cream and water straight in my mouth. And for the next hour we did just that.

I had known how to make of woman squirt since I was sophomore in college (which is not some boast about my prowess, but rather a testament to my level of depravity at that young age.) And every time I had helped a woman to a squirting orgasm prior it had been done primarily for her satisfaction, with mine coming in the form of visual gratification in watching her cum in such a way. With this woman, however, the roles were in a sense reversed. I wanted her to squirt so that I could drink her in completely. I wanted to swallow her water; All of it. I knew of the debate about whether a woman’s squirt was piss or some other mysterious fluid that only flows through g-spot stimulation. With other women this had crossed my mind; do I want you enough that I would drink your piss? Eh, not so much. With this woman it didn’t matter. Squirt, piss, it didn’t matter. Let it flow and I will take you in.

And squirt she did. And swallow I did, afterwards licking the droplets from her thick and glorious lips.

By the time I finally penetrated her it seemed like a goddamned lifetime had whizzed by. As I pushed myself deep inside her, my eyes transfixed on those pussy lips, a thought struck me. No tiny, thin-lipped vulva will ever be the same. This right here in front of you, pulling your cock in, is the high water mark of pussy for you.

With that thought in my mind I resolved that I would make this last as long as I humanly could. I picked her up so she could wrap her legs around me, arms around my neck. My fingers massaged her moist asshole while she pressed and released her clit against the base of my cock, until she came again.

I stared at the huge wet spot that now resided on the center sofa cushion as she positioned herself on her knees. “If you want to…take my ass.”

I stared down at the inviting asshole and said, “Everyone has an asshole. There is only one pussy quite like this.”

She turned and reached out, wrapping her hand around my dick, and rolled off the condom. “Then fuck it naked. I want you to come inside me.”

Without a second’s hesitation I pushed my cock into her.

Now, throughout my life I have been a pretty aware guy with regards to safe sex. I may not be able to remember the first and last names of every woman I have gone to bed with, but I can count on one hand the number of women that I have had unprotected sex with. In this moment I didn’t care. She could have told me she was HIV positive and I would have pushed forward. I didn’t care if she got pregnant. In fact, as I began to thrust harder and harder I kind of relished the thought of this woman getting pregnant. Thoughts of supporting her and the baby flashed blissfully across my mind. I wanted to drink her breast milk. I wanted to go down on her while she was in labor (not so weird, people do it). All of it I wanted.

I came so hard I almost broke the back support of the sofa. And as I was in the midst of that pulsing, clenching orgasm the whimsical images of my future life with this woman continued to float around me, so real it was as if I could reach out and touch them were it not for the fact that my hands were tied up in the effort to break the sofa.

We ended up being a couple for the next several months, but it wasn’t to last. Which, even after all these years still gives me a little pang of regret. And that pisses me off. Why? Because the emotions behind that pang are what led to our demise as a couple. I fell head over heals in love with her and therefore lost my identity. I was not the callus fuck head who just wanted to bang her. Now was this guy who wanted to bang her while also including her in my life plans. I cared about what was going on in her life. I wanted to eat with her. I wanted to take trips with her. She wasn’t hard-wired that way. She wanted to be on the outside looking in. Her interest was in pleasing a man, not the other way around. And that in a nutshell is how I lost her.

Of course time healed my wounds and I moved on to other women and experiences, wise not to ever make the mistake of falling in love again. Don’t get me wrong, contrary to how I may sound in other posts on this blog, I  do love and care for people (women included). I just don’t allow myself to lose myself in the love anymore.

That thought that crossed through my head when I first laid eyes on her pussy, “No tiny, thin-lipped vulva will ever be the same. This right here in front of you, pulling your cock in, is the high water mark of pussy for you,” has proven to be somewhat prophetic. I liken it to the size queens who yearn for a guy with a horse cock. It doesn’t mean that I find small labia unattractive. Hardly. It’s just that I can never forget the most beautiful labia I ever had the luxury of experiencing.

SGH – December 2011

P.S. None of these photos are of her, but then I’m sure you all are intelligent enough to know that.

The other day I was at the gym when I bumped into a female friend work acquaintance of mine that I hadn’t seen in about a year. She was just getting off the Elliptical trainer, which apparently was still hoodwinking her into the belief that she was “working out” on the thing, and came over to me.

When I asked her what was going on in her world she sparked up like a cheap firework and gushed with a girlish glee, “Well, I’m getting married this coming summer!”

I think she expected me to start hopping up and down like I was her sister.

I nodded.

“Isn’t that awesome?”

I nodded some more. “That’s great for you.”

“Yeah,” she beamed, her eyes now revealing the lunatic that dwelled behind them.

“And what, may I ask, will be your new name?”

She cocked her head like a confused parrot. “Whaaat?

“What’s your new last name going to be?”

“Oh! I’m not giving up my name.”

She was extremely annoying in the way she said “Oh! I’m not giving up my name.” As if I had just suggested that she inject HIV straight into her femoral artery.”

“No?” I asked.

“Oh, no. That would be just weird. I’m not going to give up my identity just because I’m getting married.”

“And he’s okay with that?”

“Yeah. Of course”

“Is it going to be a traditional wedding?”

Her eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly. “…Yeah.”

“Okay. Cool. So, you want a traditional wedding, minus the tradition of taking your new husband’s name? That’s weird.”

Her face hardened. “Weird. So it’s weird that a woman wants to hold on to her own identity while still being a wife?”

“I guess it’s not weird…”

“Thank you.”

“It’s much more selfish.”

She pulled the ejection cord right there and was gone. Hopefully she will wrestle with the thought for a little while before her ego smashes the thought away. I do pity her husband-to-be having to repeat the lie that he “respects her choice to keep her father’s last name.” That last part is something I think is always lost on the women-studies-101-generation who protest the tradition of taking the man’s name in marriage. Uh…you’re already named after a man darlin’. Your father.

As I finished my workout (sans elliptical trainer) I couldn’t help placing myself in her future ex-husband’s position. If I were to, say, travel into another dimension and discover a wonderful woman. A woman who was fit and beautiful; Who didn’t model herself after a reality show star; A woman who wasn’t afraid of being feminine and didn’t exhaust her days trying to invent things to complain about, while getting pissed that she could beat me in arm wrestling. And what if in this dimension I realized that I simply had to make this woman my wife. And what if she said yes, but with the condition that she keep her last name. What would I say?

It didn’t take me long of settle on an answer. NO. There would be absolutely no chance of me committing to a marriage with a woman who wouldn’t happily, greedily, take my last name. Now I’m not saying that I wouldn’t continue the relationship. We could stay together, but there wouldn’t be chance in hell I would go through the rigmarole of a wedding.

This “keeping my last name” thing is by no means a new thing. It’s been around for the past 40 years or so. And while I can grasp the concept of wanting to hold onto the name you were born with, what I don’t understand is the ridiculous desire to have all the other “traditional” things that make up a wedding. Brides want the dress and the ring and the cake and the ceremony, all those elements that have been handed down through the generations, but say no when it comes to the name because that is “just an archaic tradition of ownership of women by men.”

Cool. Hope you saved the receipt for the wedding dress and the flowers.

SGH-December 2011

There is one thing throughout history that has been swept under the rug with regards to marriage. Your dad won’t tell you and neither will your mom. You married friends won’t tell you because, as the saying goes, misery loves company.

Okay, here it is: Once you officially commit to marriage your sex life will progressively, through the years, evaporate.

It doesn’t matter if you had sex fifteen times a day the whole time you were dating. It doesn’t matter if your girl was once so freaky that she was inventing filthy things for you to do her in the bedroom. Once you commit to marriage the clock starts ticking down to a point where you will one day be sitting staring at some porn on your computer screen wondering, “When the fuck did I take an oath of celibacy?” I am telling you right now where your sex life went. It went bye-bye when you signed away your availability to other women.

For the married folks reading this, think back to those early, pre-wedded days. I can guarantee you that it was a fuck-fest extravaganza, or else you wouldn’t have proposed to her, would you? And if you have at least 5 years of marriage under your belt (years 1-4 tend to still have some sexual frequency) I can also guarantee you that spend more time with your hand than your wife’s pussy. There are exceptions, of course, but on the whole this is the standard married man’s sex life: Sex once a month, while wondering what the fuck he is doing wrong for the other 30 days.

Pop psychology will try to tell you that the lack of intimacy is a result of stress, children, work, and lack of communication. Gobble-de-gook bullshit is what that is. Here is the real reason. The woman in your life has no reason to fuck you because she already has you. Let’s say that once again. All together now…“The woman in your life has no reason to fuck you because she already has you.” That doesn’t mean she wasn’t truly soaking her panties at the sight of you before you two got married. She was, and there is a very good explanation as to why. A woman’s sexuality is tied into her need to win over a good mate. When you first started dating her hormones were throbbing for you because her body, mind and soul were intent on winning you over. It was her uncertainty about whether she could beat out the other women vying for your companionship that was the fuel for her lust.

Then you said, “I do”, and all that uncertainty was washed away. She had won out over all others. She now had you all to herself. Your commitment gave her security. Ah, bliss. But unbeknownst to either of you, without that lusty, competitive fuel streaming through her veins her sexual desire for you now had a limited shelf life. You suddenly went from the object of her desire to her most trusty tool. You, as a married man, became utilitarian. Kind of like a Leatherman Multi-tool. Everyone can agree that a Leatherman is awesome, but I doubt there are many women out there who would want to fuck one.

This is the very reason that every young man out there is always trying to crack the elusive Philosopher’s Stone of “Why do girls like bad boys?” It’s not that girls enjoy being treated like shit, or sleeping with assholes and potential felons. It’s that the “bad boy” is elusive. He can be loving and caring and kind, or just a fucking dick, but one thing he will not do is lock himself to one woman for the rest of his life. That’s not to say that they can’t be a couple for the rest of their lives. They can. She just always has to think that there is always the potential for another woman, a better woman, to come out of the bush and snatch him away from her. Think of the relationship between Meryl Streep’s and Robert Redford’s characters in OUT OF AFRICA. Had Redford’s character sold his plane and moved into her house to work the fields every day, they’d have been living in separate rooms within a year. The passion between them was fueled by her character’s knowledge that maybe not tomorrow, but sometime in the near future old Blondie is gonna be flying out of here.

To those of you reading this who thinks I am just slamming women let me say this. I think that marriage is of equal disservice to women as well. Marriage quite effectively castrates them. I can’t think of anything more emotionally torturing than living all the days of your married life feeling as if you letting down your spouse. Wondering if you’re crazy? Wondering if your birth control is destroying your libido? Wondering if you’re just a monstrous bitch? No. When your husband got down on his knee he unknowingly planted a time bomb in your desire for him.

Security is something that everyone human strives for, but security always comes with a price. And that price is, more often than not, passion. Security takes risk out of the game of life and replaces it with complacency and boredom. The security of marriage is not immune to this law. In fact it proves it. When you sign those papers and say those vows you mutually accept the illusion that you will both be joined until parted by death. Once a couple of years pass while living in this illusion you simply stop experiencing each other in the moment. All of the passion that brought you together gets put on the back burner. “Eh, we’ll do passion next Thursday.”

Is there a solution? Of course. Don’t buy into the illusion that signing a marriage license and having a ceremony will magically secure your mate to you. Simply live each day with your partner as if it is your last. You may one day find yourself at the age of 80, lying naked on sweaty sheets, wondering, “How in the hell did we make it this far together?” Then you’ll giggle and start round two.

SGH-June 2011

A few weeks ago I had lunch with my Sister. She was in quite a state; bitter, depressed, outraged, and sub-consciously basking in the land of victim-hood. A month previous her husband of 6 years had confessed to having an affair. By her own account, she had absolutely zero idea why he would do such a thing to her. How he could break her heart so efficiently and entirely? She was now living at our parent’s house. She wasn’t eating much these days and couldn’t sleep but for a couple of hours a night because her mind was so consumed with trying to figure out “WHY??!!” he had done such a thing to her.

Over the course of lunch she kept hurling that “why” at me with such ferocity that finally I felt compelled to help her come to a conclusion. Setting my fork down and keeping my voice low and without accusation I asked, “How was your sex life?”

The standard answer came back as expected. “Fine…Great.”

“Really?”

Anger tensed the muscles in her jaw. “Oh, okay, so this is my fault? I get cheated on and I’m the one who’s to fucking blame?”

“I’m not saying that. You said you can’t sleep because you want to know why this happened. And because ‘having an affair’ is sex related I thought that would be a good place to start.”

She was having none of this. She shook her head and made an unannounced exit to the bathroom where she would remain for the next 15 minutes.

When she finally reappeared I paid the check and walked with her to parking lot in silence. I thought she was just going to leave without saying another word, but before she got into her car she turned to me, her face still hard and uninviting. “So, say what you were going to say.”

The look on her face said she wanted to hear anything other than what I had to say. “Really, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“No. Spit it out. You’ve got something in your little head, so let’s hear it.”

Okay, fuck it, I thought. Now mind you, I love my sister, but sometimes she needs a swift kick in the ass. I steadied my boot and swung. “I just think that people always invent a zillion different theories about why people cheat on their spouses. And they almost always have nothing to do with sex. I can’t help but think that is because if we actually say that sex—the lack of, for instance—was the primary culprit then…Well, it spreads the blame out too much.”

She was pinching her car key like it was a dagger. “So…basically I didn’t fuck him enough so he went and got it elsewhere?”

“You tell me.”

“Unbelievable! So that is all marriage is to people like you, a fuck festival?”

“Of course not, but it is completely ridiculous to think that it isn’t the most defining part of a marriage. Otherwise you’re nothing but roommates.”

“You have mental problems!”

“Hang on. Tell me what are…five differences between a marriage relationship and a roommate relationship? I’m being serious. Try and tell me.”

“You love the person! You…share things with each other! You’re committed to each other! Jesus!”

“Okay. But unfortunately you do all those things with friends as well. The fact of the matter is the only thing that separates a married couple and really close friends is that you sleep in the same bed and fuck each other exclusively. Take that away and you’re nothing more than pals.”

My sister turned away from me to open her car door. “I don’t want to talk about this any longer.”

“Oh, come on. Be a grown up for fuck’s sake.”

She whipped around on me, her key pointed in the direction of my left eye. “I am!” She screamed. “I am a grownup who is losing her marriage!”

I was beginning to think that her hubby was making the right call on this one. “Bullshit. You just don’t want to consider the possibility that infidelity is a two-way street.”

She stared at me with her mouth agape, trying desperately to display how shocking my previous statement was to her.

“Close your mouth. You have broccoli stuck between your teeth.” She did. “Now just answer me this, how often did you and Allen have sex? And I am not talking about some lazy hand job under the covers so that you can get to sleep. I’m talking about bona fide fucking. How often?”

My sister’s head shook as if she had suddenly developed a case of Parkinson’s. “…I don’t know…”

“Yes, you do.”

“Can I fucking finish!? Jesus Christ!” She threw her gaze down at the ground to study the tips of her shoes, which were suddenly far more attractive than the face of her beloved brother at the moment. “It’s weird, you know, because there are peaks and valleys and…I don’t know…over the past couple of years it was probably around, like, once a month. But that-“

“Stop. Don’t defend it. Just let that sit there for a second.” I let a moment pass, hoping that her words would find some resonance in the silence. “…No man gets married to become celibate. A husband who thinks his wife always wants to fuck him isn’t going to stray. For one he won’t have the energy. And, two, he knows that he could never replace her.”

“So in order to stay married I have to be a man’s cum dumpster?” She snapped.

“Shut up and listen for fuck’s sake, or tackle this in your own way. Which, I don’t think I need to point out has proven less than successful to this point.”

My sister folded her arm like a petulant child and leaned against the car.

“Now I know this runs in the face of all the feminist ideology you were taught in school, but let me just lay it out and then you can do with it as you please. You always hear how marriage is work. For the man, his work is to provide, nurture, support, defend…and while married he can never, ever, show the slightest hint of fear in front of his wife, with one exception—the fear of losing her. The instant he shows his fear to her she will subconsciously lose her respect and attraction for him. That first glimpse of fear by her will begin an erosion that will inevitably destroy their union. And aside from never showing his fears and apprehensions to her, he has to constantly work on being attractive to his wife, both physically and emotionally. A woman’s work in a marriage is…….she has to fuck her husband. She can be afraid, crazy, lazy, skinny, fat, profane, whatever, but as long as she fucks her man he will remain devoted to her. Drop the reins on that one and even the most virtuous of men will walk away.”

My sister turned to me. “You’re saying this is all my fault.”

“Half your fault. The other half I don’t know about. There has to be a reason why you would only have sex with him once a month. Somewhere along the line he must have shown you some cracks that lessened your attraction to him.”

“It’s not that cut and dried! There are other variables in a marriage! There are-“

“Yes, I know. There are the kids and the finances and the jobs and all the other bullshit we allow society to inject into our lives to make us miserable. Horse-shit. They’re all distractions; reasons to spend a fortune on therapy until you find the right quack to tell you that none of your problems are your fault. You always have to drill down to the root to find the source of the problem. The leak is usually found at the lowest point on the pipe. One way or another neither of you held up your ends of the bargain.”

We both stood silent, leaning against the car watching the traffic flow by on the street in front of us. Finally my sister broke the silence. “Is it salvageable?”

“Honestly?”

“Yeah.”

“No. You won’t be able to erase whatever it was that caused you to lose your lust for him, and he, even if you fuck him day and night, will always have the suspicion that you’re faking it. You will always be suspect of each other because the fundamentals of your marriage were broken. Ain’t no Crazy Glue that’s going to fix that.”

The anger drained from my sister’s face and was replaced with sadness. “That’s really depressing.”

“Yeah, but only for a little while. Then it gets much better and you realize that the reason you both fucked up is because you weren’t right for each other in the long run. When you’re the right fit the ‘work’ is virtually effortless.”

“So, if you have all this Yoda knowledge about marriage, why the hell have you never had a relationship that lasted more than 4 months?”

“Fear.”

“Fear? What are you afraid of?”

“I have this inordinate fear that no matter whom I meet I will, sometime in the future, begin to hate them based their inherent human qualities. Therefore it’s better to jettison them while I am in the ‘Just starting to dislike you’ stage.”

My sister looked at me with eyes that conveyed deep concern for me and my state of mental health. “That’s fucked up.”

“No. It’s just the truth.”

* * *

SGH – May 2011

“I don’t know,” she said, staring off at nothing in particular. “It’s just that I think about sex a lot. I see someone and I instantly begin to wonder what their body looks like without clothes. What they would be like to fuck. I don’t know, I’m a little afraid that I might just be sex addict, or…I don’t know…Maybe I’m just a whore.”

I contemplated my response for a good long moment. The very first thing to pop into my head was show me, but I refrained because it would have led to all kinds of issues. No, instead of paving a selfish pathway down debauchery street, I instead tried to speak what my gut told me was the truth. The truth, at least, as I saw it. “You need to embrace that aspect of your personality. Nurture it. It is a rare, RARE, gift for a woman and you need to appreciate it as such.”

She looked over at me, trying to contemplate if I was being sincere or a smart ass.

“I’m not fucking around. And I’m not just saying that to get into your pants.”

She threw me a playful look of disappointment, “Darn,” and took a drag on her cigarette.

“Here’s the deal,” I said. “If you are being honest about being concerned that you have a problem-”

“Yeah.”

“Well, the only reason that you’re concerned is because your desires don’t adhere to the normal, accepted, societal views governing a woman’s sexuality. However, I would say that you, my friend, for whatever reason, have allowed your true, honest sexuality to come forth. You need to embrace and nurture that. There is magic in it. Real magic.”

A bark came from the doorway beckoning us to return to work.

She grabbed my arm. “What do you mean magic?”

“In the quantum—”

The shout came once again and we had to cut the conversation short. Unfortunately circumstances didn’t provide the right atmosphere to continue the conversation so I will continue it here.

As I alluded to in a previous post, in the human experience there are few things as spiritually powerful as fully ignited female sexuality. A woman who embraces her sexuality, unencumbered by society’s moronic rules and stigmas, possesses the power to transform and transcend the world around her. She carries the magic to inspire the thoughts and actions of others, she commands the attention to lead those people towards a greater life experience, and most importantly she clutches the opportunity to master quantum reality’s portal, connecting her, and others, to the whole of the universe. The ancient Gaelic believed that a coming storm could be abated by the simple act of a woman from the village lifting her skirt and displaying her vulva to the thunderhead. Personally, I think we should re-adopt this practice. I have no doubts that the majority of life’s troubles could be alleviated by simply flashing a vulva at them. Hell, hurricanes might be something to look forward to.

Malarkey, right? Old wives’ tales, right? I find it really interesting that in a world filled with people who subscribe to every religion, from Catholicism to Scientology, from Jesus to Lord Gorthow, dispel any notion of the power of sex. From the day we sprout our very first pubic hair a deluge of bombs warning us about sex, and disease, and how sex does not equal love, rain down upon us.

Blah!

To all of it I say bullshit. Virtually every culture on our planet has something nasty to say about sex. I’m talking about real sex, not porn. Porn is simply a marketing tool designed to program you to subliminally respond to every sex image in the marketplace and therefore purchase every sexy thing in front of you. The repression of real sexuality (especially female sexuality) is practically the goddamned foundation of every society. And why the hell is that, I wonder? It would be, should be, obvious if we weren’t so brainwashed with anti-sex propaganda—Herpes, AIDS, HPV, etc.. Please note that I am not saying those diseases don’t exist, but even the most gullible should be able to recognize that their “imminent and constant danger” has been greatly hyped. But because we are in fact brainwashed I will spell it out:

Sex is our spirit’s desire to reach out of the physical body and love. Through the act of physical love we can (if done right) transcend this earthly existence and see our true selves and origin, we can touch the fabric that makes us a part of the whole of the universe.

Well, if you’re a member of the governing body, you can’t have your subjects realizing their power and force in the Universe. If you hinder, hamper, and subjugate raw sexual desire you can quite effectively kill that part of the spirit by starving it to death.

Perhaps that is why “sex education” is really just an indoctrination program for kids to learn that sex is “A primal, totally biological, urge, solely for the purpose of procreation, and that unrestrained sexuality (lust, “praise the lord”) will result in pain, suffering, loss and inevitably death.” Unknowingly parents retard their daughters from growing into their true power with a constant assault of morality tales and horror stories about how all boys want to rape them. And what has this “education” done? We have a planet of chronic masturbating boys who don’t have the first clue about how to make love, and an equal number of systemically unhappy, repressed, unfulfilled, perpetually depressed women who now have a hard time reaching orgasm through any method of stimulation, and are unable to be the true teachers to the men in their lives. That’s right, WOMEN are meant to be the true teachers of sexuality, but society has today’s women so fucked up that most can’t even bear to let themselves be seen naked with the lights on, let alone be the masters of sexuality. As a result we have a severely disharmonious planet.

We all know society’s definition of the term “whore,” so there is no point in re-spelling that out here. I am completely convinced the term was coined by insecure, un-sexually-educated men to use as a Scarlet Letter in hopes of scaring off women from reaching for their true sexuality. Rather than hunting up the knowledge about how to reach their own potential it was much easier to limit the number (zero being optimum) of sexual partners a woman had by which they could be compared to. This holds as true today as it did 600 years ago. We need to re-define this word and I think I will do that right this damn minute. Here we go!

New Definition.

Whore: (Noun) A sexual shaman. A woman who has embraced her true sexuality and is in complete control of whom, and how many or how few, partners she decides to express her love with; a master of the art of sexuality who explores the boundaries of love and the physical universe through sexuality.

Hmm…I can’t help but think the world would be so much better a place if it was filled with whores.

Well, there you are. Women, work towards being a great whore. Men, work towards proving yourself worthy of a whore.

Let all of us aspire to be whores!

SGH-February 2011

It has taken nearly half a century, but it seems as if men are finally coming to the realization that modern women have very little respect for them. In spite of men’s efforts to get in shape, become more sensitive, earn more, groom more, today’s woman still tends to roll her eyes with disdain at men in general.  This attitude inspires the leaders of the growing Men’s Rights Movement to proclaim that the modern woman is an un-sexual, vicious, money-coveting monster who should be avoided at all costs.

It is, of course, very easy to lay the blame for this perceived man-hate at the feet of the feminist movement and in the past I might have agreed to some degree. But now, as I approach the end of my third decade I realize that this is pretty much bullshit. Feminism as an ideology has done its job as far as deconstructing the nuclear family and doubling the taxable income for the government, but I do not think it is the culprit for women’s dissatisfaction with the general male populace. So what the hell is the reason for this disconnect between the sexes?

Well, I believe it is two-fold. First, I think that men, inspired  by their diet-fueled libido, have placed too much importance on women. It seems as if everything a man does anymore is for the sole purpose of attracting the attention of women. It’s a too much of a good thing…thing. Because women (most women) know that they can get any man they want at the drop of a hat, they have been conditioned to not have any respect for a man’s attention. It kind of like the scenario where you have an ice cream lover and you feed them ice cream for breakfast, lunch and dinner for a couple of weeks straight. By the end of that second week they don’t want to see another dish of fucking ice cream. This is kind of what men in our society have become for women. A million dishes of ice cream with erections. The second culprit, and perhaps the most important, in this disintegration of the male/female relationship is the fact that…ahem…men generally are terrible at sex. Yes, there I said it. I am a betrayer to my own sex. Unfortunately it is true. And when I think back upon my younger sexual days I have to admit that I was awful at sex as well.

Men, at least those raised in western society, have been conditioned to believe that ejaculations and orgasms are the same thing. Think of every straight porn film you have ever seen. What is the climax of every scene? The pop shot. That is the top of the mountain for men. The 4 to 5 seconds of muscle contraction during ejaculation. This mentality has unfortunately led to generation after generation of awesome ejaculators and horrendous lovers.  And because the majority of today’s men don’t separate ejaculation and orgasm neither can they really control it. Intercourse for most men is a white-knuckled attempt to stave off ejaculating for 20 to 30 pumps so that they can retain a smidgen of their dignity. The woman then lies there saying that there is no need to apologize, and that she rarely ever has an orgasm through penetration. Of course we now have an entire population of women thinking that it’s perfectly normal not to have an orgasm through penetration. Being the dissociative species that we are, we are then fed article after article, study after study, bar graph after bar graph supporting the notion that most women don’t cum through penetration. That is ridiculous! It is a justification to save the fragile human ego, in this instance the male’s.  In the brilliant book Left In The Dark Tony Wright theorizes that way back in our evolutionary chain the male and female sexual response was almost identical. In a wildly paraphrased nutshell, the frugivore diet of our ancestors was high in steroid suppressing chemicals which slowed down the sexual response of male Homo sapiens so that it took a much longer amount of time to reach an ejaculation phase. Conversely, the much longer act of intercourse elicited a large orgasm response in the female which was directly linked to ovulation.

Of course many of you are already firing up your keyboards to shoot off the response: “See, right there, “Orgasm in women directly linked to ovulation,” that then  proves that ejaculation equals orgasm in men! Fuck You! It’s primal!

To that I would say, well, perhaps.  200,000 years ago. But we have evolved quite a bit in the days since we left the forest floor. No longer do we have thick hair covering our bodies (at least most of us don’t). Nor do we consume a frugivorous diet, which (again according to Tony Wright) may have been the primary reason that at that point in our evolution sex was predominantly used for procreation.  But we no longer live in that world. Our’s is a world that has no need for human procreation, with 6,000,000,000 of us already scurrying around the planet. We have birth control of every shape and color, pornography, sex trade. Modern man is sexual 24/7 these days and more often than not procreation is a mistake as a result of carelessness rather than the need to keep the species going. Today sex has ascended to an almost spiritual plane, one of the few places we can be naked and escape the confines of our controlled reality. Except…

…A lot of people suck at it.

The ancient Asian and Hindu cultures were aware of this and thus developed the philosophies of Tantra. As sex came to represent so much more than just procreation the act of sex itself had to be looked at from a different perspective…an artistic one. It was here that ejaculation control, multiple male orgasms, and a man’s respect for his own body came to fruition. The teachers of this philosophy knew that the quickest and most certain path towards sexual inadequacy, impotence, and partner dissatisfaction was though the practice of reckless ejaculation.

I won’t go on with a long description of the actual techniques of ejaculation control; those can be found in the books by Mantak Chia, Multi-Orgasmic-Man, and The Secret To Sexual Ecstasy by David and Tina Howe. All I will say is that the methods described within these books work. And if practiced diligently, yet lovingly, they will transform your life.

But the men of today’s society more often than not balk at this type of ancient, Eastern gobble-dee-gook. Today’s man likes his facts and figures and the “scientific” world of medicine and therapy is more than happy to accommodate him with ego-saving data that supports the notions that 7-10 minutes of intercourse is average. That 68% of women don’t orgasm through penetration. That masturbation culminating in ejaculation is good for you. That impotence is just a natural fact of aging. And they have good reason to do so because not only are they in the same boat sexually, but they also pay the rent with all the blue pills, sex toys and therapy sessions. But that doesn’t stop bullshit from being bullshit. All of these sexual “problems” can be remedied with simply mentally separating orgasm from ejaculation.

Now I know that there are few men that can be persuaded to give up their compulsion to ejaculate. This has always been the truth. However, I would say that it is the fool who thinks he can handle the full power of a woman’s raw sexuality with the standard mindset. And thus, I think it is for this reason that so many relationships are doomed to failure.

The male belongs to Yang,

Yang’s characteristic element is like fire.
He is easily aroused but also
He easily extinguishes himself.
The female belongs to Yin,
Yin’s characteristic element is like water.
She is slow to be aroused,
But also slow to be satiated.
- Wu Hsien.

SGH-November 2010

What the fuck is wrong with you people??!!

Well, I guess I need to answer that, but before I do let me just say that Sasha’s performance is actually better than any of the other actresses cast on the show. She is something of an odd bird that seems to fly in the opposite direction to conventional perceptions. Here is a bona fide porn star that doesn’t look like she was created in some fucking silicone factory. What, no idiotic tattoos? No retarded belly button or clit piercing? What the fuck is she thinking? And, unlike every other Hollywood actor getting their break on a big, popular show, she doesn’t seem to push everything in terms of her performance. She appears to be quite comfortable with just being there in front of the camera. She doesn’t appear to be afraid of silence. The biggest barrier for an actor is self-consciousness. It leads to all kinds of awfulness, both on the stage and screen. Grey, however, has those demons conquered. I mean what is there to be self-conscious about when doing a scene with Vince and Turtle about some stupid tequila when just a few months ago you performed analingus on a guy while jerking him off, then had anal sex for 30 minutes, followed by a pop-shot swallow? And lest you think I am being a smart-ass here and making some kind of moral judgment on her porn work, I’m not. Most people aren’t brave enough to do that stuff in their own bedrooms with their spouses let alone in front of the camera. The way we justify our insecurity is to cast aspersions at the people who are able to do it based on…morals. Fuck that! Okay enough with the diversion.

What the fuck is wrong with you people???!!!

With regards to pubic hair we as a society have become completely averse to it. A good while back I put up a question on a popular interactive news forum thingy (maybe the very one you found the link to this article) that simply asked if people preferred pubes or clean-shaven. Almost unanimously the votes came in from men and women that they required genitals to be clean-shaven.  Here is a sample of the kind of responses I got:

SILVERBACK:

Pubes down my throat are fucking nasty.

DRIFTBUS:

My gf has recently started to grow pubic hair again. I hate it. Sex is just that slightly bit harder, it gets in the way, feels rubbish on my teeth, and smells different.

Shave it all off.

Valientjedi:

Gag. I’ll take shaved ANY day over a hairy one. The smell..the hair in your mouth.. ugh

Mountainman:

Gak, all the stank and skank in the fur there. No thanks

artsy:

I (F) shave and keep it clean. Not only do I shave, but about once every 2 months or so I get the entire area waxed clean. Hair = odor…and odor on the vag is disgusting beyond belief. I don’t know how any woman with a hairy cooch could find herself attractive.

arceliyeah:

1. LEAVE YOUR SENSE OF HUMOR IN THE TRUNK. Better yet, kill off that childish trait once and for all.  Nothing is more debilitating to your ability to be offended by everything than your sense of humor. Not just sex, but life is far too serious a matter to be taken with levity. Here’s a little story that poorly explains my point on this issue.

***

A few moons ago, back in my college days, I had a roommate named Alec. Alec was 17 at the time and just a pulsating, sweating, monster of a horn-dog. By the end of his first     year he was carrying a .009 grade point average because he could concentrate on nothing but girls. The primary focus of Alec’s thoughts was a lovely little Greek brunette named Margo. Alec worked for 4 semesters and spent the majority of his Pell Grant money to impress and befriend Margo. And little by little Margo began to soften in the face of his generosity.

As things grew friendlier between Alec and Margo, he began to worry about his potential performance when the time would arrive, as he was still a virgin. He began studying all sorts of Tantric practices in order to develop his stamina. He would masturbate in as many different ways as his imagination could conjure. Now that he was completely in love with Margo he just knew he had to be amazing in bed. Needless to say, our dorm room smelled like a chlorine factory. At one point there was an evacuation of our floor because the RA thought there was some kind of gas leak. No. Just Alec wackin’ it while in the Downward Facing Dog pose.

By the time the special night came, Alec had spent the two previous days masturbating a total of 14 times. Now he was certain that he would have staying power. After rolling around on the twin dorm room bed for the better part of an hour, both Alec and Margo found themselves naked in front of each other. Alec was a little concerned that the pulsing of his 17-year-old cock meant that it might still be a little too eager. Nah, he thought, 14 times in two days had to be some kind of record, or something. With his dream girl lying sprawled before him, Alec knelt on the bed and began to lay himself on top of her. As he did the very tip of his cock brushed ever-so-slightly against her knee and…he ejaculated across her leg and into the bulkhead of his bed.

Alec began coughing violently to mask his ejaculatory grunt.

“What’s the matter?” Asked the still slightly tipsy Margo.

“Ah, nothin’. I think I just swallow wrong because…you’re so fucking hot.”

“What’s this…wet stuff on my leg?”

Alec quickly wiped his cum off her leg with his bedspread. “Sorry…I must have coughed on you. Cuz…you know, you’re…so fucking gorgeous.”

Margo pulled at his shoulders. “Well come up her and fuck me.”

This was a problem because, due to his just squirting and the previous 14 jerk-off sessions, his hard-on was now fading fast. Panicked, Alec leaned forward and began to kiss Margo passionately while his hand madly searched for a substitute dick. Mercifully his fingers found themselves surrounding a possible option.

“Put it in,” Margo whispered.

Alec then did what he had to do and proceeded to screw the ever-loving shit out of his beloved with an 8 ounce bottle of Bausch and Lomb contact lens solution.

***

Now if you found even a word of this story remotely funny I warn you: you’re destroying your potential to live as a bitter, overly serious, contemptuous asshole. Need proof? Here’s your proof. The reason I know this story so well is not, as you may have concluded, because I am Alec. It is because when I got back to our dorm room the next morning Alec proceeded to act out every detail of the story for me as if he were performing his own comedy special on HBO. He had absolutely zero self-consciousness about describing his misfortune. In fact, he thought it was the funniest, most compelling thing that had ever happened to him. And the infamous contact lens solution bottle was hung from the ceiling above his bed with a shoelace. A testament to not only his hilarious first sexual experience, but his MacGyver-type action while under duress. According to him, Margo had been quite impressed by his size and stamina.

After graduation Alec decided to forgo grad school and instead went on to become a co-founder of a dotcom business that sold medical supplies online in the mid 1990’s. In 2000, just before the tech-stock crash, he and his partners sold the company for $41,000,000. Last I heard he lives, and laughs his fool head off, in a 6 bedroom beachfront home near Monterey, with his wife (not Margo) and 3 dogs.

See? If that tale is not enough to convince you to lose the Ha Ha’s, then I don’t know what will.

2.  HOLD ONTO YOUR INHIBITIONS AND INSECURITIES AS IF YOUR LIFE DEPENDED ON IT

If you are to revel, truly revel, in your life of anxiety, self-hatred and angst then you simply must spend the majority of your time working to defend and justify each and every one of your insecurities. You must work with the stamina and efficiency of a high-powered criminal defense attorney. And it is worth it. Your hang-ups are what make you a unique flower in the world. If, say, you have a problem with someone touching…um…your butt, then by no means look inward to figure out what would be the cause of such an aversion. If anything, see if you can stretch the butt-touching aversion to include your lower back as well, or maybe even the entire rear view of you. Besides, the modern world has decided to merge the words “inhibition” and “insecurity” with the word “eccentricity”. So, you see, you are no longer crazy. You’re…eccentric. Which is very sexy. Crazy? Not so much.

3. TREAT THE OPPOSITE SEX LIKE A GLADIATORIAL OPPONENT

We can sometimes lose sight of this one, especially when we have a crush on, or worse love, someone of the opposite sex. It tends to cloud our judgment to the  post-feminist fact that the opposite sex is to be regarded as an opponent, if not the downright fucking enemy, at all times. If we are not careful we can lose sight of the fact that a man’s sole purpose in life is to attack and rape women, and that a woman’s only goal is to drain a man’s bank account by getting pregnant.  With this in mind I will review a few simple strategies for men and women to stay on track.

Women

a) Always try to undermine anything even remotely masculine in a man. Consistently assert that you are physically more powerful than your male counterpart, even if they outweigh you by a hundred pounds. Insist that you could kick their ass with one hand tied behind your back. The great thing about this tactic is that he will not be able to prove you wrong, and if he does you can have him thrown in jail for domestic violence, which equates to VICTORY.

b) Only offer to have sex with a man as a favor. Never—EVER—allow them to think that you, as a woman, desire the act. And after having “favor-sex” always leave behind a small cloud of doubt that you may not have been fully satisfied hanging in the air. This is important because it can lead to all kinds of exploitable neurosis in men.

c) Classify anything distinctly male (Sports, video games, westerns, MMA, pornography, etc.) as stupid and a waste of time. This will rev up your opponent’s anxiety level when he is forced to hide all such activities while in your presence.  It should also be noted that you receive EXTRA CREDIT if upon reading the first sentence of this paragraph your impulse was to say something along the lines of: “That’s bullshit! What a gross over-generalization! I’m a woman and I like (Insert any of the above).” This means you are a true sexual warrior, steadfast in your goal to be unhappy, and thus impossible to be around for more than five minutes at a time.

d) Deem Pornography an abomination. I know this is hard, since most women like to secretly peruse porn. But you must hold strong in this outward opinion. Generations of women before you worked hard to establish the beliefs that porn is a betrayal of trust, and that it degrades women.  You must not undermine it. Yes, we all know that male porn actors are paid a fraction of what the women are paid, and that they have to pop pills and inject their penises with weird shit to get hard enough to perform. That is irrelevant. Remember this is a war. You must win regardless of the truth.  You must also be able to produce tears of pain upon a porn discovery in your home. Actual tears. If you are not a good enough actress to pull this off, or you just can’t help laughing your ass off because of your man’s horrified expression, consider a single crystal of Drain-o placed in each tear duct. Keep in mind that this will blind you for life, but the tears are important because when witnessed by the man they will render all of his defense mechanisms inoperable.

e) Feign sexual attraction to other women. It is a well-known fact that a large portion of the male population is titillated by the idea of two women fucking around with each other. But keep in mind that you are a gender warrior, holding up the sword of Andrea Dworkin and those women with bad haircuts that followed her. You goal here is not to spark a hard-on in your male adversary. Quite the opposite. Your strategy here is to plant the seed in your partner’s head that his inability as a man to satisfy you sexually leaves you no other recourse but to turn to women—women who know how to satisfy a woman—to quench your sexual appetite. Now you have to realize that you must fully commit to this tactic and will probably end up having to climb into bed with a woman with hair on her nipples. Who said victory didn’t require sacrifice? And don’t let yourself get hung up on the reality that lesbian sex will just be an imitation of hetero sex, with lots of licking and a rubber dick. Clench your eyes tight and put yourself in a happy place. Remember this isn’t about actually deriving sexual pleasure, like a real lesbian, it is all about breaking your opponent.

When using this strategy it can also be beneficial to couple it with a denigrating attitude towards the male body. Laugh hysterically at any photo of a man in a Speedo. Proclaim that any male fitness model is “gay looking”. And quickly, yet obviously, avert your eyes whenever see your man with his shirt off.

A final note on this strategy is that you will bring yourself closer to success if you kiss all of your female friends, and even acquaintances, on the mouth while fawning over “how fuckin’ gorgeous” they are.

Men

a) Assert your male prowess without reservation. Whenever possible try to engage your female companion in, say, a slap-boxing match. Allow her anger to grow with your defensive maneuvers and then unexpectedly press forward with naked aggression. Women love to bested with a sharp crack to the nose that brings tears to their eyes. These are tears of gratitude which will, without question, earn her respect and ramp up her sexual attraction to you.

b) Blatantly display your attraction to other females. This technique is extremely successful if you employ the rule of opposites. Work to ogle only woman who have characteristics your female counterpart does not possess. If your woman is black, show only interest in white or Asian women, and vice versa. If your girl is buxom, then admire that sweet, little A-Cupped honey that just passed by. And a true gender warrior will try and find those characteristics in other women that are impossible for his own woman to acquire. The fat versus skinny contest is far too overused, and can be a double-edged sword. Remember, the fat girl can always take the Cinnabon out of her mouth and take charge of her body. Then where the hell will you be I-love-skinny-girls-guy? I’ll tell you where! You’ll be laying face down in a pool of defeat! It is far better to push the impossible. If your opponent is petite, then pretend to take an interest in women’s volleyball.  If your woman is woman is a paraplegic, then develop an obsession with women’s gymnastics and figure stating. Following this simple rule almost guarantees you will be allowed to luxuriate in your empty bed of negativity and disenchantment for the entirety of your miserable fucking life.

c) Disregard any goals your female counterpart may have that don’t directly involve you. Adopt the attitude that a woman’s sole reason for being on the planet is as a support system for a man. A cheering section, if you will. Immerse yourself in the belief that a woman derives pleasure and pride from the accomplishments of her man, rather than anything she does for herself. Scoff at her desires to sing, or write, or act, or save the planet. Then, if she does mention a heartfelt goal for her life, reply in a somewhat hurt voice, “I go to work every day and bust my ass to provide you a nice home…isn’t that enough for you?” Then, quickly walk away before she has a chance to point out that you are a cashier in the Walmart Sporting Goods Department, and a month late on the rent.

d) DO NOT court the attention of gay men. DO NOT, under any circumstances, follow the female war tactic and court the attention of gay men. It will not work. Let me explain why.

Since the age of the 70’s sitcom THREE’S COMPANY heterosexual women have been have been pretending to love gay men. Their reasoning has always been that gay men are more sensitive, better groomed, and they don’t carry the burden of wanting to have sex with them. Ha! This is bullshit. The truth is that straight women secretly despise gay men. Women are inherently exhibitionists and loath the fact that a gay man has no interest in seeing her naked body, or the desire to mate with it. They hang out with gay men because their subconscious tells them, “If this motherfucker were to see me lying buck naked, on a well made bed, he’d leave that queen shit in a second.”

Note to Gay Men: Your Carrie-Bradshaw-modeled BFF is secretly plotting to get you to fuck her.  But…you already knew that didn’t you?  You crafty queen?

So to get back on point, a disoriented man might conclude that nurturing gay attention will place you into the same situation as her gay friend. Nope! See, her seduction organs only wake up when it is a real gay man she’s trying to turn. Too much gay attention will make her question your masculinity and as a result she will begin to hate you. Her mind will draw up, or if need be create, memories where you were less than stellar in the sack. Whisky dick will be attributed to your gay tendencies. She will focus on the time she barged into the room while you were singing DON’T STOP BELIEVING with headphones on and you screamed like a girl. You will now be seen in her eyes as a lying homo that has deceived her. Once that has happened the battle is lost.

4. ALWAYS TRUST THE MAINSTREAM VIEW WITH REGARDS TO SEX. When it comes to your own body, no one knows you better than the mainstream health media. Feel safe in your opinion that anything published in a magazine, or Journal, is the unadulterated truth with regards to your human sexual response. Here is an incomplete list of the things you should accept as gospel if you are to sufficiently fuck yourself up.

a. The Pill is completely safe. Sure it is a combo of synthetic hormones (oestrogen and progestogen) that trick a woman’s body into infertility. That shouldn’t be a problem. Sure the list of side effects is exactly the same length as THE GREAT GATSBY. Still not seeing the connection to the pill being potentially harmful. Sure there is mounting evidence that it can destroy a woman’s natural libido, perhaps indefinitely. How’s that a problem? Sure the–Blah, blah, blah!  Don’t want to hear it! It helps with acne and menstrual cramps. Besides, the only bad synthetic hormones are the ones professional athletes use. Those steroids are universally harmful and from the Devil!

b. Men cheat because they are craven dogs! Women struggle with infidelity because they are dealing with the pain of un-fulfillment. It took the psychiatric community until the 1980’s to finally crack this code. Throughout the 1960’s, ‘70’s and ‘80’s it was discovered that women were equal to men in intelligence, physical strength, pain threshold, warrior capabilities… In fact, in 1978, a woman named Jan Castrato discovered that not only could women pee while standing up at a urinal, they could do it better than men. By the early 1990’s it became a universal fact that women were not equal to, but better than men at everything.

Yet one quandary remained. Were women equal or better than men on the subject of infidelity? Could women really be as insidious as men when it came to fucking people outside their committed relationships? The answer came by way of a now defunct women’s magazine. A brilliant female psychoanalyst, whose name escapes me, found that men cheat because they are but one gene away from dirty, filthy apes, incapable of controlling their sexual urges. She concluded that men, ALL MEN, were born whores who like to jump into bed with one slut after another. In a completely unbiased study she found that men (yucky, dirty men) would fuck a stuffed animal if its tits were big enough. But that wasn’t the surprising part. The surprising part was that woman only stray from their partners because of their man’s inability to fulfill them sexually. Every female subject she studied had been saddled with some loser guy who was too fat, or too skinny, who worked too much, or too little, or had too small a penis, leaving the woman with no option but to seek refuge in the arms of another man. Preferably one who made more money.

c. You are probably a sex addict. If you are in any way excited by any of the following: naked women, naked men, naked pictures of the opposite sex, naked pictures of the same-sex, hardcore porn, softcore porn, The Starz Original series SPARTACUS, any sex position other than missionary, oral sex, nude beaches, nudism, multiple partner sex, ménage au trios, redheads, brunettes, blonds, pegging, Maxim Magazine, string bikinis, masturbation, mutual masturbation, thongs, water sports, wrestling, pillow fights, multiple orgasms, and anything other than heterosexual sex between a husband and a wife for the purposes of creating a family… Then YOU, my friend, are without question a friggin’ sex addict. But fear not, there is a brand new 12 step program in your area that will help you banish all the self-destructive (aka Fun) versions of sexuality from your soul. You’ll even get your very own sweaty-palmed sponsor whose breath smells like cheap cigarettes and bleach.

d. Circumcision is AWESOME! It makes the penis sooo much easier to clean…and…um…oh, it reduces the risk of…um…oh!…Penile cancer! Mom and Dad, you don’t want junior developing penile cancer, do ya? Let me tell you, penile cancer has reached epidemic portions. The streets are littered with kids just dropping dead from penile cancer. It’s best we just lop off that covering of skin for a mere $1000 and avoid that whole mess.  Now if we could only convince them that an untrimmed clitoral hood causes clitoral cancer…hm…

e. A recent study says that women want sex to last longer. Okay! Got it!

f. A recent study of women says that longer sex might not equate to better sex. Alrighty then! Done!

g. A recent study says that women prefer bigger penises. Alright…let me see what I can do with that one.

h. A recent study says that women prefer medium size penises. Phew! Consider it done!

i. A recent study shows that some women like micro penises. Micro…? I thought that’s why I was circumcised?

j. A recent study shows that some women prefer their men to be fit and muscular, but not too muscular, but not fat, but not too skinny… kind of like  Zach Galifianakis, but fitter…And without the beard. Fuck it all! I’m off to play video games and jerk off to porn!

5. BE A CRITIC RATHER THAN A PARTICIPANT. You must only concentrate on the minutiae of life if you are to truly lead a miserable existence and keep the opposite side of the bed as cool and vacant as Terri Shiavo’s head. It is a proven scientific fact that a modern, university educated, human being’s intelligence level directly corresponds to the number of errors they can find in another person’s work. For instance, it is a waste of time to read a book with the intention of finding inspiration, humor, empathy, or moments of self-reflection. It is a far better use of your time, and GENIUS, to scan the pages for typos, spelling and grammatical errors, and any small detail that conflicts with your own self–justifications. This will always ignite other people’s passion and regard for you. Please, please, please don’t waste your valuable time writing a great novel (which, of course, you could if you wanted to), or paint a masterpiece (which you would if there was, ya know, a point to it). Screw the pathway of the Hemingway and Rembrandt, Picasso, Sedaris, and Tarantino. Instead, look to the pithy roads that were forged by Atkinson, Rich, Agate and Tynan. And look, right there, in the previous two sentences I have given you the perfect opportunity to respond with the following:

“Uh…so…the only people who do anything worthwhile are fiction writers and painters? This is bullshit.”

Just uttering this sentence will gain you entrance into the Contrarian Virgin Society of America. Don’t let the America part hang you up. Contrary to their name, they accept all nationalities as long as applicant is sufficiently diligent at pointing out the missteps of others.

***

Well, there you are. The first 5 (Yes, there will be more) Rules for Maintaining a Miserable Sexual Existence. Heed them well and happy…unhappiness…to you all.

Now, go! Ready those slings and sharpen those arrows there is a lot to be annoyed about in these words.

SGH

June 1, 2010

1) PENIS SIZE . Guys?  Get the fuck over the John Holmes syndrome, and get over it now. Don’t you realize you are being played for a fool? Here’s the deal: 92% of the male population is between 5” – 6.5” long. And that means that there is a huge market in that 92% that is exploitable with every kind of gimmick to grow your cock longer and wider. It ain’t happening.

Here is another thing to consider: the average length of the vagina is between 3-4” deep (yes, I know it expands!). At the end of the vagina is the cervix. Now what, pray tell, happens when you shove a 9” cock into a 4” vagina? You get a little less than halfway in before pounding the head of your dick into the woman’s cervix. The cervix is essentially the sister to the corona (your dick head) at least in the context that it even looks like it. Now go ahead and flick the end of your dick with your middle finger for a half an hour. How that feel? Awesome? Best ever? I doubt it. Of course there are the infamous “size-queens”. Sure they exist. Generally a woman becomes a size queen after she gives birth to her 5^th child. Since she has lost all sensation in her vagina and surrounding apparatus, she has to rely on the look of your cock rather than its feel, which brings me to the final point on this topic.

The donkey dick is a visual spark rather than a physical one. It is its rarity—some would argue absurdity—that propels its myth as a sexual icon, much like the ever-so-rare mega clit. Neither definitively provides a better sexual experience just by the nature of their size. At best, they provide a shot to the imagination and a buzz of expectation.

Listen to the honest women who will tell you that as long as it’s “not too big” or “too small” it’s all good. Be happy with your 5-6.5” cock and be done with it!

2) I CAN ONLY CUM ONE WAY. Ladies, ladies, ladies! Stop placing limits on your orgasms! It seems like every woman is taught that she can only orgasm one way and she needs to spend the majority of her youth finding that one way and sticking with it. Don’t you realize that it is you who is creating that barrier? So you didn’t orgasm through penetration with your first 2 boyfriends. Maybe it was the fact that his feet smelled like cheddar cheese, or you sub-consciously hated him because he liked Nickleback? Whatever the case, it doesn’t mean you never will, or can’t. Why the hell would just go ahead and mark that one in pen as a forever statement? Stop it! You can, and…YOU WILL!

And as a final note on this topic: jettison the idea that you cannot have an orgasm during penetration, but only through direct clitoral stimulation. Here’s a little secret…woman who have orgasms during intercourse are still having clitoral orgasms. It is technique. If your male partner’s only fucking program is “in/out” then you are going to be disappointed and he is going to be squirting a lot quicker than you, or he, would like. You need to include The Grind (the process of grinding your stimulated clit into the base of his cock and pubic bone) into your fuck repertoire. As the woman, you are in control of The Grind and therefore your penetration orgasm. So, with that said, off you go.

3) THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS AN UGLY VAGINA. I was going to also add PENIS to that statement, but I already wrote an essay on the cock and women’s reaction to it.

Come on ladies! Tight, loose, small lips, big lips, hairy, and bare…all vaginas are a thing of beauty. I have heard several women make statements that they were concerned that their Beavers didn’t measure up to the standards set by the porn industry; namely a simple line crossing the center of a bare-skinned pubic bone with no hint of labia minora (i.e. Inner Lips), or clitoral hood, peeking through. And while I won’t say that this type of vulva isn’t cute in novel, summer beach party, kind of way, there isn’t a red-blooded, heterosexual man out there who wouldn’t give up the tip of his small finger to kiss a real woman’s hanging meat curtains. This brings me to the next point.

And by the way, I’m not talking about the knuckle; I mean the very tip of the finger, like the skin part. We don’t need to be lunatics about it. It was just a statement to provide emphasis.

4) GOING DOWNTOWN DEFINES A MAN. Well, at least a straight one. Women, there are exactly 3 types of men in the world and your sexual happiness will depend on how you read the signs.

TYPE 1 is the AQUIESCOR. This guy goes down on you only because he has been taught to do so. In reality, he is afraid of the vagina, its texture, its taste. He is a kind and gentle soul, but if you are to invest your time and heart with this guy plan on dropping the kids off at his, and his new boyfriend Steve’s, house 5 years down the road.

TYPE 2 is the ABC MAN. ABC Man is the guy who goes down on you because…well, “that’s what you have to do in order to get her wet enough to fuck.” Cunnilingus to this guy always equals intercourse.  A sure sign of being with an ABC man is that you are convinced you can only have one orgasm with oral sex because the second you so much as flinch this guy is putting his dick in you. Also, women who plan on spending any length of time with an ABC man should have a sturdy clit because that is the only thing that will ever grab the attention of his tongue. On a side note it is ABC man who invented the term “blue balls” and perpetuated the notion that condoms are uncomfortable.

TYPE 3 is THE CONNOISSEUR.  This, somewhat rare, guy approaches the V as if it is a bottle of ’96 Chateau La Mondotte. This guy can actually see the subtle shift of color as blood flows to the labia…in the dark.  Bare, hairy, menstruating, nothing about the V is a turn-off to the Connoisseur. If you want to spend more than one night with The CONNOISSEUR you had better be multi-orgasmic and without inhibitions (Ass, ass-crack, feet…) because this man wants to drink all of you in. If that is a problem this guy will have no problem turning on a heel to the next woman who isn’t afraid to let them touch her asshole. In most cases you will have to kick him away with a sharp pop of your heel to the top of his head, and tell him to fuck you, in order to get him to come upstairs. If you are the type of woman who wants to be coveted as a sexual goddess, then the CONNOISSEUR is the type of man for you.

Okay, there are your three types of men. Choose wisely.

5) THERE ARE 2 TYPES OF WOMEN.  Guys, read carefully.

TYPE 1 is THE PEEKER. Aw, doesn’t that sound cute? Don’t be fooled. The Peeker is a woman who peeks out from behind her wall of emotional baggage with the frequency of Haley’s Comet. The majority of her time she spends clutching steamer trunk full of “Bad Things” that have happened to her in the past. You will never get a concise answer as to what the “Bad Things” are because she won’t want to talk about it because of her trust issues.  But you can assume the following: She had acne as a teenager. She farted while having sex for the first time. And Uncle Fred once peeked in on her while she was taking a bath. Sexually The Peeker is confusing. Initially she can appear to have quite an appetite. But this is merely a trap. Fall into it and plan to spend the rest of your life supporting 3 kids in the suburbs, drinking cheap beer, whilst trying to figure out the most cost-effective way of killing yourself. Cost effective ‘cuz, ya know, ya got the kids. Tell-tale signs that you are involved with a Peeker? A) Her favorite position is missionary. Doggy-style makes her feel dirty. Reverse Cowgirl seems porny. And Girl-On-Top makes her legs and back hurt. B) She won’t let you cum in her mouth because, ya know, she…had a bad experience with that, and now she DOESN’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT! C) She has a fixation on her cleanliness. I’m not saying that she needs to have dreads and showers only once a week, but if she always needs to take a shower before having sex, if there is never the possibility of taking her on the floor as soon as she walks in the door, then make sure you know where your car keys are at all times.

TYPE 2 is THE SEEKER. Hm. They rhyme. I hadn’t planned on that. Interesting. It does give us some insight, however. While The Peeker and The Seeker on the surface can appear quite similar, they are galaxies apart where it counts—on the inside. The Seeker, like The Peeker, may have endured the same bad experiences, but for some reason she is able to set them aside after wringing out whatever was beneficial. The Seeker, by some bizarre act of witchery, came upon the knowledge that life tosses grenades into our pathway to make us better people, not to give us a lifetime membership card in the Victims Club. Sexually, The Seeker is quite adventurous. There are very few avenues she will refuse to drive down. She is a swallower. Not just because she thinks it is sexy, but, more importantly, because she loves the taste and texture of a man’s ejaculate. On a similar note, she doesn’t have anal sex in order to impress a man with her sexual daring. No. This woman does it because she wants it. In contrast, you may come across a Peeker who will on a rare occasion allow some version of anal penetration, but it always will end poorly, either in tears, self-loathing, or psychopathic outbursts.  And while Seekers come in all shapes, sizes and colors, one thing is universally true about them: they love their bodies, and the magical, mystical things it can do.

Now it may appear that the Seeker is perfect in every way. Well…compared to the Peeker, yes, but there are 2 drawback to the Seeker. The first is that the Seeker, because of her nature, is hard for today’s men to keep satisfied for any length of time. This isn’t a slam against today’s men, but rather a statement about the kind of world today’s men live in, which a world of economic slavery. The constant pursuit of money for most men is quite exhausting, and therefore leads to a lack of spontaneity and stamina in the bedroom and…elsewhere. The second drawback to The Seeker is that at this present moment there are only 7 of them walking the planet.

6. A Man’s Sex Appeal. Men, men, men! Find something in life that you are really good at, devote your energy to it, and then get even better at it. Despite mass media’s inference that money alone is what makes a man attractive to a woman, if you look closely you will see that nature quite easily dispels this notion. You see, the pursuit and accumulation of money alone does not make a man attractive for any length of time. In truth, it makes for some pretty boring guys. If you dispute this, go hang out with a couple corporate salesmen for a day. Believe me, by hour 8 you’ll be looking for the nearest object you can fashion into a sword. The same holds true for gym rats. Women, unlike men, have a short attention span for the guy whose sole goal in life is 25” biceps. Of course she may be attracted to him for a brief period as arm candy, but, like Johnny Finance, his luster will soon fade in her eyes.

So then what is it that makes a man sustainably attractive to his woman? In a word—Artistry. His life’s work must be approached from the perspective of an artist. Now keep in mind that I am not saying that every guy needs to be a painter, or a song writer, or a poet. What I am saying is that you must approach your work with the artist’s eye. If you are a chair maker you must create and invent the most exquisite chairs upon the planet. If you are a landscaper you must sculpt grounds that would make Charles II envious. An artist, a true artist, you see, would choose to scrape the flesh from his body rather than produce mediocrity for money. Money may come, but it is secondary to the work produced. Your specific artistry, gentlemen, is the secret to your attraction, just the same as it was to Mozart and Bach, Ben Franklin and Tesla, Frank Lloyd Wright, and even that guy who invented the Dyson ball vacuum. Is it hard? Yes. Does it take a lifetime? Yes. Is it frustrating? Yes. Is it the truth? You know the answer to that.

7. A Woman’s Sex Appeal. See “The Seeker”.

8. IT AIN’T OPENING NIGHT ON BROADWAY! IT’S SEX!! Our lovely, modern, corporate dominant culture has given us a lot of poisonous catch-phrases that we have unconsciously incorporated into our individual lives, but in my opinion, none is more damaging than “Perception Is Everything”; the notion that appearing to be good at something is just as good as actually being good at something. So not only are men and women concerned that their penises aren’t big enough, or their breasts are too small, or their vulvas aren’t pretty enough, we now have a huge population of people who approach sex like they are having to open a Broadway show with zero rehearsal. Everyone is scurrying around trying to figure out how to Last Longer, Cum Harder, and Give A Better Blow Job. What they really want is to give THE APPEARANCE of being good at sex.  The fact is, if you want to be good at sex you need to allow yourself to be enraptured with your partner. Sex isn’t about hitting all the right notes. It’s not about the right technique. It is about experiencing the person you are with from head to toe, heart to heart. It may a five-minute lust storm that takes place in a vacant stairwell, or it may be a three-hour candle-lit affair that begins with a foot massage. It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that you are both present and open enough to experience the pleasure of each other, wherever that road leads.

9. WOMEN NEED TO EXCISE THE WORD “EW” FROM THEIR VOCABULARY. Being grossed out by swallowing, or butt-licking, or foot rubbing, or menstruation, or water sports, does not make you a “good girl” or more feminine. It makes you an annoying pain-in-the-ass. It will also render you a divorcee somewhere down the road, if not a spinster.  A real woman isn’t afraid to get dirty, either in the field or in the bedroom. A real woman isn’t concerned with the wet spot on the sheets. Besides, we all know you shit the same way as a guy and it smells just as bad. So knock it off, Petunia.

10. GET YOUR ASS HEALTHY.  The first secret of being sexually fulfilled is that you must love, and to push it further BE ATTRACTED, to yourself. No, I don’t mean that you should model yourself after Narcissus and fawn over yourself every waking minute of the day. However, you must be able to gaze upon your naked self with admiration and attraction. You must be turned on by this body you inhabit. Now how can you do that if you are 50 pounds overweight? You alone are responsible for the composition of your body based on what you put into it and how you use it. You (Men and Women) have the ability to reconstruct your body in a relatively short amount of time if you do the following: 1) Never eat another fast food meal.  2) Never drink another soft drink (Yes, even diet). 3) Strip away all empty carbs from your diet (bread, pasta, pastries, breakfast cereal) and replace them with complex carbs (fruits and vegetables). 4) If you simply have to eat meat, then procure it from a local, organic rancher. Industrialized meats are poison. 5) Stop with the sugar. Replace sugar with organic honey and/or agave nectar. 6) Get off the treadmill and pick up the weight! Don’t kid yourself into thinking you are going to get fit on the treadmill or that stupid fucking elliptical trainer. If you want to transform your body from the disgrace that it is to something of beauty you need to lift progressively heavier weight with compound exercises. Do this, create the body you want, have it reflect who you really are inside, and not only will you want to fuck yourself, so will everyone else.

Well, there they are. The 10 Unadulterated Commandments For A Happy Sexual Life. Now go get to work.

Ready your slings and sharpen your arrows, it won’t dispel the truth.

SGH

May 2010