You worthless whore (NSFW)

I don't know why I bother with you. Seriously, you're a tease, you're vicious, you're a total cock-tease, you pick boys up and play with them like a cat and a mouse, and you throw them away. At least kill them or let them go, but to let them hang there in a state of limbo is unreasonable, and it's mean.

Thankfully, you never played with me. It was obvious we'd be pals from day one. We met on a boat, out on a huge lake. You were playing with the hearts of males who earn more in a year that I'd ever want to make in a lifetime. They're boys, regardless of income and net asset value.

When we left together that same day, I started 10 feet away from you. We ended up in another state, booking adjoining hotel rooms because I sure as hell wasn't going to sleep in the same bed as you. You told me it would be OK, that you trusted me, and I knew it was a ploy from the start. I am not a conquest.

Our time together from that point forward let months pass while we just hung out, had fun, tormented bartenders and hotel concierge desks and travel agencies. You could afford to travel, so you'd come see me in the most mystical places around the globe. 9 months of that, and I never touched you once. I never wanted to.

A month ago, you told me that I was a throw-away. I pull my right hand back and slapped you in the face, bringing a rose color to where my fingers glanced your cheek. You cried, I laughed. You cried more, and I laughed even harder. You covered your cheek and yelled at me that a man never hits a woman. I locked eyes with you, once they were open, and said "and so far, I still have never hit a woman."

We had fresh fruit here on this island, a full month later from the first time I recall ever touching you. It wasn't the touch of a brother or a friend, a touch of a lover or one of the many boys whose hearts you play with. My touch was the touch of an enemy. I should have used a fist, but I didn't want to be seen with a battered waste of space.

So how did we end up here?

I think it's because I tell you NO where the boys just cower and kow-tow to your every whim. "Let's have seafood" you said at lunch, to which I responded NO. "That's it, no?" Correct. "And you have what right to tell me this?" I'm a man. "Oh, so men are better than women?" At making logical decisions, that's also correct.

I saw your look of anger at me. You wanted to start quoting whatever bullshit you learned in feminine studies, but you know I have a logical and scientifically accurate response to pretty much everything your parents spent $100,000 on helping you learn. So you bit your tongue.

I saw your look of sadness at me. You crave my attention, but your addiction to what you know by rote completely bores me in every sexual way.

I saw your look of questioning when I left you for 3 hours, coming back with no story to tell you.

I saw your look of intrigue when you caught me shoving fresh 100 Swiss Franc bills into my briefcase, bundled and wrapped nicely. You didn't question it.

So there we were, just finishing up our dinner. I paid the bill because I felt I owed you for disappearing this morning with no warning. We talked pleasantly at dinner, but I saw your eyes on me in a heavier way than I can remember in recent months.

When we adjourned to our hotel rooms, crossing the hotel hallway like a modern day love story, I knew there would be trouble when I unlocked my door and I didn't hear your key turn. Instead, I turned around and your hand on the key, in the lock, ready to turn.

You yelled quietly when I grabbed your long, red hair hard and pulled you across the hall. When your back hit my door, I put my hand up to your neck and held it against the door, watching your eyes open wide in shock, your lips parse slightly. I kissed you, immediately and faithfully, my hand still tightening around your neck.

I pulled away from your lips, your hands catching my body and pulling me back. I tightened my grip on your neck and stepped backwards, just barely out of your grasp. Your hand criss-crossed, your long fingernail attacking at me either to strike me for pain or grab me for passion. Instead, I released your neck and ran my strong hand down your chest to your dress, buttoned in front.

Your buttons were dangling or on the floor before you could know it.

I was surprised by your body, even though I had seen it in bikinis and the like. For some reason, a woman who is half out of her clothes, even by the will of my hands and her body, is sexier than a woman who is fully in her bikini. When I pulled my body into yours, your chest and hips touched mine.

Our lips connected for the first time, aggressively, our hunger for each other coming out of nowhere. Until this point, I didn't even know you had this passion inside of you.

My door was already unlocked, and your hand left my hip and turned the French doorknob. I pushed your body with both of my hands against your shoulders, and you fell into the room. You turned from me to wander towards the bedroom, but my lithe arm snaked out and grabbed at your long hair again, pulling you backwards towards me.

My hands grabbed at your tits, then at your shoulders as I pulled your dress down to your hips. I circled your hip and belly with one arm as the other unclasped your bra, and I used my hips and my hands to force you to the bed in front of us.

I bent you over the bed, the top half of your dress fall down to your waist, doubling up the skirt portion. I pushed your arms over your head, holding them down by your elbows as I pushed my groin against your ass. Your moan told me everything I wanted to hear.

I held your elbows down, putting my face against your neck as I bit and licked up to your earlobe, where I continued to taste your skin, your perfume, your body scent. I released one arm and slid your skirt up along with the rest of your dresstop, exposing your panties. I quick slide of my hand inside of them, along your ass, down to your pussy lips, proved to me that you needed nothing more than this.

My hand reached to my back pocket, grabbing a condom I had kept there in case I came across another woman who was deserving of my cock inside of her. You don't deserve it, but you're getting it because you want it this bad that I had to take it when I was good and ready.

I unbuttoned my pants and let them fall to my ankles. I continued to hold your arms down as best as I can with one hand while my other hand pulled your panties away from your pussy, but still covering your ass. I tore open my condom with one hand and my teeth, and carefully placed it on my cock.

With your panties pushed away from your drenched pussy, I slid my cock in, not taking the time to make sure you were ready. I slid all the way in, not teasing or giving you any opportunity to do anything but say the word you said: "Yes."

And then I fucked you. Not passionately like I would a woman I respected, but like a whore who I just bought for a $200 meal. And I did fuck you that way, for my pleasure. Your pussy is tight, it's wet, it's grasping for me to pound you, so I obliged, but only for what I want.

I fucked you with your face in the duvet cover for what seemed like eternity, but the clock showed me only a half hour passed since I had slipped inside of you. Your hands are now on my hips, wrapped behind your back, trying to prevent me from ravaging you as deeply as I am.

I considered finishing without coming, but as I pummeled into your pussy, I realized your breaths were getting shorter. I grabbed one of your wrists that stopped me from entering you fully, and pulled out almost completely before fucking you as deep as possible. As I heard you inhale, I grabbed your hair and pulled it tight, causing your neck to arch back just as I slammed into you again. That was all it took as you swore and cussed and told me you were coming.

I didn't stop my pounding, because this fucking is not for your pleasure. In fact, I am angry that you came so quickly, you whore who needs no foreplay, no passion, no teasing, no attention, just a dinner and drinks and a complete attack on your body.

After you finished, I pulled out. Your rolled over on the bed to look at me, so I pulled on your legs and tore you from the bed cover. You tried to stand as both feet hit the floor, but I pulled my knee up, slipped a foot behind your knee, and pull it towards me, causing you to buckle and fall to the floor, ass first.

The condom was off before your eyes opened. I grabbed your hair again, pulled your mouth to my cock. One hand on the back of your neck, one hand grabbing your hair, my cock choking its way into your throat past your tongue.

The same hard and deep fucking I gave your pussy I now give your mouth and face. I held back nothing, not even when you gagged, not even when the tears rolled out of the sides of your eyes. I felt spit collect on your tongue and into your gums as I rammed my cock, thick and as long as it gets, in and out of your mouth.

You looked up at me, almost pleading. Not for me to stop, but to finish. A few more thrusts, a few more tears picking up your mascara and eyeliner, and I was there. I pulled my cock out, and without asking, started the process of drenching this beautiful face of a cheap whore with my come.

Shot after shot landed on your face, on your cheeks, on your nose, on your forehead. I covered you completely, emptying days of build-up from deep within.

With my last spurt and a last gasp from my lips, I finished. You looked at me and almost gave away a smile. I told you I'd go get a towel and walked to the bathroom.

When I returned, your were sitting on the bed, your face coated with my come primer. When you saw me return, my cock still hard and a new condom on, you laid back on the bed, spread your legs again, and stared at me. I slipped into your pussy again, this time taking things a little slower. My fingers played with my come on your face, tracing lines down to your mouth, causing you to finish what my promised-but-ignored towel would have cleaned up.

And I fucked you, again. I fucked you still like a whore, but a whore bought and paid for and used up, beyond the allowed time that such a small purchase would normally cover.

It didn't take long, either. Another half hour of me fucking you, my remaining come rolling down your cheeks to the bed and your neck below, and you came again. You didn't verbalize it, but your moans and groans were of desperation, your orgasm fully aligned with a hope that I would come again.

And I did. I pulled out of your pussy, hopped onto the bed and straddled your gorgeous tits as I unleashed a second load into your open mouth (held open by my fingers), onto your chin and neck and a little on the bed.

Now I'm finished. Your orgasm continued even as I came on you a second time. As I step back from the bed, admiring the tease I turned into a whore, owning fully, I pulled my boxers and pants back up. My shirt, which was never even unbuttoned, lay hung over my belt. I looked at you again and noticed a smile. Maybe you feel you won this round?

I turned from the bed and walked to the door. "Where are you going?" you called as my own hotel room door closed behind me. Your key, still in the door, allowed me to enter your room, remove my clothes and slide into your bed.

I heard through the door that you opened the door from my room. Were you chagrined at the DO NOT DISTURB sign hanging from your door handle?

May, 2000. "Electra"

Women don't initiate sex! Or do they?

An email from another anonymous female reader, this one not so positive.  I asked and received approval to answer it publicly.  The email is from Shane (a girl's name, I had to ask):

No woman will ask a man to bed so quickly, and not 10 women or whatever you wrote about in time's past.  I don't believe it.

If you don't take charge, the women will get bored and find another guy.

My response, written on the plane from Houston today:

I've heard this before.  I've heard it from women I've been casual friends with who said they'd never beg a guy for sex, they'd never invite him into their bedroom if he wasn't already grabbing at them or kissing them or making typical snide male comments about sex.

I've slept with some of those naysayers.  When?  When they begged me to.  When they put their mouths on me.  When they started showing signs of desire or desperation.  I proved them wrong.  I don't know you Shane, but I think I can convince you nonetheless.

I'm a gentleman, but I'm not nice.  I'm not handsome, but I'm confident of my attractiveness to some of the opposite sex.  I don't wear my heart on my sleeve, and I tend to keep my mouth shut even when prompted.  My eyes give away everything, if women are attentive enough to realize it.

If I am attracted to someone, you'll know it.  My posture will be taller, I'll make casual teasing glances towards you when we're not face to face.  I'll face my body away from you instead of towards you.  I won't act shy, but confident.  I'll walk like a man, and I'll listen like a good man.

All women show signs when you're attracted to men; more laughing, simple touches of the man's body (shoulders, arms, hands, back), touching your own body (mouth or hair or ear or hands).  When a woman shows me her desire or attraction, I'll put myself in a closer position to let it increase.  It's not hard to be a good tease while still keeping my thoughts mysterious and hidden.

When I'm wooing a woman, I'm open to your questions.  I won't prompt for them, but you'll be comfortable in minutes, not hours or weeks or months.  I won't be afraid to look at another pretty woman in front of you, but I'll give you more attention than anyone else in the room.  I'll remember important things in the conversation, and bounce them back at you for further information.  You won't be talking to a man who is looking at your tits, I'll be looking in your eyes.

I don't turn women down, I won't turn you down.  We may not have sex, but I'm always open to at least kissing, even with friends.  It's just kissing.  Sometimes kissing can give us knowledge if more is worthwhile or not.  I like to kiss, and women who know me can feel it.  I've been kissed first 80% of the time, usually just moments or minutes before I was planning on it anyway.

There will never be uncomfortable silence between us.  There will never be a lack of conversation.  You will never be bored with me, no matter what it is we're doing.  You can sit on my couch with the latest book I received, and I can sit with my notepad and pen.  You'll still be excited, just because you're doing something that is exciting with me, rather than boring alone or with other guys.

I'll instill a sense of beauty, womanhood and confidence in you from the start.  You're a sexy person, you have skills and talents, no matter what you think.  You'll feel your pain and sadness and frustrations with life drain away when you talk to me.  It will get better.  You will feel better.  You'll leave me when we're done for the day and you'll feel that twinge of emptiness, but then you'll feel full and satiated.  You'll want more.

Am I cocky?  No, actually I'm not.  Am I an asshole?  No.  Casanova?  I wish.  Am I playing with your mind or your heart?  Never.  I'm open and honest, even if I am quiet and mysterious.

Even if we don't breech the subject of sex, you'll think about me in bed.  I know you will.  You may not find my face attractive or my body impressive, but you'll think about it.  When I listen, when I see through your eyes to the depths of your pain and happiness, you'll think about it again.  There's a tiger there, and most men ignore it.  Most men don't give it a chance to come out.

If you decide you want to try my bed or my couch, you'll get frustrated that I won't make a move on you.  I don't need to: I want you to want me more than anything else.  It'll burn up inside of you, you'll spend a few bucks on new C batteries.  But the day will come when you've decided to give it a chance.  You'll hate it because you think the man should be completely the suitor.  I disagree.  I give you choices, and you accept whichever one you want.

So I'll be there, looking strong and confident and assured.  I'll help you justify your life as it is today, and you'll desire my body inside of you and on you.  You'll be the one who kisses me, likely, but I'll be right there ready to accept it.  It won't feel wrong.  It won't be wrong.

If the kissing leads us to other desires and attractions, we'll sleep together, but even that is a process to increase your desire and your positive result from sex.  It won't be me begging you or getting you drunk.  I won't take advantage of you.  You'll feel like a queen that night and many days and nights afterwards.  If you want more, I'll likely be waiting, seeing if you do.  If you don't, I promise you it will effect you for a long time to come.

So, no, women don't throw themselves at me; they just read my desires and let them coincide with their own.  It isn't sex to me, it's meeting a need you have.  If you have that need, you'll come calling.

Why foreplay is unimportant (seriously)

You know you're dealing with a sex amateur when she says (publicly or privately) "Men, we need foreplay!" This is 100% completely untrue.  No woman needs foreplay for sex.  I believe in foreplay because it's a fun part of sex, but in reality, foreplay can actually happen well outside the bedroom or even the home.  Foreplay can start at dinner, or over drinks.  It can happen when you're both browsing different aisles at the bookstore, sending casual glances at each other.

The way you treat a woman in your regular life, even a woman who may just be a fuck buddy and not a significant other, has a huge effect on her sex drive when you're alone.  Men who have a certain level of confidence about themselves also find themselves considered the masters of the bedroom, and you'd be surprised how many times a woman will jump on you the moment both your sets of underwear hit the floor (or the lampshade or clock radio).

There's a secret word few women talk about, but it's the most important word to know if you want to gauge a woman's sex-drive (towards you, or men in general) and desire for you: throbbing.  No joke, guys.  We have boners, they have throbs.

Women are all aware of the throb, and it can drive them up a wall if they don't have a lover handy.  When they're ready for sex, the throb is a primary indicator.  We both have blood rush to our genitals when we're horny; men just have a more obvious indicator of the situation.  When she's there, a few teasing kisses, a couple of resisting eye glances, and she's going to attack you with no foreplay.  A little tease and sexiness in the sack when a woman is in 100% full throb mode will get her wet and ready (unless she's the kind who needs lube always, but I've yet to meet one of those) in mere seconds.

So how do you get there?  Start being sexy always.  Here's the difficult part: you're going to have to become a sexy man in steps, and it's a long, hard path.  I always recommend two ways to start: floss twice a day, and trim your fingernails as often as you can.  Clean under them, too, and wash your hands regularly.  Guys with bad hands and fingernails will hurt a woman once too often, and the throbs may end forever.  It's not a good place to be.

Foreplay is a great way to get a woman to the point of throbbing.  If she's not there when we hit the sack (but she wants sex or at least wants to please me), I use foreplay until she does get there.  With some women, it's a difficult process.  A lot of kissing and touching of non-sex areas, taking breaks from that, returning to it, and keeping it up until she's there.  I won't even go down on a girl (or touch her nipples or clit or pussy at all) unless she is there.  Touching any sex-related body part too early is a guaranteed way to STOP any throbbing that may be coming on.

So be sexy, guys, and work what you have in your favor.

More steps on how to be sexy, every day, are coming.  

My Bizarre Fantasy Journal #3

Since I'm a writer (I get paid for it even), I keep a variety of crazy journals that focus on ideas I have.  Sometimes it's business ideas or inventions, sometimes I cover places I want to go and things I want to see, sometimes its sex, most of the time it's just random spewed thoughts.  Rarely is it fully coherent or possible.

Here's one I wrote in 2007 that never panned out.  I figure I'd share it with others, not in hopes of fulfilling it, but mostly in hopes that someone will come back to it again when they need a little entertaining fantasy of their own to write about, publicly or privately.

Fantasy #3: Not Anonymous, but still Unknown

It's always been my desire to hook up with another writer in a semi-anonymous fashion.  When I say "hook up" I don't necessarily mean sexually.  Maybe we'll meet for business reasons, or it could even be a bar pal.  Maybe it'll be a lover, who knows?

The idea of the fantasy is to create a new blog before the first real getogether.  Would we meet online somehow, or maybe one of us got the other's email address and we started talking virtually that way.  Either way, said new friend is not someone I've spent any significant amount of facetime with.

This new blog would be a publicly displayed private journal that we each keep, but not to interact with.  She'll post, I'll post, but we won't interact.  In email we'll plan our future first getogether: we'll pick our new names (I envision her being Chanel and me being Narcissco, but the names don't matter), we'll pick where we'll meet (a bar neither of us has been to maybe 45 minutes from our usual spots), we'll pick the day and time (Thursday, 8pm).

I'll write on the new blog about what I'll wear, how I'll trim my beard, but not about what I hope for.  Basic stuff.  She'll write her own article about the same.  We won't read the other's post, but any followers who are interested will.  Maybe we'll share the common blog on our own blogs ahead of time to get others to jump on as followers and commenters.

We'll meet.  Whatever the purpose (business, friendship, love, screwing), we'll each return to our own homes and update the blog with our opinions of the evening.  Maybe it'll be a very short relationship, a one-time date or hangout session.  We'll comment on what we saw and actually thought: I might talk about her bad makeup or her amazing legs, she might talk about what she honestly thought of me.  We won't know each other's real names or addresses, maybe not even our phone numbers.

If there is to be a future meeting, we'll communicate with each other via the blog journal.  "Post #4: How about Tuesday the 15th?"  "Post #5: Perfect!  Let's check out Young's Grille in Evanston."

If there's a sexual hookup, the details would be amazing, considering we don't know what the other person's real life is like.  If there's no sex but it turns into a joint venture of another kind, those details would also be amazing.

Maybe it's destined to failure, or maybe it's an on and off friendship or relationship with updates in-between times we meet, personal updates regarding the specificity of the relationship, any fantasy or hopes for it.  Minds and emotions displayed to the public, to the other person, but maybe never commented on in real life between the two.

It could be fun, or it could be horrible.  Either way, it's an idea there is still time for.  Maybe this year.