Friday Fluffer - Talk Dirty To Me

Talking dirty is another of those bonking skills that improves with practice. Some are better at filth-chat than others, so here are two videos to help. (The first one won't allow embedding, but it's worth the visit to YouTube.)

Both safe for work.


It's not what you say, it's how you say it. [link]<------Amusing video.









Bottoms Up, Trash-Talking Sluts!




Foul mouthed woman from here [link]

The Secret

Guessing now, but I imagine that men spend a minimum of ten percent of their lives thinking about women. That's 65,700 hours in the average male lifetime completely dedicated to contemplating the be-skirted sex.

And the marital status of the dude doesn't matter. Single guys spend their allocation wondering how to snare one; guys in relationships wonder if she is the one; married fellas have the complicated circumstance of having one bird in the hand and a nest and previous birds in the bush. That's not something about which I can authoritatively speak.

I'm writing a review of a book about a famous American man. Revealing his name would spoil the fun, but the following excerpt, which is a quote from a friend of his, caught my eye. Some truths about women are universal, even if we - all we men - think we know stuff others don't.

Here's how to woo a woman.

"(He) treated romance as a job - not as a conquest, but as a process. The reason that every woman who ever met him fell in love with him - and I've never met one who didn't - is because he put so much effort into it. Any woman who came to (his place) would be wined and dined. (He) would prepare elaborate meals with oysters, chocolate, strawberries, champagne - drugs, if that's what they were into. He had a magical ability to make a woman feel as though she was the only one who ever existed - he actually used to laugh at other men because he knew how good he was."

Aye. Make a woman the centre of your universe...at least while you're together. That's The Secret.



Bottoms Up, Lotharios!


Pic of cheer-leader from a now-defunct blog, so it's pointless providing attribution. I bet she likes an oyster and some champagne.

Cold Hard Steel.

Gayle is my pet Cougar. She's fortyish, single, direct and horny, the four food groups that sustain Cougars. To round out her qualifications, she's into younger men for sex alone, the catnip no Cougar can resist. We're friends, but I have plans for her as an advisor.

I didn't know she was my pet Cougar until last Friday night. Over H-Hour drinks we had a frank and earnest discussion about the virtues and vices of men with pierced tongues. That is a subject about which I know nothing.

Naturally, when I think of cold hard steel I think of my penis. Well not my penis exactly, but a woman's tongue-stud providing extra stimulation for my penis during fellatio. Judging by the way Gayle's eyes rolled back in their sockets and her uncontrollable leg-shaking, a man using his own tongue-stud on a Cougar's cooter works as well for women as for men, orgasm/pleasure-wise. Or even pre-orgasm/pleasure-wise.

All that eye-fluttering and invoking the Lord was for demonstration purposes only. I certainly wasn't providing her with pleasure, what with my virgin tongue and the other drinkers and all. But the memory of her (much) younger lover using his accessorized tongue to good effect gave her performance depth. She really dug the steel-on-clit feeling. Like a ball-bearing in Spam, I guess.

Bottoms up, pierced ones!






Graph from here [link]

Feminist Literature

Floating around the internet searching for dungeon equipment proved immensely time wasting. Not only are there VERY few vendors, the quality of the goods looks decidedly dodgy. And surprisingly there's not much of a market for second-hand (pre-spanked?) BDSM kit...although maybe not so surprisingly.

Hey, I'll give you fifty for the rack, the standing cage and the two wooden stingers.

What I did find was an enormous amount of porn, which, as we all know, was the reason hand lotion was invented.

One kink I don't understand is this thing of writing shit on a woman. I'm looking at an example now. She's wearing spike heels and a sweet spiked collar. Her master (presumably) used a felt pen to write what amount to instructions all over her. Big arrows point at her cooter saying "For Fucking". On her buttocks, similar arrows lead to her chocolate starfish with the words "Cocks Go Here." On her boobs is the instruction "Cum All Over These" and at various places she's branded a "Slut".

Ooookay.




Exploring Uma photo from here [link]

Ripping Yarns

They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, but I say the way to a woman's pussy is through her underpants. Through or around or (in the case of crotchless) between. Hells, it's giving me a woody thinking about the wonders of ladies and their underduds.

James Bond (of course) is the man best at undressing ladies, mostly because they don't have much on to start with. (Miss Moneypenny is the exception.) Funny that being a licenced-to-kill spy also entitles one to a cotery of easily-bedded hotties in evening gowns or bikinis.

Anyway, it was Sean Connery who I noted once de-frocked a lover by slicing through the spaghetti straps of her LBD, letting the thing fall to the floor.

:cut to shots of rampant elephant trunks and earthquakes:

Where was I? Right, the road to heaven lies beyond the boy-shorts.

There is an art in removing a lady's panties. Possible choices include demurely running them down the legs, if she's standing. If she's on her back, shimmy those things over her arse, create a tangle at the feet, then let her kick them off. And then there's ripping the damn things off so you can get to the action ASAP.

Nothing says God I want you NOW! like using brute strength to tear that shit off, and hopping into it with animal abandon.

:cue shots of elephant trunks rampant and earthquakes:

Yesterday I discovered how women feel about the wanton destruction of their sexy smalls at the hands of a neanderthal lover:

They Love It.

And the attraction? The sound of ripping lace.

I think they call this 'Win-Win'.





Thanks to Snaf for the lingerie-wearer's perspective. [link]

Loverly ladies photo from here [link]

Edited for incorrect panty-removal technique. Someone would have picked up the error.

Love is Criminal

This book was my weekend entertainment. It forced me to consider the advantages of being a crook, especially a crook who counterfeits C-notes.

There is a downside to contravening Federal US statutes, which includes being pursued by the Secret Service. Did you know that the Secret Service was originally charged with finding and bringing counterfeiters to justice? Only when Mr Roosevelt succeeded Mr McKinley did the Secret Service begin to protect US Presidents from nutters who would kill them.

The upside of counterfeiting is the women. The story of Art Williams[link] is all about women, how they fell in love with him, how they bore his children, how his mother went insane, and how they all helped him in his criminal life. This isn't some fictional tale detached from reality; the truth is that women found this guy attractive to the point where they'd ditch their families for him, break the law for him, and lie to the Secret Service for him.

I wonder: How bad does a Bad Boy have to be before women say no? Is there any point beyond which every woman holds up her hand and says Whoa buddy, this is going too far? (Sex crimes aside, of course.)

There is no conclusion to be drawn, other than love (or its blue-collar cousin, attraction) can conquer even the penal code. But the pervasive attraction of the Bad Boy leads me to believe there's some evolutionary advantage to taking on authority. Either that or bricks of $100 notes to be used for shopping expeditions are impossible to resist.




The Art of Making Money by Jason Kersten. ISBN 978-1-592-40446-9

Jason Kersten's homepage [link]