The Serpent and the Apple

Smelly Socks es mas macho que Motorcycle

2003-08-07T17:50:00.000+01:00

Let's face it: sometimes you need a break from women. I know I do. Most of the times, it means going out with other male friends. Millennia ago, when manhood finally achieved civilizational status, the blood flowing in the veins of those heroic heroes, warriors and champions were to be celebrated and honoured. A drink was invented to accomplish the ritual of blood sharing and bonding among the bravest of us all: BEER. That's why we men drink that golden divine liquid (although some variants in colour, including Guinness and the excellent Belgian beers), preferably fresh. And that's why it tastes better among other men, which is why beer drinking plays such a vital role in a man's life. Particularly when you need a break from pussy and the aggravation associated to it. But I'll come to the subject of beer later on.

So, I needed a break. But this time, a pint or two with friends just wouldn't suffice. I'm a man of excesses and obsessions. I need to challenge and stimulate my virility solo, mano-a-mano with Nature. I need to respond to that primeval male hunter's call, smell the acrid sweat under my armpits, feel the cold iron of my knife's blade against my testicles without so much as a flinch of fear of being emasculated. Sometimes, a man needs to be a man and do the things a man must do (I'm probably quoting Willie Nelson or Kenny Rogers here...) and I become Conan, the Hunter. I become Tarzan. I become Balls of Steel. This and the fact that I have a limited tolerance to rejection - my quest wasn't really bearing any fruits, to be perfectly honest with you; at least not any edible fruits, if you get my meaning - led me to leave the comforts of material life and take on the African wilderness. Again.

I must say there were quite a few distractions before I finally made up my mind. Teetering on my AFF hook, but actually not biting it, were two girls. One, a blue-eyed with long blonde braids who could pose as the best porn stars; a second, with a more-likely-than-not fake picture, which is actually a good thing, as the blonde dyed hairdo is rather tacky and she seems to be strutting a dress and pumps from Wicked Temptations. I haven't heard from either in a week or so, which is a bad sign. I know I shouldn't be so pushy, but I was trying to prove a point: I needed to know they weren't fakes. Well, the first send me a couple more pics as evidence of her reality. I'm not fully convinced, but the nicely trimmed pussy (just one thin pubic hair line) and the silver vibrator up her ass made me dream of fuck this precious 20-semething until her blonde braids straightened into Lucy Liu's silky hair. Too good to be true, you say. Ah, well, so do I - I confess... But if I didn't write her off straight away, it was because of details. Yes, details. Although she has a beautiful face and the most gorgeous hands (to the highest Hugh Hefner standards), she has rather broad thighs, too 'sturdy' for Playboy or the next magazines in the porn photo ranking. And worse: cellulite. This dreaded condition can be disguised without much difficulty with image editors such as Photoshop. Well, she hasn't been online since the last week of July, so I guess I'll never know for sure.

The second 'distraction' was even more intriguing and tempting. I will not say a word about her now. If she keeps her promise and delivers the pics (by now already overdue), I think a separate post will be justified. I just wonder how I'll be able to do it without exposing her and keeping her privacy. Hmmm... Maybe NOTHING at all will be said. I'll have to decide according to events.

Back to my macho escapade, then.

After the Drakensberg and Ile de la Réunion, it was time for me to be back on a trekking trip. A full month of mosquitoes, shabby hotels, scorching heat by day and freezing cold at night (the kind of weather only the testicles of the finest stock can endure: loose in a sticky scrotum by day, and small and hard like marbles during the night),and smelly socks. Oh, and to make it more macho, I wouldn't shave either. That's a man to make you proud: at the summit of a mountain in the rugged, inhospitable wilderness. Wiping his nose on his sleeve and scratching the stubble in the neck with dirty nails. A white tee shirt with more stains than white, perfumed with the scent of horse's sweat - only it comes from my armpits! And a bottle of cold beer in one hand, while scratching my balls over the dirty jeans with the other. That'll be me in a month. After which, I’d be able to say: "Woman, ya betta be ready fer me, cuz I sure am ready fer you". And then I'd spit out my toothpick, bend the overwhelmed females over (oh, yeah, they'll be queuing!) and slap them on their bare buttocks before the glorious penetration.

But that'll be in a month. For now, it's time to prepare things. To fraternize with the spirit of Kunte Kinte. To concentrate in my challenge and myself like the Shaolin monks. No more women from here on, and masturbation only in extremis causa. To haunt me on the trip, however, I got a couple of e-mails just before I left and a text message on my phone. Both of them - you guessed it - from women I met over AFF. Plus three other from female friends I know and learned to respect as such and only as such over time. These three, with the exception of Sylvie's (I'll certainly post a story on Sylvie), were just bon voyage wishes. Tempting? Well, I'll have to reply - at least to one e-mail -, but not before I get to Kenya on August 6.

(to be continued)

The Quest - Part II

2003-07-23T16:33:00.000+01:00

Now that we got that clear about members and non-members of AFF, let me tell you of what you'll come across when browsing profiles on the AFF site. If you're like me you'll say "WOW" and wonder why you didn't join the site sooner. Well, before you start reaching for your credit card and subscribe to the site, let me tell you a bit about what I've found.

The Promoter
The first thing you'll notice is that there are a lot of absolutely stunning women (pictures and all), all under the age of 32, claiming that anal sex gives them the best orgasms and that there's nothing they'd rather do in their lives than suck your cock dry. Beware of those porn nymphettes. Most of them are there just to promote a porn site. My faithful geeky readers will certainly fall for that trap and, when they finally get a mail saying something like "I'm sorry I couldn't reply to you any sooner, but our mutual friend described you as being the man of my dreams", they'll rush to the bathroom for one of those blitz two-second wanks, even if it means splatting all over (again) their manga comic books and the National Geographic issue on African tribes. Here the same golden rule of "if it's too good to be true, it probably isn't true" applies. There are plenty of those ads, some with quite cunning schemes to lure you in for another overdraft on your credit card bill. I suppose some of them are of interest to have a look at, just to check out their drafting abilities. However, other are just crude ads and the pictures aren't any good, either. Some lame excuse like "I'm not a paying member, so I can't get in touch with you unless you give me your e-mail address" are to be immediatly discarded.

The Hooker
Yes, there are some of them, too. Some quite honestly say so in their ads, so it's not really worth writing much about them. Other ads, however, are utterly pathetic. And, I painstakingly confess, I even fell for one of them. To soon find out about my mistake. Truth be said, you couldn't tell right away this woman was a prostitute, and I was a newbie in AFF. of course, sentences like "I'm looking for a generous man" should immediately put you on guard. Well, this one didn't say that. Plus, she stated in her profile that she was married. When I finally got her mail stating that she was "commercial" and wanted something between 300-500 euro per session (warning me she didn't do "Greek style") I realised the blunder I made. And you know what else? She send me some blurred pictures. A fat, belly-flapping cow, old enough to be looking at what their grandsons are doing on the Net, rather than being on the Net herself! For Chrissake, it makes you want to shout "300 euro?! Get your ass on the street with the rest of the others, you lazy bitch!" But, of course, phlegmatic as I am, I didn't do anything of the sort. Were I not still receiving messages with the introductory warning "I'm a commercial", I would actually feel sorry for them. I mean, who are they're going to get? Online hookers like these are really no competition to the Promoters. Lorry drivers don't have internet access in their vehicles. So, if any clients at all, they'll have to stick to those beer-belly "hairy-back-I-could-comb-it-with-a-fork" toothless and cross-eyed Neanderthal construction workers, who managed to save the 300 euro by making their wives work double night-shifts. By the way, dear nerdy computer freak tainting my text with your reading, do you know where your grandma is today? Playing bingo again? Aah, yes - of course she is!...

The Manic Housewife
These are generally in their late 30s or early 40s and are very much in love with their husbands. Or, at least, so they say. When you finally interact with them, be ready for some of the most steaming, raw and borderline perverted sex. They are not the most physically attractive women (but at least they're not fake) and, as a general rule, won't have their pics posted on AFF. Yet, the description of what they'll do to you is enough to make overlook any of their lesser bodily attributes. Exchange phone numbers and phonesex will get a totally new meaning. Forget the euphemism of "Greek style", they'll be craving for your dick up their arse and in every hole a penis would conceivably fit. As an added bonus, for those into something on the kinky side, they'll assure you that what they want to do to you (and you to them) is something they never did with their husbands. And, yes, they're for real, too. The problem with manic housewives is that they'll never actually do anything with you. In the end, they'll go back to their lives, probably feeling as much frustrated (if not more) as when they started. If cybersex or phone sex is your thing, no-one can beat the manic housewife. But if you want to go down and have sex - even the most basic fornication - then you'll be left empty handed. Well, not really: there's always the manga comics for some and the good old porn movie slipped into the VCR later at night for others.

The Dumb Bimbo
Ah, yes, the old time favourite. The only thing the Dumb Bimbo understands is your body stats. Forget about sending her any witty or funny lines, she won't understand. At best she'll just ignore you; at worst, she'll reply saying she couldn't really understand what you were talking about. Any attempts to have a mildly interesting conversation is fated to utter frustration. So, if you're a moderately articulate guy, avoid them at all costs because the last thing you want is to actually meet them in real life. Even if they have the body and the looks, it'll be like trying to seduce a door knob (this might actually constitute an insult to some door knobs...). No emotions or vital signs are conveyed from those blank eyes and frozen smiles, giving you this picture that she's probably braindead, with the exception of the most basic locomotion nerve centres. Boredom awaits you until you can get her naked. And even then, it's not guaranteed you won't get even more bored. Sex deprivation might lead you to go ahead anyway: after all, she might be a good fuck, so why bother with conversation? Or why bother with foreplay - isn't that just a thing for women, whereas we men just want to "get to the point"? Well, yes, alright. But these chicks are so dumb, you're expected to do everything for them: lead their head to your dick (they've done blowjobs before, but can't really remember where the penis is), tell them to strip, where to lay, when to start and when to stop, and even when to do something different. You'll feel like a house decorator, shuffling and putting things in different places, whilst trying to get into the mood of sex. Arguably, sex with them can be gratifying, but it's really nothing more than one step up masturbation. With the disadvantage that, when masturbating, you don't really care about someone else's enjoyment. Actually, you shouldn't care about the enjoyment of Dumb Bimbos. If you're not completely turned off by their lack of co-ordination, which most of the time will only make you laugh at your pathetic situation. They'll start moaning at the most unappropriate times, making you want to ask "Why the hell are you screaming about? - I haven't even started licking your pussy yet!". Don't: they'll just look at you, as if they'd read the script wrong and should be doing something else instead. But the main reason why you shouldn't pay ANY attention to their pleasure is because they fart. Yes, Dumb Bimbos FART when they cum! it must have something to do with their limited brain control over their body functions. I therefore suggest, if Dumb Bimbos are your type, to ask them beforehand: "Do you fart during sex, sweetie?" If she's a true Dumb Bimbo, she won't leave you or even blush. She'll probably ask you to repeat the question several times over and then reply, in a rather coyish way, "Sometimes I fart in bed...". This will bring them back to their youth and the slapping on her bottoms till the age of 16 for peeing and farting bed, which explains their drive to promiscuity. Then, it's up to you. You'll know your credits as a lover have been confirmed by the time you hear that beautifully low-pitched sound "Bphreeeew"!

Of course, there are other popular characters in AFF. There's the Fat Woman. Fat women go through extraordinary lengths (maybe I shouid be saying "extraordinary widths"...) to disguise, avoid, dodge, dissimulate, mask, fake, pretend or otherwise conceal the voluminous fat pockets they've been saddled up with - either by Nature or, more frequently, by negligence of the years. They go by euphemisms when describing themselves (eg, "a little extra padding"), but one must have some sympathy for them. For one, because they have a valid reason to be on AFF. Faced with the stiff competition, exacerbated by the media, of the slim and svelte, the Internet offers them the possibility to get to men who'd normally never get beyond the lipidic barrier around their wasteline. And secondly, because they're the most intelligent women you'll find on AFF. Probably because they evolved in this way to compensate for their misshapen body contours. And although the jury is still out as to rather fuck a Dumb Bimbo or a Fat Woman (with a slight advantage for the bimbo, nonetheless), the Fat Woman really makes good company.

There are also The Couple, The Ugly Cow, The Sorry Bitch, and - yes - the Men.

The Quest

2003-07-23T11:30:00.000+01:00

Alright. So now you know: I am on a quest to find my sex muse. The question was "where to start?". Bars, nightclubs, discos? Too revealing of myself. No, if I wanted to find this virtual woman, I had to become a virtual guy as well; so I turned to the Internet. It seems there are a lot of 'matchmaking' sites and on-line dates are ever more popular. But I wasn't looking for a bride... I was almost abanadoning the whole idea until I found that corner in cyberspace for guys (apparently) just like me, where I could find a vast catalog of women willing to have sex without any of the mushy stuff that generally comes with it. It's called Adult Friend Finder (www.adultfriendfinder.com) and I should be paid by them to be promoting their site here!

But they're worth it. You might as well become a member (it's free) and check out my profile (beach_bummer68): it'll give you an idea of what I'm talking about and, while at it, you may want to increase the hit numbers to my profile (er, yes, there's a picture of me there, too).

So I posted my ad and starting messaging those women who, according to their profiles (and photos) matched my requirements. I wasn't picky, so quite a lot of them got my cyber mating call. To my surprise, I seemed to find a niche of women who found me - or the way I presented myself - quite attractive. What's so surprising about it is the narrow category bracket in which these women fall: married Flemish women, some with a tendency to have a little extra padding, and living between Brussels and Antwerp. I won't say more, because I don't want to disclose their profiles (you know, a gentleman never tells - and I told more than enough already). So, my already mouth-watering male readers and nail-biting female readers (I hope you're not actually biting your nails: I love beautiful hands in a woman!), interested in learning more?

I bet you do. But first, I feel I have to make a small note on those who may be reading this. There are men and women. And there are members and non-members of Adult Friend Finder (AFF for short), each of whom can either be men or women (although I'm hoping mainly female AFF members are reading my posts).

Let's start with the non-members.

If you're a male non-member, I really couldn't give a pus-filled hemorrhoidal rat's ass for what you're thinking. Honest.

If you're a female non-member, please leave me your address, phone number, photos of you (face and naked body), plus a list of your sexual fantasies, activities and interests, as well as the hours where you might be available to engage in mutual nudity. It's merely to set up my database (all data will be kept confidential, of course), because what i'm really interested in are your comments.

And now to AFF members:

I still think it takes a lot of nerve to expose yourself - even with all the aliases, half-lies and somewhat misleading information -, so I'll show them some respect. More: I see them in my peers, each one with a different quest, but all sharing this desire to find a mate. So, yes, whether male or female, what AFF members think is of value to me. And what's more, having already met some of them in REAL life, I know their (at least in part) live stories. Some are quite moving, indeed, and in contrast with the more 'aggressive' style they used when drafting their ads. And quite a few of these (both the real life stories and the ads) are about solitude. Which is rather a sad topic, so I won't approach it. So, to conclude, I'll say this:

Male members: go ahead and post your views. This blog is a guy's view on sex, so I suppose there might be some 'beer-and-darts' male bonding atmosphere transpiring from it. However, if I catch you using this to get a date at my expenses, then - sorry, pal - off you go; you'll get booted and sent back to the wonders of masturbation land.

Female members: please leave me your address, phone number, photos of you (face and naked body), plus a list of your sexual fantasies, activities and interests, as well as the hours where you might be available to engage in mutual nudity. Oh, and go ahead and post your views, too!

2003-07-22T14:03:00.000+01:00

Alien Invasion (A Laser Beam Aimed At My Groin) - Part II

2003-07-22T11:24:00.000+01:00

If you've read so far, you'll probably understand the title by now. But I'll explain it for the sake of those computer nerds (I just love to hate them), who probably have a second window opened in their browser with a porn site they're trying to hack without having to pay the membership required to see re-run dirty movies or the 3,058th spread pussy pic. I feel that my body is not responding to my mind. It's as if it's being possessed by an alien creature. Something inside me is urging me to get laid, yet, at the same time, my brain is procuring a woman to seduce. As you can see, it's not something I can easily get rid off with a jerk-off. I need both the feel and the presence of a real woman. A woman I haven't met before: the ideal woman. No, that's wrong, not the ideal woman - just the ideal fuck. Yet, I also need to be enticed, seduced, challenged in my wits... Such a tall order when the image I have of myself is telling me my chances to ever finding that woman are close to zero.

One obvious explanation is that this happens just because. In other words, were I feeling alright in my skin, I wouldn't crave for such women (ah, yes, the ever lingering optimism of a steaming threesome!...): my sexual fantasies and desires take over, knowing that I need to compensate my current rather low self-esteem. OK, that actually makes sense. But only to some extent: it doesn't explain why I'm split between desiring being ravaged by 'un-personal' nymphos and meeting a woman that fulfills the lesser tangible (yet equally - if not more - powerful) senses. I'm torn between the desire to have sex with a (or several) great female body (bodies) and the passion of an embrace that'll obliterate my every other emotion.

So, I confess: I am on a quest to find that woman. As if commanded by an exterior will, I decided to track down... a fantasy, a mirage, a female of multiple possible shapes (all of them goodlooking) or, alternatively, a woman with whom I'd ordinarily fall in love with, had I not dismissed the possibility of ever falling in love again. Arguably, this quest may lead nowhere or, worse, may lead to my doom. Imagine yourself threatened by a laser gun, its nozzle on your balls, and feeling that, notwithstanding, you need a good last cum before they get pulverised. What would you look for? A woman you really like for a companion or a beautiful body excelling in every sexual 'kamasutrian' gymnastics conceivable?

I chose the second. This is not such an obvious choice, unlike what my late pubertarian readers might think. For them, it's really not much of a dilemma, since their only female companion is their mother and not even aunts and sisters escape being the unknowing victims of their incestual wet dreams. No, there's something to be said about female companions and I, for one, always had a soft spot for clever girls. In fact, I get turned on if (provided they're not as ugly as to constitute an antidote to Viagra...) I'm outsmarted or outwitted by women. Maybe it is my feminine side, but I'm a sucker for women who can make me laugh. And, to be completely sincere, I would find it incredibly difficult to resist a woman who can make me laugh and can suck cock too.

A small interlude here, because this topic warrants: let's, for a moment, speak about blow jobs. I am persuaded that this 'alien invasion' could easily be put off (at least momentarily) if i could get my cock sucked now. I mean, of course, PROPERLY sucked. Not just some quick up and down thrusts nor that pathetic thing some women do with their lips pursed. No, I mean my shaft being moisted in a long and plentiful way; my head sucked and licked like sweet lollipop while my balls are being caressed by carefully manicured hands. Maybe even a finger up my ass while, with the other hand, she strokes the throbbing veins in my rod as, milking me to drink my sperm - as if possessed by the sin of gluttony and my dick and spunk were her ambrosia and nectar. And all the while she'd be smiling with the joy of soon being served my cream and treating my dick in frenzied adoration, commanding her every move and twist of the lips and tongue. That, my friends, is true cocksucking. I know, I've had it. My appreciation for all those women who've mastered that precious technique on me will be everlasting.

Alien Invasion (A Laser Beam Aimed At My Groin)

2003-07-21T18:12:00.000+01:00

My hair is falling off. At the age of 35, I'm struggling with the genetic inevitability of bodily decay. And, let me tell you, knowing testosterone is to blame offers little or no comfort. You look yourself in the mirror and you realise you're over the peak of your physicial constitution; and what's worse, it's utterly unfair, because I'm far from having lost any of my abilities. Quite on the contrary, I'm better in bed now than I ever was before. But I feel my seduction powers - the thing you need to get a woman into bed with you in the first place - are leaving me. Leaving me as every strand of hear vanishes for good. No four-letter word bears more insult or offence nowadays than BALD. Forget SHIT. Forget FUCK. Oh, and, by the way, if you're male and not balding - FUCK YOU. Remember testosterone and the role it plays in thinning hair? So, well, if you're not balding it's because you have a small dick. To all you guys with hair, don't tell me you've got a dick - at best, the word to describe your genitalia is "willie". I just hate that the penis is not for everyone to see as hair is. Otherwise, I wouldn't envy you at all. Oh, FUCK you just the same!

And why should it happen now, when I don't count myself as being beyond my prime? How am I to rate my chances, now? That's what's really bugging me. I can always shave off my head - it's fashionable and I'd look better than Agassi -, but I can't get rid of the feeling I could've done more or better before. No matter how many women you did in the past, it's a ghastly feeling knowing you're likely not to get as many as you did before. And the irony, of course, is that you know you're better now than when you had hair. I'm waging everything on women's unpredicability when it comes to choosing men - and, even more so, on their instincts to detect a man's charm before he's opened his mouth. But, I agree, it's a thin rope to be hanging from. Let's face it, ladies, wouldn't you pick the gift with the nice wrapping over the one in tattered paper? (oh, please, don't answer you'd pick the larger one instead: at 5'8", the size criterion doesn't help me much, either!). Oh, I can already see the smirk on some Internet-surfer nerd making some kind of inarticulate joke about "size matters". You know who I mean: those guys that take all the satisfaction in the world when they come across something than can be construed, in whatever twisted way, as confession that size matters and you don't have it. Even if all their prolonged puberty gave them was long-lasting acne and a penis of such microscopic size it would be missed by birds if they'd stick it in a box with maggots. Well, newsflash for those whose penis' erect state only differs from flaccid in the direction they aim: size does matters.

Unfortunately to me, though, it matters most when it comes to your body height than dick lenght. But, let's be honest here. Even if you know that women prefer taller men, who would give up half an inch of dick size for 4 or 5 inches in height? Aha, got you there! (OK, maybe midgets would...). But everyone knows midgets are great in bed. Not that I would really know, but this is MY blog, I won't let anyone put down (sorry, no pun intended) any fellow physically challenged males. Midgets are my mates, so THEREFORE they are great in bed. If you're a height challenged person reading this, I keep my fingers crossed you'll get laid tonight. With a couple of stunning svelte fellatio goddesses.

Truth be said, I reckon I could get some relief from my sex addiction if I manage to bring it down a bit, instead of trying to prove myself as a Casanova. True, in Casanova's days, men wore wigs; and what's more, wigs were de rigeur. Which means that both bald and rock star-type of hairy heads were on equal terms. And, in those days too, you could always count on some peasant's daughter to do your bidding. Times have changed: women have more rights and the odorific standards of my nostrils would rule out the possibility of a shag with a 'willing-or-not-so-much-so" farmer girl of yonder. Of course, I could always leave my Zyrtec pills at home and take my chances in the hay fields during harvest season. But I'm drifting... The point is, in modern times, I should perhaps use some modern thinking to my predicament. And that involves applying economics to sex. If I could persuade myself (and my body) of the basic principles of market economics, all I need to do is cut down on my demand for the fairer sex so as to match the available supply of pussy. This, so far, I was unable to do, but believe me when I say, this is the main reason why men get married: demand of one pussy, supply of one pussy! Plus several contract clauses ensuring your market share. Adultery, when successful, is added as extra gains or surplus profit.

Well, I'm neither persuaded nor willing to accept such crude equation of marriage. I'm far too romantic (OK, you faggot reader, I said the "r" word, but don't get any ideas; I've seen you ogling me at the gym, but that's all you're going to get!) to admit that bliss in marriage can be reduced to a zero result sex balance sheet of investment and income. At this point, I have to tell you that I really haven't made up my mind concerning adultery. I have serious reservations as to consider it immoral at all. I recall an anecdote where an already elderly woman broke up with her lover after her husband died. Puzzled by this (and the revelation she had been unfaithful), her best friend asked her if she didn't consider her adulterous conduct to be immoral. To what she replied that she didn't know whether it was more immoral to commit adultery than to end a long lasting and happy marriage. And she further added that breaking up with her lover was inevitable: with her husband (whom she loved regardless) now gone, she didn't want the other man to take her husband's place. And I can relate to this: if adultery is not a disguised form of unconsented bigamy, then why should it be immoral? Admittedly, you lie to your partner and you betray his or her confidence in you, but the guilt you endure from withholding the truth is the price to pay for a continuing happy union. Adultery, then, is wrong - in the sense that it's not the thing you should be doing, nor something it ought to be encouraged - but it's hardly immoral per se.