The Beach Girl...

Oh, just look at her. Oblivious to the world surrounding her. She reclines and lays dead still, absorbing the sun around her. I'm enchanted by her legs, her sexy back, her alluring tone. She's still oblivious to her surroundings. What am I doing here, I ask myself, what do I do, do I sit? Fuck it, I light up a cigarette and get warmed by the sun. A few puffs in, I start relaxing. I take another glance at the woman, I discover she's let her bra hang loose. Oh, painful. I already know she has a boyfriend. I already know that she's from America. God, what do I do?

I spot some subtle movement and I quickly turn away. "Did she see me? Fuck," I whisper to myself. Oh, it's time I break the ice. "Hey," the conversation begins. "I must say, you have a lovely tan." Seriously? I sound like a priest trying to pivk up little altar boys.

"Thank you," she replies, almost too cheerfully.

I get back to my business. What business? Shit, light up another cigarette to not look awkward...shit, take out a book. Read, Linda, read. Don't be too quick...just do it smooth, with one swift motion. Ahh fuck. New Year's Eve and I don't have my own woman to tan topless on the beach for me. Just my fucking luck.

Don't look, you can't look, you don't have permission to look. I end up looking, only for a second. God, just look at that tan. Usually, I'd be quick to go from talking, to flirting, but I doubt any woman who has a boyfriend that brings her to a place like Zanzibar, is definitely out of bounds. Think about it. Read, Linda, read.

After a few more pages, which I blindly read through, she ties her bikini and grabs her handbag...then we all know what happens next...leaves. "Fuck, she was in her own world and I just ruined her zen! Fuck!!!" I angrily whisper to myself.

I have no more words, "Bye, enjoy your day," she says, with a large smile and her eyes hidden by those shades. Pink shades.

Dead Rockstar Mentality...

"I've been waiting for hours! How long does it take these people to make a fucking snack?" asked the man who kept the soul of a real rockstar deep within his heart. His prescence was felt around the table, I'd been parentally allocated to. He lit up his fourth cigarette and he went on to rave about life, women, pedophiles and politics, surprisingly all in the same conversation. After a few more cigarettes and my blank shots in the conversations, he lit up a joint in the restaurant and again, continued. He was a man in his own world.

There's not a lot of them nowadays. And all the ones that are still living are usually found dying in a hotel room snowed in with cocaine and the never ending scent of strippers and flavoured condoms. We can only refer to these people as, Charlie Sheens, Kurt Cobains, Jimi Hendrixes, Winehouses, Joplins, Bukowskis, Hank Moodys and the like.

There's no use judging this brand of people. They'll simply laugh at your pussy whipped, realist way of life and continue enjoying the spoils which you secretly envy (fun, substance, liberation, peace, sex and knowledge), while you're left to bend over for authority (pitiful). You envy their freedom, yet you hold yourself back from happiness, too pussy to break the rules, norms and to stand up against the crowd, when you're told what to do and not to do.

The rockstar thrives on chaos and comes out on top. Wanna know how to kill a rockstar? You can't. You can only attempt to slow down this soul's metabolism, using gossip, shit talking, constant critisizing and humiliation. In the end, only a rockstar can rise above the masses and piss on the crowd below. Only  a rockstar can blow his own head with a shotgun. In the end, the rockstar is his own worst enemy.

I listened to his words of wisdom, trying to drown every syllabel in my naked mind. I get this sudden probe within my skull and I think that, I'd like to be that, someday.

Happy Fucking New Year...

One Last Glass...Cheers!

“If you're losing your soul and you know it, then you've still got a soul left to lose”
- Charles Bukowski


Time ticks slowly, like our hearts before a flatline, yet it doesn't take us long to realise that New Year's around the next corner. Wow! The year has definitely flipped the script on us and given us all the shitty roles in this romcom. A romantic comedy. That's the average storyline mother nature gives birth to. Some of us are lucky enough to be the hero or heroine who kicks some serious ass and gets the girl (or guy) like in those classic Die Hard films, where Bruce Willis's head still had hair and didn't look like an oversized dick on legs (no offence to Bruce fans, he's a great actor).

The year's events have become a blur to most of us...we can only speak of these memoirs, but oddly, it's hard to find the image. If you're trying to find the image to reminisce, let me remind you that 2011 has been playing the part of a serial rapist giving rufees to everyone of us. Why was this year so "chilled"? Why have we suddenly woke up at the brink of 2012? So many questions, but life's too short to dwell on the past and besides, some Mayan bitch spoiled the surprise and told us that, this would be our last year.

However, that's not the fucking point. The point that has been driving us insane, is the extremely cold whether conditions in the Republic of Lonlieness a.k.a.; One Man a.k.a.; Empty Bed a.k.a.; Dry Spell. Some of you Cupid victims have been enjoying the spoils and riches of sex, lust, pleasure and the deadliest being, love. Now, that's all mighty fine and fucking dandy for you lot, but always remember that you could've been one of us...Stray Cats. (More on that particular topic, maybe later)

So, I say to all my friends...everywhere: let's have one more drink and we'll say cheers as the bar, 2011, closes and 2012 opens.

"Don't Call Me..."

She said, as I listened through my cellphone, using my airtime. Once the woman I touched, once the woman I loved and now, the woman I wish I hadn't called, coz I need to get to the shop for some more airtime, since I wasted it on turning my Monday into a hangover, from that "Tequila Sunrise".

I never believed in getting involved in people's affairs, because one: It complicates things, two: someone ends up with either a blue eye, a broken rib, or shattered heart and three: Threesomes are tough, especially when it involves two of the fairer sex (yes, that's you ladies). However, even when I try to keep my distance, I'm still in her way. I'm the condom and she's trying to make a baby. Put simply, she has a boyfriend and my little puerile escapade to seduce her lost and inner burlesque sexuality, has become something more of a problem.

I never had a problem being blown off, it's similar to a one night stand produced by heavy consumption of alcohol, you simply do not want to see one another the morning after. The predicament, is being blown off by the Tequila Queen herself. My soul which was once, if not always, lit up by her erotic and pleasurable Tequila Sunrise had/has left me in the desert to fend off the vultures myself. She still laughed at my lame jokes, she still smiled...the kind of smile you can hear over the phone, more clear than watching HD porno's, she still left me with that "morning glory" tingly sensation she always gave me.

I felt as though I was those wretched femme fatales on porn castings. Beautiful contessas, coming in at their own time and screwed during an interview, with a light, "Don't call us, we'll call you..." line and never being called after being fucked for nothing.

It kind of makes sense. She wants this guy. She loves this guy. If I was in her shoes, I would leave myself to die in the desert, with lonely nights of Playboy issues and the expert's choice in pornographic content.

I said my goodbyes when I heard my phone bleep, with more of my sarcastic and lame jokes. She laughed and the call ended, my soul went cold, like a new born baby who's been man birthed on this planet. My smile disappeared and the casual grin returned. A few, "fuck this shit, I don't care" 's and I was on my way, again.

What is the truth about it all?

A Blank Page and a Line of Cocaine..

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Need To Jack Off!

If you are reading this, I appreciate your time.

I haven't been myself lately and have been experiencing a fuck-load of writer's block ever since a certain event occured in my life. I need to escape.
If you looking for a post about the stupid shit we as fucktards like to do, I'm sorry, but I'm lost. I need sometime to lie down in the bed, that is my world, and jack off till I find what I'm looking for.

I'll be back in the near future and hopefully, that might be soon.

Linda Hates You All....

Peace.

Sealed Shut...

I'm trying to say something, but my mouth is sealed shut. I see the girl, the woman...I take note of the mystic grotto she possesses. I can feel the words running around my head, but my voice can't swallow the thoughts. I just keep choking on it, like a pornstar, swallowing the load of a macho man.

It's not any woman, it's usually the lady of town. The lady with an easy virtue. I'm not taking advantage of anyone, but myself. Either way, I still can't grasp it...my erotic concept. I feel it, dripping wet and ready for me to take on the word's promiscuity, but like oiled up boobs, always hard to grasp and I'm left with morning wood.

I feel sorry for the men who shiver, when talking to beautiful women. I feel sorry, for the men who can't even wank on their mind, to ejaculate the simple words of, "hell and O"

I have no fucking pity, however, for the guys with enough balls to take on a threesome, but lose the erection when push comes to shove.

I don't blame the ones that can't sum up the guts to speak to the pussy...cat. She's a lady of a certain description. Without the right substance and an inch of viagra, my mind becomes hidden to when her lips may salute and the lucky pierre cannot get the right hard on.

I can't write, I can't do anything...she's just a little charmer, with pussy eyes and quite a degree in fellatorism. She's my temporary addiction, one fix after the other and I think I'll live.

What's Your Title???

I hate titles. The world gives us titles. So does the government, so do your parents and friends. You might be thinking that they are part of the world...no they're not. We are just the accidents that came, when Mother Nature forgot about birth control and this world is just our orphange. Fuck, we are some messy children.

Why do we give titles like the "nerd", or "porn addict", or "player", or "slut". We are such wankers, sexually frustrated, that we take our issues out on the pussies around us. We suddenly run this world, this orphanage and whatever we do, we gotta suffer for it. It's like sex in the wheel barrow position, very limiting. It's funny, guys are called players and praised for their cocksmithery, but women are called sluts and abandoned for their fetishes. Very limiting. It's like blaming a guy for using a cunnilingual approach on the wrong pussy, in a dark room, filled with swingers.

Who makes up these rules? Seriously, we not following the orders of the big guy. We are following the rules of other players, sluts, nerds, homos, drunkards etc. Do we think about giving them titles? No. Why? Because...because...because...ummmm.

We are just being ejaculated on by the "society makers". We are not doing a damn thing about it. We are all letting ourselves be the pornstars, in a movie produced by the people who make up these rules and we can't say no, because these rules turn into laws, which turn to repeated dropping of soap and don't think the women got it easy, gentlemen. I have had a few encounters with some female convicts and the stories aren't pretty.

So, what the fuck is going on? I'll tell you, we are all being fucked. Right now, as you read this shit, the society makers have got you bottled in the most risque orgy and they are all fucking you.

Tequila Sunrise

It's the kinda feeling she leaves you with, even after eight months of silence. The thought of the things we did together, makes me abnormally hard. I used to call her the Tequila Queen, but now that I don't have those pictures she sent me, I don't know what to call her, other than Sunrise.

Never got a chance to hold her in my arms, or bring out my variaty of positions that I spent years of visualisation to perfect, but I still feel our hearts beat togerther, like mind fucking on the same page. I still know she likes being on top and that her favourite food is pasta, sushi and steak.

It was always the sex, it was a way of love and nobody told us otherwise, but ironicly I talk about her, yet she's no longer mine to do a little cunnilingus on, or fondle with and love. All this, but she knows...she's reading it and imagining the touch that no amount of top shelf pussy, can compare to the loving of a good woman.

-"This one is for you."

Fighting Fellatio

“Sex is interesting, but it's not totally important. I mean it's not even as important (physically) as excretion. A man can go seventy years without a piece of ass, but he can die in a week without a bowel movement.” - Charles Bukowski


Some of us keep fighting. What are we fighting for? We usually don't know until we get our asses kicked.
I got my ass kicked recently, yet I have this viagrated amnesia for what I am fighting for. Some people say, that love is blind, but I think love is just Mother Nature giving us a fucking golden shower.


Some people give an understatement and say, you've changed, but to me, it's just the lasting effect of a lesson learned, like never to go anal without the appropriate amount of lube, or else someone is gonna wake the neighbours.


I'm about to settle back in from a weekend that I never wanted to end, like all good things, but as I sit typing at 8:30 pm and after looking at my Facebook profile and recollecting the promiscuous events that ejaculated in this shit filled weekend, I can't help but think about vagina and the lessons I learned, that even on a Monday will stick with me.


It's nothing salacious, nothing that make will make you wet and start fellating yourself in the dark, but rather make you think about the times where you lost your balls, or you felt that your uteris was about to fall off, after that very thing you fought for didn't exist.


Either way, you get up and keep fighting, only trimmed pussies throw in the towel.

What Now?

Blaming someone for actions they did in the past is like, answering a phone call in the sixty-nine position; it's not appropriate. Either way, some people still want to hold on to the bad times and never look at the good that came before that; some people can't help, but cum before they're suppose to, because it's hard to maintain stamina when it starts to get good.It's never fun being dragged along a ride that was never to be, it's like foreplay without the action at the end of it all.

We pretty much sit around, waiting for something to happen, but some people have a tendency to drag you into their problems, as if we want to hear how your partner thought your clit, was near your anus.

This pretty much tells the story of the One That Got Away (the first one). She still lets me know she's wet for me, but the fact that she has her eyes settled on a passer by, kinda shrivels me testes.

Chasing A Dream...

As we grow older and our erections get softer, you realise that life is, in fact, Mother Nature on her period. The year changes, but the days repeat; Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday and again and again, like sex in monogamy. Life repeats, time goes on and only the year changes.

It's amazing how we are all ego-maniacs in one way or another. We all think we're smarter, we all think that we know more, we think we can fuck better and give better head than the pornstars we call our peers. Yet, we still look for more...more positions and more condoms to make our lives better.

In the end, those things don't make it better and we keep wanting more. Never looking at what we have. We are all like woman, who have Orgasm Dysfunction...never fucking satisfied. When we can't get what we want, we become babies...we become infants carrying nuclear explosives and an issue of Playboy Magazine.

Are we happy? To qoute a man, who continues to inspire me even long after he's in hell: "That's the problem with drinking, I thought, as I poured myself a drink. If something bad happens you drink in an attempt to forget; if something good happens you drink in order to celebrate; and if nothing happens you drink to make something happen." - Charles Bukowski

The World is pissed at us, Karma is out to fuck us over, as God laughs at our desires and fetishes, because in the end; they don't matter. What a truly fucked up world we hide in...

"Bye Bye", she said

It's funny how we only start to appreciate something when it escapes our clutches and disappears into the mist. That's the bad habit that possesess my libido, as well as, the libido of many others in this world...man and woman.

She says, I can always talk to her, that she'll always be there for me. People like me don't talk about their problems...we drink it away and go down on the next girl like the good pornstars we are. Truth is, I broke her heart. Yet, she still wanted me to become her vibrator...her little fuck toy. It was fun while it lasted, until she changed. "Yeah, I like him," she said, with a smile and eyes directed to the next guy. Wave, 'bye bye boner', I thought, after she told me she liked another.

I can't help, but feel a little anal discomfort to her words. I'm not hurt, nor am I jealous...I don't know how I am.

What Do You See?

If you're reading this; you're probably expecting my usual selected words that remove the demure off a woman like a liquefying stripper artisticly whispering the clothes off her body. Not your everyday stripper. But hey, I'm not here to do so, neither am I going to discuss my stripper experiences, no.

Ever wake up one day, feeling secluded in as many ways possible, even sexually? You wished that there would be someone, someone to go down on every desire, to surf through your heart deep like an orgasmatron? Too many lonely nights, and soon your heart starts to feel naked...it's just not right.

Some people have fantasies and wet desires, but can't share them. You wake up one day, nude and you look out your window, you'll see the world is yearning for what we most desire to evoke...the same thing you just woke up for.

Makes you wonder who made up these fucking rules. It's a cage; the world we live in, with golden bars and enough lube to jerk ourselves off for another thousand centuries. Some people are embarrased of their provocative nature and salacious desires, but don't realise that the vivacious fantasies we intoxicate ourselves under are the same, even from the past.

Did you know, Cleopatra used a box of bees as a vibrator when there was no Anthony to fuck her during those Egyptian nights. In the Victorian Era, doctors would make vibrators to treat women with hysteria (I guess God did save the Queen). Men have been jerking themselves off since the wheel was invented (disturbingly true).

Just look out your window one day, sit in a cafe, or walk in a busy street and tell me what you see?

"Shut Up and Fuck Me!"

The five magic words that any guy with a decent boner and understands the basics of the English language would want to hear from any woman with a vagina and two shotguns on her chest. That's the hard truth to face, but not hard to understand! There are many variations to this simple equation, but basically: dick + pussy = pleasure (unless he cums quicker than he thinks). Another variation is: dick + pussy = preggers (holy fuck nuts in deed). But, like I said; I'm not good in maths.

Aint this boring? This year? Admit it, you were expecting this year to be awesome, but it's a little too...fair, like the soft porn movies on late night Mnet Action (usually 00:00am on Friday nights) and like the actors we are faking the happiness this year is ejaculating amongst us. But, the year doesn't appreciate fakers, soon it will bite one of us in the ass, none of that kinky vampire roleplay shit, too, I'm talking hardcore rabbies (however the fuck you spell it).

Okay, another thing I wanna bitch about is; who forgot to put a leash on cupid this year? He's like a Native American who thinks we are gay cowboys! Why is everyone in-love? Okay, maybe I'm being mean since I blew my chances like a male pornstar shooting his load, but geez, where the fuck is my love? People like me get volatile when they are left to deal with things with a magazine and right hand band.

I think we should all take a dildo and stick it on those political posters that we see on every lamp post and traffic light on the main roads. Forgive me (or not), but I think I'm gonna tear off all of them (Helen Zille, Jacob Zuma etc), take a lovely dump on them and send them back to their official parties as a pre-election present.

The One That Got Away (part 2)

This is a sequal to my lively exploits. I don't know how it came to this. I was randomly invited to Menlyn Mall, the place I so deeply loathe, by my buddies. Got a call at 3pm asking me to tag along in their hopes of meeting new women...oh god, why me?

It was pretty fun for an extremely overrated mall. I met a lot of people I knew from my old schools and shit...but I aint gonna talk about the basics. I'm talking about the one that wanted to be a part of me at that moment, that time, that part of my life for afew mintutes, but turned away.

I don't know what came to me...I just had a risque' conversation with a beautiful woman. Shorter than me, but her words made me want to do things to her...salacious things. I wasn't in the mood of meeting new people, but the moment we had was like, sex over a conversation. Like filming a porno with good actors. She told me her dark secrets, her personal G-spot (not down there), what she wants a guy to do to her.

The conversation was getting somewhere...she wanted me to kiss her, but I didn't. I don't know why, but I wanted to. I was about to, I was even feeling her body, she moaned with pleasure, then said she has to go (even before I did anything). I tried to stop her from leaving, but my words never worked and I found myself a lonely soul with nothing but a cigarette to soathe my needs.

I wasn't offended, I was happy in a sense. A woman who can keep her moral grounds, a woman who can leave me with my imagination. Imagination is a dying art, like foreplay. People give it up easily (men and women), they don't leave another wondering...it's all pussy, boobs and ass. It's too easy. What happened to class, what happened to sexual respect? I tell you, that's a turn on.

I have nothing more to say about my runaways...

Oh, Promiscuous World...

"An orgasm a day keeps the doctor away." - Mae West

We have habits...all of us. We have fucked up habits, especially when it deals with love. Love...for some odd reason, people ask us what love is...in all honesty, we don't fucking know. I am glad no one knows, it would ruin the mystery for me completely.

I aint talking purely on the basis of salacious activities that our bodies desire. The intimacy that we so desperately try to hold on to and do things we have never ever done before. I am talking about love to you motherfuckers out there...all of you!

We all have it, that person we love all so desperately, but we are too hard headed to admit the fact, because it feels like pure anal rape in those prison showers (you can't drop the soap). I fucking hate love, it makes me wanna get drunk and for get about it, but drinking only thickens the thought. It swirls around you like venom in your blood stream...you don't want it, but you won't let go of it.

Maybe I'm just talking shit, which I always do, but my shit is the truth! I'm not gonna accept love yet, I would rather wait till I can open my heart, like Sharon Stone and her legs from that scene in Basic Instinct...which was fucking hot, I might add.

We are all lost, searching for the next best thing in our pathetic lives, but you think you never gonna find it...well, you're wrong. We always find that oppertunistic part of our lives and we grab it. It comes continously. You gotta be a soldier in this promiscuos world. You gotta learn to control the world's sex drive and choose when to say, "I want some!"

Thoughts...Dark Thoughts.

Nothing sinister, their just thoughts. Thoughts that might make me the bitch of a prisoner named Butch. Thoughts that will make me a nuisance to the general public. Thoughts that might get me exiled. Just thoughts...

I sat there looking at her, as she spoke with a tone of risqué. Not the type of lady I would find myself painting the town red with, but the type of woman I would most certainly find myself sitting across the dinner table with, at seven in the morning, listening to the awkard silence caused by the previous nights events. My coffee: probably warm, taking sips that echo around the atmosphere...definitely awkward.

This is all just a thought as her voice became nothing than a background dialogue, like an extra pretending to have a conversation in a sitcom. My thoughts were the ones guiding my eroticized eyes on her...on her body. The things that I can, but can't imagine doing. Reason being; it's just not right.

A great woman once said: "When modern woman once discovered the orgasm, it was combined with birth control, perhaps the biggest single nail in the coffin of male dominance."

We all have people we wanna knock heads with, but for the time being, we are able to control the salacious minds we poison and restrain our sexual weapons.

Like I said, just thoughts...

Sexual Terrorism...

How to Identify a sexual terrorist:
1) You have a connection.
2) They give you a tingle down there.
3) They leave you wanting more.
4) You tend to find yourself imagining a sexual scenario with them.

We are losing the war on terror! I don't mean the one with the guns and the people with beards etc. I mean the one with the women who make wanna imagine shit.

I find myself a victim of some hardcore salacious terrorism. This is a threat that no man could prepare for. It took me by suprise.
We all know that feeling. It's not a person you find yourself dreaming about the future with. It's the person you find wanting to bump heads with.

She could dance. The music from the background moved her body in many ways that can't be explained. Slow, sexual and alluring. I was pretty much undressing this woman with my eyes wide open, before she helped herself. Flexible; her legs did the split, I always fancied myself as a leg person, not really into cleavage, but I made an erotic exception. She didn't make any eye contact, she just watched herself in the mirror, her body did all the talking.

She moved backward, taking slow steps towards me, she turned around and whispered something in my ear.......

To Be or Not To Be (A sex worker)...

That is the million dollar question we ask ourselves...literally, the sex game is a multi-million dollar business (high five to the pimps and hoes out there!).
I really don't know why people fuss about selling sex. Sex is what every 40 year old virgin bargains for when they sit at home exercising their right arm muscles while they look at some..."videos" on the web...the same web that gives us Cartoon Network and the weather for the day. I dare you to go to Google and type in; fellatio (yes, right now).
If you got balls and a clit, you would type it in and take in the results, having the pictures engraved in that lost mind of yours.
If you are a pussy, you would read on thinking you are better then the people who typed it in. Well my anal loving friend, you are just asking for some fellatio or a cunnilingual sensation to lurk on the "South Side".

Seriously, why is sex such a taboo. It's a forbidden topic. Not that I don't like "forbidden", but some people want to have a handjob in peace and not have to worry about how awkward the next church service might blossom to be. I have sympathy for priests and nuns...I do.

You gotta earn cash, whether it be working the windows in Red Light District, or appearing in the videos next to a bad actor who happens to be hung like a moose (he wouldn't be in the movie if he was a 3inch rock 'n rolla). Let a hoe be a hoe, no one is judging.

Holiday Pleasure 101

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Cellular Experience...

I never enjoyed communicating with people over Mxit, mainly female. It lacks intimacy in the most obvious of reasons. It has no passion, no pleasure. You all know what I mean…I mean love. I think it just helps people to hide behind the texts they send to their acquaintances, friends, mistresses, muses and lovers. It’s no wonder half of the people out in this world are horny, frustrated and wet. They have to deal with promiscuity online and away from the human face, just because someone can only be salacious online, as they slip away from reality.

I called her last night. It was late and our conversation just got heated online. I need to call her, I thought. She answered with the sound of pleasure, the sound a woman gives off when living a cunnilingual experience. We were sharing our desires over the phone. Her tone was alluring, as I heard her moans with every word I broke in the climaxing seconds. There are no words for what happened that night over my airtime (good thing she’s Vodacom).

Even if it was over the phone, it meant more than what other people do in a orgy stimulating chat room filled with the models of Victoria’s Secret. We still had a true line of conversation. In reality, Mxit sucks transsexual cock when it comes to intimacy.

To Part Company...

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The One That Got Away...

The Girl: Linda, I'm scared.
Me: Me too, but I don't listen to fear...I tackle that shit.

She wanted to, but didn't want me to. I wanted to, I had to. We wanted to undress each other, after all we've been through. I shouldn't be doing this, I thought, but that body, her lips; I want to run my hands all over her body. I know she wanted to, I had my mind reading GPS with me...I stored it up my ass.

I walked around the salacious room we had once anally stumbled upon. I took a step forward towards her, she took a step back away from me, but we got closer after each pace. Her breathing got deeper and faster, it must have been like Victoria Falls down there. It felt as if I took two viagra pills, and I've never had viagra...yet.

Time stood still, I sat down on a chair, brought her close to me and our lips met. It meant something. I brought her closer, and closer. I felt her body on me. It was magic, and before I could say anything of significance, she walked out the door, gone.

She didn't trust me...I wouldn't trust me. That was the hard truth. Sometimes the things that happen in the past affect the people you finally learn to care for in the long run.

Holiday...

"Guys...let's go out to Woodlands?" he asked.
"Sure, why not." We replied, getting out of the smoke filled house.

That was the first time I left that house since Monday. By that time I was pissing puffs of smoke and my drunk metabolism could make five erotic sextapes...need to get intimate.

Nothing like using your mind. No fuck math, I mean, using your mind to undress the opposite sex...or same sex, however you roll. Everybody does it, one way or another. The imagination is what turns fucking to sex and sex to love.
You probably wondering about all those Kama Sutra techniques...Imagination.

Yes, I have thought about creating my own. No, I can't finish the whole book in one day...even if she wants at the back; I'll probably pass out after twenty four (one for each hour).

Hazme El Amor

No worries, I won't start speaking Spanish just yet, but I will start talking about how confused I am.

I'm confused, and shit is only getting worse. It's true what they say, you know...attraction is not a choice, even when it comes to the clitorial one night stand. There is always some level of attraction when it comes down to it.

Even if he just wanted to make you quiver and moan with his cunnilingual talents, even if she gave you more than a liquidated jolt with her artistic form of fellatio.
(That's not what I'm confused about though.)

I like to think of myself as a, whatever makes you happy kinda person. Whether it's owning a, sit on my face collection of porn, or getting an orgasm or two from thinking of your bestfriend's mother and/or father.

The world is a fucked up place...even fucked sideways in some cases and this is the throat deep root of my confusion. Why do we insist on judging people by their fetishes and viagrated imaginations, and not bother wondering about our own?

Passers By

It's never fun passing by a beautiful woman. You always wonder what's fucking her in that mind she so elegantly carries. You wonder what she's up to in these promiscuous nights, when you pass her on the so-called, light of day.
These women. They're all different. Some wanting more. Some wanting love. Some wanting to fuck. While others, in pain and just wanna stop trying (usually the low-lifes...but I'm not perceptive).

But then there is the mysterious one. She comes in all shapes and sizes. She has different vices; alocohol, cigarettes, kama sutra, cunnilingus, sex. She is everywhere and for some reason she is always alone, like she is waiting for someone to take her on doggystyle. Sitting by the Mugg & Bean, having coffee. Sitting at the Menlyn arena, having a cigarette. The aisle of the liquor store, grabbing the bottle of vodka and whiskey. The tavern in Soweto, slowly moving to the bass. The till of the supermarket (what is in that bag???).
Passing me by, in the street, while I smoke my cigarette.

I sense common ground from this bundle of sex and beauty...enjoying the small moments of life. I can hear her wanting me to do things to her. I can hear her whisper shit to me. I can hear her heels in the busy district of Sandton. I can hear her saying something to me in that head of hers...

I just never cared to ask...yet.

King Of The Damned...

Have you ever have one of those days, where it feels like you were anally raped by a black man and you just sit there wondering how it would have been better to settle for a tug-job? Then you are not alone...in a promiscuous sense, I have encumbered myself in quite that feeling in a non-literal way.

Like I said, I love my opposites, they make me feel warm, loved, unsurprisingly hard in my pants, but sometimes we deserve a break for the misinterpretations of mixed signals during one-on-one time...you really looked wet enough for me to move in for the kiss back there, and hey, you can't blame me for trying. Yes, you told me a hundred times that you have a boyfriend, but when you start stroking a mans junk under the table at dinner, you start giving the guy the impression that you wanna lock him in a room and start creating your own Kama Sutra guide. So, what do you say, wanna get the vibrator out, while I pop some viagra?

Usually, I find it interesting to see what might happen next after these salacious misinterpretations, especially when she shows signs of wobbly legs there after. Yes, I put two or more of my fingers there, but I seem to recall you not wanting me to remove them from that area, and you insisted I cuddle here for the night, not to mention the cunnilingual and fellatious exchange we had during that time period...guess we got a little caught up in the moment.

I'm all down for the whole honesty shit you got going with your boyfriend, but next time I would like "diplomatic immunity" when it comes to these matters, especially regarding sexual relations. I'm a lover of all positions (doggystyle included), not a fighter of kung-fu.

Please, let's agree not to put our salacious compulsives into play...let's...just...ummm...watch a movie, with popcorn, blankets, a bottle of vodka and a pack of condo...I mean cigarettes.

It's Complicated...

A great man once said, "There are two things a man should never get involved in, and that's money laundering, and a scandal." That man was right in many ways, but I shall never give him the satisfaction of telling him.

I had the satisfaction that the many men that wanted her never had, but I should have known that when she wanted me to be the stud that grabs her ass like I owned it, she had her boyfriend...or ex-boyfriend roaming around like money collected in a strip club on a Thursday night.

No, I'm not jealous, I just have a this sexual tendency of wanting to mark my territory. So, I think her lips (both of them), that ass too, not to mention the shotguns...should be my half of the forbidden land of the female body.

Again, I'm not jealous, but I feel I have squatters right on that shit...

This is another example of a man's possessive nature and as you all might notice, I'm not the same man I used to be...I'm sexually frustrated.

That Girl...

I was fucking tipsy, fucking horny and turned on by the dress she wore (fuck I wanted to rip it off)...thinking about it makes me wanna touch myself in a bad place.

It didn't matter then. Her age never phased me until now, but after the sexual tension in the air and her need for more we kinda grew apart.

We where behind the cottage, in the darkness away from civilisation...alota kinky things could have circled around us in those few minutes of "alone time"...inevitably it did. She sat close to me, I could feel her breathing on my neck, my mind wondered away and she drew her lips closer.

Sometimes I wish that age was never a big deal, but as usual, God hates us all and leaves us to masturbate about our close sexual encounters with those soon to be women.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck..." I thought, as her tongue made her way to mine. It was great, I wanted more...we where fucking each other without the literal stimulation of a sexual nature. It was the moment, the adrenaline, the endurance that kept me going. To this day I ask how...how she got me in the zone of mental sex (she mind fucked me in other words).

I don't regret what I did, but my wondering mind hopes, that an encounter like that will hold better future endevours and not an awkward moment when we find each other locked up in a dark room.

What Was I thinking??

Don't know what I was thinking...calling her at 3am in the morning, actually I do...nah I'm wrong, I got nothing.
She picked up, my phone signalled I was out of airtime...with the few remaining seconds I hastly whispered, drowning in my emotions, "Please, call me back." and that was it.

All I can say is, it sucks being broke, but it's great to know you spent your cash on some kick ass weed.

It'll also be great to wonder what goes on in the mind of that woman who knows how to play a good game of hard to get, and not the girl who keeps inviting me to her classroom at break time to learn more about biology. +wink wink+

But what's greater is having a meaningful conversation with the opposite sex at those random yet perfect times.

30 minutes just passed...fuck, she didn't call me back!

Another Brick In The Wall!

You are all pussies!

Every single one of you. Even me in a nutshell, sometimes, but I shall continue to deny, till my hair falls off and I can't get a stiff one no more.

What do you do when you wake up on a Monday morning? Probably wake up, masturbate in your bed, complain about how much you hate waking up at 7o'clock. You wash up, brush your teeth, have breakfast, think about your excuse of a life and all your future endevours, you leave the door and as soon as you hit the road you become the accidental cunilinguist to the periodic granny of life. You become officially, "Another brick on the wall."

Probably right, aint I? If no, you're one of those lucky bastards giving fellatio to the good side of life. If yes, I think it's time you found a new representation, but keep to the light-side of life you are forever living, just because it's more premiscously entertaining, salacious and deadly in the rockstars eye of beauty.

No matter how fun the drugs, sex, alcohol and parties are, you find yourself alone, thinking about the one that got away.

Connection..wow!

A great man once said, "A morning of awkwardness, is far better than a night of loneliness." and that's the erotic truth...kinda gave me a tingle down there.

I took a walk through my salacious neighbourhood in need of airtime. Sucking in my surroundings like a pornstar, when I suddenly saw a girl smiling at me, from a lightly tinted 4x4. I smiled back as the connection ejaculated through our emotions. Her eyes pierced through mine like we where having sex. The kind of smile I get from a woman dying to fuck me in bed, but with more sentimental meaning, like we've been together in some other universe not so long ago. Then before my anally raped mind could process what the fuck was happening, the 4x4 penile extender drove off, breaking the sexual eye contact, between two species of the opposite sex. NOT COOL MAN! (estimated time of sex: 5seconds)

Probably won't see that sexy little female terroriser again, she certainly made me feel a little tingle down there, but hey, that's just me.
Guess tonight, I'm alone...fuck me!

I Love Women. I have all their albums.

There she was. By my side. Mind fucking me again. She won't let me figure her out. Won't tell me her story. Won't tell me why she dated an insecure wanker. Won't tell me the colour of her underwear...but she did tell me her bra size +wink wink+.

We mind fuck one another as we listen to her tunes on her new phone. Rocking to the beat of the music, mentally grinding on eachother. We didn't say a word. There was no need to...we just LOLed on Mxit. I made her laugh, she made me think about her underwear. I came. She saw. We fucked (not literally).

We both live by the Scarface code of silence, yet I have an orgasmic urge to figure her out. Like a little boy discovering he can cum with the stroke of a hand...he wants to do it again!

Can't Deny The Fucked Up Truth!

It just comes to show, most men are cocksucking pussies. When your president has four wives, you know that this world is coming to an end. The dying breed of real men like Kurt Cobain and myself is imminent on this once great Earth of ours.

Where politics just happen to rule our fucked up standard of living as taxes get ejaculated over us, and we sit and watch this fellatio happen right in front of us.

Who are those bastards that drool over kiddie porn while at work? The same bastard that runs this fucking country. The same bastards who have the cash to tear down an orphanage. The same bastard drop-dead gorgeous women date, only to find him getting head from his assistant.

Those dicks, their not men. Their just rich boys who have their assistant faking an orgasm just to keep her job.

This is a fucked up post! I don't know where I just got this shit from...I think it's writers block...FUCK ME!!!

Hate The Word!

"I hate that word...love." She whispered, as I stood fellated by her blue eyes and Fucked by the emotions behind her statement...anal discomfort.

I don't blame her. She knew the truth and not the fucked up fairy tale that blinds our pointless reality and fucks us in the end of it all. To quote a great man once said, "All good things come to an end."

After a couple dellusional relationships one goes through, they start to wake up from the wet dream that is love and start falling into the cocksucking reality that is lust...salacious in every naughty way.

Does that make us promiscuous? No. It makes us hold on dearly to that hairy cock we call life.

Sinking Ship

I hate you all.

It's a new era, where a woman is not judged by beauty, but by a great outlook on the fucked up society that we call home. Our country. Those bastards who see looks are cruising on a sinking ship. They can just go fellate themselves, while they wank over that woman they tried to bang in their Toyota Yaris.

Why me? I ask myself that question everytime I see her, as I take another drag from my cigarette. I hate it. The fact that she loves me, yet knows the damage of being emotionally attached to something that might not be...she deserves better.

I am bothered. It's not life that bothers me, it's not the beautiful woman I find myself performing cunnilingus on, while I think about a new Rolling Stones album. I am bothered with myself...hence my self-loathing.

But what I hate most is the fact she loves me. She will always love me, that's what she thinks, but I know one day there will be signs that she won't always love me, I think about this as I drown in my pussy filled pride.

The Harder Question

There's nothing more exciting than meeting your girlfriends ex and making him look like an ass.
While doing so, I grab her ass, not squeezing it like a fucking melon, but just enough to show him I own it.
But I guess the harder question is, why the male species is so willing to degrade its female counterpart by making her live by his standards while he makes-out with her so-called best friend in that very same spot you had your first kiss before he was the bastard he is today.