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.