To the Lovely Mandy and the Lovely Vassy on New Year’s Eve

So I have been imagining a scenario where both the lovely Mandy and the lovely Vassy and I would be alone together. Perhaps it is New Year’s Eve, or perhaps it is another time and place. Let’s say it was New Year’s Eve, December 31st, the year undetermined. Perhaps we all met at some party somewhere. I am not a big party person, but for some reason we all ended up at the same venue. We talked, drank, milled around the crowd but we soon found the party a bit insufferable, with all the drinking and loud, obnoxious talk, the desperate and fumbling attempts of hook ups by others, so we quietly snuck out and went back to my place to usher in the New Year. The three of us together had began to have a nice conversation at this party, and we wanted to continue that but could not amid the loud crowd, so we were glad to leave. Once alone back at my place, we sat on the couch, opened a bottle of champagne, and quietly continued our deep talk. It was nice, and we all got along well and our conservation ranged from various topics: cultural, political, sexual, spiritual.  We enjoyed the openness and honesty with each other. As I could tell, both girls were stimulated by a deep conversation and it drew us all closer together. There a few things more powerful than a mental bond with a girl, or two. As I have always said, I like intelligent women, and both Mandy and Vassy are quite qualified for that.

But both of them were also quite stunning in their dresses. Mandy was wearing a silver black dress that hugged her soft curves all so delicately and revealed her nice legs and cute ass; her long brown hair was pulled back in a very feminine way that enhanced her deep brown eyes and luscious full lips. She looked beautiful. Vassy also looked beautiful, as she was wearing a nice but modest skirt and sweater. She did not advertise her body too blatantly, but just enough to show me that she was aware of her own sexual powers and attractiveness. In the presence of both beauties I knew I would have a hard time resisting their erotic allure.

We talked and the time passed quickly and soon we were approaching the Midnight hour. In a typical cliche fashion we watched the ball drop in Times Square; cheesy, yes, but after a few glasses of champagne we were beginning to feel a little cheesy. But we also all knew what the passing of the midnight hour and the introduction of a New Year would bring. None of us spoke it, but I could tell by the way we were looking at each other, we all wondered. Would we kiss? And would it be awkward, or would it perhaps lead to something else. I think we were all taken up by the potentials and possibilities. Each new glass of champagne helped us to secretly contemplate these things even more.

Then, the moment came. The ball finally dropped, the hour changed, a New Year ushered in, and the world around us was in celebration. All three of us sat on the couch, with me at one end, Mandy in the middle and Vassy on the other end. There was a moment of awkward silence.

“Well, I think we should celebrate this properly, don’t you,” I said as I noticed Mandy looking at me with bright and inviting eyes and a beautiful smile. Her soft brown eyes always enchanted me like that. She smiled and giggled a bit and I couldn’t resist so I leaned over and gave her a small kiss. I had always wondered what her lips felt like, and when I finally felt them they were far softer and more delightful to kiss than I had imagined. It was a small kiss, but as I whispered in her ear “Happy New Year” I felt her hand gently caress my arm and shoulder. The fragrance of her hair was sweet and I wanted to kiss her again. And I did, but this time I also kissed her cheek and neck and as I did so I noticed Vassy watching us, and when our eyes met she giggled a bit.

“I think Vassy needs a kiss too,” I said, so I leaned across Mandy and then kissed Vassy. “Happy New Year, Vassy.” She blushed a bright, terrible red.

As I returned to Mandy I kissed her again and she put her arms around my neck and shoulders and swung her legs up onto mine, as if she were sitting on my lap. “Sometimes I have a hard time controlling myself,” she laughed.

“Don’t worry, I know what you mean.” We kissed again, but this time more passionately. I could feel the effects of the champagne, as our inhibitions were clearly at a low ebb that night. But I enjoyed every kiss Mandy and I were exchanging. Vassy was watching us, but I sensed she was a bit more hesitant, so I did not press things with her. I wanted her to join our make-out session, the thought was intensely erotic,  but on her own desire. I sensed she was enjoying watching Mandy and I make out.

And make out we did. Her lips are quite lovely, and soft and so kissable. And I love kissing a girl. But beneath those kisses I felt the deep sensuality of a girl who was discovering her sexuality, and the more we kissed, the deeper our passions burnt. Mandy and I had a strong and special emotional bond and we both felt it and this made our kisses all the more meaningful and wonderful. She is also quite lovely and a lovely girl is always quite kissable. Her lips, her tongue, her cheeks, her neck, all were explored by my lips. I ran my fingers through her long hair, and gently caressed her, while making love to her neck and shoulders and finally, and then, feeling the boldness that eroticism ignites, slipping the straps of her dress down past her chest, to her soft, round breasts. Her breasts were lovely and she was very sensitive to the touch and as I kissed and massaged them her moans and sighs became heavier and deeper. At times I noticed Vassy, quietly watching us, her hands rubbing her thighs through her dress. I knew all thee us of were turned on by what was transpiring, although none of us said anything.

As our sexual tension grew, as our make-session deepened into something more and more forbidden, before I knew it, and seemingly unaware of the passing of time, I had slipped off Mandy’s dress. I really can’t remember how it happened, but all I knew at the moment was that she was nearly naked in front of me. And I loved what I saw. “You are dressed in those lacy black panties of yours that I love. Now I finally get to see them.”

“Of course,” she said with a small laugh. “When I put them on tonight I was hoping you might see them later on”

And see them I did. “Thank you,” I said as I kissed her stomach and put my hand between her legs and marveled at how wet she was. She was completely soaked, the lacy fabric of her panties drenched with her juices. I needed to do more than just feel her though, so I slowly kissed downward, teasing her by kissing her nice legs and inner thighs. But suddenly Mandy became surprisingly aggressive. “Eat me. Now.”  And how could I not oblige her? So, as I now knelt in front of her while she was seated on the couch,  the panties came off and my face dove into that lovely part of her body and I began to feast on her delicious vagina. The moment my mouth tasted her she bucked, jerked and her whole body shook; then, as she got used to the sensation of my lips and tongue on her, she melted back into the couch, closed her eyes, and enjoyed the burning pleasures I slowly brought her.

I can’t remember how long I ate her, but it was a long, good time. She tasted wonderfully, a sweet but tangy taste. My face was soaked with her juices, the couch was soaked, and she shook violently the longer I ate her. She enjoyed running her fingers through my hair, pushing my face into her pussy, and wrapping her legs around my shoulders; the hotter she got, the more she grinded into me, the louder her moans and even screams became. She particularly enjoyed when I inserted one, and then two fingers inside her, and massaged the top wall of her tight vagina while my tongue caressed her engorged clitoris. I loved it, and loved giving her such pleasure. I sensed she wanted to come, but I also sensed she needed more, especially as, the longer my mouth made love to her vagina, the deeper her fingernails cut into the back of my neck. She did not hesitant to claw my skin with her nails. I loved it.

“That is so hot,” Vassy whispered. All this time she had been watching quietly, but I noticed her hand had disappeared into her skirt. Her eyes had become glassy and the other hand was now stroking Mandy’s hair, as Mandy’s head was turned to one side, her eyes closed, a look of deep pleasure on her face. The situation was indeed getting hotter.

“Yes, it is quite hot,” I said as I now raised my head from between Mandy’s legs and leaned over and kissed Vassy again, my mouth covered with Mandy’s juices. Our kiss was soft but passionate. Then I leaned back over and kissed Mandy again, also soft but passionately. But I knew Mandy needed more. As I have always said, Mandy is a quality girl, and a quality girl needs a quality fuck.

“Fuck me, please,” she whispered, her voice shaky with sexual desire, as my pants came off.

“Oh yes, I am going to fuck you, Mandy, nice and hard, to bring in the New Year. You deserve this gift.” And as I said that I turned her around. I loved the view. Mandy’s knees were on the couch, her hot ass in front of me, her pussy inviting me in from behind.  So I put the tip of my hard cock between her glistening lips and slowly entered her from behind. She gasped in intense pleasure. Her pussy was so tight and warm it is hard to describe, but she soon screamed when I entered her fully, filling her completely with my large cock, and immediately our fucking was furious. I pounded her, fucking her hard, grabbing her nice hips, pulling her onto my cock, slapping her cute ass, pulling her hair. She screamed and moaned, telling me to fuck her harder and faster and of course I obliged. I loved how our fucking was making Mandy incredibly bold and horny and aggressive sexually. It was such a turn on to experience that with her. And by this point Vassy was watching us and her skirt was yanked up past her hips and her white panties were pulled to one side and her fingers were vigorously massaging her clitoris and this turned me on even more. Occasionally she would lean over and kiss Mandy and even massage her breasts and Mandy would reach over and touch Vassy’s breasts and I can’t even begin to describe how hot this was: two of my favorite girls and I enjoying all this carnal, forbidden pleasure together. I was in heaven.

It is hard to keep track of all these sensuous memories, they all seemed almost surreal and melted together. Finally, it became too much for me and I could not hold back any longer and before I knew I had to pull my cock out of Mandy’s pussy. I did so, and with a great groan and shudder I shot my load all over her ass and all the way up her back and over her neck. As I did so I noticed Vassy watching and then convulsing in her own orgasmic pleasure, her head back, her eyes closed, her back arched, her legs tense, her hand cupping her pussy. Hot and breathing heavily, I leaned over Mandy’s back and kissed her and  Vassy joined and we all kissed each other at the same time and I felt Vassy’s curious hands touching and stroking my still hard cock as it lay on Mandy’s sweet ass and I could feel her fingers on my balls too. She then ran her hand up Mandy’s ass and back, and sensually rubbed all my creamy load into Mandy’s smooth skin. Mandy laughed and sighed and we kissed even more.

Exhausted, we all collapsed together, Mandy and I naked, Vassy still fully dressed but with a pair of very soaked panties.

“I think those panties of yours need to come off, Vassy.” I said as I touched her thigh. Vassy was sternly silent.

“Yeah, take them off.” Mandy laughed. “Mine are off. Its not fair. Yours now need to come off too.!” Vassy laughed, and to our great surprise she lifted her hips, ran her hands up inside her skirt, and slipped off her panties.

We all kissed again. The bedroom awaited us and with the New Year, many new and exciting experiences. All three of us got up, and I opened another bottle of champagne.

“Lets enjoy this champagne in the bedroom.” Both Many and Vassy laughed as I poured each a glass. And off we went into bedroom to further bring in the New Year and all its anticipated pleasures.

Happy New Year!!!

Marcial Maciel: A Glaring Example of Religious Sexual Hypocrisy, Lies, Deciet and Double Lives

Perhaps the most glaring example of religious hypocrisy and a secret, hidden life, at least within the Catholic Church, is that of the founder of a relatively new religious order, Marcial Maciel and the Legionaries of Christ.

For those who are not Catholic, a religious order is a group of men or women devoted to lead a consecrated, religious life. Some of the more famous and ancient orders would be the Benedictines,  Franciscans, or Jesuits, as well as any number of orders devoted to female consecrated life, i.e., nuns.  Basically the members take vows of poverty, chastity and obedience for their lives in order to better follow their religious calling. These groups may seem a bit strange to many modern observers, but their existence for thousands of years, not only in Christianity but in other religious traditions as well, is a testament to their validity and ongoing relevance.

Newer religious orders in the Catholic Church are always arising, and one of these was the Legionaries of Christ. Founded in 1941 by Maciel, this is an extremely orthodox, or conservative, order within the Church. Loyal to the Pope, to Church teachings, to Church traditions, the Legion set itself up as a bulwark against all the decadence of the modern world, as a bastion of traditional Catholicism amid a decaying civilization. They were considered by many one of the great lights of modern Catholicism in the battle against confusion and heresy. Their founder, Maciel, was favorite of Pope John Paul II, and the Pope even referred to him as “an efficacious guide to youth.” He was an orthodox star within an often troubled and confused post Vatican II church. By the 1990′s the Legion wielded great power and influence within the Church and today it is estimated to be worth around thirty three billion dollars.

Maciel with Pope John Paul II. The Pope severly misjudged his character.

However, the man lead a completely double life. In 2004 Maciel was sent into spiritual exile, and told to live a life of prayer and penance by the Vatican. He died in 2008 at age 87. After his death the real facts of his double life came out: he had a long history of child molestation, going back to the 1940′s, fathered a few children himself (one of whom said they abused him) and was also said to be a drug addict. He often used the enormous wealth the Legion acquired to fund his own private trips around the world, usually to visit one mistress or another. Often he would tell them he was a secret agent or a traveling salesman who some other lie. On his deathbed he was said to have completely lost his faith and preferred to be with his daughter and her mother than anyone else. Perhaps at the very end he finally decided to be honest with himself and those around him. Who knows.

What is so bizarre about this man is the extremes of his life: puritanical in public, debauched in private. Why I am mentioning it in this blog is because I think it relates one of my main themes: the struggle between spirituality and sexuality. Here was a man who in public promoted himself as a pious and holy individual, whose followers nearly worshiped him as a living saint, yet in private lead a life of sexual excess, lies and manipulation. Further, I think he is the most extreme example of something much more common and problematical in the Catholic Church: the secret sexual subculture within the mandatory celibacy rule. As most people can figure out, a Church cannot publicly promote one thing among its clergy, namely celibacy, while they are violating that rule in large numbers. The contradictions are too extreme. There can be a tendency towards a kind of sexual puritanism within the Church and this can often lead to maladjusted individuals attaining positions of great power. The recent sexual abuse scandal of the last decade is proof of that. Neither priests, bishops or even cardinals were spared.

I won’t get into the strange nature of the religious order he founded, the Legionaries of Christ, except to say that it has many cult like characteristics and seems to be unhealthy and even dangerous. Why it is not disbanded immediately by the Church baffles my mind. Don’t they understand that you simply cannot allow a religious order founded by a child molester to survive? What are people going to say, “Oh yeah, here is this great and holy religious congregation whose founder raped boys, including perhaps his own children.” Don’t they know how bad this looks for the whole Church? As a Catholic I find it extremely distressing. It seems that most things this man created is tinged with an evil that is far more corrosive than any of the nuttier, fruitier trends that Vatican II produced. Evil under the guise of Catholic orthodoxy is the most dangerous spiritual evil of all. The Legion, with its militaristic, cult like orthodoxy, attracts many naive young men, who then unfortunately later in life realized the damage such an organization inflicted on them. There are currently 800 priests in the order and another 2,600 studying for the priesthood. Their affiliate lay organization, Regnum Christi, has around 75,000 members worldwide. They also run a number of schools and universities worldwide too.

Legionary priests being ordained. One of the little weird things I noticed about them is how they all part their hair in the exact same spot, without exception. Bizzare, and a little cultish.

But again, what I find most interesting here is an example of the sexual double lives that so many people lead, not just clergy, but so many people in general. Often this comes out in public, especially for public figures. I often say to myself, why not just be honest? Why not just approach sex in an honest and natural way? As humans we are corporeal creatures. Why must there be this eternal division between sexuality and spirituality. Does it all go back to Saint Paul’s writings on the spirit vs. the flesh and the badness of the flesh vs. the goodness the spirit? Must we take everything so literally and extremely in the Bible. It seems this ancient division leads to more harm than good in people, promoting double lives, lies, guilt and anxiety over sex. I don’t offer any answers here, only questions. But it seems to me a healthy integration of sexuality and spirituality is what is needed; balance, not conflict among two extremes. Is Saint Paul right about everything? He was just a man, was he not? Where do you draw the line between what is considered the word of God and what a man wrote? The Catholic Church, as well as most Christian denominations, says the Bible is the infallible word of God. But what does that mean exactly? Do we take everything literally?  What things do we interpret more figuratively? I know these are fairly deep theological questions for which I do not, nor cannot, offer easy answers. But I have to ask the questions.

I am not trying to trash those who feel a legitimate calling to a religious life or to wholly devote themselves to God. There are many good and sincere people in bad organizations, especially bad religious orders. Nor am I criticizing the value of celibacy. Both these things are extremely important elements of Catholicism in particular, and spirituality in general. What I am questioning is the hypocrisy and sexual subculture which exists and which few in the Church seem to want to acknowledge. I think one way of dealing with this honestly is to simply allow priests to marry. And with a clergy shortage, there are many priests who did marry and who would gladly come back to serve, and many men who would be more willing to serve in the Church if this rule were done away with.  One interesting thing to note is that in the Eastern Orthodox churches, which are as old as and were once part of  the Catholic Church for a thousand years until the Great Schism of 1054,  clergy (except Bishops and monks) are allowed to marry and have always done so.  And no one questions the deep spiritual traditions of Orthodoxy.

But as far as sex and eroticism, the overall theme of this blog, life offers many example of the strange sexual secrets in the world around us, and I will have plenty more to write on in the future.

How I Escaped the Airport Hell of the Blizzard

Airports and blizzards don't get along well

I traveled to New Hampshire this weekend to visit some family. It had been a few years since I had been up there and I figured it would be a nice time and it was. It is always good to see family after several years, especially around Christmas. Food, gifts, seeing old faces, or new young faces, all in all it was worth the trip. In the back of my mind the whole time though was the prospect of a bad snow storm along the east coast on my day of departure. The flight up was not too bad, but I knew the flight back would be dicey, with the big storm coming from the west. Although no one seemed to know exactly what it would do, I sensed it was going to be bad. By Saturday night the meteorologists in Boston were saying this was going to be monster storm. So I left on early Sunday morning, flying from New Hampshire to Philadelphia for a connecting flight south, wondering if I would beat the storm or not. The flight out of N.H. went smoothly and when I  arrived in the Philly airport at first things seemed fine. There were few cancellations, no snow on the ground and different gates were boarding passengers. The skies were actually partly cloudy. I could clearly see downtown Philly from the terminal. I wondered if the great blizzard was going to be just another storm that never lived up to its hype. I felt calm and assured that I would get home in time.  Finding a quiet seat in the corner of the terminal, I took out some food and enjoyed a little meal while waiting for my flight. It was around 8:30 a.m.

Then the cancellations started. It was around 9:30.  I first became aware of this when a man sitting a few seats from me was reading from his laptop and suddenly exclaimed, “Fuck, my flight has been cancelled!” My flight was supposed to leave at 11:15. Then there were more cancellations. Frustrated passengers starting congregating at different gates to negotiate their fate. By the time my flight was supposed to board, the plane had not yet arrived. I was starting to become worried. The last thing I wanted to do was spend several days in an airport, trying to get out along with thousands of other stranded passengers. 11:15 came and still my plan had not arrived. It was a small connecting flight so there was only about 30 people waiting. People began asking questions, wondering where the plane was. I noticed a group dynamic had started, with some taking on leadership positions, others negotiating possible alternatives to travel, others quietly listening and following. One man, an experienced traveler, took on an alpha position, asking all the questions, suggesting alternative solutions to getting out of the airport, etc. This quickly evolving group dynamic was an interesting thing to notice, especially when complete strangers are put into such situations. Cooperation to manage the situation becomes the main driving force. Human nature adapts fairly quickly.

After questioning some airport workers, we learned that the plane had left late from the previous airport due to deicing, but was still scheduled to depart from Philly. Whether it would actually arrive was in doubt. In the worsening weather conditions, a number of things could go wrong. People were giving it a 50-50 chance. I fidgeted in my seat, walked around the gate area, watched more and more flights being cancelled, and stared at my feet quite a bit. Our gate person was an attractive young black girl in good spirits, kind and friendly and with a cute, firm ass. At least I had something nice to look at while I waited. A few sexual fantasies about her dance through my bored mind while she walked around. Hell, I needed something to distract myself. I thought, well if I do get stranded, maybe she and I could find a nice quiet spot somewhere during the night. By her demeanor I sensed she probably loved to fuck and was a screamer. My human nature never changes: even in the most stressful of situations, I still like to think about fucking pretty girls.

The snow started around 11:00. The winds began to pick up. Whereas before I could clearly see the skyscrapers of downtown Philly, they were now becoming increasingly shrouded in clouds until finally they disappeared all together. The storm was starting to engulf us. Still no plane. All I could see out the window of our gate was an empty tarmac, starting to resemble more the snowy plains of the north pole than a big city airport, with whatever planes left quickly leaving and flying out to safety, apparently without any passengers. The people who were once calmly sitting and waiting were now mulling about the terminal, watching the arrival and departure boards, seeing the increasing number of “cancelled” flights. By noon most flights had been cancelled. It started to feel like a execution. It was only a matter of time before we were the next ones to be thrust into the hell of stranded airport passengers. I prayed. I figured it couldn’t hurt. At least it gave me some sense of control over things. The black girl with the hot ass remained a nice distraction though between prayers.

Then, out of the snowy skies, our plan arrived. It was one of those older propeller driven planes and, perhaps in a strange twist of fate, was better adapted to fly in these conditions than the newer jet engine planes. Even though I had taken these types of planes numerous times, I noticed for the first time how these particular planes resembled something you might see flying about Alaska, with the wings being attached on the top, rather than on the belly of the fuselage. I know nothing about planes, but a ground crew worker told me once that these types of planes are good for flying in snowy conditions. The ground crew had done a good job of getting things ready for a speedy departure, so the previous passengers quickly departed and we hurriedly boarded. I did find it amusing how, during these tense moments of people wanting to get on the plain, the worker at the gate still went through the routine of announcing our flight was ready to board and then calling us out zone by zone and we all lined up accordingly. I knew that we would not be free until we were in the skies, and that at any moment the flight could return to the gate and be cancelled. We taxied to the runway. Then we stopped. The pilot seemed to turn the engines down. I feared the worst. Had the weather conditions so worsened that the plan could not take off? The snow was swirling outside the window and I could see little. It seemed bad. Was I this close to freedom, only to be turned back.? That would be crueler than just having the flight cancelled all together at the terminal. Then, to my great delight, I saw the deicing liquid splashing all over the windows. My hopes increased. Then engines then revved up again. As one woman said to her small child when he asked what that sound was, “That is music to our ears.” In a few minutes we were moving again until we finally reached the runway and the pilot told us we were the next to take off. He then thrust the engines harder than I had ever felt, jerking the plane, pushing me back, pinning me to my seat as the plane burst up the runway and rocketed into the sky. We were free and heading home. I had escaped the monster blizzard.

The Dash 8 Aircraft. I know nothing about planes, but was told these are good planes in the snow. All I can say is that it got me home.

As I now watch on the news the horror stories of people stranded at airports for numerous days, and that 10,000 flights have been cancelled since I left Sunday, I have never felt so lucky. Perhaps my prayers had something to do with it? Only God knows.

Merry Christmas!

Nativity Scene

Despite the often salacious nature of this blog, I actually have certain fairly deep spiritual beliefs. I believe in God, for instance. I am sure most people of a religious bent would find this blog strange if not sacrilegious, given some of my explicit sexual posts. Nor can I offer any coherent explanation of why I write certain things, except to say I want this to be an open and honest discussion of different issues: mainly cultural, intellectual, spiritual, and sexual. I also enjoy the entertainment I may provide people with some of my more outrageous posts.  I have both an extremely high sex drive and a deep need for spirituality as well. Perhaps these contradictions are too extreme to sustain. I really don’t know.

If you do believe in God, you can spend your entire life wallowing in secret desires and even lifestyles. Many religious people often lead double lives, saying one thing and doing another. I could write many posts on this and I in fact plan to. So I try to be open about everything, and perhaps there are others who feel the same way, or derive some sort of benefit from my writing.

If I detach spirituality from dogmatic religious beliefs, then it is easier to discuss these things. For instance, it is pretty much agreed among scientist and psychologists that prayer is a good thing. Prayer leads to a more healthy life. And of course there are different types of prayer, depending on whatever religious persuasion a person may be.

Writing exclusively about sex and sensuality can get boring after a while, so I will probably be writing on different topics too, as I have already done. I added new blogroll of spiritual blogs, just to broaden things a bit. But then again I always consider blogging a work in progress.

But in the end, the bottom line for me is that I need both spirituality and sexuality in my life. At times one is stronger than the other, but I think the best path is some sort of integration of the two. How one does this within a Christian context is often difficult and different denominations emphasize different things. So I don’t offer any answers here; I only offer my own experiences and perceptions of the world around me. One the powerful things in the world for me is beauty, and beauty in all its various manifestations, whether it be in women, in nature, in art, music or literature, or in whatever manifestation, such as the kind smile of stranger during a difficult day. Beauty is not a bad thing, rather, we can say that God designed beauty for us to enjoy, including beautiful women. This does not necessarily always mean a sexual enjoyment, but I don’t believe it excludes it either. And of course the most important Christian concept is love, even though most Christians may be a bit deficient in this area, including myself. But writing about love can be related to writing about sex, and the best sex by far is sex in the context of love. Even Roissy values the power of romantic love.

Christmas is a holiday enjoyed by most people; even most of those who are not Christian can see the value in this event and derive some good out of it, especially if we think of it as an event of love and goodness. So I want to wish everyone a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

I Love Good Girls Too (Or The Beauty of Modesty)

The good girl is perhaps even more alluring than the slutty girl...

Given some of my previous posts, this one may seem a bit schizophrenic. But one of the themes of this blog, at least for me, is the tension between the sexual and the spiritual. We are often told that the best thing in life is to achieve a balance between the two, but striking that balance is often difficult. My last post I dealt with the purely corporal, sexual, enticing aspects of eroticism: the allurement of the slutty girl. This post I would like to focus on something a little bit different, the other side of feminine allurement, the modest girl. I suppose the best would be to find a girl who is a mixture of both: modest on the outside, a slut in bed. Yet modesty is not that superficial, nor is being a slut. The modest girl may have religious reasons, or she may simply be frigid or dislike sex; the slut may simply be a girl with a high sex drive a few inhibitions. So these are much deeper emotional and psychological qualities than labels can apply. Perhaps the ideal integration of these two is impossible to achieve, or perhaps all girls are really mix of the two on some level and the one or the other may come out at different times, depending on the circumstances.  Perhaps it is simply that I love both sluts and good girls equally and always look for a combination of both in my women and if that is impossible, I like to enjoy both on an individual basis.

Why do I find the modest girl attractive? It is hard to say. If she has some sort of spiritual center, that makes her even more attractive. There is something, at least for me, quite alluring about a modest woman. As much as I enjoy the slutty girl, in reality, a modest girl is much more attractive than the skanky, hoe mentality that so many girls seem to take on today. A good example of skanky, hoe mentality would be the strange show, “The Bad Girls Club” on the Oxygen channel. I have happened to catch a glimpse of it every now and then while flipping through the channels and if this is any indication of what young women hope to become then our country is all but lost. I am sure it is great entertainment, and I am all for a good laugh whenever I can get one,  but in reality girls who act like that are so unattractive.

There is a certain kind of beauty to restraint. I am sure part of it is simply my own male instincts at play. Men need to know that the women they love are not sleeping with other men, that the children they bear are our children (even though I have my own filthy and perverse fantasies about these sorts of things). An attraction to modesty is probably linked to all this, since the modest women is more likely to be faithful than the slutty woman. This would be the more primal response to modesty. Of course I have also written about some of my darker desires when it comes to enjoying sex with women, but I suppose, in the end, if I had to make a choice, I would always choose in favor of the modest girl.

But there is also something about a girl having standards, of having self respect, of not being easy that is attractive. Perhaps it is attractive because it seems so rare today, or the girls who are like that do not stand out in the obnoxious way that the “Bad Girls Club” types stand out. So often I hear girls, especially young women under twenty five, swearing, spitting, fighting, acting more like teenage boys than young women. I live in a small town with a large university so I am surrounded by and know many girls of this age group. It is cool to be bad. This has always been a part of youth, of course, but now it is being codified through the myriad of media outlets in a way that did not occur in the past.

I am not arguing here that girls need to be saints, pure, or prudes. Going to one extreme is as bad as going to the other. What I am talking about is a general sense of restraint, standards, dignity. It seems people like this are in the minority now, to be sure. But they should be encouraged and respected for their choices.

A bit of modesty also inflames the imagination all that much more. And I enjoy using my imagination, even when it usually leads to more carnal places.

Musings on “Slutty” Girls, or Girls with High Sex Drives

I love it when girls let their inhibitions go...

Unlike many others in the manosphere, I love slutty women. Of course, you may be wondering what I mean by “slutty”. By slutty, I mean a woman who loves sex, has a high sex drive, and is not afraid to experiment. I love a girl who has fucked lots of guys. Why? Because then I know most likely she is a perv, a nympho, and will not be uptight in bed. I also know that when women find me, or I find them, I can satisfy them in way that few other men can, and so I know they will keep coming back for more. What is my secret? Well, I am not sure really, I can only testify to what works best for me. But I suppose it is a combination of passion, intensity, feeling, romance, and love, the mixing of the animal, mental, physical, emotional and the spiritual. Chicks go for this. It is not a calculated thing on my part; rather, it is simply my personality. I had never even heard of “game” until a few years ago, but before then I was always successful in seducing women, and having women make themselves available to be seduced, without any kind of plan of action at all. It was all natural. I suppose I was lucky to be blest with the right combination of personality and physical qualities. Plus women can sense high sexuality. A former lover once told me how she was interested in me long before I really noticed her, and how she could tell I would be good in bed before we hardly even knew each other. As she said, “I could see it in your eyes.” I remember I would pepper our early, innocent conversations, long before we became intimate, with humorous sexual innuendo and references. Little did I know at the time that her giggling and laughing responses were making her panties wet, as she later confessed.

But back to slutty women…one of worst things in life is to be with an uptight, rigid, frigid woman, someone who is hypercritical, dislikes sex, or who constantly makes you feel like you are walking on eggshells. I have been with a few women like that. They are not fun; rather, they are oppressive and constant source of friction. Fortunately, none of them lasted, so I was not stuck to endure a lifetimes of harpy-like torture. After such experiences, I would always find my ways back into the lovely sensuality of the slutty girl. After going from the frigid bitch to the happy slut, I would always feel like someone who had just crossed a barren desert to reach and dive head first into a lush, refreshing oasis of fleshly pleasures.

Unbridled feminine sensuality is such a turn on...

I always enjoy meeting girls who are as abandoned as I am when it comes to sex. I especially love meeting those girls who may be appear like the good little girl next door type on the outside, but are raging sex craved nymphomaniacs on in the inside, with all sort of dark and dirty sexual secrets waiting to be confessed. Women love it too, when you are not afraid to tap into their inner whore, in a non-critical way, and let them express it, without becoming jealous or angry or possessive. Most men can’t handle a high sexed girl; for me, I can’t handle a low sexed girl. I always enjoy meeting someone who is as filthy and dirty as me, who wants to tell me about all the guys she has fucked while we are fucking. And, contrary to what most people might believe, most women really enjoy talking about the guys they have fucked, in detail; it turns them on immensely to recall their forbidden sexual secrets and desires and I have made more than one girl wet and horny by listening to her sexual stories; one girl told me later, after I had pinned her on the bed, fully clothed at the start of our first love making session, and whispered in her ear, “I want to hear all of your fantasies and dirty secrets,” how wet that made her, and indeed, we did fuck intensely that night, and many nights afterward too. I also love a girl who enjoys bringing another girl into the bedroom with us on occasion, if not more. But I suppose that could be its own post. I love a sexual girl, a girl who loves to masturbate, fantasize, read erotica or watch porn or enjoys seeing naked women and who will do just about anything. Being such a sexual animal myself, an unreformed caveman and beast, (true to my Taurus sign), it is always a pleasure to be involved with a like minded woman.

I love meeting them. I love slutty girls!

Pulp Fiction: A Lost Male Literary Genre Blending Sex, Action and Imagination

This pulp novel, which I recently came across in a used book store and which was selling for thirty dollars, is typical of the genre: scantily clad femme fatale, exotic setting, danger, sex and intrigue always lurking. Great stuff.

The great age of “Pulp” fiction was roughly between 1900-1950. These were the years when many writers could make a comfortable living writing stories for these inexpensive magazines and novels. It is hard to imagine today a time when people read so much for pleasure that there was a huge market to feed that urge, but when you consider that television did not exists, most of Hollywood was controlled by a few moguls who tended to produce the same sort of film year after year, and radio was, well radio, then the existence of a large novel and magazine market for a general reading public is not hard to understand.

What is most interesting about these books and magazines is that they were geared toward a male audience. Think about that. Many, if not most men don’t read today, with sports, television, video games and other visually oriented media and entertainment now appealing to the male mind more so than the verbal. Of course the verbal might be more naturally a feminine inclination, the visual a male, but that does not change the historical fact that there was a time when verbal literacy was highly important among men. Now, it often seems like a thing of the past, at times even derided in certain circles. It does not change the fact that verbal dexterity and power is just as important today as it was in the past. It is hard to succeed in life if you can’t communicate well.

Doc Savage was a common and best selling character in the pulp world.

But back to the pulps. They were often racy, mixing sex and danger, action and adventure and violence. They covered different genres such as: detective, hard boiled crime, science fiction, fantasy, horror, war and westerns. Many great writers contributed to them, or got their start writing for them, such as Rudyard Kipling, Mark Twain, Upton Sinclair, Ray Bradbury, Raymond Chandler, and many others. And I absolutely love the covers! They were a work of art and were designed especially for masculine tastes: the colors are often oranges, blacks, or reds. In fact, early on publishers realized these colors would attract men, especially when you consider that these magazine were being sold on crowded magazines racks, competing against each other as well as other magazines. Those same color schemes are still true today and are still used to attract potential male buyers of whatever product may be being sold. The covers often contained scantily clad women, often in some sort of dangerous situation, often both erotic and violent. In certain ways these magazine and novels were the precursors to modern porn and erotica. In fact, you can see how the genre became more conservative from the thirties to the fifties, with fewer scantily clad women and violent images as concerns over the moral quality of the publications increased.

Westerns were one of the mainstays of the pulp world. Notice the cover art, this one by the great pulp artist Normam Saunders: dark colors, orange and black, chosen to appeal to a male audience.

I discovered the existence of this lost literary world a few years ago. It saddens me that such a market no longer exists today. It is simply not there, the magazines are not longer sold, the beautiful art work of their covers no longer produced. It seems as lost a cultural item as something out of ancient Rome; yet it is. There are few online attempts to revive the genre; but as far as I am concerned nothing online can replace the tactile sensuality of a printed book or magazine. One publishing business was created to produce some hard boiled crime fiction novels with the same tastes and old cover art work, but they are few and far between and I doubt they sell well. Recent attempts to revive the genre have usually failed. Again, the market is simply not there.

But most of all, what was so glorious about these magazines is that they were a testament to a lost world of male literacy and interest in literature. In their day they were often considered trash and unworthy by the more high brow elements of society; today many men would have a hard time even reading them due to lack of literacy. I guess it just amazes me that such a reading public once existed, and now no longer seems to. Perhaps I am wrong and overblowing this, but I consider that a serious decline in civilization.

The Shadow was another popular pulp character. Again, notice the dark colors of the artwork, geared for men.

There is much more that can be written on this, so an occasional pulp fiction cover will become a regular post on this blog. The artwork is simply too good to resist.  As I said, it has a connection to erotica, so it is something interesting for me to blog about here. And there are so many nice covers out there I cannot possibly run out of material.  Again, I was in a used bookstore not long ago, and the owner was telling me how a previous owner of the store had a mass collection of pulp fiction stored at his house. He had bought most of it not to read, but simply for the cover art work.  I can totally understand that.

The Ultimate Alpha Males: Clark Gable, “All Man…And Then Some.”

If tobacco weren't so bad, smoking would be so cool...

If any of the great screen legends of the past defined what it was to be an alpha male, it was Clark Gable. Gable (1901-1960), and the men of his generation, contained a certain something that many men lack today, in our all too narcissistic and whiney world: class. Class, restraint, a certain sense of dignity, yet a class and restraint cloaking a vigorous masculinity. Gable embodied this like few other stars, or even men in general, have.

His characters in film were actually similar to his real personality. He was the top star of his generation. He played both action and romantic figures. His role as Rhett Butler in Gone with the Wind is one of the iconic figures in all of film. Therefore, it transcends mere entertainment, and enters the ethereal realm of art and the immortality associated with that. He also fought in WWII, willingly leaving the film industry to become a fighter pilot. He flew combat missions in Germany where his plane was hit and some of his fellow crewmen killed. Cable was nearly killed himself, when a piece of shrapnel went through his boot and almost hit his head. He won the Air Medal and the Distinguished Flying Cross. He also had a social conscious. When Hattie McDaniel, the first black actress to win an academy award for her role in Gone with the Wind, was not allowed to attend the premier opening of the film in Atlanta, Cable refused to attend also. Only after McDaniel pleaded with him to attend did he do so.

Perhaps the most touching thing about Gable’s life was his marriage to actress Carol Lombard. It was a true love relationship and, when she was killed in an airplane crash in 1942, Gable was never the same afterward. He deeply loved her and her loss permanently effected his life. His career was never same after her death. Such is the testament of true love. Yes, for you slavish followers of Roissy, true love does exist. (Roissy has a good analysis of Rhett’s seduction skills on Scarlett in GWTW: http://roissy.wordpress.com/2008/11/20/great-scenes-of-game-in-the-movies/)

Many in the whiney, PUA, MRA and “game” crowd should study men like Gable. Men of action, the top of the their field, men of integrity and character. I really can’t imagine Cable sitting around whining about how badly women treat him. Rather, if he had a bad experience with a woman, he probably would have laughed, enjoyed a few whiskeys, and moved on (that’s for you, Rivelino). And women have not changed that much since Gable was alive.

Cable and his co-star in Gone with the Wind, Vivien Leigh. She genuinely liked him, despite some of his flaws.

Here are a few quotes of those who knew Gable. Enjoy.

Doris Day summed up Gable’s unique personality, “He was as masculine as any man I’ve ever known, and as much a little boy as a grown man could be – it was this combination that had such a devastating effect on women

Life magazine: “All man… and then some.”

Joan Crawford:  “He was a king wherever he went. He walked like one, he behaved like one, and he was the most masculine man that I have ever met in my life.”

Robert Ryan: “He’s what every boy thinks he’s going to be when he grows up, and wishes he had been when he’s an old man.”

I don’t see these things in too many men today. Look at these statements, “the most masculine man I have ever met”, “a combination that had a devastating effect on women”, “a king wherever he went”.  Rather than be such testaments to a life of love and adventure, to the enjoyment of life, I see too many men who are either hyper masculine to the point of absurdity, or those who are soft and whiney and more feminine than most women, who, rather than risk their lives in a combat mission, would run to their girlfriends when something goes bump in the night. Yes, I know the world is different today, but it is not THAT different. I know the legal system is in many ways rigged against men. I know, and hate, the insidious influence of feminism. I know the destructive effects of social decay and dissolving mores.  Yet fundamentally people never change, and the foibles that existed sixty or seventy years ago when it came to the sexes are still pretty much the same today. Yet men like Gable were able to cope, adapt, and enjoy the world as it is, and even prosper in that world. And the world of sixty or seventy years ago was a lot tougher than our world today. Nor do you have to be a movie star or war hero to gain such a character as a man like Gable, it can be achieved in the seemingly mundane inanities of our daily lives. It is all how you approach life that counts.  You can work as a corporate drone and still do great things in other ways and love in great ways (you listening yet, Rivelino?).

Women love romance and passion, they love to be taken by a strong, masculine man...

Perhaps what these men had was balance in their lives? They could be real men, but they were not afraid to love either, and were not as obsessed about how many men their women had slept with as the men are today. And yes, women were not the pure virgins back then that most men today fantasize they were. As I said, people never really change, and a pussy got just as wet 70 years ago as it does today, and for the same reasons, and one of those reasons back then were men like Gable.

Long live men like Gable!

“Screwing Her into Submission, Screwing Her into Slavery…Using His Penis as a Weapon to Break Her Ass Down”

The following video is hilarious. Yet this women gets this right. She brilliantly summarizes the utterly primal and explosive nature of female sexuality. You must watch the whole video to appreciate this, but she basically says how a man can fuck a woman into submission, dominate her, control her with his penis, and how she will love every moment of it, and every inch of him. I have had many women tell me, after enough sex, how much they loved my cock. Not so much me, but my penis. They loved how it made them feel, how good it was, how it did something almost mystical to them. They longed for it when I was away it, attacked me and it when we were finally together. This woman has it completely right. As she says, “All penises are not created equal“.

There are many great things in this video, but some of the best points are things such as:  how a “dog” , a man with “penis power” can come along and easily steal  a woman way from a good beta provider, a man who does not have “the same penis power” as a player. A man can soothe and caress her woman through fucking her.  A man can be in “predator mode” looking for pussy, and women will respond;  she will viscerally love him when he, “knows how to work his hips, work his buttocks, when he twists her and bends her like  pretzel,” when fucking her; and, my favorite: “screwing her into submission, he’s screwing her into slavery, he is using his penis as weapon to break her ass down…” Every man should memorize that as a rule, if they want to keep their women from straying. When he is fucking her, he should call out, “Whose vagina is this, who does it belong to?” and if he is fucking her well she will SCREAM out his name.  It is programed, from her vagina all the way to her brain to be his slave if he can dominate her sexually. She basically has no defenses once his penis is inside her, pounding her, touching the inner depths her vagina. And then when he is away from her, she will lie in bed thinking about him and his cock, tossing and turning, masturbating, trying to recreate that intense sexual experience, and it will drive her crazy to think that he might be fucking someone else, the way he fucked her, slapping another woman’s  ass while she screams out his name. Perhaps some day we will be able to call that last idea, “Rivelino’s Revenge”.

And every woman out there knows she is right.

Watch, and learn.

Classic Feminine Beauties: Vivien Leigh

I love a woman in a corset...

Although she is best known as the feisty Scarlet O’Hara in Gone with the Wind, Vivien Leigh starred in a number of film and stage roles and was in her time one of the great Hollywood beauties. She was already married when she met and fell in love with Laurence Olivier (the great British actor), and they both eventually divorced their spouses and married each other. They remained married until 1960 when they got divorced. Leigh then married another man and remained so until her death in 1967.

She best defined by her role in Gone with the Wind, for which she won an Academy Award. Indeed, Scarlet O’Hara is quite the woman, using all her feminine machinations to achieve whatever goal she has set before her, however difficult. There is a classic sexiness to her performance in that film. She combines both the intensity of a sexually charged woman as well the innocence of a Southern Belle. Despite the fact that so much of sexuality depicted on screen back then was more nuanced, hinted at, and hidden than today, one can imagine that Scarlet would like to fuck, and fuck all night long, with the right man. One also understands that only a true alpha male such as Rhett Butler has the stuff to make her wet. I imagine she would be a screamer in bed too.

The famous scene of Rhett carrying her up the staircase is one of the great, sexually charged moments in film history. In so many ways, in all its innuendo and suggestiveness, without showing anything graphic, it is a far more potent depiction of sexual passion than the false in-your-face depictions of sex in today’s cinema. What is so intriguing about these older films is that sexual passion is often right beneath the surface, but because we never actually see two people in bed and everything is left to the imagination, it ends up being more alluring and enticing than so much of what we see today. In many ways these older films seem more, how shall I say, human and realistic than today’s? We often see two people engaging in the slow and stimulating game of attraction, using their intellects and emotions. The art of seduction can be learned well by studying such classics.

In her private life Leigh was troubled by depression. Eventually it took its toll on her and her marriage with Olivier. Yet we can see the vulnerability that this disease brought out in her, not only in Gone with the Wind but other roles. As a great actress, she was most likely able to tap into that pain for her performances. Few actresses can pull off both being a bitch, being tough, being feisty, and being soft, vulnerable and feminine as well.

It is this intense combination that makes her attractive and alluring, and a classic beauty: intensity, passion, vulnerability, femininity. These are some of the things men can melt for, or rather, that unique combination of sexual intensity and deep vulnerability. Physically she was beautiful and, as this photo of her in a corset shows, she looked hot in the pretty underwear of 19th century as well.