Thursday, February 23, 2006

"I met her in a hotel lobby masturbating with a magazine"

Every once in a while, people ask me who I think the sexiest woman in the world is.

Usually, I'll throw out a standard answer: A petite, dark-haired hottie like Eva Longoria or Vanessa Marcil normally works quite nicely, thank you.

But that was before I happened across HER. Now, I have to pause for a minute before I can remember names like "Carmen", "Britney", and "Jessica", because they have all faded to distant runner-up positions, no longer able to hold a candle to her incandescent hotness.

I'm thinking she can't be older than 20. She's got the fresh, unspoiled complexion and innocent face of a teenager, yet she somehow also manages to floor me with the eye-popping curves of a Playboy playmate.

She can't possibly be 21. Her eyes tell me she is younger than that.

Something happens to us at 21. We get a world-weary look. We are adults. Everything is legal to us; there is no longer any fun or intrigue about mundane things like getting away with drinking alcohol. There are no taboos anymore, and a little part of us dies when we realize it. And when I look at her, I can see that little light, still alive.

I think a lot about what happened to me, about what went wrong, about what makes me tick. About why I am attracted to the girls that I am. Why do I like them short and waifish? Why not plump and meaty? Why not deiseled out, with biceps like baseballs and waffled abdomens? Why do I love long hair? Why not short?

I just don't know. Some of my girlfriends have looked vaguely like my mother, and the psychological implications are obvious: Mom took off when I was just a kid, and the little boy in me believes that it was because I was somehow unworthy of her, so I am subconsciously trying to win her back, if only to scorn her the way she scorned me. Sometimes I believe that, and other times I think it's utter bullshit. Again, I don't know.

But when I clicked on that hyperlink a month or so ago, I knew that all of the ideal female characteristics had been flawlessly assembled into one drool-inducing specimen. I still don't know why her look appeals to me so much; but at least now I know what my ideal looks like.

She is almost too hot for words. The smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, as if sprayed from a water bottle. Her wet, pouty lips, made to lock lustily with mine. The full, heaving breasts that she holds precariously in her hands, like an armful of ripe melons that could spill out at any moment, unleashing her heavenly nakedness. Her girlish, tight waist, setting off her voluptuous chest with frail femininity. Her smooth, round ass, begging for a hand to run softly over its graceful contour. Her thighs, shapely, yet dainty enough not to touch at the top. Her fingers adorned with rings and long nails, reminding me that she is a woman, all the way down to her hands.

And yes, I adore even the bump in her nose, a modest imperfection that only serves to remind me how equisite the rest of her truly is.

I watch hard core porn, with all of its super-tight closeups of tiny girls getting penetrated by oversize dongs, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. She, by contrast, never lets us see her totally naked, but she somehow manages to drive me insane anyway. Maybe it's because, when I see the cozy smile on her lips when she is clad in jeans and clunky soles, I realize that she knows how to kick back. You can't fake that look.

There's a concept called Madonna and the Whore; it says that when some men find the ideal female, they don't want to corrupt her by having sex with her, and that they reserve their more carnal desires for less worthy women.

Fuck that.

I want to fuck her. And if I ever did, I'd have to see every detail. Turning off the lights would be a crime. Half the fun, hell, MORE than half the fun, would be watching silently, unblinkingly, as she lowers her thong to the floor, staring at her soft brown eyes as she pulls her tight t-shirt over her head, her long hair falling back down, obscuring part of her face, and seeing those sexy legs spread wide open, with my cock turning her pussy lips inside out, and then flipping her over, doggie-style, her ass-jiggle and boob-hangage burning indeliable images onto my brain.

Not only would I videotape it; I'd videotape it from three different angles, then splice together a Steven Spielberg-worthy cinematic masterpiece adored by the masses, a "Forrest Gump" of fucking.

I want to hear her soft moans as I penetrate her; I want to run my hands over her stiff nipples and hold tightly to her sexy waist, staring as I slip smoothly in and out of her. I want to make her come, see her suck her lips in and close her eyes as she shudders and trembles in orgasmic ecstasy.

But then again, a quickie in the McDonald's bathroom would be cool too.

Saturday, February 18, 2006

It's somewhat complimentary, in a way...

Dear Steve: I wrote you but you still ain't bloggin'.
I left my AIM, my MSN AND my ICQ at the bottom.
I sent you 12 emails, you must not have got 'em;
You prob'ly got a PC where the spam detector blocks 'em.

Anyways, fuck it. What's up, Steve, how's Tim?
And how's that dude Rob? You still fightin' with him?
Guess what? I signed up with Blogspot. Now I'm a blogger too!
It's called 'What have you learned today?' Ain't that name cool?

I read about that chick Holly, too, I'm sorry.
I know she's a sick bitch, but she sounds like a badass hottie!
I love your blog man, your writing is sick.
I've been reading since you ass-fucked Lila with Chap-stik!

I got a scrapbook full of your posts, and your comments, man.
I like that thing you do with Ari, too, plus that chick is stacked!
Anyways, i GTG. Be cool. Hit me back, and we'll chat.
Your number one fan, this is Dan.

My tea's gone cold,I'm wondering why I got out of bed at all
the morning rain clouds up my window and I can't see at all
And even if I could it'd all be grey, but your picture on my wall
it reminds me that it's not so bad, it's not so bad

Dear Steve: you still ain't dropped a post. I hope you don't forget.
When I see you haven't updated, I get a little upset.
If you didn't want to IM me last night, you didn't have to.
But you coulda said you had to go, instead of leaving me hangin.
I sat at my computer till 2am, and you just logged off.
That's pretty shitty man, you're like my fuckin' brother.
I thought we were homies man, looking out for one another.

I forgive you though, Steve, cause I know you don't mean it.
See, my life is just like yours in a way.
My mother was always fucked up on pills and booze, too,
And I'm a major playa with the honies, just like you!

I can relate to what you say in your blog,
So when I'm feelin' sad, I click you up and you make me smile.
I even put your name on my name tag,
So I can pretend to be you for a little while.

Sometimes I go to the high school and check out all the hotties;
It's like pornography, I just act like you and the girls are all up on me!
I like how you tell it straight, and you don't care what people think.
You don't need no fuckin' girlfriend, and you don't need no goddam shrink.
You gotta email me, man, seriously, I miss you!
I'd hate to have to call Dan Johnson, blow your cover and dis you.

My tea's gone cold,I'm wondering why I got out of bed at all
the morning rain clouds up my window and I can't see at all
And even if I could it'd all be grey, but your picture on my wall
it reminds me that it's not so bad, it's not so bad

Dear Mr. I'm-too-busy-to-blog-for-my-fans,
This'll be the last MPEG I EVER send your ass!!
You're prob'ly too busy fucking that little whore Tim-
I know you were online last night, I saw you on IM!

So this is my video I'm sending you. I hope you see it!
I'm in my room right now, fucking a 13-year-old girl scout.
Hey Steve! "Hi, my name is Dan, and I'm a sex addict." how does that sound?
Remember when you saw Lila at the Gap, and you thought she was so hot?
And you said it wouldn't have mattered if she was 12, you woulda wanted her anyway?
That's kinda how this is. I don't care how old she is.
She has long hair and juicy lips, just the way we like 'em, right, Steve?
Now I'll probably go to jail, and it's all your fault.
And all I wanted was a lousy IM or an email.
I hope you know I tore my scrapbook ALL to fucking hell!
I loved you Steve. You were my only friend.
I hope you get caught and have to lie about it.
I hope you stay up all night and you cry about it!
I hope you get fired from your job and go broke because of me!
[girl screams]
Shut up, bitch, I'm trying to talk to Steve.
See, Steve? This is the little shorty I picked up at the junior high school.
But I didn't try to mack her up, see I ain't a pussy like you.
I just hookwinked her and brought her up to my room.
[Sirens approaching]
Well, gotta go, the cops are pulling around.
Hope I can hit "send" before they break the door down...
[static, video stops]

My tea's gone cold,I'm wondering why I got out of bed at all
the morning rain clouds up my window and I can't see at all
And even if I could it'd all be grey, but your picture on my wall
it reminds me that it's not so bad, it's not so bad

Dear Dan, I meant to write you sooner, but I'm busy as all hell.
You said you have a blog now; what's the URL?
Look, I'm flattered you would call your website that,
And I'm sorry 'bout the IM thing, I was probably hittin' the sack.

Work just seems to get busier for me.
Tim and I spend a lot of time together, too.
Don't take it personal if I can't post as much as I used to.
I appreciate you coming around to see what I have to say,
And I hope I give you a few laughs along the way.
But I really hope you're careful
With all those girls who seem to give you play.

Yeah, I find teen girls hot--all us guys do!
But you better know the law before you're filling her with goo.

And what's this you say about calling Dan Johnson?
You might just be kidding, but if not, that would be just plain mean, son.
Dan, I think you just need to take a deep breath and chill,
Or else you'll wind up like that guy on the news a couple weeks ago.
He was raping some teenage girl in his house and videotaping it all.
He was trying to send it to someone, but no one knows who;
Come to think about it, his name was.... it was you!


Sunday, February 05, 2006

Good thing you didn't taste clams....

December 24, 2005
Steve's house

Tim kisses me, quickly, then pulls away, our lips making a little click sound.

Another small kiss, and she pulls back just a bit, so our noses are almost still together.

Another peck, and I am dizzy with my desire to fuck her. "You like little kisses, don't you," she purrs.

"Isn't it obvious?"

"Then I slip in a bigger one every once in a while, and it drives you really crazy," she smiles.

She licks her lips. "You taste like foundation."

"I taste like what?"

"Foundation. You know, makeup?"

"Yeah, I gotta cut down. That shit's fattening!"

"I'm serious. Why do you taste like foundation?"

"I kissed your mother."

"She doesn't wear it. And I'm not wearing any either."

She looks at me, as if just realizing the gravity of what she said.

Oh, shit.

"Tim, I don't want to make a big deal out of this, but I saw Stephanie today-"

Her eyes flare like a pro wrestler's at the mention of Stephanie's name. Tim hates Stephanie, whom I would never reconcile with in a thousand years; Lila, who I marathon-fucked a couple of weeks ago, she's got no problem with. Of course, I neglected to tell her about that.

"Why are you seeing Stephanie?"

"I'm not seeing her, she-"

"Did you see her or not?"



"She came over. Holly was... calling her..."

"Yeah, right. Why would Holly call her?"

"Holly says I would be with her if Steph didn't break my heart. She's crazy, I told you."

"Why did Stephanie come over? How did she know you'd be home on Christmas Eve? Why didn't she just call you?"

"I don't know how she knew I'd be there. She almost missed me, I was just on my way out. I guess she could have called."

"So you're saying this was a total surprise?"

"A total surprise."

"Why were you kissing her?"

"I kissed her cheek. We made amends, kind of."

"That sounds like fun," she snaps.

"I told her all about you."

"She call me a slut?"

"No, she said she's happy for us both."

"Why didn't you tell me? What if I didn't taste her makeup on you? Were you going to tell me?"

"Of course I would have. I wanted to make up with you first!"

She looks away. I'm sure she thinks I'm getting off too easy, but I've answered all her questions innocently enough.

"I don't think I want to talk to you right now."

"Tim, nothing happened!"

"I don't care! Take me home!"


"You weren't going to tell me!"

"Tim, I was!"

"Take me home!"

"No! We just got done saying we wanted to die without each other, and now we're fighting? Over something stupid?"

She answers me with a pout.

"You have nothing to worry about! Do you think I go around writing letters like that to everyone?"

"Did you ever write a letter to Stephanie?"

"Nothing like that."

"You swear?"

"I swear. She was jealous of you, you know."

She looks away again, pausing silently for a long time. Finally, she hugs me. "Never mind. My mother's probably still there, anyway."