Zen and the Art of Letting Go

I couldn't count on two hands all the times I've gotten blown off by women and all the ways they've managed to flake out and say without words the "no" that they must have meant to say when I asked them out. I've posted before on this blog about the negative effects that this type of deception has had on my attitude towards women and dating.

So the other night I was at one of my regular bar/restaurants and I noticed a woman working there again who I have not seen in a couple of years. Back then, she was the friend of my best friend's girlfriend, and she approached me one night to say hi. A little bit into the conversation I mentioned one of my favorite activities, snowshoeing, and she said she had never been. Seizing the opportunity, and knowing from her friend that she was single, I asked her if she'd like to go with me. "Yeah, that sounds fun," she said, and I got her phone number to get the date figured out and take this gorgeous woman up into the mountains for the beauty and serenity that only snowshoeing can bring. Only problem was, she must have meant, "oh you mean with you? Hell no!" because she never even had the courtesy to call me back.

So imagine my surprise to see her working at the place again, and it suddenly brought up the bitter memory of the subversive rejection that she callously dished out those few years ago. Our eyes met for a second and she seemed to recognize me, but she was sure to avoid me it seemed, making her way around the restaurant being sure to always have her back turned and to never walk past my table. Crazy thing was, that I realized at that moment that I had forgotten all about her. I couldn't even remember her name. So thankfully I was spared the embarrassment of having to talk to her, and she was spared the guilt of having to face up to her flakiness, but it definitely got me thinking.

I realized that in forgetting her altogether, I had been freed of the pain of the silent rejection she handed down those years ago. I had been able to toss her onto my forgotten pile, and seeing her again was difficult because it brought up all that residual pain of rejection. I wanted to flag her down and say, "hey how come you never called me back, bitch?" but I figured the sooner I could forget about her again the better.

Opulent Opportunities

Whenever I get back to my quaint little hometown after visiting a big city, always the first thing that comes to mind is, "man, this is fucking sweet!" After all, people from all over the world come to vacation in the city in which I live, so it can't be all that bad, right?

I returned about two weeks ago from my disappointing trip to Houston. Since then I have seen more women in this town than ever before. And the strangest part is that I catch them looking at me with my newly honed observation skills, thanks to my fellow bisexual blogger, Brad. I'm not sure what to think - are there more women? Have mine eyes seen the glory? Were they looking before and I didn't know how to observe? Has this blog helped me find a newfound confidence that exudes from my personality? I'm not sure what it is, but something has changed.

Examples: I got a huge sparkling smile from a new coffee shop girl - am I dreaming? I felt a spark of interest from a tiny Japanese woman who's now the hostess at my most frequented breakfast dive. I busted the most beautiful woman I've ever seen in this town checking me out where she tends bar - and twice in five minutes. I made the shooter girl at the bar blush when I asked her name. And most recently ran into an old friend at the ski mountain who was there with an office colleague - she was totally hot - and when I asked them to join me for a drink, my eyes met hers and it felt like a lightning storm. I played it cool but later my friend, who's happily married, said, "dude she likes you."

A Funny Thing Happened Online

I've noticed before that the more desperate a guy acts around women, the more turned off by him they become. It's a strange dynamic, very similar to a predator/prey relationship. The hunters gather for the kill, and the hunted panic the closer he gets. The successful hunter is the one with the most patience, the one who lays in wait, intentions disguised, then pounces unexpectedly. A successful kill always requires cunning, deception, and skill.

As I've decided to branch out and explore my sexuality, I've been flirting a bit with guys online. Since I'm pretty new at this, I find myself taking the roll of the hunted. Which is fine, because having to always be the aggressor in the heterosexual world can get kind of exhausting. As the prey, you just relax and have them come to you, if you want to be preyed upon, that is.

Being able to sit back, as potential suitors stumble and fall all over themselves, and effortlessly employ selectivity preferences fucking rules. Now I feel the power and privilege that women do as they sit on the throne of sexual dynamics, possible mates paraded in front of them like a carnal banquet, "no, no, no, yes, no, no, no."

It's been a real eye opener to see what men are like when it's clear they are thinking with their dicks, and most notably what my reaction is when they come on so strong, and how similar that reaction is to those that I have gotten from women when desperation has taken control of my brain.

A recent exchange was a prime example of this. A gentleman with nice photos of a thick, juicy cock sent me a few messages saying he liked my profile. After an exchange or two, we started to discuss the possibility of meeting for a tryst. That's when he said, "sounds good, I'm up for anything, I'm free tonight and all this weekend."

Right away I lost interest. "Tonight?!" I thought, "wow, this guy moves fast. Too fast!" And suddenly I felt that deer-in-the-headlights sensation, like I'd been singled out for the kill but like I wasn't ready to be taken. Don't these predators know when to strike and to do it gracefully and subversively? Didn't he know that I was playing the selectivity role and he was supposed to cleverly make it seem like sleeping with him was my idea all along?

Immediately I realized that I was playing that role, that I had become the fickle love interest that had left me so confused with women before. It made me realize that all the women I had pursued but never gotten throughout my life had all acted out of this basic principle of attraction/repulsion. I had come on too strong and extinguished their desire with my advances, and now I was getting a chance to wear the other shoe. To see how a strong advance could diffuse my curiosity in an instant.

Sure seems easier to let the suitors come to me, to pick and choose as I please, rather than to make a fool of myself trying to be the potential mate among the pack of dumb-ass hyenas clambering all over each other, snapping, nipping, yelping, fighting amongst themselves for the tiny scraps of pussy-meat tossed their way.

Yeah So I Like Small Tits

I just don't understand the fascination in our society with large breasts. Sure large breasts are great, but small ones are better. Way better. I can't say I know everything about 'em, but personal experience has indicated that small tits have greater sensitivity, a greater contrast of shape and size when aroused. Little tits are a treasured and delicate treat, particularly now that they have become so underappreciated and rare, especially in straight porn where it seems every starlet has silicone implants.

If I was starting a relationship with a woman with fake tits, it would immediately be an irreconcilable difference. I'm just not into it, anymore than I'd be into a guy with pectoral implants or collagen lips. The truth is that natural beauty is best, and the thought of fake, hard bags under someone's skin makes my dick shrivel up and run for cover. Viagra wouldn't even help.

It is a shame that women get so bombarded with images of "the ideal woman" day in and day out, that they soon start to devalue their own natural breasts. After all, if nearly every famous woman has fake tits, then it stands to reason that you need them to be famous, and since you have to be pretty to be famous, you must have to have fake tits to be pretty.

Bullshit!

Augmented breasts generally bolster a manufactured self worth. I once happened to overhear a conversation at a wedding, a plastic surgeon's wife was talking to a group of about ten female friends. She told them that her augmentation made her feel more confident, more womanly, more sexy. Her friends all chimed in accord. After hearing this I honestly felt disturbed. Was that whole group of gorgeous women really that shallow? I wondered how it couldn't be obvious that her REAL tits were inherently more womanly than twin bags of liquid plastic? How can a silicone balloon possibly be more feminine than a real breast? It didn't and still makes no fucking sense to me whatsoever.

Now, I don't want to insult anyone out there with fake tits. Some women may have no choice. But you ought to know that men make fun of fake breasts and the guys that date them. I seriously don't know of one man who takes fake tits seriously. When I'm at the strip club, for instance, I take extra time to find the only girl who hasn't gone and ruined a perfectly perky pair tits with a scalpel and plastic inserts. I'll tell her too, "you've got the best tits in the place, you're a fucking goddess. All these balloon bags have nothing on you."

So, yes, I do prefer small tits. A cups, B cups, even the "mosquito bite" tits. Put me in a room with ten attractive women and let me choose one, I'll pick the one with the smallest breasts. It's that simple. I just don't know where this big breast fascination came from and why women feel they have to surgically augment themselves to be beautiful. It's a mammagraphic crime, a cruel joke taken out on us guys who really do like small tops, despite what society tries to force down our women's proverbial throats.

If there are any women out there considering breast implants, please hear my plea. It's totally gross, not sexy or attractive, and accentuates nothing but your low self esteem. You may think that there are no men out there who'd like your tiny chest just the way it is, but I can tell you that based on experience, small breasts rule!

Save your money. Keep 'em real. Let's put an end to this unhealthy body image and admire all women for the breast size they have, not the size they think they have been told that they should have. Natural is always better than artificial anyway. Think about it.

OBSERVATION: A woman's brain and breasts are the only parts of her body you can't say are small without pissing her off.

What is Bisensuality?

Bisensual. This was a word I thought I made up. Since I've not yet had sex with a man, I didn't feel 100% truthful is naming this blog "Bisexual", because I can't yet be sure that that's where this journey is bringing me.

Since I have fantasies about both men and women, that I masturbate to both gay and straight porn depending on my mood, and since the idea of touching a cock (and maybe doing more) arouses me, I thought I'd go with "Bisensual".

But then I did a Google search on the word and was surprised at the primary results, and not only because I thought I had made up the word. According to most of the search results, bisensual means people who are emotionally or romantically (bot not sexually) attracted both men and women. Hello? Sensuality is physical enjoyment, the word itself is based on the root word "sense" which has little to do with emotions and relationships. The five senses enhance those things, not replace them entirely. So this definition is completely off the mark, in my opinion. The second definition in the results at Urban Dictionary make much more sense to me, though readers have not voted it "up" as much, probably because the definition is far too intellectual for the average moron.

I would argue that bisensuality has absolutely nothing to do with romance. Sensuality can be romantic, true, but we humans have five senses, and emotions isn't one of them! Frustrating that so many people can vote "up" on a definition that's so intellectually bankrupt.

Pussy Envy

Aside from the fact that women control sex, I am jealous of women in many ways. Which is funny, because female friends of mine have said they are jealous of men. The grass is always greener I guess.

Women have curvy hips, framed by soft mammagraphic teardrop breasts of incredible beauty, nipples, neckbones, shoulders. Smaller, less muscular features than men, pretty hands, small feet, sexy knees and elbows. Moreover, women get to have a pussy, a way more complex sex organ than a penis, much less erratic and prone to malfunction, one that could likely keep up with my superfluous sex drive throughout the day.

Women’s bodies are capable of comparatively extreme sensuality, the body interconnected to and fine-tuned with the clitoris, which provides much more intense pleasure than a cock does for a man, and functions for longer than any man can hope to last and yet still be able to cum.

The pussy offers a virtual yacht of ecstasy compared to the drag-race cock: pussy provides a luxurious cruise, good for hours of foreplay and sex, whereas the cock burns all it's fuel in one shot, blows it's engine in a quarter mile and has to be restarted for the next race.

I’m jealous to get fucked in the pussy, to be filled up, to have that superior organ be able to engulf and consume the powerful phallus.

I wish I could be a female stripper, a fantasy I can never fulfill. Even with extensive, irreversible sex-change surgery, medical miracles simply cannot recreate the natural beauty of a woman’s body.

Before I came out to myself, I couldn’t admit that I was jealous that women get to suck cock. Now I’m more comfortable with myself, so that is one thing I can see what it is like, but certainly not from a woman’s perspective.

I’m jealous of Victoria’s Secret, lingerie, sexy dresses and skirts, and having the curves to fill them out! Jealous of makeup and glamour and heels and getting to wear all that in public. Some might say whatever, you can go out in heels if you want, but that's not the whole point - I want to be able to go out in heels as a woman -- without a cock -- to feel that lifting of my hips and curve of my back and the tilting forward and up of my pelvis, turning my non-existent pussy outward. I will never feel that, and that is the root of my jealously of women.

They're so fucking sexy, have so many different outfits and sexy things to wear. The hips, waist, cleavage… the pussy - KAPOW!!! Sha-bam! I've been jealous to have all that since my earliest memories. Even when I was a small boy I noticed how curvy girls’ lower backs and asses were, and I was jealous that I wasn't shaped that way. I had pussy envy.

Subconcious Gay Crush

Fifteen years ago, I had this friend in college, he was a few years younger than me. We used to hang out together, mostly in his room. I'd come over with a bunch of weed and we'd smoke it until it was gone, music loud. At the time I can remember wondering if he was any bit gay or bi, but I never had the balls to ask him. I remember secretly hoping he would come on to me, but I'm not sure I actually acknowledged to this myself. It was more of a secret crush -- a secret even to me.

Five years or so after college, he and his girlfriend came up to visit a few hours north. Later I visited him where he lived, and by then my gay urges had surfaced a bit more, but I was still oblivious to my sexual attraction to men. At the time it was a curious quirk that came and went, nothing that caused me too much concern. Some of the feelings I was having made me wonder if I was gay, but overall my sexual orientation was all straight. All straight porn, straight relationships, straight dreams and fantasies.

Now a full ten years after that, and upon reflection I realize that I had a crush on him. He was very good looking, slightly geeky, a bit effeminate. I knew he dated girls, but in this subconscious way I hoped maybe he had experience with men, and would show me a thing or two. Looking back now, I wish I had talked to him about it.

Today, I still fantasize about him. I imagine that he has a big cock and a smooth chest, and knows how to mentor a newbie gently. To this day I wish he was my first.

Women and the Control of Men

A comment by HyperSexualGirl on one of my recent posts got me thinking about how women control men. She said she found it curious that I was jealous of women's control over men, because she didn't think of it that way. I can respect that and responded in kind; but I also would ask, does someone have to be cognizant of control to have it? I would have to argue a resounding no.

The way straight guys act around women is cold, hard evidence that they are under control like puppets on a string. At the bars, men encircle single women with attention, each hoping to get a piece of action, and it is she who decides who is going to get it, if any of them at all. She decides. Under these circumstances, who is in control? Who holds the power?

Straight men, whether married, single, or in a relationship, all act completely different around their buddies than they do in front of women. Why? Because they know if they say something piggish they might not be getting laid for a while. Again, men's behavior indicates they are manipulated by the chance of getting some pussy.

Need more examples? Guys do stupid, stupid things to try to get laid. Guys will clear their schedule if it means they have a chance at hooking up. They'll drive 400 miles. They'll spend hundreds at the bar or on a date. Think of it this way, have you ever seen a hot woman on the side of the road with car trouble? Ten guys will inevitably be clambering over each other to help her first. Because they are nice? Ha! Just put a regular Joe on the side of the road and see how fast he gets help. Women control men. Period.

How else do women use the prospect of sex to gain benefits in countless situations? Ladies Night no cover, getting bought drinks, passing out fake phone numbers, it's all a ruse to manipulate and control men. Some women are very verbal about their abuse of foolish guys who will shell out for drinks all night long. I have personally overheard them boast of their abilities to keep the drinks flowing from guys they know don't have a chance at any action. The manipulative control can make an innocent bystander completely sick.

Not all women can control all men, though. The factors include two things, and two things only: her relative attractiveness, and his relative attraction to her. Without the attraction, there is no want or need for her pussy, so her power to control him is limited at best. There are certainly other ways that she could make his life hell, but if you're withholding a pussy that he doesn't want, sorry sister, you've got no chips left. And when your sex life is bankrupt, he'll be going to get controlled somewhere else. Maybe a girlfriend or a hooker, who knows, but he's going to get it somewhere. Else.

And what, may I ask, makes strip clubs so popular with men? It's probably not the food, big screen TV's or the great deals on drinks. If women had no power or control over men, the guys sure as hell wouldn't be sitting there bleeding money, getting cock-teased and blue-balled all night, unless of course he can afford enough lap dances to actually get off dry. And that's a double-edged sword, believe me, as it will make a guy ten times hornier than he was before. And men practically become gorillas when they're super horny.

Still need more evidence that women control sex and therefore control men? The fact that rape exists. Don't get me wrong, rape is a terrible crime, my point is that the woman decides whether sex is consensual or not. Even after the fact she could technically decide that she had really said "no," and he had raped her. Even if that's not what happened, it could quickly become, literally, a he-said-she-said case. Now, who is the judge likely to believe? Furthermore, what man could go into a hospital, claiming he was raped last night by a woman, saying, "she fucked me!" They'd congratulate him, give him a ribbon and a pat on the back, and send him on his merry way.

The fact is, women decide who gets laid and when. And after men fall all over themselves trying to impress them with society's ridiculous Cinderella games and knightly expectations, what do they get? You can be certain, if it's anything at all, she controls that decision.

Women control sex. Men want sex. Therefore women control men. Straight men, that is.

Gay Urges Explained

Lately I've been masturbating to gay material pretty much exclusively. I don't know if this is because I'm becoming more gay, less bisexual, or if I'm gearing up for my first experience, or if I'm finally giving up on women or what. It's weird because usually I'm pretty self aware and clued-in to what's going on inside of me. This one is kind of confusing though. I've been on the gay/straight fence for so long, sometimes I wonder if I'm hanging on to bisexuality in the hopes that there's a women out there for me. It's like I'm afraid to give up on women, afraid to totally disavow my attraction to them, for fear that I'd be letting something go that I still want. But then the pain of failure surfaces again and I immediately feel the bitterness bubble up... They make it so hard! And I'm not just talking about my dick.

I simply want my cock worshiped. I don't care what gender gives it the attention it needs, just as long as I'm attracted to them, and as long as they treat my trouser snake like a friggin' king-god. Kneel before it, kiss it, lick it, suck it, shower it with love and affection. Treat it like an altar, a sacrament, show it respect and admiration. Force it down your throat, expertly guide it deep into your ass. Love every inch.

The most alluring thing about having a gay experience is the assumption that my cock will be treated to the attentive affections of someone who knows what the hell they are doing. What makes dicks feel good is no mystery to gay men. They understand cock intimately, what it craves, what makes it tick. The penis is not an extraordinarily complex organ, yet it can shrivel in the hands of the inexperienced and the timid.

I want to be naked on a bed, lean back with my hands behind my head, and have some muscular masseuse oil my engine and coax out a cumload. I want an intimate massage from some hot beefcake, and see him get hard through high-cut silky gym shorts. Then reach out while he stands over me and stroke his cum out all over my chest and abs.

Gotta Go Gay To Get Off

A few months ago I was whacking off to hard core teens, and I simply could not get off. At the time my longing and loneliness for women seemed particularly strong, and I realized the residual pain was affecting my libido. I switched to naked men and cock closeups, and came to orgasm quickly. It occurred to me that because no man has broken my heart, it seems easier to get off on men sometimes.

I don't know if my interest in men purely sexual, I haven't had enough experience with them to know. And the notion that only women can break my heart is preposterous. I'm sure once I start seeing men they will hurt me just as much as women, but it hasn't happened yet. It's kind of nice, I'm living a gay-virgin innocence. It makes the idea of a gay encounter as exciting as my first sexual encounters in my late teens.

Because my heart is not involved in gay fantasies, men end up being more attractive than women. Jerking off to pictures of hot guys doesn't leave me feeling inadequate, thinking, "I could never get that," because guys I actually have a chance at getting. They have a more casual view of sex than most women. So for now, my sexual fantasies of men are pure and innocent, and haven't been spoiled by reality.

Confusion After Buying First Gay Magazine

I don't like to live my life in fear or as an overly suspicious person. That's why conspiracy theories and blind mistrust of authority always bothered me. But I used to have a friend who often made me wonder if he was spying on me. One incident was particularly strange.

About five years ago, long before I connected the dots and came to the obvious conclusion that I am bisexual, I succumbed to an urge to go out and buy a gay porno magazine. I went to a different part of town and picked out a Hastings to shop for my guilty desire. I went in, cased out the magazine rack, grabbed a SWANK, Penthouse, and a Honcho magazine.

I looked around to see if anyone saw. My heart was pounding. My face was flush. My brain was flooded with guilty excitement. I was about to purchase a gay pornographic magazine! What would the clerk think? She thought nothing of course.

Once back home, I almost immediately got a call from my friend. He said something very strange which has been unsettling to this very day. "Don't go gay on me dude."

"What?"


"Don't go gay on me."

"Whatever, dude."

"OK man, I'm just saying, don't go gay on me."

I changed the subject, but still this bothered me to no end. How had he known I just bought a gay magazine? Did he have a trail on me? Happen to have a contact in the store who called him right away? Was he a freaking member of the homophobic psychic network? WHAT THE HELL?! Fuck him, I thought, and jerked off over the magazine anyway. I wasn't going to let this intrusion keep me from fulfilling a fantasy.

That so-called friend ended up stealing from me, and that gave me the courage to dissolve the friendship. I realized that he was a selfish, manipulative, greedy person. A colossal taker. But what he said that day has always bothered me. Are people really that judgmental, jealous, suspicious, or whatever, that they would spy on a friend? Was it just freaky coincidence?

Camping Circle Jerk

I went camping with a friend, just to get out of town. We took my four wheel drive truck deep into the mountains and found a remote spot in a grassy mountain meadow to set up camp. We like to party, and by mid afternoon we were a few beers into the conversation, starting to feel a little buzzed.

He started complaining about the women in our town, that they were so hard to approach and if they weren't already taken, they were friggin crazy. I had had similar bad experiences and failures with women in town, so I took a chance. "I know, when the chicks around here are so hard to connect with, I just go after the guys."

He gave me a stunned look and for a second I was worried that I crossed a line, that maybe I offended him. But instead his face flushed beet red with embarrassment. Flustered, he stammered out, "H-have you ever been? ...with a guy?"

"Not really, but I always wanted to kind of check it out." I told the truth.

"Yeah, the more I strike out with women, the more I want to see what it's like to be with a guy, ya know?"

"Yeah, man I do know..." I said, nervous with the segue and the opportunity. "... um, can I see your cock?"

"Never heard a chick say that!" We laughed and he bashfully said, "I dunno... you go first."

I've always been an exhibitionist at heart, so my cock jumped at the chance. I stood up, unbuttoned my shorts, and pulled out my manhood. I was already starting to get hard. It was a nice day so I just took off my shorts and underwear and laid down in the grass. "I prefer to be naked anyway, and my dick likes it too." My hardening tip glistened in the sunlight, my cock vein pulsed with exposure. "Your turn, dude." I winked.

He gave me a look of hesitation, but my smiling nod must have settled his unease, and he took all his clothes off right there standing in front of me. My cock lunged and hardened to granite.

He sat down next to me totally naked. I took off my shirt and we jerked off right there in the beautiful tall grass and sun, both totally naked. With the breeze and sky and the sound of him beating off, watching every stroke, the excitement had literally come to a head and a cannonball of cum came blasting out of my cock and splashed on my chest. I unloaded my orgasm in seven spurts of juicy cum that ran down my abs in streams. He wasn't far behind and took his eyes off my cumming dick, focused intently on his own, beating himself rapidly now. I reached out and cupped his balls and he was instantly sent into a violent burst of release, he moaned and cum bubbled up to his tip and danced out onto his chest in glorious bursts.

When he was drained he looked up at me, and I bashfully looked away half embarrassed, and he said, "chicks got nothing on that."

Pussy Has Personality!

I'm definitely not gay, I could never swear off women! To me the vagina is an incredibly fascinating organ. Each one as unique as the individual who owns it. Equally as complex, mysterious and intricate as the woman attached. Pussy is truly an enigma.

I've heard gay men and even some women say that vaginas are ugly. Ugly? I suppose orchids are ugly in their own way too. When we are too uptight or unable to understand, must we find negative words to fashion our descriptions? Dan Savage says pussy looks like a "canned ham dropped from ten feet." If that's true, then a split canned ham is entirely beautiful and inherently fuckable.

Ham imagery aside, pussy comes in as many shapes and sizes as there are species in the world, with as many variations of expressive individuality as the populace. This is why I love shaved snatch so very much: I like to be able to see and explore all the details within each beautiful tuck and fold. It's the same reason florists trim thorns and shade leaves from roses. It's all about the presentation and accentuation of the intrinsic beauty underneath the protective layers.

Some women have thick, meaty lips and clitoral hood, wrinkled and protruding. The lips remain tangled together, crumpled and tucked-in throughout the day, yet become gloriously expressed when aroused, opening like a flower. Large pussy lips are fun to play with, suck and tug on, nibble and lick. They can be easily spread wide during cunnilingus, to get at the inner folds and clitoris for unobstructed munching. Some women have such long lips, they can be tied in a knot, while others talk to their plastic surgeon about "fixing" this "problem" area.



Longer lips can be uncomfortable during sex if not properly lubricated. Many a porn scene has been shot with the director oblivious to dryness and discomfort, her outer lips being gripped and pulled into her hole with each thrust. Imagine trying to act turned on when your cunt's being ripped apart by a rubber saw. Meaty lips must be given adequate attention and priming before penetrative sex to ensure that the rest of the organ is on-board and aroused enough to keep the juices flowing properly.

Pussy lips are the silken curtains marking the entrance to moist delights inside, a temptation beyond description. The warm and snug gripping of my shaft, a muscular and fantastic love tunnel, self-lubricating and intensely satisfying. Pussy is aptly designed for fucking, the cock merely an evolutionary byproduct of vaginal pleasure, erected to serve at the delights of the queen goddess.

When I'm hard and inches from a pussy, my erectile longing can be as palpable as hunger, as if my cock had radar, fully cognizant of the blissful plunge into moistened pleasure that is merely a thrust away. Within naked proximity, the cock wants nothing more than to perform its sacred duty: inject a steamy cumload deep within. Cocks know what their purpose in life is: piss when soft, cum when hard. Cocks have an almost binary, far more simplified sexual repertoire than pussy, which desires a far greater range of delicacies, and is hard-wired to countless erogenous zones that span the female body.


Not to be outdone by large lips, and every shape and size in between, slender pussy lips are also incredibly beautiful floral arrangements. Barely tucked away and hidden within, peeking out from between the outer walls like a tiny mountain ridge of flesh. They are a joy to eat, sublime to lick like an ice cream cone, alternating from clit to cunt hole, up and down like a commuter train on skin rails. I love to French kiss and tongue tickle smaller pussy lips. They yield easily when fucked, having less surface area than large lips, making more efficient use of the natural lubricating juices. They're probably less uncomfortable getting fucked when dry, but gentlemen please, be careful! I once had a lover who's svelte little lips had literally been torn by an overeager, dick-stupid boyfriend. Her florette required extra special care and attention, since the tear still gave her pain with any dryness, even so many years later. I could have killed that dumb fuck oaf. Guys, please remember to be kind to pussies, they are powerful yet deceivingly delicate organs, and require service and attention far beyond that of our comparably rudimentary cocks.

Some pussy lips are so subtle, they have hardly any outward appearance at all. I've heard these called hamburger buns, but I don't personally like the term. I can see the resemblance, and I love this kind of pussy, but I prefer descriptions with sexier connotations. Like peach slit. The incredible beauty of this kind of vaginal structure reminds me of the seam of a peach, and when shaved the smoothness is quite similar, being a sweet fuzzy treat, the petite outer lips tucked into the canyon between twin puffy mounds, all the hardware deliciously nestled inside. Yumm.

The vagina is the most beautiful part of a woman's body. The most fascinating and mysterious, most privately held part of all, a wonderfully complex and detailed thing. A lifetime of study could never master the complete understanding and command of such a fantastic and awe inspiring organ. Ladies, your pussies are divinely beautiful, absolutely worthy of worship at the altar. May I please?

Give Me A Passable Tranny

I'd love to have a passable tranny girlfriend. For an in-the-closet bisexual, that'd be an ideal situation. Introduce her to all my homophobic straight friends, kiss her in front of them, all the while only she and I know that she's got a dick under her skirt. Some of my friends might even lust after her if she was pretty enough, now that'd be funny. Poetic justice.

I've heard some supposedly straight guys say they'd sleep with a tranny. So basically they wouldn't kick a dick out of bed, as long as the person attached didn't look like a man. Weird. I have a feeling that's just an extension of the social stigma placed on men against bisexuality. Female bisexuality somehow seems to be more accepted in our society. Again, I think this is just a subconscious form of homophobia.

I've heard countless homophobic guys say something like, "I'm not against gay men, I just think what they do is gross." Yet in the same breath they'll say how hot is is for two women to be together, or that they like girl-on-girl porn. Talk about a double standard! Pass judgment on two men as gross, but then to like the idea of two women together. I would consider that to be a homophobic projection of one's own insecurities. But who am I to judge?! ;)

So give me a hot ass glamorous tranny girlfriend with the curves of a woman, yet she's all man between the legs. Now that's hot.

Gay? The All Or None Myth

Dan Savage, in his August 7th, 2008, syndicated column, Savage Love, "So I Married a Fag Hag" said, "As for 'playing for the other team' ... that can indeed be just a phase — but for women, not men. Men... prefer erotica that plays exclusively to their professed sexual orientation. Which means, of course, that female sexuality is a fluid and male sexuality is a solid."

Though his statement is based on "scientific" research, I wholeheartedly disagree. I would like to know what methods were used in the study that he cited, what the control group was, and how well they designed the experiment to eliminate subjectivity? Were the men asked to personally rate their arousal when shown nude photographs? Or was the data drawn from more objective methods? It seems to me that with the strong social pressure for men to be either straight or gay, few would openly admit arousal when shown a picture of a nude man. In my opinion, to get the most accurate results researchers would need to observe changes in the test subjects' physiology, more deep seated than merely the conscious. I believe that arousal occurs in the subconscious, on a level deeper than that over which we have control.

I have always felt an attraction to both men and women, even before I came out to myself, so the conclusions of the study are simply not in step with my own personal experience. I have strong gay urges sometimes, but have never felt the repulsion to pussy that many gay men have professed. One gay man I know said he never felt an attraction to women on any level, even from when he was a boy. For me, on the other hand, I was always intrigued by women, even from an early age. When I see an attractive woman now, I feel waves of lust, my loins stirred by her curves. I feel magnetized to the delicate skin between her breasts, intoxicated by the thought of her pussy folds cradled by her underwear, hidden and out of sight. To me pussy is a delight. To many gay men, pussy is a disgusting mess.

It is my opinion that we are all a little bit gay, men and women alike. If all social constraints were stripped down, and men weren't afraid of their naturally gay urges, would we have such cut and dry definitions for sexual orientation? I seriously doubt it.

Early Gay Crushes, Barbies, Leotards

When I was five, I had an overwhelming desire to play with Barbies. I can remember one such case where I was with my family at a grown up party, and the all kids had been let loose in the house to play on their own. The boy who lived there had an older sister, and I went to her room to see if her and her friends had any Barbies, and asked if I could play with them, they laughed and said, "boys don't play with Barbies." I never asked to play with Barbies again.

When I was around the same age, I wanted to wear a leotard, like the ones girls wear in gymnastics. So I asked my mom, and she got me a black one with white tights, and a green one with yellow tights. We would make the green and yellow one into a Robin costume with a red belt, yellow cape and yellow ® on the chest. The black leotard was for my own superhero. I can remember even at that young age getting boners in those leotards. I felt ashamed that girls clothes made my little PP hard.

I was a shy and reserved kid, always afraid of sexual curiosity. I chickened out when it came my turn to strip after an older girl and I had made a deal. I couldn't get the courage to make my "two minutes in the closet" a worthwhile event. I was a repressed kid, crippled by my own fears and confusion about intimacy and attraction.

Only a year ago I figured out and admitted to myself that I am bisexual. I wonder how my life would have been different had I the courage to accept my childhood TV crushes on Ponch, BJ McKay, and the Karate Kid. If I had the support of family and community that bisexuality was as beautiful as any part of me, if those feelings weren't repressed for all these years, how would I be different?

I'm still in the closet. I've only told a few people, and one of them I don't even trust anymore. I'm living a virtually celibate life of secret desires and lonely desperation, still too afraid to reach out and act on these indelible urges.

Bisexual Benefits

The best part about being bisexual is that sexual beauty and attraction are everywhere you look. The beach is like a visual feast, everything from abs, pecs, arms, bulges, to legs, tits, ass, and pussy. It’s all fair game, and often times on the beach you can find me in dark sunglasses, sporting a permanent cheese grin with all the views there is to enjoy.

One time at a topless beach, the swelling in my shorts compeled me to just sit down and chill out for a while. I’m sure the ladies and particularly the homophobic straight guys would not appreciate me pitching a tent in my boardshorts right there on the beach. Not to mention the beach patrol.

The down side is that sometimes when you’re with a guy, you wish he was a girl, and vice versa. Also for me bisexuality is a secret, and I could be wrong about this, but I think a lot of my straight friends and my family would freak if I told them I was bi. From my limited experience, only GLBT people seem to understand what it is like to be attracted to the same sex. Straight homophobes just freak out and say, “that repulses me” or “its disgusting” and then they think when you are being friendly, you’re trying to hit on them. It’s a weird, freaky, uptight, mixed up world.