Kiss and Blog

The Date Horizon

noreply@blogger.com (Wombat) — Mon, 27 Feb 2012 19:13:00 +0000

Two qualities I observe in my own brain:

1. It looks for patterns of behaviour (in women I date) that might or might not exist.

2. Its imagination leaps to long-term possibilities with women far beyond reality.

They're both manifestations of an inaccurate Date Horizon. The Date Horizon (did I just coin this?) is the natural expectation of what's reasonable from the other person given the current state of the liaison. For instance:

* After a first date, the Date Horizon can really only extend to the possibility of a second.

* After the first sex, the Date Horizon probably includes some number of future sessions. (NOTE: Or none.)

* Once the Fidelity Agreement's in place, the Date Horizon extends out by a few months.

* Marriage takes the Date Horizon at least to the natural horizon.

I imagine that we all get ahead of ourselves when we start out with someone new. Sadly, it's unrealistic and I believe ultimately destructive when the other person fails to live up to our dream (the hide!) or we actually start living in a way that's not reality-based.

So. Note to self: One step at a time. Take each date as it comes. Understand not everyone will work out. Keep a tight rein on the imagination. Watch how nice it is when the Date Horizon really does move beyond tomorrow.

Bottoms Up, Imagineers.

Friday Fluffer - Make Love Not Porn

noreply@blogger.com (Wombat) — Fri, 24 Feb 2012 13:37:00 +0000

Ashley Tisdale

The crack-addictive nature of porn for guys is the never-ending stream of new, easy trim. Just one more pussy can be more tempting than any woman will ever understand.

Until now.

I think Cindy might have run smack bang into the middle of something sticky that she didn't like.

Cindy Gallop's TED talk.

And here's her (awfully designed but interesting) website. Make Love Not Porn.

Bottoms Up, Pron-Stars.

Women are from Two-Stroke

noreply@blogger.com (Wombat) — Mon, 20 Feb 2012 22:35:00 +0000

Ferrari F430

I read Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus when it was published a few light years ago. It was enlightening in an obvious way, by which I mean that the metaphor overwhelmed the information. Does anyone not understand that men and women are different? Did we need an entire book to make that point? Were the stereotypes thusly created valuable?

Still, it created positive controversy. The chattering class had something vaguely titillating with which to pretend-shock friends, and Dr Oprah's millionaire factory created another alumnus. Chalk it up to nothing succeeding like success.

But something about the premise bugged me, and still does. I can't quite put my finger on it, but the idea that men and women are from different planets - abstract as the whole deal is - strikes me as more divisive than creative. We're the same species divided into two sexes, not two civilizations.

Anyhoo, as they say in the classics, I found a metaphor that I like that helps explain one Martian/Venusian characteristic, and it's this:

Men's sexual motor is always on, idling when not in gear, revving hard when in motion.

Women's sexual motor is off much of the time, needing to be started before moving from the curb.

Neat eh?

Because I always take stuff too far, I'd say that:

Men are diesels. Diesels happily run all the time, but also thrive on hard revving.

Women are two-stroke engines NPI. Two strokes are lively and have high power-to-weight, but are best suited to be on when needed, and off when not.

Men, this was a teachable moment for me (another modern linguistic triumph.) Remember, before attempting anything, first start her up, and, better still, warm her up.

Bottoms Up, Internal Combustors.

Butt me no Buts.

noreply@blogger.com (Wombat) — Mon, 13 Feb 2012 10:39:00 +0000

Dr Sadie Allison

Going to college will never be the same. It might not be Ivy League, but the Institute for Advanced Study of Human Sexuality sounds like a mighty fine place for anyone to take a few classes, let alone achieve a full Doctorate. One wonders what original research remains after thousands of years of practical application by everyone who ever lived, but it sure as hell would be fun finding out.

Such musings are for another day, because I want to introduce the latest work by a graduate of the IASHS, Dr Sadie Allison. Her book is called "Tickle my Tush" and it's subtitled "Mild-to-Wild Analplay Adventures for Everybooty." My copy was sent to me free.

Firstly, let me say that some of my most memorable sex and orgasm highlights stem from the time I spent with a woman who knew her male anatomy. She was fearless (and determined) in figuring out how to get to both of our pleasure centres, both mind-based and body-based. What set her apart from lots of women was her understanding of the prostate, what Dr Sadie cleverly calls "The He-Spot."

Here's the thing: the He-Spot is best accessed via one's anus, a concept loaded with pre-conceptions, stereotypes, misunderstandings and multiple other psycho-anatomical baggage. Indeed, it took me a while to relax into the idea that the arse, in this context, is just an access point, no more, no less. The point is: WOW, the H-Bomb-Quality orgasms left one radioactive for days. You rapidly overcome any reticence when your universe explodes like that.

Then there were her orgasms, which looked and felt similarly thermonuclear. All that from a little bit of self-knowledge anal-wise (and a willing student.)

Secondly, it is unusual how well edited and constructed this book is. Many of the (surprisingly numerous) books I receive to review don't even make it to a blog post draft - if the author and editor cannot, for instance, complete a table of contents with accurate page numbers, or maintain a consistent tense, or understand possessive apostrophes...then I can't be bothered either.

So. This book is thoughtfully and consistently laid-out, beginning at the middle, proceeding logically to the end. That's refreshing.

Thirdly, I'm just gonna say it - this is a great read. As our good Doctor suggests, I would take it to bed with my sig. oth. and read it with her both for the fun and the education. There's no cuteness here, just simple ideas and instruction wrapped in an attitude of telling it like it is. The tone is a model of neither talking up nor down to the reader. It's a straight-gazed effort at a sometimes tricky topic.

For anal newbies and wannabes or experienced operators, this is a concise commonsense reference to keep you safe, happy and orgasmic.

Bottoms Up, Choccy Starfishes.

Be Careful For What You Wish

noreply@blogger.com (Wombat) — Fri, 10 Feb 2012 23:23:00 +0000

Eva Amurri

A recurring theme in my life is how often I learn lessons about living by making mistakes. I write Kiss & Blog because airing my thoughts on dating and relationships helps with nailing down at least a few rules of engagement. Falling flat on one's face is a universal experience for anyone who has ever had more than one encounter with the opposite sex, but I can't help wondering how much better my nose would look had I been privy to some inside skinny before I began. Your nose, of course, is as cute as a button.

It does begin with one's parents. Not only do we have DNA shepherding us behind the scenes, we all model our behaviour on the example they provide(ed). Some examples are good, of course, but many aren't and a number are downright destructive. Awareness of this helps. Out-thinking one's formative environment can lead to a better life. That's pretty much where I'm at, figuring out what my programming is - genetic and environmental - and deciding whether any of it is any good.

Taking a long, hard look around leaves me quizzical at how many others are in the same position. My parents gave me precisely zero sexual education, no tips on relationships and not one guiding principle on how to avoid girl-trouble. (Not that girls are intrinsically trouble - it's the way I behave around them that creates such a thing.) So it's an almost universal co-ed dorm room, this University of Life and Love where we all start from scratch, generation after generation. Wouldn't it be cool if we could build knowledge of what works and what doesn't and pass it on to our babies? Yes, but apparently we don't.

Everything I know is a synthesis of experience (good and bad), both mine and peers as related to me. Which is a problem of itself. When we grope for understanding based on what our buddies tell us, dating life can easily slip into some odd movie combination of American Pie and American Psycho. Finding the path that's right for each of us as individuals requires a lot of going it alone. No way around it.

All of which leaves me in the following position: I work to discover the architecture of how to live life. Finding a framework on which to hang a desirable façade, one that's true to the underpinning foundations, is a lifetime quest.

Bottoms Up, Lifetime Questers.

Target Practice

noreply@blogger.com (Wombat) — Wed, 08 Feb 2012 23:08:00 +0000

Virginia Mayo

I shall state for the record that I'm opposed to squeezable mayonnaise. Squeeze-bottle mayo poses two dilemmas, linked like yin and yang:

A. It's squeezable, making it too easy to dispense and over-dispense, and

B. It's mayonnaise, which has the worst nutrition/devil-food ratio of any substance known to man.

Mayo was invented by people who used it like cocaine (by the gram), but in glorious fashion, we've figured to offer it like lube in a Thai whorehouse.

Unless you are one of those aforementioned whores doing ten tricks a day (expending a gazillion calories) mayo should be treated like a schedule two drug. I'm looking for such a warning on my bottle of mayo right now.

So if one has a weight target to maintain or attain, one should choose one's target foods carefully. I figure it's the same with one's sex diet. If we're after someone for body-slamming only, we need to know that we're partaking of that particular food group. If we're after someone to be a public partner, that's another group of people, and so on. Matching motives is the goal.

For every person who owns up to being in a particular relationship frame of mind, there's another who actually has different motives. Lots of people say they're after only a hook-up, but like plans for war this attitude rarely survives first contact. Someone squeezes the mayo, and uh-oh; things move beyond the simply physical.

What I'm trying to say is that to know one's own mind will save much heartache. The most frustrating and deceptive person you'll ever meet looks back at you from the mirror every day. A good sit-down chat with them will get you closer to clarity of motive.

Bottoms Up, Tartare Sauces.

Man as Pie - Wombatgram #23

noreply@blogger.com (Wombat) — Sun, 05 Feb 2012 17:17:00 +0000

They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, and who doesn't like pie?

Click on Wombatgram for larger version.

Previous Wombatgrams here.

Bottoms Up, Doughmeisters.

Hamburger Helper

noreply@blogger.com (Wombat) — Thu, 02 Feb 2012 14:16:00 +0000

Priyanka Chopra.

Alcohol is to dating as Hamburger Helper is to ground meat - it stretches slim pickin's into something more substantial. Booze/Helper won't change the underlying person/protein, but it will fill out the gaps in your character/meat quality. Think of it this way - would you prefer a short date of complete honesty in a white room with two chairs and a table, or a couple of hours of low-level banter in a pub?

The meat equivalent would be one small portion of raw beef as against a big gooey cheeseburger. We know which one is more unadulterated - so to speak - but are early dates better if consumed raw? Like eggs, meat and first dates, warnings against consuming them uncooked exist for good reason.

It's not a costless bargain, this one. Your self/patty will suffer from the dilution, a little at first, but more if you over-indulge. The burger that's mostly Helper won't be re-ordered, coz it's all bulk filler and no taste. Likewise, a completely plastered plating probably has you scraped into that person's scrap bin forever. The idea is to have your date want to taste you on more dates.

However, if you can find the optimum mix, you're on the way to making the best of the date/meal. My buzz peaks at around 1.7 martinis, knowledge that's quite hard come-by. At that point I'm still mostly sober, but loose enough to lose the usual dating inhibitions. That is the aim, by the way, to overcome nerves or other social inhibitors that get in the way. These problems are born of overthinking, and the best way to circumvent thinking that I know of is a good stiff drink or two.

But be smart and order food with your drinks. I'd suggest tapas-sized steak carpaccio and frites.

Bottoms Up Buzzed Bollywood Beauties.

You Belong With Me?

noreply@blogger.com (Wombat) — Tue, 31 Jan 2012 14:17:00 +0000

She's cute and mighty popular and won't ever struggle to pay her electricity bill, but doesn't Taylor Swift remind you of Kathy Bates in Misery?

The song says it all: it's the story of a teenaged girl infatuated with a guy who bypassed her for a better model.

Taylor's the only one who gets his humour.
Taylor's the only one who understands him.
Taylor's the only one who really knows what he wants - Taylor.

Nothing stalkerish about that.

Is she planning to abduct this dude and chain him up at her place?
To save his life, will he confess that he hates his cheerleader girlfriend with the heels and short skirts?
Does the dude end up with broken legs after he tries to escape?

We understand that all relationships are fundamentally sado-masochist in nature - someone has the power, and the other likes it.

But some people just take it a little too far.

Bottoms Up, Country Musicians.

Crazy Motherfucking Bitch

noreply@blogger.com (Wombat) — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 16:54:00 +0000

Miss W pic credit.

There is no pleasing this woman.* She looks at you and observes potential unfulfilled, possibilities unattained. There's no way around it - she sees you as a compromise, a worthy non-profit cause goofy enough to love, not smart enough to admire. We muddle through, chatting up an acceptance storm, nibbling on settling-brand cheese, drinking best-I-can-get wine. Who cares, it's approximately where everyone else is at, right?

It's a downer scenario. There are plenty around like it; indeed, I've been in at least one affair like this. But I'd like to offer some optimism. There is hope if we recognize the following:

1. Love is waking up every morning wanting nothing more than to make the other person's day better.

The difference between dalliance and to-die-for is motivation.

*Obviously I am not impugning the fetching Miss W, shown. She's a paragon of selflessness.

Bottoms Up, Upward Managers.

The Dating Distribution Curve - Wombatgram #22

noreply@blogger.com (Wombat) — Wed, 25 Jan 2012 14:09:00 +0000

Click on Wombatgram to enlarge.

How to interpret the Dating Distribution Curve:

* Sequential date number shown on x-axis
* Total number of daters shown on y-axis
* Three peaks represent peaks of dating numbers
* Two troughs represent dips in dating numbers
* Successful negotiation of dips becomes progressively more difficult
* After date #10 you're beyond dating and onto some other status

Obviously, most people know by date #2 or #3 if there's a future with this person.

The dips exist to test whether you really should be together. Read more about The Dip here.

Other Wombatgrams here.

Bottoms Up, Long Lasters.

Expecting the Unexpected

noreply@blogger.com (Wombat) — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 10:38:00 +0000

Eliza Dushku

Meeting and dating someone in quick succession can be one of the funnest things in the universe. If you feel you have something with this new person the exhilaration of discovery is like a drug. Gimme more!

The downside of that is if it doesn't work out, you end up in a relationship with some sketchy dude who sells you low-grade shit at street-plus prices. Wait. That's another kind of drug, although the analogy holds pretty well.

We singles are all looking for that starburst of wonder and goodwill, elusive as it might be. There's no way to pre-figure the feeling, the chemistry follows no particular rules. Encounters with this drug are not restricted to singles either - I can think of at least three married women with whom I've shared that moment of singularity, of knowing. Fortunately, my better nature prevented anything more happening. There are quite a few what-ifs hanging out there in the universe.

Like any drug, mutual discovery is best enjoyed in the right environment. Bathrooms and cars are fun, but more appropriate when you're both on a slightly more solid footing. Passion can overwhelm common sense, so at least in the beginning some dating structure is good.

That's an old-fashioned view, I understand. Trouble is that heightened emotions - all I can think about is HER - leave no room for circumspection. It's all about wondering what she's doing, whether I need a haircut and how her pussy might taste.

Bottoms Up, Newly Acquainted.

Regrets, Imagination and Missed Connections

noreply@blogger.com (Wombat) — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 21:05:00 +0000

They first caught my eye years ago in The Stranger, Seattle's free leftie weekly, but I note that Craigslist has them too. "They" are the wee Missed Connections classifieds, posted by those poor souls who think they've spied someone special in public but botched the opportunity to introduce themselves.

This is representative:

You are a petite blonde hair, blue eyed woman with an amazing athletic build. Wow, you are so fit and attractive, I just can't take my eyes off of you.

Honestly, you're the highlight of my workout and the conclusion of my day.

Note the slightly stalkerish POV and continued unwillingness to engage IRL.

This is more calculating:

You were at the Costco at _________ on Friday around 4:00PM . You had blue jeans tucked in your tall boots and you were with a bald older man. We exchanged multiple looks and smiles....me dark hair, light eyes, goatee, tall, handsome. I was smitten with you like no woman I have seen in years. Would love to show you the nicest of discreet times. No strings, no drama just fun excitement and passion.

And this guy almost got it right:

We were chatting at Gin Mill, and I got your number but then i did not save it. You were a math teacher.

A tone of wistfulness inhabits these pieces. The unspoken question is "...what if..." which is clearly a product of imagination. The answer will remain in there too, unless these people DO SOMETHING about it, which is why I think this is so awesome. * snaps gum *

Check this out: MeSayingHi. SFW. The concept is simple. You store your online profile with the MeSayingHi folks. You buy introductory cards that allow access to that profile. When you have one of those potential missed opportunities, whip out the card, hand it to the person with as big smile as you can muster, and go about your day. (Then hope like hell they get back to you.)

I'm in favour of anything that eases the first awkward stranger-to-stranger encounter. Nothing will replace the actual act of walking up to someone, looking them in the eye and introducing yourself. But. Not everyone has that confidence. For those who do not, this will help.

Bravo Andrew at MeSayingHi, I'm a convert. *

Bottoms Up, Brave Knights and Knightettes.

*[BTW, in case you think I'm being paid for this: nope. I just think it's an excellent idea.]

Life's A Beach.

noreply@blogger.com (Wombat) — Sun, 15 Jan 2012 02:23:00 +0000

As a first date venue, the beach is a mixed bag. A walk along the beach as a part of a first date works well in my experience, mostly because the surrounds de-focus first-date nerves.

It needn't be a beach, of course. A park or even a stroll on a nice street will work in the same fashion, but the beach has a few advantages.

I like the beach because the palette is clear-cut. The colours are those of sea, sky and sand. The textures are air, land and water. And the sun might be shining, or not, and it's either windy or not. Elemental is probably the best way to describe being on the inside of one of nature's low-key highlights.

Think of it this way: On a first date, you are trying to find a way into your co-dater's head. You've already decided if you're physically attracted, and the permutations of how you imagine them fitting into your life have already played out. What remains is to figure out if the reality of this person can squeeze into your mental relationship-sardine-can.

Which is why a few subtle walk-along-the-beach qualities are important.

+ You both are likely to be barefoot. (Implied nakedness.)

+ You are not facing each other whilst walking. (Helps reduce the intensity.)

+ You're both breathing. (Great for clear thinking and positivity.)

I wrote that beach dates are a mixed bag, so here's the downside. If you have a swim-date at the beach, you raise all kinds of questions regarding body-image and self-confidence. Unless you're galaxy-grade sure this isn't a problem for your date - OMG a first date, gulp! - settle for a walk. If that works, there's plenty of time for bikinis later.

Bottoms Up, Bikini Bottoms.

May I Have This Dance?

noreply@blogger.com (Wombat) — Wed, 11 Jan 2012 22:28:00 +0000

Pic credit.

I prefer earlier composers - the Baroque suits me better. But in Salzburg, Mozart's home town, they have a wonderful tradition of re-enacting all things Mozartish. His music is everywhere and so is the sensibility. People dress as they did in the late eighteenth century and dance to the music of the time. It's wonderful to see.

The dancing's where I'm getting to. Mozart wrote a lot of dance music, and was no mean dancer himself. He wrote for the popular styles of the time, meaning popular with the kind of people who held and attended balls, not street riff-raff. He was passionate about writing and participating, especially the minuet.

There was nothing stuffy about the music:

They are exasperating to listen to in large quantity, but they are full of lively, even zany details, and serve as a reminder that eighteenth-century composers were expected to be adept at producing both 'popular' and 'serious' music, and that there was no categorical difference between the two.

The vision in my head is of a ballroom of finely dressed Austrians. People of all ages are in attendance, good dancers and bad, friends and strangers. There's chatter and laughter between dances, smiles and storytelling, like at any good party.

The music begins, and men and women partner up - sometimes wives and husbands, sometimes friends, oftentimes singles. Steps and moves are formalized and everyone knows the rules, although not everyone can keep time. The fun, as with all good dancing, lies in the shared grace and closeness. The movements are contrived and formulated, but that is the point. Anyone can dance with anyone else precisely because the rules are clear and understood.

One other surviving period detail is that men always ask for the woman to join him in a dance. That seems to work best.

Bottoms Up Salzburgers.

Relationship Mash-Upship

noreply@blogger.com (Wombat) — Sun, 08 Jan 2012 22:00:00 +0000

Sophie Marceau pic credit.

Beautifully matched couples are boring. Kens and Barbies together are meant to be seen as a pair, batteries sold separately. Surely they have their tiffs and differences like any other be-coupled life forms, but it's less dramatic when you know there'll always be someone else. The drama of a bust-up barely registers when the danger is only of when they'll find another one just like the last. Answer: It won't take long.

Couples who are clearly different in appearance raise interesting questions. Do they know they look mismatched? What is it they have in common? Which one of them has the most devious motivation? Are they together out of spite? Which of them is desperate?

[You'll note that I attribute less than honourable motives here. That speaks to my mind, not to our theoretical odd pair.]

In my experience, there are a few broad categories where couples look noticeable. There's the big age difference, the big looks- or body-style difference, and the style difference. A style difference would be, say, someone fully tatted-up with a cleanskin. Cheatin' Jesse James and Sandra Bullock is one example. Less obvious mismatches are those involving social ability, wealth and intelligence. Intelligence is a tricky one, because measurement is so subjective.

Looking around, it's clear that we tend to meld with those who more-or-less look like they belong to us. That might simply be because all we want in a partner is the opposite-sex version of our favourite person. Us.

Bottoms Up, Self-Esteemers.

Being In The Moment, Until the End.

noreply@blogger.com (Wombat) — Thu, 05 Jan 2012 22:07:00 +0000

Morgane Slemp pic credit.

Is dating an extended job interview or an end unto itself? If it's an interview, what is the job? And if dating's the thing, why is it so fraught?

~/\~

In my experience, whenever people talk about their dating lives, there's a whisper of unfulfillment in the air. They drift off into an unspoken wistfulness, eg:

Oh, we're dating. Nothing serious... or

Yep, been dating a year or so now....

It's never (apart from initially)

OMG! I love it! We're dating!*

~/\~

Mismatched intentions doom many budding romances. It's the question everyone loathes, viz:

Where are we going with this?

If either dater feels the need to ask this question, it's over. If he or she doesn't communicate clearly some kind of goal that's vaguely related to yours, without prompting, asking the question merely emphasizes likely relationship termination.

~/\~

It's possible that I, like many others, am brainwashed into thinking that dating is only ever a road to somewhere else. Dating as its own reward can work, but requires the kind of communication rarely seen when people first meet and want to make matters more formal.

Kate, I want to spend more time with you, to date you. However, at this point I have no interest nor plans beyond that. All good with you?

Doug, just date me. That's all I want.

~/\~

* Granted, beyond a certain age, this might be the case.

Bottoms Up, Existentialists.

Tell Him He's Dreaming

noreply@blogger.com (Wombat) — Wed, 04 Jan 2012 11:24:00 +0000

Zarah Pacheco pic credit.

I do it all the time - I get stuck in my head, thinking about meeting the perfect gal, how it would all be so neat and clean and happy ever after. Living like this courts trouble, especially when we're talking the sex and so on, because the mind doesn't own a watch. Time has no meaning in daydream fantasy land, so that when a real life prospect comes along in actual real life, time actually applies and I crash to earth.

Time's important because there's really no fast-forwarding through the getting-to-know-you period. We're not like automobiles; there's no plugging in a computer to check the status and history of all the machine's systems, as fun as it is to imagine doing that with a person.

Okay, Bud, whattawe got here? Alrighty, looks like her history's pretty clean. Body's straight. Transmission's been replaced, looks like it was a warranty job, so that's good. Fluids all clean and changed regularly. Tyres are getting close to the limit, but will do for now. She needs to go for a long ride, I'd say she only does short trips around town, so she needs a good blow-out. Apart from that, I'd say you've got a solid prospect here.

Wouldn't it be neat to know precisely what you're in for when you meet someone? Of course, there'd be no discovery, but really, revelation's over-rated. History's chock-full of dead explorers.

But back to this planet. We're all PDG at masking stuff we think needs hiding - but not forever. Some kind of universal consensus hovers around the eighteen month mark as about the period required to uncover your sweetie's suitability. That's about the time Magellan took to get half-way around the world.

Just for the record, he died there.

Bottoms Up, Relationship Mechanics.

Necking, Making Out and Just the Right Seasoning

noreply@blogger.com (Wombat) — Tue, 03 Jan 2012 00:26:00 +0000

Alena Seredova pic credit.

What ever happened to making out? I wonder if people still sit together on a couch or in the car and fool around with their clothes on, or whether we're all so sophisticated thesedays we go straight for the bonking.

Good make-out is more than just kissing, because kissing by itself is like food without seasoning. The salt and pepper of a smooch session are the little things, like some nibbling, a little hair-pulling, deep eye contact and so on. A skilled make-out artist knows the value of piano and forte, of innocence and raunch, and of fast and slow.

As any professional lady will tell you, kissing is more sensual and personal than mere fucking, which confirms my thinking - that we communicate more with a long kissing session than in a straightforward shag. Okay, maybe not, but it's certainly more subtle than all the reproductive stuff. Let's face it, all shagging is variations of thrusting and grinding, but kissing is infinitely more nuanced.

At least half of the make-out experience is smell and feel. The smell of a woman is an enormous turn-on, something that we all know but seem to think pertains only to her juicy parts. I, for instance, love the smell and feel of a woman's neck. The right neck - attached to the right woman - is a thing of beauty. Necks have heavenly curves that no mathematical formula can describe, and if they're touched in the right way, moaning results.

I like it when women moan and I'm pretty sure they do too.

Bottoms Up Make-Out Bandits.

Friday Fluffer - It's Just A Weird Situation All Round

noreply@blogger.com (Wombat) — Fri, 30 Dec 2011 20:47:00 +0000

Elle Macpherson pic credit.

Not that Elle would ever be a fluffer. Although who knows what floats her 155' boat?

For the last Friday Fluffer of 2011, I give you the BEST way yet discovered to create pet names. Actually, I'm serious. This works, if only for a laugh. SFW.

Bottoms Up Sexy Candy Pandas.

Love Matador

noreply@blogger.com (Wombat) — Thu, 29 Dec 2011 11:05:00 +0000

Paz Vega photo credit.

The PUA community is fully aware of the value of dressing to impress. Overdressing, actually, with the aim of making themselves the centre of attention. Peacocking they call it.

Grabbing and maintaining a woman's eye is the aim, and a quirky or bright outfit will help. The theory is that once you set yourself apart from the shlubs in flops and cargo pants, bedding a woman is then a matter of time.

The lads are probably right.

In Florida, where I live, a man in a long-sleeved shirt creates a stir. If he's in a business suit with necktie and polished shoes, the local television news sends an outside broadcast unit. Of course the climate mitigates against much more than shorts and a flamingo-print shirt, but still; we're a state of slobs.

So I have a vision, thanks to Katherina. The most colourful and distinctive male outfit I can think of is that of the matador. I'm SO tempted to dress myself as a torero - accessorized with hat and blood-red cape - and go about my day. In the morning I'd take my espresso, go to the bank and pump some gas. In the afternoon, naturally, a siesta. And then at then at cocktail hour I'd head to my favourite bar trailing a line of swooning females.

I'd be like a Bullfighting Pied Piper.

Bottoms Up, Picadors.

You're Such a Dirty Bitch

noreply@blogger.com (Wombat) — Tue, 27 Dec 2011 10:53:00 +0000

Manuela Arcuri photo credit.

You're such a dirty bitch.

God you're so wet, I love it.

Oooh, yeah, that feels great.

Your pussy feels so tight.

Mmmmm, I could do this forever.

Guess what we're doing here? Yes, I'm talking during sex, and now that it's written down, it's kinda lame - unimaginative, even. But when I start thinking about improving my sex-talk repertoire, the right words elude me.

My working theory is this: If a woman is sharing her mind and body with me in heavenly congress, she wants me to be as close to her ideal lover as possible. I guess women have the two extremes of men in mind - the worst possible and the best. The worst kind of lover sticks it in, wiggles it around for a bit, ejaculates and remains silent throughout. (Although under some circumstances I can see some women wanting precisely that. Tricky creatures.)

The ideal lover is skilled at making her feel beautiful and sexy; understands just how to help her mind and body stay horny; exerts the right amount of authority; talks eloquently and sexily; and fucks her long and often.

Frankly, that doesn't seem like such a big ask, especially in a loving marriage or committed LTR. Still, the right kind of talking during sex looks to be the most elusive element. From personal experience, men should avoid:

~ laughter. Women seem to take this personally, rather than as an expression of joy.

~ filth-talk if she's not in the mood. Best to discuss this beforehand.

~ comparison to other women, even if positively. Duh.

~ explicit functional chat if she's not prepared for it. Body parts have distinctly unsexy names.

~ anything that makes her feel self-conscious. Until she's comfortable with admiring honesty.

That's a start. As with much surrounding sexual preferences, it's best discussed away from the heat of the moment. Start when fully-clothed, and over dinner, ask:

Darling, when we're making love, do you like it when I tell you how hot you are in Latin?

With luck you'll be able to capitalize on the feeling and try your sex-talk immediately. Practice makes perfect.

Bottoms Up, Woman-Whisperers.

The Marriage Spider: Wombatgram #21

noreply@blogger.com (Wombat) — Sun, 25 Dec 2011 19:15:00 +0000

Try as you might, there's no killing the Marriage Spider.

Click on Wombatgram for all the hairy details.

Bottoms Up, Arachnophobes.

For all previous Wombatgrams, try the Wombatgram home page, above.

But Then Again, Too Few to Mention

noreply@blogger.com (Wombat) — Fri, 23 Dec 2011 01:52:00 +0000

Maria Grazia Cucinotta pic.

Choosing the right partner.

I don't know, if there is some secret to making this happen, it's surely not in my possession. The answer is tantalizingly close, like she's so almost there...but she's not.

Or is she?

I am unmarried because I have yet to meet the right person. Well, maybe I've met her, but all the folderol surrounding dating is a barrier. Some people are ready, some people are not, and so the world turns.

Maturity matters. Some people I know married early in life, but they had it together enough to make it work. On the other hand, there are perpetually lagging souls who only present as decent prospects after a few years in oak barrels. Everyone's mileage varies.

If there is magic to be learned, maybe it is just that - that we're all different, and you knowing when you're ready for decanting is paramount.

Bottoms Up, Vignerons.

Wedding Night Sex

noreply@blogger.com (Wombat) — Wed, 21 Dec 2011 12:54:00 +0000

Photo hat-tip: Miss Licious.

Somewhere, in blogland or a trashy newspaper, I read that fewer than fifty percent of couples have sex on their wedding night. That seems about right. Conventional weddings are awful, stressful things, non-conducive to relaxed (or even frenzied) lovemaking. Emotional and physical exhaustion ruin desire.

But let's say you've practised abstinence. It's your wedding night, and high time for a thorough seeing-too. For God knows how long you've both restricted yourselves, and now your rules allow for...well, anything, I guess. Where do you start?

Where would you start? It must be like being locked overnight in your favourite store, able to take anything you want. Presumably masturbation is allowed if you're pre-maritally abstinent towards your beloved, so holding back the reservoir wouldn't be too overwhelming. I guess the whole point is having penis in vagina, so the quickest way to make that happen would be the first order of business.

I wonder how many folks are disappointed at that first time? Wouldn't that be a sinking feeling, discovering that after all that delayed gratification, you'd hitched yourself to a dud bash?

Still, it must be quite a moment, that first time, outcome notwithstanding.

Miss Miz's favourite link. SFW

Bottoms Up, Newlyweds.