About The Funk...

Observational Spittle from the mind of a man of color in his 40s, without the color added (most times). Come in, laugh, and you may learn something...

90 Things That Irritate The Sh** Out Of Me Trailer

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

What's My Name, Baby...Who Does "It" Belong To...Fellas, C'mon!

Ladies, I know this won't come as a huge shock to you, but fellas enjoy sex.

Let me put this another way...guys like sex like George Bush likes starting s*it he cannot finish.

It's like that.

I enjoy sex a great deal...as much as I can remember it. I have to look it up in the dictionary just to see if I can spell the bloody word. 2 small children who demand all of your attention (and suck the required energy to even fake it, much less dip into the pool of lust...as dried up as it has become due to the rugrats) just sort of nips that in the bud (beyond birthdays, mistletoe (or, if you are lucky, mistle"blows"/licks) and alcohol fueled/door locking trysts.

I am pretty sure it is still spelled with 3 letters...but ever so often I have to go to http://www.whitechickslikechocolatebarswithnougatcenters.com/ just to remember what it looks like, much less how to do it (note, that isn't a real website...at least I hope not; I also don't peruse those sites...well, not anymore, anyway. I came to the conclusion that porn is like a homeless person looking in a restaurant and watching someone eat a steak; a great looking piece of flesh, but you're not going to get to enjoy it).

(Oh, please be honest and let me know how many of you actually clicked on that link and tried to see if it is real; if it actually brings up something, you gotta let me know...I can use a good laugh these days).

Now, as much as I remember about the activity (which is somewhat vague, as I have mentioned earlier), I tried to make it a point to make sure my partner is satisfied before I let my, ahem, "Milky Way" flow to whatever direction my partner is willing to enjoy the sticky wickyness. (Face it, some women are more, well, "liberated" than others). I feel that as women have our kids, clean our houses, mess with our stained underwear (fellas, 5 out of 10 men are "streaking"more than naked guys at football games), and cook dinner for us most of the time; the fact that they would make the time to let us "make love" (I hate that term...let's face it, you either screw/have sex/bone/do the horny pony with the one you love or do the act with the one you wish to make your deposit in...or on, for that matter) we should at least put aside 5% of our income to upgrade their jewelry/clothing/shoe collection once a year (besides Valentine/Christmas/Anniversary occasions).

But, there is a habit among some males that, well, is just an ego boosting, "Johnson extending" really sad exercise that does nothing to enhance the enjoyment of the activity, to be blunt.

And I am happy to say that I have never had to do any of the following:

1. Ask a Woman what my name is during sex.

Seriously, I think that sh*t is funny. First off, if you are doing a good job (I mean, the chick is speaking Chinese and she's Jewish sort of good job), she'll let you know who you are in no uncertain terms (and perhaps remind you of your name if all that blood rushing to your other "head" makes you forget it). The ultimate point is to satisfy your partner...if she wanted you to ask questions, she'd enroll you in "Bang Class" and give you a test, OK?

In short, get her off multiple times, and she'll take out your protein garbage for you.

(Quick aside...ain't it a female dog (see my "bitch" blog for my proper term usage) that women, if done properly, can get off that many times? Beyond the ego boost for the dude...or the girl, depending on their orientation, it's a total hose job...sort of like taxes. And as for gay men, that is double wrong...the pain, and the 8 to 10 second payoff...thank God for the Hetero Lifestyle...at least their is some moisture in the deal).

Let's Move on!

2. Asking a female "Who Does "It" Belong To?"


A little insight for we Neanderthals...a woman owns the "hoo-ha"...which, in turn, means she owns YOU. If a woman has made her man say "Ma Ma Se,Ma Ma Sa, Ma Ma Coo Sa" like Michael Jackson said on "Thriller" because the booty was soooooo good, she owns you. Why? Because she know she can replace "The Big Man on Campus" (as you may think of yourself and the skin and blood vessels in your pants) with a better model, making you man stuff the "Hyundai" and her replacement the "Lexus" that is now parking in your former garage.

3. "Am I the best you ever had?"

Don't, don't, don't...might as well put a Bulls-Eye on your penis, and hand her a crossbow. You are just asking to get shot down.

Let me put it another way, to illustrate the last point. I had a friend once I graduated from college who thought he was the color on the sh*t when it came to satisfying women. He hooks up with this female customer service representative he was ordering phone service from. Meets up with her on a Friday night, and tells me he is gonna have her screaming so loud, she won't need operator assistance to get heard (yeah, that's a quote). Comes by my apartment on Sunday to watch the football game, and his confidence is like totally shattered. I ask him what happened, and he said he couldn't get her to climax; hell, he said he tried everything, and she sat there and watched "The Tonight Show" (when Johnny Carson was on, and it was, well, actually funny).

He never bragged about his prowess for the remainder of our friendship.

As someone who has been rejected more than Health Care Reform in the U.S., I learned once women started to dig my flow that if you handle them with care, dealt with their idiosycrancies, and tried your best to give them as close to that "Prince Charming" image that had been drilled into their skulls by society since they popped out as possible, most times things will turn out OK. (Note: some woman are just psycho hose beasts, so this doesn't apply to them). That in turn improved my luck with women, which in turn improved my sex life tremendously.

I also figured out how to listen in bed to what ladies want, and adapted accordingly. Even my wife, before the "sex-deprivers" that are my children arrived, let me know what worked, and what didn't. I then learned to be quite good at it.

Not arrogance, just fact.

Now, I do have to defend the fellas a little here too. There are men out there that can be called, well...

"The Jackhammers of Sexual Satisfaction!" (dum, dum, dummmmmmm!!!)

Those women who have these tools of lust-cology in their lives and bedrooms have no complaints....no need to actually have each name said while in bed (had a friend who recently told me some dude ask her to say his first, middle, and LAST name during sex; she said she would of rather of had her pubes pulled out by pliers, this guy was THAT bad), or to be asked to break out a rating scale while being done doggy-style and be scored like they were on "Dancing With The Stars."

They are just...well, relaxed.

And depending on their man, have stock in wheelchair companies.

In short, for the fellas, if you listen to a lover in the beginning, and work to get things right in bed, she'll know your name, birthday, underwear size, and what hair jell you use (or, if you are a brother, what wave pomade or Afro-Sheen you prefer).

And ladies....if you happen to have a good tool at your disposal...

"Smack It Up, Flip It, and Rub it Down."

And lock that s*it up.

Nothing worse than having to replace a good tool with one from the "Fisher-Price" collection.


Tug said...

"I came to the conclusion that porn is like a homeless person looking in a restaurant and watching someone eat a steak; a great looking piece of flesh, but you're not going to get to enjoy it."

I've got one of those too! Watching porn is like reading a recipe book. :]

Kimberly said...

I didn't click the link. ;-)

This is good advice - all boys should be required to read it before going off to college. They'd save themselves a lot of time and trouble.

So Not The Bradys said...

I think I blushed a little reading that.