Events

woe is me...

How depressing, that my University is 75% women.

I'm the president of a society here, a rather large and prestigious one (or so I like to think), and being in this function requires me to attend several black-tie events throughout the academic year, most of which I'm expected to have a date for.

Which is more depressing, I can't fathom: that I don't have a date for the next two large functions, or that I can't think of a single girl worth the trouble of asking?

Ay, there's the rub.

Honestly, I can't tell you how horrible it is not only to be a red-blooded young adult male, and not have a single girl I can simply call up and take out on a date. I'm not talking about a friend, I'm talking about a date date.

Yes, perhaps I'm just ugly. Fear not, gentle reader, this thought has crossed my mind, and to be honest if that was the reason at least I could get on with my life and stop trying, but the simple fact is I don't have the slightest idea why I seem to be in this debacle.

So here's the situation; I have a black-tie dinner in a week and three days. I have to find a date (no, a REAL date) before that time or risk significant loss of self-esteem. If I have to resort to just taking a 'friend' I think I will actually go to the dinner and slit my wrists in the toilet.

At least then, I wouldn't have to do all this confounded work...

Tits or Ass?

the eternal divide

Ah yes, the whole big or small breasts issue. And the ultimate dividing question of tits or ass preference.

Generally, it must be said that I'm an ass man. Let a pretty girl walk in front of me and I will pretend to be fascinated by the ceiling. However, wait until said girl has walked past and I will immediately run a Norton Antivirus scan on her behind, analyzing for curves, fullness and height of skirt. With a sip from my pint glass, this information will be processed, rendered, and scaled for a Naked Reconstruction.




But I digress.

Nay, indeed I prefer to think that although I am an ass man, I prefer a woman to have proportion. I.e., her breasts need not be big nor small, her ass need not be petit nor bootylicious, they must merely be in proportion with her other humps.

Her humps her humps her humps. Her lovely lady lumps.

I think that's probably why I like doggy style as well. That or reverse cowgirl, gives me a chance to see their ass in all of it's profound beauty.

And then to smack said beautiful ass...

Pornstar Name

lol!

Pornstar Name = Name of first pet you/your family owned + Name of street you first lived on

AS's first pet:
Emperor Scorpion called Fluffy (I was 15, and I thought it was funny)

AS's first street:
Kensington Blvd.

AS's pornstar name:

Fluffy Kensington!!!!

Collars

rated fuckable

Women in leather dog collars make me weak at the knees.

Mmm. Oh yes.



I'm not entirely sure why, but I suppose there's just something supremely exciting about seeing a woman place an item around her neck that gives her a sense of submission.

It's not that I'm a chauvanistic pig, I think I'm just more of the dominating variety. When I see a woman submit to my every perverse desire and trust me enough to allow herself to be vulnerable around me (emotionally and physically) it allows me to be vulnerable around her, allowing for a deeper spiritual bond.

That, and I can tie her hands to it! MmmmmMmmmMmm oh yes...

But seriously. I first discovered this around a year ago when a mistress of mine (the blonde nymph) mentioned she had one. The first time she wore it in bed I could barely keep myself from coming immediately. After a few requests for this, she realised I had a major collar fetish and tried to hold it back, I suppose to have a form of tether on me. It had the opposite effect, and as such I have to wait for the next woman who gets close enough I can suggest it.

Luckily, women seem to be very persuasive when it comes to this kind of stuff...

Yearning

Gods! I am horny.

How horrible a torment, when one does not have any feminine altars at which to sacrifice the duller moments of his day. How slow the pulse of life when one has no other interest at hand than life itself.

And how cold the bed one sleeps in when one sleeps alone.

O Fate, hear my ardent plea, that I be released from this boredom and given someone at least enough to occupy the bare and dusty space that used to house fantasy. Someone who would remind this man of what a pulse feels like, if for no other reason than to rekindle my creative fires long cold since the absence of a muse.

And if the lack of creation wasn't enough to spur my plea to Cupid, then perhaps some pity will be reserved for desperation's constant attempts to lower my standards. To demand of myself to hold off for better opportunities is to ask of myself to reserve some form of dignity.

How expensive, then, the price of self-worth. How costly the indulgence of pride; and yet, how horrible the thought of quenching one's thirst with cheap wine. Indeed, as though guided by some master brewer, how fast the cheap wine matures the longer one has gone without the drinking of it! Alas, this is a form of vintage guided solely by one's libido, and would blind a man's tongue to the taste of it simply for the satisfaction of drinking. Then, there is the process of waking anew the next day, the lingering smack of the cheap wine still playing over the lips, bought and paid for with the hangover that's lying in the bed next to you.

No, and again I say no. If in tommorow greener grass must grow then for tommorow I will save my libido.