by Nick Molloy
‘You’re going to have to stop that’ she gasped
‘Why?’ I asked triumphantly
‘Because otherwise you’re going to have to fuck me’ she squeaked.
In the morning I woke alone, but to my dismay the Arctic circle had descended on the room. Icicles hung from the ceiling and snow had fallen on the bed. I could see my breath in the air. The good doctor wanted to usher me from her room as quickly as was humanly possible. At least it might then warm up a bit.
She was intelligent in an academic way, but in all other ways I found her just as backward as many that had gone before her. She was paranoid what her friends might think of the stripper staying the night and what this said about her. I had also persuaded her to renege on her own promise to herself. I was hardly running away, I asked to see her again. She assured me yes, but I knew she meant no.
At a later date I asked her to explain her actions to me in a logical way, so that I might understand her behaviour from her perspective, as opposed to my extrapolated interpretation. She refused and only agreed to speak to me after I told her I was writing about it and wanted her opinions so she could put her version of events. It turns out that apparently it didn’t look good for her to be seen with a stripper and ‘it wouldn’t be possible to take me home to her parents’. Daddy wouldn’t approve (allegedly). What must she have been thinking about when she had a stripper sticking out of her ? Who said prejudice is on the way out ?
She wasn’t the last ‘posh bird’ or the last doctor I was to get into. Another ‘posh bird’ told me that we couldn’t see each other again because ‘daddy didn’t approve’ and the doctor was another one night thing. I remember discussing with her the nature of my last encounter with a doctor.
‘I’ll only sleep with you if you promise not to go schizophrenic on me the morning’ I said.
‘I promise’ she said reassuringly.
I woke up to a different woman and made a quick exit fearing for my life. I received an apologetic text later on in the day saying that I must now think all female doctors are complete lunatics. I replied with a simple ‘yes’.
There can be no doubt that sex is a very emotive issue for women. Their male counterparts engage in a physical act, whereas the female often goes on a spiritual journey when sharing her bodily fluids.
Women still have sexual urges and physical needs that have to be met. Their desire and will to satisfy them however, is considerably dampened. I have observed on numerous occasions where women have wanted to get down and dirty (with me), yet their conscience hasn’t allowed them to. Their body language and even their language has been all systems go. Yet, they don’t want to be seen as ‘easy’ or a ‘slag’ in front of their mates. By contrast Straight Man would receive a round of applause from his mates. The term slag is just a euphemism for somebody who has a good sex life.
Instead, Straight Woman receives jealous looks and snide remarks from her ‘mates’. If friends can’t be happy for you then surely they can’t really be friends. I’ve slept with women from many different backgrounds and social groupings. A common thread is their lack of genuinely close friendships. They seem to have many superficial friendships but a lack of people that they could rely on to walk through fire for them should they need it. Their female friends typically carry pangs of jealousy and exhibit an air of pretentious rivalry. Their alleged male friends simply want to fuck them (the straight ones). Often they have no idea of this and refute this when they are told.
I firmly believe that men and women can’t be friends without the sex getting in the way. They are completely different species with differing interests, motives and priorities. The exception to this is if both parties find each other mutually unattractive or sex occurs and therefore that barrier is removed. A friendship can then blossom. Even then however, the friendship that occurs between man and woman is very different to that that occurs between the same sex. The friendship is usually born out of a shared experience rather than common interest.
For the record, I do have female friends they are just relatively few in number. I’ve had sex with nearly all of my female friends; we got it out of the way early. One in particular saw my website and targeted me from afar (America in fact). She was angling for a shag whilst she was visiting London. However, given everything I’ve had to say about female sexuality you probably won’t be too surprised to hear that she was a female stripper and therefore slightly more forward than most !
If women could observe their boyfriends in the company of their friends I’m sure that they would dump their boyfriends immediately. Sorry to break this to you girls, but every part of your anatomy, what you got up to in your most intimate moments and the amount of noise you make at the height of your pleasure have probably been shared in minute detail with his mates. Of course he told you he’s isn’t like all those other men. He has to if he wants to keep fucking you - doesn’t he ?
The number of times I have been direct and blunt with women and it has actually been successful, are very small in number. Even the power of celebrity rarely overcomes the insecurity and inhibitions of the female of the species. However there are exceptions.
I was once playing a gay venue in Exeter. It was a Tuesday night and I had driven all that way just for the one show. The show went well and I had numerous gay approaches afterwards. They turned away one after the other having crashed and burned in a ball of flames. As soon as the fire has been doused another one was there trying his luck.
At the very end of the evening I was approaching the organizer to bid him farewell when I was approached by a gorgeous giggly girl. She had short brown hair, piercing blue eyes and a cracking pair of mamories. My terminator sense was screaming MATCH, MATCH, MATCH at maximum volume.
‘Hello’ I said
‘Hello’ came back the delayed reply.
She looked starstruck, and had clearly been infected with stripper celebrity.
‘I was just leaving’ I said.
‘Where do you live’
‘Near London’
‘You’re driving all the way back there now’ she said incredulously.
‘Off course not’ I said.
‘Where are you staying then ?’
‘Your place of course’ I proclaimed as triumphantly as I could muster.
She giggled some more and after a brief hesitation said ‘ok’.
I grabbed her by the hand and began to lead her out of the club before she changed her mind.
The steady stream of gays who had crashed and burned stared at us with open mouths as we left. One of them uttered ‘bitch’ under his breath as we passed.
We got back to hers and soon got naked. She was perfect and her pussy tasted so sweet. I could have dined on it all night. The gays were trying to call her demanding to know what she was up to with the stripper. We took a picture on her mobile of her sucking my cock and texted it to the perpetrators. A reply was instantly returned with one word - ‘BITCH’.
Rebecca was devine and she came across well. She was working a job in a bar to rent her tiny little bedsit. She was no benefit junkie living off the state, which endeared me to her even more. Her long legs had been used on a billboard campaign and she seemed to have a lot more going for her besides. When I set off for home she assured me I was welcome to come and stay with her if I was ever working in the area again. I made a strong mental note to do that.
So it was that six months later I had arranged a trio of shows on successive days across Devon. I picked Rebecca up en route to Plymouth and found it difficult to keep my hands off her. We arrived at the gay venue in Plymouth and Becky duly helped me prepare for the show with her luscious lips and mouth. Afterwards we had a game of pool and she commented what a good weekend she thought it would be.
Back at her place the sex games began and what ensued was perhaps the most memorable sexual encounter I have had to date. She tied my hands behind my back and then got quite forceful with me. Grabbing my hair, she forced me to eat her out for quite s
ome time. Finally, she rode me until I screamed.
What a tragedy it was, that I again awoke to a different person. Having shown so much potential the night before, I thought I was going to be in for a weekend to remember. I was, but not the type I had hoped for.
I seem to have a habit of getting girls to do things in the bedroom that they haven’t done before. My confidence seems to rub off on them in the heat of the moment. When on the ecstasy train, they step out of their comfort zone and whilst I’m holding their hand they’re fine with it. In the morning however, they are full of sobered up thoughts and regrets about the kinky depraved stuff they did the night before. Obviously, it’s not possible that they made a conscious decision to go with their rabid desires. Oh no, I made them do it, of course. I am a man and therefore evil.
I interrogated Rebecca as to her change of behaviour but to no avail. Her rationality gene had been used up for the rest of the year and irrational, emotional female behaviour ensued. The rest of the weekend was a miserable affair as I sought to root out the broken part in her, so that I could fix it take us back to the way it was. My female mechanic skills failed me. I was a little smitten with her. On the last show of the tour, a couple of other offers were given from willing females. On another night I’d have taken up the offer. On that night I instead traipsed off to have a final attempt at fixing the Rebecca express. Needless to say, I drove off into the night and with my repair attempt having failed, I have never seen her again.
The line I used to pull Rebecca worked again one night in Blackpool. Charlotte was slightly more resistant about allowing me to sleep at her place and needed re-assuring that I liked redheads. In the end it was a good night, although she did throw me out early in the morning because she feared her dad wouldn’t approve of her bringing home a stripper. I have never seen her again either. One part of me is disappointed at that, the other thinks that it is probably a good thing. The memory of our night is good, if I saw her again and any irrational demons emerged, it would spoil the image.
Sex is a game which men have learnt to play. Women however, set the rules. I like to compete and play the sport. Yet, I can’t stand the games that have to be played just to get to the start line. Rarely are these games bypassed, even for strippers. I wish I lived in an era where women had overcome their insecurities, didn’t need constant reassurance about their looks and actually took the initiative. I don’t want to always have to make the first move or be the dominant driving force in bed all the time. Women that lie there and wait to be fucked bore me. I wish I lived in a world where the women were sexual predators. A world where the women fucked my brains out and then didn’t ask me to overly respect them in the morning. Politeness is a given, respect is earned.
I wish I lived in a world where women could be honest and less deceitful about their sexuality. So many talk up their sexual exploits in an attempt to gain attention and make men want to sleep with them. In reality, they would never do half of what they claim. I abhor bullshit on all levels. If someone tells me they bench press twice their bodyweight, I know this to be extremely unlikely. I challenge them to do it. They never can. If an attractive girl tell me she likes rough sex over the bonnet of a car with a random stranger. I tell her lets go. There is always an excuse.
Gay men often assume that women have the same sexuality of men. They don’t know any different after all. They are forever telling me how their female friend is a man-eater. I then have to explain to them that their female friend is exaggerating her exploits to conform to the norm of the group of gay men with whom she hangs out. It is true that ‘fag hags’ have adopted more of the gay sexual norms than her non fag hag counter-parts. This is why I like them. However, only one of these man-eaters has met the challenge I have laid down. She got a little freaked at some of the kinky stuff I wanted to introduce, but we did meet and fuck on the basis of a phone call and a description. When I was next passing that way however, she had mentally collapsed and was worried men were using her. Why didn’t she use them ? Sex was off the menu.
Threesomes rarely ever work. The girls just get jealous over one another. Of course this doesn’t stop me trying and the jealousy occurs to varying degrees. One night in particular the jealousy went off the scale, supposedly between best friends. Two teenagers wanted to point score with the stripper. Both were quite immature mentally and perhaps wary about driving off with a stranger. There was nowhere we could go that was comfortable so we ended up in my car in a dark field. Their gay friend was left in the front as I climbed into the back.
‘Suck his cock, I want to see you suck his cock’ he barked excitedly in his camp effeminate voice.
It wasn’t long before all three of us were naked in the back seat. I was in the middle, my middle finger from each hand in respective vaginas.
‘So who wants to go first ?’ I asked inquisitively
‘I will’ snapped the brunette.
‘You slut’ replied the redhead.
‘Bitch’
‘Slut’
‘Bitch
‘Slut’
‘Calm down’ I said, my fingers now removed from the warring vaginas with my hands in a parting calming gesture. ‘You can go first, if you like, there is plenty to go around’ I said to the now pouting redhead
‘Bitch’
‘Slut’
‘Bitch’
‘Slut’
‘Suck his cock’ said the forgotten gay boy.
My little head told me to ignore what was coming out of the mouth of the silly hags and fuck them anyway, but my big head couldn’t stand their bickering any longer. I ordered them to put their clothes back on and drove them home. I was gutted at their stupidity and the style in which they just ruined what should have been a very good time.
Perhaps it was just as well. Someone later told me they were only 15. Legally, should I ask for ID before getting naked ? They looked about 21 and were drinking alcohol. Still, many a man has been strung up by society for less.
Perhaps the nature of the sex game is best illustrated by an incident that happened in a club in Greece. I was performing in a gay club over a series of nights. On the first night, I got chatting to a Greek beauty who clearly had the hots for me. The feeling was mutual. However, as is usual, against my will, we had already begun the opening moves of the sex game. I would have been happy to brutally fuck her there and then on the dance floor. Despite some animalistic urges that concurred with my view, she couldn’t be seen to act in such a manner in front of her friends. Nor could she allow me to think that she had animalistic urges. That is, she couldn’t for one minute allow me to think she was a ‘slag’.
Thus, we chatted, flirted, she stroked her hair every second minute, you get the picture. I steered the conversation around so that I could play one of my ace cards. I engineered a situation whereby she said I must be gay.
‘How could I prove you wrong on that ?’ I said with as much innocence as I could muster.
‘What you mean ?’ she enquired in her broken Greco-English.
‘Well, what could I do to you that a gay man wouldn’t do to you ?’ I qualified.
She countered my line of attack by basically stating that gay men were whores who would park their bike in any hole that would act as a garage, even if the garage belonged to a woman.
‘I agree, but gay men don’t eat pussy.’ I said triumphantly. Talking of pussy eating was my favourite way of getting rid of the attentions of overly amorous gays. It had an unusual effect on them. Similar to the effects of kryptonite on superman, pussy munching caused gays to wither and die at the thought. It is something that a true gay man can’t even contemplate let alone perform. Every fag hag knows this.
‘You are gay, you would not do this’ she said invitingly.
I immediately got on my knees and attempted simulated oral sex with her pussy, causing her to recoil in a mixture of embarrassment, horror and unrequited lust. I persuaded her that the women’s toilets would be empty, we were after all surrounded by
gays. This was my error in the sex game. I had accelerated things too quickly.
We went to the empty women’s toilets. We kissed, I played with her tits and then began to make my way down. I removed the jeans and set to work on the knickers, my tongue at the ready to rasp like a snake’s. However, this 110lb beauty had suddenly acquired the grip of Svend Karlsen. Her knickers steadfastedly refused to fall.
‘I believe you, you’re not gay’ she shrieked.
‘I know’ came the muffled reply as I tried in vain to yank the knickers down whilst simultaneously attempting to insert my tongue.
‘I can’t now - my friends wonder where I am’
Despite my best efforts, I was defeated on the night. Nothing I could say or do would make her change her mind. This particular game decreed that her vagina was sacred on the first night.
We swapped numbers and the next day I was invited to the beach. Realizing I was in the middle of a stupid game, I declined. I had to make her think I didn’t care. Later that night I was taken to a local beach bar by my hosts. One of them informed me that my quarry, I assumed by pure coincidence had walked into the opposite end of the bar. I looked up and she was staring straight at me. I waved but did not walk over. My gay hosts did not understand my apparent rudeness. They thought I was on a sticky wicket with this girl. I remained quietly confident. After about half an hour I wondered over to say hello.