May I quote you of that?

Sex. In America an obsession. In other parts of the world a fact. ~Marlene Dietrich

The tragedy of sexual intercourse is the perpetual virginity of the soul. ~William B. Yeats

Life in Lubbock, Texas, taught me two things: One is that God loves you and you're going to burn in hell. The other is that sex is the most awful, filthy thing on earth and you should save it for someone you love. ~Butch Hancock

To hear many religious people talk, one would think God created the torso, head, legs and arms, but the devil slapped on the genitals. ~Don Schrader

Nymphomaniac: a woman as obsessed with sex as an average man. ~Mignon McLaughlin, The Neurotic's Notebook, 1960

Instruction in sex is as important as instruction in food; yet not only are our adolescents not taught the physiology of sex, but never warned that the strongest sexual attraction may exist between persons so incompatible in tastes and capacities that they could not endure living together for a week much less a lifetime. ~George Bernard Shaw, Everybody's Political What's What, 1944

When authorities warn you of the sinfulness of sex, there is an important lesson to be learned. Do not have sex with the authorities. ~Matt Groening

Nothing risqué, nothing gained. ~Alexander Woollcott

Beautifully perverted thoughts…

Amaury Nolasco, “Sucre” on Prison Break, is so damn cute! The more I watch the show the more I love him…and the more tainted my thoughts become. His character is so damn lovable, so ingenuous. And that mile wide smile makes me melt. I just want to grab him by the lapels and put a big, fat, wet one square on his lips! There’s just something about the way he plays that character that makes me want to take advantage of that naiveté.

What a pretty picture I have in my head: Amaury stripped naked, shivering in front of me. Is he cold, frightened, excited or all of the above? I place a studded, leather dog collar around his neck, fasten a leash to it and lead him around my house. I make him pick up my dirty panties with his teeth and drink water from a bowl on the floor. I make him kiss and lick my vinyl, thigh high, six-inch heeled boots. I make him beg for my attention. And finally I make him bend over my cold, metal and glass desk and fuck him to orgasm with a seven-inch vibrator! And when he’s satiated, sobbing and thanking me. Next I’ll discard the dog collar and whisper in his ear that he's a good boy. I’ll kiss him on his forehead and the bridge of his nose and cuddle him to my ample bosom while I sing and rock him to sleep.

I wonder what he’d say if he knew some woman out there in the blogosphere wanted to make him her bitch? Doesn’t really matter…in my fantasy he likes it…hard.

Fun Fact: “Amaury” is the French form of the ancient Germanic name “Amalric” (Amal = “work or labor” and ric = “power”. Amalric is also the name of two rulers of the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem in the 12th century.


Yawl ain’t ready though…

Untitled 4
Roses are red
Your balls are blue
You wanted this pussy
But you didn’t know what to do
You kept calling my house
'Cause you felt so all alone
When I said come over you came
But it was over the phone
What the hell is your problem?
What is your matter-function?
When ever I touch you
You start coughing and sputtering
Like a bitch dying of consumption
Are you scared of the pussy?
Or are you still a virgin?
Please tell me what’s up brother
‘Cause this act of yours in unnerving
So don’t make me no promises
And don’t feed me no lines
Boy I ain’t to be played with
‘Cause next time…
THE DICK IS MINE!
©1997 Glamour Diva

I wrote the above poem many years ago in direct response to the then relatively new phenomenon I’d been experiencing of men coming on to me like gang busters then running away in terror. In my very short life I have only known three men who where willing to talk the talk as well as walk the walk. The rest of them have been as erratic as Scarlett O’Hara!

My most recent tangle with male ignorance was a few weeks ago at work. Dear Alex glued himself to my side the moment he say me. Every time he’d pass my desk he would say hello or make some sort of gesture. He’d tell me how attracted he was to me and how I was his idea of the perfect woman (said while staring at my tits are while walking behind me as he stared at my ass). He never let a moment go by without expressing some facet of his lust either through his speech or his ogling of my body.

So after many days of this behavior I decided to test him. I wrote him a note chockfull of double entendre stating that I would be interested in meeting him one weekend...just the two of us…alone. I’m still waiting for him to get back to me. In fact, he hasn’t been able to look me in the eye for a week!

So is it really the “thrill of the chase” that makes men like Alex scamper away like mice caught eating the cheese? Maybe they run because my outward appearance of gender role conformity combined with my seemingly incongruous aggressive pursuit of my own pleasure is just too perplexing a situation for them to handle? Or maybe they aren’t really interested? Maybe it’s just a case of the relationship lookyloos; not really attracted to the prospect of buying (or even renting for that matter) but anxious to give it a test drive? Either way it’s damned annoying for me and I wish they’d stop! As my father used to say, either piss or get off the pot…

Before you say it…I know no one uses the word “consumption” anymore! If you can find a word that rhymes with tuberculosis let me know and I’ll change the poem. – GD