Beauty of the Beast

Can I just say: the anticipation of writing this post was so intense, so tantalizing, that I wrote it prior the rest of my penis series… words busted out and rushed through me like water from a dam. Normally I couldn’t sell ice to an Eskimo, but this ‘architect’ is ready to share why this ‘building’ is divine.

Dreamy sigh…

If I were to place a thin cotton sticker on your shoulder and tell you it was special, that by pushing that ‘button’ you would experience pleasure like no other, would you push it?

“Can I keep it??” You’d say. “Oh yes, of course you may!” I’d assure.

“It will work if I push it?” You’d ask skeptically. I’d look confidently in your eyes and say, “Push away, little one…”

By pressing this button, genuine euphoria would wash over every cell in your body. Before feeling like you’ve been sweetly sedated with a blissful high, you’d be lecherous with pure carnal want. A want so thick that for merely a split second, you teeter the line between bliss and insanity. Lust would bubble up from inside of you, so deep it doesn’t originate from the front of your body or your back. Gusts of pleasure would swirl inside your body, finding the first available outlet, thus travelling through your mouth in primal groans. Hmmm…

Wouldn’t that be something?

Guess what?

You have one. It’s in your VAGINA!

Two words, chickies…. g and spot! Although my “G Hunt” blog is scheduled for another date, despite what some of you may or may not believe, the g-spot is there and it is abso-freakin-fabulous.

As an imaginary-scientist-of-sex-and-other-stuff, I am well versed that the universe is full of naturally occurring scientific reactions. When baking soda hits vinegar it explodes. When sunlight hits chlorophyl it feeds. Praise the Gods and all things sexy; when you touch penis to g-spot, the heavens open up.

As marvelous as our g-sista is, without cock, she’s as incomplete as salt without pepper. Sure, there ARE other means to address her… but why put sweetener in your coffee when you can have sugar!

What makes this ‘building’ so special? Because built in its bricks and mortar, carefully crafted amongst soffits and fascia, is the key. It’s flint. And when you strike a flint next to a soft thin ‘sticker of cotton’, a fire ignites. The absence of the flint OR the sticker would foster dormancy. Together they are reactive… sinfully, deliciously reactive.

You ask me “Hey Naked… why a lover of cock?”

I ask you “With the exception of drugs, name one other thing that can kindle my sticker?”

Bedpost Math

I doubt there is a single relationship in its infancy stages that hasn’t broached the “What’s your number?” subject. The last man I heard speak these words was my husband and we were teenagers, but I’ll be honest with you – the principle behind this inquisition makes my blood boil.

Of course, when my husband, and any bedmates before him, asked me about my totals, I did the right thing and gave a cordial but hesitant answer: I disclosed to him my ‘number’ (which was the real number of guys I had slept with – minus two).

A ‘minus two’ is a sexual experience that was so truly awful that during, and after, you are already deleting them from your roster. Golfers apply the same idea to a horrible shot or hole and call it a Mulligan. Sales reps call them Freebies… I call them ‘minus two’s’. I’ve been hard pressed to find a woman that doesn’t have a ‘minus two’.

My first ‘minus two’ consisted of a guy in high school that I was crazy-hot attracted to. Two years older than I was, we’d been dating for a couple casual weeks when he injured his shoulder playing Football. He was holed up in bed with his arm in a sling and a heavy dose of painkillers, so I dutifully offered to nurse him.

It was the first chance that we’d had with no friends or parents in the house to watch over us, and I went over there with that in mind. Hanging out, watching TV and smooching, eventually turned into full on making out and we both knew where this was going. Knowing his slung shoulder would seriously inhibit any sexcapades from happening, I assured him I had a solution for that and I pushed him down flat on his back.

“Just relax, let me do the work…” I cooed seductively at him, fully intending to climbing on and rocking his world.

I’d like to think that what happened next was due to the painkillers. I’m certain it wasn’t my lackluster smooches, but when I reached down to take hold of him, him was soft, small and sleeping. Given my only experience was with rock-horny teenagers, I was not expecting this. So I rubbed and massaged, able to erect him to about half-mast, and tried my best to hop on and enjoy the ride. It was awful. Derived from my years as a competitive gymnast, I was pulling out moves that no judge had ever seen before, attempting to get some sensation from the pile of mush he was offering.

He came and I got off (literally not figuratively), sat on the bed beside him and reeled in my disappointment. The next day at school, still mourning the loss of his sex appeal, I told him at my locker that I didn’t want to go out with him anymore. Pouf… he conveniently vanished from my ‘list’.

The other ‘minus two’ was a guy that I dated during my early teens, much too early for me to be ‘going all the way’. There was three months of foreplay and then, for reasons I can’t even remember, we broke up. We reconnected again in my senior year of high school, and perhaps all the foreplay a few years earlier had created too much anticipation. When he pushed inside of me, he groaned with pleasure, and I assumed that it was because the first stroke feels the greatest. Nope. He had come. Unbelieving, I laid there frozen with a dumbfounded look on my face. That’s it!?! I couldn’t even hide my astonished expression. Note to self: Annul “One-stroke-wonder”. Pouf… off the ‘list’.

My sex life aside, the whole concept behind the “What’s your number?” question is very offensive to me. Granted, as I said, I haven’t been asked it in 14 years and back then it felt like a perfectly acceptable inquiry to ask a person that you were thinking of bumping uglies with. But post-bump, I think it’s just being nosy. Not the wallflower I once was, if asked this question today, I have no doubt in my mind what my answer would be – What the heck is it to ya?

Today I give each and every one of you the gift of ‘minus two’. Pouf!

Mad Scientist

Oh the things I'll do for you...

As mentioned in my inaugural post (Click here to read Woman), not only is blogging very new to me, so is writing.

I have no experience or training whatsoever, in fact, the last time I wrote and received feedback for it, I was in high school and it was the early 1990’s. I hated writing. I was the “math and science” type who excelled in the sciences and graduated with the Mathematics Award of Excellence. In my current profession, I deal with numbers, budgets, spreadsheets, and project management.

Not surprisingly, during the first week of my new blog, I have already decided to introduce one of the many tricks I have up my sleeve with regards to the direction I want to take this blog and the reasons that I chose to do it.

First of all, I chose to blog because writing almost every day and displaying your posts for feedback are an invaluable learning tool. Like many bloggers, I’m doing this to hone my writing skills, establish a niche, find my voice, and perhaps inspire and entertain along the way.

I’ve had a chance to peruse a few dozen other blogs to better understand the idea or basic principle behind it. I’ll be honest, it is not my intention to write to you every day. I think people’s lives are busy enough, and there are some days we don’t even get the chance to touch base with our loved ones, never mind anonymous little me. As well, writing these posts is something that I am growing to love… what better way to destroy a desire than to make it a burden.

Now… as much as I am doing this to improve my writing skills and embrace creative expression, I ask myself, “What’s in it for my reader?”

I asked myself, “Self, what do you want from a blog?”

I want to be entertained. I want to learn. I want to relate. I want to think. I want to read a blog, and for the rest of my day, be reflecting on it, deciding my stance on it, and learning more about myself through it. Do I want to open your eyes to the amazing and infinite ways that a woman is blessed to be a woman? Oh yes, yes I do. Would it tickle me pink if at least one person read my blog and were encouraged to embrace their sexuality and the power that comes with that? Hallelujah!

What’s more, I’ve decided to have a little fun with it along the way.

Consider this a throw back to my “I love Science” high school days, or just a great excuse to have some fun, but I am offering myself up to your mercy. I want to be your Guinea Pig. Once a month, I intend to conduct investigative experiments relative to all things girly.

• Have you ever considered laser hair removal? I have, and I’ve done it. I intend to investigate all means of hair removal (waxing, sugaring, threading, lasering, etc) and compare results and conclusions.
• The Ultimate Sex Toy – I will purchase and test drive the newest or most popular sex toys on the market, and provide my honest feedback as to which one really packs a punch. (*sigh* Gosh, I am not looking forward to that…)
• Too many orgasms – what tires first, your hand or your clit?
• Mud, algae, seaweed, sugar, hot oil wraps – what felt the best and had the best results?
• One week of chocolate – ok, truth be told, I haven’t come up with a game plan for this one yet. I just want to eat chocolate for a week because you told me to.
• And any and all test-drives or experiments that my reader’s request. Dying to know how many married men will take the bait if I try to pick them up in a grocery store? Alright, let’s put it to the test!

You get the point. Once a month, I will enjoy being your soldier. How fun will this be?

So here is my first hypothesis: Researching what any woman wants to know is going to be a blast. Conclusion: How could it not!