Thursday, August 2, 2012

Another 'Sexcalation' Chapter: Evolution

With Sexcalation being published tomorrow, I thought I'd tease everyone with another chapter.

This one shows off some of the humor, some of the sex ... if you're a lady interested in how men think, this chapter shows some of that off, too.

Read on after the JUMP.


Didn't someone once say that a ring on a woman is like giving a man saltpeter?

The libido just pffflllbbbtt … goes flat.  For her; not him.

Well, it ain't far from fact.  Before the engagement, we were averaging five times a week, sometimes twice a day.  After, we would be lucky to get it on once or twice a week.  Shit, a few years into the marriage, it was down to once a month.  Quality was never a problem.  It was always the quantity.

Thankfully, by then, Internet porn had taken hold, so there was no shortage of stuff to see, but still.  It isn't the same.

Look, let's not have any illusions, OK?  Men are assholes when it comes to stuff like this.  We love the poon and we think about it all the time.  All the time.  Wife or not, we're thinking about doing it.  Now, we may not be in active pursuit of that hot girl at the Sunglass Hut, but as we're walking past her in the mall, we'll momentarily contemplate laying her across that counter and propping one leg up on the cash register while we pound away.  We keep walking and the thought will flit into the mental ether, until it gets a mild reprise when we pass that goth chick with the tongue stud at the piercing place.

Snap.  Tongue studs.  Hold on, that's coming later.

But you see what I mean?  This is how our mind works.  I blame my ancestors.  No, all of them.  All the way back to salamanders and what not.

You see, in order for the species to survive, the male had to spread his seed.  To do that, he has to want to fuck everything that moves.  This lasted all the way through reptiles into mammals and primates and then into us.  Nothing's changed.

That's what's so powerful about love and monogamy, man.  By linking ourselves to just one person for the rest of our days, we are denying the millions of years of evolution and instinct by saying, "No, I won't fuck any female that happens by.  I will not jizz in her crotch so she can bear my spawn.  I will only spunk inside of you."

It's a beautiful thing.

Yeah, I know.  Becoming a polygynandrist later on seems to contradict this, but we rationalize, you know?
It shouldn't shock you or anyone else that as men go through life and encounter women, they have frequent thoughts of sexing them up.  Granted, this is only for women that we find attractive, but in a normal day's activities, this could be a dozen chicks.

There's the secretary at the office.  The client that comes in for a meeting.  The girl behind the counter at the 7-11.  The woman buying a pack of smokes.  The wife or girlfriend you're living with?  If you don't even see her for most of the day, you're thinking of ways to get her upstairs and positions to try out when she gets home.  And what happens when you turn on the TV?  Shit.  Hundreds of possible nasty thoughts at the tip of your fingers.  Angelina Jolie.  X-Files-era Gillian Anderson.  Some R&B singer on BET going on and on about an umbrella.  And what's this on Turner Classic Movies?  To Catch A Thief?  Yep, I'd totally hit Grace Kelly, too.

That's the way the male mind works.  I'm sorry, but it is.

So as I go through the engagement period and all through my marriage, it was a daily thing.

Oh, she's home.  Wonder if she'd like to fuck?

"Let me tell you what Mickey did today …" she'd say.

Whatever.  I just want to lay you down on the couch and press my face between your tits.

"He was all red and nervous and said he had to go to the doctor to check out something …"

I wouldn't mind playing doctor with you.  I'd use my tongue to check your tonsils and my dick could be …

"What did you say?"

I shrug, "Nothing.  Keep going."

"Oh.  So while Mickey's out, I have to something-something …"

That's a nice dress you're wearing.  I'd love to press you against the stairs, hike it up to your waist and grab your hips.  I'd lube up your pussy with my mouth and slide my cock in … nice and slow at first, to spread the wetness.  And then I'll tug on your dress harder and quicken my pace until the slap-slap-slap sound of our fucking is only drowned out by your groans of pleasure.

"Can you believe that?"

I shake my head, "Nope.  That's fucked up.  What do you want to do for dinner?"

See?  That's just a day in the life.  Nothing unique there.

Women may think that's sexist or something, but I don't think so.  Sexism is when you give in to those instinctual urges and say something offensive or actually make a move on someone.  Being a civilized sort of guy means I can keep them in check and not have to deal with horny boners all day.

Oh, c'mon.  I'm not the only one who's had these kinds of thoughts all their lives, am I?

I didn't think so.

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