Bitchicisms

After sex. Hair all mussed up. Sunlight streaming in through an open door. The place is a mess, I worry about where my underwear is. The man is half asleep beside me. We're still naked,
cigarettes in hand, resting and contemplating whether to have another go at it. I feel a slight pain on my calf. I lift it and notice a faint bruise.

"Did you unhinge your jaw to bite that?"
"Sorry, it's been a while since I had crispy pata."
I hit him and laugh.

24 hours later, there's no sign of a bruise but the bite still hurts.

I love sex bruises and injuries. I love how they feel when they're being made. I love feeling the twinges of pain after the fact. I love how they remind me of the orgasms I had. I love them.

New addiction: scratches. I've tried to make light scratches an art. My long nails demand it, and men expect it. But when men scratch my back with their short, trimmed nails, it just makes me so horny.

Good sex should leave a mark.

One of my favorite movies is the classic When Harry Met Sally.



I think it's a beautiful story with a talented cast (when Meg Ryan was still America's Sweetheart and before Billy Crystal was a supporting cast to Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson). But I think it's given some people the wrong idea about men and women friends.

In a scene, Billy Crystal says that men and women can never be friends because they'll always want to sleep with each other. Then again, that's not what really ends a friendship. What ends a friendship is when one of them don't want to sleep with the other, and the other still keeps pushing it.

I've severed friendships with men more than once because they tried to sneak attack my pants by using the mythical friend shortcut. But, you can sleep with a friend and not end the friendship. It doesn't even have to result in a relationship.

A couple of nights ago, I hooked up with a good friend. He's one of those guys that I rarely see, but often talk with. I've always invited him to my birthday, and I've helped him celebrate his. We joke a lot, we've hit on each other once or twice when we were drunk and we swap sex stories.

I barely remember how it happened. All I know was I was drinking on his tab and my friend had already left. He hadn't spotted an interesting girl enter the bar and my attempts to flirt with one of the bartenders I used to fuck were meeting unsatisfactory results.

My friend and I simultaneously decided to go home. We got a cab, no resistance from either party that we got the same one. We went to his place, distracted with conversation. We entered the door, I took off my boots and suddenly we were having sex.

It felt a bit weird cos we were such good friends. I remember him once saying that he thought of me as a little sister and we were laughing at someone I used to date who was terribly jealous of him. But we had sex... good sex... objectively good sex. We even joked and slept on different sides of the bed (no cuddling).

I texted him the next day, "As your friend, I must say, you're quite good."

He replied, "Coming from you, that's a huge compliment."

Sudden sex, no awkward-dinners and no new-year-party-climax. Friendship still on. And now I know how he gets laid so much. He's pretty fuckin' good.

I've been away from this blog for a long long time. Here's my list of excuses:

1. I've been really busy with work and projects.
2. I've mostly been sticking to one (or three) sexual entanglements.
3. My regular lover has kept sexual frustration nil and I have less to rant about.
4. I've had other things on the brain (like needlecrafts, would you believe that?).

But like fine whiskey and younger men, my Bitchicisms blog haunts me and just begs for it. So I'm back.

I've realized that I had a few readers in the past, people who I've drawn in with regular posts to certain yahoo groups and blog lists I've now lost. My yahoo email has reset and I've lost all contact. Please help me (re)build a following and I promise to keep coming and coming and coming for you.

They say men are obsessed with quantity. Well, that and size. It's all about who has more, and who has it bigger. But they don't apply the same principles to women.

One late, boring night at the office, I got stuck with 2 men. As is wont to do when I'm around, the conversation got to sex. Contrary to most porn movies, we did not end up in a threesome where they Eiffel-Towered me. Instead they ended up shocked and awed when I told them my number.

I've had sex with 32 guys. That's 32 men, not 32 times. I started when I was 18 and never looked back. I keep a list of who I've slept with so that I never miss a name. Some of the names on the list I'd almost forgotten, and barely remember the encounter. Some of them I've mentioned several times on this blog because they're so good (or bad) in bed.

I should've known it was a mistake to bring numbers up. I'd only asked because I'd assume they would have more than 5 (the number which they both gave). They'd seemed so adventurous, surpassing me in the "where's the strangest place you've done it" round.

But they were both shocked to pieces when I gave my number (which is in fact 8x the global average according to the last Durex worldwide sex survey). They appeared to have never met a woman with that number, one even said that he once scolded an ex because she'd slept with 5 guys.

But really, if you've been having sex for 9 years, 32 only comes up to 3 1/2 men a year on average. It's not that much.

I know I sound apologetic. But I've been concerned about this number before. I'm afraid my number makes me...well...strange. And I've always been afraid that this strangeness is bad. I've never aimed to go for 32, even if I'd occasionally played at aiming to have at least one entry for each letter in the alphabet (but I seem to have a penchant for meeting men with the same name at the same time).

Sometimes I fear that my number shows on my face. That it makes me too slutty. Or that I'm too obvious. But I realize, strange isn't bad. There is nothing wrong with 32. I don't particularly regret any of them, and even my sexual mistakes were made on my own terms. I've never been shy about getting laid if I wanted, and it's saved me years of sexual frustration.

Having sex with over 32 men (I'm not dead yet, and will probably be adding) is not a problem. As long as I don't tell the wrong people about it.

Well.

Guess the bitch wants to keep coming.

Been almost 2 years since my last post. The reason for my disappearance currently escapes me. All I know is, at the time: given the choice between having sex and writing about it, I chose the former.

Well here I go again, being too busy having actual sex to blog about sex...But one anecdote is just too amusing to ignore.

There's a Jonathan Lethem story called Five Fucks. The main male character told the female character a certain joke while they were flirting in a bar. He said, "You know what's the worst part about being an atheist?" She replies "no". His answer, "No one to talk to when you come."

So I was giving this guy a blow job. He was close to coming. He goes "Oh God."

I feel his balls becoming tighter and his thighs becoming more tense. "Oh God," he says again.

He says he's close to coming. I mumble, "Come."

I take him back in my mouth and as he comes, again he screams, "Oh God!...who does not exist!"

Atheists do talk to God during sex.

I'm one of those people that think good sex leaves people bruised, sore and barely able to walk afterwards. I like it rough and violent. Yes I'm one of those loud and borderline masochistic girls.

So after a recent session, I wanted to figure out what kinds of soreness mean I had a really good time.

1. Shoulder. From being manipulated and bitten (by myself and by my partner). From having my hands held above my head.
   
2. Hips. Obviously. From thrusting.
3. Pussy. From coming too much and getting it over and over and over.
4. Tummy. From moving.
5. Legs. From being spread wiiiiide open.
6. Neck. From having my hair pulled hard.
7. Back. From exertions

My partner could barely walk afterward. He said his ass gained instant muscles. :)

One of the things I really don't like doing is making out in a car. I can't stretch out. I can't move without bumping into something. Unless its an SUV, a small car really can't contain the wide array of actions and emotions I like displaying during sex. Also, I'm loud, so I tend to get caught.

It is almost the one seemingly normal sex-related cliche I won't do. Except I have, literally, never full-on made-out in a movie house. And no, I don't want to either. (One weiner dude always likes to say that I don't like doing something because I never had anyone to do it with. Yes, he is the type who likes to imagine my life began when I met him. And yes, he is an asshole.)

I receive a random message from someone. He wants to drop by and see me since we weren't able to meet up for coffee earlier. He was going to the area so he just wanted to chat. I agreed. I figured he was in a hurry so I didn't change. I was in a plain shirt and short shorts.

He arrived and we chatted amiably for a bit. It all seemed like the random friendly thing to do. Until he started harassing me.

I've been on this whole frame of mind recently where I like to platonic the shit out of everyone, particularly the guys I have things with. Mostly it also has to do with the success of that one endeavor in the nice girl realm.

He appeared perplexed that I was resisting. Asked if I was seeing anyone seriously. Asked if I was focusing on work. I said no both times. Then he put his hands in my shorts and started masturbating me.

As usual, I couldn't moan too loud. Or else we could get caught. We were parked basically a couple of blocks from my house. It would have been a horribly unfortunate thing to have gotten caught.

I covered my own mouth and writhed on the seat. He wouldn't stop so I just let him. After I came, I gave him a blowjob. I'd only sucked on his cock for about 1 minute when he stopped me. I was "what?" And he was all "I think I'm gonna come already."

I raised an eyebrow. He pushed me back down. He came after another 30 seconds. Yes, it was that fast. Later he said how unfair it was that it took me so long to finish and it took him so fast. I didn't remind him that he still had a hard cock in his pants after his orgasm.

He joked, "I have a condom." I smiled. "And?"

But, being in a rush, he took me home. I told him as I exited the car, "next time, if you have rubber, let's use it." Walked to my house, a little conscious that my shorts were moist and my hair was tousled.

Ludo apparently plays geek rock...And I like it...

You'll never hear this song
You'll never see the movie in my head
But you infest my sleep, and your figure creeps
Through my walls and hums above my bed
I know your name, and that you're photogenic and tall
But I've never heard you talk
And there's something about you
That stabs me right through

It isn't right for me to paint your picture
Every night, but I do (I can­t find sleep)
And it feels so wrong (I breathe too deep), to sing this song (into the sky)
But maybe (as I walk and sing), somehow, you'll hear me (you'll hear a song)
And hum along
You'll hum along, you'll hum along, you'll hum along

And I've only seen you once, at your graduation
No cinematic glow or soft rock soundtrack
And I watched you move and breathe and cry
And it felt so wrong
It isn't right for me to paint your picture
Every night, but I do (I can­t find sleep)
And it feels so wrong (I breathe too deep), to sing this song (into the sky)
But maybe (as I walk and sing), somehow, you'll hear me (you'll hear a song)
And hum along
You'll hum along, you'll hum along, you'll hum along

Maybe you'd be kidnapped by pirates
And they would take you to their hideout
As pirates often do
But I'd find the secret map
And I would vigilante-bushwhack
Through the jungles of Peru

Just to save you and I'd take you north to Mexico
Where you would tell me your life story on the steps of a Mayan temple
Where we'd camp singing nonsense songs in 12 bars to the jaguars, until you'd sense me
Your eyes convincing, and I would kiss you like a hero in the half-light
Dryer sheets and peach shampoo, the smell of palm leaves, I'd sleep against you
Until the natives found us, but they would crown us king and queen
And we could stay there, spend our days there, eating guava by the sea
And I could understand your views and you could fall in love with me

[SOLO]

And while the silly human race talks to droids in outer-space
We grow old and laugh about this song
And between the jungle and the stars, you sing nonsense songs in 12 bars to me
And in my sleep I hum along

You'll never hear this song
You'll never see the movie in my head

One of the things that suck about being a Bender-mocked meatbag is coming up with the really great lines after the moment has passed. This sucks doubly hard if you consider yourself a writer (case in point: me). You can come up with great lines on page, but not live. I always hated that about me. Until I realized that when I started being wittier live, I started being a bit duller on the page. But I still generally have this dilemma.

I was only recently able to say my killer lines in person. One was "Just because you fucked me, you think we're close?" said to Cc. He was sharing some inane thing and saying how he felt close to me. I just had to retaliate.

The other was said to a fucker who still keeps saying thank you (literally) for every fucking orgasm. I told him, "Thanks for coming, please come again." I tried to do it in the Apu-voice like Kumar does in Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle but I couldn't manage it post-sex (My voice was hoarse from all the fucking moaning and groaning).

The last was said recently. Ry is scared of me. He's apparently always been. So I included him in my text roulette. He replies without knowing who I was. When I said it was me, I stopped texting. Then I said, "Little Boy, do I scare you?" His reply seconds later was a roundabout "Nah".

With proper time management/scheduling and pacing, text roulette rocks as a fucking tool. Literally, a tool for fucking.

My name is Jean Grey, and I am a moaner. I am loud. I know. Hentai-sounds are issued. I have been asked to keep quiet during quickie-some-other-person's-house-sex. I have had my mouth covered. I have had cloth stuffed to my mouth. Kinky sex shit I know. But yes, when fucking in other people's jurisdictions, one must keep quiet.

But I heard something during some semi-rough quickie sex that I've never heard before. "Shut up," he said. The sex was rough, bordering-on-rape sex. Yes. The kind I like. He was on top of me, groaning and moaning about how wet and tight I was. I was giving off the fluttering high-pitched Japanese-y anime/hentai/ecchi sounds. It felt good, I couldn't help it. He was thrusting really hard. Giving it to me really bad. And all those bad-erotica cliches (pumping/pistoning etc...). I think he got off on being all butch cos I was acting really femme. He did promise to fucking rape me. He was just trying to live up to it.

He said "shut up" on the withdraw. Then he thrust back as I was looking at him with shocked wide eyes. I had to cover my mouth with my own hand. I had to keep biting my lips to keep from dying when I couldn't moan.

It took me longer than usual to come of course. And, admittedly, it wasn't as good as when I could moan/scream my brains out.

Note to self: must stop fucking at other people's houses. Rented rooms are best.

I've always had a long, weird love-hate relationships with blow jobs. In high school I swore to two things. One was that I would never have a guy pick me up from somewhere just to take me home. It seemed like an awful waste of time unless we have actual plans. The whole thing also reeked of weakness. The other thing I swore was that I would never give blow jobs. I have never broken the first and the second was shattered to itty-bitty pieces my first year in college.

I remember my first blow job, the dude that taught me. He demonstrated by taking my finger in his mouth and slowly sliding it in and out. So for a while that was what I did. Until I learned (pretty immediately, with the next guy after) that it's not the actual having a warm-wet-hole-wrapped-around-a-cock thing that made a good blow job. It was the actual sucking.

I think i intuited it. The next dude I blew didn't tell me exactly to suck. Oh wait, I think he did tell me to suck his cock. So I realized, it's like a freaking straw! You suck on it to get the juice! And yeah, I've been doing that ever since.

Well, I don't always feel like sucking each and every guy. It's a mood thing. Some guys you just don't feel like sucking. Mostly because you feel they're a waste of time. Yes, even when I have sex with someone, I may or may not suck them off.

It perplexed me that some girls do not know about the sucking thing. I'd recently gotten into a conversation with a friend about the term blow job face. It was referring to some girl who had high cheekbones and a perpetual pout. I didn't google the term but I intuited (yep, that's my favorite word right now) that it was referring to her hollowed cheeks. Like she always seemed she was sucking.

The friend I was having the conversation with totally did not get it. She asked "you suck your cheeks in during blow jobs?" I was completely and utterly floored. I stared for a while, lost my composure and gaped. I could not believe I had to explain it. But I did anyway.

See, when you suck on a cock, your cheeks hollow out because you're sucking pretty hard. You aren't sucking your cheeks in, but because you're sucking on something, any excess air pretty much goes out of your mouth, creating a vacuum. All that empty space between your cheeks and your gums/teeth/whatevs is sucked in. And that is how you give a blowjob. You suck on the dick in front of you.

I consulted a guy friend about this. He said some women just don't know how to give blow jobs. I know there are women out there who hate blow jobs. There are those who only do it because they have to. In exchange for cunt lick or shoes. But even if you don't know it, don't you at least theoretically know that you're not just supposed to provide a hole with your mouth? The hole has to be tight. And since you can't tighten your gums too much (because those involve teeth), you compensate by sucking in air, providing suction.

It was a sad, sad day. But seriously, doesn't anyone ever notice that in porn? I thought the Internet pretty much made sure a basic blowjob technique more accessible. I know not all guys like the intense suction, but I'm sure some suction is better than none. That was always the concept of blow jobs for me: suction and tongue. Why do other people not know this?

It was one of those nights. I hadn't gone out in a while. So now I wanted to fucking go out. Meaning bounce from place to place looking pretty. I was chilling at a place in the Makati area with friend Baby Girl. I was a little bit bored and she was a little sleepy. I had the brilliant idea of playing the text roulette game.

The game goes like this: You text a drinking invitation to seemingly random people. These people are mostly never random. They are people you like. "Like" meaning in the context of wanting to get to know them, wanting to actually drink and converse with them, or wanting to sleep with them. A couple replied. One guy had work that night. Another dude was going to Den. And despite the fact I adore that man (One of the best players I've ever met. That word does not even begin to do him justice. and yes, I am a fan) I was not going to set foot in Den again any time soon (mostly cos of this).

One Dude did reply. He was drinking somewhere in the north, and asked what I was doing. The messages turned into a teasing game, with him giving the ominous reply "why, what do you want to do?" I gave a totally safe answer. Casual, platonic and friendly. Right notes of drinking buddy and carefree girl.

I arrived at there drinking session early in the AM. He introduced me to his friends. And I proceeded to platonic the shit out of him. He would put an arm tentatively on the back of my chair, the hand would dangle dangerously close to my shoulder. His hands would also move dangerously close to the territory of my exposed thigh. He would also look at me and smile. And i DID NOTHING.

No moves. No intentions, no nothing. I was innocent and meek and demure and all those other adjectives that are rarely associated with me. Or only associated with me when I'm tired or shy. He finally excused us from his friends and we went inside. I appeared at his mercy. He offered to make me something to eat. I said yes. Then he offered me a bed to sleep in cos I looked tired. And, he promised not to kiss me.

We did sleep in the beginning. Again, lying in the same bed, I did nothing. I was demure. I was innocent. I was THE NICE GIRL. I did sleep. After a couple of hours, I decided to go home. I tried to wait til he woke up a little.

I said his name, he turned to me with a hug. He closed his eyes and smiled. I did take the initiative there and gave him a small kiss. Which he responded to until it turned into a full-on make-out session. He stopped and said "sorry" and something to the effect of "you're just so hot."

I replied with a "no problem."

Then we started kissing again. It started with one of my small kisses. Then his hands started roaming. Whenever he would try to reach for my hips, I'd push his hands away. I'd say, "no, stop," with a little-girl-please-don't smile in my voice. "I have to go home," I reasoned

Finally, he climbed on top of me and declared that he was going to violate me. I still struggled a little, maintaining that light tone of voice. He started grinding his hips against me. I tried to stifle my moans, but of course, I could never stop those things.

When he noticed I was still struggling, he asked if I really had to go home or I just didn't want to do it. I looked at him with wide eyes. He said, with a wicked smile, "this won't take long."

I took off my own underpants.

I find it kind of sucky that some men really think they can claim some sort of ownership when there is clearly none. Especially when the last tenuous ties that supposedly bind have long been severed.

One morning, woke up prior to my normal waking hours to find One Missed Call. Similar to the horror movie by the same name, I totally ignored it. It was from a dude I used to sleep with. And apparently, still sleep with occasionally.

Our common friend told me that that ex-whatever (I was his mistress so he was my what? ex-lover? ex-enabled cheater?) had visited him early that morning. At around the same time the one missed call was registered. So I asked common friend if that was why ex-whatever called. Common friend told me it was because ex-whatever didn't have his new number. So I laid it to rest.

Then I receive calls from ex-whatever one early morning. I was a little amused cos he was cute and...well...amusing to fuck. There's this sheen of innocence on him that remains no matter how many times he's spent inside me. I love dirtying that patina of youthful naivete.

I was also amused because I was drinking with someone else. By that I mean, a man I was maybe, kinda, going to fuck. Ex-whatever kept calling and calling. I already texted him that I was drinking and still, not getting the message, he called again. Finally, I disentangled myself from the conversation with a hurried and apologetic smile and a "sorry, I have to take this call."

Ex-whatever immediately asked where "we" were. He assumed I was with Common Friend. I think Ex-whatever was supposed to meet Common Friend who was, as usual, inexplicably absent. I responded to the question by reiterating my "I'm drinking" SMS.

Further questions followed.

"Are you with Common Friend?"
"No."
"Do you know where he is?"
"I think he's with his gf."
"Why aren't they here ?"
"I don't know."
"Where are you?"
"I'm drinking."
"Aren't you going?"
"I told them to text me when they were going to the wake they didn't."

It all ended with a curt "Ok, enjoy your drinking."

I did text common friend to tell him that so-and-so was looking for him. I didn't receive any reply either from the wanker Common Friend. I went back to drinks. The Dude asked if I had to go. I said no, it was just some wanker looking for another wanker.

Ok, so I like this little wanker of a song. But all my googling has been in vain. Other searches led to this fucking song. I know a lot of people are looking for these lyrics. So I listened to the song continually trying to decipher what the vocalist-dude was saying. Here's what I came up. [If anyone has any idea what the unintelligible part is, feel free to let me know.-->shit, just when I finished this, I found links to lyrics. I did just change the unintelligible part]

Love
when you say your faith is falling fast
through your body and mind
and the soul that you claim to have had

*wo-ooh
well i hoped to move you so
and set you free
just be glad for these minds
and these bodies
to meet all your needs

#baby
always ready your pretty little lips
make room for my fingertips
so i can get caught between your legs tonight
baby always ready your pretty little lips
though i may not find enlightenment
well i could get caught between your legs tonight

so go
find a new way of coping with being alive
when you find it
don't tell me
i dont want to hear all your lies

Repeat *
Repeat #

I'm a running monologue
running away
running fast through the back of my head
I'm gonna run you out
I'm gonna take you down
I'm gonna take this shot
I'm gonna chase it with lead ( this line courtesy of this myspace blog)

this is a suicide
its a prison break
i just might make out fine
this isn't finding god
this is just running away
running away

baby
always ready your pretty little lips
though i may not find enlightenment
I could get caught between your legs tonight

baby always ready your pretty little lips
make room for my fingertips
well i can find God between your legs tonight

baby baby baby
baby always ready your pretty little lips
(baby baby baby baby)
(so i can find god between your legs tonight)

I'd recently hung out with a couple of dudes recently. These were formerly known as the boys. And yep, they were back in my life for a while. Until they weren't again when they disappeared in a ball of flame and light.

So I got to talk a little to Cc. Who was now going through tough times cos one of his friends ended up with his girlfriend. He was a bit depressed about it, but it seemed like he was finally going to get over it.

We were all on our way out/home. He started spritzing some cologne that was lying around. The minute he started spraying copious amounts of it on himself, I recognized the scent. That was the cologne that Ak used. Those few (none) familiar with my timelines may remember that Ak was the one I chose one night over Ry and Cc. Even if no one else remembers, apparently, Cc does.

When I started joking to Cc to stay away from me cos he smelled like Ak, he actually came nearer. I said, "ok, come here and let me sniff you". He did stand beside me as I sniffed him and smiled. On cue, Cc started to make fun of Ak. It started with mimicry and the assessment that Ak's actions were completely gay. To which I smiled, "he so isn't gay."

Maybe Cc is bumbed cos I had also recently chosen Ry instead of him. I mean, even with Ak out of the picture, I still chose Ry. Ry who isn't pretty but has a body to die for.

Cc seems to like competing. We were all on our way somewhere and I was in the back seat of a cab sandwiched between Cc and Ry. My hands were already on Ry's crotch, something he tried to hide with his laptop bag. As we were all on our way out of the cab, Cc tried to pull me back in and ask for a kiss. I mostly laughed and pulled away. Was that embarassing for him? I mean, it was pretty obvious he was out of the race already as I'd made my choice. Ry may not be pretty but his body is drool-inducing....and he's more challenging.

Love me cancerously
Like a salt-sore soaked in the sea.
'High-maintenance' means
You're a gluttonous queen
Narcissistic and mean.
Kill me romantically
Fill my soul with vomit
Then ask me for a piece of gum.
Bitter and dumb
You're my sugarplum.
You're awful, I love you!

CHORUS
She moves through moonbeams slowly
She knows just how to hold me
And when her edges soften
Her body is my coffin
I know she drains me slowly
She wears me down to bones in bed

Must be the sign on my head
That says, oh...
Love me dead! Love me dead!

You're a faith-healer on T.V.
You're an office park without any trees
Corporate and cold
Gushing for gold
Leave me alone.
You suck so passionately
Find More lyrics at www.sweetslyrics.com
You're a parasitic, psycho, filthy creature
finger-banging' my heart
You call me up drunk
Does the fun ever start?
You're hideous and sexy!

REPEAT CHORUS

Must be the sign on my head
That says, oh...
Love me dead! Love me dead!

SOLO

Love me cancerously
Brrrot-dot-da-d-da-da!
How's your new boy?
Does he know about me?
You've got the mark of the beast.
You're born of a jackal! You're beautiful!

REPEAT CHORUS

Wha' 'bout that sign on my head
That says, oh...
Love me dead! Love me dead

And the cute vid.

Did you ever get those friends who were stunningly curious about your sex life? As in overly curious? As in continuously asks you to repeat details no matter when, even when none of you are drunk and the sun is shining bright? Isn't it a little creepy? Especially when they declare they have plans for your ass or orgy cherry?

Well. I had a friend like that. He's still there, I just don't consider him my friend anymore. If it isn't obvious yet, well, he is very very dense.

I never got what it was with people asking about my sex or love life. I never asked about theirs, except to keep me abreast of issues I knew about. Like, if they were still broken up so I can introduce her to others...or if the rash had cleared...or the abortion was successful. Mostly because the visual image of friends having sex grossed and creeped me out.

It was a number of factors. They were my friends. And I loved them as siblings. When I watch people having sex I either get turned on or grossed out. Those are the only two choices. Naturally, when its people I know the tendency is to say eww.

Also, some of my friends have unattractive boyfriends and partners. Its just...no...If I have to imagine people having sex, I'd rather they be hot people having wild monkey sex. I know ugly people fuck too (or there wouldn't be so many of them) but please don't put the pictures in my head. I can't even close my eyes to shut it off, cos its being projected straight to my brain.

One dude liked to imagine I got turned on when he told me stories about him fucking girls. I don't really remember asking him to tell me about them, I just listened cos he was buying my drinks. He said one time, arrogantly and ignorantly "You're getting turned on, aren't you?" And all I could say was "No" with a grimace on my face. He didn't notice and just smiled smugly. That one likes to delude himself with very big illusions of grandeur.

Dude and I were talking after sex. Tiring, exhausting sex. We were smoking cigs and the old man was quite wiped out. He suddenly lay down on the bed and then suddenly jerked back right up. He uttered a completely un-manly "eww".

I looked at him. He'd just lain down on some of his own semen. I just stare at him in wonder. He goes, "well, I know why should I be grossed out, it is mine." I use the smile I do when I'm not particularly interested. 5 minutes later he does it again, goes eww again and moves.

Aside from being perplexed at his short term memory loss (easily explained by his age and consistent early-life drug use), I wondered why he was so grossed out. Would he have been less grossed out if he had been assured it was just my juices there? Would it have been more acceptable if its just sweat? I know some (younger and less experienced) guys have a problem with kisses after blowjobs, but come on, its just touching your back. It may be because the wet spot is cold, but puh-lease. An "eww"? Does the word "eww" have a place in the scenario of oral sex and rim jobs and sweat and tons of mingling assorted juices?