Quiet Friday night

Last night was a rare Friday night off for me.  I am a musician (I play jazz) and a busy one at that, working between 5-8 gigs a week, but yesterday I drew a goose egg on Friday night and that was fine with me.

Over my two or three months on Tinder I’ve built up a number of matches and I thought about texting one for a last minute drink but for some reason my heart wasn’t in it.  For starters I was wondering if it would be insulting to be asked for a drink at the last minute.  I could have shown some foresight and texted with a few days warning but what can I say, I’m not that organized. Throw in the fact that I haven’t felt much of a connection to any of these matches and I felt that it was best to take a night off to relax.

So I stayed in, worked on some music transcriptions, read a little Proust,  (that’s exhausting in itself)  watched a little Netflix, and masturbated.  In short, a solo Netflix & chill.


Snowflakes and vaginas: No two are alike

Well you guys really liked yesterday’s vagina post so I figured I’d write some more about the big V.  Now that I’ve had the epiphany that they’re all different I wish I had kept a vagina journal.  At this point I can only really remember the last two.

The trouble is that when I was young and first having sex I would come so fast that I didn’t have time to fully internalize the experience.  All I knew that it was the most magical place I ever knew — the feeling of being inside a pussy was exponentially better than anything I had previously felt.

I got a little older but by then I was mostly using condoms so I really couldn’t feel much.  In my 30s I got married and I really liked my wife’s vagina.  It seemed to fit my cock just right and I think we had good sexual chemistry.  Once we had kids, however, sex became more and more infrequent and we gradually grew apart.

Now that I’m middle aged and single I savor sex in a way I didn’t when I was younger.  Sometimes I just want to stare at the vagina, committing it to memory.  I love hairy pussies which appear so much more womanly and sensual than their shaven pre-pubescent counterparts.  I like large labias that protrude and that are so lovely to roll against my tongue.

There’s nothing quite like a vagina.  Mysterious, heavenly, and the answer to all life’s stress.

In search of the perfect vagina

A thought occurred to me:  Why is so much emphasis put onto penis size but not vagina size?  We know that not all penises are created equal so shouldn’t the same be said of vaginas?  It’s unfair to us guys top bear the lion’s share of the genitalia burden.

It struck me that I have rarely heard an individual vagina described in print, or verbally by a friend.  Just because they’re concave doesn’t necessarily mean they defy description.  They are the greatest feeling organ ever known to man, you’d think someone – a poet or an writer – would have written about them.   What feels as good?   The mouth comes close, but not that close.

I have to say that I didn’t care for Careen’s vagina.  Sorry, not sorry, but it didn’t feel as good as most other vaginas I’ve experienced.  I actually think it was too small.   That’s not bad for my ego, actually.  How many chances do I get to say that my cock was too big?  There was something about the angle or the shape of it that made it feel shallow to me.  It wasn’t that she was dry — she was very wet and I would eat her pussy for long stretches.  I really enjoyed that — she had a great tasting pussy with  a beautiful labia and clit. But the actually sex was not great, especially compared to Mina.

It will be interesting to see how I perceive my next partner, assuming Mina and I do not reunite.  I’ll be keeping a look out for the perfect pussy.


The curse of the jackhammer

I read a blog post recently by a woman who was [metaphorically] destroyed by a well endowed man who pummeled her with his jackhammer love-making technique.  Yet she continues to see him even though she’s unable to have vaginal sex in the wake of his coital maiming.

That just shows you how much less effort goes into dating and love-making when you’re reasonably attractive and in possession of a schlong the size of Cincinnati.  Guys like me, who are smaller (5’8″) and have an average sized cock have to work so much harder on all fronts. We have to go into overdrive on the first impression, turning on the charm and especially the humor.  Then we have to appear sensitive, YET MANLY.

It’s not easy.

I shouldn’t complain.  I’ve had my fair share of lovers, probably more than I deserved.  For me the equalizer was [is] that I’m a jazz musician.  Being an artist comes with a certain cache and the fact that I’m a little out of the mainstream gives me a slight edge. But I still have to work my ass off to get laid!

Fuck these mongoloid, arrogant, narcissistic, cockee-doodie motherfuckers!

That’s all.

Fantasy and reality

Some years ago, when I was still married, my wife and I were friends with a single mom (who would later become our accountant) whose daughter was friends with our daughter.  Every once in a while we’d have them spend a weekend with us at our country home in upstate New York.  Ellie was a sultry, extroverted, free-spirited Italian American woman. She was an olive skinned, raven-haired – petite but not skinny.  She had full breasts and a curvy ass.  Her entire being exuded sex.  She would often wear low cut jeans exposing a bit of her ass to me.  She was flirtatious and playful.

One Sunday evening found both of with our two daughters spending the night in that house. (My wife had to leave early to go to work Monday morning)  Of course I had fantasies about the kids going to sleep leaving Ellie and I alone by a roaring fire.  Perhaps she would have complained of a bad back, asking me to massage her.  Or maybe we would have simply looked into each other’s eyes and began kissing.

Nothing happened. We played a board game with our kids and retired to our separate rooms.

Looking back on that time I can fantasize about how great it would have been to have sex with her, but now I can do it without the baggage of how messy things would have been afterwards.  What if I had acted on my fantasy only to have been rebuffed?  Awkward!  Sometimes people flirt and they don’t realize they’re flirting.  Or they’re not flirting at all and people like me misconstrue.

Now I still have my fantasies as well as a good accountant.

There ought to be a rule


I saw someone on Twitter complaining that films often depict ugly guys with smoking hot women.  The person’t outrage stemmed from the fact that this devise objectified women –  as if even ugly guys are entitled to hot women.

I’m more outraged that normal looking women aren’t cast in films. To me a tall women with large breasts is a boring look.  I’m tired of bulbous boobies.  Why?  Because we see it all the time.  I want to see normal looking people with normal breasts that sometimes sag, and penises that are average in length, have sex.  Now *that* would be hot.

That’s why porn is so unsexy.  It’s cookie cutter people with enhanced bodies, whether it be cosmetically or chemically, pretending to enjoy having sex. Who can fantasize about that?  I would rather see someone with unusual looks have sex, but more than that I want to see arousal.  I want to *be* aroused.