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I'm convinced that I have been sexually aware since I w as three years old. This is not to say that I had a sex life at that early age. Not at all. All I'm saying is that I can distinctly remember being very attracted to beautiful woman, at that young age and the subsequent electrical surge that passed through my little body. Of course, that was then and this is now. I have grown to be a sexologist. Not the type with the gold-filigreed frame, surrounding a certificate from Wilburn's School of Sexology. Moreso, the street wise, joi de vive type who has discovered dimensions and layers of sexuality that only a true sexologist can ever understand and appreciate. I have been exposed to, I'd say, more than 10,000 women and from time to time, men. I am attracted so much so to sex and it bi-products that I have surrounded myself with its trappings, tools and materialism. My house was designed to reflect a beautiful woman, and a stoic Greek God of a man, making love. The estate is circular, and its contour appears to be the body of this woman I mention, and lying on top of her, through the guise of the roof, chimney etc. is the man. Every room has phallic symbols. Every wall contains the shape of rubinesque or a lithe woman, of various ages, shapes and seductions. Opposite my couch, in my hunting room (not of the African ilk), hanging from the wall, is a huge porcelain cunt, dripping with sloshing fluids, and swollen with fatness and an eager hardness. I am ensconced in sex, and I am quite literally a sex. If nothing more, I am a sex, if it is a noun, I am it. I have fucked 100 women in one day, and have experienced over two dozen orgasms in an evening. I understand that the common reader will think this to be hogwash, but for those who are in the sexual-no…. for those whose genitalia never stops throbbing and wanting for touch, taste, tongue and any sort of lascivious attention, you will understand. For we are an affinity group, much like the Lions Club or the B'nai Brith. Although we do not share a secret handshake, or any sort of invisible inks and anthems, we do subscribe to a very similar mission statement. Our mission statement states: I, a sex, have accepted that within me is a sexual urge, stronger than any other urge within me. I have come to realize, that it is my task to pleasure myself, to ultimately understand myself, and subsequently pleasure and understand the world. Sexuality and sex are for me, required for my subsistence, and as a true sex – I believe that one of the pillars, which this world stands upon, is indeed sex. This is the mission statement we subscribe to. It is unwritten, not to be found in any journal or diary. Different folks who include themselves in this group will tell it most likely to you differently; but when all is said and done, we know one another when we see one another. I, in fact, found myself in an elevator only yesterday. Across from me was a woman, I know, not through our own social intercourse, but moreso from the gossip her ex-boyfriend shared with me about her sexual predilections. He would tell me that he had never witnessed such sexual prowess and her very special and unique ability to maintain a sexual energy, at times for days on end. My friend (and indeed all men will concur, a very good friend) would impart to me the 1000 nights of exploits his personal nymphet would act out, including her guttural attraction for continual anal sex; her hankering for being bathed in long lines of cum from a multitude of men, when and if possible. Packed into this elevator like Japanese subway riders, I stared at her as best as I could, through the Rabbi who was standing adjacent to her. She looked back and we both knew that we belonged. She was sex as I was sex and through a quiet acceptance we welcomed one another to our surroundings. My mind was adrift with sexual fantasies about where I was and who was accompanying me in my elevator travels. I thought about what was between her legs, as we dropped floors slowly. I imagined that she was sopping wet and that her panties were drenched in her cunt juices. She looked at me, with the hazy-dozy starry stare of a sex. Her lusty thoughts were so powerful and seemed to spill out of her, that I felt them crawling up inside of me. She was thinking about my cock, standing up stoically against my pants, and how I did my best not to lean up against the rabbi – avoiding the shameful possibility that my erection would somehow interact with the antiquated-blackened pant leg of this holy sage. I feared humping a Rabbi. I knew that she was fantasizing about reaching over and reaching down for a cock – the Rabbis cock; but not for him, but for my benefit. She wanted me to watch her stroke his rabbinical rod, and keep her gaze on me, as she jerked him off. Somehow, being a part of the sex security council, she knew that voyeurism, that her seductivity and seduction of another man – could make me cum sans hands. I was party to a fantastic scenario being acted out between the two of us, with no words spoken, only the exchange of looks, and the osmosis of each other's thoughts. My friend's ex was frantically stroking the Rabbi, prompting him to move about in the elevator, pushing others to any inch they could find, and finally embarrassing everyone as he spilled his seed on an aristocrats new and shiny red pumps. She looked at me and smiled as the Rabbi came over other individuals in our elevator. Her plan had worked and she had achieved something very powerful. Unbeknownst to anybody, other than her and I, a bond had been created between the 12th and ground floor, one that was cemented together with passion, love, lust, sexuality, obsession and a bid toward truth. Through my journey to please and understand, I have come to see sexuality as the prime character motivation within me, and likely within a major portion of the world. How we respond to world situations, is entirely dependant on our sexual relationship to the enemy. If we were to go to war with France, negotiations would take place very quickly because the French, even though historically fickle, are in fact entirely dependent on their sexuality. War prevents an active sex life. The French are romantics. What is romance without sex? However, if we were to go to war with the Finnish, the battle would most likely continue for 100 years. The British are constantly fighting because they are a-sexual at best, or perhaps even worse – they are forever children, refusing to mature as men and women in a sexual way. I don't know why I say this, but the idea of a British gentleman making love to a British lass, conjures up images of an oil drill pounding up and down in the dry dessert. I have a great love of the British, and would no doubt hire them to write my speech should I become President, however, they do not stand out in my mind as sexual giants, as say, the Brazilians. And that might just be why the Brazilians are not, nor will ever be world powers. They are far too aware of their sexuality. Brazilian soldiers will revolt if not given the proper amount of time for R&R. The Brazilian women would stop working for the war machine and the battle would grind to a halt. In simple terms, Brazilian people understand the benefits of sex over war, and although they had fallen into the same warring trap as others in the continent, they are ultimately short lived. Canada is not sexy. The Israelis could be sexual, if given the opportunity. Egyptians likely would rise to the occasion, as well. Americans can never stop fighting because they realize that exercising peace would require sexual introspection, an activity the Americans are not up to, and currently unable to achieve. So they fight. If you are a sex, you know me and will recognize me in a crowded elevator. I look forward to meeting you in the street, at a restaurant, at a concert and passing in an aisle on a plane. Let me know if you know what I'm sayin'. Let me know if you're a sex. Maybe we can make love for three days, cum until our loins hurt; maybe we can perform oral sex on one another, me sucking on your clit from midnight to dawn; you sucking my cock for ½ day. If you know me, you'll know that I'm dreaming now about fucking you. But of course, you know that. |
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