Women mostly suck at sex...if they suck at all

It strikes me that I've never really fucked a woman who was any good at it. And I've fucked enough to have come across it at least once or twice. I mean, if you'd thrown a die a hundred times and still never gotten a six, you'd be starting to wonder what was wrong with the die and not just with your own luck. Long before that, you'd be wondering if there was a six on it at all. Unless you were stupid.

But no one seems to be talking about how naff women are at sex. It's like no one expects them to be good at it. Having a hole and getting it filled up with cock seems to be the sole requirement for the female, as opposed to the male who's the one doing the filling and is expected to be inventive and adventurous and dynamic, sensitive to her needs and a storming barbarian by turns, all depending on what she wants, if she even knows what that is, which she often doesn't.

I'm here to tell you that having a hole and just getting it filled up with cock is a sadly inadequate approach. OK, you understand anatomy. You know where it goes. Uh, uh, sister. Sorry, not enough. Maybe you change places and ride the man. Slightly more dynamic perhaps, but not enough. It's not just the physical chugging, up and down, back and forth. We don't need women for that. My hand can do it better than you can. For thousands of years, men have been making do with Mr. Fist, with each other's assholes, or even with the relative luxury of a sheep or other domestic animal whenever women's cunts were in short supply.

Are you better at it than a sheep? That's my question, the next time I log on to a dating site. That would be worth knowing, as I could save time, effort and expense by simply cutting out the ones that perform like a plank of wood with a hole drilled in it.

Now, I've done my bit. As I've said before, I have a small dick, which I make no bones about...ha ha ha, what a pun... but what the dick can't do the mouth makes up for, in more ways than one and blah blah blah. I can pretty much talk a woman to orgasm, then just press a few buttons to get the jukebox playing. But I've never heard decent sex rhetoric from a woman. Not once.

Moaning, 'Ah, ah, aaaah!' is something that lets us know you're actually alive, but so what? Just communicating that you're enjoying it is banal and academic. I know you're enjoying it, because I've got a fucking master's degree in it, but what the fuck's that supposed to do for me? 'Fuck me!' is a start, but try expanding on that. Investigate the colourful vocabulary of the dirty bitch and practise on yourself, then it might come more naturally to you when Mr. Cock's doing his thing. Whatever you do, don't talk about love. That conjures up images of cuddly toys, soft woolly things etc., and then you might just as well be a sheep again, willing 24-7 at a moment's notice (if one lives in the country)without the slap up dinner and the whole bogus seduction routine.

Maybe you actually sieze hold of it with more than two fingers (I kid you not, I've had bitches practically looking for a pair of tweezers to use). Get your nails cut at the very least. Maybe you even go down, but for fuck's sake, don't bother if you have to hold your nose.

Those were my best tips for the time being. I hope they help. Don't give a shit if they don't.

Voyeurism and other animals

Let me introduce myself. On second thoughts, who cares?

Right now, I'm doing one of the things I enjoy most: Looking up the skirt of some hapless female TV-presenter in the middle of a leg-crossing routine. Here's a good one of Meredith Vieira, showing us what she's made of about 14 seconds into the clip. Here we get a spectacular glimpse of white panties in a warm, dark tunnel. She's no spring chicken, but the view on video is nothing short of stunning, and who's looking at her face, anyway? It lasts maybe half a second: Blink and you’d have missed it. But to the astute Meredith fan (or even someone who doesn't know or give a fuck whose crotch they're looking at), it’s a moment of what can only be described as delicious torture. This could perhaps illustrate the apparent popularity of the knee-high camera angle amongst TV producers, hoping for a scoop of the kind that inspires sad fucks to make looping, slow motion versions of scenes like these and post them on YouTube for other sad fucks to gaze at and wank to. This is, as you've no doubt gathered, one of my areas of expertise.

Here's another tantalising tease. What she's wearing underneath is anybody's guess. It could be running shorts, if that's not a trick of the light, a fault in my spectacles, or a tear in my eye.

I puzzle over this delicious phenomenon. On the one hand, could she really be this ditsy spinster librarian with a Mensa IQ, totally oblivious of her own sex appeal? This teasing, tantalising display of knickers and thighs could be entirely inadvertent, the – for us voyeurs - happy product of scatterbrained distraction. On the other hand, could this all be a front, concealing a vixen who knows exactly what she’s doing every waking moment, enjoying her underground celebrity amongst the video voyeurs of the net? Is the knee-high camera her own idea? The jury’s still out on this one.

After all this excitement, I have to fuck someone and it might as well be Cindy. I've still got her key, even though it's been a while since I last used it. Barging in is more my style. And two in the morning is, I suppose, barging in, key or not. She's not much for it at first, but I'm not really asking, either. Taking is more my style. And barging in (excuse the pun) at two in the morning and waking her up in this rude way could certainly be called 'taking', although there's a giving aspect here too, I feel. The upshot of it - after lame questions about what I think I'm doing and what time I call this - is a splendid time, had by all.

If the truth be known - and I'm all for letting it be known - I’m no great shakes when it comes to the basic horizontal jogging. Once I even caught a woman looking at her watch over my shoulder whilst I was fucking her, until I tied her arms to the bedposts, curing her boredom and finally getting her hot. You see, I’m not very well endowed, lacking both length and girth, not to mention the motor skills, control and general giving of a shit required to become a true virtuoso. I’m tired and bored by the end of the first movement. But what the dick can’t do, the mouth makes up for, in more ways than one. If it’s not the whispering of deconstructionist fantasies in her ear whilst we do it, then it’s the eating of her, the sucking of her pink frills and strutting clitoris into my mouth. I don’t kid myself: The fact of her wanting me again and again, I put down to the frustration I cause her by stopping at the optimum point, giving her a taste of satisfaction without ever really slaking her thirst. She doesn’t get to take anything for granted. I tease her. I make her beg. I make her earn it. Then I withhold it. Sometimes by design, but more often than not by default. Wearied and bored by the effort, turned off by her panting, almost canine eagerness, her abandonment of any semblance of coolness, I just have to stop. And she can’t suck cock for shit. So I leave her. I can’t tell you how elating this is.