So, I'm a Playboy!

Thanks to seeing the idea over at Phishez blog, I have taken the time to do this little dating persona test over at www.okcupid.com

What can I say to this...you gals tell me. I'm off to buy a red velvet smoking jacket and a jumbo box of condoms while I wait for your phone calls!

Your results are in!
JoshCalvert, you are...

The Playboy
Random Gentle Sex Master (RGSM)

Clean. Smooth. Successful. You're The Playboy.

You're spontaneous, and your energy is highly contagious. Guys therefore find you fun to be around, and girls find you compelling. You have lots of sex, and you manage it all without seeming cheap or being hurtful. Well done. You probably know karate, too.

It's obvious to us, and probably everyone else, that you're after physical rather than emotional relationships, but you're straight up with potential partners. And if a girl you want isn't into something casual, it's no big deal. You move on. BEFORE sleeping with her. Usually. At least you try to. Such control is rare.

If you're feeling unfulfilled, maybe you should raise your standards. New conquests will only be satisfying if there's a possibility of rejection.

Always avoid: The Playstation (RGSM)

Consider: The Dirty Little Secret (DGSM), The Nurse (RGSD)

UPDATE: I had to alter my image a little, first of all I don't smoke and I figured while I was there I may as well put in what was on my mind..

She's a man eater..

I was looking through the dictionary the other day and found an enlightening entry that got me thinking.

MILF, Acronym; Mothers I'd Like to Fuck - see Stiffler's mom. A teenage fantasy made famous by the film American Pie and any number of online B grade porn sites.


I kept looking for the next entry that I was surprised was not there. MINF, the Mothers I'd Never Fuck.

Now obviously outside of some of those southern states of the USA, your own mother qualifies right away as a MINF so by that logic the acronym should be in use right? But I've never seen it.

Recently I met a MINF and this was what got me thinking along these lines.

As I have mentioned before, I do a fair bit of dancing. The cool thing about dancing is that you can be all sexy and sassy, shake your bits and grind your hips, say thanks and move onto the next girl and do it all again.

It is all the sexy bits with none of the mess or commitment with an unspoken boundary of fair play that ensures no one gets hurt. Now sure, eventually with all this hot and steamy action it will happen that there will be a spark between consenting adults and next thing you know you are swapping bodily fluids in the car park - but that only happens once or twice a week, you can't expect it every night you go out for a dance.

Unfortunately with all this sexual tension, you get the tourists that turn up looking for love. They don't really care about the dancing, so much. They wear way too much make up and perfume and are dressed as if off to a year 10 formal or worse still a B&S at Wagga Wagga - and this is just the guys. The girls can be really scary.

Normal mid week classes aren't too bad but it is the dance parties and socials on weekends when it gets really messy. It isn't a school night, the MILFs and MINFs tend to avoid church on a Sunday and most have shipped their kids off to the ex-hubbie or worse still have just left them at home with the current hubbie and are looking for a pants party.

Now when I had a GF, this all just passed blissfully over my head. Sure I saw the blood red lipstick and the plunging décolletage and the batting shag me eyes, but I had an inoffensive out to the common question "so are you here by your self" - well no actually see the 5' 7, 46kg blond grinding away over there, she is taking me home again tonight, sorry, maybe next week...

Things have changed. I have lost my polite excuse and am now at the other end of the food chain and it is not a nice place to be at times.

Which brings me to my recent scary moment and bit of blog fodder.

Normally for a bit of fun at the weekend dance parties they will quickly teach a few close moves late in the night so that people looking for an excuse to get close and cuddly can do it under the pretense of leaning a new move or two.

Now depending on the mood and the people teaching these can be really racy moves and you need to know your partner reasonably well or just want to get into their pants. You are going to be close and to look good it has to be steamy.

Anything else and it is as awkward as watching you aunt Mavis pretend she is Fergalicious against uncle Arthur. Welcome wrong town with a population of two.

So this night I was going to sit it out. The person I would have liked to have done it with was not there and the quick demo made it obvious I could not just ask anyone to do it. The unspoken vibe is that if I guy asks a strange girl to do a close moves class then his is obviously either a bit creepy or wanting a shag, the girls however seem to be able to ask anyone - go figure.

There was a tap on my shoulder and there she was a MINF. Presentable, under 50 but trying way to hard and as harsh as it sounds just not what I am looking for. With big brown eyes challenging me to reject her she asked if I would do the class with her.

"I was going to sit it out, got to change my shirt, I'm all sweaty right now.." I tried to say.

"Don't worry about that, sweaty is goood" she drawled.

Run away my brain screamed! Danger Will Robinson, Danger!

"Um....ok..." I said. It is good clean fun, it is not like she has two heads or anything.

The first move was nice and easy, some close quicksteps, spinning around each other. My right hand nice and secure up on her shoulder blade while her hand was allowed to wander lower down my back - did she just tap my ass???

Second move, turn her out and wind her back and around into a wrap and a couple of nice little CJ's stepping back and forth, our faces are only an inch apart and her eyes are blasting hole through to the back of my scull - man that is intense. My nostrils are being stripped raw by the perfume she bathed in before coming out for the night. It is starting to feel like a bad idea.

Third move, two options, unwind her and wrap her in front of me and control the following grind or wrap her in behind me and let her drive. I think I'll take option one so I can see what is happening.

As she rolls in front I end up close behind her, my arms wrapping around to her front and gently holding her arms crossed over her tummy. We gently rock left and right in time with the music as my left hand brings her left hand up to the side of her head for a sexy little glide down her hair, over her shoulder and bust and back to the hips.

This is all supposed to be done with her hand on her body and my hand on top. I am not supposed to cop a feel here, it is supposed to look dirty without being dirty but then it all goes wrong.

With each little roll of the hips, left then right and left again, she is pushing back into me harder and harder. As I bring her hand up to her face she leans her head back into me. I can't see the look on her face but a friend of hers sitting on the side of the dance floor is now laughing so I gather she is putting on quite the show of lusty enjoyment.

Guiding her hand down her neck and she deftly slips her hand out from under mine and squeezes my hand under hers as we hit her shoulder. As we rock to the right again my hand is pressed over her collar bone and onto the full left breast and dragged over a nipple that feels like the rock of Gibralta. Moments later and I am fighting to keep on track for the hip, she seems determined to go via another route.

Abort, Abort, Abort!!!!!

I make it to the hip and manage a controlled body roll before a nice little hip spin to gain some separation. She smiles at me like a Hyaena and squeezes my hand. Her friend who was watching has nearly slipped of her seat she is laughing so hard. I can feel by cheeks burning. This was not what I was looking for tonight.

We have a few more run practices of the mini routine and each time there is a fight over who's hand goes on top and where it visits. She wants to try the version where she is behind and in control but I just don't want to risk it. There are too many people watching as it is and I want them to dance with me later on rather than be scarred by the show she seems determined to put on.

The class finishes with a last run through then into the rest of the song to do with as we please. The lights go down and I am praying for the music to end so I can beat my retreat.

As the song fades out she rushes in for a big hug.."Thanks so much, that was great fun...Another song?"

"Um, Really need to change this shirt" I mutter.

"Ok, then maybe later?"

"Um maybe." I say glancing around the room for a 5' 7, 46kg blond to pretend is my GF...Hell I'll even take my XGF back right now if she is here.

"Say where do you normally dance?" she asks expectantly.

"Oh, this is my last night ever..I go into a monastery in the morning, in fact I have to go press and pack my robes...cya!"

Painful flash backs...

Sitting at home alone on this Friday night, I am forced to think about why I am here, alone. I have to admit that I have been shaken by a recent post by Steph over at much Ado and even more so by the comments she has received.

It has made me wonder about the scum out there and how lucky I am to have never experienced that sort of hurt, and certainly happy to have never caused it.

It has however opened some recent wounds. The pain of a failed relationship just came burbling up to the surface and paralysed me.

I had great plans to go out tonight but my body has called for a break. I feel tired and broken. I need to tell this story for me.

Rewind to earlier this year. This house had another girlie bit to it, my partner, a dream, my future life. A special spark that went out the day she left.

Rewind a bit further and things were just starting to go wrong for real. We had plans in the family way but biology was not playing fair. On the surface it was all working, the boys were swimming and she was as regular as clockwork. This was our third miscarriage in three years and it tore our hearts out. The doctors just wanted to push IVF but you have to be strong and emotionally secure. The hormones, the schedule the pressure of it will kill anything but the most secure relationship.

Add to that the confusions and fear already there. We were getting pregnant, it just was not holding past 8 weeks or so. Why would IVF fix that? They could not answer in any way that made sense to me. The reading, the study, the questions did not help. Finding out that we are not alone in this struggle was no comfort.

We had friends having babies left right and fucking centre. Everyone but us. We wanted to be happy for them but it hurt. What hurt more was the few people that could not see the trauma, even though they knew we were trying, they still chimed in with the helpful comments like "you got to get on with it", "your not getting any younger", "Just shag more". Go fuck yourself was what I wanted scream. I didn't, we just stopped talking to them. It was easier but a sad way to deal with it. I have missed a large chunk of their lives and I am sorry for that.

The last miscarriage was the charm. Something broke for good right then. Curled up on the couch, the very spot I am sitting now, she said she didn't want to have kids. It was too hard. It was never going to work. She could not take the stress. Every period was failure, every late one was fear followed by a hammer blow. We were being torn apart 12 times a year.

Maybe we should have counselling? We need to talk to people outside of ourselves, we need to share this load. I want to have kids, I want to be a young dad. I want to share my adventure sports with them, teach them to climb, fly, sail, swim, ski and ride. She says; I don't do counselling, I know what I want, I'm not crazy. I want to be free of all this. I don't want a mortgage, I want to be free and reckless again. This is too hard.

My heart breaks. How do you answer that?

As if to make a point she starts smoking. She hasn't smoked since we hooked up six years ago. Back then I had joked that I would never go out with a smoker and she had quit right there and then. We were inseparable from then until it all ended. We travelled, we had adventures, we planned, plotted and schemed.

Rewind again. I'll have to check out this dancing thing. She seems to be getting right into it and wants me to go. I have said no for so long that is has become a mexican stand off. Truth be told I am scared. I will embarrass myself and her. She is such a great groover. I will be gumby next to her.

She tricks me with a bet. If I win my next competition, I will qualify for a major event. If I win, I have to learn to dance so we can dance together at the big one. I am always out to win. That is me, it is in my bones. Even the fear of dancing won't stop me taking what is mine.

I win, it was hard but worth the every minute of toil to get there. In the depression that follows, yes even winning is a downer when you have to go back to the real world, I realise that now I have to dance. She is smiling, we are happy, almost the happiest we have ever been.

Walking into the club I can see the new friends she has already. It is odd, this has been her little world for six or more months. It is the only part of out life we have not shared and straight away I can see why.

He has a girlfriend, she is his fiancée in fact. Then why do I feel green? What is it in his eye and the way they move together that makes my blood run cold. It is just about the dancing right? I'm not the jealous type so this feels ugly.

Fast forward for a bit. We have bought a house instead of getting married. It is a smarter use of money as sad as that sounds. At some point in the future I will be so glad it happened this way. I just don't know it yet. I am dancing every night I can, that knot in my gut is still there and then it is confirmed. How is not important but his fiancée and I know it is true.

Within weeks of moving into the new house I find out she has shared our bed with him. I am shattered. I make the dumbest decision in my life. I forgive her. I had always believed there was no coming back form that sort of break in trust and yet here I am. It takes ages to fade, I push it down. It actually it never does, no matter how much you lie to yourself. Even now I am fighting back tears while writing about it. Cunt!

Rewind again. We are up the far north coast of Queensland. We have only just got together and in a brilliant bit of timing I have secured a short contract that will give us the chance to travel a little and get to know each other, live together without actually having the whole moving in together discussion. Three months in paradise.

I think we lasted a few days before I blurt it out while we embrace in the surf. As I stand there with her legs wrapped around my waist, my arms holding her close, her breath in my ear, I know. She is everything I have ever wanted. I love her and I tell her so.

We kiss and she smiles. She loves me too. I am the luckiest guy on earth.

Fast forward. I walk in from work and she is drunk. The bottle of champagne is mostly empty. She is not a pretty drunk and the look says everything I never wanted to hear. I want to run. I don't want this to happen but I am wading in molasses. There is no escape. There is no answer, nothing I can say. She has made up her mind. She has not talked to friends of family, she doesn't want them to tell her she is crazy. She does not want to e talked out of it.

I want to tell her she is crazy, not for leaving me but for running away from problems and challenges, it is actually a recurring theme. The one difference between us. Even now I can't take the cheap shot, I still love her.

I have to let her walk. There is nothing I can do. It takes two to tango and if one won't dance then all bets are off.

Fast forward. It is tonight, I am regretting not dancing tonight but I had to get this out of me. I have been running and it was time to stop and catch my breath.

I promise my next post will be more fun.

Product reviews - the pocket pussy

Being a single bloke, you end up with spare time on occasion.

Now this is a dangerous thing. It normally results in one of a few things such as antisocial nerdy time on the old computer, skimming blogs for nudie bits, masturbation when good nudie bits are found, trying to figure out where you can buy a PS3 or Xbox at 2am, more masturbation, re-reading all the posts from Steph about her BOBs, cringing at Captain Smacks posts about spinning melons, wondering where you can buy a melon at 2am....the list goes on.

Anyhow, one thing seemed to be recurring here. When not flashing their beautiful busts, the girls in blogland love to talk about their battery operated boyfriends. With the exception of the melon story, I have however not seen too much in the way of toys for the boys being discussed.

Now I have to be careful here because I am bout to admit to the very hands typing this that I have recently cheated on them. If they leave me then I really will be all alone at night.

The first time I saw a fake pussy was at Sexpo in Melboune some years back. I was there with the finger lickin good Chickie and we were having a great laugh. After what seemed like endless stands of odds, sods and bobs for the girls or anally inclined boys, we happened onto the the fake pussy stand. It was odd. I think I had become numbed to fake dicks in bright colours with pox inspired lumps and bumps but the fake pussy's were alarming in their disembodied and quivering attention to detail.

The sign said touch me. I felt nervous. The girl on the stand was intimidating in her beauty and the thought of just walking up and fingering this lump of silicone rubber made me feel like my inner sicko was tattooed on my forehead.

Chickie saved the day. Walking straight up to it, she laughed and said "one finger or two on the first date?"

"Oh, you can fist this one if its your thing!" said the girl with a smile.

"Go on Josh, you got to feel this, it's freaky!" said Chickie.

Indeed it was, but before I had a chance to ponder the price tag and the political correctness of taking home a pocket pussy while in the company of my fuck buddy, a strip show started on the main stage and I was dragged off to ogle at girls with my dear lesbian friend.

Fast forward to a week back and my original train of thought here today (temporally displaced yet?...hang in there.)

After realising that I could not get a PS3 at 2am, the local quick-e-mart did not have any cute melons and a drive to the nearest sex shop would out last my enthusiasm, it was time to go online and re-visit the fake pussy collection for a future date. Years had passed, the technology should be amazing right?

It seemed that Kobe Tai's fake snatch was as tight as ever and looked exactly like it had all those years back, all be it without Chickie two knuckles deep in it. The price however was less than ideal and while I have no problem with top shelf shopping, it just seemed that I could have bought the real thing for less.

After looking around for a while, I finally hit on the "Jessica Drake, Wicked Masturbator Senso". It had the right price point for my entry into the world of fake pussy and if it was a dud root, nothing would really be lost.

The service was fast and in no time at all a non-descript white box was sitting on my front door step. Ironically this was all happening about the same time that Fingers was telling tales of a truck load of tranny and granny porn for his neighbour landing on his door step. It had been a nervous few days for me.

On opening the box I was alarmed to see how small the package inside was. Now this is not about bragging, but I had expected something bigger. My worst thoughts were being confirmed, the only people who bought these were losers without enough manhood to get the real thing....as opposed to self assured blokes that are just avoiding complications for a while.

Opening the packaging revealed a transparent, pink lump of silicone jelly with the tiniest, but cutest little pussy on one end. Again, the size concerned me. Parting the lips revealed a hole not more than 1/4" in diameter. I grabbed the box to check for "Novelty only", "Tease you mates about their manhood size...", 1/4 scale model" labels but no such luck.

The other feature was 10 bright pink balls beneath the surface, affectionately known as "stroker beads". At this point the whole thing was a little disturbing. It looked all high tech and science fiction which helped it look less like a body part left on the floor by dexter. It was just the detail and scale that made it wrong.

Here goes, I thought. Better be gentle, this thing looks as virginal as they come. Licking a finger, I gently parted the lips and slid my index finger in. I had expected it to be cold and clammy but it was oddly warm and welcoming. The pressure was firm and the texture was engaging, closing my eyes for a moment did not make it feel real, but hey, I had to see if it helped.

Time for some pre-launch checks.

Blinds, closed and secured - check
Lube - check
Porn, selected and running - check
Spunk rag ready - check
Mood and wood achieved - check

Chocks away ginger!

"Tower, requesting airways clearance for solo flight to pleasure ville via Wicked Masturbator Senso."

"Negative ghost rider, the pattern is full"

Focus damn it, stop thinking about Top Gun, Kelly McGillis is what 51 years old now? Fuck focus on the porn and the story!

So getting started with this thing was interesting to say the least. A bit of digital work to introduce the lube, some disconcerting stretching and a brief moment of juggling as my new friend tried to slither onto the carpet from slippery fingers and we still had not achieved penetration.

Adjusting my grip on the situation, it became apparent that blunt force was going to be required. The only guiding hand would be mine and the realisation that no amount of tenderness at the onset of this relationship would affect its longevity relaxed things a little.

With a bit of a grunt I was in. The first bead slid along the underside of my knob as the whole thing pressed in on me. It was actually rather intense. The more I slid in, the more it tickled until boom, I was out the other side. For a moment I just sat there stunned. It sure didn't look long enough before we had started but with the expansion to take my girth, Newtons laws had kicked in and the equal and opposite thing had happened to the length of my pocket pussy. It was now snuggled around the base of my dick with a fair bit of knob sticking out the end like some oversized cock ring.

Sliding back out again but staying engaged and I felt the tickle intensify. Not bad. Back in a gain, out again...hmmmm you get the idea!

At a moment of intensity things started to get weird. Much like the thai girl in Priscilla Queen of the Desert, my little pocket pussy started firing balls around the room. At first I did not know what was going on, after all my eyes were starting to roll back in my head. All I sensed with the first one was a flash of motion and a dull thud on the far side of the room.

Moving right along, and ping! Out shot another one. I caught the action this time and figured out what was happening, jeezuz, didn't see a warning on the box about this!

The closer I got, the more of these bright pink balls were shooting around the room. At one point I wondered if my beloved Plasma was in danger of getting injured as two balls pinged off the screen in machine gun sticatto.

I pushed on to the end. It was fantastic, like those great moments in sex we finished at the same time. She ran out of balls just as I emptied mine.

I was left in stunned silence, Gina as I had named her, still gripping me furiously. Not a bad root at all.

So I suppose the question will be if I should call her or not. Do I think this relationship is going anywhere?

It was odd and a bit of fun. It was nothing like the real thing apart from a bit of nervous fumbling at the start. She was not the most active partner although the trick with the balls sure made for a good stunt fuck.

All in all it was a good value laugh and a bit of a change of pace. I expect that I have now scared of all my female readers, I shall be getting to know Gina all the better from now on.

For the boys, I am not sure any girlfriend will welcome one of these in the bedroom but if your single and looking for a change of pace, it is worth a laugh and safer than a melon in the microwave!

Time to fess up, who else has boy toys and what are they?

A trip down memory lane...

Long standing friends are always fun to share a meal with - especially when it has been a while since you've had face to face contact.

Tonight I had a little BBQ to welcome back a couple who have moved to the UK. They are on holidays for a week or two to show off their new baby to family and friends back here in Sydney.

There were another two old friends that came along too. I had not seen any of these people in a few years - between everyone travelling and life happening we had all sort of lost contact. It is always a shame when this happens but just the way things works some times.

From the moment they started turning up tonight it was just like old times and I have to say it made my heart swell a little to hear laughter and movement in this house. It was something that has not really been here since about Feb when the XGF left. I have been using my house more like a hotel than a home and have not really hung around due to all the memories that still cower and live in the shadows.

The thing that struck me was that as a group of friends we have all had some great adventures and all succeeded in fun and interesting ways. Adventure sports still run hot in our blood and from one little dinner a snowboarding trip to the Himalaya is now in planning - Kashmir 2008 here we come!

In the re-telling of funny stories and remembering friends current and lost in time, a moment from my past surfaced and spun us off into some of the funniest of near forgotten tales.

Some of these really need to be out there to be enjoyed so I will start with one right now....

My first true love and shag, affectionately known as GF1 was a hot little red head. Unfortunately for me, she was also known to other faster moving young men than I and I had to bide my time during the final years of school for my chance to woo her. GF1 was well known to all at dinner tonight, one of the guys had even dated her before me.

In the final months of school, I did end up in a relationship with her and it lasted the best part of 18months - a record of sorts I suppose you could say. We were young, passionate and in love and lost our virginity together in the back of a car. This was despite months of planning the perfect weekend away - we had wanted it to be special but in the end hormones took over and we could wait no longer.

After the first few fumbling adventures things got proper sexy and even today I have fond memories of the great sex we had. Crazy kids we may have been but we were together long enough to experiment and find ourselves and each other as sexual creatures.

In the end we had to go our separate ways. She was wanting to be married and start breeding straight out of school. I had travel, adventure and other plans that did not include a ring and a baby at the age of 18. It was not a nice split and we soon drifted apart.

Soon afterwards she found her husband to be and they married and bred. I was not involved in her life and only heard bits and pieces from mutual friends. I was happy for her, it was her dream come true.

So fast forward about five or so years and I got an invite to the Christening of her third child. It was totally out of the blue and I figured it would be fun to see who was there from school times and to see where she was in life.

They had just moved into a new house out in the far western 'burbs of Sydney and looked like they were doing their bit to single handedly rectify the aging population problem in Australia.

She still had a twinkle in her eye and was self assured and comfortable in her roll as mum and housewife. I had skipped the church bit because that is not my scene and gone straight to the house for the BBQ and drinks. The backyard was full of her family and friends and a scattering of people from school that I could take or leave.

After some small talk and once people were settling in with food and booze she invited me on a tour of the new house that she was so proud of. As we wandered from room to room chatting and laughing about the past she would lean against me and rub past me to point out this feature or that. It was very flirty and it was not long until the conversation turned to a story from our past with me getting chased out of the house by her mum, pants in hand after a particularly hot session making the two backed beast.

In the backyard, that very same mum was entertaining the other guests and keeping the beers flowing. Hubby was entrenched behind the Barbie, making sure everyone knew he was the man of the house.

When we got to the baby's room I spotted a toy similar to one I had had as a child and wandered in to pick it up. As I bent down for the toy I heard the door latch behind me with a click followed by a little giggle. When I turned, she was leaning back against the door with both hands holding her skirt out at waist level to reveal her naked snatch. I was lost for words.

"I think I have been married a little too long." she purred, "Can you believe that other than my husband, you are the only other boy who has been here?"

"Ahh, haddn't thought about it." I stammered.

She reached down with one hand and turned her right leg out a little so she could slip a finger between her legs. Time was slowing down really quick, it was all happening in slow motion.

"Do you remember how much you used to like my taste?" she said, grinding against her hand.

She removed the hand and held up two glistening fingers in front of her as she closed the gap on me. I was frozen in place, my brain spinning at how wrong this was getting and how fast it was happening.

She was leaning against me now and holding her wet fingers just in front of my face, all I could smell was her musk. Memories were flashing through my head like a slide projector jammed in fast forward.

Places and positions, snapshots of breasts beaded in sweat, her face as she came, both of us watching in a mirror as I did her doggy style, her looking up at me with my cock in her mouth. I was hard as all hell and it was an uncomfortable hard too. My cock was pointing south and did not have enough room to get to north in my jeans.

"I have been wet thinking about how good we were together since you got here you know?"

"Um, you have a family, kids, a husband" I squeaked. It was lame and off topic but it was true.

"Yeah, but I have not been fucked properly in years, he can make babies but it is not inspiring, not like it was with us....lick my fingers, you know you want to"

I knew it was wrong but her smell was making my head spin. I leaned forward as took the tip of her first finger in my mouth and let out a little moan as the memories and images brightened, almost blinding me with their vivid intensity.

Sliding my tongue down the back of the two fingers, I sucked greedily on them trying to get all of her juices into my mouth. She was every bit as sweet now as she had been. It was intoxicating.

"I need you to fuck me. I need your cock in my pussy like before. I want it now, I'm so ready right now, can you taste how ready I am?" she panted.

I could feel her hand on my bulge, stroking me through the denim, finger nails dragging on the texture of the fabric and sending bolts of pleasure through me.

At the same time I there was a growing sense of panic in me. It was wrong, it was not fair to her family and the future health of their relationship. What if we got sprung?

As I was processing all this there was a voice in the hall. I felt like I was 18 again. Her mother was calling her name, where had she gone? Where was the tomato sauce?

Just as we pulled apart, the door swung open. I felt my cheeks burning, the bulge in my crotch must have stood out because she glanced down and lingered for a moment before locking eyes with me and calmly asking her daughter where the sauce was. She never blinked while directions through the pantry were given..."second shelf below all the cereal, should be on the right hand side with the oil..."

"Ok.." She said, "Don't you kids be long, people will miss you" and I kid you not she chuckled and closed the door.

I wanted to vanish up my own bum right there and then, I was in shock. The very same mum that chased me out onto a main road in my underwear had just given us tactic approval to get it on in the nursery.

I was in the bloody twilight zone for sure.

"I think I need to go"

"Yeah, that was a bit odd" she said with a puzzled look on her face.

"You reckon? I thought we were dead, then next thing I know your fucking mum was checking out my hard on...What is in the water out here?" I giggled.

After a moment to think of tax, shopping and washing up I was able to venture out into public without a boner to show the crowd in the garden. A quick steak sandwich and it was time to run away before things got funky again.

Strangely enough, I have not seen her again and until tonight I had buried that little moment deep in the back of my head.

This time at dance camp...

First to some business! Boys, get your cocks out on the Penis Secret page! There is only two there and you've gotta give the girls something to look at after the nice job they are doing on Miss Smacks page! I've done my bit so get on with it!

Some things in life are very special. Dancing is one of them.

Now I could be talking about the horizontal mambo here but that is a slightly different sport. This post is actually about the close and intimate conversation two people can have over a piece of music using not much more than good eye contact and a solid frame.

If there is one thing I have to thank an ex GF for is for introducing me to dance.

I did not dance. I would not dance at a wedding, I would not tea bag at a club. I was sure I had no rhythm and that everyone would be watching an laughing at my Steady Eddie impersonations.

Now this is odd for me because I am actually self confident in just about any other situation. I am also highly competitive to the point that some may consider it a character flaw. Dancing however, dancing just scared me.

This GF was a great dancer (at both types of dancing too) and we made a bet. In short I lost and had to go to a dance class. In two lessons I was hooked. Now my judgement may have been clouded here because it was obvious the teacher wanted to shag her senseless (indeed he eventually did hence the EX status, BITCH) but while delaying the inevitable I fell in love with dancing.

This weekend had proved that I may need to be medicated. It was confirmed that I suffer from OCD - obsessive compulsive dancing. I signed up do a weekender of routines, workshops, musicality and performance/style tips.

Logic would have said that with a full weekend of dancing on the books, I should have rested up but oh no. I danced on Monday, Tuesday and Thursday nights before starting the weekend with a quick warm up class on Friday night and then free styling until 1am. I also had a climb on Wednesday night because that is when I see my non dancing friends...

A lot of people go dancing lessons to pick up. You can see them from a mile away. There are also a lot of people that just go to dance. I am the latter. This weekend was always going to be a challenge because it had all the ingredients for a wild time. Hot and sweaty dancing with some close moves to get sexy, dorm style accommodation just like a school camp except with alcohol to lubricate things and to confuse which bed was actually supposed to be yours.

Now this dancing is modern Jive, in some ways made famous by the film dirty dancing. It is not as rigid as say ballroom or as strict in the footwork as Salsa and as such can be danced to just about any modern music as well as the classics. Get a 3/4 waltz and your pretty fucked but other than that, it is all good. Think black eyed peas "Pump it" through to some smoky smooth Michael Buble and that is the sort of music you can work to easily.

The biggest thing is eye contact. A lot of people find it confronting at first and indeed, the contact is deep. There is a fine line between fun and creepy when six inches from a strangers face and staring into their soal. Being a partner dance, the guy has to do a lot of work. Remembering moves and leads ahead of time to keep it on beat and find those hits in the music so you can let the girl play or nail a dip or lean. The best guys make it look effortless and the best girls can move in ways that would make their mothers blush.

The amazing thing is that if you get a good connection with your partner and you as the guy have a strong lead, you can get most girls, even beginners through some really nice moves and have a lot of fun. To quote Patrick Swayze, "Look, spaghetti arms. This is my dance space. This is your dance space. I don't go into yours, you don't go into mine. You gotta hold the frame." It makes all the difference.

All in all I think I did about 6 hours on Friday, 14 hours on Saturday! and another 7 hours on Sunday. My ex was there and snogged the fattest man on earth which made me not sure if I should laugh or cry. He is a great dancer but Ewwwww!

I stayed suitably alouf and non committal while flirting like a champion with some very hot women.

I got home, had a shower and slept form 5pm until 1am and here I am blogging for a few hours and hoping I can get back to sleep before I get up to go to work.

You know the really dumb thing? It is 2.50 am and I will be back on a dance floor tonight at about 8pm until 11pm. Fecking nuts!

You should feel my arse right now - buns of steel!

Ohh, that's the spot!

So a friend was recently telling me a little story about a physio session that turned into something else all together. Seems that a little inner thigh rub got upgraded to a full chow down on the cha-cha.

It got me thinking. Actually it got me hard which then got me thinking...

Earlier tonight I was wandering around the local shopping centre with the image in my head of her lying back on the massage table with one of those little towels that really are more like spunk rags than anything useful for covering your modesty. It was no wonder things got out of hand, she is a babe.

Anyhow, I have a big weekend of physical activity ahead of me and my back had given a little twinge today. The more I thought about her massage with a happy ending the more I figured I should at least get my back seen to, after all, if it could happen to her why not me?

I first found one of those little bunch of Asian masseuse dudes that set up in the middle of the shopping centre. While being watched does not worry me, I figured the chance of a random upgrade in service was not likely to happen while the general public wandered about doing their shopping. There was also the small issue that they were all dudes. Really not my thing.

A little further on I found what I was looking for. A massage shop! Inner health, physical healing, acupuncture. By now my back was screaming for some loving and the cute girl at the counter had me hooked. $30 for half an hour of back and neck massage - fantastic! Hope she has strong hands to go with those eyes.

With demure little smile she led me off to a suitably dark room with massage table, oils and bottles of crazy Chinese herbs. Even one of those little towels. Looking good.

Next thing I know a little old man who looks like some wise old kung foo master appears in her place. He gives me a funny look and I instantly guess that it was his daughter who showed me into the room. My look of disappointment obviously betrays me. He returns a look that simply says "Your fucked for even thinking it mate!"

I lie down and prepare to meet my maker. The little fucker has fingers of steel and a grip strength that could squash a golf ball. I can feel the tendons in my back being lifted from the bone, every muscle fibre is individually separated and re-aligned, in some cases it feels like he is reconfiguring the whole lot in an effort to out do evolution. My arms get twisted so far around my body that I am convinced I will leave looking like bloody pretzel.

The creaks and groans are truly alarming but I am not going to scream or tap out. I will not submit!

In terror I have forgotten all the naughty thoughts that were there while making the booking.

With that odd slapping thing they do with the cupped hands ringing out like thunder I know that it is nearly over. I have survived. I just hope I can still walk.

It all goes quiet and his face appears beside mine with a wry little grin as he asks if it was strong enough? Yeah tops, good job mate, lets see if I can stand?.

I slide off the table and stand up, so far so good. A little ginger lean and twist and bugger me if I don't feel about 6 inches taller without a single twinge to be felt in my back.

He smiles at me again knowingly - you come back some time?

Hell yeah!

Full service?

Whooha, hang on WTF is full service...

Blog fluff..

Well after a quick pointer from the lovely Miss Smack, I have added a "Blogged in Australia" banner to my page.

I also had a moment of inspiration with Photoshop and wasted some work time adjusting my title bar to better reflect me. The monkey jumped out of my head for a quick photo opportunity so you could all meet him face to face too.

Got to love sock monkeys with attitude!

Before you ask, no that is not me reclining with my boobs out! It is actually a random blogger who liked my first smut posting enough that they sent me a raunchy picture - well thats what I tell my self as I grab the bottle of lube in one hand and myself with the other...

Pen is mightier than the sword?

I have a technical question....Some time back I stumbled over this post from Phish about her penis secret project. Fantastic idea. I have to say that the concept really tickled my fancy - literally.

Unfortunately it seems to have been under subscribed or Phish is keeping the pics to herself. Now not that I want to go looking at cocks, but if I was going to put in an entry it would be fun to know what I was up against!

Since then I have come up with a secret worthy of the task - that was no problem. Feeling somewhat emboldened by the favourable reception of my first bit of blog smut, I thought what the hell, time to do something really silly and fun.

What I have been struggling with however is what on earth to pen the said secret on to my best mate. Biro and felt tip marker seem a little too permanent, the thought of taking to the tool with scotch-brite or turpentine after the photo shoot makes me cringe.

With no girlie bits in the house there is no eye liner or similar to be found. What is a guy to do?

I've got wood, the camera is charged but I also want to make sure that if I do happen to get lucky in the next month or two that I don't have to explain the freaking message written on my knob.

Ideas anyone?

Spaghetti western

Inspired by some writing by Phish and Miss Smack I have decided to turn a lonely Sunday night at home into a trip down smut lane.

A friend of mine once proclaimed that if you apply enough heat any chick will bend. You see she was a very unique friend to have, a very attractive girl that was into girls.

For the time we were in contact she had been the perfect drinking partner. No tension, no threat of complications or risks of falling in love. She was a true free spirit and a joy to know and hang out with. We had met through work and had hit it off from day one.

I have heard that chicks that hang out with gay guys are fag hags. What ever the male equivalent for lesbian chicks is, that was me.

At the time we met, I was unhappily in a relationship that was in it's final death throws. I have always been determined to keep and make friends outside of any intimate relationship because I firmly believe that lovers will move on but friends you keep for life. Unfortunately this did not sit so well with GF3, she did not like Chickie at all. In hindsight she could probably sense that Chickie was actually bi rather than pure bred lezzo. I never got it nor asked, it wasn't important to the friendship.

As was always was going to happen GF3 got the red card and we parted company. I was free to muck up like you do at those times of sadness.

So it was that Chickie took me on one of her Melbourne tours on the look out for fresh flange for both of us! Now I have never been a fast mover, I have never had a random snog in the pub or taken a girl home on the first meeting. Sad but true. Chickie however was a master of the art - she could pull a chick faster than Raife Fiennes could get a hostie sacked.

After a good feed and a few drinks, it was time to get down to the business of finding a life partner for the next few hours. Chickie was in full flight but no matter how much heat she applied, none of the gals she was hitting seemed to be up for girl on girl action tonight. Sitting in a booth and checking the calibration of our gaydars over a cooling ale she surprised the hell out of me by throwing up something I had said many many months back.

I don't know how the original conversation had happened back then but I had made a quip that I suspected I was really a lesbian trapped in a man's body. You see I love to go down on the cha cha, or as Miss Smack says, dine at cafe Minge. It was this that Chickie now threw back in my face.

With a cheeky grin she peered over her pint and opined that as a lesbian trapped in a man's body I was probably the closest thing to sure thing for her tonight. Dim old me just thought it was a joke. I replied that while that may be the case, I was not sure that I was up for that level of peer review. After all while content that I knew my job while down on the sweetest of places, how could a guy rate against all that girl on girl action?

It was soon apparent that she was serious and we quickly retired to her apartment with a few take away long necks to keep us socially lubricated. Because we had known each other for the best part of twelve months, it instantly felt comfortable and natural. Out kisses were hard and deep as the clothes were flying off. I could feel myself straining against my jeans while she fumbled with my belt.

In a tangle of jeans and bra straps we tripped over in a heap, half on the bed and half on the floor giggling like idiots. I had momentarily seen Chickies tits once before when she flashed me at work and had sure admired their form from afar ever since. Up close they were magnificent, I could feel her nails alternately gouging into my head and pulling at my hair as I hungrily caressed and sucked at her breasts and nipples. With a shove on my shoulder to break the embrace she rolled back and flicked her hips to the ceiling, with a thumb under each side of her jeans, the lot came sliding to her ankles and off in one smooth action ending with her legs pointing to the roof.

I had to laugh out loud at how practised that little move was, she just grinned and said fucking eat me as she rolled onto her front and with legs slightly parted rolled her hips to reveal a flange just begging for loving. With one hand firmly on her arse cheek, and the other just gently pulling her open I ran my tongue the full length from her arse to the the hood of her clit. As I got there two fingers that we not mine appeared and spread her lips for me so I could taste her in full.

With her juices flowing I gently suggested she roll over so could really get down to business. With a pillow under her hips and her legs hooked over my shoulders I worked my tongue into the folds of her pussy, licking and sucking at her clit in time with her rolling hips. I reach up with my left hand and take a breast in hand, squeezing the nipple to bring on a sharp gasp of breath followed by the first shudder and deep moan. "Ohhhh Fuck, your going to make me cum...faaaark." I tweaked the nipple harder and sucked back on her clit with a gentle flicking of the tongue.

I slid a second finger into her now throbbing pussy and probed deeper with fingers and tongue working as a team.

I can't tell you how hard this was making me. My cock was throbbing but I didn't care, she was so close to coming and so wet that I wanted to feel her hips bucking against my face. Her movements were getting faster, her back arched and she squeezed her tits together, pulling at the nipples with one hand while the other was grinding my face into her.

Like an earthquake the shudder rocks through her body and her legs slam shut around my head. The world goes silent in that embrace and I wonder if my head is going to be ripped from my shoulders but fuck me it is worth the risk. After a moment I am released, Chickie is still playing with her nipples and sitting back on her elbows, head gently rocking from side to side with the after shocks. Her head rolls back to front and centre and we lock eyes across the smooth expanse of her tummy.

A smile that any guy would die to see spreads over her face and she says words equally sweet, "I hope you are ready to be blown like they do in pornos because you've earnt it baby..."

Great film

I am a film buff. I love well made films, stories and concepts well written and transferred to celluloid or the digital equivalent.

I have just finished watching The Number 23 with Jim Carey. Now Jim has done some shit films but he has also done a couple of great ones. Fortunately he seems to be in the position now of choosing his roles carefully and it is paying off.

This is a dark little film that takes you on a twisted little journey. I was grabbed from the opening credits buy the little tricks played to show the links to the number 23.

Don't get me wrong, I am not into numerology, astrology or any of that crap. I am an avowed atheist who's only belief is that god and religion are a poor excuse for starting wars. The point is though that from the opening credits some very clever and compelling little co-incidences are thrown up on the screen that had me wanting more, I wanted instantly to know where this was going and WTF was it about 23 that this story was going to tell me.

If there is one criticism it is that the story told too much towards the end. My favourite films trust that the viewer is smart and can fill in the blanks. It is a rare skill for screen writers and directors to trust their audience with that job and unfortunately Joel Shumacher/Fernley Phillips failed a little in this area. Despite that the journey was fun and interesting.

Down with fake boobs..

What is it with fake tits? GF5 of mine had 'em and I have to say that apart from a nice shape they actually worried me as much as they turned me on.

I am not a big tit sort of guy, give me small perky boobs any day of the week - today for example would be great! Hers were not stupid big porn star boobs, they were cute little handfuls that she had done when she was about 18.

Apparently she had been depressed because she was not going to ever get big titties. This was overseas and was done under a health care system that gives out boobs to under developed brats.

Now that just strikes me as totally odd with all the shit that needs to be fixed in this world - fake boobs do not seem to rate as a medical emergency in my book.

So anyhow after years of playing with these things I had forgotten what real boobs felt like. A short time after I got all single again thanks to a walk out by GF5 I hit on a hot little thing and re-discovered the real thing. My god they were great. Smaller than GF5's falsies but so soft and supple with fine little nipples that got rock hard if you just breathed on them. Sadly two weeks of fun was all we got so she does not get a GF number but damn she and they were nice.

Since then I have had the displeasure of encountering a rather large rack that looked great in their holsters but once released spread like an oil spill from the Exxon Valdese. The fucking things were sad as can be, and this was not an old bird, they should have been in better condition. Maybe big tits just fail at age 30? You guys tell me.

Suffice to say they did nothing for me and combined with a lack of reciprocal action I am not planning on going back for more.

A good friend once replied to the line that more than a handful is a waste, with the retort that we have two hands for a reason. I still think one hand per boob is the ideal and will be shopping for small to medium fruit in the organic isle from now on.

Off and running

I have been stalking various blogs for some time now but have never got around to actually kicking my own one off until tonight.

I had always figured that there were already enough self absorbed and witty individuals out there in the interweb to not really need the misspelt obscenities of one more. Then I thought fuck it. I am going to vent in this space when ever I feel like it.

If it gets read by no one then I will not be surprised, if people fall over it and get some perverse pleasure from reading my ranting then so be it.

Now I am here, I am faced with producing some clever missive on life, love or sex and am left feeling finger tied and impotent at the keyboard. Talk about performance anxiety....

Until I think of something smart to write I suggest visiting the Captain. Always good for a laugh.

Alternately, if you want to hear what goes on in the head of that blond that dissed you at the club the other night, say hello to Steph.

There are others worth visiting but I will get to them another time.