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Tuesday, May 16, 2006


Words excite me. They really do. Show me a man who has a way with words and you’ll find me with very wet pants. It’s the best aphrodisiac, in my opinion; forget good looks or a trim physique – find me a wordsmith any day and I’ll be a happy woman.

I don’t refer to a man’s ability to be talkative; that is something completely different. Rather, someone who knows how to be a linguist; who can use his tongue for more than just licking pussy. (Not that I have anything against a man who enjoys such things of course, but his ability to converse well, will have much more of an effect on my horniness, than any direct clitoral stimulation).

Perhaps I’m turned on by men who can do this because their being expressive shows a certain dexterity of their minds: an ability to analyse; a propensity to deconstruct; a questioning of ideology; a cogitation on ideas. Or, in other words, think far beyond their cocks.

Too often I have met and conversed with men who are unable to move past the fact that they have a stiffy in their pants; their communication seems solely limited to their being horny – and it shows. Not that there is anything wrong with expressing one’s horniness and desire to fuck the other person – I’ve been quite partial to a guy whispering in my ear that he is hard for me and can’t wait to get in my pants – but when that is the only way a guy can relate to a woman, it does get rather tiresome;.

Maybe because men that aren’t able to stimulate my mind bore me, and men that are boring turn me off, I end up having little interest in them; without a mental challenge, I make my excuses and leave, even it means forgoing an orgasm. Admittedly I have fucked a few dull, non-conversational men, but I've rarely gone back for seconds afterwards: when the only connection between two people is sexual contact – and no decent conversation occurs – the orgasms become rather mundane in my opinion, and rarely worth the effort. Faced with such a man, I might as well wank: at least I’d be done quicker. And wouldn’t have to wax my nether regions either.

Selfish, this might sound, true. But being with a man who has a way with words, makes my heart race with excitement: I’ll be picking out what dress to wear, a week in advance of a date with him; consuming as much literature, current affairs and media as I can, to be able to converse with him in an equally intellectually stimulating way. And of course wanking furiously before meeting up with him too, so that I ensure the connection between us is cerebral, rather than clitoral.

So you see, I am weak when it comes to the opposite sex and their ability to fuck my brain, rather than my pussy. There is nothing that gets me as hot, as a man that has a sharp mind; all he’d need to do for foreplay is talk me into submission. Literally.

If only more guys realised this, they could avoid using tired chat-up lines; in my case they'd be far more likely to get into my pants if they showed off their brains, rather than their ever-hard cocks.

Although I’d also be quite partial to one of those right now, it has to be said.

[I am disappearing off for a quick holiday. Be back in a week]

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