Is there any truth to the stereotype that hotter girls have nothing to offer but their beauty? Are they less able to please you in bed, take care of you, and have pleasing personalities? Or is the stereotype propagated by guys who use it as an excuse for their game failures?

I believe there is truth to the stereotype. It comes down to basic logic: a beautiful girl doesn’t have to be anything else but be beautiful to get high value men. Because men value beauty more than anything else, an 8 or above doesn’t have to work as hard on other things that may make a man happy.

This applies to hot guys as well. I’ve noticed that the better looking a guy, the less game he has. He simply doesn’t need game because “good enough” girls will always be approaching him. This sets the stage, thankfully, for less attractive guys like myself to take advantage of the fact that he isn’t at his potential. I can then use game to get girls more attractive than he’s getting. If you look at a lineup of guys who have banged over 100 girls in their lifetime, most of them will be merely average looking. The “hot” guys get quickly ensnared in long-term relationships because it’s easier for them to do so.

The best sex I’ve had was from mediocre girls who let me treat their bodies like garbage receptacles. Before leaving Iceland I remember sleeping with a chubby American girl who blew my mind in bed. She made positive editorial comments about my manhood and my powerful ejaculate. She begged me to explode in her mouth, and even complimented the taste of my semen. I raped that poor girl’s vagina and mouth until I had no sperm left, but she still pleaded for more as if I was her dungeon sex master.

Now compare that to the two prettiest girls I’ve been with. They made me plenty happy, but sex was merely average. There was no need for them to beg for my cum down their throat because they knew I’d still contact them again regardless. Girls will only do enough nastiness in the bedroom to keep you on the line, and hotter girls know they can lay there like a dead fish to keep you coming back for more. They unconsciously understand a man’s genetic weakness for beauty, a fact that modern-day feminists like to deny.

While hotness in a girl is a sign that she will put less effort into satisfying you, it’s possible for you to find the exception. You may find the girl with the complete package, who is exceptionally beautiful and prefers being treated like a cum bucket in bed. Unfortunately, I have not found this girl. In the meantime I will continue banging all types of women to satisfy not only my genetic need for beauty but also my perverted need for sexual defilement.

The last time I got an HIV test was in 2002, a year after I discovered game and began dabbling in sex without condoms. One early incident scared me: I played just-the-tip with a girl who was on her period. I waited a couple months then went to an anonymous clinic for an HIV test. The result was negative but the anxiety of waiting for it made me swear never to get tested again unless I had to.

I walked into the clinic and sat in the waiting room. My doctor was an attractive Polish woman in her 40s with blonde hair and high cheekbones. I told her that I wanted to get tested for every STD known to man. She filled out some paperwork and sent me to get my blood drawn.

I hated using condoms. It felt like eating steak with a bag on my tongue. I constructed an unscientific method to tell if a girl was “clean” or not, but I still contracted molluscum and nonspecific urethritis. I didn’t know who gave me either since both times I was fucking multiple girls without condoms.

I asked the nurse how long it would take to get my results. “One week,” she said. You’d think in 2011 the blood test would be faster. I had plans to travel to another city the week after; should I postpone the trip just in case I was positive? I didn’t want to make any big decisions until I knew the result.

I’ve long ago stopped examining my dick. Otherwise I’d be in the doctor’s office every other month for something I couldn’t explain. Three years ago I got tested for everything except HIV and was shocked that I didn’t have anything, especially herpes. I’ve also been through several pregnancy scares from using the pull-out method on girls who weren’t on the pill. I came out from those unscathed. I’d go stretches of being safe only to regress back to fucking every girl without a condom. I knew it was self-destructive, but I couldn’t stop.

Two days after the test I fucked a new girl. She was very pretty and seemed clean. She wanted it raw so I gave it to her raw. I got mad at myself for not waiting a couple more days for my result before putting her in potential danger. Already the test would not be current, but I needed to get the previous nine years off my back.

I like to think I’m an intelligent man. I know that I can fucking die from getting HIV. I know that condoms protect against that. When I go out at night I have a condom in my pocket and intend to use it, but something happens to my brain when you put a naked woman in front of me. I lose all logic and reason. If the girl seems clean and doesn’t make me put on a condom, then I’m not using one, even on one-night stands.

That week I patiently waited for the result. I wasn’t as nervous as I thought I’d be. It was what it was, and no worrying would change the outcome. I stayed off Google and kept myself busy by focusing on work. Three days before the test, I had a date with my favorite Polish girl. She always forced me to use a condom so I knew she was safe, but I wondered what I would tell her if I tested positive. Our relationship would probably end.

I think I understand why Tiger Woods went raw on all those strippers and porn stars: it feels good. Yes, he could have put his wife’s health in jeopardy, and yes, he could be exposing himself to god knows what, but that’s not what we think about when the girl wants our naked dick inside her. You think about feeling good and nothing else. It’s like a drug.

Three more days until the result. I was less scared of HIV the disease than the changes I would have to make because of it. I didn’t want to change anything. I wanted to keep fucking as many girls as I wanted without worrying about having something that could kill myself or my partners. I didn’t want the party to end.

In the nine years I didn’t get tested for HIV, I’ve had over a dozen sexual encounters that deeply concerned me. It was usually the rough sex episodes that left my dick feeling like raw meat. During my second trip to South America, I had a couple of strange flu-like illnesses. I wondered if one of those could be acute HIV syndrome, but I was too scared to get tested. I continued fucking raw. It didn’t help that girls rarely asked me if I had been tested. If they did I’d say, “I don’t think I have anything.” That was good enough for them.

I had trouble sleeping the night before getting my result. What if? I lay in bed, wondering. I said to myself, “Stop being such a pussy. If you have it then you’ll deal with it just like everything else you’ve dealt with in life.” But how many girls did I give it to? Am I the grim reaper?

The anxiety of my unknown HIV status increased with each new girl I fucked, whether I used a condom or not. I would make myself feel better by reading articles about how hard it was to contract HIV from heterosexual sex, but that no longer helped while in Poland after feeling tired and weak for two weeks. It got to the point where I so convinced myself I was positive that I had to get tested to start treatment so I didn’t die. I couldn’t postpone it any longer.

I sat down on the chair outside my doctor’s office. My body was shaking. I saw the receptionist hand off my results in a sealed envelope. I felt like my future was written on that piece of paper. My life may come down to this one moment in a small Polish clinic. I wanted to run out of the building, return to my apartment, and pretend everything was okay.

One day everything will change, and I will have to say goodbye to the current life I have.

The doctor called me in. My legs barely carried me to her desk. I sat down and blurted out, “I’m really nervous.” She laughed and said, “You’re fine. You don’t have anything.” I left her office and bought a cone of ice cream.

One day everything will change, but not today.

This is a guest post by Samseau.

Years ago my brother ran away from home to live in Missouri with a girl he fell in love with over the internet. It was supposedly true romance, but I couldn’t understand his choice because of how ugly she was. I’m talking every branch on the ugly tree ugly. There’s no way I would be able to get it up for her.

Then one day it struck me: maybe I should envy my brother. If he could get it up for her, maybe he’s the lucky one. Here I am, stuck dealing with the “pretty girls”—and the major attitude problems and psychological issues that come along with them—wondering if I’m doomed in my search to find a decent girl to share an orgasm with.

I once had a lady friend who would write my school papers, sew my torn jeans, cut my hair, cook me dinners at her house, teach me to drive manual transmission, and ask to spend the bulk of her free time to be with me. She easily had the best personality I’ve ever encountered on a girl, and yet, I never made a move on her. It didn’t matter how great she was, but she didn’t pass the boner test.

The strength of my boner completely determines both my desire and ability to have sex. If I saw a man making out with a crossed-eye unattractive girl, I used to have the same reaction as everyone else: “disgusting.” Now I think, “She’s gross, but at least she can pass some man’s boner test.” That is what counts because all boners are equal in the eyes of god.

I used to spend most of my time chasing girls simply because they were pretty, but I’m no longer fooled. It isn’t the chick that counts, her looks, or even her personality, but the boner she gives me. It’s all about the boner. It took me a while to disconnect a woman’s beauty with my attraction for her, an evolutionary accident that has deprived me of more sexual pleasure than I care to remember.

If an unattractive cross-eyed girl could give me a pulsating hard-on, would I deny myself that satisfaction because other men might think less of me for doing her? How much should I care about everyone else’s opinions of me?

Suppose you find yourself talking to a perfectly normal girl. She’s funny, smart, and has been incredibly pleasant to you. She even bought you a gin and tonic. And then you feel it: movement in your pants that definitely wasn’t from the wind. Something, though, is holding you back: your old college friends who tagged along with you. They all have their girlfriends with them, each with a respectable rating of 7. Your girl is just a 5, if that. By making a move, your boys will think you’ve sacrificed your standards. You can already imagine their criticisms: “She’s too old for you,” “What a sloppy slut,” or “Dude, what’s wrong with her face?!” You pull back, skipping out on a guaranteed lay.

These days I think, “If she can make the little guy happy, why should I care what the big guy thinks?” No one else cares about my boner. My boys aren’t going to jerk me off after I pass on the easy lay, and my dick definitely isn’t going to jerk itself when I walk into my bedroom alone later that night. Please don’t confuse me for a chubby chaser: I estimate that 80% of my pickups are directed at beautiful girls, who are usually dehumanized whores that happen to have hot bodies which give good boners, but if I can enjoy a girl most other guys would not, am I not the luckiest man in the bar?

Do you see that girl over there who’s so disgusting that other men can’t even look at her? Well as luck would have it, she knows how to give me a boner. Not only am I going to fuck the hell out of her, but I’m going to enjoy the look of satisfaction on her face that says, “Thank you so much!” It makes me feel like a good Samaritan.

There’s only one test that matters: the boner test. Everything else is ego.

(Image source: unknown)

1. Razor bump pussy. She’s still experimenting with the best Gillette model. The new razor with five blades caused a surprising amount of irritation.

2. Honda Civic pussy. The most common type of pussy. Reliable and basic with clean lines.

3. INTJ pussy. The clitoris is out just enough to make a pleasant introduction, but she’s not exactly dancing on the bar.

4. Cunnilingus pussy. Another common pussy type with strong clitoris action. Easy to go down on if you do that sort of thing (I don’t).

5. Vintage porn pussy. Humans have long since evolved, so you won’t find a young girl with this pussy anymore.

6. Lazy pussy. She’s putting in zero effort with her appearance yet still expects guys to approach her all night. You suspect she alternates between only two “going out” outfits.

7. Spinster pussy. This scraggly and worn pussy gave up and is ready for the body attached to it to die.

8. Dog ear in the wind pussy. The clitoris flaps around like it has a mind of its own, but trying to understand its movements will only confuse you.

9. Rain drop pussy. One more drop of pussy flesh and the surface tension will no longer be able to hold the entire apparatus to her body. I like the clitoris here more than the dog ear in the wind pussy because it’s easier to diddle.

10. Pedophile pussy. Perverted men put it all on the line to score this virginal pussy. It’s as pristine as a mountain spring—can you blame them?

11. Predator pussy. If you stare at this pussy for 40 seconds, an image of the Predator alien will pop out at you.

12. Big pussy. Easy entry/exit, but she won’t feel anything if you’re not well-equipped. She’ll be polite, though, and let out a few token moans at your ineffective thrusts.

13. Experienced pussy. This pussy tries to fake but those bumps don’t lie. They act like tree rings and are easily measurable by trained scientists.

14. Social anxiety pussy. Awkward body language and tonality. You need a lot of foreplay with this one.

15. Domestic violence pussy. The pussy got out of line so the man had to slap it around, leading to a swollen, tender appearance. (That reminds me—what do you say to a girl with a black eye? Answer: Bitch I already told you once!)

16. Diarrhea pussy. This pussy ate a bad meal from Taco Bell and is now shooting semi-digested pellets into the toilet bowl.

17. Toyota Camry pussy. Roomier version of the Honda Civic pussy and more reliable with lower maintenance costs. Bring along a couple of your friends. (Editor’s Note: This is my favorite pussy type. I don’t have time to figure out how pussy works—I just want to hop in and get to my destination as quickly as possible.)

18. Last minute pussy. God didn’t decide on the gender of this pussy until the last minute, hence the huge meaty bit that makes penetration extra challenging.

19. Chubby pussy. You look at this pussy and are not sure whether to recommend the cookie diet or P90X.

20. Shy pussy. More outgoing than social anxiety pussy, but her constant silence makes you wonder, “Does she like me? Is she playing games?”

21. Developmentally stunted pussy. If they caught the problem early then an endocrinologist could have prescribed a hormone treatment, but unfortunately it’s too late now and what you got is a pussy that is small and under-powered.

22. Used to be fat pussy. This pussy has lost so much weight that the remaining skin is flabby and loose like an overripe pear.

23. McMansion pussy. You love this pussy in the beginning, bragging to your friends about all the extra storage space it contains, but then once you see your electric bill you wish you bought something more economical.

24. Eagle pussy. Wings in the back offer more stability during flight. Graceful, earnest.

25. Interstate highway pussy. When they built this pussy it was like a dream to drive on the freshly paved asphalt, but overdevelopment of the surrounding areas has led to intolerable sprawl.

26. Anteater pussy. How your grandma’s pussy looks like. Loosening muscle and skin has forced the first couple inches of the vaginal canal to prolapse outside of the body. Grandpa ain’t complaining though… that sly devil.

27. Terminator pussy. One of Skynet’s first models. The clitoris has a formidable exoskeleton that will swallow up your dick if you don’t disable the chip first.

28. Turkey pussy. Wings, giblet, caruncle, wattle—you got it all here. Starter package comes with special handling instructions and food for the first month.

29. Department store pussy. It looked great when you tried it on in the fitting room, but at home it looks a little off. Maybe it’s one size too small?

30. Morbidly obese pussy. When this pussy gets sick you need to need to call the special ambulance with the human crane. All hands on deck!

I’m shocked at the behavior of American women when it comes to condom use. Middle class white girls are, hands down, the dirtiest, filthiest type of girl I’ve been with. Most of them only care about using condoms for the first instance of sex, and a sizable percentage don’t even care if you use one at all for that first time, whether or not it’s a one-night stand where she has only known you for a couple hours.

Raise your hand if you’re scared of AIDS.

I don’t see many hands out there. The only people scared these days are OCD freaks who can’t get laid, because it’s just not on the radar anymore. It’s a way they can rationalize their miserable, sexless existence. I even sense that a lot of people have accepted they’ll contract HPV at some point in their lives. Girls have told me in sweet embrace that I probably have it, but are willing to bang without a condom anyway.

If I was as dirty as them, I could probably have raw dog sex with 95% of all white girls, regardless of socioeconomic background. I only have met one girl that was super serious about using condoms, but I eventually fucked her without a condom too, so actually I change that to 100%. I could bang every white girl who lives in the United States without a condom if I desired, within three dates. I’m not kidding. I could do most of them raw dog on the same night. Here’s how to do it…

1. For the first time appear really studious about using condoms.Tell her “I like to be safe” and “I’m very careful.”

2. Ask her if she’s been tested a few minutes after the first bang. Say, “I’m not trying to get anything.” This makes her think you’re extra cautious. She’ll ask if you’ve been tested. Say “Yes.” Don’t worry, she won’t ask when you were tested, how many girls you fucked raw since you were tested, and what you were actually tested for. Even if you’ve never been tested, you can say “Not recently, but I’m 99% sure I don’t have anything,” and that’ll be just fine for her.

3. When gearing up for the second act of sex, just diddle her vagina with your dick and stuff it in. If she objects, get a condom and try again next time. By the fourth of fifth time, you’ll be banging raw guaranteed.

I’ve had several girls try to insert my beautiful naked cock inside them while chanting a barely audible “Get a condom.” It’s like the pussy has a mind of her own, acting as a master for the miscellaneous matter attached to it.

At first I thought I was just sleeping with the sluttiest of sluts, but I looked at their middle class background (sometimes upper class), and their circle of seemingly normal friends, and realized that it wasn’t the type of girl but the culture that she was raised in. We’re simply not educating people on how to have safe sex anymore. It’s the 21st century and Americans are being taught abstinence (!!!) instead of how to put on condoms like in Brazil or most European countries. Even the act of distributing free condoms in high school is controversy enough to make the news, complete with obligatory interview with a fat-ankled woman screeching, “We shouldn’t be in the business of encouraging sex!”

I’ll tell you when I should’ve been scared straight. Years ago I was dating this girl for a while (“a while”—hah) and did it raw dog one time. She wasn’t on the pill so it was the exception, but in that moment of weakness I ravaged her with my snake and came all over her chest like a champion. I wasn’t too concerned with my slip.

On a later date she told me “I love sex.” She really stressed the love—I mean she bellowed it through the bar so that other people could hear. Girls who love sex can’t go long without it, so some prying on my part revealed that she fucks quite a bit. In order words, I was on the tail end of a cock bender so legendary that it’s a miracle her vagina offered any resistance at all upon penetration. Then the anxiety kicked in and I began daily examinations of my cock for any irregularities, which continued for a while (I pretty much memorized the topography of my cock with these inspections), but my anxiety didn’t subside. A couple weeks afterwards I asked her why she let me have sex with her without using a condom.

“I trust my instincts,” she said.

“What exactly does that mean?” I asked.

“Well, do you have anything?”

“No. Well, I’m 99% sure I don’t.”

“Okay then. So then my instinct was right.”

“Oh god.”

There are women whose “instinct” told them that having raw dog sex with me was safe! Me! A guy who basically fucks women for a living! I ended up having a mild panic attack, but eventually that went away and I continued to have the “occasional” slip.

Girls are supposedly the more intuitive of our species, but if so many feel right about fucking me without a condom, then I must conclude that they don’t know shit. They’re all dirty little whores who truly disgust me with their sex habits. I don’t care if she’s a lawyer, government worker, or environmentalist—if she lives in a metropolitan city and fucked you by the third date, she’s a bucket of disease and you’d be a moron not to bag it up. A man deserves the STDs he gets.

If you read men’s rights blogs or forums, you’re probably under the impression that half of all bangs end up with a false rape charge. Because of this blog I’ve known dozens of game guys (or gamesmen, if you will), with more than a thousand notches between them, and not once has any mentioned problems to me with being accused of rape. I know it happens, but the incidence is too small for me to worry about instead of STDs and accidental pregnancies.

While every feminist likes to repeat the phrase “No means no,” it depends on context. Here’s a guide:

“No” when you try to take off her jeans or shirt means… “You need to turn me on a lot more.”
“No” when you try to take off her bra means… “Try again in five minutes.”
“No” when you try to take off her panties means… “Don’t give up now!”

I find the only word that means no is “stop.” If you hear that word then she’ll be asking you to leave soon after.

For every rape accusation I’d want to know at what stage of undress the girl was at before the supposed rape happened. If she was completely naked until saying no, and got there voluntarily, then I’d be reluctant to charge the man with rape unless there were signs of violence. Women need to understand that men aren’t robots who can suddenly stop at the drop of a dime with all that testosterone pumping through their system. Therefore it would be prudent for them not to enter situations where the average man can’t stop due to his innate weaknesses as an animal whose entire existence depends on him successfully mating.

Every roller coaster has a point while chugging up that first hill where’s there’s no turning back and you just need to hang on for the ride. In other words, don’t let a man on your bed unless you’re trying to get it.

I want to share an experience I had in Colombia that I finally feel comfortable talking about now. It’s one of those events where you have to wait until enough time passes for it to be totally cool and worthy of a high five instead of horrified stares.

In Cali I made friends with the taxi driver on the ride from the bus station. We got to talking and I told him that I’m here to travel, flirt with girls, check out the culture, etc. He asked me if I was interested in “an experience to remember for the rest of my life.”

“Yeah, sure,” I said. “What is it?”

“It’s sexual.”

“Prostitutes? No thanks man I don’t pay for sex.”

“But this is different. Every guy who has tried it has thanked me. I’ve had many repeat customers.”

“Some type of massage with happy ending?”

“Nope.”

“Just tell me.”

“I can’t tell you because it’d ruin the experience. You just have to trust me. Tomorrow afternoon we can go. It’s a 30 minute drive outside of town and then the fun begins.”

“What are you gonna do, kidnap me? I may be a gringo but I’m not stupid.”

“Look here at my identification. Here’s my business card with phone number and even my tag number. If you don’t trust me leave it with someone at the front desk of your very cheap hotel.”

It sounded incredibly shady, but the routine I had in Medellin made me crave something more exciting. I wanted to have a great story to tell.

“How much are we talking about for this ‘sexual experience’?” I asked.

“150,000 pesos.” $75 dollars.

“So you want me to pay for something that I don’t know about?”

“I give you 100% money back guarantee. I swear if it doesn’t blow your mind then you don’t have to pay.”

“Is it gay related in any way?”

“No.”

“You’re not going to take one of my kidneys right?”

“Very funny. Trust me you won’t regret this.” His smile revealed two missing front teeth. I figured if he successfully robbed gringos he’d have enough money to fix them.

Finally we arrived at my roach hotel. “Pick you up here tomorrow at noon?”

“Make it one. I like to sleep in.”

The next day he picked me up and we took a ride through the beautiful countryside. I brought exact change so if he wanted to rob me he wouldn’t get much. I was nervous but after spending so much time in South America I like to think I can judge men based on short interactions with them. The taxi cab driver seemed a little shady, but who isn’t?

We finally pulled over on a dirt road. I looked around and saw a couple old farms with grazing animals—horses, cows, and sheep.

“Now the fun begins,” he said. He pulled out an old issue of Penthouse and told me to “get excited.” I looked through the pages but I’m so used to triple anal HD video clips that it wasn’t doing anything for me. He told me to follow him and we took a ten minute walk onto a large field with gentle slopes.

“Do you like anything you see?” he said.

“The grass is nice.”

“No silly. The sheep. Take your pick.”

“To do what? Shave them? I already did that on an elementary school field trip.”

“No to fuck them.”

“What?!”

“You’re going to fuck a sheep. It’s the best sex you will have in your life.”

“What the fuck… I’m not fucking a sheep.”

The five sheep closest to us were pretty docile, slowly munching on grass. He then turned around, pulled down his pants, spit on his hand, and started jerking off.

“Oh dear god,” I said, looking away.

Then he found the smallest sheep and mounted her and started fucking her from behind. I didn’t want to watch for fear of catching the gay but I couldn’t look away either. It was very fascinating, in the way watching elephants with six foot cocks mate on the Discovery Channel is fascinating.

“This feels so fucking good!” He was hunched over now, resting his body on the back of the sheep as if he didn’t have any energy to hold himself up. His hands dug into the thick, lucious wool. “She’s my favorite! She knows how to please me!” He was done after two minutes and zipped up.

“That was awesome,” he said.

“I think I’m permanently damaged now,” I said.

“Haha funny gringo. Did you see the pleasure on my face?”

“Unfortunately I did.”

“This is better than a real woman. These sheep are tighter than virgins!”

“Are they Asian sheep?”

“Huh?”

“Asian women are generally very… ah never mind.”

“Look no one is going to know.”

“That’s not really what I’m worried about.” There was an awkward silence.

“So how long have you been fucking sheep?” I asked.

“I lost my virginity on one when I was 16.”

“I don’t know if that counts actually.”

“Counts for what?”

“Losing your virginity. Anyway I’m not doing this. Even if you paid me I wouldn’t do it.”

“She likes the sex. Don’t be stupid.”

“Are you sure? I really doubt sheep cock is as big as human cock, though from what I saw yours is probably close to what she’s used to. Still, it can’t possibly be pleasurable for them.”

“Are you kidding? Did you see the look that she gave me? You think a male sheep can give it to her like I did?”

“I guess not. But look I wrote a book on game. If it got out there that I fucked a sheep for money then my paperback sales would slip at least 20%.”

“Yeah but you’ll still have your ebook sales. Fuck it man, just do it. You’re in South America for adventure right? Or are you the typical gringo who comes here because you think Colombian women will throw themselves on you because you speak English? That didn’t work so well for you, did it? Well this sheep is your fucking adventure, now stop being a pussy and get yourself laid. And remember my 100% moneyback guarantee. I haven’t had a single gringo use it so far.”

I thought of the last woman I had sex with, a student at the local university. She had creamy skin, a huge ass, and big titties. But she dumped me because I wouldn’t commit. A vicious cold streak followed. It’s been two months since I penetrated anything but my calloused hand.

“You know this is animal abuse, especially since I’m like a baby’s arm.” I took a deep breath. “Wow I don’t believe I’m going to do this.”

“Yeahhhh that’s my boy! Okay here’s some tips. Sheep have less lubrication than human women, so you have to spit a lot on your junk to get it nice and wet. Then just lift her little tail and enter heaven.”

“Is she going to kick me in the balls or something?”

“No just creep up on her slowly. Be gentle initially, then give it to her like you know she wants it. All sheep are sluts, though they won’t admit it.”

“Right. And how about STDs? Is there sheep herpes?”

“No it’s clean. I’ve never contracted anything. So do you want me to watch or…”

“Why would I want you to watch?”

“I don’t know… some gringos get off on that.”

I went up to the tallest sheep so I wouldn’t have to hunch over much. I pulled down my pants all the way and trotted over to her. I vigorously stroked my penis to get it hard while spitting constantly. The lubrication was decent because I had a couple glasses of orange juice for breakfast.

I got behind her and gently stroked her surprisingly large body. It was like an oil barrel. Her wool had quite a bit of particulate matter from sleeping on the ground or whatever it is that sheep do. I lifted her tail and saw her vagina. It was pink like a human vagina, maybe even pinker. Then I mounted her, easing my big penis inside.

It was a beautiful sensation.

“That’s my boy!” said the taxi cab driver.

“Dude I said don’t watch. This is humiliating.”

“Okay sorry. But give it to her hard! They like it rough!”

“Should I pull her hair?”

“No actually they don’t like that. Her vaginal muscles will squeeze your dick right off!”

I started pumping slowly but then I just went to town. The feeling was incredible—twice as tight as a normal human vagina. I held on to her wool for balance and leverage. All her hair was comfortable to grasp, and at that moment I knew exactly how it felt like for girls to have sex with me.

“Oh boy I better slow down or else I’m gonna… never mind too late!” I doubled my thrusting action and ejaculated inside the sheep. It was the best orgasm I ever had in my life. I stumbled backwards and pulled up my pants, then sat down on the grass, confused.

“Nice, no?” he said.

“Yeah that was… incredible… but… wrong.”

“It’s hard on you mentally the first time but you get used to it.”

“Well since I’m here, let me rest for a couple minutes so I can go again. I can tell she wants more.”

“Oh sure, but that’s going to cost extra.”

“What do you mean?”

“Another 50,000 pesos for a second go.”

“What are you, her pimp? I only brought the exact amount.”

“Sorry that’s the deal. The owner of these sheep and I have a business agreement and I don’t mess around when it comes to business. But we can come back tomorrow.”

“No but come on just one more go. I have money in the hotel.”

“Sorry no can do. I think it’s time to go. Do you want a minute to say goodbye to her?”

“Say goodbye?”

I didn’t know what the protocol was. Should I pet her a little and say I achieved orgasm? She did seem to be giving me “ojitos,” as they say in Spanish. Maybe I made her orgasm as well, for I did feel a little vibration through her toned body.

I walked up to her but had trouble maintaining eye contact. “Uhh, I have to go now. So bye.” It was as awkward as any other one night stand.

It turns out that sheep fucking is in my Turkish blood. All over Turkey there are rural men who fuck sheep instead of real women, and now I know why. It’s one of those things where you shouldn’t bash it until you try it.

The taxi cab driver high fived me and I gave him the money. He drove me back to the hotel and said, “Tomorrow again at one?”

“Make it twelve,” I said.

I stayed in Cali an extra week than I had planned.

Via the New York Times:

Smoking and alcohol abuse are the major causes, but 25 percent of oral cancers appear in people who have never smoked or drunk to excess. The suspected cause of at least some of these cancers is human papillomavirus, or H.P.V., the same sexually transmitted virus that causes most cervical cancers, which can invade the mouth during oral sex. “Some are already hypothesizing that if kids are inoculated against H.P.V.,” Dr. Kahn said, “there will be a turnaround in the oral cancers caused by H.P.V., too.”

I think more research needs to be done in this area for the millions of men who, for whatever reason, go down on women voluntarily. They need to know if they’re putting their lives at risk by going out of their way to give a woman pleasure.

Luckily I have already been taking the proper precautions without even knowing it, and am pleased that not going down on girls will pay off with a potentially longer lifespan.