There is nothing more meaningless and superfluous in the world than the female orgasm. Biologically, it is an accident of evolution. Whether a female has an orgasm or not does not affect her ability to become impregnated by a man’s seed, which is ejected only when he has an orgasm. If men stop having orgasms, the human race will be extinct in 100 years. If females stop having orgasms, there will be much shrieking and fury in the pages of Cosmo, but the race will continue unimpeded. Fertility rates will not drop even 1%.
If spice was eradicated from the earth, and food suddenly became bland, would you stop eating? You’d miss certain tastes, but your health and well-being wouldn’t be affected as you’d still get pleasure from chewing and feeling sated. If the female orgasm was abolished, women would continue to have sex because the act of sex, of feeling a man thrusting deep inside them with masculine power, is pleasing to the woman.
Giving a female an orgasm is like giving a child a piece of candy on top of his required sustenance. The candy may provide the parent with a temporarily ability to slack off on providing the child with its other more whimsical wants, such as a new toy, but otherwise the child’s development or character will not be affected.
If a woman decided to have sex with you, that means you provide value to her besides the sexual. Whether you give her an orgasm or not is irrelevant, and she will continue seeing you even if the sex was uninspiring. The only breed of woman who is obsessed with sexual satisfaction are professional sluts who see you as a penis instead of a man. Nothing is lost for you by not having sex with them a second time, and even if you do provide these sluts with a great penis, she will soon ache for a new one. If anything, giving her an orgasm may add by one or two the amount of sexual episodes you have with her. Trying to satisfy her is actually a foolhardy investment for it doesn’t guarantee your value in her eyes. The orgasm’s hold on a woman is tenuous because she becomes accustomed to the pleasure that any one man can give her, quickly taking it for granted.
In fact, being able to give a woman an orgasm is more a curse than a blessing. She looks forward to the sex act not as a way to please you, as easy as that may be, but as a means for her pleasure alone. Her expectations rise at your expense while she forgets that you like orgasms too.
Recently I was having sex with a young Polish girl who was experiencing some pain, even though I deflowered her a month prior. A moment of weakness entered my brain and I asked, “Do you want me to stop?” She quickly corrected my error, saying, “No, I want you to finish.” And finish I did, without providing her any pleasure except the emotional satisfaction in capitulating yet again to the only man who has ever violated her. Her opinion of me didn’t change from her still lifetime lack of a vaginal orgasm, and she was more than eager to spend time with me in the future.
The type of woman that is worthy of your time doesn’t care about her pleasure, only yours. In fact, any woman who verbalizes her hope of experiencing an orgasm or—more obnoxiously—gives you unsolicited advice on how you could make her achieve one, is not at all worthy of your time. It would be like a child demanding candy from her parents even though those parents provide more than enough food for the child to survive and grow. A woman, it turns out, needs an orgasm like a fish needs a bicycle. Her orgasm is a vestigial relic that will face evolutionary pressure of eradication as nature realizes it’s not essential.
I will nod my head if a woman tells me she has experienced an orgasm from my doing, but deep down I don’t care one way or another. If she dislikes my bedroom program that she is free to leave at any time, for I know that there are way too many woman who correctly place more value in my orgasm, which has biological significance while hers does not. A man who even thinks about the female orgasm for just one minute of the year is misguided and wasting his time and energy on something that will not bring him any long-term satisfaction in his dealings with the opposite sex.
Read Next: It Doesn’t Matter If She Orgasms Or Not
American girls primarily pick their sexual partners based on feelings instead of logic. She fucks you not because you’re a good man who matches her reasoned compatibility criteria, but because you made her pussy wet with a cocky attitude and aloof nature. The problem with selecting sex partners based on feelings is that if she happens to get a bad feeling about you right after sex, she’s going to back-rationalize and find a way to blame you for it. You’ll be in for days of anxiety wondering if those bad feelings transform into the worst-cast scenario: a false rape accusation. You patiently wait for her to send a text message that you can use as rape defense.
It’s not uncommon for American girls to “flip” after sex and make a 180 degree turn once her emotional high of attraction comes down. She can go immediately silent, ask you to leave, start crying, or get angry. I’ve had degrees of all four happen to me, leaving me in a stressful state on how to deal with a girl whose feelings could bring the judicial hammer upon my head even though I didn’t do anything wrong. Should I be nice to her? Should I storm out? Should I have recorded the interaction with my phone?
The best thing you can do when a girl flips on you after sex is be firm and mature. In other words, act like a stern father whose insolent child is throwing a temper tantrum. Don’t escalate the encounter into nuclear war, but don’t lay down and let her get away with acting silly.
- If she’s being suddenly combative, say, “You’re acting immature and rude right now. When you’re done with your temper tantrum, let me know.”
- If she’s giving you the silent treatment, say, “You’re acting strange all of a sudden. Were you a virgin?” She will say no and then you can respond, “Well it sure seems like it by the way you’re acting now.”
- If she’s crying, say, “Crying after sex is not a typical response unless you were hurt. Did I physically hurt you?” She will say no. Then say, “Okay well let’s act like adults. If there’s something on your mind, you can say it. I’m not a mind reader.”
The message you want to send is, “I don’t accept the way you’re acting right now.” You’re not insulting her, you’re not escalating the encounter, but you’re insisting on an adult atmosphere where feelings without explanation are not permitted. In essence you are dragging her out of a child-like state and bringing her back into the adult world. If she can’t handle that, you should end the interaction.
The last thing you want to do is be weak. Women who flip after sex absolutely hate weak men, and like a piranha sensing blood in water, the weakness gives them permission to escalate. I believe that false rape accusations are done primarily on men who put out a weak signal that hints they’d bowl over in the face of an accusation. Women don’t accuse fighters—they accuse men who they think won’t fight back.
Keep in mind that there should be a slight hint of compassion in your response because, after all, your penis was inside her and there was obviously some sort of connection for the sex act to occur, but don’t let her get away with acting immature because she will milk it for all it’s worth. Appeasement didn’t work on Hitler, and it won’t work on American women either.
Live by feelings, die by feelings. When women let sex be determined by little feelings inside their tummies, they will inevitably pick partners that will make them feel regret afterwards. Unfortunately for men, the repercussions from her feelings can have real-world consequences. Be firm in the face of those negative feelings to survive the whimsy of her hamster brain. These days not only do you need game in fucking American women, but you also need to be a psychologist to deal with the unpredictable aftermath.
New York Magazine published an article a while ago called He’s Just Not That Into Anyone, about man’s increasingly intimate relationship with online porn and how it’s affecting their relationships with women.
As a result of the blending of reality and fantasy, some women have chosen to willingly play along by a new set of rules in order to keep their men interested: they’re intentionally impersonating porn stars. Sadie, the real-estate agent, says, “A lot of guys have come to expect P.S.E. [the "Porn-Star Experience"] as a common thing—snatches waxed bald, access to every hole—and plenty of women are more than happy to provide. A few might enjoy it, but for most it’s harrowing. I think there’s a fear that if they can’t make it happen, their boyfriend will retreat online.
Finally, something that gives American men a bit of leverage! So of course it’s no surprise that feminists regularly criticize porn as a dehumanizing horror that acts as a gateway to sexual violence. As I’ve written before, anything that reduces female power and gives it to men will be reflexively attacked.
I have mixed feelings about American women imitating porn stars. On one hand they are eager to do nasty things that I would have had to beg for in the past, but on the other hand sex has a disconnected and even circus-like feel to it, as if a bear on a unicycle will roll by as she’s deep-throating my cock with tears welling up in her eyes. I’m not saying I need an emotional connection while I fuck a girl, but porn star sex does reduce the intimacy level of the act and make it more surreal.
25% percent of college-age men said they’d faked orgasms.
If there’s one bit of advice I can give men, it’s never to fake your orgasm. Not being able to orgasm is one of the best ways to make a girl feel anxious and insecure. When I’m unable to come, which often happens with condoms (raw dog for life), I simply stop sex and say, “I’m not going to make it.” I can almost see her hamster spinning…
- Is he not attracted to me anymore?
- Is there something wrong with my vagina?
- Should I give him a blowjob even though I don’t want to?
It also shapes the power structure of the relationship. She knows that a man who doesn’t orgasm is more likely to stray to get that orgasm. As a result, she tests you less and does more things to win your favor. I don’t advocate withholding your orgasms on purpose, but don’t be afraid to stop the sex act if you don’t see your nut on the horizon.
The article also brings up the age-old question about masturbation frequency. I used to think that it mattered little, but I’m now firmly in the camp that too much masturbation will hurt your success rate. It’s a simple matter of needing to be genuinely horny in order to put in the necessary amount of work to lay pipe inside a new vagina.
Personally, I need 2-3 days of no masturbation to get into a horny state. Since most of my bangs happen starting on Thursday, that means I do not jerk off after Monday.
In Poland, there was a good chance I’d get laid on Wednesday because of a club that had ladies night, so the only time I would ever jerk off there was on Sunday nights. Mainstream advice to “let a load off” before going on dates or hitting on girls is great—if you don’t want to get laid.
I have a friend who can jerk off six times in a day yet still be amped enough to hit on girls, but he’s an outlier. For the average guy, placing distance between himself and unlimited free delicious porn will lead to the optimal hormonal state needed to get laid. As accessible as porn is today, you should be actively resisting its siren call. Sexual capital in the form of heavy balls is needed to maximize your game efforts.
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!
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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.”
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.