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21 more things = 42

The last post was the 21 things I KNOW at 42. At the end I said I'd consider writing 21 more things to make it 42 in total & then ...


Sex & Seduction: I smell a theme

Recently I was playing in my folders over in my Hotmail account, rummaging through old thoughts & exchanges. While I was in there I rediscovered the folder I named Sex & Seduction. Apparently 2001 was a really good exploratory year. Get your minds out of the gutter. That doesn't mean I was chasing behind every Tom's harry d!ck (you saw that, right?) but that I was busy asking questions of all the penis people in my world. From what I can tell, I was searching for realism & mastery. A young grasshopper's search must be focused to be fruitful, right? Like I said, I was busy questioning this crazy partners game called sex & trying to reach some general consensus, even if only with my self.

I had a ball reading the things I'd archived, reaching back into my mind at the age of 25/26, full of curiosity & skepticism. Somewhere along the dust tracks that is my Life, I've been damaged. I didn't get enough of something or received too much of something else because I don't readily accept compliments well. I can always think of someone who does something better than me, wore something fresher than me, had hair more creative, danced with a cleaner nuance, expressed an idea more clearly...so forth & so tragically on. Needless to say, I think too damn much. I managed to think my way right out of believing anything a man said to me related to sex. After all, in my mind, it seemed that based on a man's construction, it would be really hard not enjoy just about ALL sex, so no need to blow smoke up my naked arse to be able to come back for seconds. If I enjoyed it, we was gon' do it again. Plain & simple. Still, I wanted to know if there really was something that qualified 1 woman's jay-of vay as a mo' better than the next. So, figurative knapsack on my back, I set off to find this out.

Now, my hypothesis--scientist that I am (wink)--was that boys/men just aren't that deep. The hole, or box, could be my warm hole, the warm center of a blue light Krispy Kreme, or even a hole in a wall if it was heated, & a man wouldn't really care. I had to know if this was true or not & went about sending out a series of questionnaires to the men I thought would participate with some honesty. Cuz see, if there was actually a difference, I needed to know what it was so that I could...perfect my craft. Nobody wants to be out here doin' poor work. I'm an artist & I'm sensitive 'bout my isht.


Over the course of the next several days, I'm going to share with you some of what was shared with me. This way, this erotic mood I'm in can be sated through the art of sharing, in a language that uses a mouth that's safe for me to talk to the masses with. It also prevents me from having to share any true personal experiences & get myself in trouble, perhaps receiving some lopsided glances from my parental units. I don't need that kind of attention. In fun, I'll share the words of others, sprinkled in with the occasional anecdote of my own. But that won't be til tomorrow.

Sit tight &...

Watch me move.

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