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I find it entertaining to read the search terms that people use to find me on any given day. There seem to be certain trends that stand out, and my inner academic constantly screams at me to dig more deeply into those trends. So this morning, out of curiosity, I hit the search terms “all time” summary button. The list is much too long to post here, and some of the things people search for that bring them here are genuinely disturbing (i.e., illegal). But the vast majority are amusing or simply interesting, so I feel compelled to share a few of the stand-outs here.

sexsomnia

I have an uncommon form of parasomnia often referred to casually as sexsomnia. It’s basically like sleep walking, or sleep talking, but instead of walking or talking, I fuck. This is seriously a thing. I’ve since learned that, as long as I’m fucking on a regular basis, it doesn’t happen very often, and when it does it’s usually limited these days to a little heavy petting and frottage. If it’s been a while, though…

Ashley sometimes likes to deny me sex for a few days just so I’ll fuck her with abandon in my sleep. It’s kind of sadistic, and slightly masochistic, I think, since I rarely remember anything of the event in question unless I wake up mid-coitus and am, supposedly, much more demanding when I’m asleep. (I can be woken up with a gentle push and a few words, so don’t think I’m all aggressive or anything. It’s just that my subconscious mind is a bit of a go-getter.)

“snake woman” wraps her coils around him

I get a considerable number of hits from this because of a folk story I once told to a couple of adorable little girls. I wonder, what the hell were they looking for?

beautiful sweater puppies

I am terribly fond of natural breasts. Implants just feel… strange. And they often look even stranger when the clothing is removed. I wrote a post on that subject for one MsTitty, before she went MIA. Which is a shame, because I liked her writing (and, frankly, she had an amazing chest). But I can’t blame her. After all, I pulled a similar disappearing act.

deflowering a virgin

There are so many combinations of this one–“deflower a virgin”, “deflower”,”qatar deflower”, “deflower stories”, “true deflower sex stories”, “teach me how to deflower a virgin”, and so on and so forth. It contributes the largest number of hits I get, by a long shot, because I shared a memory of having sex in a pristine forest. I hope that this search term is so common because people are trying to inform themselves as to how to help a woman have sex for the first time in as painless and enjoyable a fashion as possible… but somehow, I doubt it. My inner feminist weeps at that. (Also, I’m sure those few people who find me with “geocaching” also do so because of that post.)

cunnilingus

Ahh. My favorite bedroom activity, by far. I have written so much about this, but probably my favorite post on the subject revolved around Pretty Grad Student. (I just realized, she has no entry in my Players page. I need to fix that.)

young shaved head punks can really fuck

I really love the punk/alt-girl/suicide girl style. Aside from just looking fucking hot, I really admire anyone who can raise a mighty middle finger to modern definitions of style and beauty. That said, I once fucked a woman with a shaved head in my buddy’s bathroom. And yeah, she could really fuck.

bondage shackles story

My ex-girlfriend Kelly once surprised me with a wide assortment of bondage accoutrements before I was mentally prepared for such activities. It really didn’t go well, so I feel sorry for those people who clicked that link only to find a disappointing story.

handle him casual sex bad feelings help 2014

Someone found me yesterday using this phrase. If you’re still reading, feel free to shoot me an e-mail. Let’s chat about that.

I’d be interested to see what my regular readers have in their search terms, so I invite anyone who reads this to do this. If you do so, let me know so I can read them. I’m no sociologist, but I think this is some fascinating stuff!

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The lovely MsTitty recently invited guest posts from her regular readers relating to breasts (the focus of her blog).  I was more than happy to write something up from the male perspective, but I also figured, since our readers may not be the same people, I would post this on my blog as well.

I think men don’t fully appreciate the effect we can have on the fairer sex.  We objectify them as something to be fought for and won, the Homo erectus in us driving us to dryhump anything that looks remotely feminine (or not, as the case may be).  It’s hard to argue with biology, millions of years of evolution working against our recently developed sense of logic and reason, always whispering in the back of our minds, “Man, those are some nice titties.  You should put your erectus between them.”  It’s not always right, but damn if that whisper doesn’t sound awfully convincing at times.

This in turn causes some women to develop a bit of a complex about their bodies.  Those particularly gifted between the pelvis and clavicle often bemoan their situation–back pain, difficulty finding clothes that fit, and of course, the street catcall.  (The most creative I ever heard: “Quisiera fueras sartén para estrellarte los juevos.”  Translated, “I wish you were a pan so I could bust my eggs on you.”)  I can’t imagine what it’s like being the subject of constant sexual attention, but I suspect it’s a terrible burden at times.

On the other hand, many women I know (not all of them, but many) who are not particularly equipped above the navel are jealous of their larger-chested compatriots.  They don’t see the downside to it.  They don’t live with the back trouble, or the nasty names and unwanted advances.  They just want their share of the attention.  Hence the proliferation of the boob job.

This lengthy intro leads me to my point: natural breasts, of any shape and size, are better than medically augmented funbags.  And I do differentiate between the two.  Breasts are real.  They are what women develop on their own, small or large, perky or saggy, narrow or wide cleavage.  Funbags are fake breasts, skin filled with a big bag of silicon or whatever new substances they use in them.  They may look fun, my friends, but let me assure you, they will never, ever compare to breasts.

Case in point.  A woman I knew was rather poorly endowed in the chest, and she always talked about having her girls augmented.  It was the method by which she would finally attract The Man of Her Dreams, stealing Him away from all of the naturally large breasted competition that populates our home town.  After being away for a few years, I came back to find she had finally gotten the surgery she always wanted, jumping from an A to a hefty D.  I had never before known a girl pre- and post-augmentation, and admittedly, the difference was astounding.  Where she had once worn more concealing clothing, presumably out of some strange notion that her small breasts made her unattractive, her wardrobe now includes nothing but camisoles, low cut shirts, and revealing summer dresses.   Her soft-spoken, almost paranoid demeanor has given way to an assertive, confident, outgoing socialite.  It’s almost as though her newly purchased chest came with a free shot of charisma.  (I wonder where such an injection would be administered.)  She became much more appealing when she wasn’t tucked in a corner, hiding from the rest of the crowd.  Not because of her new breasts, but because of her newly discovered confidence in herself and her body.

So, that night, we fucked for the first time.  I had never actually touched a pair of augmented chesticles, but I was excited to find out what it was all about.  They were pretty enough when her clothes were removed, if a bit too round, the usual surgically enhanced look with which pornography had acquainted me so long ago.  I assumed they would be soft, more squishy or bouncy maybe, because of the silicon.  Oh no.  No, no, no.  They were like freaking rocks, two large, uncomfortable lumps of unrelenting firmness that actually hurt my chest to lay on for too long.  I couldn’t imagine how she could be satisfied with them, but I didn’t say anything.  (After all, sex was involved, and much like coffee, it doesn’t really matter what the flavor or texture is, all that matters is, you have some.)  I just adjusted my approach and style to accommodate staying as far away from those pointy, unpleasant things as I possibly could.

Afterwards, we spent a great deal of time lounging around her house in the nude, drinking wine on her fenced in back porch, enjoying the cool night air on our bare skin.  After a bit of chitchatting, she asked me what I thought of her new purchase.  I didn’t have the heart to tell her how unpleasant to touch I found them, so I focused on the positives–their appearance in clothing, and how they seemed to have bolstered her confidence.  She never caught on to my distaste for them, and we ended the night on a positive note (after two more rounds of rather intense fucking–I’m nothing if not tenacious).  But that experience left me with a newfound appreciation for the natural breast.  The softness and fullness of the thing.  The give under your touch.  The sway as a woman moves.  The bounce as you… well, yeah.  Suffice to say, a surgically altered pair of breasts is never going to be as enjoyable as those served au naturel.

Personally, I blame my own gender for this.  Breasts, regardless of size, are beautiful (reference the work of one Ad@m if you doubt me), and it’s a shame that so many women feel they have to change their own beautiful, natural bodies to mimic some oddly idealized Platonic Form of Woman.  Speaking on behalf of sensible men everywhere, I would encourage women to find pleasure in their bodies apart from measurements and sizes.  Small breasts do not make you ugly.  Large breasts do not make you a bimbo.  You are all beautiful, even if you don’t see it.

I wish I could come up with a clever closing to this entry, but unfortunately, I seem to be all creatived out.  Instead, I will leave with the final stanza of a poem from the reliably witty Ryan Sohmer:

Whether you think I am crass or perhaps rather witty,
Allow me to be clear here–I likem dem titties.