Derty Talk

I've always been sexually conservative. You know, choke her with my tongue, exfoliate her face with my beard, missionary posish - all of that good kinky/freaky-deeky stuff [author blatantly lies about his freakishness]. The short of it is that it's usually the most traumatic 8 seconds of her life, and I roll over to sleep in a puddle of, well, me. See dirty talk to me is, "ZOMG You're so fooking hawt!" But I never took it to the extreme, because in my mind there's a thin line between dirty talk that enhances playing the skin flute and the absurd. Knowing my way with words and my command of the English language (spontaneously), I could envision going directly to absurd. Talk about killing the mood. Well. I'm here today to tell you, when done properly dirty talk can transform mediocre coitus into that upper echelon-type animalistic sex. The following was a recent foray into the netherworld of dirty talk after the girl consumed an entire bottle of wine and had slept through a movie:
S.A.: Hey, the movie is over. [five seconds of silence lapse] Man it's getting late I should get to bed.
Dirty Talk: Oh it's over? [hastily unbuttons her jeans - de-pantsing and grabs her sexy undies in one fell swoop.]
S.A.: No, the movie is over and I think I'm going to bed. That doesn't mean sex.
Dirty Talk: [straddling me]I'm sure you don't mean that. What if I did this? [girl engages in superb fellatio]
S.A.: Um, that was AMAZING, and I think you're great [at that], but we aren't slapping skins tonight.
Dirty Talk: What will it take for you to f*ck me? I can do that again for you.
S.A.: No, I'm pretty sure you've sucked every bodily fluid out of my body. Thank you.
Dirty Talk: You can do whatever you want to me.
S.A.: On any other day that would make me the happiest premature "ejaculate-or," but not tonight, love.
Dirty Talk: If you want, we can just start f*cking and then you can come all over me.
S.A.: [Having flashback to the soft-core porn I was exposed to as a 13 year old] You're only saying this because you're drunk.
Dirty Talk: Just have sex with me, we'll worry about everything else later.

I know you're probably thinking this took a turn for the worse and she begged for me to give her the infamous golden shower, but I assure you it didn't happen. This conversation continued for two more minutes as she was on top of me and treating my Johnson like an Atari joy stick. Of course we didn't have sex that night because she was a baby step away from being blackout drunk, and I had already established that there would be no horizontal shuffle on the menu that night. She settled for just sleeping in my bed.

I would be lying if I told you that I wasn't subconsciously punching my good angel in the face as he was telling me not to tackle the gazelle. The point is, that nasty crap that she was spitting really turned me on, and if she wasn't just barely clinically alive - I would have seized the opportunity with such vigor that would have had her begging me to stop [because I am that terrible]. Your sex is lame? Spice it up a bit with some dirty talk. It works!

His & Hers

Intercourse:

His - He talks about it constantly. He thinks he's coy with all of his innuendos and jokes and thinks that he has to wait for the next Summer Olympics for her to get drunk enough to consider slapping skins.

Hers - Considering she doesn't talk about it nearly as much as he does, she has no problem waking him up for the fourth go of the physical act of making love a.k.a. coitus, at 4 AM.

Summary: Most women love to F*CK!

Ideological Shift

I was so naive. No, stupid is more accurate. Maybe it's because I'm from a tiny town in Connecticut, where I went to a small high school. I knew everyone in the high school, better yet I knew their siblings and went to church with their families on Sundays. I couldn't "just sleep" with a girl because I feared the consequences, like having to deal with her family or the gossip that is assumed in such a close-knit community. I went to college and abandoned life under the microscope in homogeneous suburbia, but couldn't rid my mind of the consequences that inevitably followed sex. Maybe it's because I took pride in having a certain reputation or not being considered a man-whore, but I still could not separate the physical act from the relationship.

Now I'm 24 years old. I live in the immediate vicinity of more than three million people and I couldn't be further from the concept of community. As a result I can see things clearly. Sometimes sex is just that and completely void of emotion. I am getting used to the idea of sleeping with someone and never bothering to text again. I guess it's the nature of the beast and certainly isn't limited to the male psyche (here at least). There's an unapologetic divorce between the carnal need to be physically quenched versus working towards a sustainably healthy relationship that characterizes NYC. It's refreshing. It's not a rule, but I sense that it's pervasive. Maybe the collective thought is that NYC is just a phase for many (both male and female), not meant to be home or a place to settle and many look to take advantage of the temporary nature of living here. I don't blame them. So every time I relapse and start thinking about feelings, I just drown myself with another beer.

Pseudo-douche observation: being a guy in NYC is great. The term relative is such an advantage. NYC is the land of excesses: wealth, health, looks, materialism, etc. Douches are abound in NYC in excess, and by douches I mean the Hall of Fame of douches. It's such a comforting thought to know that single men have a statistic advantage with attractive NYC women. Beyond that, it's great to know that as much of an asshole as I can be, I know that I couldn't hold a candle to some of the amazing tool bags that this city has to offer (read: relative). I sleep warm at night knowing that at my very worst I can't come close to battling some of these heroes for the famed crown of King of Douches.

I know some of you will read this and struggle to keep the vomit from entering your mouth, but it's the truth. I truly empathize with those that are looking for Mr./Mrs. Right in this city, but statistically the probability of success isn't very favorable for your kind.