Wanton, Ovulating, Motivation, Appreciation, Neuroticism
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You must all think me debauched. Once again it all comes back to sex and I have little to say in my defense right now. However, pleasing pictorials aside, I’m genuinely fascinated by the fairer sex. Thus I have decided on a two-tier assault of your senses. The W.O.M.A.N. sequence will comprise two separate investigations of the yang to man’s ying. The Pink Edition will feature a sequence of designs all by the same artist, The Printer’s Devil, and shall explore the aesthetic desire for the fruits of the flesh further. Both editions will differ markedly and relay two independent vantage points so both editions beg to be explored. I shall analyze what makes men desire the female flesh and indeed mind; dissect our desires and search for clarity on what biological and psychological traits we find so inviting. Males and females are such varying examples of the species, with cognitive differences, behavioral distinctions, and contrasting ways of processing data.
It’s all about chromosomes, two X for females and one X, one Y for males. It’s all jargon really but there is extensive medical research to back up this logic. The effects of sex hormones on the brain during development inadvertently feminize the organ but there are also key differences in both size and composition. I have spent many years attempting to understand the workings of the female mind and, make no mistake, any significant others have surely been befuddled by my own serpentine cerebral construct. The conclusion I have reached is that we’ll never fully decipher one another’s complexities. To me, it just makes the battle of the sexes all the more invigorating.
Wanton, Ovulating, Motivation, Appreciation, Neuroticism: I feel I need elaborate on my choices here. These aren’t my words, simply five factors popularly believed to make women desirable to men. Having grown up in a predominantly female environment, with three older siblings, I feel that I have gained rather exclusive insight into what causes these opposites to attract. I’m not suggesting for one second that I hold the secrets of the universe within my cranium, if I did then I wouldn’t be a thirty-nine years old man-child going through the rigmarole of divorce for the second time. I just wish to explore and if that encourages healthy debate then bring it, there’s nothing more alluring than intelligent discussion.
synonym: (especially of a woman) sexually immodest or promiscuous
Studies have proven that promiscuity is an initial aphrodisiac to the male of the species. It fascinates me that this trait is such a potent stimulant when selecting our suitors but ultimately men wish to stifle such sensibilities. In a club, with alcoholic encouragement, males are spellbound by the exhibition of such factors. Should sexual prowess be meshed with a sufficiently arousing garland of bared flesh to titillate, then men become powerless to resist. However, over time and, without any intoxicating liquor clouding our judgement, same men often revert to becoming rather alpha male regarding such matters. Said woman’s flesh invariably becomes the man’s possession in his mind and this “object” often becomes impounded against others seeking to sniff that sexual scent. That’s right; out come the Cosby sweaters.
It isn’t all one-sided as the pendulum is destined to swing back once more as couples reach their sexual plateau. At this juncture said male habitually ordinarily requests a little playful endeavor once more. I generalize of course but for such a blatant exhibitionist such as myself, it just manifests naturally. My first spouse used to perch herself on the sofa during daylight hours, drapes wide open, in a virtually transparent lace bodice. She shaved regularly and this was offered up to any potential passers-by (postmen, travelling salesmen, Jehovah’s witnesses) via a constant lack of panties. In addition, her fiery pellets protruded exquisitely through the same woven material to further enrapture the inevitable prowlers.
Occasionally, when feeling particularly brazen, she would part her legs at an angle just sufficient to grant a prolific postcard of her blushing quim. Should any witting onlookers cop a load of that visual then her work would be done. The thought of another processing that optical data via their own self-defilement actually aroused the shit out of me if I’m honest so everyone was a winner. Let’s not get it twisted, should said bystander have proceeded to flop out his junk and began whacking off pressed against the window ledge with a demented look on his face, then I’d have been out there with my garden shears before he could get the first tug in (warning snip no more although I can be a clusterfuck when irritable). But the danger posed as she languished ajar got me off faster than a wasp-woven waistcoat. I lived for that shit, we were potentially rumbled on a number of occasions but would speculate evermore over whether or not the image had logged successfully. As a rejoinder to her actions I luxuriated in a spot of naked skateboarding on the back patio, again during broad daylight, bearing in mind our house was on the downward incline of a hefty elevation.This, in turn, would lead to her upping the ante somewhat.
the expulsion of an ovum from the ovary (usually midway in the menstrual cycle)
Her move out of potential sexual checkmate was then to sit gaping, slip off the garment entirely and straddle the couch with lady hamper fully exhibited. Furthermore, this time she haughtily revealed her periodic bungee, string dangling like the proverbial carrot of the piece. This made me hard as lard without fail and heightened the consequent cunnilingus which followed once containment ceased being an option. I pondered long and hard over whether or not this was considered acceptable practice as my sexual education had been somewhat sketchy until then. I was never encouraged to explore my sexual desires, or possibly I just never grasped allegory? Nah, Keeper’s all about metaphor, it must have been a lack of encouragement. Whatever the reason, I was more than content for the less blind to lead the blind and she certainly kept me on my toes although this come at a distinct cost. Considering this was an A.M. endeavor, I would be forced to watch all manner of bogus chat shows and other daytime drivel. Her obsession with this terminal dross took the shine off a little. For Jerry Springer, I have a final word. “Fuck off out of my living room you cretin, you’re harshing my buzz”.
It has been proved that scent plays a critical part in the periodical process. When a woman ovulates she sends out an aroma of readiness which men pick up like the incessant sniffer-dogs that we are. As hunter, the man is mesmerized by a swollen labia and the intoxicating scent this emits. A woman is at her most primal during ovulation and this naturally tantalizes the alpha in many of us. In my opinion, blood sport is a delectable dish best served in the confines of a committed relationship. I recall one particular first date which fast tracked a little too quickly into deep red debauchery for my liking. We had shared a mildly uncomfortable evening in each other’s premise, making small talk, and attempting to come across cooler than we both were. I was driving her home and all was going decidedly “meh” when she decided to try another tact.
Suddenly, I was asked to pull over, and she swiftly proceeded to disrobe entirely in my passenger seat. I knew then that I was about to get a crash course in dogging but wasn’t prepared for her opening her legs, plucking out a soiled tampon in the blink of the eye and proclaiming it to be “my turn”. I felt a little out-of-depth and some may say that I wussed out that night as I made my excuses and drove her home (double speed no less). However, it was kind of like watching the last five minutes of The Sixth Sense. For an old-fashioned country boy like Keeper, it was too much, too fast. I often still slap myself upside my member each time I recall those squandered mind bullets. Hell, I need them now more than ever.
Digging under my own surface, I held onto my chastity for far longer than most. Much as I would love to report that I simply caved in to my wretched common sense, the truth is that I was petrified of the whole sexual process. We’re talking considerable peril; the kind of consternation that would wash over Sinbad’s entourage around the forty minute mark as they entered the lair of the one-eyed centaur. There just seemed so much to learn, G-spots to locate, leg cramps to fend off. It has taken me nearly forty years to truly get to grips with coitus and I’m the first to admit that I’m still learning even now. I think this is why menstruation is such hot topic to me. There’s something feral about it that makes me feel more at one with nature. I’m sure that the Neanderthal man didn’t plan his conquests around the time of the month. If we’re all honest, we all sucked our scabs as kids right? Ovulation is a natural process and copulation is precisely the same, therefore the two go together like peas and carrots.
My next case in point is Diane Foster. This salacious sexual succubus oozes bloody passion and we ooze it straight back in return. I’ve just now decided to include a third tier to this sequence in honor of our flaxen-haired queen featuring the most succulent visual bites of Lady Die. I’m sensing we’re all at ease at this point with exploring our ravenous monarch openly. Thus, The Crimson Edition will provide an exclusive optical ovulation of sorts. Our honorable highness will be basted in delicious deep red cruor and I shall lavish accordingly with my affectionate prose. Be forewarned this will show our monarch at her most savage and Keeper at his most provocative. For now, it’s a tantalizing wrap.
Truly, Really, Clearly, Sincerely,
Keeper of the Crimson Quill
Copyright: Crimson Quill: Savage Vault Enterprises 2013