Wordsmoker

I love talking dirty to a lady-friend. I love telling them how beautiful their lady-bits are, how good they taste, how good they smell. I love talking about them, how they should be proud of them, how complex they are, how they can literally create life on this planet, and how that’s something I’ll never, ever be able to experience, because I don’t have the choice due to my man-gineering. I’m probably a bit like The Devil in The Witches of Eastwick, but with more hair.

I heart vaginas. I’m not ashamed of it.

And my range of small-talk? It’s wondrous. As I kiss and lick from a lady-mouth or lady-ear, meandering past The Land Of Tits and Valley Of Perennial Hope, way down to the Belly-Button Roundabout and beyond, I can keep up the small-talk as I go, like a genial television presenter with an erection. The small-talk? It could be annoying, I guess, but I like to see it as the most beautiful torture. I’m not heading straight for your clit or labia or whatnot. I’m taking the long-way around. The road less-travelled. Erogenous zones are mapped out on my man-mind from an early age (hey, I read books!) so I might traverse them for a while, while all the while my lady-bits owing lady gets wetter and wetter and more sensitive. I mean – it’s self-control on my part too. I’d love to just wade in with my fingers and tongue and get my lady thrashing and moaning with pleasure from the fucking get-go, but I love the journey as well as the destination.

My small-talk just got a bit more scientific today with the news that a gynaecologist from the hated country of Belgium has discovered that the Golden Mean echoes the perfect ratio of a healthy, ready-to-reproduce uterus. Do you know about the Golden Mean? Or the Fibonacci Set? You should. I’m a terrible mathematician – I still can’t really understand algebra (damned Muslims) and equations make my brain hurl – but that doesn’t stop me from enjoying mathematics, or the stories behind mathematical discoveries just like me not having a vagina doesn’t stop me being a big fan of them.

What does this mean, you ask? It means nothing and possibly everything. The Golden Mean echoes throughout our world, throughout the universe itself, and we’ll never fully understand it. Which is fantastic, because fuck solving problems sometimes. Problems are just as beautiful as vaginas, I mean “answers” themselves. This bit of discovery? Not a biggie in the scheme of things, but the next time I’m going down on a lady, I’m going to find it difficult not to talk about how the Golden Mean lies just underneath my mouth.

I’ll maybe just start off with the Golden Mean thing while I’m at the ear, or the neck, or the clavicles. Who wants to hear some mathematical ratio nonsense talked into their pubic mound when I could be getting really dirty and incredibly descriptive.

Yeah. I’ll start off with The Golden Mean, then just get increasingly dirty as I work my way down.

In summary?

NOM.