Her: So, apparently [new boyfriend] heard me mumbling your name in my sleep last night. It’s a good thing I wasn’t moaning or anything, or he would’ve known it was a dirty dream.
Me: Ok…so what was the dream about?
Her: Um, us having sex? Duh!
Me: Details, woman! What were we doing?
Her: Well, you had me bent over and you were pounding it from behind…
Her: Oh, but your hair was cut short.
Me: See, that’s how I really know it was a dream…
Her: (laughing) Fuck youuuuuu!
My introduction to the term “Sperm Warfare” came by way of a book published in 1996, itself simply titled “Sperm Wars“. There’s dispute on whether sperm warfare is something that occurs with human sperm, but that’s not what I’m here to talk about. The most memorable parts of Sperm Wars are when the author, after describing deceitful reproductive strategies, would give color to them by adding short stories to demonstrate how these things can and do play out in the real world.
Today, while I continue speaking about a topic I started in a previous post, I’d like to tell you about
the time a time that I came pretty close to consciously playing out one of Sperm Wars’ short stories.
On this night, while laying with Giovanna during our usual pre-fuck chat-and-stroke, she told me that her (then) boyfriend’s condom broke the night before, and that he came inside of her. For whatever reason, they didn’t get a morning after pill (Having bought many of the cursed things in my time, I think I know why: They cost 50 fucking bucks!), so she was worried she might end up pregnant, and really disliked the idea of having a baby with a guy that she was basically dating for financial reasons (she was not turned on by him in the slightest, and he was a minute man to boot). Knowing what I know about human reproduction, I was aware that her getting pregnant wasn’t such a sure thing, and thus saw an opportunity…
So I leaned over her, placed my palm around the side of her neck, looked her in her eyes, and in a too-serious tone asked, “You know what I should do to you?”
Previously, on Jack’s TMI Blog, we left off with Galina pushing one of my “buttons”, thus very much requiring that furious, drunken sex be performed. The point of no return had been crossed.
After licking on and whispering in my ear, Galina nonchalantly stood back up, stretched her arms into the air with a yawn, and announced that she was ready to pass out. The way that her long, red hair hung concealed what she did while she was leaning down towards me, so her giggly, lightweight roommate was none the wiser. Galina dove into her bed, her roommate said her farewells, and I locked the bedroom door after showing her out.
Some of these girls look a little young to play the part, don’t they?…
Seeming that I’ve used the term at least once or twice, I thought I should get around to sharing my thoughts on it. This can be a very divisive subject, but I have a bit I’d like to say about it.
My definition for the word “slut” is simple: A woman* that (seemingly) sleeps around indiscriminately.
*(More on this in a bit…)
Not as easy to follow, it seems, is when I state that my use of the word “slut” is descriptive, not normative. In other words, I’m not making a moral judgement when I use the term. In the past, I’ve had people jump down my neck when I’ve used the term, screeching that I’m a “slut shamer”, “sex negative”, or whatever the hell else kids are saying these days, but that’s based on their notions of the term, not mine.
I mean, wouldn’t it be a bit out of character for a guy that benefits from women’s looseness to be out to make them more sexually inhibited?
Let’s address that asterisk, though. So, why do I—unless I’m joking—reserve the term “slut” for women? The short answer is that I accept reality. Here’s the longer version:
This post is not about food…
In a previous post, I went over how I use “talking” as an aid to arouse and/or bring women to orgasm. While I went into some of the intricacies, I left out specifics. Today, I want to talk about one of those specifics, and the trouble it’s gotten me into. When I first learned, first hand, about the way that this specific topic turns some women into wild, reckless beasts, I was kind of taken aback.
You could say I was still a bit of a Committed Man at heart back then, and this meant that I actually believed that women were what they said they were. (Turns out these claims were mostly soulless regurgitations of characteristics they borrowed from the cultural narrative on feminine propriety…)
So, imagine naive Jack’s surprise when, upon first giving the subject of insemination a try during some of his mid-sex “talking”, it turned a woman that had previously behaved as if she was perfectly happy with condom use, into an aggressive, cum-fiending succubus. This was, of course, Liz.
It’s one of my fond memories. Just minutes before things went all crazy, she’d been posing nude for me to draw her, but that didn’t last long. Some time into our fuck session, while licking and nibbling on her ear lobe, I whispered that I wanted to dump all of my cum deep inside of her wet little pussy really badly, and she let out a moan like I’d never heard before. It was like an “Oh yes!” and an “Oh no, what have you unleashed?!”, all mixed into one. Oh, what came next…
In keeping with the theme of my last few posts, I wanted to share a story about a time in which my adventures with “taken” women actually went less than stellar. Navigating the seas of women can be rough, but never as much as when the other man is a friend, and the woman is a dunce.
The girl in question—we’ll call her “Caprice”—is what I’d call a social climber, though in this instance, she was more of a social lateral mover. Caprice met my friend, whom we’ll call “Duane”, after one of her girlfriends was invited to hang out by a co-worker of ours. I wasn’t around when this went down, but by the time I met her, Duane and her were already dating…more or less (more on this later).
It was at another social gathering with the same group of friends that I first met her. For Caprice, I think it was pretty much lust at first sight. I would have needed to be partly blind to miss the fact that she was eye-fucking me the entire night.
(Jeebuz! What is it with me always attracting sluts? Does my resting asshole face also read as an “I love sluts!” face?)
When the night wound down, and I was getting ready to split, Caprice asked to borrow my phone. Apparently, she’d left hers out in her car, and “needed” to call it to check her inbox. Now, maybe I have too much sex on my mind (it’s true), but I totally took this as her making a move on me. If you’re not convinced by the things that sex-crazed Jack tells himself, though, then consider that Duane was nearby, and his cell phone was sitting on the coffee table right in front of him. If you’re still not convinced about my assessment, then…keep reading.
It’s all fun and games until the clown pipes your dame
(Or, “On The Moral Implications Of Sleeping With ‘Taken’ Women.”)
This is something that I’ve wanted to speak about for a while now. Some of my crazier misadventures have involved me hooking up with women that were in relationships, so it’s something that I thought I should address.
I recently wrote about my views on infidelity, from how I define cheating, to who’s more likely to cheat, and in that same post, put forth the following idea: It is up to couples to agree upon what behavior will and will not be permissible in their relationships. These relationship terms are a bit like business contracts; they are about mutual benefit. “You scratch my back, I scratch yours. You don’t fuck anyone but me, and I keep paying all of the bills.”