After reading field report about fucking my mother, I figured I should share what I see as a tangentially complementary field report.
It takes a village
So fellow pill-travelers, let’s rewind to history past, back when your old friend Peenor and his pet dinosaur wingman would comb the watering holes for spry (and defiantly pre-waxing hairy) women to club and take back to the cave. Before I lost my fucking mind and got married, there was this gal I knew. I call her Sugar-tits, because all things aside, she did have some magnificent udders (and this is from an ass-man). Sugar-tits was a sorta-friend, but she was instrumental in me eventually ending up with Legal Cohabiting Female (LCF): I wouldn’t say she introduced us, but she got is in close proximity for the first time. Sugar-tits was a solid 5, fuckable in a pleasant sort of way, but not anywhere near as hot as LCF. As such, she never got my gentlemanly behavior, as I was too busy castrating myself to prove my worthiness as a BB to LCF.
The issue with Sugar-tits was that she wasn’t just the town bike. She didn’t just fuck the whole village. No, she was the bus system for a major metropolitan area. This chick’s bedpost looked like it had a massive termite infestation. Apparently, after LCF and I moved away, she spent the next half a decade racking up the numbers, until one day—drumroll please—she found god. She locked down a BB, praised Jesus and became a whole new person.
Alleluja. Vagina renewed.
You might not remember this, but we fucked.
Before we continue, let’s set the record straight: Sugar-tits and I did not fuck… then. I lost contact with her, but LCF stayed in contact over the years. Many years after I last saw her and during the holidays, Sugar-tits was in the area on business and LCF invited her to a party at our house.
This gal is not the “hide the wine when guests are over” sort of born-again, as she calls it. This was code for it being ok to offer her booze, which as a good host I did during a small party. After some good lubrication, the topic of conversation drifted to the good old days. Sugar-tits didn’t realize that I knew her before LCF and I made the classic “so many men, can’t remember all their faces” joke—obviously calling her a slut. She giggled and agreed she was like that, but then leaned over to me, put he hand on my arm and said, “well, except we didn’t.” Just to fuck with her, I raised my eyebrows. Her eyes got wide and replied, “wait, did we??!?!” She blushed and stammered. It was hilarious. What I didn’t realize is I just planted a tiny acorn that was going to turn into a mighty oak—in my pants.
About 10 minutes later, LCF finds me in the bar and whispers in my ear, “excellent mindfuck” and she laughed.
You know what happens when you feed the puppy?
Let’s talk about mating signals. This has traditionally been a very difficult topic for most men. For some guys, the chickie could rent one of those airplane banners with STICK YOUR DICK IN ME ALREADY, FAGGOT printed on it and they would still be uncertain if she wants sex. Frankly, those guys are lost; if you can’t pick up ANY signal, you better start ordering your anime fuck pillows and fleshlights Women are rarely this obvious, however there are a couple golden tells and one is related to this FR—what I call puppy dogging. This is when a female displays interest by finding all sorts of excuses to be in your proximity and if possible, alone with you.
This does not mean she wants you to rip her clothes off and three-hole her on the spot. No, this is a signal of interest, not consent, and it might be cultivated properly to get to consent.
After the aforementioned mindfuck, I got a new puppy. I went to make a couple drinks—poof, she appeared there. I needed to get more ice from the freezer out back—poof, she appears and discusses how impressive my ice making capabilities are. This goes on for a couple hours and then I get the air raid sirens—poof, the golden tell. I forgot I left some project work in my workshop out and I needed to take care of something or a bunch of my work would have been ruined. I put in some earphones and groove out while I take care of business. Eyes. There were eyes on me. I couldn’t hear anything, but I turned around and she was there watching. She rips one earphone out and puts it in her ear, and asks me about the music. I cannot remember the number of times this one act signaled an impending slime-grind in the gential-regions. It’s a big number.
If you cannot decipher why a women would go out of her way to be with you in any one moment, the reason is she wants to be with you.
Where did everyone go?
So I finish my business and head back to the party, puppy at my heals. For no doubt drunken reasons, my other guests head outside and I didn’t follow. And neither did my puppy. She was finally alone with me and I was not doing anything productive (yes, bitches, sometimes we really just want to finish something before we fuck you). This wife, this mother, this born again gets closer to me. And I make my move. I put my hands around her neck and draw her in for a kiss…
… no you pervs, you aren’t getting any erotic non-fiction here for you to jerk off over later. However, there was one very important detail. In the second it takes me to guide her closer, she goes from 0 to 60, and when lips met she outright shoved her tongue down my throat. She had no idea this was going to happen that night, but it became the only thing she wanted to happen that night.
Now, let’s have a quick aside before someone of you retards earn felony charges. I did not throttle her. I did not choke her out to the floor and piss on her. Sure, there are plenty of women into that sort of stuff, but usually you need to make an appointment for that. No, I gently but very firmly took control of her body and I have found the neck is the absolute best way to do that. There are some women that get triggered from a bad experience, but the vast majority of women absolutely love it.
She was absolute puddles within a minute.
So, Max, what was her pussy like?
This didn’t matter. Victory wasn’t an orgasm. Victory was her completely giving herself to me. At one point, with her hands juggling my nuts, she tells me we should get a hotel room together after she extended her flight. She was vocalizing sex plans—that’s what the “STICK YOUR DICK IN ME ALREADY, FAGGOT” tell looks like. Oh, and apparently she really likes it from behind.
She forgot all about the BB shlub she watched supplicate himself to LCF. Successful Vagio-Conversion Therapy.
But wait, wasn’t there another puppy there.
You absolutely need your dick wet to be able to swallow the pill. The ECs repeat this over and over. You will never see things as they really are unless you uncloud your brain from natural male lust. This particular dick wetting led to an important epiphany.
Yes, I had another puppy dog once and she was at this same party. In fact, I married her. Legal Cohabiting Female was a puppy dog. We both lived in a very large barracks. She lived on one side. I lived three flights down on the other side. One fateful day after my roommate and I finished rearranging the room, a different girl that I was actively fucking showed up to hang out. She was a warm hole—nice body, but very plain and dopey. I largely ignored her as there would be no fucking while my roommate was there. A little bit later LCF showed up (or HPA—hot piece of ass as she was back then). She asked if I had a quarter so she could get a soda from the machine. The machines were on the other side of the building, near her. Ok then. I remembered seeing a quarter on the ground under where we placed a very heavy piece of furniture. I ask my roommate to help me move the furniture again to retrieve the quarter.
You should have seen the look on the other girl’s face, but then…
Boom, headshot. provider behavior. I had a puppy. I converted it into a succubus. Indeed, we did not fuck then. She started fucking another guy (only found out about that by accident AFTER we got married). She only displayed interest again after she found out I was shipping out to the same place she was heading—alone and scared, she wanted to hide under my tree, providing well measured teaspoons of sex to keep me interested in return.
But why do you care now?
As I have chronicled so many times before, LCF and I have had a long and strange relationship. It is no secret I fuck other women and that was ok. Or at least I thought it was. She absolutely lost her fucking mind when she found out what happened between Sugar Tits and myself. Let’s just say they aren’t sharing Christmas cards any more, but LCF did mutter under her breath she might gift Sugar-tits a chastity belt.
I have not work out yet why she was so pissed. I will agree it was a break in protocol to bring it into the home, but years ago she did it a few times. Yes, I was enraged then, but I can’t help there is more to it. It can’t be just Dread, since I already have other women. So why? I don’t know….
… but something has changed. For the first time in a long time she has been displaying small signals of interest. I responded in kind, because well I am a constantly horny fuck, and she then told me I better not push her away (this has happened) or she “might start caring,” That last being a clear reference to the Sugar Tits incident.
I don’t know where this is going to lead. Maybe nowhere. I don’t know because I just don’t care. I will do what I do to with women because they are women.
Nothing should change even when things change.
All too often we look for great signs and signals as motivation to act. Blah. As we say here, you should already be on your mission. Signs should be indicators of progress, not a green light. Changing only because of outside stimulus is dangerous business. With respect to this story, I’ve been down this road before. Push the button; get the pellet. In the past I allowed myself to take just enough reciprocation from LCF to make everything seem ok again, and then fall back into that BB little turd that gave her a tree to hide under and a bowl to eat from, while I gave up everything else in my life. Why should she expect any difference? So she will offer the same pellet.
No thank you. No button; no pellet.
There will be no flowers. There sure as hell won’t be a Valentines day card. If she lifts her tail at me, I’ll grab it. After all, she’s just a woman. He friend lifted her tail at me and I grabbed it too. There is nothing special about either of them, nor is there any real reason to reject them. And after all the shit I’ve been through how can that say that, right? Well, no. See, the thing is what it should have been from the very start. I cannot change what I am because of what they do.
I once told LCF after about two years of marriage that I felt she was changing me and I didn’t think it was good. She didn’t respond. I’m sure she danced with glee when she got out of eyeshot…. Conversion works both ways, bitches.
Executive Summary, Max. I’m going to miss my own funeral.
As always, a few parting points and then I’ll let you get back to watching cat videos and planning your next masturbation session.
1- You will almost never successfully convert a lost opportunity that leaves you looking like a loser, but it can happen. Put zero effort into it. ZERO. However, if it walks in your door, follows you around and then blows you like a champ, go for it.
2- Women have elaborate covert contracts. I’m not sure what provision I broke to make LCF upset about this one, but obviously it is something.
3- Keep your fucking frame. Most men would have allowed her upset turn it into an epic battle. Sorry, keeping my powder dry, toots. She even spent a couple hours crying in one of the rooms alone. I didn’t even approach; she had some shit to deal with so let her deal with it. The only outcome of my involvement would have involved a change on my part—and that wasn’t going to happen.
4- It is your problem to deal with their grief or to decipher their contracts. It is your job to maintain a stable environment. If you really did do something wrong, it’s ok to correct that, if she brings it to the table. Otherwise she just needs to deal with her emotions. You don’t change.
5- These are dangerous for all involved.)
6- No, blooptards, a single quarter did not change my life.
And for the record, Sugar-tits was not particularly intoxicated and the next day she approached me again…