Little Nasties

There is a man I see out on the street a few blocks down from where I live, every now and then, who is always quick with the lewd proposals whenever I walk by. He can talk it too, his eyes flashing, leering grin and all. He's a real "charmer."

He's also a grabber. By that I mean he makes that indecent groin-grabbing gesture, except to describe this particular gesture it is more like, grab, slide and squeeze, a bit of a head-diddle, and then a whole finger-dance thing, so that I can see that he's packing some pipe in his pants.

(Not that I look for things like that, or anything).

By the time I'm past him, he'll be muttering something to his partners about "makin' that bitch take" his dick or something else that involves drilling the dick into me someplace.

These little indecent street propositions are something that usually infuriate women, and that they suffer in stoic silence as they pass by. They think of these encounters as something along the line of little nasties that they must endure on a daily basis.

For me, on the other hand, these little nasties often turn into fodder for my (admittedly rich) masturbatory life. Whatever the social and sociological reasons that some men do that, is not important to me. Most of it is just a lot of empty talk anyway. However, I see these men as some kind of social-sexual traffic cop, reminding us all that to move ahead as a species, ultimately a female has to take that dick, or so the rumor would have it.

Late at night, when my fingers start doing the no-no thing, and I start to fantasize, guess who gets who gets the call-up from my nasty little brain. Other times when I'm having sex for real with a man, and the feeling isn't quite right, I just close my eyes and make that same call to Mr. Street Corner man. All of a sudden the one I'm with thinks he's Mr. Super Stud incarnate, but of course it's really you-know-who that's doing it for me.

As a person, my internal wiring is way off, I realize. There is that discordant note that I hear and enjoy in my "night music," that is to say that I am titillated to be objectified merely as that bitch. Once I'm there with that, all that good dirty shit starts bubbling up in my furtive little brain, and the local sex-plumbing system starts pumping up that wet-wet.

Above all there is the entire "take the dick" thing, to be "made to" take the dick, in fact. This is that whole the fuck thing I often think about. That the fuck is the natural use of a female in the sex act, no love thing involved in doing it. The fuck is something a man does to (and not with) a female, and the female, well, she takes it. She takes the dick!

As for my favorite fella' out there on the corner, I always imagine the fuck with him to be about the dirtiest fuck I can imagine. Maybe it's one of those stick it deep up and in and all the way to the bottom impalings, pole batterings to the cervix, knock the walls of the hole down kinds of fucks, made all the more nasty because I'm wet enough to take him right away that deep. Maybe he might stick me, pull it back out, stick me again over and over all the while watching himself enter and exit this willing pussy hole, talking trash to me every times he sticks it too me. Then again, maybe he'll drill me dry and make me wet in the process, betraying my filthy ways as his dick gets gradually wetter with each long well-run stab of the dick.

My street corner man is always on top of course, so he can control action; the man runs the fuck in my little dark cravings.

When I'm actually doing the deed, I like to hold a man at the hips when he's doing it to me, to feel the fuck when he's on top of me, and just to feel that gate-swing of his body, the hammer that drives the nail down and in. I like to feel the full weight and power of the man when he does it to me.

As for my little friend out there hangin' on that street corner, for now he's just a mind fuck, but you never know. Someday he might run me so crazy with the "need it like that bad's" that he might get lucky and I'll take him up on one of his offers.

Never say never.

Oral History

There is a running chronicle of street talk that goes on, call it the he did, she did tales of sex and conquest; strings of oral histories of sexual bravado that men share among themselves. I imagine this sort of manly discussion to be the first of the world’s oral history projects from back in the day when the Neanderthals where gathering on the corner in the forest. I suspect that this is the first of the great oral traditions of human history, in fact.

Just a thought.

WTF

Every now and then I'll stumble across some image, meant to be provocative in one way, that is just too arty and strange to pull it off, at least in the way it was intended. This has to be one of them. It is a photo of woman completely cocooned in an electric blue full-body stocking holding a vibrator, her features obscured by the nylon mesh.

I'm not sure exactly what the photographer had in mind here, but he's obviously not even thinking as nasty as I am.

So here's my advice to the hopelessly untalented: lose the vibrator and cut a split in the crotch of that thing, so that the only thing open to the outside world is the woman's pussy, a kind of electric-blue Burka of the nasty, except with the split at the crotch instead of the eyes, sort of a Burka with its priorities straightened-out.

And, by the way, shouldn't she be wearing platform shoes with clear heals?

Some of you guys are just falling down in the nasty department! Get with it!