Quote by dangerzone69
I use following products for my bath before fucking
1. AXE hot ever shower gel and later hot fever perfume:)
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LadyX
Over 90 days ago
Straight Female, 35
0 miles · Dallas
Forum
Artistic Tart
Not that big of a deal. Guys get boners for all kinds of reasons, or for no reason at all. It doesn't necessarily signal imminent sexual threat or advances. Those of you who are guys, you know what I'm talking about. And those of you who have been with guys, you also know what I'm talking about. If you can't handle occasional signs of arousal, especially since there's no reasonable way to mask it, then perhaps a nude beach is not for you.
Artistic Tart
Quote by WellMadeMale
I have rather enjoyed the anonymous stalking capabilities which Lush has afforded me for the last 3 plus years.
I agree. I think making 'browsers on your profile' accessible to the profile's owner opens a whole new set of issues. If you don't want random people to see your pictures or videos, then adjust your settings to restrict access. Otherwise, part of the fun and freedom is that somebody can view the info available without getting unsolicited feedback on it.
"dude, why did you look at my profile 15 times the other day?" LOL. If somebody admires you enough to want to be found out, they'll find a way to get your attention. Let everyone continue to creep in peace.jDAgr8MNdvNx1W2M
Artistic Tart
You know, here's the fucking problem with love- you can't control it. You can't control what you want, or who you want.
Oh sure, you can pretend you do. You can pretend that everything you desire in a partner is your own goddamn idea, and how smart you are, pretty girl, for figuring out what you want and going after it, and fuck everyone else who thinks its a bad idea, because this is what you want, right? That's the independent woman spirit, right?
Fuck that charade, it's all an illusion, this notion that we have power over our own desires, and ultimately, over our own fate. We don't control shit. And in that way, we're no better off than the girls in the old world who still have their marriages arranged for them. At least there's some transparency in that scenario, since both parties are equally powerless. And honestly, what's more powerful, parental authority or emotions? Answer: Parents kill their kids for insolence a lot less often than people become overwhelmed and kill themselves. The arranged marriage folks get off fucking light here; congratulations to you.
I've read here and elsewhere how biology dictates who we're attracted to. I guess all that shit is true, I don't know. I think I just accept it as truth because it mostly works out. The girls want the big, fit guys, the guys want the girls with the curves. Strong babies won't die, curvy bitches won't miscarry. Makes sense, right?
Well, fuck you, biology. Because reproduction doesn't have shit to do with actually coexisting with somebody. Let's even assume that biology dictates who we'll get the most out sex with. That still leaves, what, 99.5% of the rest of life with that person? Unless of course you don't live together, or especially if they're just a fuckbuddy. No wonder I have so much casual sex. I get all the benefits of a man with none of the pitfalls- at least that's how it seems when I'm in the middle of getting the benefits. But I know that's me just bullshitting myself. I'm pretty fucking good at that. Been doing it my whole life. What starts as a survival mechanism has evolved into a monster that outsmarts me. I get it right between the crosshairs and before I can pull the trigger to take him down, he's gone, and a moment later he's tapping me on the shoulder, just to taunt me.
I know better. I know I don't just want guys for a fuck. That's why I'm so fucking miserable. If all I wanted was sex, then I should be high on life, whistling showtunes and shit (assuming I knew any).
Okay, so what is it that I do want?
Hold on to your hats folks, because here's where you learn just how fucked up crazy I am: I want movie/tv characters.
I didn't realize that's what I wanted until just now. But hear me out here, this is how I got there:
What I do now is what I've done my whole life. I watch movies, tv, and sometimes read books, and that's my way out. I can go to that place, through the wormhole, and the real me is in suspended animation while I'm in that other pretend place. Problem is, when I exit that place, I bring parts of it with me. I want those things for myself. I want one dimensional non-complex displays of brawn, warmth, and calm. I want Vin Diesel. I want Channing Tatum from The Vow: strong but kind, funny, artistic but no less manly, fights for what he wants (especially since in that movie, what he wants is a woman. also, that movie fits because she suffers amnesia, and oh how jealous I am of her sometimes. Do you realize just how much of my own life I'd rather fucking forget about? Her predicament has merit, if you ask me). Don't get me wrong, the movie's not that good, but images stick with me.
And it doesn't stop with men. I want the same for myself. I want to be the sexy, mysterious character that always keeps her cool, except for the few times that she rages, when she's completely justified and wreaks unholy havoc in almost poetically efficient ways.
But I'm not that way, and neither is the man that I love, who I have no choice but to love.
I lose my fucking cool all the time. I scream, I rage, I throw things, I hit. I'm a fucking basket case, a lot. And he- the guy- he's not Channing Tatum. He's not artistic, or even that conventionally handsome. He's got scars, inside and out. He doesn't always keep his cool, either. For a fighter, he chooses not to fight more than I'd prefer, and the less happy we both are, the less funny he is, of course. But I do see flashes. There are moments where we're happy together, where we laugh, where all is well, and all feels 'right'. These are my movie moments. Where he becomes that character I want him to be, and I become his.
Okay, that's me bullshitting. I don't think he wants a character. He's thankfully not fucked up in the same way. He just wants a non-crazy version of me. Good luck with that, buddy.
I know love exists, because I'm stuck with it. And it's the most intense feeling of overwhelming care and total loss of control. I don't know why I love him, really- and that's not the knock on him that it sounds like, it's just that biology aside (big, fit guys 'do it' for me), I don't know how we got here.
I didn't love him when he knocked me up. That wasn't supposed to happen. But he cared about me, and set about to take care of me to the best of his ability, and at a certain point, I realize that I really do love him. Scars, flaws, shortcomings and all- I love the motherfucker. And since that day, through the birth of our son, through our marriage ceremony, through our separation, all the way up to the present time, with me living in a strange neighborhood with barely a physical vestige of him anywhere in this too-big-for-my-stuff shell of a home, i've never stopped loving him.
I just wish it was easier.
(by the way, if you're wishing this was 'ragier' right now, then fuck you. I've got rage to spare, and am a burning cauldron of it as we speak. Just because I don't throw a bunch of caps and exclamation points in, doesn't mean I'm not expressing rage amongst other emotions. Goddammit.)
I'm so fucking angry that I am who I am sometimes; that I can't control anything around me. That I want the things I want. Sometimes I think I want too much in every facet of my life. I don't just want some money, I want more! I don't just want occasional sex, I want it all the time! I don't just want to be happy and harmonious occasionally, I want a lifetime of it.
That last one's the dead giveaway- that I want characters for partners, movie relationships for love, with a distinct happy, then conflict, then resolution into the happiest goddamn contentment you can possibly imagine, all fit neatly into a little drawer. Reality is too much. That's why I'm on Paxil. That's why I rage like a fucking child. That's why I'm always unhappy. Because apparently the struggles of a real relationship, the one I still sort-of have, are too much for my corrupted brain. I don't want a real relationship, I want a fake one apparently, and of course, I can never have what I want because of it.
I'm always going to be fucked up. He's never going to be anything different from what he is. Maybe this is why I sometimes like depressing movies, because it balances shit out for me. It helps me to find normalcy and ways that aren't fake and super-ideal. Maybe I can aspire to be like flawed characters, to want to be with flawed characters.
I remember when life for me was sort of like a movie. We laughed, and cuddled, and swooned over our newborn. We had good friends, and appeared to want for nothing. Sexy girl, ripped daddy, happy little couple.
I just realized, I'm in the part of the movie where everything has fallen to pieces.
See? I'm still doing it.
Surprise! I'm in therapy!
Oh sure, you can pretend you do. You can pretend that everything you desire in a partner is your own goddamn idea, and how smart you are, pretty girl, for figuring out what you want and going after it, and fuck everyone else who thinks its a bad idea, because this is what you want, right? That's the independent woman spirit, right?
Fuck that charade, it's all an illusion, this notion that we have power over our own desires, and ultimately, over our own fate. We don't control shit. And in that way, we're no better off than the girls in the old world who still have their marriages arranged for them. At least there's some transparency in that scenario, since both parties are equally powerless. And honestly, what's more powerful, parental authority or emotions? Answer: Parents kill their kids for insolence a lot less often than people become overwhelmed and kill themselves. The arranged marriage folks get off fucking light here; congratulations to you.
I've read here and elsewhere how biology dictates who we're attracted to. I guess all that shit is true, I don't know. I think I just accept it as truth because it mostly works out. The girls want the big, fit guys, the guys want the girls with the curves. Strong babies won't die, curvy bitches won't miscarry. Makes sense, right?
Well, fuck you, biology. Because reproduction doesn't have shit to do with actually coexisting with somebody. Let's even assume that biology dictates who we'll get the most out sex with. That still leaves, what, 99.5% of the rest of life with that person? Unless of course you don't live together, or especially if they're just a fuckbuddy. No wonder I have so much casual sex. I get all the benefits of a man with none of the pitfalls- at least that's how it seems when I'm in the middle of getting the benefits. But I know that's me just bullshitting myself. I'm pretty fucking good at that. Been doing it my whole life. What starts as a survival mechanism has evolved into a monster that outsmarts me. I get it right between the crosshairs and before I can pull the trigger to take him down, he's gone, and a moment later he's tapping me on the shoulder, just to taunt me.
I know better. I know I don't just want guys for a fuck. That's why I'm so fucking miserable. If all I wanted was sex, then I should be high on life, whistling showtunes and shit (assuming I knew any).
Okay, so what is it that I do want?
Hold on to your hats folks, because here's where you learn just how fucked up crazy I am: I want movie/tv characters.
I didn't realize that's what I wanted until just now. But hear me out here, this is how I got there:
What I do now is what I've done my whole life. I watch movies, tv, and sometimes read books, and that's my way out. I can go to that place, through the wormhole, and the real me is in suspended animation while I'm in that other pretend place. Problem is, when I exit that place, I bring parts of it with me. I want those things for myself. I want one dimensional non-complex displays of brawn, warmth, and calm. I want Vin Diesel. I want Channing Tatum from The Vow: strong but kind, funny, artistic but no less manly, fights for what he wants (especially since in that movie, what he wants is a woman. also, that movie fits because she suffers amnesia, and oh how jealous I am of her sometimes. Do you realize just how much of my own life I'd rather fucking forget about? Her predicament has merit, if you ask me). Don't get me wrong, the movie's not that good, but images stick with me.
And it doesn't stop with men. I want the same for myself. I want to be the sexy, mysterious character that always keeps her cool, except for the few times that she rages, when she's completely justified and wreaks unholy havoc in almost poetically efficient ways.
But I'm not that way, and neither is the man that I love, who I have no choice but to love.
I lose my fucking cool all the time. I scream, I rage, I throw things, I hit. I'm a fucking basket case, a lot. And he- the guy- he's not Channing Tatum. He's not artistic, or even that conventionally handsome. He's got scars, inside and out. He doesn't always keep his cool, either. For a fighter, he chooses not to fight more than I'd prefer, and the less happy we both are, the less funny he is, of course. But I do see flashes. There are moments where we're happy together, where we laugh, where all is well, and all feels 'right'. These are my movie moments. Where he becomes that character I want him to be, and I become his.
Okay, that's me bullshitting. I don't think he wants a character. He's thankfully not fucked up in the same way. He just wants a non-crazy version of me. Good luck with that, buddy.
I know love exists, because I'm stuck with it. And it's the most intense feeling of overwhelming care and total loss of control. I don't know why I love him, really- and that's not the knock on him that it sounds like, it's just that biology aside (big, fit guys 'do it' for me), I don't know how we got here.
I didn't love him when he knocked me up. That wasn't supposed to happen. But he cared about me, and set about to take care of me to the best of his ability, and at a certain point, I realize that I really do love him. Scars, flaws, shortcomings and all- I love the motherfucker. And since that day, through the birth of our son, through our marriage ceremony, through our separation, all the way up to the present time, with me living in a strange neighborhood with barely a physical vestige of him anywhere in this too-big-for-my-stuff shell of a home, i've never stopped loving him.
I just wish it was easier.
(by the way, if you're wishing this was 'ragier' right now, then fuck you. I've got rage to spare, and am a burning cauldron of it as we speak. Just because I don't throw a bunch of caps and exclamation points in, doesn't mean I'm not expressing rage amongst other emotions. Goddammit.)
I'm so fucking angry that I am who I am sometimes; that I can't control anything around me. That I want the things I want. Sometimes I think I want too much in every facet of my life. I don't just want some money, I want more! I don't just want occasional sex, I want it all the time! I don't just want to be happy and harmonious occasionally, I want a lifetime of it.
That last one's the dead giveaway- that I want characters for partners, movie relationships for love, with a distinct happy, then conflict, then resolution into the happiest goddamn contentment you can possibly imagine, all fit neatly into a little drawer. Reality is too much. That's why I'm on Paxil. That's why I rage like a fucking child. That's why I'm always unhappy. Because apparently the struggles of a real relationship, the one I still sort-of have, are too much for my corrupted brain. I don't want a real relationship, I want a fake one apparently, and of course, I can never have what I want because of it.
I'm always going to be fucked up. He's never going to be anything different from what he is. Maybe this is why I sometimes like depressing movies, because it balances shit out for me. It helps me to find normalcy and ways that aren't fake and super-ideal. Maybe I can aspire to be like flawed characters, to want to be with flawed characters.
I remember when life for me was sort of like a movie. We laughed, and cuddled, and swooned over our newborn. We had good friends, and appeared to want for nothing. Sexy girl, ripped daddy, happy little couple.
I just realized, I'm in the part of the movie where everything has fallen to pieces.
See? I'm still doing it.
Surprise! I'm in therapy!
Artistic Tart
Quote by LadyX
Correct, sir.
I was too flip with this. I'm not sure where you're going with talking about "most" of the stories here involving this or that. We're too diverse here for much of anything other than sex itself to be in "most" of the stories, and others above have correctly pointed this out.
But as to size mattering? Of course it does, for better or worse, it absolutely matters. Odor matters, too.
Artistic Tart
Quote by Buz
But we often sneak in cold beer
How does this not end up soaking your wife's purse from the condensation?...assuming that's where you're sneaking it in.
If so, she's a better woman than I. I'll give him the cash to buy the beer before I turn my purse into a dark swamp. 
Artistic Tart
Fuck life.
Not only is that a great hookup website name but its how I feel. Fuck this life of mine, i really fucking hate it sometimes. Not in the way that I'm going to slash my wrists, swallow a bottle of pills, and listen to some depressing shitty music, but in the way that you fucking hate somebody in your life, but you're stuck with them because you love them. So fuck me, fuck this life I have, and fuck everything. Fuck!
You know why I didn't just say 'fuck my life'? Because those three words were fucking stolen by a bunch of rich tards from the whitebread suburbs that have nothing better to do than bitch about shit on twitter and tag it with FML. That's what legitimate gripes got reduced to: "OMG, I like so didn't expect that cute guy to take me to Applebees and the five-dollar cinema after I got soooo dressed up and stuff! FML" Fuck you for that trend. It's like "first world problems: the acronym". Go get some perspective, Caitlyn, or Hunter, or whatever the fuck your name is, there beside your "trying so hard to be clever" twitter handle.
How did this become rage against twitter? I fucking love twitter, I just hate half or more of the fuckers on twitter. Where was I? Oh ya...
Fuck life.
Not only is that a great hookup website name but its how I feel. Fuck this life of mine, i really fucking hate it sometimes. Not in the way that I'm going to slash my wrists, swallow a bottle of pills, and listen to some depressing shitty music, but in the way that you fucking hate somebody in your life, but you're stuck with them because you love them. So fuck me, fuck this life I have, and fuck everything. Fuck!
You know why I didn't just say 'fuck my life'? Because those three words were fucking stolen by a bunch of rich tards from the whitebread suburbs that have nothing better to do than bitch about shit on twitter and tag it with FML. That's what legitimate gripes got reduced to: "OMG, I like so didn't expect that cute guy to take me to Applebees and the five-dollar cinema after I got soooo dressed up and stuff! FML" Fuck you for that trend. It's like "first world problems: the acronym". Go get some perspective, Caitlyn, or Hunter, or whatever the fuck your name is, there beside your "trying so hard to be clever" twitter handle.
How did this become rage against twitter? I fucking love twitter, I just hate half or more of the fuckers on twitter. Where was I? Oh ya...
Fuck life.
Artistic Tart
I'm not sure it's stereotyping, exactly, but the username definitely factors into the first impression of a member. After all, the name and the avatar image are the only first impression tools we have to work with, aside from whatever that person might have just posted in the forum or in the form of a story or poem. So all we can do is assume that whatever connotations that the name has are being intentionally projected. Otherwise, they'd have chosen a different name, right?
The ones that will raise the most eyebrows obviously are ones that reference gross or violent imagery. Then there are those who have 'k9' somewhere in the username, and that's creepy and gross for obvious reasons.
As far as 'lovewhenuswallow' goes, I hardly consider that "raunchy", especially as a site like this goes. Now if your name was "cumswapper" or "bucketsofmycum" or something like that, then ya, it's getting into raunchy territory.
But otherwise, it seems fairly self-explanatory. Of course I'm going to get a negative vibe from "chokethatbitch" or "donkeepuncher" (you know who you are!) before I ever talk to him.
The ones that will raise the most eyebrows obviously are ones that reference gross or violent imagery. Then there are those who have 'k9' somewhere in the username, and that's creepy and gross for obvious reasons.
As far as 'lovewhenuswallow' goes, I hardly consider that "raunchy", especially as a site like this goes. Now if your name was "cumswapper" or "bucketsofmycum" or something like that, then ya, it's getting into raunchy territory.
But otherwise, it seems fairly self-explanatory. Of course I'm going to get a negative vibe from "chokethatbitch" or "donkeepuncher" (you know who you are!) before I ever talk to him.
Artistic Tart
Quote by slipperywhenwet2012
Ok, I'll be the one to say it: So this same question as well as all responses apply to men too, right?
Well, except for the fact that only well-fucked pussies grow giant hanging beef curtains. Obviously, Dani, you haven't had enough sex yet for this to happen to you.
