I do, sometimes.
I would love to be a woman for a day to>
Rub my hands over my body, feel my breast, hips, butt and explore my clitoris, vagina etc.
Experience a vibrator induced orgasm.
Then have several more orgasms with my girlfriend, to feel her tongue tasting my body, while giving her the same.
Pretend I am satisfied with a lump of cottage cheese for lunch.
Go shopping for the rest of the day, feeling men stare at my body wishing they could have me...
Yeah, I do envy women, but as a man I love to feel a woman's body beneath mine, feel her mount me and ride herself to oblivion, feel her rest her head on my chest with my arm around her to protect her in sleep.
I love being a man, but I would love to know how being a woman feels.
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Michael
Over 90 days ago
Straight Male
0 miles · Fort Lauderdale
Forum
Author
Quote by DudealiciousQuote by FuglyQuote by Dudealicious
Nope love being a man, why would I envy a woman?
Ummm because we can have multiple orgasms
Oh fugs, sooo typical all about the sex!
I personally like being the person who can help induce these multiple orgasms!
You mean being a woman?
Author
Quote by Laurenxxx
Size IS important to me ... surely all girls need to feel there's something there inside them and I certainly can't do that with Mr. average 5.5 inches length and 4 inches circumference.
My present guy, with whom I live, is a full 9 inches length and a whopping 6.8 inches circumference and it's girth which is the all important factor.
The first time we had sex he brought tears to my eyes and my vaginal walls stretched as if I was losing my virginity all over again. I'm used to his size now and wouldn't settle for anything less luxuriant. Love to feel his cock stretch me internally .. and there's never any shortage of clitoral contact thus ensuring the guaranteed crop of orgasms I always crave.
Very interesting answer, but I am left wondering if once a lady has experienced a 'Large Member" and been stretched out, are you really stretched out and unable to find anything smaller satisfying?
Author
Quote by cupid69
Hi Guys,
There is a thread on the Gals forum asking the oldest age we would go out with.
So I turn it around. What is the age of the oldest woman you Guys have gone out with or the oldest you would go out with?
I am 50. Am I too old for you? Would you be seen out with me?
Cupid x
cupid69.....
To answer your last question first... YES!
I love going out with a mature and intelligent lady, they have great conversation, great taste, care about good food and spirits,
Author
Quote by stephanie
Could we have a 'LIKE' button on The Forum posts so that you could just 'LIKE' someone's post?
Kind of like FaceBook, so the person who posted could see who liked what they wrote...... I think it might encourage interaction between members........
xx SF
I do so second the motion (if someone else didn't already)
I would have "liked" this suggestion.
Author
Take a moment, a moment that fills your senses. What do you see? What do you hear?
Capture it in a paragraph as it happens.
I will start with my own>
The rain has returned, heavy sheets of it drenching my vista. Waves of rain, moving across the water, each gust represented. The palms fronds move with each gust but hang heavy with water. The glass table, struck with each drop, displays circular patterns from each, the light reflecting on each minuscule wave. The rain has a sound of its own, steady, solid, constant, yet each drop finds its own note as it strikes; be it water, wood, metal or canvas. The distant thunder rolls, slowly passing into silence. A duck, matriarch of her pride is in the middle of the waterway, is seemingly oblivious to the rain, but her head is down, and she flaps her wings to shed the water. Her brood is nearby, finding shelter beneath the overhang of a trawlers bow. Perhaps she teaches them to not fear the rain.
Capture it in a paragraph as it happens.
I will start with my own>
The rain has returned, heavy sheets of it drenching my vista. Waves of rain, moving across the water, each gust represented. The palms fronds move with each gust but hang heavy with water. The glass table, struck with each drop, displays circular patterns from each, the light reflecting on each minuscule wave. The rain has a sound of its own, steady, solid, constant, yet each drop finds its own note as it strikes; be it water, wood, metal or canvas. The distant thunder rolls, slowly passing into silence. A duck, matriarch of her pride is in the middle of the waterway, is seemingly oblivious to the rain, but her head is down, and she flaps her wings to shed the water. Her brood is nearby, finding shelter beneath the overhang of a trawlers bow. Perhaps she teaches them to not fear the rain.
