The writings of Oddpoet

Well, I do.

I believe the prob­lem with sex between too many men and woman is that they often have a total lack of under­stand­ing of what each party wants, needs or desires. Let’s face it, we are all dif­fer­ent, what works for one might not work for another and we should respect that.

As my con­sid­er­able read­er­ship has come to know and love about me, I am a plain speaker. I say what I mean and mean what I say, for exam­ple, in the throes of pas­sion I am extremely oral. There are no parts of a woman’s body that is off lim­its to me. I do not apol­o­gize for this, just how I roll. Though for some Ladies it doesn’t work. I once spent twenty min­utes suck­ing on this chick’s goi­ters. Yea, she had these huge goi­ters grow­ing out of her neck; they looked lonely so I said, “what the fuck.”

As I was munch­ing on her growths I believe she was alter­nately repelled and fas­ci­nated by my atten­tion.

Com­mu­ni­ca­tion? Sex does not lend itself to sta­tis­ti­cal analy­sis, gal­vanic skin response or jour­nal­is­tic depic­tions. Only the Poet can speak to it. I sub­mit. You can­not be too clin­i­cal, when sex works it’s a mys­ti­cal expe­ri­ence, it truly is. You can’t say, “Oh way­ward male found in a drink­ing estab­lish­ment, con­tinue your stac­cato tongue rhythms on Cli­toral region, while using your pri­mor­dial digit to find my alpha­bet­ized Uter­isian canal.” Don’t work. But you could say, “You fuck­ing whore pig lick my fuck­ing clit that’s right pig, that’s right… Fuck! faster, faster” while slam­ming your fist against his head. Now that works. Ladies, I can­not empha­size the fist against the head enough. Any man worth his salt enjoys a good ass kicking.

One prob­lem with my, if I might bor­row a term from my dear friend Sig­mund Freud, Oral fix­a­tion, is the din­gel­berry, alter­nately described as the grape, exit only, the satel­lites of Uranus or to be blunt… balls of shit hang­ing on a chicks ass. That will wilt lit­tle Willie real quick. I’m oral but not that oral. As a result of these unfor­tu­nate occur­rences I am now forced to employ the ser­vices of a miner’s hel­met. While I admit when I strap the sucker on it does send some ladies scream­ing in ter­ror out of the bed­room, it cer­tainly beats hos­ing them down with a power washer.

Oh well, it’s all an exper­i­ment. Sex, much like life, requires tak­ing chances.

I will con­tinue my quest for the Nobel Prize, I mean, the under­stand of human sex­u­al­ity with my next write, ten­ta­tively enti­tled, “Shrimp­ing”, Hey, For­rest Gump isn’t the only shrimp boat Cap­tain out there”

Respect­fully submitted,

I remain, faithfully,

The Odd­est of Poets