In first place is “Sad writings” followed by “Oddpoet”, nothing unusual there, but number three? “reaming a older ladies ass good” What the fuck? I guess if you’re gonna ream an older lady’s ass, it’s best to do it well, at least for the sake of repeat business. Number four is Paracelsa, well that makes sense Para is a contributor and a respected Poet. Things begin to go South for good on number five, “Hard Rectal Reaming” Not sure what it is about ass fucking that demands viciousness, but it seems to go with the territory. I mean you never hear, “I want to fuck you in the ass, gently and oh so lovingly” Now what follows are more searches that people performed that brought up my site, there are some serious ones but let’s face it: Boring…

“Older women fuck me in my sleep free sites” Not sure what benefit one accrues getting fucked while you sleep, but there you have it. Maybe he wants a Succubus. The fucker of course wants it for free. My man doesn’t know women well, they are never free. Most of these searches are grammatically troubling but my guess is they are being done with one hand. Moving on…

“Failed suicide attempt”, “possum dolls” and fuck me”. The one in the middle is best ignored, I mean what would one want to do with a Possum doll? If you know don’t tell me, I’m crazy enough. “anatomically correct male mannequin” and the baffling “anatomically correct gay dolls” Is there such a thing as a gay doll? Just suck the doll’s penis dude we wont tell anyone. I’m assuming he wants the doll’s consent. If so, my hats off to him, you don’t see much politeness in the dick sucking world anymore. One of my favorites, “i am a male i want to prostitute myself” Don’t we all dude.

“possum penises?” and the straight forward “I need sex” That one might have been mine. I like the ballsy, “I need sex call here”, Yea my man wants the number for sex which, when you think of it, adds a certain economy to the search. I’ll close with my favorite, “i like male sexual desperation” Not sure what the fuck that means, but pretty sure a few books could be written on the subject.

Oh well, there you have it. Amusing yes, but to think my site was involved in some way has me screaming. “Get me more Seroquel”

Later,
Oddpoet

SHE IS MINE!
HAVE I NOT LOVED HER? HAVE I NOT TAKEN HER ON DIONYSIUS’S ALTAR AND GIVEN HER PLEASURE IN WHICH SHE NOW STILL DREAMS?

SHALL I REPLAY BEFORE YOUR HAPLESS BEING THE GRUNTS AND GROANS OF OUR UNION?

THE LOVE WE SHARED?

THE SCREAMS OF PLEASURE AND DESIRE WE SATISFIED UPON OLYMPUS?
THE GODS SMILED.
AND WERE PLEASED!
APHRODITE HERSELF ANOINTED ME THAT DAY.

YOU ARE BUT A CHILD.
INCAPABLE OF UNLOCKING THE GIFTS SHE BRINGS.

ASK HER AND WATCH HER EYES.
YES, SEE THE TRUTH IN THEM AND WEEP.

WHY DO YOU SEEK THAT WHICH YOU CANNOT HAVE?

HEAVEN HAS ORDAINED THIS UNION.

IN MANY GUISES YOU MAY COME.
BUT DEFEAT IS YOUR DESTINY.

SHE SPEAKS TO ME NOW
DOTH THINE EARS PERK?
YOU ARE INCAPABLE OF HEARING, KNAVE!

YOUR PROTESTATIONS ARE THE BRAYING OF A MULE
GO TO PASTURE FOOL!
SEEK WHAT SUCCOR YOU CAN IN WHATEVER PURSUITS PLEASES THY DIM WIT.

SHE IS MINE!

“Pete, I need every power tool you got!”
“ When ya need it Poet?”
“Now!”



So I work the chick over with drills, hole saws, (she really liked the reciprocating saw) All the time screaming, where the fuck is it bitch, this G spot you love so much?”
I believe I proved my point. But, I guess I could have been more sensitive about it. It doesn’t exist, just more cheap armchair psycho babble that sells books. Yes, I do despair of the species.



The orgasm is an intensely personal experience regardless of who is experiencing it. It’s like a team sport where one person takes all the glory. I could use my considerable poetic metaphoric skills to paint the experience with words but what would be the point? It is what it is.



There is a considerable difference between the sexes on post coitus behavior. This of course is caused by years of cultural imprinting. A chick’s need to feel emotionally attached and that she is not a cheap easy pig that a man just fucked for shits and giggles. While a man looks at the chick with barely concealed contempt and says to himself, “I can’t believe I just fucked this skank, how do I get rid of it?” Yes, she is like that puppy dog that will not go away, “Shoo Fido, shoo” This is when the love of your life ceases to be a person but an object to be abandoned like a used toothbrush.



There, it’s out in the open, and about fucking time, I might add. Now a man has several options at this point, if he is interested in a repeat fuck he will give you a cursory hug and say out of character stuff, while he is dressing quickly,
Yes, a man will say desperate things just to get out of that bedroom. Uncharacteristic words like “What do you say we run a marathon honey?” Or “I’m in the mood to go shopping babe, what do you say?” Or, God forbid, “Honey look at the time, if we rush we can catch the last fifteen minutes of Oprah” For a man this is indeed a desperate time.



One of the best extrication techniques I ever heard was from my bud Pete. He would cum, roll over, put his pants on, grab the chicks clothes into a ball throw it at her and say, “Get the fuck out bitch my Girlfriend is coming over. “But you said you loved me Petey” “I lied” He then pushed her out the bedroom window. A caveat is in order; this method should only be attempted by trained professionals.



Being an extraordinary writer and cultural icon I have developed a whole catalog of male extrication scenarios available at my website Oddpoetword.com, for men only. I can’t give away all our secretes ladies.



I should write one concentrating on the female experience maybe I can get to fuck Bill’s wife again. But who would read it?

I remain, faithfully,
The oddest of Poets…

Tombstone grey eyes

Gives lie to her fuck me crayon red lips

Oval shaped

Inviting

Practiced

Her mouth’s Invitation pursed expectantly

Quivering tongue glistening

A viper poised to strike death

But those eyes

Those damn eyes…

I am Immersed in soft billowy clouds Of ivory colored passion

Enfolded in the softness of Rita

I whisper

A childish sigh

The world is reduced

Absorbed

Into heat and flesh

Choreographed moans

Marching across ancient battlefields

Barely breathing

Drifting between space and time

I’m in love again

She is an opium induced dream

Her morphine coated lips

Adds sweetness to purchased pleasure

Entreating forgetfulness

Nerves scream and vibrate

As Apollo works his lyre

Her vacuous tombstone eyes

Rain a single tear

Lost…

Again…

In the softness of Rita

I return from…

That whirlpool

rising From

Another time…

Another place…

Her soft smile knew my need

I’m in love again

Trembling

I ask her

“Do you love me?”

Exhaled cigarette smoke blinds me

” yes

Always, love…

Always…”

I believe her

But those eyes…

Those damn eyes

I was married, which by definition meant I was not getting sex from my significant other. I was required to employ the services of a prostitute. Now some of you might cringe and say: “Disease! Disease!” Never fear, I would do the Oddpoet Babe Check. I would open the door upon hearing the knock and, ”Okay, she has two legs, check”; “let’s see, no visible scabs on her face, good, very good.”; “Honey, roll up your sleeves,” no visible track marks, “Come on in babe!”

My second choice for sex would be a Bar, Women there are usually:
1.Of questionable moral character
2.Drunk
3.Desperate
When I was younger, I would prey upon Women in bars, sure as shit between 12:30 and 2:00 AM a few would either fall off bar stools or their noggin would slam against the bar passed out. I would immediately swoop in like a vulture on carrion.

Well I had fun, they did not remember. This, of course, worked out for both parties. We did not have to do that stupid phone number thing. Ladies we never call.

Alas, since I have no shekels I am forced into the ultimate humiliation: Dating want ads. How far have mighty fallen. What follows are things you do not want to say in your ads:

“Looking for my Knight in shining armor”
First of all I do not shine my shoes let alone armor. Second, I do not have any friggin armor. Please!

“Looking for my soul mate”
Well not sure I have a soul and if I did it would an ethereal, spiritual entity not remotely interested in exchanging precious bodily fluids! That’s a loser girls.

“Looking for Mr. Right”
This is a sure fire way to have your ad passed over. When men see that alarms go off, “Shit! She will want to change me into her “ideal man.” Pretty soon she will have me watching Liza Minnelli movies.” Don’t work Ladies!

What does work? Briefly:

“I swallow”
Top of the list! Of course you run the risk of being considered a slut, but you will never lack male companionship. Like everything in life it’s a trade off.

“I love to drink but I can’t hold my liquor.”
Highly recommended, It has two advantages, first men dig that, second, you can engage in all types of obscene behavior and who can blame you! Shit, if you’re drunk. It’s kind of like a get out of jail free card.

Lastly,
“I am a widow whose husband left a whole lot of money, looking for one night stands.”
Very good one.

Hope this helps; I will be exploring this topic in the future. In the interest of sociological research, of course.

Till Then,
Humbly I remain,
Oddpoet

So she texts me and says it’s over. WTF?

“Yea, sorta figured that out since I have not seen you in a year’
“I mean it this time’
“No doubt darling your are dripping sincerity’
“I’m dying, but you don’t care, I’m dead to you already.’

Insert groan here.
Oh fuck, here comes the “I’m dying” bit

So I bite.
“That’s a shame hon, can I have your dog?”

“You cocksucker’
“I mean it I have an STD”

This is where the strobes start flashing and the Philharmonic starts playing “Mephistopheles”

“you have what?”

“Do I have your attention?”

“Undivided”

Now I know this chick’s head and I always labeled her “suspect” That’s a term I reserve for chicks who you feel might be slinging pussy behind your back. Ya know sorta of a Kmart version of a Blue light pussy special.
“Attention Kmart shoppers, Christine is slinging some major taco in aisle four”

Just a feeling I had with her. Prior to having sex she started to feel me out with questions like “are you kinky?‘
She was never subtle. I told her the truth I could roll anyway she wanted. She was the atypical sexually frustrated married woman who was dying to fulfill some major fantasy. She came to the right place.

So the big day arrives and she comes in with a duffel bag that looked like it weighed about three hundred pounds. I empty the fucker on the bed and tell her,
“Babe, if I pulled a McGuyver here I think I could build a miniature nuclear weapon. No shit, there were butt plugs, dildos, vibrators, lubes, cock rings, restraints, leather masks (WTF?) I wanted to have a sword fight with this huge black dildo, I hid that fucker under the bed. No fucking way!  There was even a vibrator that doubled as an AM/FM radio and a GPS unit.

She undresses and lays on the bed and I have my choice of weapons. Being the bizarre fuck I am an image of the three Stooges comes into my head the one with them in the operating room, “Scapel…check…Forceps…check…Dildo…check…

So I chose restraints, a blind fold and a large feather. I figured any poor fuck could hammer her with a dildo it takes an artist to use a feather. I did and it was great. Once you get into it, it’s amazing what you can do with a feather, restraints, a blind fold and some timely lightly blowing breaths. No lie, She was hands down the best sexual partner I ever had. I swear we did it for hours, it was insane, I would fuck her, whip out a toy, work it, fuck her again. Man could she come and the crème de la crème?: she was a squirter. Yea, my first. I was working the climax and plop my face is suddenly dripping with precious bodily fluids. I was like, “Did she just piss in my face?” I recovered and realized but your first squirter will throw you for a loop.

One would think the relationship was destined for greatness but sex only goes so far; Then you have to talk to them. Ah, theres the rub, I have never figured out how to bypass that whole talking to them thingy. When I do men will be knocking down my door. “Oddpoet did what?” “Bypassed the whole talking to them thingy?” “That fucker is my hero.”

But… we started talking, got into a hellacious fight. She puts this Country music station on I asked her to turn it off, She said “deal with it” I did by ripping the radio out of the dashboard and throwing it into the street. Ya know typical lover’s quarrel. I do miss the sex.

Turns out she was not dying from an STD, I guess she just wanted to break my balls one last time for old times sake.

Oh well…

I’m gonna have to write about Debbie, the one that got away. Yea, I left her for my wife. I always did things ass backwards.

“I wonder what my future ex-wife is making for dinner.”

My future ex-girlfriend looks up with fawning eyes and asks “How is it?”

I blurt out “Meatloaf!”

What?

“Don’t talk with your mouth full!”

I love that line when I’m getting a blowjob and I never miss an opportunity to use it, much to the dismay of the blower. It is a bad blowjob. There are two schools of thought on “The Blowjob” One states: “there is no such thing as a bad blowjob”, the other, is the dialectic antithesis of the first postulate, “There is! because I have been the recipient of far too many”

I wonder if it would be pushing things if I left a “How too” Blowjob sex video on the front seat when she drops me off around the corner from my future ex-house.

My mind wanders back to the tableau before me and I start counting the insects who are wearing sneaks. Footwear was never a big deal to me but when you’re getting a bad blowjob, well, Ya got to think of something besides meatloaf.

So I have a population sample of about 200 insects and a 45% sneaker wearing rate with a standard deviation of about .5.

“Moan”… “Moan”

Oh yea, I’m dropping a few well placed moans for the chick’s ego stroke. You can never tell a chick that she gives bad blowjobs; in fact you can never tell a chick anything negative because they take that shit personal. A babe can tell a man he sucks at eating pussy and the dude could care less. Okay, he might say: “Wash that stench pit and maybe then I could take off my respirator and actually eat it Bitch!” But that would be it. He’ll go back to counting sneakers or thinking of meatloaf, whatever.

Now if you tell a chick that shit she would plot your emotional destruction. Chicks are the Hannibal Lecters of emotional manipulation and ultimate mind fuck. Yea, you’re pretty well doomed when you piss a chick off.

She comes up for air and I could tell she was about to say something stupid like: “I love you”

I don’t give her the chance.

I push her head back down on my rod: “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

Back to the sneakers, I think I’m on to something, I’m pretty sure I’m close to a Universal Truth. Universal Truths have been fucking with my head ever since I was a kid. I can never nail the suckers.

I’m always dancing around the edges.

She gets up and smiles… I smile back. I wonder if our smiles are real smiles. I wonder if I am dancing around another Universal Truth.

“Have to get home babe, I have to cook for my future ex-Husband and my gay son is home from school.”

She starts her car and holds my hand during the short trip. She is squeezing my hand like a tea bag trying to get as much of my essence as she can.

“Call me Babe!”

I promised I would.

As I get out of her car an old lady shakes her head.

She knows I’m slinging dick.

I notice how disheveled the corner property is since the previous owner got busted for insurance fraud.

I turn the corner and my future old lady is walking my future ex-dog arguing with my future ex-Son

Something about beer money.

She sees me.

Her smile is a disguised wince; she knows I’m slinging dick too.

“What do you want for dinner?”

“Meatloaf “I blurt out.

I walk up my future ex-driveway,

I’m pretty sure there is a Universal Truth here; I’m always dancing around the edges.