Necky

Above: My neck & my bestie D.


“My neck, my back
Lick my ... just like that” My Neck, My Back - Khia

Isn’t it strange how much certain body parts have standards of beauty, yet others go on ignored? Long legs, broad shoulders, muscles, breasts, butts, feet, but you never hear of anyone having an elbow or eyelid fetish. Well, you may have, but not I.

I wouldn’t say I have a “fetish” per se, but I have things that inspire an appearance of the old horns, I must say. I loves me some shaggy hair, piercing eyes, super skinny body, but more than anything I like a long, almost birdlike neck. Maybe I was a horny ostrich in a former life, but I so dig that Ichabod Crane looking neck with a prominent Adam’s Apple. Fat or super muscular dudes don’t have these (unless they’re hiding under years of steroidal use or Chocodiles) but they creep me out anyways.

Elongated necks to an extreme are revered in some African and Asian cultures where heavy steel rings actually weigh down the collarbone and ribs till the wearer looks like E.T. . That is not something I would ever subscribe to or recommend, unless you have virtually NO neck, which I do find sort of creepy too.



The culture I grew up in isn’t into that Ubangi look, but we do like a nice long neck on our dancers, models, etc. Short-necked women are obsolete in ballet, but are prevalent in the sports world as are a plethora of short, thick necked men, and oddly enough film portrays most monsters and creepy villains with those same type of guys.





My favorite film neck belongs to the sexiest man on the planet, Cillian Murphy.




The hottest looking neck in the music world definitely sits below the head of Johnny Greenwood of Radiohead (best everything else belongs to Damian Kulash of OK Go, mmmmm).



I like all things neck related, not just kissy stuff, I love neck massages, singing, I occasionally make my own chokers with buffalo bone beads, and when I was younger I was really into vampire movies, books, and whatnot. I think necks are beautiful and it’s a damn shame that they’re the one thing you can’t surgically repair when age kicks in. You can Botox and stretch your eyebrows back to your ass, but the neck is yet to be savable.

The "waddle" is inevitable, unless you die young.

Honest Cheat?

“I don’t wanna be your friend
I just wanna be your lover
No matter how it ends
No matter how it starts” House of Cards - Radiohead


I’ve never cheated on anyone I was seeing, but I have kissed some dudes that were in relationships with others, and I think the last guy I was with had a girlfriend. I can’t be sure but I do know when I was taking a grand tour of him with my tongue he said something to the effect of “I’m not used to being with someone that’s not my girlfriend”. This could’ve been taken a few different ways but I’m sensitive and completely shut down when there is even the slightest mention of another girl if I’m next to you naked.

My ego bruises easily and I refuse to hide that fact, but I think I do stupid things because I don’t know how to be when it does happen. I would’ve also have preferred to know beforehand that the cheater was cheating with me. Not even for the guilt factor, but self preservation. Knife wielding girlfriends are not worth a little slip n’ slide with just anyone, and I also don’t want to get too cozy with someone I can’t be with again. That’s just how I’m built.

Guilt can factor in depending on the specs of the situation. For one, if both members of the couple in question are under 25 and the guy is just someone I’m physically into but not boyfriend material, I’m ok as long as I’m well schooled on the truth up front. 90% of all couples getting together before the age of 25 break up when the guy hits that mark or 29. If either of them are over 25 or I know the other party, I’m not willing to consider any sort of arrangement.

I don’t know if I would actually do it, but because I’m so geographically challenged and don’t really meet guys I dig mentally, I can’t say I wouldn’t. I hate going months or years (yes have done that) without affection. It’s horrible, but I also own that it’s my fault that I’m picky and don’t know how to deal with what this area has to offer. Anything penis related that my eyes can be talked into has a built in lying mechanism that doesn’t have an “off” switch. Not the typical lying shit (women, drugs, etc.), they lie about everything. It’s near to the point of comical, but loses it’s novelty when you realize it’s a local phenomenon. I’ve only lived in Michigan, DC, and NYC besides here, but never have I witnessed the scale of lies that epically emerge from this locale.

The inherent dishonest factor seems like it would prevent the cheater from giving me the proper low down so it’s almost crazy for me to think this would ever occur. The honest cheat? Can you imagine an admitted liar? I think I would sort of like someone that told me they honestly lie all the time, well at least for ten minutes.

I don’t cheat, but I lie when I’ve been served one first. I never miss when I hit one back either.

Brain's Addiction

“You know it hurts so bad just like I knew that it would
But I'd do it again, do it again if I could”
No One Sleeps When I’m Awake - The Sounds

Remember the movie “Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind” where they could effectively remove someone from your memory? Wouldn’t that be awesome? I’d do it, given the opportunity, but wonder if Pheromones would screw it up? I mean, if you’re physically enslaved to someone by these types of hormones, wouldn’t it bi-pass memory? I think there should be a mechanism installed into our brains that prevents us from being attracted to people that won’t be attracted to us. That would be truly entertaining, if for nothing else, at least to see what Hugh Hefner and other creepy, rich, old dudes can really scare up.

I was contacted over the holiday weekend by someone in love with the guy I was seeing six months ago, who unfortunately, still has it bad for me and keeps sending this fucking drama my way. I’ve expressed my lack of interest in being friends with the X and he’s even seen me with someone else, but he still can‘t let go. It’s not logical at all, but it makes sense if it’s hormonal. I sort of empathize as I know I’m vulnerable to a person that I cannot explain why, but would sleep with even though he’s a dirt bag and hates me. I want to hate him, and I’m sure I do somewhere (in my elbows for sure I hate him), but I also know if he came on to me, I wouldn’t be able to resist. It’s the Pheromones; has to be because I don’t look at this person any way but sexually. I don’t think I could ever be friends with him, but then I think it’s hard for people to go back to that once they see each other a certain way maybe?

I know that women can only be friends with their male X’s if it’s THEIR decision to break it off. If the guy is the one who no longer desires her, it’s too painful to the ego to be friends. If you want to break up with a chick and want to keep it peaceful, it has to be her decision to part ways. If we have sex with you, until we decide we’re done, we aren’t done. Them’s the rules unless otherwise discussed pre-erection. We’re sexualized in a way that men can’t be (nor ever understand) so if we can’t be the “deciders”, we want you dead. That’s our nature. Best to find a subtle way to turn us off or suffer the consequences, trust me. If a woman says they aren’t like this, you’re either paying them, or they’re lying.

The following are what scares me off quicker than telling me you’re a Republican or you “just found Jesus Christ as your personal lord and savior”: talk of marriage, talk of kids, calling me constantly, calling me constantly with nothing to say, non stop yapping about yourself, chewing loudly with your mouth open, super jealousy, being hypercritical, getting lazy in bed (unless your hands have been blown off in active duty or some other heroic measure, they had better be all over me NOT behind your head), talking about other chicks THAT way (in bed is an automatic death sentence), drug use, mother haters, animal haters (if you‘ve ever killed any mammal on purpose without the reason of self defense, EW and please stay away from me), racism, sexism, your profound love of Country Music, wearing tighty whiteys, bad manners, bad spellers, and severe, constant mispronunciation.

Some of that stuff would make me hate, so if the aim was to end things as friends, subtlety is the way to go.

The smothering is the hardest thing for me to take. Women like to feel desired, and once I’ve gotten intimate with someone, I like to have that continue but without the smother. "Smothering" and "positively attentive" can be just a difference in wording. For example, a great text to get the day after a GREAT night would be “Oy girl, I can’t walk. AWESOME! When you going to break me again?” not “I miss you” followed by three phone calls to see “what‘s up?” You can’t be all sappy like that until it’s a LOVE thing (even then, one phone call is enough). No one waits till they're in love to have sex (that I’m aware of), but no one wants to hear NOTHING after they’ve parked naked on you for any given amount of time either. It’s not smothering to contact someone; it’s HOW you do it and HOW OFTEN. I like to feel sought after but not depended on. If someone doesn’t contact me the next day, I feel bad, every girl does. They've just risked pregnancy or death with you, how else are they going to feel? Again, if a female says she isn’t like this, you’re either paying her, or she’s lying.

Pheromones. Fair? Not even slightly. Moans? If you’re lucky. Lobotomy? Soon!

Kissyface

“Kiss me, flick your cigarette and then kiss me
Kiss me where your eye won't meet me
Meet me where your mind won't kiss me”
No You Girls Never Know - Franz Ferdinand

One of my guy friends asked me if women really consider the first kiss with a dude the deciding factor on whether we do the bedroom boogie with them or not. Sometimes it is, I mean, if it’s really horrible. If not, well one never knows.

When I was younger I had higher expectations of oral chemistry and if you had to show anyone anything, well it just didn’t feel right. Now that I’m a thousand years old I’m more patient and try to find the better in people if I do like them and work with them.

I was making out with this guy that was just awful, but he was really hot, smart, fun, and he knew who Peter Hook was. I tried to guide him and he lamely excused that he had a small tongue and was hopelessly resigned to that fact. It’s one thing to not know what to do, but to be unwilling to learn how to please your partner or to better yourself is just unacceptable. When it comes to tongues, uh size doesn’t matter unless it’s the equivalent of some creepy snake tongue - yeesh.

Now you’re thinking “Who the fuck are you and what makes you the kissing expert?” Well I can honestly say it’s one thing I’m good at - the rest not so much, but I’ve only heard the highest of compliments on my lip wielding capabilities. Yeah I’m tooting my own horn here, but my talent runs thin with everything else so I’m going to run with it.

If I could shove my tongue in between someone else’s dental work everyday, I’d be overjoyed. I really love kissing. I love it when it’s cold out and the small warmth of a kiss has ten times the fire. I also like to slip an ice cube from my lips through someone else’s. I like to gently but quickly suck their tongue all the way into my mouth in a sort of surprise maneuver, letting the other party know this is going further…soon.

I like kissing bejeweled lips. Piercings are lovely. The German had lip and tongue piercings going for him, but also that "take charge" desire sans any games made that experience the best in ages.

I like being kissed everywhere (well not the eyeball - yep in high school this guy licked my right eye, almost pulled my contact out) but especially the neck - that is definitely my “on” button.

I don’t recall the last time anyone else’s kiss made me shudder in my shoes, but I have the shoes picked out, so I’m ready.

Farinelli

“What does it matter to ya when you got a job to do
You gotta do it well, you gotta give the other fellow Hell”
Live and Let Die - Paul McCartney

“Farinelli” is a film based on the life of a castrated singer from the 1700’s. I saw this film right around the second round of child molestation accusations that Michael Jackson received back some years and it prompted me to write my first short story (have no clue where it is though).

I don’t own anything by MJ, I wouldn’t say I’m a fan (my older sister was when he was still kind of black), but I do have some fond memories that bear his influence and I guess I’m the type of person that really stretches to believe that someone isn’t guilty without a ton of proof. I know what it’s like to be lied about by thin lipped leeches that are nothing but the essence they drain of others, so I tend to look at every story from several angles before I sum up guilt or innocence.

My short story proposed a character similar to Jackson that gets castrated to keep his signature high voice. With modern technology, they saved some of his young jizz were he to feel the need to procreate. His older brothers donated as well for back up - just in case. One could easily picture the greedy, micromanaging Joe Jackson character sitting his son down and asking him if he truly never wanted to grow up, and then vaguely explaining how they could make that happen. Providing a scary whore (or Diana Ross after a few drinks) to him for his one and only sexual encounter before the castration, would most certainly attach the element of disgust to such acts and therefore ply him to go along with the plan of avoiding such messy encounters forever.

The boy never mentally grows as much as his bank accounts and can only almost overly relate to children. He never finds romantic love, just merely poses under the guise of it on the occasions when lawsuits arise or recording sales dwindle. He never felt good enough (some dad’s are great for building such dark and limiting foundations aren’t they?) so he changes his face and eventually his skin tone.

In my story, his façade caved when charged with molestation and the truth had to come out in order to prove he was the actual victim of more greedies. Castration is illegal, so his dad and everyone involved goes to prison while my Jackson character ends up having a psychotic break from the public humiliation and never recovers. His father, from a jail cell, organizes a truthfully detailed documentary about his crimes and makes millions that he won’t ever see or spend.

It never happened, but had it done, it would explain that annoyingly, whiny, kiddy voice he had that his brothers do not (Janet does), and give further insight as to why he was such a whack job.

I was OK with black MJ, but as soon as he started to become white, he totally backstabbed Paul McCartney (GASP). Sir Paul gave a young MJ some pointers about buying rights to songs because he and the other Beatles lost out on rights that seedy businessmen had them naively sign away early in their career. When the rights to those Beatles’ songs came up for auction, Jackson sunk six floors below LOW and outbid McCartney. I find such treacherous acts beyond my scope of forgiveness, especially since he allowed some of their songs for use in commercials. The music of the Beatles is too (insert highest compliment available in every language) to be used in the background of a shoe commercial. (My music, however, is not above such things and I’d happily provide any sequence of notes to get a buck - just sayin’.)

As a dancer, I moonwalked as a kid (you KNOW you did too) and still like to get down to some of his tunes. As a musician, I can appreciate the genius of his time, but am disgusted by his business tactics. As an animal advocate, I am repulsed by how he jacked poor Bubbles the chimp and all of his other exotic pets.

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The real Farinelli (stage name) lived 77 whole years, sex free.