Teacher's Pet

Can you teach me how to eat pussy?

Hi. My name is Chris. I am 19 and looking to learn how to eat pussy really well. I am ok, but my girlfriend says I need a lot of practice. Can you please. Please help me? Thank you so much. Nothing more has to happen if you don't want to.

Yes, because every woman dreams of someday subcontracting out her vagina as a practice facility for young boys whose oral skills resemble a field mule gnawing corn kernels out of a fencepost.

Admittedly, Chris is facing a problem experienced by millions of young male teens every year; namely, he's facing a vagina, and realizing he has no more idea what to do with it than he would had you handed him a piece of string and a roll of scotch tape and told him to build an international space station.

Yet men are taught to face what frightens them, and in this case most young men aptly respond by sticking their face directly inside of what frightens them, usually generating a cacophony of slurping sounds normally reserved for a Shanghai won ton soup convention. He visualizes you writhing in ecstasy; you visualize a horse licking peanut butter from a window. Had the same oral enthusiasm been applied to the surface of his toilet, you could use it to serve pancakes to the Queen of England.

Hoping to acquire some inspiring tunes to play on his girlfriend's reproductive organs, Chris recently took his educational quest to the wondertubes where he posted a personal ad seeking a maestro in the oral arts. A noble effort indeed, yet we don't exactly expect Chris to receive the rousing response he desires; women generally don't respond favorably to requests made online that a man wouldn't have the balls to make in person. "Can I borrow a pen?" Sure! "Can I use your vagina as a feedbag?" Not likely. The difference? Asking such questions online removes the always irritable high-velocity impact of fashionable yet simplistic footwear with the underside of one's fatally exposed scrotum. Advantage: Internet.

In a perfect world, an enterprising woman will use Chris in the same fashion he intends to use them. In fact, I know a few technologically proficient elderly ladies down at the Sunshine Center who still have a pilot light burning in their ankle-length panties; what better way to wrap up a day of lawn bowling than downing a carafe of Maalox Plus while instructing a young and eager scamp to re-create prom night in your new triple-absorbent britches? It'll be just like that night with the blacksmith in the horse carriage 62 years ago. You want experience? You got experience.

Chris, if your girlfriend continues to come to bed with a genital bib hanging from her thighs, you still have work to do. In the meantime we suggest you practice on a ripe peach; they're always juicy, and they don't do their taxes while you eat them.

$ugarmama

Someone treat me like I deserves to be treated

Lets face the facts I am unemployed and I don't want to get a job making only 10 dollar an hour. I am a above average looking male with beutiful cock looking for suger mama to spoil me rotten use my cock and pay my way for a little while! Why waste a beutiful cock? It now ready for you to use all the time!

Take me shopping, and a couple dollars gas money, and some going out money, and you get to play with my cock anytime you want nostrings atached! Kinky and I will always satisfy you. I lwill look good on your arm and im a great in bed, and Im willing to do chores around the house. Derek xxx-xxx-xxxx cell

Because nothing excites a woman more than going down on a man whose cock tastes like an unemployment office.

Garnish with job applications and lightly season with lawn care bags, and his genitals may become a bit more palatable if only for a few weeks; otherwise, he'll need a pair of clit-sized jumper cables and a Princess cruise ship battery to keep your arid vagina from sprouting a vibrant medley of sub-Saharan cactus plants.

The economy is bad folks, and Derek joins the growing legions of men trolling the internet for a sugarmama. Technically defined, a sugarmama works hard all day and earns a living whilst the man sits at home in a nest of Cheeto bags and Yoo-Hoo cartons with his beak open and tongue extended, incessantly chirping for scraps of your paycheck. In turn, you get all the hard cock you want, which, in this case, is probably none. Unless you need a hat holder.

Regurgitating hard-earned greenbacks to a grown infant with the motivational drive of a glacier taxes the sexual psyche of even the most fervent female nymphomaniac; after a week of listening to him recap Judge Judy highlights, her sex drive will park itself in a museum somewhere between Eli Whitney's original cotton gin and a mule-powered wheat combine.

Derek assumes a woman would want to fuck an unemployed freeloader just because "he has a beautiful cock," which is like assuming she's dumb enough to buy a piece of shit car just because it has a shiny muffler. Both are equally embarrassing, and God forbid she had to take either to a high school reunion; at least she can park the car down the street. Derek hovers like a shadow that's constantly low on cash.

"So what do you do for a living Derek?" her high school friends would inevitably ask.

"Nothing," Derek would say with a smirk, "I don't work because I don't feel like it."

It's at this point you'd affix an anti-scratch dog cone to your head and ooze backwards out of the room like a salted slug on a Phoenix sidewalk. You're officially dating a loser, the same guy who's now trying to write down another woman's phone number on the back of a $1 food stamp.

WWHM's solution?

Get a new tattoo above your pussy.

"Now Hiring."

I Hate Women, But ...

Show me you’re not all the same. - 26

Through my dealings with the fairer sex throughout my life, I have become completely disillusioned with females and have now resorted to the internet in an effort to find one that I can at least tolerate for extended periods of time.

You want to know about me? I’ll tell you what I’m not.

1) I am not your father. I will not tolerate childish bullshit when you don’t get your way and I will not throw money at you to shut you up.
2) I am not your hobby. That’s why you have friends.
3) I am not someone who puts the toilet seat down after I urinate. You’re a big girl now and if you can’t be bothered to so much as look at where you’re about to park your ass, you deserve the cold embrace of toilet water.

As a staunch rationalist, I realize you’re probably every bit as bitter with men as I am with your cunt compatriots. My theory is you have not yet lost all hope so we can end our days in perpetual bliss or whatever storybook bullshit those cookie cutter girls get off on.

My ideal woman takes care of herself to some degree. We can’t help certain aspects of our appearance, but if you don’t bathe regularly and have eaten yourself fat it demonstrates a fatal lack of respect for yourself that one would expect to bleed into other aspects of your behavior.

Send me an email that makes me think, laugh, or hope. For the love of a God in which I don’t even believe, just someone show me you’re not all the same.

Peter

Meet Peter, the number one reason mermaids break into applause when they discover they don't have a vagina.

But if you do have a vagina, congratulations. Peter would like to introduce himself to you, followed by kicking your dog in the nuts.

Peter recently sat down to write a personal ad but ended up writing an obituary for his own balls. If "I am not someone who puts the toilet seat down after I urinate" is your siren song for the ladies Peter, then I suggest you entertain your sperm with a Travel Scrabble and some comfortable folding chairs. Here's a familiar word they can start with: Sweatsock.

Yet WWHM cannot help but suckle sweetly from the engorged teat of irony; Peter hates women, but yearns deeply for what he claims to so despise. Hence, his personal ad takes on the morbid tone of a six year-old boy forced by his mother to beg for an urn of boiled turnips.

Tortured by his animosity towards the female sex, yet fueled by his desire for pussy, Peter labors through 5 painful and pouty paragraphs by huffing and puffing, stomping his feet, and spilling applesauce all over his bib. Don't fight it Peter; pussy is like a bend in space. That shit sucks everything in. If you want to get angry about it, go ahead and write a complaint to Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs.

If you've ever dated a gay Viking, that pretty much sums Peter as a date. He'll probably pee on you at some point in the evening, he certainly won't compliment you on your dress, and he won't want to touch you at all. But when it's time to get what he wants, he'll just club you with an oar and take it. It's your choice ladies; a polar bear may find comfort in the loneliness and frigid conditions that waft so freely in the confines of Peter's moth-ridden Target briefs, but you don't have to.

And on a personal note Peter, if you plan on dropping the C-bomb in a personal ad, prepare yourself for an inevitable explosion of masturbation.

"Send me an email that makes me think, laugh, or hope. "

Good advice Peter.

Use it.