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THE WORLDS OLDEST
PROFESSION
It's the holiday
season and my birth month. Since I became single part deux, about a decade ago, I decided that I would be as social as I could
tolerate. I should qualify that by stating that I'm an introvert/extrovert. I am my own best company BUT I enjoy interacting
with others. My tolerance for people and crowds is getting shorter and shorter but, during the holiday season, I make a special
effort to thrust myself into the roar of the crowd.
It has been my
custom to crash upscale parties that go on around town, during this time of the year, since the early 80's.
I crashed a lavish
Christmas party, at one of the finer clubs in Detroit. What I witnessed at the party caused me to write this blog.
The extrovert
in me takes a bath, puts on some nice garb, grabs a hand full of breath mints and hits the street. The introvert in me kicks
in when I arrive. I typically get a drink and park myself in a comfortable spot (actually practicing a time honored tradition
but manlaw prevents me from revealing the intricacies of the practice!).
Over the course
of about 3 hours, I moved from the main bar, to the back bar, to the VIP area, then returned to the back bar before snagging
a choice seat that allowed me to eyeball virtually every woman at the party. I need to digress then I'll get back to that
point of the evening.
The Miss Manners
in me was impressed by the fact that most of the women were in formal attire. HOWEVER there were far too many women wearing
formal garments that were too tight or just plain uncomplimentary for their physical attributes. I have never subscribed to
the concept of too short but too tight or too low is a distraction in a social setting, because I think women of
a certain age, should simply know better! AND, for a prevert (pre disposed to perversion) like me, it's just plain
out of order.
During my last
visit to the back bar, I was literally sandwiched between two fashion challenged women. Mister Wiggles became extremely agitated,
as the situation evolved. Mister Wiggles only has one eye. That night he was hidden behind layers of cotton and wool, so he
had to rely on his tactile senses to try and figure out what was going on.
When I went to
the back bar to order a drink, there was enough room for 3 to 4 other people. After I got my drink, two women in business
attire, came to the bar and stood to my left. They were apparently the expeditionary force for a group of 4 to 5 women. In
a few minutes, the Lil Chick, with the garrish tweed jacket, that was standing beside me, began moving closer to me to accommodate
1, then 2, then 3 more women. Every time she moved in my direction she would elbow me in the arm, in order to bogart more
space for her burgeoning crew! The way she was going about it surprised me a little because back in the day only large dudes
played games like that at the bar but roles have reverse significantly, since I was a young dude. Now the women act like men
in social and sexual situations.
Well, Lil Chick
left me just enough space to stand there. Good thing I'm thick. A few minutes later, the BigGurl standing to my right in black
sequined spadex pants, with big tits and big hair, let some short man squeeze between her and the chump that had been buying
her drinks, causing me, her and Lil Chick to literally be shoulder to shoulder. I was facing the bar. It was so tight in there
that people kept bumping me in the butt with their elbows and purses as they passed by. I dared not turn around for fear of
vasectomy by shoulder bag! I could only turn to my left or right. Lil Chick had her back to me out of shame perhaps for her
brazen behavior, so I turned her way from time to time to deflect her elbow jabs and to prevent her from bruising my fine
worsted wool suit jacket with that garrish tweed! Each time I turned left, BigGurl would become resentful because of the inattention,
turn her back to me and start bumping my butt! Repeatedly planting that big ole sequined ass up against my old flatulent butt
was very frustrating for my loyal friend in my pants Mister Wiggles!
Let me interject
a point. I'm a hypersexual fat boy by orientation; a physiological circumstance that developed during puberty. I thank GOD
that, at this juncture in my life, a suggestion or touch can trigger a hypersexual response but I'm also a responsible corporate citizen, so behaving inappropriately in public just aint gonna happen. I have
to ignore Mister Wiggles whenever my hypersexual trigger is squeezed. Mister Wiggles got very excited and started squirming
but to his consternation I refused to turn BigGurl's way to spoon.
Me and BigGurl
played reversy for about 10 minutes or so. The short man that BigGurl was talking to must have been boring the shit out of
her. When she and I faced the bar she would start eye balling me and touching my right hand like she wanted to be rescued
from the short man. BigGurl had successfully used the short man to dismiss the chump that had been buying her drinks but quickly
grews tired of the interaction. She was ready for a fresh Cosmo but I literally and figuratively wasn't buying! Don't get
me wrong, my sex starved ass was enjoying the wanton looks, the finger play and the booty bumps BUT she had a big diamond
ring on her left hand. Whether she was married or not didn't matter. Big diamond ringed women are trouble! If they aint married
they are inexorably tied to that fool who's making the payments on that rock.
I left the back
bar. As I was moving toward the main area of the club, I spied 3 or 4 chairs that had been previously occupied by some exhausted
women. I parked myself in one of the chairs. I ended up in the best seat in the house because virtually every woman in the
joint walked past providing me an ass eyed view. What I witnessed in that chair caused me to write this blog.
More digression.
I've been partying, since I was 15-years-old. Trends and fashions have changed dramatically, during that time. Back in the
day men and women wore bell bottomed jeans, tie dyed shirts, military surplus and had humongous afros. Our gear worked well
for us, cause we danced all might and got real funky. We were fashionable yet functional. At concerts and galas, women wore
outlandish mini skirts, platform shoes, halter tops, colorful materials straight from the Motherland and had little or no
use for bras. Brothas dressed like Jimi Hendrix, Super Fly, New York Shaft and Shaft in Afrika. We were truly representative
of the times.
Today, from a
fashion perspective, most men don't seem to have a clue. Contemporary fashionistas have muddied the ready to wear waters by
sending bad messages to consumers. One brotha at the soiree had on a short sleeved muscle shirt and a pair of satin gloves!
He was representative of about 25% of the men without jackets. Some men had on jackets, that were obviously purchased in the
nineties, but paired them with well worn jeans. It was not a good look for far too many. Only a handful of men wore tailored
suits. But I wrote this blog about them women, not the hard legs.
We live in an age that is greatly
influenced by the media. Hip Hop and the extreme images promoted in videos influences a lot of what Americans do in terms
of style, dress and attitude
As long as I've been going
to parties, there have always been some women that stood out because of their physical attributes, their outlandish behavior
or what they had on. Nowadays it seems that they all dress like they're on a sound stage waiting for the director to yell
"ACTION!"
As I was sitting in the area that became the runway, I eyeballed every lip, hip and
finger tip that strode by. I mentioned earlier that most of the women had on clothing that was way too tight. I guess it's
a sign of the times.
My former drinking buddy coined the term 'baby clothes' to describe the
minimal attire that some of the women we worked with would wear. Baby clothes suitably describes a lot of the attire that
too many women have on today. As a man, I love the exposure of flesh but that's because I'm a caveman who has no daughters!
As a former haberdasher however, seeing so many poorly dressed people drives me a little crazy.
There were a few women at the soiree that I found myself thinking about the next
morning. I love women. I love women in black dresses. I love women in tight dresses. I love full figured women that wear their
clothes well. I love tall women. I love breast large and small. I like big butts and I cannot lie! I'm also fascinated by
black women that bleach their hair blonde.
There was a tall, big butt blonde that seemed to be in my general vicinity each time
I looked up. It was difficult for me to take my eyes off of her but fortunately she thrives on being looked at! Every time
she got within 3 feet of me I wanted to grab her by that coiffed do, throw her in the back seat of my Cadillac, take her home
and ride that big ass until we fell into a coma!
I was standing at the main bar when she first walked in. Blondie took off that coat
and BAM that ass started screaming at me! As I mentioned before, I kept it moving, until the last hour or so when I sat at
the runway but before I sat still, each time I moved around the main area, there her magnificent ass was!
My partner Danger Man took me to the VIP area to meet one of his Dragon Ladies and
her voluptuous co-conspirator. When we were dismissed by them, I went to the back bar and had my adventure with Lil Chick
and BigGurl.
When I sat down at the runway, this choklit woman of medium height with big hips,
long black hair and plunging neck line, sauntered by. Choklit had on one of those Morticia Adams dresses that shows half the tittie and plunges damn near to the navel. As Choklit Morticia moved past, I
could heard a symphony in my pants. Mister Wiggles was reciting a basso profundo aria of Sir Mix-A-Lot's 'Baby Got Back'!
I'll be honest. Whenever I see women like the two I mentioned, I feel like I've been
missing out on something. I'm well past the age of worship, so I'd like to take em somewhere and bone em to the best of my
abilities!
Anybody that has read my blog hopefully understands that I speak with a voice that
represents men who unapologetically desire women, so while my honesty may be disconcerting to some, I would hope that any
woman that reads these pages understands that I'm just telling it like it is, straight no chaser. Truth IS Stranger Than
Fiction. End of digression.
I attend a lot of parties given by Danger Man. The average age of women that attend
his parties is about 28. Typically, the younger the women, the tighter and shorter the garments. The majority of the women
at the upscale soiree were in their thirties to late forties. I'm always a little surprised when I go somewhere and see fortysomething
women in baby clothes but these days that's the rule and hardly ever the exception!
There were perhaps 10-15 women that were modestly dressed. Those two I cited - Blondie
and Choklit Morticia - were outlandish in their dress but in a good way because they were beautiful of face and stacked which
helped them get away with their fashion faux paus!
I live in two worlds. There is the cerebral world that allows me to blog, write poetry
and create novels of fiction. My other world involves Mister Wiggles, being abused, invading dark places and puking from over-stimulation.
In my first world, all the ass and titties that I get a chance to eyeball when I'm at social functions causes me to wonder:
"What are the women that dress in such a provocative manner trying to accomplish?" Email me if you know the answer.
Living in Detroit and working in
offices, here and in southwestern Michigan have revealed to me that there is absolutely NO correlation between how a woman
dresses and how she performs in the sack. By that I mean that women in baby clothes, however provocative, do not always make
good lovers. In fact, time and experience have shown me that there is an inverse correlation between appearance and sexual
potential. I've been involved with beautiful ratchets with finger-waves, big asses stuffed in jeans and push up bras and former
strippers that love to be photographed bucked naked with their legs spread wide but they were all just average in bed. Most
of their sexual energy seemed to be focused on being sexy not sexual! I've also had women that were modestly dressed or as
plain as brown paper bags but behind closed doors they neutralized Mister Wiggles and my caveman libido! That insight caused
me, for many years, to seek out plain Janes with that twinkle in their eyes, over the flashy women that I would met in the
clubs.
But still, I'm
attracted to glitter and sometimes betray my own instincts, in the presence of women screaming for that attention that they
never got from the men that were significant to them in their childhood!
At the end of
the day, blatantly objectifying willing participants is far more gratifying that pondering 'why it do' on paper.
LIGHTS! CAMERA!
ACTION!
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