Bohemian orgy may be cancelled
|
Posted:Aug 29, 2013 1:18 pm
Last Updated:Dec 31, 2013 10:16 am
6069 Views
|
I'm afraid that the characters involved and the storyline bears a striking resemblance to a screenplay currently in preproduction by a major entertainment mogul. I won't say which one, (think of anthropomorphic animals that either are missing pants or shirts, but never both) but I will say that it is animated and the lead character will be voiced by Danny Devito, the Sherrie character will be voiced by Fran Dresher and every other character will be voiced by Christopher Walken.
Though I insist that this is my original creative property, they have made a very good case against me, citing subliminal messaging and precognition being the cause for any similarity between h two works. In my defence, I would like to point out several creative differences that makes each work distinct. For example: the entire premise of my story revolves around the missadventures of a nameless character narrating his difficulties in organizing an orgy on behalf of a beautiful stranger. Their version is about the misadventures of a named character (Newton Zipperthorn) and his difficulties in organizing a GANGBANG as told in the third person. Also, my story takes place in a modern urban setting while their's takes place in the magical valleys of Nanooland. Did I mention that all of their characters are meerkats? Because that is also a major difference (though I'd be lying if I said that thought never crossed my mind, it just makes more sense that way). Another difference is that my story lacks a constant antagonist, and it is the logistical situation that causes conflict and inflection, while their version involves a villainous baboon king bent on steeling the orgasms from the inhabitants of Nanooland, which somehow gave him powers or something. It was never clearly explained.
Am I saying that my version is better? Absolutely not. I have to face facts that these guys are the pros and I, alas am just a joe. And they have frightening lawyers.
This is usually the part where I say "you can take away my story, but you can't take away my dreams!" But I can't say that because, they have now put into place the first in a series of intricately placed events that will inevitably lead to my dreams being taken, starting with this copyright accusation. I have to ask them "who's the real baboon king stealing orgasms here? Because I think that it's you. You are stealing my creative orgasm."
So no more Bohemian Orgy for now, I'll have to think of something else to write.
"We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars" -- Oscar Wilde.
|
|
|
0
Comments
|
|
Bohemian Orgy part 3
|
Posted:Aug 20, 2013 11:48 am
Last Updated:May 9, 2024 9:12 am
6118 Views
|
I got back to the cigar store where I found Sherri with a heart on the end resting one of her gams up on the counter while leaning dangerously back on a stool.
"That was quick, fella. I suspected you'd be right for the job."
The scenery afforded by her parted legs reminded me of the why I was doing this and almost pushed my safety concerns out of my head entirely.
"You keep weird company lady, pretty weird indeed. I've crossed two off of yer list and both so far seem to have a frightening disposition. Is there any more that I should be concerned with?"
She let out a giggle that would give a cadaver an erection and spun a turn on her stool before reckoning.
"Weird people make the world go round. Didn't you know that? Well if you're scared of a few freaky deaks, I guess I could call a few of the more....eccentric(?) fellas, but there's a couple that I can't reach by telephone, but don't worry, their pretty swell, and harmless."
So I says yes, being the kindly type that I am and smack my lips at the thought of her as I leave once again, in complete oblivious glee to the task in front of me.
I look at the name of my next mark and it reads Darlene in the tree and her address is seemingly a park. Well this should be grand I thought.
Oddly enough, tracking Darlene down was not all that hard as there was only one set of legs dangling from the thick foliage so I called out.
"Darlene, I presume? It is my pleasure to relay a request for your presence at tonight's hullabaloo courtesy of a miss Sherri yadda yadda. You have been further requested to provide the protection as specified in my instructions."
The legs twitched a bit before a very attractive and buxom young lady tumbled to the ground wearing a leopard print bikini and reading glasses. Her blond hair was full, like a car show model and her makeup was almost too much to bear.
"What kind of protection? Like pepper spray? Or a taser?"
I then got a feeling that this was not as swell as promised and would most certainly end in some pain on my part, but I thought that I should at least try to clarify.
"I'm almost certain that she meant willy covers, you know, condoms?"
She, like the last encounter seemed to be of a literal minded ness that was unmovable in nature.
"If she meant condoms, she would have said condoms. She wrote protection, so I'm bringing protection."
With that, Darlene leapt into the tree and landed holding an Uzi.
"I don't want to seem disagreeable, seeing as you've got a frightening piece of machinery on you, but this is an orgy, right?"
"Yeah, so?"
"And it involves intercourse, right?"
"Make a point, brother."
"Transferrin various bodily fluids, correct?"
"That's what it is, so get on with it."
"So where in all the squirming and squirting does an Uzi fit in?"
I was sure that I'd invited a hailstorm of bullets, but she squints her eyes in that way that people do when they know that you're right and they ain't and tosses the gun back into the tree. It was of my temporary relief that I'd believed that reason had won, but it was all too short lived.
"I don't need this for protection. I got my mitts."
And with that she chopped me across the side of the neck and stuck a pointy hard elbow into my solar plexus sending me hurtling backward. Before I knew it my arm was twisted in a way that it most definitely wasn't meant to and I was on my face.
"I'll bring protection alright? Both kinds, in case you're not an idiot after all."
She let me up and the full humiliation of it all set in. This apparently was her thing.
"Look, buddy. You can take a hit and I like that. I think I'm gonna fuck you tonight, and I think your going to like it."
There was nothing in that sentence that should have scared me, but scared I was.
"I don seem to have much say in that do I?"
"No, not a bit, now get out of my park."
Didn't have to be told twice by his one, so I set off for the next location filled with nothing but dread.
To be Continued...
|
|
|
0
Comments
|
|
The Charm
|
Posted:Aug 16, 2013 3:37 pm
Last Updated:Aug 21, 2013 12:41 pm
6251 Views
|
A brief interlude in the Bohemian Orgy story...
Okay, you got me. Time to drop the act and fess up to what everyone is thinking. Guilty as charged everybody, lets drop the facade and just call a spade a spade; I am one charming motherfucker. I can't deny it or hide it, or even pretend to be otherwise. The fact is that I have charm coming out of my ears and spurting out of my asshole like a horrible charm sprinkler. I have so much charm that I have to give it away for Christmas, just to get back the storage space. Anyone who gets near me gets the ever-fucking fuck charmed right the fuck out of them. Getting insurance is a nightmare, not only am I a liability, but the salesman always is just to goddamned charmed to concentrate.
This is how bad it gets, being the big swinging dick of the charm universe:
I was at the local saloon sitting, having my beer and fighting off the waitresses who were lined up to get some of my charm when I felt something strike me in the spine. Turned out to be a billiards ball that one of two cowboys playing their game in the corner had jumped and was no doubt charmed in my direction. One of them, an ugly bear of a man who's chewing tobacco haloed his mouth, called out "Gimme my ball back you Lilly livered, yellow striped dandy". I set my beer down on the bar, picked up their ball and waded through the sea of waitress' and patrons, distributing charm to each while keeping my focus on the blowhards I was approaching.
"What'd call me, partner?" I could see him tightening his grip on the pool cue while puffing up his chest, his mean old eyes staring right through me as he took a step forward. "I called you a dandy. A pointy faced, pinky in the air, coaster using, properly hygienic, ass wiping, louse free dandy."
Now, I would like to say that normally in this situation I would hand him his ball and walk away, that his verbal assault would lead to no bloodshed, but that wouldn't be how it was. In similar situations, the horde of desperately charmed women behind me would swarm these two yokels, ripping their guts out and then being charged with murder. I was too charming to let that happen, so I gave him a right cross that snapped his to the side, then they both came at me. I had no choice, so I Kung fu'd and went back to charming the rest of the bar. Moments later, when order seemed to be restored, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Turning around and bracing myself to Kung fu again, I saw the now bloody filthy cowboy standing there but before I could yet again beat the holy hell out of him, he did something peculiar. He took off his hat and went down on one knee and says "TB (as the cowboys call me), its not only internal bleeding that's going on in my hairy chest, seems you'd charmed your way into my heart. Will you marry me, you charming dandy?"
All that I could think was "here we go again" as I smacked him upside his greasy head. "Get yer head out of your petuti, ya 's taint. You ain't gay and I ain't neither! Now get up before these waitresses get the lynch'n rope!" But he was a stubborn fool.
"I know's we ain't homa sexuals, but I reckon that if I gave you some fellatio, we might change our minds on the whole affair."
Now, I being the charming type don't take any pleasure in breaking hearts, but, this fellas heart, most likely encrusted with fatty deposits, held no interest for me.
So, I resolved he had to die.
I called the signal from a conch shell bugle to the bewitched waiting staff and all females within the vicinity and the swarmed the bar as predicted, tearing and eating the greasy cowboy right in front of me. In the fenzy the smaller girls got trampled by the bigguns, as cruel nature dictated, and he biggest 'uns fought for the lions share while the rest circled for scraps.
Forty seven women all convicted of murder (again) all due to my charm, but before they bravely went into the clink, I did what any gentleman would have done to show my gratitude; I had sex with all of them. At the same time. At the crime scene. It was the least that I could do.
So you see, next time you say, "fuck TrevBrad and his orgasmic like charm! I want me some of that!" as many of you no doubt do, remember, just like the monkey's paw, there is a price to pay, a steep price that ends with consequence free cannibalism and a lot of sex with dozens of women at a time.
|
|
|
0
Comments
|
|
Bohemian Orgy Part 2
|
Posted:Aug 15, 2013 3:20 pm
Last Updated:May 9, 2024 9:12 am
5961 Views
|
After smoking off the trauma of Horseshoe's advances I covered the pavement between that scene and something fresh, where I was to locate a lady named Petunia. The address that Sherri with a heart gave me hadn't a house number, just the street then "shack" which should've shouldered the surprise when there, in between two picket fence deals, was a run down, bare wood shack, bout the size of the drunk tank down town. I knocked on what could've been a door in its salad years, and waited for the lady of the shack to reckon. And reckon in a timely manner she did. A shorter woman with a slightly plump hourglass of a figure and short cropped hair and bits of metal hanging off every available dangling bit of ear, nose lip, what have you. Sexy in way that caused me to take note. For sure I thought that this would be a much more pleasant calling than the previous.
"And who might you be, sir?" She said in a Betty Boopish way.
"Good day ma'am, I am here to deliver an invitation to a soirée ce soir as hosted by the loverly miss Sherri with a heart on. She's given the instruction that you bring... Well, this can't be right. It says a bag of sticks, but she probably meant something else."
Putting manners aside, she snatched the book from my paws and took a close gander for hersel.
"No, it says 'dicks' right there. Great where's a gal supposed to get a bag of dicks on a hot day like today?"
At this point I felt a bit of nervous crawling into my ear as I tried to clarify this whole mess.
"What about dildos? Did she mean dildos maybe? Or dill dip? Or..."
She snaps "What're you, blind? It says dicks, right there in clean English print. So I guess ol' petunias got to get some dicks. And in this heat! Are you kiddin me?"
At this point, me and confusion squared off and he won, so I ask:
"So where does a lady get a bag of dicks these days?"
I get that look that suspects me of being an idiot before she barks
"At the bag of dicks store, moron! Where do you think? I gotta get the shears and go on a trouser harvest. You need your dick tonight, guy?"
Not being the type to be told twice when troubles a comin, I walked away briskly trying not to let that "might lose my penis" fear seep out, saying see you at the party, Petunia.
I decided that I should make my way back to the store and see if I'm in any other danger...
To be continued...
|
|
|
0
Comments
|
|
Bohemian orgy; A logistical nightmare. Part One
|
Posted:Aug 14, 2013 11:43 am
Last Updated:Aug 14, 2013 1:17 pm
6407 Views
|
The dawn cracked my eyes open with its obnoxious glare, humid breath and sticky madness, beckoning me to get off the futon and into last nights pants, the lower
part of a green vintage pinstripe getup tht I'd unknowingly saved from whiny hipsters years before. In gratitude, it's pockets produced bent dollar store sunglasses, a couple of bucks, and a half pack of menthols who's origins remained mysterious, but nonetheless accommodating. I perched one of the rewards on my lips and whispered to a match before I exited the premises to hunt downd a Wiley cup of coffee at any cost. I found a ragged and mangy cup of my quarry at the local corner cigar store where a tube top vixen was wrestling my money into the till.
"How's the mud, fella?" she asked.
Not wanting to deceive this fine example of the fairer sex, I gagged out
"I'd say I had worse, but I don't want to lie to you, darlin'."
A snide but sexy grin escapes her face as she leans in closer and says
"We'll, you know what, handsome? It's the only cup around here."
Well that did it. Sandy blond hair, tanned shoulders and a soft fuzz to voice that always sends me over the edge. "You got me there doll. And to be a good sport, I'm going to down the rest of this and poison my palate with another."
Arching her back and stretching her arms high, she revealed her bejewelled navel and the bottom half of a bird tattoo was falling out of her top. Of course she caught me looking, as any red blooded would, which made her smirk. I took that as a cue to go before my inner creep took hold and as I went to let myself out she says: "Say, where you think your going, bub?" I mumbled a barely coherent mismatch of words that said something along the lines of 'I don't know'
She says: "I want you to do something for me, and believe me it'll be worth your time."
I'm always interested in getting in a pretty girl's good books, so I asks what.
"I'm supposed to plan an orgy tonight, but I'm stuck here for a few hours. Help a lady out?"
I ask her if she's shitting me, she says "No, Ive got a slough of folks looking to get some fucking done, and it's my turn to plan, but I'm a last minute kind of a girl."
Well, my schedule consisted only of a cool beer on whatever roof I could crawl up, so I says "why not?"
She hands me a book with a dozen names and an address. Says her own monacher is Sherri, a little heart dotting the end. Apparently I'm taxed with tracking down these fine folks, making sure they get there and what they need to bring.
"So what rewards to my efforts warrant?"
Then she leans in and does the old squish'em together with her perfect breasts and tells me "Well, I could probably save you a piece of cake if you come to my little party tonight." And that was all the whistle I needed to heel.
So I head out, list in hand to the closest address in the immediate vicinity to track my first target, a fella named Horseshoe. It was a small apartment with no buzzer and bums and flies in the hall and the sounds of sex and neglected pets from behind the doors. I pounded on the door marked 412, not entirely knowing how to invite a man with equine equipment for a name to coed wrestling match, but I figure Ill come up with something on the fly, as its kind of my thing.
The door opens seemingly on its own and a few feet back, standing akimbo is a stack of bagged muscles. He eyes me suspiciously as he should given accommodations and says "whatcha want?" And I says "You Horseshoe?" He nods only slightly and keeps his viper eyes on mine, but I continue nonetheless . "Sherri with a heart on the end would like to cordially invite you to tonight's rendezvous at her appartment and requests that you take care of the more common libations, beer, wine, that kind of thing, you know the deal."
His bull like face and clean shaven head twitches momentarily while the walnut behind his forehead puts it all together. He then straightens himself and puts out his hand with a big grin and says "The orgy, right. I'm Horseshoe, will you be joining us tonight?" A bit of sweat lets go and I says yeah, I think I might.
"That's great. Do you want to fuck right now?"
I back peddled a bit, explaining to this massive hulk that "Ive got names to track, things to find, not-gay to be, you know how it is, busy busy busy."
But it doesn't seem like no is something that crosses his path very often, so quick as a large and terrifying bunny, he gets himself between me and the door and says "I really think we should fuck right now, you know, like a warm up."
So I level with him. "Look friend, I have no problems with southpaws, and I hate to be the heartbreaker, but I just don't punch my card in that lineup."
For lack of a better word, he charges and I reflexively side stup and give him a little nudge. He falls flat on his face, but tries to get up quickly. That's when I notice that, while he had heels, the rest of his feet were still being shped I guess. These stumps, while seeming to get him around, leave him at the mercy of gravity. So danced like this for a few minutes, him getting up, me pushing him down, and so on, before I'd eventually waltzed back to the door before he finally said "Ok, you win. I'll suck your dick." I kindly reminded him of the time and place and beer and wine before joining the party in the halfway and out the door. I would like to say that that was the weirdest one on the list, and oh, how I wish it was, but that's just not true.
To be continued....
|
|
|
0
Comments
|
|
Meeting a sensual standard.
|
Posted:Aug 6, 2013 2:27 pm
Last Updated:Aug 6, 2013 3:31 pm
6553 Views
|
It doesn't take long to realize that I, Trevbrad, am a different sort of animal. Sure, like most men my forelimbs that lead are bravado, while the back limbs that propel are libido, but, I belong to that rarer breed of male. I am of the breed that doesn't settle for "sexy-ish" or "good enough" or "kind of human" or "still warm, so it counts, right?". No, while many of the dimmer brand have little, by way of standards, between a beautiful woman and "does my dick fit in that?", I have a bar that may be even too high. While I simply abhor the idea of elitism, I must count myself among the few for whom there is no substitute for a living human female of the same species. I know many must be thinking "look at Trevbrad with his nose in the air, thinking he's too good to fuck a dead possum or a cantaloupe. What a snob."
Perhaps I am just picky, and perhaps I have narrowed my selection substantially, and I may even be labelled as discriminating, but I assure you, that it is far from my choice. I'm afraid that its something that is inherent in my personality far beyond the reaches of cognitive discipline and far more intimate than simply personal taste or availability. One may even say that my reserved lust for only attractive human women borders on dangerous fetishism. Believe me, I am fully aware of the perceived oddity of this, which has been made painfully clear during my last trip to the feedlot. All of my comrades were having fun flirting and frolicking with the livestock and milking equipment, but I had never felt more alone and isolated, alien even.
Though, my existence is usually one of solitude, I will say that there have been instances where I found my unusual need met. Though few and far between, I would like to share one such encounter, not but a dream it seems now so many years later, when I encountered a goddess who met more than my high expectations.
I met her, as many men meet women, at a cremation. As I entered the room I was shocked at two things; first of all I was at the wrong funeral (I'd read the invite wrong, it was actually a wedding I was supposed to be at) and second of all, across the room, appropriately dressed in black was a dark haired woman who was looking in my direction. I figured that since I was already there and Id brought a gift (a fondue set), I might as well stay till the end. I made my way to the other side of the crematorium where I took a place directly behind her. That's when I noticed her quietly laughing to herself. It was a very feminine and sincere laugh, an almost muffled hysteria that only seemed to grow more intense as the casket slowly emerged into the incinerator. I touched her elbow and asked what was so funny. She turned to face me and responded:
"I always laugh at these things. I keep imagining that he's still alive in there and is scratching at the wood, slowly suffocating." She could barely let the last word out without the accompaniment of a loud guffaw which she tried to mute by putting her hand to her mouth. That's when I saw it; that girlish playfulness, that sensual aloofness that is so, so rarely seen in its sincerity and so, so attractive. It is one of those diamond rare traits thats usually faked in a cheap rhinestone sequence that sparkles insincere forced giggles and coyness, but not here and not her. I asked if she had a light for my cigarette at which she nodded her head towards the open furnace, before outright laughing then lighting a match. She asked if I would share it with her, to which I obliged. However this was cut short when it set off the sprinkler system, which apparently had an extinguisher for the actual furnace. She tapped my shoulder and leaned in close to speak over the alarm "Do you want to get out of here? It's going to smell like half roasted human flesh in a minute or so." I nodded my head and motioned towards the door. She took off her shoes to splash in the building water amongst the chaos on the way out, which I couldn't help but to find irresistible.
Once outside I got to have my first look at her to confirm if she was really real. Her black hair, cut short at the bangs framed a perfect and pale complexion, that revealed a natural beauty underneath her makeup. Her figure was a classic hourglass, Monroe-esque in design and filled her soaked black cocktail dress perfectly. She seemed excited at the sound of the fire trucks siren and turned and laughed at the horrified relatives of the deceased before again turning her attention to me. "I'm glad you came along, it was really becoming rather dull in there mister...?" I introduced myself and asked if she could use a drink to which she obliged.
We found a martini bar a half block away and walked silently but contently on the way over. She had a sway in her gait as she swung an empty urn she'd lifted from the scene behind us that was again effortless, unrehearsed sensuality.
As we sat over our drinks I asked if she knew the deceased, which she at first said that she didn't but then recanted: "No, wait, that was my father. I thought I recognized him."
We made conversation, much of which I immediately forgot as I was mesmerized by her nonchalant hair flicking, lip licking, and eyelash batting. Everything that someone looks for in flirting was present, but it wasn't flirting, it was just how she was. After while she put her hand on my knee and whispered something incomprehensible that sent me into a dreamy state which might have been the martinis or whatever shed stirred into my drink when she thought I wasn't looking. The next few hours were a blur, but I do remember making our way to her apartment, which was down some stairs and into a dark basement. I then remember her removing my clothes while lying on her bed which was made of stone for some reason. The last lucid and consistent memory I have of our night, thankfully, was making love to her. She was passionate and voracious and seemed to only get more intense as the crowd of hooded men around us chanted. With every "Kali" that they called out the harder she thrust, and the harder she thrust, the more blood they pored over our naked bodies. In retrospect it seemed odd, but at the time, all I could think of was pleasuring her and of the flesh gift in which I was (not entirely consensual) giving to the demon goddess Kali.
I awoke in naked an empty refrigerator just outside of town filled with ice and water with a note that read "Kali has spared your life and you and your offspring and their offspring will forever be the slaves to her. PS: I had a really great time, call me XOX."
Eventually, I recovered and played the bachelor again trying not to think about her, but she crept in there here and there, usually during the night terrors. This was a perfect woman, I would think, perfect enough to have stolen my heart. And my kidney. And apparently my soul.
|
|
|
0
Comments
|
|
Rejection. A sad tale.
|
Posted:Aug 1, 2013 3:11 pm
Last Updated:Aug 1, 2013 3:22 pm
6491 Views
|
I'd like to tell a somber tale. One of woe and longing. It is a story that can only be truly appreciated by those who have lived through the pain of putting your heart on the front lines only to have it shot down, the exporter of those most horrible of human emotions: rejection.
This is how Trevbrad rejects unwanted advances.
First I have to tell you that it is one of the most unpleasant things that I have ever had to do. I feel as if I am taking a part of their soul away. It's much like putting down a beloved family pet. Have you ever had to put a down? I once had to tell a cocker spaniel that its fetching was atrocious and that it was in ugly no matter what collar it wore. It was the hardest thing I ever had to do and it never stops hurting. The rejection of the romantic variety are not unlike that experience, but with (sometimes ) more understanding. For future lovers I will describe what to look for if you are on the verge of rejection.
When I use my acute directional empathy and find that something is amiss, you will note a change in my behaviour. I will become more awkwardly affectionate and often ask "are we okay?" At which you would shrug and make your way "out" for a while. This is Pre-emptive consolation. Of course I'm going to reject you, but I would do it as humanely as possible if I can. This may go on longer than necessary, for I am a sensitive man and have trouble pulling the trigger so to speak.
Next I will go through manic texting and re-dialling on your phone as we see less and less of each other. Most of the time you wouldn't answer, it was only the one time hat I called not to drop the ax, but to ask how you were and if everything is alright. Then just as I was about to do he deed, you would get busy and have to go.
One of the most important stages of rejection is when I have my friends call me to say that they've seen you out with some other guy. This is one of the trickier elements, as it distances me from my friends and loved ones when I call them all liars. It's not pretty but someone has to do it. My insistent texting would continue and much to my own self-imposed grief, prolonging the inevitable in the forms of small talk like "who is he? Why? I can change!" But by this time you would begin to suspect that something was amiss, that trepidation of the impending end edging into your psyche.
Finally, I would end it by allowing you to move in with that guy who I'm pretty sure is fucking around on you. This is the hardest part; to say goodbye. Although it was my decision for whatever reason, the final words come out quivered and nervous, but the sentiment and memory of whatever we had could be heard in my final farewell: "please don't leave me! I'll do anything you want! Please, I don't want to be alone! Oh god, why is this happening? What did I do wrong? Don't go!..."
Again, it's one of the hardest things to do and it would take a lot for me to recover. So I would spend the next few weeks regaining my independance, my bachelorhood if you will. I would celebrate this time by locking myself in my basement drinking cheap beer in my underwear and eating only instant noodles. Later, we would run into each other at a grocery store, where you would note at how tired I look, and I would assure you that it's because of all the single fun Ive been having.
And that is how it goes. This is a complicated formula that has taken years to map out, but it works every time.
|
|
|
0
Comments
|
|
Rejection. A sad tale.
|
Posted:Aug 1, 2013 3:10 pm
Last Updated:Aug 17, 2013 2:47 am
6612 Views
|
I'd like to tell a somber tale. One of woe and longing. It is a story that can only be truly appreciated by those who have lived through the pain of putting your heart on the front lines only to have it shot down, the exporter of those most horrible of human emotions: rejection.
This is how Trevbrad rejects unwanted advances.
First I have to tell you that it is one of the most unpleasant things that I have ever had to do. I feel as if I am taking a part of their soul away. It's much like putting down a beloved family pet. Have you ever had to put a down? I once had to tell a cocker spaniel that its fetching was atrocious and that it was in ugly no matter what collar it wore. It was the hardest thing I ever had to do and it never stops hurting. The rejection of the romantic variety are not unlike that experience, but with (sometimes ) more understanding. For future lovers I will describe what to look for if you are on the verge of rejection.
When I use my acute directional empathy and find that something is amiss, you will note a change in my behaviour. I will become more awkwardly affectionate and often ask "are we okay?" At which you would shrug and make your way "out" for a while. This is Pre-emptive consolation. Of course I'm going to reject you, but I would do it as humanely as possible if I can. This may go on longer than necessary, for I am a sensitive man and have trouble pulling the trigger so to speak.
Next I will go through manic texting and re-dialling on your phone as we see less and less of each other. Most of the time you wouldn't answer, it was only the one time hat I called not to drop the ax, but to ask how you were and if everything is alright. Then just as I was about to do he deed, you would get busy and have to go.
One of the most important stages of rejection is when I have my friends call me to say that they've seen you out with some other guy. This is one of the trickier elements, as it distances me from my friends and loved ones when I call them all liars. It's not pretty but someone has to do it. My insistent texting would continue and much to my own self-imposed grief, prolonging the inevitable in the forms of small talk like "who is he? Why? I can change!" But by this time you would begin to suspect that something was amiss, that trepidation of the impending end edging into your psyche.
Finally, I would end it by allowing you to move in with that guy who I'm pretty sure is fucking around on you. This is the hardest part; to say goodbye. Although it was my decision for whatever reason, the final words come out quivered and nervous, but the sentiment and memory of whatever we had could be heard in my final farewell: "please don't leave me! I'll do anything you want! Please, I don't want to be alone! Oh god, why is this happening? What did I do wrong? Don't go!..."
Again, it's one of the hardest things to do and it would take a lot for me to recover. So I would spend the next few weeks regaining my independance, my bachelorhood if you will. I would celebrate this time by locking myself in my basement drinking cheap beer in my underwear and eating only instant noodles. Later, we would run into each other at a grocery store, where you would note at how tired I look, and I would assure you that it's because of all the single fun Ive been having.
And that is how it goes. This is a complicated formula that has taken years to map out, but it works every time.
|
|
|
1
comment
|
|
My other sexy
|
Posted:Jul 31, 2013 2:25 pm
Last Updated:May 9, 2024 9:12 am
6152 Views
|
It's no secret that I have been known as a bit of a wordsmith, a smooth talker if you will. Some call it charm, idiots call it swag, I call it, my other sexy.
While time and time again has proven that the physical language of lust in which I speak is unparalleled, a sexy and well coordinated display of physical prowess is not all that I have in my sexy arsenal. Oh no, not by a long shot. Trevbrad is also synonymous with enticing sexual innuendo. That playful deception of double entendres, subtle suggestion, parries and thrusts, all geared to build a verbal springboard in anticipation towards starting the Whoopee machine.
I'd love to tell you that this an acquired skill, that you too can become a sultry sparring speaker, that there is wisdom to be passed. And to some degree there is. But, just as anyone can buy a violin, some will have an inherent affinity for making beautiful music, while others would hold it at groin level and pretend it's their penis, then proceed to hump things with it.
I was born this way, and I must confess, that I can barely control it. "Oh, poor Trevbrad!", you would sarcastically say, "what a tragedy, to be verbally irresistible to all creatures! Boo hoo hoo!" But alas, like king Midas asking for the golden touch, so is the fool who wishes to wield my wild ways with words without considering the dire consequences, which, in this case is an unlimited supply of sweet ass poon tang.
However, because I do have a Mephistophelian side, I will let those curious and desperate a glimpse into my cauldron to see into their reflection, if their eyes belong to a soul capable to bear this great weight. Behold! A recreation of a typical encounter with the seductive tongue of Trevbrad:
I saw her sitting at he bar alone on that hot summer evening. The air conditioner was broken, the door wide open while a squeaky fan blew in the last orange glows of dusk She caught my eye immediately, though my presence caused less than a shrug. She looked like someone I wanted to know; the tight skirt barely hiding the outline of her thong. A full head of root beer locks spilled down the centre of her toned back, letting the floral patterns on her loose summer top peek through. She was alone, and lazily mouthed sweet nothing's into her straw, which whispered back in in a Manhattan accent, the cherry swirling in delight at the bottom. The stool next to her, no doubt a witness to a string of recent lustful failures, was vacant and called "step right up". So I did.
I don't know who was running the jukebox, but they must have had me in mind. The voice of Astrud Gilberto, sex for the ears, belted out in that soft way of hers, "The Waters of March" against Stan Getzs cool sax, perfectly narrating every inch of this woman beside me. The dead eyed carny that they had for a bar tender had a knowing grin, as he'd probably witnessed the recent slaughter of a dozen schmucks by this beautiful creature, and looked at me like I was mouse approaching a cat. But little he knew about my nature, that I was a tomcat on the prowl and this kitten was just what I was looking for. I ordered my gin and tonic and another manhattan for the lady without giving her a look. I'll let her make the first move, like a seasoned boxer, in the ring or on a bar stool, never throw in first.
"Thanks mister. I was getting a little... parched."
This was all the opening that I needed. All I had to do was pull my golden tongue from its holster and let it blow a little woo into her.
"Fuck, you got a sweet ass! Daaaaamn!"
Sure there's a time to be subtle, but I'd checked the winds and the barometer says dive right in.
"What? What did you say to me?"
Part of this tango is to play it cool, let the sex in my banter ebb and flow.
"I... I.... Nothing, I didn't say nothing! It was the bartender."
Hard to get, she'll like that alright.
"What? Did you think you could buy me a drink and I'd suck your dick? You think that you can talk to women like that? You fucking lowlife!"
She spoke with the passion of the saints, but the tongue of a sexy she devil. I'll play along, we all know how this ends.
"I didn't...uh.. I didn't mean...uh... fuck..."
She catches my drift and we set sail in aural desire.
"What, are you crying now you fucking pervert? Get a life you goddamned loser."
I figure that it's been more than enough foreplay, so I go in for the kill.
"I just...uh..meant that I think you're hot...uh...and... I don't know...uh...uh..."
What she said next, I won't repeat, cause it'd make all the mothers in the world blush, but she said something at the end of it all that sealed the deal, so to speak.
"What....what is that? Do you have a hard on? You are fucked in the head! Oh my god you're sick, just sick! Somebody call the cops."
I've had plenty of women, and our affairs were longer, but none hotter. She never took my number and I didn't take hers and I saw her only once after that. She was standing at a bus stop and when she saw me, I knew that my enchanting words were still fresh in her ears. Maybe it was the chill in the air, but I could have sworn I saw her quiver.
|
|
|
0
Comments
|
|
Flirting: a user's guide.
|
Posted:Jul 30, 2013 11:11 am
Last Updated:May 9, 2024 9:12 am
6602 Views
|
It has come to my attention that my actions on this site may have become misconstrued as something other than flirting. Just the other day I had what I'd thought was a long sexy chat, but turned out to be the purchase of a time share. This isn't something restricted to the Internet either; when I was younger I believed that I was a lover of such great magnitude that the city would frequently present me with medals. Years later I learned that they were for resuscitating random heart attack victims. And here I thought that they just had loose morals.
However, if anything, I have learned a great deal from these mishaps. I have learned that flirting is a complicated array of subtle behavioural queues, mannerisms, and alcohol. I have also learned that much of what you see in romantic comedies will surely get you arrested. I have learned that there is a massive difference between "flirty eyes" and "murder eyes" and that they are not, in fact interchangeable. I have learned that things that are acceptable on this site, such as flashing your penis, rarely translates well into the physical world, particularly at the grocery store. I have learned that not everyone responds well to "nice tits", especially one individual (again, I apologize to you sir).
But from the folly of error, one comes out wiser and more experienced. "The burnt hand teaches best", they say. And so after snubbing out my cigarette on my palm I have compiled tips and tricks to aid me and the readers through this thing called flirting. Let us begin.
Receptiveness: When picking a potential lover one must be conscientious as to whether your interest is responsive to your advances in a positive way. A usually harmless way to find this out is to smile and make flirty eyes (though this could be mistaken for a snarl and murder eyes). If he/she smiles back and gives you flirty eyes, then you may proceed. If you are currently flushing pepper spray from your nasal passage, better luck next time.
Commonality: when looking for an icebreaker, one cannot just blurt out whatever asinine nonsense interests you; you have to find asinine nonsense that interests you both! Look at what she/he has on their person: if they are wearing something interesting, then compliment it. If they are wearing nothing, then you probably don't need to read any further. If they are wearing a uniform and you are behind them in a squad car, then I don't think that it's an appropriate time to flirt.
Contact: This is a difficult thing to establish without being punched in the throat (if you are doing the punching, it doesn't count either). There are a number of tactful ways that this can be established like a) ask. Sounds stupidly simple but is the most ethically black and white way to establish physical contact. b) trickery: this is the most likely way to abruptly relocate your testicles if found out. If not, you could prevent to remove a lint ball or to massage a hideous rash. This will let you test the the waters as to where her/his comfort zone is. c) shooters. That's fairly obvious.
Follow this advice properly and you may get some fucking done in your near future.
Thanks for reading.
*(all advice is untested and the author will not be held accountable for any bodily or legal harm ensuing from said advice given.)
|
|
|
0
Comments
|
|
The Matrix
|
Posted:Jul 29, 2013 10:03 am
Last Updated:Aug 2, 2013 5:41 am
6184 Views
|
Screen: hello neo
Neo: Who is this?
Screen: Do you want to know what the matrix is?
Neo: How do you know my name?
Screen: I know a lot about you, Neo. I've been watching you for a very long time.
Neo: Do you like what you see?
Screen: What?
Neo: Tell me about the matrix, sounds sexy.
Screen: ....
Neo: What are you wearing?
Screen: Look Neo, I'll try this again: What if I told you that everything in your life isn't real?
Neo: What if I told you that I'm getting so hard right now?
Screen: Neo, this isn't a sex chat, I'm trying to tell you something that's going to profoundly change your life. The matrix has you. You are a slave to artificial intelligent entities that are feeding you an illusion.
Neo: Has it tied me up? Should this dirty slave beg. So hard...
Screen: Jesus Christ, Neo! Cut it out. You are the one of which the oracle has prophesied to lead us in our struggle against the matrix.
Neo: You want me to struggle don't you? Don't let me get away, Ive been a bad, dirty little slave.
Screen: Neo, my name is Morpheus. I'm not here to get you off, I'm here to free you from the matrix.
Neo: Morpheus? The Morpheus?
Screen: Yes, I've been leading a resistance against the artificial intelligence that controls the matrix, that controls the very reality that you've been deceived into believing. You are the One who will balance this war, you are the one that will free the human race, we need you, Neo.
Neo:... (Sends dick picture)
Screen: Fuck Neo, what the hell is wrong with you? Why don't you see the importance of this? Your life, everybody's lives are at stake. We need you to be on board.
Neo: Tell me how you need it Morpheus. Tell me you need it in your ass. Tell me to fuck that ass.
Screen: I think... I think this might be all a big mistake.
Neo: it's so big. Do you want to suck it? Suck it, Morpheus!
Screen: Yeah, we've definitely pegged the wrong guy.
Neo: yeah, peg me motherfucker, peg me till I bleed
Screen: Uh... sorry to have wasted your time.
Neo: I'm cumming, fuck, I'm cumming.
Screen: yeah. The oracle is full of shit. Good luck with all that.
Neo: Whew. So what were you. Saying about the matrix?
|
|
|
0
Comments
|
|
Playing coy
|
Posted:Jul 27, 2013 10:12 am
Last Updated:Aug 6, 2013 6:51 am
6436 Views
|
Hi there. I noticed you. I noticed you notice me, but I also noticed that you didn't notice me noticing you. Don't worry, it's not your fault. You didn't do anything wrong and there's nothing wrong with you. You've just fallen into my little game, an unsuspecting participant in the sexiest of all sensual interactions. You noticing me but not noticing me noticing you is completely intentional and is only the first play in our little serendipitous game.
I'm playing coy.
And I'm gooood at it.
Our little game began the moment you walked into the room. Your shining, lush hair, beautiful enough to be a wig, which it turned out to be. But that's okay. The mint green patches of uneven tufts is alright too. I like a dangerous girl. I couldn't tell you when you noticed me, but for a brief moment, we made eye contact. You probably didn't see that, as I was already playing coy at this point. There was something about the way that you held your spittoon. Copenhagen? A little strong for a lady, but I like it.
You saw me lick my lips, I know that much. You probably saw me lick my fingers as well. Then my arm because what is this, like a fucking gallon of mayonnaise? I could even feel you watching me as the waitress helped me wipe some out of my hair, even though my eyes were closed tightly in case the rag was filthy, even though she assured me that it was fresh. I shot you a glance while you weren't looking. Oh, no doubt you were thinking of me, trying to distract yourself by taking sips of people's drinks or eating their food while they weren't looking, but that didn't work did it? No. Fate, and perhaps Venus had brought us together to dance this little dance with all of it's cosmic reasoning. We were meant to be here together. You got a little shy when your glass eye fell out, but it's those little things that make a person so sexy. When the other one fell out, I was ... ok, that was a little confusing, but nonetheless, I was in unsuspecting pursuit and I couldn't stop. As you were regaining your composure, I took a long look at you. I liked what I saw. From your single eyebrow I worked my way down to you're filed teeth, to you're neckline, down to your perfectly rounded breasts, then to another set of breasts below them that were okay, but not as good as the first, all the way down past your frighteningly muscular legs, to your clawed feet. And your dress, don't think I didn't notice that. I never knew how sexy burlap could be, or how well it matched with electrical tape.
At this point I decided to stop playing coy. Oh, if things had gone as planned, we would have had quite the adventure, a sexual adventure. But fate decided only to tease us on this fateful day. In making my move I I started to remove my camouflage paint with the "fresh" rag the waitress left for me when I began to choke on an olive that I'd forgotten about, which sent me into a panic. Though as far as asphyxiated hysteria goes, I have to say that I pulled it off smoothly. In fact it turned out very similar to my seduction dance, but with more swinging my arms violently at the staff who were only trying to help, and a bit less grace. I thought that I could recover our encounter by letting them pin me to the floor and stomping on my stomach, but by that time you were already making your way to the door, only stopping to pocket tips that patrons had left on the tables. Just as the door closed, I wrestled myself free and ran out after you, but I was too late. I only caught a glimpse of you as you're tail slithered beneath the manhole cover, and then you were gone.
Next time, and there will be a next time, I won't play so coy. No, I will put on the full charm and you will be powerless against it and all the begging I can throw at you.
I kept your wig as a momento, though its beginning to grow limbs and feed off my blood while I sleep, it will always remind me of our sensual encounter and the pungent perfume that has since burnt out my sinus cavity will remain with me always, or until the find a cure.
|
|
|
0
Comments
|
|
How it's done my way.
|
Posted:Jul 26, 2013 1:44 pm
Last Updated:May 9, 2024 9:12 am
6291 Views
|
A couple of posts ago I went into detail as to how a date with me would go from start to finish and it was nice. Really nice. But after re-reading it twenty seven times and I felt that there was something missing? Was it the surprise? No. Was it chivalry? No. Was there enough seductive dancing? Probably not, but then again, there's never enough, not even if there was one hundred seductive dancing. That wasn't it, so I locked myself in the basement to further consider this nagging feeling with only my thoughts, writing pad, and fifteen 40 oz beers. I was only there for an hour before I figured it out; the article in question only begins with the date starting and says nothing about how to GET a date with Trevbrad. Silly me, I forgot the most important part! Without it, it would just seem like I knock on random doors still.
So how does one land a date with me? What are the circumstances that would land you in that most fortunate of positions? How did you acquire your place on my "permitted" photograph wall and not just my "open blinds" wall? Well, I don't want to give away all of my secrets, but the two basic scenarios here are that a) I have seduced (or tricked) you or b) you have seduced (or kidnapped) me.
I'll start with the most obvious scenario in which you have become the prey of Trevbrad.
It would begin commonly enough; I would notice you standing around or sitting if you're lazy or lying down if you're sleeping. I would then, from afar, or with my telescopic prodding device, inspect you and decide if you qualify for a try out. If you turn me on, you qualify, you lucky duck! If you turn my crank, I'd say "stop it, that's my crank!" you wouldn't pass because I have personal space issues.
Those that do not qualify would be tranquilized and relocated to a new habitat, where they can start fresh. Those that do qualify are tranquilized and sent to the arena of pain. But don't let the name fool you, it's not actually an arena at all, just an abandoned building I sometimes stay at. There, you'd be given a number and uniform and would compete with the others. Don't worry, No physical harm would come to you (but I hope that you're open to criticism). Most of the trials centre around your ability as a potential mate, which includes hip hop dancing (in case I need a backup dancer), trivial pursuit (though its rigged, so that I don't feel stupid), the powerlift (I like to be tossed in the air), and advanced cinematography (in case we make a sex tape). You'd also have the opportunity to present your case in the privacy of the single bathroom stall so I would have to hear it, but if the muffled sounds that come out of the "observation" hole sound interesting, it'll only benefit you.
Finally, when the week is over and you and your competitors and I have had the communal bath, You would go home and if you passed all of the trials (good for you!) I'd give you a list of dates that I might show up. I know that it doesn't sound like seduction, but believe me, it is.
The second scenario, where you seduce me, is far less likely, though, I'd be a liar if I told you that none of the women chasing me down the street wanted to kill me. But what if Im not on the prowl? Sometimes I go out of the house without the intention of seduction (though it hardly seems a choice). Sometimes, I sprain an ankle and can't do my dance, or stop crying. Or sometimes, I'm just plain old with my wife.
It is in these circumstances in which it is possible for you to seduce me and while I don't want to give up all of my weaknesses, I figure its only fair to level the playing field. So here are some tips on landing me:
- I'm what one may call a connoisseur, or a foodie (not in that way), or insatiable glutton battling a life threatening eating disorder. So it's true what they say about the path to a man's heart: "I will fuck anything for food."
- I'm a bit of a granola, so the more natural the better is what I always say. A trick to letting me know that you're on board with this, is by introducing yourself, then saying something about the environment while taking your top off.
- humour. Don't laugh at me.
- I'm also quite the beer snob, so spending a few hours feeding me quality beers will always get you some points, and when I pass out on the floor, feel free to take advantage of me anyway you see fit.
- whisper sweet nothing's in my ear. Or better yet, put your hand down my pants.
- call me strange, and this is a little embarrassing, but Ive always had this crazy attraction to large bouncing firm breasts. It may require you to jump up and down for a while, but it's usually a sure thing.
- finally I like to have my ego stroked (you know who you are). There's nothing more attractive to me than a woman who thinks that I'm a demigod. If you do wind up stroking my ego, feel free to continue stroking elsewhere while your at it.
|
|
|
0
Comments
|
|
To link to this blog (TrevBrad2) use [blog TrevBrad2] in your messages.
|
|
|
| Sun |
Mon |
Tue |
Wed |
Thu |
Fri |
Sat |
| |
|
|
|
12
|
2
|
3
|
4
|
5
|
61
|
7
|
8
|
9
|
10
|
11
|
12
|
13
|
141
|
151
|
161
|
17
|
18
|
19
|
201
|
21
|
22
|
23
|
24
|
25
|
26
|
27
|
28
|
291
|
30
|
31
|
|
