Article first published as TheFurFiles - The Ultimate Orgasm, Fetish For Fat Forty-Year-Olds, Strap-On Surprise on Technorati.
Madame Floretta "Fern" De Villiers, a.k.a. "Amanda Fox" is an author or erotic fiction and commentary. This is her weekly advice column.
If I do say so myself, I think that I’m a pretty good lover. I was just wondering though, since there is always room for improvement, do you have any tips on how to achieve and/or give the ultimate orgasm?
Innate Desire To Be The Absolute Best Human Being On The Planet, Like Heidi Montag And/Or Jake Pavelka
Since you are looking to achieve and/or give the “ultimate” orgasm, I think it would be prudent for you to get some tips from other “ultimate” undertakings, like “Ultimate Frisbee” or “The Ultimate Fighter” or “The Ultimate Guitar Tabs Archive”. Thus, submit to the following and you are sure to succeed…
1. Getting twisted up like a pretzel is a good thing. It’s all part of the game.
2. You need to have patience, you need to persevere, and you need to work hard.
3. Hitting people below the belt is NOT allowed, and in your case, it’s actually counterproductive. You can however, punch people directly in the face, but make sure they say it’s OK first.
4. If Georges St-Pierre wants to join you for a threesome, let him. The man’s a freakin’ god.
5. Learn about your opponent/lover from the inside out. The more you know what makes them tick, the easier it will be to defeat/please them.
6. Games have seven players per team, which means fourteen people on the field at once. You should try this in your bed.
7. Sure, the goal is to score, but it’s more important to have fun.
8. Music is key for setting the mood. Led Zeppelin is popular. Miley Cyrus and Taylor Swift, not so much.
9. “Slipknot” songs were inspired by porn. You should be too.
10.Ronnie James Dio’s father died on December 28, 2010. He was ninety-two years old. If you live half as long as he did, you should have plenty of time to perfect your technique.
Amber – my eighteen-year-old daughter – just told me that she has a “thing” for overweight, forty-year-old men. Yikes! Should I lock her in her room forever?
What The Hell Is Wrong With Her?
Dear Yikes Is Right,
And I know exactly the kind of guy she is talking about too – guys like John C. Reilly, Zach Galifianakis and Philip Seymour Hoffman. These “I make up for my lack of attractiveness with my witty charm” types have suddenly become popular with the younger female crowd. Not an easy pill to swallow, especially if you are a mother to one of these young ladies.
So yeah, you could say, “Amber dear, I know that you are almost an adult, but there is no way that I’m going to let you hook up with an overweight, forty-year-old man. I absolutely forbid it.” See how she responds. When this doesn’t work and Amber starts boinking the first overweight, forty-year-old man she can find, you can then go to plan B.
Teenagers and young adults are still too immature to make smart decisions. As such, they can be very difficult to handle. It’s like they are caged animals, like lions at the zoo. Which reminds me, I saw one once – a lion at the zoo, that is. The poor creature was all alone, pacing back and forth, roaring hopelessly, helplessly as if to say, “If any one of you jackasses accidentally happens to leave my gate open, I promise you that I’m going to run out and rip every one of your faces off before I then charge out into the rest of the city where I’ll leave even more carnage in my wake. I am a bitter, angry and disappointed big cat that can’t understand why you humans think it’s a good idea to keep me cooped up in a dump like this. Besides, I need to get laid, and that female lion you occasionally send in with me, well, she is so NOT my type. Do you know what we call lions like her out in the wild? We call them ‘fugly biznatches’.”
Well, caged lions and teenagers are the same. Their hormones are raging. They feel trapped. They CRAVE sexual contact. And we adults all know what it’s like when we haven’t had sex in a while – anyone looks good, even the guy that comes to our house (interrupting dinner) and tries to sell us cheap gas rates, or the homeless bum on the street corner. With your teenage daughter, this is exactly what’s happening. Aware of her sexuality for the first time, she is attracted to just about anybody, even fat forty-year-olds.
So what should you do? Well, what would you do if you had an angry lion on your hands? That’s right, you’d either try to calm him down somehow – distract him, deflate his anger – or you’d have to shoot him with a tranquilizer gun. And since it is against the law (I think) to shoot your daughter with a tranquilizer gun, your only option is to take the wind out of her sails, which is probably easier than you might think.
All you have to do is tell her how “hot” you think overweight, forty-year-old men are. Use the names of the guys listed at the beginning as examples. Since no teenage girl wants to share the same sexual predilections as her mother, my bet is, she’ll change her tune pretty quick. Luckily, teenagers are as fickle as they are stupid. Thus, she’ll be back to drooling over twenty or thirty-year-old men instead. Hey, I didn’t say my plan was foolproof.
My husband and I have been together for more than ten years. Sex has always been great, fun, over-the-moon. We’ve always shared our sexual thoughts and fantasies with each other, and there’s never been a problem. We own all kinds of sex toys, books and games, all of which we routinely use to make things exciting between us.
So when a box came to our house the other day from “The Best Little Sex Shop Ever”, I was hardly surprised. Curious to know what my husband had bought this time, I quickly opened the package. Wasn’t I stunned to find a strap-on dildo inside – a black one no less? Now, we’ve explored backdoor fun before, but it’s always been Tony exploring me. I’ll admit, the notion of me exploring (or god forbid, penetrating) Tony kind of throws me for a loop. I like my man to be a man’s man, ya’ dig, and this whole “strap-on penis thing” doesn’t exactly follow that rule. What should I do?
Do You Think Tony’s On The Down Low?
Dear No I Don’t,
Did you know that there’s a new soda pop on the market called “Splode”? Like who would’ve thought, right?
Anyway, getting back to your question, I must tell you, I used to be the biggest chicken ever, like I refused to do anything scary, like if any of my friends ever asked me to go cliff jumping, motorcycle racing, or ski diving, I always said “no”. On top of that, I used to hate haunted houses and amusement parks too. And I know this attitude sounds terribly limiting but that’s just the kind of person I was – until last week, when I decided to take a stand against my own patheticness. That’s right, I decided to break out of my shell and do something I’d never done before. I decided to go bungee jumping.
No doubt, it took every ounce of bravery I had to get myself to that bridge. In fact, I didn’t get myself to the bridge at all. My husband had to drag me there – I mean he literally had to tie a rope around my neck and pull me to the car. He had to pull me out of the car as well, and he had to pull me across the bridge to where Jorgen – our bungee jumping guide – was waiting for me. Then the whole time Jorgen was hooking me up, I was screaming and crying, “I can’t do this. I won’t do this. This is just the sort of thing that I JUST DON’T DO! I’d rather be lying in bed, snuggled safely under my quilt, knitting scarves for relatives I barely know. I’d rather be sitting in Chapters reading Jane Austen novels – probably “Persuasion” for the ninety-ninth time. I’d rather be scrubbing the tiles on my bathroom floor with my toothbrush, and then brushing my teeth with it after. Oh… I hate you all! And I’ll remember this Jorgen, you mother$%#@er! In fact, sometime in the very near future – after you’ve forced me to do this thing that I absolutely DO NOT want to do – I’m going to sneak into your house in the middle of the night and slit your throat with a grapefruit knife…”
Embarrassingly, I went on like this for a good ten minutes or so until Jorgen finally had me fastened in tight and he was ready to shove me over the edge. At this point, I knew there was no turning back. I HAD to do it on my own – I had to jump. As there was also a television crew in the area filming a documentary entitled, “Toddlers Who Bungee Jump And Love It,” I knew that if I didn’t take the plunge, I’d look like the biggest loser ever. So saying, I counted to three, shut my eyes and took a flying leap, peeing myself on the way down and crying out for God to save me over and over again until at last, I hung from that rope completely still.
Yes, I did it, and here’s the kicker about the whole scenario, and the reason I told you this story in the first place – once I was on solid ground, I realized just how much fun I’d had, and immediately after, I changed my pants and jumped again and again and again and again and again, until Jorgen said that it was time to give someone else a turn. Ben Affleck and his wife – what’s her name? Jane or Jen or something like that – well, they were also there that day and Ben was getting a little pissed off that I’d completely taken over.
Anyway, long story short, I love bungee jumping now. I love roller coasters. I love winged skydiving and extreme spelunking. I love anything that gets my heart pumping. And here I thought I hated that kind of stuff. It wasn’t until I tried it however, that I discovered I was indeed a certified “adrenaline junkie”.
Now, in case you are still confused about what to do with that strap-on, here is another story for your enjoyment...
So a few weeks ago, we got a new paperboy. Our old paperboy – Jimmy – had worked our street for almost ten years and everyone considered him the best darn paperboy the world had ever seen. When I found out that he’d quit to get a job at the Pennysaver, I was indeed concerned about his potential replacement. There would never be another Jimmy. And when I saw the new guy parked in front of our house on his Harley-Davidson Nightster, I immediately thought, “How is this gonna work? Isn’t he a little old? (He had a full beard and mustache.) Is this guy gonna be responsible? (I mean, are motorcycle riders ever responsible?) Sure, his arms look muscular, but is he strong enough to get my paper to the front porch?” Admittedly, I had my doubts, but I tell you, Earl surprised me. Since that very first day, he’s always placed the paper in just the right spot on my doorstep, tied with a red ribbon, a Tim Horton’s coupon for a fresh coffee lovingly attached. I’ve come to discover that Earl is like the patron saint of paper delivery. Bless his tattoo-covered heart.
Again, this is an example of something I thought would never work that has ended up being one of the best things to ever happen in my life. So there you have it – you should now know what to do with that dildo, right? Strap it on, tell your hubby to bend over, and get busy.
My name is Chaad and I am a good Catholic boy. Problem is, I have a crush on the priest at my church. And I’m not talking about a small crush. I’m talking about a really big crush, like I’ve been thinking about him for ten years straight, ever since I was an altar boy, ever since he took me under his wing and taught me the ways of the Catholic world.
Now, obviously I would never try to seduce Father Mario because I know he wouldn’t be interested, though sometimes he does give me the eye when I go up for communion and he places that wafer on my eager pink tongue. Yeah, deep down, I think it would be relatively easy to get his pants off. But what I really want to know is if it’s bad for me to fantasize about being with him. Of course, I already do it – I can’t help myself – but it makes me feel guilty. And what do I say when I go to confession? Do I say, “Forgive me Father for I have sinned? I am feeling kind of lonely. Do you think I could come around to your side of the confessional?” Please help me, Fern. I think I might be going to hell.
Dear Chad With Two A’s,
While some of us – Blake McGrath – don’t need to do much more than be ourselves to win a spot in hell, for the general, regular, non-overtly sexual members of the population, there is only ONE way of getting damned for all eternity, and that is, you must voluntarily French-kiss David Hasselhoff after first stomping on a nest of baby robins while wearing Jimmy Choo, peep-toe stilettos – the black, snake-skin kind.
So don’t worry about your fantasies involving Father Mario. If I can dream about having backdoor relations with the Pope and I’ve yet to be smote (smited?/smitten?) then I think you are safe. BTW, I probably wouldn’t ask about coming around to “his side” of the confessional when you go in for your little visits. That may be more than Father Mario can take.
Causes Amanda Raynor Supports
The Ottawa Humane Society, The National Capital Region YMCA/YWCA, Harvest House in Ottawa,