Woman wanted.

Ok ladies here's your chance. The writer of this blog, which is me, is in need of female company.

I've been single for almost five years now. Five long years.

Five years, where the only sexual contact has been with either their hand or a hollowed out melon, isn't good for a man. Strange things can happen when you go that long without sex.

And I blame myself. Really I do. It's entirely my fault. Oh sure, there was a small outside influence in my Ex-girlfriend breaking my heart and leaving a hole so big I could feel the wind blow through it, but generally I'm to blame.

The problem is I'm too honest. When someone asks my opinion, and often when they don't, I let them know my exact feelings. There's no skirting around the edges of the subject, no sitting in the shallow end of the debate, no fucking around on the fringes of politeness, it's engage brain and let loose.

But the thing is that women generally don't like real honesty. Nope, they prefer their honesty sugar coated and watered down so that they don't actually hear the truth so much as skirt around it. Which in turn forces us men to do something we were not designed for... Thinking.

When a woman asks a question about her looks how is it possible for a man to answer with honesty and not seem like a heartless, degenerate pig. We can't. The reason is that we are, underneath the cool exterior that we show, heartless degenerate pigs. Plain and simple.

Take this example...

A former girlfriend of mine, who shall remain nameless, once asked me if I liked her tits. I, of course, told her that her tits were wonderful orbs of mystery and amazement to me.

She looked at me in the way all women look when they want you to be serious, you know the look, it's akin to the look of someone who has just won the World Lemon Sucking Contest and is celebrating with a nice big glass of chilled lemon juice, and asked me to be serious.

I sat up and paid attention. I didn't once let the fact that she was standing there naked with her tits in her hands, like they were Indian orphan children who needed emergency attention and I was the medicine man, put me off one bit and studied her ample bosom for at least two whole minutes.
"Well? Do you like my tits?" She asked.
"I think your tits are lovely. If I was the head researcher for a TV show entitled "The 100 Best Boobs in the World" your boobs would be top of my list." I said, smiling and hoping that she'd let it go before one of us got hurt.
"Ross, please, be honest. Do you like my boobs?" She asked, again.
"Ok then, honestly I think your tits are great... They're big, and I like big boobs. They're soft and cuddly and I love playing with them."

Then the world went quiet...

Traffic noise, which previously had been a cacophony of horns being tooted in frustration and engines being gunned in anger, fell silent. Birds, that had been singing in the trees so playfully, stopped chirping as though the apartment was haunted ground or the site of a recent UFO landing.

Then her face changed.

It went from the look I had grown accustomed to of beatific beauty to indescribable rage. I panicked and said I was sorry, even though I had no reason to be sorry and tried to placate her. Which was slightly more difficult than trying to placate an angry Mexican with a machete who has just come home to find his wife in bed with his favorite burro.

Then she screamed at me.

"I hate this about you... You can't be serious for one minute. You're always making jokes about things and when I want you to be honest with me you never are. Is that your idea of a relationship? Is that it? You think that it's all a big joke and that it's going to last because you can joke about everything and all the problems will just fade away? Well it doesn't work like that, I need you to be honest with me, I need you to know that whatever you say to me will be OK because I love you and nothing you could say will ever change that..." She said, impassioned.

I looked her in the tits, presumably because they had been bouncing quite sexily as she let off some steam, and then looked into her eyes and said... "Ok, you want me to be honest?"

"Yes, I want you to be honest." She said.

"The left tit is bigger than the right tit, your right nipple has a slight droop and when you lie down they fall into your armpits like a lost adventurer into an ice crevasse." I said.

The following day she dumped me.

So much for honesty in a relationship. So much for "Whatever you say will be Ok because I love you and nothing you say could ever change that" So much for all that... And all that, and all that.

So, if there is a woman out there who can handle that level of honesty then feel free to give me a holler. I'm a nice guy really...


Reviewed by Gencie Matone.