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The Ear is an Organ Too

For some strange reason I woke up this morning mulling over the relationship between words and deeds. Specifically, how dirty talk enhances the sex act and how virtually every man I’ve ever been to bed with loves to hear me tell him in vulgar detail what I want him to do to me and how I want it done. The syntax of the modest speech isn’t particularly important and the physical activities involved needn’t even be plausible. Here’s a sterling example of what I mean.

Let’s say I’m sprawled naked on the bed with a similarly clad gentleman and I roll over and whisper urgently in his ear, “I want you to fuck me deep in my pussy with your fucking cock!”

Now let’s parse that sentence. At first glance it seems woefully redundant. Yet it never fails to inflame the ardor of the cock-owner to whom it is directed in a delightfully visible way. Now let’s examine another sentence which conveys the same intent but with more precision.

“I want you to insert your penis into my vagina for the purpose of intercourse.”

This sentence is grammatically superior in every way, and yet is dramatically less effective even given the nude/nude context of the delivery or the urgency of the whisper. Unless, of course, you’re trolling for belly laughs.

Talking dirty had the same effect on my first boss, Rapid Roger the CPA. As a prelude to our Wednesday evening oral adventures I would crawl across the floor of Roger’s office to where Roger sat in his dark brown leather chair, his pants tugged down to his ankles, and I would growl, “I want you to cum in my fucking mouth.” I swear there were times I almost didn’t get there before Roger was cocked and ready to fire. Of course that was precisely the point. Roger’s flabby magnetism to the contrary, I wanted the ordeal over with as quickly as possible, despite the time and a half he was paying me for working late.

By the way, Roger, if you’re reading these words, I don’t really mean it. After all…we might chance to meet someday in a dimly-lighted hotel room, arranged by my booking agent, Sally, and I wouldn’t want you to cut and run before leaving a generous tip. In my book you were the very picture of manly studliness. I don’t know why in the world the other girls in the office called you “Rapid” Roger. To my way of thinking you never came quickly enough.

Now I need some coffee. After all this cock talk I think I’ll take it with extra cream. More later.

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