Jody & Herbert Rock Out With Their Cocks Out

"Flame is the gaaaaame. The game we call Gaaaaaslightinnnng Abbieeee. It's a lucious invention for freeeeeee...one summer by the seeeea."

Suckle the Radish and the Custard Will Flow...

Masturbation of the Alpha Male, by the Omega Female:

It's inevitable - if you stroke a penis, be it with tenderness or an overly rambunctious sprightliness - either a robust explosion or an execrable dribble of spent goop will seep from the male epithelial duct (or 'jap eye' for the layman).

In porn, (or coitus for the gainfully employed, if you will) following fellatio/hand job, a female will be the willing beneficiary of an airburst of male reproductive fluid (in the adult film industry, said celluloid ejaculate is roundly known as the 'pop shot') onto her chin/nose/eyebrow and/or fringe/bosom/navel/foot, or in extreme cases, her earhole. (If the male abnegator is that way inclined in the heat of the moment.)
These females are finely tuned athletes, well trained in the coital and masturbatory arts and willing participants in domination, submission and, in these cases, degradation. Although it may not look like it, they are the ones who are always in control of the Alpha Male, and the frantically impending release of seminal fluid from his 'apparatus urogenitalis'.
Post fellatio/hand job, these ladies appreciate the value of male secreted yoghurt which ultimately will find temporary residence on their face.
And why not? They are well paid for this seminal multitasking.



Now, back to reality:
Many females feel the need to vigorously use the male reproductive organ as something akin to that of a Commodore 64 Joystick whilst playing the game Combat School or Daley Thompson's Decathlon. Although you may put it up to naivety or sheer innocence, personally I think it's all rather insidious on their part.



The males contorted, shameful grimace of excruciating distress in this kind of situation is usually misconstrued by the female as being one of redoubtable pleasure. If the male, is too 'shy' or afraid of causing offense to his partner, he endures this test of resoluteness, valour and courage against all the odds. A feat he is to be commended for, nonetheless.



There is a downside to this, however, as the more the male lets this nonchalant disregard for his yop-cannon/penis continue, the harder (Excuse the pun) it will be for him to eventually 'fess up and address this unnecessary torment, and for that, he should be scorned as his Alpha Male status comes into question.



I'm going back to caveman mentality here, but can you imagine this scenario:
It's a third date. You bring your potential lady out to dinner. A posh, romantic restaurant nonetheless. One that has a piano, and elevator/supermarket versions of Now That's What I Call Love 42 over it's speakers. Flamingo's serving cubed cheese and little French waiters carving goose with diamond encrusted knives.
You order the wine, or better yet, the finest bottle of champagne they have and you both order the gazpacho soup and melon for starters. You discuss how wonderful it is to be alive, to be together and how attracted you are to each other. All this gazing into each others eyes, and wonderful what have you's and what not's. You know, random ego inflating topics. Stuff that a great relationship is built on, until a year later when you're pulling the stomach out of yourself to the thought of someone you saw at a bus stop somewhere.
Back on point, the main course arrives and she has ordered, I don't know, a lettuce leaf, more melon and some red onion, while you have ordered a steak...rare...with a near raw potato and some turnip, because you're a man. The topic of conversation changes to you advising her that you once ate the hind steak off a male Silverback Gorilla. One that you wrestled to the ground, subdued and killed by yourself, with your bare hands and a Swiss army knife.
This is all part of foreplay and with that tale of heroism, she is even more attracted to you...to the point where she is nearly sliding off her chair in this posh restaurant. She tells you about how her little nephew fell out of a tree and landed and fractured his toe, and all the while, you're wondering if her labia hangs down like an untucked office shirt, or if it's nice and compact. You nod and smile politely. She has found herself a winner.
You both share a dessert, you pay the bill, you stand up when she stands up to leave and place your hand on the small of her back and let her leave the restaurant first. Then you both agree that the pubs, bars and clubs will probably be too packed, and a taxi home to her place for a bottle of Chablis and movie seems the most viable and appealing option.
After more conversation on her sofa, you both get that electric feeling in your little tummies and you begin to kiss heavily. Hands wander and she climbs on top for a dummy ride. You're wearing zip jeans and as she's grinding into you, your zipper on your jeans is also taking lumps out of your junk and you're moaning in both pleasure and searing, ludicrous pain but you put up with it...because any minute now she's going to lead you to her bedroom. And she does.
You go into the bedroom and you both strip each other in a heated, almost panicked embrace. She lies you on the bed and starts kissing your chest, your belly, your groin and finally she begins to do what feels like a budgie tentatively pecking on your helmet. No coverage of shaft, nothing. So you think "Although a let down, it's good for me because she obviously hasn't been chugging a lot of penis!".
Then you pull her head up, feigning ecstasy and tell her to touch it. She does and begins the Combat School/Commodore Joystick approach to masturbation. The pain is incredible...like having your undercarriage stripped with the back end of a rusty hammer and dipped in vinegar. You've had enough...you can't take it anymore.
You romantically pull her up to you and say lie back. She does, and for all the men in the world who have been where you've just been, you kiss her thighs, run your tongue up and then pull back and deliver a crushing haymaker right into her clitoris.






Again, back to reality.
Females in the real world, never embrace the yop. Nor can we expect them to. Sure how can we? A vast majority of them fellate you like they were a cat licking a bowl of milk it knows is sour!

So my advice, for what it's worth

Men: Tell them you won't ask for a birthday or Christmas present if you can forcefully shoot your Tippex onto the part of her anatomy of your, or her choice (the latter being the gentlemanly approach to the situation). Chances are, that by the time either celebratory event is upon you, she will have forgotten about your agreement.
Also, remember to reassure your female partner that your semen is full of protein and that animal semen is used in their moisturiser (A little known fact, by the way). Bottom line - If monkey semen is good enough for their skin, then surely, your semen is too. It's that simple.

Women: (See above)