man whore or whores' man


I go by several names; Big Willy, Long Dong Silver, Shadow of the Night, The man inside the Woman in Scarlet and several more but to you faithful readers of SB, I'm simply Jazzer. Anyway, I'm aware that I was ever so kindly introduced by Kyle in the previous post but I thought I should probably make my own appearance seeming as I've technically been the other half of the SB Admin-Team for the past few months.

Now that the weird, not-funny introduction that just made everyone uncomfortable is out of the way with I wanted to break Kyles' 44 post streak by giving a bit of a look into a facet of my life that's a touch troubling. In my younger years (really just up until a few months ago) I prided myself on being an orgy participating, red-district walking, love 'em and leave 'em man-whore particularly renown for my sickeningly low moral values and standards. It was the good life. Every night was a Friday night and not to drum myself (or my foot-long penis.. that's right, foot long) up too much but I had something of a knack for the 'poon hunt'.

However one particularly drab and dreary night I found myself in the company of a young woman with whom I spent the next morning have a wonderful breakfast with comprised of the 5 food groups. I'm sure anyone with the mental capacity to keep up so far is able to spot the problem there. Yes, that's right; we were sharing a meal the morning after sex. Sure enough a week later the young lass and I had begun our merry skip through the horrifying jungle of a relationship.

Now, I don't want to ruin anything for anyone that may be reading this (Heh, as if anyone is actually going to read this) so if you're fresh into a relationship and you're happy then I request that you shut down this laptop and go have some of that 'new relationship sex' that you've been bragging to all you buddies about... I'm sure those of you whom are still with me all realize the fact that the 'new relationship sex' has a half-life. One might think that when the relationship stops being 'new' that the sex would simply become 'relationship sex' and that it'd be just as good. No. No no no no no. For the love of scotch, no! The blow-jobs stop, the effort drops and any form of lingerie is gone along with her 'caring about her figure'. The ship sinks. It's fucked and I suggest hanging yourself as that's alot less painful than having to watch your 'sex afternoons' slowly be replaced with the neighbour couple coming over to play charades. The moment the word 'charades' is used you're almost terminal and have limited options, most of which involved varying amounts of hookers and booze followed by a late-night break up drunk text and the acquisition of a new phone number the next morning.

Now that I've had my little rant about the perils of dating, let's take a step back to remember the joys of single life. The haze-filled nights of women and booze. The absence of 'brunch' and 'charades' and all the rest of that manhood-robbing rubbish. With these wonderful concepts in mind I'd like to bring you back to the problem I'm currently faced with; my girlfriend. I'm still in the sex-happy phase of the breakless car steaming towards the edge of the cliff, the key is figuring out when to jump out. Amidst my regular posts on the blog I'll be keeping an update based on my experiment, advising those of you out there of the signs that show you to be near the end.

Anyway, this should suffice as a reasonably insightful cross-section of myself to those of you whom have chosen to waste your time reading it, so I'll leave you to peruse the rest of the useless yet oddly interesting and addictive material found within the proverbial treasure trove that is SB.

Until my next post which I believe may combine the topics of 'Female Masturbation', 'Toys', 'Anal Sex' and the 'Power of the Mind' with honest-to-scotch field research,
I wish you all happy blogging.