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xmag.com : January 2002:Liberally Fucked

I've had my share of girls. Big and small; short and tall; wild and timid; girls in every state of undress and every level of hopeless intoxication. I've had them biblically; I've had them briefly; shared them, and had them to myself. I've forgotten their names and remembered their numbers, lost their faces to antiquity, and kept a drawer full of their frilly feminine souvenirs.

I've loved and lost, tricked and caroused until my cock was bleeding, but I'll never understand them. Sometimes the satanic S\M nutjobs turn out to be prudes, the wild and woolly tramps tease my crotch rocket like they're growing tomatoes, and the liberal, yolk-clot, revolutionary chickadees fuck like red-eyed racehorses at the drop of a slogan. I love the liberal girls. I love their organic
little bodies. They come in dozens of flavors, like ice cream. Anarchists in sewn- together stretch jeans and patches; Plain Jane U of O sociology majors; drug-addled rainbow bunnies; and all manner of unshaven "activists" in between. But just below the surface of so many grass-tokin' neo-hippie feminists, a submissive wonder-slut is festering like a raging subcutaneous pimple. Bury your nose in her oily leg-pit for a couple minutes, and she'll pop.

They'll talk for hours about "corporate patriarchal conspiracies" and "fascist beauty standards," but deep down they crave that ethereal essence of femininity just like every other woman. The elixir of subjugation; the magic wand of dominance. Yes, that's right, folks. Liberal chicks want dick. The stronger, the better. The more masculine the man, the wetter the rainbow clam. For every loud dreadlocked superwoman whose community consciousness leaks out like cottage-cheese discharge, there's a dick she'll ride like she was fleeing from the devil himself.

I'll be honest. I'm an asshole. I'm about as far from emasculated as a man can get without three testicles. Generally, I don't care for these "womyn." They're ugly, collagen-deficient, carob-scarfing fat-bodies. Hairy-chinned, whiny, pimply little cunts. Weak personalities. Did I mention physically unattractive? But every once in a while, a real gem falls in my lap like a crust of shit out of loose briefs. That rare breed of radiant left-wing harlot. The shiny, happy slattern. The loose corduroy. The whore that hates Madonna. They can rationalize their cravings 'til they're blue in their cute little faces, but I can smell bent-over-a-barrel porn sex wafting off them like patchouli. They've got bedroom eyes in that defiant face. The screen door is wide open. They're waiting to escape. No crystal ball or Krishna bean curd pie can explain it. Why do the most vehement opponents of man-on-top fucking moan like blue talkies when the lights are low? Why would a woman who claims to be oppressed spread her legs and shut her mouth? Why am I attracted to women at all? Drum roll? Nature.

That's right. Nature's unavoidable programming. The tendency for humans to not only fall into their natural roles, but to involuntarily enjoy them. If my girlfriend puts food on my table and brings me flowers when we fight, I feel like a sissy. A weakling. Emasculated. I feel something amiss. I should be pulling down my share of bills. I should be covered in iron oxide, dragging home a mammoth leg. Conversely, if she wears the same pair of Carharts every damn day and I fuck her like I wish I wasn't cursed with a cock, she knows something's wrong. Why isn't she soft and flowery? Why ain't I crazy for her pudenda? Isn't she pretty enough?

Politics don't carry well into the bedroom. Nature does. So when a woman who shuns her physically submissive role in public gets fucked six ways from Sunday in private, she's excited. She finally gets to submit when no one's watching. She lets you, the male, the virile warrior, take her. Everything falls into place. She feels like a woman. She feels feminine. Men's bodies are more powerful than women's bodies. It's natural that we toss 'em around, smack 'em on the ass, and whisper filthy things in their ears. Women are penetrated. Men penetrate. Men give. Women receive.

You asshole! How dare you say such horrible things? You misogynist! You cad! Hey, don't look at me, Toots. Blame the manufacturer. I don't make the rules, I just follow 'em. Besides, you'll never land a husband talking like that. I don't care what your professor said. No matter whether a woman wears overalls or sequined Underoos to the bar where she met you, when the duds come off and the skin gets hot, nature takes over. Humans are born to fuck. Or, to be precise, men were born to fuck. Women were born to get fucked, and they know it. And their bodies know it. Hold her wrists to the bed. Pull her hair. Pretend you're in a cave. Growl incoherently. Bite her neck. Watch the patriarchy do its job.

These principles aren't true of all you liberal girls, of course. Most of you are clinically retarded. Hell, pretty much all women are brain-slow in one way or another. But consider this: Does a lesbian femme feel more feminine when her butch partner takes control? Do the butchies feel more masculine when they exert their physical dominance? Why?


I mean, for God's sake, we're talking about fucking here. Not support groups or empowerment seminars. This isn't sensitivity training. Grunt, slap, yell, thrust, sweat, and pound. Fucking. Politics don't exist in these breathless moments. When they do, everyone
suffers. I laugh to myself thinking about how the
castrated liberal boys do it. Do they apologize afterward? Do they slow-hump their girls from the side and then say, "I'm sorry I symbolically raped you, honey.
I wish I hadn't been born
an evil member of the oppressive white-male
conspiracy?" Ha! Any woman who wants that sort of "man" is better off being a lesbo. At least the butchies don't feel guilty.




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