cicerone imposter wrote:A recent show on Oprah covered this very subject. Don't want to deflate any egos here, but over fifty percent of women fake orgasm.
That's 50% of women who watch Oprah, ci! Always thought there was something odd about that show! :wink:
Oops, I meant, "Eyes Wide Shut."
MsO (heh), yes, Oprah has a unique audience, maybe.
I figured, CG, same answer - haven't seen it. Why do you ask?
littlek wrote:MsO (heh), yes, Oprah has a unique audience, maybe.
I figured, CG, same answer - haven't seen it. Why do you ask?
You and thee other old women should see it.
Well, let's say that movie is low on my must-see list.
only 34% work?
ok, THAT I cant see as true.
We all have the same parts, how can it be that only 34% of those parts work properly?
Im not sure it is genetic, so much as it is an instilled sense of shame.. ?
women should never be ashamed..
dont be ashamed to scream..
drool
faint
shake
twitch
quiver
leak
squirt
scratch
pull hair.........................
etc
etc
no fart on the list? I mean the other kind of fart.
the 'inner blow-job' type fart?
hehehehe
we always called them fanny farts.
queef... hmmm... is that right? <someone once played that word in a scabble game>.
Lady J wrote:Brandon9000 wrote:Lady J wrote:There must be some reason I love the hot weather so much. All I have to do is lie in the warm sun. For some reason, the heat beating down on my body, lying there with my eyes closed and the mind begins to drift...I get horny as hell, start breathing really deep and eventually the climax is long and slow and exhilarating!
Look ma! No hands!
Not really! Just from thinking?
Truly, dear Brandon. I jest thee not. I don't know if it is just so much the thinking as the Sun itself. The way it warms your body is so much better than any blanket. Your mind drifts off and your thoughts just rather melt into one big sensuous feeling. As the tiny, dewy beads of perspiration begin to break out on your forehead and chest and inner thighs. Breathe deeply and let yourself go...
You're a credit to women everywhere.
i would have let it stay on the board.
also heard them called FurPieCry...
kinda stupid. but funny all the same
Oh, queef stayed on the board. But, so did some absolute crap - never play scrabbl with totally baked people unless you're as baked as they are.
Having an orgasm via your father or your dentist is sort of sickening.
A strange orgasm, at that. Not one that can be detected by the person giving it?
None of the vocals and none of the contractions that cascade up and down a womans body, over and over again. These would surely be felt or noticed, by the giver.
That's too weird.
I'll take the more conventional .....rock my world - lets do it again - kinda orgasm, myself. :wink:
That's the word I've always known it as and was going to post the same.
For some silly reason I just thought of the game of "Clue"
Who did it?
Lord Ellpus of course, in the study with his lederhosen.
He left his lacy undergarments as a clue!
Brandon, I'll take your compliment and thank you very kindly.
actually,
I thought it was the stain on the wall that gave him away..
hold on..
there isnt a game piece for that one huh..
Ok, Lord did it, in the study
with the candle stick.
Purely in the interest of science, I thought I would have a go at the "zoo" experience, to see if it was possible for a male to achieve the big "O" as easily and as hands free as a female.
I carefully re-read Shewolf's pleasurable incident, and recreated the conditions as best I could.
First of all, I dug out a pair of old Y fronts that I had stashed away after only one wearage, as they rode up. Absolutely ideal for my experiment. I quickly donned them, and stuffed the frontage with absorbent material, just in case.
I then downloaded "Confessions of a Kitchen Maid" onto my ipod, just to get me in the mood while strolling, and set off for a brisk walk around the park
.
The first hundred yards or so went very well. The undergarments were indeed riding upwards and the story had reached the point when a Spatula was just about to be put into good use.
I then experienced a tightening of the nadgers, in what can only be described as not a particularly pleasant way.
In addition to this, the main bulk of the undergarment had worked its way up into my posterior and was causing a slight chafe.
By the time I had walked half a mile, the constriction in the nadgerial region was becoming unbearable. The todger showed no sign of excitement, even though the story had moved on to the one about the Kitchen Maid and the egg whisk, so I decided to head for home.
Quite unable to walk in the style of a military march, I adopted a style not unlike that of a Geisha girl, keeping my legs tight together and limiting the stride to no more than six inches at a time. My eyes were now watering, and I was aware that people were steering a wide berth around me as they passed.
I was suffering from a full "wedgie", and the nadgers, which are quite delicate at the best of times, were now thoroughly strangled, and rotated approximately 90 degrees clockwise from that of their natural position. Although the story was continuing, I was no longer paying any attention.
Somehow I made it back to the Manor, and snuck in through the kitchen door, leaning my head on the inside and letting out a loud yelp while immediately dropping my trousers. It then took ten seconds or so to unravel the nadgers from the twisted maze of cloth, and the undergarment fell to the floor. The relief was immediate and immense.
I removed my ipod earpieces and let the cool oak door sooth my fevered brow.
It was then that I was startled by a crash behind me, so I turned around to find my dear lady wife giving a jam making lesson to the local Girl Guides.
Apparently it will take a two hour shopping spree in Harrods, to get me back to the stage where she will speak to me again with any semblance of civility.
I also have to apologise to Brown Owl and make some sort of monetary donation.
This thread has caused me nothing but inconvenience, embarrassment and lasting soreness.
