Tag: self-stock

June 8, 2015

Your Self-Stock (part 2) – Older Women Fuck Better

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stock-market-womenOlder Women Fuck Better

In a previous blog Venice wrote about her self-stock (How My Self-Stock Changes Over The Years) and made a lot of great points.  She spoke about her younger days and how she viewed herself, to how she changed over the years.  This blog came to fruition during a car ride when I was trying to explain to her that a guy in my position has no desire to ever cheat.  She understood, but I wanted her to really understand, so I came up with a self stock analogy to try and better explain myself.

When I was a younger I used to watch television and for whatever reason, spot a random woman from say…a shampoo commercial.  My eyes would fixate on how she washed her hair in the shower, showing parts of her body, and I would fantasize about the different things we would do together…nude…while rubbing her breasts on my face.  I didn’t need direct contact, I just needed a thought of her.  Those thoughts turned into dirty ideas, those dirty ideas took a life of their own.  Without the woman ever knowing me, she took advantage of me…in so many good ways.  In my mind, I came up with various scenarios, and as soon as my young body would orgasm, I no longer thought of the woman taking a shower washing her hair again… or until next time I saw the commercial.

At that time in my life, it didn’t matter if you were a random woman on a commercial that would never say a word to me, or a girl in my class that thought I was cute. Any woman, regardless of her self-stock, was a possibility for me.

Continue Reading Your Self-Stock (part 2) – Older Women Fuck Better

May 28, 2015

How My Self-Stock Changes Over The Years (Part 1)

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sexy_poker1When I was four-years-old, a classmate and I got in front in front of our kindergarten class and sang a song for everyone. I wish I can tell you it was “Billie Jean” and that it ended a moonwalk. I wish I can tell you that we brought puppets and put on a cute little show. And I really wish I had brought in a photo album with pictures of me as a flower girl at my uncle’s wedding. But that would not be very exciting. We rehearsed for hours in my tiny room in my tiny apartment a neat little number about boyfriends. One hand on our hips while the other raised an index finger to the audience as we sang in unison: “And I’m gonna find me a boyfriend…a boyfriend…a boyfriend. And I’m gonna find me a boyfriend…today!” We thought we were hot shit, she and I. The next day, my teacher, who was friends with my mom, had an impromptu parent-teacher conference in our kitchen. “Come on, V…sing the song again!”

“NO!!” I screamed and stormed out. Why must they make a mockery of my search for true love???

As silly as that story is, the point is this: when you’re young and naive to the world, all you know is that you want something. You don’t know why, but because you’re impressionable, your instinct is to desire something that make other people happy. Why? Because I want to be happy, too! I just learned to spell my whole name and already I wanted to have a boyfriend. Thanks, “Three’s Company” and Shasta Cola for making me envious of things that I had no business envying.

As a child, you’re very basic in terms of prioritizing your needs versus your wants. Water, air, food, and shelter are all things that were readily available to you. Except during the summer I turned 18 and I had to fend for me and my brother by depleting the cans of corned beef in the garage, a time I fondly recall as “The Unintentional Corned Beef Diet Incident.” But that’s neither here nor there. For the most part, you’re given the basic necessities of life and don’t even give it a second thought as to where it comes from and if you’ll get it tomorrow or the next day. You’re completely oblivious. For me, I wanted a boyfriend. I didn’t care if he picked his boogers in class, I didn’t care if he threw sand in my hair during recess, and I didn’t care if he just could not sit in my carpet square like a good boy. I just wanted a boy to like me, to smile at me, to share his crayons with me if mine broke. It was that simple.

Continue Reading How My Self-Stock Changes Over The Years (Part 1)