maneater with a side of mayo

“Is sex dirty? Only if it’s done right.”
Woody Allen

C’mon, I dare you, ask Mz. Conduct at: guttergrl69.hotmail.com

My ex told me the other day that I’m every man’s best dream and worst nightmare all rolled into one. I polled my boys and they all agree. Hmmm... such is life I suppose.

I should have known it would be one of those days. I woke to a phone call at an obscene hour, a wrong number at that, then heard the recycling truck screech up like an intergalactic battleship. I heard each bottle being thrown into the truck separately and what seemed like an hour-long process. I just knew it was a deliberate act on the recycler boy’s part. I mean, they saw two big bags of empty liquor bottles and they assumed I was hung over and were going to really piss me off. I bet they thought that if they had to get up at the butt-crack of dawn then why shouldn’t the party girls? Maybe they couldn’t get laid and they were somehow trying to take it out on me, I don’t know. They won; I dragged myself out of bed, waited for coffee and went in the other room to slip in a Parliament CD. Hey, if I was awake, I was going for all the way. As soon as I pushed in the CD tray, my phallic shaped cactus that sits atop the CD stand, all at once came toppling down on my chicken-haired, head. True, I had been neglecting it, but hookers on a hymnbook, it’s a freakin’ cactus. So, after a few colorful expletives that sent the dogs running for cover, I carefully picked up the eight-inch stem of prickly plant. I carried it outside, tossed it on the cement and stomped the holy hell out of it. Reminding my self that I was, for the most part, sane and almost completely in possession of my faculties, I went in to have my glamour girl coffee and ciggie and start the day over.

Later same day, I was out on my porch, shaking out a hairy dog blanket when I see my old, green and silver toothed neighbor, Jackson, come cruising up the sidewalk carrying a white bag with grease oozing from it’s pores. Since he saw me last summer in my backyard (lurking lustily from his apartment window), mowing the lawn and gardening butt-naked as I always do, he’s never let go of his lurid, little fantasies. He’s asked me to go have a drink several times and each time I tell him, unless they hold the Ice Capades in hell, it’s never going to happen. I also told him that he blew it by telling me that he spied on me in my backyard because he’ll never see me in the buff again. He shakes his head saying, “Oh damn now”. Not a mental giant, poor Jackson. So on this day he asks politely if he could come up on my lawn, as he wants to ask me something. I give him the okay, and he sticks out of his greasy bag he’s clutching and offers me some sort of stanky fish. “No thanks“ I say “I don’t really eat fish.” “Oh that’s right, you’re one of those veganarians. I be needin’ a woman like you to make me healthier,” he says. I told him I bet he could do that all by himself, thinking to myself, inevitably like everything else. Knowing that wasn’t what he really wanted to ask me, he hem-haws around a bit and I’m still shaking the blanket, beating the dog hairs into canine oblivion. I tell him to spit it out because I have to prepare for a shindig I’m throwing that evening. After begging me not to get upset, he finally says -- with his soft spoken, yet jive talking self and his greasy fish hands going up and down his body for effect -- “I be waking up evvvery mornin’ just thinkin’ ‘bout you, girl.” I said that I’m sure he did and asked, was that all? He continues with his Ebonic plague and says under his breath “I was just wonderin’, uh, if I could come up wit a hunded fitty dollars, could I please have some sex with you?“ Well, I, for some reason wasn’t offended and just told him “Ol’ Jackson, that’s just never going to happen, not even wit your hunded fitty bucks, but hey, you go enjoy this beautiful day and your bag o’ fish.” He walked away shaking his head and groaning like the day was going to be extra long. I shuddered, thinking about those greasy fish hands stroking that old man weenie meat and went inside to make a martini before my guests arrived; a damn stiff martini at that, stiffer than a greasy ol’ Jackson weenie.

So here I am, edible and effective, lost and found, front to back, top and bottom and here on earth to cater to your every little brain boggle. Give it to me at: guttergrl69.hotmail.com


Dear Mz. Conduct,

I am a medical doctor, but I’m at a loss for this and thought maybe you could help. I had a patient come in and while I was giving him a physical I noticed he had a peculiar piercing. I see many a pierced body parts these days, but this was in the rim under the head of his penis. I didn’t ask him like I wanted to so I’m asking you. Also I wondered if it’s a pleasure thrill for him or more for the woman?

Dr. Dumbo

Dear DD,

First of all, how presumptuous to assume that the pleasure could only be for himself or a woman. He could very well be a gay boy with a lover that gets a bang out of the sensation. Consider yourself bitch-slapped.

You weren’t terribly specific so I will tell you what comes to mind. Penis, mmm, penis head, rim mmm... okay I’m there and honey, it doesn’t take much. Well, let’s see, you have your Prince Albert which is probably the most common in male genitalia piercing. It’s usually a ring that enters through the urethra and then immediately behind the glans, or the head of the penis. Nipple rings on a Nazi, what am I telling you this for, you’re a doctor. Anyway, for some people, the piercing is purely aesthetic, but for others, it is highly sensual. I should add that some women find the piercing uncomfortable. Want to know a bit of the history you say? Well, a lot has been written about the history of this piercing, but very little of it is true . The most common story is that it was a "dressing ring" used to pull the penis into tight fitting fashions, and that Prince Albert himself had one. Other people have suggested than he wore it to keep his foreskin retracted and "fresh smelling" so as not to offend his Queen. Others have suggested that it was worn by divers to hold on a urine trap as an alternative to a catheter. There is no conclusive evidence that any of these is particularly true .

You also have the ampallang, which is a male genital piercing passing horizontally through the body of the glans, whether through the urethra or above it. Initial jewelry is almost always a straight barbell. Historically this piercing was performed in various Polynesian cultures, specifically the Dayak people of BORNEO, who wore this to emulate the rhino, which has a similarly equipped penis courtesy of nature.

There is also the frenum piercing which goes through the little piece of skin on the underside of the head. Not all men have these slips of skin to do that sort of piercing with though. You can even have implanted tiny balls around the head of the penis. The majority of those implants are inserted using a pseudo-surgical method. Obviously there are several kinds of piercing for male genitalia so perhaps I’ve touched on whatever it was you saw. Basically there are contradicting explanations of male/female stimulation and it really depends on your partner. Personally I would have inspected it closely, tried out the sensation, smooched it just a bit, you know because I must, and been promptly reported to the authorities. I suppose it’s good I do what I do, eh?

Now take two weenie rings and yank them in the morning.

(as appreared in SFX magazine)

Copyright 2002 All Rights Reserved Kim Alvarez