slugs and snails and puppy dog tails... and penises!

“With a rebel yell, she cried more, more, more”
Billy Idol

Glory holes and grassy knolls, anything goes with Mz. Conduct and her worldly words of wisdom. Ask her your dog-gone dilemmas at: guttergrl69.hotmail.com. And now you can call her salacious sonic box and talk with her directly at: www.keen.com/MzConduct.

Blind date time at the Tiki Room again. I got there a bit early and started up a conversation with the bartender. The bartender, a splendid flamer. When I ordered a bone-dry Sapphire martini with three olives, he asked for my identification. The night was starting off on a good foot. “It’s the pigtails,” I told him. The guy sitting at the bar disagreed and made some not-so-subtle remark about getting my phone number. I gave him my business card instead (no phone number on it, just email). He seemed elated and I planted my leather clad self at a booth, just the other side of the plastic palm grove. A few minutes later, my date walked in. Slightly attractive in a femme sort of way. He was extremely personable and we yakked with the waitress and commented on her fab 60’s hair-do. My date drank whiskey with a beer back and the guy at the bar sent over another martini to yours truly. This happened three times and the Tiki Room has the best damn martinis around, honey. Anyway, my date and I got along well and he had interesting stories. The small world syndrome visited us three separate times, as he’s friend’s with one of my oldest friend’s, has another friend that my friend hangs out with, and has a roommate that used to write a column for a local newspaper. I happen to verbally rake the columnist over the coals before I knew this fact. Oops, open mouth, insert foot, however it didn’t change my opinion. Such is life, and where is my martini?

We’d been there swilling for over four hours and closing time was near. I mentioned that I had to pee and he said “let’s both go.” So he followed me into the women’s restroom and when I sat down, he whipped out his weenie and peed right between my legs. After six martinis, I just had to go and this seemed a way to kill two birds with one stone (plus it was sort of hot). We were snickering at our misbehavior as we walked back to finish our last drink. I looked over at him and he had slipped under the booth, disappeared. Where was the boy? Oh my, there he was, there between my thighs, under the lime green booth, lapping away. I caught wind of the waitress headed our way, so I kicked him with my pointed heels, as I didn’t want to scream with pleasure right there in the empty Tiki Room. I’m a perpetually, ear-piercing vocalist when it comes to sexual release. Ask my neighbors eight houses down. So, we went back to my house and although I liked the guy and found his spontaneity refreshing, I made him call a taxi...and off he went pointing his way home with a boner compass.


The Blue Sky Boy and I spent an amazing night together, intoxicated with many wonderful things. I spent hours wrapped up in the sheer, crimson, silky material that draped over my bedroom door. I loved the feel of it and danced with it and the wall for hours. Enigma echoing in the background. Blue Sky Boy did the same, his tall, hairless body, his long hair flowing down his back, his movements so sensually rhythmic, oh help me Goddess of Guttersluts. I reached for my camera and started snapping photos. It was a moral imperative, as he was a freakin’ vision of perfection. Okay, my vision might have been slightly altered that night, but I feel the same way each time I look at him still. I’ll never have him though, not really. This is what saves me; when I know I’m going to see him, I simply yank my heart out (yeah, like self-inflicted heart surgery is ever easy) and lock it in a box, bury it underground. Some place in the yard where the dogs won’t dig it up and play tug-o-war... until it’s shredded like a dying bird in a lawnmower. Shredded tweet. After all, if I wanted to feel that sort of torture, I’d have left it inside my chest.

The Yum Yum Boy, whom I met once, many moons ago, told me he was going to Aussie land for a year. Well, this called for celebration and perhaps a memory of a meaningful romp in another down under. Something for him to take with him over that big old ocean. He drove up to my house looking like heaven on a honey-stick. His long, wavy locks flowed down his back, the jewelry in his face sparkled in the sunset, his tall, taut body strode towards my throbbing skin. My heart pounded, my clit pulsed and up he walked, and his amazing arms grabbed hold of me. Twenty-three hours later, they let go. So much occurred, but when there is a spiritual revelation, sacred remains sacred, and my mouth is zipped, unlike those snug black jeans of his. My heart was firmly in place.

Cinderella Cyber Twat keeps promising to visit me with her matching luggage and pretty snatch. She’s up to her ears with bad girl rendezvous and some boys are up to their fists in her. We have big dreams of our meeting and I’m hankering to lickety-split her, seam by seam. Shave your piss flaps and pack those bags girl and c’mon down!

Dear Mz. Conduct,

Present company excepted, of course, what the *fuck* is up with womenfolk? I just received a positively scathing e-mail from a woman who I took out a few times (and with whom I engaged in some heavy kissing, but nothing else). At the end of last night's date, I sensed (correctly as it happens) that she was getting starry-eyed - and that I wasn't. She kind of hinted around and asked me if I wanted to sleep with her. The short answer would have been "yes", but - for once - I thought past my erection and realized that I would probably not want to see her next week and that she would be hurt - more so if we bopped first. So I told her (in carefully chosen and highly diplomatic words) that I felt that I was all kinds of turned on by her but felt that it wouldn't be a great idea. She was okay with that - kind of. But then she went home and called me to ask if I might consider some of the non-exclusive "play" type of sex that she knows I've engaged in - with her. I told her that it's kind of hard to switch to that gear and that I didn't believe it was really her cup of tea (Ahem. Believe me - it's not) Blah, blah, blah. She then sent me a long-ish e-mail regurgitating last night's conversation and I composed what I felt was again - a pretty thoughtful disengagement letter which didn't disallow the notion of our keeping some sort of vibe going. I dated her *twice* mind you. And she went ballistic. Skewered me in a flame-mail. Told me I was a "bait-and-switcher". That I "can't handle the truth". Meanwhile, I've been nothing but truthful and tried to spare her feelings and WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WITH THIS WORLD ANYWAY?
So, can you offer an opinion?

Man in a Mess

Dear MiaM,

Holy horny cows in a cattle drive, you men! And speaking of which, I could use a stiff one right about now, and an even stiffer martini. Okay, you said that you’ve been nothing but honest, well obviously SOME people need absolute brutal honesty. Something I cater to daily to avoid just such a thing. Even with absolute brutal honesty, SOME people still feel compelled to surgically attach themselves to us. Is there anything more annoying? Well, maybe a damp thong up the keester on a ninety-degree day, but seriously, you should not feel badly about flat-out saying what you instinctively feel. And yes, leave your penis out of the decision making process. Demand that your penis go get coffee or do some housework for crying in a mutherfuckin’ bucket. At the very least, picture grandma in a corset, Aunt Matilda in a string bikini, Janet Reno in drag, whatever works. You are obviously sending out mixed signals, mister buttcheese, so in my opinion, you asked for it! Do not agree to engage in some ‘sexplay’ if she’s already on you like sweat on a boxer’s ass. Telling her “it’s not a good idea” just isn’t graphic enough for SOME. If you need to spell things out, then do so, right off the gawd damn bat! Don’t ever go out, call, or merely wave at this woman, even from three blocks away. Leave it alone, like a week-old diaper. The next time you have a gut instinct, go with it. It may be hurtful to be blunt upfront, but it’s a lot less hurtful to the mixed up woman (and less stressful for you) in the end, damnit. The end.

Dear Mz. Conduct,

My boyfriend and I broke up several months ago and granted, it was painful and took a lot out of me emotionally, but I tried my best to move on. The other night he called out of the blue and said he had been thinking about me and missed me. I talked with him for only a few minutes because I was on my way out the door to a meeting. Now I can’t stop thinking about his call now and am so mixed up about what’s going on. I’m really kind of mad about him doing that, but my heart is pulling me towards calling him back. I was just starting to feel stronger on my own and getting over the relationship and now I don’t know what to do. Should I call him back or just let it go?

Pissed Off Patty

Dear PoP,
Good gobs of love juice, you don’t tell me anything about how the relationship ended or even was, so I would simply say; think about the good, think about the bad, weigh it out and if it’s worth giving the relationship another shot, then do it. Your heart is pulling, yet your brain is full of the good and powerful independence you’ve been working on. Maybe you can use that and have it all honey! If you do, then you get a free pass to the House Of Sin Spa... just for a day!

© All rights reserved Kim Alvarez