a pint of potato salad and a trouser trout to go

“It is not enough to conquer; one must know how to seduce”
Voltaire

Be submissive this week and send me your questions at: guttergrl69.hotmail.com C’mon, give me a reason to live (cough, cough.)

News flash, celibacy doesn’t work for Catholic priests and it sure doesn’t work for me. Armed with my new-found knowledge, I rolled back, transformed into my naughty self once again. Last week, strutting like a snarky tramp in the deli section of a nearby supermarket, I was waited on by a beautiful young boy, hardly old enough to remember Ronald Reagan. After he scooped up my vegan potato salad, he asked if there would be anything else. I smiled slyly, and replied “Oh, I’ll try to behave and say no.” He grinned from sideburn to sideburn. Once I found myself in the wine aisle, he sneaked up behind me and slipped his phone number into my hand saying “I hope you call me.” I answered “maybe I will sweetie.” Oh, and that I did. He walked into my house, and as he marveled at my wild decor, I slammed his hard body up against the living room wall, knocking down three vintage pictures of women being spanked. Neither of us cared. I grabbed his wrists and thrust my little, black summer dress up against his blue jeans, crotch to crotch -- with my seven-inch heels on -- and slid my tongue into his mouth. He reciprocated and suddenly we were a tangled mass of heated flesh in just a matter of minutes. I did that boy six ways to Friday and he, much to my delight, was a kid in a cotton candy romp room. Yeah, we’ll be seeing each other tomorrow night, too, as he is now Mz. Conduct’s Deli-licious Boy.

After a week of blubbering, blathering, inhaling oodles of ciggies, and up-chucking Chardonnay, I’ve come to realize one thing: You must be your own true self, and that true self should be cultivated, cherished, and celebrated. No matter what. When the Yum Yum Boy comes back from Australia, I’m all his. In the meantime, I’m all mine.

Topless housekeeping, yes, my newest endeavor, has been a powerful and exciting way to make lots of loot. My fab new roommate, the Distinguished Deviant, is my agent, or pimp if you will. Or will not! So, not a surprise, but most men like to watch me bend over in my tiny, black skirt and shiny heels. With my pierced, bare breasts bobbing and swinging in time to the feather duster, the ogling begins. They talk about their wives that left them, how they were laid off their jobs, the dog that died, and every sad thing known to man. They cannot touch me in any way, shape or form, and sign a waiver in agreement of this when I arrive. One guy asked if I could clean his bathtub without my panties on and I told him it would be an extra thirty dollars an hour. Not a problem. It was a ninety degree day and I liked the breezy bending much better anyway.

The other day, I sat next to a lovely individual, in a sticky, magazine-free, government office, no less, who had his Hawaiian shirt unbuttoned and was scratching and burping simultaneously. It took forty-five minutes for them to call my name.

Later in the week, wanting to do a good thing, I gave two toothless transients a ride in the back of my truck. I was feeling a strange sense of camaraderie I suppose. I bet myself a martini that when they baled out, they’d ask me for cash. I was overdrawn, penniless and fridge bare, but that’s beside the point. I won my bet.

The transient trollop and I have already perfectly pictured ourselves as eighty-year-old lesbians. We’ll end up living together, sitting around in our holey fishnets and fuzzy slippers, chain smoking hand rolled ciggies and screeching at each other over who drank the last of the gin. This week calls for martinis by the score and lots of young, supple tramps in Betty Rubble attire to serve them to me.

Dear Mz. Conduct,

I’ve been reading your columns and they’re very, very funny. I have a question about ‘stand-up sex’. My only problem, being at 6'3", I’m not much good at it unless the woman is taller than I am. I tried it on the stairs, but that didn't work too well because the woman was a little heavy. The only way it works is if she's supple enough to put her legs around my waist and lets me do the standing. My partner isn’t too heavy, but we tend to do it in various positions indoor and outside. Sometimes we do it in public. It’s naughty and nice except the height difference makes some positions impossible.... don’t think I really fancy amputation though. So whaddya advise?

Standing Tall


Dear ST,

Okay, so I’ll toss out my suggestion of amputation then, damn you. You’ve got to be creative in the stand-up sex area. If your partner is shorter, she can wear heels. Wet leather, seven-inchers work well for me with a man about your height, and I’m an average five-foot-five. Heels of all kinds can do more for the mood than you may know. That way you don’t have to try and hoist an ample derriere as your manhood is being thrust into a frenzy. Unless you’re Arnold and Maria there’s a slim chance in hell it’ll work by sheer bicep boosting.

I can’t stress the shoe thang enough. Boots look excellent thrown over a shoulder, whether they be the chunky, big soled type or the spiky-heeled, trash queen variety. The point is, they can be an extra turn on and at the same time they serve the height barrier.

Also, stairways can actually be quite nice, you doltster. They offer a little stepping stool to her tunnel of lust. You just let her bend over all the way, you know, “C’mon Skippy grab your ankles.” Hmmm... that lends me to a memory of the ever-so-careful rendezvous I found myself in. It was the middle of the day, in the middle of a lake... floating in a small canoe and screaming my joy to the Goddess of Guttersluts. Now that takes talent, honey! And use what you’ve got.

Dear Mz. Conduct,

I’ve been hanging out with a girl I met that has me wondering. She likes to do a lot of the same things that I do: golf, poker, hiking, drinking. She’s pretty, but wears no make-up at all, which I have to admit, is very refreshing. The last time we went out, we had a lot of fun and a lot to drink and ended up back at my house. We ended up just passing out, though. In the morning she suggested we go play golf and I was all for that, so we did.

All I could think about was how I wanted to, in the very least, kiss her. Curious, I asked her about past boyfriends. All she told me was that she liked the fact that we could just hang out and honestly only enjoys sex twenty percent of the time. That made me leave it at that. I don’t want to lose her friendship by putting the moves on her. How can I hold on to what we have and also encourage more?

Wanting a Hole In One

Dear WAHIO,

Uh, why don’t you let this girl come see me and I’ll feel her out, so to speak. Honey, if she’s not a luscious, little lesbian then I’ll eat my butt plug! My suggestion is to go on being her friend, she obviously trusts you at this point. She’ll let you know -- just take the bag off your head and pay attention. Get to know her and in time maybe ask her what in tanning titties she means by “only enjoying sex 20% of the time.” Now if you’re plotting a sneak attack at the movie theatre with the ol’ penis in the popcorn box maneuver or some equally idiotic man-type gesture, I’d suggest just moving to a Southern state A.S.A.P. Otherwise, just play it by ear. Enjoy being with a beautiful and fun woman. You may learn something, but somehow I doubt it.


© All rights reserved Kim Alvarez