menage a twats!

“Elegance has a bad effect on my constitution” Louisa May Alcott

Ask me what you will, what you dare, and I’ll answer you all… in the bare! guttergrl69.hotmail.com . Visit my website at: www.mzconduct.com



The Georgia Peaches have rolled their fruity asses downtown and I now have two new roomies, Punk Girl, covered in tattoos from Bettie Page head to combat boot toe -- with a pet Chihuahua that she dresses up in vampire costumes, and a quiet little bald boy whom I rarely see. They are truly fab, and will take over my house when I move to a smaller, more affordable place.

Punk Girl is visibly high energy and immediately upon meeting her, told me – all in one breath -- that her Chihuahua had a penis mishap the other day. He was humping his whistling, stuffed gorilla toy (apparently a normal occurrence), and his penis grew extraordinarily huge and wouldn’t retract. She called the veterinarian for advice and discovered a hair had lodged itself inside the sheath, making it unable to go back in. She had to lube it up manually until it finally shrunk back inside the wee critter. I knew right then I liked this girl!

Trying to move from a house full of kitschy clutter into a one bedroom apartment truly sucks, but I desperately need some change, and it doesn’t include stressing over shut-off notices, roommate drama and how I’m going to eat. I was so frazzled one afternoon that without noticing, I spooned a can of dog food onto my nachos. Only after sticking the plate in the microwave, did I realize that the disgusting smell was what it was. Thank the Goddess of Guttersluts I didn’t put that mess in my mouth! It was that very same morning after all, that I woke up at the buttcrack of dawn, and while running across the dining room to pee, I slid my bare foot promptly in to a humungous pile of dog diarrhea. Christ on a crescent roll! I tried to blame it on the Chihuahua of course, but the pile was larger than the little dog itself and I knew the culprit must be my fat, old bitch of mutt. It was an anomaly, and after using every expletive imaginable and simultaneously plugging my nose, I investigated the situation. I found that my roommate had given my dog about forty pounds of lentil soup the night before. It’s safe to say that this will not happen again.

I was on the job at the phone sex emporium when the Yum Yum Boy came sauntering in the room. He was grinning and wearing the leather undies I bought him, obviously trying to make me lose my composure – or what little composure one must have to maintain a jack-off sermon. We decided to incorporate a little reality sex into the dialogue. It was pretty hot, I must say, and as I was screaming for him to pound my perfect mound, Whack-Away Willy, who I had on the line, was pounding his hand. I truly think we all came together. Unity is such a nice thing to strive for, don’t you think?

The Royal Diva has been canoodling around the greater part of town, celebrating her freedom from a wickedly insane husband. Her spirit has not been depleted (although her ex would have liked that, as would mine), but instead it’s soaring, honey! We often yak about the importance of keeping one’s spirit alive and strong and not letting anyone pull you down to their pathetic level. She has lots of irons in her career fire, and I predict that she will be one of the greatest jazz divas of the northwest… maybe the world! She already is to me!

The Yum Yum Boy surprised me a few times this month. One night, he pulled from behind his sexy back, a giant bouquet of flowers, and you know how I love my flowers! Another evening, when we’d been running around like headless chickens all day, and realized we hadn’t eaten, he tossed me in the truck and drove me to a swanky, sultry Cajun restaurant, where we relaxed over a long, romantic dinner of smoked fish, linguine and red wine. We’ve decided that we are incredible porn stars at heart, and make movies in our heads while the reverse cowgirl rides and the stallion does it’s buckin’.

The YYB and I attended a house warming party, and nuns with nipple clamps, did we warm that house! Our hostess, a tawdry little tart with red curls and a voluptuous form, had been an acquaintance we’d known for a just a few months. She and I would jokingly discuss how her husband and my boy would be fun to tie down and dick-tease into a fiery frenzy. They had both been naughty boys in the past and we, the vicious vixens that we are, felt they needed some discipline. As the night wore on and the crowd died down, little Miss Hostess and I wrote stern notes on cocktail napkins, “Get your tight little buns in the master bedroom -- ten minutes!” We clandestinely slipped the napkin notes to our stallions while they mingled with the inebriated musicians, still in a drum circle in the yard. It gave us just enough time to get there ourselves and dress ourselves in disciplinary garb. I left my knee-high leather boots on and stripped down to my thong and bra. Miss Hostess opened her closet, pulled out a black corset and heels. We lit seven large candles above the bed and propped ourselves on the big, red pillows that sat against the headboard. We waited. Fifteen minutes had passed when the boys walked in the room, confused and titillated. I told them to close the door and lock it and Miss Hostess reprimanded them for being late. They just stood there, smiling like Cheshire cats.

That sweet evening, we made them crawl on all fours, tied them up with stockings, and tortured their desire with girl sex and tongue baths and wooden spoon spankings. After an hour or so of this manhandling mayhem, and wet to our knees, the four of us ended up in an aerobic pile of reckless abandon. The full moon was in Aries and raging through our blood. Hours later, exhausted, I blew out the candles and we all fell asleep wrapped in our bad boys’ arms. Now those are memorable party pals!

Dear Mz. Conduct,

I just have one simple question. I don’t seem to know the right thing to do when my girlfriend cries. To me, there is no reason for her outbursts, and when she tries for an explanation, I don’t understand. I think I’m a fairly sensitive guy and want to understand. How can I feel her emotions more, or at least so I don’t end up sleeping on the couch so much?

Confused on the Couch

Dear CotC,

Quit your fairly sensitive whining and read on. I once consulted my wildly wise friend, a Ph.D. in genetic research, on this very subject. He informed me, that basically, there is one male hormone: it is either off or it is on. In females, there are two hormones and they have a complex dance of cycles and rhythms.

In general, for all systems, females have a two to one ratio of hormones controlling many aspects of physiology. Remember, with one hormone there are two states, with two hormones there are four, etc. So, Christ on a crumpet, the four basic female hormones make us girlies 16 times more complex! We can’t help it, just as you can’t help the way you are made up either.

Anyway you want to look at it, being a man, you’re not in the winner’s circle, honey. Men tend to think with their heads (both of them), and women think more with their hearts. Of course, there are always exceptions, but the hormones have their own agenda, bottomline. Biologically, there is no possible way you can ever feel what she does, but that doesn’t mean you can’t empathize. We women have to realize this fact too, and not expect our boys to know what we’re feeling all the time.

If your girl is having extreme and continual outbursts that you can never at all comprehend, even with this information, there may be a hormonal imbalance, or even a hypoglycemic problem. Many things can be controlled with diet such as the latter. Blood sugar can be an evil entity, believe me! The Yum Yum Boy knows when I haven’t eaten or when I’m about to bleed like a suck piggy when I start bitching about the lint on the carpet, or I see a lost dog in the dark, and start blubbering like a newborn. The hormone war may not be fair, but it is what it is. When she turns on the faucet, you can choose to backpack your butt off into them thar hills, or if your balls are big enough, stick around and be supportive the best way you can.

You may be outnumbered in the hormonal department mister, but you’ll score points by biting the bullet, making an effort to listen and comfort. Why do so many men head to the nearest bar and suck the suds down until they’re numb? They’re wimp-ass mo fo’s, in my little black book. I’ll just bet my double-headed dildo, that if you super-hero it out with her tears, she’ll be more apt to understand your needs, such as gluing yourself to the nearest televised football game with one hand down your pants and the other in a bag of chips. It’s your choice, and may the force be with you!

Dear Mz. Conduct,

I overstepped my boundaries on a date with a women and she furiously sent me on my way. She’s really hot and I wonder, is there any thing I can do to get a second chance with this woman?

Wolfman

Dear W,

Great gobs of gonads! You obviously know that you crossed certain boundaries with this woman, and yet you don’t seem ashamed or the least bit apologetic, just intent on getting ‘another chance.’ In my opinion, you blew any future dates with this woman and should take a serious look inside your pathetic self. Perhaps you’ll realize (but I doubt it), that when you disrespect someone and piss them off enough that they blatantly tell you where to go, that’s exactly what they mean. At this point, you will not redeem yourself, you can only learn by your mistakes. Send the woman a huge bouquet of exotic flowers with the promise of suicide, and then go knock your head against the nearest brick wall, you sociopathic pig!

© all rights reserved Kim Alvarez