Kiss My Aura Dora
KISS MY AURA DORA
The above Frank Zappa ditty continues with:
‘M-M-M . . . its real angora
Would y’all like some more-a?
Right here on the floor-a?
An’ how ’bout you, Fauna?
Y’wanna?’
Yes, these are part of the wonderful song lyrics about a lady called: Dinah-Moe Humm.
It seems she (Dinah) was making a $40 bet that a bloke couldn’t make her ‘come’.
Gulp! What a waste of dosh. Now then, had I employed the same ’sprat to catch a mackerel’ in the Antipodes, I would be bankrupt and bereft of the merest whisper of a resounding climax.
The reason being, that Aussie males’ (with VERY few exceptions) rule of thumb where Sex with Sheilas is concerned, was, (and probably still is), the primitive metronomic pulverising of the cervix with their brutish tool of oppression.
And for some weird reason, I cannot reach Nirvana that way.
Call me old fashioned, but, along with about 85% of sexually active ladies, my ‘little man in a boat’ and all regions due south and beyond, requires due care and abundant attention. Primarily with my partner’s tongue. I selflessly ventured on an oral odyssey as, ahem, ‘research’ for my book Body Worship. I Googled the words ‘hot tongue’ looking for the ultimate Male Escort.
All I got was a sadistic practice employed by mothers to teach their foul mouthed kids a lesson. It seems the nation’s ills in the swearing department could be solved by putting TABASCO on every delinquent’s tongue. (That’s what it said folks)
And don’t even begin to bother with the quest for my G spot, (you know fellas, where you seem as if you are hell bent on returning to the womb), because it (or mine) does not exist.
Therein (no pun, honest!) lies the rub.
Even if ‘Mr Lubber -man’ DOES give a smidgeon of due care and attention in that area, it is often so perfunctory, that you wonder why they bothered at all.
Even though my oral skills have been widely documented (oh yes), my favourite being: ‘Yes she CAN deep throat and lick yer gonads at the same time’, I would have to be some kind of wonderful to bring the gent ‘to completion’ within 36 seconds— for THAT dear readers (unless you have now gone to throw up in the toilet due to the subject matter) is the amount of time that these ‘panting by numbers’ punters ‘give head’.
I have held the theory that there is no such thing as frigid women, merely inept lovers.
I was thirty three, yes, I will say that again—thirty three years old before a man (I never tried batting for the other side) gave me an orgasm. He was Japanese!! Once these little yellow perils start something, their Samurai pride kicks in, and they will not give up until you finish. The relief of not having to convulse with ecstasy after my requisite thirty odd seconds was such a relief, that I was actually relaxed enough to pigging well ENJOY it.
Wa-hey!! There was no stopping me after that. Any likely lad that wanted to ‘dine at the y’ was welcomed with open arms and legs.
I was once asked to write an article for Nuts Magazine about this very same subject, and to guide me with regard to what kind of stuff they were looking for they gave the example that: ‘You know that if your lover deploys the ‘Alphabet technique’ by the time he gets to the letter ‘F’ you will think: ‘this is going to be so fan-f*ucking-tastic or ‘I may as well start faking now ‘cos this is never going to work.’ If that is the criteria, I can tell by half way through the letter ‘A’.
If only would -be ‘muff divers’ would pay attention to their partners, rather than the rolling of the eyes in an exasperated ‘Look lady, I KNOW what I’m doing’ it would save the frantic whimpers of: ‘Left a bit, right a bit, up a bit, STAY THERE AND DO NOT MOVE UNTIL YOU ARE FINISHED.’
‘Tipping the velvet’ (a quaint Victorian expression) is the subject of much debate. A male friend was with a group of his peers (film makers, video producers, photographers) and the question was posed: ‘If you had the choice, which activity would you choose-a) receiving a knob job OR b) going down on a woman. It was (surprisingly) a resounding b), it would appear that it truly (in this instance) is, better to give than to receive.
The ‘punting bible’ Punternet is debating this very serious subject in a pudenda licking poll (seriously). The participants, who presumably are counting off the days of Easter before they can resume their ‘paying for sex’ activities, have voted that it is overwhelmingly their favourite activity, but I am MOST displeased by the discrimination displayed by 6.54% who claim that they would not ‘do it with a ‘working girl”. **Letitcia speed dials a Human rights Lawyer** Bloomin’ cheek! What is the point of being a prostitute if you cannot avail oneself to certain ancillary benefits?
Not everyone shares my love affair with ‘growling at the badger’ (Aussie colloquialism). Mention the very subject to most Gay men and they parody projectile puking. I don’t find this response rude, in fact I just mention my life long love of ‘licky licky ya ya’ all the more.
I bumped into my Gay friends Gordon and Dave only yesterday, and mentioned in passing the subject matter for this coming month’s Rag.
I got chided with: ‘You are alienating 30% of your target audience’. In the spirit of: ‘One can only please some of the people some of the time’ I enquired as to what precisely it was I should write about so the Boyz did not feel left out. They thought about it for a nano – second and came up with ‘Feltching’.
You have been warned (How about it Ed?)
Letitcia: author of Body Worship
www.brightonbodyworship.com/book
What's on your mind?
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May 8th 2009 | 1
ThirdPrize says:
You can never have too much Frank Zappa.
