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Lie-ing in bed (the male side)
Jackass sey di worl' no level. Jackass sey nuff ooman feel sey a dem alone tell lie pon bed business, bu man an' man affi deal wid it a way more time too.
Last week Jackass spoke up about the women who speak untruths after the bed (or car or lightpost or speaker box or what-ever surface is suitable for the 'backing up') business is over. Now, it is the turn of the men. I would say us men, but you all know that when it comes on to manhood Jackass is a cut above all two-footers. Five feet we a deal wid. Yeah! Anyway.
The way women talk about men and their cat-hunting ways, you would think that in bed a woman is the equivalent of Renato DeCordova Valentino Adams and crime. You know, he would turn up in his battle gear and the bad guys would walk out, hands in the air, saying 'please take me Mr. Adams, please take me, I repent of my Stone Crushing ways'. Similarly, the way many women speak, they feel as long as they turn up and turn it up, frontways or backways, then their part in the bout is over.
Eh eh. No so. Man and man will agree that while there is a basic level of excitement at the prospect of poking a stick in the bushes, searching for a spot where the lady being probed about sensitive matters can say 'oh gee!', the reality is not always thrilling.
In fact, sometimes it is downright disappointing.
Highly prized
Now, as long as the man pops the woman is not likely to ask 'was it good for you baby?', unless she is one of the rare, highly prized breed, who take the business of pleasure very, very seriously (and are not professionals, of the sidewalk in New Kingston variety or the 'man haffi spen' variety). She will assume that once the juice is loose all is well with the world.
Not so. And it is not many men who will speak the truth and say it was like injecting a piece of beef. (Dead beef, because big man is not 'cow' boy, or goatherd 'her' or dogmus 'her', for that matter.)
So what do men do? They heave and puff away like it was the best little piece of fun in the world, thinking of a bedroom bout in the past or hopefully one in the future, keeping their thoughts firm so that the supporting members will remain firm as well. And that is 'lie-ing' in bed without actually speaking.
Hell, some of those sneaky two-footers go as far as to fake the coming of the glory, shaking and trembling, twitching and jerking, huffing and puffing, left leg stiff, toes pointing downwards, face twisted, mouth open, sucking in deep gulps of air.
And make the withdrawal before it is realised that it is still hard currency in the account.
Poor ladies; they really never realise what is up and go right ahead thinking that all is well with their bedroom (or car back, or dancehall, or soca session, or beach, or mountaintop) activities.
Jackass sey de worl' no level. Jackass sey nuff ooman fi tighten up dem game, cause is not a piece a cake. (Hmm. There is cake soap too. He heh). Jackass come an gone
Jackass sey di worl' no level. Jackass sey nuff ooman feel sey a dem alone tell lie pon bed business, bu man an' man affi deal wid it a way more time too.
Last week Jackass spoke up about the women who speak untruths after the bed (or car or lightpost or speaker box or what-ever surface is suitable for the 'backing up') business is over. Now, it is the turn of the men. I would say us men, but you all know that when it comes on to manhood Jackass is a cut above all two-footers. Five feet we a deal wid. Yeah! Anyway.
The way women talk about men and their cat-hunting ways, you would think that in bed a woman is the equivalent of Renato DeCordova Valentino Adams and crime. You know, he would turn up in his battle gear and the bad guys would walk out, hands in the air, saying 'please take me Mr. Adams, please take me, I repent of my Stone Crushing ways'. Similarly, the way many women speak, they feel as long as they turn up and turn it up, frontways or backways, then their part in the bout is over.
Eh eh. No so. Man and man will agree that while there is a basic level of excitement at the prospect of poking a stick in the bushes, searching for a spot where the lady being probed about sensitive matters can say 'oh gee!', the reality is not always thrilling.
In fact, sometimes it is downright disappointing.
Highly prized
Now, as long as the man pops the woman is not likely to ask 'was it good for you baby?', unless she is one of the rare, highly prized breed, who take the business of pleasure very, very seriously (and are not professionals, of the sidewalk in New Kingston variety or the 'man haffi spen' variety). She will assume that once the juice is loose all is well with the world.
Not so. And it is not many men who will speak the truth and say it was like injecting a piece of beef. (Dead beef, because big man is not 'cow' boy, or goatherd 'her' or dogmus 'her', for that matter.)
So what do men do? They heave and puff away like it was the best little piece of fun in the world, thinking of a bedroom bout in the past or hopefully one in the future, keeping their thoughts firm so that the supporting members will remain firm as well. And that is 'lie-ing' in bed without actually speaking.
Hell, some of those sneaky two-footers go as far as to fake the coming of the glory, shaking and trembling, twitching and jerking, huffing and puffing, left leg stiff, toes pointing downwards, face twisted, mouth open, sucking in deep gulps of air.
And make the withdrawal before it is realised that it is still hard currency in the account.
Poor ladies; they really never realise what is up and go right ahead thinking that all is well with their bedroom (or car back, or dancehall, or soca session, or beach, or mountaintop) activities.
Jackass sey de worl' no level. Jackass sey nuff ooman fi tighten up dem game, cause is not a piece a cake. (Hmm. There is cake soap too. He heh). Jackass come an gone