Another of my readers reacted somewhat adversely to my recent postings about high-school girls, suggesting that titillation ends where daled amos begins. Alas, I seem to be hitting a sour note.
I clarified that unless the girl in question is a cute bespectacled Chinese-American brainiac with grown-up tastes, she will not interest me.
Chinese-American brainiacs doing trigonometry homework, however, are just so adorable!
ADORABLE!
My significant other, Savage Kitten, is an exciting woman. She got excellent grades for algebra and geometry and other branches of the mathematical arts when she was at Lowell High School.
She is, if you will, the standard by which I judge others.
When we first met twenty years ago I looked like a young man in his late twenties, she looked like someone in her mid-teens. She was already legally of drinking age at that point, and in college.
I now look like a 47 year-old geezer (more or less), and she..... looks like a 22 year-old.
A slim twenty-two year-old. With exceptionally slender hands. And a quirky wit. She's still sharp-tongued, like she was then. Sparky.
She installed her own computer, isn't scared of technology, and understands plumbing.
She is a very smart woman. Though she doesn't think so.
PERFECT WOMEN
I have described the ideal female in detail a few times on this blog.
Shorter than me, dark-haired, round-headed. Intelligent. Above all, intelligent.
In this post, she resembles Eric Cartman from South Park, both in vocabulary and burning hunger.
[http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2008/10/if-you-dont-shut-up-ill-kick-you-in.html]
Here, she is a noodle-snarfing temptress. With raven tresses.
[http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2007/10/enough-char-siu-noodle-soup-for-two.html]
Food seems a dominant theme. That's a very Cantonese thing. Life is food, living is food. Eating is fun, eating is comfort, eating is sensual, eating is utter ecstasy.
Unless good things to eat are part of the program, you might as well forget about the company of attractive women.
FETISH
Let me confess that I do indeed have an obsession.
I love watching bright young ladies eat. It's that single-minded concentration on aromas and textures, tiny fingers tightly clenching chopsticks, lips parted, a slight blush from hot-sauce, a fully involved focus, and the deliberate exclusion of all extraneous stimuli while enjoying all the yummy tasty juicy goodness - totally angelic.
They are totally adorable.
Eyes twixt bedroom-tempting and calculating. It's that wide-awake yet narrowed look. Curious, and piqued.
Is there more food? Does it taste good? Can I eat it?
Noodle soup. Steak semi-rare. Lobster. Oysters. Little egg tarts from one of the Chinatown bakeries. Chow mein. Cheung fun. Ho-yao ngau yuk. Steamed dumplings. Deep-fried snackypoos. Cake. Pork chop and rice with a fried egg on top. Milk-tea with tapioca pearls. Chocolate biscuits. Chicken soup with noodly bits. Clay pot prawn with butter and fish paste. Lamb curry broth. Shiitake mushrooms. Bearnaise sauce.
Ooooooooooooooh!!!!!
Yes. Talk dirty to me.
I salivate, achoti, I salivate meod.
Showing posts with label 女子高生. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 女子高生. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Friday, December 18, 2009
HIGH SCHOOL GIRLS
I have always had a soft spot for high-school girls.
Actually, I need to clarify that statement.
I have always had a soft spot for the innocence that high-school girls used to represent. Today's teenage females can seldom be called 'innocent'. Not with alcohol, pot, casual sex, too much make-up, and trollop clothing.
They are still innocent, but it just doesn't seem that way.
Yes, call me an old fart.
Back in MY day, girls still dressed to be presentable, hardly engaged in any shenanigans (many intended to remain virgins till the day they went away to college), and when they smoked or drank, they were very discrete and did so with that delightful sense of surreptitious depravity - the pleasure of getting away with something of which their parents would disapprove.
The trick was pretending non-lung-cancerous sobriety when they came home at nine, hi mom, hi dad, and walking up the stairs to their room in complete control.
If early of an evening you saw a little miss down a pot of coffee and furiously chewing gum, you knew what was going to happen. She was going home. Nine o'clock.
Quite the well-brought up young lady. How sweet.
I suspect that the parents were not fooled, but they appreciated the effort.
Nothing looks so delicious as a young girl with cheeks flushed from too much hot coffee consumed too fast. That rosy hopped to the gills on caffeine blush, and the over-stimulated sparkle to the eyes - can there be anything quite so lovely?
The enchanting after-image of the nine o'clock subterfugitive made the rest of the evening seem anti-climactic.
And you looked forward to catching another glimpse of her, perhaps at a more approachable age, having progressed from mere bud to full bloom.
I guess the equivalent for the younger generation is seeing the nipple ring that accidentally ripped the buttons off her tarty little blouse while she was shaking her booty to pimp-rap ........ but it just isn't the same.
LISTEN UP, BITCHES!
Trash talk, telling your friends that you would SO blow the class delinquent, and passing packs of condoms back and forth on the bus seriously detracts from your image.
[Oh, and that cell-phone video of you having drunken truth-or-dare sex in the parking lot really does NOT need to be shown to your classmates. It will be on the internet soon enough, where they can enjoy it as often as they want and forward it to other friends with rude comments.]
There is a great difference between the pretense of propriety and the blatant exhibitionist vulgarity of expressing a standard-format uniquely hip creative individuality.
Could you at least TRY to act like a lady?
You know, normal shoes, a clean opaque shirt that covers your abdomen, pants that fit, and, other than a discrete application of lipstick, no make-up or nail polish.
Especially no blue or black nail polish.
Also, speak properly, and avoid foul language.
It might please your parents - not that that means much to you - but all of us dirty old men certainly will appreciate it.
If you stop looking like a five-dollar hooker, we will likely invite you out to dinner.
Our treat. Nice restaurant.
We'll even make sure you get home safely by nine.
Actually, I need to clarify that statement.
I have always had a soft spot for the innocence that high-school girls used to represent. Today's teenage females can seldom be called 'innocent'. Not with alcohol, pot, casual sex, too much make-up, and trollop clothing.
They are still innocent, but it just doesn't seem that way.
Yes, call me an old fart.
Back in MY day, girls still dressed to be presentable, hardly engaged in any shenanigans (many intended to remain virgins till the day they went away to college), and when they smoked or drank, they were very discrete and did so with that delightful sense of surreptitious depravity - the pleasure of getting away with something of which their parents would disapprove.
The trick was pretending non-lung-cancerous sobriety when they came home at nine, hi mom, hi dad, and walking up the stairs to their room in complete control.
If early of an evening you saw a little miss down a pot of coffee and furiously chewing gum, you knew what was going to happen. She was going home. Nine o'clock.
Quite the well-brought up young lady. How sweet.
I suspect that the parents were not fooled, but they appreciated the effort.
Nothing looks so delicious as a young girl with cheeks flushed from too much hot coffee consumed too fast. That rosy hopped to the gills on caffeine blush, and the over-stimulated sparkle to the eyes - can there be anything quite so lovely?
The enchanting after-image of the nine o'clock subterfugitive made the rest of the evening seem anti-climactic.
And you looked forward to catching another glimpse of her, perhaps at a more approachable age, having progressed from mere bud to full bloom.
I guess the equivalent for the younger generation is seeing the nipple ring that accidentally ripped the buttons off her tarty little blouse while she was shaking her booty to pimp-rap ........ but it just isn't the same.
LISTEN UP, BITCHES!
Trash talk, telling your friends that you would SO blow the class delinquent, and passing packs of condoms back and forth on the bus seriously detracts from your image.
[Oh, and that cell-phone video of you having drunken truth-or-dare sex in the parking lot really does NOT need to be shown to your classmates. It will be on the internet soon enough, where they can enjoy it as often as they want and forward it to other friends with rude comments.]
There is a great difference between the pretense of propriety and the blatant exhibitionist vulgarity of expressing a standard-format uniquely hip creative individuality.
Could you at least TRY to act like a lady?
You know, normal shoes, a clean opaque shirt that covers your abdomen, pants that fit, and, other than a discrete application of lipstick, no make-up or nail polish.
Especially no blue or black nail polish.
Also, speak properly, and avoid foul language.
It might please your parents - not that that means much to you - but all of us dirty old men certainly will appreciate it.
If you stop looking like a five-dollar hooker, we will likely invite you out to dinner.
Our treat. Nice restaurant.
We'll even make sure you get home safely by nine.
Thursday, May 07, 2009
I AM BY NO MEANS A PERVERT!
But Grant Patel probably is. This in fierce rebuttal of an assertion made by miss Snooky Wong, who wrote: "Most of my regular readers are perverts. There are four who comment frequently: Grant Patel, the Amphibian, Spiros, and Atboth. [cut] And I enjoy their comments, so I guess that means I like sharing myself with perverts."
Again, I am not a pervert. I stress this.
I just have a healthy interest inyoung ladies BLOGGERS who live in the same town as myself. All perfectly normal.
The remark was made in regards to her sex-life. Which appears to be either "not sure" or "other". As is perfectly appropriate for a person of her tender years.
She describes her probable lack of hanky panky here:
http://deathbynoodles.blogspot.com/2009/05/no-answers-about-my-sex-life-here-just.html
As you will note, the e-mail which prompted her speculation was innocent enough.
I wrote: "Here is what is possibly the most interesting survey ever! At least, from mister Patel's deviant point of view. Actually, ONLY from his devpov.http://blogs.jta.org/philanthropy/article/2009/05/05/1004935/everything-you-wanted-to-know-about-you
You will probably want to NOT respond to a single one of these questions. Mister Patel should under no circumstances answer any at all, though he would almost certainly wish to wax at length."
Quite innocent, no? Speaking for everyone except mister Patel, who most splendidly rose to the bait (and revealed himself a degenerate in nearly all particulars), I can say that other than a mildly avuncular curiosity, we (myself, Spiros, and the Amphibian) have no interest whatsoever in Snooky's love-life. Or the complete and utter absence of same - which she confirms in a subsequent post:
http://deathbynoodles.blogspot.com/2009/05/my-exciting-sex-life-part-deux.html
RANDOM QUOTE:
"Some of the questions are easy to answer, though if this was a test, even a multiple choice one, I would probably fail.
See, that's why Chinese American kids don't do sex surveys, it's performance anxiety! We're afraid we won't get into Berkeley or Stanford if we give the wrong answers!"
On second thought, strike 'mildly avuncular curiosity' and make that 'avid fascination. Especially after she mentions that she is a "blond sex-type thing". You have our attention now.
=================================
In other news, we have been informed that Stas Feldman is the glue that holds the universe together. Something about the second law of thermodynamics, stuff going blooey, and the third kommisar from the back. We entertain doubts about all of this, and seek proof. Musk oxen are involved!
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Again, I am not a pervert. I stress this.
I just have a healthy interest in
The remark was made in regards to her sex-life. Which appears to be either "not sure" or "other". As is perfectly appropriate for a person of her tender years.
She describes her probable lack of hanky panky here:
http://deathbynoodles.blogspot.com/2009/05/no-answers-about-my-sex-life-here-just.html
As you will note, the e-mail which prompted her speculation was innocent enough.
I wrote: "Here is what is possibly the most interesting survey ever! At least, from mister Patel's deviant point of view. Actually, ONLY from his devpov.http://blogs.jta.org/philanthropy/article/2009/05/05/1004935/everything-you-wanted-to-know-about-you
You will probably want to NOT respond to a single one of these questions. Mister Patel should under no circumstances answer any at all, though he would almost certainly wish to wax at length."
Quite innocent, no? Speaking for everyone except mister Patel, who most splendidly rose to the bait (and revealed himself a degenerate in nearly all particulars), I can say that other than a mildly avuncular curiosity, we (myself, Spiros, and the Amphibian) have no interest whatsoever in Snooky's love-life. Or the complete and utter absence of same - which she confirms in a subsequent post:
http://deathbynoodles.blogspot.com/2009/05/my-exciting-sex-life-part-deux.html
RANDOM QUOTE:
"Some of the questions are easy to answer, though if this was a test, even a multiple choice one, I would probably fail.
See, that's why Chinese American kids don't do sex surveys, it's performance anxiety! We're afraid we won't get into Berkeley or Stanford if we give the wrong answers!"
On second thought, strike 'mildly avuncular curiosity' and make that 'avid fascination. Especially after she mentions that she is a "blond sex-type thing". You have our attention now.
=================================
In other news, we have been informed that Stas Feldman is the glue that holds the universe together. Something about the second law of thermodynamics, stuff going blooey, and the third kommisar from the back. We entertain doubts about all of this, and seek proof. Musk oxen are involved!
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
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