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Wednesday, July 19, 2006
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 FROM THE DEPARTMENT OF SEXY SECRETS REVEALED
When I first started this blog, I made a concious attempt to hide just what a sexy motherfucker I am. After about 20 minutes, I realized just how daunting and exhausting that task was. It was draining, really. Besides, so many of you have come to see Enjoy Every Sandwich as an essential service, and how could I possibly service you properly if I held back on properly bringing the sexy? And if I'm interested in anything, it's servicing you properly. Some of you more than others, to be sure, but I'll get to you all eventually. Thankfully, I have a lot of Red Bull and coffee.
So I decided early on that I'd share the sexy with the rest of you. There's no need to thank me. Really, there isn't. I just take comfort in knowing that I'm just like Mother Theresa without being an annoying Albanian dwarf. Or dead. And better at fucking. I know I should't take such comfort in being a better fuck than a dead, dwarfish, Albanian nun, but what are you going to do? You don't have my face.
While I've taught most of you everything you know about bringing the sexy, I haven't taught you everything I know. There's a very good reason for that. To say that the overwhelming majority of you are more attractive than I am is a ridiculous exercise in understatement and I need to keep a competetive edge. A certain je nes c'est qois, as it were.
Then the lovely and talented DeAnna entered my life, and I knew that nothing would ever be the same. From the first time she commented here, I knew that she was The One. I couldn't be more convinced that she was sent to me from heaven to save me from a life of lonely despair, empty sex and ruthlessly mechanical masturbation. We're what everybody's favourite Drunken Stepfather calls "connected at the soul."
Last night, without knowing it, De put up this post and convinced me to finally reveal the Great Secret of Bringing the Sexy Hard.
Before I reveal my secret, I should warn my younger readers that these are professional tricks, performed by professionals and not intened for home use. There's a certain skill level that must be attained before even attempting to bring the sexy like I do, lest grievous injuries be inflicted. Enjoy Every Sandwich assumes no liability for any mishaps that may occur due to your amartuerish attempts to be as cool as I am.
Sorry, my army of lawyers made me say that.
Anyhow, here's what started this, my process of personal revelation.
I'm a little concerned for myself. Last night I had a very vivid and upsetting dream. I dreamt that Regis Philbin died. In my dream, I was so distraught and I cried so hard. Now, don't get me wrong, I enjoy Live with Regis and Kelly. I watch it every morning while I'm getting ready for work but I'm not some crazed Regis fan. Sure, I'd be sad if he died but in my dream, I was devastated. I wasn't sure if I could go on without my Reege. Maybe I need to be medicated.
(...)
If I can't spend the rest of my life with a man just like Skippy, then I'll spend the rest of my life alone.
Some of you probably don't believe in serendipity. That just makes you worthless, weak and someone I don't need draining my precious oxygen into your foul, putrid lungs. You represent everything I despise and I will not rest until you are utterly destroyed. Think what you will, but I believe that this is the very spirit of Eros bringing De an I even closer together.
I've waited over three years to tell you my secret, and I think that you're finally ready.
Sometimes, when the mood is just right, and the room is flooded with candlelight, l'amour , and sweet, sweet anticipation, I can sound just like Regis Philbin in bed. This doesn't happen often. I need to be with someone Truly Special, someone I think might just be The One.
It goes without saying that she'll love me. We all know that. After all, there are few things a woman can resist like a man's tie, shirt and suit matching in a perfect, seamless wave of primary color. That look is the silver bullet of romance. This is why it is important that a gentleman keep his shirt, tie, jacket and socks on during the making of the love.
Sometimes, after underessing us both (again, one being more underssed than the other) and performing truly phenominal oral sex on her for an hour or so, I'll ask a young lady if she desires my throbbing meats inside of her. If she answers in the affirmative, I'll say "Is that your final answer?" If she asks to make make a lifeline call, I generally put my pants, belt and shoes back on and leave. A woman has to be exceptionally special for me to tolerate that. I really don't need her accountant cousin in Des Moines getting all up in my shit. After all, I'm a very busy, very important man. Of course if I do make my escape, I always send in my pinch-hitter, Larry King, to sub for me. I'd never never a damsel completely hanging. After all, I am a gentleman.
But if that call isn't made, I'll begin by penetrating the lass slowly and languidly, all the while declaring "Well, well, well, look at you!."
Throughout the act of love, I'll tell her all about what Joy and I did over the weekend. It will be a meandering tale because I last forever and because that's just the way Regis rolls. She'll giggle a little and say "Oh, Reeg," - each time more declararive than the last - before climaxing over and over again. Her skin will be flushed, her toes will twitch and she'll feel as if every single molecule in her body is shuddering with a satisfaction she never felt possible. Her nipples will push into my chest like tiny pink bullets, trying to pierce my heart. As the contractions of her sex around mine come closer together and her breathing becomes more shallow, my thrusting becomes more and more insistant. Inevitably, two of my fingers will find their way into her ass. Tears of joy will run freely from her eyes and she will know that the dreams she had as a little girl of meeting the perfect man are, at long last, realized. Finally, she is the princess in the Neverending Story that was written in her childhood. After five or six hours, I'll feel my own orgasm build and I'll cry out "Are you ready for this? Are you ready for this? Get ready! I'm OUT OF CONTROL!!!"
After I've emptied my essence into her, I'll hold her body tightly against mine and tell her that "America's got talent" as I kiss the top of her head. It should go without saying that Brandy, Hasselhoff and that English cat I've never heard of will tell us that it was the most beautiful thing they've ever seen - more touching than they ever expected life to be. They won't say so out loud, but they'll know that they've been changed forever for having witnessed it. This will be even more incredible to the three of them than the birth of their own children.
Her eyes will meet mine in a wordless, but true and lasting declaration of love. She will know that she is forever ruined for all other men. She knows that she'll never have her very soul stroked as it just was by another. All at once, she'll be totally satisfied, yet still hungry to taste yet again from the eternal feast of Our Love.
Then I'll feel that familiar stirring between my legs and proclaim "Well, well, well, someone's not ready to call it a night." Then she'll sigh contentedly and kiss me with a passion she didn't know she possessed, knowing that she's ready for another 11 hours of bliss.
Three days later, when our passion is exhausted for a time, she'll sleep with me in her mouth suckling me like a pacifier, and washed over wth a contentment that she knows will carry her through the rest of her life. She will sleep the sleep of angels, knowing the good dreams she's had all of her life have at long last come true.
Now you know my secret. I hope you'll use it responsibly. Some of you might not live through it, but if you've read your Darwin, you already know that.
Easy Listening Recommendation of the Day: Adore By: Prince From: Sign O' the Times
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