[School Name Redacted]
[sub-editorial note: much of these links, much of this column, much of our collective souls, are NSFW. Lord help us, here it is.]
Dearest Chris Confundere,
We find ourselves in sad and saddening times of neglect, do we not? I am to understand that, at least amongst primates and other orders with long adolescences, at one time the norm was for one or both members of the breeding pair to approach their spawn upon its attainment of sexual protomaturity and explain of the many manners and ways that "birds antha bees," as was the parlance of the time. (In this example, are the "birds" the female of your species and the "bees" the male? What then does this say about the process of fornication? After the male stings once is his member forever embedded in his mate, to only tear off and bleed away once he attempts to retreat from this act? What, precisely, is "anthaing"? A curious term, to be sure.) But, even a most rudimentary search of these Internets swiftly reveals that the posture and intent in approaching one's own protopubescent spawn has changed a great deal in even just the past decade. This being the case, I am little surprised that you might choose to approach a perfect stranger in such matters rather than to risk broaching the subject with your MILF or Mother's Fucker.
Fortunate, then, you are that a stranger so perfect as myself is but a missive electronique away.
There are a variety of ways to mate; evidently humans file this in four major categories: Head-to-head, male-upturned, male-parallel (or "ye olde reach the round") and "sneaker" (which many online resources variously term the "fiesta", the "bangbus", the "creampie," the "facial"—frankly, it is bewilderingly varied, and I am little surprised that you felt overwhelmed by the variety. Sexuality is certainly a field, more than any other, in cast need of a firm and agreed upon taxonomy.)
In any case, the steps are largely the same:
IN THE CASE OF THE MALE:
- First, and foremost, do display of the appropriate colorings and postures, including—but needs not limited to: rigid arms, upward curls, 13 blackbirds, One-Less-then-One, peristaltic arm flares, golden epaulettes, iridiscent sclera, white dorsal stripes, baby elephant dance, rime of the ancient mariner, theme upon a summer place, venus butterfly, et cetera.
- Using your hectocotylus, id est the mating tentacle or Maker, reach back tenderly to within your Needham's sac and scoop out one or more of your spermatophoric packages—or "money" as they seem to be termed in the human parlance, for reasons I cannot discern— which you will bequeath at, on, or ideally, into your best-belovéd.
- Regardless of posture, the goal is to tenderly drive your Maker, "money" firmly gripped, to within your intended mate's buccal cavity—which, humorously, I had taken to be the human's anatomical pussy's cat, but further dictioneering leads me to now understand it to be more closely allied to the human mouth, which does lend a great deal of clarity to many images I had seen among my old lab assistant, Rob's, vast collection of anatomical photographic studies culled from the Internets World-Wide-Webbed sub-brachia. As such, this might include the need to reach down, forward, around, behind or simply fling the "money," drive-by-ishly, with all due vigor. As you are primate-descended and primate-born, the flinging of biological matter should come as naturally to you as fighting for primacy or picking nits from your troop-mates.
- "Money" firmly embedded in or all over your mate, it is now the time for the snuggling and spooning. One should also purr of the complimentary expressions of gratitude and affection. Sometimes one must grasp the pillow and speak through it as a psychologically-damaged individual must have needs to speak through a puppet to convey their true feelings, this is known as the "Pillow Talk." One should not fail to promise to call again soonest, regardless of one's intentions. (N.B., in the case of "Sneaker" or "Fiesta" coupling, cud-huggling must needs be omitted in favor of racing off into inksquirting obscurity and shame with all due swiftness.)
IN THE CASE OF THE FE-MALE:
- Remain still. Consider the lilies of the field, for they toil not, and neither do they spin. Think of the green fields of England.
- Be descriptive in your speech of the sex acts you prefer and/or desire to be done upon you. This was common in Rob's anatomological films that he downloaded from the Empornium on the Interweb. I can only assume this is done in the cases that your mate is blind, you are rutting in the darkness—perhaps in a trench or under a coral atoll, or your partner has the "Money" in their eyes.
- Be wary of the terrible destructive forces that lie dormant in your Kegel muscles. The flexing of these, according to the literature available, can change the very weather above, cause magnetic rays to emanate from one's groin, or to cause the death of any man that enters you. Their might is both sacred and holy, and is not to be used in haste. They are the nuclear missiles of the female anatomy.
- Do not be afraid to urinate on your mate. Many mammals do this, and it is entirely natural. If you are a crustacean or arthropod or cephalopod however you should avoid this disgusting mammalian habit.
- When engaging in the hot-girl-on-girl action please make sure to keep your nails trimmed. They are sharp and can scratch your tissue-like membranes terribly.
But, of course, does it not seem that your dyad of worries has come in the inverse of the pre-ordained order? For is it not of the very essence to positively establish the boy-or-girlness of all parties involved afore the rutting might proceed?
In any case, I fear that you have brought to me a stickier wicket than you necessarily intend. There are two matters here in question. The one is that of sex, in the noun-ish biological sense, and that question is generally easily resolved via simple inspection. Lock of the bathroom door, remove of your garments, and inspect yourself in the mirror. Count of your limbs; is one modified specially for the delivery of "money"? If so, you are the boy—please to acquire immediately of the football helmet, the dirt bike, and the scraped-knees. Also, your new favorite coloration is blue. If you fail to discover such a modified limb, then perhaps you have found an orifice suitable for holding of spermatophores awaiting your chance to sprinkle them over your released eggs. Evidently, in humans, this orifice is near one of your several mouths. If you should uncover a buccal cavity, then you might safely presume yourself to be a girl. Sharpen your teeth, curl of your blonde tresses, and put upon yourself a pink petifore. You will score much better than your male counterpart in nearly every test devised and will mature at an accelerated rate. This had lead many countries—especially in your Middle-East Which Is Actually South-Western Asia and Part Of Northern Africa—to ban women entirely, they exist in shadowy secret societies clad entirely in black and operate as assassins in the shadows. This is where Ninja come from.
But, the matter is little so simple, as in addition to the noun-sex there is the matter of gender, which is the set of codes in coloration, susseration, postures and actions by which you communicate to the world of human actions possibly pertinent data with regard to both your biologically noun-sex, as well as the practices you intend to put into motion using those limbs and openings. Genders are as varied as the biological sexes of common grass, namely there are seventeen of them and they are able to mate in complex patterns that I am still decoding. The Phyla of Possible Genders include: Straight, Gay, Bi, Tri, Quatro, Trans, Vanilla, Cheating, Cuckolded, Frigid, Switch, Butch, Femme, Top, Bottom, Left, Right, Strange and Charmed. It is confusingly possible to belong to multiple categories and to only desire one who belongs to an entirely different yet specific set. Allow me to present an example through a personal anecdote: Mrs. Brescher, the evil and promiscuous Lord of the Land of this Mobile Park dwelling is a Straight, Cheating, Vanilla Femme who desires only to mate with the Straight, Vanilla, Butch, Right, Charmed men. It is complex, and my attempts to fully chart it have been frought with complications.
Yes, it is confusing and confused. I am even my own self confused on this. Frankly, among squids, the matter is ever much more straight-to-froward. Let it perhaps to suffice to say this: In the Americas, it largely seems to be the case that if strangers, upon viewing you or hearing your speech telephonically transfered, do call you "Ms." or "ma'am" or "toots" or do shout of the "nice ass, baby!" whilst you walk of the streets, then you are the girl. Likewise, if upon first brush you are called "sir" or "mister" or "buddy", then you are the boy. This is the law, de facto if not de juris, whichever appendages you possess and against whom you enjoy to place them notwithstanding and there is no doing anything about it.
I would suppose, in an odd way, this is indeed the only possible child which might be born of Consensual Reality and Democratic Justice. Bear with it, and try to see the beauty in its careless, laissez-faire glee.
In the finality, the least I can say as you now embark upon sexual maturity among the rough beasts we call "humanity," without regard for your gender or sex, is this: Watch of your back, dear Chris. Lock of the bathing room door when you bathe; dress ever and always in thick, coarse and sackishly concealing garb; practice not of the arts cheerleadingish nor athletic, as they enflame the senses of so many a step-father, Stifler's mom, naughty uncle and wayward older sibling home from the college; and if you are to inadvertently drop of the soap, simply leave her be. The costs of being of the stinky cannot much the value of being not motherfucked nor MILFed, unexpected and unawares.
For more information on mating, please visit your local library or one of the many fine online resources available upon the many and several internets.
Your Trusted and Trustworthy,
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Copyright (c) 2000, 2004, David Erik Nelson, Fritz Swanson, Morgan Johnson