Category Archives: Love

Why Should I Write About Her?

Posted on by Standard 5

“Will you write about me?” The question is always on the tip of her tongue. She may not ask it immediately because she doesn’t want to seem like another one of your admirers. She’ll take her time, earn your trust, and maybe win your heart—but she’ll eventually ask it.

You don’t know what to say. You’re barely able to focus on the articles you’re writing, let alone whether this tryst will be something you’ll remember and feel is worth writing about a week, month, or year from now.

Girls all seem special in their own way when they’re in front of you. But the moment of lust eventually passes and only memories remain. That’s the tricky part. What will you remember about her? How her piercing blue eyes and her charming accent made you melt. Or maybe the way her body conformed to yours effortlessly, as if every one of her limbs was custom-made to fit your body. Or how she would visit you at work and wanted you to stick your fingers in her pussy when no one was looking. Maybe it will be how she snorted coke and took shots of whiskey before you fucked. Or the way she made you feel emotionally secure, even on the first night you ever spent with her. Or the way her youthfulness and naivety made you feel grizzled and ancient.

These are the random little things you remember about several of the recent women that passed through your life. Some used you for their own purposes and moved on, others rejected you when you wanted something more, and others seemed to fizzle away with no drama.

“Maybe,” you respond.

You’ve noticed that the women you’ve encountered all wish to be your muse. It feeds their vanity to know that they may be immortalized in one of your essays.

“What will you write?”

“I don’t know.”

That answer always seems to disappoint them, as if you’re supposed to be able to instantly pick sugary prose out from mid-air and assemble a lean, insightful account of this affair. You never know if she will be a footnote in your heart or have her own book.

You barely know her and her true character. She’s a woman and thus skilled in the art of deception. Not all women are liars, but enough of them are that you’ve learned to not fully trust one until she earns it.

She snuggles with you and tells you sweet nothings. She tells you of her life, philosophy, and aspirations. She tells you of her family and friends. She tells you about her job, coworkers, and career goals. She tells you about her ex-boyfriends and how she wants to focus on herself and isn’t ready for a serious relationship right now.

Maybe you’ll write about her. About how you met her. About how you charmed her. About the way she made your heart skip a beat with her beauty. About the conversations you had. About the times you fucked.

More than likely, she’ll be out of your life as quickly as she became part of it, whether it was after a one-night stand or having a several-month fling. Only when she’s out can you truly know if you want to write about her.

You don’t want to write about her. Writing about her will bring back the emotions you started to develop. Writing about her will put you in the state of vulnerability that you recklessly allowed her to see. Writing about her will be a confession of your need for a romantic connection. Writing about her would mean she meant more to you than you did to her. Writing about her will mean she won, and you’re too proud to let that cunt win.

~Raul Felix

Read more of my work at Thought Catalog.

Ode To La Doña: The Linchpin Of The Mexican Family

Posted on by Standard 4

FamiliaFelix

The Mexican man takes pride in the fact that he is the man of the house. In his mind, he possesses the huevos, so he naturally runs shit. If he wants to stay up late on a Friday night listening to musica norteña from the $1,500 after-market sound system of his ’95 GMC Yukon while drinking Bud Light, eating carne asada, and bitching about life with his carnales, he’ll do it, damn it!

Then his phone rings. “Es mi vieja,” he says as he looks down at the screen of ay-phone. He quickly picks up and answers. “Si, mi amor?” His friends hear the muffled sound of his wife yelling at him that it’s time to come home. “Mandala al la chingada,” say his carnales who are single. But they are well aware that he is in a powerless position and when his wife says it’s time to come home, he better move his fucking ass or run the risk of having his favorite Chivas soccer jersey cut up again. His wife may be young, but she is stubborn, brave, and resourceful. She has the makings a future “La Doña.”

In the Mexican family, much like the British monarchy, the man is the figurehead in name only. La Doña is the one who is the true shot-caller. La Doña is the alpha female. She could be the grandmother, oldest sister, or the most assertive, fiscally responsible, and reliable female out of the many characters that comprise the family. She has a commanding presence and rules with love, fear, and respect.

There is no love like the love of La Doña. Upon seeing you she’ll give you a hug, kiss, comment on how fat you gotten, and ask if you’re hungry. Then she’ll immediately get in the kitchen and throw together whatever she can from the contents of her fridge. Even with minimal ingredients, La Doña is able to magically assemble a delicious meal that you eat to the last bite.

La Doña will be the first person you call when life has kicked you in the balls. If you’re broke and struggling to pay your bills, La Doña is hardworking and frugal enough that she can lend you money. If life gets to the point where you lost your place to live, she’ll be the first person to let you stay in her spare bedroom until you reestablish yourself. When you’re downtrodden and everyone is looking down on you, La Doña will ferociously defend you and make it clear that your bad luck is only temporary.

She’ll be at your birthdays, graduations, and major life events. La Doña will be your biggest fan and supporter in all your dreams and endeavors, however farfetched they may be. She will speak proudly of you to others and highlight all of your accomplishments whenever the opportunity presents itself.

But La Doña will also fill you with fear. She will be the first person to confront you when you are fucking up. Get a bad grade in school? Be ready for her to yell your ear off about how if you don’t get good grades, you’ll be washing dishes at Denny’s with the other dumb Mexicans. You want to be cool and hang out with the little gangster kids across the street? La Doña isn’t going to let you become a good-for-nothing cholo that gives the rest of us Mexicans a bad name. She’ll go to their house, find you, and berate you in front of everybody with a combination of your name, swear words, your last name, and more swear words. Then she’ll grab you by the ear and drag your ass back home. Did you decide to get drunk and get your ass bounced out of the bar again? Don’t worry, La Doña will pick you up. The price: her beating the crap out of you for being tan estúpido. It doesn’t matter if you’re 27.

La Doña rules mostly with respect. Maybe she isn’t highly educated or well traveled, but her knowledge of how the real world works in invaluable. She has worked long, hard hours for low pay. She has seen life come into this world and has seen it leave. She has had her share of love and heartbreak, excitement and disappointment, happiness and sadness. She has selflessly put her family’s needs ahead of her own. She has made the right connections and has become a key figure in helping the family establish themselves in a new country.

La Doña knows how to get shit done and has connections who speak Spanish. Your ’92 Camry is having transmission trouble, but you don’t trust any of the gringo mechanics because they’re always looking to rip off Mexicans? Don’t worry; La Doña knows a guy who speaks Spanish and is trustworthy. You need a job? La Doña has a friend who owns a little taco shop and will hook you up. You’re traveling back to Mexico to visit? Just let La Doña make a couple of phone calls and you’ll have yourself a place to stay.

La Doña has more balls than most men. While many men willingly abandon their offspring, La Doña has more character in her right pinkie and will never let any child in her bloodline feel unloved. La Doña leads by example, never expecting anyone to do anything she isn’t willing to do herself. She’s the most levelheaded of the men and women in the family, often putting herself in the middle of their petty feuding to help find a solution so the family stays whole.

La Doña seems superhuman in the way she skillfully governs the chaos that is the Mexican family. Her fuel is her love for every member. Their trials are her trials. Their burdens are her burdens. Their success is her success. Their happiness is her happiness. She will have her favorite picture of you hanging up on some wall in her home. Even as you grow older and start building your own life, she will always worry about you because to her, you’re still esé niño who barely knows how to wipe his butt.

~Raul Felix
Read more of my work on Thought Catalog.

Skill Vs. Serendipity: Why Men Are Studs And Women Are Sluts

Posted on by Standard Reply

(c) cso237(taeb)

Like oh my god, I can’t believe our societal double standard. Why is it that men can fuck around and be studs, while if I fuck too many dudes, I’m a slut?” That’s a question many a young lady has asked herself as she fandangos her iPhone filled with text messages from the two guys she is currently banging at random intervals and a few others who she may bang in the future.

Why is there a double standard? Is it because the evil patriarchy has put into place the systematic oppression of women and uses sex as one of its many tools? Is it because biologically speaking, men subconsciously correlate a woman’s previous promiscuity as an indicator of future behavior and the likelihood she will cheat or worse, trap him into raising a child that isn’t his? Or maybe, just maybe, in order to get laid, a woman doesn’t have to do Jack shit and a man has to tromp through a bunch of bullshit?

Most guys don’t give a shit about girls style, race, where she went to school, or what she does for living when their sole objective is to fornicate with them. Whether she’s an indie-punk chick, a hipster, a quirky nerdy girl, a beauty queen, a preppy, a sexy tomboy, or even one of the few genuinely attractive hardcore feminazis, their pussies are all warm, pink, and moist on the inside.

As Chris Rock said, “It’s easy for ya’ll [to turn down sex], every woman in here since you were 13, every guy you’ve met has been trying to fuck ya.” The truth is that it requires absolutely no skill whatsoever on a chicks part to get a dick to fill her up. Unless she’s an absolute behemoth of a woman with a fucked up face, most of you ladies, if you truly wanted to, can look through your current contacts and find a dozen guys willing to fuck you tonight. Or you can just go to the bar, wear a cute little outfit, and make seductive little faces that convey how much you want a cock up in your guts.

Casual and random sex for you girls is a pure act of serendipity. Other than looking cute and being pleasant, it requires no investment on your part at all. You have a girls’ night out where you “just wanna dance” and enjoy yourself in your circle as you get hit on by guys you consider creepy because they don’t have the style you’re into. Then finally, one who has the look and attitude you’re into finally hits on you. All you have to do is enjoy the attention he gives you; let him do the talking, giggle, agree with him. Play with your hair; drink a few to loosen you up, and next thing you know, you have a mouth full of cum as you finish blowing him in the front seat of his Camaro.

Casual and random sex for a man is an act of skill, perseverance, and a little bit of luck. There are certain standards we as men must meet and conditions we must operate under in order to get into your panties. First, we have to have confidence to approach you and face the stacked odds that you’ll ignore us, nicely say no, or tell us to fuck off because we’re not your type. Some chicks like pretty, blue eyed white guys, others like tatted up bad boys, while others hate their fathers enough to date a man of a different race. If we’re not the right type for you, we’re shit out of luck.

Secondly, you ladies have to be in the right mood to be even hit on. If the chicks period is extra heavy, if she’s undergoing some stressful time where she just wants the whole world to leave her alone, or she feels like being a cunt because she’s too cool to talk to anyone; then most men, no matter how charming or good looking, have no chance.

Let’s say that a man is able to jump those first two hurdles, he has the look a girl is attracted to or at least interested in and she is not in some rabid bitch mood. He still has to say things to keep a girls little feminine minds interested. This is where he has to use his experiences from failures and successes of yore. He has to assess the situation, pick a subject matter to talk about that is sure to make her feel intellectually stimulated, emotionally connected, and make her laugh. Depending on how good-looking of a dude he is, the degree of how funny he has to be varies.

Then there is the unforgiving Best Friend Forever (BFF) Barrier. Ladies, many of you have perfected this to an art form by the age of 21. You clumsily flop from one bar to another in your high heels. Upon reaching a new destination, through slut-mosis, you form a sphere shaped BFF Barrier effectively blocking out the rest of the world. Usually, the hottest chick will be in the middle, underneath the watchful of eyes of her less attractive friends. If a man should be so lucky to be able to attract the attention of the girl he’s after, he still must win approval from iron fisted BFF Barrier. He must outwit, charm, befriend, and persuade them to rally for his cause. If he is unable to do so, then they will veto him by passive aggression: they will start looking the other way, check their phones, and physically boxing him out with their flailing, I mean, dancing.

Upon completing that objective, it’s still not all smooth sailing from there. If a man is unable to seal the deal on the first night, there is less than 25% chance that’ll he’ll ever see or hear from this chick again to get another try since western women these days are notoriously fickle. They’ll lie about not seeing a text (bitch please, you’re on your phone 24/7, we’re not stupid, we don’t believe your poorly thought out lies), will wait forever to respond, will make plans but never confirm, or flake on dates without giving it a second thought because they just didn’t feel like it or found a better option.

Its rough, but these are the facts of the dating world that we as men operate in. We understand the supply and demand system. We have a demand for your little pink lady parts and chicks, as the supplier, have autonomy over the distribution of the goods. We want those goods, and are thus are willing to trudge through market driven price of chick-bullshit that comes with it. A man has to be able to brush off rejection with a simple, “Oh well, fuck it, her loss,” and move on, never thinking of her again. While most chicks, if they ever even have the balls to hit on guy and get rejected, will make it an emotionally significant event in their lives that will inspire many a shitty poem and emotioncon laden text messages to their BFF’s.

Adjusting for those extremely rare times when he got retardedly lucky, he had to earn every notch he gets. He had to have the confidence to approach, the right look, catch her at the right time, say the right things, make her laugh and smile, charm her and her friends. If he didn’t pee in her butt the night they met, he had to take her for drinks, charm her some more, impress her with his life story and interests, not say anything too stupid, make the right moves, in order to just lay the pipe. For ever pipe he laid, he has had to deal with half a dozen or more other chicks shitty attitudes, lies, flakiness, bullshit, fickleness, shit tests, stupid friends, irrational behaviors, and a host of other unique problems. This is why a man who is able to secure sex from various women is considered a stud. All a woman has to do is: look relatively decent, show up to a place where men gather, not be a bitch, and open her legs. She doesn’t have to approach, she doesn’t have to particular look, she doesn’t have to catch him at the right time, say the right things, or even win his friends over. She just needs to show up, be serendipitous, and it’s cocks galore. This is why a chick who has sex easily with various men is a considered a slut. In a capitalistic society, we value skill over mediocrity. The skills of being a stud are so hard to acquire that only a small percentage of men are able to accomplish it, in turn, society holds it in prestige. While the low level skill of being a slut can easily be mastered by any chick with a shitty enough upbringing.

So, ladies, as you text the couple of guys you’re banging, just think about how much bullshit you put him through to get into those panties or better yet, think of all the men you’ve rejected and how many rejections they have to go through just to eventually get a piece of ass. Surely, you didn’t have to put as much effort to get the current cocks you’re sucking.

~Raul Felix

Appeared On Thought Catalog: Skill Vs. Serendipity: Why Men Are Studs And Women Are Sluts.

Who’s Fucking My Woman?

Posted on by Standard 26

“You know what is really fucked up?” says my buddy, “Your future wife is out there right now and she’s banging some other dude. There’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Yeah, your future wife could be getting gang banged right now,” I say with a smirk because I think I am clever.

A few hours pass and I’m working out at the gym, an epiphany strikes. ”Holy fuck! My future wife could be getting gang banged right now! FUCKING WHORE!” I think to myself, “No fuck that, I’ll never accept that in a woman who would be my significant other.”

Even without going to the orgy extremes, there is still a very high chance that she probably has some other dudes schlong nestled snuggly in one of her pleasure holes. More than likely, some other guy has already been her first blow job, fuck, and anal experience. As a fully grown man, there isn’t anything you can do about it. Girls are losing their virginity before they even graduate high school. Unless you want to run the risk of losing your anal virginity in federal-pound-me-in-the-ass prison because of statutory rape, it’s a fact of life you’re going to have to accept.

I try to reason with myself that maybe she won’t be a virgin by the time she gets to me, but please don’t be a used up whore. Then I churn in my head all the shit I’ve learned about women over my short lifetime. I think of the girls I’ve known who’ve gone through their slut phases in their teens and twenties. They are now settling down into a real adult relationship or having kids, kissing their little infants with lips that have sucked dozens of cocks.

This is where the modern man and traditional machismo man inside me have a moral qualm. “I’ve had my share of random pussy and sexual experiences,” says the modern man, “How can I be a hypocrite?” Then machismo man says, “You’re a man. It’s your nature to go out to fuck random women, do stupid shit, and then apply the lessons you’ve learned when you get into a relationship with a woman who is actually worth settling down with. Whores are to be used and then promptly tossed aside.”

“Women are people too. They’re free to make their own sexual choices,” says the modern man.

“Yes, they are. You don’t have to accept them though. Just as she has the right to fuck around, you have the right to not to take a woman who has fucked around too much as a candidate for a partner,” rebuttals the machismo man.

“Well, that’s true. But, you’re not going to find a virgin over the age of 18 though. Even if you did, there’s a 95.5% chance it’s either because she’s a religious prude or just an ogre of a woman,” says the modern man.

The machismo man pauses, “You make a good fucking point. There is a balance to be had, the number just can’t be too high.”

“What’s too high of a number?” Asks the modern man.

“I don’t fucking know. Uh… hopefully in the single digits or at the most, one dude per year since she’s lost her v-card,” responds the machismo man.

I can already hear the responses about how it’s hypocritical or how if she had safe sex, it really shouldn’t matter. Or more likely, it shows lack of a self confidence in a man because he can’t handle a woman who enjoyed sex or that he’s slut-shaming. There is nothing wrong with a woman loving sex. Women who love sex are fucking awesome. The issue is how easy it was for her to spread those legs to whatever cute guy she came across after having one or two cosmos.

This is the feeling a lot of us machismo men, yes, I unapologetically admit to being very machismo, possess: we want to conquer and dominate. We want to be the best lover in our woman’s life and it irks us to know someone else possessed her at some point. We don’t want to share. We don’t want to boldly go where dozens (maybe hundreds) of cocks have gone before. We want to go to pristine, fresh grounds that only a few, very select and lucky cocks got to prance around in.

Does a woman become a less valuable member of society because she’s had a train ran on her by a platoon worth of men? Of course not. It doesn’t make her a bad person or vile creature to be avoided. She can still be a great friend, co-worker, and contributing member of society. It’s her right to do whatever the fuck she wants. There are always consequences to said actions. Consequences of being a whore is that some men are going to be put off by it.

Just like many a woman may not want to be with me because I’m Hispanic, self-centered, not her type, unstable, lower class, unestablished, an alcoholic, uneducated, or many other factors. For me, being a whore is a deal breaker, plain and simple. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll still fuck her but take her as serious girlfriend material? Not going to happen.

Some may curse me for wanting that, hoping that I do end up falling in love with a whore to teach me a lesson for having the balls to state my standards. That’s on par with me wishing for a woman to end up with a cheating husband because she said she didn’t want to be with a man who cheats. Or wishing a Jewish woman ends up with non-Jew because she said she only dates Jewish men.

Part of being a free individual in our society is that we get to pick the qualities we value in our partners. No body is perfect and we’re all fucked up in our own way, but each of us have qualities that we put at a higher priority above others. A woman can be a whore and be a great person or a woman can be a virgin and be a total piece of shit.

For myself, I value looks, intelligence, good character, ambition, and non-sluttiness. Other mens lists may be different. A woman’s list may be different. Your list may be different. It’s our quest to find that person that possess the qualities we value highly and hopefully, we possess the qualities they value highly in return so they’ll actually want to be with us.

Am I such a horrible person for not wanting a whore as a significant other? Its fine, you wouldn’t want to be with such a backwards thinking, macho, misogynistic asshole who doesn’t value your right to express your sexual liberations by having cocks of all sorts destroying your orifices any ways. And future ex-wife, if you’re reading this, please try to keep it in the single digits.

~Raul Felix

“You sexist pig! Who do you think you are?” At least I didn’t make a rape reference… oh wait: Politcally Incorrect and Loving It

Three Crappy Mistakes I’ve Made as a Boyfriend

Posted on by Standard 14

So you think you’ve got your woman on lockdown because your competence as a lover is so grand that the mere sight of you makes her privates all moist and tingly. With your confidence, masculine presence, and sexual powers, you’ve managed to enslave her with your cock. It’s a great feeling isn’t? You’ve dedicated yourself to learning how her delicate, soft, and beautiful body reacts to your touches as you finger bang her through her pretty pink panties. You’ve communicated with her and found out what turns her on and what really turns her on, that nympho. She’s your little toy that you use as you please. Life is good.

Now, I want you to think about the other things you do in your relationships after you’ve given her the most amazing 30 seconds of her life with your 3 inches of fury, stud. As much as you wish it wasn’t true, a vast majority of the time you spend with her isn’t going to be with your cock punishing one of her orifices. What are some things you can do to avoid losing your precious little nympho during those times when you can’t display your coital powers? Here are some crappy mistakes I’ve made as a boyfriend.

Don’t Make Minimums, Maximums

You don’t cheat on, beat, or emotionally abuse your woman. Great, maybe you also want your cock sucked for not murdering someone, robbing a bank, or pushing old ladies down stairs. That’s not something to be proud of, it should be a standard that you hold yourself to. It’s what is expected out of you from a relationship, it’s not just a happy plus.

When is the last time you’ve done something to really make your woman feel special? Has it really been that long you can’t even remember? You’re fucking up. You don’t believe it matters, but it does.

My ex was a very lovely Israeli woman and I would take a one and half hour bus ride to go see her. I’d do it twice a week, sometimes more. In my mind, I was doing a lot for her. I was going out of my way to see her all the time, that’s romantic right? Did it ever occur to me to buy her flowers, get her chocolates, or other cutesy crap girls like? Yes, it did, but I always failed to act upon it. I thought the trip I was doing was more than enough to show my love. I failed to acknowledge the subtle and not so subtle hints she gave that she wanted me to do more romantic things.

Don’t make the minimums your maximums. She is your woman, you’re expected to go out of your way to see her. You’re expected to take her out on occasion. You’re expected to tell her she is beautiful. Just because you do those things, doesn’t mean you can’t do more. You can buy her those flowers or surprise her with a sushi candlelight dinner on the balcony. You can send cute little love letters through the mail that will be reminiscent of by gone era before the invention of e-mail. Yes, the big things matter, but so do the little things. Strive to do way more than is required to be a good boyfriend.

There is a lazy human tendency we all tend to have where we become complacent. We grow comfortable in our relationships and start believing the just doing the minimum to show our love and devotion is enough. We already did all that romantic bullshit in the beginning, why do we need to keep on doing it? It’s established how we feel. Boredom sets in, gentlemen, and your little sex vixen will wonder why she is no longer worth your thoughtfulness and attention. She will become bored and disenchanted, and a woman bored and disenchanted is one in a position to over examine every detail of the relationship and what it has become.

The choice is yours, maybe she’ll stay loyal and break up with you cleanly, or maybe she’ll fuck around on you, but either is something you can avoid if you took those extra steps. If she does either any ways, fuck that bitch then, at least you gave it your all.

It’s Okay to Look, but Don’t Lie About It

I know some people are in an open relationship, which is cool, but that’s not how I roll. That doesn’t mean I don’t take the liberty to check out a hot piece of ass that is passing by. My girl and I would be walking along being a happy and loving couple, when all of sudden some chick with a generous breast size would come towards us. My eyes would focus on those huge tits, but being the tactful man I am my head or body movements would never give a hint. Then, she would pass by, I would wait three-seconds and turn around to check out the ass. I was a sly one.

I wasn’t. My girl noticed every single time. Your girl notices every single time. She probably will notice the chick before you and thus knowing your tastes, will know she is the kind of eye candy you go after. She will then begin to sense any type of movements or subtle changes you make in your misguided effort to masquerade eye-fucking another chick.

Now, the part the truly pisses her off is not the fact that you’re checking out other chicks, but that you’re making a pathetic attempt to hide it. You really think your girl is that clueless that she won’t notice you eye-fucking every fine piece of ass the passes by? Don’t insult her intelligence.

The best thing to do is to be honest about it. It’s natural for you as a man to be attracted to other women (and she to other men.) Its part of our genetic make up. If you have a traditional type relationship, make sure to follow the age old rule: look, but never touch. As long as your woman isn’t the overbearing, jealous type she won’t mind too much if you look so long as you don’t do anymore than that. Honesty is the key.

Who knows, if you tell her what kind of girls you’re attracted to, she’ll be more inclined to suggest some extra naughty things in the sack and maybe, dare you dream, suggest a threesome. Most likely not though, but it’s always nice to fantasize about it.

Easy on the Criticism

You like big 36DD sized boobs, but your girl has a respectable, but slightly smaller sized 36C. You know what is not a great idea? Telling her that maybe she should get breasts implants. Yes, I said that, and yes, I am an idiot.

By criticizing her body, you have undermined her self-confidence, and thus her willingness to be your little sex vixen. How is she suppose to feel sexy wearing that silk red lingerie she bought just for you if you told her you prefer big floppy boobs over her nice and perky ones? It’s the equivalent of her saying she prefers a cock that is only a couple of inches larger than yours.

Seriously, think about that for a moment. Your woman who you love so dearly, just told your cock is just a bit too small. How good do you feel about yourself? Do you feel adequate? Do you feel like a man? I bet you don’t. You are doing the same thing to her by criticizing her slight lack of breasts size. You are making her feel bad, inadequate, and unfeminine. Pretty easy to make her pussy dry up like Death Valley. Kind of fucked up thing to do to the person you love.

As long as your woman isn’t obese, getting obese, or disgusting (why would she be your woman if she was), make her feel comfortable in her body. Her body has a special uniqueness that only belongs to her. Part of the fun of fucking a woman is that you get to feel every inch of her. Your hands have free to reign to run wild all over her body and feel how her special curves line up. Enjoy it, because they are a part of her and most likely, you’re never going to fuck a girl that looks perfectly like her again.

Make it known that you love to ravage every inch of her body and keep your hyper critical and non-constructive comments to yourself. You’ll get so much more in return. Otherwise, you’ll be back to jerking off to porn with girls with 36DD in no time.

~Raul Felix

“Awww that was sweet, how about you stop this love shit and show me some sexist stuff.” Fine: The Feminine Afcionado

Note: This post has been featured on Return of Kings

Empty Chair

Posted on by Standard 9

I take my seat at the restaurant
Table for one
An empty chair across from me
Your chair

I sit there waiting for the waiter
I wonder what I would have said
To make you crack a smile
To hear the sound of your laughter

The waiter asks my drink order
I’ll take a beer, a Hoegaarden please
What would you have ordered?
Or would you have just sipped off of mine

Silence
I drink my beer in silence
something that was rare
when you were sitting across from me

No snarky comments about the
lady across from us who is too fat
or that big breasted chick on the right
or how you should just order your own beer

I place my order
something filling and hearty
you would have ordered
something with shrimp in it

Running low on my first glass
I would have ordered two
just to stop you
from sipping off of my beer

I look at the empty chair
My hand would have been on your thigh
I would be giving you random kisses
And teasing you in what I believe to be adorable ways

The food is here
After I took my first few bites
I would have taken some of yours
you would have taken some of mine

The meal is good
I would have ate it too fast,
still hungry
I’d take what’s left of yours

The check is here
It would have been my turn to pay
I’d let you calculate the tip
and we’d be on our way

I leave alone
Those days are over
I wonder who would take your place
In that empty chair.

~Raul Felix

Some more deep shit: Heartbreak

Heartbreak

Posted on by Standard 6

We men are strange creatures. We’ll take an ass kicking, break our bones, or even take a bullet without shedding a tear. We’ll just take a salt tablet and drive on. Men don’t cry for that shit. However, give us a beautiful, charming, and witty woman who inspires us, fulfills us, and makes us feel emotionally secure, and then take her away, we’re crying ourselves to sleep every night. Eventually, she’ll get tired of your bullshit and insecurities. She’ll get tired of your vices and lack of maturity. She’ll get tired of you. Then before you know it, she has been pushed to her limits and decides to end the love affair.

I have been lucky enough to have had a few loving and heavily passionate relationships with some very pretty women in my life. Each one, ended with the woman ripping my heart apart. Some were gentler than others, but the end result was the same: A very angry, heart broken Raul Felix full of self-loathing and despair.

Being heartbroken, depending on your perspective, can be a spectacular comedy or tragedy.

First order of business: Drink heavily, indiscriminately, and execute the task with extreme prejudice. This act of self-destruction is highly effect at showing your ex-girlfriend what type of high-quality man she has let go. Through each drink conquered, you have shown her that you are truly a winner and an unrelenting go-getter who is unswayed by insurmountable odds such as the lines that defines socially acceptable, reasonable, or safe amounts of alcohol consumption.

As you sit there, alone in the dark, wallowing in the pile of shit that is your existence, you’ll begin to brood. You’ll start thinking about all the good times. The way she laughed, her wonderful scent, all those times you fucked and how hot she looked with your cum dripping down her face. How conversation with her seemed to effortlessly flow and your cute little inside jokes. The way you would smack her ass randomly. She was the person you told all the little and big things to and the first and last person you spoke to each day. She even sent you nude pics of her so you can masturbate to them when you weren’t spending the night together. Gives you a warm and fuzzy just thinking about it.

Then, anger will rush through your veins as you can’t seem to fathom why its over. You were good to her! You told her you loved her and bought her flowers that one time. Never mind all the times you were extremely selfish, unthoughtful, and just plain mean. Or those times that you pushed the envelope too far with your drunken bullshit. Or those times you flirted with other women shamelessly. Or those times you made her feel insecure and not worth while. Yeah, never mind those parts, you were a good a boyfriend 95% of the time.

“Fuck this cunt,” you think to yourself. That 5% of you isn’t that fucked up is it? You’re not a drug addict or a broke, unemployed loser with no ambition who lives with mama. Sure, you’re a bit of a slacker and procrastinate on shit until the last possible minute. But she isn’t perfect either! You then begin to list of the personal traits of her you don’t like, after calling out two or three, you can’t really think of much more. You’re an idiot, you let such a fine woman hate you because you acted like yourself.

You know what sounds like a great idea even though it’s 3 a.m.? How about you compose long winded e-mail professing your undying love to her. She will be greatly impressed by your mule like stubbornness to talk to her even though she has already blocked you from Facbooking and texting her. After composing a masterpiece of romance and eroticism that is sure to rekindle the fire of her love again, you press send. That line where you told her that she was as special as a retarded, dancing Hyena wearing a clown costume is a soliloquy destined to be placed among great cantos.

You know what isn’t going to give you a sense of nostalgia? If you look at all the pictures you have of her. No, that isn’t a sharp pain you feel in your chest as you notice how pretty her nose is. No, your heart didn’t skip a beat when you realize how perfectly she looked by your side. No, your eyes aren’t watering as you realize that she was right for you. Nope, you didn’t feel any of that shit. Your heart is not bleeding. Feeling feelings is for pussies.

You wake up in your bed the next morning. Your laptop on your chest and shut off because the battery ran out. There are several empty beer cans scattered about and an almost full one next to you on your table that you took one or two sips out of, after which you promptly passed out.

You take a huge beer-shit, shower, and begin to drink water. You replug your laptop and dread to find out what you wrote last night. You check your e-mail, a new message from her. Apparently, as your message history shows, you decided that she didn’t respond to your sugary prose quickly enough and you decided to turn sour and mean. Saying all sorts of things that no lady should ever have to hear and thus reminding her why she left you in the first place. Economists like to say that people always behave in a rational way with the information they have. At that time when you wrote to her and called her a “wretched cunt who destroyed your heart and is probably fucking some other dude right now cause she is a fucking whore.” You probably had some legit source of information that would make that seem like the right call, and not an act of drunken paranoia.

You chat and argue with her for a while. She then tries to plea with you to leave her alone, let her be happy, and that she wants what is best for you and you’re a good man in your own regard, but you’re just not right for her. That she will always love you and never forget you. You being of sober mind set, agree to leave her alone and not talk to her. A few nights later, fueled by booze and bitterness, you decide that if you can rally up the troops of lost love for one last push, you can come out triumphant.

~Raul Felix

Only certain type of women are worthy of my love: The Feminine Aficionado