Tag Archives: horny

Decoy

Decoy: (n) anything used as a lure.

The only reason a duck-call works is because there are ducks out there who are horny.

When they hear that duck-call, they assume there’s a potential Tinder connection. If they weren’t so lascivious, they could just think to themselves, “Oh…there’s another duck. I hope he or she is having a nice day.”

Yes, a decoy works because there is a part of our consciousness that drags us toward mischief before we have a chance to consider the danger.

Whether it’s politics, religion or purchasing items at the grocery store, all of us are tantalized into making bad choices.

In politics, we’re told that “the other guy out there” is going to take away all the fun stuff we like to do because he’s just a “big, greenie-meanie.”

In religion, because of our fervency, we’re offered the possibility of being so favored that we can actually attend the ceremony to cast fools into hell.

And at the grocery store, we are informed that certain items are super-foods, and should be purchased if we want to be healthy. (Of course, the easiest way to identify them is by their super-price.)

Beware of decoys.

They are set up to trap us in our weaker parts by using a stronger signal.

Can we ever be free from them?

Will we ever consider what’s best for us before jumping in to follow the Pied Piper, like a bunch of rats?

Probably not.

But if you’re going to be a rat, it’s good to travel in packs.

Maybe one of you will remember to ignore the tune.

Danger

Danger: (n) risk, peril

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

Perhaps danger is in the heart of the fearful.

There is legitimate danger. Becoming too familiar with a tiger during feeding times is not faith, but rather foolishness lending itself to lethal danger.

But some things are not dangerous. Some things are poorly marked that way, by the timid minds of those who are afraid of human freedom.

My last year of attending church camp was froth with controversy.

The counselors were convinced that the best way to avoid difficulty was to cut any danger off at the pass. “Danger,” in this case, referred to activities which might stimulate teenagers to think about sex.

It is fascinating to me that once people cross the age of twenty-one, they forget that sex, to a teenager, is not a thought nor a temptation but instead, oxygen to breathe. Curiosity, sensuality, raging hormones and immense amounts of energy always collide in some way to manipulate an indiscretion.

We were given five simple rules for high school campers:

  1. Boys and girls were never to be left alone without supervision.
  2. Girls could not wear bathing suits around boys, only knee-length shorts and appropriate tops.
  3. Dirty jokes were forbidden, and if continued, would result in expulsion from camp.
  4. Girls would dine with girls and boys with boys.
  5. When swimming in the lake, a distance of two feet must be maintained between a girl and a guy.

The list ended with this admonition:

“In following these guidelines, we hope to avoid the danger of promiscuity and illicit behavior.”

Yet, nature always makes a way.

That summer, all the guys and girls learned of a cave just outside the camp, which was quickly referred to as “The Humping Hole.”

The girls—adorned in their knee-length shorts—would go in with their favorite guy, and hump through their clothes.

I will tell you—it was much more popular than the class on the missionary journeys of the Apostle Paul.

Girls and guys also learned how to sit in such a configuration that they could hold hands behind their backs, and counselors never saw what was going on.

There was always a way, where there seemed to be no way, for teenagers to be horny.

For you see, the only danger in life is ignorance.

The more you know about a situation and the greater the knowledge you can possess, the better chance you have of escaping tragedy and forming a plan that is blessed by honesty and truly works.

Dander

Dander: (informal) Anger; temper

Bruce Banner generously offered a warning before he turned into the Incredible Hulk.

“Don’t make me angry. You wouldn’t like it when I’m angry.”

It gets me thinking.

Do we really like it when anyone’s angry?

Men have been known to say they think girls are cute when they get miffed. (But I just think that’s the horniness talking.)

If you stop and think about it, is anyone on Earth improved with the implementation of anger?

So even though the old phrase, “get your dander up” is no longer used, it’s modern-day equivalent of “you piss me off” is equally bizarre.

Because “dander” is nothing more than the dried flakes of the scalp, which we normally refer to as dandruff.

And “piss” is just something we squeeze out of our body several times a day, so we don’t bust.

Nobody is better when they’re angry.

Even people who think they have a righteous indignation almost always end up overdoing it—either getting too ferocious with their temper, or verbose with their complaints.

And although anger is an unattractive portion of the human experience, it seems to be written about, portrayed, discussed, displayed and commiserated more than any other emotion.

I think, deep inside us, we enjoy getting angry. It lets off some of the steam that’s been simmering because we feel cheated, left out or disrespected.

I guess that’s the power of saying yes when you mean yes and saying no when you mean no.

Because if you don’t, all that frustration piles up in your little head and eventually—sometimes unexpectedly—it pours out in some of the ugliest displays imaginable.

So maybe “get your dander up” is an excellent term for being angry.

Because generally speaking, after we get angry, we sure do feel like a flake.

 

Cushion

Cushion: (n) a soft bag on which to sit, kneel, or lie.

I must warn you that if you are sensitive, parochial or very squeamish about sexual matters, you probably shouldn’t read any further.

So now that I have everybody’s attention…

I will tell you an embarrassing story.

When I finish telling you this tale, I will share why.

When I was eighteen years old, I had a girlfriend who went off to Europe and didn’t contact me. It was understandable in the sense that what we had shared was a high school affair. She experimented with me and I with her. She just thought the experience was done sooner than I did.

Problem was, the experiment brought about a pregnancy in the Petri dish.

Therefore, the lack of hearing from her left me upset, bereft, and dare I say, horny. (We all know that once you awaken the magical worm or open Pandora’s Box, there’s no going back to hand holding and kissing.)

Yet, I had no intention of finding another girl and having sex.

But no one—and I say NO one—ever taught me about the miracle of masturbation. I had no idea.

Even as I write this, I realize how unlikely that seems. But all I knew was that I had a penis that was looking for a vagina, and absent a vagina, an adequate stand-in was needed.

So one day, lying on my couch, I unzipped my pants and let my little wanderer out. I noticed that when I rubbed it against the couch cushion, it felt pretty good. After a few minutes, though, it also hurt.

It was a contest.

Does it hurt more, or does it feel good more?

I persisted—so much so that my little trouper got all inflamed and angry. It was very sore.

Trying to figure out what to put on my friend to make him feel better (because alcohol was bad and Ben Gay was out of the question) I opened the medicine cabinet, and there was my mother’s bottle of lotion. I put some on my hand and reached down to comfort the reddened area.

Eureka!

I not only comforted my penis, but ended up discovering, in that moment of time, what was missing from my training.

It was a magnificent moment.

Earth-changing.

I was grateful.

My girlfriend did come back and she became my wife.

But I will tell you one thing: it’s a damn shame if a young boy does not know the correct male usage for hand lotion.

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Counterproposal

Counterproposal: (n) a proposal offered to offset a preceding one.

I would never want to return to the sheer horror, ambiguity, dance of confusion and frustration that was involved in being seventeen years old.

Yet I do fondly remember the wrangling that went on in a car on a Saturday night with a girlfriend you had been with for at least three months.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

The first three months of dating consisted solely of terrorizing one another with the awkwardness of conversation and trying to discover where you fit in with her and she could find common ground with your less-than-diverse tastes.

But after three months—and some sort of little ring, chain or token being offered to confirm that you were committing to one another—then the entire project shifted from “getting to know you” to “getting to know all about you.”

On that Saturday night, after the movie was over, the hamburger was consumed, the French fries were shared (because she was on a diet) and the milk shake melted enough to be sipped to its bottom, it was time for the two of you to nervously head out to an isolated park, backroad or private location, where you could begin the negotiations.

She, being a good, small-town girl, who knew the next morning would have to sit down with her friends in church with a picture of Jesus staring down at her, had already taken inventory and considered what was available for the taking.

On the other hand, you felt it was time to expand the project—open up new horizons and generate some excitement.

So you would make a proposal and she would counter your idea with a suggestion of her own, which was rarely sufficient to your teenage, ravenous lust.

Of course, adding to the craziness was a budding horniness, leaving you (and I believe, her) dizzy from trying to resist. After an hour-and-a-half of proposal and counterproposal, procedures were agreed upon—and pursued in such a vigorous way that the whole deal accelerated so quickly that it was nearly blown.

This process, which we shall call “The Saturday Night Feverless” only worked for a few weeks. For the curiosity to find out what sex was really like was overwhelming. Or maybe it was just a need to discover once and for all if “us” were really going to be any good at it, or become permanent outcasts from the world of pleasure,

Counterproposals are a part of life, but rarely do they give the satisfaction of the original ingenious idea.


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Cosmopolitan

Cosmopolitan: (adj) free from provincial ideas or attachments; at home all over the world

As he sat down, he stared at me.

It was a very small waiting room in a dentist’s office, so what I was doing was noticeable. It was also quite obvious that he found my activityfunny wisdom on words that begin with a C
 humorous.

I was reading Cosmopolitan Magazine.

There were three choices: Popular Mechanics, Highlights for Kids, and Cosmopolitan.

I suppose if I were trying to confirm my masculinity, I should have thumbed through Popular Mechanics, though mechanical things have never been particularly popular with me.

I decided to comment since he continued to stare at my magazine. “I’m reading Cosmopolitan because it was here—and I was curious.”

He nodded his head in disdain.

I ventured one more sentence of explanation. “Don’t you ever wonder what women are thinking about us?”

He didn’t even look up for this question—just shook his head.

While I was waiting my turn to be drilled, I learned three things about women of this day and age, from perusing Cosmopolitan.

  1. Women are much more concerned about what men think and feel than men seem to be about women.
  2. For some reason, a woman thinks it is her fault in some way when she ends up with a man who is unable to communicate or seems to have “lost interest.”
  3. Women feel they can pursue a five-point plan to transform their hopeless situations to better, more romantic results.

I simultaneously was filled with admiration and sadness.

I found the pursuit placed in this magazine to be far from cosmopolitan, since “cosmopolitan” is the ability to function and be successful in any culture or environment at any time.

This magazine more or less was a handbook to explain to women why they are not crazy, insecure or extreme in their misgivings.

What the magazine was trying to impress upon its readership—mainly female—is that men are waiting for the right signals to become objective, interesting and involved.

When it came my time to head for the dentist’s chair, I closed the magazine and thought, I could probably make a million dollars by printing a magazine that encouraged women to be themselves and realize that men will eventually come in their direction since the alternatives are limited…and they do get horny and hungry.


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Conjugal

Conjugal: (adj) relating to marriage or the relationship of a married couple

I got stuck on a panel, discussing sexuality and marriage.

After a considerable amount of back-and-forth sharing of statistics and anecdotes, the forum deteriorated into a deliberation over whether “two is enough and is six too many?”

How many times per week should a healthy married couple have sex?funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Here’s the real answer: married people should have a conjugal visit with one another when they’re horny.

Otherwise, one person is standing at a slight distance pouting, wondering if the other person loves them, since “touchy-feely” hasn’t happened within the past seventy-two hours. Yet there was a time when the two couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

If “horny” does not rule the day on human sexuality, and it isn’t stimulated by the great respect and admiration you feel for your partner, and how you kind of feel like a conqueror, to be able to ravage this extremely talented individual, then you will be setting up a schedule to take vitamins.

And as in the case of taking vitamins, you will decide that you do feel a little better since you started swallowing your medicine.

 

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Cocaine

Cocaine: (n) an addictive drug derived from coca

Some folks might find me very interesting if I talked about my use of cocaine or my addiction. But even though it was plentiful in Nashville, Tennessee, in the 1970s, and I was offered the white dust frequently, I passed.

Now, I did not decline because I was self-righteous or anti-drugs. I passed because of the reasons I was given to snort.

“You’ve gotta try it, man. It makes you more creative, it makes you more horny and it makes sex feel twice as good.”

That’s some pretty heavy-duty advertising. But I went down the list:

I did not want to be creative because a drug expanded the walls of my arteries and forced blood to my brain. I wanted creativity to come from a different place in me. I wanted it to be real. I wanted it to be mine. I was jealous. I didn’t want cocaine taking credit for my writing.

I didn’t want to be more horny. The danger of being more horny is that you start screwing people you don’t care for all that much. I like a little romance with my sex, if you don’t mind. I did not want cocaine picking out my sex partners.

And you can call me conventional, or too well-satisfied, but I have found that the big bang available at the culmination of the sex act is quite enough for me.

Of course, the danger is that if you convince yourself that you need cocaine to have good sex, the intercourse, which would be very beneficial to your health, might be greatly diminished by the cocaine, which is similar to setting off a hand-grenade near your heart.

Beware of those who always want more.

Honestly, I don’t settle for anything–but I do have the capability of “gettin’ my own” without taking a hit from anyone or anything.

 

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Chaperone

Chaperone: (n) a person who accompanies and looks after another person

Back in the day before phones told us where the hell to go, there was a yearly event called the hayride.

It was a rather simple principle–young people who were somewhat infatuated with one another, with raging hormones, were placed at
 dusk–nearly dark–onto the back of a wagon covered with hay and driven around for a while to supposedly conjure the memory of former days.

Matter of fact, even now I can remember the odor of the mingling of hay, sweat, apple cider and teenage urges filling my nostrils.

Here was the goal: it would be a fun time for the kids–and a chaperone, or maybe two, would ride on the hay to make sure things didn’t get out of hand.

The one time I went on such an excursion, I had no young lady with me (similar to going to a chili cook-off without your jalapeno).

Also, the minister who planed this particular hayride selected chaperones who happened to be recently married. So rather than watching to see what the kids did, they started making out in the front of the wagon, hiding themselves by covering up with hay.

This opened the door to a Biblical orgy. People were kissing and touching as I was…

Well, I was watching.

Little did I know that I would become the chaperone by default. Except, of course, I had no authority to stop anything, but instead, sat there and lusted in silence.

After the hayride, we arrived back–all the boys, girls and chaperones–with flushed faces and watery eyes.

When the minister asked if everybody enjoyed the hayride he received the enthusiastic “amen” that he rarely heard on a Sunday morning.

Later on, when it was revealed that our hayride was just a makeout buggy, the minister was reproved by the congregation, and as far as I know, no hayrides were ever held again.

The moral of my story is, chaperones should not be horny.

 

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Be

Be: (v) to exist.Dictionary B

Since we all exist because our parents got horny, we may want to come along and glamorize the story a little bit. Otherwise, we occasionally are overwhelmed by the futility of life, and may even wonder why we were born in the first place.

This demands a certain amount of arrogance.

Since having a baby is so easy that even dumb people accomplish it, we can’t exactly stomp around and claim that we are part of some sort of cosmic eruption or heavenly proclamation.

Finding a “be” is what is necessary to make us content.

And without contentment, we stop being happy, which makes us annoying and causes other people to wish we’d never been born,

I’m not quite sure which is worse–is it my self-doubt concerning my value, or whether everyone around me doubts my value?

So how do you find your be in a C minus world?

How do you discover how to translate a collision of chromosomes into a beautiful, chromatic, climbing scale of living glory?

1. Never think you’re better than anyone else.

Since we all came from an egg, we should all work on being “good eggs.”

2. Don’t be satisfied with your talent.

Use it and multiply it. Otherwise, you’ll wonder why people don’t appreciate you for doing the same thing you did last year.

3. Be aware.

There is nothing sexier or more powerful, intelligent, profitable and viable than noticing what’s going on around you.

If you take these three things and put them into practice, then you have a chance to not only live a blessed life … but to be instead of not to be.

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