*nods*

“Words excite me. They really do. Show me a man who has a way with words and you’ll find me with very wet pants. It’s the best aphrodisiac, in my opinion; forget good looks or a trim physique – find me a wordsmith any day and I’ll be a happy woman.

I don’t refer to a man’s ability to be talkative; that is something completely different. Rather, someone who knows how to be a linguist; who can use his tongue for more than just licking pussy. (Not that I have anything against a man who enjoys such things of course, but his ability to converse well, will have much more of an effect on my horniness, than any direct clitoral stimulation).

http://girlwithaonetrackmind.blogspot.com/2006/05/wordsmith.html
http://girlwithaonetrackmind.blogspot.com/2006/05/wordsmith.html
http://girlwithaonetrackmind.blogspot.com/2006/05/wordsmith.html


Perhaps I’m turned on by men who can do this because their being expressive shows a certain dexterity of their minds: an ability to analyse; a propensity to deconstruct; a questioning of ideology; a cogitation on ideas. Or, in other words, think far beyond their cocks.

Too often I have met and conversed with men who are unable to move past the fact that they have a stiffy in their pants; their communication seems solely limited to their being horny – and it shows. Not that there is anything wrong with expressing one’s horniness and desire to fuck the other person – I’ve been quite partial to a guy whispering in my ear that he is hard for me and can’t wait to get in my pants – but when that is the only way a guy can relate to a woman, it does get rather tiresome;.

Maybe because men that aren’t able to stimulate my mind bore me, and men that are boring turn me off, I end up having little interest in them; without a mental challenge, I make my excuses and leave, even it means forgoing an orgasm. Admittedly I have fucked a few dull, non-conversational men, but I’ve rarely gone back for seconds afterwards: when the only connection between two people is sexual contact – and no decent conversation occurs – the orgasms become rather mundane in my opinion, and rarely worth the effort. Faced with such a man, I might as well wank: at least I’d be done quicker. And wouldn’t have to wax my nether regions either.

Selfish, this might sound, true. But being with a man who has a way with words, makes my heart race with excitement: I’ll be picking out what dress to wear, a week in advance of a date with him; consuming as much literature, current affairs and media as I can, to be able to converse with him in an equally intellectually stimulating way. And of course wanking furiously before meeting up with him too, so that I ensure the connection between us is cerebral, rather than clitoral.

So you see, I am weak when it comes to the opposite sex and their ability to fuck my brain, rather than my pussy. There is nothing that gets me as hot, as a man that has a sharp mind; all he’d need to do for foreplay is talk me into submission. Literally.

If only more guys realised this, they could avoid using tired chat-up lines; in my case they’d be far more likely to get into my pants if they showed off their brains, rather than their ever-hard cocks.

Although I’d also be quite partial to one of those right now, it has to be said.”