What kinda man are you?

And your choices are: tits, ass or leg.

As if women could only be served up in three pre-packed choices like supermarket chicken, only without the shrinkwrap and foam bottom. But I suppose those choices tend to be the primary ones because they are the most visual ones. And the theory for the moment is that us men, on average, tend to be more visual than women in their sexuality, supposedly because we are wired different. This I think is reflected in the quality of porn men and women enjoy. 

What we know as porn - everybody's shaved smooth, perfectly proportioned (all the guys are huge cocked and the women with at least Cs, a fine looking ass and shapey legs that look great in heels), minimal story line (oh no, I have no money to pay you with. Maybe ...), the focus is mostly on the woman (there she's enjoying going down on him, now she's riding him cowgirl, now reverse cowgirl, her face close up showing her what I call overmoaning) or the scene of penetration (close ups of the mechanics from the standard set of angles), alternating between the two with an occasional five to ten second shot of the guy either with his eyes tightly shut and mouth wide open or silently repeating some phrase that definitely has the word 'fuck' 'yeah' and 'baby' in it or with his aggressive look when he's going at her hard and fast asking her whether she enjoys it that way. All that. That's the kind of porn men generally enjoy. 

Women, or those that I happened to know (or perhaps I don't know enough!), generally don't tend to get into that (unless of course they are extremely horny at the time, then you can put on Tom and Jerry and still get it on). For them, the problem with male porn is there is no interesting plausible well thought out story that is borne out by an excellent cast of well acted characters. There is no artworthy demand made of the actors other than to coo, scream or hurriedly demand that they be fornicated, licked, sucked or sodomized in a harder and faster fashion, and so to them, that is not acting. They think its tacky to keep heels on whilst having sex in bed. They dislike how it usually ends. And would not like it in real life either.

So sometime in the 90's a new more auteur generation of porn film makers  looked towards catering to the women's market. So now women don't buy porn. They buy erotica. That's made for women porn. It's more focused on the characters as people, they have motivations, there's a story, the sex scenes are more tastefully done - they are shot softer, with decent music, more shots of the couple together, better looking guys, and with less intensity and frequency on the shots of the scene of penetration, and focus more on the, you got it, foreplay. 

Or maybe it's because it keeps with our simple lifestyle we simplify our choices: T A L.

But that's the problem with simplicity sometimes, its restrictive, confining, especially where it concerns women, these mysterious exquisite creatures capable of such mesmerising beauty and charming qualities. Yes, I concede that those areas tend to be the main thoroughfare, and yes sir, I can appreciate their visually aesthetic aspect but surely, surely, a lover of woman cannot be satisfied with just that immensely satisfying though it may be. Her entire body in the right circumstance can transform into a finely tuned instrument of a sexual passion (and maybe love!). Her entire physical being is open for exploration, experimentation, stimulation, emancipation and climax. 

And there are many interesting less travelled routes and visited areas that possess their own particular charms and are worth more than a quick casual glance, in terms of popular culture. At the top and just behind her earlobe, the bottom of her earobe, the front of her neck where it meets her jaw, underneath her jaw, that cleft between her chin and the bottom of her lip, or the back of her neck, my glades of tranquility. Then there is her back, like a mesmerising vista of the changing unchanging ocean winking here and glittering there in the sunlight. So much to explore, to trace, and always, always too little time: the craggy region of her shoulders; the neglected, side from her chest to her hips; the length of her spine down past the small of her back til just a spasm into the vally of her ass; and both left and right sides of her back. Then there is delicious slide from the top of her ass down to her smooth slender calves. Or lingering at the peak of her toes. Or the back of the length of her arm. Or an unbroken straightline from her chest until the tip of her chin. Or the inner of her thighs. For example. 

The best part is that there are many modes of transport down these neglected thought immense charming routes. One can travel by nose, lips, tongue, a single hair, side of the face, and of course, hands. They all yield different facets of the routes fascinating both for traveller and route every time. Heh. Which is why if someone asked me that question these days, I'd tell him. 'Journey man, son. I'm travelling all the time.'

(Puts on a dark grey fedora and breaks into a folk song on a guitar)