Foreplay Techniques

If there’s an aspect of the healthy human life that people’s increasing inability to reject instant gratification has fucked up, it has to be sex. Relax—I can already hear cynical, desolate readers, groaning that what drew them to this article was the hope that it’d be an encouraging ode to youthful debauchery. Well, fear not! Your author has words for all. The prude and the promiscuous.

My driving instructor used to tell me that I had to apply just the right amount of gas, braking, and steering, in order to smoothly place a vehicle in the desired position. Accelerate too much, risk rear-ending someone. Brake too much, jerk your passengers. Turn the wheel too little and mess up getting into that tight space.

In a similar way, being too limp-wristed or heavy-handed during the initial stages of sex can ruin the entire encounter. Not being able to hold off and relish in the crescendo which “bow-chick-a-wow-wow” ought—perhaps, most often—be done and—certainly, always—said with, means we skip over what can be a defining phase of the act.

This is about the time that the readers-of-lesser-intellect start casting the worst, most salacious aspersion and vitriolic calumny of simpism about the writer. He braces himself. 






It isn’t difficult to grasp why a man would be singling himself out as a simp for bestowing any significance to foreplay: it isn’t necessary for guys to be ready to fuck. Not to mention that it requires extra labour and consideration on our parts. Regardless, the reality’s that straight men tend to be in the dominant position during sex. 

Imagine an esteemed and elegant ballroom dance performance—in these the male dancer always takes the lead role. For your sake, you can use the last episode of Dancing with the Stars you saw for reference. Only switch the style of dance of your hypothetical pair over from waltz or cha cha or jive to the Devil’s dance. 

In the overwhelming majority of cases, the guy’s larger and stronger. Ergo, he’s far more capable of controlling the movements of his partner than she is of his. Moreover, the parts of the jigsaw puzzle that the male happens to have are inserted into the parts that the female’s got. For some reason the puzzle isn’t complete when the pieces merely connect. Once they’re together, they must be nearly separated, put together again, then almost but not totally split apart, put together again, and so on. 

None of us created this dynamic, it was made so by Nature. Who’s typically anthropomorphized as a mum, and associated with womanhood. Make of that what you please.

It’s by divine right that men take the lead upon the intercourse to Punarnia. For not only do women’s vehicles take a lot longer to warm up, they regularly require a boost from a man’s—and face it: we’re better drivers. Foreplay is the jumper cables you will need to really crank her engine. 

Whether you actually incorporate alligator clips, electricity, hoods, and cables into your venery or wouldn’t know where to begin with regard to pre-snu snu practices, here you’ll discover a wealth of vital information on the subject.




“Isn’t this what got us here in the first place?” Says the astute, informed reader. “The advent of free and unlimited access to pornography represents quite a momentous shift in postmodern society,” he rapidly remarks. Absolutely enamored with himself for his momentous use of the word momentous.

Just taking the piss out of you. 

You’re definitely on to something, but alas, the writer is under the sway of more juvenile, ignoble aims than highlighting what porn might be doing to young people. Those same coomers may turn out to be his bread-and-butter. He refuses to bite the hand that might eventually come to toss him some scraps—and that isn’t solely because it reeks of chlorine and Jergens.  

Nevertheless, viewing the more popular, cunt-busting varieties of pornography isn’t what’s being suggested here. Erotica—chick porn—is. The kinda stuff where the titillating thespians perform an act which at least approximates lovemaking. 

The content under this category doesn’t feature pricks just pounding away like vikings on a table in a mead hall. Rather, the male talent seems more in tune and cognizant of his counterpart’s experience. The female talent’s moans and expressions reflect his attention—they’re a good deal more genuine and realistic. The audience doesn’t have to conjure up the childlike levels of suspension of disbelief—or racial bias—possessed by, say, somebody who still believes O. J. Simpson’s completely innocent.

The effect of this thoughtful, progressive, and practical portrayal of boot-knocking will be to set the wheels of the viewer’s mind to motion. Postures seen on the screen can be used as platforms to hone and create his own repertoire. 

Bonus tip: some quality purveyors of this variety of pr0n include Nubile Films and Erotica X and Teen Erotica and 21Naturals.




Skeptical readers will probably think that the writer’s full of shit, when they read his claims of having made multiple girls orgasm without directly touching their pussies or even taking their clothes off, by the way. The credulous ones are surely assuming that he’s some sort of perverted Charles Xavier, using his telekinetic gifts to stimulate the opposite sex. 

Neither party is right. The former have little faith, the latter have little T. How the writer has been able to pull this off is with a move he calls the Scratching Post.

While seated upon a bed, chair, horse, motorcycle, what have you, have the lucky lady straddle your hips. Wrap your arms around her waist and buttocks real, real tight. Pull that bitch in so close you begin to fear that the quarks which constitute your discrete entities might fuse together. When everything’s locked in, tense up your abdominal area, and have her grind her pelvis into you. Now her lil kitty has a sturdy, tasteful scratching post to stimulate and divert itself with. 

In no time, her mind will be cast away by a gushing storm of pleasure. If the mood calls for the use of a soft touch, unleash a barrage of fleeting, delicate kisses upon her neck and torso. If she longs to be degraded and battered, slap her ass a good volleyball-spike-slap, and shout “Wilson!” 

Bonus tip: to heighten her experience, do what is called a valsalva. Look it up.




Beckon the object of your lust to sit between your legs, her back resting against your torso. Spread her legs wide, putting yours over and between hers to prevent them from closing. Like a doctor would some orifice with his trusty Speculum.

From this position you’re at liberty to conduct a full and thorough examination of the patient. Contrary to what she might typically discuss with her healthcare practitioner, ask questions like, “where does it feel pleasurable?” Congratulate her about the hurried resting pace of her heart. Check her carotid pulse using only your mouth.




If you and your lady like to live on the edge—maybe, she’s admitted to having the odd rape fantasy—this number’s for you! 

Put on your best Ted Bundy impression, then cordially and confidently request that she help you fix your stick shift. You’ve recently switched over from automatic to manual. 

When she’s close enough, grab and toss her onto whatever heap you intend to make your bucolic Mount Olympus above the subconscious Trojan War raging deep underneath. Crawling on top as if to engage in missionary, however instead of positioning the bulk of your body between her thighs place only a knee betwixt. Press that knee right up against her snatch. Keep it there. Now hold her wrists together up above her head, and do your worst.




Trends concerning women’s weight show they’re only getting heavier. Moreover, à la body positivity, they won’t stand to be reminded about what a battery of sacrificial pigs they are—even when they’re confined to mobility scooters. What could be a lighter—no pun intended—trigger for such thoughts than a partner who’s unable to move her mass about during their mattress dance?

I know! I know! You only bang the fittest, baddest, thim slickest broads. Kudos. Now acquaint yourself with the fact that those are a quickly dying breed—dear reader, this is a colleague of mine, fact about fatties. Everybody calls him FAF. FAF, meet the dear reader. 

Both Darwin and Mobb Deep were half, but still harrowingly mistaken in their proclamations. They ought to have realized that it is the “Survival of the fat. Only the strong survive”. Only the strong men, if it wasn’t clear.

Each man’s odds of finding a girl with a healthy BMI is steadily decreasing. There simply won’t be enough for everyone. Of course, this doesn’t mean that we’ll let what remains go to waste. C’mon, now! Hearten, man! Have hope! The only serious concern is that there’s nothing worse than mashing fat with a fatty who’s self-conscious. 

Being with a girl who cannot go the distance with you because she’s uncomfortable with the appearance of her body—or simply lacks the stamina—puts the kibosh to many of the saucy flourishes you may have otherwise added to your pants-off dance-off routine. Cultivating your physical prowess not only enhances your sex appeal, but will also equip you with the strength to handle and command your lady’s body without making it so obvious to her that she’s “plus-size.”

If the cohort of cunts who’ve bought into the notion that caloric intake has no effect on weight levels are any indication, the female mind has a delicate and delightfully incomprehensible way of distorting reality for itself. To either totally block out ostensible facts and patterns, or obsess about and designate hysterical significance to false, nonexistent, or irrelevant ones. 

In other words, by virtue of man-muscle, lift her high up into the clouds of delusion—naturally, while you still can. Don’t allow her to worry that she’s outgrown another pair of jeans or is seeing the numbers on the scale reach astronomical heights. That’ll just wreck her desire to shag. The good thing about working out is that it doesn’t simply make you more resilient in physical ways but psychological ones, too. A quality as necessary as the former, particularly when you must carry her over the threshold of diminishing returns.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: