hot action

I was kind of sizing her up while we made out. She wasn't a very good kisser. Tongue right down the throat. Blammo!

"You're so passive," she said, running her hands across my chest.

"I'm pretty aggressive, actually."

"No way, I don't believe you," she said. "You sure haven't done anything to prove it."

"You're right, I haven't."

"Don't you want to prove it?"

"I don't have to."

We started kissing again, and after a few seconds she stopped. "Were you about to say something?" she said.

"No," I said.

She watched me and kept moving her face in close to mine and then retreating. Moving in close and squinting at me and then pulling back. Finally, I reached out with my right hand and grabbed her hair and pulled it really hard, and I yanked her towards me and pushed her away and twisted her whole body around and pressed her face up against the wall.

"Oh god, you're hurting me," she said.

I let go of her hair and she slumped back in her seat, panting. I sat and looked at her.

Her face was red and she was breathing hard. "I find that very exciting," she said. "Do you get turned on by that?"

I shrugged. "I could take it or leave it."

Neither of us spoke for a minute. I was just looking around the room. Without warning, she attacked me.

So I threw her around and pulled her hair and twisted her arms and constrained her quite roughly and tried not to laugh at her pitiful struggles.

Physically she wasn't so strong and didn't offer that much of a challenge. But I was having fun just being a bastard.

In fact, I was so into being cruel that I got up in the middle of everything and left.

Posted by philip at 03:10 PM | Permalink

I have stated that the last week of December is, sexually speaking, the hottest week of the year in Halifax. I stand by this statement.

My friends, you're all going to get laid in the next few days... every one of you.

Posted by philip at 09:55 PM | Permalink

Last night: "I know that was hot because my ears are bright red."

Posted by philip at 09:54 PM | Permalink

a hot action glossary.

"date" = date.

"hot date" = date w/action.

"warm date" = thai food followed by afterhours drink at a bar in dartmouth. drive around listening to the ramones. proceeding to my room where pretty girl winds up naked in my bed. her nudity has more to do with comfort than with sex. lots of talking about sexual likes and dislikes.

lots of talking, lots of kissing and making out with the warm pretty naked girl.

Posted by philip at 04:27 PM | Permalink

i) "Thanks for dinner. I suppose this means I have to put out now."

"I am far too gentlemanly to make such an implication."

Body language suggesting otherwise.


ii) "I won't be writing about you on my website."

"What!"

Black tanktop over her head. A smooth motion. Down and over her sleek body.

"Unless you want me to. I like to keep a lot of the good stuff to myself."

Posted by philip at 04:27 PM | Permalink

I'm currently involved in a torrid affair with a hot young vixen. Wait, no I'm not. She left for Xmas holidays today. Hurry back lady...

I used to think that the December curse ended at Xmas, but now I realize that it ends when exams are over.

Posted by philip at 07:19 PM | Permalink

Guess whose inbox has been seeing lots of action since his profile was featured on nerve.com personals.

"Rah rah rah" is an expression that a one-night-stand I had used to describe me to a common friend: "That Philip, he's pretty rah rah rah, isn't he?"

Posted by philip at 07:18 PM | Permalink

"Cosmo's Sizzling Sex Tip Of The Month!" (Nov. 2002)
This is why I never miss an issue of Cosmopolitan while I'm standing in the checkout line at Sobey's:

"Get him to call out a number from one to 10 during intercourse--one being the lowest level of arousal, 10 being 'Oh-my-God-I'm-about-to...' When he reaches nine, stop what you're doing and revert to kissing or anything to get him down to level seven. Do this a couple of times. When you finally take him to level 10, his response will prove it was worth the wait."

And you thought women's magazines weren't as funny as men's magazines.

Posted by philip at 07:18 PM | Permalink

Today on hot action. An advice column featuring a very special guest: Floyd Wheaton, aka "Mister New Brunswick."

~Dear Mr. New Brunswick,
A beautiful woman shows up at the club and I'm kind of checking her out. She's with a guy who seems to be her boyfriend, but she keeps walking past me and smiling and stuff. What would you make of the situation?
Signed, Wondering

Dear Wondering,
She's right some hot, eh wha'?


~Dear Mr. New Brunswick,
I've heard that the province of New Brunswick has a disproportionately high number of hot females. Do you find this to be the case?
Signed, Curious

Dear Curious,
Boys oh boys, I guess!


~Dear Mr. New Brunswick,
They say that women who have hot moves on the dancefloor tend to be really hot in bed as well. Is this just a myth or do you think there is some truth to it?
Signed, Foxtrot

Dear Foxtrot,
[sharp intake of breath] Eyuh... Is that so, eh... [sharp intakes of breath] Eyuh, eyuh, eyuh.


~Dear Mr. New Brunswick,
Last night at the club a beautiful woman showed up. I watched her hot moves on the dancefloor for a while, and then I sat down beside her and we wound up going to her place in the South End to have crazy sex all night. Do you think it's a good idea to write about all this on my website so that anybody in the world can read about it?
Signed, Philly.

Dear Philly,
Yep-urrr, skipper!

Posted by philip at 04:02 PM | Permalink

"Come home with me," she said.

She snaked her arm around mine and entwined her fingers with my own and we were holding hands.

"I really want you to," she added.

It was 3:30am at the Marquee Club. The lights were starting to come on (we call it "The Harsh Light of Truth"). This young woman was looking kind of pretty. She was also looking a little too drunk.

"Ummm," I said. "I have to go. I have to tear down the stage."

I slipped away and hopped up on stage and started coiling up cables. The DJs were up there as well, putting away their turntables and mixer.

"Well look at that," I said a few minutes later.

The young woman I'd just been talking to had her back to the bar. She was leaning backwards slightly and the Evil Robot Guy was leaning over her.

We'd been making fun of the Evil Robot Guy all night. He'd already left with one ridiculously drunk woman, only to return to the bar alone five minutes later. (Maybe she passed out and he left her in a snowbank.) Now he was at it again.

I thought the Evil Robot Guy was kissing her neck. Then I realized he was only talking in her ear. But still.

"I think I'm going to have to pull off a daring rescue," I said.

"Don't touch her man, she was making out with the Evil Robot Guy," said one of the DJs. "You'll catch something nasty."

But still. On my way out of the bar I went and stood a few feet away from her. I made eye contact and did not look away, and then I asked her one simple question, and twenty seconds later the two of us were heading out the door together. Sorry y'all.

She had her arm around mine again. At the doorway I started to look around for a cab. "I live this way..." she was saying. Oh, this poor thing was completely loaded.

Across the parking lot, a couple of my friends were getting into a car. "Come on," I said.

"Any way we could arrange to give this young woman a lift?" I asked. My lady and I climbed into the back seat.

She talked drunk talk all the way to her place and hugged me and pressed up close against me.

Glasses, long brown hair. Nice body.

I briefly considered hanging out with her. Definitely not to have sex. Maybe we could just make out for a while, until she passed out. It could be fun.

But I shook off the thought. I'm not going around making out with drunk chicks.

We let her off at her place. I said goodbye. I didn't want to hug her, for some reason. She stepped inside her front door and I felt a small sense of relief.

As one of my friends stated, inelegantly but not inaccurately: "That chick was fucking gangrape material."

I've been kind of brooding. Something about that whole experience has slightly tempered the sexual optimism I'd been feeling all month.

Really drunk women, really sleazy guys. I don't know what it is. That shit just bugs me.

Posted by philip at 03:17 AM | Permalink

I also worked in Hell's Kitchen on Sunday, December 1. Hopefully you all survived the Curse of Late November.

The Marquee was swarming with boner boots this past week. They were everywhere. Boner boots. Let me see, what other words start with the letters "bo"? "Bombshell"?

How about, "I want a BOYFRIEND."

The December Group suffered a couple of setbacks before December even began. I don't care. I'm still planning on taking Thursday December 19 off from work, even if I'm the only single person left in Halifax and the only "group activity" I get involved in is staying home with a big "group" of porno movies.

So. On Sunday night the men outnumbered the women in the bar by six to one. Someone joked that it looked like a gay bar in there. I assume that the ladies were all at home sizing up their new winter lovers. ("My god, what have I gotten myself into.")

A very beautiful woman walked into the bar and went and sat by herself. Now that's interesting, I thought.

One of the bouncers came up to me and pointed her out to me. He started talking about how he wished he had my courage when it came to women. (I wanted to explain to him that if you have to rely on courage, you are probably going about things the wrong way.)

He asked if I were planning on making a play for the solitary fox sitting across the room. He joked about how we could all lay bets, or maybe start some sort of pool.

I hadn't had time to collect any data on the woman in question, aside from the obvious factor of her physical attractiveness. So I just said, "We'll see."

Instant chemistry is a wonderful thing, but it's rare. More often than not, when I see a beautiful woman, I'll ignore her until and unless ignoring her is impossible. Or at least pretend to ignore her, while keeping my eyes open and trying to figure out what she's like and what she likes.

I watch how she deals with the creepy guys. They're never far away. In a bar, a good-looking woman sitting alone will often be approached by three or four creepy guys before I even get around to meeting her. I form judgments of women based on how they react in those situations.

(Part of the plan is that after she finishes talking to the creeps, I will seem very normal and charming by comparison.)

So the first of the creepy guys moved in on her. They chatted for a while. The bouncer came over to me and said, "Are you just biding your time or something?"

"Yep," I said.

Twenty minutes later, she put on her coat and left with Creepy Guy Number One. Imagine that!

I glanced over my shoulder to make sure they were actually leaving together. The bouncer came over and raised his eyebrows at me.

"Maybe they already knew each other," I said.

"Oh, I don't know..." he said. "It sounded like they were having a little 'get-to-know-you' talk."

I shrugged. Then I smiled. Whatever. The whole thing was kind of funny.

If she finds that guy sexy, chances are her and I would not have much in common anyway.

Ha ha ha.

Welcome to December.

Posted by philip at 03:17 AM | Permalink

Gerry: "The worst thing about the December curse is, what do you buy these people for Christmas? It's like, we've been going out for all of three weeks, I hardly know you. I'm getting you a candle."

Posted by philip at 03:14 AM | Permalink

Take a break from snuggling and have a good hard look at your current boyfriend.

Your potential future lovers are judging you right now, according to the type of man you are willing to be seen with.

Posted by philip at 03:14 AM | Permalink