#Gris is like this is an amazing gift I love it so much why a | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

idesofrevolution · 4 years

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Here y’all go. Hope you like it.

Look at him, isn’t he adorable? I’d been watching him and his college friends playing ball every Saturday from my balcony. Each time, I’m hearing him talk about “slamming pussy” and “playin’ the game” as if he knows what that means. Jock boys always think the world of themselves, and sometimes for good reason. Every now and again, I look back on my own days at that age, fondly remembering all the bullshit trouble got myself into. I’m telling you- once you hit a certain age, you just want to relive those debaucherous days again; and hearing this little shit wasting those years degrading the ladies... I knew I could do so much better with his assets.

So into my mind popped a little idea. We’re living in a world of infinite possibilities, and using a few tricks and a whole lot of ingenuity you can really access some more unattainable goals. For instance, knowing the local voodoo priestess can be an invaluable advantage. Miss Marie had lived across the hall for as long as anyone could remember, and she had the respect and fear of everyone she met. So for a few hundred dollars and debt or two to her, she gave me a little gris gris which she insinuated could help little old me up my game.

With bag in hand, I had to make my move. That Saturday I watched with bated breath as the boys were shooting hoops and talking shit until the sun went down. When the streetlamps went on, one by one they departed and left the ladykiller waiting on his Uber. As he sat there flipping through Tinder on his phone, I whispered the incantation that Miss Marie had taught me. Three times I repeated it, never once breaking my gaze on him. Upon the fourth recitation, I saw him suddenly throw his phone on the ground in rage. He tossed the basketball across the street and started to pace back and forth. Calling down to him, I “checked in on him.”

“Hey! You alright?” He looked up to my balcony and grimaced.

“Shut the fuck up ya fruity bitch! Phone’s dead that’s all! Mind your business!” I chuckled and leaned against the railing, watching my hateful prey unknowingly within my clutches. Thinking his Uber was on it’s way, he sat down on the curb and pouted to himself. Five minutes turned to forty minutes and with his ride nowhere in sight, he played right into my hand. “Ay! Fag! Got a charger or somethin?” A smirk crawled across my face and I waved him over to my building and buzzed him up.

Now truth be told, I had no idea what to expect. Marie didn’t exactly explain how the gris gris would work, nor did she break down how to initiate the plan. So when he knocked on my door, I’d be lying if I said I was entirely understanding of what I was doing. I swung the heavy old door open and there he stood. Glistening with sweat and a scowl on his pretty boy face with his beat up skateboard in tow.

“So where’s the charger?” He looked me up and down, disapprovingly looking at my big belly and old biker tattoo sleeves. Back in the day, I rode with my crew from coast to coast, fuckin’ every stud, twink, and bear that came my way. But the years hadn’t been too kind to me, and from the look on his face he sure didn’t see me the way that those boys back then did. Convincing myself to swallow my pride, I tossed him an iPhone charger and pointed him to the living room outlet. Plugging it in, he plopped down on my couch, and completely ignored my existence. Muttering under his breath, I could tell his Uber had cancelled.

“You can stay here until your car gets here.” I leaned against the hallway arch, taking in his steaming muscles. He clearly worked out in addition to all the days and hours of basketball. And damn... did he smell like hours of and hours of basketball. It was my favorite scent- raw testosterone, absolute masculinity, untempered musk; and his was STRONG.

“Bet your ass I’m getting the fuck out of your creepin’ ass house when this car gets here.” He thought he was so hood, so badass. He had no clue. Soon, though, he’d learn how to be a real man. Soon he’d be more than just a basic pretty boy frat kid. He started coughing gently, trying to hide it behind his phone screen, but the coughs grew louder and heavier. “Yo, get me some water!” I smiled.

“Get it yourself, bitch.” He whipped his head in my direction and tried to jump up, but realized he could barely move. It was as if he had no breath. “Oh, you’re feelin weak, huh? Why don’t you call your friends and they can come pick you up.” He tried to reach for his phone, but his arm had all but given out. Panic set in behind his cruel, mean spirited eyes and for the first time I saw him for who he really was behind the muscles, good lucks, and put on swagger: a little homophobic bitch who was in over his head. I walked over to him and plopped down on the couch next to him. His smell was strong and virile, full of youthful pheromones that he knew were a gift straight from God. I tested the waters and lifted his limp arm, exposing his wet pits. Assaulted, I tell you, I was assaulted by the sharp fragrance that poured from the hairy confines. He could do no more than a whiny whimper as I buried my nose and tongue into his armpit.

“Well, fuck, kid. It’s been a fuckin’ bitch knowing you. But it’s gonna be one hell of a good time bein’ you.” I saw the last of his pathetic consciousness fade away. Where it went I neither knew nor cared; all that was left was his empty, hollow husk. Curious, I brought my fingers to his plump lips and pried. A sound I can only describe as stretching elastic rang through the room as I pulled and pulled. Looking inside, he was hollow, albeit padded with slick flesh that outlined his impressive musculature. Letting go, his face snapped back to normal. He was ready.

I eagerly stripped, thinking of all the adventures I could relive from within him; thinking of the numerous opportunities that I could snatch with his glorious body and my confident mind. Laying him down, I stuck my toe into his mouth and pushed. After a few thrusts downward, my foot slid down his throat. It took a solid minute for me to weasel my second foot into the tight confines of his slimy mouth and down his throat, but they were soon both slipping down his torso, through his muscled legs and landing in his tight feet. I was several sizes larger than he, so his tiny size 7s felt like a pair of tiny, wet rubber socks to my size 13s. Yet, after a little adjusting, they looked amazing at my size. I brought one to my face, pressing the damp soles on my nose, taking in the salty, rank funk that emanated from between his toes. I stood up, his mouth around my ankles making my a little wobbly. I grabbed his waist and pulled up, watching his legs slip over mine. The sheer size of my pudgy calves and thighs seemed to be suctioned into his, adding my mass to his musculature. He would be so much better at my 6′2 than his 5′9.

After a hefty tug, my bloated ass was sucked into his, tightening and firming into an ass any stud would kill to plow, and anyone would kill to plunge their tongue into. Sauntering over to my mirror, I saw a toned, gorgeous lower half, with my tubby top pouring over our waist. My cock was pressed tightly against my groin, since I’d forgotten to slip it into his when my ass was... compacted. I stuck my meaty hands beneath our skin and tried to grab my shaft, leading it towards his. The kid wasn’t packin’ anything impressive. I guess his ladies didn’t have high standards for dick. But I’ll tell you when my thick rod was slurped into his, it was like I was thrusting inside the tightest fleshjack I’ve ever used. Looking down, I smiled at a girthy, 10 inch, uncut fuckstick. I swiped my finger underneath my new foreskin and took a deep sniff. Fuck. Yes. It was unreal. The cocksmell was so strong yet so addictive, it was as if it was dripping manliness in odorous form.

I knew that there was building pressure from within, and that the midsection would be the hardest thrust. So, I readied myself. Getting my footing underneath, I took a deep breath and held it in. With as much strength as I could muster, I tugged upward and my bulging belly was gulped into his skin with a loud “shlorp.” This took my body a moment to adjust, with a hefty beer gut protruding from my stomach, but after a deep belch, a set of washboard abs was there before me. To my surprise, and glee, some of my tattoos had transferred to my new skin, which gave me hope for the sleeves I’d grown to love.

Speaking of which, it was time for me to thrust my arms into his, which seemed entirely easier than my stomach. I slipped on his arms like gloves, the sensation of touch returning to my fingertips as they slipped into his. Looking at the mirror, it seemed only a fraction of my sleeve transferred over. Oh well, better than nothing! His shoulders snapped over mine, and I stood there in all my nude glory- with his jaw around my throat. I was ready. I was so ready to begin anew. I grabbed the jaw, matching his bottom lip to mine, and pulled his face over mine like a silicone mask. It suctioned to my head and within seconds I opened my eyes to a new man.

I was incredible. My face was an amalgamation of both our likenesses, the best of both worlds. I winked at my new self, testing out my old cocky smoulder. I still got it, and hell, I would be using it a whole fuckin’ lot. A knock on the door woke me from my eyefucking and walked over to the door. Opening it, there stood Marie. She looked me up and down and rolled her eyes.

“Well, well, well. Look who’s a bonafide stud once again.” I smirked, and let her in. “Phew... Boy you’re fragrant. But then again, I’m sure the boys you fuck are into that sort of thing huh?” Smiling, I lifted my arms, and took in my scent. Better than poppers. “Now, let’s get down to business, shall we? You agreed to the terms, now it’s time to pay up.” I plopped down on the couch, preparing to hear the terms of my debt.

“What you need, baby?” She grabbed me by the cheeks, looking her straight in the eye. All color must’ve flooded from my face.

“Your big blue eyes aren’t gonna get you anywhere with me, son. You are to do as I say, do you hear me?” I nodded silently. “I need followers, boy. Followers. Those who are willing to do what I need done, and in exchange... I’ll add them to your little crew. When I tell you to get something done, I need it done, you hear me?” I nod. “Now when I say go get some more boys, ma cher, you understand what I’m saying, yeah?” I smile as she lets go of my cheeks. “Enjoy your immortality, baby. I’ll be in touch.” With that, she tosses me some clothes as she walks out my door.

It’s been three weeks since that day, and the old man in the flat is nowhere to be seen. His ‘son’ Sebastian has since taken over the lease, and become something of a staple in the community. Always makin the ladies swoon, and the guys drip. Always there to end a fight with a swift K.O. to the chin. Always happy to help a down-on-their-luck neighbor. But most importantly, always looking for new people call ‘family.’

WELP. Introducing a potentially new recurring character: Sebastian the Voodoo King. Let me know what you think of him through asks, and what you’d like to see him to HERE. Have a dope day, kids. Hope this is everything y’all wanted.

#male possession #male bodysuit #male transformation #badass transformation #swagification #jock possession #musk #smelly #gay possession #weird af #original #male takeover #revenge #jockification #body possession #male tf

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wintersongstress · 4 years

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Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

I was tagged by @vault21 🥰thank you!! This tag was so much fun and I’m touched that you included me💕

Tagging some of my favorite content creators: @mechecolomar // @arasaka-s // @a-shakespearean-in-paris // @elvesofnoldor // @zsass // @trelawnys // @vindicia // @the-darklings and anyone who wants to!

1. A Thrill I’ve Never Known fic edit (Feb. 3rd, 2020) - I made this for my dear friend, @porkchop-ao3, (feel free to do this tag, too, if you like!) using a quote from her rdr2 fic—which I utterly adore. There’s a couple reasons why this is my favorite set. Firstly, I liked tinkering around with the different scenery shots and relating them to each part of the quote. “For a second”—depicting the ephemeral and intangible beauty of twilight to relate to a precious moment; “everything felt like it was perfect”—dreamcatchers in trees and the gifting of a ring, denoting wistful hopefulness towards a future. I was really happy with the result. Secondly, I liked constructing a color scheme that flowed together and was bright. Overall, I was really happy to make something to show my appreciation for Emily’s hard work♥

2. Gris + yellow 🟨 (March 26th, 2020) - I just like the way I arranged this set—bright background, then dark, to create a pleasing symmetry to the eye. Gris is such a beautiful game with subtle details and animations, I liked capturing its use of colors, as well.

3. A Plague Tale: Innocence ❧ Amicia de Rune (Sep. 28th, 2019) - Okay, I am proud of this set. I relish the chance to make big gifs, and the before and afters of my colorings were pretty impressive. Plus, some of the footage I worked with was low quality but I don’t think you can tell. I would love to make more gifs for this game 👀

4. RED DEAD REDEMPTION II scenery [20/?] — Morning at Flatneck Station (Feb. 29th, 2020) - Initially I didn’t like this set, but I came around to it. I like how I enhanced the subtle hues of yellow in the highlights from the sunlight; I liked how you can see the shadows on the mountains, just all of the colors look nice to me. And it’s very peaceful 😊

5. All I Dream and Have ❧ Chapter 1 (Jan. 9th, 2020) - I’m happy with how this first chapter for my rdr2 fic came out. Which is saying a lot, because I have a hard time being happy with my writing. The comments I received were very encouraging and I am writing more 😊

#thank you friend!!! ☺💞#tag game

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a-dakhtar · 5 years

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(same anon as dark souls, hope i can prompt twice) i also distinctly remember a post about altean!lance being alfor's brother. *puppy dog eyes* please?

> prompt rules: here

> prompt 1 / prompt 2

prompt 3: heavy the cosmos (pt. 1)

note: this grew to be too long anon so i’ve split it. that being said, i have no idea why it grew too long, and now i am greatly concerned.

“You look… just like my younger brother did,” King Alfor murmured, his piercing blue eyes stuttering away from Lance’s face. “It is… rather disconcerting.”

“Oh,” Lance replied lamely, not sure how exactly to take that. “Sorry, I guess?”

The king – Allura’s dad, who’d died ten thousand years ago but had his memories saved as an AI – quickly said, “No, no! Nothing to be sorry for, young one. I was merely taken aback by it. Please, come closer.”

Hesitantly, not sure of his welcome despite the invitation, Lance crept into the room he’d seen Allura hole up in for hours on end, the curiousness that had brought him here fuelling him on. The tall man gestured him closer, as if he were a frightened cat, the kind smile he wore soothing whatever misgivings Lance might have had.

“I don’t think we’ve met before,” the king murmured, once Lance was standing almost in front of him. “I am Alfor. And you are?”

Lance stuffed his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunching as he realised he had no idea what to do now that he’d gotten to this point. Allura was going to be so angry with him for invading her privacy, holy crow. “Lance,” he introduced himself anyway, eyes drifting over to the field of flowers that surrounded them. “This is a pretty cool place.”

“Indeed,” Alfor smiled, looking around himself fondly. “I would bring Allura here whenever I could steal away some free time. Her mother used to love it here too.”

Allura’s mom? Lance wanted to ask, so bad, but he knew he’d already crossed a line coming in here, he couldn’t- “What was her mom like?” Quiznak.

Alfor laughed, a boisterous noise that brought a reluctant smile to Lance’s lips. “Oh by the stars,” the Altean gasped, wiping at an eye theatrically, “She was every bit the varka she was anointed as, loud and bright and so very brave. I-” he halted, mirth fading to a quiet melancholy, a quiet nostalgia that brought to light the wrinkles Lance hadn’t noticed before. “She was a remarkable woman, and I was a lucky man to call her my wife.”

Meaning she’d probably died. Sometime before Alfor had. Before Allura and Coran had been cryogenically frozen for ten thousand years.

God, Lance was an idiot.

“But none of that,” Alfor dismissed, waving a hand in the air to brush it off. “You are one of the new paladins, are you not, young Lance? May I ask which lion you pilot?”

Lance perked up at that, always willing to talk about his amazing blue lion, and proudly said, “The greatest lion of all, of course. The Blue Lion!”

(warmth fondness pride my paladin my paladin my paladi-)

Alfor let loose the same laugh as before, quickly defending himself at Lance’s offence with, “I’m not laughing at you, young one! No, it’s just- your predecessor had said the exact same thing before, many times! Ah, Blue truly knows how to choose her paladins!”

Blue rolled in fondness, pawing at Lance from her place at the back of his mind. He pawed back, or at least tried to, still unused to whatever bond it was they shared, still unused to having a sentient, robotic, space ship lion choose him, of all people.

A table materialised in front of them, a little round thing with fancy detailing like the kind his mama bought from antique stores. Two chairs accompanied it, fazing in like a cool glitch, equally detailed, and Alfor gestured at him to take a seat while he did so himself.

“I would be pleased to hear more of how you came to be here, Lance,” the king said warmly, eyes crinkling at the edges, “If you are free and have the time?”

He probably didn’t. Allura was probably calling for them all, demanding they train. Or maybe Coran was searching for him to help clean the cryopods. Or-

-the flowers swayed in the computer generated wind, Alfor’s hair glitched, ever so slightly, and blue trilled at him mournfully, at the remains of a king long dead revived by the press of a button.

“Sure,” Lance said carefully, sitting down on the offered chair and ignoring the happy look that crossed Alfor’s face. “But you gotta tell me about this other blue paladin guy, sounds like a genius to me.”

Alfor laughed, leaning in as Lance settled, and promised, “Oh, I will.”

“And then Shiro remembered this dude he fought in the arena with who had the exact same weapon and how he defeated him, and bam!” Lance narrated, miming Voltron’s counterstrike. “We won!”

Alfor dutifully clapped, expression clearly showing he was impressed. “This… robeast-” he stumbled over the word, “-sounds like a ferocious enemy. It is most impressive you were able to stay on equal ground with it, let alone defeat it. Your team is young, Lance, but gifted.”

Preening at the praise, Lance nodded, finally taking his seat again from where he’d been pacing, too caught up in bringing Alfor up to speed on what had happened since he’d last snuck in.

This had become something of a habit, stealing away from the group to have a few minutes with Alfor, making sure it was after Allura had come and gone to avoid running into her.

He felt bad about it, kinda, since this was her dad, and Lance absolutely knew he would’ve been jealous (and pissed) if someone had been doing the same with something that belonged to him.

But he also felt bad at the idea of… not coming here. At the idea of leaving Alfor behind in this huge field of pretty flowers with nobody but Allura for company. Sure, Alfor wasn’t actually a person, wasn’t actually the Alfor Allura and Coran knew. Sure, he was just memories and alien tech working to formulate what Alfor statistically would have said and in what tone and with what face, but…

… Still.

So Lance kept coming, time and time again. Kept an eye out for Allura and her long hair leaving the room, kept an eye out for just how much heartache she carried that day and her expressions; that little twist of her lips, the way her shoulders seemed lighter yet somehow heavier, the stronger voice she ordered them in – it all meant she’d visited Alfor.

And so Lance would visit after.

“You sure it’s okay for me to be here?” He asked anyway, fidgeting on the chair (and how exactly did the room materialise a chair?) as Alfor took a dainty sip of his fake tea.

“Of course,” Alfor replied with a smile, expression kind and welcoming. “I doubt I’m of much help, since you and your team seem to be outpacing myself and my own by lightyears, but I’m here anyway. And if nothing else…” The King paused, smile turning helpless, almost embarrassed. “I do enjoy your presence, Lance. I’ll be happy to have you for as long as it takes for you to get bored of this old man’s tales.”

Lance’s own lips pulled up into a grin, helpless in their joy, as he leaned forward and happily said, “No way, man! Your stories are great! Okay, so,” he threw himself back into his seat, determination furrowing his eyebrows. “I’ll keep coming. But if the others find out and they get pissed at me you gotta protect me, alright?”

Alfor’s snorted, amusement visible as he stroked his beard. “Hmmm… Let me think on it.”

Lance’s indignant squawk had him laughing.

The party had still been going strong when Lance had left it, struggling to keep himself in check and not bawl his eyes out like a little kid.

Coran sucked at comforting people, long arms struggling to eat up the distance the holomap spun through to reach the tiny planet known as Earth, showing the full breadth of distance between them.

So far away.

… But at least still there.

At least Earth was still there, Lance realised guiltily, taking in Coran’s heartbroken expression and misty eyes. At least he could still go there, right now even, if he wanted to leave the entire universe to the hands of the Galra. At least he knew his mom, his dad, his brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews were still all right.

Coran didn’t have that. Allura didn’t have that.

“But none of that, my boy.” Coran loudly said, slapping his hands against his thighs as he stood up. “We’ll get you home in a right tick! Just as soon as we defeat the Galra.”

Right.

He just had to stay strong till then.

He took Coran’s offered hand, squeaking a little as the Altean easily hoisted him up, and moved to follow. A tiny metallic whoosh whoosh noise hailed the arrival of Rover, the little triangle robot thing Pidge had suddenly popped up with one day, and Lance gave a distracted greeting to the thing as he followed Coran back to the festivities.

He wondered if Pidge would get him one of his own, if he asked nicely. Colour code the green light to blue and name it Estella, maybe. He glanced back at Rover, noticing again that it’s little beep boop’s were really cute, and-

Hang on.

He looked away, into the hallway, down the other end, Coran the only other soul present. He looked back, at Rover, the little machine floating genially towards the crystal, and-

“Wait, where’s-”

beep boop beep boop beep beep

beEP BEEEP-

“CORAN!”

“-y prince!” Steel in his hands, cold and metal- “Inhale, exhale,”

the stars were beautiful tonight, “-re you flirting with me, my lord?”

bayard in his hands, cold and metal- “ackshot, just like always”

umbasa, swirling up above, the constellation hidden in the cosmos, hidden in-

“this isn’t right, alf-” but nobody listening. superstition, traditionalist, stuck on the words and lapels of his late mother, “don’t-”

quintessance. blue lion. other lions. “voltron.”

a woman’s face, red diafra’s under her eyes, red quintessance in her soul, and thirst drowning her whole-

umbasa. umbasa. umbasa.

a familiar voice, calling his name, “Lance?”

that wasn’t his name.

(that was his name.)

purple, alarms, a familiar, weary face with a scar across the bridge of his nose-

and bright yellow eyes belonging to a man that gripped his shoulder tight and said, “I’ll bring him back to you, every single time.”

ALaddoLrLance (who?) felt his lips pulling into a smile, trust and-

“what are you doing?”

“the quintessance-”

wrong, wroNG, WRONG- screaming, who was- Shiro? Shiro was screaming? W h y wouldn’t they listen to him he had to open his eyes and focus down the sight, align the target, pull back and inhale, and with the exhale, shoot.

bullseye.

“we do make a good team,” Lance murmured, the red armour holding him up squeezing him closer, holding him tight. “You guys make a good team!”

Red and blue, Alfor and Blaytz, pausing in their bickering to look at him, smiling.

HoNEggARvaR pleading with him, “my Prince no, we cannot stop, plEaSe-”

Lance woke up gasping.

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trigafy · 7 years

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Bi the way, we exist | Viet Vu | TEDxTerryTalks

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In this TEDx talk, Viet speaks about the complexities of coming out as bisexual and the positive and negative reactions that he received from his family and friends. While focusing on a group that is rarely talked about in LGBTQ+ rights, Viet explains how anyone can have a tangible impact on someone’s life by choosing to care.

Viet is a fourth-year Economics student at the Vancouver School of Economics. He’s also a researcher at EqualDex, a database that maps the status of LGBTQ+ rights worldwide.

This talk was given at a TEDx event using the TED conference format but independently organized by a local community. Learn more at http://ted.com/tedx

If a mad scientist in a white coat came up to you and said he could make you a better woman with a few bits and pieces from the graveyard and the scrapyard, you’d be well within your rights to be a little concerned.

Of course, white coats are so last season, and we men love you just as you are, but if we could redesign you from scratch we can think of a few things that would make you even more amazing. In all fairness, you’d probably like to do the same to us, but for now, it’s our turn. Here are the modifications we’d choose to make if we had a say in creating Woman 2.0:

Behavior

The Current Model

Unless you’ve spent long, long periods studying her, she can be scarily unpredictable. Even if we had a time machine with which we could monitor her behavior, she’d still be unpredictable.

Sure, she goes to work and gym at the same time every day, SMSes her girlfriends like clockwork and calls her mother regularly, yet she surprises us with: Sally’s birthday party (‘Of course I told you we were going’); dinner at her parents’ house (‘You told my mother you couldn’t wait to see her again’), spontaneous tearfulness (‘I’m fine, leave me alone’) and, well, you know the rest.

The New Model

She’ll schedule everything, copy it to our PDA, and be perfectly flexible about moving things around if we need them to be moved. And everything includes everything –

18.15-18.35: complain about what a bitch that Angela from accounts is; 19.00-19.15: tell the story about yelling at that tramp at the gym who doesn’t wipe the equipment when she’s done; 20.00-20.10: express gratitude for being with such a fantastic listener; 20.10-00.00: demonstrate that gratitude with an intriguing new position. (Okay, that last one can be a surprise.)

Expectations

The Current Model

Despite how effortless we may make it look, it’s not that easy being a man. Women’s expectations of us range from easy (‘Come here and make sweet love to me’); to sigh-inducing (‘You promised to take my car to the car wash’); mildly difficult (‘Let’s go for a run’); tough (‘Must you go out with those loser friends of yours?’); and really tough (‘Why can’t you be more like [idiot ex-boyfriend’s name here]?’.

The New Model

As we have not yet mastered The Force (that’s the one where we wave our hand in our girlfriend’s direction and murmur something about wanting her to get us another beer), the next best thing is for her to be highly susceptible to hypnosis.

We’ll teach ourselves this ancient mystical art (there must be a DIY website, right?) and, with a click of our fingers and a few choice keywords, her expectations will be met.

Her: ‘Must you go out with those loser friends of yours tonight?’ Him: ‘You adore my friends. To you, they’re like the cutest puppies in the world. You love puppies. When I snap my fingers, you’ll be filled with happiness when I tell you I’m going out with my friends.’ Her (sighing): ‘I love puppies.’

Talking

The Current Model

She has so much to say, to so many people, so much of the time. She knows many, many words, and she’s not afraid to use her gigantic vocabulary. And when she’s not talking, she’s SMSing. Sometimes she’s talking and SMSing.

Like Dr Frasier Crane, we’re listening. Or, we’re supposed to be. You know how you sometimes tell your man, ‘You’re not listening to me’? He’ll disagree but you know you’re right. He’s not.

Often we’ll be contemplating really important things, such as the future of the global economy, the state of the nation, divisions in the ruling party, the elections, KFC or Nando’s, Lager or Lite, blondes or brunettes or redheads … suffice it to say, it’s a long and important list of manly concerns.

The New Model

She will be as chatty as the current model but she’ll have a highly evolved, telepathic awareness of when we’re mulling over the big issues. She’ll play a key role in addressing our dilemmas (‘Blondes, brunettes or redheads – why not all three? I’ll make some calls’) and quietly use her telepathic powers to time our chats when we’re not occupied with the big questions.

Dating

The Current Model

She’s bored silly with dull pick-up lines and flirting that involves our witty friends expressing their support and encouragement from the next table. She knows her vichyssoise from foie gras and her Pinot Noir from Pino Gris. (Foie gras is bad, apparently, but we try not to eat too many things we can’t pronounce.)

She expects us to know that Spur is not her idea of a fun night out and neither is Dros, regardless of what they claim in their ads. She spends more time than her best friend thinks we’re worth preparing for a night out with us. It’s nothing short of miraculous that humanity didn’t fade away eons ago, leaving talking dogs to run the planet.

The New Model

She’s like Mother Teresa (but alive, hot and sexually active) – she doesn’t discriminate. She’s watched enough bad movies to get those obscure but witty references with which we pepper our conversation; she’s mad about sports but will unhesitatingly defer to our learned, beer-fuelled opinion; her palate is refined but not so much that she doesn’t frequently crave something meaty cooked over open flames.

Fashion

The Current Model

The rent or the Blahniks? To a well-dressed woman, only a feeble-minded man would even consider that anything more than a rhetorical question.

To most men, more than three pairs of shoes is unnecessary (work, weekend and gym; sometimes the latter two are the same); the last suit we bought was for Michael’s wedding and we’ve worn it to work for the past two years, and the Levi’s we bought with our first pay cheque are still in pretty good shape, thanks for asking.

Even if the local Mall is her Manhattan, she firmly believes it’s her right, no, duty, to re-create herself in the image of Carrie Bradshaw, a fictional, middle-aged woman who dresses like a, uh, character from a TV show. (Jack Bauer, Braveheart and those guys from 300 didn’t worry about labels. Neither do we. Grrrr.)

The New Model

She still looks as pretty as a picture but has the good sense to pay the rent first and lust after Manolos later. (Seriously, babe, this is why we have to spend so much time contemplating that global economic crisis.)

Self-Image

The Current Model

Despite her fun, fearless ways, she occasionally manages to surprise us with her insecure and vulnerable side: ‘Does my bum look big in this?’ ‘It’s fant-ass-tic … come to daddy.’ At that point, insecurity is replaced by seething, uncontrollable rage, despite her prior insistence on our complete honesty, regardless of the circumstances.

Similarly, well-meaning and innocent compliments often go awry (‘That shirt makes your boobs look huge. Are you wearing a Wonderbra? Come to daddy’) without us even being aware of the potential for that rather un-sassy, seething, uncontrollable rage.

The New Model

She will utilize her telepathic powers to know that we’re rather fond of her bum/breasts/legs/arms/hair/bits and pieces, even if she’s convinced they’re too big/small/short/thin/fat/hairy/ hairless/dark/light/even/uneven.

Sex

The Current Model

Sassy, sexy and sometimes a little too cocksure, she knows what she likes and how she likes it – and she likes it with real orgasms. Which, hell, is rather a lot of pressure for us.

We’re all for showing a girl a good time. We read those get-fit/quit-smoking/be-the-world’s-greatest-lover articles in those men’s magazines with the pictures of Lee-Anne Liebenberg so we’re pretty good at trying new tricks and not tweaking, tugging, grabbing or groping when we should be stroking, fondling, teasing and tickling.

We’re not gynaecologists, however. We’ve mastered the G-spot but you’re on your own (or with your bi-curious friend from varsity) for the rest of those alphabetized spots we’re convinced the girls are making up to puzzle us.

The New Model

She’s every bit the confident hottie but, to her, our extensive bathroom reading has made us the greatest lover in the world, her bi-curious varsity friend often joins in without any of that post-threesome awkwardness and orgasms always come after just a few satisfying minutes of penetration.

Sandra Prior runs her own bodybuilding website at http://bodybuild.rr.nu.

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