Poppycock

by Randolph O. Mann

I know exactly what you’re thinking - This is total bullshit!

But I am telling you, it’s true! A guy can only look at so many naked women before falling victim to languor. For me, it hit somewhere between fifteen hundred and a two thousand women. Your number might be elevated, but there IS a finite tedium threshold for every red-blooded, omnivorous, air breathing womanizer on the face of this planet, when eventually the ladies all start looking the same.

I can predict your thoughts- more Bullshit!’

But it’s true! Sure the mammary mass will vary, there is disheveled, groomed and shaved, the radii of their curves can fluctuate and now and again one is confronted with annoying tattoos or tasteless piercing , but frankly, nipple arrangements deviate only vaguely. Belly buttons, moles, hair color, freckles, even the shade of the iris become only trivial diversions. Race is a non-bar and believe me when I say, conceptually, NAKED is totally color blind. If you recall from that Sunday School melody, ‘red and yellow, black and white all are precious...’ blah, blah, blah, even God has my back on this one. Once the ladies are separated from their garments there is only one color; beige. Just varying shades of beige. At the end of the day, the anatomical echo has an anesthetizing effect and due to such protracted exposure I developed immunity, if you will.

Go ahead and say IT, I have heard it before - Bullshit! He must be gay!

And to that I can only emphatically counter, no I am not. As strange as it may sound, I am telling the naked truth. There is an old tired punch-line that speaks to this very subject; ‘My wife has an outfit just like that.’ Where do you think it came from? Even as children we stop playing ‘Doctor’ out of boredom and they call it ‘first base’ not ‘touchdown’ because just like in baseball, there is much more to this ‘game’ too. You see, I like a good piece of ass just like the next guy; the only difference for me is I know at the end of the day I am GOING to get laid and with this knowledge I have developed chevalier buoyancy that over time has altered the war of the sexes dramatically as the combatants are now completing on a level battlefield. At least it is with me. By now some questions will begin to creep in - No shit? Maybe this arrogant asshole might be on to something.

Hey, bartender, can you give us another round over here? And would you please start a tab for us, while I explain to these two dapperly attired gentlemen and their ravishing lady friend sitting directly in front of us at this bar, how this trendy saloon seems to be excessively crowded tonight and there isn’t any place for US to sit down while we are enjoying our beverages. As a consequence, we will require all three of these lovely people to pick up your cocktails, stand up and mosey off into the crowd as it is my intention to occupy these same three wonderfully positioned barstools while my dinner companions and I are waiting for the next table to become available. We thank all three of you most kindly for making such a cordial sacrifice and bid you a fond adieu.

Ok then, my darlings, with the limited seating dilemma placidly resolved I will ask both of you to please have a seat. And do snuggle-up ladies, this drinking establishment is teeming with weekend revelers and we should not be avaricious when it comes to the limited available seating capacity. I will suggest to both of my lovely banquet escorts that from past experience I have found it best if you girls would sit with your backs towards the bar facing the transient restaurant patrons. This will avoid the unnecessary groping of your sexy bottoms. Being perched at this opportunistic elevation presents both of your round buttocks as very tempting targets and I believe settling you gals with the small of your backs cradled against the hand carved mahogany counter top will remove that naughty attraction. Plus one should never sacrifice good posture. Aliening the spine directly above the pelvic area with respect to one’s center of gravity adds breadth and volume to the female bosoms while at the same time enhancing the curvature to the aforementioned posteriori.

I must tell you both, as we survey our dazzling surroundings, this place has been packed with long waiting lines every weekend from Thursday thru Saturday ever since this restaurant received a five-star rating. That full page write up in the Chronicle hitting the newsstands last week described the avant-garde décor as ‘a MUST see’ , and this has made matters even worse. Consequently we will find that ‘everyone’ that thinks they are a ‘someone’ wants to be seen dining “In The Raw.” I must admit this is something else, with ‘A-Listers’ from southern California flying up here every weekend just for the opportunity to walk the gauntlet of Paparazzi while wearing 'barely there' clubbing outfits as they are photographed accepting the preferential velvet-roped-cut to the front of the line that will firmly reinstate their precarious position among the who’s-who. But I digress.

Now that we have secured three of these precious bar stools and with our second round of ‘Cosmopolitans’ in hand I say to you, ‘down the hatch, my pretties’ and please pay attention lil-darlin’s, because I am not going to repeat myself this evening, take notes if you have to because none of what I am about to share with you this weekend will be retained by either of you two when Tuesday morning rolls around. Oh, there will be disturbing flashbacks and unsettling images. Unfortunately those cannot be helped, and as you’re both are about to learn, hypnotherapy is an Art, not a Science.

But I will try to explain. My tale of woe began earlier this afternoon on what has turned out to be a particularly stiflingly Friday even for the month of August. I had returned belatedly to the office after enduring another obligatory two-martini power lunch which included costly selections from a limited wine list and culminated with a pair of overpriced ‘Rusty Nails’ for dessert. I grudgingly picked up the ‘power luncheon’ tab prior to returning to work, with every intention of applying myself to the rigors of the mind-numbing vocation I call a career. Pixilated and a little woozy courtesy of my recent high octane industrial lunch my refined bureaucratic comportment suffered an ephemeral exodus. Unable to focus upon the officious tasks at hand I placed my lingering obligations to the side in favor of the wayward ancillary voyeuristic offerings at my disposal.

Lecherously, my concentration traveled beyond the confines of my personal office, past the inter office window towards the sweltering milieu of the secretarial pool. Voyeuristically I stalked from cubicle to cubicle in search of visual fulfillment as one by one I examined each of the discernible creatures. I pressed forward leisurely upon my errant ocular orgy. I savored each of the feminine shapes as I ‘worked’ my perverted way among the credulous ladies-in-waiting with their shapely thighs crisscrossing deviant images into the deep recesses of my long term memory. I explored the shocking panoramas of the hollows between the secretarial chests, scandalous glimpses of seamed clerical stockings and the estimable visual foretastes of the bureaucratic posteriori facades accidentally flaunted in the workplace for my tainted viewing pleasure. I leisurely scavenged among the ocular martyrs until my wanton ingenuity found the two of you nestled away at your workstations. The clammy conditions had firmly stenciled both of your gossamer tops against your generous torsos, vividly delineating the pale silhouettes of your foundation halters and flamboyantly defining the legitimacy of my inflated imaginings as verifiably accurate. Revealed in your glowing succulence such an attractive pair of clerical gal-Fridays as yourselves had ‘utterly’ arrested my prurient curiosity. So, in the same tired fashion, as I have employed so many times before, I focused my singular extrasensory powers upon both of you extremely vulnerable women.

Ya, ya, ya! I know, it’s written all over your pretty little faces. You are both thinking, 'here we go again, ‘More bullshit!’

And I say to you lovely ladies, please just hear me out. ‘Bartender, if you would be so kind, as to serve another round of adult beverages ...and Happy Hour finger food, for my women! I thank you, most kindly, Sir.

Now I must insist that we toast the moment, ladies. Here’s To ‘World Dominion’!

Excuse me, did the bartender ask if we have Reservations? Need I remind the ill-mannered servant that WE don’t need no stinkin' reservations! Instead I suggest to the nosy bartender that his time would be better spend by just walking his sorry ass down the bar and informing the maître d' that we will just take the next available table, thank you!

Let’s see, where was I before I was so rudely interrupted? Oh yes, I remember now! You lovely ladies were questioning the reference to my telepathic endowments and judging from your haughty facial lexis it is most apparent that both of you bashful ingénues still believe this informal assembly is a serendipitous gathering of co-workers. Wrong again, my ignorant patsies! The two of you are in reality just lab guinea pigs. Flabbergasted? Befuddled? Even a little humiliated? Oh don’t be, ladies, let me explain while the waiters are preparing a table for us.

It was during the better part of the past twenty nine months that I have been devotedly committed to honing my Fixed-Thinking, developing my Peremptory Self-Restraint, studying hypnotism, levitation and prestidigitation. My lessons were focused upon Despotic Brain Power, majoring in Tour de Force with a complementing minor in Telekinetic Masterstrokes. At the commencement exercises I was recognized as the Adroit Contriver of Domination in recognition of my very revealing fieldwork supporting subliminal suggestions. And just that simply I stepped from the graduation dais armed with a full tool box of wickedly academic disciplines to forage in the midst of a very unsuspecting female populace with a malevolent strategy.

Here we go ladies; the staff has arranged a table in the very center of the dining room, perfect! Just follow the maître d' to our table while I have the waiter add a jeroboam of the finest Champaign and a large platter of oysters on the half shell as an appetizer to the dinner tab.

As I was saying, the very early stages of my Thought-Provoking Experiments were confined to clandestine research, as I only took ‘scientific’ liberties with close female contacts. Granted the prospect of acquainted sexual intercourse among reticent female associates and secreted dalliances with the wives and girlfriends of my mates did encourage my uninterrupted study. Until eventfully the close-knit nature of such a limited focus group proved problematic when establishing verifiable consent. Consequently once my rudimentary telekinetic skills had advanced beyond the maladroit stage I enthusiastically expanded the scope of my experimentation by venturing beyond the cosseted borders of a laboratory setting and into the boundless clubbing venue, where less familiar test subjects are effortlessly obtainable. I soon discovered that once properly ‘sloshed’, womenfolk will naturally fall prey to the influence of my subliminal suggestions. So I dropped anchor and exploited the indigenous femme fatales until each of the local water holes had been profoundly over-grazed. Then my work place seemed to me as the next logical progression and that is how in due course I came upon the two of you.

From your quizzical expressions I would surmise my veracity continues to be challenged. So it would seem that a sufferable demonstration will be needed to finally sway such dubious skeptics. So be it. After I refill each of your empty Champaign glasses, I will take it upon myself to demonstrate my impish dexterity for you incredulous gals by ‘willing’ you two lovely ladies to kiss. Not some lame Hollywood air-kiss, either. I fancy a seriously hot, extensive two-minute, deep-throated, lesbian lip-lock. You know, one of those erotically forbidden kind of girl-on-girl kisses that will invite the full attention of the robust voyeuristic male members of the hoity-toity clientele sharing this reticent drinking establishment with us this evening. Ladies, what I am suggesting is a demonstration of affection that will ALSO collect the hypercritical glances of the female dining guests in our company. I want there to be no question that your embrace is far outside either of your comfort zones. A kiss so erotic it could never be explained away as a socially casual clinch among girlfriends. I demand a passionate kissing demonstration to rival the ages! Well, that would be unrealistic for first timers, so I will settle for a really hot-ta womanly French kiss with plenty of extra groping.

And while you lovely ladies are ‘swapping spit’ I do believe I would like to see a dinner menu if you please, garcon.

Now while I peruse the offerings set forth upon this bill of fare, I must release my two hesitant exhibitionists to probe the tasty pleasures that such healthy young bodies can serve up. Like on every other Friday night during this blistering summer heat wave I will just snap my fingers and set this attractive brace of trollops into motion –SNAP- I can bend your resolve and mold your natures because you both are about to discover what a fantastic weekend of naked gluttony and familiar debauchery awaits the three of us upon our three-day holiday.

Waiter, I believe as a threesome we will be enjoying a medium-rare chateaubriand with three extremely large lobster tails served upon a liberal bed of asparagus spears and a trio of César salads.

This is great! I will admit so far this evening is progressing just as I had envisioned. I have two very confused secretaries franticly staring into each other’s eyes in quest of answers as to why, ever so slowly their sexy bodies are surrendering to my suggestions. My lovely redheaded Nicole finds herself unable to stop her knees as they faintly separate to allow the sole of her black stiletto shoe to slide behind the chair and that long, shapely, silk-covered left-leg reaches for secure stable footing upon the hostelry floorboards, a maneuver designed to display her attractive appendage while maintaining stability as her well-formed bottom slides to the very edge of the leather wrapped chair, all in order to tactically guide a very nice-looking right patella between the extremely accommodating knees of her blond co-worker.

Oh God! If only you two little harlots could see your curious expressions, Darrrrlings you would just die! I do believe these young ladies are finally gaining a full appreciation for their present liability. Eventually your spirit will totally disintegrate and both of you youthful women will capitulate into my control, finding yourselves perversely addicted to my overwhelming influence and slaves to my whimsy.

So while the waiter is tossing our diner salads I must remind you, my sweet towheaded Rachael, that as Nicole gently pries your legs apart I believe this would be the perrrr-fect time for you to extend your right arm and cup Nicole's substantial left breast in the palm of your hand and give it an friendly squeeze for me, if you please... Thank you. Then the fingers on your left hand should affectionately brush the red curls away from Nicole’s right eye as you reach behind her neck and gently draw her mouth to yours for a hungry open-mouth kiss.

I do not know about you two gals but I must admit that I still find female-on-female open mouthed kissing to be a real turn-on. I really enjoy the coquettish head bobbing as those two feminine noses alternate to the left and then to the right as each embrace is erotically completed before a fresh innovative angle can be explored. I hope that both of you ladies understand how desperately peeking out the corners of your eyes in search of heroic rescuers is also very erotic. Unfortunately, from your perspective, it is also very futile. Tonight there will be no last minute clemency call from the Governor and stalling in this manner only heightens my pleasure while at the same time collecting the illicit scrutiny of our fellow dinners and the restaurant staff.

I would suggest that you gals could, without breaking your sexy embrace, multi-task by focusing your inner ears upon the total lack of background noise registering within your proximal audible range. I swear, if it wasn’t for the scraping and clicking of my chilled salad fork as I enjoy this exquisitely prepared salad I believe one could hear a pin drop in this dining hall. Sweethearts, the two of you have captured the full attention of the entire bistro with your amorous affair. Even the bartenders have stopped pouring drinks to watch the two of you at play. That blue-haired lady we passed during our ‘grand entrance’ this evening, the one sitting all alone at one of the window tables, has paused with her mouth wide open and a forkful of chicken Parisian balanced half way between her dish and her lip, transfixed upon your startling exhibition. Ladies, it is official; you two can ‘stop traffic.’

You gals should also know I took the liberty of approving both ground pepper and anchovies to be added to our salads, as I have decided we will ALL be ‘diving’ this evening and so I figured the telltale scent of fish-breath would go unobserved.

By the way, how is that kiss coming along, ladies? I know this is always an awkward part of the evening for my female escorts. This is where I am required to patiently wait for one of my naive victims to summon up enough courage before making that first forbidden journey into the other’s oral cavity. Somehow there is always a feminine reluctance to assume the dominate role in such an embrace. I believe centuries of collective reinforcement have consigned penetration as a macho fascia. The fair sex, over the years, has gravitated to a yielding posture which I have found cumbersome to surmount. It has been my experience that ultimately, one of you girls will tire of the procrastination and in due course will ‘cowgirl-up’, thus converting into the antagonist before the congenial proceedings begin in earnest. Regrettably this is one of two time-consuming hurdles we must get past this weekend. The other hurdle will be getting your panties slipped below and beyond your knees, but we will cross that bridge in due course. The bottom-line is that this evening’s entertainment is stalled until you gals can establish a pecking order and the tongue wrestling can begin. Not to worry, our extended weekend is still very young, and believe me when I say each of us in turn will be give the opportunity to assume a leadership role during this three-day retreat.

In the meantime I must remind you ladies that your Caesar Salads are wilting even as I speak. Wine Steward! Could you please uncork another magnum of ‘bubbly,’ please?

The oddest part of this whole charade is how I never arranged for either of you gals to spread your legs apart. Yet as God is our witness both of you naughty little girls have allowed your modesty a holiday as we find your thighs have upon their own accord broaden their perspective and in so doing are now flaunting a sexy view all the way to your silk covered crotches for the viewing pleasure of any interested onlookers. Shame upon you two wayward panty-flashers! Such a scandalous display has garnered the disapproval of the other female diner guests as they fine-tune the logistics of their personal hems to accent their condemnation. While at the same time you mischievous she-devils have conferred rigid erections up their male counterparts.

Oh, good show, Rachael! In heroic fashion you have taken the initiative and sent your tongue boldly into an orifice where no woman’s tongue has gone before and our weekend exploits can proceed. I am overwhelmed how both of you heifers are taking to ‘wenching’ like ducklings take to water. So upon my signal unleash depravity! Better yet, I think I will order you gals to break off your lip lock before the maître d' is compelled to spray the two of you with a garden hose, and I will let you both enjoy the rabbit food and sparkling wine before our expensive surf-n-turf arrives. Please straighten your skirts ladies, and take your seats while I refill each of your Champaign glasses.

Just look around this chic restaurant! We are surrounded by the cream de la cream of society. Iconic politicians, well heeled bigwigs, and celebrated starlets; the affluence abounds. All dressed to the nines. Deep plunging evening dresses, micro-mini clubbing outfits, teenage racks spilling out of prom gowns and tight fitting ‘slut-pants’ showing off the aerobically sculptured assets of the expensive concubines. I see well tailored tuxedos and expensive silk suits too!

As our steak and tails are arriving I cannot but notice how the ladies at our table can only be described as over dressed for the occasion. Having arrived directly from work I am afraid that both of you gals must be feeling out of place here attired in your work appropriate silk blouses and pencil skirts. So while the waiter slices our pricey steak I do believe you two women folk will have just enough time to STRIP before dinner.

Don’t look so surprised! We are working upon our second bottle of Champaign and I am not accustom to eating lobster tail in the company of women wearing more than a pair of shoes. So if you gals would be so kind as to disrobe I am sure the waiter will have our steak cut and waiting by the time we are ready. I suggest that you two can just toss every single stitch directly onto the floor, my dears. The staff will be along to collect them before anyone trips, they always do. Let me reassure you gals that hysterical visual searches of this eatery in quest of the nearest exit are a wasted effort upon your part. All of your instinctive survival skills have been fully anesthetized.

Your flight reflex?

Oh, sweethearts, that ship has sailed! The ‘all-ashore call’ was broadcast before any of us left the office this evening. Darrrlings, you two very gullible stowaways have been shanghaied for the remainder of this three day weekend and placed into my demoniacal custody so if even half of my devil-may-care fantasies are realized you two vixens will be sitting down most gingerly at work this coming Tuesday.

There can be no more dawdling, girls! Please, place both of your handbags next your dinner napkins, stand up next to our table and simply remove ALL of your clothes. All together now! I need you both to mutually pull the tails of your gossamer blouses beyond the taut waistbands of those pencil skirts before reaching up with both hands to let your hair down. By vigorously shaking those golden curls and crimson tresses you have transformed that passé clerical façade into a very risqué nocturnal appearance. I believe the next logical progression would entail alternately tendering the access of your pear shaped hindquarters in my direction which will permit me the opportunity of uncoupling of those dorsally placed closures holding up your muted pencil skirts. Then I suggest by employing some coquettish hip wiggling and downward pressure applied to your waistbands you both will send those dowdy kilts sliding down those attractive legs into a crumpled halo encircling your ankles.

May I extend my hand as both of you imps step beyond the ring of fabric that has enchained your lower extremities? I will cheerfully stand while assisting my golden and strawberry dancers during the execution of twin pirouettes intended to exhibit your girlish figures. I must confess to a weakness for Burlesque. Women cavorting about as layer by layer their womanly trappings fall away are a needless casualty of our enlightened political correctness, and which in my humble opinion never should have been allowed to fall out of style.

I hope that both of you girls can find it in your hearts to forgive me as I will begin eating while the two of you remove the remaining items of your outfits. The blouses most definitely have to go. I recommend ignoring the buttons by just quickly pulling the hems up and over your heads.

Bravo, ladies! Matching bra and panty sets accented with silk stocking and suspenders have been very rare discoveries during my research and sighting a brace similarly harnessed is extraordinary. None-the-less they still must go too. AND believe me after I have tasted the Maine lobster I can assure that you gals will want to unclasp those halters straight away before the clarified butter is all gone. Both of the bras can simply be dropped at your feet if you please, which will bring us to our impending moment of truth that everyone here knew was coming.

The panties!

It is always the panties that thwart my cleverness. Over time I have discovered that my power over my victims is restricted to simply amenable suggestions and regrettably, I am powerless to surmount such obstinate aversions. If the truth were to be known, I can only direct my ‘puppets’ towards thoughts they actually fancy. My victims must reflexively crave to explore my propositions prior to compliantly following my instructions. Adamant opposition to my objective has as yet proven impossible for me to surmount and obviously for you girls the removal of your panties is patently odious.

For the record, I cannot remember tasting asparagus with such an ideal bloom. These vegetables are impeccable and you really should try them.

Nevertheless, before that can happen I must introduce a milieu whereby you ladies will gaily accept my suggestion of going all in ‘commando-style.’ No simple trick mind you, but as I survey this dining room I spy a plethora of knots erupting in the trousers of the restaurant personnel symptomatic of a workforce more than willing to engage my double-dates with intimate carnal knowledge and I am guessing that a hypnotic suggestion sanctioning a group rape- (I find the colloquial term ‘gang bang’ irksome.)

Anyway, it is my estimation that such an erotic ensemble arrangement would be cheerfully received by all and sundry. So I submit that if both of you quick thinking women want to avoid such an intimate encounter with this stimulated workforce you are advised to voluntarily remove your bloomers. Yet I will leave it to you gals to reconsider your idealistic attachment for those lacy panties. Just go ahead and drop the undergarments into the pile accumulating upon the hardwood floorboards. As for your silk stockings and satin garter belts let’s leave those in place. They complement your impeccably pruned public mounds perfectly and should be allowed to stay. I do believe a diminutive curtsy would serve the moment before the attending waiters can hygienically spread your dinner napkins upon the seats of those Corinthian Leather chairs.

The Health Department frowns on nudity in communal eating settings and I certainly do not need a diligent member of the Vice Squad stumbling upon any DNA that might eventually collaborate the hysterical ramblings of two very befuddled date-rape victims Tuesday morning. So I have taken the liberty of having the busboys collect all of your discarded clothing items before placing them into the incinerator behind the kitchen. Personally, I see little reason for the two of you to wear anything beyond your control top stockings and stiletto heels for the rest of our time together.

No matter, please take a seat and enjoy the succulent bounty placed before us on this dinner table. You ladies must be famished and please remember to save room because the kitchen staff are currently applying the final torches upon a Baked Alaska, plus I have arranged for a freshly brewed carafe of Kopi luwak to be allowed a moment to steep before serving as a ‘back’ to the snifters of Cognac flavored with the peel of bitter Haitian oranges, spices and vanilla. Then over a tranquil desert I hope to chat about our lodging arrangements for the next three days. It seems the rather awkward timing of our tryst has placed us under the thumb of available hotel rooms that are in dreadfully scarce supply. As such I believe the next stop for us this evening will involve a short taxi ride across The City to the Fairmont where I will have the concierge exorcise the current occupants of the Honeymoon Suite so we can thoroughly analyze our love triangle in comfort.

Regrettably, before our cross city jaunt can begin we must settle the bill with the proprietor of this eatery. So if both of you lovelies would each reach into your purses and deliver valid credit cards to the waiter to cover the costs of our food and the beverages from the extensive bar tab we have accumulated. And please include a generous gratuity for our attendants. I do believe the three of us will then casually saunter arm in arm out the front door where the doorman will hail the next available cab as we go to search out lavish accommodations in which to enjoy the duration of this extended weekend.

I know what you’re thinking - This is bullshit, there is no way in hell that we are walking buck naked across this dining room, out the front door and into a taxi cab.

But let me remind you gals: the alternative for you two is partying naked with the waiters. I will give you ladies a moment while I finish my coffee then you can choose between my hard spot or theirs... Shall we, my dears? I thought so.

The End