I'm THE Guy

He's this guy (permalink). I'm the other guy...

I'm the guy who approaches you in a crowded bar and the raw animalistic sexuality that I ooze is unescapable, much like gravity in a black hole.

I'm the guy who looking at your breasts while talking to you, my head bobbing up and down, thinking about how nicely my face is going to fit in between them later.

I'm the guy who, while your not looking, slips a rohypnol in your chocolatini and when your sufficiently out of it, I bring you back to my Adams Morgan Compound.

I'm the guy who, back at my place having sex with you from behind, I try to stick my dick in your ass and claim that I just “slipped” when you protest.

I'm the guy who of course lied about just “slipping.”

I'm the guy who be happy nailing your hot best friend...or both of you at the same time.

I'm the guy who has no problem telling you that your butt looks big in those jeans..

I'm the guy who'll whine when I don't get my way.

I'm the guy who is 36 years old.

I'm the guy who is 6 feet tall, 168 lbs.

I'm the guy who has brown hair and eyes.

I'm the guy who is looking for a SWF, 25-35 who might be looking to get laid.

He gets letters:

"How rich! I've been following you, Mr. Banana Hammock, for a while now and you always make me laugh. While I will never let you accidently on purpose slip it in the backdoor (one must always knock first and politely at that), I did feel compelled to finally write after seeing how irate the originally poster was. Clearly, if I know you, I've been trolling the M4W section on CL for a while but this exchange made me almost snort out my cocktail. Poor guy. He doesn't have a clue. If you ever need photoshopping assistance, just let me know. I'm no expert but I'm pretty handy in a pinch. And it appears that you have no shame...so you make a perfect subject!"

"Hey I am actually responding to ur ad for a friend of mine, she is a sweet girl, 19 very NICE ass (think Jennifer Lopez) very much in shape physically, I think ur approach to women could be good for her, would u be intereasted?"

"Funny shit, given my original post. Let me know if you get any responses." original poster

He gets cl M4W response:

"Thanks for ripping off my post. We'll see who gets more responses." original poster

LET'S PLAY WITH APPLETINIS AND RUFFIES

This guy (permalink) is always posting about getting women drunk. Why would that be?

I am becoming bored with the unfun, conservative, buttoned up women of DC who will not have sex with me on the first date lately so might as well try here. I prefer a woman who would like to play with appletinis, ruffies, maybe my xbox, other stuff (fill in what that other stuff might be) at the right time. This is in addition to worshipping me, eating out, and hot kinky sex like you on top. Late 20s to mid-30s who try to stay fit works best for me. Bring the banter too. I will put the ruffies in your appletini when your preoccupied with my xbox.

I Am the Guy Who...

A rewrite homage to you, mister strong yet sensitive...

You notice as you enter Angles in Adams Morgan just before midnight.

Through the dim lights, the sound of screaming drunk guys from Maryland or Virginia and Carpenters on the jukebox, you walk to an empty wooden stool and sit down...casually glancing to your left, you notice Him, though before seeing Him, you feel Him.

Your eyes focus in the dim lights, the bar candles flickering, the mellifluous voice of Karen Carpenter… "Don't you remember you told me you loved me baby? You said you'd be coming back this way again baby. Baby, baby, baby, baby, oh, baby. I love you, I really do.” Him. You notice Him. He's quietly singing along. A tear rolls down his cheek. He's sensitive. He's also at least 6 feet tall, but shorter sitting down, boney girl arms, and from the eyes you see, a man of depth, a man of passion, a man whose probably had one too many Miller Lites. His brown hair adds the perfect accent to the dancing candle light and shimmers on his lime green leisure suit and yellow buffalo shirt.

It’s the eyes…they capture you with their depth. Instantly you know this man is one of power, purpose, raw sexual magnetism, of, dare I say, taste and being accustomed to the finer things in life. A man who probably knows how to do the hustle as well as the white man’s overbite. Maybe even the Robocop and the Smurf.

Your casual glance leads your eyes to lap. The bunch of fabric at his crotch leads you to believe this is a guy that uses his penis pump every single day. Not only for You but also for Him.

Your eyes meet, and despite his boney girl arms, you know his eyes are not those of a frail girly man, but one of mental focus, savage intensity, and strength. A man practiced in the finer arts of man on woman sensuality.

Slight smiles are exchanged and your heart skips a beat when you hear him say a simple “wanna do it in the bathroom?” through his eyes.

You know instinctively He is one of those who has power....the power to hire and fire at will, move objects with his mind, the power to snatch the remote from your hands and channel surf, never landing on a single channel, but cycling through all 150 channels over and over and over and over.

Powerful but sensitive. Especially when too many Miller Lites he's had. He has a weakness for the Carpenters. That he also probably got misty near the end of "She's Having a Baby," when Kevin Bacon thinks something might have happened to Elizabeth McGovern or the baby in childbirth or on that episode of "Little House on the Prairie" when Mary loses her eyesight. Or maybe even recently during "Happy Gilmore" when Adam Sandler saves grandma's house.

His voice flows across the table past you, as he orders a drink from the waitress. A firm voice this man has...definitely one who commands respect...and who knows how to be in charge. You look at him closer...he must be in his late 20s, but perhaps early 30s...not sure.

You know he is not one to simply charge at every woman He sees. To most he is just a friend, to some a confidant, and to a rare few: paramour.

A waitress places a drink before you. Puzzled you look up at her since you’d not ordered a thing. With a finger she points to Him. And as smile crosses your face you are momentarily distracted as he deftly slips a Rohypnol into your Appletini.

The Scene...

His Scene. My Scene...

The scene....

You enter Angles in Adams Morgan just before midnight.
Through the dim lights, the sound of screaming drunk frat guys and Journey on the jukebox, you walk to an empty wooden stool and sit down...casually glancing to your left, you notice Him, though before seeing Him, you feel Him
.
Your eyes focus in the dim lights, the bar candles flickering, the mellifluous voice of Stephen Perry…”Ain't always what it's supposed to be, Oh girl you stand by me, I'm forever yours...faithfully.” He's at least 6 feet tall, but shorter sitting down, boney girl arms, and from the eyes you see, a man of depth, a man of passion, a man whose probably had one too many Miller Lites. His brown hair adds the perfect accent to the dancing candle light and shimmers on his lime green leisure suit and yellow buffalo shirt.

It’s the eyes…they capture you with their depth. Instantly you know this man is one of power, purpose, raw sexual magnetism, of, dare I say, taste and being accustomed to the finer things in life. A man who probably knows how to do the hustle as well as the white man’s overbite.

Your casual glance leads your eyes to lap. The bunch of fabric at his crotch leads you to believe this is a guy that uses his penis pump every single day.

Your eyes meet, and despite his boney girl arms, you know his eyes are not those of a frail girly man, but one of mental focus, savage intensity, and strength. A man practiced in the finer arts of man on woman sensuality.

Slight smiles are exchanged and your heart skips a beat when you hear him say a simple “wanna do it in the bathroom?” through his eyes.

You know instinctively He is one of those who has power....the power to hire and fire at will, move objects with his mind, the power to snatch the remote from your hands and channel surf, never landing on a single channel, but cycling through all 150 channels over and over and over and over.

His voice flows across the table past you, as he orders a drink from the waitress. A firm voice this man has...definitely one who commands respect...and who knows how to be in charge. You look at him closer….he must be in his late 20s, but perhaps early 30s…not sure.

You know he is not one to simply charge at every woman He sees. To most he is just a friend, to some a confidant, and to a rare few; more.

A waitress places a drink before you. Puzzled you look up at her since you’d not ordered a thing. With a finger she points to Him. And as smile crosses your face you are momentarily distracted as he deftly slips a Rohypnol into your Appletini.



He gets letters:

"Well played!"