END YOUR SEARCH TODAY! Superhomme D’Amour for Triple-X Throwdowns!

I think I am way more superhero than this joker. And not as long-winded either (permalink).


Me? Superhomme D’Amour

My fiction is your reality.
I consistently laugh at danger. HA! HAHA! HA! Consistency is important.
I perform great feats of manly strength on a daily basis.
I build things from IKEA without looking at the instructions.
I do not do the “bend-over boyfriend” thing.
I like to Triple-X throwdown whether or not baby got back
I show a person that I am interested by grunting and grabbing my crotch.
I see things you mortals cannot fathom.
I’ve been to France.
I appreciate fine dining. I ate most of my FRIDAY'S® THREE-FOR-ALL last night.
I make love like a bonobo.
I dance like a white guy.
I can see through your clothes and I like what I see.
I know your face is “up here,” it’s just that I’d prefer to talk to your breasts.
I want to bathe you and wash your hair.
I want to brush your teeth.
I want scrape your tongue with your tongue scraper.
I want you and I to exist as one. Perhaps we can be sewn together
I am like no other. I am a Superhomme D’Amour.

When we meet it is like you cannot keep your hands off of me. I don’t mind. You mention that we should move the party over to my place where you perform an exotic strip-tease that ends with me applauding and stuffing dollar bills into your g-string. I then make passionate love to you using the 5 or 6 techniques that I learned on the internet and that I’ve been practicing solo while viewing “barely legal” porn. Having satisfied you like no other man has before, you fall asleep all sweaty and exhausted. Maybe even a little sore. In the morning I buy you pancakes. I am a Gemini and love to receive oral sex while I’m watching sporting events. Can I rest my beer on your head?

I hope to hear from you if you are interested in getting to know each other.

Please reply with your photo. : )

He gets letters:

"Just wanted to say I have enjoyed reading your m4w posts. They are notthe usual and have made me smile. I can appreciate that in a cold, dankwinter. Best of luck in your search. Besitos!"

Looking for a one night stand that might lead to more.

Very high ick factor. Thanks, fellow in snark, for pointing this guy out to me (permalink). I think I just threw up a little bit in my mouth.

MY RULES


1. First we soak in my champagne flute-shaped hot tub so this way we know we are each clean
2. We wear protection. I wear a raincoat. You wear galoshes
3. We climb into my big round rotating bed. It has satin sheets and mirrors so we can watch ourselves makin’ “it”
4. My sheet are clean except for a small blood stain which happened when I hit my head on my vanity while my bed was rotating…ouch that hurt
5. You live close to me because I’m lazy
6. You can spell finished. shepherd, and fetuses
7. You like indie rock and other forms of music
8. Hoobastank is not indie rock or even another form of music
9. You are not married
10. You’re a cute, intelligent, female of average to thin build
11. You wear socks under your galoshes (or not), it is up to you
12. If you’re answering any phone calls while we have sex I must not be doing something right
13. No answering the door while we have sex unless you are under 5’2” and 120lbs. I probably cannot carry more than that over a long distance while we are having sex
14. No mental cases who try to get a restraining order on me after I dump them. I broke up with you after all. Why would I bother stalking?
15. No other mental cases either. You know who you are
16. You can make smell of female funk in my apartment but keep in mind my apartment smells mostly of man funk and those Glade® PlugIns® things. I believe the current scent is “Suddenly Spring™” or something like that.
17. We will oral each other (or not). I’m big on rules.
18. After sex we can lie in bed and watch a DVD or something or order Chinese or pizza or sushi.
19. Email or phone ok
20. Picture appreciated
21. If you think I am handsome or something let me know. I like compliments
22. BONUS if you like guys who smoke. I’m trying to quit, but I’m not quite there yet. See #15 above
23. BONUS if you are a glasses-girl
24. BONUS if you are an indie rock girl
25. If you want to record, I’ve got a digital camera. I insist on writing the dialogue though
26. I’m won’t do the “bend-over-boyfriend thing” but you can stick your finger in my butt if you wish. I won’t try to guilt you about trying anal sex.
27. You don’t need to be perfect. I’m not. Though I prefer thinner women.
28. My coworkers called me self-absorbed the other day. I replied that it reminded me of the time where I was having sex in my rotating bed and I was checking out my hair in the mirrors and this girl said, “you are so self-absorbed.” Truth be told, we were making a movie with my camera and I thought that I wanted my hair to look good. I had written some great dialogue and I was filming this movie. I had forgotten to check my hair before I started to “roll film” and I was just making sure my hair looked good. What’s the big deal?

NUDE PICTURES SENT TO ME will be used in fantasy masturbation scenarios. Just warning you...

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.