Daring Mona is unlike daring my wife. It is unlike daring other women on this site, who take their cues from my wife’s e-mails, perhaps, and invariably respond with paragraph after paragraph of elegant prose. I hoped that that this blog would give me hope for human sexuality in the year 2011. Surprisingly, it has also given me hope for English grammar.
Compared to the literate ladies on this site, Mona is more like a series of tweets. With her a dare is an extended process. She requires clarifications (I know she’s just flirting). She wants to know if she could just strip for me again and skip the sex fantasy part (flirting). She wants to know my real name, wants to know if I went to the glitzy party on Friday, needs to know if I play golf, and if so, at what club (flirting). What Mona wants more than anything is to communicate, and to feel herself at the center of a discussion, preferably one held by strapping men. She is unstructured and anti-grammatical. Her tits destroy all rational thought. She is tapped into a force more powerful than mere intellect, and she knows it. Cocks stand at attention. She could start revolutions, and nobody would know exactly what they were fighting for, and nobody would care. Continue reading Fore/play: Mona’s response to her Sex Fantasy Experiment