I happen to know it's "der Harem" because reasonsi, but here's an amusing little tidbit, no doubt of little interest to the sad, broken, ex-human minds that imagine "you can find anything you need and everything you want '''on the internet'''" is some kind of answer to anything : plenty of pages available in response to a google search for either "der harem", "die harem" and "das harem". So which is it ? Or is it rather the case that the femstate works for you because, and only for just as long as you don't ask that kind of questions ? As that old inquiry went, "if instead I said something else, how'd you know whether I lied to you or not ?"
But let's move on to talking about me, lest we depress ourselves. So, a few days ago I spied a few female teenagers going up an escalator in some dubious mall-like thing. It was a brief glimpse, a fraction of a second in physical time, but physical time doesn't matter any to the mind : in that brief glimpse my male gaze separated them from their only butterii, which happened to be a certain freshness, a sort of excited drive up the stairs, giddy enthusiasm of adolescence.
The next day as I lay in bed napping (and unknowingly waking up) I was thinking of yesterday's noteworthy pair. A wet dream right and proper, though I've not had one complete with its necessary "happy ending"iii in decades. My seminal vesicles are ever too drained for such luxury. But I bet you know well enough how wet dreams go -- I summoned them over, and they came. They came just as giddily, exactly just as eagerly, to lift their blouses -- wait, they should be dressed differently, let's put this kinda pinskirt around their chest, easily lifted, nothing underneath, so they come eagerly to have their tits inspected -- wait, they should have different tits, tits like we like not like grow on teenage chest under the actual blouses they wear as opposed to the pinskirts we'd prefer they did. Nice, juicy, adult whore tits, and they have no problem lifting those in front of each other, in the middle of a dubious mall-maybe thing, because they're only seventeen in some ways. They love being pawed in public, and who doesn't, what teenager's too awkward and too self-aware, and the juicier the tits the moreso. By now it's time to put all this to the real test, and there they stand, butt half-reclined on an impossible object that wasn't even there, yet comes up to them at exactly the same height (equal for both, or however this works, stop bothering me). They hook one leg behind each other as they're sitting there, in a geometrically rather unlikely arrangement, creating a twin monsteriv, making out with itself, glorious breasts glistening in a sorta sun, while I'm playing the distromision gamev with their perfectly shaved, delightfully fresh and clean and definitely not spent-all-day-in-jeans snatches. If you look at their off legs (the left leg of the girl on the left, and the right leg of the girl on the right) they're maybe dangling off to the side, or maybe resting on the floor clad in that sexy knee-high centurion's caligula thingee, with all the leather strips. Or maybe you have their knees hooked over your elbows, yeah, definitely, should be totally possible.
At which point I wake up, because my whore's bentvi above me, kissing me delicately. She's waking me up, but anything I'm doing can always wait for me, and so I pull down my pajama bottoms (ayup). It's all she needs, I never properly speaking have to speak the words, a gesture, a slight invitation, the vague possibility of sexual congress not clearly denied's all they need, she's all over me with those delicious, warm, exceptional lips of hers.
Do you have any idea what perfect cocksucker this girl is ? I do not think you do, I do not think you can, and here's my reasoning : I've yet to encounter a professional that's even vaguely close. Restaurant meals are still vaguely edible even if not up to par with harem home cooking ; but stripclub and whorehouse blowjobs are notvii. In fact, the way this used to work, illo tempore, was that I'd pick some professional, and have her start, and then halfway through much rather prefer my own took over. Then at some point the notion formed, that "why is it my own whore has to swap spit with all these morons ?". Ridiculous, right ? But then it grew, and eventually it took over, and now I'm, in bimbo's words, "the first guy ever to send away strippers". Because I do, because I'm so fucking not interested in what they could do for me...
So while she kissed and loved and teased my manhood, I laid back, eyes half closed, mind half asleep, and went through my fantasy again. And then I got bored of it. Because it's boring, what, what the fuck can I tell you, fantasy is fucking boring, exactly like the inept, insufficiently trained, insufficiently dedicated working girls. So I put her on her back, and tried. I swear, I tried to resurrect the fantasy. I stroked my own whore with full strokes, coming all the way out, and going back all the way in... but... you know how fantasy crumbles ? It's just... it's this thing, you reset the premise, you load the context in your head, but it just won't go. The mind leaves on a tangent, and before you know it you're thinking of entirely different things. So you can reset the premise, if you will. If you can be arsed. But it crumbles again.
The problem with civillians, the problem with the sad excuses for feminity belabouring under the overpowering, overwhelming weight of not having been enslaved, is that they can't fucking make it. Not on their physiological merits, nor on their fantastic merits. They just can't fucking make it. The imaginary part of the harem is, also, the minor part of the harem. Shockingly, perhaps, utterly unavoidably, the fantastic harem's a kitsch joke.———
- And yes, die Harems, because Romanians haven't invented that lulz, "it only becomes feminine once it contains more than one element".
I stand by it, by the way. If you're married to a single woman you're factually living with some other dude. They only become female once there's more than one.
No shame, bro, gay out. Just don't come to me about how much you hate the other gay dudes, okay ? [↩]
- This is what the male gaze is all about : seeing the best in everything (and by everything we mean, of course, possibly-still-virgin cunt). Unremarkable, banal, tired old dogs take on, by the magic of that moment's gaze, qualities almost magical, deeply idealized, shades and sparkles the actual nag in question never could claim on its own power.
This is notorious within my harem by now. You have to understand, everywhere I go, I'm with at least one, often multiple hounds. These are girls well trained, and well competent, and well serious about, inter alia, picking up other girls. As the man said, "De lo que mis putas son capaces, solo lo sé yo. Quien los iguale, habrá. Quien los exceda, jamais". By means of illustration, this picture taken last Friday can readily come with the following caption story (geddit ? caption ? from captive ?) : I noticed the absolutely only other girl anywhere near worth the mention in the joint, this properly tall, kinda cute facially no real tits no real ass euroboy exit stage right, and I pointed to little miss stripper heels : "go talk to her". "The girl in light blue ?" "The very same!"
Then five or so minutes later I sent the other one, "Go rescue the bimbo, she went that way". It turns out the exit stage right led to the bathrooms, and together they brought her for me. Yes, from the fucking bathroom, what, problem ? I pointed, didn't I ?!
Thus we found out that half the club's this dentist convention, literally, that she's there with all these "friends" (mostly, derpy dudes in white sneakers trying desperately to concern troll her), and etcetera in this vein. And while we were finding out, there I sat, with the #1, #2 and distant #3 cunts in the joint all gathered up at my table in the corner while a VERY fucking distant (so distant in fact as to not be all that ennumerable) herd looked on from a safe distance.
This is where we're at, word of honor, jack shit changed since we went to the BDSM club in Argentina for the first time our second week there and we took home the only kinda-cute girl (whose first visit it also was), lo so many years ago. A pro's a pro, what can I tell you. (Yes, by "took home" I do quite mean took home, we used her all night and then personally delivered her to her mom the next morn.)
So then : walking with these girls, I'll go "wow" or "look at her" or "check out that ass" or "omg tits" dozens of times a day. They dutifully look, and then they turn to me, at least half the time half-horrified. "Seriously ?!" I mean, don't get me wrong, they'll go, they'll swoop, they'll catch, no fucking question about it. But... seriously ?
So I look again, and holy hell no, quite very not at all, not even jokingly. Because there's nothing there, nothing at all. This is the male gaze, that first glimpse of all the "possibilities" that aren't anywhere in the field of vision, but entirely provided by the mind. This is what it is, and this is what it does : takes in some dog, goes "wow!"
Sad, right ? Sad, but true ; and now consider the other half of it. I'm a guy, who owns a harem, with the hounds as described and all the etceteras silent. Yet I'm a guy whose sexual impulse is modulated, according to himself by himself, but in practice through his interaction with nearby women he's sexually intimate with. Just like you and your wife exactly, right ? I mean, there might be formal differences, sure, sure, you've never seen me order them on their knees in public or anything like that so you don't know, but form aside, substance only, what's happening is that I'm... deciding... I wasn't really interested. Yes ? The impulse was there, the follow-through absent. Just like you, right ? And just like you I think it's because I wasn't interested, and just like with you, there's a female there by me going "seriously ?!" We're not all that different after all, you and me. Are we ?
No, we aren't. We can't possibly be that fucking different, for the directly obvious reason : deep ocean fish or high altitude bird, atmospheric pressure's atmospheric pressure, there's no such thing as life in a vacuum. Obviously the experience of the limit will be common to all humanity, it has to be. Whether the limit is actually natural, whether the problem's what's actually there as opposed to conventional, what others can be arsed to do to accomodate, remains necessarily a second degree problem, much smaller, much less substantial. Yes there's a difference between the princess whose limit on "what's the greatest palace where she can sit her ass down" is, factually, unmitigatedly given by "well... what great palaces are there ?", and the cheap inn wench, whose limit on same is given by "well... what kinda room can the customer momentarily interested in her ass afford". Sure, the wench'll never see a movie end to end for having to bend to better accomodate his end up her end -- but still, the princess is also limited in what movies she can see, to only the ones that actually exist. What can you do, la tati ni-i greu.
Do me a favour and don't blame the women for it, though. Not mine -- they're blameless ; and not yours -- you've mistrained them. I'm not even kidding, I give 99.x% odds your women'd love to serve you like they serve me, if I was you.
Do you know, by the way, what the first step from you to me would be ? Just as I punish them for their shortcomings, I also indemnify and hold 'em harmless when they're blameless. You have any idea what a huge thing this is, to be able to rely on this partition on the world being made, and well made, and enforced for you ? I bet you don't. [↩]
- Fucking retarded "thai massage" bullshit. As fucking if I can go to all that mental trouble, and as fucking if all that pretense does anything to hide from anyone you're just going there to have your dick sucked by socially-acceptable little boys. [↩]
- You ever do this, btw ? One of the best things to do in a warm, shallow pool is to construct multiperson marine life forms. Meeeeerp. [↩]
- You know this one ? It's when you arrange two girls in cuntal proximity and then you stroke them alternatively, first one then the other. It's how you make harem sisters, see, by shoving portions of vaginal descuamation from each up the other alternatively.
Try it sometime, what can I say. [↩]
- The harem whore's bend is a certain thing, made of 100% ass and 0% back. Virgins can't even do it without tearing their skinpatch. No kidding, there is in fact such a thing as the physiological hymenal tear caused by whorebending correctly. [↩]
- And I fucking know what I'm talking about, I go through towns systematically and I've gone through many towns. [↩]