Sex Education for the Elite

Read this to the music: "Somebody That I Used To Know" by Gotye feat. Kimbra.

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A plain black silk cocktail dress when fitted properly is the peak of adult feminine grace. A top-cut Tolkowsky brilliant is the paramount stone when it comes to jewelry. If you want some colour try a Russian Posad silk shawl as an accessory. The original classic format is the best, the ultimate.

Silk gets hot when you put a little fire to it. What Prometheus really knew was to do with the fire in the ice. Let me tell you, when you get a really well-cut diamond, you turn it in the light and you can almost hear the snap crackle and pop of the dispersion: it's sharp, and hot, and snappy, not flashy. A good diamond is a firecracker, not merely a sparkler.

A really good co-operative sex partner is like a diamond in the raw. And you have to break them out too just like natural grown crystals from the geode of their previous existence, make the break to the inner clarity of the essential fact, as well as 'facet -' break them out of the normal, dull life patterns of today's fairly moderate aspirations and ultimately, illusions. Break them out of the false outward and public ego. Find the true emotional illumination and get the individual to render to you an authentic delivery of their inner sexual being. They're exactly like the very best of diamonds. Of course you still also need to find a really physically very beautiful individual before you spend your energy on all this though; it's highly recommended.

A real sex partner, fully-developed, polished, and sitting neatly, back straight, in some cocktail lounge in a tight black mini skirt, holds the prospect of real fire hidden beneath the shadows under her skirt, between the legs, across the delicious round behind, covered in its figure-hugging silk or satin. Hot fire. There's hot fire there. Ready to come on signal and control.

And certainly, there are males too in this scene. Objectively speaking, one has never quite fully lived until feted with an athletic or robust and very good-looking young man or woman, or a mature and interesting one -- and have them consensually present themselves to you authentically.

Hyper-erotically powered women are characteristic in involuntary physical expression under the orgasmic crisis, particularly because of their pelvic structure. Their hips and arse cheeks can seem to behave almost like bellows, with flexing movements outwards and then contractions together inwards again under the crisis of near high-orgasm, stomach convulsing. In high heels, a strongly sensualist woman for instance even just erotically remembering a particularly fierce sexual incident can readily buckle at the knees, descending automatically down to the floor... And in the throes of 'the small death,'- with knees opening and closing like the wings of a butterfly on a salt lick... She is like a butterfly. The pleading that happens with a real, revealed and exposed sensualist, is thrilling. But you know, you can make a sensualist from out of virtually nothing too - if you want to, and if you know what you're doing.

You have to fully instigate all kinds of forms of sensuality as if to an excess that really hurts. A look, a meaning, music, even food, clothes, cars, words, perfumes. It's brutal but sophisticated - not like all those bullshit video clips you mostly see around the place, with their slow, repetitive, boring, mindless and gratuitous, almost torture scenes. It's never torture when it's real and handled by an expert-- it's just inspiring; you have to inspire them to a point of facing 'the crisis' -- which is a real crisis of extreme erotic pleasure. You have to have them literally in a kind of frenzy and panic mode out of your -- and their(!) - consensual artfulness. Have them piss themselves, basically. Actually piss themselves in fear or frenzy and panic. This is a highly refined adult art. Not easy to do when they also trust you completely.

Many highly-qualified professional psychologists talk about the extreme shame and humiliation felt by those involved in extreme sex encounters -- which just about proves beyond further argument the uselessness, idiocy and quackery of modern academia and their obsession for merely paper credentials. No wonder there are economic and financial messes everywhere out there.

I talk about money and top carat diamonds to my erotic-partners. I talk about those high tech German human regenerator machine spas where people can re-set their minds and re-establish their public face equanimity after an episode of sexual super-novaring. As Snoop Dogg says in Katy Perry's 'California Girls:' 'it's only the chosen few, who can do what we do.'

Put it this way -- the world is certainly not the place you originally thought that it was though, now is it.

By the way, have you listened to 'Women Beat Their Men' by Ashley Beadle? Sometimes, art in music, and when particularly narrowly defined, on that rare if not unique occasion, is at least as evocative as finding a pile of hot-looking black lace panties on the set of a decent, current in-production, modern film. Hot-looking, black lace panties, doused in Habanita, by Molinard. I won't say what woman I know wears that, but I was once a proof-reader on an academy award winning movie whose female star has been in a GQ magazine under the article title 'Smack Addict.'