THIS WEEK: Lowtax, aka Senor Jose
Sweetcheeks, a poor young man with a hairy stump, some guy who just isn't all
that interested in sex (say it ain't so!), a spitshine on the man steak,
and a really yucky Embarrassment Spotlight courtesy of RadPipe, and
his nose. Anybody got
Lowtax in the Morning, Lowtax in the Evening...
Lowtax. Oh, Lowtax. You know mynx, with all this talk on PQ
about what's in Lowtax's pants, I'm finding myself all hot and bothered at the
mere mention of his name. Say it to yourself, nice and slow,
Looooooowtaaaaaax. Ooh, shudder. Hey, do you know, is Lowtax straight or gay? Is he married? Give a guy some hope, tell me he
swings both ways.
To the best of my knowledge, Lowtax, or "Jose
Sweetcheeks" as he is known here at PQ, is straight as an arrow, and just
doesn't swing "that way". There's always hope, though, and while you're no
Cliff Yablonski, I'm sure there are ways you could "sweeten the
deal". Just bear in mind that Lowtax is really high maintenance. Oh,
and he likes corn.
His Hairy Hawg
I have a really big problem, I have noticed
that hair grows on the sides of my captain winky, I'd say that it
goes half way up the old captain. Altough it isn't that much hair, I
am really bothered by it and don't know what to do, I've tried
shaving it of but to my horror I discovered that it grew back and
then some. Is there any other way I can remove captain winky's furcoat without shaving or waxing
they involve visits to a doctor, a needle stuck in the hair
follicle, and a whole lot of time and effort, at least, for
semi-permanent options. There are creams like Nair that
dissolve the hair, but they are generally not recommended for
penile/vaginal use, sorry. So you have a hairy slug. Big
deal. Unless it's causing you or your love
funnel physical discomfort or trauma, just deal with it.
I mean, really, your tsuba hides in your pants all day, so it's
not like it's out flopping in all the hairy glory for
you to behold all day long. Deal with it, it's not a huge
Ain't Nobody Humpin Around!
asked a few people I know what the heck is so unattractive about me.
I'm about average in looks, I'm pretty smart, friendly, a bit of a
loud mouth but folks normally like my sense of humor, and I know
when to shut up. Everybody agrees with me on those points, some
older women even claim I'm "very attractive" physically which I
doubt but it's nice of them to say it. One woman mentioned one thing
though that she thinks is my problem: *I'm not looking for
Don't get me wrong, sex is a nice
thing. I just have had one relationship in the past where sex came
into the picture, and it made a LOT of trouble for me. It was too
much stress on things, and I wanted to wait again on the whole
sexual relationship until marriage enters the picture. I just
actually enjoy being close, foreplay, all that a lot more than sex.
Now that I've finished the annoyingly long set up, my questions are
1) Is it really messed up for me to
feel the way I do about sex? Is there something honestly wrong with
me wanting to chill on the whole sex thing until I (maybe) get
2) As a woman, would it turn you off to
the idea of a relationship with a guy if you knew he
wouldn't "put out" so to speak? Would you think it
made him any less a man or made
you feel less attractive?
Honey, I'm all for waiting for marriage and
such if that's what you feel strongly about doing.
since you asked for my opinion, and, well let's be honest here, I'd
give it to you even if you hadn't. Truthfully, if a guy told me
up front that he wasn't interested in sex... I'd spend all
of my free time trying to get him interested. I
like sex. I like sex a whole lot. I would be very
disappointed if I couldn't have sex, and even more disappointed if I
waited until marriage only to find myself sexually incompatable with my
spouse. Gads that would blow like Romero at a hairdryer convention. But as I've
said before, I fully advocate personal choice and values and think
that your best bet is to follow your heart and
your own belief system. If you feel you shouldn't be
having sex, don't. But don't expect all the women you
meet to be happy about it. Sure, you'll meet some who will be
perfectly fine with it, and they will be the ones from
which you select your partner. Just be warned in advance that there
are women out there who very much want to have their coffee ground,
and will be quite disappointed when you don't show them
Grandma Never Meant This When She Said "Spit-shine"!
I've been masturbating for quite some time now...and
I use a special means for lubrication. I use my spit. I find my
spit to be very very good to use for this purpose. I don't
even like masturbating without any lubrication at all, and there
is nothing more handy than my own saliva. I've always wondered
if anybody else did this. I've never heard anyone talk about it.
Is this digusting? Should I not be doing it? If it is acceptable,
then I think EVERYONE should do it. It's MUCH easier than finding
lotion or whatever. And I always wash my hands after I'm done
so I suppose it's sanitary. I hope it isn't too disgusting...but
that won't stop me from doing it. :)
You'd be surprised at the number of people who
do this. In fact I think saliva is probably the number one
form of self lubricant used in the world today. It's cheap, readily available, always
the right temperature and doesn't sting. I must confess to being a little curious,
though. I would imagine it takes a good deal of
saliva to properly lubricate the old spootch monkey,
or to relubricate once the initial application has dried
out. Are you just an ordinarily drooley individual? Or
do you sit there and work up a loogie
for a good few minutes, and
hock a bunch of those suckers up to
get started? Well, regardless. It's perfectly normal, portable and acceptable. Just don't go around telling perfect
strangers that you like to slobber on your pendango, ok?
was so aroused to be mentioned in last week's Dear Mynx that Russell
"RadPipe" Lauzon, Features Editor for loonygames, graciously sneezed out
this charming foray into his teen mucous trauma. Thanks Pipe,
I should have known better than to read this while eating.
Let me set the stage.
Grade 10. Approaching
summer. Past puberty but innocent in the ways of the world.
Coming into "my own", yet unsure how to proceed. Full of
jizz and no where to spend it.
I had gotten myself a one-day
job pulling baby trees with a reforestation project. It
was pretty bland. You pull a tree out of the ground, then
you pull another, and another, and when you have 25 of the suckers,
you wrap them up in a bundle and toss them in a truck. The
pay was dirt but 30 of us youngsters lined up for it, 'cause hey,
cash is cash. For some reason, I didn't know any of the
other kids there that day. There was a mixed bag of guys
and girls, and they were all my age. I know what you're
thinking. There were chicks there who didn't know me.
My reputation had not proceeded me. Score baby!
The place we were to meet was
5 miles from my house and I was too young to drive. But
I had a bike! For some reason I was a little late getting
going that morning, so I had to peddle like mad to make up time.
It was a hot day too, and I had sweaty-bag syndrome before I'd gone 10 minutes.
But that was okay. It didn't show and the "sloosh-sloosh"
noise it made when I walked was barely noticeable.
There was a bus waiting to take
us to the field where the baby trees grew. Since I was late,
everyone else was already loaded and waiting. Okay, you
have to picture this. 30 guys and girls (though in my memory,
it seemed like there were far more girls than boys pasted to the windows
than there should be) waiting for me. 30 guys and girls
watching my every move as I rode up on my bike.
Ordinarily, this would make
the average teenager just a little nervous. But not me.
I had the look down. All my movements were coordinated.
I've never been known as a good looking guy (I've been called
cute numerous times
though, are we clear on that?), I've practiced my "thang" in front
of a mirror long enough to capture the essence of "homeboy approaching
bus" sorta look.
Ok, so I rode up on my bike,
dropped it on the ground, and was off walking toward the bus all
in one smooth motion. My nose was a little runny but I easily
held it in check. I'm sure everyone was peeved at me for
making them wait, but, to hell with them. I'm gonna strut my stuff.
And I was cool. On a scale of 1 to 10 (1 being OneThumb,
10 being Paul Steed), I was at least an 8; somewheres just a little
less cool than Jack Mathews but twice as cool as Disruptor.
And so I approached the bus.
Things were looking good.
Homeboy on approach. Somewheres in there I wondered what
my hair must look like, after such a furious bike ride.
But there was no time to worry now. I figured I'd just give
my head a shake and hope everything fell neatly into place.
Perhaps I'd come off with that sexy dishevelled look. And
so I shook my head...
...and the biggest, sloppiest,
rubberiest booger came whipping out of my nose and slapped back
and forth across my face at least 6 times. For a moment
I almost lost stride as I realized this thing was hanging from
my face like a cobweb. Indeed, I had slimed myself.
I quickly put my hand in front of my face in hopes of hiding it,
and suddenly my fingers looked skinnier than I ever remember them
looking before. I would have been paralized with fear and
embarrassement had I not practiced my strut so much. And
so, as I realized I only had a few more steps to the bus, I did
the only thing a man could do. I inhaled the whole stinking
booger back into my nose. It was kinda like slurping spaghetti.
This thing whipped back and forth across my face once again and
as suddenly as it had appeared, it had disappeared. All
I had was this fine sheen left over on my face, which I quickly
wiped away with my sleeve. And I got on the bus.
Of course I didn't really accomplish
anything by making it disappear again. Everyone had seen
it. Everyone stared at me in horror as I walked down the
aisle of the bus to find myself a seat. I certainly wasn't
thinking "score!" anymore. For once, my strut could not
help me at all.
I spent most of the day quietly
working by myself, being a non-social coward. Few people
talked to me. And it was small consolation that I picked
more baby trees than anyone, and so got paid the most. No
one cared. Not even me..