• Welcome to BellGab.com Archive.
 

Jackstar Is Single Again (was: (Re: "Hey, Ladies"))

Started by Jackstar, July 09, 2016, 06:34:02 PM

Jackstar

Quote from: Jackstar on March 28, 2017, 11:25:57 PM
Look, look, read, read: fuck you people, this is new to me


*ahem*


Mere minutes ago--about three, to be exact--I went here, for the first time, ever.


Now, this is honest me here: I am impressed.




Had I been made aware of this level of reality earlier, things surely would be different--but I was not, and as a result of that, we have what we have here today.

Can confirm: it's true what they say. There is no such thing as bad publicity.

It's a little early for my birthday, but I'm not opposed to opening my gifts early. At this moment, I have, literally, no fucken idea what the fucken fuck any of you fucked fuckmonkeys is so important about lil' ol' me that could generate this kind of absurdity, but--I'm pretty fucken clever.

I'll figure it out. Bank on it.



QuoteJackstar is a longtime Bellgab user. He has called into the gabcast. He is my friend. You are slandering him by accusing him of being this other person. The burden of proof is on the accuser. You have failed to provide any worthwhile evidence.

Ironically, I literally have no idea who posted this. I don't even know who it could have been, let alone was.

It's lonely at the top. I'm clever, but not that clever.


pate

He will and shall forever be Ya\k/tsar..

Pawns should nefer k'jackistan.  This is his will,

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3c7WXglooIA

-or-\

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uz9LXXLCXMM

/votes doan Vladimir:{?

That this is indeed in th'wallaby tread, and we all know the dasn]t..

Whoar'back
TS'el!
m

Jackstar

QuoteJackstar is a longtime Bellgab user. He has called into the gabcast. He is my friend.


QuoteHe will and shall forever be Ya\k/tsar..




One of these is code, and one of them is lying.

Also, I have this fox, a chicken, and a rabbit that I need to get across a creek. Anyone got a boat? I need a craft, of particular beam.
Any creek will do.


Jackstar

Quote"Go fuck yourself, you bigoted whore."  *click*



Ahhh, Venice.


Jackstar

Look, look, read, read--I'll admit that I might not have much game going on (the less you filthy f****** reprobates know, the better), but at least I'm doing better than these f****** idiots.


inside northern Afghanistan’s largest military installation just as hundreds, perhaps thousands, of unarmed soldiers were emerging from Friday Prayers and preparing for lunch

Savages Toddlers.

Jackstar

QuoteJackstar is a longtime Bellgab user.


1) To perceive a span of time of less than four years as "a long time" is adorable.

2) ???

3) THIS LIFE IS A PRISON







Jackstar

Quote from: whoozit on April 29, 2017, 03:42:06 PM
Whenever I am fishing on a river with good flow I always start hearing voices in the noise from the water and shifting rocks.  It is how the human mind is programmed.


I am immediately abandoning flowers, chocolate, and coconut.

GravitySucks

Quote from: Jackstar on April 29, 2017, 04:30:32 PM

I am immediately abandoning flowers, chocolate, and coconut.

How are you going to meet women? Switching to delivering pizza?

Jackstar

Quote from: GravitySucks on April 29, 2017, 04:38:04 PM
How are you going to meet women?

I just tell them who I really am. It literally works every single time.

Try it sometime, when you're no longer bound by an employment contract that requires you to lie out your ass, every single minute of every single day.

Or not, you know, whatevah. Just a suggestion. Aren't you gay, anyway?



Jackstar

Any young heterosexual man who's serious about becoming a good lover must early in the game confront a demoralizing truth about the difference between the male and female orgasms. If there were no other evidence that the Goddess is a trickster, this fact alone would suffice for proof: Most human males are prone to ejaculate within two minutes of the time they insert their jade stalk into the silk furrow. To not perform this stupid abracadabra, in fact, typically requires diligent practice.

For those dudes who perfect the art of not splurging so fast, however, there is an even more Olympian challenge: gaining control of the splurge, so that it happens only when consciously willed. The men who reach this winner's circle are truly an elite group.

On the other hand, most human females cannot under even the most favorable ambiance ascend to the state of orgasmic grace in less than 15 minutes. Half an hour is not unusual, and I've known ripe and fully emancipated women who rarely need less than 45 minutes.

It's true that some men, especially those that have only recently started growing a beard, can reload in a short time. A 10-minute wait between erections should not, theoretically, be an insurmountable obstacle to picking up where you left off. From my private polls, however, I conclude that even though many 19-year-old studs can get it up again after a relatively brief waiting period, few are actually still in a mood sexy enough to press on with the same attentiveness, let alone artistry, that led up to the first engagement. And of those, only a tiny percentage have the expertise or the inclination, while marking time till resurrection, to attend to the female pleasure zones with the non-genital parts of their bodies.

Which leads to the next cruel joke: A majority of women can't even achieve the flutter-magic through the unsupplemented in-and-out anyway: In many positions, the sliding action of the diamond pumper barely misses the clitoris, heart-source of female pleasure. (Not that most men even realize this. At this late date a significant minority have at least discovered the existence of the clitoris, but few have figured out how to address it in its native language.)

This is not to say that most women would, if forced to make the choice, opt for pure clitoral stimulation over copulation. Lots of them do relish the evolutionarily-necessary penis-vagina friction; they'd just like it a lot better if their total bliss was addressed, not just one facet.

On the whole, I'm inclined to believe that the pool of male fuckmasters -- those who can consciously decree the moment of ejaculation and who understand the intricacies of the female orgasm -- barely exceeds the number of those who garner the Nobel Prize each year.

In the early years of my apprenticeship, I used the crudest method to avoid early detonation: condoms, sometimes even two or three at once. This usually numbed me sufficiently to last indefinitely. For emergencies, I also carried with me a desensitizing chemical spray I'd bought via mail order from an ad in the back of Penthouse magazine.

Both of these options were anathema, though. Because the age of AIDS had not yet radically altered heterosexual courtship rituals, condoms were a novelty. Most of my lovers used IUDs or diaphragms or birth control pills, and were adamantly opposed to the sterile sensation of a rubber sheath caressing their intimate parts. Nor were they enamored of my "Sta-Hard" aerosol, which exuded a smell one of my lovers said made her think of "a football player in a barn."

Condoms and anesthetics, I decided, were not ultimately part of the game plan that would make me a fuckmaster. Painstakingly, I began to accumulate a more natural bag of tricks. The earliest technique, which I acquired by blind instinct, was a little less crude than condoms. I'd struggle to divert my attention away from the pleasure at hand by fantasizing about baseball games. I found I could deaden a measure of the supernal bliss driving me towards climax by seeing in my inner eye, for instance, the events leading up to Philadelphia Phillies' third baseman Mike Schmidt smacking a grand slam home run to beat the Pittsburgh Pirates in the 13th inning. In some love-making sessions, I narrated entire ball games in my mind.

A second aid, also discovered early in my quest, was to inflict pain elsewhere on my body. Slapping my thighs worked well in distracting myself from the overabundant joy buzzing in my genitals, as did pinching and twisting my belly or digging my fingernails into my face. A more professional approach came to me via the Marriage and Sex Manual I found in a used bookstore. A man who was on the verge of splurging was advised to squeeze the base of his jade stalk or apply firm pressure to the perineum. The first action would mechanically suppress the ejaculatory urge. The second would blockade the spasmodic flow of semen from scrotum to penis.

These last two strategies were repugnant. I didn't want to rely on last-ditch interventions that required emergency brute force. I wanted poised power. I longed to wield command over my inconvenient biological programming every step of the way.

Eventually I discovered there were ancient traditions that had exhaustively explored the art of sexuality, including the problem of ejaculatory control. In India and Nepal and Tibet, these teachings were grouped under a branch of yoga known as tantra. In China, certain schools of Taoism dealt extensively with the same subjects.

Unfortunately, many of these teachings were so bound up with the esoteric spirituality, bad translations, and hoary terminology of their respective traditions that they were only marginally useful to a horny dude who wasn't willing to immerse himself in a 10-year plan to master the discipline.

By the mid-1980s, a smattering of American authors began packaging the venerable secrets in modern vernacular. Even then, though, many of the techniques were elusive and subtle to the point of being useless.

Try imagining, for instance, a stream of golden light percolating from your perineum up your spine, then through your brain and back down the front of your body to the perineum again. While breathing rhythmically through your nose and from your lower abdomen only, counting to eight for each inhale and exhale, circulate the light continuously until it achieves a momentum of its own and drones on autonomously in the background of your awareness. In the meantime, gnash your teeth gently and touch a point one inch above your right nipple with your left index finger and middle finger, all the while opening your eyes as wide as they'll go and jamming your tongue against the roof of your mouth. "These actions will definitely cause the semen to be retained," the text asserts.

Oh yeah? Maybe when you're sitting alone and relaxed in your temperature-controlled room with a sleep mask over your eyes. But try the same meditation while you're sweat-to-sweat with a gorgeous aromatic creature who thrills every cell in your body. The difficulty of the task increases exponentially, at least during the first decade of trying to master it.

Which is not to say it's impossible. And besides, if you can be sufficiently candid with the gorgeous aromatic creature (and why would you be making love with a woman you can't be honest with?), you might enlist her aggressive cooperation in your attempts to distribute your kundalini to your whole body rather than have it congregate in one bloated, ready-to-pop area of congestion. You can ask her to not wiggle so seductively. You can beg her not to kiss you with so much exultant abandon. You can plead with her not to emanate so many tangy succulent smells and not utter so many of the bewitching groans that make you want to gush your entire soul into her.

But on the other hand, what lover in his righteous heart wants to ask that of the gorgeous aromatic creature with whom he's entwined?

I stumbled along with my conglomeration of baseball visualizations, self-mortifications, and tantric mumbo-jumbo. I was a good enough lover, usually a long-lasting lover, but not a fuckmaster. Wasn't there a philosopher's stone? Wasn't there a technique that could provide consistent and ultimate control? Or would I forever have to make do with my jury-rigged system?

At last, hallelujah, in a New Age bookstore in Santa Cruz I found the treasure: a dusty hand-bound book titled Sexx Magixx. The obviously pseudonymous author was Jack N. Off, and I couldn't have been more surprised by his precious secret. When you urinate, he said, interrupt the flow in midstream. The muscles by which you accomplish this unnatural act are the same muscles engaged in ejaculation. By gaining control over this mechanism through strenuous daily exercises, you'll grow strong enough to forcibly restrain the semen from gushing out -- even, if necessary, after the ejaculatory spasm has begun. You can do this again and again in any single lovemaking session, thereby staying hard as long as you desire.

I threw myself into this work, and within a few weeks I mostly conquered the previously involuntary reflex of ejaculation. It wasn't 100 percent foolproof -- I still made use of my old standby methods -- and it was never easy. I had to do the exercises every day to stay fit, and while making love I had to maintain a high level of concentration that sometimes detracted from the surrender I wanted to feel.

But I was pleased with my new technique; I felt as if a Golden Age had begun. Nineteen times out of 20 I came only when I willed it, only when I was sure my woman had had her fill. Now and then my ardent efforts at retention weren't totally successful, but the mini-eruptions relieved a small amount of the pressure to spill without bringing an end to the hard-on.

With the arrival of this blessing in my life, I was finally able to confront a mystery I had doggedly turned away from. All the tantric and Taoist texts agreed, though I skeptically resisted it, that a man's sexual experience was far better in every way if he did not ejaculate at all, even after his partner has been satisfied. This assertion was based in part on the fact (not a theory, they said) that a regular loss of semen is detrimental to male vitality and health. It also assumed that sex yields up much more of its mind-expanding, life-transforming magic if the erotic energy is "steamed up" to the heart and brain rather than wastefully ejected. There, in the higher chakras, lust is liberated from its enslavement to the reproductive instinct. Transformed into a supercharged nourishment, it feeds one's aspirations to unite with the Divine Wow. As a method of expanding one's consciousness, it's both safer and more efficacious than psychedelic drugs.

I was willing to entertain the latter notion. Erotic play had always put me in a deliciously altered state, and I longed to harness its transcendent energy to accomplish something beyond merely feeling good. Unfortunately, I could not help but hedge my bets. I convinced myself I could somehow both steam the sex energy up up up and also indulge in a good old-fashioned ejaculation.

The real tantrics would have laughed at me.

I did not even go through the motions of trying to accept the other rationale for not coming, though -- that losing your seed too often made you weak and stupid. I felt it had too much in common with the old superstition that women use sex to steal men's energy. It seemed patriarchal and misogynist. Steadfastly, like a scientist obsessed with proving a bogus hypothesis, I ignored and repressed all data that contradicted my fixation.

There was yet another good reason the tantric and Taoist texts gave for phasing out the old habit entirely. Several books hinted at the shocking secret, but Mantak Chia and Michael Winn spelled it out at length in their book Taoist Secrets of Love: Cultivating Male Sexual Energy. Ejaculation and orgasm are not the same thing, they asserted. In fact, the two functions can and should be separated. Why? Because the orgasm that's affixed to ejaculation is a mediocre form of pleasure. It's limited to a few intense seconds which exhaust the capacity for further delight.

There is a higher orgasm that is available only after the addiction to ejaculation has been renounced. It's at least as vivid as the first kind, usually more so, but lasts longer and can be repeated indefinitely -- similar to a woman's. "How would you like to be in a continual state of climax for an hour or more?" the esoteric experts hinted. Moreover, this higher orgasm alone creates the conditions necessary to steam the semen up to the heart and brain.

For a while I stubbornly rebelled against this claim. I argued with it in my own mind, accusing it of being perverse and effete. It did not jibe with my experience. I found nothing pleasurable about waging my brave struggle against evolution's primordial pressure. Yes, it was for a good cause. I bought the importance of it. But I wanted my reward in the end -- the reward that nature had worked millions of years to perfect.

My attitude began to change once I met Celia.

To buy PRONOIA IS THE ANTIDOTE FOR PARANOIA:
How the Whole World Is Conspiring to Shower You with Blessings,
the book from which the above piece is excerpted, go to Amazon or Barnes & Noble.
To meet Celia, go fuck yourself.

gnooryblows

here's a girl for you jackstar, one that might be more on your level intellectually

Jackstar

Quote from: gnooryblows on May 16, 2017, 11:12:14 PM
might be more on your level intellectually


So, what's her chess rating? Get real, Fag.

Dr. MD MD

Quote from: Jackstar on May 16, 2017, 09:06:15 PM
All the tantric and Taoist texts agreed, though I skeptically resisted it, that a man's sexual experience was far better in every way if he did not ejaculate at all, even after his partner has been satisfied. This assertion was based in part on the fact (not a theory, they said) that a regular loss of semen is detrimental to male vitality and health. It also assumed that sex yields up much more of its mind-expanding, life-transforming magic if the erotic energy is "steamed up" to the heart and brain rather than wastefully ejected. There, in the higher chakras, lust is liberated from its enslavement to the reproductive instinct. Transformed into a supercharged nourishment, it feeds one's aspirations to unite with the Divine Wow. As a method of expanding one's consciousness, it's both safer and more efficacious than psychedelic drugs.



Jackstar

QuoteOn March 12, she posted on Instagram, suggesting she was listening to a podcast of the Ron Paul Liberty Report while she made a kale-intensive dinner.


"kale-intensive"
massive rolleyes

dodged that bullet!

Jackstar

QuoteMost bizarrely to note about Pluribus International Corporation [...] is that the vast majority of its nearly 210 employees are young woman (sic) with US military backgroundsâ€"a philosophy explained by Nathan McCarry’s wife, Valerie


fuck motherfucker! Why didn't I think of this?


Jojo

Quote from: akwilly on July 09, 2016, 07:27:55 PM
what the hell man. She has a job and is clueless of what goes on in the world. Sounds like a perfectly fine lady
She would know how to clean your pan!

Powered by SMFPacks Menu Editor Mod