U N L O A D E D

Previously on U N L O A D E D:

The magic of boobs.

A online community specializing in the subject.

The chance to make a lovely woman's dreams come true.

Yes, I've been a little late with posting my update. But your lovable blogger has been a busy boy and, perhaps, a bit of a naughty one as well. Through the mischief, there is but one thing that keeps me going and it's NOT knockers.....it's you. Yes that's right, you the readers who I aim to provoke and please. Ah, the madness I'll subject myself to for your satisfaction.

And we continue our tale.....

Infiltration

On my computer screen was a gateway. A new and strange place. This was not simply a website but a vast enterprise that only the magic of the internet could bring. Against my better judgment, I dove in and began the registration process not knowing what was in store except lots of boobs. But how will I be helping? How costly would it be? Was I in over my head?

The monthly fee was a meager $9 dollars per month. A man of modest means, this was well within my budget. I clicked OK and I was in. Within minuets the messages began pouring in from women seeking the gift; the gift of boob. I was overwhelmed, somewhat frightened, intrigued, passively aroused and feeling damn dirty. Was I taking advantage of some form of personal insecurity, or were they fixing on taking advantage of me?

The Process

The inner workings of the website are simple but effective. Women place their profiles and pictures up and if you want to chat or post a message you can, at the expense of a credit. Message credits aren't infinite, they are given to you (5 in total) at the beginning of each month. Of course you can purchase more in allotments of anywhere from 10 to 50 for a fee. These message credits aren't just for saying, "hello" or "hey baby," they also plunk 1 dollar into the woman's donation coffers. So, the more chit chat, the more money rolls in.  It's actually $1 to them per message so 10 messages to a young lady is $10 toward the boob job. There's even a meter to keep track of how much you've donated to each woman and how close they are to reaching their goal.

Of course messaging isn't the only way to show generosity. You can make direct donations in any amount you desire. You can also purchase a block of virtual gift certificates and store them in what's called a "boob bank." So you can get 10 gift certificates at $2 each and donate them to the women you made friends with.  Becoming friends with the women gains you access to her portfolio of pictures, if she has any.  This is where the real fun (or horror depending on your point of view) starts.

AXXXCESS

While the women in this community aren't obligated in any way, shape or form to reveal things they're uncomfortable with, many are in great comfort showing all. This is where a woman seeking the gift of boob can really get the money rolling in. Becoming friends with certain women on this site can get you access to racy photos that range from sexy teasing to hardcore. For the right donation you can even gets sets of erotic photos that can be shot to your liking. And if you're feeling very generous, some women will even share videos that they've made. And yes, those too range from erotic to XXX hardcore. How hardcore? Let's just say that some are willing to show you if they spit or swallow after...well...you know.

I hear some of you now:

SLUTS!!

WHORES!!!

TRAMPS!!!!

SKANKS!!!

NO RICARDO!!!! NO!!!!!! DON'T GIVE THEM THE MONEY, IT'S A TRAP!!!! THEY DON'T REALLY LOVE YOU.

Are they really all of the above and when did I say that I was on the site looking for love? This was but a small cross section of the type of women you'll find here. And personally, if she's a consenting adult, then she's free to do what she likes for the gift of boob whether we agree or disagree. This is, after all, what makes this place so interesting. So...what of the other women on this site? Are they all free and loose? What other types of women would utilize such a site and are they selling their souls in doing it?

We're about to meet some of the other women that are seeking the gift of boob and I'll give you a little background on their stories. The results may shock or surprise you and it will all be revealed here, on this blog, for your reading pleasure and consumption.....

But not tonight.

Tonight I will ease back on my couch and contemplate the things that I have done. Tonight I'll look inwards at my mind and soul and outwards to the gift..........the gift of boob.


Coming up next......

More on giving the gift of boob.

Rita Hayworth, Tori Amos, Nicole Kidman, Wilma from the Flintstones, Kirsten Dunst, train wreck Lindsay Lohan and yes, even Marilyn Monroe have (or had) one thing in common; beautiful, natural red hair. OK, I take back Wilma from the Flinstones because she wasn't a real person and she wasn't hot as far as animated characters go in my opinion. I'd have to give that honor to Jessica Rabbit. And while Marilyn went blond to possibly have more fun I say why can't redheads have just as much or more?

RED

The color evokes love, passion, intense energy, heat in situations of lust and desire and warmth in times of need. Some may think of blood and if not in the gory macabre sense, then as a means of sustaining life and vigor. There is a current of aggression to the color red. Not the kind that assaults us in a negative way, rather it taps into our senses and desires for something exciting. We see it in cars that catch our eye on the road which say "fast" to our subconscious. We are struck by it's assertiveness and sensual insinuations when the right woman walks into a room in a well fitting dress of this color. On the right body a woman's beauty is accentuated in numerous ways. The curves, the geometry of a beautiful woman's body, become all the more pronounced. The color red is a most special one indeed.

However, the color of red hair takes all of these principals and advances them forward a step. The color is "in the body" so to speak. It is genetic therefore it's an actual part of them and not an accessory. While hair may be seen as a form of natural ornamentation to some, real red hair is such a striking enhancement to a woman that it's almost an essential appendage like an arm or leg. Some of you may disagree and that is all fine and well but when my head turns to look at a woman with red hair, it is for that reason first and foremost. In a sea of blond and raven haired beauties, red hair is almost a novel and most precious alternative to admire and fantasize about running your hands through.

Fire Down Below

My experience with redheads is not all inclusive but memorable. I had ventured down to the city to meet a mutual friend of a coworker that I had met a week before at a Prince concert at Madison Square Garden. She was a photographer or at least an aspiring one and had fair skin and long curly red hair. Over beers and conversation things grew intense. Enough so that when it came time for me to grab a train at Grand Central to trek back home to Connecticut, it became an obstacle to what was to come. Or what I thought was to come. Fuck the train, there were always more ready to take me home tomorrow. I'd spend the night at her place per her invitation. We kissed by the famous clock in that makes Grand Central so grand as people passed and made our way to the subway.

The young woman in question was not without baggage. She had a boyfriend several states away. Guilt set in but she still wanted me to stay. What was going on in her mind I will never know. But I was deprived of a honor and privilege that could have been mine. And that was tasting the sweet ginger and feeling warm heat below. To run my hands through that small patch of red goodness, to feel it brush against my face as I moved in for the kill....yes...that would be wonderful.

But I've already said too much.

Primal Attraction

Perhaps it's the sharp contrast: My dark hair and skin against their fair complexion and red locks that fuels the attraction. The old tiresome observation of opposites attracting may be true here. My last redhead sighting involved a beautiful barmaid. A nice Irish girl with long straight red hair that almost went to her waist. The Lady Godiva look was never here nor there for me but her green eyes and gorgeous smile left my in a state of euphoria and desire.
Oh to hold her in my arms and have her taunt me with that red hair. What an experience.

But it was not meant to be, she had a boyfriend too. Such is my luck.

I may never fully grasp my attraction to redheads beyond a instinctual level but maybe it's not for me to figure out, rather just go with it and enjoy. We only live once and some things needn't be complicated. We have enough of that and I'm all for keeping it to a minimum to insure maximum pleasure.

Coming up...... Are women more prone to fighting each other than men?

Also...

The drive.

And......

Giving the gift of "boob."

With Valentines day just around the corner, I suppose it was only a matter of time before some in my local synagogue decided to take it upon themselves to find me a "nice Jewish girl" or at least try to. I suppose there are some benefits to this like not being served pork chops when it's time to meet her parents for a nice dinner or not being cajoled into celebrating Christmas and belting out Silent Night while pounding down eggnog. Then again, this is America where plenty of Jews will eat pork chops for dinner and sing Silent Night around Christmas time because.....it's a free country.

However, it's more than likely that this is not the type of women the matchmakers at my synagogue have in mind. No, they will only select a girl steeped in the traditions of Judaism and can quote the Torah as if she wrote it herself. From there I will be expected to marry her and produce numerous offspring to carry on the traditions of Judaism by sending them to Hebrew school and such. Tradition must be preserved!

Now ladies and gentleman, there is nothing wrong with this if that's your thing. But this is Ricardo we are talking about here and my mission (missionary?) statement has always been the same. I have said it here and I will say it again for all of you:

The Ricardo welcomes beautiful women of all races, creeds and colors.

That has been my way, it has always been my way and will continue to be my way. I've never been of the thought process that we should all just stick with our own. It's boring and I would have deprived myself of many a steamy moment with women of numerous races and backgrounds. The differences are the spice of life. They teach me something new, exciting. It's an adventure and makes me feel more worldly.

I WANT to run my hands up and down the endless legs of a tall blond in Reykjavik!

I MUST HAVE the sweet decadence and soft skin of a Tokyo starlet!

I WANT to sample (further) the well toned body of a woman in Sydney or anywhere in Australia! And I'm not just referring to the wonderful pictures I see of my muse, Nurse Myra!!!

I WANT to burn red hot and see the pink of a babe in Red Square!!

I WANT to explore and shag a buxom beauty in Great Britain!

I WANT to love the taste of curry in the morning with a rose in India!!!

Argentina, South Africa, Canada...wherever!!! There's a lot I have to do before I check out. And since I can fucking breathe again post Advair, I'm more than ready. And most importantly, I DON'T WANT TO SETTLE DOWN!!!

(looks at all of you to make sure you've gotten my point before continuing)

And now back to my story.

The Matchmaker

A service at my synagogue had ended, I was on my way out the door when an older man stopped me. In this case, I encountered a male Yenta, if there is such a thing. Also, that is what others have designated him as so this is how he will be referred to for the sake of our tale.

Male Yenta: Good Shabbos. I think we need to find you someone. You single?

Me: I am, yes.

Male Yenta: You far from here?

Me: Nope. 10 minutes maybe.

Male Yenta: Good! I think we can find someone for you. Shall we?

He gestures toward the hall where refreshments and snacks are served. It's also used for parties and gatherings.

Male Yenta: Figure....she's gotta be living on her own. Good job. Not too needy emotionally or with the money. Around 5 foot 7 for you. Not too short, you're kind of tall.

Me: I......

Before I can say anything he has lead me to the Head Yenta. This woman is known throughout the synagogue for making many a match for the single folk.

Male Yenta: (to Head Yenta) So what do you think? This young man here. Can we find someone for him?

Head Yenta: Oh, I think so.

Male Yenta: No one too short. She's got to be on the taller side and with a job. We don't need her breaking his bank.

Me: There's not much of a bank to break.

Laughter among all of us as in the back of my mind I think...."um....what is this shit?"

Head Yenta: I prefer to go the emotional route to see if there's a connection. I'm sure there are some you will like. I love doing this and I have a great track record.

Male Yenta: Yeah but some things, you know.....

Head Yenta: No I understand. I'm going to look.

Male Yenta: He needs a nice girl.

Head Yenta: He does. He does.

And suddenly, they vanished into the crowd. As if they were never talking to me. Or were they going to work in finding me the right girl?

Dumbfounded, I went over to my rabbi for guidance.

Me: Listen, can I talk to you for a second.

Rabbi: Yeah sure.

Me: The yentas are after me. They want to set me up with someone.

Rabbi: Who!?! What's her name?!?!?

Me: That's the thing, I don't know yet. But you know a lot more than I do about what's really going on here and I don't want to be slammed with damaged goods.

Rabbi: Before you say anything, no matter who she is, talk to me first. Don't give them an answer until you talk to me.

Me: Thanks, that's what I needed.

Rabbi: Ricardo, I like you and I don't want to see anything happen to you.

A voice of reason! As of now, I remain safe.

Of Course, There's always Room for the Right One

My dear readers, there is always room for the right Jewish girl as well. My outburst earlier was to illustrate that the right one can also come in many flavors. Could there be a taut Israeli sabra who's sweeter than apples and honey in my future? Perhaps. It's all the luck of the draw and where life takes me. Will this search bare any fruit? Doubtful. Still the push to pair me off with a nice Jewish girl will continue. I am now in the cross hairs and there is little I can do about it. Even my blogging friend and performance artist Maya Escobar (also Jewish) is determined to set me up with her lovely friend who is.......Jewish. When I asked why the best answer she could give is because this is what she wants for me. It has to be done. There is no rational thought to it but there is a raw insistence that is almost instinctual.

While I despise (LOATHE) musicals, I can't help but think of this number from Fiddler on the Roof. I imagine somewhere in the predominantly Jewish neighborhoods in my state that there are women at least mimicking the essence of this nonsense. Quite frankly, I'm frightened by it all.





Coming up next......

Final thoughts as this season of U N L O A D E D comes to a close.

It's not easy being a man these days or any other. I've heard so many women tell me that I'm lucky to be a man because we have not as much to worry about. We get paid more at jobs, we're all part of the "boys club," we don't have "that time of the month," and the alleged simplicity of our emotional intellect is so much less of a burden.

It's not shocking that women would come to this conclusion. We haven't given them much to go on. We put out the fact that we don't worry about some of the things they do and we work so hard to avoid the affairs of being put on the emotional hot seat that we seem utilitarian, mechanical, unfeeling unless it's time to screw of watch the game. Is this truly the depth of the men?

The Uniform

Somewhere along the line, the expectations of what we men should be and do in our daily lives became what the stuff that "men" do. Along with the struggle to properly articulate our feelings, this internal deficiency had to also show externally. In my 20s there was even a uniform that "men" wore. And may still be worn now in suburban hell.

• Hair was to barely be combed or little attention was given to it. This would be concealed by a baseball cap.
• A flannel shirt or some type of button down shirt from Abocrombie & Fitch, the epitome of boring no matter how stylish their catalogs get.
• A T-shirt underneath said button down that promoted some form of hard liquor or lewd activity that I wouldn't mind doing with the right woman but wouldn't care to broadcast it either.
• Ill fitting jeans that haven't been washed and could fit 10 people inside of them.
• And finally, an expression intellectual absence accentuated by having your mouth half open at all times and a blank look in your eyes.
  

And like clockwork these men would attract women desperate for attention and got very little of it because the "man" had turned the wheels off upstairs. A curious realization hit me one night while bar hopping; this isn't what these women really want, it's just the only thing they know.

Mind you this is not a sweeping statement on all women, just a sample of what I saw here in my neck of the woods. They were all Stepford Wives in training, this is Connecticut after all, and you could see the suburban train wrecks that would become of these courtships years later where cookie cutter on the outside would meet the buzz saw on the inside. What horrors would develop behind that picket fence? There's a few book and movie deals that could come from it, I'm quite sure.

WOOT! WOOT! You're Out of Uniform!

I'll never forget this conversation I once had with an attractive young woman who simply could not accept that I was able to match her discussion on things deemed too sophisticated for a typical man to digest.

We got onto the topic of films. Artistic ones.

Me: I'm glad to see the independent film movement coming alive here in the US. There's been so many great films that I've caught down at the York Square. But I still have a soft spot for foreign language films.

Her: Porn films?

Me: No, I said foreign language films.

Her: Yeah, sure. At the York Square Cinema?

Me: Yes, I go once every couple of weeks. I like going alone because I sort of clear my head that way and get ideas for my own writing.

Her: Right, so what did you see there?

Thinking she had me cornered I rattled off a list of films and what I thought of them from pacing, to camera work, to writing. It was as if she was hit by baseball bat over the head.

Her: Well it was nice talking to you...um...see you around?

She staggered off, dazed, confused. What happened is quite clear in hindsight. She thought I was trying to talk film to get into her pants, she got proved wrong and when that happened, she couldn't deal with it.

She was so conditioned to think that men will do and say anything to get laid that when I came to the table with facts, she collapsed right in front of me.

Real men are not supposed to watch these films! They want Chuck Norris or something. WRONG. Mind you I can kick back and enjoy that kind of fare, but I can also indulge in the highbrow as well.

This speaks to a bigger problem that we face when trying to be honest and open with women. When you do show what they want to see, many reject it as a ploy. Why? Because it's too far off from the norm. "The uniform." The very thing me and other men are not, nor do we aspire to be.

The Tightrope

At 24 I was dating a woman that was 32. She was rattled by it at first but she was attracted to the fact that I could be articulate about things that other men could not. Because she was a little older, she could appreciate that that quality and not see it as a "ploy."

I still wasn't fully grown into my skin so to speak. I was hammered by insecurity and a feeling of being lost. It was what you could call a quarter life crisis. It hit me bad but she didn't seem to mind it. One day she opened up and told me something that I thought to be nothing more than lip service.

Her: You can't see it now but once you start being comfortable being the man I see in you, you're going to be very dangerous.

Me: Whatever....

Her: You don't see it yet but I can. You're going to grow into it and you are just going to be amazing.

Me: Grow into what?

Her: Being comfortable with being a real man.

Rest assured, dear readers, that I didn't write that to turn this into an essay declaring me the perfect man, I'm not. I'm VERY far from it. But what I've come to understand from that conversation is something that is slowly happening to me now and moving forward. That is, being comfortable with myself and having a quiet confidence about me that resides just below the surface and is not in your face. Too many men want to flash their fangs to show how strong they are. That shows insecurity. A man comfortable with himself knows when to relax, just be.

Women have become so cynical of us men that to be too open and articulate at first glance will scare them off. You have to know when to use it. You have to honestly convey the sense that you can find beauty in a poem or sunset sometimes and have the strength put an unruly persons head through a window or table (literally and figuratively) at other times. That, in essence is the tightrope that many a man must walk in this world of juxtaposition.

Do women know what they want? Is this even enough?

Maybe not as there is still a host of other issues that arise when women encounter something they find "too good to be true."

I will reveal them here, for your pleasure and feedback..............but not tonight.

Tonight I will indulge in a French film with subtitles while having a glass a wine, then flip on my PS2 and play a few rounds of WWE Smackdown vs. Raw.

I will be both man and "man" in one night.

Coming up next..... Part III of why men are "men."

There are weeks at work where the sooner they end, the better. Last week was no exception. The autumn chill had really started to make itself felt that night. I was just getting out of work and wanted to go straight home but that wasn't going to happen. I noticed that the low fuel light had gone off. Yet another little blow to an overall shitty day. The good news is that there was a gas station nearby and given that it was 9 at night, I wouldn't have to wait in line. It would be quick and painless, something that is seemingly impossible to do in Stamford, CT.

Stamford is a small city with few buildings over 20 stories, yet it has all the congestion and bustle of midtown Manhattan. An odd juxtaposition but something I've learned to deal with.

Actually cope is a better word, but aren't we all?

EMPTY

The tank, the gas station and the feeling in my gut. I would get my gas, go home and sleep off the dull pain in my body and the numbness in my head. I figured I give a call to my Uncle A but got and abrupt "Let me call you back." I'd have to settle for the sound of the gas pump instead of conversation. I watched the numbers tick by, tallying up the the total that would be docked from my debit card when another car pulled up.

Still entranced by the flickering numbers that never seemed to stop going up, the other car's door opened.

The sound of heels on the pavement.

A nasty gust of wind.

The corner of my eye catching long brunette hair flowing and longer legs carrying a perfect body and beautiful face to the stations shop.

A glance over at me and I look away as not to be too obvious.

I like what I see.

Don't you like me?

Our leggy brunette returned to her car and began pumping her own gas. She was using the pump on the opposite side of mine. We were close but I lost my view. These devices are big, obstructive monstrosities. Amidst the sound of gas flowing through rubber tubes into our tanks I heard an unusual and most welcomed utterance.

"Don't you like me?"

What did she just say? Was that directed at me?

"Don't you like me?"

From what I see, yes! But was she speaking to a gas pump that didn't want to work? Or was it someone in her car? A boyfriend? A child? I can't tell because I CAN'T FUCKING SEE!

"Oh come on, don't you like me?"

CLUNK!

That's the sound the pump maid as my tank reached full. The receipt printed out and it was the perfect chance for me to grab it, toss it in the trash and sneak another look at our beauty.

Then our eyes would lock, she'd ask me that question again and I give a smile and say yes.

We'd kiss right there and we'd fuck with reckless abandon on the hood of her car not giving a shit who saw us!

We'd become an item and whenever we walked into a place we'd be the hottest damn couple there. I'd get used to the fact that other men would always be staring at her with lust instead of feeling a twinge of annoyance at their passive agressive advances. I'd do the same, how could I blame them? I'm the stud, they are not. Look and learn you bastards!! She's all mine!

And she's digs me for me and wouldn't care about the fact I wasn't the richest guy around or living in a small apartment as opposed to a penthouse.

The sight of her nude body would always instantly ignite the most intense fire I have ever felt. It would be a super nova! The sparks would never fade and other women would throw themselves at me because I'd be a hotter ticket than I already am. Yeah, that's the fucking ticket baby!!!!

(clears throat)

All I have to do is say yes to her question and it will all fall into place!

And then......I'd catch her cheating with another guy.

BITCH!

She's so full of herself that she's made it a habit of toying with men! I was just the latest victim. The path of broken hearts before me likely stretches to infinity and the path before me likely disappears into the horizon. Once conquered she'd be onto her next target. I would be left bewildered, confused and angry.

How can this be? How could I have been played for such a fool by this sociopath with perfect tits?

NO! I will not let this woman spray me down with gas and take a match to me! I will NOT answer her question and I will leave unscathed to fight another day!!!

Play your games somewhere else you fucking harlot!!!

Driving Off

As I drove off, I finally got a better look at her. Still as beautiful as when I saw her moments before. There was no one with her, no one was in the car, it was just her. She looked at me as if she were still waiting for my answer. I smiled and drove off.

Sometimes it's good to leave them guessing. Even if I'm left second guessing myself.

Coming up next on U N L O A D E D........

The boss who never was. Do you have that special someone at work who wants to be your boss but isn't and is basically in the same position as you? We'll take a look this cubicle dwelling subspecies.

And coming up later.....

Behold the Blackberry or is it the Crackberry? Is it helping my life or slowly destroying it?

Also to come.....

Dealing with defeat. I don't like to lose, not a bit. A look at how I'm dealing with it and a chance to share your thoughts on how you cope.

She radiates a sunlight of her own. Her body is the portrait of perfection, accentuated by the way she dresses and moves in the summer heat. She turns heads as she passes by and amidst the flattery feels a sense of entitlement.

She's worked hard to look good and the payoff is one of life sweetest rewards. She has turned the tables, using her femininity NOT to just attract men....but to hunt them.

She stands confidently at the edge of a dance floor or patio of an outdoor bar, scanning the scene. This is a woman that knows what she wants and will get it with a firm, lustful glance and a smile. She is the summer huntress.

They are out, en masse, in every city where the night brings a life of it's own. For they are the very essence of the night life of which I write of.

Only in the summer is a woman's sensuality heightened to the point that one can smell and taste it in the air. Perhaps it's the display of flesh, perhaps it's a shift in mood. Indeed, there is talk of spring fever and how it's the time to fall in love or meet that special someone. But it is merely a warm up for the final, most exciting act; the summer.

Legs that go on forever, breasts that reveal themselves through thinner shirts, the firm glistening, bodies of women on the beach or going out for a jog.....minds as sharp as a blade......

Yes, their spell is a powerful one that we mortal men can try to resist but will ultimately fail on every count. Our knees weaken, our mouths fall open, we fumble for words, a visceral fire erupts. She will use her arms, hands, lips, the scent of her hair, and legs to caress, tantalize and subdue. Our defenses are useless. There is no one to help us, nor do we want it.

The summer huntress puts us in a trance, leads us to a night of excitement and breaks us to do her bidding. She knows of this power and uses it with surgical precision. Their lust and desire for a roll in the sack is equal to that of we men and in some cases, even more so. Once they have placed us in their sights, it is they who will chew us up and spit us out.

All so they can do it again when another summer night begins. We are gratified, expendable assets. A dish devoured and discarded the moment satisfaction has been achieved. We are left exhausted, enthralled and bemused by it all.

Such is the way of the huntress. We can only pray to be in her line of fire again before the fall comes.


Next on U N L O A D E D, a look at why we blog. How much time do we sacrifice? Does it help or hurt us? Why do we keep coming back?

With summer here and the temperature rising the mind seems to slide into a much different gear than the norm. Wants and needs become a bit more passionate and aggression becomes a bit more prominent resulting in either getting what you want or an unnecessary fight. While summer should be a time of relaxation and peaceful cohabitation the human drive seems to be amplified especially in terms of sex. Some of my best "stories" have happened during the summer and the energy between myself and the female counterpart in question has always been hotter then the most intense heat wave imaginable.

Words are substituted with glances and smiles. Assertiveness becomes a long deep gaze into the eyes. Acceptance is no longer a "yes" but simply grabbing and taking what you want and devouring. Inhibition is lost within moments as opposed to hours, days or weeks. It's primal, it's real, the hunt is on. What is it about the summer that causes this? Your guess is as good as mine, dear readers, for your fellow blogger has been hunted, preyed upon and loved every moment of it. Perhaps you have as well and loved it just as much as I have. Here's hoping that it happens again before the summer is over.

But summer lust need not involve things that are just canal as much as I love all things pertaining to the subject. Below is a list of other ""triggers" (along with some carnal) that seem to set me into a hunger in the summer time.

Summer Lust Triggers

A quality light coloured beer (not calories) served ice cold. But even a Carona with lime will suffice.

Authentic Italian ice usually made in a small shop in a predominantly Italian neighborhood. Not the lousy store bought kind.

Maria Sharapova. (pictured just below in a very summery white on the tennis court) 'Nuff said.

Any Cold Stone Creamery I pass. I have to run in and order something.

Any attractive woman comfortable showing her long legs in the right summer outfit. Be it the right shorts or a skirt, I will spot them from a mile away and lust for them.

Laying about in the warmth and sun and simply doing nothing.

The right woman in a bikini.

A bikini car wash. Let's face it gentleman, when else will every possible view out of your car be as majestic?

Jumping into a pool.

A nice cool shower, but not too cold.

Snacking on grapes and strawberries or feeding them to the right someone.

Sweating, heaving, breasts. A bit much but I'm a man and hold no regrets over this statement.

Dancing all night with a lovely lady! Working up a sweat while the drink and song flow freely as well as our hands over our bodies. The slight taste of sweat as I kiss her neck and the friction of our bodies coming together. This, my friends, is what I call living.

Sitting back and watching the sunset alone or with the right woman next to me. Preferably with the latter.

Next up on U N L O A D E D.......

Examining the mind and body of the summer huntress.

This is it ladies and gents, the final battle. It all started with a mysterious email from a woman named Olenka who appeared to be seeking love but wanted my credit card info and from there I was pulled into the world of mail order brides. A cheesy enterprise, yes, but one that still pulls in millions from wealthy men around the world. And what type of wealthy man would pursue this?

I went trying to find that out. At first glance I can see how it would be tempting to many men but the time and money needed to follow this plan through is vast. Never the less, some will do it and with gusto!

Have a look at this. Trust me, it's worth the watch. And if you don't watch it, the rest of the post isn't going to make much sense!



Wow! Tell me ladies, which one stole your heart? I don't think these men are all inherently bad. In fact, there is one frustrated man that I can, in some ways, relate to but still would not go this far much less marry her. Tour groups like this go out to these countries all the time to meet at socials in hopes that they can connect with the woman of their dreams. Such a tour goes for a few grand a pop. Most of the time it does not include airfare but you get a hotel room and guide and sometimes one on one meetings with prospective ladies with the aid of a translator. You can go out for lunch or a stroll around town.

Ah, The Romance

I think while many of these men might like the idea of "ownership" over someone, others seem like they probably had their hearts stomped on one too many times and decided to take matters into their own hands. I mean, just look at the last guy in the video. I can see women eating him alive in all the wrong ways. For these types of men, such services insulate them in a way. For one, it gives more opportunity in their minds to find "the sure thing" which is out the window if you are at a local bar or something. It's a controlled environment where rejections sting doesn't hurt as much because the men are seemingly at a greater advantage. They don't have to pursue as much because it is the women that are desperately trying to escape their homeland. The men can just pick and choose, or so they think. I say think because the woman never have to reveal their true intentions either. They can just play along and reduce the man to putty in her hands. Did we see this in any of the video readers? I bet you did! And once the guy does get her home you could always wind up with this.



She wants to have a WHAT at the 1 minute mark in the video? Is Masha a performance artist, satirist, or a bona fide bride from Russia living in the UK?!?!? Perhaps we'll never know but there are other Masha's out there, planning, scheming, dreaming.

I Don't Need No Stinkin' Russian Mail Order Bride!

I had a chance to talk to the Russian woman at my synagogue again this week where I broached the topic once more. Remember, she suspected them of being KGB agents.

ME: I got an email from a Russian mail order bride named Olenka.

Her: No! No! No! No! No mail order bride for Ricardo. No good. You must not!

Me: I think they're a bit crazy to do this.

Her: They crazy and alcoholics! They lazy and no work! No! No! No! I have niece from Russia studying in Israel now. She go back to Russia soon. Perhaps I make match for her with you.

What have I done?

The Lonely Hearts Club

The reasons for both men and women taking the plunge into these ventures are about as varied as you can get. Sure there are the prostitute and pimp types but there are also those that are so lonely they will resort to anything to stop the hurt. We all want someone to cure us of our emptiness, "complete" us as the ridiculous line in Jerry McGuire went, and feel desired in ways that you can't get from family or owning a pet. This is a natural human need if used in the right context but we tend to distort it. I, for one, never believed that I needed to fall in love to be "complete" because no one "completes me" but me. I think that's goes for everyone else also.

We are bombarded with love songs and images that don't really profess love but codependency. We look for magic when we should be looking for common ground. We seek to bridge the gap between fantasy and reality and sometimes it works, other times it does not. One thing is for certain, as long as these human needs exist, there will always be Russian mail order brides.

I think I might have found mine if I were serious about it. A little bit girl next door, a little bit Black Widow and every bible thumping redneck's worst nightmare. LOL!!!

Behold, Marvel Comics heroine Natasha Romanova aka The Black Widow. Thought to be a descendant of one of the last ruling czars of Russia, Natasha was rescued from a burning building (set ablaze by the Nazis) in Stalingrad by a Russian soldier. She had dreams of becoming a ballerina but later trained with the KGB to become one of the most skilled and deadly operatives ever. Although old enough to have experienced World War II, the Black Widow does not age. She was injected with a super serum which has kept her in peak physical condition over the last several decades. Her hand to hand combat skills are unmatched, she is able to take on superheroes far stronger than she is while maintaining the upper hand. She fires a cable from her bracelets known as the "widows line" and the "widows bite" which electrocutes her enemies with up to 30,000 volts. Her boots and gloves allow her to cling to surfaces and her belt contains some nasty plastic explosives.

If our Russian mail order bride possessed any of these skills then your blogger would be little match for such a refined fighting machine. My dim witted charms would do little to stop her from crushing me into the finest of powders which could be scattered along the Siberian snow drifts. Do recall in our previous post that a Russian woman from my synagogue strongly believed that these brides were indeed KGB agents. But even the legendary Black Widow needed to be rescued from a burning building just like these brides. Rescue, after all, is what we men do now and then to the delight of many women. And you do like it ladies, no matter how many of you out there hate to admit it and profess independence. While having autonomy does indeed make you stronger, a rescue is fun for you once and awhile. You like to have that soldier out there to protect you at the right moments, dominate you at other moments, this I know as fact.

But was I the right soldier for these brides?

The Match Up

Is did a preliminary signing with one of the many online agencies. I've given up on my first prospect, Olenka, who may be stuck in some all womens gulag near Chernobyl. I did not provide any credit card info to these services as it was too close for comfort. I just wanted to see how I would stack up against one of these beauties. After filling in my info, likes and dislikes, I was blasted with a pretty large cross section of women who appeared to be right off the page of a fashion magazine. I could close my eyes and point to any part of the screen and come up with a 10. These women simply could not be real. At least, not in the position where they had to find a man. They were educated, hot and skilled in many languages. Picking one was like splitting hairs. As soon as I found one, there was another that escaped my eye in the lower corner of the screen. It was overload.

Then....I saw her...Viktoria from Voronezh, Russia. She was interested in the fine arts, cinema (not movies), and writing. She was 26, an accountant (what?) but her English needs some work. Would I be the willing tutor or victim?

It's doubtful that any of this is real but as they do in Boxing, here's the tale of the tape.

Her

Name: Viktoria
Age: 26
Birth Date: 09/29/1980
Horoscope Sign: Libra
Height: 5' 5" (167 cm)
Weight: 103 lbs (47 kg)
Eye Color: Blue
Hair Color: Blond
Marital Status: NM
Children: No
Occupation: Accountant
Education: College degree
Religion: Russian Orthodox
Drinking: Never Smoking: No
Residence: Voronezh, Russia
English Speaking Skills*: Limited Beginner
Other languages: No

Me

Name: Ricardo
Age:31
Birth Date: Some time in the mid 70's
Horoscope Sign: Aries
Height: 6'(anyone want to do a cm conversion on this? I failed math! 183 cm? Yeah? No?)
Weight: A svelte 185 lbs (84kg)
Eye Color: Brown
Hair Color: Black
Marital Status: Single and proud of it.
Children: Are you out of your mind?
Occupation: Network TV trafficking hack!
Education: Some college, some school of hard knocks.
Religion: Hedonistic Jew
Residence: Connecticut, USA
English Speaking Skills: I likes to be speakin' Ing-lish all dayz!
Other Languages: I should, but no because I likes to be speakin' Ing-lish all dayz!

So Who REALLY Uses These Places?

She's a knock out, ain't she? While I can't handle this black widow other men may try. But who are they and why would they? You may have your answers but I also have mine and they may be much different than what you would expect. Next time I'm going to give you the low down down on why I think some men turn to these services and why I think women volunteer for them. I don't think it's as clear cut as some of you may think. And you will read about why I feel that way here on this blog, in full detail, for your reading pleasure.

But not tonight.

Tonight my thoughts and dreams will be haunted with the prospect of receiving the "widows bite" and fighting off the poisons of these sirens should I receive it.

Surf the internet enough and you're bound to come across one of the most unusual match making schemes that thrives online; Russian mail order brides. Can I really have my own Maria Sharapova, Anna Kournikova or Mila Jovovich clone sent to me from a far away land provided that we hit it off via email correspondence? Probably not, maybe yes. But only a very slight yes. Like a million to one or was I being too pessimistic? I decided to try my hand when this little email that came my way.

Privet, gentleman

After the long searches I have found you and I am very glad. I miss
something big in my life, I am lonely in this huge world and the
loneliness is killing me. I want to find a husband. And I decided to
write to you.
I am an ordinary girl. I am pretty, smart and sensitive. I like
people, new places and nature. I am very romantic and believe in good.
I am religious and I pray every day.
If you are interested to know me better,
please see me here http://theloveisonline.com/darling


Looking forward to hear from you soon
Olenka

Ah yes, Olenka. Beautiful, smart...lonely. How could this be? Being a man of lustful virtue I decided to hop on over to the url she provided but in a matter of hours the website was gone, but was our dear Olenka also? I fired back an email.

Olenka, I am most intrigued. But since you are emailing me from a company based in the US, I'm a bit perplexed. Is this really you? Forgive me for being presumptuous, but with a name like Olenka, I reckon you're somewhere out in Russia, yes?

Olenka is most likely a phishing scam. But if not, will she respond? Does true love await our intrepid blogger? Or am I in grave danger?


Forbidden Fruit

I had an opportunity to talk to a woman who was from Russia at my synagogue. A robust, rugged, friendly, middle aged woman, she fit the old school definition of how we used to view the women of the Iron Curtain. But times have changed and hostility has turned into friendships between our 2 nations. I've always been fascinated by the Russian culture. I never felt that they were the true enemy to begin with. It was a PR battle with each side flexing it's military muscle. It was foolish and a waste of time and energy on the part of both sides. There was so much I wanted to ask her about St. Petersburg, Moscow and the current state of it's citizenry since communism had fallen some years ago. Then I dropped the bombshell:

Me: What's up with the Russian mail order brides?

Her: Oh, mail order bride, yes, I know many. No good Ricardo. No Good. Stay away from them.

Me: But why are so many women ready to drop everything and come over here for a guy they don't even know? I mean, some of the pictures I've seen...they're pretty hot.

Her: Yes Ricardo, they tall, young and beautiful. It is plan, you see.

Me: Plan!?!

Her: Many are KGB. Government hire pretty young girls to get in here and spy for Russia. If not KGB, then military.

Me: WHAT!?!? But isn't the KGB gone? Didn't they get rid of that stuff long ago?

Her: New name, new flag, new anthem but still same old Russia. You might find nice Russian girl for you one day, but never mail order bride Ricardo. If not KGB then they will seduce you to take money for Russian mob. I know these kind. Be very careful Ricardo.

Me: Fuck yeah. (grabbing a little cup of wine and raising it) L'Chaim!

While I have yet to find a Russian girl, I did have quite a time with a bombshell from the former Yugoslavia a few years ago, we'll call her Anna. We did things, unspeakable things, in the most public of places together. It remained our secret as those around us never suspected a thing and it will remain such, as a gentleman never tells. Anna, you were wonderful. Perhaps our paths will cross once more.


From Russia with Love?

Whilst I await for Olenka to get back to me, I took a gander at many of the Russian dating sites that will act as a facilitator between you and the Russian babe of your dreams. It was in looking at these that I realized many of the women are actually Ukrainian. While some of you may shrug and think it's the same thing, it's not really. They were linked together back in the days of the U.S.S.R but now they are independent countries who always had different cultures. I'm not sure why they are called Russian mail order brides then.

These sites allow you to sign up for 19.95 a month where you can view videos of your wife to be, send emails to them OR talk to them on the phone with the aid of a translator (for a fat fee) to get the ball rolling. Some offer a pay as you go plan which lets you email any woman you want for 5 bucks a pop. And I thought match.com was a rip off.

Anyway, I'm sure you'd like to see some of these videos to get a feel for what these women are like. I'm also sure you don't want to go through the hassle of registering on these sites. Neither do I, and thanks to youtube, we don't have to! Let's have a look.



Attractive, sincere, friendly. Or is she?

Here's another.



Pretty hot as well. I can't see how either of these women are single.

Coming up later, what kind of Russian bride would one of these sites match up with me? Tune in later as I go stat for stat against a beautiful Russian mail order bride.