Written by Robert Levin

During my twenties and thirties it was my goal to have sex with every physical type of woman onrepparttar planet.

I’d prefer not to hear any stuff about this. I was proceeding fromrepparttar 118181 belief that by sleeping with a representative of every kind of female body, and every category of appearance I would, in effect, come to know all women and that such an accomplishment would be good for my writing.


Of course, even to gather only samples from what, you realize when you get into it, is a vast assortment of sizes, shapes and physiognomies, would have meant putting up numbers comparable to Wilt Chamberlain’s. And being all of five-foot-six, more skinny than slim—and with a nose you would think must obstruct my vision—I’d obviously set my bar too high. But spurred byrepparttar 118182 promise ofrepparttar 118183 literary rewards that even limited success would yield, I determinedly pursued my objective, and had it not been for a prostate glandrepparttar 118184 Harvard School of Medicine will surely make a bid for upon my demise, I’d probably have been at it much longer.

Middle-aged now and long out ofrepparttar 118185 hunt, I’m forced to concede that my writing would have been better served by writing more and researching less. Still,repparttar 118186 time spent on my project wasn’t entirely wasted. Collateral though it may be, I did reap one unanticipated and very practical benefit. While my collection of memories isn’t as comprehensive as I’d have wished (variations onrepparttar 118187 theme of plainness are more than adequately represented but girls who look like Nicole Kidman and Jennifer Connelly are glaringly missing),repparttar 118188 mental snapshots I've kept ofrepparttar 118189 women I WAS able to cop have been more than sufficient in their quantity and variety to save merepparttar 118190 price of a subscription to “Jugs.”

And, indeed, I have been left with a story or two to tell.

Not least forrepparttar 118191 adventure it amounted to, a hookup I think of a lot was with a twenty-something woman named Peggie who’d just days before—and forrepparttar 118192 first time—come to New York fromrepparttar 118193 Midwest on a month-long vacation.

We met in a bar. I was standing alone, casingrepparttar 118194 action, when I heard, right behind me,repparttar 118195 sound of a sharp quick fart—like a wooden match striking. Turning to look I confronted a sight onlyrepparttar 118196 word “humongous” could accurately depict—a female at least a foot taller than I was and approximatelyrepparttar 118197 width ofrepparttar 118198 Great Wall of China.

She was smiling flirtatiously at me and, though taken aback by her appearance (not to mention her method of getting my attention) and reflexively recoiling, I quickly recovered when I realizedrepparttar 118199 opportunity she was presenting me with. Here was my chance to cross gross obesity fromrepparttar 118200 list of body types I hadn’t yet scored.

In a brief conversation—during which it occurred to me that she’d be almost agreeable-looking if she just lost 300 pounds—Peggie told me she was a cashier at a Kalamazoo, Michigan supermarket (a career chosen, she readily admitted, forrepparttar 118201 substantial food discount it offered); that she had once played a Packard convertible in a high school production of “Grease,” and that her parents had tragically expired in a suicide pact just weeks after her birth.

Then she invited me to her hotel room.

(As we were leaving, I sawrepparttar 118202 bartender, who could not, of course, have understood my agenda, shaking his head in disbelief.

“That’s it,” he nudgedrepparttar 118203 customer slouched in front of him. “Right there—that dude. That’srepparttar 118204 definition of drunk.”)

At her hotel, to which we necessarily took separate cabs,repparttar 118205 first thing Peggie did was crack open, and inhale,repparttar 118206 complete contents of a package of Mallomars. Then, from a utility-kitchen refrigerator, she retrieved and devoured (in exactly what order I don’t recall) a container of chicken wings, a combo plate of tacos and an economy-size tub of Velveeta.

Finally she put a Barry Manilow tape into her boom box.

Now it’s not that I mind Barry Manilow all that much, butrepparttar 118207 more appropriate musical accompaniment torepparttar 118208 night’s activities would have beenrepparttar 118209 theme from “Raiders ofrepparttar 118210 Lost Ark.” The thing was—and my insistence that we leave on no more thanrepparttar 118211 bathroom light was definitely a contributing factor—I could not forrepparttar 118212 life of me find Peggie’s vulva. I’d heard that this was a common occurrence with very fat women, and especially with very fat women in poor lighting, but it still took a lot longer than I would have expected. What was compoundingrepparttar 118213 problem? Simply put, Peggie’s body could have served as a Special Forces training ground forrepparttar 118214 field of hazards and challenges it presented. I’m speaking ofrepparttar 118215 twisting climbs and sudden valleys,repparttar 118216 crags,repparttar 118217 craters andrepparttar 118218 amazing plenitude of gullies, ravines and bogs that I was, and on my hands and knees, obliged to negotiate and traverse in my search. A dismaying project to begin with, my progress was further impeded by an extraordinary number of ambiguous fissures and crevices that, not quickly identifiable, required time-consuming investigation and study. You wouldn’t believe how many deceptive nooks and seductive crannies I came across. In fact, at one point, when I thought for sure that I’d located and enteredrepparttar 118219 secret cave, I discovered, to my chagrin, that I’d inserted myself inside of what was only a fold of fiercely perspiring epidermis. What’s more, I realized, when I looked up, that I was seriously lost in some apparently outlying district of Peggie’s anatomy.


Written by Victoria Elizabeth

PUBLISHING GUIDELINES: You may freely reprint this article in a print or online magazine, e-zine, or newsletter provided that you leaverepparttar byline intact, do not alterrepparttar 118180 content, and makerepparttar 118181 blog address, "clickable" in any electronic format. Please send a courtesy copy for my records via email to:


Well, I suppose we should all be "happier than a pig in a poke". Why? This year marksrepparttar 118182 first time a man-made object has landed on Mars. Let's see, at last count there were at least two charming little robots (fromrepparttar 118183 Land of Stars and Stripes naturally) putzing aboutrepparttar 118184 surface ofrepparttar 118185 "Red Planet".

And, if I'm not mistaken, Mars is also home to some space junk including two deader-than-a-doornail non-entities (hailing from somewhere that shall remain nameless). At last report,repparttar 118186 Dudley-Do-Little-Devices crash-landed who knows where onrepparttar 118187 Red Planet.

Since we haven't locatedrepparttar 118188 "Lost and Found" on Mars yet, we haven't got a clue ifrepparttar 118189 devices are lost or whether they're just hiding. Since no Martians turned up to greet us let alone give usrepparttar 118190 coordinates ofrepparttar 118191 Lost & Found,repparttar 118192 voyageurs from Earth have been caught between a rock and a hard place as it were. Okay, so mayberepparttar 118193 Martians were busyrepparttar 118194 day we arrived, or possibly they lost their maps torepparttar 118195 Lost & Found. Oh well, no matter, who cares ... onto more pressing news.

Afterrepparttar 118196 first televised glimpse ofrepparttar 118197 Mars landscape, my mind began to ponder and then it wandered off on a very long tangent. That often happens when it's been a slow news day, a sluggish news week or sometimes even a slothful news month.

I don't know about you, but frankly I got a tad bored looking at red rocks (onrepparttar 118198 bottom of a crater floor), more rusty rocks (onrepparttar 118199 frigging flatlands) and a black void of nothingness as far asrepparttar 118200 eye could see. Let's face it... unless you're really into red rocks, there's not a whole lot going for for Mars.

So, where'srepparttar 118201 "Red Dwarf"? That's what I want to know. After all, why did man set out on this galactic adventure if he didn't have a mission to findrepparttar 118202 little fellow. (Shy you say, well I'd say he's probably just tucked away somewhere in this color-coordinated place would think.)

After pondering and even more pondering (because I had nothing pressing on my "to-do" list), I began to think of things you might find on Mars. The list was incredibly short. So I came up with something better, "things you probably won't find on Mars".

Here are a few things I came up with inrepparttar 118203 ten minutes allocated to this priority task, (ranked no. 13 on my "to-do" list today). Now remember, it's neither a definitive nor an exhaustive list...but it's a good first attempt.

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