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Truth or Dare? So here's the deal...You get to ask me *Up to 5 Questions!!*, no matter how crazy, inappropriate, or just random, and I promise to answer it 100% truthfully (thats the "truth" part) ....now I dare you to repost this and see what people ask you......

(accepting the challenge of slivero3)

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I PREFERE GOOD LITERATURE TO BAD SEX

Pierre Louÿs
Manuel de civilité pour les petites filles à l’usage des maisons d’éducation
1926



DEVOIRS ENVERS DIEU

Tous les soirs, avant de vous branler, faites votre prière à genoux.

Admirez la bonté de Dieu qui donne à chaque petite fille un con pour y plonger toutes les pines du monde, et qui, pour varier les plaisirs, vous permet de remplacer la pine par la langue, la langue par le doigt, le con par le cul, et le cul par la bouche.

Remerciez-le d’avoir créé les carottes pour les petites filles, les bananes pour les jouvencelles, les aubergines pour les jeunes mères, et les betteraves pour les dames mûres.

Bénissez-le d’avoir mis en vous le désir de décharger et créé mille moyens pour en arriver là.

Si vous désirez un amant, demandez-le-lui, il vous le donnera. Si c’est une gougnotte qu’il vous faut, dites-le-lui sans fausse honte. Dieu lit dans votre cœur. Vous ne sauriez le tromper.

Ne priez pas quand vous êtes toute nue. Mettez une chemise de nuit, ne la relevez ni par-devant ni par-derrière devant les personnes présentes. Si vous portez un godmiché en érection sur votre motte, retirez-le. De même si vous l’avez dans le cul.

Pendant que vous priez à genoux, si quelqu’un profite de cette position pour essayer de vous enculer, ne vous prêtez pas à cette inconvenance.

Avant d’aller communier, si vous sucez quelqu’un n’avalez pas le foutre, vous ne seriez plus à jeun. Mais vous pouvez en boire le vendredi. Le foutre, pas plus que le lait, n’est considéré comme un aliment gras.

Quelques jeunes filles trop surveillées achètent une petite Sainte Vierge en ivoire poli et s’en servent comme d’un godmiché. C’est un usage condamné par l’Église.

Par contre, vous pouvez vous servir d’un cierge à cet effet, pourvu que le cierge ne soit pas béni.

************

The best love poem i can write at the moment

listen, I told her,
why don’t you stick your tongue
up my
ass?
no, she said.
well, I said, if I stick my tongue
up your ass first
then will you stick your tongue
up my
ass?

all right, she said.

I got my head down there
and looked around,
opened a section,
then moved my tongue forward…

not there, she said,
o, hahaha, not there, that’s not
the right place!

you women have more holes than
swiss cheese…

I don’t want you
to do
it.

why?

well, then I’ll have to do it
back and then at the next party
you’ll tell people I licked your ass
with my tongue.

suppose I promise not to
tell?

you’ll get drunk, you’ll
tell.

o.k., I said, roll over,
I’ll stick it in the
other place.

she rolled over and I stuck my tongue
in that other place.

we were in love

we were in love
except with what I said at
parties
and we were not in love
with each other’s
assholes.

she wants me to write a love poem
but I think if people
can’t love each other’s
assholes

and farts and shits and terrible parts
just like they love
the good parts,
that ain’t complete love.

so as far as love poems go
as far as we have gone,
this poem will have to
do

— Charles Bukowski

****

****

To His Mistress Going to Bed
BY JOHN DONNE

Come, Madam, come, all rest my powers defy,
Until I labour, I in labour lie.
The foe oft-times having the foe in sight,
Is tir’d with standing though he never fight.
Off with that girdle, like heaven’s Zone glistering,
But a far fairer world encompassing.
Unpin that spangled breastplate which you wear,
That th’eyes of busy fools may be stopped there.
Unlace yourself, for that harmonious chime,
Tells me from you, that now it is bed time.
Off with that happy busk, which I envy,
That still can be, and still can stand so nigh.
Your gown going off, such beauteous state reveals,
As when from flowery meads th’hill’s shadow steals.
Off with that wiry Coronet and shew
The hairy Diadem which on you doth grow:
Now off with those shoes, and then safely tread
In this love’s hallow’d temple, this soft bed.
In such white robes, heaven’s Angels used to be
Received by men; Thou Angel bringst with thee
A heaven like Mahomet’s Paradise; and though
Ill spirits walk in white, we easily know,
By this these Angels from an evil sprite,
Those set our hairs, but these our flesh upright.
Licence my roving hands, and let them go,
Before, behind, between, above, below.
O my America! my new-found-land,
My kingdom, safeliest when with one man mann’d,
My Mine of precious stones, My Empirie,
How blest am I in this discovering thee!
To enter in these bonds, is to be free;
Then where my hand is set, my seal shall be.
Full nakedness! All joys are due to thee,
As souls unbodied, bodies uncloth’d must be,
To taste whole joys. Gems which you women use
Are like Atlanta’s balls, cast in men’s views,
That when a fool’s eye lighteth on a Gem,
His earthly soul may covet theirs, not them.
Like pictures, or like books’ gay coverings made
For lay-men, are all women thus array’d;
Themselves are mystic books, which only we
(Whom their imputed grace will dignify)
Must see reveal’d. Then since that I may know;
As liberally, as to a Midwife, shew
Thy self: cast all, yea, this white linen hence,
There is no penance due to innocence.
To teach thee, I am naked first; why then
What needst thou have more covering than a man