A Portrait of the Asshole as a Young Man 5

I don't know about other men but my sauciest fantasies have always been inspired by music videos for songs about doing the nasty (because I like doing the nasty).

Ciara's "Promise" has been in constant rotation on my YouTube playlist since winter of '06.  If you haven't seen the video (shame) or if you need a refresher, click here.

I'm not a Ciara fan but that video does it for me from start to finish.  In the era of the rap video vixen, simply clapping asses and doing handstands has taken the wheel from a true show of seduction.

Everyday women are to blame also.  Your ideas of titillation reach about as far as a Carmen Electra stripper exercise DVD or some bullshit you saw in an after-dark Cinemax movie.  I've had women attempt to be sexy in front of me; I've had to grind my teeth to keep from laughing out loud.  (And please don't look at me with your eyes set on "hoot owl;" I go limp when I'm afraid.)

I'm a man who likes to be led into a fantasy you've created, but only if it's original-- and visceral.  What Ciara's video lacks in the former it more than makes up for in the latter.  It's pure, high energy, something the average female lacks.  Ciara and her backup dancers don't just lie there, don't complain about not being that flexible.  (They're in great shape... like, circus performer great.)  And they don't ask you if you love them; they just know it.

Despite what I said in an earlier post music and sex can complement one another, but not when it's just to make the woman feel like she's something more than a jumpoff getting pounded down on a squeaky bed for all the roommates to hear (and beat off to).  A hearty love ballad such as "Promise" should transport us into a world where rules are broken, where temptation is given into utterly, where light and dark combine in a swirling hurricane that rains down all over our naked bodies.

Basically, the champagne room at the Spearmint Rhino.