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By Heathy Metal

(The following is the blurb I wrote for myself to provide motivation in starting the article. I usually write these for inspiration, and then promptly delete them when the writing in question is finished. However, in this case I thought I'd leave it in as an intro.)

Picture it: sexually explicit pictures of you accompany the text. People everywhere read it and salivate at the thought of making box chowin' THEIR new first base (preferably getting some practice in with YOUR box). Ladies around the globe rejoice, purchasing the Lord of the Dance album (regardless of what musical genre they truly enjoy, but unable to locate other music that will so accurately sum up their newfound zeal for life). And they all have you to thank.

Let's begin with what my sexual track record consisted of circa January 1999. Sporadic messings-around with winners from a few drastically different walks of life (foaming-at-the-mouth high school hornballs, two Token Drunk Girls, and even one balls-out gay male) had led to The Great Deflowering of December 23rd, 1998. He insisted we rock the Cirque du Freaking Solei soundtrack during The Act, it 'counted' only because he was inside me even though it was really only wading in the shallow end, I purchased a hula hoop the following day, and he didn't eat my pussy. This is all I remember of the loss of my virginity.

Having gotten the proverbial ball rolling, I decided to go for round two mere days later on New Year's. It was in a closet, he was morbidly unattractive, asked me how to spell my last name as he banged me, and didn't eat my pussy. This is all I remember of "Deflowering Part 2: the Sequel."

From where it stood at that point, I was mildly turned off to sex. I had seen the face of sex, and it in no way resembled the toe-curling ecstasy that my loins had been quivering for since I first perused my father's sticky copy of "HOW TO DRIVE YOUR WOMAN WILD IN BED: EVERY TIME" at age seven. No one made my toes curl. No one ate my pussy. Brothers just liked nailing me senseless, rather than partaking in the rich Whitman's sampler that is my vagina AND THEN nailing me senseless. Following my initial boring experiences with sex and fooling around in general, I deducted that dudes did not equal sexual satisfaction, and thus, took a breather from sexual activity with other people all together. I used my vibrator so much that it exploded, and I was unable to walk normally due to a little syndrome I like to call Calloused Clit. And not a damn soul was disappointing me.

Moving to the Bay Area a little over a year ago, though, I came across a new breed and started to get hungry again. Cheap dirty duders as far as they eye could see, having cheap and dirty sex with booze-blind trash like myself. A far cry from the relatively clean-cut, boring horndogs I encountered back home. Time to throw it around again. Time to slut out. What I stumbled upon in my exploits had scientists baffled, girl friends jealous, and myself, at long last, pleased.

The boys I met here ate my pussy. The strange thing was, they ate it first. Before even giving the D-cups a friendly graze.

I remember the first time it happened. Groping each other in the pitch black of my room, we made out like animals and I started to get Ye Olde Nipple Itch, expecting him, as most boys do within three seconds of kissing me, to go straight for the funbags. What I got instead were love bites on my belly, a tongue sliding down my happy trail and finally stopping to do a fucking NUMBER on my womb.

Surely this is a rarity, I thought. Surely this cannot be the way of this strange new region's people.

However, nearly every nice boy to whom I granted the privilege of viewing my sweet sweet gash returned the favor almost instantly by diving head first into its musky depths. Without even so much as a nod of acknowledgment to my T or A, they became acquainted with the vertical smile.

Granted, as I continued to do research (in the interest of science only), not all of my partners followed suit. All of them ate my pussy (except for one, but he was only memorable to me for being able to fuck exactly like a ten year old anyway), not all of them went for it at the crucial moment: shortly after kissing me and before trying to feel me up. Some of you may think I am asking a lot by having this expectation, for it would require a complete overthrowing of the traditional system of 'BASES' as we now know it. But, it is the pursuit of this article (as well as pursuit of my life in general) to do just that: to beg the masses to take another look at these bases, to reconsider their conditioned ways of thinking to recount the dimpled Florida ballots that ARE our sweaty muffs! ! !(Sorry, I felt like I had a theme going.)

So, let's examine the conventional sequence of bases as they now stand. (DISCLAIMER: the following list of bases is, in the interest of the article, the most accurate representation of traditional STRAIGHT bases that I could muster. In no way do I mean to trivialize sex by queer standards or ANYone's standards. It is just simply impossible to filter EVERYONE's definitions of foreplay/sex into one even semi-concise list while still staying true to the topic/campaign at hand. And since the problem lies largely in the straight male community, I feel the list should be geared to that audience and therefore from a straight perspective.)

FIRST BASE can include any of the following: making out, necking, over clothes feeling up, mild grinding/dryfucking/lap riding, fingersucking, ear blowing, love handle squeezing, good ol' grab ass, cheek chin nose and forehead licking, maybe a little dirty talk.

SECOND BASE: handjobs and fingerbanging, hand in the ass, partial nudity, tittysucking, more intense and rhythmic dryfucking, XXX dirty talk.

THIRD BASE (due to the fact that home base is limited to fucking only, this is a large category, for it includes nearly everything one could imagine that is too hardcore for second base, yet not technically sex. I have managed to compile a not-so-comprehensive list, not because of any relevance to the topic at hand whatsoever, but because I wanted an excuse to think about and talk about nasty things with my friends and gather ideas for the future): eating pussy and smoking dick. Assuming the position and rubbing your shit together. Estimating exactly how A will fit into B. Golden showers, rainbow showers, chili dogging, fisting, teabagging, ball fun, food incorporation, spanking, trying to insert the face entirely into the ass, whipping, nipple clamping, toe fucking, shrimping, tittyfucking, nose ear and eye fucking, hot lunches, hot Carls, Dutch ovens, pearl necklaces, salad tossing, humping black, fart lighting, skull fucking.

HOME RUN: Boosh. Ladies and gentleman, you are being fucked severely (hopefully). Anal or mish.

All that I propose is that the one simple act of box chowing be promoted to first base. It does not have to REPLACE any of the time-honored, classic first base activities, only must coexist alongside them.

The purpose of this campaign is twofold:
1) The guarantee of chowed box leads to increased interest in the actual sex act for women, thus bettering the sexual experience as a whole for both (or all) parties involved, and means, more importantly, that
2) I'ma always git mine.

Consider the following dialogues.

Susie: So, I finally went out with Johnny last night.
Jane: REALLY?!? How was it??
Susie: Pretty good. We went to the movies, then afterwards he parked on Lookout Mountain and played me his Papa Roach tape.
Susie: We only got to first base, but it was cool, my lips are sore from so much wholesome and good-natured smooching.

Susie: So, I finally went out with Johnny last night.
Jane: REALLY?!? How was it??
Susie: Pretty good. We went to the movies, then afterwards he parked on Lookout Mountain and played his Billy Squier tape.
Susie: We only got to first base, but it was cool, I smashed his window out with my fist as I came down his throat.

The only foreseeable problem with this revolution is the factor of fairness. "If I am to chow your box", contests the average male (who for some reason WILL have a childlike, inquisitive British accent when quoted in this article), "is it not only proper for the art of cocksmoking to be upped as well, into the first base slot?" To this I would like to respond, simply: NO. Fuck a Blowjob Betty. I'm over it. That shit is SO the last, um, NINE HUNDRED DECADES. Too many girls already give b.j.'s out like free fawn jerky at a Nuge concert, without getting so much as a good handjob in return, let alone all-out tongue lashing. Fuck. No. Sorry dudes. I win this one.

This revolution is NOT that difficult. Contact me for a copy of my pamphlet "ON YOUR KNEES IN THE NEW MILLENIUM". Sport sandwich boards proclaiming the cause. Use force. Commit murder. Anything to keep this dream alive.