Maxim’s Unsexiest Women
Maxim magazine has selected the world’s 5 least sexy women from the ranks of music, and TV, but not film, because they still entertain delusions of becoming screen writers and you can’t bite the teat of the beast on which you want to suckle.
I was angry, because they didn’t dare to list Nicole Kidman or Holly Hunt. And what about Condelezza Rice?
I wouldn’t have sex with her if the Secret Service held a gun to my head.
As for Maxim’s choices, if I was in the USA, I would have sex with everyone of them, even their winner. Only I’m not going to the USA anytime soon, so here’s how I’d do the deed, if they showed up in Pattaya starting with Britney Spears #5.
Britney has gone through a tough year. Divorce from her pop husband. DUI. Car Crash. Child custody battle. Shaving your head. Wher’es the love, so I’d be nice in the beginning. Let’s face it she can’t trust men now.
I see her at a go-go bar.
Say Heaven.
“Hey, how you’d like to go to my place?”
Room 317 in the Sabaii Lodge. her low self-esteem puts her on the back of my scooter. No one chasing us. Not like Princess Di. I don’t know why, but it isn’t in my fantasy. We end up at the Sabaii Lodge, because my wife and mia noi wouldn’t suspect I was there with a farang woman. I’d order us some beers. Not Chang because I don’t want to be to drunk and I’d say, “I haven’t been with a farang girl in a long time.”
Luckily I did a gel and my penis is harder than the Man of Steel.
I don’t tell Britney that.
We shower together.
Her gut isn’t so bad and her skin is smooth. She wants it there. In the bathroom. Who am I to say no? Mercenary position. She experiences heaven 11 times.
“Can you finish?”
No.
Only because Madonna is in town and I’ve had several sexual dreams about her.
In my sleep.
I tell Britney I’m going out for cigarettes.
I race to Slim’s. Madonna is surrounded by a horde of lesbian go-go dancers. Her security stops me from sitting and I say, “Don’t you remember me?”
“From where?” My face isn’t familiar.
“Twenty years ago you almost rented my apartment on East 10th Street.” We had spent 10 minutes together.
“I remember you.” She leaves Slim’s and jumps on the back of my motorscooter. She holds onto me like I’m a big bad biker.
We have Kabalistic sex in room # 316 of the Sabaii Lodge. Madonna screams with every climax. The wall shudders with a shoe hitting the wall. It’s Britney. “Shut the f–k up.”
Afterwards I drop off Madonna at Mantra. “Thanks.”
Her husband is waiting and I know he’ll never hire me as a screenwriter. Same as the editors from Maxim who wrote, “After building a personal fortune on Top 40 pornography, Madonna traded pioneering sexuality for, like other old Jewish women, self-righteous bellyaching and rapid postnuptial deterioration. Combine a Paris Hilton–like pet accessorizing fetish only for dirt-poor foreign babies with a mug that looks Euro-sealed to her skull, and you’ve got Willem Dafoe with hot flashes.”
I don’t say anything, because I know Willem and she’s much better looking than him.
For a woman.
As a man he wins.
No. 3 Sarah Oh.
I don’t know who the hell she is. her face is horsey, but I have a weakness for the Orient, plus she’s skinny and everyone else in the Mantra is looking at her. She think if I’m good enough for Madonna, why not me?
And it’s back to room 316.
I’ve tied Sarah to the bed and we have sex for an hour. Britney hits the wall a 10000 times. Thanks the stars the room is in her name so she’ll have to pay the damages.
Even bondaged Sarah Oh wasn’t submissive.
Like all western women think about Oriental girls.
Back to the Mantra.
It’s Amy Winehouse is at the bar. She’s Jewish and we know what they like. No room 316. It’s straight into the toilet where she fellates me like a bride before the wedding march. All that hair. Reminds me of Fran Malin from Brooklyn, who fucked like she played a pinball machine. Screaming. Good idea I didn’t go to the hotel.
I’m almost played out, except I see Sarah Jane Parker.
“Remember me. We shared a taxi with Rob Cea ten years ago.”
“No. but I see you went with three women in two hours.” She looked over her shoulder. Her husband was discussing massage with Sarah Oh. “You have a few minutes for me.”
Sarah Jane is skinny. She has a big nose and I give her the netherworld ride of her life. She doesn’t have time for the hotel either mostly because she thinks that if it’s not in a bed then it’s not really sex.
“Thanks.”
5 women in three hours.
The telephone rings.
I check the number.
Britney.
What the heck?
If I bring back a pack of cigarettes maybe she’ll do it again.
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