“Tell me a secret,
I don’t just wanna know about any secret of yours, I wanna know about one special secret,
Because tonight I want to learn all about the secrets, in your mind…”
This song… I can’t talk about this song without waxing lyrical, and long, so I’m not going to. If you’re old school, you get it. The rest of you, listen to the first 36 seconds, that intro (you know I love a good intro) will tell you everything you need to know about the song, and if you take the time to listen to the rest you’ll be waxing lyrical the same way I do. And if you’re still not converted, send me an email and I’ll explain it slowly to your philistine ass.
Folks, it would appear that I have met a man, a man that might just be worth the trouble associated with, well, men. He’s not perfect, far from it in fact, this man gets me so angry sometimes I want to slap myself for talking to him, but damn it if he doesn’t get my mind racing like I’m on speed; my mouth smiling at a joke two days old, yet still funny; body tingling in anticipation of what may, may mind you, of what may yet come. Aaaaahhh… The man is such a brilliant mind fuck.
You can see where this is headed, no? I was looking at this month’s posts yesterday and I realised we have not been to the sewer this month. How now? And no one thought to point out this anomaly? Shame man! My people, all 19 of you (we have a couple of newbies in the house, welcome, complimentary gumboots are by the door…), we’re off to the sewer. These days I actually do a little jig when I write that line (think conga line, tadadadada TA, tadadadada TA…aye caramba!), as much as it surprises me to say this (especially given its inauspicious beginnings), I’ve come to really enjoy being in the sewer. Here there’s no need for niceties, I don’t have to worry about whom, what or why, I just write. Here I can say, “Fuck me sideways!” without worrying whether you’ll take it as the exclamation its intended as, or as an (un)intended come-on. It’s just brilliant! And the comments, make that discussions at the end of it, even better. I think I got a bit distracted, apologies. I was giving the disclaimer: I will swear, possibly use (c)rude imagery, and the word ‘fuck’ will be used not just as a noun, but as a verb, and adjective, and if I can pull it off, a conjunction, just because.
Strictly speaking, a mind fuck is defined as, “To experience a situation which calls into question the way your mind currently sees a certain idea or the world in general. Such an experience usually leaves the person stunned/speechless while he/she begins wrapping his/her mind around the new idea.” The classic example given is the movie ‘Inception’, a movie so confusing I’m still not sure about the ending, is he awake, is he still dreaming? It vexes me, but that’s a story for another day. In the context of seduction, however, a mind fuck is defined as, “An intellectual conversation or situation so deep, it's almost as good as foreplay. Participants are often left either extremely satisfied or very, very horny, even if the conversation had nothing to do with sex.” I should point out that these definitions are just two of very many from the urban dictionary, not exactly an irrefutable source of knowledge. That said, my definition even dodgier, if possible, I define a mind fuck as, an individual who seeks to get you into bed, head first. Hang on, don’t start writing me hate mail just yet, let me explain.
Simply put, a mind fuck, a real one, will not bother with rudimentary gimmicks like booze, cash or body parts to seduce you, nooooo... these buggers are above all than that. These geniuses, and I’m told there are are women who fall into this category too, will pull you off to the side, sit you down in a quiet corner and talk. That’s it. He’ll talk to you about anything and everything, for as long as you can handle; you want to talk about fashion, the man knows Tom Ford; you want to talk about music, he’s a benga aficionado; you want to talk movies, he has theories on Batman, and the new Spike Lee docu-drama; sports, literature, the meaning of life, whatever you want it he’s got it, and if he doesn’t , then he knows where to get it. By the time you’re done talking to him, you’re not only convinced he’s the smartest man on the planet, you’re convinced, more importantly, that you’re the smartest woman on the planet too. And we all know how sexy smart is, don’t we? At that point, all he has to do is say cunnili… and you’re off like a rocket! I’m just saying…
I can’t state that this applies to all women, and if it doesn’t the usual suspects (hello ladies!) will inform us otherwise, but when it comes to my dysfunctional ass, attraction starts solely in the mind. A man could look like
Djimon Hounsou, smell of Paco Rabanne, voice as smooth as , ass so firm he makes jeans look pornographic, bicep(s) so toned you can’t wait for him to pick you up, literally… I just drifted off in a fog of vague lust… even if a man is that hot (unlikely in these parts, thankfully), until the switch in my head is turned on, he might as well be Bwana Atwoli for all the love (lust) I’m feeling for his ass. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying I don’t like a pretty boy, I’m very happy to stare, perhaps even too happy, but those good looks do fuck-all for me when it comes to real attraction. To get to the point where I want a specific man, as opposed to random lust for a man shaped object (the things I could do with that phrase…focus, woman!), I need to get into the man’s mind, and I need him to get into mine. Hence my fondness, some would say weakness, for the mind fuck. I keep saying I’m attracted to intelligent men, what I should actually be saying is I’m attracted to men who turn my mind on. Once that’s done, the body is only a step behind. I’ve just lied, once my mind is turned on, my body (read loins) takes over and relegates my mind to mere spectator status, which would then explain my woe tales, no? Again, a story for another day. Barry White
Ladies, I know it’s been said before by all manner of self help gurus (i.e. idiots looking to make a quick buck off your alleged ignorance), but I’ll say it one more time for good measure, your biggest and sexiest organ is your brain. Stop looking at your boobs/ass, I’m not being literal, you daft cow. It all starts in the mind, call it intellect, or emotion, or bloody simpatico, whatever rocks your boat, but until he gets into your head, he has no business being in your pants, the bugger hasn’t earned it yet, so keep your mind open and your legs closed. That is unless you’re just looking to be funga’d (fungwa’d? fungiwa’d?), in which case keep your mind closed and your legs open. What? Don’t look at me like that, sometimes a woman just needs to get laid and in those instances she really shouldn’t think too hard about it, lest she sees what an idiot the bugger really is and changes her mind. Shit happens, no?
I’m guessing there are men sitting there reading this and thinking, ‘What the hell?’ Gents, I’m not lying to you, at least not this time, there are ways to get a woman into bed that involve neither money nor dick enhancements (real or imagined), the only problem with this most brilliant method of seduction is that it requires a bit of patience on your part, and perhaps a smattering of intelligence. If you’re that guy who doesn’t care much for anything that’s not EPL or MTV related, you might want to restrain yourself to simpler pursuits, this one’s for the big boys (I do not mean that literally, or do I?). Gents, if you’re that guy with an insatiable curiosity and a fondness for the weird and wonderful, you need to take your sexy brain out on the town tonight, it will get lucky. I’m so sure of this I’m offering a money back guarantee. Look at it this way, if the intellectual approach doesn’t work on her, perhaps because she’s not smart, or sober, enough to keep up with you, it will still get you to where you want to go, because she’ll be so thrown by the fact that you’re not falling over yourself trying to get into her pants, she’ll take them off for you just to prove a point. Either way, its win/win no?
Now I realise that a mind fuck is a fine line to walk, too knowledgeable and she writes you off as a pompous prick, but not knowledgeable enough and she dismisses you as a pretentious fake. The trick, gentlemen, is to let her guide the conversation, follow, don’t lead. If she wanders into something you know nothing about, then ask her to explain, and look into her eyes (not her bosom) as she does, while you’re at it ask a couple of (almost) intelligent questions. She’ll be sitting there thinking, “Oh my, he’s such a good listener,” something you shouldn’t have to fake if you’re really interested in her, and this is your natural M.O. If on the other hand you’re faking, well, try not to fall asleep, and maybe buy her an expensive drink or something, anything to keep her from noticing the glazed over look in your eyes.
Every so often I write something so foolishly brilliant, I sit back in awe. How is it they let me operate heavy machinery? Moving on swiftly…
Please notice that at no point have I mentioned talking about sex, that part should come AFTER you’ve pulled her in with your brilliant mind. Many men I’ve met think a mind fuck is just that, mental sex, they think that if they tell a woman how they want to ‘fuck her sideways’, with appropriate hand and groin gestures, then she’ll go weak in the knees with lust. Not so much, gentlemen, unfortunately, using a graphic description of your sexual prowess as a seduction routine will often have the opposite result on a woman, if she’s a discerning woman. Don’t be fooled by R Kelly and his nasty little songs, that shit doesn’t work in real life. Not unless she’s drunk, or 16. After you’ve seduced her mind, please do not switch to talking dirty, just because she’s moved closer and has placed her warm sweaty palm on your thigh, I mean arm. You got her that far by being smart, all you have to do is take it home, extend your mental curiosity into matters sex. For example, rather than, “I want to eat your strawberry,” try, “I’ve heard women love the taste of strawberries during sex, is that true?”
Incidentally, you do see the difference between those two sentences don’t you? Don’t you? Suggestion, my lovelies, that’s what it’s all about, she’ll put the strawberries together for herself, in her head. All I’m saying is you don’t have to spell it out. You’ve just spent x no minutes/hours convincing her she’s smart, so let her figure it out, odds are she got there long before you did. No really, she did, she’s just waiting for you to make a move, so don’t fuck it up with some idiotic line. I know, I’m brilliant, you can thank me later.
On the extremely random chance that you have the song playing in the background, you’re listening to possibly the best ensemble R&B joint, in my book. You know how usually they throw a bunch of egos together and assume that the whole will be as good as the parts, and it seldom is? This song is what it’s supposed to sound like when great voices come together to make even greater music. The song is subtitled ‘Sweet Seduction Suite’, a title that only makes sense once you figure out what the song is all about (here’s a hint, its about seduction). Quincy Jones put together four seemingly disparate musicians, from as far back as the 70’s (Mr White) to the more recent 90’s (Al B. Sure!, he of hotpants and a blazer fame), musicians that would otherwise only be found on the same stage at The Soul Train Awards, and even then, not so much. And the result was mind fuck brilliant. Take from that what you will.
“I wanna read your mind, know your deepest feelings…”