Sex On A Plate - Scott Hildreth

RATTLESNAKES, BLOWJOBS, AND BARBEQUE

Understanding a man is easy.

It’s nearly impossible, however, to predict a man’s actions. Men are like rattlesnakes. They’re unpredictable creatures.

At least initially.

Through studying a man’s patterns, you can come close to predicting his reactions. Gaining this knowledge, however, isn’t an overnight affair. It takes copious amounts of time and tremendous effort.

Sadly, time isn’t always on our side.

Upon meeting a man, you have a small window of time to garner his undivided attention. If that task isn’t accomplished promptly, his mind—and his heart—begin to wander. If having him vanish is your hope, no action is needed.

Simply leave him alone.

He, like a rattlesnake, will slither away. If you prefer that he remain in your presence, you must act while the window of opportunity is open.

For him to raise a respective eyebrow and pay attention to each and every word that comes from your mouth, you must gain his interest. As mentioned earlier, the window of opportunity is closing a little further with each tick of the clock. Eventually, it’s closed completely, and the opportunity has evaporated.

If his eyes become glassy and unfocused, it’s a good indication that his mind is elsewhere. He’s thinking about pickup trucks, deer hunting, a Ferrari, or titties.

How can you garner a man’s undivided attention?

A man’s curiosity can be piqued by a few things.

A fiery explosion. Cleavage. Sports. A nice ass. An exotic car. A beautiful face. An interesting conversation. Full, luscious lips.

These things can stimulate a man’s interest, but they cannot keep it.

To capture—and keep—a man’s attention, there are only a handful of options. Three, to be exact. They are as follows:

Oral sex.

A blowjob is the oral equivalent of grabbing a man by the balls and squeezing them. His undivided attention is now between his legs. Your fate is in your hands (actually, it’s in your mouth) at this juncture. Perform, and you have opened the window of opportunity forever.

Sex.

Fornication is a quick way to force a man to shift his concentration away from whatever is on his mind. If he’s in the midst of a football game, an argument, or setting off fireworks, and offer to fuck him senseless will inevitably be accepted.

Always.

Food.

The lingering aroma of a well-seasoned Prime Rib or the tangy lemon undertone of a silky-smooth cheesecake is akin to a sensual kiss. The type of kiss that moves mountains, buckles knees, and forces the recipient to take a step back and wonder just what else might be over the horizon.

At some point in our lives, we’ve all seen a man and a woman together who seem to be an odd match.

The European supermodel with the dude that looks like he just got out of county jail for fucking a goat. Or, for the sake of this story, the handsome man with an awkwardly unattractive woman.

We wonder if they’re actually together. We tell ourselves they must be a brother and sister. We watch. We wait. Then, they kiss.

We wince in disgust. We stare in disbelief.

How can it be?

How did she land such a fine specimen of manhood?

We’re right back to the three options outlined above.

She’s either able to suck a golf ball through a garden hose, is willing to fuck at the drop of a hat, or she can cook a chicken parmesan like no other.

Be the woman who wields the spatula.

Because nobody really wants a dick in their mouth.

DAMN, HE’S UGLY

It seems nothing can bring a family together faster than a good meal.

Sunday dinners. Barbeques. Holiday gatherings. Birthdays. Superbowl Parties.

We may not gather as a group for the entire event, but we’ll damned sure congregate for the distribution of the food, won’t we?

Why?

Because food provides comfort. We find solace in a flavorful Ribeye steak or a warm chocolate chip cookie fresh out of the oven.

“I’m smoking a brisket and a pork shoulder, wanna come?”

All of a sudden, our brother and his wife are at the door with some store-bought potato salad.

When food tickles our taste buds, we tell everyone within earshot. “Have you eaten at that new Italian joint over on Washington? Holy shit, you’ve got to try that place. Seriously, it’s to die for. You and Shari should join us next weekend. My treat.”

If it tastes like a dry dog turd, we’ll leave a scalding Yelp review or call someone we haven’t talked to in years just to make sure the world knows how we feel about it.

“Dear God. Have you seen the advertisements for that new steak place? Jessica and I ate there last night before the new Liam