Advice From My Grandmother: Take Pride In Your F*cking!

Ok, get yo’ popcorn ready!

I’m writing this post as one man speaking about one woman who is extremely proud of what she does. And here’s a heads up — she doesn’t run a women’s activist group or an animal shelter. Nope, she gets the job done between the sheets.

Not too long ago, I was out enjoying a hearty dinner ($20 beer and wings combo!) and Monday Night Football, and I got lucky enough to meet a pretty lady who I later took home with me. I’ll call her Jamie, because I def don’t remember her real name. (No, I’m not proud of that. In fact, I feel as taken advantage of as she probably does, but I’m being honest.)

Anyway, long story short, I had better luck that night than both the Bills and the Raiders. Yep, you guessed it, I got laid. But I didn’t just get the 'yay-I-can-wake-up-and-tell-my-co-workers-I-got-laid’ kind of laid. I got laid in the way that made me walk a little differently the next day. (Guys, you know what I’m talking about.) Ladies, you might be walking differently for other reasons.

I was puttin’ in work, I tell ya. I was sweating, the sheets were off the bed, we broke my lamp, and I still cant find the remote control for my TV. Everything was great, except for one thing: After I made her cum (remember, you have to be confident in your skills and thoughtful, guys), for some reason, it was taking longer than usual for me to cum. Of course I’m not perfect; I’ve had a bad experience here and there. Haven’t we all? But eight times out of ten, I bring the wood! So, WTF?

Now, I know a lot of girls who would have thrown in the towel and raised the white flag at that point. But not Jamie! She was so proud and so sure of her fucking skills that she told me there was no way she would let my ass leave the room without an unforgettable orgasm. And that's practically a direct quote!

Listen, I didn’t have to write about this. Call me crazy, call me slow, heck, even call me stupid, but whatever you do don’t call me an ungrateful fuck, because I could have kept this to myself. But I didn't. Instead I chose to heed and share the words of my grandmother, who always told me this: “bLUE Steel, pride is a personal commitment. It is an attitude which separates excellence from mediocrity."

The lesson I leave you with is simple. Take pride in whatever it is you do best! It's an incredibly important characteristic to have. Maybe you type 110 words a minute, speak three languages, or maybe you just know that you're one hell of a fuck. Whatever it is you do, do it with pride! Pride shows good character and will help you progress in life — in and out of the bedroom.

So, the next time your partner doesn’t want to go down on you, I want you to think of my grandmother and say," You used to have pride!"

The Accidental Cock Block

We've all been there — either on the giving or receiving end of a cock block. Well, last night my ass was on the receiving end!

Once again my night started off with little expectation, and plenty of stimulation. I had a rough day at the office and figured that a couple of drinks would ease the pain.

Don't they always?

So, I rounded up the crew and got ready to rock. Considering that it was a Wednesday night, the plan was to hit up a few regular bars in midtown with the hope of running into other people who'd had shitty days and were also looking to 'ease the pain.' The bars were packed. And, to my surprise, one of my boys brought two girls from Texas that he'd met on the subway.

I don't have a preference in women; truthfully, I always find something I enjoy about every woman. That doesn't mean I lower my standards, it means I have a broad view. But, be that as it may, I'm a sucker for a Lone-Star cutie!

To create a visual for you, my girl was like a mixture of Mandy Moore and Mandy Moore!

Now, she wasn’t my girl from the start. There were other guys there, and I live by the words “All is fair in love and war.” However, I planted seeds throughout the night — a hand on her lower back here, an eye fuck there — subtle yet important seeds. You see, the key to winning the first time meet-up is playing your cards right. Don’t be over the top, or you'll come off as desperate or obnoxious. But you can't be a mute either. Let her know you're there and you're interested, but don't let her think you need her. This will create query in her mind, and women love a good conquests as much as men do.

Anyway, as the night came to an end, I see my boy and his girl going at it. (I’m not one for public affection, but I can admire a good communal make-out session as much as the next guy.) That's when my girl asked me if I wanted to get out of there. And that, you see, was the moment of truth! She was about to tell me one of two things with her eyes— "You don’t have a chance in hell” or “This shit's on when we get back.”

I looked at her, received the smile, and I knew it was on! But as hard as we tried — trust me, my boy and I tried hard to get them to come home with us — they were set on taking us back to their hotel. So, considering I just wrote 9 Steps To A Good Away Game, I figured, what the hell.

As we exited the elevator, I got a very pleasant surprise. They were staying in separate rooms! Easy, right?

Wrong.

I don’t know exactly what the hell happened in my boy’s room, but let me tell you what happened in mine. We walked in the room, my girl shut the door, and then she pulled the whole let-me-use- bathroom line. But she left the door open, just enough so I could watch her undress and get an idea of what I was about to work with. I got the Idea! It was on! So she came out of the bathroom, walked slowly toward the bed, and then ... BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM on the door.

I jumped up. "What the fuck?” I thought. And, considering it sounded like her friend was getting murdered in the hall, she of course answered the door.

I don’t know what type of move my buddy tried in the next room, but I do know this: it didn’t work!

This story, my friends, is a sad one. It lacks the fairy-tale ending you probably hoped for. No Notebook ending here, just hard-core truth! His girl eventually calmed down and came back to planet Earth. We all left on good terms, and I think my buddy's girl actually took his number. But I was left with an empty feeling in my stomach (definitely not in my cock; that was plenty full). My boy and his girl had completely, yet accidentally, cock blocked the shit out of me!

The accidental cock block happens all the time, and there is nothing you can do about it except take one thing from it. And that one thing is this: You would have gotten some ass if it wasn't for that block. So you, my friend, fought half the battle and won! So as horny as I am today, I’m standing tall and walking around as if I got laid last night, just because!

9 Steps To A Good "Away Game"

When was the last time you awoke in a stranger’s bed?

After asking yourself that question, ask yourself this one: Are you happy with your answer, or upset because you’re not getting enough ass?

The 'away game' is a very special part of life's overall game. When you spend the night at someone else’s house, you are totally putting yourself out there for anything. The fact is, anytime you pull an away game you are completely setting yourself up for a night to remember.

Whether you're a girl that doesn’t necessarily look your best in the morning (then my advice to you is to keep a Walk of Shame kit in your purse), or the guy that can’t go more then 8 hours without a shower because you'll smell like you just played an entire football game, when you spend the night out, you step completely outside of your boundaries and could wake up asking yourself, “Where the hell am I?” or “Who the hell is this?”

However, there is a lot to be learned from having good and bad one-night stands, and it's important to take something from them all.

Recently, I was fortunate enough to 'play' an away game myself. As much as I would like to brag about how amazing I was, I can’t this time— I'd be lying. In my defense, it was the night of a buddy's bachelor party, so you can imagine what type of shape I was in. But I have quite a bit of knowledge on this subject — solutions for all the single warriors that need to be prepared, because you never know when your next away game will sneak up on you.

“The Away Game” Single Warrior Checklist: Before, During And, Of Course, After

1. ALWAYS Have Condoms With You

How stupid would you feel if after you've convinced a woman to sleep with you, you realize you have no protection ... NOTHING? Don’t even think about sleeping with someone without wearing a condom. You don’t want to risk your life for a few hours (if you’re lucky) of pleasure.

2. She MUST Be A Stranger

Don’t mess with your friends! If one or both of you start to have feelings, it will become more complicated with sex. If you want it to be a one night stand, and ONLY that, stay off your friends.

3. Do NOT Eat Anything Weird Before

You want to spend time with a person, not with a porcelain bowl! So be careful of your food choices. Mexican is a big no-no. Steak or chicken will do great for that day. Remember, hearing bowel movements while you’re going at it is just gross. And that weird position you lock-up in so you don’t shit yourself is very noticeable. So keep it simple.

4. Do NOT Fall Asleep

If you fall asleep, you might wake up unprepared for the face awaiting you. You might not even recognize the person, for that matter; and strangers can be scary in the morning! Or, even worse, you might wake up to a complete breakfast, ready for both of you to enjoy (this happened to me)! If that happens to you, your identity will be exposed. You also might realize that your one-night stand was a huge mistake after all. So be sneaky. Get your James Bond game on and leave the place without anyone noticing. But, worst of all, if you fall asleep, sometimes you don’t even get to do the deed (my mistake again). So make sure you have a nice big glass of water before to keep your ass up.

5. Do NOT Leave Any Tracks

Make sure you grab all your crap before you leave. Things like your lighter, socks, T –shirt, and even your used protection could all be used as evidence to search for your whereabouts. Haven’t you learned anything from CSI?

6. Do NOT Kiss Her When You Leave

This would be one huge mistake! It would mean that the night was something more than a simple one-night stand. Unless you want more from this away game, turn that head and go cheek full throttle.

7. If You Do Fall Asleep, Make Sure You're In An Outfit You Don't Mind Waking Up In

I sleep naked, so this step doesn’t apply to me, but a buddy of mine recently slept at a girl's house and woke up naked on the couch. True story. Needless to say, he didn't wake up next to the girl he had sex with, but rather awoke to find her male roommate standing over him! Enough said.

8. If You Must Spend The Entire Night, Create Urgency For An Early Departure

This is very important. If you tell her the night before that you have to depart early the next day, you leave no room for rebuttals. You've stated the facts before hand, and she should respect that. Think of a good excuse before sleep, and hold on strong.

9. Try Your Hardest To Call Her By The Right Name When Leaving

Talk about a weird exit! If you don’t remember her name, don’t risk saying anything. Play it safe with a kiss on the cheek. Anything more and you could set yourself up for a silence that is just too uncomfortable for words.

So, warriors, go out there and make me proud! The next time you leave your house make sure you run through this checklist.

Last Man Standing

Have you ever felt alone and scared? Maybe even helpless? Are you questioning everything you do? It’s a shitty feeling, and one I believe many 20-something singles go through. In fact, I think a lot of my buddies are feeling that way right now. They're thinking, “I’m I running out of time” or “ If I don’t get a girlfriend now I’m going to be stuck with whatever’s left!”

Living in New York City can be great. Fuck, at times it’s amazing! But it can also be a very lonely place, especially if your friends are all getting ‘wifed’-up. I’m 25 and by no means — and I stress the word no — do I worry about running out of time. I believe strongly in letting life take its course. I also I have plenty of things I want to do before I settle down. (And I want to do them alone, so save the you-can-do-everything-you-want-with-your-partner crap, because that’s a bunch of boloney.) But lately, I feel like everybody I know is so fucking incredibly worried about finding a significant other that they forget to live! What the fuck?

A few of my buddies are stuck in incredibly shitty relationships because they are just comfortable. I mean, it’s getting hard for me to find someone to grab a drink with after work on a Wednesday because my buddies are being dragged all over SoHo shopping for dog purses or some such shit. And the worst part is, they don't even have dogs!

I could see them settling down if they're happy, but they're not! I know that, and they know that.

The truth will prevail; it always does. Shitty relationships always come to an end. Their worlds will come crashing in on them, and that'll suck. But, hey, what am I supposed to do in the meantime? As the last man standing am I supposed to start looking for a girlfriend, just because?

Fuck no! I'm not going to let other people's actions back me into a corner. I'm going to stay single, even if that means finding new hobbies or trying new things. That’s why last night, while out with one of my remaining soldiers, a girl asked me to go to a sex/role-play party with her, and I accepted. At first, I wasn't sure; I questioned it. But then I thought, why not? I might be, like, the next Leonardo DiCaprio of the role-playing world — just straight up crushing doctor and teacher scenes!

So now I can't wait. And you better believe I’ll be packin' Blue Steele with me. Isn't it an unwritten rule that it’s OK to bring Viagra to a sex/role-play party? I mean, would Hacksaw Jim Duggan go into a wrestling match without a 2x4?

I don’think so!

So I leave you with these parting words: Your buddies are going to get girlfriends; it's a part of life. But that does not mean that you have to run to the attic and grab your fishing pole. There are plenty of fish out there, and life will do its thing. But if your ass gets invited to a sex party, you say, "Yes!"... and speak no further!

One For The Spank Bank

I'd like to think that I’m pretty friendly with everyone in my building. I hold the door, help carry groceries, and even pet my neighbors' dogs. However, lately I’m starting to think that my friendliness is giving off the wrong vibe to at least one person in the building — a woman named Susie.

Last Sunday morning, while heading to my apartment after a Halloween party the night before, she put me in an incredibly weird and awkward situation. I got into the elevator as usual, and out of the corner of my eye saw Susie making her way toward the car. Being nice, I stuck my walking stick — a prop from my boy scout costume — between the doors and held the elevator for her. She thanked me, and that's when the weirdness began.

Susie is extremely nice and funny, but she is also extremely old. Now, you know I love women in all age groups, but I do have a cut off. And over the age of 58 is where I draw the line! But Susie is apparently blind to boundaries; she felt it necessary to let me know that she has a thing for a man in a uniform. Being that I thought I looked more like a pedophile than a boy-toy for a grandma, I found it hard to think of my outfit as sexy. But in an effort to be nice to my elder, I smiled and played along.

Knowing that I'd just moved into the building, Susie asked, "How do you like living here?"

"I love it," I answered. "My apartment is coming along great."

She nodded, and then asked. "What does your apartment look like? Can I see it?"

Now, if any other woman asked me those questions at any other time, I'd have thrown on the full court press, and it would have gone down as soon as we got off the elevator. But this wasn't any woman; it was Susie. And even though she was probably hot twenty-five years ago, I wasn't going there. So I lied. “I need to make a few more adjustments," I said.

But Susie had her own ideas about what needed adjusting, and before I knew it ... BAM! I felt like my balls were playing Mercy with Patrick Ewing. Yep, you guessed it — she reached out and wrapped her old, wrinkly hand around my goods.

I’m a freak, so I would be lying if I told you I didn’t like it a little bit. It felt good, but we were approaching my floor and it was time to make a move. So I gently grabbed her waist and let her know I was flattered by her gesture, but just couldn’t proceed any further.

Maybe you think I should have taken her wrinkly ass back to her apartment to see if she still had any butterscotch left in her tank, but I'd already gotten what I needed — some good ol’ material for the spank bank. Call me crazy, but at some point when I’m home alone, I'll refer to that elevator ride and use that material in a nice imagination-station session.

So, Susie, if you reading this, I love ya girl, but it was just the wrong time and place. Come back at me after a few cocktails and we might have a different ending.

See more funny videos and funny pictures at CollegeHumor.

A Tickle From Grandpa: A Thanksgiving Story

Last night was Thanksgiving eve, and depending on where you grew up, that could mean one of two things: A) You were lucky enough (or, perhaps, unlucky enough) to reunite with the girl who took your virginity; or B) You were sitting in a local bar, looking around at all the mutants you grew up with, saying, “Damn, I had fun in fucking high school!" Either way, you have a lot to be thankful for. And, so do I. And that's something I realized on Thanksgiving morning.
[Cue heartwarming-story music]
It all started with a tickle from grandpa ...
I'd fallen asleep naked on my mother's couch, just like I usually do when I go home for a visit. Normally, I wake up early enough to get myself together before guests arrive, but this Thanksgiving I awoke to my grandparents standing over me with a nice box of pastries, and my mother standing beside them in pure disgust.
Knowing the shit-show that I am, they weren’t surprised to find me naked and snuggling an empty box of one-year-old Girl Scout cookies. So I smiled, said I was sorry, and they were quick to forgive. My grandfather even gave me a tickle. And that, my friends, was when I realized I have the best fucking family in the world.
It was also when I realized that it's time for my mother to get her act together and buy some better fucking munchies! I mean, who the hell keeps twelve-month-old thin mints? Or, an even better question is this: How the fuck do thin mints go uneaten for a year?  But all that aside, I flat-out love my mother! She’s one of a kind, and I wish I could spend more time with her.
My life has taken me in a direction that's pulled me away from home. Sure, I make a valiant effort to visit often, and I always keep in touch. But nothing — nothing — can replace a good ol’ fashion Thanksgiving homecoming. Football, stuffing, hand-jobs in the parking lots of  your favorite bars — whatever it is that makes you remember how much you love where you grew up — those memories are always a little warmer during the holiday season.
You know what I'm sayin'? No matter what life throws your way, you always have a home base and a home team. My team spent Thanksgiving drinking Grand Marnier and making the girls on Soul Train look like ballerinas.  Hell, my grandma was grinding up on my grandpa at one o'clock in the afternoon! She’s so goddamn cute (and she smelled like an angel)! Yours might have sung Christmas carols or watched the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. But no matter what your team did, the fact is, they were there for you, and you need to thank them for that.
Christmas is only a few weeks away, so you'll soon get another chance to love on the people you don't get to see that often. So don't blow it! Remember to grind up on your grandma, and don’t forget to sneak way from the Christmas table to smoke a joint before you feast. You'll need to justify eating nine Pillsbury Doughboy biscuits!

Booty Call: Feelings Not Included

Last Tuesday, after a long, strenuous trip down to Atlantic City, I was curled up in bed, relaxing in front of the tube, when my cell buzzed. It was 12:35 a.m.  I grabbed my phone off my night stand and took a glance. I was pleasantly surprised to see a text from a lady friend of mine whom I had not had sex with yet. It read: "Are you still up?”

I knew immediately what she wanted.

Considering that a busy day of work was only six hours away, I quickly had to decide if I should  a) drop the hammer on this girl and stay up dealing with the aftermath: walking her to a cab, maybe getting stuck watching TV, and getting to sleep at around 4-ish; or b) not reply, and save that get-out-of-jail card for another evening.

I’m guessing you've already figured out that I chose the first option. I texted back, “Why, yes I am : ) ..."

Now, I know some of you might be thinking that adding a smiley face to my reply was a little cheesy, and maybe you're right, but only partially. I believe that subtle acts of cheesiness force a girl to think, “Aw, what a nice guy!”  So, go ahead and laugh if you think I'm wrong or if you think I’m making too much of a smiley face. But I put the damn smiley face in the text and it’s too late to go back and take it out!

“I’m a couple blocks from your apartment," she quickly replied. But — get this — I soon found out that was a lie, because before I could even attempt to throw on my silk robe and slippers, she was downstairs on the buzzer.

I let her in, and before I could say hello, her clothes were on the floor and we were under my sheets. I did my usual foreplay: I started with her neck, ran my hand along her inner thigh, and then I spent a good 3-5 minutes with my tongue in her ear. (If executed correctly, the tongue-in-the-ear trick is a one-way ticket to the promised land. If executed incorrectly, you could come off as a golden retriever searching for leftovers.) Considering I wrote the book on the tongue-in-the-ear trick, her panties were dangling from my lamp in no time.

The sex? Unbelievable! Seriously, I went from dozing off in my bed, to a full-blown work-out session.  We must have accomplished 4-5 different positions. Plus, she slapped me twice and I had sex with her feet.  I know, I know — shit got straight-up freaky. But, all that aside, she ended up being quite the booty call — she was good, didn’t over-do her stay, and was out of the apartment within the hour.

That was last week, and since then we've dropped occasional pointless texts like “How’s your day?” and “Some weather today, huh?”  Then, this morning I received a text from her that I wasn’t prepared for: “Really? Like, really? You’re just going to let me come over, have sex, and then not call?”

Now, before I tell you what I wrote back, I have to say that this, my friends, is where I think I’m right and anyone who hits people up for booty calls and expects more than just sex is WRONG. I am hereby officially declaring it an unofficial rule that when a girl decides to text or call me after 12:00 a.m., with the sole purpose of getting laid, she does not have the right to demand feelings in addition to sex. And she certainly doesn't have the right to pretend that I used her.

I mean, c'mon! She used me! She knows damn well it was a booty call. This I know because when I offered her cab money at the end of the night, the exchange that followed was brutally weird — almost like as if I had just paid for a hooker.

So, when I got her text today, I was taken aback. But only momentarily.

I knew that getting mad wouldn't benefit either one of us, so I humored her. “Really? Like, really?" I texted back. "You’re just going to come over, fuck me, and not even stay to cook me breakfast in the morning?"

Oh, and I added the damn smiley face again, too. I suspect it'll work like a charm.

Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Ride

This month has been quite the adventure for me; I humped more than the Easter Bunny, traveled the country like a gypsy and drank more than David Hasselhoff (if that’s even possible). In doing all that, I discovered quite a bit about myself. Namely, that Blue Steele isn't in danger of slowing down anytime soon. But it was this past weekend when I realized something even more important — that I have an alter ego, a little devil on my shoulder of the pre-orgasm variety.

With Christmas festivities coming to an end, but the holiday cheer still lingering in the air, it was time for Blue Steele to stir up some controversy — in some lucky lady's pants, that is.  And that lady was sent to me in the form of a beautiful Southern belle.
It was Sunday night and the mood was right. I had on my new Christmas sweater  (a gift from Mother Steele) and a brand new pair of socks that I received as a stocking stuffer.  I don’t know about you, but when I put on new socks it’s straight up over with — like, my whole day just gets way more interesting.  I compare my excitement to what a stripper must feel like right before she puts on her heels: proud, confident and, last but not least, protected. New socks make me feel like a new man!
So I knew I was in for some trouble the moment I got dressed.  Florence, my new lady friend, had no idea what she was about to get into, however.  By the way, how mature of a name is Florence?  I mean her name made the hook-up way more interesting! If she had a name like Jamie, it just wouldn’t have ‘felt’ the same for me.
Florence was visiting her daughter at FIT (yes, assuming you can do math, you've figured out that Florence is over 40) and although she wasn't exactly aware of what her life lacked, I happened to be exactly what she needed to fill her, um, void — a younger, more energetic, and definitely better-equipped version of the husband she'd left behind in Tennessee.
(For the record, I found out she was married after we had sex. I never would have hooked up with her had I known of her husband. Oh, who I’m I kidding? I definitely would have still had sex with her; it just would have been different.)
Anyway, back to my point (yes, I do have one)...
While we were having sex, I can’t even begin to tell you all of the things that were running through my mind. I know what you’re thinking: "Why the heck were you thinking at all, Blue Steele? Always focus on the sex at hand!” But, the truth is, no matter who I'm having sex with, my mind tends to wander. Sometimes I think about having sex with other women and sometimes I think about some straight-up freaky things.  Like, while I was having sex with Florence, I was imagining doing some downright dirty stuff — things that if I wrote them down, you wouldn’t like Blue Steele anymore. But, and here's the clincher, the second I ejaculate those thoughts vanish. IMMEDIATELY.
So this is what got me to thinking that I have more in common with Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde than I ever before thought. By day, I'm just a regular guy who likes to 'play doctor' with the ladies, but the minute I start bringing the wood, Blue Steele turns into Mr. Ride.
Now, before you start applauding, you need to know that this bit of self-discovery doesn't rock. On the contrary, my freaky friends, it's a burden — a very heavy burden. As if saving the city from crime and virginity isn’t enough, from this day forward Blue Steele has yet another issue to deal with:  I now have to deal with fighting the pressures of my own guilty (and clearly over-sexed) conscience.
Wish me luck in the new year.

The Three Forms of "Eye Sex"

For all of you who don't know what 'eye-fucking' is, let me catch your ass up to speed.
You probably eye-fuck at least once each day and are not even aware of it! In fact, the majority of you are probably having tons of 'eye sex' with multiple partners and are not using protection. So in an effort to make you an eye-fucking expert like me, let’s begin by understanding the three types of eye sex and how to make it a whole lot safer for everyone.
1.) “Eye-Stalking”
Eye-stalking is an art, and it occurs when either a male or female has eye sex with a person who is unaware of what's happening. (Usually, it's the female who's unaware.)  I compare it to the subtle acts of a female cheetah before she attacks her prey. Eye-stalking takes incredible skill and should be accomplished secretly.

Example: Let’s say I have an attractive secretary and one day as she bent down to file some papers in the file cabinet (yes, Sexification is still using cabinets to file its shit), I checked her out from behind. That is called eye-stalking. I was having eye sex with her, and it was good as shit! BUT, she wasn't even aware of it. Eye-stalking all the way!

2.) “Eye Violating”
Eye-violating is a little different from eye-stalking. It's a deep, almost scary, look from a person trying to undress you with his eyes. I might be going to go out on a limb here, but I believe that men do most of the eye-violating in the world.

Example: Ladies, you have all been there. Whether it was on a train, while walking in the park, or while shopping at a store, you've been on the receiving end of an eye-violation. Now, if you enjoy the look, that’s fine; but if a guy continues to 'undress you' after you've made it clear that you don't find him attractive, he is officially guilty of eye-violating. Do not take that shit; give him a slap.

3.) “Eye Fucking”
Finally, eye-fucking is the type of eye sex in which both parties participate, and everyone feels satisfied after. Eye sex takes place every day, goes unmentioned and, unfortunately, is almost never further acted upon. And that’s the point! Eye-fucking is when two people find each other so attractive that they can’t stop undressing each other with their eyes, no matter how hard they try. This is a good thing! Eye-fucking increases self confidence, motivates and, quite frankly, just makes a person feel good.

Example: This morning while on the treadmill at the gym, I and a very attractive lady on the elliptical couldn't stop staring at each another. In fact, while doing my daily morning run, I tried 5 times to stop glancing at her. I just couldn’t stop; I couldn’t help myself. Every time I looked over at her — BAM — there she was, looking back with a smile. What ensued was eye-fucking! I mean, we must have done the deed like 6 or 7 times in the 30 minutes I was running. Now that, my friends, is what I call a good eye-fuck.  I definitely know it was not eye-violating, because afterwards she approached me.

Now that you're all caught up with the three forms of eye sex, there is only one thing left to do. Get out there and eye-fuck like wild animals!

The Over-Sensitive Male, Otherwise Known as the 'Little Bitch' Problem

We all know at least one! He gets mad when you don’t return a phone call, upset when you want to hang out with your friends instead of him, or even worse gets in that  ‘mood’when things just don’t swing his way. Yup – the over-sensitive male has been around for years and he's causing more self-harm than the Eagles when they traded Donovan McNabb to the Redskins. (Really Philadelphia?  The Redskins?)
Growing up in a house full of women I learned one extremely important thing early in life. Women hate guys that are melodramatic. There is a time and place to dramatize a situation. You walk in on your girlfriend sleeping with your father – time to get excited! Your partner desires to meet up two hours later than planned – pop a Xanax and chill. Guys, I’m not writing this piece with hopes of changing your lives by giving you the ol’ “ life’s to short to sweat the little things” pep talk. But it is the time in the blog where I’m telling all the sensitive bitches reading this to SNAP OUT OF IT!
It’s simple. Women love a funny, caring and most importantly CONFIDENT man. Confidence is sexy! True confidence is trusting yourself no matter the circumstance. Comfort within your own skin will literally ooze out of your body, and it's contagious;  when you're relaxed,  you'll find the people around you can relax and be themselves as well. If your woman wanted an over-dramatic, over-sensitive mate, she would simply date women – in which case I advise you to try and lock up a threesome with a lady of her choosing before she figures all this out. This way before she signs up for a recreational softball league or chops off half her hair you could at least reap the benefits of her confusion (to all my lesbians out there you know I still got love for ya). So today my friends, I am reaching out to help. Blue Steele is here to save the day once again! To do so I will start by giving you my top 8 ways to figure out if you are dating – or if you are – a sensitive bitch! Enjoy!
1.) You beat him in a game of bowling and he wouldn’t speak to you for the rest of the day.
2.) After watching The Notebook for the first time he refused to leave the house, saying he's "just not in the mood."
3.) He gets mad because you don’t feel the need to hold hands every single time you walk down the street together.
4.) He follows up an altercation with “Are you OK baby?” and “Are you sure everything is OK hon” for the next several hours – or days – even after everything has been resolved.
5.) You tell him he should probably change what he’s wearing, setting off a 45 min fashion show of revolving outfits . . . "Is this better?”
6.) You ask him if he’s gained a few pounds and he runs to the scale upset.
7.) After you miss one of his phone calls he texts/calls for the next several hours, leaving voicemail after voicemail until he determines your whereabouts.
8.) And last but not least: Sometimes he reminds you of Alex McCord's husband Simon van Kempen!  (yes, when I get stoned I watch Bravo! . . . Does that make me a sensitive bitch?)
Now ladies I’m sure I missed quite a few!  Don’t be shy, comment below:)

Sober Sex? What's That?

The other morning, a girlfriend of mine asked me a question while we were lying in my bed together: "When was the last time you had sex sober?"
To be honest, it took me a while to answer; I had to seriously think about it because I don't often have sober sex. But I eventually said, "Six weeks ago."
So, why was I sober? That's easy to remember ...
The sun had set, the air was moist and I was ready to cause trouble. I'd just finished work when I received a call from a girlfriend of mine who said she was at a bar only a few blocks from my apartment. "Come join me," she said.
When I arrived at the bar a little while later, I was surprised to discover that she wasn't alone. A petite, healthy-breasted and even healthier-assed girl sat across from her.
I walked over, said hello, and ordered a beer.
Immediately after the introductions, the spotlight of interrogation was on me. They asked me all types of questions — shit my ass wasn't prepared for! And before I knew it, before I even put a dent in my beer, the conversation got sexual.
"Have you ever been with two girls?" one of them asked.
"What did you do?" asked the other.
Typical Tuesday night small talk? Bullshit! I was stone sober and probably red as shit by that point. I felt totally put on the spot, especially when I realized what was coming next: "So, how'd you like to take us both home?" my friend asked.
Being that I put on a show that Ron Jeremy would have been proud of with my lady friend a few weeks prior, I was able to put two and two together. I figured that she told her girlfriend about her adventure with me and now the friend wanted some of the goods!
Since the only thing on my schedule that night was finding a joint and watching some late night "Family Guy," I had no reason to say no. "Why the fuck not?" I said as I pounded what was left in my mug. "Let’s go.”  And they got right the fuck up and followed me home.
I only live a few blocks from this bar but the walk to my apartment felt like it took forever. I mean, being sober and having the time to think about a pending threesome is not a good thing.  But, fuck, at this point there was no stopping me.
Once we got to the apartment, I headed straight for the liquor cabinet, since I insisted that no one stop for booze on our way over. And I quickly discovered it was empty.
FUCK!
Not only had my roommate and his friends finished the last of weed the night before, but they also drank everything in the house. So, there we were, the three of us, on my couch, bone sober, weed-less, and with one common denominator: We were all horny as shit!
I had no choice but to just dive in. So I started with kiss on a neck here, a soft touch of a back there; you know, the usually foreplay. And things quickly started to heat up after that! But then, outta nowhere, the new girl threw me a wicked curve ball and got major-league weird! I mean, I caught some seriously deep eye contact with her when we were going at it, and that shit was just ... painful!
Now, if you haven’t had a threesome before, you need to believe me when I tell you that it's some pretty intense shit.  And for that reason there should be a rule that booze or weed is a necessity when playing in what could be the Bermuda Triangle of sex. All it takes is one wrong move during foreplay and you could end up disappearing!
Anyway, we kept going. Within a few minutes I’d stripped down to my birthday suit and the two girls were in booty shorts and some other sexy crap, and  ...
Wait.  Hold on. Sorry for the interruption, but I just have to say that, in my eyes, booty shorts are way sexier then the thong. The thong has met its day, ladies.  I’m sure it will come back, but for right now booty shorts are the way to go.
Back to the mission...
Right when I'm about to go in for the kill, so to speak, the new girl stops me and says, “I just want to watch.” At first I was, like, “WHOA! WHAT?”  But than I thought, “Your loss, baby!”  So I started laying the pipe to my friend instead, while her friend watched ... for free! I will say this much, though — she was quite encouraging for the remainder of the night. She threw in the occasional, “Yeah, how’s that shit feel,” and, my favorite of the night, “Oh, no she didn’t” (to which I quickly responded, “Oh, yes she did!”)
At the end of the night, I walked the ladies out, and then took a shower. While I was dumping all types of crazy shit on my body to wash away the aftermath of hot, dirty sex I couldn't help but think, sober sex is just weird!
Don't agree? Feel free to argue with me by commenting below, but I think that most single guys and girls my age don't have much sober sex. The only people having sex sober on a regular basis are people with significant others.
Long live drunken sex!

Goin' Out On Top

Three weeks ago, after what had been an extremely long day of work, I stopped in at a bar across the street from my house. I figured that a cold Bud heavy and some pointless chit chat with the bartender would help ease the pain. Doesn't it always?

As soon as I walked in, I spotted one of my favorite strippers from a club around the block. She saw me from across the bar and headed toward me with a friend. The three of us got a table.
She was drinking wine, and her girlfriend, who was crazy as shit, hosed back a huge Red Bull and vodka. Now, I'm not sure why, but her drinking that Red Bull and vodka just pissed me off. I mean, don’t get me wrong, there have been plenty of nights when I've taken back a few RBVs. But would I close out a long, shitty Monday with one? Never. No way. So that shit just didn’t seem fitting.
Anyway, after two rounds of drinks, our conversation was interrupted by my phone buzzing. I looked down and saw a text from my stripper friend. It read, “Let me play with u2nite."
On the left is Exhibit A: Our chain of texts. (I had to include the text before and after, right? I mean, why not?) I’ll save you the details of the sex, and just tell you that a few days went by and I found out she'd told her girlfriends at the strip club that we had sex.
Considering that she said I was "amazing," I should be extremely excited about her kissing and telling, but, the truth is, I currently I have mixed feelings. If I'd had sex with any other girl, I would have been all over her compliment and even excited that a girl had spread the good word for me, but now I’m feeling a little bit of pressure.

I know I know, you can call me a pussy if you want, but a text like that carries a lot of weight! I now have to make sure my next sexual encounter with anyone from that place is fucking incredible. If it’s not, you can sure as hell believe It will be awkward as shit for me every time I go in there, because it's one thing for everyone to know I had sex with a girl who works there, but its an entirely different story if they find out that the sex was shitty — which, of course, it wasn't. But, like my grandma always says, "Anything can happen on any given Sunday."

I'm sure you can all remember a sexual encounter or two when you would have just been better off if you hadn't sneaked back for seconds. I can recall quite a few! I mean, I once had a threesome with these two incredibly hot women I worked with.  Everything was perfect — almost too good to be true. Then, like three days later, they wanted to do it again.  And even though it was good the second time, it just wasn't as good as the first.  Needless to say, we dont have threesomes anymore!
Besides, sometimes it's just better to go out while you’re on top — to have amazing sex just once.
However, if you feel the pressure to go back for seconds, you'd better be ready for what you're getting your self into. Because if the sex was that amazing the first time, you have a big void to fill the second (pun absolutely intended).

"Stroke" Of Luck

Life works in mysterious ways: Sometimes things roll your way; sometimes they take a swing for the worst. In my life, perhaps as in yours, the good and the bad take place in spurts, and currently I'm in a spurt that looks like it won't slow down any time soon.

Recently, my travels brought me to beautiful Los Angeles.  While I was there, you can sure has hell believe your boy Blue Steele was in full throttle.

However, I arrived there after a very bad few days. I started off the week 0-9 betting sports games, woke up naked on my mother's couch to my grandma and grandpa on Thanksgiving morning, and I even missed my flight out to Cali. You name it, it went wrong. Shit was flat-out not going my way!

But the second I touched down in L.A. is when the spurts-of-life gods decided that they had shit on me enough, and it was time for a change.  And they have been quite generous if I don’t say so myself. I won all of my money back on one bet (the Colts game; definitely shouldn’t have won that shit), and that was just the beginning.

The evening before my last night in town, my buddy's girlfriend came out with us. I used her as my Friend Zone weapon — as a way to score more ass — and boy-o-boy was she deadly! We had a blast. She got us into clubs, had me scooping up "Deal Or No Deal" models, and she even knew someone who delivered In-N-Out burgers to us after hours at the crib.

The following night, after a very adventurous few days of drinking and soaking up the sun, was unfortunately my last in L.A. And I was ready to go at it. Hard. My buddy’s new girl decided that I was a good guy and that she had a good girl she wanted me to meet. So, considering I was on a laycation and only in town for about fifteen more hours, I figured,Why the hell not?

The plan was for the girls to meet me and my buddy at the bar across from his house, a local joint called Maive, and then go out. Now, I’m definitely not the type of guy who’s shy or afraid to approach a girl, but being set up on a blind date is a little exciting and a little nerve racking.  I mean, I don't give a shit who you are, you have no control over what might walk through that door; you’re literally helpless. Plus, if you're a decent guy, no matter what you see coming toward you, I believe you’re obligated to at least try and get through the evening.

So, my friend and I were at the bar throwing back Jameson on the rocks like M&Ms when I looked over the rim of my glass and received the surprise of a lifetime: A tanned princess heading straight for me.  Straight up, this girl was perfect — 5’7", with the skin of a model, long brown hair, a beautiful smile and eyes that would make Angelina Jolie jealous.

I pull my share of attractive women, but this one was out of my league! I know what you’re thinking: "Blue Steele, man the fuck up! No one's ever out of your league!” But, seriously, she was the type of chick that could stop traffic during rush hour in midtown.

We all sat down, ordered a round and got to talking. Within two minutes, I realized that Blue Steele might have just met his kryptonite! She told me that she's 29 (yeah, I like 'em a little older), a psychiatrist for children in need, and lives on a beach. Not only that, she also laughed at everything I said. I can't even say for sure if I was funny, but judging by her reactions I felt like Kat Williams (before he started hitting the pipe and robbing homes, that is). We had a great night — talked for hours, and before I knew it we had closed the bar.

So, what happened next?

Well, we decided a late night joint and a few more laughs couldn’t hurt. So, we skipped across the street, sparked up a J and enjoyed the cool breeze on my boy’s porch. And that's when the evening really got interesting!

My boy and his girl sneaked off to his room, leaving me and my newfound love sitting on the couch. We talked for a bit and then I went into the bathroom to freshen up. I was hoping to come back to one hell of a fuck-fest or, at the very least, a good ol’ fashion make-out session. But I got neither! I returned to find my princess passed out on the couch in a weed-induced coma.

Being the respectable guy that I am, I laid down next to her and masturbated. Just Kidding! I covered her with a blanket and put a pillow under her head. Then I got on the floor, put my rolled-up sweatshirt under my head, pulled a nice hand towel over my body and tried to fall asleep.

If you're thinking that my spurt of luck was over, think again!

My girl woke up in the middle of the night, saw me freezing my ass off, leaned over me and whispered, “Wanna join me on the couch?”

Before I could answer her, my cock spoke up: Yes I, um, would wood!

I was wearing what had to be the smallest mesh shorts ever made, so I couldn't exactly hide my enthusiasm. But, as it turned out, I didn't have to. Within 10 minutes of asking the question, she gave me the best sorry-for-passing-out-on-you-sex that my ass (or yours) could ever imagine.

(I don’t know about you, but I think that fucking on a couch is way more fun then fucking in a bed.  Sitting up and getting ridden like a bull is just straight-up entertaining and it allows for deeper penetration and better grinding ability. It's just physics! But before this turns into a porn article, let me get back to the topic at hand.)

That fuck-fest took place right before I had to depart for the airport. So we exchanged contact info, and then, just as I was about to leave, my dumb-ass buddy lost his car keys. I thought for sure that meant I would miss my flight. We ransacked his apartment like kids looking for hidden gifts the week before Christmas. Eventually, we found his keys, and rushed to the airport where, being that I’m currently in the good-luck spurt of a lifetime, I discovered that my plane was delayed and I still had 30 minutes left until boarding!

So, I sat, closed my eyes, and tried to recoup from what had been one hell of a trip. About five minutes later, I woke up to find an extremely attractive girl sitting right next to me.

Another one? I thought. Like, seriously?

We said hello to one another, and then were immediately called to board. "If you are in rows 1-14, please board from the front," we heard. "If you're seated in rows 15-25, you may board from the rear of the plane.”

Being that my ticket read 'Row 14' and I always do things ass-backward, I decided I would board from the rear. So, we smiled, say good-bye and got in different lines.

Well, whom the hell do you think I walked directly into when I reached the 14th row?  My new friend! We laughed and started talking. She told me that her plan was to stay with friends that live 15 blocks from my house. Seriously. I couldn't make this shit up if I tried. Anyway, we talked for the first two hours of the flight, and then she fell asleep until we landed.

Considering that I looked like an absolute shit-show and wanted to go straight home, I smiled, told her it was great to meet her, and got off the plane. Well, before I could make it 5 feet out the gate, she grabbed my shoulder and said, “Hey, aren't you going to ask for my number?”

At that point, I was debating asking her to go to the bathroom for a quick fuck. I mean, I was on a roll, right? But instead we exchanged numbers and promised to call one another.

On the ride home from the airport, I thought about everything that had happened and realized that no matter how shitty things get, bad luck never lasts. The spurts-of-life gods will eventually bless me and say, “Fuck it! Let's let this kid have some luck for awhile.”

So, the next time things aren't going your way, don't worry — you might be only a few good drinks away from a what could be an adventurous spurt of luck! And, before I forget, you better believe that if I hook-up with that cutie I met on the plane, I'll sure as hell tell you all about it!

Next Stop: The Friend Zone

I'm writing today in an effort to help bring awareness to all of the men who have fallen into — or who are about to fall into — the ‘Friend Zone.’

The Friend Zone is an extremely dangerous place. It's straight up scary, dark, cold and completely confusing. Scientists are still trying to figure out why the human male continues to go back there even when he knows what awaits him. And yours truly, Mr. Blue Steele, is currently smack in the middle of a situation that could turn ugly as shit if I don't get a grasp on it. That's why I have come up with a plan!

Recently a new girl has appeared in my life, and, to be honest, I get along with her very well. She’s also not bad on the eyes. OK, that’s an understatement; she’s fucking gorgeous! Hot! Bring-her-out-to-get-your-ex-jealous hot. But we get along so well that it’s been extremely hard for me to try to break out of the Friend Zone and get after it.

Being that I haven't been into looking for a girlfriend lately, this is a very weird place for me to be. I mean, we hung out the other night, smoked a joint, watched TV and fell asleep ... on different couches. The worst part is, I didn’t even attempt a hand rub or even, like, a brush against her leg.

I know what you’re thinking: Blue Steele's a pussy!

Think what you want, but I enjoyed it. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t have pushed her away if she jumped across the couch and tackled me Ray Lewis style, but it was nice to pass the joint to a hot girl for a change, rather than my lazy-ass, hairy roommate.

So, am I really a pussy? Do I always need to make a move? What's wrong with just taking one for the team and using a new friendship to maybe score more ass?

One thing this experience has taught me is that the Friend Zone is nowhere near as scary a place as I thought it would be. When I go out with my new best friend, other girls are incredibly fucking intrigued by us. It's as if they're saying to themselves, “Either this kid has some crazy ginormous cock, or he is just a shit ton of fun!" Either way, they think I'm packing heat, and by heat I don't mean a gun! So why screw it up? I think when a guy meets a hot girl who wants nothing more than friendship, he should take her for what she is — great company and a dangerous fucking weapon.

So, fellas, the next time you fall into that zone, wait a second before you piss your panties. Think about the good that can come from the situation Sit down, grab a notepad and strategize. Hot girls are hard to find! So, when you get yourself one, don't blow it. Be prepared for anything!

The Birth Of Blue Steele

Last weekend, a reader asked me, “Why is your pen name Blue Steele?”  Fair enough question. So I figured I should share the answer with all of you, rather than just reply to his email.

I remember the day like it was yesterday. What started out like any other Friday morning, ended up being much more, and will forever hold a spot in my heart.

I had people over my house after an exciting Thursday night out, and awoke to what looked like a scene from Saw II. The light was tinkering, bodies lay far and wide, and I heard a slow drip coming from the sink in the bathroom. Considering I couldn't be late for work, I had to wake everyone up and straighten up the house. While I was cleaning the prior night's mess, I found someone’s Viagra on the living room floor. And that, my friends, is when it all started.

Being the curious George that I am, you can bet your ass that I was going to take it.  But when?

I knew there was no need to waste that beautiful blue diamond on someone I already hooked up with. I also knew that I couldn't waste it on a jerk-off session. The timing had to 'feel’ right.  So I put her in my drawer and hoped for the best.

I went out that night and was a little more aggressive than usual, knowing I had her waiting in my drawer. And the risk paid off! Before I knew it, I was back home with a nice little lady. She asked to use the bathroom, and that’s when I sneaked off and bit the shit out of the Viagra.

Now, I know a lot of these pills are placebos that just fuck with the head and have little effect on the penis. But not Viagra!  Before I got back into the living room I felt the difference. The second we started hooking up, it was on!  Literally, I felt like I was 11 years old and sneaking off with my mother’s Fredrick's Of Hollywood catalogue all over again.

Now before I proceed, let me get this out of the way: I have no problem getting it up. But throw a couple of drinks in me, fast forward the clock to 4:00 am, and hurl a tight condom on my dick, and I usually have the same issue every other male does — I’m hard, but not as hard as I was when I was 11. But not that night! That chick could have hung dry meats from my shit and it wouldn’t have bent an inch.

And the sex? It was insanely unbelievable.  Sweaty, freaky, dirty, rough — you name it, we did it.

Being that I’m 20-something bachelor, the majority of my sexual experiences are one and ... done, no matter how good a woman is in bed. Fuck. Who am I kidding? I'm one and done 99.9% of the time. That’s why I think it’s important to make a good first and last impression in the bedroom.

To quote a good friend of mine “I’ve probably had sex with about 50 girls, but only had sex, like, 55 times.”  If you can relate to what my friend said, or just find this quote as funny as I do, you might want to pop a Viagra once and awhile.  Not only do the little blue pills make for an amazing sexual experience, but they're also great first/last impression pills.  Why not make first-time sex memorable? Make a statement! Besides, women talk, and if you leave a good taste in their vagina, there's a possibility they'll spread the word for you.

So, now that you know how I got my name, do me a favor and spread the good word! I have a feeling Viagra is going to read this post and use Blue Steele to help spread the knowledge to young adults all over the country.

Help me, help you!

Don’t Leave Home Without ...

This evening I had the unfortunate pleasure of watching the New York Yankees get destroyed by the visiting Seattle mariners. To unwind, I went out with my boys in the Lower East. Nothing crazy, just a Wednesday Tuesday night out. However, the nights that I don't expect much to happen are usually the nights that turn into the biggest shit-shows.

Today's lesson is quick and easy, keep yourself groomed to impress at all times! Why you ask? Simple, you never know when a nice piece of ass is going to fall right into your lap, and if you're anything like me, 9 out of 10 times you don't know that you're having sex until about 45 min beforehand.  And you can sure as hell believe that's what happened last night.

The night was dwindling to an end, a cool breeze cleared the streets, but my posse and I were still up to no good. We were looking for trouble, and we found it in the form of  three Australian cuties visiting New York for the week. Considering the night was ending there were two options: eat pizza or smoke weed and then eat pizza. The choice was simple. But after sparking that joint, the last thing on my mind was food. Literally, it was the last thing. What was the first thing on my mind, you ask? Booty! I don’t know about you, but when I smoke, I become the horniest person alive. I mean, no joke I can spend about 20 minutes licking your earlobe without even knowing it.

Anyway, I snuck one of them away from her crew and pulled the ol' 'let me show you my room' trick. And it worked. But I gotta tell you, that was the second time in two weeks a girl I brought home gave me the “I’m not prepared down there” speech. And, for the record, both times there was nothing wrong  at all. Seriously,  a little peach fuzz doesn't even cause me to blink!

But I know where she was coming from. I mean, the little things in life are what make us feel sexy, right?

That’s why, as hung over as I was today, I still got up and Nair'd my ass. Look, it's a Tuesday night, and I'll probably go out for a couple of drinks after work. And I know that when I have a smooth asshole I feel sexy.

Don't you?

So quick reminder, don't get caught unprepared. Get on a schedule that, no matter what, you don’t break, because life has a way of throwing unexpected obstacles at you and you never know when you or some Aussie you meet will want to take a trip "down under."