Felicity Keith, the author of The Language of Desire, talks on the LOD ebook, the manual for the erotic minds of men.
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Felicity Keith – Author, Language of Desire
Hi, I am Felicity Keith. And right here right now I am going to teach you a naughty erotic secret about men. Even the nicest, shyest most innocent woman can use, to get a man more turned on and desperate for you than he’s ever been in his entire life. Once you learn the naughty erotic secret like thousands of ecstatic women have you will see a sudden fire of lust in his eyes even if he barely looks at you now. He will shiver with need for you and only you, distracted and sweaty, unable to think of anyone or anything but your lips, your body, your skin.
And as you turn up the heat, you will feel the magic happen, as he worships you as his own personal erotic goddess and can’t even look at or think about other girls. So you become the star of his every private fantasy.
And so finally, even though this might sound unbelievable, it becomes too much and he just can’t resist anymore. He grabs you in his strong arms, he rips the buttons off your blouse with his teeth, loses all control, ravishes you like you’re in a romance novel and whispers how amazing you are as you make intense, astonishing, joyful love, eyes and heart open, connected. Feeling every in your body tingle. And smiling because you know every dirty glorious thought in his mind for the first time ever is focused entirely on you.
I know this sounds fantastic and hot and a little unbelievable right now. But I promise woman to woman even if you are shy or if you are a good girl who feels this silent need to be just a little naughty, you are going to learn right now why the mind is the only erogenous zone on a man that matters, and how to make your man or any man desperate to be yours and only yours as long as you want him.
Who the heck am I to make such an amazing promise? Like I said, my name is Felicity Keith and no, I’m not a stripper or a Sexpert or a nymphomaniac or anything like that. If you saw me at the supermarket you’d just see a regular forty-ish, slightly-overweight single mom. But that’s not what my boyfriend, Kevin, sees at all.
When he looks at me, he sees his lover he could never live without. Even though just 18 months ago, I thought we were doomed. That I was going to be heartbroken and alone again.
A Personal Story
Warning: I am about to tell you is a very personal story that might trigger some very intense emotions in you, and I am only sharing it with you because I think you will feel a pang of terrible recognition at what happened to me. And I just think the lesson of what happened could transform your life and your relationships with men forever. But only if you listen closely right now before it’s too late.
“Talk dirty to me,” he said on our one-year anniversary. We were in bed making love. I felt a rush of panic in my chest.
Fear. “Tell me how you feel”, he grunted again, and I felt my mouth go dry. My heart racing as I panicked and my mind went totally blank.
What did he want me to say? What did he want me to do?
And finally, awkwardly I opened my mouth and whispered, “Your penis feels really good.” Silence. Like a tumbleweed rolling across the street in the Old West. He didn’t ask again. He closed his eyes like he was concentrating and I wondered what he was thinking of. I wondered where he went. But the worst part happened later that night.
It was a little after two in the morning when I woke up and found the bed empty. I pulled on my robe and padded out to the living room, thinking he’d gone to get a drink of water or something. And then I heard a sound that sent a chill through my whole body — a female voice, moaning. My palms sweaty, I crept around the corner and saw him. The man I loved, Kevin sitting at the computer naked, touching himself.
We just made love a few hours before but here he was masturbating and watching porn. I’ve always wondered why guys do that. Why would you need to watch porn when you’ve got a real woman right there?
On the screen was a girl, not even a very pretty girl, not much prettier than me, touching herself and moaning and saying the dirtiest, naughtiest things. Things a good girl like me would never think of. Things I thought I could never make myself say. Even though I felt devastated and betrayed, I just couldn’t look away and then I looked at Kevin’s face and saw a smile like I’d never seen before. In a year together, I’d never seen him look so happy and masculine and satisfied. I know I don’t have to tell you how worthless and ugly I felt, how I felt like I could never measure up to his fantasies. I never even really knew he had, and I thought of the times we tried to experiment and I’d wanted him to try new things and he just grumbled like a sad puppy.
I acted like I was asleep when he came back to bed. Like I’d been asleep the whole time, burying my face in the pillow so he wouldn’t see the tears.
He spooned me and I shuddered and I had to bite my tongue so I didn’t tighten up. And I lay there for hours thinking and making a decision. I thought of how I looked in the mirror. I’d never be a supermodel. I’d never be 22 again, thank God. I’d never be a porn star and never wanted to be.
And lying there, feeling his breath on my neck, I knew I could do one of three things. I could ignore that this ever happened, bury my head in the sand and pretend we were happy. I could confront him. I could get mad at him for looking at other girls and thinking about other girls. I could be furious and yell at him and forbid him from ever looking at porn again and end up pushing him farther away.
Or I could make the choice I did. I could learn the secret fantasies of my guy, of all guys. I could learn the sexual psychology of men — why men want what they want, instead of sticking my head in the sand like most women. And I could learn to play his secret desires like a violin and inspire him to give me everything I’d ever fantasized about.
I fired up my laptop the next day excited at what I was going to learn. But quickly I got frustrated and then disgusted. All over the internet all I found were books and articles and YouTube videos by sleazy pick-up artist type guys and 22-year-old bimbos telling me that I’d act like a slut or nymphomaniac teenager to make a man happy. And I knew that couldn’t be the truth.
I knew that getting what I wanted didn’t have to mean giving up who I was. So I went on a mission to find out the truth. The next few months were a thrill and rush of revelations. I made myself watch porn and instead of being disgusted and judgmental, I acted like a scientist. I asked myself why men seem to need this stuff so much. I studied with the most popular porn stars in the videos whispered in their husky voices and discovered the secret rocket fuel for the male ego.
Through a forum, I tracked down a retired phone sex expert who played fantasy girl for thousands of men. She taught me the power of the feminine voice, the exact tone that bores into a man’s mind and what men are really seeking emotionally when they think they’re seeking sex. I got my best guy friends fall over drunk until they finally broke the Bro Code and told me what they really wanted and what they really dreamed of.
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I booked time with a sex therapist all by myself and scribbled furious notes as she explained why men can become erotically impotent with women they love and how to keep it from ever happening to you.
I read books and websites and blogs and interviewed college professors about evolutionary psychology and why men are wired the way they are. I read smut written for men and studied exactly why some stories got five star ratings from guys while others I thought were really good were ignored.
And then with all this jumbling around in my brain, I started writing. I sat down at my laptop and boiled everything I’d learned and discovered into 33 powerful tricks and techniques that would wake up the animal in my man and fix his hunger right on me where it belongs. Thumbing through the finished file, I felt the heat through my whole body, my cheeks flushed with pride. I’d done it. I’d done what no woman had ever done before. I’d created an owner’s manual for a man’s most important erogenous zone: his mind, his imagination.
A few weeks later, Kevin and I were rolling around again, smiling, having fun. He didn’t even ask me to talk dirty this time. I guess he didn’t want to be disappointed again. He was on top of me, inside me, our faces just inches from each other. He closed his eyes and I knew he was miles and miles away, getting what he craved from his fantasies because he thought I couldn’t give it to him.
I took a deep breath and felt terrified like I was jumping off a bridge. But I said it — the Lust Mirror Phrase I’d discovered, a little trick that forces a man out of his head and right back into the moment by reflecting his secret desires back at him. His eyes flew open like he was just seeing me for the first time. He looked deeply into my eyes and I knew he was right there with me, seeing me, feeling me, listening to my voice. And I saw that smile again.
But this time he wasn’t looking at porn. He was only looking at me. Over the next hour, I took control of his fantasies, whispered naughty words in his ear, stroke his ego, teased him, made him feel powerful and desired and strong and masculine. And in return, he opened up and gave me everything. He made dirty amazing wonderful love to me, touch me, whispered to me, asked me about my fantasies and fulfilled them, gave me intense pleasure again and again that lit every cell of my body on fire and left me flushed and exhausted and happy in a way I never thought I would feel. I bet you could feel right now how wonderful that was. We both couldn’t stop giggling and laughing when we were done. We basked in the glow feeling connected and silly and happy and horny and in love.
He looked me in the eye and asked, “Where the hell did that come from”?
I just smiled. And he curled up next to me and hugged me tight and we slept and dreamed so soundly like that, twisted in the blankets until the alarm went off the next day.
I told my best friend Michelle all about it at lunch. She was scandalized and excited. As we were paying the bill, she super casually said, “So, Felicity, did you learn anything I can use with Rob?” She said it with a laugh, twisting her wedding ring on her finger like an anxious tic.
I wasn’t sure at first. I’d worked so hard for so long. Was this really something I wanted to share? She is my best friend. How could I say no? At midnight, I got a text from her in all caps with a huge smiley emoticon saying, “Oh my God! Your Pavlov’s Erection thing is genius and really works. He didn’t know what hit him. Thank you”.
I guess Michelle couldn’t keep a secret or maybe people could just see the glow. My sister Laura called me up and asked if I had a trick for her to try, you know, just for fun. Laura was always single and was always complaining the guys pulled away after a couple dates. She said she used the Cuddle Hormone Technique I created with a guy while sitting at dinner. She got to work the next day to find a huge bouquet of flowers and a note begging to take her out again. And then things got a little crazy. I achieved this weird cult status locally. Friends, family, 22-year old girls to 70-year-old recent divorcees to my mom who I refused to talk about any of the stuff, started to use my techniques and raved about how simple and easy and magical it was to make a man monogamy addict this simple way, to take away all his distractions like you’re suddenly the only woman on the planet for him.