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MY MOTHER SUSAN part16

Monday, February 16th, 2009

holding her wrists above her head. I whispered in her ear, “I want you to

get on your knees, facing away from me. I’m going to fuck you from the

back.”

She gasped, “My ass?”

“That’ll be later, little girl,” giving her my oil-can Harry voice,

“Right now, I want to sink into your woman place, that sweet, hot girl

pussy, but from the back. Doggie position.”

Would my dignified mother submit to kneeling in front of me, ass in

the air, that I might fuck her like an animal?

As she was scrambling around she said over her shoulder, “God,

Billy. I love it doggie style. How’d you know?”

Kneeling just behind her, I looked down at her very narrow waist

and her beautiful ass and replied, “Didn’t. But I do now. You’re pussy

looks so sweet, pooched out that way between your legs.”

“Jesus, you’ve got a wonderfully dirty mouth.” Then she chuckled,

adding, “And I love it.”

She lowered her head to her crossed forearms, accenting the sway

of her back. With her ass pointing up, the cheeks of her buttocks opened

and I could see for the first time her ass hole. It was tan, slightly darker

than the surrounding skin, puckered and tight looking. I wondered if she’d

ever had Dad’s cock in her butt.

“You’re looking at my ass, aren’t you?” As if reading my mind, she

added, “I love anal sex but your father thinks its somehow dirty.”

“Susan, I’ve dreamed of this. Months . . . couple of years even.

And now we’re here. It’s one of those rare times when the realization is

greater than the expectation.”

“Don’t tease me, Billy. Touch me. I’m hungry for you.”

With the fingers of my right hand pointing down, I hooked my

thumb in her pussy and cupped her mons. I’d read of the so-called G-spot

and searched for it with my thumb. Almost instantly I was rewarded.

“Umph . . . yes! Right there! God, what you’re doing to me. I

can’t believe this.”

I rolled the pulp of my thumb over that slightly raised tissue under

her pubic bone as I fingered her clit on the outside. With my left hand, I

traced feather-light touches around the rim of her anus. The sphincter

tightened and then relaxed. I pushed the tip of my left index finger against

her anal opening, applying constant but gentle pressure.

“Oh, God. What are you doing? I can feel so many feelings but I

can’t tell where they’re coming from. You’re driving me ca-RAY-zy.”

Her hips were rolling and I had only to hold my right hand still to

allow her to set the rhythm and intensity. I continued to gently apply

pressure to her anal sphincter, occasionally bending down to drop a dollop

of spittle on her softening ass hole.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she chanted. “Do that. Do *everything*!”

As she rolled her pelvis, pushing butt back against me, my left index

finger slowly slipped into her ass up to the first and then the second joint

and finally all the way. Curving my finger forward in her rectum, I could

feel my thumb in her pussy through the thin wall of tissue separating those

two cavities. God, I couldn’t believe what was happening!

Her orgasmic song started again, initially deep in her chest and

raising to her throat, ending in a wail. Vocal restraint was not her strong

suite. For one who was normally so properly restrained, it clearly did not

extend to sexual passions and orgasms. I idly wondered if my neighbors

could hear her, and then dismissed it, not caring a whit if they did.

We both slumped to a pile of entangled limbs, she exhausted from

another orgasm and me . . . well just emotionally wiped out.

…End of the part16. To be continued..

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Horny Bastards part5

Thursday, January 29th, 2009

cum oozing the walls of her cunt. Her body arching on my arms as I
raised her body towards me. I released her bound and she collapsed on
my shoulders. Wrapped around each other, we rocked on the bed, until we
slowly slid down on the sheets and cradled each other to sleep.
I awoke, feeling Melissa’s arms around me. She was circling her
fingers around my chest. She was watching me…emotionless.
“I…I’m sorry…” I said confused, feeling guilty. I needed
to say something.
“Don’t be…” she replied. “We both needed each other…”
“It happened because we both wanted it to happen.”
We were both quiet. I stared at the dark ceiling, and she
stared at me…
“I have to leave tomorrow…” I said suddenly. “I cannot
stay here.”
“Where will you go?” she asked concerned.
“I’ve decided to go to Florida for awhile and stay with
my cousin.”
She was speechless…
“Stay with me longer…” she whispered.
I didn’t answer. I held her head to my chest and pulled her
body close. I started to comb my fingers through her hair…
“I have to go…” I whispered. “Frank will be back soon…”

Mellisa was sad to see me go. I told her I would be
staying with my cousin in Florida for a few months. I needed to get
away. Our night of passion was something we’ll always remember. I
suppose it was meant to happen. All these years we’ve been friends, we
tried to deny ourselves that we are ‘physically attracted’ to each other.
I guess we were only afraid to jeopardize our friendship. I’ve never
really imagined how it could be possible for friends to make-love, and
still be friends after? I’ve always wondered if it was possible to
satisfy sexual needs through friends who seek of the same. Sort of a
“get-it when need-it” thing, with no strings, since both parties seek
only physical release. I guess, we were one of the few….
I could remember the times when we were a freshman in college.
I was 18, and she was 17 turning 18. I would visit her in the dorm
because I was bored. Her roommate would usually be out, and we would
spend hours talking in her dimly lit room. She would only be wearing a
Large shirt, her hard nipples etched underneath the shirt. She would sit
on her small bed while I sat on the floor facing her — with my arms
resting on the sheets. We would watch TV and comment on how actors have
sex. Sometimes, when the movie gets hot and steamy, we would catch each
other looking. We laughed at the thought. Usually, to snap ourselves out,
we would joke about each other; saying things like:
“Not with those lil’ tits I won’t” (ha ha)
“Not with that lil’ prick I won’t either.” (ha ha)
One summer afternoon I came over to her dorm. The minute I
saw her, I was stunned. I remember her wearing this tight red tank-top
that hugged her figure very well. Her tits hung beautifully, and as
usual, she didn’t wear any bra. I was speechless…
“How do you like my tank top?” she asked pulling the shirt
down her waste, exposing the exquisite curves of her breasts. “I just
bought it today…”
“I…uh…duh…I like it!” I said mumbling.
“GAGO! (Mental)” she said in Filipino with her american
accent. “I know what you’re thinking…”
“You do?” I said innocently.
“Uh-hum” she grinned.
“What is it? ” I dared. “What am I thinking?”
“YOU CAN’T have what you’re thinking. HA!” she laughed.
“SIRA! (Crazy)” I told her in ‘TAGALOG’.
Melissa rarely spoke ‘TAGALOG’ (her mom’s native language).
Her mom spoke to her in english most of the time, probably because her
father was caucasian. I encouraged her to speak. In a way, I get to
practice my ‘TAGALOG’.
I spent the whole day in her dorm. We talked about everything.
We talked about dates, guys, girls, people we hate, and people we love.
But everytime, we always end-up talking about sex. I suppose there is
something about it that intrigues both of us…Her roommate was out,
and I was thankful because she’s such a BITCH. We sat on the floor,in
the living room talking, and that evening while we were on the topic of
guys, hormones, and sex drive, I was complaining a lot about the heat.
“Geesus…It’s hot. Isn’t it hot? It’s hot.” I complained.
“Gosh! Why don’t you just take your shirt off…” She suggested.
“You don’t mind?” I asked.
“No, It’s OK…”
As soon as I took off my shirt, she jumped up and screamed,
“Oh my God! You have hairs around your nipples?!” she asked
curiously. “…and what’s this? You have a few on your chest.” she
asked surprised poking my nipples with her forefinger.
“Don’t…” I said. “Stop pulling the hairs…I’m saving them. OK?”
She was grinning a stupid grin.
“Can I touch them?” she asked acting coy.
“HUH? Well…Go ahead.”
She rubbed around my nipples feeling the hairs. *FUCK* I thought
to myself. She noticed the hairs trailing down my shorts from my stomach.
She seemed so curious…She started to feel the hairs on my stomach…
“Why do guys get hairy?” she asked still trailing her fingers.
“We just are…HORMONES…and you’re rubbing my trail.” I said
with a smile. I felt my blood pressure rising, among other things.
“What?…You’re trail?” she asked confused.
“Yeah…that’s what’s called a TREASURE TRAIL.” I said smirking.
“The TRAIL leads to my TREASURE…” She pushed me away laughing.
We laughed and laughed about it.
Later on, we still kept talking about SEX. We got into a heated
debate about masturbation. It was really stupid, but she was not about
to give-up…
“Guys masturbate all the time! We women never do that.” she
pointed-out. “When we want it, we get it.”
“What are you talking about? Women do it too.” I explained. “Why
do you think they made vibrators in the first place?”
“Women didn’t invent vibrators, MEN did.” she retorted.
“Well…if women weren’t so picky about the kind of pricks they
want, they’d get it more often, also if WOMEN didn’t force MEN to stick
their dicks in other holes where it’s not suppose to be, MEN would not
have to invent a vibrating DILDO in the first place!” I said laughing.
Ha Ha Ha…Ha Ha Ha…
“You’re GROSS…Ha ha ha…”she said laughing.
A few minutes later, we settled down with a grin on our face.
“Can I ask you something?” Melissa said feeling hesitant.
“Do YOU…masturbate?”
“What?” I said surprised. “You really want me to answer that?”
“Yeah!…You don’t have to, you know.” she assured.
“Well…uh…ofcourse. All guys do…” I said embrassed and
somewhat guilty.
“Why?”
“…uh…sometimes guys get horny…and we need some release, if
we don’t, we get irritable.” I said, somehow feeling my stomach churn.
*Where is this going?*
“What makes you guys horny?” she asked innocently.
“Lots of things…”
“Like what?”
“Sometimes, we get horny by what we see. Or sometimes by someone’s
touch.”
“Oh?….hmmm” she said. I saw her eyes light up, reavealing a
devious idea. She moved closer to where I sat and slowly said….
“Does this make you horny?” She asked stretching her tank top all
the way down her waist, tracing her breasts underneath the material.
I nodded my head.
“Does this make you horny?” she asked again softly, rubbing her
hand on my bare chest, circling her fingers around my nipples.
I nodded my head. *Don’t* I wanted her to stop, but I didn’t.
I felt a tingle in my groin, something is happening.
She stared at my body and trailed her fingers down my belly
button. She ran her fingers up and down my body…
We were silent for a few seconds…
“I haven’t seen a guy…masturbate before.” she finally said
breaking the silence.
I was feeling VERY VERY HORNY. She probably was too.
“W…would you like me to show you?” I said uneasy.
* SILENCE… *
“Yes.” she replied. Then I said, “Put your hand on my crotch.”
She placed her right hand on my crotch. Her touch made my dick
sensitive. Her hand throbbed with my dick as it started to harden from
inside my jeans. She had a look of curiousity on her face.
“Should I go on?” I asked whispering under my breath.
She nodded watching me intently.
I carefully unzipped my fly and unbuttoned my jeans. I watched
her reaction to my every move. I was being careful, and still uneasy. Yet
I went on. I was very turned on at her interest.
I reached inside my Calvins, and took my rod out.
I noticed Melissa’s eyes widen, she caught me glancing at her.
She didn’t say anything, so I continued.
We sat facing each other on the carpet floor. I gripped my rod
and began to jerk it…Melissa watched me. Faster…Slower…I stroked
my dick methodically rubbing the head on occasion. I enjoyed watching
her watch me. Her curiousity intrigued me. Suddenly, almost instictively,
Melissa caressed my balls. She liked the feel of the hair underneath.
We did this for a couple of minutes, jerking and caressing…
“I want to see you cum…” she said from under her breath.
I stared at her.
I felt the tingles trail from my legs, and my groin started
to shiver. I jacked faster, eager to reach orgasm…
I started to gasp, and breathe heavily from inside my throat.
“What are you feeling?” she asked.
“I feel IT…uhhh” I murmurred. I jacked slower.
“Where do you feel it?”
“In my groin…hhh…in my legs…hhhh…inside.” I gasped.
“I could feel it rising inside…”
I saw Melissa bite her lower lip as she watched me climax.
Faster I jerked-off, and soon I began to tense…*uhhh..hhh…*
I felt my cum rise inside my balls and up my dick. *hhhh..hhhh* The
pre-cum dripped out, and I shot my cum violently, shot after shot of
white hot semen, showering my navel and spilling some on the carpet.
I felt I was choking, gasping for air.
Melissa watched in wonder as I breathed a sigh of relief. She
came closer reaching to touch the cum on my navel with her finger.
“…You’re cum is so white…it’s like milk…” she said
fingering the white fluid.
I quickly grabbed the kleenex and wiped myself clean. Still
breathing heavily, I tried to compose myself.
“I…I think I should go now.” I said hastily as I grabbed
my shirt and zipped up my pants. “You’re roommate would be back soon.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow…” I regaining my senses.
“I..I’m sorry Melissa” I said feeling embarassed and guilty.
* SILENCE *
“Don’t be…we both wanted it to happen.” she assured.

Somehow, those words brought me out of the memories. I never
had sex with Melissa, until that evening I had the fight with Joe and
I ended up at her house. That episode with Melissa happened only once,
and it never happened again. We pretended it never happened. I didn’t
expect another encounter to happen, and this time, we REALLY did it.
I said goodbye to Melissa, and I promised her I’ll let her know
when I get back from Florida. I knew she was sad, and I really wanted to
be with her. But I couldn’t do it. I cannot let myself take the place of
her husband. I know how much she REALLY loves him.

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Placeshighmeadmf part5

Saturday, January 24th, 2009

until he reached her twin, perfect breasts. He encircled their

tips and gently pulled, bringing warm flashes of need that washed

over Jessie in waves. Breathing now in small gasps she rolled on

her side and gently pushed Hal onto his back.

What was fair for the swan was fair for the lady of the

lake.

Jessie planted kisses on Hal’s cheeks and mouth and gently

nibbled his ear. Her tongue flicked in and out and round, until

Hal too began to breathe in irregular gasps. Her right hand

worked down Hal’s shirt buttons until the top lay open at the fur

of his chest. Jessie ran the tips of her fingers though the

black and grey hair curling across his chest, stroking his skin

with desire. Shifting her weight to the side, she pulled his

shirt to the side, effectively pinning his arms still entrapped

in it. Desire driving her, Jessie moved her tongue over his

breasts, circling, tickling, sucking while Hal lost himself

wanting to play out the age old game of love and merging.

Jessie’s hand strayed to the straining bulge in his jeans and she

stroked the surface of his thighs with ever gentle, passes that

brought forth his breath in deep, pleasured moans.

Now it was his turn again. Hal struggled to return from the

waves of pleasure in which he floated. He finally raised himself

on one elbow and removed his prison of a shirt. Hal reached for

the zipper on Jessie’s jeans and slowly inched it down, his

fingers seeking to dip themselves in her soft petals of skin.

His probing palms found the triangle of golden fur that arched

skyward to meet him and he slid his hand along her glistening

thighs searching for panties. There were none to find and it

excited him to find her so ready and unencumbered.

Jessie’s right hand was no quieter than his. She worked the

snap of Hal’s jeans open and slid her hand inside over his under-

pants and caressed his shaft. It was full and firm and strained

upward at each pass she made from the tip to the base and back

again. She worked Hal’s zipper open and teased his firm member

into the softness of her palm. It was velvet soft on the outside

but unable to disguise the raging energy it contained. His shaft

wanted only to be as close to her, to burrow itself deep within

her magic. Its tip moistened in overwhelming expectation of

heaven to come.

Jessie and Hal were both breathing hard now. But they still

had entirely too many clothes on. It took them no time at all to

realize this fact and seek to remedy the situation to fulfill

their desire. Hal was the first to call a truce. He eased

Jessie’s jeans off, his hand stroking her thighs with a caress

with the softness of the wind, but the urgency of manhood.

Reciprocating, Jessie slowly slid both his pants down until he

stepped out of them.

He stood before her like a graying, handsome god of lust.

She knelt and took his shaft into her mouth and teased it round

the head and underneath with her tongue. Each pass brought Hal

closer to his knees. His back was arched and he fought the

desire to end this ballet in a flood of saltiness.

Jessie moved up his pubic area with her tongue…up the

chest…up to the neck and then to his lips again. They embraced

in a kiss that lost them both to time. Hal moved to enter her,

thrusting, like a sword seeking its rightful sheath and when he

found his home, they both cried out in pleasure.

Now a deep thrust, now a shallow one. They clung in each

others arms, swaying like great willows caught up in the dance of

life and the wind. The deeper Hal thrust, the deeper Jessie

tried to take him. She wanted him in the center of her being but

she could not keep her balance, her knees were so weak that they

had to hold each other up to keep from falling. Her body urged

Hal to follow it gently down without slipping from its hold, to

lie upon her on the sweet earth together.

Now their rhythms lost them to all reason. She moaned and

cried out and struggled sideways in an effort to bring Hal close

enough within her. He lost himself in passion until the urgency

of both of them brought the crescendo of centering. Hal came in

a flood of warmth and a cry to the gods of perfection. Jessie

joined him as his salty flood spread inside her loins that

brought her own loss of space and time. She was in a time and

place where nothing mattered but holding this man as close as she

could for eternity itself. They lay relaxed, merged with one

another while time itself passed away.

Tears began to stream down Jessie’s cheeks. They were tears

of pure joy, tears of pure happiness and she held Hal gently and

let them flow with her passion. Hal reached up and brushed them

gently away with his finger tips. He kissed their saltiness and

whispered gently into her ear, “I love you,” while he tried not

to cry himself. There was no way to express in words what he

felt about what they had shared with each other. Language lost

its power to express when compared with this sharing.

For the longest time they laid there, wrapped in eternity,

love taking them on a journey to the ultimate high meadow.

—

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Humourguitarstxt

Friday, January 16th, 2009

Archive-author:
Archive-title: Why Guitars are Better than women

REASONS WHY GUITARS ARE BETTER THAN WOMEN

(please note, I have eliminated the obvious copies like, “you can have a
guitar all month long”, and “a guitar doesn’t care how many guitars you own”)

1. A guitar has a volume knob
2. If you break a guitar’s G-string, it only costs $0.79 for a new one
3. You can make a guitar scream as loud as you want it to
4. You can unplug a guitar
5. You can finger a guitar for hours without it complaining it wants more
6. Other people can play your guitar without it getting upset
7. You can finger a guitar in public and get applause, not arrested
8. You can have a guitar any color you want and noone will care
9. If your guitar gets loose, you can just tighten up the strings
10. If your guitar doesn’t make sounds you like, you can change pickups
11. You can use four fingers at a time on a guitar
12. If your guitar strings are too heavy, you can just get a lighter set
13. You can have a guitar professionally adjusted to *your* liking
14. If you scratch a guitar’s back, it’s unintentional, not required
15. You can go to a guitar shop and play all the guitars you want for free

Now, for the opposite:

REASONS WHY WOMEN ARE BETTER THAN GUITARS

1. Women are more fun when the power goes out
2. You can’t get your guitar wet
3. Ever try to screw a guitar?
4. The input to a guitar is only 1/4″ (ouch!)
5. A guitar won’t beg to be played
6. It’s no fun to tie your guitar to a bed and spray whipped cream on it
7. When playing a guitar, you can use your teeth, but not your tongue
8. Guitars aren’t very aggressive
9. A guitar won’t play you back
10. You need two hands to make a guitar scream
11. A guitar won’t scratch *your* back
12. A guitar won’t drive you home if you’re too drunk
13. A guitar doesn’t care who plays it
14. You can’t play two guitars at once
15. You can’t fall in love with a guitar (awwwwwww, gee, how sweet ;-)
(well, maybe you can, but they can’t love you back)

These are my own. I get sick of regurgitated ones. I hope you like them.

–

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Humourfgoosetxt part9

Thursday, January 15th, 2009

Who else could it have been?”

[Father Goose #47]

Once upon a time, bad King John raised a mighty army and set
out to conquer the known world. After a series of
successful campaigns, the remaining kings realized that
their lone efforts would never prevail. They had to band
together under the leadership of the best general they had -
“George-the-Turk”.

George the Turk had promised that he would defeat bad King
John’s army and would place him on a rack – in a public
display – so that no one would ever again try to conquer the
world.

While George the Turk was assembling his army and scouting
out bad King John, he also ordered his engineers to design
and build the largest rack here-to-fore made. The rack was
then fitted with wheels and required 40 horses to pull it.
When all was ready, George the Turk set out to do battle.

Bad King John, who was camped by a river enjoying the spoils
of his latest victory, had not yet gotten word of George the
Turk’s army. George the Turk knew that his army must attack
quickly before Bad King John could prepare a defense. But,
alas, the 40 horse team pulling the large rack could not
keep up with the troops. George the Turk ordered more
horses to be teamed, but, still they lagged. George the
Turk remembered that Hannibul was not too far away in the
mountains with a herd of elephants. Elephants would be
better than horses for pulling the rack. So, George the
Turk sent his second-in-command to Hannibul to rent enough
elephants for the job. Hannibul agreed and also sent along
his best elephant handler.

This elephant handler quickly realized the importance of his
unique position in George the Turk’s army and insisted that
he be given the title of “elephant engineer” and a huge pay
raise. George the Turk agreed with the title and the pay
raise.

The rack, powered by elephants and driven by the “elephant
engineer” , kept pace with the rapidly moving army.

Late one night they arrived at the enemy camp by the river.
George the Turk deployed his troops to cut off any avenue of
escape and issued the order to attack at dawn – on his
command. He also ordered the rack to be positioned on the
highest hill overlooking bad King John’s camp. This site
was the perfect spot to publically display bad King John -
to show the world what happens to anyone who dares to try to
conquer the world.

With dawn approaching George the Turk goes to the top of the
hill beside the rack so that everyone can see his command to
attack: when his sword drops —ATTACK !!!!!

All is quiet. The enemy camp is asleep. Every man is
waiting for the signal. The first ray of sunlight strikes
the helmet of George the Turk. He draws his sword slowly
and holds it over his head. The sunlight gleams off the
blade — and scares the elephants that are hitched to the
rack. They start trumpeting and rearing and the elephant
engineer can’t control then. He drops the reins and clings
onto the rack for dear life. The rack breaks loose from the
team and starts rolling down the hill — straight for the
enemy camp.

All this noise wakes bad King John. He orders an aide to go
outside the tent to see what is the cause. The aide takes a
hard look, comes back into the tent, and reports:

“As near as I can tell –

it’s a rambling rack from George the Turk with an elephant
engineer” !!!

[Father Goose #48]

There was once a very influential farmer in an obscure part of China.
He had a problem, for which he sought the counsel of the two wise men
in town. So he summons the two wise men, Hing, who is an scientist,
and Ming, who is a sorcerer, and requests that they find a cure for
his chickens who are losing their feathers and dying.

Hing decides to pay a visit to his mentor at the Agricultural
Extension of the local Community College, under whom he studied many
years ago. The mentor recommends the book “Everything You Always
Wanted to Know About Diseases of Chickens, But Were Afraid to Ask”.
So Hing visits the library, borrows the book, and finds inside the
report of a study that finds that feeding the chickens with an
infusion of gum tree leaves is often a cure for chickens losing their
feathers.

Meanwhile back at the ranch, Ming reads obscure writings of ancient
wise men, he meditates, and he reads tarot cards. He also tries to
read the entrails of a fetal pig. Getting no inspiration he uses his
old standby, reading tea leaves. In a spark of discovery, he decides
that an infusion of gum tree leaves is the cure.

On the appointed day, at the appointed time, and at the appointed
place, the two wise men report back to the influential Chinese farmer.
Ming reports “As gum sticks to tables and chairs, so shall an infusion
of gum tree leaves make feathers stick to chickens.” Hing agrees,
saying “Four out of five ornithologists recommend sugarless infusions
of gum tree leaves for their chickens who lose their feathers.” The
influential Chinese farmer is ecstatic, for the two wisest men in town
are of a single mind.

He decides to carry out their advice, and it does not succeed. The
moral of this story is “All of Hing’s courses and all of Ming’s ken
couldn’t get gum tea to feather a hen.”

[Father Goose #49]

A certain African tribe, mostly swineherds and fishermen, lived on the
shores of a bay; the bay had treacherous currents and water turgid with
sand, but fishing was good and the tribe propered. They attributed this
to their sacrifices — a prize boar each year to every tribal god except
the sea-god, who got a gorilla. (A wise chieftan a few generations back
had substituted gorilla sacrifice for human).
One year, the tribesmen could not capture a gorilla. The chieftan asked
the tribal wise-woman, the surviving member of a Swedish explorer couple
who had gone native and lived with the tribe for many happy years, if they
should substitute their best boar for the gorilla. She was strongly against
it, even to the point of suggesting herself as a human sacrifice; he was
horrified and reminded her that porcine offerings had always pleased the
other gods.
The time of sacrifice arrived. With prayers for the sea-god’s mercy, the
shamans went through the usual rituals with the boar instead of the gorilla,
culminating in its being taken to the middle of the bay and having its throat
cut as it was thrown in. Nothing went wrong and the next year was as prosperous
as usual. After that, pigs replaced gorillas.
MORAL: Let a swine be your gorilla in a grainy, grainy bay. And if your Swede
decries, just tell her that a swine will always pay…

[Father Goose #50]

When South Vietnam was nearing its end, and General Minh was in charge,
a popular artist came to him and asked to make a statue in his honor (at
government expense).
“Please, General Minh, you are the people’s hero,” he told him.
“Yes, but make the sculpture in bronze,” replied the general.
So the artist made the sculpture, but when it was unveiled in a small
private ceremony, the general was furious. For the sculpture was made in
gold.
“I want bronze,” he said, “I want bronze!”
The artist went away in a hurry, deeply impressed with this show of
…End of the part9. To be continued..

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-Humourfgoosetxt part2

Friday, November 7th, 2008

continues to the banks of the Amazon where he sets up a blind and waits.

After several days, lo and behold, a foo bird flies directly over the river.

In a rush of excitement, the photographer rushes out of the blind and snaps off
a shot. No sooner has he done this then a huge, evil smelling flock of foos
congregate over his head and completely cover him in guano.

The slimy stuff starts to harden and restrict his breathing. He frantically
tries to get the stuff off but to no avail. Finally in desperation, he throws
himself into the river. A large crocodile promptly eats him.

The moral?
It the foo shits, wear it.

[Father Goose #7]

It seems that Mary Poppins has moved to California. Yep,
she has started a business telling people’s fortunes. But, she
doesn’t read palms or tea leaves, she smells one’s breath.
That, right, the sign outside reads:

Super California Mystic
Expert Halitosis

[Father Goose #8]

Our Hero was travelling through the mountains on his quest for the Holy
Grail, when a fierce storm blew up and his steed caught some horsey sickness.
He hied to a monastary, and asked the abbot for a replacement, citing
their loyalty to God. It was the winter season, and nightfall was
approaching as they looked through the stables. All of the other horses
were sneezing a coughing also, until they came to a stable, where a large
shaggy dog story(oops) resided. The knight asked for him, to which the
abbot replied, “Oh, no, it is still stormy and getting dark.
I wouldn’t send a knight out on a dog like this.”

[Father Goose #9]

An international chess tournament is being held in a swank
hotel in New York. Everyone who is anyone in the world of
chess is there. After a grueling 4 hours of chess, the
players and their entourages retire to the lobby of the hotel for
a little refreshment.

In the lobby, the players get into a big argument about who
is the brightest, the fastest, and the best chess player.
The argument gets loud, each player claiming that he is
the greatest chess player of all time.

One security guard in the lobby turns to the other and says:

If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s
chess nuts boasting in an open foyer.

[Father Goose #10]

Buster Crab and Sam Clam were the best of friends for years, and every
evening one could find Buster in Sam’s bar down by the beach. Finally,
Buster passed on and went to heaven. There, he was a model citizen, but
he longed for the companionship of his pal, Sam. So the next Christmas,
Buster was approached by God who asked him why he wasn’t happy. Buster
explained that although heaven was a pretty nice place and the halo and
wings were real swell, he missed Sam and wished he could go back and spend
just one more night in his bar by the beach. God recalled how good Buster
had been, and told him that he could spend New Year’s with Sam in his bar.
“However,” God cautioned, “things have changed since you were there last.
In order to keep up with the times, Sam has converted his place to a disco.
Still, if you wish, you may spend New Year’s eve with your old buddy, but be
sure not to drink and take good care of your wings, harp and halo.” Buster
was ecstatic and spend the next week practicing his chops on the harp and
polishing his halo. Then the big eveing arrived and poof! there he was
beside Sam in his disco. Well, they had a great time talking of old times
and dancing and singing and playing. After a while, the temptation to have a
drink proved too great for Buster, and he imbibed. So did the rest of the
party and the night got progressively wilder until morning found everyone
sleeping it off on the furniture and floors of the disco. His time up,
Buster was transported poof! back to heaven. God saw him, bleary eyed, halo
dented and slipping off to one side, wings in disarray, and well, you get the
picture. God gives him an ice bag and asks what happened. “Buster! You’ve
been at the bottle, haven’t you? Look at you wings! Look at that halo! And
where is you golden harp?” To which Buster replies,
“I left my harp in Sam Clam’s Disco.”
(better sung)

[Father Goose #11]

Isaac Asimov did this one best; the story concerns a man, Mr. Stein,
who robs a bank, jumps into a time machine, and re-emerges seven
years later (after the statute of limitations has expired). They
arrest him anyway, but the judge’s verdict is
“A niche in time saves Stein.”

[Father Goose #12]

Once upon a time, in Days of Yore, which is located in a rather
backwoods area of the country, there lived a remarkably innocent
young man named Nathaniel. Now Nathaniel, or Nate, as he was
often called, one day came of age, and his oppressive and none too
dutiful legal guardians just turned him out into the street, as it
were. Before giving him the boot, however, they did take the
trouble to inform him that he was, in fact, the heir to what was
locally considered a sizable fortune in rural real estate. This
comparatively immense farm tract was being held for him and currently
managed by a man who turned out to be a rather distant cousin, but
who was kindly and surprisingly helpful, eventually doing most of
what needed to be done to start Nate out in business on the farm.
Very shortly afterward, however, the cousin died, leaving Nate alone
with little experience and very few ideas. Poor Nate was absolutely
in a quandary as to what sort of reliable cash crop to plant on his
land. He had heard that one or two of his neighbors were raising
a certain (shall we say) “herb”, whose production was said to be
uncommonly lucrative. Our hero wasn’t really into haute cuisine,
though, so in search of an expert opinion, he consulted a local
soothsayer, an elderly woman whose character was completely beyond
question, if you follow my meaning. At the urging afforded by
about a third of Nate’s annual income, she gazed vacantly into
her crystal ball for most of an hour, until she finally intoned,

SOW ROPE, NATEY-O!
[A pun on "No Soap, Radio", which is also pretty obscure.]

[Father Goose #13]

There was this person who owned a bluish coloured volvo. It was a
‘72, however, making it quite old and even volvos don’t last forever.
When he was driving home one afternoon and the engine fell through the
engine mount, his wife brought up the subject of buying a new car.
“Well, I’ve really grown partial to this car, dear.”
“But, honey, that car is going to fall apart any minute.”
The argument went on for a while and the husband finally agreed that he
would buy a new car, but he would only buy another bluish coloured volvo.
It had to have the exact shade of blue or he wasn’t interested. And so,
his quest began.
“Nope. Areyou sure they’re made in that colour?” asked all the volvo dealers
in New York. He went to Connecticut and received the same line. He went to
Rhode Island, only to hear “Nope. Had one last week. Couldn’t sell it, so we
gave it to a junk dealer.” The man ran to the junk dealer just in time to
see the car of his dreams crushed.
He travelled through Vermont. “Nope. Can’t get one here.” He tried New
Hampshire. “I don’t think they make them.” He went into Maine. “I don’t
have one, but Charlie might. He’s the volvo dealer up in Caribou.”
Anyone ever told you about Caribou, Maine? It is freezing up there. It
is in the middle of nowhere. Now, at this point, a large storm system
was moving into the area and the husband was trapped in the storm.
Two days later the dealer arrived at his shop and found this guy standing
by the door. When the dealer opened the door the husband saw it. Right in the
middle of the showroom was his bluish coloured volvo. Perfect! He told
the man of his quest, gave him the money, and was about to leave when the
dealer asked “Why did you spend so much time searching for this coloured
…End of the part2. To be continued..

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-Humourfemaletxt

Friday, October 31st, 2008

Archive-author:
Archive-title: Female Jokes

First Woman: “This is very embarrassing, but every time I sneeze, I
have an orgasm.”
Second Woman: “You poor dear! Are you taking anything for that?”
First Woman: “Snuff.”

————

What’s the definition of the perfect woman?
1) She’s three feet tall, has a round hole for a mouth
and her head is flat so you can put cocktails on it.
2) The sports model has pull-back ears and her teeth fold in.
3) The economy model – she fucks all night and at midnight
she turns into a roast beef sandwich and a six pack.

————

Three old ladies were sitting on a park bench when a flasher walked up
to them and displayed his endowments. The first old lady had a stroke,
the second old lady had a stroke, but the third old lady’s arms were too
short to reach.

————

This guy walks into a bar, walks up to the bartender and
says, “I’d like a scotch and soda and I’d like to buy that
douche bag at the end of the bar a drink.” The bartender
says, “Hey, she’s a regular and you can’t be talking about
her that way.” The guy says, “Okay, I’d like to buy that
nice, young lady at the end of the bar a drink.” The
bartender says, “That’s more like it,” and he walks up to
the girl and asks her what she wants to drink. She says,
“Vinegar and water.”

————

A man meets up with an old roomate whom he has not seen for many years.
The roomate has had a sex-change operation. “Was it painful?”, asks the former.
“No, not really” says the second. “How about when they cut off your dick?”
“No that really wasn’t the worst of it.” “Really?” says the first. “How
about when they had to create the new hole? That must have been painful.”
“No the worst part was when they stuck the straw in my ear and sucked out half
my brains.”

————–

Why did God give women nipples?
To make suckers out of men.

Why did the Detroit Lions hire two nuns and a prostiture for the new season?
Because they needed two tight ends and a wide receiver.

Why are clams like women?
When the red tide comes, you don’t eat them.

How does a man know when he’s eaten pussy well?
When he wakes up in the morning and his face looks like a
glazed doughnut.

Did you hear about the new video game for women only, called Dick-Man?
You put a quarter in and get fucked.

I’ve got a joke so funny it’ll make your breast fall off:
Oh…I see you’ve already heard it.

What do you call a virgin on a waterbed?
A cherry float.

What do you do when your Kotex catches fire?
Throw it on the floor and tampon it.

What’s 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1?
Bo Derek getting older.

Did you hear about the new douche powder made of alum, LSD, and Kentucky
Fried Chicken batter?
It’s uptight, outasight, and finger-lickin’ good.

What’s the difference between a light bulb and a pregnant woman?
You can unscrew a light bulb.

What do fat girls and mopeds have in common?
They’re both fun to ride until a friend see you.

Why are women giving up bowling for screwing?
The balls are lighter and you don’t have to change your shoes.

What’s the difference between a job and a wife?
After five years, the job still sucks.

How do you make paper dolls?
Screw an old bag.

What’s the white stuff you find in women’s panties?
Clitty litter.

Bumber sticker: Support E.R.A. – make him sleep on the wet spot.

What do you call a rehabilitation home for ex-prostitutes?
An all-the-way house.

Definition of a wife: “An attachment you screw on the bed to get the
housework done.”

How are an oven and a woman alike?
You have to get them both hot before you can stick the meat in.

Remember what’s worse than getting raped by Jack the Ripper? (Getting
fingered by Captain Hook.) Well, you know what’s worse than that?
Getting eaten out by Jaws.

What’s the purpose of a bellybutton?
To put your gum in on the way down.

Why was the stamp commemorating prostitution so unpopular?
You had to pay an extra ten cents to lick it.

What’s the difference between a hormone and an enzyme?
You can’t hear an enzyme.

How do you make a hormone?
Put sand in the Vaseline.

What’s a cunt that talks back?
An answering cervix.

What do you give an eighty-year-old woman for her birthday?
Mikey … He’ll eat anything.

What do you call a woman who uses too much contraceptive cream?
A spermicidal maniac.

Why do women have legs?
So they don’t leave snail tracks on linoleum floors.

What do you call a hooker with no legs?
A nightcrawler.

What do you call a girl who’s just been run over by a car?
Patty.

Why do female parachutists always wear pantyhose?
So they won’t whistle.

How do you tell when a woman is wearing pantyhose?
If she farts, her ankles will swell.
…End of the part1. To be continued..

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Humourfairnesstxt part2

Monday, October 27th, 2008

semester abroad in England. During your three months hiatus, Mr.
Thomas has become — to put it politely — rather tense. I’d
greatly appreciate if you might find it in your heart (among other
parts of you anatomy, including those closest to your heart) to
relieve Mr. Thomas of his burdens. With his upcoming trip to
England, I believe that you are in an excellent position to try a
variety of excellent position with my most loyal campaign
working…

Completely dead pan and serious, Quill read the remainder of
the letter. Needless to say, it became much more graphic including
the candidates reference to handcuffs, chocolate sauce and whip
cream. When Quill finished, she placed her copy of the letter down
and turned to me. “Are you or are you not the author of said
letter?”

“She was my girlfriend and it was a private correspondence,”
I defended.

“So! You admit it,” Quill replied slapping her palm on the
table. “You admit to proposing a variety of sexual acts with a
woman in a foreign country and you completely ignored the
international implications of your sexual harassment.”

“International?” I asked. “She was an American and my
girlfriend. We were intimate at the time.”

“So, you admit to having a sexual relationship with her, a
member of the opposite sex. A man making love to a woman!
No! Further! Questions!”

Anna Richards, distinguished senator from Texas, was next. I
fended off several thousand more questions relating to my
“permanent record”, including a spit ball incident during the
third grade. Then she brought out the big guns and asked, “In your
parent’s home, what type of VCR do they own?”

Here it was, the buy American tirade. “It’s a Toshiba.”

“And what type of VCR did they have at the William Adam S.
Preston Junior High where you attended the seventh grade.”

“Shit,” I thought to myself, having learned my lesson about
muttering under my breath. “It was a Toshiba.”

Senator Richards knew my back was against the wall on this
one. “And would you like to elaborate what happened when your
seventh grade health class watched the film on sexual education.”

“The VCR malfunctioned,” I said with solemn sincerity. Hey,
if politicians could gloss over the truth, I could.

The senator from Texas was not nearly satiated. “And what
caused this supposed malfunction?”

“My guess would be a series of encoded infrared pulses.”

“This is a congressional hearing,” she said coolly. “We
don’t guess here. And what caused those `infrared pulses.’”

“Most likely some type of oscillator, a crystal, driven
by a power source.”

“Enough of this tomfoolery!” She whipped out a folder
emblazoned with large black letters, “Clark Thomas’s Permanent
Record.” She selected a page from the rather thick dossier and
began to read: “During the documentary “Your Growing Body,” Clark
[Thomas] used a remote control brought from home to freeze the
picture whenever a part of the female anatomy was shown and to
fast forward through shots of the male anatomy…” Richards put
the paper down and asked, “Should I go on. Should I humiliate by
announcing your sentence?” She paused and added snidely, “One
week’s detention.”

To fully appreciate what I’d done, you had to picture the
scene. The frantic teacher trying to figure out the VCR’s
controls as the tv was filled with a pair of breasts in an
advanced stage of development. The girls turning red and the boys
laughing. I didn’t bother to elaborate about how the vice principal
kept bursting out in laughter when he tried to lecture me. I didn’t
tell her about the giggles that came from the conference the vice
principal had with my parents about the incident. I didn’t tell her how
I was elected president of my class next year, selected as captain of my
soccer team and the numerous other junior high type honors that were
rained on me. I simply said, “I am humbled by your revelations.”

She smiled smugly believe she had humiliated me beyond all
words. “No further questions.”

Senator Stan Nunn, an expert on the military and foreign
affairs, was next. At least he was a male interviewer. After
taking a sip of water, clearing his throat, wiping his brow with a
handkerchief, loosening his tie, tightening his tie and strumming
his fingers on the desk nervously while loosening his tie, he
asked, “December 7, 1941 where were you?”

That was a simply one to answer. “I wasn’t born yet.”

“So you had no fore-knowledge of Japan’s impending attack on
Pearl Harbor?” he ventured but not without some hesitation.

“Obviously not,” I responded.

He quickly terminated his portion of the interview. “No
further questions.” He and old “pants around the ankles”
celebrated their victory by giving each other a nervous half
smile.

To say I’d gotten annoyed at the entire proceedings was an
understatement. Congresswoman Bethanne Dole was next. “Is it
true that you had intercourse with a woman named Sherry Hewson
after you’d offered her temporary lodging in your apartment?”

I could feel the wisps of steam coming from my ears as I
glared Ms. Dole. I could really care about my first kiss in the
eighth grade or spitballs in the third grade. Sherry was a taboo
subject. In my best imitation of a “send chills down your spine”
militant lesbian reaction, I responded, “She and I were lovers.”

Dole shuffled her notes trying to thwart off my “if looks
could kill” glare. “After engaging in sexual relations with Ms.
Hewson, did you not then assault her only sibling while she and her
mother watched?”

“That’s it!” I shouted standing up. “Sherry and I had been
on two or three dates. No big deal. Then she calls me one night
in tears and says her brother has beaten her up, again. So I let
her stay and yes, we made love. But if your courts had kicked her
brother out of the house, the first or fifth time he’d beaten her
up, Sherry wouldn’t have been at my place having consenting sex.
No, he was a minor and the courts refused remove him from the home.”

All ten of them were silent. The clicking of the stenographer
had stopped and only myself and the hum of the camera continued
unabated. “After she found a place of her own, I went to her
house to help her move. Her brother picked a fight and I finished
it. Christ, Sherry’s mom even took me out to dinner to say thank
you.”

Meanwhile, in the boiler room in the basement, the most recent
Supreme Court nominee, also named Clark Thomas, sat talking with an
old coot wearing a shirt with the name “Dutch” sewn on it. “Do
you know how to use a mop ringer?” choked Dutch as lit up another
unfiltered Marlborough.

Nominee Clark Thomas solemnly replied, “Although I’d like to
answer that at this time, I cannot venture an opinion on the
matter.”

Meanwhile over in the White House, the President sat back and
smiled, knowing that all along his nominee, Clark Thomas, was
currently being interviewed by Dutch, a man who’d inhaled pure
ammonia on a daily basis for the last fifty years. This was
destine to be the easiest confirmation hearing in the history of
the Supreme Court. The President was not completely oblivious to the
plight of Clark Thomas, twenty year old college student in search of a
summer job. After being grilled by the congressional committee, the
President planned on rewarding young Clark by having him appointed
as a congressional intern.

–

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Humourfairnesstxt

Wednesday, October 8th, 2008

Archive-author: J. David Narkiewicz
Archive-title: In all Fairness

I wrote this because of the last story I posted,
“In HOT Pursuit of Safe Sex” which brought me over 20
letters saying to keep up the good work. Again, the story
posted has no sex in it but the word sexual is used 6 times,
the word sex twice, intercouse once, “making love” twice,
kiss twice, breast once and lesbian twice.

In all Fairness, J. David Narkiewicz

Every other college student in the greater D.C. area was
trying to get an internship with a member of Congress. There were
three ways to get such a position: have a well connected family,
pick up the soap in the congressman’s shower or stick your nose in
a place I found olfactorily repulsive. Besides, interning paid
crap compared to other government jobs. I’d set my sights on
Custodial Assistant at the Capitol Building, search number
A8042299625.

I’d decided a suit was not in order for my interview, but I
did go with a shirt and tie. As I’d been instructed when informed
of my interview, I walked through the gardens at the back of the
Capital Building until I reached the East door. It was opened
before I could ring the bell. I was greeted by three rather large
men in suits complete with little microphones in their ears and
conspicuous bulges under their arm pits.

“Clark Thomas?” asked the tall black man who, amongst the
three, seemed to be in charge.

“Yes,” I stammered, feeling just a tad intimidated by the
not-so-Secret Service.

“Identification,” he demanded and I provided in triplicate.
I was photographed, finger printed, metal detected and thankfully
not cavity searched — no job was worth that. With a visitor’s
pass clipped to my shirt pocket, I was personally guided to my
destination by two football types also draped in suits and wearing
sun glasses even though they were indoors. They grunted for me to
proceed through a set of huge double doors.

My fantasy of being interviewed in a decrepit boiler room by
an old codger with the name “Bubba” sewn on his shirt were
quickly dispelled. There were no less than ten people sitting at
a large wooden table, all ready to interview me. Counting the
camera man and the stenographer, complete with mysterious
stenographer type machine, I felt like Christ at the last supper.
The difference here — aside from the fact that I didn’t have a
sixties lack-of-a-haircut and wasn’t wearing a toga — was that eight
of the disciples were female. They all sat at the table and had that
“send chills down your spine” look I commonly attribute solely to
militant lesbians.

I stood there until the blue-rinse woman sitting in the middle
of the table spoke into her mike, “Good Morning, Mr. Thomas.
Please, have a seat and make yourself comfortable.”

I caught myself looking around behind me in search of my
father, Mr. Thomas. Left with no one else to blame, I sat down at
a table of my own. For comfort they’d provided a pitcher of water
and two glasses — I was feeling more comfortable already.

With camera rolling and stenographer typing away, the blue-rinsed
woman, Congress woman Katrina “Kat” Schroeder, started with
my birth and asked me every conceivable question about my life. It
got weird when she reached the part about the eighth grade dance.
“Did you take one Kimberly Campbell to your eighth grade dance
when you were thirteen?”

“Yes, I did, ma’am.” I had no idea how any of this would
make me a better broom pusher, but bureaucracy was not to be
trifled with, especially at the federal level.

“During the course of the evening, did you say, and I quote
`I guess it was a date. That means we’re supposed to kiss good
night.’”

I just stared at her completely bewildered. Schroeder didn’t take
that as a response. “Answer the questions, please,” she said.

“I guess I did,” I stumbled. That was seven years ago, as
if I’d remember exactly what I’d said.

“Ha!” she screeched causing one of my glasses to
shatter. “So you confess to making sexual advances towards a
thirteen year old girl.” The other women at the table all nodded
in agreement and murmured like an impassioned lynch mob. Out of
desperation, I turned to one of the men at the table hoping for a
glimmer of support. It was only then that I recognized him as Ned
“pants-around-the-ankles” Kennedy. Since this had nothing to do
with a Congressional pay raise, he was staring at the ceiling doing
his best to ignore me.

Kat Schroeder had finished and promptly introduced, the right
honorable Anita Quill, Congresswoman and legal scholar from
Oklahoma. She was one of those fat, intimidate you with her
breath, black women. At the snap of her sweaty black fingers an
intern-type entered the room carrying a sheet of paper. It was deposited
on my desk. From the way the intern walked, I could tell he was a
type 2 intern.

Congresswoman Quill said, “Please, read the following letter.
It shall be entered into the record as Piece of Evidence 94.”
Pieces of Evidence 1 through 93 were such epic and incriminating
documents as my kindergarten report card which stated I worked and
played well with others and a detention I’d received in tenth grade
for not having my Spanish book covered –Muchas gracias para nada,
Meastro Stewart.

As I read Piece of Evidence 94, I could feel my face turning
red. This document dated back to when I worked as a volunteer
during the last presidential campaign. “Did you read the
letter?” demanded Congresswoman Quill.

“Yes, I did, Congresswoman.”

“That’s Congressperson,” she corrected.

Under my breath, I said, “If your ass were any tighter, you could
use it to turn a piece of coal into a diamond?” Of course, since there
was a microphone in front of me, the whisper became a shout and echoed
from every corner of the room. “diamond, diamond, diamond…”

The congressperson just glared and asked, “Were you the
author of this letter?”

I’d long since given up on getting the job, but still,
this was a question I’d gladly dodge. “Well, the signature
isn’t mine.” It certainly wasn’t. The letter was written on
stationary liberated from the presidential candidate I’d worked for.
It was a form letter of sorts, blank save for the pre-printed
closing at the bottom complete with “God Bless,” and the candidate’s
signature.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Ms. Quill retorted.
“Maybe I should refresh your memory.” She put her librarian
glasses on, picked up the letter and began reading:

Dear Ms. Travis,

Knowing that I surely enjoy your support in the upcoming
election, I’d like to bring your attention to another issue of dire
importance. A campaign worker of mine, one Mr. Clark Thomas, has
been without your romantic companionship since you began your
…End of the part1. To be continued..

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Dark and Stormy Night

Saturday, September 27th, 2008

As a famous author once wrote, it was a “Dark and Stormy
Night” as sea coast weather can often be. It was raining very hard,
even by the sea coast standards that I was used to. The rain was
almost snow. I was sitting in my car at the deserted ferry terminal.
It was Thursday, and no ferrys docked at this terminal this evening.

I remember the first time I met her. She worked at a car
rental agency at the airport. I had reason to be in the terminal most
every night and we struck up a casual conversation. This went on for
several months. She was about 5′8″, 145 lbs, brown hair and brown
eyes. Her figure was shapely, and her breasts small but very
attractive. Because of her job, she dressed conservatively, but there
was a very sexy quality about her. Occasionally her blouse would gap
a bit and I would get a glimpse of her bra covered breasts. I was
fascinated. She had a wonderful personality. There were many people
around always so our conversation was casual.

One evening, I was dropping a co-worker at her residence and
was invited in by her mother for fresh cookies. I was about to go in
and received a radio call that I was needed at the airport, at the car
rental counter. Well, so much for the chocolate chip cookies. Duty
called. I got to the airport, about a 5 minute drive, and went in.
She had some information that I had asked about. We joked around and
I mentioned that as much as I needed the information, it cost me some
chocolate chip cookies. We laughed about it and I went on my way.

The next evening, I received another call to the airport. I
went in and there on her counter was a plate of fresh baked chocolate
chip cookies. We talked a bit, over cookies and her customers and
again I went on my way.

Being in a high visibility occupation, I was forced to be very
cautious in my dealings with women, especially since I was married. I
did get brave and wrote a note that said, simply, “Good Morning Lovely
Lady,” sealed it in an envelope and secretly dropped it into her purse
that sat open on the side counter. I figured that in the morning she
would notice the envelope and open it.

Coming back to the present, the rain was now falling as a very
wet snow, and was starting to accumulate on the windshield of my car.
I had the radio on the local soft music station, and had to start the
engine to generate some heat as the outside temperature was about
freezing. A car’s headlights pulled into the deserted terminal, but
it was just turning around.

It was a few days after the “note in the purse” incident
before I saw her again. She tried to seem annoyed at my greeting, but
didn’t act the part very well. I could tell she was pleased. I had
to be careful about spending too much time at the airport for fear
that someone would “notice.”

A couple weeks went by and my wife had a chance to fly off to
a city about 700 miles away and then drive back. She would take the
children. Without much thought, I encouraged her to go as I knew that
she would enjoy the trip and get to see her parents. She would be
gone about a week.

I was working day shift, which ended at 3pm. Saturday came
along and I was off after the shift for two days. What to do with
Saturday evening? There was nothing much at the theaters and even
less on TV. I still had need of some information at the airport so I
decided that probably a little off duty work was in order. I decided
that I would call her up and see if the plane was going to be on time.
My heart leapt as she answered the phone. We talked a bit and she told
me that the plane was running a couple hours late so she was going to
go home and feed her children and then come back as her husband was
out of town. We talked a bit more and the subject of the fantastic
milk shakes at the local drive-in restaurant. They were known
everywhere. I said, in jest, “Why don’t I buy you one after the
flight leaves.” She said “That would be great!” Boy was I surprised.
We agreed that after the plane left we’d meet in the airport parking
lot and go for a shake.

The next two hours were endless. I couldn’t believe that she
was going to spend a little time with me. I actually paced the floor
in my apartment!

The plane came and went and I didn’t get the information that
I wanted. I went out to my car and she came out shortly. She was
wearing a clear rain jacket, a zippered blue jean coat and grey
slacks. I couldn’t see what else she had on. She suggested that we
go in her car as it was less known in the area. We went over to the
drive up window and got two strawberry shakes. We pulled into the
parking lot like a couple of teen agers and shut off the car. We sat
in the car and watched it rain while we enjoyed the shakes. She
un-zipped her raincoat as it warmed up in the car. She eventually
un-zipped the jeans jacket also and disclosed a sheer white blouse.
The dim lighting failed to reveal the exact design, but it was very
alluring. We talked well past the shakes, and I asked if she’d like to
go for a ride. She said she would and would I drive? I moved to the
driver seat and we headed for an ocean overlook about 20 miles away.

It was snowing harder now as my wait at the ferry terminal
lenghtened. She had said about what time she’d be there but I had
gotten there early. My windshield was completely snow covered, but
the snow was so wet that it wasn’t sticking on the ground. I sat
back. turned up the music a little and let my mind wander.

We had sat at the overlook for awhile and just talked. It had
stopped raining and a few stars could be seen. Finally I just sat
looking at her and she at me. I reached over and kissed her. Our
tongues met and we held each other tightly. I reached inside her
jacket and felt her breasts. They were fairly small but firm. She
reacted immediately to my touch. The blouse covering them was silky
and pleasant to the touch. I slowly un-buttoned it, one button at a
time. Her bra was white, and substantial. I lowered the straps and
un-hooked it. We sat and enjoyed each other for awhile and decided
that this overlook was a bit too public. We drove back toward town
and went up to the community college, deserted at this hour. We
parked on a side road and continued our exploration of each other.
She began to feel guilty and we didn’t make love that night. We sat
for a long time and finally she dropped me back at my car.

The ten o’clock news came on the radio and it was now raining
again, dissolving the wet snow that had been falling. A car pulled
into the terminal and went slowly past. I could see that it wasn’t
her, but some other lady apparently on her way to a rendezvous. She
stopped at the other end of the parking area and someone got out of a
car and into hers. They drove off. I watched it as the rain turned
to snow again. She said she’d meet me as close to 10 o’clock as she
could. The news ended and the music began again. It rained harder.

I thought back to another rainy, stormy night when I was
working swing shift, which ended at 11pm. She called about 10:30pm
and said that she had to be at the downtown ferry terminal to meet the
11pm ship. I told her I’d stop by. It was quiet so I got to leave a
few minutes early. She was there and we got into my car and headed
south out of town. We had very little time as we were both expected
home. We stopped at a secluded wayside and were in each others arms
immediately. I undid her blouse and front closing bra and rubbed her
nipples. They became instantly hard and her breath became short and
ragged. I slid her slacks down over her narrow hips and removed her
bikini panties. I removed my pants and entered her. I stroked her in
and out and satisfaction came to both of us almost immediately there
on the front seat of my car. There wasn’t time for formality, but we
had to have each other. We drove back to town and she sat very near
to me. We talked about little things and each secretly hoped that
this wouldn’t be the last timewe would be together.

I could see her car’s headlights coming some distance off as
the snow began to fall again. She pulled up and I got into her car.
We drove off and headed north. We finally pulled into a small road
that lead to a private harbor, totally deserted this time of the year.
We stopped in the parking area and shut off the car. We were
immediately in each other’s arms. Both of us had good reasons to be
away from home this evening so there was no pressing rush. I felt of
her breasts thru her jacket. I could feel her arousal already. She
was wearing a jacket, sweatshirt, sweater, blouse, camisole, and
bra,along with heavy slacks. I commented that she was quite dressed,
even considering the weather. She said that the reason was that she
wanted to see me but knew we shouldn’t make love so she “covered it
all up.” We slowly removed her clothing (and mine). Her bra was
dainty and lacy. It was totally dark but my fingers gave me a better
picture of it that I could have gotten with some light. I finally
entered her and began slowly stroking my cock in and out of her
warm,wet love canal. I took deep, loving strokes and I could feel her
tensing up. She started to climax and just kept on the pinnacle of
ecstacy as I tried to slow my own excitement. She stayed on the peak
of climax for what seemed like forever. I finally couldn’t stand it
any more and I shot the biggest load of cum that I had ever given into
her. I continued to move in and out of her as she subsided. Finally
we napped in each other’s arms as the rain fell and the wind rocked
the car.

It soon became cold and we awoke and slowly dressed. We each
knew that this would be the last time for us as I was being transferred
as was her husband. We drove slowly back to the terminal where my car
was parked and each went our separate ways. The rain was still falling
as we parted and we promised each other that when we heard very hard
rain on the roof, we would think of each other and to this day, I
remember our Dark and Stormy Night whenever it rains.

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Co-Worker Slut

Wednesday, September 24th, 2008

This story is intended for private use and may be copied as
desired. It may not be sold or reproduced for any type of monetary
gain or other purpose.

I am a 29 year old male and work for a medium size corporation in
Long Beach. I am single but have a 27 year old girlfriend that
would knock the socks off any man. Mandy is five seven, blonde hair
and blue eyes with the most fantastic body ever. She worships me
and we get along great. Best of all, when I want it, she never says
no. That is why I can’t figure out why what happened, happened.

In our office, there are a few young attractive women and a lot of
women in the 35 to 45 age range. All or most of them are married
and have families. This one lady, Peggy, is about 40, oriental,
very attractive for her age and her figure is still dynamite. She
has nice medium-size breasts and shapely legs. She has a few lines
in her face but her hips have a motion to them when she walks on
her high heels that attract any man’s eyes. Peggy is a real
sweetheart. She is always kind and considerate. She always dresses
very professional and is the last woman I would suspect of having
an office affair.

So, we were working on a project together one week and spending a
lot of time working in the file room. The file room is in the
basement and is pretty secluded and there is almost never any one
in there. This is a large room with row after row of four drawer
file cabinets. There is really too much stuff in there for the size
of the room because the aisles are rather narrow. On our second day
down there, Peggy was wearing a long, conservative white dress and
white high heels. I had seen her in this dress before. She was made
up as usual and actually looked quite attractive. We were both
working in the end aisle which had only one way in and out. It was
so narrow that we could not squeeze past each other without making
body contact. That morning as I squeezed past Peggy a couple of
times, I noticed two things. First, she was wearing some kind of
perfume that drove me nuts. Second, her dress was a wrap around
type that was tied at the waist and I don’t know if it was the
tight quarters or what, but as I squeezed past her and looked down
over her shoulder, I could see part of her very sexy white lace and
satin bra and, of course, what was in it. The next time I had to
squeeze past her, I got an even better view of her cleavage and it
was starting to arouse me.
A little while later, Peggy asked me a question and as I turned to
answer her, I noticed that the edge of her dress was caught on a
file drawer and as she had turned away from the drawer, it had
pulled the bottom of her dress open enough to expose her right leg
to me. I was stunned for just an instant by the sight of her very
sexy leg and the fact that she appeared to be wearing stockings
instead of pantyhose. All I could see was just a hint of what
appeared to be the top of a stocking.

Then, she must of felt a draft or something and I told her she was
caught at the same moment. She quickly turned away, embarrassed and
apologizing. Over the next couple of hours and through lunch, all
I could think about was what I had seen and how excited it made me.

After lunch, things went on as normal until about three o’clock. I
had been working at the end of the same aisle as Peggy. She was
about half way down from me working with a drawer in front of her
open, one behind her open, and one behind and just a little past
her open. I had an arm full of files I was carrying out and alerted
her that I was coming down the aisle. She tried to hurry and make
way for me but just as I got to her she pushed the drawer in front
of her closed and quickly turned and closed the one behind her in
one fluid motion. At the same moment, I reached her position and
slipped on a pen on the floor. The result was amazing.

The tie from her dress had gotten caught in the drawer in front of
her when she closed it and as she turned to close the drawer behind
her, it pulled loose. Feeling something was wrong as she was
closing the drawer behind her, she turned quickly back toward the
first drawer and in so doing, got the edge of her dress caught on
the drawer behind her. As it slid closed, it pulled her dress
apart. A fraction of a second later, I step on the pen, slip, drop
files everywhere so I can catch hold of something to keep from
falling. I end up pressed against Peggy with her back against the
file cabinet. Her dress was open and her sexy white lace and satin
covered body was before me. Our faces were a few inches apart and
I was suddenly seized by the impulse to kiss her sexy red lips. I
did it. I kissed her on the mouth for just an instant. She didn’t
do anything but just look at me. I moved my lips forward and kissed
her again. This time, it was longer and she started to respond. As
she responded her mouth opened slightly and her lips became softer
and wet and warm. My hands moved up to her sides and gently took
hold of her. “NO! Neal, I can’t. We can’t.” she said and turned her
back to me.

I was so hot for her and I had a huge hard-on. I started to kiss
her neck as I whispered that it was alright and that no one need
ever know that we enjoyed each other one afternoon. As I kissed her
neck, my hands slid up the front of her torso and found her soft,
full breasts in her bra. She was moaning softly as I started to
caress her. Then she said, “No Neal, please. We can’t. I am
married.” as she said it she pushed my hands from her breasts. I
was too fired up to quit so easily. I whispered to her, “Yes we
can. Just this once. No one will ever know.” and as I said it, I
started to kiss her neck again and my hands found her breasts
again. She moved my hands away again but they were quickly back.
This time she didn’t move them away and as I caressed her through
her bra, I could feel her nipples harden. I felt her gently push
her body back against mine and when she felt my stiff cock against
her ass, she moaned.

My right hand slid down to the string tie that was holding part of
the left side of her dress across the front of her body and untied
it. She kept whispering, “No. No. No.” but her body was saying yes,
yes, yes. My hands now reached up and slid her dress from her
shoulders, down her arms and off. I quickly tossed it onto the file
cabinet. Her back was still to me but I didn’t care. What she was
wearing excited me like never before. She wore a white lace
garterbelt that matched her bra. Her panties were high cut and
white silk with only thin straps across her hips. My hands had
returned to her breasts and I was now rubbing my erection against
her silky panties. My fingers slipped into the cups of her bra and
found her erect nipples, but it was so tight and confining that I
couldn’t do anything. Her breasts needed to be freed. My fingers
found the clasp of her bra between the cups and popped it loose.
Then I slowly peeled the cups back to release her breasts. As I did
so, she moaned slowly and deeply. She whispered, “I haven’t been
touched like this in six years. OH GOD! it feels so good.” Her
posture had changed as I now pinched her nipples. She was bent
slightly forward with her ass pushed hard against me. Finally I
slid my right hand down to the crotch of her panties and found them
to be hot and wet. It excited me so much that I almost came. I
started to rub her through her panties and her moans grew louder
and more intense. I couldn’t stop now, I had to have her.

She had finally given in and had reached her hand back and was
stroking me through my pants. I moved my left hand down and opened
my belt and fly. My slacks slid down my legs to the floor. She
grabbed hold of me through my underpants but wasn’t satisfied. She
started to push them down my leg and I helped her. My cock was free
and harder than ever before. She stroked it like an expert.

She was wearing her panties outside the straps of her garter belt.
I grabbed her panties and slid them down to her ankles where she
kicked them off. Then she parted her legs and I slid my hand right
down and a finger right into her. She was almost coming instantly
and I decided it was time. She bent forward more and pushed her ass
up and back. I bent my knees a little and positioned myself
directly behind her. I guided my cock to her waiting pussy lips and
then with one thrust, buried it into her. She was now screaming at
me to fuck her hard. I was pushing into her hard and she was
meeting my thrusts. She felt so good. Her pussy was actually
massaging and sucking on me. No woman had ever felt like this
…End of the part1. To be continued..

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Humourcoldhandtxt

Thursday, September 18th, 2008

Archive-author:
Archive-title: Changing Tires

[I got this from _They Used to Call Me Snow White...But I Drifted_
by Regina Barreca. CTM]

This couple out on a date get a flat while driving along on a snowy
night. He goes out to change the tire, but doesn’t have any gloves
so before long he comes back in, job half-done, with blue hands. “Put
your hands between my legs to warm them up,” says she. So he does,
and goes back out to the flat tire. It’s so cold, he has to come back
in one more time to warm up his hands, again at her invitation,
between her legs. He finally finishes the job and comes back into the
car triumphant and puts the key into the ignition.

She looks at him and says, “Aren’t your ears cold?”

–

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Humourcarwomentxt

Monday, September 15th, 2008

Archive-author:
Archive-title: 15 Reasons Why Cars are Better then Women

1. You can always turn on a car.
2. You are always in the driver’s seat.
3. You can drive a car anywhere.
4. You can share a car with your friends.
5. The car will always do what you make it do.
6. You can always buy a new one if you want to.
7. A car doesn’t complain about lack of attention.
8. If a car breaks down, you can always fix it up right.
9. A car doesn’t mind if you drive around in other cars.
10. There’s enough room in a car for 4 to 6 people.
11. You can swear at a car, up and down, and it won’t get offended.
12. If you kick a car, it will still run strong.
13. You can toot a car’s horn anytime and it won’t get upset.
14. You can feed a car and it will go as far as it can for you.
15. A car won’t give you any suprises no matter how many times
you get in and out of it.

Remember:
Man’s equivalent of a woman’s diamond ring is a car.

–

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Humourbuns2barney

Sunday, September 14th, 2008

Archive-author:
Archive-title: I Gave My Buns To Barney

Read this and weep, oh you millions who lust after dinosaur dingdongs.
This is the true story of a young girl, tender in years and thoughts,
who met RUINATION at the hands of yet another slick Hollywood type, the
one and only potentate of the preschool set, BARNEY.

Friday, July 30
Dear Diary:

Wow, I’m so excited! Today I got my first job! It’s just too way
totally cool, too… I mean, right out of Peoria College of Television
Arts and Advertising Sciences and like I already have a JOB! Oh, I am
so happy. I can’t wait. I am going to be – get this, Diary Dear! – the
PERSONAL ASSISTANT to Barney the Dinosaur on the smash PBS educational
show! WOW, huh? I will be making seven big ones an hour, too!

Can’t wait to tell that snatch Debbie Fartgold about ye jobbe. She was
such a twat when she got that job as – woooooo, hold down the excitement
– software development coordinator at Jap-o Electronics, or whatever it
was called. Like I don’t know what SOFTware she’s developing! HAHA.

Monday, August 2
Dear Diary:

Today was the absolutely most STUNNING day of my whole LIFE. I got to
meet BARNEY, that beloved cuddly purple amphibian of MILLIONS and *I* am
his RIGHT ARM. He told me so! Really! Just like I mentioned to Mom
when I got home – he told me that I would be needing my right arm soon,
as his was getting pretty tired of doing it all himself! I see a lot
more RESPONSIBILITY coming my way, and maybe more $$$$$$$$! Soon I will
have my OWN TELEPHONE.

Mom says that Barney is not an amphibian. She says he’s an
“abomination”, whatever that is. I never saw that in MY biology book.

Tuesday, August 3
Dear Diary:

I think – and I would not dare to tell ANYbody but you this, Dear Diary
– that Barney LIKES me!!!!!!!!! He wants to do me a favor, he said so!
He put his arm around my shoulder and said “I love you, you love me -
let’s do each other, huh?”

He must have been sort of speechless by my presence, ’cause he forgot to
say “a favor”. Well, when you are a BIG STAR like Barney, you’re under
a lot of pressure. I know that too, ’cause he said the pressure in his
pants was getting BIG. Poor Barney! I’ll have to have some sharp words
with his tailor. Imagine keeping a STAR in pants he’s outgrown!

Wednesday, August 4
Dear Diary:

Barney is such a KID at heart! Today he asked me to play “Squeeze the
Play-Dough” with him! He has the greatest colors of Play-Dough, too…
sort of purplish. They must have made it especially for him. He likes
to make big purple bananas with it, I think. He asked me if I wanted to
taste his banana and waived it around in my face while I was hemming up
his new bigger pants.

It’s so nice to be around someone with a sense of HUMOR for a change.

Thursday, August 5
Dear Diary:

Boy, am I dumb! That wasn’t Play-Dough at all! It must be some kind of
new gum, ’cause when I put a little of it in my mouth to taste today, it
was sort of rubbery and then squirted all over my teeth!!!! It didn’t
taste too grapey, though. I told Barney they needed to work on the
flavor. He just sort of grunted and told me he’d eat some Now ‘n’
Laters tonight. Whatever that means.

I LOVE MY JOB!!!!

Friday, August 6
Dear Diary:

HE LOVES ME, I know it. He brought me CANDY today! It was a big
squooshy block of what he called Laffy Taffy! I pulled and pulled and
he just hooted and hollered and we had a GREAT time!!!!

I must admit that he seems to like that kind of candy with the squirty
stuff, though. The candy was just like the gum. He likes it when it
squirts all over my mouth and runs down my chin. Oh well! That’s why I
carry a hankie!!!!

Monday, August 8
Dear Diary:

I never realized that his job had MEDICAL and DENTAL benefits, too! It
is just SO COOL. Barney told me today that my wisdom teeth needed a
good swabbing, and offered to do it himself! I told him I was scared of
dentists, so he kindly offered to blindfold me. He is SO THOUGHTFUL.

Barney is a GENIUS. *It did not hurt a bit!!!!!* He strapped me in his
chair (if I wiggled too much I might get a nasty surprise, he said) and
then put the blindfold on. I must admit I gagged a bit when he put the
“swabber” in my mouth – it went all the way to the back of my throat!
He told me that my tonsils looked pretty grungy too, so he pushed and
pushed and pushed until he got the “cleaning solution” ready and then
popped it right down my throat. Boy, did I smile after that! My teeth
must SPARKLE! It took him almost twenty minutes to get those tonsils
clean!

Tomorrow he said he would show me how to be a “parts model” – all the
big magazines are looking for girls with clean thighs, he said. THIS
COULD BE THE BIGTIME FOR ME!!!!!

Tuesday, August 9
Dear Diary:

Barney IS SO NICE. Today he let me take a nap on his bed!!!! Imagine,
ME, just another girl from Peoria, lying on a real Hollywood style
couch! I must have been really tired, ’cause after I drank that glass
of grape juice Barney gave me, I got soooooo sleepy I just conked right
out! I must have slept for HOURS too, because when I woke up I was all
stiff and sore.

Oh Diary, you’re the only one I could whisper this to: I think I peed
myself in my sleep! How embarrassing! When I woke up I was all wet and
sticky from my you-know-where to my knees!

I have to lay off the grape juice, though, cause all of that pee-pee was
sort of purple.

Thursday, August 18
Dear Diary:

Didn’t go into work all this week. Feeling a little sort of queasy in
my tum-tum.

Tuesday, September 21
Dear Diary:

Sorry I haven’t written much lately, Dear Diary. I had to quit my job.
Barney told me I was getting fat and he didn’t like fat chicks around.
Haven’t been eating much, but my tummy is getting bigger every day.
Must have been all that candy I ate when I was happy and still with my
beloved Barney-buns.

I still like to sit and think about those happy days, pulling the taffy
with Barney, playing dentist and patient, and taking those restful naps.
Boy, those naps were refreshing. I always woke up kind of sore, but I
think it’s ’cause Barney’s couch. It called it is “hump couch” but I
think he meant “lump”. Sometimes it was hard to tell when he had that
cigar in his mouth.

Wednesday, October 1
Dear Diary:

The WEIRDEST THING has happened to me!!!!!!!! When I woke up this
morning, there were hundreds of FROGS in my bed! Can you IMAGINE?

Even weirder, though is… they call me “Mom”!

**************************************************************

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Humourbleedmirtxt

Tuesday, September 2nd, 2008

Archive-author:
Archive-title: Bleedin’ miracle

Why don’t men trust women?

Would _you_ trust anything that bled for three days and didn’t die?

–

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