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Her gasps became moans, first breathy, then louder as her hips moved
even more violently. She ran one hand through his hair while pressing the
other against her mouth in a futile attempt to stifle the noise. “Oh God,”
she moaned, “That feels so goooood…”

Harry would have said something in reply, but it was bad manners to
talk with your mouth full.

Not that it would be full much longer. Her moans had become cries that
she was powerless to silence. Her hips moved so violently that he had a
difficult time keeping his tongue where it belonged and he held onto her
thighs to keep her steady. The more excited she became, the farther her
clit poked out of its fleshy covering, and the easier it was to torment it.
Then her cries suddenly silenced as every muscle in her body locked and her
hips rose high off the bed, carrying Harry with them. For a timeless second
she remained like that, every muscle quivering in an explosive orgasm,
before settling back on the bed with a mighty groan.

Wow, he thought. Cindi never got off like that. Experimentally he
probed with his tongue again. She almost jumped off the bed. “No! Stop,
please… No more…” she pleaded in an exhausted whisper. Slowly Harry
uncurled himself and crawled up to rest beside her. He ran a hand along her
skin, which was cold and beaded with sweat. She rolled onto her side and
threw an arm around him, burying her face in his chest. She was shaking
like a leaf. He hugged her tight to him until the trembling subsided.

Finally she said “That was good.” She ran a hand down to his belly to
his penis. His erection had wilted, and she began to massage some life back
into it. It was not long at all before he was hard again, and she ran her
fingers tantalizingly along the length of his hard-on. She rolled onto her
back again, pulling him on top of her with surprising strength. “I want
you. Now!”

The little man spoke up in his mind again, telling him he was walking
into disaster, but Harry ignored it as she guided his penis into her. He
thrust deep, and she gasped. “Still touchy.” she breathed into his ear.

He thrust again and again, in and out, as her hips moved in time with
his own. With one hand he supported himself while the other ran along her
side, feeling her body. Her mouth met his in a deep kiss.

Too soon, much too soon, he felt the pleasure building. It mounted
higher and higher, until he knew he was going to come. He rested for a
moment until it died back, but it returned with twice the ferocity as soon
as he began pumping again. He tried to will it back, to force it down, but
the pleasure quickly grew out of control. He groaned through clenched teeth
at an explosion of pleasure as his seed shot into the warm depths of her
body. She held him tight as the echoes faded and Harold began to relax.

As the pleasure faded, fear replaced it. Now was the moment of truth.
Was she going to accept him or explode with rage? He pulled out and lay
down beside her, trembling slightly.

She noticed something was wrong right away. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” he mumbled.

“Don’t give me that. You just withdrew into yourself like a turtle in
a shell. What are you afraid of?”

He swallowed hard “I thought you might get mad. Because… because I
couldn’t last very long. I was premature.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked, “That was fantastic! I
haven’t got off that hard in a long time. What-” Suddenly an idea began to
form. “Harry, what was it you were so upset about when you first came in
here?”

Harold told her about Cindi. It took much coaxing to get the whole
truth out, as the pain had not diminished after all.

After he finished, she was silent for a long time. Finally she said,
“I almost can’t believe somebody could do that to another person. Almost. I
know Cindi. She’s pretty fuckin’ shallow and self-centered. How on earth
did you ever get tangled up with her anyway?”

“I don’t know.” Harold said in a flat, lifeless voice. “I used to
think she was something special. I was in love. I thought she loved me.”

“I don’t think the bitch knows what love is.” Julie thought for a long
moment. “There’s only one thing to do. We’re going to have to get you over
this little problem of yours. And I think I know just the person to do
it.”

Harold lifted his head up to stare at her outline in the darkness.
“You know somebody who can fix it?”

“This guy can fix anything. He knows more about sex than Dr. Ruth.
He’ll know what to do. And then you can show that bitch what’s what.”

“I don’t know…” Harold began doubtfully.

“You don’t have to know.” she concluded for him. “I do.”

They lay together for a long time. Finally she said, “Ready for
another one?”

“Another what?” Harold asked innocently.

“Come on, now. You’ve had plenty of time to recover.” She began
stroking his penis, which was beginning to swell. “See what I mean?”

He felt the heat returning as he caressed her breast. “Well, if you
insist…”

“Of course I insist. You know what they say.”

“No, what do they say?” Harold asked as he moved on top of her.

“It’s usually better the second time around…”

And it was.

Sunday. Squirrel Heights. By noon, the temperature hit 100 degrees.
The misery at the boarding house was more acute than usual, as hangovers
didn’t mix with the heat at all. Also, because about five times as many
people as usual had spent the night there, the place needed a good airing
out. Especially the front room…

Michael Wilburn was fifty one years old and solidly built. Though
balding, his hair showed not a trace of gray and there was a mischevious
gleam in his eye when he smiled that showed that he had not yet surrendered
to his years and probably never will. He was handsome in an offhanded sort
of way, and had an easy, outgoing matter. He had once been an economics
professor at the local university, until he decided to apply some of his
theories to the stock market and found himself comfortably rich within a
year. Students who once avoided his classes like the plague now begged him
to return to teaching. He always got quite a laugh out of that. Despite
some trepidation when Julie had introduced them, Harold was surprised to
find he liked Michael almost immediately.

They sat at opposite ends of a study on the third floor, Harold in a
ratty old easy chair, Michael crosslegged on a small pile of pillows. The
air in the room was leaden, stiflingly hot. The only light streamed in
through a half-shuttered window and striped the floor between them. Harold
wiped sweat off his brow every few minutes, but his host seemed affected
not at all by the heat.

Opening up to a stranger is always hard, but hope forced Harold along.
Haltingly at first, then more freely with Michael’s gentle prodding, he
…End of the part2. To be continued..

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you’d given up hope of it ever coming true it does. It’s like getting a

Christmas present in February. It’s not anything you expect, but it sure

can make you happy. That’s just what happened to me.

Before I share it with you I’ll give you a little background. I was

introduced to the pleasures of sucking cock at the tender age of 15 by one

of the neighborhood tough guys, who was a couple of years older than me.

He thought he was pretty cool, Mr. BadAss “forcing” another guy to polish

his knob, but he soon discovered that you can’t force the eager. It may

have burst his bubble to learn that I liked it, but it didn’t prevent him

from seeking me out. It was after all the perfect arrangement; he liked

being sucked; I liked sucking.

He gave me lots of practice; by the time I turned 16 I was a fairly adept

pole smoker. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy doing my neighbor, but after

taking his load at least 150 times I wanted to expand out to new (and

hopefully bigger) things. I looked at any good looking guy I saw as someone

who I could suck if the opportunity arose. It was just a matter of time

before something happened.

That summer, having just got my license, I wanted my own car. My dad made

me a deal. He owned a small manufacturing company. He’d front me the

money for my wheels, but I’d have to pay off my loan by working for him

during all school vacations. Who could pass up a deal like that? So that’s

how I met Eric.

Eric was 20 years old and everything I considered a super hunk to be. He

had short-cropped, sandy blond hair, pale blue eyes, an All-American,

Saturday Evening Post kind of face together with a body that nearly took my

breath away the first time I saw him. He was my definition of

masculine. There’s no denying it, I was in lust at first sight. From the

moment I noticed the bulge protruding from the crotch of his jeans I wanted

to do nothing less than drop to my knees and worship it.

Eric had worked for my dad since his senior year in high school, but we’d

never met. I knew him by reputation only. Dad really liked him, saying he

was a hard and willing worker and dad was never one to hand out compliments

or praise just for the sake of doing so. At the time Eric was sort of a

jack of all trades, learning the entire operation from the ground up. Dad

had great hopes for advancing him as the business grew and prospered. My

summer job was going to be to take over running the outside errands and

office boy duties that he’ been doing while he became more involved in

learning the production end of the business.

Of course this meant that for the first couple of weeks I would be working

with Eric while he trained me. As far as I was concerned this was the

perfect arrangement and I determined to have him before the two weeks were

up. To understand where I was coming from, or at least to put it into

perspective, you need to know that I was an only child with asthma and I’d

become used to getting my own way. Not that I got everything just for the

asking, but if I was willing to work and plot, I usually got what I

wanted. Add to this the fact that I’d led a very sheltered life, despite

the fact that I’d been sucking cock for over a year, and really didn’t know

much about sex in the real world. So it’s somewhat understandable that it

didn’t occur to me that anybody would see anything wrong with one guy

wanting to suck another off, and I certainly didn’t realize that a guy who

enjoyed sex might turn down the offer of a blow job. Not even the fact that

Eric was married with one kid and another on the way deterred me in my

quest.

I certainly didn’t waste any time. We’d been out on the road alone for

about 20 minutes when, not even trying to maneuver the conversation toward

sex I just came out and asked,

“Eric have you ever had a blow job?”

He looked pretty shocked, at least by the abruptness of the question, he

laughed a little nervously and said, “course I’ve had a blow job. I’m

married aren’t I?”

I didn’t know what to say so I blurted out the first thing that came to my

tongue, “your wife blows you?” I’ll admit I felt more than a little stupid.

…End of the part1. To be continued..

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gasp as his left hand returned to sight and placed the crimson flower in her

captured hand. “I always said I’d felt bad about that ‘email rose’ being so

insubstantial, so…”

“Oh, Mikel – I LOVE you!” she cried out as she hugged him.

“Ow! Yep, should’ve taken those thorns out,” he exclaimed as his arms resumed

their comfortable embrace of her warm body.

“I love you too, Nadine – as much as it is humanly possible, and possibly even a

little more. I will happily be whatever you wish – a friend, a lover, a servant,

anything – I’ll be it. I AM YOURS FOR AS LONG AS YOU WANT…I can only hope that

it will be a long, long time,” he finished, tears welling up in his eyes. She

kissed his chest, and pulled his body into hers even more tightly, sniffing

slightly.

They lay like that for a time, naked as the dawn, and held each other as the

afterglow of their passion made them drowsy. He recognized it for what it was,

pulled her head back, and kissed a trail from her forehead, down her nose and

onto her lips. “Darling, as much as I would be the happiest man it the world

just to lie here and hold you for the rest of time, we have a lunch date and I

don’t think we’ll pass the dress code like this. Does your plumbing give you

enough hot water for two showers, or must we share…feel free to lie if you

can’t bear to be away from my body from that long.” His mouth curled up into an

immoral grin. He fully expected the slap when it came, but not where it was

aimed.

“Ooo – aren’t we prideful all-of-a-sudden; you make a girl come a few times an

already you’re puffed up like a peacock! But sadly, I’ve got plenty of hot water.

To make matters worse, the stall is a little small…”

“Oh, well – I guess my ego will have to take the separation,” he said, releasing

her and sitting up. “I gotta dash down to the car anyway and grab some proper

clothes – you go first. Can I at least wash your back for you?”

“Done, and I’ll hold you to that.”

“Aw, I’d rather be held to your front,” he joked as he stood to pull the jumpsuit

over his naked form.

“Ugh, I hope you catch some hairs in the zipper!”

“Ooo, thanks for the reminder!” Mikel exclaimed as he shrugged his shoulders

into the coveralls. He moved one hand over his patch of brown hair at the

juncture of his legs before the other hand pulled the zipper up. He bent down to

kiss Nadine again and whisper “Better get up and get in there – if you’re not in

the shower when I return, I won’t be able to help you…”

“Mmmmmm, do I have to?”

“YES. Now, up!” He grasped her arms and tugged her to a sitting position. He

snaked his tongue over the side of her neck. She kissed his cheek and moved her

arms to encircle him. He removed himself from her embrace and said, “I’m sorry

for kissing-and-running, but it looks like I’ll have to tease you into the

shower. I promise that you’ll get more when I get back, if…” and grinned as he

stepped back. He was rewarded with his lover stretching and sliding off the bed.

When he turned to leave the bedroom, he stopped. “Um, Nadine darling? Something

just occurred to me – how will I get back into the apartment?”

Mikel heard her moving around behind him – and she slipped a key over his

shoulder, which he easily caught. She then pressed into his back and hugged him.

“Hurry back, my man.”

“I promise, and you’ve seen that I keep my word.” Nadine hands slipped away with

a sigh, and she stepped towards the bathroom.

He returned to the front door, and a shock jolted through his gut – the door was

ajar! He quickly scanned the room, and saw no one. He’d only been through here

once, though, and had been too distracted to take an inventory of the items here;

he had no way of knowing if someone had burglarized the place while Nadine and he

were ‘busy’…

He pulled the door open and heaved it shut behind him – breathing a sigh of

relief as he heard a click. He was about to start off for the outside and the

parking lot, but something on the floor attracted his attention.

The coil of wire and clipboard he’d used as props to complete his surprise were

sitting next to Nadine’s door, piled neatly. Mikel thought back, and remembered

dropping the clipboard and spilling the coil off his left shoulder when he hugged

and kissed his beloved, so the wire should be in a messy pile ON TOP of the

board. Someone must’ve been here, and cleaned up behind him! As he grabbed

these things to return them to the car, he noticed his benefactor had written

something on the blank sheet of paper he’d stuck under the clip – “Good luck

Pal!” Mikel carried his props out with a broad grin on his face – there’d be

nothing missing from Nadine’s apartment.

Fundament Fundamentals

Ass is magic. The lush roundness, the curves . . . The Curve.

That most elegant and sensual of all geometric shapes — the

vertically split oval, the inverted catenary, the upside-down heart.

The ass. It releases nauseating, evil-smelling waste and emits

noxious gas . . . it’s the exit passage for lumps of shit and

rotten-smelling farts. It’s the symbol of all that is unclean. And

yet, by some strange alchemy, it becomes the most highly-charged

and sensual body part. It’s an obsession, a ruling passion, a

crystallization of purpose.

Remember how weird and disgusting even the plain vanilla sex act

seemed when you first learned about it at age 10? Well, anal sex was

even more disgusting when you found out about *that*. “Cornholing,

that’s what queers do when they have sex. One guy sticks his dick

into the other guy’s asshole and fucks him up his shit tube.” That

image haunted you for years. Even the word “corn” conjured up demons.

The very idea of fucking an ass is explosive. Forbidden fruit. It’s

perverted. It’s nauseating. It’s magnificent. Vaginal sex is, at best,

a pale imitation.

The higher the barrier, the more difficult the passage, the stronger

the resistance, the stickier the lock — the more explosive the

energy release when you break through.

The ass is the entrance to the Mysteries. Just insert yourself

into the keyhole and plunge. Open the door. Enter the chamber of

hidden delights. Welcome to a higher order of existence.

——————————————————————-

Val’s next girlfriend, happily, was into ass play. (He had made damn

certain of that before they got too deeply involved.) It didn’t take

much persuasion for her to try anal. Their first attempt was rather

pathetic in its clumsiness and not much fun for either of them. Too eager,

too impatient . . . he had pushed too hard trying to get into her back

passage. Too little lube. She was too dry and it hurt a bit. He came

while still stuck fast in her outer ring.

Marsha took him firmly in hand after that. She had done some reading

and judicious asking on the methods and techniques of ass fucking.

“Val, dear Val. Let me guide you through this. You’ll do it exactly as

I say, and you’ll be patient, too . . . or I’ll chop off your . . .

“First, we need a higher quality grade of lube. Not that cheap shit you

got at the corner drugstore. And we won’t skimp on it, either.

“Next, you’ll turn me on with pussy stroking and clit sucking before

I let you anywhere near my asshole. Make me come once or twice. Three

times is even better.

“Finally, listen. Listen to me. Me! The boss. When I’m ready to let you

stick anything into my ass, I’ll let you know loud and clear.

“Yes! That’s good. I’m going to lean forward and bend over those pillows

and stick my ass into the air. It’ll be totally open to you.

“All right. Prepare me with a finger inside, and plenty of lube on it,

don’t forget. Now two fingers. Twirl them around. Stretch me. Loosen me

up. Lube me up inside. Now lube yourself up. Slather it on. Get ready

to slide in now. Ready?”

Boy, was he ever. He positioned himself at the entrance to her ass and

pressed forward gently. The dick head slowly disappeared, and with a sort

of liquid pop, he was past the entrance. There was almost no resistance

now, and he slowly slid in deeper. Inch by inch, his shaft submerged

into her darkness. The front of his thighs bumped against the curve of

…End of the part1. To be continued..

sufficiently warped that one had to lean on it in the last inches. She had

simply pushed it toward closed as she walked in. I knew that she would

see the door ajar by inches if she were to sit on the toilet. I waited for her

to come back and push it the remainder of the way, but she didn’t. Instead,

she continued to talk to me as if the door just cracked open was a

convenience and not an embarrassment.

For all our openness, she’d not been this relaxed with me at home.

I strained to hear her intimate sounds. I needn’t have, for when she began

to pee, it was remarkably loud. I could hear her initial tinkle followed by

the characteristic hissing sound of female urination, pee splashing against

the porcelain, ending with the less forceful last squirts dribbling into the

water. I was enthralled with the sounds, for it called to my mind vivid

mental imagery.

As she pulled toilet tissue from the roll, I was suddenly aware that

she’d been talking the entire time and I’d not heard a word. Oh, Lord, I

hope she hadn’t asked me a question.

My heart sank when she said, “Will you?” in a tone that indicated

that this was the second time she’d asked it.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “I missed that. Would you say it again, please?”

She laughed and flushed the toilet and as she came out of the

bathroom belting her robe, she smiled and said, “I asked if you had any of

that promised chilled Champaign, and if so, could I have some?”

We spent the next few hours catching up, first one then the other

talking, sipping inexpensive Champaign and once again, sinking into the

easy familiarity we’d discovered. I shared with her the intense

competitiveness I’d experienced in school, the long hours I’d been putting

in, trying desperately to maintain the pace and the feeling of isolation in a

crowd. “Christ, Mom, I haven’t even kissed a girl in months!”

“Poor Uncle Wiggly,” she said. The origin of that expression was

lost to me, but I knew it to be a tongue-in-cheek sympathy.

“Yeah, poor me,” I agreed, smiling. She’d never let me sit on the

pity pot long.

Looking at my watch, I whistled and said, “Even if we rush, we’re

going to be more than fashionably late. You want the shower first or shall

I?”

“You go first. You know how I like to fuss. I’ve got some

primping to do if I’m going to impress your friends.”

“You spend more time doing less making up than anyone I know,”

I complained, not for the first time.

She laughed and reasoned, “You’ll like the result. Now, get

going!”

An hour later, near-record time for her, we were off to the dance,

having given up on the notion of dinner entirely. Our entrance might have

been choreographed, for there was an apparent brief lull in the music as we

entered and people were mostly standing around the edges of the floor, I

thought, just to watch us come in.

My chest was puffed up with pride and self importance, having this

knock-out woman on my arm. She was wearing a dark green, partially

iridescent dress with a flowing, full skirt and a tight bodice, cut shockingly

low. The full upper portions of her breasts were visible and they seemed to

sway and bounce with her step. I kept reminding myself not to stare.

Sometimes it even worked.

“I must look good,” Mother said, “you’ve been staring at me all

night. Thanks.” Suddenly changing the subject, she asked, “Have you

smelled my new perfume?”

I shook my head and leaned toward her neck, as if to smell the

scent behind her ear but she surprised me by pulling the bodice of her dress

away from her breasts and leaning toward me. Suddenly I had an almost

…End of the part9. To be continued..

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.

—

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.

–

Benny was inconsolable. As he thought about it, he recalled
that, except for that first meeting, the genie had never mentioned a word
about not shaving. Besides, now that Benny had everything he wanted, he
could keep the genie in the lamp and it would never know that he’d shaved.
So, he got out a razor, ran some hot water, lathered up, and shaved. While
he was at it, he felt a bit apprehensive, but nothing seemed to be happening,
so he went ahead. Just as he zipped off the last whisker, a lightning bolt
shot out of the clear blue sky, burst through the roof of his penthouse,
struck him dead center, and burned him to ashes. The genie then issued forth
from the lamp, wearing an apron and carrying a little dustpan and a wiskbroom.
It swept up the ashes, deposited them in a mauve and puce urn of indescribably
ugliness, sealed it, and flew off to Damascus to deposit out poor hero in
his final resting place.

Which just goes to show that, a Benny shaved is a Benny urned.

[Father Goose #37]

Roy Rogers gets a new pair of boots, but a mountain lion eats the
boots. To get even, Roy chases (insert colorful description as needed) and
kills (after long fight – to be described in vivid detail) the lion, and
returns carrying the lion back to camp. When he returns, Dale Evans
exclaims, “Pardon me, Roy, is that the cat that ate your new shoes.”

[Father Goose #38]

There was once an agricultural extension of a community college that
was into growing big fruit. Now we’re really talking big fruit here:
they grew blueberries the size of oranges and strawberries the size of
grapefruits. Not only were they big, but they were also the sweetest,
juiciest, most luscious fruit you’ve ever tasted. Realizing the
commercial value of such fruit, before attempting large scale
cultivation, they decided to insure these fruit. But in order to get
something insured, you need to have it valued for insurance purposes.
What do academics know about insurance anyway? So they look in the
phone book, and call the first entry: the Acme Insurance Valuation
Service. These two guys show up and they are pretty shady looking
characters; they’re not wearing lab coats, they’re wearing
trenchcoats! The guys from Acme pick up the fruit and start walking
out with it. The scientists are surprised and incensed, and ask “Are
you going to value them here, or give us a receipt, or what?” The two
guys from Acme reply “We have come to seize your berries, not to
appraise them.”

[Father Goose #39]

Hans and Gretchen were walking along the shore one Sunday afternoon when
they spotted a dock projecting into the harbour. They decide to walk
to the end of the dock and sit down to rest (chat, have a smoke or
whatever).

Gretchen, in her infinite boredom, suggests to Hans, “While we walk
to the end of the dock, why don’t you count the number of slats used
to build it, and I’ll count the number of slits between the slats?”

Hans replies, “Ja, sehr gut, I will count the slats, and you will
count the slits.”

So the couple merrily troops down the dock. Hans counts, “One
slat!”

Gretchen counts, “One slit!”
“Two slats!”
“Two slits!”

And, well, you know how the natural numbers work. Eventually Hans and
Gretchen approach the end of the dock.

“327 slats!”
“327 slits!”
“328 slats!”
They reach the end of the dock. Gretchen is puzzled.

“Hans! There are no more slits! What does it mean?”

Hans turns to Gretchen and says (brace yourselves),

“When you’re out of slits, you’re out of pier!”

[Father Goose #?]

Once upon a time, these two women were talking and the one asks the other how
many times she’s been married, and the reply was 4. ‘Four times!’ exclaimed
the first girl, why so many?

So the other girl said:
‘Well, I first got married when I was very young, and I married this
wonderful man who was a banker. However, one day just a few weeks after
we were married, his bank was robbed and he was shot and killed.’

‘Oh my gosh, that’s terrible’ the first girl said.
‘Well, it wasn’t that tragic. Soon after that, I started seeing another
man who performed in the circus. He was really a great guy, but he lived
pretty dangerously because he performed his high-wire act without a net.
Well, a few weeks after we got married, he was performing a show and
suddenly a gust of wind came by and knocked him off his wire and he was
killed.’

‘Your second husband was killed too?!!? That’s horrible!’
‘Yes, it was terrible, but at the funeral I fell in love with the minister
and we got married soon after that. Unfortunately, one Sunday while he
was walking to church, he was hit by a car and killed.’

‘Three??? Three husbands of yours were killed? How could you live through
all that?’
‘It was pretty tough, but then I met my present husband. And he’s a
wonderful man. I think we’ll live a long happy life together.’

‘And what does your present husband do for a living?’
‘He’s a mortician.’

‘A mortician? I don’t understand something here. First you marry a banker,
then a circus performer, then a minister, and now a mortician? Why such a
diverse grouping of husbands?’

‘Well, if you think about it it’s not too hard to understand…

One for the money…
Two for the show…
Three to get ready…
And four to go!’

[Father Goose #40]

Once upon a time, in a far-off land, there was a kingdom
in which the king was fond of history and ancient things.
He would collect historical objects, dress in royal threads
from bygone eras, and generally try to live ancient traditions.

One day the king issued a royal proclamation, as kings are
wont to do now and then. Of course, he wrote the proclamation
in the language of 200 years ago, rich in antiquated spellings,
obsolete words, now-defunct verb forms, etc.

The general population, of course, could make neither head nor
tail of the proclamation. A vast legal muddle ensued. The
courts, called upon to untangle the mess, pronounced a ruling
that, henceforth, all royal proclamations must be written in
modern, currently accepted prose. In other words,

We can’t have archaic and edict, too.

[Father Goose #41]
…End of the part7. To be continued..

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..

Kathy finished up at the sink. Something wasn’t right. Her head
snapped up, ears alert for any sound. All she heard was the music
playing in the other room, no talking or laughing. Turning her head
toward the swinging doors, Kathy spotted her husband sneaking over to
the pass-through window by the pool table and dance floor. Don was being
too quiet, so she dried off her hands on a towel and snuck up behind
him. A flash of light hit her eyes and she turned. It was only the
woman’s bathroom light. One of the girls must have forgotten to turn it
off, she thought. Forever mindful of money, she’d turn the light off
first, then see what her husband was up to. Kathy couldn’t believe her
eyes when she got to the bathroom.
The blonde haired Mary was straddling the toilet, her dress bunched up
around her waist and her legs spread apart. There was another woman
kneeling on the floor in front of her and she had her face between the
young girl’s thighs. Kathy raced over to tell Don what was going on when
she was stopped dead in her tracks by another equally shocking sight.
Big Tom Jackson was in the middle of the dance floor, his pants around
his ankles, and a redhead was on her knees in front of him, sucking his
cock!
“Don, quick, come look at this!” Kathy whispered as loud as she dared.
Her husband turned around and said, “Never mind that, get over here and
see what these guys are doing!”
“I know, but you should see what’s going on in the woman’s bathroom!”
When Don turned around, his wife put her hands over her mouth and let
out a little shriek. He quickly stopped and spun his head around,
thinking he was missing something on the dance floor. Kathy walked up to
her husband, reached out for his hard dick, which was sticking out of
his pants, and began stroking it. Don then went to see what was going on
in the bathroom, Kathy right behind him, still holding onto his cock.
When he saw that the young blonde was getting her cunt eaten out by the
Mayor’s wife, Don’s jaw almost hit the floor. It didn’t, but Kathy did,
with her knees. Bringing the tip of the biggest hard-on her husband ever
had up to her mouth, Kathy opened her lips and stuck her tongue out.

For reason, Mary looked at the bathroom door and noticed it was open a
little. She was about to reach out and close it when she saw that the
old coot who ran the place was spying on her. Deciding to let him get
his jollies, Mary opened the door a little more so he could get a better
look. She then pushed Sue away from her and turned around. Bending over
and raising her dress up, she looked at the kneeling woman behind her
through her legs and said, “Do me this way. After I come, I’ll do you.”
Sue couldn’t believe the young blonde was being so bold, but she
placed her hands on Mary’s ass anyway and then slid her tongue down
through the crack of her butt until she reached Mary’s pussy again.

Cursing at him under her breath, Kathy still enjoyed sucking her
husband’s already exploding cock. She had just gotten it into her mouth
when Don began spraying his cum all over the place. When he finished,
she let it pop out, and was more than surprised to see he was still
hard. Quickly unsnapping her jeans, she pushed them and her panties down
to her knees and laid on the floor in front of him. “Come on, honey,”
Kathy said while reaching up for him, “you can watch them and fuck me
before your dick gets soft. Hurry! Please, Don, fuck me!”
“I’ll be right back.” Don said, leaving his frustrated wife on the
floor.
She knew it was too good to be true. Don never wanted to make love to
her when she wanted it. Use to his neglect, but still on fire, Kathy
started masturbating right there on the kitchen floor.
Opening her pussy with the fingers of her left hand and shoving a
couple of them inside, she used the fingers of her right hand to
furiously rub against the base of her clit. Never touching the tip of
the super sensitive and elongated organ with her fingers, Kathy rolled
around on the floor as, once again, she had to fuck herself to reach an
orgasm.

After Janice started getting Simon’s dick hard, Bob knew he had to
leave. This was no place for someone in his position to be. But his wife
and Mary were still in the bathroom. Bob suddenly went looking for Sue
when Melisa dropped to her knees and began sucking Tom’s dick. As the
new Mayor, there was no way he could ever be associated with this new
turn of events. He had to get him and his wife out of there fast.
Hearing moans coming from the bathroom, Bob rushed to see if his wife
was okay.
There moaning all right, but it wasn’t because Sue was sick, neither
was Mary for that matter. Both women were feeling just great. Bob was
startled to feel a hand at his crotch. Looking down, he saw Kathy, her
jeans around her ankles, trying to open up his fly.
“Are you crazy! Get your clothes back on! What’s with you people?”
“Please, just let me suck you dick for a little while.” Kathy pleaded.
“Get away from me!” Bob repeated as he turned around, backing up and
tripping over his wife’s feet.
Burning with desire, Kathy crawled on her hands and knees and followed
Bob into the now very crowded woman’s bathroom.
Mary jumped up and turned around when she heard the commotion. Seeing
Sue’s husband frightened her at first, but then she saw he was too busy
trying to keep the owner’s wife from opening his pants. Before Sue could
turn and see what was going on behind her, Mary grabbed the back of her
head and shoved her pussy at Sue’s face. Sue moaned in protest, but
began eating and licking her again. The twenty year old blonde thought
it was so comical to see the Mayor try to keep his pants on while at the
same time his wife was eating her pussy. Kathy finally got his pants
open and was now trying to get them down, but Bob kept bringing them up.
“What’s wrong with everybody? Have you all gone mad?” Bob said as he
pulled his pants up once again.
“What’s the matter, Bob?” Mary asked, still holding onto Sue’s head as
Bob’s wife continued to lick her pussy.
“I know how to get her to stop.” she told him.
“How?” he asked almost pleading.
Reaching down, Mary lifted up the back of Sue’s dress, then spoke to
her.
“Come on, honey, pull your panties down.”
Sue raised herself up from the floor and did what Mary told her to do,
never letting her tongue slip away from the sweet tasting hole she was
munching on. Pulling the hem of Sue’s dress all the way up to her waist,
Mary placed a hand on each cheek of her ass and looked at Bob.
“Well, what are you waiting for? She can’t suck your cock if you’re
fucking your wife.”
Things were so confusing and surprising to Bob that he never thought
of just grabbing Sue and running out of the place. His whole thought
process was turned upside down and he couldn’t think. Sue, his ever
faithful wife, the community leader for most of the town’s charity
functions had her head under Mary’s dress, licking, sucking, and eating
her pussy. And as if this wasn’t bad enough, he had watched her
willingly drop her panties and stick her bare ass up in the air so he
could fuck her. The fact that Kathy was still trying to get his pants
down and suck his cock was of no concern to him anymore. If his decent
and loving wife was willing to participate in this crazy orgy, then why
should he object?
With all the sexual activity going on, Bob was suddenly torn between
letting Don’s wife suck him off while he watched Sue eat out Mary, or
fucking Sue while she ate out Mary. Either way, Sue wasn’t going to stop
eating Mary’s pussy. All he really had to decide was what he wanted.
…End of the part3. To be continued..

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