Cute milf gets her pussy gobbled and pounded by a young guy on the kitchen
Nice quality pictures of nude sexy beautiful babes

2) Boss hires real sluts only!It’s time all matures got a decent job! After all, they’re so good at sucking cock and fucking!

mature debutants pics gallery 9

1. Mature ladies are beautiful in their own way

mature debutants pics gallery 17

Sexy milf enjoy getting her pussy gobbled by a young guy on the kitchen
Yet another gallery of this famous site of my best sponsor. I strongly recommend you to join thier site.. you wont find this content anywhere else!

moms deepthroat sample vids 1
White skinny mom giving her huge-cocked ebony partner a deep throat blowjob
Free pictures. Just press the links

The growing membership of the Willyville Nudist Society (formed
somewhere around July 11th) petitioned the mayor’s office to temporarily
modify the laws against public indecency so as to allow the nudists to
pursue their own version of ‘personal freedom’. A story about it appeared
in the local newspaper, and a day later the mayor’s office recieved over a
thousand anonymous letters in support of the petition. However, almost 80%
of those letters were mimeographed in the same writing, unsigned, and sent
without return addresses. Somebody had been very busy, indeed. There was no
comment from the mayor’s office about the whole situation. Rumor had it he
had snuck out of town for a long overdue vacation…

For Harold Sykes, the usual lunacy of Willyville passed over him
without notice as his days stretched into a grey cloud of depression. At
work he hardly spoke, and when he went home he drew the blinds and sat in
the stifling heat staring at a blank wall. When he saw a pretty girl out on
the street he would avert his eyes until she passed by. When his friends at
work spoke to him he would always jump, as if jolted from some private
world. When asked about his change of behavior, he would simply dismiss it
as the aftermath of a breakup. But deep inside his heart ached and he spent
long, sleepless nights wondering who Cindi might be with and what they
might be doing and being certain that she was having a far, far better time
now than she had ever had with him. His depression grew deeper and deeper
and he knew that over the horizon lay only more dark clouds.

The situation came to a head when Harold nearly throttled a co-worker
for singing “Zipity-Doo-Da” one morning after announcing his engagement.
After explaining to his supervisor (and the police officer) that he had
been under a lot of stress lately, he was awarded with a two-week (unpaid)
vacation and the advice to see a psychiatrist. Soon.

Instead he sat at home, watching “Love Boat” reruns and drinking some
horrible beer and lemonade concotion bottled in New Jersey. Masochism was
the word of the day here.

He was idly (and a bit drunkenly) trying to decide whether to use a
sledgehammer or a shotgun on the TV set when the phone rang.

The harsh, obnoxious sound grated in his ears, pulling him from the
fantasy that enveloped him. A part of him begged to answer the phone, as
usual, to see who would be calling. The rest of him said screw it, why
bother?

Finally, long ingrained habit won out. He lurched over to the phone
and yanked the reciever off the cradle. Placing it to his mouth, he offered
the most cheery greeting his jangled mind could come up with.

“Go fuck yourself.”

There was moment’s hesitation before a familiar male voice came out of
the other end. “Harold! How ya doin’?”

“Hi, Tom.” Harold sighed. Tom was Harold’s best friend and a devout
hedonist, to boot. “I’m doing fine. Just don’t feel like getting out much
in this heat, is all.”

“Yeah, right.” Tom said in a voice that made it perfectly clear he
didn’t believe a word of it. “Well, shit, man, you need to get out
sometimes, before you start to grow cobwebs or something. And I got just
the thing…”

Harold silently groaned and rubbeed his temples. The only thing he
wanted was to be left alone. One of Tom’s ‘just the thing’ ideas was the
last thing he needed right now. “Uh, look, maybe later-”

“Later my ass!” The voice on the other end roared. “I know what
happened. Kelly told me.” Harold’s eyes widened but he really wasn’t
surprised. He fully expected Cindi to blab to everyone who would sit still
long enough to listen. He tried to imagine that Cindy was sitting in front
of him instead of the TV and suddenly his hands fairly itched for that
sledgehammer.

Tom continued, “Shit, man, something like that would’ve killed me.
Cindi has got to be the most twisted bitch I have ever heard of. Nobody has
a right to do that to somebody else.”

“Yeah, I ain’t too happy about it either. But I can’t do anything, so
how about I call you later-”

“I ain’t done yet.” Tom interrupted firmly. “You’ve got to get out of
there and back into circulation. You stay in that dark house much longer,
you’re going to do something stupid.” Harold felt a sudden shock. What had
he been thinking? He had twelve payments to go on the TV yet. Suddenly the
beer and lemonade in his stomach began to churn.

“Look, Harold, I’m your buddy. It hurts me to see what she’s done to
you. I wanna help, and I think I know the best way to do it. There’s a
party going on Saturday afternoon at this place I know over in Squirrel
Heights. Right off Wanker street. The whole gang’s gonna be there, along
with a bunch of other people I don’t know. Lots of available girls, I hear.
Hoping to add a couple to my collection myself. I think you ought to go
with me. Keep me from getting in too much trouble.”

Harold’s voice was thick as he struggled with his gorge. “I… I don’t
know…”

“Aw, c’mon. I want you there. You don’t have to do anything or talk to
anybody if you don’t want. Just soak up some rays and good feelings. I
ain’t heard of anybody going away from a West Side Party feeling bad.”

“Well…”

“It’s settled, then.” Tom concluded, perhaps a bit prematurely. “I’ll
be by about noon Saturday, and you can ride with me. I know you don’t
drink, and I could use somebody sober to drive me home. If I go home at
all. If not, you can use the car. Sound good?”

Harold had his voice under control and was actually feeling a bit
better. Tom’s nonstop talking had distracted him from the full impact of
the crisis, and his depression was beginning to lift a bit. “Sure, why not?
Should I bring anything?”

“Toothbrush and a change of shorts, maybe.”

They talked for a few more minutes and when Harold finally hung up, he
felt immensely better. He had felt so alone not long ago. It was good to be
reminded he had friends. Maybe with their help he could pull through this
depression and come out a whole human being once again. But that was still
a ways off.

In the meantime, he tidied the house up. Lastly he came to the
collection of bottles from his binge that morning. He was astonished to
discover how much of that stuff he had drunk. Thinking about it reminded
him just how awful the stuff really was. He hiccuped once and ran for the
bathroom, hand over his mouth.

He almost made it.

9 moms expert movie gallery
Mature Jacqueline and her husband visit sexpert vid
Nice quality pictures of nude sexy beautiful babes

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..

Chubby mom gets her pussy hard pounded by a younger stud from behind
Its essential to know what is inside many sponsor sites. We check ‘em all personaly and provide you with nice galleries like this one.

hairy old snatch sample vids 20
Titty mature brunette spreads her hairy pussy and enjoys riding a stiff cock on sofa
Dont you find this gallery hot enough?

reaction to sex.”

“Fuck you, you bastard. I love the motherfucker and you

can’t say otherwise.”

“Jeanine, give me the joint. No, go, go ahead, finish it.

You can’t possibly love him ’cause you don’t know the first thing about

him.”

“Like hell I don’t. I know how he treats me. I can tell how

strongly he feels about me from the way he touches me. Do you realize

how he makes me feel?”

“That’s what good sex is like. Don’t confuse your physiology

with your emotions.”

“They’re inseparable, dummy. Our emotions are rooted in our

physiology.”

“Our emotions are rooted in our spirits, which have nothing

to do with our bodies.”

“If you don’t tell me who the fuck he is, I’m going to tell

the dean you had him rape me, and then you’ll be screwed. You think

you’re going to be able to withhold his name from the cops when they’re

interrogating you?”

* * *

“Look, why don’t you want me to tell her it was you? She

loves you, for chrissake.”

Paul Banks sighed, shaking his head, then jerked off the metal

crank that triggered the sprinkler system. We were the a gigantic

greenhouse the agriculture students grew experimental crops in during

the winter. Abruptly the slender jets of water arching over the

beds of loam were reduced to weak trickles.

“She can’t possibly love me; she doesn’t know the first

thing about me.”

“Well, I know, but she insists that she does. Who are we

to argue? It’s her feelings.”

He began walking to a wall where rakes and other tools were

hung. I followed him.

“Look, she says it’s the way you touch her, the way you make

her feel.”

“It’s called orgasm, not love.”

“Well, I know, but…I’m in a total mess here, Paul.”

“Yeah, well, it was a weird idea.”

He grabbed some sort of peculiar tool, a wooden bar ending

with forking plastic tubes.

“You had fun with it, didn’t you? Come on, fess up. You

took advantage of the situation for your own delight, now you have

to pay the price. It’s like everything in life, right?”

“Goddamit, Bobby, listen to me: I can’t have her find out,

all right?”

His tone was venomous, but his face seemed cramped, his eyes

narrow.

“Bob, I’m married. I have a two-year old daughter, okay?

If my wife and my family find out about this, my marriage will end.

You understand?”

I groaned. Paul watched another student at the other end

of the greenhouse dump a bag of white pellets into a bed of soil. I

struggled to think of something to say, some way to resolve the

situation. Paul turned back to me.

“And if you tell her it’s me, I’ll just deny it. It’s your

word against mine, Bobby.”

* * *

“You goddam coward. How could you do this to me? You…you

not only deceived me, you not only humiliated me, you goddam fucking

well raped me. That’s right, you fucking worthless scumbag: You

raped me. I consented to sex with some guy of your choice, but I did

not consent to sex with you. And I know goddam well it was really

you. That’s why you won’t tell me who it was, you fucking bastard.

I can’t believe that a friend would do this to me; it fucking shocks

me. You’re not a friend of mine, you have never been a friend of mine.

You’ve taken advantage of me, exploited my problems with men simply

to…to goddam rape me. Nine times! I can’t fucking believe it! You

raped me nine goddam times, you…you…”

“Jeanine, no. Hold on. You’re absolutely wrong.”

“I am not goddam wrong. I could fucking smell you, you goddam

…End of the part5. To be continued..

— I was greatly relieved to notice that he was not wearing boots –

then clumsily undid his pants. His heavy sterling belt-buck chinked

against something; shit, I thought, she’s already got a clue; he wears

a metal beltbuckle. I laid my fingers over my lips in the “Shhh!”

sign, and he nodded, though I don’t think he was aware that he’d

done anything wrong. I turned politely when his pants came off, and

sat down in front of Jeanine’s small television set, which was stacked

on top of a wooden box. I turned on the television set — a good

strategy, I thought, since the program’s sound would muffle any he might

make — and didn’t look up from the screen until the first commercial.

He was panting, and pulling up his pants. His eyes did not rest again

on Jeanine, who was lying on her side, her knees raised to her breasts.

Jeanine would not talk with me for a week after her dose of

mystery love. I guessed that that was the sexual equivalent of post-

battle stress syndrome — after all, that had been her first experience

with intercourse. For a while I was worried, but then she came to

visit me.

“I want to do it again,” she said, lighting a cigarette.

“Ah ha! See? It worked out, didn’t it?”

“First times are never smooth, Bobby. That was just to get

the job done; now I want to do it for fun.”

“I should charge you money for all my trouble.”

“You’re not a pimp. When can you set it up again?”

“I’ll have to communicate with your invisible knight.”

“You do that.”

* * *

One of the questions that I had to confront was whether to

select the same guy for the second event. As I saw it, the main

advantage was that if there was only one guy there was less chance

of the situation getting publicized. The more participants, the

greater the likelihood of someone blabbing. To tell you the truth, I

didn’t even really consider that using the same guy over and over would

increase the intimacy of the encounter, or that they would care more for

each other with repeat sessions. I assumed that since the guy was not

permitted to divulge his identity there was zero chance of any

intimacy.

But the downside of sticking with this one guy was that the

fellow was not a remarkable lover. It felt strange for me to evaluate

another man’s sexual competence, and I wondered if my standards weren’t

a bit slanted by my own preferences. Moreover, I realized that probably

no man could really flourish under these circumstances. But perhaps by

rating this guy’s moves truly objectively I might be able refine my own

skills as well. At any rate, my conclusion was that this guy was too

quick. Not a severe premature ejaculator, but probably far too quick

for Jeanine to really savor the experience.

“So, look, do you want me to get the same guy?”

“Are you kidding? Of course I do. I don’t want half the

male population at U.M. parading their penises through my room.”

“You’re exaggerating. All I’m saying is, I might be able to

get someone with more staying power. Maybe better endowed. Someone you

could enjoy more.”

“Are you going to ask to inspect their genitals before

admitting them?”

“Of course not.”

“Well, then, you might end up with a guy who shoots before his

cock even enters me, or a guy who’s got, I don’t know, two inches or

something. This guy — whoever he is — is reliable. Maybe not

exquisite, but he’s tried and true. Stick with him.”

* * *

Stick with him we did, for a total of nine sessions, and the

guy’s performances became increasingly effective. In all fairness,

I’d say he went from about a 2.5 to an 8. At first edgy, reserved,

a little bashful, he became graceful, attentive, and powerful.

Jeanine became more relaxed, shed her inhibitions and fears, began

grabbing his shoulders, arching orgasmically, clawing at his

back; vocally, she was like an orchestra warming up: she went from an

eerie, cadaverous silence to delicate moans to exultant laughter to

ecstatic wailing to animalistic shrieks. It was really incredible to

watch. Yes, I admit, the spectacle really tore me away from her

television set.

…End of the part3. To be continued..

things, don’t they?

These days a mixed marriage elicits very little response from others;

people are more tolerant, more carefree, I guess just more apathetic.

But thirty odd years ago things were very different.

Since Corina and I grew up together in the same small town, neither of

us had any concern for the colour of the other’s skin – she was black,

I was white. That was all we knew and all we cared about. But,

unfortunately, our liberal views were not shared by the whole town.

We matured and I began to see Corina as more than just a childhood

playmate. Her lithe, black body as it undulated under the loose

fitting tops and skirts that she would wear had me experiencing

sensations that I had never previously felt. Corina’s feelings towards

me were also changing; the way that she looked at me with her sexy,

crooked smile and the way that she would brush up against me or touch

my hand or arm sensuously during a conversation made me realise that

she was experiencing the same feelings of young lust that I was.

Whispers were rife all over town – a white man and a black woman

getting together? It was practically unheard of and we were looked

upon with distrust and uncertainty by a lot of the townsfolk.

But Corina and I didn’t concern ourselves with what others thought. We

kept ourselves private and in a world known only to us. Long,

meandering walks out into the countryside became our favourite

pastimes. The clear, blue sky, the sounds of wildlife all around us,

the rich, fragrant scent of the pine forests and the joy of being

together – we felt we had it all!

I never even asked her to marry me; it was something that we both just

expected to happen – as if some unspoken telepathy existed between us.

The ceremony was small and informal. We knew that many of our

neighbours were not impressed by our mixed creed relationship, but

what did we need them for anyway, we had each other.

But feelings surrounding our marriage were intensifying. It seemed

that Corina and I had underestimated the attitude of the townsfolk

towards us and we were about to discover exactly how strongly some of

them felt.

We had moved into a small house on the outskirts of town. The land

surrounding us gave us good crops of fruit and vegetables that

supplemented the meagre rations that my work as a furniture maker was

able to provide. We had few luxuries but were happy spending our

evenings sitting on the porch, watching the stars and planning our

future.

Our sex life was wonderful. Apart from a little touching and fondling

before we married, we had virtually saved ourselves. But now we were

free to enjoy the fruit that we had for so long forbidden each other.

And enjoy we did. I discovered that Corina was extremely sexual. She

would use her body while we made love, twisting and turning her

slender frame to maximise the pleasure for both of us. There seemed

little that she wouldn’t try and I remember the exquisite sensations

that I experienced when she took my dick into her pretty mouth for the

first time.

We were sitting out on the porch as usual that evening. The air was

cool and fragrant and we cuddled up as we watched the sun go down and

the stars begin to pin-prick the darkening sky. The sound of the

vehicle seemed a long was off and I gave it little thought as I buried

my face in my wife’s thick black hair and let my fingers wander over

the dark, smooth skin of her thigh below the hem of her loose dress.

“I think that car’s getting closer, baby.” Corina said with a giggle

as I tickled the inside of her thigh. “Maybe you better stop that

before you go too far. We might be getting visitors!”

“You really want me to stop?” I whispered into her ear.

…End of the part1. To be continued..

He cleaned her other breast, and then began to work down her belly, stroking her

scar with his mouth – pausing only to murmur “beautiful”. He shifted his weight

back onto his knees, provoking a pair of loud clicks. Her eyes shot open. “Your

knees-” she began.

He chuckled and silenced her with a kiss. “Relax – it sounds a LOT worse than it

is – it doesn’t hurt at all, in fact. It’s just a very unsettling thing to hear,

as I’m sure you’ll agree!” She acquiesced, but her face still showed signs of

concern.

“God, you really do care for me that much, don’t you?” he asked with a look of

admiration and wonderment.

“But of course, ‘I’m offended you even thought otherwise’,” she mimicked.

His arms encircled her and he hugged her tightly. “I love you, darling,” he

whispered in her ear. “And just to show you how much…” He resumed his

ministrations to her lower torso, untying the cord of the sweatpants she began to

loosen ten minutes and half a year ago. His hands massaged her hips, pushing the

waistband of the pants slowly down. She grabbed the post behind her and raised

her buttocks, permitting him to remove her last article of clothing. He paused

and regarded her mound, entranced.

“You’re not put-off by my c-section scar?” she asked with concern.

“Are you offended by my paunch?” He leaned back and puffed out his chest and

belly. “It’s not as bad as when I took my photo – gotten a lot of exercise – but

it’s FAR from a physique I used to have. Even so, I haven’t heard any

complaints…” he finished, as sly grin taking possession of his features.

“Well, now that you mention it -” she began. He laughed, and pulled her back

towards him, kissing her deeply and passionately to quell any criticism.

“ No – I don’t find it at all unattractive, love. It is part of what makes

you YOU. How could I not love it?” he said, brushing a lock of hair from her

forehead. “Besides,” he continued, holding her as he lay back and rolled their

bodies over on the bed, “it gives me a landmark to follow in the dark!” He

demonstrated what he meant by running his tongue down the ridge to her bush,

sliding off the bed. He paused and inhaled her musky scent, nuzzling her mound.

Grabbing a pillow, he raised her hips and adjusted the angle of her pelvis,

resting her legs on his shoulders. He kissed the insides of her thighs, his lips

a butterfly that alighted on her sensitive flesh every inch or so.

“You gonna mess around down there all morning or are you gonna DO something,

lover? I got the Phone Company coming by this afternoon,” she called in

frustration.

“Just for that, I think I’ll do a little more sight- seeing!” He felt fingers

entwine themselves in his curls and pull his head into the vertex of her legs.

He ran his tongue roughly across the length of her labia; it had the effect he

sought.

“Ooohhhhhhhhh.”

His lingual muscle traced around her labia, sampling the traces of moisture

already there. After some coaxing by his mouth, her lower lips opened like the

petals of a flower as they were engorged in blood, becoming warm to the touch.

As his hands locked with hers, he plunged into her slit and stroked the silky

insides with his taste buds. His efforts were awarded with a seeping of

honey-like fluid, which he lapped up eagerly. Satiated, he shifted his attention

to the apex of her cunt. Her ‘third nipple’ swelled as he flicked it with his

tongue, causing her to shiver and squeeze his hands. Then he returned to her

love nest, lancing his tongue deep within her depths. He began to fuck her

orally, the bristles of his moustache brushing her clitoris with every stroke.

“Oooo…nnnn…nnnnggggggghhhhh” was his partner’s only utterance. Taking this as

encouragement, the man increased his pace, only to have his eyes bug out as he

felt fingernails dig into the backs of his hands. Her hips lifted from the

cushion, her back bridging – supported by her shoulders and her thighs on his

shoulders. Her moans took a more urgent tone, and the flow of her honey

increased. He continued his assault on her nether regions, and was rewarded with

a cry of “NnnnnaaaaaAA-AA-AA-AA!” and a trickle of pearly essences over his mouth

…End of the part4. To be continued..

simultaneously perform fellatio on the receiver (assuming the

receiver is male, of course). Depth of penetration is shallow to

medium, but the angle of insertion is “unnatural,” and this makes

for unusual sensations. The penis contacts the anal/vaginal wall

or prostate, as with the previous position.

There are at least two varieties of the sitting position. (1)

The inserter may sit in a chair or on a sofa, while the receiver

lowers him/herself down on the inserter’s lap, facing away. (2) The

inserter may lie down flat on his/her back and the receiver sits

down on him/her, again facing away. This is another good beginner

position, since the receiver controls depth of penetration.

The “T position” has the receiver lying flat on his/her back with

knees drawn up and perhaps a pillow or two under the lower back

for elevation. The inserter lies down underneath the the bent legs

of the receiver, but at a right angle. There may be a significant

difference in comfort for the receiver, depending on which side

insertion occurs. Depth of penetration is medium.

The face-to-face standing position requires practice and considerable

agility on the part of both partners. The receiver raises a leg to

waist level, which the inserter grasps and holds. This pulls forward

the buttocks and anus of the receiver, and makes insertion from

the front and underneath just barely possible. Shallow penetration

at a strange angle is probably the best that can be hoped for,

but that this is even possible is rather remarkable.

——————————————————————-

Val was pretty well soured on both sexes. Sure, you could have a good

time with playmates, but they seemed always to end up claiming property

rights. Wanting to own you. Enough of that shit! He decided that he’d

settle for his own company for the foreseeable future.

It helped that he had started a new and better job. A well-paying and

non-demanding job. A job that involved his ass, as it happened. He was

an underwear model.

Back in their happier days when they were (literally!) “into” each other,

Warren had put him in touch with a friend who ran a modeling agency. So

now Val was making a couple of thou a week just for parading his compact

underwear-clad butt in front of photographers and advertising execs. The

lights were hot, but the work was easy and the ambiance classy. And he

did have all the required talents: the ability to freeze a pose for an

extended period of time, and even more important, a tight, muscular set

of buns.

It was too good to last, of course. As his modeling career took off

(they raved about his butt), he got more bookings than he could handle.

The fame disease befell him. They began to call him the “Ass Man,” and

his face became as familiar to the public as his backside. He couldn’t

go out shopping without being surrounded by screaming fans holding out

copies of his notorious bare-ass “Slutboy” centerfold spread for him to

autograph. He couldn’t go for a walk in his own neighborhood without women

(and sometimes men) sneaking up behind him and pinching his butt. His mail

overflowed with offers of marriage and indecent proposals in exquisite

detail from all five sexes. He had no privacy. The whole world seemed

to want a piece of him . . . a piece of ass. His ass was under siege.

Soon enough, Val got tired of peddling ass. He retired. With what was left

of his earnings, he bought a remote mountain cabin far up in the Canadian

Rockies. With no phone or electricity, he isolated himself completely

from civilization. His only companions were a neurotic Persian cat and

a custom-made set of solar-powered dildoes.

——————————————————————-

THE BOOK OF ASSES

Part V

Preventive Maintenance

The care and feeding of one’s ass has a major effect on the health,

and consequently pleasure capacity of that wondrous organ.

A healthy and balanced diet promotes healthy bowel habits and

maintains the vigor of the large intestine and the muscle tone of

the sphincter. Avoid animal fats, which can lead to rectal cancer

and other debilitating ailments. Consume generous portions of

vegetables and foods containing fiber and “roughage” and you will

be amply rewarded by regular and satisfying bowel movements.

Regular exercise, especially walking, bicycling, and swimming,

contributes to a healthy state of the digestive system and helps

shape and tone the large muscles of the posterior. Kegel-type

exercises of the anal sphincter ring maintain the flexibility and

strength of that all-important gateway to ecstasy.

Cleanliness keeps the anus healthy. Clean thoroughly after each

bowel movement, and as necessary apply salve or ointment to treat

irritation and maintain the suppleness and pleasing appearance of

that entry to the chamber of delights.

Enemas can be a useful adjunct to anal pleasure. Those particularly

sensitive to fecal residue and odors may find it helpful to cleanse

the interior of the colon with a saline enema prior to anal play. Of

course, exercise due caution in administering enemas, both to one’s

self and to a partner.

——————————————————————-

As cut off from the world as Val was, a leading New York publishing house

had somehow gotten wind of his writings and tracked him down. Having

jeeped in over potholed dirt roads and iced-up mountain passes,

the publishing executive breathlessly explained that there was a

multi-million-dollar advance waiting if he would only sign a contract for

“The Book of Asses.” A vast audience was panting for alternate sexuality

and “orifice liberation” literature. Now if Val would just sign on the

dotted line . . .

He was mightily pissed at having his privacy invaded. “How the fuck did

you find me, and what makes you think I need your filthy luchre anyhow?”

The executive smiled . . . and dropped her pants. She had a perfect ass

. . . and wasn’t that a wicked-looking dildo harness girding her loins?

“After all, we *do* know your weaknesses, Val.”

Sexy mom gobbles a hard young cock then gets her shaved pussy penetrated hard
Please comment of this gallery.

extraordinarily sexy woman. Suddenly, I was in lust.

After all, she wasn’t a dummy and she wasn’t some bimbo. I had

reason to believe that she was a sexually intense person, but because of

conventional morality, she didn’t feel free to share that side of herself with

her son. I’d been successful in developing and easy-going and partially

uninhibited relationship with her. There was an unspoken sexual tease to

be sure, but it remained submerged and unacknowledged. How might I

change? That was the question.

Crudeness would never work. That was a no-brainer. Similarly, a

frontal assault would be ineffective and worse, insulting. While she might

be more susceptible to a secret romantic connection because of my father’s

neglect, it wouldn’t be with me, that was clear.

I’d thought of enticing her into something like a nudist colony, even

mentioned it a couple of times. She was mildly interested, but I knew that

that was no more than a blind alley, an emotional cull de sac, and not even

a very sexual one. I feared the stiff and formal behavior I imagined a nudist

colony to be. Too, I suspected that it would provide at most little more

than an avenue for my voyeurism but no entre into sexuality. Nothing

there, I concluded.

Would some innocent approach move me closer? I remembered

that she’d been willing to allow me to massage her feet, even had been a bit

careless in her posture, at least at first. Might that provide an avenue of

approach?

Then I remembered that my mom liked her wine. She wasn’t a

lush, but it was clear that she didn’t stop drinking just because she began

“to feel it.” More than once she’d said, “Why drink if you don’t want to

feel it. I drink for effect.” I also remembered that when tipsy, she became

something of a sloppy drunk. Not fall-down drunk, but certainly risque

often and careless of appearances. I once overheard her say, “I drink to

make my *friends* more interesting.” This wasn’t a common occurrence,

but I had seen it rarely, and only with friends. Well, I was a friend, wasn’t

I?

—————————————————————–

I was waiting for my mother at the arrival gate. Boy, she looked

good as she stepped into the arrival area, an over-night bag hanging from

her shoulder and wearing a light summer dress, uncharacteristically brief

with a hem line well above her shapely knees.

“Hi, good lookin’.” I said to her as I stood there, hands on hips,

looking her over.

“Don’t just check me out, guy. How about a hug?” she asked,

dropping her bag and stepping into my arms.

Whew! I’d hugged my mother lots of times, but I didn’t recall such

intensity, such a full-body press. I was acutely aware of the pressure of her

breasts pressing into my chest and more, somehow her crotch was riding

on my thigh. I distinctly felt her pubic bone as I held her close and kissed

her, first on the cheeks, and then looking at the joy in her eyes, impulsively,

I planted a wet one on her lips. Did I feel a flash of tongue tip?

That fast. It happened that fast. I didn’t have a woodie when I saw

her, but when I stepped away from that kiss, I’d sprouted a boner. I

thought I detected her eyes flitting across my pelvis, but couldn’t be sure.

To hell with it, I thought. She knows I’m not a monk.

“Have anything more than this?” I asked, picking up her shoulder

bag.

“You kidding? You ask me up for a week end, for a dance, and

you think I’ve got it all in that little bag. Why I wouldn’t go to the tennis

club with that little bag alone.”

“A steamer?” I groaned.

…End of the part7. To be continued..

that sounds odd, that a mother and her son would become more relaxed

with each other, but that’s exactly what happened. I think that there has

always been some male-female sexual tension in our culture, mostly buried

and not honored, but certainly operative. And as with many things, we

aren’t aware of them until they go away. It’s their absence that highlights

their former presence. In that fashion, I was very aware that many of our

defenses had been lowered.

——————————————————————–

Some months later when I’d been away at school for what seemed

like too long a time, I called my mother just to chat. We never said

anything blatant, but there always seemed to be a kidding undertone to our

conversations, subtly skirting around sexual things. One day she upped the

ante. “So, getting any?” she asked.

I was stunned. Was she reading my mind?

“No, dammit. You?” I was taking a chance here and I knew it. I’d

been distantly aware that in the last little while, even when my father was

home, that they were not connecting, my mom and dad. You can’t be that

close to someone and not be aware of those charged emotional states, even

when they’re never discussed. Mom, I knew, was frustrated, but we didn’t

talk about it. As I said, she never complained.

“No,” she answered, and then quickly added, “but we’re not talking

about me. What’s happening with *you* these days?”

I was used to her fending me off in this fashion and hardly paid it

any attention. The fact of my emotional state was that I was lonely. I

missed my mom. And oh, yes . . . I was horny. I decided to act out on a

new fantasy. I asked her for a date, a mother-son date.

“Mom, I miss you and knowing I won’t get back home for a couple

of months, it makes it worse. So I was wondering, would you come up

and visit me? We’re having a little dance here and I don’t know anyone.

You wouldn’t have to stay in a hotel or anything. I’ve got a pull-out

couch; I’ll use that and you could use my room. Will you let me take you

to dinner and then the dance?”

She made I’m-thinking-about-it noises and then said, “Well . . . I’m

not sure about the dancing part. I’ve danced with you – or tried to – before

and it’s something about two left feet . . .” and then she laughed.

“Mom! Come on, will you? I’m not that bad,” knowing that I

really was that bad.

“Alright, alright. I miss you too and I’m a little lonely myself. I

miss our talks. It’s be nice to have dinner and re-connect with you.

When’s the dance?”

“Two weeks . . . the weekend after next. Can make it?”

“Sure. Will you pick me up at the airport? I dread tying to get a

bus or a taxi.”

We made the arrangements and just before hanging up, I blurted

out, “Mom, I love you and I can’t wait to see you. Gosh, a real date!”

——————————————————————–

In retrospect, I can see that I’d been sexually attracted to my

mother for a long time, but initially too inhibited to admit it to myself.

With the pealing of that layer of my denial, I came to accept the intense

sexual feelings I had for her, but continued to deny that I expected or even

wanted to seduce her.

Another uncomfortable foray into self honesty brought me to that

point where I knew I *wanted* to be sexually intimate with her, but

realistically, didn’t imagine I ever could. After years of viewing her on

…End of the part6. To be continued..

seduction. We’d fallen over the edge, both of us, and were in some run

away free-fall of lust, both mindful of what was happening and each fueling

the consuming fires of our passion. I think we were mostly beyond words

at this point.

She reached for me, as if to cuddle again, as if to kiss again. I

pushed her back into the couch and her legs came up. In one motion, I

pulled outward on the inside of one knee, opening her up to me, nude save

her hose and garter belt framing her wet, swollen and open pussy. I gazed

at it in absolute awe, it seemed for a long time but in fact was probably

only seconds. Then, making eye contact, I gradually lowered my head

toward her crotch, that she would know my full intent.

I paused, studying here pussy. As I expected, she trimmed the

edges of her luxuriant pubic bush. Her lips were bare. I looked, but

couldn’t see her anus. That area lay hidden in shadow.

Smiling, she murmured, “Oh, yes!” and slouched down even

farther, arching her pelvis up to meet me.

In contrast to my usual too-fast-to-savor-the-moment hurry, I

moved as in glue, so slowly. Looking alternately at her open pussy and

then into her eyes, I continued lowering myself slowly. I placed the palms

of my hands on her thighs, pushing them open even more. She murmured

approval, “Yes, that way.”

The sometimes-rational part of my mind was boggled. Only a little

while ago, I was dancing cheek to cheek with my mother. Not quite

innocent, to be sure, but a league from holding her legs open that I might

see her better. How’d this happen? My libido suggested that I not screw it

up by “thinking” about it.

The musky scent of her cunt wafted up to me, ripe and intoxicating.

I knew that smell. Knew it from a hundred times that I’d picked up her

soiled panties, but it was never this erotic, this intimate. I drank in her

scent as one would savor the heady aroma of heated brandy. I pulled it in

and held it.

I felt her hands on the back of my head, pulling me gently toward

her. I gave myself to her control and allowed her to guide me to her

pleasure. She pulled my head into her crotch and my lips first touched her

pubic hair above her slit. She rapidly corrected, pushing my head down to

the uncovered clit. I kissed it softly and she ran her fingers through my hair

as she crooned, “Oh, Billy. Kiss me there. Suck me. Please suck me.”

I pursed my lips and kissed all around her clitty, occasionally

flicking it with the tip of my tongue. Each time she lurched, as if shocked

by a small jolt of electricity. She rolled her pelvis against my face, rubbing

on my mouth as I tongued inside the wet and swollen lips of her cunt. At

the bottom of her slit, it was a swamp she was so wet. I curved my tongue

into the pool of her secretions and pulled them up, wetting her clit with her

own juices.

Her speech had become almost guttural as she explosively exhaled

each time I drove my tongue into her cunt. “Unh . . . God, I, unh . . .

needed that, unh . . . deeper, Billy, unh . . . take me . . .”

I pulled back, my face drenched, and kneeling between her legs, I

fisted my painfully hard cock that she might see me and again looked into

her eyes. Her face was in half shadow and her eyes were dark pools.

I could see her shift her vision to my cock as I slowly stroked the

shaft, bunching up the skin about the bulbous head and then pulling it

slowly back. I looked at her open pussy and then at by cock before l again

looked into her eyes, asking the silent question. Her answer was equally

silent and equally unmistakable. She looked at me gravely, then pulled her

knees up and out, while running the inverted V of her fingers down to her

pussy, opening it up in invitation.

Suddenly she clasped her crotch in her hand as if shielding it and

with a wide-eyed look of alarm, said, “Wait! Billy, *think* a minute. Think

about what we’re doing. Do you know what this means?”

I slowly shook my head, not understanding.

…End of the part14. To be continued..

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.

That evening, we set up our own private party. Just the three of
us in our little private apartment near campus. The light dimmed and
a slow rhythmic beat played in the background. The scent of heavy liquor
was in the air. We sat in the living room on the long leather sofa. All
three of us sat very close to each other. Jennifer sat in between me
and Joe. We laughed at the thought of us three sleeping together, it was
the topic of the night. There were no objections from anyone. Jennifer
was in her quiet little self making remarks here and there.
Somehow, in the midst of our conversation, there was suddenly nothing
else to say. We were quiet….
I saw Joe place his arm around her and started to passionately kiss
her lovely lips. I felt Jen’s hand crawl up my knee and started to carress
my thighs. Joe’s free hand crept up Jen’s mini skirt searching for her
soft wet cunt. I started to get hard seeing the action. I breathed heavily.
My right hand went down Jen’s blouse feeling her soft tan breasts
underneath my fingers. I felt her hand reach up my pants and squeeze and
carress my crotch. I moved closer to her neck and started to lick her sweet
skin. My lips were hot on her neck as my fingers worked to unbutton her
blouse. I felt her hand stroking my hardness through my denim jeans.
hhhhh..hhh….I muttered. I heard Joe’s breath and Jen’s mild moans of
ecstacy in between breaths of kisses. Jen’s blouse soon fell from her
lovely body and I anxiously threw it aside with my free hand. Jen did not
wear a bra, and all her beauty was exposed in front of my eyes. An animal
being took over me and I burried my face between her breasts painting
the beautiful mounds with hot saliva from my tongue. I heard her groan from
the expertise of the men surrounding her. Joe’s hand pulsated in and out
from under her skirt torturing her with wild sensations.
Somehow, Jen managed to unbutton my pants with her free hand and
release my hardened dick from its cage. She gripped it commandingly and
stroked it and squeezed it, my pre-cum instantly dripped from its
head. I played with her hard nipples teasingly with my probing tongue.
I sensed Joe trying his best to unbutton his pants. Jen took over and
finally was able to remove it completely revealing his prized possesion.
With Joe’s free hand, now wet and slippery with cunt juice, started to
stroke himself.
The action was too much for Jen to handle. She squirmed on the
leather sofa and eventually fell on her back with ME on one end and
Joe on the other. All three of us panted furiously as we try rearrange
ourselves to better positions. Jen reached for Joe’s cock and hungrily
inserted it into her mouth alternating the sucking from the head to
his balls and back. *FUCK* I thought. I was given the opportunity to
try out Jen’s wet pussy as her beautiful ass pointed my direction.
On all fours, Jen offered me her sweet cunt. I stood on my knees on the
other end of the sofa and gently entered the sweet offering with my
throbbing dick. It was tight, *Geesus*, it was tight and wet. Ohhhh…
Jen…*FUCK*…In and out I rode her savoring the sensations of every
nerve on my prick. Her muscles inside contracting at every push. I
was leaning on her back and I saw Joe on the other end receiving what
seemed to be a heavenly blow. His face contorted in pleasure, he looked my
way and grinned a devilish grin of sweet pain. He moaned and I moaned,
Jen screamed a little out of sweet pain while I penetrated her deeply.
We were like wolves howling in the night. Jen’s dripping saliva was too
much for my sight to bear. She swallowed Joe over and over and over again.
Our motions and the sight of each other FUCKING was too much for us
to bear. Faster I went, I could feel my prick tingle. Uugghh…unghhh…
Jen…I’m CUMMING…uhhh…*FUCK* “Don’t CUM in her pussy man!” Joe
managed to shout between grunts. “Wait for me to CUM man!…ungghhh..uhh”.
“Hurry Joe!…uhhhh…” I said.
In the back of my mind I knew what he wanted to happen. We always
talked about it when we watched porno movies that someday we’ll get to do it.
Jen stroked and sucked Joe faster that his dick was red and sore. It
was ready to burst. Jen reached her orgasm berfore anything happened. She
screamed a small little scream of pleasure as she continued to suck on
Joe’s prick. “Mmmmhhhm….mhhhhh” she muttered.
“I’m CUMMING man! uhhh…”
“Ohhh man! I’m CUMMING too!…ahhh..uhh” I replied.
Jen pulled away and placed herself between our pulsating pricks.
sucking both of alternately. I came first and spilled my white hot cum
on her face,”Geesus..uhhhh”, soon after, Joe shot his cum on her face
as well, “Ahhh..Jen!..”. Our shots were so strong and violent that Joe
splattered some of his CUM on my body, it was dripping hot, and
I splattered some of mine mine on his chest. Jen licked the CUM stained
flesh on both sides. She slurped every trickle of white sticky sperm on
my navel and on Joe’s prick.
All three of us breathed heavily. Spent, tired, and relieved, all three
of us collapsed on the slimy leather sofa. Our legs and arms entangled
together, with Jen between Joe and I.
Before I drifted into sleep, I remember thinking of what our future
would be…This FUCK is too much for me to take. I really enjoyed it.
I know I would want some more. How long will this relationship last?
Tomorrow is another day, we’ll see how it turns out…*FUCK*

The next few days was strenuous for me. Joe still treated
Jennifer like she was his girlfriend. He came in and out of our
appartment dragging her wherever he liked. It tortured me deep
inside to see Jennifer glance my way everytime she was with Joe.
I was extremely jealous. I became angry at how Joe was handling the
situation. He wasn’t treating me as a friend, he was treating me
like an outcast. He didn’t even consider my feelings towards Jen,
and he acted as if Jen exclusively belongs to him. After what happened
between the three of us, I expected that I would be a part of that
relationship. I was hurting inside. I reconsidered my feelings about
my friendship with Joe. I was flaming with hate. I wanted to punch
him and beat him with my fists. Images of blood dripping down his
forehead, and sore bruises all over his body. For a moment, I thought
of death. I wanted to hurt Joe badly, but I’m too smart for that.
Physical pain is so easy. No…I’m angry because he has what I want.
He should not have toyed with me and offered her body to me. What did
he think? After going for a three-way FUCK, he can parade Jen in front
of me? What the FUCK for? To brag to me that the best FUCKING BITCH
still belongs to him? He can swallow my CUM and eat my SHIT!
If he knew me well as a friend, then he would have considered
my feelings. I always considered his feelings, and that’s the reason
I held back from FUCKING Jennifer and back-stabbing him. I guess
I’m only one of those FUCK ‘friends’ who means nothing to him…I had
to hurt him, I had to teach him a lesson…I’ll FUCK him up really
bad, and he’ll regret he ever FUCKED up with me…
One wednesday afternoon, I came home early from school. I
…End of the part2. To be continued..

[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..

Simple: Contributing to the delinquency of a miner !!!

[Father Goose #42]

A young woman got married a few years back. Her husband was a service
respresentative for a well-known computer firm, and was kept out of the house
a great deal by equipment that kept breaking, his beeper, and his boss.
About a year ago, his brother got back from an expedition in central
Australia, collecting sand specimens for his dissertation in comparative
soil mechanics. He had no where else to stay and no money, so he moved in
with the happy couple. That’s when the trouble began.

This brother really liked baked ham. But he always remembered the way his
father died, choking on a clove bud which had decorated the top of the
ham. If there were just a few cloves in the ham, he wouldn’t say anything.
But if there were more than three, he would get up and storm out of the
room.

One day the brother came home late from work. He had been making repairs
to his triaxial test machine, and boy was he hungry! The problem was that
the baked ham had four cloves, and (because he was late) it was too well done.

Our intrepid service representative got home later that night, and found his
wife making airline reservations to go home to her mother in East Snapbeckon.
“What are you making reservations for?” He asked.

“I’m booking over that four-clove leaver, though I’ve overcooked before!”

[Father Goose #43]

This frog walks into a bank to get a loan. He steps up to the
counter and asks for an application from the clerk, Patty Wack.
“Hi, I’d like to fill out an application for a loan”, said
the frog. Patty Wack replied, “Do you have any collateral for
this loan; something to stand against your loan.” The frog
replied, “All I have is this statue of a unicorn.” “Well,
I don’t know,” said Patty Wack, “I’ll have to ask the manager about
this.” Patty Wack goes to see the bank manager. The bank manager
looks at the statue and replies:
“Knick Knack, Patty Wack. Give the frog a loan.”

[Father Goose #44]

A group of guys used to get together once a week to play poker. Well, one of
the guys died; but his ghost continued to join in the poker games as before.
On one of these evenings, the ghost got five beautiful hearts in his very first
hand, and he bet his stack.

Unfortunately, one of the flesh-and-blood players had a full house and raked in
the pot — another case where the spirit was willing but the flush was weak.

[Father Goose #45]

It seems there were two frogs sitting on a lilly pad, when all
of a sudden, a fly came along. One frog put out his tongue, ate the
fly, and started laughing histerically. Soon the other frog joined
in the laughter.
Later in the day, the other frog ate a fly and the two frogs
burst out in laughter. As time went on, the frogs enjoyed the flies so
much that the sight of a fly would cause them to double up with pleasure
(if it’s possible for frogs to double up!). But of course, the most
pleasure came when the fly was actually eaten.
A third frog hopped up to the first two and asked what
was so funny. The first frog answered “Time.” “Huh?” asked the third frog.
The second frog exlained:
“Time’s fun when your having flies”

[Father Goose #46]

Back in the days of the old west, somewhere in Kansas, there lived a
rancher named Fred Holt.

One day Fred found himself in need of supplies so he headed off to town
to restock. After picking up all he needed, Fred decided to stop off at
the local saloon for a warm one (no refrigerators in the old west).

As he was standing there quietly drinking his beer, who should
approach but his neighbor Sam Leed. Now Sam was in a vile mood concerning
a certain fence that Fred had recently erected. Sam felt that open range
should remain open and told Fred this in no uncertain terms. A violent
argument ensued, ending only when the two parties were pulled off of each
other and escorted out of town.

Fred went on home and settled in for the night, but about midnight was
suddenly awakened by a commotion. He looked out and discovered that his
house was on fire. Quickly he gathered his family and managed to get them
all to safety. The house was a total loss, however. Fred hitched up his
wagon and headed off to town. When he told the people what had happened,
they were outraged. There was law coming into Kansas and this wasn’t
tolerable. A possee was immediately formed and Sam was arrested.

Now it just so happened that that great detective Charlie Chan
happened to be passing through town on his way to California. It seemed
that something was funny about this case, so he decided to stay awhile
and investigate. He headed out to Fred’s ranch and proceeded to look for
clues. Right away, it was apparent that the fire had been set. An empty
kerosene can and a suspicious odor said that this was no accident. Poking
around a bit, Mr Chan found buried in the dirt an old, somewhat
decomposing breechcloth, possibly discarded by one of the conscript labor
party that had built the railroad. Most interesting, since the railroad
tracks were ten miles distant. He was onto something, but needed another
clue to tie it up. He found it in the form of a handbill, crumpled and
discarded in the corner of the barn.

Unfolding it he read “Have you seen this coin? This 1832 half dollar is
worth over $1000. We will pay you hard cash for this coin and others like
it. Write for free list. J. Abernathy, coin broker, Boston”.

Now he had all he needed to free Sam. He headed back toward town. When
he arrived, he noticed that no one was around. The town was deserted, and
worse still, the jail was empty, its door smashed. Realizing that trouble
was brewing, Charlie started running. As he neared Hanging Rock, he could
hear the angry roar of mob justice.

He entered the clearing and fought his way through the crowd while
yelling “Stop. You are making a big mistake. You are about to hang the
wrong man. The real culprit is The Lone Ranger.”

The crowd stopped and gasped. Sam, a rope already placed around his
neck, looked visibly relieved. The mob leader looked down and asked “The
Lone Ranger? How could that possibly be?”

Charlie paused, smiled, and replied “It has to be. All the clues point
to it…

A fiery ’stead with the spite of Leed
A clout of dust
And a hearty ‘Buy old Silver’
…End of the part8. To be continued..

[Father Goose #1]

There were three Medieval kingdoms on the shores of a lake.
There was an island in the middle of the lake, which the kingdoms had
been fighting over for years. Finally, the three kings decided that
they would send their knights out to do battle, and the winner would
take the island.
The night before the battle, the knights and their
squires pitched camp and redied themselves for the fight. The first
kingdom had 12 knights, and each knight had 5 squires, all of whom were
busily polishing armor, brushing horses, and cooking food. The second
kingdom had 20 knights, and each knight had 10 squires. Everyone at
that camp was also busy preparing for battle. At the camp of the third
kingdom, there was only one knight, with his one squire. This squire
took a large pot and hung it from a looped rope in a tall tree. He
busied himself preparing the meal, while the knight polished his own
armor. When the hour of battle came, the three kingdoms sent their
squires out to fight ( this was too trivial a matter for the knights to
join in ). The battle raged, and when the dust cleared, the only person
left was the lone squire from the third kingdom, having defeated the
squires from the other kingdoms.

I guess this just proves that the squire of the high pot and noose is
equal to the sum of the squires of the other two sides.

[Alternate version:]

It seems that there were these 3 pregnant Indian Squaws, all due to give
birth at about the same time. The first squaw gave birth to a boy, and the
birthing was done on a deer hide. The 2nd also gave birth to a boy, but this
was done on a bear hide. And, the third had twins, two boys, and
she did this on a hippopotamus hide.

I guess *THIS* shows us that the sons of the squaw on the hippopotamus hide
is equal to the sum of the squaws on the other two hides.

[Father Goose #2]

There was a new driver for the bus on Sesame Street. His first
day on the job, he awoke bright and early, went to the garage, got
the bus, and set off on his route.

At the first stop there was a chubby little girl waiting for
the bus. She climbed the step and got on, and said,
“Hi. My name is Patty.”
The driver replied,
“Hi, Patty. Please take a seat.”

At the second stop there was a second little girl, even chubbier
than the first. She got on and said,
“Good morning! My name’s Patty.”
The driver answered,
“Good morning. Please sit down.”

At the third stop there was a little boy waiting. He was dressed
in a white shirt and tie, and a suit with a vest, and he had a
calculator holster on his belt. He said,
“Hi. My name is Ross, and I’m special!”
The driver wasn’t impressed, but he managed a smile and said,
“Please sit down, Ross.”

The fourth stop rewarded the driver with a grubby little boy
with dirty jeans and torn sneakers. He got on the bus and said,
“My name is Lester Cheese.”
The driver replied,
“Please take a seat, Lester.”

Well, he’s driving along and he looks in his rear-view mirror
and sees that Lester Cheese has taken off his sneakers and is
scratching at his foot. The driver pulls the bus over to the
side of the rode, stops it, and says,

“I can’t take this any longer! I’ve got

two obese Patties,
special Ross,
Lester Cheese picking bunions
on a Sesame Street bus!

[Father Goose #3]

A while back, there were two kingdoms situated close by each other.
One kindgom had a powerful king, and the other had a relatively weak
king. The difference (or so everybody said) was that the powerful
king had a magic throne, which had the property of making people
powerful.
Well, the weak king wanted this throne, so he had a trusted
count get up an army (you know, knights, pages, reporters, that kind
of thing) to fetch it.
The army trudged along for a day or two (only the reporters
would know for sure) and came upon the powerful king’s castle.
The castle entrance was guarded by a huge yellow monster
with huge yellow hands. The army (being an army and all) attacked!
The huge Yellow Monster ate them all, except for two pages
who did not engage in the fight. The pages, being very frightened,
hid until nightfall.
When night came along, the pages peeked from their hiding
place and saw that the monster was asleep. The only thing guarding
the entrance now was the monsters huge hands draped in front of the
opening. The pages, being only 8 years old and all, were able to
squeeze through the yellow fingers and gain entrance into the
castle.

Moral: let your pages do the walking through the yellow fingers.

[Father Goose #4]
Once inside the castle, the pages had no trouble finding the
throne. Combined, they were just strong enough to lift it, and were
able to carry it out of the castle. (The monster gave them no
further trouble, since they had the throne and everything.)
After having walked half the night with the heavy throne
between them, they were very tired and stopped at a grass house
to rest. The farmer who lived there, wanting to steal the throne for himself,
let them spend the night in the barn. The throne was “hid” in the
farmer’s attic.
Some hours later, the farmer stole into his barn and killed
the pages.
The farmer went back to bed. A few minutes later, the
throne crashed through the ceiling, crushing and killing the farmer
and his wife.

Moral: people who live in grass houses shouldn’t stow thrones.

[Father Goose #5]
When the powerful king found his throne missing the next
day, he ordered HIS army to kidnap the other king’s count and force
him to tell where the throne was being hid. The session went as
follows:

king: Where is the throne?
count: I cannot tell you.
king: Then I will have you killed! Executioner, cut off his
head!
count: (as the axe is swinging down…)
Ok! I will tell you!
THWACK!!!

Moral: don’t hatchet your counts before they chicken.

[Father Goose #6]

A wild life photographer goes on an expedition to South America to photograph
the legendary and hitherto unseen foo bird. On the way he attempts to hire
porters from a tribe of Pygmys. They warn him of the dreaded curse on all
who look upon the bird and refuse to join. Undaunted the intrepid photographer
…End of the part1. To be continued..

A young girl asked her mother “Mommy, do you get into heaven feet first?”

“I don’t know, why do you ask?”

“Because the maid’s upstairs with her feet in the air, shouting `God, I’m
coming, God, I’m coming,’ but dad’s on top and won’t let her go.”

–

The Dreamer – “Someday I’m going to be rich and famous. I don’t know how,
but–”
Also known as: Struggling artist, Philosopher, Buffoon, Bag of Wind, Fool
Advantages: Tells good stories
Disadvantages: Will turn into “Old Man Grumpus”

Mr. Right – “While the servants wash the dishes, let’s make love like
crazed weasels in my new yacht, ok?”
Also known as: Mr. Perfect, Jim Dandy
Advantages: Answer to a woman’s prayer
Disadvantages: Hunted to extinction

The 9 Types of Girlfriends

Ms. Nice Guy – “Tickets to the boxing match? Oh Darling, you shouldn’t
have”
Also known as: What a gal, precious, one of the boys, my main squeeze,
doormat
Advantages: Cheerful, agreeable, kindly
Disadvantages: May wise up someday

Old Yeller – “You G-D spineless good-for-nothing drag-ass no-talent son of
a bitch! Can’t you see you’re making me miserable??”
Also known as: She-Devil, Sourpuss, the Nag, My Old Lady, Warthog from
Hell
Advantages: Pays attention to you
Disadvantages: Screeches, throws frying pans

Sickly – “Oh, my head. My head. My feet. My cramps. My cellulite”
Also known as: Whiner, Mewler, Glumpy
Advantages: Predictable
Disadvantages: Contagious

The Bosser – “Stand up straight. Put on a different tie. Get a haircut.
Change your job. Make some money. Don’t give me that look.”
Also known as: Whipcracker, The Sarge, Ms. Know-it-all, Ball and Chain, yes
Mom
Advantages: Often right
Disadvantages: Often right, but so what?

Ms. Vaguely Dissatisfied – “I just can’t decide. Should I switch my
career, goals, home, and hair color?”
Also known as: The Fretter, Worrywart, Typical, Aw c’mon Honey
Advantages: Easily soothed
Disadvantages: Even more easily perturbed

Wild Woman out of Control – “I’ve got an idea. Lez get drunk an’ make love
onna front lawn. I done it before. S’fun.”
Also known as: Fast girl, freewheeler, goodtime charleena, passed out
Advantages: More fun than a barrel of monkeys
Disadvantages: Unreliable; drives off cliffs

Huffy – “I see nothing humorous in those silly cartoons you keep snickering
at”
Also known as: No fun, humorless prig, Cold fish, Chilly proposition,
iceberg, Snarly
Advantages: Your friends will feel sorry for you
Disadvantages: You will have no friends

Woman from Mars – “I believe this interpretive dance will explain how I
feel about our relationship”
Also known as: The Babbler, Spooky Girl, Screwball, Loony, Bad News,
Artistic
Advantages: Entertaining, unfathomable
Disadvantages: Will read her poetry aloud

Ms. Dreamgirl – “I am utterly content with you just the way you are, my
handsome genius of a boyfriend. I think we must make love like crazed
weasels now”
Also known as: Ms. Right, Goddess, Knockout, Perfection, Gorgeous
Advantages: Funny, intelligent uninhibited
Disadvantages: Will have nothing to do with you

——————————————————–

Dear ________________,

This letter was started by a woman much like yourself
in the hopes of bringing relief to other tired and dis-
contented women. Unlike most chain letters, this one does
not cost anything. Just send a copy of this letter to five
of your friends who are equally tired and discontent. Then,
bundle up your husband, boyfriend or boss, and send him to
the woman whose name appears at the top of this list and
add your name to the bottom of the list.

When your name comes to the top of the list you will
receive 16,877 men and one of them is bound to be better
than the one you already had!

DO NOT BREAK THE CHAIN……HAVE FAITH!!!

One woman broke the chain and got her own S.O.B back. At
this writing a friend of mine had already received 184 men;
they buried her yesterday, but it took three undertakers 36
hours to get the smile off her face, an two days to get her
legs together so they could close the coffin.

YOU MUST HAVE FAITH……

Sincerely,

A Liberated Woman

——————————————————–

THE SINGLE GIRL’s CHRISTMAS PRAYER

This Christmas may I have
at least one really nice date.

May his car have clean seats
and glass in all the windows

May he not be more than
three hours late

May his left eye match
the one on the right

May he have all his front teeth
and not be high a a kite

May he have all his hormones
under control

May he wear clean underpants
without any holes

May his whiskers not burn
and make my face blotch

May he think with his brain
and not with his crotch

And, Lord, if I might ask
for just one thing more…

May he have good aim in my bathroom
and not pee on my clean floor

——————————————————–

Duke University Medical Center is reporting an unusual occurrance in the
Obstetrics Department: a child was born with both male and female organs.

A penis and a brain.

——————-

What’s the definition of the ideal man?

One with a twelve-inch tongue and a broom-handle through his ears.

——————-

PENDLETON, Ind. (AP) — Officials are considering changing the name of
Pendleton Middle School or at least removing its initials from
athletic uniforms to avoid embarrassment for its girls’ teams.

——————-

The destruction of the Berlin wall marked history’s first feminine
revolution: There had been no violence and when it ended everybody went
shopping.

——————-

Q. What do you call a woman who has PMS and ESP?

A. A bitch who thinks she knows it all.

——————-

I hope that the packaging for the new Stayfree Maxipads with baking
soda includes a warning about the potential side effects of wearing
a baking soda laced feminine napkin after using a vinegar and water
douche.

——————-

DAVID’S TRUTHS ABOUT WOMEN

In this world, there are two sets of women: women that you would love to be
with, and women that would love to be with you. THERE IS NO UNION OF THESE
TWO SETS.

Any woman that you become extremely attracted to will tell you that you are
the best friend that a woman could ever have.

Being told that you are nice is:
the equivalent to her saying, “I wish that you were my brother.”
a curse.
her way of saying that “I hope we can just be friends.

A Slut is a woman that will sleep with anyone. A Bitch is a woman that will
sleep with anyone but you. All women are Bitches.

Only beautiful women who are engaged or engaged to be engaged or married or
your mother’s best friend will think that you are a wonderful person that any
woman would die for.

These same women will be completely dumbfounded at the revelation that you
don’t go out with a hundred women a week. Much less one.

When a woman says “No!” she really means “Yes!” — except, of course, when she
means “NO!”

Unless you make over a million dollars a year, you must completely ignore and
demean a woman to gain her affection. If you completely disregard her
existence, she’ll die for you.

The degree of subtlety used by a woman is inversely proportional to how
attracted you are to her. If you are absolutely in love with everything about
her, her hints will amount to, “I really like your roommates new shoes.” If
you have no attraction to her what-so-ever, she will ask you to come spend a
week with her in the Bahamas.

A woman will confide in you that she slept with your best friend and that he
treated her like dirt afterwards. She will go on-and-on for hours, until she
builds up enough nerve to ask him out again.

Every woman that you meet that you are instantly attracted to will be:
Married,
heavily dating the same guy for the 3rd year,
a lesbian
my brother’s ex-girlfriend.

A “Taken” woman will tell you that you are a great-looking guy, but that looks
don’t matter anyway and that she’d go out with you if she wasn’t already
dating someone.

“Taken” women are the only women capable of understanding your wonderful sense
of humor, you amazing musical talent, your tremendous sensitivity, and
gracious generosity.

A Woman will talk to you about a certain guy that they think is a real jerk,
wondering what any Woman would see in him, and then ask you to set them up.

Women will absolutely drive you crazy and seemingly make no sense.

Women will confuse you and make you distraught.

Women are the most wonderful things in the entire world. They are the most
precious element that the world could ever know. Everything from the way
they look to the way they talk to the way the move, walk, sigh, gesture,
dance, smile, laugh, cuddle, squeeze, tease, hug, caress, smell, taste — is
fantastic.

–

Chapter 19. Barbara

Chapter 20. Lisa

Chapter 21. Secret Codes

…End of the part10. To be continued..

CANONICAL LIST OF ‘HOW THEY DO IT’s

A king does it with his official seal.
AI hackers do it with rules.
AI hackers do it breast first.
AI hackers make a big production out of it.
AI hackers do it with robots.
AI hackers do it robotically.
AI hackers do it artificially.
AI hackers do it depth first.
AI hackers do it with robots
APL programmers do it with stile
APL programmers are functional.
APL programmers do it backwards.
APL programmers do it backwards.
Accountants do it with double entry.
Accountants do it with balance.
Accountants are good with figures.
Acrophobes get down.
Actors do it on stage.
Actors do it on cue.
Actors play around
Ada programmers do it by committee.
Ada programmers do it in packages.
Advertisers use the “new, improved” method.
Advertising majors do it with style.
Aerobics instructors do it until it hurts.
Aerospace Engineers do it with lift and trust.
Agents do it undercover.
Air Traffic Controllers do it in the dark.
Air Traffic Controllers tell pilots how to do it.
Air traffic controllers do it by radar.
Airlifters penetrate further, linger longer, and drop a bigger load
Alpinists do it higher.
Ambulance drivers come quicker.
Analog hackers do it continuously.
Anglers do it with worms.
Animators do it 24 times a second
Ansi does it in the standard way.
Archeologists like it old.
Architects have great plans.
Arsonist do it with fire.
Artillerymen do it with a burst.
Artists do it by design.
Artists are exhibitionists.
Artists do it with emotion
Artists do it with creativity.
Assassins do it from behind.
Assembler programmers do it one-to-one.
Assembly line workers do it over and over.
Astronauts do it in orbit.
Astronomers do it while gazing at Uranus.
Astronomers can’t do it with the lights on
Astronomers do it with Uranus.
Astronomers (astrophysicists) do it with a Big Bang.
Astronomers do it under the stars.
Astronomers do it with thier Telescopes (Refraction periods?)
Astronomers do it in the dark.
Astronomers do it with stars.
Astronomers only do it at Night
Attorneys make better motions.
Auditors like to examine figures.
Authors do it by rote.
Auto makers do it with standard equipment (or optional equipment).
B&Ders do it with their hands tied behind their backs!
BASIC programmers GOTO it.
Babysitters charge by the hour.
Backstrokers do it face up
Bailiffs always come to order.
Bakers knead it daily.
Bankers do it with interest. (However, there is a penalty for early withdrawal)
Banker – Past performance is no guarantee of future potential…
Bananas do it in bunches.
Band members do it in front of 100,000 people.
Band members do it in a parade.
Band members do it in sectionals.
Band members do it all night.
Band members do it on the football field.
Band members do it in public.
Barbarians do it with anything. (As do orcs.)
Barbers do it with shear pleasure.
Bartenders do it on the rocks.
Baseball Players (Sports people) Do it for alot of Money
Baseball players make it to first base.
Baseball players hit more home runs.
Baseball players have leather-covered balls.
Basic programmers do it all over the place.
Basic programmers do it all over the place.
Basketball players have big rubber balls.
Basketball players dribble before they shoot
Basketball players score more often.
Beekeepers like to eat their honey.
Beer brewers do it with more hops.
Beer drinkers get more head.
Beta Testers do it looking for mistakes.
Bicyclists do it in 10 speeds.
Biochemists make better lovers…want us to make *you* one?
Bio – Does that mean your offering to make a better lover than the one I alrea
dy have, or to improve ME?!??
Biologists do it with clones.
Bo Jackson knows doing it.
Boardheads do it with stiff masts.
Body-builders do it with muscle
Bookkeepers do it with double entry
Bosses delegate the task to others.
Bowlers have bigger balls.
Breaststrokers touch with both hands
Bricklayers lay all day.
Bridge players try to get a rubber.
Bridge players do it with finesse.
Broadcast/Cable Majors do it on film.
Broadcast/Cable Majors do it to epic proportions
Building inspectors do it under the table.
Bus drivers come early and pull out on time.
Butchers have better meat.
Butchers do it with dead meat.
C programmers continue it.
C programmers do it with lint.
C programmers SWITCH often.
C programmers SWITCH and then BREAK it.
C programmers SWITCH and then BREAK it.
C programmers continue it.
C’Bers do it on the air.
C++ programmers do it with their friends, in private.
CIA operatives do it with a security blanket.
COBOL hackers do it by committee.
COBOL programmers do it very slow.
COBOL programmers do it very slow.
CS111 students do it with interspersed comments.
CS111 students do it in binary.
CS111 students do it with ORGs.
Californians do it laid back.
Campers do it in a tent.
Cardiologists do it lightheartedly.
Cardiologists do it halfheartedly.
Carpenters hammer it harder.
Carpet layers do it on the floor.
Cartoonists do it with just a few good strokes.
Cavaliers do it mounted.
Cheerleaders do it with more enthusiasm.
Cheerleaders do it enthusiastically.
Chefs do it in the kitchen.
Chefs do it for dessert.
Chemical engineers do it in packed beds.
Chemists do it reactively.
…End of the part1. To be continued..

The weekend after graduation is a particularly dull time for a bottle
shop. Everyone that wants booze has either left town, is still nursing
the worst hangover of their academic life, or is still plowing through
leftover alcohol. Or has to work. Which I was.

The late afternoon sun pounded through the dirty glass of the front,
what little was not covered with signs loudly proclaiming a message of,
in essence, “Get Drunk! Cheap! Here.” The weather in Cambridge had
been particularly lousy, especially for June, our most promising month
until October. But the thunderstorms and rain showers had given way to
a passably nice day. The weather was guaranteed by the owner of the
shore having scheduled me for an all-day shift.

The job sucked, but the alternative was home to Lancaster, PA with my
parents, a fate I would have gladly licked Mass Ave clean with my
tongue to avoid.

I didn’t notice her at first, as all my attention was taken up by
counting out change for a $100 for a young guy who was buying a
newspaper. He had a smile that I’m certain was intended to be
apologetic, and if I had been in a better mood it might have worked,
but I was inconsolable. A line had formed, and she joined the end of
it, not stopping to pick anything up. With each sale, I noticed a
little more of her.

Bottle of wine, $12.95. Short blonde hair.

Two six-packs of Coke, $4.49. About 5′ 8″, blue halter top. Nice
figure.

Bottle of gin, $6.80. Cute, button nose.

She reached the front of the line, and gave me a smile that broke
through my lousy mood. Blue eyes. A little necklace that looked
vaguely Southwestern, all turquoise and silver.

“I’m looking for Cedar Street? Any idea where that is?”

We’re at the corner of Mass Ave. and Cedar. This was going to be a
short encounter. I told her.

“No, no, not that Cedar! Cedar in Somerville. I love Boston, but I
hate driving in Boston.”

We’re in Boston the way New Jersey is in Manhattan, but I wasn’t going
to start that line of conversation.

“Where are you from?”

“California. How about yourself?”

“Lancaster, Pennsylvania. I’m going to Harvard …” I started in, but
I seemed to have said the magic word.

“Lancaster! I have friends in Lancaster.” Reminded me a bit too much
of the Pennsylvania license plates, but she’s gone on. “They’re
members of my sorority, and I just saw them at our June Weekend
reunion. I’m in town for that …”

As she went on, a one-person conversation, I took in her voice (quite
husky, considering her bubbly demeanor) and glanced (with appropriate
discretion, I hoped) up and down her body. She was, well,
well-stacked. Unfortunately, my discretion was insufficient for the
task, and I looked back up to her face to see her smiling at my
regard. As I blushed, she leaned down over the counter.

“Some people get all the fun jobs,” she said, in a low, conspiratorial
voice.

“Uh, yeah.” Witty reply. Clever. That’s right, I thought, wow her
with your intellect.

“Place seems quiet, today” She said, glancing around, stretching
herself. Her elbows sunk slowly onto the countertop. I looked up from
the view thus created by the lowering of the halter-top fabric to see
her looking at me with a smile that had switched from conspiratorial to
something else.

“Think of anything we could do to make the job more fun?” she said.

“Well, it’s cooler in the back.” Shit, I thought, did I say that?

“We could fix that,” she said, turning around and surveying the back of
the store for the door.

“This way,” I managed to gasp out with lungs that didn’t seem
completely under my command. In one fluid motion, I had closed the
register, grabbed a package of condoms from behind the counter, and
locked the front door. No customers in the parking lot, good, just one
car, must be her’s. It looks like there’s someone in it, but nah,
couldn’t be, anyway, who cares?

I led her into the back room. It’s even worse than the typical back
room of a liquor store, whatever that looks like. There are boxes
piled everywhere, both empty and full, the usual collection of posters
proclaiming that all you have to do is drink some terrible brand of bad
American liquor and amazingly women who would scrape you off their shoe
now will fall into bed with you. Not in so many words, of course, but
the message is clear.

She surveyed the scene, with what I assumed was less than complete
enthusiasm. Well, it is a bottle shop, not the Marriott. But when she
turned around, she still has that infectious lovely smile on her face …

“I can cope with this.” She pulled the tank top over her head,
revealing her lovely breasts still in a white bra. The bra came off a
moment later, and she was in my arms, pulling me down to a kiss. And a
very nice kiss it was, very deep and soft. Even with lots of tongue,
there are kisses that are very sharp and angular-feeling, but this was
a lover’s kiss. I still can’t completely explain the difference, but
there you are.

With a plop, the package of condoms dropped to the floor. She somehow
managed to slither out of her shorts while kissing me, and did a
lovely, slow, descent to her knees, running her hands down my chest.
Kissing me through my jeans, she unbuttons them, and applies her mouth
to my already-hard cock with tremendous skill.

“Now …” Lick. “I don’t …” Slurp. “have …” Gulp. “much time
for this,” she finally managed to get out, between licks with her
tongue along my balls, “so let’s be quick!”

Nothing like a little performance anxiety to make an evening special,
but I wasn’t going to turn this down for anything.

She retrieved the packaged of condoms, and (with cardboard and wrappers
flying everywhere) managed to extract one. As she stood up, naked
except for jewelry and shoes, she rolled one onto me with one hand, the
other steadying herself on my shoulder.

“OK, I’ll just bend over like this,” she said, as businesslike as if
she was staging a play. She turned her back to me, and bent over,
steadying herself on a pile of Guinness boxes. She spread her legs,
and one hand spread her lips apart. Amazingly, she was very wet
already, wet enough to…

“Well? C’mon!” she said, always impatient. OK, OK, I was just
enjoying the view. I stepped forward, rubber-clad penis in hand, and
slid it. There was almost no resistance, I was amazed.

I started slowly, with long strokes, but she was having none of it.
She started setting the rhythm, pushing back, in, out, in out. Her
free hand was playing with her clit, and she was starting a lovely
pattern of moans in time with her thrusts. In, out, in out … she
came once, twice as I finally lost control and pounded into her,
grabbing her hips.

She started screaming, loud enough that I was afraid the next door
dry-cleaners would hear. “Yes, yes, YES!” she yelled out as I came,
much faster than I thought I ever would, shaking as my cum poured out
of me.

I staggered back, a bit unsure of my balance, and came out of her with
a pop. She gave a small whimper of displeasure, but was back into her
shorts and tank top (bra in the pocket of the shorts) before I even had
the condom all the way off.

“That was very nice, thanks. I better go, my boyfriend’s waiting.”

“BOYFRIEND!”

“Yeah, he’s in the car. He’ll wonder what’s taking so long.”

“Boyfriend?” OK, I had already said it, but I still wasn’t quite
getting the answer I was looking for.

“Relax, he’s reading a newspaper, and nothing distracts him from that.
Anyway, gotta go! Thank you kindly,” she said, with just a touch of an
affected southern accent. And with a small peck on the cheek, out she
went through the store, unlocking the front door and tearing out of
it.

I staggered into my clothes, cleaned up the condom package debris in
the storage room, and put one condom-package worth of change in the
register (the owner would notice, he’s that kind of guy).

I watched the car pull away, and head down Mass Ave. Even through the
grimy windows, I can see that it was the guy with the $100 driving.

I still don’t understand some relationships.

Section One – The Early Years
Chapter I – Baby Bimbo

Everyone in Larchmont knew that Chance was a tramp the day she came home
from the the hospital. At that point in her life it wasn’t the rubber pants
that gave her away, or even the fact that when someone picked her up for
burping, she blew in his ear. Let me put it this way: She did things with her
pacifier that most women still haven’t done with their husbands. Is that a
tramp, or what?
It was almost unthinkable that we would ever become friends, especially
to my mother. She considered anyone who wore open-toed shoes an exhibitionist.
Chance and I were SO unalike. I mean, when I had diaper rash, she had
herpes. I’d fuss about going to bed; she’d hit the mattress the minute
someone unzipped her bunting. I slept with stuffed animals; she slept with
real ones. You get the picture.
Chance stayed different from the rest of us. She never went through a NO
phase (her first words were “Sure, sailor!”), never sucked her thumb if she
could suck someone else’s, and when she waved “bye-bye,” it was with her
panties.
Even before she was toilet-trained, that tramp’s name was on bathroom
walls!

Chapter II – Toddler Tramp

Before we even entered kindergarten, Chance was raising eyebrows as often
as her skirt. Think I’m exaggerating?? Well, how many four-year-olds do
you know who’ve had their birthday parties raided by the police? I’m serious!
She jumped out of her own birthday cake!
My mother never let me go to any of Chance’s parties after I told her
about the one where we played Simon Says with a whip. (Simon says, “DO THIS!
DO THAT!”) She’d probably never have let me see Chance again if I’d told where
that preschooler poptart had hidden the marshmallows for the treasure hunt!
Like men in later years, Chance’s toys said a lot about her; all of it
unprintable. Her dollhouse had a red light on it! Her coloring books had dirty
pictures! She was the only kid in the neighborhood who had an anatomically
correct G.I. Joe doll – and it was battery operated!!
She also had an advanced Erector set. What she did with that is better
left unmentioned.

–

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.

–

1. Each player shall furnish his own equipment for play – normally
one club and two balls.

2. Owner of the course must approve equipment before play may
begin.

3. Play on a course must be approved by the owner of the hole.

4. Unlike outdoor golf, the object is to get the club in the hole and
keep the balls out of the hole.

5. For most effective play, the club should have a firm shaft. Course
owners are permitted to check shaft stiffness before play begins.

6. Course owner reserves the right to restrict the shaft length,
so as to avoid damange to the course.

7. Players are cautioned to play the correct hole, as indicated by
the course owner.

8. The object of the game is to take as many strokes as necessary until
the course owner is satisfied that play is complete. Failure to do
so may result in being denied permission to play the course again.

9. It is considered bad form to begin playing the hole immediatedly upon
arrival at the course. The experienced player will normally take time
to admire the entire course, with special attention to well-formed
bunkers.

10. Players are cautioned not to mention other courses they have played or
are currently playing to the owner of the course being played. Upset
course owners have been known to damage a player’s equipment for this
reason.

11. Players are encouraged to have proper rain gear along, just in case.

12. Players are advised to obtain the course owner’s permission before
attempting to play the back game.

13. Players should assure themselves that their match has been properly
scheduled, particularly when a new course is being played for the
first time. Previous players have been known to become irate if they
discover someone else playing what they consider to be a private
course.

14. Players should not assume a course is in shape for play at all times.
Some players may be embarrassed if they find the course to be
temporarily under repair. Players are advised to be extremely tactful
in this situation. More advanced players will find alternate means
of play when this is the case.

15. Slow play is encouraged; however, players should be prepared to proceed
at a quicker pace, at least temporarily, at the owner’s request.

16. It is considered outstanding performance, time permitting, to play the
same hole several times in one match.

17. The course owner will be the sole judge of who is the best player.

18. In some states, it is illegal for a course owner to require (or for a
players to offer) a greens fee in excess of the price of dinner.
Course owners must be careful that play not be proposed to members of
the vice squad.

19. Players are advised to think twice before considering membership at
any given course. Additional assessments may be levied by the course
owner and the rules are subject to change. For this reason many players
prefer to continue to play several different courses.

20. It is considered bad form to reveal your score to other players,
or even that you have played the course.

–