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Showing posts with label sex toys. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sex toys. Show all posts
1/19/15
That Instant
you realize you've been wearing your plug glass piece like a Faberge egg and forgot it was in all day through the night before and you take it out and sigh like the first time you saw the sun rise on a golf course with a spliff between your lips and you know it was the best 25 dollars you ever spent.
11/3/11
That Instant
The instant you fan out your laundry before throwing it on your laundry horse and the pant leg whips and sends your dildo (that you didn't realize you laundered in the first place) flying through the air to smack against the wall hard enough to knock posters off the wall and you breath a sigh of relief because it hit plaster instead of the back of your roommates head. And you breath another sigh of relief because you don't have a roommate. And then breath a sigh of frustration because you have to put your posters back up yourself, because there's no one to blame but yourself and your overly enthusiastic laundromatic expertise.
Fuck, where's the tape.
Fuck, where's the tape.
5/13/11
Stand Up Act 4
Act 3
So speaking of sex, I am, like the fraction of people on the face of the Earth that is left when you subtract the fraction of people having sex and the people required for them to be having sex with and the people having sex with inanimate objects and the people having sex with animated objects that are not human, not having any. Not in the sense of Madea, prototypical, big body, big attitude, possibly half black half hispanic chick who is for some reason also part Italian and who speaks just enough Spanish to half mast men between the ages of 15 and 15 at heart "ain't havin that", but more like it's something that just doesn't happen to me. Which is of course not at all my fault.
It's out there. If I could walk around with my fly down all day and not get immediately arrested and or tackled by angry citizens and patriots of so called decency, I probably would. When I was a kid, I've been told I once spent a day naked. Just a-walkin around doin my thing sans robes. I don't remember that at all, but I wish I could because it sounds like the most awesome summer day imaginable. Nothing but deluxe jumbo sidewalk chalk, empty chalk boards, water guns, and G.I. Joes. Or maybe that was just a dream. I may very well have dreamt that.
Not to stray too far, but I just remembered I kissed someone in a dream I had the other night. That's kind of fucked up. Who the hell was it that I kissed? What if they show up in another dream and they're pissed off because I don't remember them from the first one and they try to stab me to death with a snapped off tea cup handle, because we were for some reason having tea on top of an 18 wheeler barreling down a train barreling up the train tracks in the middle of one of those stupid riddles where the answer is that the entire premise is false and you'd know it if you paid attention with more brain cells than you can muster for just about anything at 5 in the afternoon without having to be asked long winded questions about bullshit scenarios you'll never actually have to deal with in real life unless you became a train conducting mad scientist sociopath with a taste for apples, pizzas, and buckets of multicolored marbles.
At any rate, it's not my fault, but if I never had sex again I don't think I would be particularly ticked off. Don't get me wrong. This is not a complaint at all. It is an observation that if I were to offer myself up to women on say death row I would probably get passed over by the entire starting rotation twice before getting picked up by the bench warmer still running her case through the appellate courts because I do not understand how that interaction is supposed to work on a pretty basic level. If however I were to offer myself up to the men on say death row I would probably get passed over by the entire line up too, but probably not twice, because let's face it, when you're staring down the barrel of a death sentence in solitary confinement every person you meet is basically the last man or woman on Earth as far as you'll ever know and "if you give a dog a bone" and so forth... ...I don't know what the chick half of that is... Unless they have tv in there. Then all bets are off. If I watched more television specials about how bad ass the bad asses in Federal "holy fuck that prison is hard core compared to my life" on the Discovery channel I would know the answer to that. But I don't. Life is full of mysteries. I think I do live in a magical and fucked up time. Here's why: by the time I reach a point where I will be desperate to get laid and/or lay someone technology will in all likelihood have created an affordable artificial human being that I can purchase to satisfy my every whim and thus complete the compartmentalization of myself into the American technological socio strata and finally make me utterly oblivious to the larger issues of human existence and thus quite happy. You remember in the Matrix when the humans were all hooked up to that machine? What if the machines found it much easier on processing power to stimulate the body instead of the mind directly with a feed of images through the eyes and attendant nose and mouth nonsense. I bet the crotch uplink to the matrix would be the most awesome piece of technology ever. Go to the future and steal one. Is what I would do. Screw finding the machine city. I was just go steal one of those and go nuts until my brain stroked off from a lack of oxygenated blood.
Like the mystery of why any woman on the face of the Earth would ever complain at any age that no one wants her. I personally do not believe that there is a special one person out there for anyone. I won't say that I know it for a fact, but I will say that I'm pretty damn sure just about every relationship that was a sure fire thing that I've seen up close for an extended period of time has basically become either a business agreement, a perpetual fire drill, or has been blown apart with more permanence and finality than a gross analogy about female plumbing and giving birth to triplets. Or maybe I'm just cynical.
Sad ladies out there who believe for one reason or another that you will never be loved, answer the following two questions: Do you have a vagina? Can you work it? If the answers to either of those questions is "yes" then fear not (knowledge of what "working it" is need not bear particular significance). Someone will take an interest in you to gain access to your vagina and perhaps discover along the way that you're a pretty swell person too. Or maybe the other way around. They might think you're an awesome person and hang out with you for a while and get to know you because you really are great company and then one day they might walk in on you while you're in the bathroom and discover that you have a vagina completely by accident and then stumble backward in disbelief before screaming for the deliverance of Jesus himself and go into shock because their best buddy has been a transvestite all along, but then they'll come out of their coma a few weeks later and have wonderful relations or something equally romantic. So don't sweat it. No need to fret. No need to write brutally long entries in your diaries with the daisies scribbled on them next to the balloons and other squiggly shapes your hands draw because your forearms are about as strong as damp marshmallows wrapped around found twigs. Someone out there in this big world wants to stare deeply into your eyes and whisper those magic words "I want to plow you" when they're fifteen beers in and haven't noticed that you've been sipping the same one for the last four hours.
Kidding. That was pretty harsh. But not as harsh as listening to women bitch about not getting laid or being unlovable. Not my fualt. But seriously, ladies, you're all wonderful most of the time. Some of you are awful all of the time, and some of you I wish were guys so we could hang out all the fucking time, get drunk and play football and videogames and fistfight and get into shit with other people at bars and basically piss excellence 24/7. And some of you are wonderful all the time. Or at least all of the times that I get to interact with you, because human interaction is really not my ultimate forte. At any rate I'm gay anyway so not only am I not interested in hearing about it from a logical standpoint, I'm not interested in hearing about it from a physiological stand point, and that means I'm way serious because the word I just used to expound upon my previous standpoint is twice as big. So it's twice as serious. It's the rules of English. Can't be helped and even if I could change them I wouldn't because changing them that drastically again would be like changing a clown's outfit so many times that he ends up wearing a three piece suit to a children's party, painted in white face, with the red nose and rainbow hair and that would scare the shit out of kids. Imagine if they thought that when they grew up they would have to work with clowns. Never knowing if their stapler had a joy buzzer attached to it. Never knowing if the next filing cabinet they opened would fire spring loaded snakes into their eyeballs or if their boss would mandate the entire office carpool in Fred's Huyndai accent with the seats in the back that aren't large enough to fit a baby folded up into a briefcase. That would be a nightmare for them. Not far from the truth, but a nightmare nonetheless. so I'm not going to do that to you with language. Encouraging irresponsibility is a shameful and hilarious thing that is to be, if anything, encouraged.
So what do I do instead of sex? I punch walls sometimes. Relieves stress in that same way and they both eventually end in tears and sore muscles. The only difference is after punching walls I don't need to take a shower. That and I can punch walls in public. Can't use sex toys in public. They will either lock you up or... ...throw money at you? Life lessons don't mix well with logic. Moving on though, I want to keep this light hearted as I have a habit of falling into myself like a cat into a toilet.
I'm still getting used to living alone. It's not a bad thing, but I was just thinking about it before I got sidetracked. For the majority of my life prior to age 25 I was either forced to live with other people, opted to live with other people, or had a space of my own in which to isolate myself, but could at any point choose to come out of that space and join a close knit public space of human beings. Since I've gotten too old to comfortably hang out in that space without freaking people the fuck out eventually and since I can't force myself to live with other people or force other people to live with me if I wanted to I am in the strange territory of lone man's land. It's been a learning experience.
The biggest thing you have to get used to is having no one around to tell you when you've got an exceptionally terrible idea that should not be pursued any further than it's inception, but much like when you were little and thought maybe if you watched where that little white puff of tree pollen went and followed it to its destination it would help you figure out where it could have come from and why it had the power to catalyze wish making, simply glimpsing the idea is enough to demand a second look. And then a third look. And then a fourth look, but it's drifting out of sight so if you want to make out its details you're going to have to pursue it, but only just a little. Just enough to get a better look. And then before you know it you're building a system of tubes to enable you to water the plants in your bathroom with your urine instead of getting sleep before you have to be at work in four hours.
The second biggest thing you have to get used to, well I should say, the second biggest indicator that you're probably not ready or used to living truly alone yet is when you realize you try to talk your way around the messes you made so that you don't have to clean them up. I don't mean like you tell yourself you'll clean it up later, I mean you hit the full blown "I didn't spill that so I shouldn't have to clean it up" argument. With yourself. Right after you the milk you were pouring on your cereal got a little too enthusiastic and did it's milk dance right over the edge of your bowl. When you're standing in your kitchen on Sunday morning bargaining with yourself and telling yourself that you'll take out the trash, but if you do you'll have to treat yourself with a beer and doggie biscuit for helping out because most of that trash isn't yours anyway and you've been taking out the trash and washing dishes all your life to earn a place to sleep and you shouldn't have to do it here and now in a place you are paying for outright. But you both know there's no chamber boy to lay out your formal shorts and take out the trash so what the fuck have you just been blathering about for the last hour. Just wipe up the milk and get on with your day. And that's when it hits you. You're still not used to getting up in the morning and having a sink full of dirty dishes with no one to blame but yourself and even then the understanding of your culpability escapes in the face of the simple and ridiculously sound reasoning that "maybe someone else did it".
Did I say sound? I meant unsound. About as sound as sex jokes in an STD clinic. Laughing yet? Me neither, but I do feel slightly better about myself so maybe you should too, if it works that way. I don't really know how that rule works.
So speaking of sex, I am, like the fraction of people on the face of the Earth that is left when you subtract the fraction of people having sex and the people required for them to be having sex with and the people having sex with inanimate objects and the people having sex with animated objects that are not human, not having any. Not in the sense of Madea, prototypical, big body, big attitude, possibly half black half hispanic chick who is for some reason also part Italian and who speaks just enough Spanish to half mast men between the ages of 15 and 15 at heart "ain't havin that", but more like it's something that just doesn't happen to me. Which is of course not at all my fault.
It's out there. If I could walk around with my fly down all day and not get immediately arrested and or tackled by angry citizens and patriots of so called decency, I probably would. When I was a kid, I've been told I once spent a day naked. Just a-walkin around doin my thing sans robes. I don't remember that at all, but I wish I could because it sounds like the most awesome summer day imaginable. Nothing but deluxe jumbo sidewalk chalk, empty chalk boards, water guns, and G.I. Joes. Or maybe that was just a dream. I may very well have dreamt that.
Not to stray too far, but I just remembered I kissed someone in a dream I had the other night. That's kind of fucked up. Who the hell was it that I kissed? What if they show up in another dream and they're pissed off because I don't remember them from the first one and they try to stab me to death with a snapped off tea cup handle, because we were for some reason having tea on top of an 18 wheeler barreling down a train barreling up the train tracks in the middle of one of those stupid riddles where the answer is that the entire premise is false and you'd know it if you paid attention with more brain cells than you can muster for just about anything at 5 in the afternoon without having to be asked long winded questions about bullshit scenarios you'll never actually have to deal with in real life unless you became a train conducting mad scientist sociopath with a taste for apples, pizzas, and buckets of multicolored marbles.
At any rate, it's not my fault, but if I never had sex again I don't think I would be particularly ticked off. Don't get me wrong. This is not a complaint at all. It is an observation that if I were to offer myself up to women on say death row I would probably get passed over by the entire starting rotation twice before getting picked up by the bench warmer still running her case through the appellate courts because I do not understand how that interaction is supposed to work on a pretty basic level. If however I were to offer myself up to the men on say death row I would probably get passed over by the entire line up too, but probably not twice, because let's face it, when you're staring down the barrel of a death sentence in solitary confinement every person you meet is basically the last man or woman on Earth as far as you'll ever know and "if you give a dog a bone" and so forth... ...I don't know what the chick half of that is... Unless they have tv in there. Then all bets are off. If I watched more television specials about how bad ass the bad asses in Federal "holy fuck that prison is hard core compared to my life" on the Discovery channel I would know the answer to that. But I don't. Life is full of mysteries. I think I do live in a magical and fucked up time. Here's why: by the time I reach a point where I will be desperate to get laid and/or lay someone technology will in all likelihood have created an affordable artificial human being that I can purchase to satisfy my every whim and thus complete the compartmentalization of myself into the American technological socio strata and finally make me utterly oblivious to the larger issues of human existence and thus quite happy. You remember in the Matrix when the humans were all hooked up to that machine? What if the machines found it much easier on processing power to stimulate the body instead of the mind directly with a feed of images through the eyes and attendant nose and mouth nonsense. I bet the crotch uplink to the matrix would be the most awesome piece of technology ever. Go to the future and steal one. Is what I would do. Screw finding the machine city. I was just go steal one of those and go nuts until my brain stroked off from a lack of oxygenated blood.
Like the mystery of why any woman on the face of the Earth would ever complain at any age that no one wants her. I personally do not believe that there is a special one person out there for anyone. I won't say that I know it for a fact, but I will say that I'm pretty damn sure just about every relationship that was a sure fire thing that I've seen up close for an extended period of time has basically become either a business agreement, a perpetual fire drill, or has been blown apart with more permanence and finality than a gross analogy about female plumbing and giving birth to triplets. Or maybe I'm just cynical.
Sad ladies out there who believe for one reason or another that you will never be loved, answer the following two questions: Do you have a vagina? Can you work it? If the answers to either of those questions is "yes" then fear not (knowledge of what "working it" is need not bear particular significance). Someone will take an interest in you to gain access to your vagina and perhaps discover along the way that you're a pretty swell person too. Or maybe the other way around. They might think you're an awesome person and hang out with you for a while and get to know you because you really are great company and then one day they might walk in on you while you're in the bathroom and discover that you have a vagina completely by accident and then stumble backward in disbelief before screaming for the deliverance of Jesus himself and go into shock because their best buddy has been a transvestite all along, but then they'll come out of their coma a few weeks later and have wonderful relations or something equally romantic. So don't sweat it. No need to fret. No need to write brutally long entries in your diaries with the daisies scribbled on them next to the balloons and other squiggly shapes your hands draw because your forearms are about as strong as damp marshmallows wrapped around found twigs. Someone out there in this big world wants to stare deeply into your eyes and whisper those magic words "I want to plow you" when they're fifteen beers in and haven't noticed that you've been sipping the same one for the last four hours.
Kidding. That was pretty harsh. But not as harsh as listening to women bitch about not getting laid or being unlovable. Not my fualt. But seriously, ladies, you're all wonderful most of the time. Some of you are awful all of the time, and some of you I wish were guys so we could hang out all the fucking time, get drunk and play football and videogames and fistfight and get into shit with other people at bars and basically piss excellence 24/7. And some of you are wonderful all the time. Or at least all of the times that I get to interact with you, because human interaction is really not my ultimate forte. At any rate I'm gay anyway so not only am I not interested in hearing about it from a logical standpoint, I'm not interested in hearing about it from a physiological stand point, and that means I'm way serious because the word I just used to expound upon my previous standpoint is twice as big. So it's twice as serious. It's the rules of English. Can't be helped and even if I could change them I wouldn't because changing them that drastically again would be like changing a clown's outfit so many times that he ends up wearing a three piece suit to a children's party, painted in white face, with the red nose and rainbow hair and that would scare the shit out of kids. Imagine if they thought that when they grew up they would have to work with clowns. Never knowing if their stapler had a joy buzzer attached to it. Never knowing if the next filing cabinet they opened would fire spring loaded snakes into their eyeballs or if their boss would mandate the entire office carpool in Fred's Huyndai accent with the seats in the back that aren't large enough to fit a baby folded up into a briefcase. That would be a nightmare for them. Not far from the truth, but a nightmare nonetheless. so I'm not going to do that to you with language. Encouraging irresponsibility is a shameful and hilarious thing that is to be, if anything, encouraged.
So what do I do instead of sex? I punch walls sometimes. Relieves stress in that same way and they both eventually end in tears and sore muscles. The only difference is after punching walls I don't need to take a shower. That and I can punch walls in public. Can't use sex toys in public. They will either lock you up or... ...throw money at you? Life lessons don't mix well with logic. Moving on though, I want to keep this light hearted as I have a habit of falling into myself like a cat into a toilet.
I'm still getting used to living alone. It's not a bad thing, but I was just thinking about it before I got sidetracked. For the majority of my life prior to age 25 I was either forced to live with other people, opted to live with other people, or had a space of my own in which to isolate myself, but could at any point choose to come out of that space and join a close knit public space of human beings. Since I've gotten too old to comfortably hang out in that space without freaking people the fuck out eventually and since I can't force myself to live with other people or force other people to live with me if I wanted to I am in the strange territory of lone man's land. It's been a learning experience.
The biggest thing you have to get used to is having no one around to tell you when you've got an exceptionally terrible idea that should not be pursued any further than it's inception, but much like when you were little and thought maybe if you watched where that little white puff of tree pollen went and followed it to its destination it would help you figure out where it could have come from and why it had the power to catalyze wish making, simply glimpsing the idea is enough to demand a second look. And then a third look. And then a fourth look, but it's drifting out of sight so if you want to make out its details you're going to have to pursue it, but only just a little. Just enough to get a better look. And then before you know it you're building a system of tubes to enable you to water the plants in your bathroom with your urine instead of getting sleep before you have to be at work in four hours.
The second biggest thing you have to get used to, well I should say, the second biggest indicator that you're probably not ready or used to living truly alone yet is when you realize you try to talk your way around the messes you made so that you don't have to clean them up. I don't mean like you tell yourself you'll clean it up later, I mean you hit the full blown "I didn't spill that so I shouldn't have to clean it up" argument. With yourself. Right after you the milk you were pouring on your cereal got a little too enthusiastic and did it's milk dance right over the edge of your bowl. When you're standing in your kitchen on Sunday morning bargaining with yourself and telling yourself that you'll take out the trash, but if you do you'll have to treat yourself with a beer and doggie biscuit for helping out because most of that trash isn't yours anyway and you've been taking out the trash and washing dishes all your life to earn a place to sleep and you shouldn't have to do it here and now in a place you are paying for outright. But you both know there's no chamber boy to lay out your formal shorts and take out the trash so what the fuck have you just been blathering about for the last hour. Just wipe up the milk and get on with your day. And that's when it hits you. You're still not used to getting up in the morning and having a sink full of dirty dishes with no one to blame but yourself and even then the understanding of your culpability escapes in the face of the simple and ridiculously sound reasoning that "maybe someone else did it".
Did I say sound? I meant unsound. About as sound as sex jokes in an STD clinic. Laughing yet? Me neither, but I do feel slightly better about myself so maybe you should too, if it works that way. I don't really know how that rule works.
3/18/11
8/20/09
you know what's weird
masturbating and having old bible hymns come to mind while youre doing it. thats whats weird. that and sex toys for guys. that and reviews for sex toys for guys... reviews that say things like "oh my god, my husband loves this, he cums in minutes." no offense to that guy, but sticking my member in a plastic sock with nubs on the inside dont zactly feel da same as that other thing i like to do... let alone using my hands. well... that and a pill for women to make them want to have sex more. does that count as date rape if you drug someone with a pill to make them want to have sex? is this a surprised rabbit !! or is it two exclamation points next to a quizzical rabbit !! ?? i mean if someone wants to have drinks to loosen up isnt it just better to skip the hangover give them a pill rolled up in a piece of cheese take them home and wait for them to turn on like a light switch? like a clap on. minus the clap. and clapping. maybe slapping. probably slapping. of hands. well thats fucking weird. that and religion. makes no sense. how is it that religious discussion seems to be on the reverse side of sexual discussion. religion is masturbation for the soul. masturbation is religion for the heart. and worship is just stupidity and insecurity rolled up into a tidy package called faith.
thats whats weird.
///yeong wook jo - "farewell, my lovely" i wish yeong would work for free so i could have him orchestrate the irreversible and gut twisting moments in my life. the man has an ear for beauty like you can only find in a family photo album that has pictures of you before you found out that not everyone's parents beat them hard enough to miss school.
thats whats weird.
///yeong wook jo - "farewell, my lovely" i wish yeong would work for free so i could have him orchestrate the irreversible and gut twisting moments in my life. the man has an ear for beauty like you can only find in a family photo album that has pictures of you before you found out that not everyone's parents beat them hard enough to miss school.
6/20/06
you cant sleep with everyone 06/20/06
Subject : you cant sleep with everyone
Posted Date: : Jun 20, 2006 4:03 PM
yep... its true. you really just cant sleep with everyone. more importantly though, when you think about it, its not so much that everyone you meet who gets your panties in a bunch or gets your wang a twitchin' is worth jackin or jillin off. the thing is that aspects of these people remind you of someone you know who actually is worth jillin or jackin off.
like say for instance someone's got really cute toes. you dont really want to sleep with them for that, but you probably will go masturbate about it. (maybe not... im not saying we're all perverts here). even if you did shag them, i mean how shitty would that be in the morning when you've had it out and theres not much left to do, but say "k thanks, bye." its not even a matter of having a girlfriend either.
you just cant sleep with everyone you meet that you fancy because it really just wont be worth it. you might as well break your favorite decorative plate (hahaha who buys those!) or your favorite bong, or pipe, or shot glass, or beer mug, or glass dildo, or whatever you prize... shatter it and then roll around on the shards. yeah you might got stuck with a few pieces you like... a few pieces you fancy... but ultimately you'll see that its just not the same as having the whole beautiful thing you really wanted tucked safely into your arms.
why are celebrities so sad? because they have that option to squeeze and rub that shard of something that reminds them of what they really want. except they are surrounded by beautiful broken things and what they really want inevitably gets burried beneath all the glittering pieces of glass.
so by all means look if you must. hug when you can because everyone deserves a little warmth now and then. but for christs sake dont squish it up into your cooch every time or jam your man piece into that glass hole just becuase it's attached to a cute face. you'll bleed yourself dry trying to "satisfy" urges that aren't urges at all. they are merely reflections manifest on someone elses body.
of course you can always simply enjoy being in the presence of something you consider to be beautiful. and its okay to masterbate over beauty. i actually tried masterbating to a car... the results were interesting.
on another note... have you ever wondered how many people manifest their reflections on you? how many people (man or woman) look at you and think to themselves... i would give him/her a fucking that would decimate their lower posterior chain. just think about that next time a guy/girl looks away from you, but don't look away from them too... just look ahead, keep walking, and smile.
Posted Date: : Jun 20, 2006 4:03 PM
yep... its true. you really just cant sleep with everyone. more importantly though, when you think about it, its not so much that everyone you meet who gets your panties in a bunch or gets your wang a twitchin' is worth jackin or jillin off. the thing is that aspects of these people remind you of someone you know who actually is worth jillin or jackin off.
like say for instance someone's got really cute toes. you dont really want to sleep with them for that, but you probably will go masturbate about it. (maybe not... im not saying we're all perverts here). even if you did shag them, i mean how shitty would that be in the morning when you've had it out and theres not much left to do, but say "k thanks, bye." its not even a matter of having a girlfriend either.
you just cant sleep with everyone you meet that you fancy because it really just wont be worth it. you might as well break your favorite decorative plate (hahaha who buys those!) or your favorite bong, or pipe, or shot glass, or beer mug, or glass dildo, or whatever you prize... shatter it and then roll around on the shards. yeah you might got stuck with a few pieces you like... a few pieces you fancy... but ultimately you'll see that its just not the same as having the whole beautiful thing you really wanted tucked safely into your arms.
why are celebrities so sad? because they have that option to squeeze and rub that shard of something that reminds them of what they really want. except they are surrounded by beautiful broken things and what they really want inevitably gets burried beneath all the glittering pieces of glass.
so by all means look if you must. hug when you can because everyone deserves a little warmth now and then. but for christs sake dont squish it up into your cooch every time or jam your man piece into that glass hole just becuase it's attached to a cute face. you'll bleed yourself dry trying to "satisfy" urges that aren't urges at all. they are merely reflections manifest on someone elses body.
of course you can always simply enjoy being in the presence of something you consider to be beautiful. and its okay to masterbate over beauty. i actually tried masterbating to a car... the results were interesting.
on another note... have you ever wondered how many people manifest their reflections on you? how many people (man or woman) look at you and think to themselves... i would give him/her a fucking that would decimate their lower posterior chain. just think about that next time a guy/girl looks away from you, but don't look away from them too... just look ahead, keep walking, and smile.
1/31/06
the next time (p2) 01/31/06
Subject : the next time someone says PART 2
Posted Date: : Jan 31, 2006 8:03 PM
the next time someone says "what the hell did you spend all of your money on?!"
you should answer by saying you spent it all on 8 inch diameter plastic penises and then refer them to jtstockroom.com
Posted Date: : Jan 31, 2006 8:03 PM
the next time someone says "what the hell did you spend all of your money on?!"
you should answer by saying you spent it all on 8 inch diameter plastic penises and then refer them to jtstockroom.com
1/4/06
what happens when you... 1/04/06
Subject : what happens when you dont masterbate
Posted Date: : Jan 4, 2006 1:56 AM
everything feels better. seriously. things only get better when you stop jerking your leathery hand over your penis. if you must, make sure you lube. all it takes is one evening of infirmity and lubelessness to ruin the paint job and texture of your "saddle" making it less super fun for all riders you may be involved with. and we all know how much we enjoy SUPER fun.
so remember... dont do it unless you must and if you must, use a toy if available or use your hand if no specially designed devices are readily available. im just trying to look out for you! and if there is no lube then be the bigger man and just let the shift nob go. driving without lube is like jerking without transmission fluid. somethings gonna break down and your gonna get nowhere.
Posted Date: : Jan 4, 2006 1:56 AM
everything feels better. seriously. things only get better when you stop jerking your leathery hand over your penis. if you must, make sure you lube. all it takes is one evening of infirmity and lubelessness to ruin the paint job and texture of your "saddle" making it less super fun for all riders you may be involved with. and we all know how much we enjoy SUPER fun.
so remember... dont do it unless you must and if you must, use a toy if available or use your hand if no specially designed devices are readily available. im just trying to look out for you! and if there is no lube then be the bigger man and just let the shift nob go. driving without lube is like jerking without transmission fluid. somethings gonna break down and your gonna get nowhere.
11/12/05
to shave or not to shave 11/12/05
Subject : to shave or not to shave the testicle
Posted Date: : Nov 12, 2005 5:04 PM
In training myself up for my future career as a kept man the issue of cleanliness will always come up.
A kept man must ask himself how far he is willing to go to land a spot in that special 54 year old jet setting blonde's back pocket. The answer must always be "madame, if you want to do me in the rear a strap on in the can is not going far enough... make it two please" especially when this 54 year old jet setter with a fetish for domination wants to buy a nice new Masserati to keep her little cabana boy entertained when she's not around. So when the time comes to shave the kiwis or not to shave, clearly the only answer must be to cup those puppies and take it slow and easy.
Practice makes perfect, and so with a razor in one hand and some lather in another i practice, because i must! Because it's nice having some cushion down there to reduce chafing of the sack, but it's also nice to have a 54 year old woman with gobs of money who loves your little shaven walnuts so much so that she bankrolls your entire life (as long as she gets to fondle them at her convenience).
The training continues!
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