Sperm in the Eye? Blindness may result! (part 2)

Sign for "London Handjob Centre" car...

Sign for “London Handjob Centre” carwash company (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

My friend who I was telling you about was very inexperienced. And the guy she was with was pretty forceful and insistent. Two other things were working against her. Number one, he kept pushing her head down closer to him—in my opinion because what he really wanted was a blow job. But she didn’t know how to do that either.  And number two, she’s a nurse with a genuine fascination with the human body, so she keep putting her face ever closer to his little rifle.

You can imagine what happened when this guy erupted. Gee whiz! He exploded right in her good eye. The left one. What would have been a totally wonderful moment for him was spoiled by her startled and then terrified screams. She was in both mental and physical agony as the burning started.  He—a total moron—sat there speechless with a now-limp and empty prick.

Well, as you can imagine, she thought she was going blind because this was a long time ago before she became a registered nurse and found out that sperm in the eye does not actually necessarily lead to blindness.

Still, I feel very sorry for her every time I think about what she must have suffered for those first few minutes as they argued about whether to go to the hospital: he didn’t have a valid license and she temporarily had only one valid eye, which wasn’t even the good one. Neither of them wanted to be responsible for the exorbitant costs of ambulances. (Have you called an ambulance lately?! OMG) Neither of them had insurance because he didn’t have a job–unless you counted the illegal drug transaction–s and she only worked part-time as an NA. Neither of them wanted to explain how she came to have a massive load of sperm in her left eye.

Okay, so she didn’t die and she didn’t go blind, but that is not the point. I just want everyone to know how seriously dangerous it can be to attempt the intricate art/science of jerking a guy off if you have no clue what you are doing. So BE CAREFUL. Absolutely no good came from her foray into this unknown terrain. Well, accept that she allowed her infatuation with the workings of the human physique to lead her to go back to school and become an official RN. But some people would say that the two things were not even related. Me, I know differently.

Again, you have been warned! And if I were you, and I was with a guy who wanted a hand job…well, I’d just tell him to go jack himself off!

The Boxer with 3 Fists (part 7)

Red boxing glove

Red boxing glove (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

He had been grabbing my hair in one of his hands to tame me while one of his arms was wrapped around me to keep me pent up against him. Now, in my new raised up position, his mouth was full of my hair and I felt his teeth bite into my scalp as he reached his climax with some type of growl that sounded like a bear or a lion.

I already know what you’re thinking. You’re saying, okay we can plainly see the horror in this tale. But where, for heaven’s sake, is the HUMOR?

Well I’ll tell you. The truly funny thing is that I agreed to see this same boxer guy again. Not just once, but twice more. You have to laugh at that. I mean, maybe you know something about me that I don’t know. So perhaps you saw that coming, but honestly I didn’t.

I could have sworn I hated him and all three of his fists. And yet…there was just something that drew me back to him.

I don’t know. I suppose I just had to relive it to convince myself it was real. Especially as he climaxed with my hair and scalp in his teeth and then screamed, “I love you!” at the height of his release. Or either he screamed “I love it.” Remember that he had some sort of speech impediment that may have been caused by brain injury. Either way it gave me a total rush beyond anything I’d ever felt before. One of the only reasons, in fact that I didn’t continue seeing this guy was because my hair doesn’t grow nearly as quickly as I’d like. I already had 3 tiny places where there was either a bald patch or the hair was peculiarly and oddly broken, thanks to him. I didn’t want to have to start purchasing hair plugs just to keep being able to have rough-and tumble-sex. You understand.

The Boxer with 3 Fists (part 5)

Hands clenched in fists.

Hands clenched in fists. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

My eyes flew open when something thumped my mouth so hard I thought I had a busted lip! But screaming was out of the question as I found my mouth as stuffed to capacity as if someone had shoved 16 rolled-up athletic socks in it. This was NOT something I had anticipated or bargained for.

My lips were stretched to capacity and my eyes were bulging out of my head as I tried to give him some type of warning that I might suffocate or something. I found that I could still make horrible grunts at the back of my throat, because although his thing was painfully fat and thick, it had no length to speak of. I am truly grateful for this fact, because if that had not been the case I may not even be alive today to tell you this story.

I would be being not-altogether-honest if I told you that I hated every minute of it. I won’t say that I liked it a lot…but it had a certain erotic appeal after the initial shock. And given my willingness to cooperate, I was somewhat surprised when he took his fist—I mean penis—out of my mouth and wanted to rough me up another way…

Up until now, he had not only been sitting on my chest, but had my arms pinned motionless, so I was his to do whatever with for as long as he pleased. But he gets bored rather quickly, so he wanted to rapidly change positions. (I don’t know if all boxers are abusive and have short attention spans because Marco was the only one I ever knew.) But anyway, he made it clear that in the bed, like in the ring, he was going to be the one in charge. Let me say right here that I have NO problems with that whatsoever. Like, go ahead, make my day. There are times when we all like the artsy fartsy stuff, but what real woman out there is going to pretend that she wants to waste a whole hour every night with foreplay and then all that half and half you-do-me-and-I-do-you crap?! I think I speak for all women when I say there comes a time when you want a man to just go for it. Take charge. Run the show.

Well, if you can relate to that, Marco is definitely the guy for you. Honestly, if it hadn’t been for that third fist, I think we could have made that into one of those long-term sexual relationships. Marco is the guy to call if you don’t want to think, talk, or even participate that much. But you better be in tip-top physical condition and able to take quite a battering. And I’m not just talking about a busted lip or a black eye.

FART-ners for Life? (part 3)

A fart in symbol form

A fart in symbol form (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

All of a sudden I am more rudely awakened than I have ever been in my life by the sound of a chance fart that spurted out against my thigh. WHAT?! Are you serious? I was as shocked and disoriented as if I had just been shot in the leg with a gun by an enemy.

I gasped in outrage and fear. But would you believe this man never even flinched. He was neither awakened by the random fart that had released itself from his apparently now-relaxed butt, nor by my startled reaction. Even the foul smell slowly pervading our smelling atmosphere and offending my olfactory sensibilities didn’t manage to rouse him! Oh, please. THIS was absolutely unacceptable behavior.

Up until this moment, he had been a perfectly marriageable candidate. Well, not anymore! And who can blame me for that? He had just proven that he was sooo not the man for me. Number one, he himself had placed my life in danger. How? By subjecting me to hazardous fumes that could have asphyxiated me in my sleep.

Number two, his after-sex slumber was entirely too deep for my comfort. I mean, good grief! I’m glad he can relax and all but honestly. What if I had been shot by a real gun and not just a fart? I could have bled to death and he would still have been unaware until entirely too late.

Number three, his loss off bodily control so early in life made me kind of afraid of the implications for later in life. Let’s face it, today you’re farting in your sleep; tomorrow perhaps other things could be escaping from your body in your sleep. I’m just not ready for that.

 

The REAL Reason he liked Anal Sex (part 2)

Anal Visitors Only

Anal Visitors Only (Photo credit: Alastair Thompson)

I responded with humored smirk and then a raised eyebrow that asked if he were certain of what he was about to get into.  His fixed, unwavering glare and barely noticeable tilt of the head to the right side and then quick chin-up summed up everything else that needed to be said: Oh, yes he was certain, and if either of us ended up surprised it would most likely be me. Hmph. I liked his challenge.

I never would have imagined, never could have foreseen how freaky this regrettable rendezvous would get.  And I guess that’s pretty much the way it goes when you meet someone while you’re both on the prowl and decide then and there to have a go at it.

So there, without a single word having been uttered, it was all a go.  All the preliminaries were settled before we ever went through the stupid formality of exchanging names.  At that point, words were useless anyway.  We were obviously going to do it. The only thing that remained was to fix a time and place.

Don’t go getting your panties all twisted and think I’m saying that it’s okay for everyone to be this way. I’m only telling you how it was. I owe a lot to my invincibility vest that I donned daily back then; if not for that, well who knows the number of things that could have happened to me, including death! So, if you don’t know where to procure one of these invisible items, I suggest that you do NOT imitate what you read here.

The Wayward Butt-Bullet (Part 8)

English: This pottery model toilet with pig is...

English: This pottery model toilet with pig is in the Shaanxi History Museum, Xi’an, China (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Now I had a heavily stained towel, to put it mildly, but the mysterious butt-bullet must have found some type of pocket in which to hide itself along the walls of my intestine. It was the only answer. ARE there pockets in the intestines??? Oh, why had I let that advisor convince me NOT to take the anatomy class back when I was at the community college?

I redoubled my efforts, determined to make the blamed thing dislodge itself, but I only succeeded in pushing out a lot of liquid matter and finally a huge and painful hemorrhoid. Now I was sweating profusely and to see me, anyone would have assumed that I really was about to give birth to a small child. I crawled to the toilet, humiliated beyond measure and thinking of my last resort: GOD, the creator of these fearfully and wonderfully made bodies. Dang it, I really had not wanted to involve Him in this, but what else could I do?

Right then and there on the toilet, I vowed that if He would just release that dreadful bullet from my body that I would never, EVER insert anything electronic and that color and that doesn’t have some type of cord attached to it for easy removal, etc. Even then, it took several minutes of anguished crying and pushing over the toilet before I heard the tell-tale thump of something fall, splash and roll to the back of the bowl.  The relief and exuberance that I felt, erupted into heartfelt praise and thanksgiving. And I have since that day kept my promise to the Man Upstairs.

The Drooler (Part 1)

English: A "playground" for senior c...

English: A “playground” for senior citizens (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I’ve got nothing against senior citizens, honestly. The unfortunate reality is that my libido has sometimes caused me such desperation that I have not been nearly as discriminating as I should be.  And hey with any good fortune, we’re all gonna one day present ID to prove we can get the old folks’ discount; so there’s no reason to turn up the sexual nose at anyone based on age alone.

I won’t lie: I’ve heard rumors about how everything starts to go down after people reach a certain age and what the heck, I even made a few jokes to my ex about his new wife when I heard he’d married someone 12 years his senior.  You know, the digs about her flat titties (although I had certainly never seen her breasts before and do not want to) and about how I bet she can give one heck of a blow job through the field goal which is the gap in her front teeth. I joked that if not, then when she takes those dentures out that she’ll be purchasing in a few years it’ll probably be like heaven for him.  But, again, those were jokes made in good fun, I didn’t mean any harm, did I?

Meanwhile in my experimentation with the gerontologically challenged I can’t say that I’ve been disappointed by unthinkable stuff like saggy, wrinkly skin or half-hard cocks. Oh, thank goodness! I’m guessing that everything has to do with the individual; how well he takes care of himself physically through exercise and diet. Even though I have not discriminated because of age alone, still a person has to be aesthetically pleasing to the eye. I don’t think anyone will blame me for that. To my credit, I have only ever had sex with one truly hideous-looking person, and yes he was in the senior-citizen age aggregate…but that’s another story.

The one disaster that I had with an old guy was that he couldn’t seem to keep his spit in his mouth. Even thinking of it now makes me want to regurgitate the pancakes I ate for breakfast!