So we were out grocery shopping today, looking for the goodies needed to help her feel at home in my our kitchen. Suddenly she’s holding up a Dawn Power Dish Brush and saying “Hey, this will help me get those glasses clean that I can’t fit my hand into….”

I take one look at this buzzing rotating pile of bristles (“a battery-powered, rotating bristle tool that redefines the way you do dishes”) and raise an eyebrow. “If we take that home, you think it’s ever going to make it to the kitchen?” She thought about it for a second, and laughed… and put it into the cart anyway. There’s a reason I love this woman.

Hey now, who am I to give her a second warning?

Fast forward an hour: after a quick wrestle, she’s face down on the bed, and I’m sitting on the edge with a calf clamped firmly in my right armpit and the sole of a bare foot imprisoned in front of me. Boy, do those rotating brushes get a good reaction! All three free limbs thumping the bedding, and a muffled “please oh please stop” coming from behind me somewhere. Or something like that, it’s hard to tell between all the laughing.

Eventually she found a way to distract me from my evil fun. Eight dollars well spent!

Over at Diary of a Porn Publisher, I found this account of a clever attempt to evade the laws against prostitution:

“So, I’m walking down the sidewalk and a woman asks me if I want her to tell my fortune. When I pause, she tells me that she can tell my fortune from the taste of my cum, for $50. I ask, “just how does that work?” It turns out that she’ll give me a blow job and after I cum in her mouth, she can tell my future. It wasn’t a good time to dally to have my fortune told, but I’ve been thinking about this. Is it fortune-telling then, instead of prostitution? If it’s not illegal, maybe I should try to put together a stable of psychic cock-suckers for a new business venture.”

That could almost work.

Guess what’s behind this link:

www.cummingfirst.com

Like I said, not what you think.

Pagan Moss posted a teaser paragraph over at Peep Show Stories from her “sex filled, campy thriller called Laundry” — inspired by her “scary-ass basement laundry room.” It sounds like fun all right:

Kate took the wet laundry out of the washer and put it into the dryer, along with some fabric softener. She put four quarters into the slot. The dryer started up, sounding like a rolling drum. She stood there for a moment, sensing something wasn’t quite right. Before she could move, her head was covered by a sheet and a hand pressed hard against her mouth. A man’s voice whispered, “I’m not going to hurt you.” She couldn’t breathe, let alone speak. She struggled to get away, but the man just pulled her into his body tighter, dragging her backwards. Her feet kicked wildly and came off the ground. He pulled her into the room off the corridor and closed the door behind him. All was silent expect for the rolling drum of the dryer. The smell of fabric softener filled the air.

I want to see the part where she is molested by Snuggles the fabric softener bear.

Here’s a pretty picture of “that infamous crime against nature”:

One of ’em, anyway.

Not my rant, I fear. But Violet Blue (whom I haven’t linked to in far too long) recently wrote a well-reviewed book about fellatio, and wonders thusly about the negative reviews from an unexpected quarter:

Why the hell are Christians reading my fellatio book, and even stranger, what unholy ghost possesses them to write bad reviews about it on Amazon? Like, duh — my book is about a very dirty sex act (the dirtier the better) and the content is… offending them! I can only guess that the book was recommended on some Christian messageboard, the ladies thought, well I spend a lot of time on my knees, why not make Jesus a happy man, and bought the book (I’ll take that money, thank you very much. No, no — don’t give it to the Family Values Coalition, give it to the cute girl with glasses who likes to write about sucking cock). Then they read the book and realized that to suck a cock, you need either a) another nice Christian lady with a (preferably huge) black strap-on cock, or b) a real, non-imaginary man (unlike Jesus). But seriously, in the book I don’t judge anyone’s preferences about anything — religion, sexual activity, gender, predisposition to get really wet imagining Mike Ditka throwing that football through the tire swing talking about erections while clutching my fellatio book cleverly camouflaged in a paper bag bookcover with the word “BIBLE” scrawled on the cover and “Jesus is really hot.” No, I judge not. Even I think Jesus deserves a really rockin’ blowjob. And doesn’t he have like a million volunteers for the task?

Been busy here but having good fun. So I’ll steal these links from Daze: Mind Blowing Cunnilingus I and Mind Blowing Cunnilingus II.

More detailed and entertaining than the usual run of articles of this sort. Now for some testing….