So we are all about female pride and being comfortable with your sexuality, but this?! Really?!
http://www.cosmopolitan.com/celebrity/news/vagina-inspired-jewelry?src=rss
Friday, October 30, 2009
Workin' at the car wash, yeah
"He described his spray-on condom machine as being something like a car wash."
This gives a whole new meaning to the pickup line "I'd like to park my car in your garage."
http://trishwilson.typepad.com/blog/2009/04/nuts4chic-sprayon-condoms.html
This gives a whole new meaning to the pickup line "I'd like to park my car in your garage."
http://trishwilson.typepad.com/blog/2009/04/nuts4chic-sprayon-condoms.html
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
New Year's Reso-what?
Submitted by Lucky Prescott
I know I need to leave. I’m breaking my own rules by staying here for even a second after I wake up. But I don’t know how to just get up and go. It’s like my body is frozen with the fear of being rude. I watch the clock on the building across the street tick away opposite a bright blue sky that looks like summer even though it’s freezing out. I longingly stare at my black g-string on the floor by the closet, sending it telepathic messages to get up and walk its way over to me. It doesn’t.
I’d been doing well with my New Year’s resolution: 354 days and nights without a one night stand. I guess I could have held out 11 more days, but I needed some good sex before heading home to get some terrible sex from the guy I’m quasi dating. Besides, Luke was a conquest. And maybe I was a conquest for him too.
After all, this was a long time coming. We made out at a bar last year, but when he asked me to go home with him, I declined. He took my number, told me that he’d had a crush on me for a while, and then put me in a cab. This time, after talking for an hour or so at the bar, when he asked, “Do you want to get out of here?” the only logical response was “Yes.” I can’t be called a slut this time if I already refused him once before. Right?
We held hands as we walked along the Christmas tree-lined sidewalks, hopping into a cab and going to his apartment. We started on the couch and he carried me to the bed. It was great. It did the job. I actually got off. I actually had fun. And there were absolutely no strings attached.
I hear him groan a morning groan as the clock’s minute hand reaches the hour mark. I give myself a pep talk, say I’ll get up at the count of ten. I reach ten. I don’t move. He wakes up. Gives me a kiss and smiles. And I thought leaving would be awkward before?
I know I need to leave. I’m breaking my own rules by staying here for even a second after I wake up. But I don’t know how to just get up and go. It’s like my body is frozen with the fear of being rude. I watch the clock on the building across the street tick away opposite a bright blue sky that looks like summer even though it’s freezing out. I longingly stare at my black g-string on the floor by the closet, sending it telepathic messages to get up and walk its way over to me. It doesn’t.
I’d been doing well with my New Year’s resolution: 354 days and nights without a one night stand. I guess I could have held out 11 more days, but I needed some good sex before heading home to get some terrible sex from the guy I’m quasi dating. Besides, Luke was a conquest. And maybe I was a conquest for him too.
After all, this was a long time coming. We made out at a bar last year, but when he asked me to go home with him, I declined. He took my number, told me that he’d had a crush on me for a while, and then put me in a cab. This time, after talking for an hour or so at the bar, when he asked, “Do you want to get out of here?” the only logical response was “Yes.” I can’t be called a slut this time if I already refused him once before. Right?
We held hands as we walked along the Christmas tree-lined sidewalks, hopping into a cab and going to his apartment. We started on the couch and he carried me to the bed. It was great. It did the job. I actually got off. I actually had fun. And there were absolutely no strings attached.
I hear him groan a morning groan as the clock’s minute hand reaches the hour mark. I give myself a pep talk, say I’ll get up at the count of ten. I reach ten. I don’t move. He wakes up. Gives me a kiss and smiles. And I thought leaving would be awkward before?
Friday, October 9, 2009
Frog Fucker
Submitted by Amber Smith
I'm taking deep breaths. I'm trying not to think, but feel. George's tongue makes me twitch. I can still taste his breath--it's fowl. And he is breathing heavy and blowing it on me. And now his face is in between my legs. But I can't relax. His tongue is everywhere. Often it's in just the right spot. But then it slickly moves, dragging fowl spit on my inner thigh. I can't take it. I start quick sighs of frustration (he thinks I'm excited). Then I try pushing his head back, insincerely when he goes astray. He stops. He comes up to kiss me. He thinks he's teasing me. He is really pissing me off. Turning me off. I smile like I'm faking a lemon is sweet and push him back down again.
"Just concentrate!" I huff. He looks up, confused that I'm angry. Not cumming. I put my clothes back on. I'm over this, I feel, but say nothing. I lay him down and hug him closely. I can feel my insides straining to want him. To take him and kiss him deeply and let him love me the way he wants to. But I can't because I hate his mouth.
Earlier, while watching TV, drinking beers, and kissing, I pulled his tongue out with my thumb and finger and told him: "You know I don't like you (I wish the sentenced ended here) licking my face like that." He laughs that annoying Ernie laugh...or is it Bert? His voice is so strange. And he thinks I think it's cute. I turn the captions on for Family Guy so I can read a hilarious story while pretending to listen to his never ending one.
I straddle him on the sofa. It instantly feels good. And I instinctively know our parts would fit perfectly together. But I want him to smell good. And he doesn't. So I just can't. I feel I'm being selfish, picky, critical, and overly sensitive. And maybe instead of acting like a brat, I could tell him what I'm thinking. But that won't solve his bad breath. And neither will mints. I see him eating them all the time. I let him carry me like a baby monkey into his dark bedroom. This is better. I'm getting wetter. But suddenly, in the dark, his comical voice is disembodied and hence more apparent. I think, Kermit the Frog is trying to fuck me. But his touch. It never stops caring. He's so sweet and good and gentle. He moves in a rhythm on top of me (still tucked safely in his jeans). He's got me spread naked in front of him. Moaning and giggling. Avoiding his exhalations ever so coyly. I let him kiss his way down my body. I want to fuck him so badly but his face will be too close to mine and I will suffocate in his bad breath. Plus I'm really scared what his voice will sound like when we're fucking. So I let him go down on me instead. And that is where this never ending story began.
I'm taking deep breaths. I'm trying not to think, but feel. George's tongue makes me twitch. I can still taste his breath--it's fowl. And he is breathing heavy and blowing it on me. And now his face is in between my legs. But I can't relax. His tongue is everywhere. Often it's in just the right spot. But then it slickly moves, dragging fowl spit on my inner thigh. I can't take it. I start quick sighs of frustration (he thinks I'm excited). Then I try pushing his head back, insincerely when he goes astray. He stops. He comes up to kiss me. He thinks he's teasing me. He is really pissing me off. Turning me off. I smile like I'm faking a lemon is sweet and push him back down again.
"Just concentrate!" I huff. He looks up, confused that I'm angry. Not cumming. I put my clothes back on. I'm over this, I feel, but say nothing. I lay him down and hug him closely. I can feel my insides straining to want him. To take him and kiss him deeply and let him love me the way he wants to. But I can't because I hate his mouth.
Earlier, while watching TV, drinking beers, and kissing, I pulled his tongue out with my thumb and finger and told him: "You know I don't like you (I wish the sentenced ended here) licking my face like that." He laughs that annoying Ernie laugh...or is it Bert? His voice is so strange. And he thinks I think it's cute. I turn the captions on for Family Guy so I can read a hilarious story while pretending to listen to his never ending one.
I straddle him on the sofa. It instantly feels good. And I instinctively know our parts would fit perfectly together. But I want him to smell good. And he doesn't. So I just can't. I feel I'm being selfish, picky, critical, and overly sensitive. And maybe instead of acting like a brat, I could tell him what I'm thinking. But that won't solve his bad breath. And neither will mints. I see him eating them all the time. I let him carry me like a baby monkey into his dark bedroom. This is better. I'm getting wetter. But suddenly, in the dark, his comical voice is disembodied and hence more apparent. I think, Kermit the Frog is trying to fuck me. But his touch. It never stops caring. He's so sweet and good and gentle. He moves in a rhythm on top of me (still tucked safely in his jeans). He's got me spread naked in front of him. Moaning and giggling. Avoiding his exhalations ever so coyly. I let him kiss his way down my body. I want to fuck him so badly but his face will be too close to mine and I will suffocate in his bad breath. Plus I'm really scared what his voice will sound like when we're fucking. So I let him go down on me instead. And that is where this never ending story began.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Happy Birthday to You
Submitted by Lucky Prescott
It was only the first week of senior year, but it was already becoming the semester of Steves—I’d slept with two of them in as many weeks.
That first week was always filled with parties at huge clubs and hot bars, and for the first time in four years, I didn’t have to worry about a fake ID getting me through the door. But there were those issues of having to wait in line and paying a cover charge. That is, until I found out that Steve #3 was a promoter for the parties.
I’d known him since freshman year, but had never called him before. Now I had him on speed dial, finding out where he’d be so that my friends and I could drop his name at the door and get in right away, heading right to the VIP area. Fine, I was using him. But at least this provided him with a following of hot girls.
On the third night, he said that it was his birthday, so as a little gift, I gave him a lap dance at our private table. Later, we made our way back to our dorm (he lived a few floors above me) and parted ways with a kiss at the elevator. Or so I thought. About 15 minutes later, I heard a knock at the door and found Steve #3 in pajama pants, a t-shirt, and a baseball cap—so necessary at three in the morning.
He walked straight to my room and laid on my bed, hands clasped behind his head, and while looking me up and down said, “Now for my real birthday present.” How did this Jaba the Hut lookalike end up in my room, in my bed? Did I have any other choice but to give him what he wanted? After all, he’d been helping me out all week. And it was his birthday. What the hell?
So, we had the sex, and the thing that I remember most is how confident he was, how he didn’t care that he was being somewhat creepy by inviting himself to my room, how he was just shamelessly doing his thing. I mean, it was almost appealing. It almost overshadowed the fact that this was some of the least enjoyable sex I’d ever had. Almost.
It was only the first week of senior year, but it was already becoming the semester of Steves—I’d slept with two of them in as many weeks.
That first week was always filled with parties at huge clubs and hot bars, and for the first time in four years, I didn’t have to worry about a fake ID getting me through the door. But there were those issues of having to wait in line and paying a cover charge. That is, until I found out that Steve #3 was a promoter for the parties.
I’d known him since freshman year, but had never called him before. Now I had him on speed dial, finding out where he’d be so that my friends and I could drop his name at the door and get in right away, heading right to the VIP area. Fine, I was using him. But at least this provided him with a following of hot girls.
On the third night, he said that it was his birthday, so as a little gift, I gave him a lap dance at our private table. Later, we made our way back to our dorm (he lived a few floors above me) and parted ways with a kiss at the elevator. Or so I thought. About 15 minutes later, I heard a knock at the door and found Steve #3 in pajama pants, a t-shirt, and a baseball cap—so necessary at three in the morning.
He walked straight to my room and laid on my bed, hands clasped behind his head, and while looking me up and down said, “Now for my real birthday present.” How did this Jaba the Hut lookalike end up in my room, in my bed? Did I have any other choice but to give him what he wanted? After all, he’d been helping me out all week. And it was his birthday. What the hell?
So, we had the sex, and the thing that I remember most is how confident he was, how he didn’t care that he was being somewhat creepy by inviting himself to my room, how he was just shamelessly doing his thing. I mean, it was almost appealing. It almost overshadowed the fact that this was some of the least enjoyable sex I’d ever had. Almost.
A Night with Mr. ADD
Submitted by Luv the Ring
This particular night of my senior year of college started out like every other night: a little pre-game action, then out to the bars, & then post-game action at our favorite after-hours spot (a hole in the wall with a pool table & a jukebox that played Journey). Drunk & on the prowl, all I wanted was to throw myself at some lucky guy & take him home.
Unfortunately, there weren’t many options since girls outnumbered guys at my school, & the majority of those guys were either gay or ugly. But after 12 beers, everyone at the bar looked like Brad Pitt.
And so I settled for this guy – he might have been 5’6” & was a little pudgy, wearing a polo that was 1 size too small. He was president of his fraternity (if I can’t have the looks, why not settle for the power?). After some small talk, we took a taxi to my place.
The thing was, I forgot that I’d told my friend that she could use my bed for her own male adventures that night. So, my guy & I waited in the common area for about 30 minutes until she was done.
Once in the room, he wasted no time taking his clothes off & jumping next to me on my twin bed. I already knew that I’d made the wrong choice, but was too embarrassed to stop making out—until he whipped out his schlong & took my hand, trying to place it on his peni$. It was clear that I wanted nothing to do with it.
He hopped off the bed & paced around my 200 sq foot room, completely naked, his hand on his forehead, his head down, for at least 15 minutes, all the while mumbling about what he should have done, how this always happens, & how he just wanted to have sex already. It was humorous, fascinating, & tiring watching him, but I tried making him feel better with the classic “its not you, its me…im just tired” BS. Finally, he sat down & admitted that he forgot to take his ADD medication.
At that point, I kindly escorted him out.
This particular night of my senior year of college started out like every other night: a little pre-game action, then out to the bars, & then post-game action at our favorite after-hours spot (a hole in the wall with a pool table & a jukebox that played Journey). Drunk & on the prowl, all I wanted was to throw myself at some lucky guy & take him home.
Unfortunately, there weren’t many options since girls outnumbered guys at my school, & the majority of those guys were either gay or ugly. But after 12 beers, everyone at the bar looked like Brad Pitt.
And so I settled for this guy – he might have been 5’6” & was a little pudgy, wearing a polo that was 1 size too small. He was president of his fraternity (if I can’t have the looks, why not settle for the power?). After some small talk, we took a taxi to my place.
The thing was, I forgot that I’d told my friend that she could use my bed for her own male adventures that night. So, my guy & I waited in the common area for about 30 minutes until she was done.
Once in the room, he wasted no time taking his clothes off & jumping next to me on my twin bed. I already knew that I’d made the wrong choice, but was too embarrassed to stop making out—until he whipped out his schlong & took my hand, trying to place it on his peni$. It was clear that I wanted nothing to do with it.
He hopped off the bed & paced around my 200 sq foot room, completely naked, his hand on his forehead, his head down, for at least 15 minutes, all the while mumbling about what he should have done, how this always happens, & how he just wanted to have sex already. It was humorous, fascinating, & tiring watching him, but I tried making him feel better with the classic “its not you, its me…im just tired” BS. Finally, he sat down & admitted that he forgot to take his ADD medication.
At that point, I kindly escorted him out.
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