Sunday, May 31, 2009

salacious sunday - devotion

But Ruth replied, “Don’t urge me to leave you or to turn back from you. Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God.
Where you die I will die, and there I will be buried. May the Lord deal with me, be it ever so severely, if anything but death separates you and me.”

Ruth, 1:16-17

Saturday, May 30, 2009

random thoughts

If you think obesity is overrated, 2 million Americans weigh more than 550 lbs. You don’t need statistics or studies to prove this. Take a trip to your local Costco or Wal-Mart.

May was masturbation month. Did you know:
  • John Kellogg (yes that cereal guy) was against masturbation. He was among several Christian advocates that pushed for routine circumcision of males to deter masturbation.
  • In 1879, the Spermatorrhea bandage was invented. It kept the penis tightly bound making it impossible to have an erection.
  • In 1994, former Surgeon General Jocelyn Elder was dismissed by President Clinton after she stated that masturbation “is something that is part of human sexuality and its part of something that perhaps should be taught.”

Slogan on the back of a windshield repair company van - "I luv gravel trucks"

2 reason why Chrysler is in the state that it's in:
  1. Replacement alloy rim for 2001 Neon - $400
  2. Replacement rear brake flex line for 2001 Neon - $365

Why do we always blame the the Koreans & the Japanese.

Thursday, May 28, 2009

12 steps - 3. decision

I decided that one finger was not enough. Not enough to elicit the kind of reaction I was looking for. Her body writhed. She moaned. Her breasts rose and fell. Yet, as I probed within the liquid silkiness of her inside. As the tip of my finger rubbed against the little irregular bump each time I crooked it, it was not enough.

So I decided to insert a second. And a third. And finally a fourth. Her reaction was almost instantaneous. She bucked vigorously, driving my fist deeper into her. Molten liquid spilt from within her to drip from my wrist. Her moans turned from a sharp intake of breath through clenched teeth into a wail of desire and pain. She pushed against my hand. I pushed back. Her cunt made soft suckling sounds like a baby at a mother's breast. I decided to allow her to cum.
"Would you like to cum My Precious"
"Yes!", was her anguished response.
"Then cum for me My Precious. Cum for me like the slut you are"
And she did. All over my hand like the biblical flood.

Afterwards as the waves subsided and the spasms ebbed, I held her and smirked within her hair.
It was a good decision.

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

titillating tuesday - ode to breasts

by Charles Simic

I love breasts, hard
Full breasts, guarded
By a button.
They come in the night.
The bestiaries of the ancients
Which include the unicorn
Have kept them out.

Pearly, like the east
An hour before sunrise,
Two ovens of the only
Philosopher's stone
Worth bothering about.

They bring on their nipples
Beads of inaudible sighs,
Vowels of delicious clarity
For the little red schoolhouse of our mouths.

Elsewhere, solitude
Makes another gloomy entry
In its ledger, misery
Borrows another cup of rice.

They draw nearer: Animal
Presence. In the barn
The milk shivers in the pail.
I like to come up to them
From underneath, like a kid
Who climbs on a chair
To reach the forbidden jam.

Gently, with my lips,
Loosen the button.
Have them slip into my hands
Like two freshly poured beer-mugs.

I spit on fools who fail to include
Breasts in their metaphysics
Star-gazers who have not enumerated them
Among the moons of the earth ...

They give each finger
Its true shape, its joy:
Virgin soap, foam
On which our hands are cleansed.

And how the tongue honors
These two sour buns,
For the tongue is a feather
Dipped in egg-yolk.

I insist that a girl
Stripped to the waist
Is the first and last miracle,
That the old janitor on his deathbed
Who demands to see the breasts of his wife
For the one last time
Is the greatest poet who ever lived.

O my sweet, my wistful bagpipes.
Look, everyone is asleep on the earth.
Now, in the absolute immobility
Of time, drawing the waist
Of the one I love to mine,

I will tip each breast
Like a dark heavy grape
Into the hive
Of my drowsy mouth.

Monday, May 18, 2009

beaver tails & cats

The frail wooden door slammed open in the sudden gust of wind. It flapped helplessly on it's rickety hinges as tired as an old beggar worn threadbare by years of abuse and failure. 
It flapped again against the stone wall before I reached for it. I had to lift it up in order to close it so that it would not drag against the broken cement floor. 

Just before the latch snicked close, I noticed the large hole in the crumbling wall. It was not there before. No surprise really as this house was starting to decay, beaten down by endless rain, high humidity and neglect. I poked at the loose mortar curiously. A snake uncoiled silently. It had crawled into the hole to weather the encroaching storm. Black beady eyes and flickering tongue, we both shared an instance of shock and fear. I thought briefly for a moment of picking it up with a stick and tossing it out but decided against it. There were other pressing matters to attend to.

There was the parrot that the cat had tried to kill. It was only my high pitched yell that stopped him. The parrot was a riot of orange and yellow feathers with a tall plume that flopped from side to side each time it talked. It had a fascinating story to tell. Of mountains and forests and tribal warfare. It kept looking at the cat with disdain as it waxed ecstatic about it's exotic adventures in far away lands. Then there was the sullen garden gnome. The detailed features of it's face had all but washed away.

Later, after the rains had stopped, I walked around the side of the house. The grass was long and the blades soaked my jeans and shoes. Water had pooled in areas and I had to tread carefully so as to not sink into the mud. Cicadas make their sound deep inside their thorax where hollow cavities covered by a membrane act like vibrating drum heads. The sound buzzed like a crazed symphony that had lost it's tablature. And then I noticed the beavers. At first glance they appeared to be huddled together by the fence but as I got closer I realized that one of them was trying to pry loose the fence boards while the other two were giving it directions. They chittered away in high speed like a 33 LP on 78. They stopped as I approached and looked over at the fourth beaver as if searching for guidance. 
The fourth beaver was large. No. if he was huge. He looked more like a seal than a beaver. I estimated him to be about 8 feet long but I had missed seeing him against the house. He wore a coat of camouflage so deceiving that he blended into the shrubbery that lined the foundation of the house. I became frightened. The urge to urinate was strong. The three beavers by the fence had stood up and balancing smartly on their beaver tails, started walking towards me. They didn't look friendly. The fourth beaver rumbled something unintelligible. It sounded angry and sinister like distant thunder. As I stumbled backwards in fear I bumped into the scientist. He was carrying two steel briefcases. The kind that secret agents carry around high tech gadgetry for blowing things up with. I knew instantly that inside each briefcase contained something that was critically vital to the little garden gnome. He had commissioned the beavers to retrieve it. Maybe it was his face.

The beavers chittered and chirped in frenzy. Chittered and scraped. Chittered and scratched. And scraped. And scraped and scraped and scraped...

...and she moaned softly against my shoulder. I opened my eyes. Dawn was reaching through the crack in the blinds. The bloody cat was playing with the BZee Kitty in the basement and I had to pee. 


Sunday, May 17, 2009

salacious sunday - the psalms

More to be desired are they than gold, yes, than much fine gold;
sweeter also than honey and the extract of the honeycomb.

~The Psalms: 19:10

Thursday, May 14, 2009


She opened her mouth and gurgled. Her pink lips swollen and full. In the muted glow that bathed these walls, her eyes twinkled and danced. Her tongue flicked in and out. With one pink tipped delicate finger, she scooped the last few drops of my cum from the edge of her chin and smeared it across her glistening pink tongue. She swallowed. She giggled in that little girl manner. I bent down and bit her neck. It left a small pink welt. She cried out sharply against my ear and pulled me closer, tighter. 

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

titillating tuesday

Busts and bosoms have I known
Of various shapes and sizes
From grievous disappointments
To jubilant surprises.

Sunday, May 3, 2009

salacious sunday - the psalms

Then I beat them small as the dust before the wind.
I cast them out as the mire of the streets.
~Psalms 18:42