As a man, I naturally like to put my diddle-e-doo-da into fun new situations, despite them not truly being all that pleasurable or safe for that matter; inevitably as men we learn lessons the hard way and hopefully your lessons have not hurt you as much as some of mine have. The following is a story of one such lesson.
Balls deep from behind, I’m getting after it quite well, really putting in a show stopping performance for the fully inebriated I am in. In fruitful attempts to give this young lady, Joanna*, a good experience I am adding to the pleasure of deep, earth shattering thrusts with a bit of clitoral stimulation made possible by the ten lovely digits that our hands come equipped with. She is loving it, knowing that her orgasm is going to be incredible, melting in the inescapable anticipation of it all.
The sun was out, the temperature, mid 60’s; a classically gorgeous Brooklyn spring Saturday. Following my ritual of hungover brunch at the Northeast Kingdom, I thought it was due time for me to take a walk. For one reason or another, after a few failed phone calls in attempt to find friends to hang out with for the day, I found myself at 2:30 pm waltzing into one of my favorite Williamsburg drinking establishments, Clem’s.
For one whom is out of the know, Clem’s is small, maybe about 15 ft wide and 30 or 40 ft deep. You walk in and the dark wooden bar on the right stretches down for most of the length backed by the prototypical mirror that runs the length of the bar’s backdrop. All over the place, especially up high, the walls are plastered with taxidermy trophies, yes, it’s true, this is a place for me. Continue reading
I was a sophmore in college, obsessed with myself, my image, and most importantly the amazingly acceptable drug of choice, alcohol. As the year progressed, so did my absurd behavior, hell, as the years progressed my behavior simply became more and more obnoxious, incorrigible, and down right offensive. (not that there really has been any change in that steady decline) Continue reading