Wet Dream:

Phoenix Marie saunters, shuffling her feet, towards me across the emptying ball room dance floor late at night.

"I've noticed you all night," Phoneix says to me sitting in a reddish, banquet chair with fake plastic cushions after walking across the ball room dance floor.

"You have!?"

"Yeah.  You have been staring at me all night."

"I've been staring at you for much longer than that."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I watch your movies."

"Really!?  Which one is your favorite?"

"They're all my favorite, but I especially like the stay at home wife videos with men who have cocks the size of mine even though I last two seconds."

"What do you mean you last two seconds?"

"I mean, I get a hard on and as soon as there is friction: I splooge without hardly even penetrating half the time."

"Hmmm... I have an idea!"

"Yeah!?"

"Let's go out for a smoke out back where we can have a little privacy."

"OK," I say under dense, lingering stage fog and a band winding down in the ball room swingers club.

I haven't been laid all night at this swingers party with my wife going off with a group of guys early on to an upstairs room while I fidgeted staring at Phoenix from across the ball room like a loser and now I am following Phoenix Marie, my instant hard on icon, out of the back door which swings shut behind us where we are in an alley by a dumpster.

"I don't smoke."

"You are smoking."

"I just want to suck your cock."

"Suck away baby," I say to Phoenix as she drops to her knees on the cement, unzips my pants and pulls out my cock which ejaculates semen on Phoenix's tongue with her first lick.

"Well, I guess that was easy enough.  I like men like you," Phoenix says to me.  "You are easy to get off."

Just as Phoenix stands up adjusting her skirt over her child rearing hips, the back door to the alley opens and it is my wife with three other bodacious looking women about to smoke.

"Oh!  There you are!  I've been looking all over for you!  Phoenix!?  Phoenix Marie!?"

"The one and the same."

"You know my husband loves your movies."

"I love how easy your husband is to get off.  No more pussy stretching with him around."

"That's for sure.  Share him anytime."

"Wow!  Really!  I am getting hard again.  I promise that I won't last too long."

"No worries, Richard.  We can suck you dry anytime.  Right girls?"

Whatever Shall I Wear!?:

I drop my pencil with which I write graphic summaries about social consumers when my boss lady shuts the door behind herself to my assigned, social, welfare office within offices under florescent lights.

She straddles me in an instant, unexpectedly.

The boss lady sits on my lap while I am seated in an office chair with wheels at a monitor and latches the door as she arches back to lock the knob at my protest of her protruding nipples from her blouse buttons.

Then, she twitches melon-green panties under her black, taught, business skirt to one side with her labia while guiding my erect penis through its zipper into pink slime amidst labia and melon green panties.

She is a robot, I think.

"So?  Am I fired?"

"No.  It's all right."

"I didn't mean to cum so soon ..."

"Don't worry about it!" the supervisor with melon green panties says emphatically pulling her panties into place in spite of the semen I leave in her pussy.

Without another word, the buxom-melon-green-panty-wearing-supervisor woman leaves the room closing my assigned, social, welfare office door behind her as she walks out adjusted.

I know that she will want more, but I don't know where to turn.  Shall I "sell out" my penis to melon green panties or else labia, or, both!?

I know.  I will ask her to marry me!  She cannot deny me.  How will she find it in her heart to fire me if I have sex towards the goal of marriage!?

"Latisha?  You been trippin'?"

"Yes mum."

"I want you so bad to be good ... you know that?"

"Yes mum."

Meanwhile:

The supervisor lady with the melon green thong underwear fucks all the twenty something employees at the social welfare office and loves it so much that she is nominated for an award between the women workers on how many newbies she's fucked at the office under florescent lights.

Seriously, as fat as her thighs were that day and every day that I see her across from the social welfare office where I saw her return after the restaurant patio eating calamari for lunch:

her melon green, thong panties, as viewed from a strategic angle under a nearby table by myself, are ingrained in my memory forever as what social welfare women workers wear to work and I just fucked a hooker's pussy thinking of melon green panties on a restaurant patio seated nearby with a view to a boner, blue balls and eventual ejaculation ...

Grease Balls:

"Danny is a stalker who died ..."

"Oh! he did! Tell me more! Tell me more! Tell me more!"

"Oh Danny ..."

"I'm not Danny. I'm Shirley. Same Shirley descendent of Shirley plantation founded six years after Jamestown in Virginia."

"Oh! Who needs your jack ass piddly ant shit anyways ... get outta here ya bum ..."

"But ... but ... I'm a descendent of King Echbert of Wessex, first King of England in 820AD."

"Listen!?"

"Uh-huh."

"You gotta crack rock or ain't ya!?"

"Nah."

"Back to the streets you go, motherfucker!"

Shirley, booted onto the streets in front of seven eleven, barefoot and homeless, is left panhandling for change, the which he cannot spend without shoes or shirt.

However, beautiful women who approach the seven eleven where Shirley stands in front barefoot and shirtless give Shirley multitudes of their buxom attention while Shirley ejaculates in their mouths by a dumpster.

Then, a reincarnated Danny takes over the gig at the seven eleven dumpster after Shirley is hitched to one of the women there having earned enough from getting his cock sucked to buy a condo and shack a private hooker who is surprisingly good looking and could suck the chrome off of a ball and hitch.

Shirley lives out his days beckoning his bitch to just call him "Woogie" until a woman named Mary shows up out of the blue on a sandy beach in Miami where Shirley and girlfriend are vacationing having made much money as Web cam models.

The three friends at this point engage in modest soft porn conversation and touching with one another, each tantalized by the relations of the other to the point where all three ejaculate at a camera man's command earning them $100-$1500 split three ways according to an ad under gigs.

Everybody lives happily ever after, except Danny who is at the seven eleven, barefoot and homeless sucking cock by the dumpsters because Danny falls by the way side of "My Own Private Opfo" when Sandra Dee shows up and it is love at first sight upon seeing Danny.

"Hey!"

"Who me!?"

"Yes. I'm Sandra."

"Hi. I'm Danny."

The rest is history rife with other gestational tales of tails which pang for kale dinner and the caca that ensues, especially when served with potatoes, garlic and tempeh on Sandra Dee's china platter.

"Oh! Sandra Dee! Your meal was so good ... I just want to fill you with cream."

Tentacled Wife:

Camping by a roaring fire with my wife in the Islands, I take a swim from my wife's launch pad of a dock and belly flop into the water.

Overcome with fear in the ensuing twilight at my possible demise, I reach up to my wife's arm and pull her off of the dock while she shrieks naked in mid air to the below waters.

A jelly fish stings and clings to her face as she emerges from the shallow depths of the dock.  My wife cannot breathe with a jelly fish on her face, thus, emitting no vocalization.

She flails.

I clamber onto the dock from the shallow depths and run to call 9-11 at a pay phone after trying and failing to drag her limping and convulsing body onto the dock with a jelly fish firmly tentacled on her facial orifices.

"9-11."

"Yes?  Hello?  9-11?"

"Yes.  This Chinese 9-11 hot restauwant."

"Chinese restaurant!?"

"Yes.  What you like to owdah!?"

"No likie order nothing. I go now."

With no luck calling 9-11, I hustle back to the dock where I had left my wife and discover her to be missing in the waist deep water off of the dock.

A plump jellyfish squishes nearby standing with tentacles on the dock.  I kneel down next to the jellyfish on the dock sickened as it beckons me, or so it seems, with squishes and slurp sounds.

I kiss the jellyfish.

Suddenly, a shimmering devil in a blue dress appears where the jellyfish stood on the dock and a candle lit table is set without effort.

Out of the ether, I am standing on the dock dressed in a white, satin, summer suit with white, square toe shoes accompanied by a shimmering devil in a blue dress and spiked heels.

My devil and I sit and dine until midnight, which is when I shape shift into a tadpole and my devil in a blue dress shape shifts into Carey Grant or Humphrey Bogart: I can't tell which one as a tadpole!

Then: John Holmes walks down the hard, wooden planks of the dock, wisps Carey Grant or Humphrey Bogart of my betrothed shape shifted on the dock into his arms and carries it to shore, off of the dock and away to a boat house up a grassy incline.

So: I am writing this posthumously as a once lived tadpole, eaten by a grouper while I waft in the vapors and vortex that is thought of outer space and beyond without trace, like an erased chalk board.

Richard and Mario Forever in Love:

Richard Puller's jalopy idles at a red light on a notorious, corner destination for "Johns" and their prey.

A scantily clad woman saunters up to Richard's driver side window to seemingly ask him something.

"Excuse me, sir!"

"No!" Richard retorts.  "And I am not looking for a date."

"Well, excuse me, sir!  Neither am I!  I only wanted to ask you..."

"No date!  I tell you what...to get you off the streets, I will offer you a job scrubbing toilets in my motel.  What say you?"

"Oh yes!  Mr. Puller...!"

"Wait!  How did you know my name!?"

"Oh!  Mr. Puller ... all the girls know you if you know what I mean ... we hear all about it from Mario."

"Oh shit!"

The light turns green and Richard accelerates forward on his way home to his husband.

"Hello Mario!  I'm home."

Mario doesn't answer as Richard disrobes ready for his martini and cock sucking after a long day at the motel.

"Mario!?"

There is a moaning sound coming from the attic.  The moaning sound is distinctly female, it seems to Richard.

Richard ascends the steps to the attic drop ladder on the third floor and the sound is definitely female.

He ascends the ladder to the attic, opens the hatch and sees his husband Mario with a scantily clad woman in lingerie sucking his husband's cock.

"Mario!  How dare you!?"

"Oh shit!  I wasn't expecting you home so early..."

The woman reels and grabs her discarded garments off of the attic floor.

"Don't worry, dear!" Richard states to the woman who was sucking Mario's cock.  "I am willing to try anything once.  Why don't I come and join you two?"

"Oh!  That would be delightful, Richard," Mario, Richard's husband, states ecstatically to which the woman exclaims emphatically that she will not suck or fuck Richard after seeing polka dot discoloration on Richard's cock when Richard pulls down his pants in the attic with Mario, his husband, and the woman.

"Why not!?" Richard inquires of the woman.

"Because you are diseased.  Look at those polka dots on your pecker!"

"Those aren't polka dots!  A little discoloration and scabbing from pulling my meat or else Mario's teeth ... that's all!"

"Well, OK.  I'll settle this, Richard.  How about I call -tt-?"

"Who is -tt-?" the woman asks in the attic.

"My special request of my husband ... now beat it like the Jackson Five, bitch!" Richard states to the woman.

John Holmes' Synaptical Moment:

Gretchen slurps a cherry frappe from a big-sized, clear cup through a red straw at a table in an ice cream shop with her boyfriend.

Her boyfriend watches Gretchen slurp the remains of the frappe through a pink straw from the other side of a table near a patio and street among many tables where others sit on a hot afternoon in a vacation destination for women and sex.

Bikini clad women saunter off the front walk into the ice cream shop.

Gretchen puts her finished, frappe cup onto the table, smacks her gums licking her rose, blush lips and her bangs wisp in a flush of her breath from "cold brain."

She heaves a sigh amidst the cacophony of other frappe customers when she catches a glimpse of her boyfriend, John's crotch through his swim shorts.

John's crotch bulges as John attempts to place his hands on his lap to hide the bulge, it seems to Gretchen.

"You seem excited."

"Huh!?  What!?"

Gretchen indicates her boyfriend's bulge with her index finger.

"Oh!  You and your cherry frappe!  You want another!?  I'll pay."

"No.  I want your milky manhood for dessert," Gretchen says to John as she slides her hand under the plastic table cloth over the table to her boyfriend's crotch.

"Don't!  People might see," John exclaims abashed.

"Then, come on... make it to the women's room... I'll be there waiting..." Gretchen says as she rises from the table for restrooms through throngs of bikini clad women, all of whom John notices amidst ice cream machines whirring and women ordering cherry frappes at the counter while his pants bulge sitting at the table.

At a moment not too soon, John sees a woman with whom he went on a date once and he knows for prowess in sucking elixir out of cocks.

He lifts the woman's skirt as she passes the table where he sits just as Gretchen emerges from the women's room to see him lift the woman's skirt in the shop.

"Nice panties!" John exclaims when he lifts the woman's skirt, cums all over himself and the shop floor within two seconds amidst bikini clad women buying ice cream.

Everybody in the shop is enthralled and excited by the prospects of seeing John's pecker while eating ice cream that the bikini clad women undress themselves and John for an orgy when Gretchen and the other bikini clad women fuck John and each other with no other men in the shop.

Now, John has died of AIDS.

Man's Female Feces Fellatio Fetishes (as compiled into a narrative from news items on the subject):

I have a weapon with mass wielding power to blow loads all over the place and myself when I go out and get close to some real women, like within ten feet on a nice day!

I am a social suicide, load blower at a coffee shop in town.  I am not allowed there anymore after I lifted a woman's mini skirt while she waited at the coffee shop counter in line and an officer of the law nabbed me from behind.

Once, I am at a lingerie shop and tell a woman at the counter that I am shopping for a girlfriend.

I look around, pick up a pair of garters with panties, head to the changing rooms and try on panties and garter blowing a load in them at touches of silky cotton and lace.

First, I dispense a tampon in the changing room with which I plug my butt.

By the time the clerk gets back to me from up front and sees what I am doing, I am dressed and tell her I will put the panties and garters back on the shelf: that I didn't find anything to buy.

The tampon is still in my butt.

I put the panties on a shelf and start for the door as I see the buxom clerk behind me pick up the panties and garters and discover them soiled.

"You!  Come back here!"

I continue towards the door double stepping and I am out of the door to a shrieking cacophony of other buxom clerks coming out of their wardrobe closets stacking lingerie.

"Call police!" is all I hear as the door to the lingerie shop shuts behind me and I am on the streets running to an alley because I have to caca a tampon at that moment.

Squatting in an alley nearby the lingerie store in town and cacaing a tampon, I remove my boxers and wipe with the boxer shorts leaving the shorts on top of the caca'ed tampon and pull up my crusty pants.

However, the smell of caca-tampon is repulsive and I vomit on the boxer shorts over the caca in the alley as I hear sirens in the direction of the lingerie shop where I had been fondling my pecker into panties and garters.

I pull up my pants, remove my button down, white, Oxford shirt and don my tank top onto streets leaving the Oxford in the alley with boxers and caca after wiping puke off of my face with it.

Just when I think it safe around a corner on a street: I hear the distinct sound of a woman's shriek yelling "there he is!  Get him officers!"

Then, I lie and say: "not guilty."  Now, I am not allowed within ten feet on nice days!