TheFurFiles - The Ultimate Orgasm, Fetish For Fat Forty-Year-Olds, Strap-On Surprise - Page 3
All you have to do is tell her how “hot” you think overweight, forty-year-old men are. Use the names of the guys listed at the beginning as examples. Since no teenage girl wants to share the same sexual predilections as her mother, my bet is, she’ll change her tune pretty quick. Luckily, teenagers are as fickle as they are stupid. Thus, she’ll be back to drooling over twenty or thirty-year-old men instead. Hey, I didn’t say my plan was foolproof.
My husband and I have been together for more than ten years. Sex has always been great, fun, over-the-moon. We’ve always shared our sexual thoughts and fantasies with each other, and there’s never been a problem. We own all kinds of sex toys, books and games, all of which we routinely use to make things exciting between us.
So when a box came to our house the other day from “The Best Little Sex Shop Ever”, I was hardly surprised. Curious to know what my husband had bought this time, I quickly opened the package. Wasn’t I stunned to find a strap-on dildo inside – a black one no less? Now, we’ve explored backdoor fun before, but it’s always been Tony exploring me. I’ll admit, the notion of me exploring (or god forbid, penetrating) Tony kind of throws me for a loop. I like my man to be a man’s man, ya’ dig, and this whole “strap-on penis thing” doesn’t exactly follow that rule. What should I do?
Do You Think Tony’s On The Down Low?
Dear No I Don’t,
Did you know that there’s a new soda pop on the market called “Splode”? Like who would’ve thought, right?
Anyway, getting back to your question, I must tell you, I used to be the biggest chicken ever, like I refused to do anything scary, like if any of my friends ever asked me to go cliff jumping, motorcycle racing, or ski diving, I always said “no”. On top of that, I used to hate haunted houses and amusement parks too. And I know this attitude sounds terribly limiting but that’s just the kind of person I was – until last week, when I decided to take a stand against my own patheticness. That’s right, I decided to break out of my shell and do something I’d never done before. I decided to go bungee jumping.
No doubt, it took every ounce of bravery I had to get myself to that bridge. In fact, I didn’t get myself to the bridge at all. My husband had to drag me there – I mean he literally had to tie a rope around my neck and pull me to the car. He had to pull me out of the car as well, and he had to pull me across the bridge to where Jorgen – our bungee jumping guide – was waiting for me. Then the whole time Jorgen was hooking me up, I was screaming and crying, “I can’t do this. I won’t do this. This is just the sort of thing that I JUST DON’T DO! I’d rather be lying in bed, snuggled safely under my quilt, knitting scarves for relatives I barely know. I’d rather be sitting in Chapters reading Jane Austen novels – probably “Persuasion” for the ninety-ninth time. I’d rather be scrubbing the tiles on my bathroom floor with my toothbrush, and then brushing my teeth with it after. Oh… I hate you all! And I’ll remember this Jorgen, you mother$%#@er! In fact, sometime in the very near future – after you’ve forced me to do this thing that I absolutely DO NOT want to do – I’m going to sneak into your house in the middle of the night and slit your throat with a grapefruit knife…”Continued on the next page