All posts by FKMYSELF

"From the moment I was six I felt sexy. And let me tell you it was hell, sheer hell, waiting to do something about it." -Bette Davis

The Joys of Ninja Sex

By Courtney R.

My husband is making some renovations on our home, getting it ready for a short sale. We laughed, we cried, all the big emotions that come with the impending loss of our crap container. This home makeover put us in a bind, we needed shelter quickly. My mother-in-law smelling blood in the water quickly snatches the opportunity to criticize my skills as a wife and mom. She offers us my hubby’s old childhood room, a small 10 foot by 8 foot room still reeking of Old Spice and pimple cream. My kids are overjoyed, for the next week they’ll be sugared and caffeinated, and doped up with nonstop cartoons. As I prepare for my subjugation in the land of the alpha-bitch the thought hits me, “A whole week without sex?”

I’m not a nymphomaniac by any means, I don’t have to have sex constantly, and I my dildo is not on a rechargeable cradle (although that would be a good idea).  I do enjoy having some private time with the hubs for some quality slap and tickle. Being under the constant surveillance of “dear-‘ol-mom” is going to make any sort of conjugal visit improbable. Notice I wrote “improbable” not “impossible”. I’m a persistent little wench, especially when it comes to getting my steady dose of vitamin dick. As we pull into the driveway of my archenemy my mind concocts the perfect plan for getting some sweet lovin’ in the house that abstinence built.

The evening went much like I expected, the kids were given every indulgence under the sun, and after the hyper tantrums eased off they were sitting in front of the boob-tube totally labotimized. My husband laid sprawled out in front of the couch, aching from a day’s worth of tiling and grouting. I sat on the couch above him half-reading an article about gardening (an article that my mother- in-law circled to my attention).  Under the flicker of the television I noticed my hubby’s rippling back muscles. I couldn’t resist running my foot up and down his back, sticking my big toe at the top of his belt loop tickling his coin slot. He giggled warmly into the rug as I continued to give him the once over with my tootsies.

Before I knew it I was getting steamy in all the right places and soon we exchanged “the look”. A smirk and a suggestive nod later, the kids were sent to bed, grandma offering to read the bedtime story (little did she know I had my own ideas for “tuck-in-time” with her big boy). Big hubs moves up to the couch wrapping a thick, well-toned arm around my shoulders. He smelled delicious, that mixture of musk and sweat, it made me salivate. It was all I could do but to rip off his clothes and ravish him like a sailor on shore-leave. Right before I could make my move, his dear ol’ ma showed up, “The little angels are asleep, what show should we watch before bed?”

Cockblocked, by a women who hasn’t known the touch of a man in many a moon. She planted herself right in between us, which couldn’t have been more awkward, especially for my hubby, I could still make out his waning boner in the moonlight.  After an hour of the 700 club mommy was sawing logs her hand still resting on her son’s thigh. I got up and did my best seductive strut out of the room. I looked back at and licked my lips as I entered our sleeping quarters. I only made it to the count of three before I saw him rushing through the door. His eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas as he found his lovely wife laying spread-eagle on his bed giving herself a nice rub and tug.

He kamikazeed my sweet spot without delay.  I bit my lip hard trying not to let out even the smallest peep. Not that it mattered much, even if the pope himself came sauntering in, I’d tell him to pull up a chair and enjoy the show. Big hubs was in top form, he rounded all the bases, and didn’t spare an ounce on the detail work. I love having my ass worshipped and he practically built an alter right there on the bed. I reached out a trembling hand and turned off the lamp, because now it was time for some serious penetration. Wow, my toes still curl thinking about it. I rode the jackhammer  for what seemed like an eternity, pounding away, bracing myself against the headboard with a Star Wars pillow. The Orgasm offramp came hurtling toward us. I couldn’t hold in the ecstasy any longer, I moaned loud, and long doing my best to muffle my moans into the comforter. Hubby did his best to remain quiet but ended up making an uncharacteristic little “squeak” as his load shot over my head and bullseyeing the picture of Chewbacca over the bed. We melted on the bed into sweet, satisfying slumber.

The next morning, his mother cooked up a large breakfast, overfeeding my children as usual. Hubby and I crept in and said our “good-mornings” to the group and mainlined our cups of joe. “What were you watching last night?” asked one of my sweet-faced children. “It sounded like a monster movie.” My mother-in-law glared at me as I smirked and replied, “Oh yes, it was quite a show.”

Image from filehurricane.com

James Cromwell’s Letter To The Director of Babe 2: Pig In The City Asking Him To Cut Out The Masturbation Sequence

By Daniel Dominguez

Dear Sir,

I am an old fashioned man. I am of stern countenance and the children in my neighborhood are scared of me. They sometimes throw rocks. I admit to my tastes being of a previous era in many respects. I love to sit on my porch and drink a warm malted butterscotch while thinking about Franklin Delano Roosevelt. Which I do unless the children are outside playing, because they have ever so many sharp rocks, and they rarely tire. These things are true.

Nonetheless. I do feel as though my opinion on the matter I am about to discuss is not incorrect or out of step with the time, but flows from what would be best for this film in which we both have so much invested. I am of course referring to Babe 2: Pig In The City, and my issue is with the graphic depiction of masturbation toward the latter part of the second act. In a movie meant for adults I would likely still take issue with a pig watching a duck and a clumsy donkey fornicate while he very slowly pleasures himself. In particular the look on his face, a combination of resentment, anger, and lust that I have trouble getting out of my head, is most disturbing.

I am even more baffled by the choice to include the scene because it seems to come from nowhere and have nothing to do with the rest of the film. It is jarring to see the animals all riding in a boat discussing what to do next, and then cut from that scene (which actually fits into the story line) to a close up of Babe’s engorged member that lingers for, and I timed this, an unmoving and seemingly endless two minutes and thirty-eight seconds.  The entire masturbation sequence itself, which I also timed, lasts for seventeen minutes and forty-two seconds, cutting from Babe’s face, to his member, to the very scared duck and the rather unwieldy mule and back again.

I implore you to remove this scene from Babe 2: Pig In The City, it simply does not fit the tone of the rest of the film. I am equally surprised at your choice to give Babe a tattoo of the word “HATE” on his member. That just doesn’t seem like a Babe thing to do.

Yours,

Mr. James Cromwell

The science behind hand-jobs and ice cream

By Mitch Martyn

Today, even though it’s pouring rain, I went to the local homemade ice cream shopppepppe. Shoppe. It’s so classy that they need to add extra letters to the word shop just so everyone understands just how fuckin’ serious they are about ice cream and ice cream accessories. But the real reason I’m here is to share with you a study I did involving ice cream scooper girls and the art of the hand-job.

I roll up to this place, request my bubblegum ice cream, and proceeded to watch this cute girl; really get a good grasp on that metal scooper and dive in to that big bucket of ice cream and just start scooping away. I mean this isn’t the softest ice cream, these girls work out the very same muscles required to perform a great hand-job.

Did you know that women develop a muscle in their triceps called the handjovial jobidermus? Scientists are still baffled to this day as to what its purpose is, especially since this particular muscle has only been found to develop in woman’s bodies after hitting puberty. Which leads me to believe this muscle’s sole purpose is to aid in providing a top notch hand-job. Furthermore, after witnessing the technique used by these ice cream girls, which is the same technique patented and distributed by the I.C.S.G.N.A. (Ice Cream Scooper’s Guild of North America), I have determined that the handjovial jobidermus receives a full workout every time these broads take a scoop. Scientifically proving that ice cream scooper girls do indeed give the best handjobs. However, in another study done by the professors at UPV (University of Porno Valley), girls working in creameries were more prone to wanting to lick pussy rather than stroke cock; due to the subliminal recollection of ice cream, licking the ice cream is remembered as more enjoyable than scooping it. Thus creating more of an urge to lick soft, delicious surfaces, such as a vagina.

This study, in all it’s greatness, has lead me to ponder other theories and has raised questions that will lead to other scientific studies. Do girls that milk cows also give great hand-jobs? Or are they more prone to lesbianism due to the urge to always want to milk nipples? Or how about our friend the day spa masseuse… yaaa massage my cock… that’s nice.

For more Mitch Martyn, check out Mitch’s Mullet