Massive teeth are a real turn on, aren’t they? You know, like Esther Rantzen or Janet Street-Porter. Whenever I see those two on TV, all dribbling and blubbery, man it gets me hot. I think it’s the danger that does it – just imagine a blow job from a set of gnashers like that! And what with women being so strange and volatile anyway…you think it’s all good, she’s slurping away – but in her fiendish mind the remembrance of some cup accidentally and nonchalantly smashed, a bit of washing-up left undone, and – chomp! She’ll bite the old fella clean off. And that’s it, for the rest of your life, bar clever doctor’s surgery – no more John Thomas. You only get one. They never grow back. It’s a miracle, really, that something so fragile and easily detached – something we actually put into the mouths of wild, unpredictable beasts – hardly ever suffers this shuddering fate. You’d think there’d be hundreds and thousands of poor, deflowered men sorrowfully sneaking into cubicles to sit and piss through holes in their pubes. But there aren’t.
I wonder if the queen’s any good at giving head? Or if Kate Middleton’s one of those who gets really wet, really quick, or requires a more prolonged build-up?
Remember old Fergie sucking toes? And Prince Charles fantasising about being a tampon?
We’re all the same deep down.
You know what else turns me on? Boils. I think it’s the fact that I never gave a man a blow job, but would secretly like to. So whenever I get with a girl who’s covered in boils – which happens surprisingly frequently these days – I thank my lucky stars and get stuck in. I love it when they pop in my mouth. To feel the sticky, mucousy juice spurt against the back of my throat. It’s totally an ejaculation. And a lot of these girls, if you time it right, they feel it too. The release. The acceptance of a part of their physical body into mine. They love it. Sometimes I think they’re developing these boils on purpose, just ‘cos they know there’s a guy in the neighbourhood who’s into it. At least, that’s the word on the street. It could be the next big thing.
I was with a hippopotamus friend of mine the other day; she was feeling sad and had a load on her mind and, though I normally like to explore these issues and be a good listener and all that shite I just suddenly asked her if she wanted me to suck her nipples instead. She’s confessed to me before that it really turns her on and I guess I thought doing something pleasurable would be better for her woes than mere talking about it. Plus, we’re good friends and I don’t see no reason why a friend can’t suck another friend’s nipples if that’s what’ll make them feel better.
But, of course, one thing led to another, and we ended up getting naked and rampant round the back of the butchers’ on the high street. She wanted to get on top but I wasn’t having that – I know she’s a reputation for biting guys’ heads off when she gets carried away – so I hit it from behind.
Fat arses are pretty cool once you’ve fought your way through. Hers rippled almost magically and I got well entranced and spacey.
That’s all I really wanted to say today. I know who you are reading this and I know it’s just what you needed to hear at this point in your life. I know you sometimes think I just type nonsense but I wanted to write something serious and meaningful today, and I’m glad I did. I just hope you are able to take my words and put them to good use. Please don’t be like one of those men who look inside gift-horses’ mouths. For all our sakes.
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