I want to fill you in somewhat regarding several of my more horrendous examples of sexual engagements that I, Sexual Geoff, have had the misfortune to swallow. If you'll pardon the expression.
If any of you out there in blogland believed that only the malekind were into the kinks (and I'm not talking about Ray Davies here), then I have shocking news for you all. For even before I stumbled into the sex-for-cash world, I encountered women with the most peculiar sexual proclivities.
If any of you out there in blogland believed that only the malekind were into the kinks (and I'm not talking about Ray Davies here), then I have shocking news for you all. For even before I stumbled into the sex-for-cash world, I encountered women with the most peculiar sexual proclivities.
Not this type of Kink
When I was 19, I enjoyed - no, endured - an intense 3 week affair with a married lady called Gwenda, who shall remain nameless, and who, during our lovemaking sessions, possessed a curious tendency to walk across my bare genitals wearing nothing but her golf shoes. By the time she had had her orgasm, my private parts looked like they'd been draped across a lathe.
Why did I not protest, you might ask? Well I did - on many occasions most vociferously, too, but she always appeared to misread my screams of pain as squeals of ecstasy and only increased her steps. Mind you in hindsight, maybe it did not help matters that she was profoundly deaf. But still, you would have thought the mimes of "Stop trampling on my testes, you deaf bitch!!" would transcend any of the world's languages.
As an older lothario, I am no longer surprised by the perversions of the female sex.
I recall this one woman whose name I never knew, although if she was born to a tribe of native American indians, she wouldn't be called Dances With Wolves or Rises With The Sun, she'd most likely go under the name Likes To Hit Penis With a Four by Two.
If I didn't say "Thank you very much" after each whack to my shaft, she would intensify the blows. Blows! An interesting double-entendre when you think about it. This creature obviously believed that violence and sex go hand in mouth. But she wasn't the most prominent file in my sexual filing cabinet.
No, that honour befalls a girl called Tula whose vagina resembled The Sarlaac out of Return of the Jedi. And I'm telling you although I'm no Boba Fett, but after she grasped my head, forcing it towards her gaping front bottom, I swear to you I thought I saw someone in there. I managed to beat a hasty retreat. There was no way I wanted to experience 'a new definition of pain and suffering' or be 'slowly digested over a thousand years,' as See-Threepio said.
No, that honour befalls a girl called Tula whose vagina resembled The Sarlaac out of Return of the Jedi. And I'm telling you although I'm no Boba Fett, but after she grasped my head, forcing it towards her gaping front bottom, I swear to you I thought I saw someone in there. I managed to beat a hasty retreat. There was no way I wanted to experience 'a new definition of pain and suffering' or be 'slowly digested over a thousand years,' as See-Threepio said.
And no body ever whacked him on the penis.
If indeed he had one.
Which I doubt.
Geoff's Blog: Keeping it up on a four by two basis
Geoff Prickett (it's pronounced Prickett)
If indeed he had one.
Which I doubt.
Geoff's Blog: Keeping it up on a four by two basis
Geoff Prickett (it's pronounced Prickett)
From Wales With Love
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5 comments:
... Mother? Is it really you? I knows it's been so long since I last spoke to you, but I've been so busy and I haven't been able to admit to you what I have been doing in my life. I am actually surprised that you have decided to contact me this way. I wish I could tell you everything that's happened over the last few years but it's impossible for me to do this what with you dying in that car crash in 2002.
Geoff, you cretinous little worm turd, you know it wasn't an accident on that fateful day, 2002, don't you! It was suicide to get away from my disappointing tumour of a cunt...you, Geoff, fucking YOU! I tried to gas myself with carbon monoxide but, because your father's a stupid little shit, the handbrake failed and of down the M6 I went. The fucking burk, he takes after YOU!
Never mind whatever rubbish George has written here. Instead, hot foot it to ITTODBTBIA III, where there's a chance to win a car in my marvellous new scratchcard game.
Again, ignore George. Go to ITTODBTBIA III instead.
Aha! Tricked you! Mother died in 2001, not 2002! Ha ha! If you really were Mother you would have known when you died. Plus, my real Mother would have called me a cunt more than once.
Yes! Go to ITTODBTBIA III. But please come back where I shall soon be auctioning off a hot chick who will visit you in your homes. Watch this space.
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