The other day I went in to a nearby BP gas station to fill up my tank. After I had put in my debit card and zip code, inserted the nozzle into my tank to fuel up (ohhh yeah, do it just like that!), and started pumping, I looked at the gas pump. There were several images of people hugging gas pumps. There was one image of a fifty or sixty year old man practically humping the thing, and another one of an Asian lady (possibly thirty) and we all know how kinky those Asians are! To make matters worse, the words, "Feel the love!" were placed next to all of them.
Do we really love gas that much that we'll make sweet love to the machine that gives it to us?
You can see a very ecstatic African-American lady, possibly in post-coital bliss, still clinging to her gas pump at the official site of this pump-screwing trend: BP "Feel the Love!" Sweepstakes.
Beware, these people didn't get the memo that adding auditory content (a.k.a. annoying sounds) to websites actually is a turn off.
Friday, March 23, 2007
Gender-bending, slightly homosexual fantasies
When I was sixteen and stupid, I used to have phone sex with guys I met off the Internet.
There were a few "friends" who would call me several times a week, and there was one particular friend who would take it upon himself to call me almost every day without regard to what time it was. We'll call this guy F.
F was in his late 20s, early 30s supposedly. When I first met him, he gave me several different names, some of which were pen names of his. I say pen names, because he wrote poetry. I was writing poetry back then too, though it was the depressed, teenage angst kind. So, we met in one of AOL's Poetry chat rooms. It so happens that all the psychos hang out there.
And I found a really bad one.
F called me all the fucking time. He called my phone during school. During work. When I was sleeping. If I didn't pick up, he'd leave messages. When I told him to stop calling me, he wouldn't. If I answered the phone and heard his voice, I'd hang up. He was obsessed.
Oh, but this post is supposed to be about naughty, gender-bending fantasies.
It is.
F had one dirty little secret. His fantasy was for my female friends and I to dress him up as a girl, with a short little skirt, fake tits, bright red lipstick and a wig. Then, as he waited on his hands and knees, my friends and I would bring in a bunch of guys with hard cocks, their hands behind their backs.
He wanted us girls to touch him with these cocks. Force one into his mouth with our little hands, rub another against his butt, do all sorts of nasty things to him with erections that weren't his.
I should have told him that he was a sick motherfucker. My acceptance of his unconventional fantasy probably made him all the more obsessed with me.
Anyhow, I really do think that there is a little bit of homosexuality in all of us. For example, I know one straight guy who is turned on by flaccid penises. I'll admit that I have a certain obsession with girls' tits, but sex with a girl only seems attractive if a strap-on gets thrown into the mix.
Yay for penis!
There were a few "friends" who would call me several times a week, and there was one particular friend who would take it upon himself to call me almost every day without regard to what time it was. We'll call this guy F.
F was in his late 20s, early 30s supposedly. When I first met him, he gave me several different names, some of which were pen names of his. I say pen names, because he wrote poetry. I was writing poetry back then too, though it was the depressed, teenage angst kind. So, we met in one of AOL's Poetry chat rooms. It so happens that all the psychos hang out there.
And I found a really bad one.
F called me all the fucking time. He called my phone during school. During work. When I was sleeping. If I didn't pick up, he'd leave messages. When I told him to stop calling me, he wouldn't. If I answered the phone and heard his voice, I'd hang up. He was obsessed.
Oh, but this post is supposed to be about naughty, gender-bending fantasies.
It is.
F had one dirty little secret. His fantasy was for my female friends and I to dress him up as a girl, with a short little skirt, fake tits, bright red lipstick and a wig. Then, as he waited on his hands and knees, my friends and I would bring in a bunch of guys with hard cocks, their hands behind their backs.
He wanted us girls to touch him with these cocks. Force one into his mouth with our little hands, rub another against his butt, do all sorts of nasty things to him with erections that weren't his.
I should have told him that he was a sick motherfucker. My acceptance of his unconventional fantasy probably made him all the more obsessed with me.
Anyhow, I really do think that there is a little bit of homosexuality in all of us. For example, I know one straight guy who is turned on by flaccid penises. I'll admit that I have a certain obsession with girls' tits, but sex with a girl only seems attractive if a strap-on gets thrown into the mix.
Yay for penis!
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