Archive for August, 2009

Grand Canyon Adventure

Tuesday, August 18th, 2009

We had finished loading the rented motorhome for our trip, and
settled back to relax before going to bed. I pulled you close to me and
kissed you, tasting the perspiration on your lips. We were both hot and
sweaty from hauling out and checking all of our camping gear, running in
and out of the house and doing last minute arguing over whether or not we
needed this item or that. Now, crawling into bed beside you, I was too
tired to start something that I couldn’t finish. I looked forward to this
trip, cuddling up behind your naked form, and wrapping my arm around your
chest to draw you even closer.

The next day, after work, we showered and packed our last minute
items and drove off, leaving behind all the stress and the frantic pace of
our daily lives. We took the scenic route, going through Lake Tahoe and
into Nevada before turning south towards the Grand Canyon. The first day
was just one big adventure, and outside of Tahoe, I let you get the feel of
the clumsy motor- home. Sitting up high, with the large windows made us
feel like we were on top of the world. You did well driving the motorhome,
so we could now go to some other places as we’d planned, taking turns
driving if we had to head for home later that we’d planned.

We’d planned on driving at night, when traffic would allow us not
only the best economy, but the traffic would be sparse as well. Besides, I
had my own lusty fantasies in mind too. We left the Tahoe area late the
second day, the sun setting over the Sierra’s with an orange glow. We
drove south, down a well maintained highway, meeting little traffic. You
whipped up some sandwhichs while I drove, and we talked about how quiet it
was out in the high desert of Nevada. I opened a window, letting in the
warm night air, and even at 60 mph it felt warm and gentle. I looked at
you and felt your passions begin to stir even across the r.v. You removed
your top, baring your breasts to me, and then sat in the right front seat,
caressing yourself. In the dim glow of the instruments, I saw you slide
your hand under the elastic waistband of your shorts, and begin to rub
yourself. “Talk to me.” You said, “Tell me what you want to do.”

My cock pressed upwards in my jeans, straining against the fabric.
I looked over, seeing your legs spread over the armrest of the seat, one up
against the dash. Your breasts wiggled invitingly as the r.v. found small
bumps in the road. The only car we saw that night drove past, its
headlights tossing a fast moving glare over your naked tits, letting me see
you briefly illuminated. Then you’re back in shadow, and my eyes have to
adjust for the dim light. “Talk to me. Tell me how you’re going to fuck
me.” You say.

“Hmmm. First, I’m going to pull off the road a ways, and spread a
blanket on the ground. Then, I’m going to pull you from the r.v.,
completely naked and make you kneel on all fours while I fuck you
everywhere. I want to fuck your tight pussy, then I want you to suck me
…End of the part1. To be continued..

Archive-name Miscellgigolotxt

Thursday, August 13th, 2009

Archive-author: Adam Starchild
Archive-title: How to Become a Gigolo

There’s no other line of “work” as pleasurable and as
overflowing with opportunities to enjoy luxury, travel
and riches as that of the gigolo. And believe it or
not, today it is easier than ever for a man to enjoy
life as a gigolo!
To become a successful gigolo and enjoy the benefits of
this kind of life, you must develop and project the
proper way of thinking. There’s a great difference
between a “male prostitute” and a gigolo.
The male prostitute makes himself available to all
women of all ages, generally concentrating on bored,
frustrated and “exploring” housewives looking for extra
loving as well as variety to satisfy their sex needs. This
type of woman is very easy to spot, and even easier to take
to bed. It makes of a lot of, and a variety of beautiful
sex, but it’s all for free. You have to know precisely how
to cultivate these women to start, and then get them to
continue paying you for each time you “service” them — not
just the loan of a few dollars — which you never intend to
pay back — but $50 or $100 plus expenses for each tryst
you arrange with them.
The gigolo concentrates his efforts on making himself
available to widows and wives of busy businessmen who
really don’t care what their wives do, so long as they
don’t become emroiled in a public scandal. These women
range in age from about 45, on into their 80s.
So the first thing you’re going to have to do is stop
looking for ladies at or about your own age. Dress
yourself more neatly, more stylishly, and begin
“hanging around” the places these women frequent.
You’ll find very few in church! Those that you do find
in church will want to possess you, and somehow or
other steer you to the altar. You’ll find most of them
in night classes at your local college; in
self-improvement, self-awareness, and new life-style
classes; and of course, in all the better class supper
clubs and hotel type lounges.
Relative to evening college courses and
self-improvement discussion groups — these are your
easiest and most fertile “hunting grounds,” because
psychologists long ago proved that the basic reason for
adult enrollment in self-improvement programs is
directly related to a person’s need to be loved. All
you have to do is understand this basic fact, and make
yourself available to fulfill the needs of the women
…End of the part1. To be continued..

Archive-name Miscellflampasstxt

Saturday, August 8th, 2009

Archive-author: Standby
Archive-title: Flames of Passion, The

WARNING
This article contains sexual situations between consenting
adults. If this pisses you off, don’t look. It also mocks the
selected groups of idiots who don’t bother to fully read posts
and send boring and insulting email (as befits their miniscule
minds). If this bothers you, you should probably not read this.
If you are one of the pea-brains who are being mocked, I
fervently hope this bugs the shit out of you.

DISCLAIMER
This story is false. If you feel insulted by it, I was probably
aiming at you.

I was sitting at my terminal with Julie. Julie’s my
cohort in crime, often putting in long hours with me on those
terminally late projects. She’s a real looker, too, IMHO –
slim, long brown hair, dark eyes, very pretty, and a body that
is to die for.

We were working late one night on a paper that
absitively, posilutely had to be done by the next day. By 9PM,
everyone else had gone home. By 10, we were feeling silly. But
by 11, it was going well, so we felt little guilt in opening up a
window and scanning though the net, seeing what was new and news.
We scanned the usual comp.* groups and moved onto the alt.sex
hierarchy. As usual when we were doing this, Julie was horny as
hell, and would do her best to distract me. In this case, she
started out by nibbling on my ear and running her hands up and
down the inside of my thigh.

“Shit, willya look at that!”

“What’s the problem, Standby?” Her hand was perilously
close to the rising bulge in my jeans.

“Some twits are bitching about a message I put onto the
net!”

“Oh?” she breathed into my ear as her hand started
working the zipper. “What did you post?”

“I was just complaining about the signal-to-noise ratio
of alt.sex.stories and how most of the posted stories are about
…End of the part1. To be continued..