Really let out a Primal Scream?

I am not talking about screaming out during sex, cause you should never let out a Primal Scream during sex cause then he will lose his erection!  And not only shame on him, but shame on you too!  I am talking about a primal scream so loud, that it could only come from getting back to the basics. A scream that could be heard across rooftops and as far away as the heavens, so much so that God would turn to Archangel Michael say, “Did I order a thunder storm?”

“No, dear. It’s just Lucresia.”

Possums, it is a scream that could only come from one thing-food poisoning!

I don’t know who’s bright idea was it to take advantage of half-price appetizers at Montana’s, instead of ordering an entrée.…well mine.

But, of course!

As I sit here in my zebra African-print bathroom, usually I look at my basket of vintage magazines filled of models smiling back at me and I think of something philosophical, but Possums, I can’t concentrate! I am in too much pain!  I look at them models and I think to myself-“What in the hell do they have to smile about? Surely, they must be hungry! Hungry and yet smiling! Smiling, yet hungry! I know that if I was hungry you’d have to pay me a lot to smile! Maybe that’s where them models got us beat!

I can’t believe the amount of times I have ended up in the bathroom today alone. And to think of all the money I wasted on enemas when all I had to do was wolf down a “questionable” dinner.

Speaking of enemas, Possums, do you know that there are people who get off on going to the bathroom multiple times?  They are called Klismaphiliacs.

Klismaphilia is the term for those who get sexually aroused and pleasured, by having an enema administered, either by someone, or themselves. In the male, the anterior wall of the rectum is next to the prostate and seminal vesicles. Filling and dilating the rectum with enema solution will cause direct pressure on these structures, as well as causing stimulation of the rectal stretch receptors, hence orgasm.

Now, wasn’t that a mouthful?

But, of course!

Klismaphiliacs actually use specialty enema nozzles that are made from aluminum.

Aluminum!

Aluminum!

No aluminum one for me, Possums.

I will use plastic.

It is a recession.

I remember one time I had to go out and buy one for a good friend of mine. She had got the constipation and needed relieving pronto. But, I didn’t administer her or anything. Nothing like that! The closest I got to administering her was when I knocked, and passed the item through the door , I saw a piece of her bare back!

Klismaphiliacs like to “introduce” different types of liquids into the colon through the anus. Some liquids used include urine, as well as alcohol!

I wonder if most chose Kahlua?  Being brown and all.

Possums, care should be taken when using any liquid other than water, as they can carry infectious bacteria. Anyways, introducing alcohol into the body through an enema can be dangerous, cause it can be absorbed directly into the tissue and blood stream, and can lead a dangerous overdose. So, don’t be a dum-dum.

Since excessive usage of enemas can deplete the body of important nutrients, some enthusiasts of enemas suggest replenishing the body by eating live yogurt.

I don’t even have to tell you that fetishes such as spanking, anal play and diapers are often associated to Klismaphilia. Which I am not surprise!

It is a slippery slope!

Did you that John Harvey Kellogg (yes, the man who invented Corn Flakes with his brother) is nowadays regarded as a textbook case of Klismaphilia?

Possums, let’s just say that I will never view Corn Flakes the same again!

Did you know that this man used to disguise his sexual habits by giving and receiving enemas and inflicting them on other people? The Jigga would go and lock up boys and tape their hands to their crotch, even mutilate them! He believed that a plain and healthy diet, with only two meals a day, among other things, would reduce sexual feelings!

Mr. Flakes would write books and preach against sex and masturbation, saying that it was unnatural and unhealthy.

I couldn’t see his books reaching any bestsellers list!

Bonfire, anyone?

The fool also went as far as saying that masturbation caused cancer of the womb, urinary diseases, impotence, epilepsy, and insanity.

I should run and tell my brother and my cousins!  Maybe then I’ll see them more!

Now I know that your Momma has probably told you that all masturbating is good, cause she probably caught you and not only did not want you to feel bad about yourself, but did not want to question her motherhood. But, if you find yourself addicted to having enemas up your bottom it is okay. You can get help via Hypnosis.

If that don’t work then there is psychoanalysis.

And if that don’t work then there is cognitive therapy.

And if that don’t work then there is drug therapy.

And if that don’t work then there is behavior therapy.

And if that don’t work then all I can say is leave it in the hands of God, or else someone will!

If you are afraid of administering an enema yourself, did you know that you can pay someone to do it to you? A lot of prostitutes are offering it up as a service.

Diapering and baby powder are extra.

But, of course!

I didn’t even realize that it had other uses.

Possums, it is going back on my bedroom door, so that I can entice lovers with!

I just hope it don’t get stuck up nowhere! Which may not be a bad thing cause then he can go fish it out!

But, of course!

I have just discovered a get-out-of things-that-I-don’t-feel-like-doing-during-sex-free card!

Historically, women have told men, “Not tonight dear, I have a headache.”

Honestly, it was on an episode of “Little House on the Prairie”!

But, Possums, I am not like most women.  Cause we all know that, “Not tonight dear, I have a headache” don’t always go over too well; that men will keep on nagging you to sleep with them, so you do just to shut them up!

Not that this has happened to me.

It is just a for instan…okay, this has happened to me.

And with having Sjögren’s Syndrome, I may one day have to face the possibilities of having a very dry vagina.  What can I say? “Sorry, not tonight King Henry, I’m dry, I have Sjögren’s Syndrome.”

SIDE NOTE: I know. I know. King Henry? Oh, Possums, you don’t know the many names I have had to come up with during the throes of passion.

The best “free card” I have come up with?

“Sorry, King Henry, can you get me another glass of water and while you’re at it make me a sandwich with prosciutto, Swiss cheese, and add some slices of tomato from the second shelf in the fridge, cause I feel dry…I have Sjögren’s Syndrome.”

And instead of going over my grocery lists in my head, I will now have to think of all things wet during sport nooky:

1. Niagara Falls

2. A summer’s day on a Slip and Slide

3. Running through sprinklers naked

4. Swimming at the beach

5. George Clooney

6. George Clooney

7. George Clooney

But, I digress.

Possums, they say that when God gives you lemons, you should beat them into a froth, pour them into a crust and make lemon meringue pie!  So, if and when I need to, I have carefully compiled a list of “sayings” to get me out of a jam:

1. “Sorry dear, I can’t do doggy-style tonight, I have rheumatoid arthritis.”

2. “Sorry dear, I can’t stroke your manhood, I have rheumatoid arthritis.”

3. “Sorry, dear, I can’t ride you like a horsey cause my back hurts, cause I have rheumatoid arthritis.”

4. “Sorry, dear, I know that you want me on my knees, but I can’t, I have rheumatoid arthritis.”

5. “Sorry, dear, I can’t massage your back, I have rheumatoid arthritis.”

6. “Sorry, dear, why don’t you massage my back instead, do you remember I have rheumatoid arthritis!”

7. “Sorry, dear, my best friend can’t watch, I have rheumatoid arthritis.”

8. “Sorry, dear, can you hold the vibrator instead, cause my hands are shaky, I have rheumatoid arthritis.”

9. And my favorite-”Sorry dear, I can’t open my mouth that wide, cause I have rheumatoid arthritis. What do you mean, rheumatoid arthritis has nothing to do with my mouth?”

Oh, Possums.

Yesterday, I felt like a common whore!

I know that you are probably asking, “What day don’t she feel like one?”

Like hell I say to that!

Oh Possums, the day started off nice enough, calm even. I awoke and Ava made  myself a buttermilk pancake and a cup of espresso. The only thing I planned to do, was go out and test out mattresses.

Possums, did I tell you I need a new mattress?

I have worn out my mattress, to the point that I am starting to feel the springs, and I don’t know if it has to do with the car accident, but my back is hurting a lot more that it has too! It is not as if there was a flux of recent activity on it. It has been spread out evenly over the years.

I think I need to write the manufacturer or something.

Or something….okay, there has been a flux of activity on it, but I am not going to tell the people at Sleep Country Canada that!

You know who are just as bad as car salesmen? Mattress salesmen!

As soon as you go into their establishment, they are on you like shiny taffeta on a bad bridesmaid’s dress!

I tried to give them a polite “No”. But, not with this salesman I ran into. He wouldn’t take “No” for an answer! It wasn’t enough for me to just sit on the edge of the bed. He wanted me to lie back on it.  Bounce on it, even! And every time I finished bouncing on the bed, he would then ask me, “So, how does that one feel?”

And again I would say, while trying not to laugh, and on purpose, “It is not hard enough. I like it hard!”

Then he did what every salesman does- he me asked what was my budget.

Possums, never, ever, let a salesman know your budget! This ain’t no whorehouse! The reason being is that when they know your budget, they will then “pad” up the price, like a bad girdle! Don’t tell em! That way you are the madam and they are the “girls”. They will end up giving you all the “extras” without you having to do much.

Remember that!

Also, remember that a good choice phrase of- “I am sorry, I can’t possibly make a decision right now without my husband/wifey.  He/She handles the purse-strings,” makes them back-off!

It works like a charm.

But, of course!

Then Mr. Mattress Man gave me his card, wrote down his price on how low he would go and then I went on with the rest of my day.

Or so I thought.

You know Possums, God has a way of showing you different themes that are playing in your life. What I mean is that what you speaketh you attract. Non? I tried to haggle the price for my mattress at different places. But, now I was going to get “haggled” in a different way.

I was just about to head home from the mattress outlet when I looked down between my legs and noticed that something looked raggedy. The stuff between my legs still had its color, Black of course, but it looked tired and used up. And since I was wearing a shorter skirt, I could see this all very easily.

It was beyond the wear and tear…

Wait.

Possums, what did you think I was talking about?

I was referring to the carpet mat belonging to my car!

Ha!

Anywhoo, I remembered that I saw that car mats were on sale at the local Canadian Tire Shop. For those not in Canada, think Pep Boys. It took me forever, but I finally found the section that held the car mats.  I was just lightly fingering one to check its quality, when all of the sudden I heard this man started to shout out in anger. Apparently, he was upset with their service. And apparently, he was Jamaican, cause he sounded like one of my uncles when they are sounding off at an abomination! Well, I looked up and saw a dapper little Indian man coming towards me. (Side Note: I am not being racist. I may be politically incorrect for stating what his race was, but Possums, A. I believe, as a writer, I have to provide the best visuals. B. You know that I am always politically incorrect and so, I am gonna be as such!)

But, I digress.

So, the short Indian man, who was dressed real nice, looked to be around his late twenties. But, after what he tried, I almost knocked him to his early thirties!

As I said, he came towards me, smiling.  I smiled back assuming he was smiling about the way the other man was yelling in the background. The store was now calling for Security to go to the Auto Parts section and the yelling man was hollering for them that they better bring on Security cause he was going to need Security to hold him back!

So, Little Mr. Dapper Indian Man came right up to me and was like whispering in my ear, “Hi, hoasidhfoalweofaod?”

And I was like, “I am sorry I can’t hear you. What did you say?”

And then Little Mr. Dapper Indian Man was like, “I was wondering if adljfaoiwfnieona?”

And Mr. Hollering Yelling Jamaican Man was like, “You see this spark plug, I am going to take this and LIGHT THIS UNDER YOUR MAN BEHIND THE COUNTER’S ASS!”

And I was like, “Pardon me? What did you say? You are going to have to speak a little louder, sir.”

And then Little Mr. Dapper Indian Man was like, “How much you charge?”

And Mr. Hollering Yelling Jamaican Man was like, “Go ahead, you better call the manager, UP IN HERE! CAUSE YOU ALL AIN’T GOT NO MANNERS!”

And I was like, “Charge? For what?”

And then Little Mr. Dapper Indian Man was like, “Charge to go home with me now? For some sex?”

And Mr. Hollering Yelling Jamaican Man was like “Yeah, you better make sure you catch this on your cameras, cause you see my face? You will never see it up in here ever again! You are a bunch of sorry mothers in here!”

And I was like, “Excuse you! I don’t do that! What kind of girl do you think I am!”

And then Little Mr. Dapper Indian Man was like, “I am very good. I pay good money. I give you extra.”

And Mr. Hollering Yelling Jamaican Man was like “I am talking about mother-f**kers, you dummy! Not about your mother! You know what? Your momma, then! YOUR MOMMA!”

And I was like, “Are you friggin kidding me? Get away from me!”

And then Little Mr. Dapper Indian Man was like, “Don’t be like that. Come home with me.”

And then it got quiet in the background and Mr. Hollering Yelling Jamaican Man turned into just Mr. Jamaican Man.

I dropped the car mat down and backed away from Little Mr. Dapper Indian Man, but the Jigga man was now following me to the front of the store!

I walked quickly over to the customer service desk and found myself in a long line.  I was not about to broadcast it over some people’s shoulders that a man was following and begging me for sex! I turned and tried to go through the one cashier that was open and ended up facing another line. This one had Mr. Jamaican Man who used to be Mr. Hollering Yelling Jamaican Man in it.

“I am sorry, but I need to get pass you, please,” I told Mr. Jamaican Man.

“What’s wrong, Miss Lady? You look stressed?”

“A man is following me!” I told him.

“I don’t blame him. You are very beautiful.”

I smiled and thanked him. (Side Note: What a nice young man. He had such nice eyes and a nice smile.)

“But, he is trying to ask me for sex! And he wants to pay for it!” I told him and apparently everyone. Cause all of the sudden my peripheral vision opened up and now I had an audience! I don’t know if it was because they missed the chance to buy tickets to my aisle show, but all the sudden everyone turned around and started to yell and glare at Little Mr. Dapper Indian Man.

“Come here, so I can shoot you two box upside your head!” screamed Mr. Hollering Yelling Jamaican Man.

Well, Little Mr. Dapper Indian Man looked at everyone and took off out of the store!

And then Little Miss Cashier Girl called Mr. Big Fancy Man In His Manager Pants and told him what had happened to me. They both would not let me leave for five whole minutes. They wanted to make sure that the man was way gone.

As customers walked away with their purchases, they turned around to wish me well.  Mr. Big Fancy Man In His Manager Pants and Mr. Hollering Yelling Jamaican Man escorted me to my car. They both chatted and laughed with me as we walked.

Possums, did I sink their Battleship?

As I headed to my car, I looked over my shoulder to see the Little Mr. Dapper Indian Man climb into his white Acura. He wasn’t going anywhere!

I jumped into the car, breathless.

“What’s happened?” asked Ava.

“Ava, do I look like a hooker?”

“No, of course you don’t!” she answered.

I told her what happened. I told her about Mr. Hollering Yelling Jamaican Man and what the Little Mr. Dapper Indian Man wanted from me.

“I mean look what I got on!  I couldn’t even pass for a high-class call girl!”

“You got that right!” she agreed. “Anyways, don’t worry about it. Try to put it out of your head.” she answered.

I started the car.

“Didn’t he know that I would never do what he asked without dinner and a movie first?”

All of the sudden it was quiet.

I looked over at Ava and she was staring at me with an incredulous look on her face.

For what?

I don’t know.

I think a Pygmy would make a fine boyfriend!

You see Possums, with Basketball players, their penises are usually long, but on the skinny side.

Baseball players, their penises are usually on the smaller, but muscular side.

Football players’ penises are usually on the tiny stubby side because the meat is mostly in their shoulders.

And Curling players’ penises are usually on the…well… you know they kind of curl.

To the right.

Depending what side they play on.

Not that I really know all this.

I was never a team player.

Have you seen my curves?

It is just a for instance!

But, think of the Pygmy man. I don’t think it is a question of vitamins or enough milk. Obviously, it is a question of genetics. But, the meat would be where it is supposed to be, not too much on top, but all down below.

I think that the bonus here would be that sex will be lest time consuming. Do you know that most Pygmies don’t grow more than 4 feet 11 inches? And while I have a penchant for men that are taller than me, this man would probably only come up to my breasts and other worldly regions, which I could definitely work to my advantage. Why have him go through all the trouble of having to work his way up? He can stay down there as long as he and I need him to be.

They say that the Pygmy people are forest dwellers. And if they know the forest so well, then they will be fond of bushes. A woman’s bush! They say they also love animals, which may or may not pose a problem.  If we go to a park to be at one with nature, while I’ll be running away from pigeons, he will probably run towards them.

Another bright side, is that we could both share accessories.  Looking at photos of the Pygmy men, they seem to wear just as much jewelry as the next woman, or man, come to think of it. I think that it is nice when men accessorize. And it is a shame that more men don’t do it!  A nice wooden necklace shaped into an elephant tusk and some simple loin cloth can go a long way! I mean many women spent thousands of dollars on the look many years ago at Yves St. Laurent. With the exchange rate going the way it is, I could bring back the look for free!

But, deep down inside I know that such a relationship wouldn’t work because I would be the one who would wear the bigger pants of the two. Possums, believe it or not, but many a man out there don’t like to have their manhood stepped on. And since he would be the smaller of both of us, that means he may just get stepped on a lot!

But of course!

The other day, I woke up late and Miss Ava and I decided to go to a local restaurant for the All- Day breakfast.  I know deep down inside that going to restaurants a lot is not responsible, money-wise. So Possums, I have taken to heating up left-overs. My breakfast restaurant left-overs, that is!  Well, I didn’t heat it up, but I made Ava offered to do it.  And then she heated up the sausage really high because she says that she fears me getting food poisoning.

I can’t believe I am going to say this, but you know that I love me some sausage. But left-over sausage?  Not so much! It is so hard, that it tastes almost bitter in your mouth!  So, hard, the sausage is!

Possums, I ask you- how does a woman take another woman’s man? The sausage is never the same!

Remember that!

But, I still wasn’t cutting back as much as I could, so I came up with the brilliant idea of turning my bedroom escapades into a mini spa! Think about it, if I need a pedicure I can just get him to do it! Possums, many a man can’t pass up fondling a woman’s feet. You can even get him to choose the color if you dare!

If I need a massage, I could just ask for one. What is the point of having all that massage oil in my “never-you-mind-Ava” drawer? And if I play my cards quite nicely, and mush up some papaya and avocado in a bowl, I could get him to rub the stuff all over my face and body and then afterwards we could wash it off in the shower, together. He will think that I am being my usual “inventive” self, when all I was really trying to do was bring a little spa back in to my life, proper.

I have also given up getting my nails done, so my companions will just have to make do with me scratching their backs with something hard like those back scratchers or I could give him a love bite, instead.

How very Twilight of me!

I am not about to get rid of my love for all things hair, nor will I give up my love for all soft cheeses. I usually hate things that are soft, but nothing taste better than some blue cheese spread out on a whole wheat cracker!

But, I digress.

And if I am in need of a wax…

Well…

I am still thinking about that one. Maybe, I could just start on him, instead. He wouldn’t have to pay me for my services because it would be benefiting the both of us, and mankind, come to think of it, cause Possums, there are many a men out there who have a lot of hair on their backs!

Still!

And Possums, when I talk of hairy back, am referring to Robin Williams type of hairy. I don’t know how men just pay attention in getting rid of the hair in the front of their face, but not in the back! I mean, whenever I try on something, I never step away from the mirror without checking how the electric bogaloo looks behind me! Anyhoo, back hair repels me. It is right up their with hairy knuckles.

But, of course!

So, maybe I could then offer men spa services, too because I get real itchy if I kiss a guy with a beard. That is also why I know that I could never go down on a fully-bearded woman. I would use the “look-ma-no-hands”method-all machine and no thumbs!

A tit for a tat?

I say!

for one hour with a cantankerous woman?

Well, player read on.

I was on the topic of discussing the upkeep of a woman’s vagina and whatnot’s to Ava, when Miss Ava lets me know that my mother had already explained it to her.

Possums, you know that when an extremely old and wise lady, such as my mother, bestows wisdom upon the population, inquiring minds want to know.

So, I was like, “Do share!”

“Well, you know how God made Adam right?” asked Miss Ava.

“Uh-uh,” I answered.

“And then he made Eve,” Ava stated.

“I remember. I was there and…” I said.

“One day, Adam walked passed Eve and he noticed a strong smell coming from her. Adam realized that the smell was coming from her underarm and he made Eve lift it up. Well underneath, Adam discovered that God had placed her vagina there,” said Ava, pausing for the effect, looking at me directly.

Holding my gaze, she continued slowly, “Right there in her armpit! Adam, thought to himself that God must have made some kind of mistake cause it really smelled!”

“Are you trying to tell me that Adam really questioned God?” I asked.

“Yes, he did!” answered Ava. “He told God that maybe He needed to re-think His design of the woman and put the vagina some place where it would not smell,” said Ava.

“Or, be noticeable. Can you imagine when Eve had to serve up potato salad at the dinner table and she had to lift up her arms? Hot damn!” I said.

“And that is why God placed the vagina down low at the bottom, so that it could be covered up by her underwear…or leaves…whatever!” she finished.

“Ava, I ask you, if God had really put the vagina underneath her arm…well, are you trying to tell me that during sex, Adam would stick his pecker wood back and forth underneath this woman’s underarm?” I asked.

“Yes!” she answered.

“Well, that’s a position I never tried!” I said.

I then asked Ava, “Okay, Ladybird, why is there still hair underneath the arm, then?”

“Well, God couldn’t leave it empty, so He left hair there to cover up the space where the vagina used to be! That is why there are folds within the armpit”

“But, of course!” I answered.

Possums, I was gob smacked!

Well, not really…

Where do you think I got the “you only have three friends in the world-God, your wallet, and you front” from?

Yes. My mother.

Man. I would have given anything to see the nun at school talk her way out of that one!

Guaranteed.

Yes, Possums, the heading is exactly as you read it-“Men Having Sex with Cars”. Some men are turned on by breasts, some by full bottoms, other men are turned on by something not so silicone in nature, but by something made more out of fiberglass….the leather is optional. Some men crave to make love to their cars.

I don’t know what is wrong with me? When I see a Hyundai Accent, I see a Hyundai Accent. When I see a Civic. I see a Civic. When some men (and a teeny, tiny amount of ladies) see a Hyundai Accent et al, they see a love machine!

But, you ask yourself, how prey-tell does a man have sex with a car?  Well, do you remember that scene in Beverly Hills Cop I, where Eddie Murphy makes that joke about putting “the banana in the tailpipe”? Who knew that there was some truth to it?

The tailpipe of the car, for people in the know, is located where the exhaust comes out. For people, like moi, it is in the back of the car where the smoke comes out! Come to think of it, the tailpipe represents the anus in all of this.

But, of course!

Now, I went and felt my tail pipe. The edge of the tailpipe was sharp!  Kinda of like my vagina! If I attempted to do something like this, it would take “tearing that puny up” to a whole other level!

Darn Tootin’!

Now, I know that you are not a dumb dumb. And you should know that you are not a dumb dumb. But, for the person sitting beside you, wherever you are, may be a dumb dumb!  So it goes without saying-please do not stick your peckerwood into a hot tailpipe! Also, please do not do this in an underground parking garage with your neighbor’s cars around! What man would do this as a dare from a really cute Stupida, and then after all this, you both realize that the security camera DOES kinda, sorta point in the direction of Miss Stupida’s car, and when you both think to yourselves that nothing else could go wrong, as soon as you run to the secured door, Mister Man gets his ding-a-ling caught in his zippa!

Not that I have seen this happen in front of me.

It is just a for instance!

WARNING: Your car has its own kind of STD! Yes, Possums, your car can have what I like to call “Car-mydia”. If you leave the engine on while you are having sex with your car, the car’s exhaust contains carbon monoxide, which is known as a slow and silent killer. And if you are thrusting and the car is on, then you are going to be breathing quite heavily in and out, non? But, unlike Chlamydia, “Car-mydia” can kill you…and make your penis fall off!

That should deter you enough!

Now, I have to also warn you that when you are pulling out your peckerwood, if you are White- you may think that it turned your Ya-hoo gangrene, and if you are of a darker persuasion, you may not even know the difference! Ha!  The inside of the tailpipe is full of dirt, grind and debris. The one thing I would do (which you should do anyways) is take a good wash to your tailpipe. A quick wipe with warm water and mild detergent will do the trick!

What about protection? Should you lube or shouldn’t you? If I had a penis, I don’t know if I would lube, and you know I am all about moisturizing. I mean, I put hemorrhoid cream on my face! But darling, if you do decide, you will definitely have to make sure that you use water-based lubricant, cause with all the said grind and poisonous gases that come out of that hole, you don’t want anything to blow up on you afterward! Don’t worry about getting lubie inside the tailpipe, or if you end up “kum-quating” into it. Just make sure that you drive your car afterward for at least a half an hour to “burn” it all out.

NOTE: If you think that your kid brother, cousin, co-worker, the cook, your gardener, your father, grand-daddy, or even your sister’s husband may try to do this after you…use a condom! I ain’t no doctor, but no amount of carbon monoxide can burn off an STD, I think!

Do you want to hear something that kind of tickled me, besides trying to picture really large men, with really small peckerwoods doing this?  Is that this is one of the only acts where men actually don’t mind “doing” foreplay!

Hot damn!

Foreplay, in this situation, is very similar to masturbating. You want to picture it. You want to rely heavily on the senses. To many a man, it is all about the tasting and the stroking of the exteriors and interiors of the car. Some even take to rubbing their Long-John-Dangles along the panels; only to jerk off and end it right there.

Now in the throes of passion, you have to remember not too thrust to quick! You have to keep everything steady because your car’s tailpipe may have sharp edges! If rocking is your game (some men do need this) the best way to achieve this is to gauge what gear you need to put your car into. You should move the car in PARK with the emergency brake off and hold on to the back of your car tight, while on your knees.

And away you go!

Now, Mister Man, I want you to sit down and have a good long think about this, if you may or may not do this. The main question is to ask yourself, “can my peckerwood fit into the tailpipe?” Now, it seems dumb, but you would be surprised on how many a man could try to twist and stuff it all into a smaller exhaust pipe and end up in the end, having a platypus for a penis! As long as I have been waiting for God to add extra benefits to his fine creation, no one, I repeat no one, wants a peckerwood that looks like a paddle! At least, not the last time I checked!

And lastly, don’t sneeze.

Sweet Jesus, please don’t sneeze!

*pic from Telegraph.co.uk

I have to remember the next time I go to the beach, not to pack a thing!

Exquiste!

Kate Moss For Vogue Homme