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29 October 2012

It's Tough Out There for a Gentleman

So I'm walking out of the mens' room yesterday at the office, and just ahead of me, walking out of the womens' room, is one of the premier office hotties. Let's call her L.

Naturally, my eyes descend to her hindquarters -- which are quite remarkable, I might add -- where I see, to my horror, that she's trailing about a foot and a half of toilet paper from the back of her skirt.

And suddenly I'm faced with a dilemma:

If I call her on it, I'm the perv who's checking out a fellow worker below the waist (which, any good HR person will tell you, simply isn't allowed. It's best to think of your coworkers as disembodied heads that you only need make eye contact with to ask about the McClasky file or Sheila in Purchasing's birthday).

If I don't... well, I guess I'm a sort of tool for letting her walk onto the floor, amongst all her catty female colleagues, with a paper tail.

So I cleared my throat and called her on it. And she swiped it away, embarrassed but thankful.

As I saw it, I'm already the office perv. I sure as fuck don't want to be a tool as well.

27 October 2012

Never Underestimate the Power of the Finger Smoothie

So I'm out last night after work and I run into the Kenette v2002. She, recognizing me for the hobo that I am, offered up some of her pizza and beer. And within a half hour we were on the Last Train to Sloshedville and reminiscing about "back in the day."

That's all well and good. It's nice to sit down with your former paramours and have a civil conversation that doesn't involve knifeplay. But at one point, I noticed she had a fine string of cheese hanging from her mouth down her chin. Ever the gentleman, I moved to whisk it away, and as my hand approached, she took one of my fingers into her mouth, instantly applying a four second "finger smoothie." She then giggled and got back to munching her pizza. I sat with a flustered look on my face and my cock slowly snaking its way up my trousers.

Ladies, what I need to tell you is that the "finger smoothie" must only be used on those occasions in which you actually plan to give the actual owner of said finger an actual blowjob. When done purely for the amusement of it, as was the case with Kenette v2002, it's just a tease. A damn good one, might I add. But still a tease. A painful, man-I've-got-to-get-home-and-wank-myself-into-oblivion kinda tease.

The "finger smoothie," at least in my book, is and should always tantamount to the real McCoy. Am I right?

26 October 2012

Ladies, Your Dream Men Are Here

It's pretty much an established fact that women can get laid whenever they damn well please. As Jerry Seinfeld so eloquently put it, "Women are in charge of sex. If men were in charge of sex, women would never see the insides of restaurants."

Lately, though, I'm seeing a bit of a power-shift. Guys who look like they'd be uncomfortable fingering anything but a Texas Instruments calculator are walking around with fine-ass ladies. Women flood dating sites looking for "Seth Rogen and Zack Galifianakis types." Bill in accounting is banging a former stripper.

Apparently, this is an international phenomenon. Because a recent poll of 2,500 women in the UK revealed that their two biggest turn-ons were unkempt guys with facial hair and geeks. Also among the most desired were guys who cry at sappy films (holla!) and guys who are "soft and cuddly instead of toned and muscly."

I don't see "pale, tattooed, sardonic Irishmen" on that list, but I won't let it bring me down. I'm just gonna up my Hostess Fruit Pie intake, throw away the Gillette Sensor and wait for the pussy to find me.

I'll be right here. Just so you know.

06 June 2012

Easier Money. Or Is It?

I spend a lot of time, perhaps too much time, trying to think of ways to line my pockets. And by that I mean get paid for doing next to nothing.

Because that's everyone's dream, is it not?

I recently had to come up with a grand. I won't get into details but let's just say I enjoy having both my legs and needed the money to keep them intact. While I probably should have went to the casino, my first instinct was, "Hey, sperm bank."

See, this is what makes this country so amazing. Here, they are willing to pay me for something I do roughly six times a day anyway for free. Unfortunately, unlike the fantasy that's played out in my mind a million times, there's no hot nurse looking to "assist" in obtaining my sample. No closed-circuit cameras fixed on exotic Asian "gentleman clubs." Just a fifty-something dude in a shirt and Dockers who hands me some vials. I expect to have that thousand bucks by tomorrow.

Oh, and if I don't return calls, I died of carpal tunnel.

31 January 2012

The Type of Party I Never Seem to Get Invited To

No idea what the ladies in this photo are doing. But, honestly, so long as they'd be willing to let me watch, I could care less.

01 November 2011

Guest Post: Halloween Rabbit in New York City

A few years ago I was on a business trip in the US which included a 2 night stopover in New York before pressing on to Dallas Fort Worth. At the time I was working for an online travel company and travelled quite a bit visiting our offices from London to Singapore. Apart from the obvious “perk” of being able to see the world at the company’s expense, there’s not much else going for business travel because you rarely get any time to yourself.

This trip to New York was exciting because New York is exciting, even if you only have 5 minutes to yourself. This trip to New York was also the most outrageously brilliant business trip I think I have or ever will experience… and not for business reasons, but because of the rabbit incident.

Upon reaching my hotel from the airport I had bags of jetlag, but also an appetite to dump my bags and explore the city. I wanted to enjoy a bit of New York while I had the precious time available to me on these trips for exploring. To finish the day I sought a bar close to my hotel so that I could roll my jetlagged self a short way to bed once the night was done.

I found a bar that was, like all the others, suitably decorated with Halloween fixtures and which included other essentials like friendly staff, good beer and a couple of TV screens to stare at.

After a few pints, a couple sat down next to me at the bar and upon hearing my English accent struck up a conversation with me as he too was an expat living in New York with his American girlfriend. They were also friends with the bar staff and were all gearing up for a Halloween party later that night.

As the evening progressed, more and more party goers were arriving in their costumes and we were treated to a fashion parade of naughty nurses, French maids and a dominatrix outfit. My new friends weren’t wrong when they said, ‘Halloween is the best time to be here because all the girls love to dress like sluts!”

One of the naughty nurses was carrying a rabbit vibrator round her neck and after a few drinks started waving it around and simulating fellatio with it as the party goers danced to a selection of music from the jukebox that ranged from Bon Jovi to Bob Marley. And then it happened…

It was nearing closing time and most patrons had moved on to other Halloween parties. All except my new friends and the troupe of slutty girls, including the naughty nurse with the vibrator. Now I have played my fair share of drinking games, but nothing I have ever witnessed comes close to what I was about to see.

The girls were all sitting around a long table against one of the walls and were ordering shots of tequila and who knows what else. They were playing a drinking game that I have absolutely no recollection of the rules, but the outcome of which resulted in them taking turns to expose their breasts and later removing their underwear. Then the girl with the vibrator held the rabbit in the air like Excalibur’s sword, switched it on and slowly lowered it under the table where she began to work on herself in front of her friends who were egging her on.

Before long she reached climax to shrieks of delight from her audience and then slumped back in her seat with a ridiculous grin on her face. It was at this point that I realized the girl next to her in the French maid’s uniform had commandeered the vibrator and was now pleasuring herself.

This went on to at least two more girls before I had to quietly leave the pub as the spectacle was becoming too much for a sensible business traveler like me. I paid my tab and left enough to buy the girls a round of drinks as a special thank you for my evening’s entertainment

18 August 2011

The Business of Perversion

Last week, a day of seemingly endless meetings finally ended, and I found myself heading out for after-work dinner with some coworkers. Some I knew quite well; others I'd never met. But one of the ladies with us possessed a remarkable ass, which a male coworker friend of mine and I had spent the better part of the day's meetings drooling over. And getting to ogle it for a few more hours was good enough for me.

But not enough, apparently, for my friend. As we're walking into the restaurant, I see him walking close behind her, fumbling with his phone. A couple minutes later, inside the restaurant, he sends me a photo. Of her backside. Now the pic doesn't really do that bum justice, but the point is he sent me the photo, I laughed, saved it (of course), then went about my business.

Until last weekend, when I attended a family cookout and got all silly with the Bud Light. My six year old niece, who loves playing with phones, asked if she could see mine and I quickly obliged. So she goes off, pretending to talk to someone on the phone and I get back to my drinking. Then, a few minutes later, my niece is waving the phone at her mother, my sister.

"Ew, Uncle Ken has a picture of someone's bum on his phone."

My sister took the phone from her daughter, gave it a look, raised an eyebrow in disgust, then scanned the crowd for me. I was already sprinting her way, wishing myself invisible, and blabbering whatever excuses came into my head: "Oh, yeah, a friend sent me that as a joke and I meant to delete it but I kept it andohboyisthisweirdbutitreallyisn'tmyphoneandanywayIjustneedtoblahblahblah..." I took the phone from her, and faded sheepishly into the background, where I remained for the balance of the night.

See, I can handle everyone at work thinking I'm a world class pervert (hell, no way to change their minds now, anyway). I can handle the Kenettes who wander in and out of my life thinking the same thing. But my family? Something about one of my sisters knowing I had that photo on my cell phone... it just makes me wanna join the French Foreign Legion.

I hear they've also got some hot chicks as well.