Daniel Herring
12-30-2005, 01:25 AM
"ARE YOU COUNTING?"
We had a farmer friend. He was a virgin. Perhaps he knew a sheep or two, but no women. So, we took him to a cat house.
We paid an extra fee to get a room with a peephole.
He stood waiting nervously in the other room. A rather portly older woman stepped in. She took a corner of her ill fitting nighty and dabbed at the red pizza stains around her lips.
She snapped, "What do you want, straight, doggy, sixty nine . . . ?"
Being a gentleman, he answered promptly, "I don't rightly know, ma'am."
She said, "Don't give me that shit! You want it missionary, or Greek, or sixty nine?"
"Well, I guess I'll take one of those things you said last, " our friend axquiesced.
In the blink of an eye, she had him stripped and on the bed. She discharged the wiles of her profession with something slightly less than fervor. Suddenly, her lunch began to kick in. She farted. She stopped, got off, and apologized profusely, her face red with a blush. We snickered in our private room as they returned to business.
Then she really ripped one off. Put a part in his hair. She got up and begged his forgiveness. She asked, "Are you okay?"
He answered, "Yes ma'am, I'm just fine, but I don't think I can take another sixty seven of 'em."
We had a farmer friend. He was a virgin. Perhaps he knew a sheep or two, but no women. So, we took him to a cat house.
We paid an extra fee to get a room with a peephole.
He stood waiting nervously in the other room. A rather portly older woman stepped in. She took a corner of her ill fitting nighty and dabbed at the red pizza stains around her lips.
She snapped, "What do you want, straight, doggy, sixty nine . . . ?"
Being a gentleman, he answered promptly, "I don't rightly know, ma'am."
She said, "Don't give me that shit! You want it missionary, or Greek, or sixty nine?"
"Well, I guess I'll take one of those things you said last, " our friend axquiesced.
In the blink of an eye, she had him stripped and on the bed. She discharged the wiles of her profession with something slightly less than fervor. Suddenly, her lunch began to kick in. She farted. She stopped, got off, and apologized profusely, her face red with a blush. We snickered in our private room as they returned to business.
Then she really ripped one off. Put a part in his hair. She got up and begged his forgiveness. She asked, "Are you okay?"
He answered, "Yes ma'am, I'm just fine, but I don't think I can take another sixty seven of 'em."