11...
Girls! Girls! Girls! For all of that seemingly hot, pink flesh, for those well manicured nails that lingered seductively over the G-string, for all of that super glossy pink lipstick on wet and parted lips, Wank was kind of a bust. After turning that first cover page and feeling unreasonably embarrassed at that pulp paper rattle, Frank saw lots of little black squares covering all the good parts. And it wasn’t the first time he had felt that they were the bane of his existence, little black squares covering all the good parts...
Frank needed his pornography a little dirty, a little raunchy. Just plain naked women wasn’t enough even without black squares, he needed insertion. Frank might feel weird about this if he spent a lot of time in adult bookstores and maxing out what was left of his credit limit on spank books. Frank didn’t look at a lot of pornography. Even though the movies definitely gave him wood, he spent way too much time judging the ridiculous dialogue and awful acting.
He flipped through a few more pages, glancing at ads for Spanish Fly and Anal Lube. There were actual newspaper type articles going on here, and they even starred out “bad” words, even ass. When they pointed out that the fake v*gina slipped right on over your p*nis, Frank nearly laughed out loud. These were the proper names of parts of our anatomy for fuck’s sake.
About three pages in, the rest of the magazine was taken up by ads... Good time girls and hot Asian sluts, big t*ts and tight p*ssy, and almost all of them in Southern California area codes. He wondered what was up with that. Before he could come up with a scenario, he was remembering sex in the back seat of a Honda Prelude in Orange County. Those memories melted into those of a beach party where he later got busted by his mother for drinking wine coolers. Frank was beginning to realize that he was falling asleep and he let it roll. The Wank issue drifted to the floor, and as Frank was falling his last wakeful thought was a glimmer of recognition.
Frank needed his pornography a little dirty, a little raunchy. Just plain naked women wasn’t enough even without black squares, he needed insertion. Frank might feel weird about this if he spent a lot of time in adult bookstores and maxing out what was left of his credit limit on spank books. Frank didn’t look at a lot of pornography. Even though the movies definitely gave him wood, he spent way too much time judging the ridiculous dialogue and awful acting.
He flipped through a few more pages, glancing at ads for Spanish Fly and Anal Lube. There were actual newspaper type articles going on here, and they even starred out “bad” words, even ass. When they pointed out that the fake v*gina slipped right on over your p*nis, Frank nearly laughed out loud. These were the proper names of parts of our anatomy for fuck’s sake.
About three pages in, the rest of the magazine was taken up by ads... Good time girls and hot Asian sluts, big t*ts and tight p*ssy, and almost all of them in Southern California area codes. He wondered what was up with that. Before he could come up with a scenario, he was remembering sex in the back seat of a Honda Prelude in Orange County. Those memories melted into those of a beach party where he later got busted by his mother for drinking wine coolers. Frank was beginning to realize that he was falling asleep and he let it roll. The Wank issue drifted to the floor, and as Frank was falling his last wakeful thought was a glimmer of recognition.
posted by P. B. Nomer | 7:13 PM
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