Peanut Butter And Pussy

I recently read a friend's on-line journal, in which she intimated, "I taste like peanut butter". Well, ever since I read that, of course, I've had a nearly uncontrollable craving for the stuff. I find myself wondering, too, does she really taste like peanut butter? How does she know? Did somebody tell her? I'll probably never work up the nerve to ask her what I really want to ask her. Which is, is there any possibility I can one day have a taste? Probably not. Be that as it may, I can see potential for a great magical ritual here. I think I've got it all figured out. Yes, you may try this at home, but I would advise not in the bed.

After a nice hot shower, in which of course the woman is sufficiently rinsed and dried, apply a thorough massage of warm peanut oil, all over the body. This should make her receptive. Then, a large jar of creamy (I do not advise chunky, for reasons that will soon be apparent), applied strategically, on the breasts, abdomen, lower thighs, etc., and of course reserve the greatest amount of the substance on the woman's pussy. Massage it in thoroughly. Then, slowly, exquisitely, suck it off, applying the appropriate amount of pressure. Of course, you should save the pussy for last.

It's almost like peanut butter was created just for this purpose. It's better than whipped cream, better than chocolate syrup, or any kind of fruit flavored ice cream topping, or any other such condiment. In fact, if used in just the right amounts, and of sufficiently high quality, it is more in keeping with the overall flavor and texture of the normal female bodily fluids which I assure you shall be produced in abundance, and yet the peanut butter will augment and compliment the flavor, even to the majority of those who are naturally squeamish about such activities as this. Such is not the case, alas, with the other more commonly used substances I have mentioned.

The thought of it makes me yearn for the days when the government passed out comodities, one of which included a delectable brand of peanut butter, which was in my opinion of the highest quality of any I have yet encountered. I have not seen this around, unfortunately, for several years now. It came in a large can and, when opened, the peanut oil was at the top, and had to be stirred in. But it was great, and would certainly be perfect for this purpose. Failing that, however, I suppose Peter Pan or Jif would do fine. Stay away from the off-brands, however, most of which are too dry, and otherwise of inferior quality.

And pussy, of course, deserves a condiment which is the highest possible quality. You should put as much as possible on it, as when you begin to eat it off, a great deal will inevitably be pushed up inside. Again, you should avoid the Chunky brands. Chase the peanut butter up with your tongue, as far as you can. Then, when you fuck her (which if you do all this with the requisite skill and yearning is a foregone conclusion), it could well be that there will be a secondary benefit. No condoms, in other words, may be necessary, for the peanut butter now up in the woman's pussy should prove as effective a sperm blocker (if not an actual spermicide) as any birth control device on the market.

Naturally, the woman should shower or douche or whatever to get it all out afterwards, if possible. But hey, women of ancient Egypt at one time used a douche of honey and crocodile shit as a spermicide. How bad can a jar of peanut butter be?

Bars And "Real People"

I admit, I miss the bar scene. I miss the romance, the intrigue, the mystery, and even to a point the danger, that comes with going into a nightclub, mixing with the "folks", listening to the jukebox (while trying desperately to ignore the idiot that is always going to be around trying to impress everybody with how much they can "sing" like the artist on the record), sometimes dancing (sometimes with myself-talk about an idiot), and playing pool if there was a decent table handy, provided the person available to play with just wanted to play to pass the time, for the sheer pleasure of the game. Unfortunately, this doesn't seem to be the case way too often. At times, I like to just sit, and drink, and reflect, at other times I like to engage in the conversation, the off-color banter. And the women? What can I say? It really is true, they get prettier with each drink. Sometimes their quite pretty to start out with. I seem to have noticed another phenomenon, however, that seems to have gone unremarked. The uglier they are, the prettier they seem to get, while the prettier they are-well, you get the picture, I'm sure.

However, the drawbacks eventually drove me from the bar scene, and I have never returned. Most obvious is the drain on one's finances, as well as the threat to one's overall health, and safety. As for the disease potential, you really have to wonder about those cheesy looking little condom dispensers on the walls of the urine stenched bathrooms.

True, I do miss it, and every time I have the opportunity to go, I am told that I should go out more. Get to know some "real people". But the more I stop to think about it, the more they all seem the same. Face it, the more you see of any one person in any given bar, the more likely that person is to be a loser. I caught on to that pretty quick. And as they seem to have the most pull with the barmaids, for a variety of reasons, the presence of the "regulars" seems to permeate the atmosphere, and you either fit in or you don't. Whatever the case, no matter the bar, you are fitting in, if you do, with a bunch of losers, for the most part. Or you are not fitting in, which is a different story all together, and maybe not always a good one.

And so, I have to decide, alas, to decline any further opportunities to meet any of these regulars, these "real people". The real creeps, the real assholes, the real jerks, the real cutthroats, the real thieves, the real con artists, the real whores, sometimes with their real pimps, and all of the real marks, and finally, the real-well, the real drunks. I enjoy an occasional visit to a neighborhood bar, don't get me wrong, in fact, that's just the problem, maybe I like it too much. But sometimes, it is better for a real person to drink in the privacy of his own real home. Or in the company of those within his own circle of real friends and acquaintances. There are very few of these types, it would seem, to be found in a neighborhood bar, and even less hat are quite like myself. Strangely, what few times I meet such people as this, in a bar, I have no real interest in socializing with them.

Besides, I like to mix my own drinks.