With a nod to Zumi for the suggestion, this is a thread to share your previous real or imagined escapades that would be suitable for a certain skin magazine that may or may not still be in business. I quit reading Penthouse decades ago, and I'm too disinterested to Google and see if it's still in business.
I'll start with one of my favorites, titled "I'm not embarrassed even though my face is red":
I was a rising star in adding machine sales in Chicago in the mid-'60s, so much so that I could afford the rent in the almost-upscale Park Inside Apartments, a square block of 1 and 2 bedroom apartments three floors high. The complex was shaped like a large, square O with, as the name suggests, a park inside.
That's where my adventure began. I was walking with Gerta, an inquisitive brunet("What's an adding machine?") with a healthy appetite for sex. It was close to midnight during a July heat wave and we were on the walking path that circled the interior of the apartments. We'd just sat down on a park bench to chat when she suggested we "do it."
I demurred, fearing someone else might venture outside, but Gerta could not be stopped. She hiked up her short skirt, stepped onto the park bench, then straddled my face after hooking her legs over the back of the bench.
Left with no choice, I vigorously tongued her love tunnel and in no time she was bucking against my face, her hands at the back of my head pushing me into her salty-tasting crotch.
She climaxed with a shriek, then climbed down, straightened her skirt and sat just as another couple strolled by. In the subdued light I could see the woman glance in my direction. She did a classic double-take, then screamed so loud lights came on in dozens of apartments that surrounded us.
Bewildered, I looked at Gerta. She smiled, then pulled up my loose-fitting T-shirt and wiped at my face with it.
Even in the semi-darkness I could see the bloodstains on the shirt when she pulled it away.
"I always get so horny at the start of my period," she said.
I'm not sure how many times I vomited that night, with the first technicolor yawn spattering the legs of the strolling couple.
Gerta moved on a short time later, hooking up with a young lion in the eight-track tape industry. I think of her often, usually when I've had way too much to drink.
Name Withheld
Cicero, Illinois
I'll start with one of my favorites, titled "I'm not embarrassed even though my face is red":
I was a rising star in adding machine sales in Chicago in the mid-'60s, so much so that I could afford the rent in the almost-upscale Park Inside Apartments, a square block of 1 and 2 bedroom apartments three floors high. The complex was shaped like a large, square O with, as the name suggests, a park inside.
That's where my adventure began. I was walking with Gerta, an inquisitive brunet("What's an adding machine?") with a healthy appetite for sex. It was close to midnight during a July heat wave and we were on the walking path that circled the interior of the apartments. We'd just sat down on a park bench to chat when she suggested we "do it."
I demurred, fearing someone else might venture outside, but Gerta could not be stopped. She hiked up her short skirt, stepped onto the park bench, then straddled my face after hooking her legs over the back of the bench.
Left with no choice, I vigorously tongued her love tunnel and in no time she was bucking against my face, her hands at the back of my head pushing me into her salty-tasting crotch.
She climaxed with a shriek, then climbed down, straightened her skirt and sat just as another couple strolled by. In the subdued light I could see the woman glance in my direction. She did a classic double-take, then screamed so loud lights came on in dozens of apartments that surrounded us.
Bewildered, I looked at Gerta. She smiled, then pulled up my loose-fitting T-shirt and wiped at my face with it.
Even in the semi-darkness I could see the bloodstains on the shirt when she pulled it away.
"I always get so horny at the start of my period," she said.
I'm not sure how many times I vomited that night, with the first technicolor yawn spattering the legs of the strolling couple.
Gerta moved on a short time later, hooking up with a young lion in the eight-track tape industry. I think of her often, usually when I've had way too much to drink.
Name Withheld
Cicero, Illinois
