Penthouse Forum Letters Produktbeschreibung
Dear Penthouse, Two words that are guaranteed to set you off on a wild ride of sensual experiences. Direct from the pages of Penthouse come six erotic tales. beatelundsbyggnadsvard.se › book › download-letters-to-penthouse-vii-by-pent. From Penthouse to your house comes another all-new, all-real collection of letters by readers of America's favorite forum on human sexuality. One area it differentiated from the others was through running section known as Penthouse forum where they printed sexy letters sent in by. "He is either a complete moron or a comedic genius" - beatelundsbyggnadsvard.se For years humorist Tom Nardone mailed a salvo of the world's worst erotic letters to Penthouse.
That won Les over. See what I mean? Ten days later we had fenced and posted and blasted the scrub out of that place so it resembled and honest to God workable cattle ranch.
It was a Friday. He drove his truck and I followed in the LTD. I slugged Les the same spot where my brother used to ding me with dead arms.
I pulled back to punch him again. He grabbed my fist in mid air. Then dropped it with a laugh. He held out his other palm to reveal a handful of different colored pills.
Take these. He handed me a beer. I remember holding up a bottle to my friend Chip. What the hell is Estrogen? He always answered the same way.
My whole life up to that point could be described as such. Take a handful, see what happens. I headed for the LTD. If the pills came on too strong, I wanted to at least be near a bed I was familiar with.
His friend giggled like a little boy. Out of nowhere came this leather skinned woman all of five feet tall. Shaped like a beer keg.
No, I told you guys I already lost my virginity. I got a girl. I walked away got in the car and tried to get away, but the keg shaped hooker hopped in before I could lock the doors.
All I could think of was that this was as far away from cool as you could get. Before I had the chance to say anything she went to work on my pants.
I tried to push her away, but she was a real pro. Hands, then lips, suction and all. She sat upright in her seat, and smiled at me.
Out you go, I said ever the gentleman, opening the door, and she looked at me bewilderedly, that same God damned head tilt.
She got out, though, and I hit the gas and let the force of acceleration shut the door. She smelled like stale sweat, menthol cigarettes and vinegary tequila.
The whole car smelled like that. A few days later, Les and I had finished up on the ranch. The damn car smelled the same but I was ready to go.
Les wished me well and raised a can of Pearl. About a mile out of town I pulled over. I had a deodorant stick of Mennen and started rubbing it all over everything, the roof, the passenger door, the floor mat, but mostly, on the seat where the hooker had nested.
Over and over and over again till the bar of Mennen was a nub. I lit a cigarette, and accidentally dropped the match on the seat. The deodorant on the seat caught fire in an instant and flamed up into my face.
I leapt out of the car, instantly remembering the extinguisher in the trunk. I grabbed it, and sprayed the fire which, luckily, went out.
The windows were down the whole time. Most of the smoke had blown free of the car. A family drove by in a station wagon.
A little tow headed kid watched me put the fire out. Burnt a whole clear through the seat the size of two basketballs. The car was drivable. Hell it was salvageable.
Only the passenger seat was ruined. While I packed my bags, the Ranching Baptist appeared in the doorway. Got a good report from Les, he said, pleased this little experiment the adults had cooked up worked out well.
I looked up, and realized I shared nothing in common with him. The panty hose was the hardest to get on. Every inch of the way, the elastic material constricted movement, bound blood, itched the skin.
Next came the Flamenco-style dress: luscious red velvet worked carefully over my outstretched arms, head, and shoulders. After that: female hands lovingly applied mascara, rouge, eyeliner, and lipstick.
A mirror was finally held before me. I gazed at my reflection and ran my tongue across my lips. They tasted cherry: very, very cherry.
During the show, every swing of my drumsticks, every vocal wail and spastic body thrash, led to more and more makeup cascading down my face.
Dark streaks of mascara and sweat soaked the now ripped dress. Once done playing, I teetered to the bar. Spotted two young women hanging out by a pinball machine.
One was a bottled blonde decked out in a long, fur-trimmed coat, while the other, a brunette, wore a Catholic schoolgirl uniform. They were with some guy in a gaudy Hawaiian shirt, and an equally tacky moustache.
When the guy took off to the bathroom, I approached the girls. We crept into her room. Debbie promptly took off her clothes.
Marlene followed suit. So did I. What amazing luck, I thought. We collapsed onto the bed in a drunken heap. The next thing I knew Marlene was shaking me awake.
My roommate knows I had people over. I eyed the clock. It was six in the morning. Still drunk, and head throbbing, I stumbled out of bed. Glanced through the partially open door.
Spotted her roommate eating breakfast. The guy was a brute. You telling your friends that you picked up a guy in a dress and that he left out your front door?
Or that he jumped out your window? I threw open the window, and stood out on the ledge. Short of that, maybe fracture an arm or bust a rib.
It was worth the risk. I made a quick sign of the cross then sprang from the ledge in a spastic flight of flailing arms and legs.
The tree grew closer. Now all I wanted to do was survive. Blue is just as good as green. He had a point. I turned around and walked out.
Tell you father you need new clothes, mom would direct me. In response, my father would grimace. You tell your mother I work hard for my money.
Suddenly, it was two weeks till my departure. Then a week. Then three days. One, two, three, he counted, and pulled the trigger.
The window splintered into spidery veins. Hit it with your shoe, Doug said. That was my introduction to anonymous crime.
Then, I was in Texas. Check your boots in the morning. I shook my head. His head tilted at my challenge. You God damn right it is.
About what, I told you I already lost it. Now hold on, kid. What the fuck is this? The hinky guy spoke up. Where you going, Les said grabbing my collar.
We got someone we want you to meet. We got you a hooker. My heart plummeted. Hinky spoke up once again. Yeah, why? Sex-driven, horny, and hot as hell are a few others.
What does matter, though, is that they get what they came for. A great fucking time! And we do mean fucking!
Oh wait, did I give you the impression that sheets are the only things these vixens tear up? For some time now, my all-time favorite fantasy has been to watch my sexy but shy wife being fucked by another guy.
I remember when the very notion would have seemed utterly bizarre to me. But somehow after we had been married for several years, the idea started to appeal to me.
Bonnie is a sexy, petite blonde with a stunning body. But even once the idea of watching her get fucked by another man took hold in my head, I found it difficult to bring the subject up.
In time I did get up the courage to share my fantasy, but I was promptly reminded of why I had been so reluctant. Bonnie seemed both shocked and, perhaps worse, disappointed.
I dropped the subject quickly. But after that I looked for other opportunities to keep the idea alive, however dimly.
Gradually she became more comfortable with the whole idea, and eventually she agreed that if the right opportunity were to arise, she would be willing to consider doing it!
In my fantasies, my preference had always leaned toward watching Bonnie do it with a young guy, an inexperienced yet deserving or year-old.
I felt sure that if I could find the right deserving young man and set up a safe situation, we would all be in for a real treat. I just had to arrange the perfect opportunity for this to happen!
Oh, and then I had to arrange it all without being pushy about it or otherwise turning Bonnie off. Every summer we participate in a big outdoor party put on collectively by all our friends in our neighborhood.
There always seem to be a lot of young guys, most of them looking for some hot action. They have little hope of actually scoring, though, since most of the guests, after all, are the people from our neighborhood.
Bearing in mind that we would know most of the people at the party, I knew I would have to be careful about even suggesting the possibility of some kind of hookup to my wife.
Meanwhile I still had to figure out how it would be possible to fulfill my fantasy without the risk of all of our neighbors finding out.
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