She took out the melons. She lifted them

  • She took out the melons. She lifted them to her mouth and nose. They were so ripe they were almost exploding with juice. She rubbed the melons hard to make sure that
  • the titillation factor of this euphemism appealed to the prurient interests of the breast-obsessed straight male reader. Satisfied with her "handiwork" with the melons, she
  • delicately tweaked, he felt a strange burning sensation in what his mother called "parts unknown."
  • Which really confused him, cause he couldn't direct the heat, was it from Suzy's touch the other night, or the mexican food he ate...
  • so sparingly with a spork? Sophie, saddled with sturgeon soup, silently sallied forth. Stan skulked in a stupor, signaling Sophie's heat saddened.
  • And a saddened heat it was. Semi-delicious at best, Stan judged, but he kept on. Once you saddle the soup, there's only one way to go, he said to Sophie. Spork in hand,
  • he Yelled "Two by Two. Forward at a trot. Bugler be ready to sound CHARGE! Keep an eye out men!" "Crazy as a Loon" Sophie said. If he wasn't so damn good in bed she would have him
  • locked in the shed out back with the rest of the loonies. But this one was a keeper. Maybe if she just muzzled him, but no, that'd interfere with his best work. Sophie decided
  • the only course of action was to wrap him in a snuggie and leave him in a crowded public area - she wanted him broken, not defeated, after all. There was only one problem, however,
  • She had wrapped him in the Shroud of Turin. Later, as he marched past her window, world-pope of the Universal Church Triumphant, she decided she'd store her relics separately now.


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