I scratched my balls by the pinch-rub technique.

I scratched my balls by the pinch-rub technique. It makes me go to the happy place. Then afterwards I smell my fingers. These private joys are all that sustain me because

my ex-wife's inability to please anyone but the stockholders makes her too sleepy to spend any time down there. We only keep on this way because she's the only one I could ever let

polish my wax fruit collection. I was particularly fond of the Red Delicious. He, on the other hand, like my kiwis. This was no surprise to me as she always

switched genders between sentences. He liked my waxed kiwis because they were slippery yet stubbly. I told her that this was because

I could grow my own kiwis. I had a farm up north, hired Smurfs to work there. They would breed my kiwis and rub them with Smurf milk so they would get all slippery-stubbly, then

I could sell them at a much higher price. Stubble against the tongue with just the right amount of friction was a combination impossible to beat. But the new upstart had potential

granted her her hormones had yet to kick in, but what she lacked in physicalness she more than made up for in zeal. Now if I could talk her into giving the koala a bath we would be

dose of eucalyptus to chill it the hell out. It was looking more awake than blissful and honestly a little ruttish. I wondered idly what koala sex would be like to see and blushed.

I set that as my life's goal: to amass such a personal fortune that I would have my own Koala preserve with an observation station. Hot and cold Koala sex. This time I would win.