Let the fur fly

I have rediscovered the bush. My play thing is in full winter coat.

Over the last number of years, no fur has been the norm in my boudoir. Not by demand mind you, it was just that was what had presented itself.

It seemed that the order of the day was bald badger or if not bald then trimmed to the point that Ashley and Martin were salivating at the need for medical intervention.

I had laughed out loud when David Duchovny (as Hank Moody) had proclaimed something along the lines that he liked his ladies to have a little hair so he knew they were not pre-pubescent. It took me back to the days when the young ladies I played with had not yet been conditioned to wax or shave beyond the bikini line.

I had a flash back to that rich 70's and 80's Playboy and porn with a full bush of thick pubes that has gone out of fashion.

So you can imagine my surprise in the dim light when on peeling back the knickers for that first taste of the holiest of holes, I was presented with what looked like another pair of knickers!

Now I admit it is like unwrapping a Christmas present and in theory you should not know what you are getting, but sometimes you just presume it will be the same as last year, just a different colour.

Like a true pro, I went about my business without missing a beat however as I explored, licked and sucked I got more and more turned on in a new and interesting way.

I love the smell of fresh sex and I realised that a good full bush expands on it. It adds to it. It is like the perfect brandy glass to accentuate the aroma.

I was dipping my nose in it as you would a red wine glass and it opened up a whole new world that had been forgotten.

It was at that moment I realised that bald had been a novelty. I had tried it and enjoyed it but it lacked a little something.

I am not the kind of guy to dictate grooming standards and as we talked about it later, I found out that bald was the norm for this lady. As we had kicked off with little notice, there had been no pre coital grooming carried out.

At her age and build - lithe with the smallest but most sensitive of breasts, I, like Hank, find the bush a blessing and just quietly, I think she is enjoying that she is off the hook for the foreseeable future too.

True Love

The plan was simple, dance until late, return to my place and snuggle the night away with a lazy sleep in.

Yes, it was a school night and the lazy sleep in was to be on a Friday morning but I am the boss so fuck off back to work and don't question why I am late ok?

As I gently woke from my slumber and peered through bleary eyes at the alarm clock there was a confused recognition that the numbers were much lower than they should have been. 0700? What is that all about? Where has my bed warmer run off to? What is it with female bladders and early morning toilet runs? Wonder if she is getting ready to surprise me in that way of ways? Hmmmmm, warm bed....sleepy.

"Fuck...Oh no...Fuck Fuck Fuck" she mutters from the bathroom.

Cold tiles? Splashed cold water on her self?

"You ok?"

"Nope...I am early!"

It is 7am, damn right you are early I think. Then the penny drops...the red dragon is in the house.

"So much better than being late!" I quip back.

"True, but I am not prepared. I am like clockwork and this is 24 hours early, I have nothing with me..."

I know what this means. This is that moment when I get to find out the most intimate details. The whole plugs or planks discussion, mini, maxi, regular, wings or installation thing-a-ma-jigs...

"Do you want me to run up the shops" I enquire pulling on shorts and a shirt. My sleep-in dashed on the rocks of a feminine hygiene product emergency.

The specifications are given and I depart to the nearest Coles looking every bit like a man just out of bed.

As I get out of the car I am reminded that in my haste to clothe myself I neglected to step into underpants. The reminder comes in the form of a light brush of drilled cotton shorts on the tip of my knob.

A head conversation ensues like so;

Penis: Morning!! (stretching out to greet the day)
Head: Oh damn...forgot about you...em, can we save the morning greeting for about 15 minutes?
Penis: What's happening?...hmm, like this fabric, makes me tingle (now rubbing against the inside of the shorts like a cat weaving between your legs when asking for attention)
Head: Hey! quit it. We are shopping for girly stuff, this is not the time to look aroused.
Penis: but I am aroused....look at ME! (springing to full salute)
Head: but I am not so back to sleep for a while ok?
Penis: Too late! Hey, did the check out chick just glance at me?
Head: Fuck I hope not...I must look like a total perve.
Penis: pretty sure she just saw me waving at her...
Head: I am going to beat you when we get out of here..
Penis: I love it when you talk dirty...
Head: NOT like that!
Penis: Too late, I am ready for what ever you can give me!

So there I am, with an unrestrained, attention seeking boner, be dazzled by a million colourful packets of pads and tampons and wanting to die. I make my selection and dash for the check out.

The name tag introduces her as Amy, she is as flustered and flushed in the cheeks as I am. There is a brief mental exchange between us where I exert my full jedi will on this young and impressionable mind...

Amy: Is that what I think it is???...
Me: Yep, you saw it and no I am not stealing a Salami..
Amy: Do I need to call security???..
Me: No, no need for security, this is not the boner you are looking for..
Amy: No, this is not the boner I am looking for..."$5.70 please.."

I pay and leave as fast as I can. Knob straining against my shorts as I trot to the car.

What a way to start the day.

The predators are not just big cats.

Yes folks, I am back and survived the big cats and charging bull elephants. I have a nice big tan rug with teeth for the front of the fire place and a fantastic little elephants foot to put my umbrellas in at the front door.

But that is not why I am writing today. It seemed that lions, leopards and hippo were the least threatening creatures in the wilds of Kenya.

No, it was a crazy German woman that posed the greatest threat.

Emirates are sneaky fuckers and after the trip from hell on the way out of the country they saved all the nice bits for the return trip to try and woo me into using them next time.

It will never happen.

They slipped a little transit in at Bangkok that was not on any itinerary that I ever saw but it served to empty the plane and give me three blissful seats to stretch out on and sleep in as much comfortas can be had in cattle class.

At this point I have say that I do love the Boeing 777 compared to the nasty little Airbus 340 - as the geeks who know the difference say; "If it's not Boeing, I'm not going..."

Anyhow, the people at Emirates must have known I had been in the bush just a little too long and seated me near what can only be described as a seriously horny old(er) woman. She was in the same row as me with the center four seats to herself.

Before take off she leaned over and started the normal small talk about how she hoped they would close the door soon and won't it be great if all these seats stay empty. I was polite but we very quickly hit my quota for airplane chit chat. I had a good book to read, 100+ movies to choose from and to be frank I just was not interested in wasting all this new found space.

I had not been in the bush that long.

After take off she again leaned over and gushed about all the space and how it was almost lonely where she was. Would I like to join her for dinner in the centre isle?

Que the batting fake eyelids...

With the raised side of my noise cancelling headsets dropping back onto my head, I politely declined. I had three seats which is a luxury that I was not going to forgo at meal time when every inch of elbow room is a blessing.

She attempted a few more intrusions into my personal space but I deftly parried her with a constant stare into the glowing screen in front of me despite the fact it was only telling me how high we were and what speed were doing - all in Arabic of course.

With the meal devoured it was time for a sleep and I curled up in my luxury suite and forgot the world.

When I awoke something had changed. I had a moment of ely*.

Peering over my legs I could see movement in the center isle. There was a second person who had obviously taken up the offer of helping relieve the boredom and lonesomeness on the long haul flight.

I am not normally motivated towards voyeurism but I was curious. I was sure she had been making a pass at me before but not to be deterred she had obviously gone cruising the plane for a snack that was more accommodating.

Curiosity got the better of me and I surreptitiously gawked through the darkness to gauge just how they intended to accomplish the feat and exactly how far it would go.

After a fair amount of furtive shuffling under the blanket by the two I gave up watching and went back to sleep. What ever they were up to, he was sure getting the better end of the deal and I decided there was enough flight ahead of me to have nightmares if I kept watching.

Well, that and I think she noticed my gob smacked stare.

When I awoke the man was gone. She sat there with a grin on her face and smiled at me and shrugged her shoulders, her head cocked slightly as if to say slide on over.

A chill ran down my spine and I carefully returned my eyes to the screen in front of me. Like a child I honestly wanted to believe that what you could not see did not exist.

Here was a predator of the top tier not more than six feet away. She was scared through years of battle and no doubt had a gamy leg where her hip had been put out during some other in-flight entanglement.

My mouth was dry. I was all alone like a babe split from the heard and there was not a Land Rover or Askari in sight to protect me.

It was a rough thing to sleep the rest of that flight. The jet lag is killing me and it should have been cured by a sleep on that last leg home - damn her!


* ely (n). The first, tiniest inkling you get that something, somewhere, has gone terribly wrong.
(From the meaning of Liff by Douglas Adams)

PS: Kenya is an amazing place. It is probably the safest part of Africa despite what the media have been saying of late.

If you have even the tiniest motivation to go then now is a great time. The tourist numbers are so low that camps are closing or reducing staff in the Masai Mara and some amazing deals are there to be had for the trip of a life time.

Sure it is not the migration season and the mind numbing volumes of animals are not there but they are just about all there in smaller numbers to be seen. A visit now could save you a fortune and having done both a trip during migration and one in the off season, I have to say that the smaller numbers of tourists more than makes up for the smaller numbers of wildlife.

The wildebeest are a dumb as sheep anyhow so do you really need to see 1,000,000 of the idiots?

The big 5 cats are there and are doing their thing. Get a good camera and go!

No I am not a travel agent either - I have just fallen in love with the country, it's people and the animals.

What floats your boat?

I am always amazed and intrigued by the world we live in and the people that fill it.

I am not going to go into too much detail as to how I found this, except to say it was the typical happy trail of blog to comment to blog to comment to oh my gawd!!!!

For those with a short attention span, the kinks (my typo...) are at the end of this post.

A while back I had some laughs about my testing of the disembodied Gina. Since then I have had some of the real thing and there is no comparison. Gina just does not rate when it comes to witty conversation and being a theatre buddy.

Well it seems that for some folks, a toy is not enough. They are after something a little more permanent in their lives but with none of the feeding or interaction issues you get with a living, breathing human. For these people there are life like, full size sex dolls out there.

I should not be surprised, hell what ever floats your boat right? Masturbation at it's highest level is how I think someone in the film describes it. Freaky verging on necrophilia would have been a much more succinct summary in my book.

The phrase "Only in America" came to mind right up until I heard that Australia is listed as one of the major shipping destinations for this product. Who would have thought that with all this sun, sand and sexy booty, that Australian men would need to resort to a doll? Oh well, the more nutters locked up with their inanimate friends, the more real girls for me and the boys...

Being a practical person some questions soon came to mind. The scary part was the order the questions popped into my head....The engineer in me was asking all sorts of "how" questions before the soft, human side of my brain got over the stroke like paralysis and started screaming for deeper answers about the "why".

So I have to ask, where the hell do you hide a body in your house? Murderers have been dealing with this problem by cutting them up, burying them etc. for years. Obviously if you buy one of these things that is not an option - unless that is your thing but you don't like blood.. but I digress. These things have got to be harder to hide from guests to your home than the dodgy gut busting, thigh master thingy you bought from danoz direct during that last bout of 3am channel surfing.

Maybe the answer is quite simple. If you need the doll, you don't need to hide it.

Then there is the dead root aspect. Now I have never had patience for a lady that is not getting into it during the funky stuff. I would sooner go shopping for souvenir tea towels than bang away with a non responsive chick. This would have to be worse. Sure they have erect nipples, but just because a lady is cold, does not mean you've turned her on.

Some may argue that the doll is there when and where you want it but stopping to manipulate a mannequin into a new position is not ever going to be the same as having a lover suggest something they would like. The silence would be a bummer too, after all what is sex with out giggles, screaming (stifled or window shattering) and the odd fanny fart?

Finally, after all the fucking, sucking, tweaking and fingering you can self initiate, what is sex without both the taste of a real partner and a kiss? Hollow is the word that comes to mind. Kissing is the difference between a wank and making love.

I am not even going to touch the cleaning aspect.

So, if you ever wondered who buys these things, head on over to google video and prepare to be gob smacked for about 45 minutes. If you want to keep your job, this is probably not advised as a work safe bit of viewing.

Alternately, just go to the Real Doll website and order one for Christmas. If you really want some entertaining reading, check out the letters section on their website.

Go the toe.

There is nothing sexier than a pair of pants with something to say.

I am not sure if it was an early exposure to a Jane Fonda aerobics video or just growing up in the 80's where lycra and leg warmers were the go but I have been warped into an appreciation of the mumble pants and that much maligned camel toe.

For years, guys who were growers rather than showers have been resorting to the old sock in the jocks. Even most girls seem to have tried the chicken fillets to increase the boobage at some point but advertising the clam has until now been purely the pleasure of fashion victims and dependant on the ability of their snatch to gobble the cloth.

Until now.

I found this little ad that should bring a blush to any camel toe loving guy or gal.

I think I will apply to be a distributor. What do you think? Will it sell?


I think it is time to head on down to Jacksons on George to get myself a Cougar with a Cougar.

Product reviews - the pocket pussy

Being a single bloke, you end up with spare time on occasion.

Now this is a dangerous thing. It normally results in one of a few things such as antisocial nerdy time on the old computer, skimming blogs for nudie bits, masturbation when good nudie bits are found, trying to figure out where you can buy a PS3 or Xbox at 2am, more masturbation, re-reading all the posts from Steph about her BOBs, cringing at Captain Smacks posts about spinning melons, wondering where you can buy a melon at 2am....the list goes on.

Anyhow, one thing seemed to be recurring here. When not flashing their beautiful busts, the girls in blogland love to talk about their battery operated boyfriends. With the exception of the melon story, I have however not seen too much in the way of toys for the boys being discussed.

Now I have to be careful here because I am bout to admit to the very hands typing this that I have recently cheated on them. If they leave me then I really will be all alone at night.

The first time I saw a fake pussy was at Sexpo in Melboune some years back. I was there with the finger lickin good Chickie and we were having a great laugh. After what seemed like endless stands of odds, sods and bobs for the girls or anally inclined boys, we happened onto the the fake pussy stand. It was odd. I think I had become numbed to fake dicks in bright colours with pox inspired lumps and bumps but the fake pussy's were alarming in their disembodied and quivering attention to detail.

The sign said touch me. I felt nervous. The girl on the stand was intimidating in her beauty and the thought of just walking up and fingering this lump of silicone rubber made me feel like my inner sicko was tattooed on my forehead.

Chickie saved the day. Walking straight up to it, she laughed and said "one finger or two on the first date?"

"Oh, you can fist this one if its your thing!" said the girl with a smile.

"Go on Josh, you got to feel this, it's freaky!" said Chickie.

Indeed it was, but before I had a chance to ponder the price tag and the political correctness of taking home a pocket pussy while in the company of my fuck buddy, a strip show started on the main stage and I was dragged off to ogle at girls with my dear lesbian friend.

Fast forward to a week back and my original train of thought here today (temporally displaced yet?...hang in there.)

After realising that I could not get a PS3 at 2am, the local quick-e-mart did not have any cute melons and a drive to the nearest sex shop would out last my enthusiasm, it was time to go online and re-visit the fake pussy collection for a future date. Years had passed, the technology should be amazing right?

It seemed that Kobe Tai's fake snatch was as tight as ever and looked exactly like it had all those years back, all be it without Chickie two knuckles deep in it. The price however was less than ideal and while I have no problem with top shelf shopping, it just seemed that I could have bought the real thing for less.

After looking around for a while, I finally hit on the "Jessica Drake, Wicked Masturbator Senso". It had the right price point for my entry into the world of fake pussy and if it was a dud root, nothing would really be lost.

The service was fast and in no time at all a non-descript white box was sitting on my front door step. Ironically this was all happening about the same time that Fingers was telling tales of a truck load of tranny and granny porn for his neighbour landing on his door step. It had been a nervous few days for me.

On opening the box I was alarmed to see how small the package inside was. Now this is not about bragging, but I had expected something bigger. My worst thoughts were being confirmed, the only people who bought these were losers without enough manhood to get the real thing....as opposed to self assured blokes that are just avoiding complications for a while.

Opening the packaging revealed a transparent, pink lump of silicone jelly with the tiniest, but cutest little pussy on one end. Again, the size concerned me. Parting the lips revealed a hole not more than 1/4" in diameter. I grabbed the box to check for "Novelty only", "Tease you mates about their manhood size...", 1/4 scale model" labels but no such luck.

The other feature was 10 bright pink balls beneath the surface, affectionately known as "stroker beads". At this point the whole thing was a little disturbing. It looked all high tech and science fiction which helped it look less like a body part left on the floor by dexter. It was just the detail and scale that made it wrong.

Here goes, I thought. Better be gentle, this thing looks as virginal as they come. Licking a finger, I gently parted the lips and slid my index finger in. I had expected it to be cold and clammy but it was oddly warm and welcoming. The pressure was firm and the texture was engaging, closing my eyes for a moment did not make it feel real, but hey, I had to see if it helped.

Time for some pre-launch checks.

Blinds, closed and secured - check
Lube - check
Porn, selected and running - check
Spunk rag ready - check
Mood and wood achieved - check

Chocks away ginger!

"Tower, requesting airways clearance for solo flight to pleasure ville via Wicked Masturbator Senso."

"Negative ghost rider, the pattern is full"

Focus damn it, stop thinking about Top Gun, Kelly McGillis is what 51 years old now? Fuck focus on the porn and the story!

So getting started with this thing was interesting to say the least. A bit of digital work to introduce the lube, some disconcerting stretching and a brief moment of juggling as my new friend tried to slither onto the carpet from slippery fingers and we still had not achieved penetration.

Adjusting my grip on the situation, it became apparent that blunt force was going to be required. The only guiding hand would be mine and the realisation that no amount of tenderness at the onset of this relationship would affect its longevity relaxed things a little.

With a bit of a grunt I was in. The first bead slid along the underside of my knob as the whole thing pressed in on me. It was actually rather intense. The more I slid in, the more it tickled until boom, I was out the other side. For a moment I just sat there stunned. It sure didn't look long enough before we had started but with the expansion to take my girth, Newtons laws had kicked in and the equal and opposite thing had happened to the length of my pocket pussy. It was now snuggled around the base of my dick with a fair bit of knob sticking out the end like some oversized cock ring.

Sliding back out again but staying engaged and I felt the tickle intensify. Not bad. Back in a gain, out again...hmmmm you get the idea!

At a moment of intensity things started to get weird. Much like the thai girl in Priscilla Queen of the Desert, my little pocket pussy started firing balls around the room. At first I did not know what was going on, after all my eyes were starting to roll back in my head. All I sensed with the first one was a flash of motion and a dull thud on the far side of the room.

Moving right along, and ping! Out shot another one. I caught the action this time and figured out what was happening, jeezuz, didn't see a warning on the box about this!

The closer I got, the more of these bright pink balls were shooting around the room. At one point I wondered if my beloved Plasma was in danger of getting injured as two balls pinged off the screen in machine gun sticatto.

I pushed on to the end. It was fantastic, like those great moments in sex we finished at the same time. She ran out of balls just as I emptied mine.

I was left in stunned silence, Gina as I had named her, still gripping me furiously. Not a bad root at all.

So I suppose the question will be if I should call her or not. Do I think this relationship is going anywhere?

It was odd and a bit of fun. It was nothing like the real thing apart from a bit of nervous fumbling at the start. She was not the most active partner although the trick with the balls sure made for a good stunt fuck.

All in all it was a good value laugh and a bit of a change of pace. I expect that I have now scared of all my female readers, I shall be getting to know Gina all the better from now on.

For the boys, I am not sure any girlfriend will welcome one of these in the bedroom but if your single and looking for a change of pace, it is worth a laugh and safer than a melon in the microwave!

Time to fess up, who else has boy toys and what are they?

Pen is mightier than the sword?

I have a technical question....Some time back I stumbled over this post from Phish about her penis secret project. Fantastic idea. I have to say that the concept really tickled my fancy - literally.

Unfortunately it seems to have been under subscribed or Phish is keeping the pics to herself. Now not that I want to go looking at cocks, but if I was going to put in an entry it would be fun to know what I was up against!

Since then I have come up with a secret worthy of the task - that was no problem. Feeling somewhat emboldened by the favourable reception of my first bit of blog smut, I thought what the hell, time to do something really silly and fun.

What I have been struggling with however is what on earth to pen the said secret on to my best mate. Biro and felt tip marker seem a little too permanent, the thought of taking to the tool with scotch-brite or turpentine after the photo shoot makes me cringe.

With no girlie bits in the house there is no eye liner or similar to be found. What is a guy to do?

I've got wood, the camera is charged but I also want to make sure that if I do happen to get lucky in the next month or two that I don't have to explain the freaking message written on my knob.

Ideas anyone?