Our Favorite “Accidental” Penises or Phallaccidents if you prefer
by Drew DiSabatino – July 25, 2013
After seeing a recent video of a news reporter accidentally drawing a penis on a traffic map, we started noticing dong-related mistakes were penetrating…erm, occurring in other photos and videos as well.
LINK to complete article.
COMMENTARY by indie author-publisher Kathleen K.
Jezus freaking Cheetos: Lighten up, folks! Get working on that pursuit of happiness already. I’ve used my liberty to establish an indie publishing enterprise and am pleased to announce Book #9. I used the silly dick pix like car companies use bikini models, to catch your eye.
ATTENTION, readers of odd books, this is writing on the wild side to, for and about you, and all your rowdy friends who may be coming (over) tonight.
Kathleen K. introduces the newest addition to a collection of bedside readers for the adult mind.
This potcentric sexotic fictional memoir is a statement piece on reefer and romance, exploring the abyss between the genders by diving in. Available as a stand-alone sequel to the memorable sexual escapade Stoner with a boner (It’s a Long Story), this indie book joins other vintage Boomer porn available at KathleenK.xxx
Dick. Prick. Cock of Ages. So many variations, nicknames and shorthand, for the embodiment of male anatomy – all we people got butts, nips, pubes but only half get the stick. The others get the goal.
My dick is quite insistent, there’s no point in suppressing its natural exuberance. I’m a grown man so I’m not plagued with the errant stiffies of a rookie. Suggestive ideas stir my mind as well as nudge at my physical barometer. It thickens, it rests, I know how to hypnotize it if necessary. Delay, not deny.
My friend Sally was the middle-aged widow of an old rich man. She didn’t want to attract any attention to herself as lawyers worked out the details of her marital inheritance so she spent most of her time alone. She wasn’t a gold digger; ten years ago she essentially agreed to be legal bedside companion to a nice dude on the high side of sixty. She was his social shield and house manager; she had rights to dictate his medical care so there’d be no fuss in an emergency. He didn’t need a nurse, not exactly, and he couldn’t stand the idea of dying unnoticed. Once dead, he wanted to make haste to his cremation, over and done, no revenants. It was a good life, he liked being alive, but there were no Pearly Gates ahead for him. Life was a mysterious force that came to us and left us. Inga was respectful of her employer and she lived in comfort alongside him in exchange for a promise of a post facto inheritance as her marital right.
She and I had been covert fuck-buddies long before she got married, and our sex had been dormant a decade to respect her dutiful vows. We trusted each other to enjoy our full-body reunion to the max but keep it on the down low. Her old man had died with dignity in his own home, with a friend at his side; that was a fact. Another fact was she had to face the fact he was gone. Everything was a swirl at the moment so I was invited to be at rest with her. Lolling against me, she took comfort in being met with manly resistance; she fluttered up to and was captured by my gravitational pull. I was solidly present in my body with the adult authority that had leaked away (naturally) from her husband. The comfort of their casual contact was something she’d missed as her man got too frail even to hug. She and I agreed to meet in a room at a nice hotel, never crossing paths in the lobby. It was our intent to drop off the radar when we got together. It was great to see her again, to know that she was safe, sound, facing forward. Sally wanted me to conjure up our younger selves, the ones buried in memory, so we could encompass both grief and relief, and lots of hope.
I can fuck the hell out of a strong woman. I get limp around the weak.