Read Giggling Into the Pillow Online
Authors: Chris Bridges
Tags: #comedy, #humor, #sexy, #stories, #essays, #sexy stories, #erotica anthology, #silly
Giggling Into the Pillow (8 page)
Corolla sometime. I'd say you're ready, kid.” She jumped off the
bed and gathered up her visual aids, finally laying her
store-bought twat carefully on the bulging ridge of my pants and
giving it, and me, a pat. “In case you need it after I leave.”
I called out to her before she left the
room. “Do you really think she’ll like it?”
Clary smiled a wickedly sensuous smile at
me. “If she doesn’t, I know someone who will.” She kissed me
quickly and left.
I laid back, hurriedly jumped up, hid my
damp Pud in my sock drawer, then laid down again, thinking
furiously. Let's see, Nicci's class is over in ten more
minutes…
ASK MISS
DILDO
in your very midst to answer all of your questions about love, sex,
and manners, no matter how sticky any of them get. Let's jump right
in:
passionate love in our usual way, and when we finished he just
rolled off me and lay there on the trampoline, waiting for me to
jump up and get him a towel. I couldn't believe it! Like I wasn't
the one with the fettucine alfredo all over me! I was so mad I
crossed my arms and just laid there and there we were, neither of
us willing to give in. We were there for hours! I was so pissed off
and the audience left after the first 30 minutes.
Which one of us was right, Miss Dildo?
Soggy in Cincinnati
You poor dear! Even the most inexperienced
lover should know that whomever ended up on top must get the
after-love accoutrements. Not only will the person on top will
almost always have the least amount of detritus to drip on the
carpet, but also it is only polite to your lover who has borne the
brunt of your thrusts, or humps, or lashes, or what-have-you.
However, it is far more polite to have
these utterly necessary items ready at hand before commencing the
sweaty part. Of course that's not always possible — Miss Dildo
knows all too well how love can make premature ejaculators of us
all — but most of the time you can present your lover with a warm
and soothing salve for their poor battered whatevers. Just get a
soft fluffy hand towel and pop it into the dryer for a few moments
before you begin. You may use a bath towel if you plan to introduce
any additional ingredients in your love gravy such as maple syrup,
potato soup or a bucket of meringue.
Gentlemen, you'll be appreciated for your
consideration if you prepare a towel by soaking it in hot, scented
water (use toilet water, the par fum type — nothing and I mean
nothing with alcohol in it). It'll still be warm when she needs it
and the damp cloth is a comfort.
Ladies, all you really need for him is what
he's used to already: the t-shirt he wore today, or possibly a gym
sock for that retro feel.
The other night I was out
with my girlfriend and some of my friends, and the dinner topic
came around to sex. I had had a few, and I admitted (hell, bragged)
that my lady was the best cocksucker on the West Coast. The guys
were laughing and joking that she couldn't be that good since she
had obviously never had much to work with, but she spoke up and
said she was too and she could prove it. She looked at me and I
kinda shrugged, and then she smiled and dropped under the table
right there in the restaurant! I could see my buddy Matt suddenly
jerk and get this weird look on his face and then he fought to stay
calm while he was clearly getting the knob-polish of his life. Just
as he finished clamping his jaw shut and let out a huge happy sigh,
Jimmy grabbed the sides of the table and it was his turn. I
finished my meal while she finished off all five of them
and
the waiter when he
stood too close to the table. My friends congratulated me, thanked
her, and walked a little unsteadily back to their cars.
All this was fine, but when
we were driving home I asked for a little head myself and she
looked at me like I was crazy! Okay, granted she looked like she
had just swallowed a python and she kept hiccupping, and rubbing
the back of her neck, and her lipstick was smeared past her ears,
but damn, I was pretty disappointed. Shouldn't she have been
thinking of my needs?
I'm afraid you're in the wrong on this one,
my stiffened friend. Your lady was upholding your honor by
abandoning hers, and defending your claims of her skill. Granted
the waiter was a bit beyond the call, but it's certainly customary
to thank good service. Pamper her for a few days before expecting
anything more - even Olympic athletes get to rest afterwards. If
you really expected her to be rested and ready for you, you should
have been right under the table alongside her.
Dear Miss
Dildo,
apartment for the first time. I had decided it was finally time for
our relationship to go to the next level and now that he was
celebrating his parole it seemed right. We stood there in my
bedroom, all awkward and shy, and then he kissed me very tenderly.
Tender turned to urgent, urgent turned to demanding, and then we
were on the bed and ripping at each other's clothing. He was trying
so hard to be gentlemanly while still getting my panties off, and I
wanted to reassure him that I was just as horny as he was, so I
reached over into my night drawer and pulled out condoms, lube, and
my Big Bill vibrator with the pump head. Zoom! He was up and
running down the street before I could squeak! Now he won't return
my calls or subpoenas. Miss Dildo, I am so afraid that now he
thinks I'm a slut. Should I have waited and let things progress at
their own speed?
Of course you should have, you silly twit.
Enjoy your lover and let him get secure in your affection before
introducing him to your plastic boyfriend. Naturally Miss Dildo
believes in sex toys and their wonderful abilities, but your lover
needs to know that he is sufficient unto the day thereof, even if
(especially if) he isn't. Bring out the toys next week.
And after he's comfortable with them, get
them the hell out of the nightstand! Sex toys are not furtive
little shames to be hidden, used, washed, oiled lightly, and hidden
again! Stand them tall; make display racks! Be proud! Miss Dildo
has a handsome carved teak stand across her headboard, with holders
at 45º to keep them at attention, and little brass plaques
underneath each one explaining its history and significance.
But your major mistake was in springing a
phallus and lube on an ex-con. He didn't know they were for you,
he’s probably used to being the bitch. What a way to remind him of
his inglorious years by making him think he had to toss your salad!
For shame! Pack away your battery-operated demon lover and make
your new boyfriend the trustee of your loins, if you can catch him
again.
Sex in the
Suburbs
thing to discover the “real” thoughts of a single girl in the city.
Breakthrough books and columns and movies and plays and songs and
poems emerged, showing us the truths beyond the neuroses and the
special spark that lives in every single city girl. We learned of
their triumphs over sexual inequalities, the impossibility of
finding the Right Guy, the problems with birth control methods, the
anguish of choosing the right feminine hygiene product and the
horror of being recognized purchasing “personal massagers.” We
watched their constant struggles with mothers who didn't
understand, or understood all too well. We laughed and cried and
lived vicariously as they dated and encountered and screwed an
impressive amount of single city guys, all with their own
stereotypical flaws and traits. We loved the columns from Anka and
Cynthia and Candace and and and…
Okay. Now we know. Let's move on.
What is sex like for other
women? Our investigative reporter Hilda Ingham was curious about
just that question and so, after weeks of exhaustive research, she
managed to find three single women who actually lived
somewhere besides Manhattan
(addresses verified by an independent agency). Here's what she
found.
Small place, counter with bar stools, maybe six small tables. It's
8:30 p. m. ; the locals are at home watching television or, most
likely, sleeping. I'm sitting at one of the tables (the farthest
away from the counter, to provide more privacy and apparently less
service) with three local ladies who asked that they not be named
in this article. Sitting across from me is “Meryl”: pretty, blonde,
32, hairdresser, constant smoker, heavy lipstick. Next to her is
her best friend “Susie”: a 27-year-old Valerie Bertinelli lookalike
if Valerie was ever seen in a Jimbo's Grocery smock. And sitting
next to me, knees together and hands clenched on the table, is
“Martha”: 56, weathered, covered from neck to ankles in a shapeless
black dress, face set in a grimace and ready to exhibit disapproval
over all the questions I haven't asked yet. We have introduced
ourselves, we have experienced coffee, and there is the promise of
fudge sundaes later. We're ready.
HI:
So.
(long pause)
Gettin' any?
Susie:
Any what?
Meryl:
That's a damn personal question, miss, pardon my
french.
Martha:
And mighty impertinent, too. Didn't your mama teach you any
better than that?
HI:
Um, but this is what I asked you all here to…
Meryl:
I thought we'd be talking about, you know, living a single
life, or how to handle the finances without two incomes, or stuff
like that.
Susie:
The problems when you raise a child on your own.
Martha:
I'm not single anyway, I'm a widow. My Jackson is with me
every day of my life. Can't rightly say I'm single
a'tall.
Meryl:
Maybe about the difficulties of finding the right person, or
even questioning the social pressure to pair off even if it's not
the right choice for you.
HI:
But our readers, pardon my french, don't give a shit. They
want to hear about your sex lives. What you do, what you don't,
what you wish you did, and what you regret ever doing, in full
detail.
Martha:
I never discussed intimate matters even with my Jackson, even
when we were engaged in it. I ain't about to start now.
Meryl:
Well, your readers can go to hell, miss. I don't feel the need
to embarrass myself, undermine my own self-esteem and self-worth in
any way, just to increase your circulation. You media types are a
little too quick to focus on the sexual aspects just to sell
magazines faster, and that only serves to reinforce the idea that
sex itself is the end-all and be-all of life. Well, it isn't, and
it shouldn't be. Maybe that sort of thing goes on in the city, but
we're respectable, Bible-fearing folk.
Martha:
Well said.
HI:
I'm very sorry you feel that way, ladies. But, just so it's
not a total loss, let me go get those fudge sundaes, be right back.
(gets up, grabs purse, disappears into “staff-only” kitchen
area)
Susie:
(whispers)
What was she asking
about?
Meryl:
Oh, she just wanted to hear about your sex life,
Carol.
Susie:
“Susie”! Remember, I'm “Susie”.
HI:
Here we are, ladies!
(hands out bowls
of fudge sundaes, everyone digs in, Hilda puts down her
mysteriously lighter purse)
Martha:
(muttering)
Your ice cream's
off.
Meryl:
Mom, um, “Martha”, be nice. You don't criticize someone's
cooking where they can hear you, what were you thinking?
Susie:
I like it. Can I have another?
consumed)
HI:
(brightly)
So I guess there's nothing
to say about your sex lives?
Susie:
(swaying)
Oh ho, I could tell you some
stuff, lady, I surely could.
Meryl:
(somewhat disorientated)
Susie,
contain yourself. She's always been like this, ever since high
school. That's why she got knocked up so fast.
Susie:
(giggling, using her index finger to scoop up the last little
bit of fudge in her bowl)
No, I got knocked
up so fast cuz Jimmy Gruno had a beer can dick and we couldn't fit
the little rubber things over it. Whee!
Martha:
(muttering)
Def'nitly off, I c'n taste
it. There's some ice cream been left out just a bit too long, if
I'm any judge.
Meryl
You coulda waited until after high school, you know. Plenty of
us did.
Susie:
(muffled giggling, behind her hands)
Oh, you waited all right. Waited til you could get home and
get that pillow between your legs!