Not drastic, but noticable. The "how" however, had me in stitches. Click on the picture and go read it. Then, naturally, I had to read the other articles. Now the diet one doesn't even crack a smile on my face any more.
Here's a post that I found on the "Gay Mexican Edition", where the author plays agony aunt for readers' sexlives, or whatever the sarcastic i-could-hardly-give-a-fuck edition of an agony aunt is.
Women much like Susan Sarandon's Annie Savoy character in "Bull Durham" exist, insofar that they're cougars on the prowl for young baseball players, at least. During a summer league down south a few years back, my buddy was at a bar when he encountered one such woman. She was eying him from the bar and so, upon the encouragement of some of his teammates (who knew what he was in for but felt it wiser that he find out for himself), he played the game of drink buying and small talk until they withdrew back to her place.I mean seriously. Can anyone make this shit up? (pun intended) I would not be able to! But these stories will inspire scenes in my upcoming novels, just because they are so ridiculously funny I have to share.
Things were pretty standard to start off: they popped open another round of drinks, started making out and then some clothes came off. She told him to sit tight in the living room while she ran into the bedroom to get ready. At this point he was pretty excited to see what came next. After a couple minutes, she opened the door and beckoned him to come join her. Imagine his surprise, then, upon seeing a chair with a tarp spread out underneath on the floor.
Here's where the anal beads come into play. She has him sit down and tells him, while swinging around a string of anal beads, that she's going to very slowly insert the anal beads while she goes down on him. Naturally my buddy is a wee bit nervous at the idea, but he's had enough liquid courage to shrug his shoulders and give the go-ahead. So she starts doing her thing from both ends, making sure to mention just before she begins that he has to tell her when he's about to blow his load.And this is where the tarp comes in. She's blowing and slowly inserting and my buddy, for the most part, is thoroughly enjoying the experience. The beads aren't doing much but she's a consummate professional in the sloppy yawn department. A few minutes in and he's about to go Ol' Faithful. And right as he does, he tells her.
And right as he tells her, she yanks out the beads. And right as she yanks out the beads, he blows two loads: one from the front and one from the back. Hence the tarp.To this day he swears he's never had such a brain-exploding orgasm as that night. But that didn't change the fact that he had just shat all over this woman's bedroom floor, tarp-covered or not. She obviously didn't mind, but he was too embarrassed after that. I still give him shit for it (figuratively) because my argument is if that's how the first performance went, imagine what she'd have in store for an encore.
So now you wonder, how did this poor man almost die (me, not the guy with the mind/ass blowing orgasm)? Well, imagine you are having your afternoon tea, lazily chewing on an eat-sum-more and you read the words: "And right as he tells her, she yanks out the beads. And right as she yanks out the beads, he blows two loads: one from the front and one from the back."
I'm still coughing up crumbs and trying to remove coffee stains from my pc.