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Rules of Sex

Standard

“Baby, I read today in uh…somewhere, that good communication is the number one rule of sex.”

“Rule of sex?! Rule of sex?!”

“Yea baby, so I have prepared a questionnaire which I will be asking you everytime we initiate the sexual procedure.”

“Wow. Aren’t you a lark!”

“Rule #2 says I must always act to please you.”

“Woohoo! An inventory. A real inventory!”

“Yeah, isn’t that great, baby? All the Dos and Don’ts of sex together in one book!”

“Does it also mention that you must address me as ‘baby’?”

“Well, they provide a number of options to choose from, “love”, “darling”, “sweetie”. “Baby” features on Rule 36. Works even though we have talked only half a sentence. It is a hotword.”

“A hotword?”

“Well, the rule is that hearing it should turn you on.”

Hydra. Turned into. Swallowed. Spat out.

“This book…jolly well works!” He croaked on the advert.

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With Ethical Issues

Standard

His eyes blew round as she took off her shirt. What’s underneath a woman’s shirt is her body but going by the number of eyes it blows round, you’d think it’s a gold mine.

Anyhow, so this chappie’s eyes blew as round as they would if a pirate had found an X marked on the sea waters. She was a bit used to this, so she tried not to notice.

“So um, can I touch it?” He asked her carefully.

No you dolt, she thought to herself. I’m just an artist’s model, and that’s why I’ve let go off my clothes after coming home with you, kissing you several times on the balcony and flirting with you all evening.

“Uh, okay.” She said playing the game even though he was already beginning to disgust her with his useless questions.

There thus ensued some touching. A while later though, another pop survey.

“So can I suck on it?”

Wow, she thought. Wow. Is he really ASKING me that? Because he sure didn’t ask me if I wanted to listen to his crap about watermelon varieties all evening. Perhaps the head things don’t matter. Perhaps my silly boobies are more sacred than my mind, on which I’d to suffer so much assault on this date. So perhaps THIS is an important question. Perhaps I should weigh its pros and cons before answering it.

Thus the weighment of pros and cons ensued…

“Whyre you sleeping with him if he is so silly?”
“I dunno, I thought it might cheer me up in the cheery way sex has a tendency to cheer up people after the most boring evening of decades.”
“Well it isn’t working right?”
“Doesn’t look like. Looks like I’m talking to myself instead of fucking him.”
“Stop it then…”
“I dunno, I still have some hope?…”
“Well then either you’re Voltaire’s Candide, or you’re a slut.”
“Hmm am I a slut?”

“Hello is something wrong?” THE MAN had spoken.

“Hello human,” she said as she turned into her true form: A Hydra with a thousand tentacles on her head waving about most ominously. Wild, evil laughter broke out as she to swallow him whole, with her slimy, uncouth mouth out of which twenty million snakes spurted out each second. And he tasted so awfully bad, she shitted him out as soon as possible.

“Kind of a rum woman,” he told his friends the next night. “Wonderful sex drive but would suddenly freeze.”

“Ah, a slut with ethical issues.” His friends nodded wisely.