Submitted by Stewart Fox, Age 29, Los Angeles
After a wonderful April and a spectacular March, May has been strangely silent here at HNTGL. Just when I started to think that more and more people were visiting the site and submitting stories, the flow of new material suddenly and mysteriously stopped. Why? I’m not sure. I’ve long since given up trying to understand the logic behind when people submit stories and when they don’t.
But as I wait for my readers to once again share their tales of intrigue and humor, I thought I’d submit an entry myself. You see, my inbox hasn’t exactly been empty these past few weeks. I’ve had quite a lot of e-mail — only, of the spam variety. Spam irks me because I don’t understand it. Can spam actually be successful? Do spammers actually make money? How? Who, in this day and age, is foolish enough to actually give a spammer their money? The nonsensical spam irks me the most, the random letters and words that don’t even attempt to sell any bogus products, the meaningless sludge that pollutes without purpose.
But the most amusing spam is the penis spam. And that stuff seems very much in the spirit of this website. For anyone who actually responds to such spam is clearly barking up a tree that is planted in Notgettinglaidanytimethiscenturyville, USA. So, without further ado, some penis spam subject lines that I’ve received this year:
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Submitted by Mosa, Age 31, San Francisco, CA
I am an old married lady – almost five years, baby. I am always looking for interesting ways to spice things up (translation: get laid). A while ago, I decided it would be fun to do a strip tease for my husband. Being the nerd that I am, I got a “how to†strip tease book from the public library. I even read it. After a week or so of practice, I felt confident enough to try out my new moves on my man.
I chose a sexy song, established some mood lighting and sat my husband down. I wriggled and squirmed and danced about. I moved slowly and touched my body just like the book told me to. I opened my eyes a few times and was gratified to see my husband smiling and staring back at me. I slowly pulled my shirt over my head letting it get sloppily tangled in my hair. I writhed on the floor as I stretched and pulled at my bra. Damn! I was hot!
As I rose to my feet, I began to unbutton my jeans. I rocked my hips gently back and forth and side-to-side as I shimmied the jeans down over my ass. I let my husband get glimpse of my lacy g-string underneath. As my waistband reached my calves, I gave a dramatic kick and sent my jeans flying across the room in the direction of my husband. My husband, who had been silent up until this point, let out a sharp cry. Wow! I must really be turning him on; he’s not usually a screamer. I must be the sex goddess I always knew I was!
I opened my eyes to take a peak at my husband, expecting to see him ecstatic with lust. Instead he was doubled over clutching his shinbone. It took me a moment to realize what had happened. Some years earlier, my husband had purchased a pocketknife for me. I wore it religiously in the right hip pocket of my jeans. In all my prep prior to dancing, I hadn’t thought to remove the knife. When I sent my jeans flying across the room, my knife had become dislodged. It went hurdling through the air straight into my husband’s shinbone.
I tried to kiss away his pain and go on with my dance, but it was no good. The mood was lost. My husband, and his bruised shin did not appreciate my knife throwing skills. Ah well. It took me years of marriage, but I finally learned that my husband is not a masochist.
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(20 votes, average: 3.55 out of 5)