Everything I Do, I Do It for Poon

if I see your butthole within my reach, I'm stickin' a finger in it.
by Howie

I don't care about money. I don't care about kindness. I don't care about charity, or love, or your hippy bullshit family. You don't matter to me at all. I don't matter to me. It's all just a front for poon.

The slit, the clit, and the taint. I especially treasure the sweet swirly sphincter below. The whole package. Everything I do is in the pursuit of those wet folds of pink stink that envelop me like a self-lubricating blanket of warmth. Furry, shaved, sculpted, medically restored, bleached, or torn out meatflaps: I love them all.

Even seeing mudflaps kind of gets me hard

But, I can not disguise my crassness. I have no time nor inclination for subtlety. Even at the biggest panty-wetter of parties possible, a wedding reception, my inability to fake my way through genteel conversation bites me in the ass when I am approached by an old friend.

Dressed in a tight pink outfit that flattens her breasts and pushes out her little bubble ass, this poor idiot approaches me with a drink in hand and half in the bag.

This is what 'half in the bag' means, right?

"Howie! I didn't recognize you! You look so good," she says, putting her tiny hands on my rock solid chest. "What have you been doing?"

"I'm never sure," I answer, a bit confused by my sudden lack of backstory. I shake it away. "What about you? What are you doing?"

She giggles, "I work in sales."

"Oh," I say, my eyes bright and shiny. "Like a prostitute?"

She takes her hand away. "No." She crosses her arms across those tight, tiny titties. "I sell fiber optic cable."

I nod sagely. "So... not sex?"

"No," she says, looking around. "Listen, I have to catch up with... him," she points indiscriminately. "We'll talk more later."

She leaves and, while I see her many times over the course of the evening, she never approaches me again. I don't care. If she can't take a joke about being a whore, then she probably isn't going to appreciate anything else about me. And let's be honest here, I was actually hoping she might be a prostitute. I'd rather pay cash for it, anyway.

Pictured: Romance

While every move I make, from working out to reading to even writing this goldforsaken blog is all in the pursuit of getting laid, I have absolutely no intention of actually pretending to be a good person in order to get a little freaky fucky.

Just because I do everything for sex that doesn't mean I'll do anything. Sure, I'll whore myself out, pay cash, and beg and cry - but I'm not going to lie. That's just sick and wrong and totally unZen.

Which is exactly how I feel until the next prize horse steps up to the gate and starts whinnying for my affection. She's a strapping young doe with big brown eyes and a little white tail that makes my heart skip a beat in my pants.

"I usually don't approach men," she says, her eyelashes batting Morse Code for 'fuck me'. "But you look so familiar. Did we go to high school together?"

"Yes," I say. "Yes we did. I sat behind you in biology."

"Right! Johnny, isn't it? Johnny..."

"Sure," I say. "Johnny Petersburg. All-Star. Honor Roll. State Finals." I list off my accomplishments.

"This is so weird," she says. "I had the biggest crush on you."

"Sounds right," I say.

"What have you been up to?"

I channel true Zen. "I've been saving retarded orphans from hut-fires in Africa."

There's like, a shitload of orphaned 'tards inside that car.

I don't know if she hears me or not, because she's still talking. It's a buzz of drunken incomplete run-on sentences and blathering outbursts.

It doesn't escape me that none of my behavior is designed to entice a woman into spreading her thighs for me to dive headfirst into tongue-bathing her cute little cunt. I have no qualms about being a sick fuck, an idiot savant of cunnilingus, and a socially inept fuckup.

I could listen to this silly cooter talk all night if she'd wrap her legs around my neck first, but she hasn't even made the slightest move toward the bathroom for a quick up-skirt shimmy.

I'm temporarily distracted from the little tart as the hairiest man I've ever seen walks by. His face is a marshland of curly black hairs wrapping around two of the biggest, reddest, wettest lips I've ever seen. "That guys face looks like my mom's pussy in the 70's," I say.

Probably smells about right, too.

The half-lit lightbulb next to me suddenly blinks out. Silence.

So much for that one. I don't even bother to look at her. I know what the look on her face is. She's more slack-jawed than a whore with ten cocks in her mouth.

True love is hard to come by, and true kinky love is even harder to find. Sexy bitches willing to Tubgirl themselves for a gregarious pervert are almost impossibly scarce.

It's an hour later when I find the only girl I'll ever need. She's tiny and Japanese and she has a confused look on her face that tells me she might not speak English. Which would be a huge bonus for me...

"Ten dollar, you sucky?" I say in my best Mexican accent.

"Hey asshole," she says. "No cheap sucky. Thousand dollars, you never forget."

"Do I know you?" She seems so familiar. I just can't place it.

"You call every night, 3 am. I hate you. You smell like pee."

"Nope," I say. "That doesn't help. Have we slept together?"

"Asshole," she says. "My husband send naked pictures of me to you. You send back pictures of you asshole."

"Sounds like me," I say.

She lifts up her skirt. Ohhhh... That's right. It's Samubri's wife.

"Wanna fuck?" I ask.

Outstretched claws go for my eyes, but before she can rip into me, Samubri steps out of some shadowy empty area of the room and grabs her around the waist. He sets her down. "Easy, there, my sweet tanuki."

"Hell of a wife you got there," I say. "I didn't recognize her from this angle."

"What are you doing here?" Samubri asks. He's dressed in a powder-blue tuxedo with a bright red cummerbund. He looks amazing. "You don't know the groom, and I'm sure you don't know the bride."

"I'm on the prowl. I need loving. Your wife said one thousand, but I can't buy my affection tonight. Tonight, I need it the old fashioned way."

Samubri narrows his eyes, "Rape?"

"No," I say. "Charm."

"Oh, you're fucked then."

"I know, right?" I say. "I need a distraction."

The level of distraction necessary
at this point is pretty ridiculous.

"My swords don't go with this suit," Samubri says. "All I've got are my funky dance moves and my freestyle rap."

"That'll have to do. You get the action started. I'll join in. We'll rock this motherfucker like it's the Shinjuku subway station."

"I have no idea what that means," Samubri says.

"Just go," I say.

Samubri cuts into the crowd, pushing burly lumberjacks in wife-beaters out of his way. He's not exactly a small man himself, but these monstrous creatures dwarf him. One grabs him by the shoulder, but Samubri doesn't even break stride as he reaches back and snaps the guy's wrist.

Not the distraction I was looking for. Samubri's freestyle looks more like a bar-brawl than I had intended. I can't help but join in. I kick the knee out from beneath a fat bitch to my left and jump head first into the knockers of a rotund elderly lady. Tits swamp my head as I punch my way free.

Samubri has a pile of bodies forming at his feet. He's starting to lose his balance as he begins dancing on top of the unconscious drunks beneath him. I knife-hand a bitch in the throat and push her toward Samubri. She never recovers.

It's the last I see of him for a while as hands grab me and wrap me in a small ball and then try to pull me apart while at the same time punching me into a stain. It's very exciting and painful and would be assault if I weren't so turned on by it.

It seems like an eternity in a painful pile of my own broken bones before Samubri comes to my rescue. He axe-kicks some sodden fuck in the face and blood geysers out of the poor bastard's nose. Samubri picks me up in his arms and begins shouldering his way out.

"I've got you, boss. You're alright. I'll take you home and get you fixed up."

I see his wife holding off the crowd with a kitchen knife as she backs out behind us. "Ok," I croak. "But I'm gonna fuck your wife."

"That's right, boss," he reassures me as I nuzzle into his shoulder. "We'll both fuck my wife."

You think you could photoshop this so I don't look so feminine?