We met in line at the Vanni Bros. Bakery. She was number 9. I was 13. The attraction was instant – if you saw her ankles, you’d know why. Our body language said, “How you doin?” but the flirtatious glances said more. The connection was further confirmed when we realized we both ordered the same confectionery: chocolate truffle cake.
At the cash register, I learned hers was for a party at her sister’s. Mine, on the other hand, was to help me cope with another big loss by my beloved Toronto Blue Jays – and the $1,000 it cost me. Anyway, when I left she was waiting outside, smoking. If you’d seen the way she inhaled, you’d further understand the attraction.
As she ground out her cigarette, she asked for a ride to the party. Before I knew it she was feeding me cake by hand while screaming out directions. I was so caught up in the cake, and her fingers, I hardly realized we were at the party. The next thing I knew she out of the car. I never even knew her name. Plus, I had no more cake.
I’ve been working at Playboy for the last 7 years. Now don’t get me wrong, it’s a great gig. The coeds and occasional celebrities are nice to look at in the buff, the parties are everything you’ve heard, but I’m getting tired of all this airbrushed bullshit, the silicon mountains and shaved beavers. That’s not what the seedy underbelly of the sex trade is supposed to look like, and it’s not what I want to see anymore. When I spank it, I want to see some glory hole calling me to make a bumpy landing on its airstrip. So I thank you for the content of your magazine. And hope you’re hiring.
Orange Pineapple Crush
I’d been going to the gym for two months and been on a few dates with a few ladies but nothing ever worked out. Sometimes it was me; sometimes it was them. Either way, they came and went like my body fat index. Then there was the juice bar lady. After every session, I stopped by for a wheatgrass and orange pineapple juice – and a little friendly banter. And every time, she always gave me a large when I ordered a medium. (Apparently the friendly banter was friendly flirtation.) So after two months of not realizing what was gong on, I finally clued in. It had been a busy day so I ended working out late. By the time I got to the juice bar, she was closing down so I couldn’t get my usual. Instead, we ended up talking for a while. Eventually, she got around to telling me she was American and hadn’t yet figured out the conversion between ounces and litres. Turns out that’s why I kept getting a large.
Hey Penthouse Forum,
I typed this letter with one hand while reading your magazine. Guess what I was doing with the other one? If you said smoking, you’re wrong.
I have my own landscaping company. Mainly we do driveways, fences, stonewalls, sod, that kind of thing. Every now and then we get asked to do some lawn maintenance. It’s easy work and people don’t want to do it themselves so they pay well for me to do it for them.
So one day this MILF calls for an estimate. I arrive, and she walks out in a chiffon robe and when the sunlight hits her, I realize that’s all she’s wearing. She goes on to tell me she’d like a new driveway, a flagstone wall around her garden, and fresh sod in the back yard. Of course I say yes, and go low on the quote to boot.
As the job goes on, she keeps adding little things: “I’d love a Japanese maple, can you plant one for me?” “My garden could use some mulch, I’m thinking cedar” but I don’t mind because I’ve quickly learned her wardrobe consists of nothing more than a colourful selection of robes. (And a barely there bikini she breaks out for her afternoon swim.)
Anyway, as I’m close to finishing she comes out to see me and makes, in her words, “One final request. Do you trim bushes?” Now I’ve been there for three plus weeks and know there’s not bush in sight. Still, I say yes. She then proceeds to hand me a piece of paper with an address on it and tells me her mother is expecting me some time this week.
Lovers in Love
We met online, like most horny yet socially terrified people today, and I knew it was love immediately. The picture blew me away but you never really know how accurate they are until you meet in person – and 4 to 6 weeks later, it finally happened. And it was magical; everything I hoped and expected it to be – and more. Especially the sex. It was, as they say, off the hook. Anytime, anywhere, anything I wanted. And now, I am not ashamed to tell the world I am in love with my Fleshlight. In fact, I would go as far as to say it’s the greatest thing in my life. It doesn’t talk back; it doesn’t judge; it doesn’t cheat on me with my best friend Will. It’s simply there for me whenever I need to “exercise my demons”. The best part of this love story is that you can experience it, too. All for $64.95. And let me tell you, it will be the cheapest, strongest relationship you’ve ever had.