The year is 1991. Halfway around the world, the shores of Kuwait are in flames, but you don’t care. The boss has gone for the day, leaving you to kick back in your cubicle listening to the cool sounds of Deee-Lite on your Sony Discman. You decide to put your xterm to better use than generating huge financial reports on greenbar that no one will ever read. Your favorite newsgroup, alt.sex.stories, beckons you. Yeah, baby. When it comes to a good read, this is the shit.

Passing Ships Not Forgotten

I met her at the art museum. She looked a lot like Meg Ryan so I therefore thought she was hot. She was looking at a drawing by George Grosz that showed how Weimar-era Berlin was bad. She ran her hand between her legs and moaned.

“That’s Grosz,” I said.

That made her look sad. She must have thought my comment insulted her mating dance. This was not true. I bet it got her lots of action at frat parties and biker bars and it was beginning to work on me.

“That’s George Grosz,” I clarified. “There is a lot of passion in his work but not as much as I have for you.”

“Really?” she said.

“Yes,” I said. “I would like to take you home and stick my large man meat into your tight fish hole.”

She said yes because I know a lot about art.

After foreplay, we had sex and it was hot. While we went at it, I licked her face and whispered “give it up, baby” into her ear. Her hot legs wrapped around my waist and held me tight.

“Careful, baby,” I said. “If you squeeze me too hard, you will make me fart.”

She laughed at this while she had one of her many orgasms.