R.B. Winters
R.B. Winters
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This is a very special post. Yesterday marks my blog-iversary; one year of drama! I must dedicate this post to Ray Ray and Rachel… the Fister Sisters.
I have two parallel tales to share. We’ll begin with Ray Ray; who has so eloquently been named ‘Ten Finger Mary’. My wife is no lady, on the street or between the sheets. She’s been seeing a new guy, who is turning out to be a kinkster himself. You know, the usual stuff: Stickin’ his P in her V, sometimes in the A, and always between her T’s. That’s all a given, but add alcohol… among other things, to the equation and something magical happens.
Man Hands (Ray Ray’s boyfriend-ish thing) asked if she was ok. In her state of euphoria, she said yes and asked if she shouldn’t be. He continued at his diligent work down-under. It wasn’t until the next morning that Ray Ray realized what had happened. Man Hands was a fan of the FB. That’s not fuck buddy or facebook, I’m talking about the finger bang. We remember Ray Ray had gotten three plump fingers not that long ago. Apparently that wasn’t enough, oh no. Man hands got not five… not seven… but all ten fingers in! That’s five in the front and five in the butt, which makes Ray Ray like a living sex puppet. Perhaps I should call him the puppet master, but we’ll reserve that title for when he starts doing dick tricks.
Tale two: I ventured out with PETA for a night of drunken debauchery. I was drunk before I left the house, following in the footsteps of my wife, I added the plus by the second club. At club number three I made my way to the bar. For the first time ever there was no line. I had managed to miss last call by two hours the bartender informed. He then proceeded to ask if I danced, we’re talking about stripping now. I laughed it off and he told me if I wanted to “dance” at The Cock, I could drink myself silly for free. In my drunk+ state I told him I’d do it, well knowing I would be out of town the Sunday he was inviting me. To be honest, I’d probably do it. I have no shame when it comes to taking my cloths off; it’s too hot to wear them right now as it is.
Back on the dance floor, a couple started circling me like prey on road kill. I tried my best to avoid the duo of dicks, but I was no match for their aggressive tactics. I was sandwiched between them before I knew what had happened. We danced for a minute, one of them kissing on me with his awful smoker’s breath, the other whispering in my ear to come home with them. I wasn’t immediately turned off until he told me they lived in Harlem. No… I don’t go that far uptown when I have to go home to Brooklyn. I laughed and told them no, finally breaking free when kissy guy tried to stick a finger in my B! Ok… ok, this is a dance floor, not a pick ‘em and stick ‘em event. 
I ran after PETA picking up a life-size penis balloon on the way. I shoved it off on a stranger when the friend of my disappointed dance partners approached me. He asked if I liked big dicks. He seemed shocked when I said no. Is that so strange, must every gay man be obsessed with peters? I haven’t had sex in months and I really wasn’t interested in giving up to any of these douche nozzles.
Long story short, it was incredibly (drunk) fun. Well worthy of being my anniversary post. Here’s to the next year!