Sometimes I don't even have to try

I know I haven't updated in a while. Fear not, here's a post to tide you over. There is a guy that I've been talking to that I kind of like (he reminds me of Dickhole Pete in his general awesomeness. That's the only way that they are similiar) but I haven't thought of a name yet. So be ready for that when it comes.

Instead, I bring you a story. It actually doesn't involve me at all. We all remember Trogdor correct? Well, Trogdor wanted to be a writer. He's not a very good writer. I know some people that are actually good writers. He is so not one of them. He wrote a story of erotic fiction. And here it is (warning - there's some inappropriate language in here...nothing worse than what I've said though....)
Rising on the Road
Erotic Fiction - Heterosexual
Written by Trogdor
My name’s Chris. I’ve always been one of those introverted, bookish types. You’ll never see me travel without a book in my hand. Jeez, you’ll never see me without a book in my hand period. I only say travel because this story takes place on a bus ride from New York to Boston. I was going there to see an old friend from college. After an excruciating wait at Gate 84 of Port Authority Bus Terminal, I found a window seat towards the back of the bus. I open my duffel bag, take out my copy of Ernest Hemingway’s A Farewell to Arms, close the bag, and put it in the overhead compartment. I open it up and begin reading.

As I read, this lean-looking blonde with hazel eyes, a solid figure, tight black pants, and a white tank top stops at the seat next to me and sits down. I attempt to appear enraptured in my book. She looks over and asks, “What are you reading?” I tell her. She says, “That cover’s hot.” The cover is of a man and woman engaged in a passionate kiss. I tell her, “Yeah. Those are the main characters.”
“Is it a romance?”
I guess you don’t know your Hemingway too well, I think to myself. “Kinda,” I said. “It takes place during World War I, and this ambulance driver falls in love with a nurse.”
“Really,” she says. “Do they have hot sex?”
“Oh yeah,” I tease. “They do it in the hospital, they do it in the ambulance, they even do it in the guys’ barracks.”
“Really,” she said as her hazel eyes took on that seductive glare.
“Yeah, really,” I respond.
“Can I borrow it for a bit?” she said with a raise of her eyebrow.
“Well, what would you do for it?”
“I’ll take out my blanket and share it with you.”
I put my chin between my thumb and forefinger, look at her for a few seconds, and say, “Oh fine, if you insist.”
“Jerk,” she says lightly as she taps me lightly on the shoulder.
She reaches into the overhead compartment, takes out a white blanket decorated with red lips, and spreads it over both of us. In return, I hand her the book.
The bus driver makes his announcements about final destinations, rules for bus etiquette, etc., as I take out my journal and begin writing, while she starts reading. Pure silence for an hour, as she continues to read and I begin writing random thoughts in my journal. “Horny.” “Suck me.” “Lick me.” “Fuck me.” As these thoughts are making their way to the paper, I feel a tiny hand rubbing against the upper part of my left leg. That hand, of course, is connecting to her body, while her eyes stare straight ahead with a seductive glare, as if she’s trying to bed the back of the seat in front of her.
She unzips my pants slowly. She then reaches in and fondles my genital area outside of my underwear. My penis is throbbing hard. As she continues to fondle, I reach my left hand under her blanket and begin to rub against her bare leg. Her glare turns to a smile, as she closes her eyes and gives a hard squinty smile. I slowly move her leg and towards her thigh, just above the seam of her pants. I then reach my hand inside her pants and begin to fondle with the tip of her clitoris. She begins breathing heavily as she strokes my cock harder and faster. I reach my fingers into her pussy and start fingering in and out. Harder. Faster. She breathes heavier and her pussy gets wetter as she strokes faster and my cock gets harder. I’m full of aggression as I feel fire coming out of my nose as I fondle harder. My cock is now at its maximum erectional capacity. I feel sperm coming on as I fondle harder, and I shoot right into her hand as her clitoris retracts. She closes her eyes and the lips of her mouth spread out in a wide smile. She lays her head on my chest as I scratch her leg slowly. I feel my eyes closing shut.
I’m woken by an announcement that says, “We’re now arriving in Boston. Please check around your seating area for any items you may have brought on board.” I slowly open my eyes as my new companion slowly lies off my chest and raises her arms. I do the same and give her a smile. As I’m wondering what to say, she reaches into the overhead compartment and pulls down her pocketbook. She takes out a pen and a piece of paper and writes on it. “Give me a call when you get back to New York,” she says as she smiles seductively, flips her hair around, and walks into the aisle. I take it out and it reads, “212-745-1893.” No name?

That explains so much. Just so much. Who writes like that? When I read "maximium erectional capacity" I almost died. That's just not right. But you can bet your ass I am going to use it whenever I can. It's just such an awkward story and it's not written well and geeeeeeeeeeeeeeez.

As I said to Summer...Trogdor wanting to be a writer and getting erotic fiction published is on par with me wanting to be a radio DJ (cause I do) and instead being a phone sex operator. It's just not the same and doesn't equal what you're looking for.