A little of this and a bit more

Alan Crawford presents twisted short and some longer stories for adults, with quite a number of his rants and observations as well.

Several curious people, really it’s just one, asked me how or where the ideas came from. Thankfully there’s no clear answer. When the trousers, mind, or weather conditions suit such things, the computer opens, a page appears, and it starts to flow. All designed to promote my nonsense, which may be adult in nature but not necessarily mature.

Is that for me

internet and email

Reading Time: 3 minutesThe adults only email arrived in Mary’s inbox with a ping. A fucking big ping. In fact, this racy email discussed some rather biological uses for her vagina and mentioned the phrase “a little something in your inbox” in a very suggestive and fulfilling way. It did add the word huge a little later in the text. Very festive and very rewarding, it was Christmas after all. Is that for me?

Mary had purchased a small handbag sized lady business pleasuring machine a number of months ago and this marketing email continued the long line of similarly sexy opportunities to buy more, enjoy more, scream more and yes dear reader, ask for more.

The opportunities were clear, you should buy and:

  • Blow your mind
  • Satiable the insatiable
  • Rock your world
  • Satisfy the beast within
  • Sizzle the shnizzle
  • Start up the dribble

And of course just simply (if that’s the right word?) come, come and come again, as often as you want.

Mary although terribly pleased with the effects provided by her recent hot pink purchase, she’d named it Roger, wasn’t too sure about buying another pleasure unit until she read the special offer.

Mack Trucks do trucks – Mick Dicks do dicks was the rather catchy slogan and the image in the email was extraordinary, a dick so real it seemed to wobble in her inbox. It was bright neon blue with a realistic vein almost popping along the top side of this monster. It was a baby’s arm holding a granny smith apple. Fruit analogies aside it was built for one thing and it wasn’t to hold up the Christmas tree. It was for self-fucking, name screaming, more please, on a grand scale, and it was nearly a grand in itself – $678.00 US dollars.

Mary paused, pressed, well she hovered her trembling finger over the delete button and thought, hold on. I’ll buy it with my Lotto winnings and keep it for a special occasion. Mary started to warm up and realised that she had time before needing to get ready for work.

Where’s roger and where’s my coffee? She slurped down some jar, grabbed roger and slid into a naked state preparing for waves of orgasmic joy as only roger could provide for now. All the while thinking about how Mick would fit into her repertoire.

Mick arrived in a big box, much like her inbox although real. The wrapping was plain, the inside cushioning was a light blue silky velvety sort of a thing and Mick was in his discrete fabric holdall with a drawstring top. As discrete as a baby’s arm and an apple could be.

Many years later Mary would have no end of trouble on holiday with airport customs scans and once Mick fell out during her extremely religious friend’s pool party preparations. Dropping out of clothes, popping into her sexy swimwear and sorting out years of crap in her handbag freed the nearly worn out Mick from his protective space. He bounced about the change room like the rubber monster that he was.

The friend laughed and against all preconceived notions Mary had, shared a rather personal detail. This friend was so insatiable she had a locked drawer of tiny, whopping, slippery, lubed up, tickled things in readiness for her needs and moods when they were needing a seeing to. Her husband had also enjoyed the nature of this drawer, he even had some trinkets of his own it turned out. He turned out very well when all the actors were in play.

Mary was invited to (and did) inspect the drawer and was invited to attend, witness and if happy, participate in the private performance the next time it was scheduled. Mary gave this some serious thought as she packed Mick back into his protective cocoon. Later that night she thought about it a lot more. Again and again.

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I'm an increasingly grumpy old fart posting rants, observations and trying to write somewhat twisted short and slightly longer stories for adults. All rights reserved unless otherwise credited © Alan Crawford - 2024

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