Review: Realistic Vagina ( The Pocket Pussy )

$(KGrHqFHJBkFBRkuV0(lBRyPKrQ(yw~~60_12Unlike the Fleshlight, this realistic vagina is made to be taken out of its container. It’s more like a masturbation sleeve, not really a Fleshlight you can hold or shove between the matress.  Without knowing it was just a sleeve and only having experience with an actual Fleshlight (which this thing mimics, just much smaller), we originally tried the product by keeping it inside it’s container.  Dumb choice.  Here is the original review:

So, Nessa and I have found the worst sex toy ever.  The pocket pussy. What started off as a simple curiosity, turned into me experiencing the midget’s version of a Fleshlight.  Worst toy ever. Honestly, the item comes from China so it’s possible it may be much more useful over there.  However, it really is too small for a guy with an average sized penis.  If you are over 5″ in circumference, getting your penis inside this thing is nearly impossible.  There just isn’t enough room for the flesh-like rubber to stretch inside the tube.  Multiple times while Nessa gave me a hand job she would try to slide my penis inside the tube, and instead of going in the mini vagina slot (lubricated properly), it slide over top of it and slammed into the edge of the container.  Screaming and having flashbacks of slicing a few onions (Nessa said I was crying but I don’t think that was the case) followed.  My advice to anyone thinking about buying a pocket pussy, stay away.  It isn’t worth the possible injuries.  If you are a teenager and on a dry spell, I’d suggest buying a loaf of bread and throwing some warm jelly in it.

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Womanhood, Kids, and Angelina Jolie – What Makes a Woman

Mother JolieToday Angelina Jolie discussed the removal of her ovaries and fallopian tubes in an op-ed article in the New York Times. I never liked Angelina Jolie as an actress, but I never disliked her. I never followed her in the news, I never went out of my way to watch one of her movies, and I didn’t have the need to know much about her. I knew a few things about her, like she was Jon Voight’s daughter and Billy Bob Thornton was cheating on his fiancee (who supposedly didn’t find out until Billy Bob and Angelina were married) with her. She was just kind of…there. Eventually I saw more of her in the media not because of her movies, but because of her humanitarian efforts, her growing family, and health issues.

But it was because of these things that I started to feel like she wasn’t just basking in her celebritydom; I realized that she was very human, very big-hearted. Even during her failing marriage to Billy Bob she proceeded to adopt her first child at the age of 26. I can’t imagine celebrities at that age (Daniel Radcliffe or Taylor Swift) caring for a baby. Clearly she had other priorities in life.

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Random Moments: Steak And BJ Day

steakandbjSo I woke up on March 14 feeling amazing.  I knew from twitter hashtags and other social media outlets that today was Steak and BJ Day.  Ah yes, the day where I get to lay back and do nothing but let my penis poke towards the ceiling so Nessa could admire it.   I look over to Nessa laying next to me and grab her wrist so I can guide her hand to my hard penis.  I was smiling at her as she grabbed my manhood and kind of winked a little bit.  She made a happy expression as she touched me but quickly changed her look and asked why I was smiling so much.  I laughed a bit and said, “Well, today is Steak and BJ Day and I’m already doing my part.”

She looked back at me and responded, “What’s that supposed to mean to me?”  She continued to stroke my dick as she waited for my answer.

I took the smile off my face and explained, “It’s steak and bj day.  Today is my valentine.”  I smiled again and reached over to grab her head and guide her down into my lap.

She moved my hand and started negotiating with me, “I’ll tell you what, I’ll stop sucking your dick every day like I normally do, and instead give you a BJ on this so called holiday.   How does that sound?  Otherwise, I want you to take this hard dick in my hand and stick it inside my pussy and fuck me good.”

I guess that kind of put things in perspective.   Instead of getting a BJ, I got up and used my dick the way she wanted it used, and later that night I ate her homemade Chili.

I married a rebel. TAGS: steak and bj day, steak and blow job day

Tattooed Women: The Real and The Fake

tattooed womenMy excitement had been building exponentially as I planned to get a tattoo. Not a cute little heart on my wrist or a narwhal on my ass cheek. But something big, loud, and in-your-face. Ryan has told me many times that tattoos on a woman are hot, especially sleeves or legs. I had a tattoo before I met Ryan, but not in either of those places. So to hear him say that makes me say, “I love tattoos, and I want another one, so why not get it where my man wants it?”

However, Ryan is afraid of one thing: the stigma a tattoo of that size and location would bring upon me. I’m sure this thought has been on everyone’s mind who has ever had their bodies inked. Some things may even come to mind: trashy, dirty, uneducated bimbos. These thoughts have definitely crossed my mind at some point, even more so : I’m a college graduate, I served as a military officer and fought for my country, I kick ass at being the M in MILF, I make homemade meals at least three times a week (what? sometimes we have leftovers or Domino’s) and take care of my husband in every..single..way. It’s far too late to be ashamed of me. And if people choose to judge this book by her cover, then they are missing out on a caring, loyal, and selfless person.

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Random Moments – This Is How the Zombie Apocalypse Starts

zombieI said goodbye to Ryan as I was leaving out the door, one foot not quite fully in my high heel. I turned my ankle to maneuver it in and twisted the door knob opening the door connecting the kitchen hallway to the garage. “Love you,” I called out one last time; Ryan responded with the same words. I looked up from the ground and my eyes met those of the neighborhood dog that lived about eight houses up the street. I don’t know its name, but I know this dog. Many times I’ve had to slow my car to an idle as it pranced across the street seemingly oblivious to vehicles zooming by it. At the moment, however, it was standing in the center of our garage between Ryan’s weight bench and an abandoned sugar bear cage.

I grasped the knob cautiously in one hand, unsure of whether or not I should open it further. Its tongue lolled out at the left side, its dark auburn hair matted from the heavy early a.m. mist. I stared at it for a moment longer wondering if I was staring at a real life Cujo or if the innocent dog was in there peering at me with curious eyes. I extended my arm forward, shutting the heavy door. The locking mechanism clicked in place.

My heels clicked on the tile back to the master bedroom. “There’s a dog in the garage,” I said. Ryan wasn’t sure of what to make of it, but I must have had a look of genuine concern. He acted quickly and stood up.

“Is it still there?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I shut the door on it. It’s that dog that lives at the corner house.” He opened the door and peered out. It was gone. I scanned the garage, playing a dangerous game of “Where’s Waldo, Rabid Edition.” I stepped into the garage cautiously and waited for the sound of dog paws running on pavement preparing to lunge at me. Halfway out of the garage and the dog appeared from behind my car.

“FUCK!” I mumbled. “Don’t make eye contact…DON’T MAKE EYE CONTACT!” I said out loud as if to document to Ryan that I was taking the proper precautions to avoid a savage animal vs. woman confrontation. “They can smell fear!” I said in a half-laughing, half-distressed tone.

“Hurry and get inside the car,” Ryan said in the most calm voice he could, but it just filled me with more panic. A small figure appeared from the rear of my car; the dog walked around to the driver’s side. How fast can Ryan get to me if I got attacked right now? I thought.

“Oh God!” I exclaimed. I looked at Ryan and said, “This is how the zombie apocalypse starts!” I recoiled in the safety of my car. I started engine and looked in all directions before backing up. There was no sign of the four-legged demon. I put the car in reverse and the rearview backup camera screen appeared. The dog stood there at what looked like six feet behind the car. I stepped on the brake and watched as it stood there panting, its tongue still lolling at the side. I froze, unable to curse at it or even honk the horn. It looked around before skipping off back in the direction toward its home.

I lived to fight another day.