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04/26/25   
Show us where the bad man touched you

I Sing the Body Erotic

by Chals Woodland
bio/email
July 3, 2012
Ah, my sweet Nancy. Another year, another anniversary, and our love endures. Why does it last? Is it because ours is a love meant for the ages, without judgment or fear of reprisal, a shared connection between two people who are soulmates? Yes, a smidge. Mostly it continues to grow stronger because we never let ourselves lapse into staleness.

As you know, Nancy, I am not simply a heart that never stops loving and a mind that never stops obsessing over our love. I am also a penis. I am a testicle. Two testicles, in fact. I am a body, the throbbing impulses of a man. And you are more than love to me. You are the rounded hips, the supple breasts, the plush lips, the honeyed cave hole of a woman. We satisfy each other's bodies as we do our eternal longing for companionship. Yes, Nancy, like Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, we express our love with constant humping.

The years pass, Nancy, but our physical love continues to bring us closer. No matter how many times we do the nasty, my darling, I never tired of the act, and I know you feel the same. For no matter how we may copulate in familiar ways, when things grow too familiar and comfortable for us, we always choose to raunchy it up with a little romantic experimentation. Your leg here, our backs bent this day, dangle these here and lick them—our imaginations are limitless when it comes to our storied love-making. Even if we were blithering retards, dear Nancy, we still have that dirty Japanese comic book with all the pictures of weird positions to try.

What a treasure the fables positions of the Comic Sutra has been to us. We've tried all of them, I believe, Nancy, some of them in other rooms of the house. Some say there are only 103 positions, but you know what I say to that—do them twice. And then do them underwater. There is no spice for a relationship like an aquatic sexual adventure, and as long as our neighbors leave their gate unlocked, we will continue to follow our inner Neptune and Neptilla.

Sometimes, dear Nancy, what we hide is more exciting than what we reveal. A sheer negligee may give a breathtaking hint of the beauty of your naked body, inspiring more excitement and ecstasy than I have ever known. Just as the small football helmet on my wang does the same for you. Sometimes, for an added touch of sensuality, we may play our own erotic game of Blind Man's Bluff, feeling our way to each other's bodies in the dark. At least once we remove the furniture, there's no way I want my dick in a sling again, but that probably goes without saying.

What does not go without saying is that I always prefer your naked body in the light. Do not think my talk of concealing your goodies or making love in the dark means I'm ashamed of your body. Though both of us have aged, Nancy, I find you just as sexy as you were ten years ago, on the sliding scale that we've both aged and, sure, you're not as hot as you used to be. Your sister has your body from ten years ago, but I would not sleep with her Nancy, since I love only you. I may think of her to inspire my erection, but I will make love to you with that erection, Nancy, and almost all the time I'm picturing your head on that body. That could not possibly be cheating.

No matter if you have gained a little weight, if your thighs now rub together in a disconcerting way, and if your breasts do not rise like fluffy couch pillows as they used to. If you have pancake boobs now, it's all the better for me to lay on top of you and cram my love inside. You complain about your cottage cheese buttocks, but I say those indentations are the dozens of dimples from the many wrinkly smiles your ass gives me whenever I look at it.

It's for our erotic life together, and no other, that I keep all those pornographic magazines in my workshed. I don't know why you're getting so bent out of shape, Nancy—you should only be bent out of shape for our coupling. The magazine may be called Chicks With Dicks, but the reason I have those is obvious: A chick with a dick is still a chick. I don't need chicks with vaginas. That's why I have you, my love.


Quote of the Day
“When you wish upon a star… doesn't that burn like a motherfucker? Those things are basically like other suns. Me, I do all my wishing on the floor of my bedroom.”

-"Cricket-Bat" Nigel Jiminy
Fortune 500 Cookie
Your future lies in Clearasil, now and forever. Having Carrot Top fill in for you at the anchor desk Tuesday might just end your career. Why is more than one sheep still called sheep? And why are they so damned affectionate? You're going to regret correcting Randy Savage's grammar before the week is done. Saturday: Fish or die.


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