There I stood, face to face with my arch-nemesis: The Grim Reaper. She was looking tasty, too. I could see her nipples poking through her peek-a-boo mesh shirt overtop her traditional black robe. It was the first (and last) time I ever got a hard-on while thinking about death. (Well, there was also the time I got half-a-stiffy thinking about the coroner who discovered the nude body of Marilyn Monroe – and wondered what might’ve happened if her body was still somewhat warm. Hey, I’ll admit it: I would’ve fucked Marilyn’s corpse. Pussy is pussy.)
“Well, Nova, we meet again,” Lady Death gloated, advancing towards me.
“Stay away from me, you demonic bitch!” I shouted. “I am really pissed off tonight, so don’t test me! There’s no nacho bar here! There aren’t even any sandwiches!” I had to admit, the adrenaline was really coursing through my veins. For a split second, I contemplated battling her in hand-to-hand combat. I could punch her in the tits, yank that black hood completely over her head, and tell everyone at the bar that she fucked a black guy, thus getting her lynched… but then I realized that it would be a valiant yet futile attempt to defeat the undefeatable. There was no way your Novanator, trapped in this mushy, mortal flesh could best a deity in a physical confrontation. No, I had to use my mind once again – and rely on the wisdom gleamed from the greater Novaverse.
“Nova, you escaped me last time. I was not pleased. The Dark Powers with dominion over all forms of existence – the unseen Masters since time immemorial – demand your destruction. I’ve seen your name etched in the Book of the Damned; your fate is sealed and your demise is inevitable. Yet I’m prepared to offer you a momentary reprieve… because I need your assistance.”
I was incredulous. Stuck in this backwoods shithole, surrounded by whores, white trash, and smelly fucks – forced to listen to goofy hillbilly music no less – I was being asked by the Grim Reaper herself for help!
My first reaction was to laugh like a loon: “Bwahahaha!! Lick my scrotum for a few hours, cum-breath, and I’ll consider helping you! Grimmy, have you FORGOTTEN how many times you’ve conspired against the Big Novowski, nearly costing me my life? How about the time I nearly burnt to death when I got high and tried to microwave a can of tortilla chips, the microwave shorted, and my house went up in flames? Or the time that Nazi dyke discovered I had banged her girlfriend, and nearly bludgeoned me to death with her copy of Mein Kampf? Or the time in Iran when I told that crazy imam-guy that Allah is a pussy? And now you want my HELP?! As Popeye said to Brutus: ‘Go fuck yourself, bitch!’”
“Don’t dismiss me, Nova. I could destroy you at any moment.” She was getting all hot and bothered – and those nipples of hers were sticking out like baby carrots. She wore the frustrated expression of a girl whose loins cried for a good, hard fucking… but alas, her boyfriend mixed Vicodin with Jim Beam and couldn’t get a boner. I better tread carefully.
She continued: “I’m not asking for your assistance by appealing to your sense of charity. Obviously, that would be foolish of me. What I propose is a trade – your life, in exchange for your help.”
“Give me a minute,” I chortled, smirking at my now-humbled nemesis. “I want to enjoy this.”
The Hazard County locals eyed me and the Grim Reaper with those hateful looks again. Peanut dust floated throughout the bar. And Stinky was making his way up the dance floor steps when he first caught sight of my buxom enemy.
“Who the fuck be this bitch, Mr. Nova? She looks nice!” He stared at her ass. “Hoo-wee, round and bouncy – just like that famous lady on TV, the Fabulous Moolah. Remember her? She wrestled that rooster at the county fair last year.” Stinky was butt-wasted. He had no idea he was gazing at the Dealer of Death. He also had no idea that his newfound girlfriend was going down on a three-toothed cowboy behind the register, in exchange for a line of blow.
I was recovering from my laugh attack. “Stinky, no, don’t go near her, dude. Seriously.”
Stinky staggered right up next to the Grim Reaper. The temperature of the air immediately plummeted by about 20 degrees.
“Whoa, frigid are ya? Let’s see if ol’ Stinky can warms you up!” The smelly moron draped his arm over Death’s shoulder and gleefully squeezed her left tit like he was palming an undersized basketball.
Now, I warned the dumb bastard to stay away – but I guess he thought that the Grim Reaper wanted to diddle his flesh-colored crayon, or something. Bad idea. The Reaper responded in character, instantly firing a jolt of her Death Rattle. Stinky dropped to the ground like a drunken freshman; his beard sizzled and smoke poured from his hair. Good thing he was stoned… or else he just might’ve felt it. As it was, Stinky was too drunk to realize he was knocking on Death’s door (via Death’s breast). A sober man would’ve surely been killed.
“Dammit!” Stinky cried from the ground. He stared up at the Reaper and glowered. “That totally killed my buzz, you stupid cunt! Plus I pissed my pants! Again! Shucks, I gotta find me a radiator to dry-out my BVDs!” Stinky started to unzip his pants.
“I will KILL YOU if you do not leave my sight, you insolent pile of wasted atoms!” roared the Reaper at my smelly friend. “Re-zip your pants THIS INSTANCE or face the unfettered wrath of She-Death!”
Stinky dropped his shorts to his ankles and scratched his lice-infested hair. “So… you’s gots a sister?”
I suddenly realized the severity of the situation; this bitch was messing with my friend. MY friend. The word “my” denotes a form of ownership. In other words, she was fucking with my shit. And despite the fact I was going to ditch Stinky from the inner Nova-circle after tonight, she had no right to threaten death upon the Stinkster. (Ok, maybe she did have some rights, being the Grim Reaper and all that. But I suppose it really didn’t matter who the fuck she was; all I wanted was to escape from this situation and move on with my life. And find some fucking nachos.)
“Stinky, go warm up the Nova-wagon. You can tie your shorts to the antennae and they’ll dry out by the time we make it home.” I threw him the keys. This was a first for the Novanator; I had never let ANYONE hop behind the wheel of my sacred machine. Even on those nights when I’d get mad at my liver and drink myself under the table, I always slept it off, refusing to let anyone else drive me home. Of course, Stinky failed to comprehend the magnitude of this great sacrifice. He stared at my car keys in a mindless stupor and stumbled towards the exit.
Meanwhile, the Reaper and I sat down for the strangest conversation I have ever had…
Showing posts with label Marilyn Monroe. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Marilyn Monroe. Show all posts
Monday, January 19, 2009
Friday, January 9, 2009
30 Minutes of Doggystyle
Mr. Nova loves booty. He loves nice, healthy round asses. Bubble butts. Ass cheeks that need a good spanking. So long as there is no cellulite, the bigger the better. The Novanator does NOT love skinny, beanpole, anorexic bottoms that feel like jawbreakers when you squeeze on them while fucking. Consider me Sir Nov-a-Lot.
Mr. Nova is always on the lookout for the perfect ass – and I am sorry to say, that bitch J-Lo never had it. P. Diddy bought it for her anyway, had it implanted several years ago so she could appeal more to the black market (at least, that’s what I read on the Internet, so it’s GOT to be true). No, Mr. Nova likes natural ass. The kind of ass you can be proud to bring home to Momma: “Hey Mom, look at the birthing hips on this one! C’mon! Give it a squeeze!”
In my sexual quests and orgasmic odysseys I have come (cum) across booties that would make grown men cry – and bested young punks who think they’re Mack Daddies. These idiot kids spend their days IMing one another and shaving their sack in the bathroom, instead of learning proper sexual techniques. Meanwhile, good ol’ Nova is pounding the butt cheeks like a blacksmith beats iron.
Many fellas I have met along the way share my belief that an ass must have some cushion for the pushin’. I used to work with some crazy Mexican dudes and they would comment on this subject all day long. It was a profession for them, grading pairs of the golden ham hocks like Olympic judges. I can still remember what my Mexican friend said to me one day while were discussing a potential Friend with Benefits:
“You see that culo (‘ass’ in Spanish) over there, Mr. Nova? Look how skinny it is. She needs to eat something. I could cook her up some burritos. Cook that bitch plenty of meat and put some hot sauce in it. I would also bang out her pink taco, sure, but I fear that I might break her in two with my cock. I would fuck her way too hard, like a sledgehammer. I am like fucking Speedy Gonzales when it comes to my pumping motion, but I am also like a turtle in how long it takes to spurt my Spanish-flavored sauce. I would make sure that I reamed her out nice and long. But she would be pleading in pain for me to stop, I am sure. No way that bitch could take 30 minutes of doggystyle!”
I laughed and replied, “Yeah, bitch needs to get some protein in her diet. Probably a vegetarian who misses her meat products. Gotta fatten up her ass. I know! Maybe I’ll give her an injection of Doctor Nova’s deep-throat dietary supplement! Time for a little bit of vitamin Nova!”
“You are one crazy muthafucker, Mr. Nova.”
“Shut up and pass me the nachos, Peppi – or I’m callin’ I.N.S.”
He was right about the girl’s ass. She had fallen prey to the Madison Avenue belief that being a 97-pound waif was attractive. She probably puked out everything she ate in a pathetic attempt to catch a man’s eye. I personally blame those fag fashion designers for only hiring lamppost-looking models. Sure as hell ain’t a HETEROSEXUAL who picks these models. Real men like big tits and nice curves. Fuck the American media for making that girl feel bad about herself! She should just make sure she exercised and watched less television. Then she could eat like a healthy girl and have enough energy to fuck for hours.
So I decided to test my friend’s theory out. Could this girl last for 30 minutes of hardcore, from behind, toe-curling, ass-reaming doggystyle?
“Hey, honey, my name is Mr. Nova. You’ve probably heard of me. No? Well, you WILL. I’m the man your mother WARNED you about, sweet-tits. What are ya doing tonight...”
I had the skinny thing back at my apartment a few hours later. She wanted to fuck BAD, but I had to make sure she would stay wet for a long time. So I broke down and did some foreplay. One thing I know about skinny girls: They are terrible kissers. Their damn teeth always knock against yours – and being on top of them is like lying down with a skeleton. (Not that I’ve ever laid atop a skeleton, except that one time I got drunk in a morgue and started feeling horny. Yup, even after all those years, that Marilyn Monroe is still one TERRIFIC fuck. Next up is Aaliyah! But I digress.)
I did a pretty good job with my Hummingbird Technique and brought her close to climax. That was when I decided to make her get on all fours like a doggy and fuck her good. Five minutes into the sex session and she was doing fine. She bucked against me like a horse trying to dismount a rider. I thought for a moment that she might have what it takes. Eight minutes in, I checked my watch and gave her a good spank on the ass.
“Good girl! Nova likes you! Here’s your carrot!”
At the thirteen minute mark she began showing signs of wear. (Plus, I was getting tired myself, but GOD BE DAMNED if I was going to surrender!) After fifteen minutes of Nova-pounding she screamed, “C’mon and cum already!”
I decided to pull out and lay a fatty on her sweaty backside. Bitch failed me.
She washed off and came back to bed. “Feel better?” she asked me.
“No.”
She was stunned. “Why?” she inquired.
“I bet that dirty Mexican I could bang you doggystyle for 30 minutes and you only lasted half that time! Now I owe him $50. Do you have any idea how much beer and nachos I could’ve bought with that $50?!”
She was shocked. “I could just lie to him and tell him we made that far.”I gave her a little nudge on the chin with my thumb. “Sorry, kiddo. I can’t lie to the bastard about something like this. It just ain’t my style.”
Mr. Nova is always on the lookout for the perfect ass – and I am sorry to say, that bitch J-Lo never had it. P. Diddy bought it for her anyway, had it implanted several years ago so she could appeal more to the black market (at least, that’s what I read on the Internet, so it’s GOT to be true). No, Mr. Nova likes natural ass. The kind of ass you can be proud to bring home to Momma: “Hey Mom, look at the birthing hips on this one! C’mon! Give it a squeeze!”
In my sexual quests and orgasmic odysseys I have come (cum) across booties that would make grown men cry – and bested young punks who think they’re Mack Daddies. These idiot kids spend their days IMing one another and shaving their sack in the bathroom, instead of learning proper sexual techniques. Meanwhile, good ol’ Nova is pounding the butt cheeks like a blacksmith beats iron.
Many fellas I have met along the way share my belief that an ass must have some cushion for the pushin’. I used to work with some crazy Mexican dudes and they would comment on this subject all day long. It was a profession for them, grading pairs of the golden ham hocks like Olympic judges. I can still remember what my Mexican friend said to me one day while were discussing a potential Friend with Benefits:
“You see that culo (‘ass’ in Spanish) over there, Mr. Nova? Look how skinny it is. She needs to eat something. I could cook her up some burritos. Cook that bitch plenty of meat and put some hot sauce in it. I would also bang out her pink taco, sure, but I fear that I might break her in two with my cock. I would fuck her way too hard, like a sledgehammer. I am like fucking Speedy Gonzales when it comes to my pumping motion, but I am also like a turtle in how long it takes to spurt my Spanish-flavored sauce. I would make sure that I reamed her out nice and long. But she would be pleading in pain for me to stop, I am sure. No way that bitch could take 30 minutes of doggystyle!”
I laughed and replied, “Yeah, bitch needs to get some protein in her diet. Probably a vegetarian who misses her meat products. Gotta fatten up her ass. I know! Maybe I’ll give her an injection of Doctor Nova’s deep-throat dietary supplement! Time for a little bit of vitamin Nova!”
“You are one crazy muthafucker, Mr. Nova.”
“Shut up and pass me the nachos, Peppi – or I’m callin’ I.N.S.”
He was right about the girl’s ass. She had fallen prey to the Madison Avenue belief that being a 97-pound waif was attractive. She probably puked out everything she ate in a pathetic attempt to catch a man’s eye. I personally blame those fag fashion designers for only hiring lamppost-looking models. Sure as hell ain’t a HETEROSEXUAL who picks these models. Real men like big tits and nice curves. Fuck the American media for making that girl feel bad about herself! She should just make sure she exercised and watched less television. Then she could eat like a healthy girl and have enough energy to fuck for hours.
So I decided to test my friend’s theory out. Could this girl last for 30 minutes of hardcore, from behind, toe-curling, ass-reaming doggystyle?
“Hey, honey, my name is Mr. Nova. You’ve probably heard of me. No? Well, you WILL. I’m the man your mother WARNED you about, sweet-tits. What are ya doing tonight...”
I had the skinny thing back at my apartment a few hours later. She wanted to fuck BAD, but I had to make sure she would stay wet for a long time. So I broke down and did some foreplay. One thing I know about skinny girls: They are terrible kissers. Their damn teeth always knock against yours – and being on top of them is like lying down with a skeleton. (Not that I’ve ever laid atop a skeleton, except that one time I got drunk in a morgue and started feeling horny. Yup, even after all those years, that Marilyn Monroe is still one TERRIFIC fuck. Next up is Aaliyah! But I digress.)
I did a pretty good job with my Hummingbird Technique and brought her close to climax. That was when I decided to make her get on all fours like a doggy and fuck her good. Five minutes into the sex session and she was doing fine. She bucked against me like a horse trying to dismount a rider. I thought for a moment that she might have what it takes. Eight minutes in, I checked my watch and gave her a good spank on the ass.
“Good girl! Nova likes you! Here’s your carrot!”
At the thirteen minute mark she began showing signs of wear. (Plus, I was getting tired myself, but GOD BE DAMNED if I was going to surrender!) After fifteen minutes of Nova-pounding she screamed, “C’mon and cum already!”
I decided to pull out and lay a fatty on her sweaty backside. Bitch failed me.
She washed off and came back to bed. “Feel better?” she asked me.
“No.”
She was stunned. “Why?” she inquired.
“I bet that dirty Mexican I could bang you doggystyle for 30 minutes and you only lasted half that time! Now I owe him $50. Do you have any idea how much beer and nachos I could’ve bought with that $50?!”
She was shocked. “I could just lie to him and tell him we made that far.”I gave her a little nudge on the chin with my thumb. “Sorry, kiddo. I can’t lie to the bastard about something like this. It just ain’t my style.”
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