Apparently some of our readers have been perusing too much Danielle Steele as of late. We recieved the following email from someone (who asked to remain anonymous) this morning, and lets just say we'd rather eat a naked baby covered in fish semen than think about this really going down.
I got home from the Star Bar around 2 a.m. last night. Around 7:30 a.m. I was in this freaky underground club having sex with one of the suicide girls who is married to some Iranian dude who doesn't love her any more. The sex was hot, she looked so beatifull underneath the blue lights. We snuck away to a dark corner. At first she leaned over something and let me take her from behind. She then turned to face me and let me press her hard against the black wall covered with old, outdated flyers for punk shows, and millions of staples. Her staring eyes bored deep into my soul as the mischevious smile on her face let me know she often engages in such high risk behaviors and she is just having fun. We hit a good rhythym, and then I woke up.
The greenish morning light was creeping into my bedroom as I lay underneath my comforter. I sighed, bummed I hadn't made a mess climaxing with my sweet black angel, and realizing I was left with a raging hard-on pressed against my black boxer briefs. I conjured her up again as I began to rid myself of my stiff bedfellow. It was over quickly.
As I lay there saying goodbye to my beautifull, tatooed-bettie. Something happened. At first I thought it was her, crossing the depths of my subconcious, swimming her way through to be with me, at least for another round of kinky lovemaking. I thought she had simply flown out of my left ear and bit my right nipple hard. I looked towards her and realized what was really happening was I was being stung by a giant black wasp.
The moral of this story is. I know the weather is getting nice, and you may be tempted to leave the doors or windows open to accept the cooling breezes of the coming fall. But be carefull that you are not letting unwanted pests into you house.