Make Yourself Handy
Most holes cannot take 4 fingers, and those who can seriously need to get their vaginas tightened.
Last year, Fridays were my days to have intense blaze sessions with miscellaneous groups of people. But nobody seems to smoke marijuana anymore. Are people simply avoiding the Swine flu or am I just stuck in a past life? I have actually been brainstorming and have come up with a way to prevent the spread of Swine while smoking: Blaze condoms! At first, I considered putting a teeny weeny condom on a bowl and poke a hole at the tip for inhalation. But then I realized most men are not comfortable enough with their sexuality to do that. I would have to actually produce a new stretchable product made exclusively for each a bowl, bong, and joint/blunt. Yet, if I took the time to do this there would be no time to enjoy them. So if anybody wants to do me the grand favor of making them so that I have more stoner buddies to corrupt, you have my blessing.
It has become a redundance to be bombarded by approximately 17 boys per out-night, at Scorekeepers obviously, whom use my blog to construct a pick-up line. Sharing admiration is one thing, the boys who do that do not tick me off in the slightest bit. But I’m not just going to bone someone for the sole purpose of creating material for my blog. “Hey Isabella, maybe I can be one of the characters in your blog,” with a desperate raise of the eyebrow. Pardon me, but are you shitting me? It is the unexpected experiences that are going to have me pondering the following afternoon, not the ones that throw themselves at me. Not every story is even worth telling. Pretend you’ve never heard of me for all I care. I think about myself all day long, I am not looking to be brought up at night when I am looking for a muse to play with. Pitch yourself, not my blog. And do not even dare let that intimidate you. I am fed up with that trite excuse. Go to Dick’s Sporting Goods and buy yourself a pair of some fucking balls. Issue dismissed.
So the other night I experienced the Sculptor for my first time. And by Sculptor I mean he was a master with his hands. He was able to manipulate my G-spot from front and back angles simultaneously. I could not move a muscle throughout my body because of the fireworks taking place between my legs. I have had men try to penetrate via finger both of my entrances at once. But usually it just feels like somebody is rubbing my clit while sticking something small up my ass. Yes, it almost always just feels like there’s something going in and out of my asshole.
But not this time! I was left speechless. I cannot articulate what the Sculptor did. But it was not a split of the hand in which the thumb goes to the clit, pointer into the front, and ring into the back. Using one hand does not give enough leadway for length. It doesn’t work. Two hands are better than one. And better yet, after the warm-up, 2 fingers are better than 1, and 3 fingers are better than 2. Most holes cannot take 4 fingers, and those who can seriously need to get their vaginas tightened.
The Sculptor used one hand for the front and one hand for the back. Together, they manipulated the pressure inside of me so powerfully that the veins conducting communication from the rest of my muscles to my brain completely lost electricity. The circuits went out. Kids, do some further research and try this at home.
Then, several nights later, my vagina was actually irritated, harassed if you will, by a single finger. A vagina has a pathway to the G-spot and when the penetrator stays on that path the feeling is quite pleasurable. Staying on the path yields success. Girls, you know what I’m talking about (and if you don’t we need to talk). Actually, girls, this is something you should never have to be aware of. Because before this episode, I never knew it was even possible to stray off the path! But this boy introduced me to his world of the unknown. It wasn’t that he couldn’t find the path. Hell, he didn’t land on the damn path at all! It just did not occur to him to even consider sensually becoming acquainted with me down under, rather he felt it necessary to jab his finger into the hole and poke around aimlessly. Treating a vagina like the maroon bag of Scrabble tiles is absolutely unethical. It is not only what you finger, but how you finger it.
