Monthly Archives: December 2008

My Very Favorite Things This Past Year.

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Andi Anderson blowjob pics

You know it’s that time of year, so I’ll take a couple of minutes of your time to reflect back on Billy Watson’s 2008, and mention some of my very favorite things that went down.

For me, 2008 was kinda weird, kinda whacky, kinda sad, kinda happy, kinda funny, kinda profitable, and certainly a learning experience.

To which I say, ain’t life grand?!

And can you believe Aught 9 is here?

How does time work again? Wasn’t it just 1999? Wasn’t everyone just shitting their pants about Y2K? I wasn’t…really, I wasn’t. I’m no Rocket Scientist, but it didn’t take too much to figure out the world wasn’t coming to an end just cause we were rolling over our odometer.

It won’t in 2012, either, even though The Aztecs said so…but that’s another blog.

So, in no particular order, I’d like to relive some of my very favorite moments of 2008, just cause I’m sure you’re wondering — with excitement — about what I have to say.

Oh, and since I originally posted this blog, I’ve added stuff I forgot about when I originally wrote it…so once you’ve read it, you might want to come back and see what I’ve added!

Left of the Dial — Dispatches from the 80′s Underground: It didn’t come out this year, but I bought it this year. I thought about buying this 4 CD box set hot off the press, but since I lived it all when it came out, I held off, which was kinda silly, cause damn! I forgot how much I loved all these songs, and all these bands, too! Hoodoo Gurus! The Lyres! Green on Red! The Feelies! The Dead Milkmen!

Little Steven’s Underground Garage on Sirius Radio: I got Sirius the year before Stern left terrestrial radio for satellite, and I found this gem of a station right away. I haven’t turned it off since. Well, I turn it off from time to time to listen to Stern, and I turn it off when I get out of my car, but that’s about it, really. I just got out of my car, too, just after hearing Foghat belt out “Free ride! Take it easy!” And the DJ’s! Handsome Dick Manitoba. Kid Leo. Kim Fowley. And Little Steven, too. Like the ad says — they play the coolest records ever, whether they’re 50 years old or 50 minutes old.

Andi Anderson’s butt hole: Not really. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I love Andi’s butt hole. What else would you expect a perverted blogger and/or pornographer to say? But seriously…I like Andi more. I mean as a person I like Andi more. Especially when she’s blowing me in my car after our dinner dates. Not really. But what else would you expect from me? How much I enjoy our meaningful conversations? (Which they are). How much we enjoy time spent together? (Which we do). Or how I love to blow loads up her butt and down her throat every chance I get? (Which I do). Oh, and I don’t even like anal sex.

Really. I don’t.

Muntadhar al Zaidi: I’m still all about the Iraqi journalist who whipped both his shoes at our Lame Duck President. Bravo, Muntadhar, my new friend!

Synecdoche, New York: I’m pretty sure it’s disappeared from the theaters now, but when it hits cable, watch it. And don’t expect to watch it just once…especially if you really want to get what’s going on. Shit, I still don’t get what was going on, exactly. But I think I have an idea. I’ll just need to watch it one more time.

Van Morrison’s Astral Weeks show at The Hollywood Bowl: I’ve already gushed about Van, and Astral Weeks, and sitting in the VIP seats at the show. But I’ll say it again: I love Van Morrison, and I think Astral Weeks is one of the greatest records ever made (even Lester Bangs concurs with me there), and I didn’t mind one bit shelling out $350 bucks to sit within spitting distance of him while he played those two sets. The first set had gems like “Gloria” and “Brown-Eyed Girl” in it, while the second set was Astral Weeks — in its entirety.

The Democratic Party: Remember when that dolt Ann Coulter claimed the Democratic Party was “going the way of The Whigs”? And don’t ya just love Bill O and Hannity and Fox and the Most Evil Vice President In The History of The US? Well, here’s what I have to say — Bravo to the Pansies and Pussies who make up the Party that’s about to take Control. No more Mr. (and Ms.) Niceguy (gal) for them! Bravo to Hillary and Joe. Bravo, Barak! Nice job to every single last one of you. Now just do us all a favor and pull us out of The Mess the motherfucking GOP has dug us in to.

Adrianna Nicole: Cause I dunno what I’d do without her friendship.

Patton Oswalt and Friends at the Largo at The Coronet: Last June I was lucky enough to catch my very favorite comedian — Patton Oswalt — at The Largo. What a club! What a show!! His friends (who weren’t listed on the bill) included Flight of the Conchords, Margaret Cho, and Michael Penn…among others. I got a front row seat, too!

Cumbang!: Hands down my very favorite site of the year. It was a blast to shoot, too. Um..pardon the pun. I mean who doesn’t love a bunch of silly rednecks, bukakke, and a beautiful black girl whose black boyfriend cheated on her with a snow bunny? (Did you get all that?)

Like I said before: 2008 was weird and whacky and sad and happy and funny…probably just like yours.

My Christmas Swag.

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Jack Kerouac and his scroll

OK Boys & Girls!

Time to share what we all got this wonderful Holiday Season!

I’ll go first.

On The Road — The Original Scroll: Unabridged on 10 CD’s, this is the “legendary first draft” of my boy Jack’s masterpiece. Why legendary? If you don’t know this story, you should. Kerouac wrote on the entire novel in, like, 3 weeks…from start to finish. Influenced heavily by improvisational jazz, Kerouac felt that you just needed to write — and do nothing else. Except maybe take speed. Which he took lots of. Doing nothing else meant things like no revision and even — get this — no putting another piece of paper into the typewriter once you got to the end of a page. So he had the girl he was banging at the time tape together reams of paper so Kerouac could just sit there and write. Or, if you ask Truman Capote, type. The words just flowed from Kerouac…like notes from, say, Charlie Parker — who Kerouac idolized. What’s this all mean? No punctuation. No paragraph structure. Fuck grammar rules! In other words, none of the bullshit you dealt with in English class. And using everyone’s real name! So, instead of reading about “Old Bull Lee”, you get to read about William S. Burroughs. And instead of “Carlo Marx”, you get Allen Ginsberg. Kerouac himself is “Sal Paradise” and Herbert Huncke “Elmer Hassel”. In other words, we get to hear it all. Which none of us got with the published book, cause you know how editors can be…plus, Kerouac’s publishers were a bit uptight about defamation law suits, cause most publishers are. The only thing better than hearing the scroll would be actually getting to read the scroll itself, but it’s so frail now that’s impossible. Plus the rich dude who owns The Indianapolis Colts owns the scroll now, too; he bought it at auction a few years ago for a couple million bucks, and he ain’t lending it out anytime soon. Well, actually, he kinda is: the scroll goes on tour from time to time, so if it comes to a city near yours, go check it out. It’s super cool to look at, and it’s in an airtight, properly-humidified clear case, which means it won’t deteriorate any time soon. (I suppose this is a good way to properly care for a multi-million dollar investment). I know all this cause I caught the scroll on tour when it made a brief stop in San Francisco.

Wow — that was kinda long.

I’ll keep the rest of this short.

I got more audio CD’s — these will teach me French.

I got some books, too. (Not like I need any more).

I got the Vampire Weekend record (ain’t it cool that a lot of the records these days come with a free digital download for your computer?) and I got some clothes and I got a Target gift card and I got a vintage cookie jar (it’s an Aunt Jemima look-a-like girl and yet another addition to my politically incorrect “Black Americana” collection) and I got a bag of Hershey Kisses and a kidrobot Munny Doll to color myself and one of Peskimo’s Bamboo Zoo and a Hef figure from Peecol, too.

Oh! My big gift was XBox 360!

Woot woot!

OK — your turn.

Super Fun e-Mails: the gorgeous Nikki Anne.

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Nikki Ann porn hand job pics

The one & the only Fabulous Freebird, Michael Hayes, writes:

I am giving you some props for shooting those excellent gloryhole and blacks on blondes scenes with the beautiful Nikki Anne. I love the porn whores who look like the girl next door, and Nikki Anne fits that description to a tee. You got any more scenes anywhere with her coming up? That girl is fuckin beautiful, you should give her her very own Nikki Anne website. That body, that face, you could sell alot of subscriptions to that one. She blows these dumb whores like Barbie Cummings and Andi Anderson right out of the water. Whats the scoop on the gorgeous Nikki Anne?

PS:

Billy — Its kind of funny, I love porn, I absolutely love it. Without porn, I would have never been able to bone my first chick way back at the tender age of 18 years old. So I am pro-porn all the way. But when I see a beautiful girl like Nikki Anne, I feel like I want to save her from porn. I want to rescue her from porn, and bring her to Florida with me and we can get drunk together and smoke weed together, but in my twisted, convoluted mind, I feel since she looks so wholesome and pure, I feel that she is too good for porn, and I am like the fuckin Greatest American Hero, rescuing her from that world of smut. Does that make sense? I love porn, but I think Nikki Anne is too good for porn, yet I need to watch every porn movie she has ever done, because I am such a goddamn pervert. Barbie Cummings looks like she needs to be in porn, Andi Anderson looks like she needs to be in porn, Velcity Von looks like she needs to be in porn, but not Nikki Anne. Nikki Anne looks like she needs to be studying for her chemistry final. Nikki Anne looks like she needs to be heading up the latest Greek Council meeting at any college USA. And I FUCKING get off on the fact that she is in porn. Yet I want to save her from porn. Am I being non-sensical? These drunken Christmas night ramblings have been brought to you by your good friend, Freebird Michael Hayes.
____________________________________________

You and I have similar tastes, my friend.

And good news — Nikki Anne really is the girl-next-door. Which is to say she doesn’t live in LA, doesn’t do the porno rounds from producer to producer…shit, I don’t even think she has an agent…but I could be wrong.

I think it’s a (silly) common Dude Thought to try and “save” strippers, and hookers, and porn whores. It’s certainly an interesting psychology, and one that deserves my attention. At least for a little bit.

Oh, guess what?

Nikki Anne’s in grad school!

Just like you thought — and said — how fucking hot is that?

She’s back east, studying something I won’t divulge here, cause she’s a private person. But from time to time she shows up on porno sets to make a little extra bread cause:

1) She’s a naughty girl.

2) She hates the 9 to 5 thing.

3) She’s a naughty girl.

Go ahead and click on that pic of Nikki greasing her hands up to give a most excellent Manojob.

Now, for the (potential) bad news: she’s BCS.

BCS = black cock slut.

She’s all about The Negro.

Now, there’s nothing wrong with that in my book, but in your book, it might not be OK.

Might be far from it.

Let’s just hope she comes back to work on a porno set…but something tells me that might not happen for a very long time.

Nikki Ann porn gloryhole pics

Happy Holidays, yo.

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The Harder They Come

It’s Christmas Day, which means if you’re reading this, you’re a big fan of ISP, or a big pervert…or maybe a little of both.

So, Merry Christmas.

Happy Holidays.

Since you’re a fan, I’d like to give you a holiday gift.

Well, kinda. I mean if we were meeting face-to-face, I’d invite you to meet up at my very favorite coffee shop in the whole wide world — Intelligentsia. It’s in my neck of the woods, so you’d have to get yourself to Los Angeles. But if you did, I’d buy ya a super yummy drink, and lay a pound of their fabulous coffee on ya.

Then, as an added surprise, I’d give you the newly issued version of The Harder They Come, which is nicely housed as a 2 disc, re-mastered Special Edition, which includes not only the movie, but the soundtrack, too!

It’s the greatest soundtrack of all time.

Let me say that again, one more time, in case you weren’t listening: The Harder They Come is the greatest movie soundtrack ever released.

You betcha, Mister.

Better than Valley Girl.

Way better than High Fidelity.

Even better than Vampyros Lesbos.

And that’s saying a lot, my friend.

But since I’ll never meet you, and you probably aren’t coming to Los Angeles anytime soon, how about some free smut?

Allyson Wyte is the brand new girl at Blacks on Blondes. She’s also the boss’s wife, and she’s conducting job reviews, and it’s time she reviews Ice Cold’s work.

Uh huh.

Barbie Cummings wants a black baby for Christmas. Ace and Jon Jon give her the gift that keeps coming, over and over.

Andi Anderson went to the hole with me for a little holiday cheer a few weeks ago.

So did Mahlia Milan.

If that’s not enough for ya, check out Jimmy Cliff and His Bad Ass Self, circa 1972.

And Happy Holidays, yo.

Mickey Rourke is The Wrestler

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The Wrestler

I think I told you this once, but I don’t remember…so I’ll say it again: Porno and Pro Wrestling have a lot in common.

1) It’s a show.

2) It’s fake.

3) It’s real.

4) Both have a tremendous entertainment value.

When I was a kid, I’d sit in front of TV on Sundays and tune in to Channel 44, where The Bruiser and The Crusher would beat the shit out of anyone who stood in their way. This included Baron von Raschke, Ernie “The Big Cat” Ladd, and any other number of “heels” Bob Luce would toss at them.

Later on, I was a big fan of WCW. I really liked it when they would stage their matches in a little TV studio in Charlotte, NC. After that, they got huge, and Hulk Hogan was their heel, and I’d stay up in my little apartment in The Tenderloin where I was banging out a novel — and I’d stop working every time WCW came on.

Those dudes beat the shit out of each other.

Of course it wasn’t real.

But it kinda was.

Just like The Bang Bus, right? I mean it’s not really real…those dudes don’t really drive around town until they find a cute girl on the side of the road who’s willing to jump into a stranger’s van. But those whores are really jumping into a van, and getting fucked in the back of it while driving around Miami, so that makes it real, right?

Am I making sense?

I always wondered why no one really gets pissed at the pro wrestlers who promote violence and hatred in a world coming apart at the seams with violence and hatred, yet people are all up in arms over porno. Why don’t those right wing, conservative nut bags protest pro wresting? They’re all over us…why not them?

Well, they’re all big fans of pro wresting. Which really doesn’t make much sense either, cause all those right wing, conservative nut bags love to jerk to porn, too; in fact, they’re my biggest fans.

One of the cool things about living in LA is movies open here first.

One of the cool things about living in LA are celebrity sightings, which I’m a total geek boy over.

Last night I went to see Mickey Rourke in “The Wrestler“, and while I was walking into the theater, Marilyn Manson and one of the actors in “The Wrestler” — Evan Rachel Wood — were walking out.

Together.

But since I was fucking around on my cell, I didn’t catch a very good celebrity sighting. Which is to say on a scale of 1 – 10, I’d rank this a 6, but it had the potential of being a 10! Evan Rachel Wood going to see her own movie with Marilyn Manson scores a 10 in my book…unless they were there to see “Gran Torino” or “Slum Dog Millionaire” — which is highly doubtful.

(I scored an 8 once when I spotted Sean Penn and Kevin Spacey hanging out together; they walked into Black Oak Books in Berkeley, CA…one of my very favorite bookstores in that great book town.)

Adrianna Nicole, who made me aware of Miss Wood and Miss Manson, got a really good look at them, and she told me they’re a couple. Or they were a couple? Or something along those lines.

I really liked “The Wrestler”, and as I sat there watching Mickey Rourke play himself, it was hard for me to stop thinking about all the parallels between my profession and what The Wrestler does for a living.

Some of the critics have already panned The Wrestler, and maybe they’re right — in as much as part of the film are predictable and contrived. But I really liked it, and when it comes your way, I’d say go check it out.

I gotta run. Time to work. See, I’m shooting an interracial gang bang for the world’s greatest interracial website — Blacks on Blondes — and it’s time to go to set.

And even though the gang bang is fake…it’s very, very real.

Super Fun Craig’s List Ads: Doggystyle with Mario & Luigi.

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Super Mario Brothers porno

FWD’d to me by Gia Paloma and originally posted on Craig’s List Orlando, FL:

Do you love to play Super Mario Brothers on the Classic Nintendo System? Do you like to get tagged from behind while you do it? This is the post for you then.

You must know your way around the game before we meet, must be open to anal sex, also able to fake an orgasm is a plus.

I will send you the address to a hotel and a room number. When you arrive the door will be open. Please come in close and lock the door and close the shades if they are still open. I will be in the bathroom and the door will be closed. Turn on the TV and the Nintendo. Remove all of your clothing. Turn off all lights in the room and kneel down on the bed so you are directly in the light of the TV. You need to be facing the TV with your butt in the air pointed toward the pillows on the bed.

Press the start button on the controller when you are ready. I will hear the sound and turn the light off in the bathroom and come out. You will not look directly at me, only look at the TV. When the first level starts I will begin to finger you and lick you. I will be using lots of lube as well.

When you reach the end of level one, make sure to trigger the fireworks. This is vital to the entire experience. I must hear the fireworks. When level 2 begins and Mario walks into the pipe, I will penetrate you. You may say things like, “MORE”, “HARDER”, “YES”, “FUCK ME”, but nothing else. I will continue having sex until the level ends. DO NOT take the secret level skip. If you die I will pull out and spank you until the level restarts.

When you reach the flag you must again trigger the fireworks, and also orgasm. I will pull out. When the 1-3 starts I will penetrate your ass. You are allowed to say something like “OH GOD”, “YES”, OR “IT HURTS” no other conversation is allowed.

When level 1-4 starts I will alternate between holes as I see fit. You may beg me to cum inside or outside of you, depending on what you want. When boss falls and you reach the princess I will pull out and blow my load where you have convinced me I want too. You may then say something like “Thanks”, “It was great”, “I loved it”, “Don’t stop”

If I am impressed you may continue playing and I will continue to pleasure you. If I am not, I will turn the Nintendo Off and return to the bathroom. At this time you may clean your self with the towel that is beside the bed. Turn the lights on, redress yourself and leave.

I may come back out and talk to you as you dress but the conversation will most likely be short and revolve around scheduling another time to get together.

Muntadhar al Zaidi — My New Hero.

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muntadhar_al_zaidi_throws_shoe_at_bush

It’s 2 am and I can’t sleep, so I thought I’d pull myself out of bed and blog; maybe it would help me snooze, but I hope it doesn’t have the same effect on you.

Oh, and if my editing skillz don’t pay the billz at 2 am, eat my turd.

I know why I can’t sleep: I’m in Phoenix, and not in my own bed, and that always seems to fuck with me; today’s my birthday, and that’s certainly fucking with me — even though I hate to admit it; I didn’t bring my nite-nite medication with me, and the 1/2 bottle of wine I just knocked down didn’t really help much; a girl I fell in love with is such a pathetic liar that it just breaks my heart; but the bestest, most fun thing that kept me up is my new hero — Muntadhar al Zaidi — the journalist from Iraq who whipped his zapato at our shitty, fucked-up President.

I know this might sound silly, but Muntadhar al Zaidi has some big fucking balls, man. Mainly cause he knew once he did what he was about to do he’d pretty much lose his journalist job forever, and trust me, even if you hate your fucking job, you still gotta have some juevos grandes to do something so crazy you’d lose your job forever.

The only thing more impressive than Muntadhar al Zaidi’s two great attempts at taking off George W. Douchbag’s head with his shoes was W’s super-sleek, super-agile dodges at the shoe coming straight for his head. If that silly motherfucker did his job over the past 8 years 1/2 as well as he did ducking those shoes, we’d be calling John McCain Mr. President-Elect.

I heard after the whole thing went down they wanted to test Muntadhar al Zaidi to see if there was any drugs or alcohol in his system. To which I say are you fucking kidding me? First off, there’s about a zillion American’s who want to do what he just did — let alone Iraqis. Second, let’s have Mr. President piss into a cup so we can see if he’s under the influence of any booze or dope, cause that’s the way he’s run this country the last 8 years — fucked up out of his gord.

God damnit I wanna take my shoes off and clock the President upside his noggin. Imagine the amount of money the RNC could raise if they ran some sort of County-Fair-Type-Thang which featured a bunch of cool bands playing, a few kegs of beer, and a single booth: The Take Off Your Shoes And Whip Them at George W Bush booth.

I would pay $500 a shoe for such a privilege (really, I would); some would pay more, and a whole lot less, but if that stupid Mofo would just sit at that booth long enough for, say…Wilco and Radiohead and Beck to play full sets, the RNC could easily raise a few million bucks…which they could just hand to Sarah Palin for her run in 2012.

Imagine the Shopping Spree Ho-down those Alaskan Hillbillies would have! (Again).

You probably heard the same thing I did today — that feet are a stinky, yucky thing to our fine Arab friends, and when someone hurls a shoe at you while you’re in, say, Saudi Arabia, they really think you’re a dirty dog. In fact, if I’m not mistaken, Muntadhar al Zaidi called Mr President a dirty fucking dog while security was taking him down.

Why did security take him down? It was a secure room, and he was throwing shoes at Bush. What the fuck? My sister used to throw her shoes at me all the time, and even when she made a direct hit, the worst thing I ever got was a bloody nose.

Know what Muntadhar al Zaidi got?

Maybe 8 to 10 years in the slam.

And a whole bunch of dead relatives while we made Iraq a great place, Free & Full o’ Democracy.

Wait. Wasn’t it all about Al-Quaida?

Wait. Wasn’t it all about liberating Iraq from Saddam?

Wait. Wasn’t it all about the WMD’s that were all over the place?

Wait. Wasn’t it all about 911?

Wait.

You’re in for some good news. I’m starting to feel sleepy. So sleepy I’ll skip over the sappy, stoopid Falling in Love with a Big Fat Liar ghey-ness (cause I’m saving that one for a rainy day) and move right into my birthday, cause it’s almost 3 am, which means at almost exactly this time, some 45 years ago, I crept out of my mom’s V-Jay Jay to start my life.

Did I tell you the very first thing I ever did was piss all over the doctor and his nurses?

Really, I did. It was a long, fine, golden stream that seemed to catch everyone (and by surprise, too) so much so that the doctor said something along the lines of, “well, we know his plumbing works!”

It was 20 below that day, and the very first picture taken of me was in my great-grandmother’s arms, with my great-grandpa smiling at me. He was a retired Chicago cop — a big Irishman — and she owned a bar on the South Side for years and years. (She served “ice cream” during prohibition, and somehow I think she’s the only dead relative I have that thinks what I do it OK).

Ever think your dead relatives watch you beat off to porn? And they’re tsk-tsking you in Heaven, and waiting to chide you for it once you get there?

I bet you’ve thought that — more than once. And I bet you’re worried that God has watched you beat your fucking meat as well.

You fucking pervert.

How about this: your relatives are watching you beat off and they’re envious, and they’re cheering you on, cause they know how much fun that shit is, and they wish they could do the same.

You fucking pervert.

Once I asked Father Mike what Heaven was like. The only thing I remember was, “the streets are paved with gold” which, even when you’re 12, sounds a little off. I wanted to ask Father Mike something like, “if the streets are paved with gold, that makes gold valuable, which means people in Heaven will want it, which means we’re all have jobs in Heaven, which means to me, heaven kinda sucks, and I’m only 12 and never had to work a day in my life.”

Instead I said something like “Wow Father Mike! Tell me more!!” which, at that point, he led me into the Rectory’s hot tub for a little chat.

Just kidding.

Not really.

Father Dale was another story. He was the fine Catholic priest who would come say a prayer at my little brother’s football games, and then linger around and ask all the boys after the game — while they were showering — how it all went. He was also the one the had those same boys write his name on their underwear, so when they got dirty, lustful thoughts, they’d see the words “Father Dale” rise with their tighty-whiteys, which, of course, would make them cease thinking about whatever it was that was giving them a boner; hence, they’d lost the filth and only think pure, clean thoughts…and their boners would suddenly vanish!

You fucking pervert.

I’m telling the truth about Father Mike — who really was a great guy and never once asked me to take a dip with him in the hot tub; as well as Father Dale — who really did do all the things I just said.

Oh, and the hot tub thing came from Father Dale, who really had a hot tub.

At his rectory.

Just in case any of the teens from the group he founded — “Life Teen” — wanted to take go tubbing with him.

And you were worried about God and your dead relatives watching you beat off to porn.

Super Fun e-Mails: Things Happen, I Guess…

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Amber Fully Loaded

Amber Fully Loaded writes:

Dear Billy:

It started after chatting with you about how my boss had asked me recently if I would mind wearing a skirt to the occasional meeting with clients. I asked why and he said that a “little sex appeal” never hurts when it came to helping land some contracts.

He is a super cool guy and we always get along great, so when he asked me I knew it was not something sleazy but just a way to help things along. I am not naive enough to think that a little flirtation can’t help seal a deal when needed. When I mentioned it to you I joked that next time he asked me to wear a skirt I should just ask if I should wear underwear or not! You thought that was a great idea so sure enough, the next time my boss asked me I replied, “should I just leave my panties at home?”

I think I caught him off guard but he smiled and said that was up to me, but he wasn’t sure if I wore them or not. I laughed and told him of course I did!

A few days went by and no more was said about it. He bought me lunch later in the week and in the elevator ride back to the office, he asked if today was one of the days I was wearing underwear. I said “of course I am!” He didn’t believe me so I undid the button on my pants and pulled them down a bit so he could see. That pretty much shut him up!

This continued for about a week, each time he would call me into his office for a “Panty Check” and each time I would pull down my pants or lift my skirt so he could see I was wearing them. One day he got a bit more aggressive and he undid my pants and pulled them down himself so he could “have a good look”. I do have a boyfriend but this mild teasing and flirting was fun, plus I didn’t really think it would lead anywhere.

Last Friday was our staff Christmas party. Everyone had a few drinks at the office, and then we went out to a steak house for dinner, then back to the office for a few more drinks, our Secret Santa gift exchange and home. One by one my boss was calling everyone into his office for a quick Christmas chat and to hand out a card and a small Christmas bonus. Woohoo! When he called me in I had already had a few glasses of wine and was feeling pretty happy lol.

He gave me my card and bonus (which was much needed) and he asked me if I decided to wear underwear to the party. Before I could say anything, he said “teasing time was over” and he dropped to his knees, stuck his hands up my skirt and pulled my panties down and past my shoes. Whether it was the wine and the mood of the party, or maybe it was some other yearning but I did not resist. He began lightly fingering me pussy then picked me up and placed me on the end of his desk. Then he scooped his hands under my bum and I lay back while he continued to keep licking away at my pussy. Any thoughts of my boyfriend were nowhere to be found as he just kept working away on me. His tongue was darting in and out and I had not been licked like that in ages. I don’t think I have ever been eaten with such passion before! When I finally came it felt amazing and I know I came a lot! He continued to keep licking me then suggested we get back to the party before anyone notices. I slipped my panties back on and he said I could “pay him back another time”.

That time happened Monday after work. I kinda hung behind so I could catch him by himself and it turned out he was stalling to catch me too. He said that he was glad about what happened at the party but if I felt freaked out about it because of my boyfriend, he would understand. I said it did catch me a bit by surprise but it was nice. He asked if my boyfriend ate me out a lot and I admitted he didn’t as much as I would like LOL. My boss said that was a crime and once again he was on his knees, pulling my pants and panties all the way off. This time he hoisted me onto his desk right away and started licking me with force. He looked up and said my boyfriend was a slacker and that my pussy should be enjoyed every day so the lips were always nice and pink and puffy. Again I came quite a bit but this time we were not done, I sat up and I could see from the bulge in his pants he was already really hard.

“It’s your turn,” he said as he undid his pants and his cock came springing into view. I was impressed with its size. Not THE biggest I had ever seen, but at least 7 inches and quite thick. I dropped to my knees and started licking it right away. I didn’t want him to think I was all about my pleasure only so I licked and sucked it with real force. I pulled out all the stops and could tell by his moaning it was doing the trick. I was bobbing on it quite quick, taking him to the balls and back to the tip. Within about 5 minutes he told me he was ready to come so I just kept at it and he starting shooting. I counted 10 blasts and I just kept swallowing as it came.

I could tell he was impressed and told me I sucked a great cock! It’s funny now as I write this that I never ever thought this would happen when I first mentioned it to you, Billy! I know I should probably feel guilty about cheating on my boyfriend but I don’t. My boss made me feel great and I was happy to return the favor. I know the whole “employee-boss” thing is a tad cliché, but things happen I guess.
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Oh Amber!

How I would love to be your boss!

How I love the dirty pics you send me — with your face covered in jizz.

It’s the only smut that does anything for me now…real amateur stuff.

Better watch it now girl, cause you know the old saying: Don’t get your honey where you get your money.

And please, more filthy pics of you fully loaded. I promise not to show anyone!

Your pal — Billy

Party Time!

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B B W stripper party

I just got invited to a BBW Stripper Party tonight!

I guess this is a Christmas Party of some sort — and it features BBW strippers. And, from the looks of it, they’re black BBW strippers!!

BBW = Big, Beautiful Women — in case you didn’t know.

Subrina Love invited me. Phantasy is going to be there. So is Lovely Cumms, Lady Finesse, and Chocolate Nights.

If you look closely at the bottom left of the flyer, not one skinny chick will be allowed in — so don’t go looking for them, OK?

And, as long as you don’t wear your colors, you will be let in!

The $20 cover gets you one free jungle juice!

What goes down at a BBW Stripper party? Are those lovely women gonna strip…and give lap dances? Is it a Meet n’ Greet? Or will it be just another night o’ clubbin’?

Regretfully, I will never know, cause I will not be able to attend. I’m off to Phoenix to celebrate my birthday; however, I’m sending The Minion in my place.