"Just in Time"--A Story by Corrine Miles

You know when you have to go pee but you think you can hold it until you get home? You would rather sit your ass comfortably on your own toilet seat with your own germs instead of hovering over some crab-infested public bathroom or taking an hour to roll up as much toilet paper as you can in a sorry attempt to keep your ass from touching the seat, even though it almost ALWAYS does anyway.

This was me. It was a few years ago and I was dating this guy, Justin. We had been going out for a few months and things were pretty solid. He was great in bed, he made decent money that he liked to spend on me and as far as I knew, he had never been to jail. He was a winner. Until one of our dates where I had to pee but decided to wait until I got home. 

On this particular night, Justin and I went out to a small dinner at some chain restaurant. Chili's or something. Nothing fancy--just a little night out. We both lived with our parents so any time we could get out, we did. Sex happened in secluded parking lots, fitting rooms, a deserted baseball field...It was all hot and steamy and "adventurous," which was the excuse we used. But not this night. Not after Chili's.

We had our dinner, we paid the bill, and we got in the car. I noticed I had to pee by the time our dessert had arrived but I thought I could probably wait it out until we got back to his place. By the time I closed the car door, I was sure Lake Michigan had taken up residency in my bladder. We had a conversation about this and it went a little something like this:

ME: "Oh my Jesus Lord, drive fast! I have to pee so bad. If we don't get back to your place soon, I'm gonna pee on you!!"

JUSTIN: *Grins* "Okay." *Grins again* (And it wasn't a "HA-HA you're funny" grin or an "Okay I get it" grin or a "You're so cute when you have to pee" grin. No, it was an "Oh yeah, I like that" grin.)

I ignored his sexual grin and went along with his "joke":

ME: "HA! Yeah, and then afterward, I can shit on your chest!"

JUSTIN: "Well...That's a bit much, but..."

ME: "But....peeing on you would be completely appropriate?"

JUSTIN: "Well, I mean, I love you. I wanna experience everything with you."

ME: "Well then why can't I shit on your chest, dear?"

JUSTIN: "You really want to?"

ME: "NO! And I don't very well want to PISS on you either!!! Now drive so I can comfortably pee in a fucking toilet, please!"

That was the end of that. Until it was brought up again a few nights later. I still told myself that he was joking or maybe had one too many beers but let's be honest: My perfect, blonde-haired, blue-eyed hunk was just another creeper with a somehow clean record. So he spent the night at my place soon after our Chili's date and we stayed in bed until around noon fooling around and doing all sorts of inappropriate things. With my parents in the next room.  

(We had very high standards.) 


Of course now, all I could think about was if HE was thinking about my urine streaming down his leg. Needless to say, if I had a boner, it would have gone limp.

I decided that "talking about it" might help 'cause that's what Dr. Phil or Oprah would want me to do, right? So I asked flat out.

"Do you really want me to pee on you? I mean, how would that even work? I'm certainly not going to pee on you in MY bed...Do you really want pee on your sheets? I thought only dogs and toddlers peed the bed, really..."

"I mean...don't you pee in the shower?"

"Of course I pee in the shower...There's just not usually anybody else IN the shower when I do it. That's sort of a private act, isn't it?"

"I guess, but we could do it in there....."

I could tell this freak was getting a hard-on just talking about it so I let him follow me to the bathroom. We got in and stared at each other for a minute. I knew I had a disgusted look on my face and he knew it too.

"You don't have to do this," he said. I had to now. 

"Do you do this with all of your girlfriends?"

"No, I've never even thought about it! Like I said, I just love you and I want to experience everything with you."

"...Okay. But don't think for one second that your urine is coming anywhere near me OR that shitting on chests is an option after that comment I made last week. Unlike YOU, I was joking."

"I don't want you to shit on me, Cori."

How nice.

So the asshole knelt down and after about ten minutes of my laughing and shaking my head and mumbling things like "What the fuck am I DOING?!?" and "What kind of PERSON does this make me?!" and "I can't even look at you!" I did it. I pissed on the guy. And after that, I never called him again. Turns out, I really couldn't look at him...not without seeing my piss all over his once-hot, naked body.

He hated me for ditching him and after I heard he was talking shit to some of my friends, I wrote a nice little message on his Facebook wall:

"Hey! Remember that time I peed on you and you loooved it!? That was fucking sick. Creep."

The lesson here, people? If you gotta go, JUST HOVER!

Timelines, Sneak Peeks, and More Funnies

Hey ya'll!!!!! We could sense your panties getting dry, so here are some updates.

As most of you know if you follow us on Twitter (which OBVIOUSLY all of you DO--@PenisChronicles), we have officially hit the west coast!! Megan is now residing in fabulous Las Vegas, Nevada and Danielle is kickin' it in Los Angeles, California! Don't worry, our east coasters. We still love ya.


We're getting settled and are SUPER anxious to make some serious progress with the book. Editing is taking off with a bang and we have more pictures and more silly blogs that Corrine has in store for you, PLUS something a little more fresh we're adding into the mix. We def need your feedback on this so let us know what you think!


Starting this week, we'll have one 'short chapter' a week that we'll blog. This will give ya'll a little more insight to what the book is about. And if you like the blogs, you'll love the book!  (And DUH, you'll like the blogs, unless you have NO sense of humor or you're Jesus. Then you might wanna stay away.) So each week, you'll have a 'short chapter' with characters that didn't quite make it into the book but we thought deserved an 'honorable mention' of sorts.


And don't forget that if YOU have any ideas you can ALWAYS email us your best one-night stands, flings, long-term mistakes, and loves of your life gone wrinkled--fiction or non. If we like the concept, we'll use it and you'll get a special shout out on that short! We love when our peeps get involved!! Oh yeah!! With every short, we will deliver a new promo picture so you can have many more laughs.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


With all that said, you're probably wondering how many shorts we can pull outta our butts and how many pictures our conceited asses took and we can assure you, it's not THAT many which means......our goal is to have this book knocked out, hyped up and ready to be sent off to every publisher this side of Mars by CHRISTMAS. (Maybe even sooner!!!)


Thanks again for all your support and start watching out for more funny random rants by Cori and now our new shorts! yay!!! Xoxox

--Danielle West & Megan Grant

Authors

Send your stories, ideas, questions, remarks, etc. to: shriveledlostandlonely@gmail.com (Please no pornographic pictures, we've seen quite enough needle dicks and wrinkled vaginas, we're not interested in seeing yours!)

Losing Your Virginity & Other Shitty Memories We'd Like to Destroy--A Story by Corrine Miles

No experience is more traumatizing than the first time you get plowed.  Some people love it.  Some hate it.

But from what I've heard, MOST hate it.

You'll be hearing about my first time soon enough, but the stories circulating amongst my girlfriends of how they lost it are enough to make anyone weep.

Nine times out of ten, you have to make sure you're drunk enough so that you don't even realize some d00d is about to cram his Bratwurst into something the size of a keyhole.  Whoever says this isn't painful was either sufficiently intoxicated or unconscious.

But then you accidentally get too drunk and forget how to kiss without drooling all over yourself or accidentally licking his cheek.   He's spinning and you're spinning and the walls are spinning and everything is spinning and all you can do is try to hold still long enough to figure out if you need to barf or not.

So let's say you're one of the lucky ones who doesn't have a projectile vomiting incident the night she turns in her V card.

Next you get to stress out about what you're wearing.  You were sure not to put on underwear that's stained or has a hole in the ass cheek but failed to realize that he probably wouldn't be quite so turned on by Spongebob Square-Underpants and a pink and purple striped bra.

His boner goes down for a minute but you quickly rip your clothes off and he forgets about Spongebob as soon as he sees nipple.  Crisis averted.

Now you're starting to get really nervous and he definitely knows it.  If you're both virgins, it's cute.  If he's slept with half the Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders, you might just be screwed.  Figuratively.

Let's say he's more experienced, which is the likeliest possibility.  What do you do?  You basically have three options here:

Option #1: Climb on top, ignore the pain, and ride him like a Corvette.  If you go balls to the wall (no, don't cram his balls up against the wall), he might just forget that you don't have the slightest fucking clue what you're doing.

Option #2: Lay there and let him do all the work.  This was his idea anyway.

Option #3: Start crying, tell him you aren't ready, and go home to watch the episode of Golden Girls that you TiVo'd.

You decide to go with Option #2, which seems to be what most girls do.  You spread your legs, hang on to the sheets for dear life, squeeze your eyes shut, and pray to the Lord Zeus that this guy doesn't rip you in half.

A few seconds later, you comment on how amazing it feels with something original like, "This feels amazing."  Then you rejoice over the fact that it doesn't hurt at all.

That's when you hear the most awful thing you've ever heard:

"Uh, it's not even in yet."

Christ on a pogo stick.

You then endure eight minutes of the most painful sex you will ever have.  You alternate between trying to distract yourself by reading the titles of the books on his shelf and "OMG YOU'RE KILLING ME FUCKKKK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCUFKCUFUCKFUCKFK!!!!!1111one" 

Silver lining?  It can only get better from here.  Right?  Wrong.  Ten guys later and you realize that the male species just doesn't have a fucking clue how to touch women.  Sex stops feeling like giving birth but then you get to dread having some guy suck on your elbow or lick your toes because he thinks it's a turn-on.  Then you will become so frustrated and so disgusted with men all together and your wrist will be killing you from having to masturbate so much that you'll just end up writing a book on the whole thing. 

Or something like that.

Your Life in One Aisle of Wal-Mart and Why Guys Have It Easy--A Story by Corrine Miles

What is it about Wal-Mart?  Are they just trying to humiliate and degrade women?

It's the section of the store that we all hate going to: the feminine/"private" section.

Stay with me on this.

You start at the very beginning of the shelf.  They have every variety of Tampax and Kotex you could ever dream of.  Long pads, short pads, thick pads, thin pads, pads with wings, pads without wings, pads that are scented, pads that just smell like cotton...

Tampons with a braided string, tampons with a normal, boring string, tampons that smell good, tampons that just smell like tampons, tampons for heavy flows, tampons for light flows, tampons for teeny weeny vaginas, and tampons for really BIG vaginas.

But they cost a fortune and Wal-Mart knows that you might just go without, especially in your delicate and hormonal state, so next on the shelf is the generic brand of everything listed above, for those of us who aren't afraid to stick cardboard applicators in our cooches or use pads that fall apart if you fart too hard.

And they know--they KNOW--that while you're on the rag, you're probably not going to want to have sex since you feel like a giant heap of shit, so just to torture you, they stock the KY and other "intimate gels" right after.  Those gels that give you that great "tingling sensation" and make intimacy more enjoyable in all its slippery goodness?  Yeah.  You won't be needing that this week.

Thanks Wal-Mart.

But here's the silver lining: You're riding the cotton rocket because you're definitely not pregnant and you'd like to keep it that way, right?  Perfect!  Because next on the shelf are condoms for when your period is over and you're back to being the hypersexual slut nugget who wants to jump her boyfriend's bones.  Ribbed for her pleasure, ultra-sensitive, ones with an extra big tip, small condoms, average-sized condoms, big condoms, and the Magnums that you know damn well would be baggy on any asshole who claimed he needed them.

Sometimes shit happens though, right?  Maybe that condom breaks.  Maybe the moron you're dating went ahead with the Magnum anyway, which immediately slipped off and got lost in the massive cave that is your vagina.  You suddenly realize that you haven't had to tap into your assortment of pads and tampons for quite some time and upon consulting your calendar, you realize that Aunt Flo is ten days late.

Well shit.

You start to panic, but don't.  You know how you left off at the KY?  Wal-Mart must have a sixth sense about these things because next to the KY are the pregnancy tests.  Need to know if you've been sperminated?  You're in luck!  They're already within arm's reach.

So you spend $20 on a two-pack of First Response and haul ass to the Wal-Mart bathroom.  You're so nervous that you don't even care that the stall door doesn't lock and there's urine on the seat.  Five minutes later, two lines pop up on the stick and you realize that you officially have a fetus growing in your abdomen.

The next several decades of your life suddenly flash before your eyes.  You realize that you might very well have to marry the guy who knocked you up and will probably end up saddled with four more kids.  You can say good-bye to your sex life because you'll be too busy driving them to soccer and karate and clarinet lessons.  Besides, after Baby #2, you'll never lose that weight and will feel so fat and ugly that you'll probably never let your husband see you naked again.

Before you know it, you're 80 years old.  And you know what?  Wal-Mart has been keeping a close eye on you.  Because right after the pregnancy tests, at the verrrrrrrry end of that section of the store that nobody likes, are the adult diapers.  You used to be this hot young thing who was super cool with her menstrual flow and pads and tampons and KY warming gel and condoms and pregnancy tests and now you can't help but piss your pants on a daily basis.  

So basically, Wal-Mart just bitch slapped you in the genitalia and is still laughing hysterically about it.

Think it's easy being a girl?

Jiz Worthy

So as you all know since we've bombarded you all day and all over Facebook with the news, we had our second promotional photo shoot for the book today! We weren't the models this time but don't shit your pants, start sweating, or let your boner go limp yet, because we had one sexy crew working their tails off for us and boy is it gonna make your nipples hard.


What you can expect from these pictures is a little more insight into the book itself. We already let you know with our first shoot that it was vulgar, funny, and probably a little too in-depth. So now that we got your attention in the most positive of lights, we threw some of the characters from the book into this one. And when I say that Corrine is hot, I mean she's like wet-your-panties-drop-your-mouth-and-drool hot!


We also pulled some of the guys you might be reading about into the mix! And wait till you see what Cori had in store for them. Basically you can expect to laugh your ass off and get even more hyped and psyched about the book that chronicles what else? Penises. And let's not forget our token female significant other, too ;) Stay tuned for the release of the pictures and more updates and oh yeah, a BOOK! 


Take a look at our behind the scenes pics that are already posted on our Facebook page! Follow us on Twitter and obviously, read the blog. Here's a pic from our first shoot to tide you over and give you something to masturbate to until the new pictures arrive.

Special thanks again to our team: Jennifer, Meghan, Jamie, Kat, Maria, Lynn, Grady, Jamie B, Derrick, and Brenden. Ya'll rocked! 

An Ode to Periods--A Story by Corrine Miles

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I woke up this morning in the most disgruntled of moods and since then, it has only worsened.  I'm bloated to the point of discomfort and look like I could potentially be in my second trimester.  My body aches and it hurts to move.  I'm alternating between the most frustrating constipation and barely making it to the can before I shit my pants.  Oh, and I'm bleeding from my yoohoo.

Around this time every month, Mother Nature decides to kick in me in the genitalia with mind-numbing cramps and debilitating mood swings that leave me wanting to kill every person who looks at me.  I'm fat, ugly, have a huge ass, and there's a mountain range developing on my face.  But don't worry; you'll probably be so distracted by my massively swollen boobs that you'll never even notice.

The dumb bitches I'm friends with can't tolerate me and the myopic men in my life look at me and say, "Hah, durr, it can't be that bad."  Since they obviously don't bleed from THEIR yoohoos every month, however, they're clearly not entitled to an opinion.

And it all gets worse from there.

I'm out of tampons and no diaper will impede the fountain in between my legs, so I'm forced to drag my fat, ugly ass to the store to spend $20 on tampons.  That's right.  You might think that a compacted chunk of cotton designed specifically to be shoved up your cooter would be cheap, right?  Wrong.  And don't think one box will suffice.

I can't buy one box of regulars because as soon as my period lightens, regulars will be too much.  If you haven't tried pulling a half-dry tampon out of your oonie, just impale yourself with a screwdriver.  It'll hurt less.

Besides, in the beginning, my period is too heavy for the regulars.  Would you use a Kleenex to soak up the Atlantic?  No.  The answer is no.

So one box of regulars is out of the question.

How about one box of lites?  No.  Clearly.  And for the same reasons, the super jumbos alone won't suffice.

Now I know what you're thinking: Why don't they make boxes with assortments of tampons?  Why, they do!  You're in luck!  Sort of.  Typically, the number of each kind that they offer in the assortment boxes is disproportionate to how many lites, regulars, and super jumbos you will need throughout your cycle.

So the only option I'm left with is to buy ONE box of lites, ONE box of regulars, and ONE box of super jumbos.  Hence the $20 I'm about to spend.

Oh and let's not forget another $6 for a teensy bottle of Midol.  Or I guess my other option is to sit on the couch curled up in the fetal position for the next several days crying like a little bitch and screaming, "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD JUST STAB ME WITH A RUSTY NAIL.  IT'LL HURT LESS."

There's also the money for heating pads, panty liners, the mattress-sized pads you wear to bed, Beano to hopefully stop you from farting like a hound dog, and birth control, if you're on it.  If you're lucky, your insurance covers contraceptives.  Even if they do, you start to wonder why they aren't covering everything else.  It's not your fault that every month, you hemorrhage from your virginia.  

Think this is where it ends?  Silly rabbit.  Didn't anyone tell you?  You will never be as horny as when you're riding the cotton rocket.  You might be so lucky to be dating one of those guys who thinks it's "natural" and "beautiful," instead of "repulsive" and "filthy" like how you see it.  It doesn't matter, though.  You will never feel as unattractive as you do right now.  Sex will most likely be out of the question, and since you're too disgusted to even touch YOURSELF, you pretty much just have to suck it up and stay horny for the next 5-7 days.

By the way, no one cares that you feel like absolute dog shit.  You are still expected to get up, go to work, and act like a normal human being even though you pretty much want to crawl in a hole and die a lonely death.

So what do you do?  Nothing.  Praying that you don't get your period isn't something the average girl does every month.  In fact, depending on who you're sleeping with, it more often goes, "Oh thank GOD I finally got it!"

Alas, you're given nothing.  Aunt Flo leaves town and you're left with another three weeks until you feel like throwing yourself off a cliff again.

God bless.

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Updates, Updates, Updates!

Hi friends!

I'd like to preface this blog by saying that if you're not already following us on Twitter, you're probably a troll. (@penischronicles)

As we've said, the first version of the book is done.  Any writer knows, however, that getting the words out is only half the battle, and we've been sooooper busy editing the damn thing.  We know you'll laugh your asses off when you read it.  Hell, even we do.

We've been so thrilled and so grateful for all of the positive responses you've given us, and also slightly relieved that we haven't received one penis picture, I might add.

And no, we don't need "models" for the cover.

Our second promotional photo shoot is in about a week, and we've already been blown away with what everyone's bringing to the table.  You're gonna love it. ;)

We're also happy to release another picture from our first shoot with Andrew Fang of Photasa Photography.  Enjoy.  xoxo

 Love,
Megan and Dani