My Boyfriend Banged a Cougar

Whoever says age is just a number clearly didn't have a boyfriend who banged a cougar behind her back.

I once had this boyfriend.  This gorgeous boyfriend.  This smart, funny, witty, incredibly perverted, glorious boyfriend.  He opened me up to new and delightful things, in more than one way.  He was the man who once uttered, "Cori, ass play isn't always a bad thing."  I learned many great things from this man.

We spent many, many hours together talking about music, film, philosophy, food, art, literature, and the funny noises that you make during sex when you use too much lube.  It was an enlightening relationship full of new experiences, tons of laughter, and morning trips to the pharmacy.

This continued on without a single bump in the road for nearly a year.  It was smooth sailing and clear skies.  I had wiped from my consciousness the idea that he was "too good to be true" and accepted that I had finally gotten what I wanted and deserved: A loving, caring man who was fantastic in the sack.

But alas, I was fooled.  Silly Cori.  Nobody told me about the unwritten rule that there's always a catch.

I soon found out from a friend of a friend of this guy who knew this girl who had this neighbor who was best friends with a mutual friend of me and my man that he had stepped out on me with a woman more than twice our age.  We were in our early 20s and she had passed the 50-yard line long ago.  I would've thought that menopause would stop my boyfriend from cheating on me with someone of her advanced age, but some whores know no limits.

And she was a determined little temptress, that one.  She had fucked every man in sight and a few houseplants, too.  She had no boundaries.  No one could stop her from her marathon tournament of Hide the Salami--not her best friend, not her parents, not her husband.

I approached my boyfriend about it right away.  "Matthew?  Did you cheat on me with that 51-year-old ho bag Wendy?" I asked. Instantly, all the dirty details came out.  And I do mean dirty.  They had had every kind of sex known to humankind.  He had literally made love to the inside of her elbows.  But the most devastating part?

"Matthew?  I have one crucial question," I said.

"Yeah?"

"...Did you go up her ass?"  His face fell and there was no hiding the truth.  He had broken the most disgusting of seals and he had done it with a woman who wasn't me.  It was official: I was physically ill.  I was immediately haunted by nightmarish images of the love of my life's balls smacking against her wrinkled ass and all I could think was, "Why would he want to have sex with her crusty, worn-out vagina that's probably housed dozens of wangers in the last month alone when he had someone as gorgeous and tight and clean as me?"  It would be a question that would stump me for years.

I felt betrayed, dirty, used, and filthy from the mere thought that he had stuck his dingle in a woman with a gaping hole of a vagina and had then subsequently stuck it in me.  Do they make Clorox wipes for cooters?  They need to, and the label on the front can say, "Great for use after your boyfriend screws 51-year-old walking chlamydia." 

Or something like that...

The sting of betrayal is a sneaky little bitch.  Just when you think you've gotten over it, something pops up that reminds you, "HA HA!  I'm still here!  Your boyfriend boinked a STD-ridden fossil and you never knew about it!!!!!!!"  Permanent memory loss never sounded so appealing.

The person who inspired this blog wishes to remain anonymous, but we thank her for the hilarious story and we're sorry your boyfriend slept with someone old enough to be his mother.  xoxo  

The Man Who Sucked in All the Wrong Ways

It was Halloween two years ago. I was on my way to a huge house party with my hottest girlfriends. I was still the hottest, obviously.  Always make sure to surround yourself with people uglier than you.

Any Halloween costume is acceptable as long as it falls under the category of "Slutty _______," so I decided to dress up as a slutty fairy. I had on a tube top dress that barely covered my ass cheeks, enormous wings that smacked every person in the back of the head as I walked by and stopped me from being able to sit in a chair, stilettos so high that my Vertigo kicked in, and glitter in so many places, I'd be shitting sparkles for a week. 

But I looked amazing/better than everyone else and that's really all that matters on a night like this.

And it was a good thing I looked that hot because as I entered the big house decorated to look spooky, I spotted him almost immediately. He was drinking a PBR so right away I knew he was classy. The best part? He was dressed as Edward Cullen. I knew I had to move fast if I was going to have any chance of scoring some vampy love from this guy before the sexy nurses and slutty maids leeched onto him.

I started the conversation off by asking if he was gay, maintained a steady job, and had a girlfriend. He smiled and said, "No, yes, and no." I don't know which order he meant but I didn't care; all three of those answers were right in some way. I asked him why on earth he would dress like Edward Cullen and then complimented him on how much he actually looked like him. I had to respect his honesty when he said, "Because chicks dig that SOB and I wanna get fuckin' laid tonight." I was in love.

I wasn't ready to tell him about my huge Edward Cullen poster that was hanging on my wall over my bed that I kissed every night but I did throw some charm on and we ended up dancing and laughing and flirting and getting drunk together all night. He even asked if I wanted to go to Denny's with my friends and his around 2am, when the crowd started to weed out and the drunks began to pick their couches and corners on the floor.

All the pillows and blankets and chairs were called for and we set out for a nice, greasy dinner at Denny's. This might not have been the best idea since halfway through our cups of coffee and nachos, my friend Susan leaned over and asked why literally all four of the guys we were with were different characters from Twilight. I was drunk and smitten with my own Edward and she was just jealous anyway because she couldn't fit into her slutty astronaut costume and nobody hit on her that night. I told her it was because chicks dig that shit, DUH, and went on with my meal.

Edward--I don't actually remember his REAL name; I literally called him Edward all night--invited me back to his place for a little after hours rendezvous and of course, I said yes. Once we got there, I noticed how odd this guy really was. His whole place was decorated really creepy and he never turned any lights on--only lit candles. I went along with it because it was Halloween and some people REALLY like Halloween. Cool? Cool.

So we have a beer and I ditch the big fairy wings and fishnet stockings and heels and we start making out on the couch. He wasn't a bad kisser but he especially liked my neck. I'm not a big fan of hickeys, especially from a one-night stand, so I kept trying to redirect his lips to mine...but he insisted on literally licking and smelling my neck. Or more like inhaling it.

I started giggling and getting a little annoyed when I finally looked at him and asked if he was gonna do anything besides make out with my throat all night. He smiled and murmured, "Shhh. I bet you taste so good." Now this got me excited. He bet my cooter tasted good? Fuck yeah, it did. I waited for him to go to town on me. I assumed he was going to go to town on me.

After another 17 minutes, I realized I was sorely mistaken.

Once again I asked, "You wanna explore any other parts of my body there, bud?" He seemed blatantly annoyed and it was then that I realized his apartment wasn't decorated for Halloween; and it was safe to say his lights probably never went on and his Edward Cullen "costume" was only a costume because it was the wrong kind of vampire...I had a feeling this guy didn't sparkle in the sunlight but probably had a nice tall glass of blood to start his mornings off.

"Are you...one of those guys people see on the news because he thinks he's really a vampire and bites people's neck because he really thinks he can suck people's blood and then he goes to jail and eventually a mental hospital where he keeps trying to suck people's blood because he still thinks he's really a vampire even though vampires don't exist?"

He giggled.

I was officially creeped out and told him I needed to use his restroom. Once I got in there, I called Susan and luckily, she didn't live far and was there in a matter of minutes. I told Edward I had explosive diarrhea and hightailed it out of there. I never spoke to the guy again but I heard a few stories about him after that. Let's just say, if you have a Smartphone and you meet someone new, GOOGLE them to find out if they went to jail for trying to suck some chick's aorta dry before you go back to their place with them for a little Show & Tell.

Happy Halloween. Watch out for those creepy little fuckers.

The Things That Happen When You Have a Really, REALLY Hairy Body, a Blog by Corrine Miles

There are certain things that come with age: wisdom, experience, and hair in places you really don't want it.

It hit me personally near the end of high school.  As if applying to colleges wasn't stressful enough, I had to worry about the fact that my eyebrows were starting to grow together.  I started taking a tweezer to them on a weekly basis but it never seemed to be enough.  And if I happened to miss a plucking, the unibrow would start to grow in even more fiercely than before.

But it didn't end there.  Not nearly.  Upon closer inspection, I noticed that my entire face was covered in tiny little hairs.  Was this normal?  I had no clue.  But what I knew for sure was that no girl as hot as me should have a hairy forehead.

The mere thought of tweezing every hair on my forehead exhausted me, so I tried waxing.  But that proved to be too painful and I couldn't even finish.  So I was left with half of a hairy forehead.  There wasn't much left I could do other than take a razor to it, but I would never be able to live with myself knowing that I shave my forehead.

So I left it.  I thought I was in the clear when I realized that God must've been especially angry with me: I had a mustache.  It wasn't the kind that you noticed right away but when the light hit it from the right angle, I looked like Tom Selleck in a wig.

Every time I tried plucking the mini pubes cultivating below my beak, my eyes would water and snot would come out of my nose.  Waxing was out of the question and I knew that shaving would only make it grow in even thicker.

My friend told me about a laser hair removal center so I went and checked that out.  But the instant I walked in for my free consultation, I could hear the screams of a woman either in labor or on fire.  I turned around and immediately left.

This was when I discovered cream remover.  It was supposed to gently and effectively fry the hair off your face.  They forgot to add on the box that it not only fries the hair off, but it'll remove the first several layers of skin as well.

Good news was my mustache was gone but in it's place, I had a giant patch of dry, peeling skin.  I wasn't going to be making out with anyone for the next week.  Or going out in public, for that matter.

So at this point, I had half a hairy forehead and a scab mustache.  H.O.T.

While I was at it, I figured I'd do something about my coochie hairs.  There is an entire industry dedicated to the maintenance and removal of pubic hair, so I figured this one would be easy.

I was wrong.

I started shaving but quickly discovered that doing this too often would set my cooter on fire.  We're talking unsightly razor burn and if I was really lucky, I'd even make myself bleed.

So I had half a hairy forehead, a mustache scab, and a bleeding virginia.

There was no way in hell I was going to take that cream remover to my coochie coochie and I was clearly too busy burning the skin off my face and tweezing my unibrow to pluck each individual pube from it's home follicle.  Waxing it myself was a no-go; there weren't enough pain killers in the world.  My last resort?  Paying someone else to wax it for me.

I made my first trip to the salon and put it bluntly to the innocent bystander working the front desk: "I need my vagina hairs waxed," I said.

Ten minutes later, I was laying on a table spread eagle while a total stranger named Helga ripped the hairs from my body, one strip at a time.  If you think the pain subsides after the first few minutes, you're horribly wrong.  I screamed the entire time but somehow endured it long enough to achieve a totally bald virginia.  Helga then tried to talk me into anal bleaching.  That's when I left.

I was sitting at home twirling the hairs on my forehead and admiring my smooth cooter when I realized I was absolutely disgusted with my armhair.  Um, Chewbacca?  Party of one?  You table is ready.

I had seen an informercial for this magic buffer that would painlessly whisk the hair away when you rubbed it over your skin.  A week later, mine arrived in the mail.  I couldn't help but notice that the buffer felt a lot like sandpaper.  The directions said that overuse could cause irritation on the skin, but rules never apply to me.

So for the next 45 minutes, I sandpapered all the hair off my left arm.  It didn't work nearly as quickly as the assholes in the infomercial claimed, but I eventually saw results.  "Irritation, my ass," I mumbled.

The next morning, I woke up with the most painful rash on my arm that I had ever had.  Looking back, I'm not sure it was a rash so much as I had burned my arm skin off.  Who knew you couldn't rub sandpaper over your body for almost an hour without it causing damage?!?!

So after all the fucking plucking, tweezing, waxing, ripping, burning, frying, and sandpapering experiences, I only managed complete and successful hair removal without damage from my lady bits.  I considered buying a body suit that left only my virginia exposed just to prove to people that I DID remove hair from somewhere on my body.

But I hear that's kind of a no-no in our culture.

My Worst Booty Call & What It Means To Have a 'Half'

So you know those 'in-between' times when you're not newly single but you're not officially an old maid? You're just kinda having fun, hooking up, being wild and going out with your girlfriends a lot. Well, a few years ago I was in this very spot and I had been talking to this chick I met at a bar a few weeks prior (hey, any girl is lying when they say they don't enjoy girls sometimessss) and we were planning on meeting up.

My roommate and I invited her over to our house and she made the hour drive out to go to this hole-in-wall gay bar down the street called Pumps. Right? Anyway, so when I first met this girl--beer goggles and all--she seemed legit enough. She had short dark hair, a lip ring, and tattoos, which I loved! She was younger than me, which meant she wasn't legal to drink but we didn't mind because that meant a DD for the night. AND she had a fake ID, so we were golden.

So this chick comes over and she seems cool but a little nervous. Obviously, my roommate and I were hott as hell and we weren't exactly in our PJs when she got there. We were dolled up and looking slutty for the other lez-bos, duh! Her name was Lauren and she got to our house as my roomie was finishing up her make-up in the bathroom and I was filling up on McDonalds. (I was high as a kite and hungry, plus I'd be drinking--I needed sustenance.) 

Before we left for the bar, we chit-chatted with Lauren. Obviously I told her she could spend the night. I didn't invite the girl out to paint our nails and braid our hair...and I was sure she didn't drive an hour out to do that either. This was clearly a booty-call and nothing less, nothing more.

At one point, we got on the topic of how many people we had all been with while passing around a joint and getting giggly. She asked me how many. I told her my slightly above average number and asked what hers was. This girl seemed like she got a lot of ass but sometimes those girls are full of shit and this girl was so full of shit I'm pretty sure her eyes went from blue to brown in her short 19 years of life.

She said her number was exactly '12 and a half.' Maddie (my roommate) and I laughed. “What the fuck was the 'half,' a midget?” Maddie said. 

Lauren proceeded to answer with “Ha, no..like..it wasn't REALLY sex but pretty much?” I couldn't help myself. 

“Ok, so…12.” 

After we double teamed the poor young lesbian, Lauren and I somehow got on the topic of having sex with each other. She sounded cool and collected and acted like she had 'swagga' by saying “Oh, we're fucking tonight.” Alright...this girl was blunt and straight forward; I could dig that. She went on to tell us all of her stories about how she usually only had sex with straight girls because all the straight girls wanted her. Please.

So after we listened to this girl's bullshit, we went to the bar and all of us got rip roaring drunk, completely ignoring Lauren pretty much the entire time until we were ready to leave. We stumbled into the house around 2:30am after hitting the Taco Bell drive thru.

Lauren and I went to my bedroom and I turned the TV on for light and as we got into bed, nothing happened. I thought since she was such a pimp earlier in the night I'd let her take action, make the first move, be the big, bad lesbian that she was. After two hours of television watching and no pants flying, I was getting sober, tired and pissed. I said bluntly, “Are you gonna make a move or what?” 

She replied with the typical, “You can make a move, too.” What a child. Now I just felt dirty.

She finally rolled on top of me and started kissing me. Bad move. It was terrible and her breath was worse than mine, which I couldn't fathom since I was the one eating fast food and doing jager bombs all night. Then she went for my panties, but when she started doing her thing, I started to get more dry by the second. I immediately regretted saying anything at all and now just wanted to go back to watching The Golden Girls.

After about 45 seconds, though, she stopped and stared at me in the dark. I said, “What?”

“I can't do this…I'm not a whore.” Gee, thanks kid. 

“No problem!” I said probably too enthusiastically and then went to pee. I returned to sleep for about an hour and a half and when I woke up, there she was. As far on the other side of my bed as she could get.

I was repulsed and got out of bed, went upstairs and climbed into bed with my roommate. She woke up and asked how 'it' was and I told her the story to which we said at the same time, “HALF!” So that's how Lauren became my 'half' and that's how I learned that she probably had a slew of halves that all rounded up to about 13.

Lesson: Get a cab and invite the legal ones over for a wild night.

Another Penis-y Update

Hi friends!!!!

We have a few more quick updates for you.  We are in MAJOR editing mode and are knocking out each chapter at lightning speed.  We are in the final edits of the first FIVE and they will hopefully be completed by tonight/tomorrow morning.

Our blogs are proving to be a success, with our hits reaching the thousands.  As we explained earlier, we want the blog to be a little book on its own.  You'll see that we previously posted our first short story.  It didn't make it into the book but we wanted to share it anyway.  Keep an eye out for when we post the link to new blogs--there's guaranteed to be something juicy in it waiting for you! ;-)

While we're on the topic, thank you SO much to those of you who have been sharing/reposting/retweeting our links and material.  We see everything you do for us and we really appreciate it.  Your continued support warms our cockles.   

Our moves to Los Angeles and Las Vegas are already helping the project; we've made some great new connections and the interest in the Penis Chronicles continues to steadily grow.  The possibilities here are endless and the opportunities are incredible.

Next week, we will be blogging another short story, as promised.  And of course, we'll keep you in the loop on our progress.  If you haven't already, be sure to 'like' our Facebook page, and don't forget to follow us on Twitter. (@PenisChronicles)

As a little treat, here are some more pics from our first promo shoot with Andrew Fang of Photasa Photography!!  Hair and make-up by Maria Kesto.

Love,
Megan and Dani
xoxo