What a Nice Guy by Phil Torcivia

Friday, April 15, 2011

Or-Gaz-Mo


      I am the mighty Or-Gaz-Mo. Bow to me. I have found the Holy Grail and will now embark upon my mission of leading my flock to the Promised Land. Fear not, you who have never climaxed, for my extensive research has given me skills proven to bring you to climax within fifteen minutes, or your money back. But, wait! Act now and I’ll throw in a Slamwow sex towel, free of charge.
      “You must be kidding.”
      “Come on, be a good sport. I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”
      “What exactly are you planning to do to me?”
      “Bring you to climax in less than fifteen minutes, without penetration. I’m shooting for eight minutes, actually, because I am one high-ambition-having mo-fo.”
      “You know, I really don’t need you to have orgasms.”
      “Look, you’re doing this for my benefit. You’re such a good sport—allowing yourself to be my guinea pig. Think of all the orgasmless women this could rescue.”
      “Fine. What do I do?”
      “Easy. Remove your pants and lie there on your back.”
      “Like this?”
      “Yep. Now, let me put this pillow under your butt and wah-lah—the table is set.”
      “This is so embarrassing. OK, how’s this?”
      “Perfect. Now, heels together, knees apart. Don’t be shy—I’m a doctor.”
      “You are not. Go wash and Purell your hands and let me check your nails, Doc.”
      “Fine ... OK, all set. Now I must mount the subject.”
      “Hey, you said no penetration!”
      “I don’t mean that sort of ‘mount.’ Here. Relax.”
      “Easy for you to say. You don’t have your labia hanging out.”
      “I don’t have ... never mind. Now, I sit next to you with my right leg over your abdomen and left leg under your knees, facing slightly away from you.”
      “Seriously? You’re actually reading directions? This is a first.”
      “Silence, subject. I haven’t had this much fun since naked Twister.”
      “That makes one of us.”
      “Now, I place my left hand under your butt with thumb facing up at the base of your hoo-hay.”
      “Hoo-hay? Really? You’re such a romantic.”
      “Shush. My right hand goes palm on your pelvic bone and with my thumb and middle-finger I gently pull back on the upper area to expose the clitasorus maximus.”
      “Can you hand me my cell?”
      “No. Concentrate. With my pointy finger I am to locate the one o’clock position on your love button.”
      “From whose perspective?”
      “Well, it says here that top is noon, so one would be right ... about ... here.”
      “Tee hee.”
      “That was the creepiest giggle ever. You sounded like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man.”
      “Proceed, doctor. Now what?”
      “I am to supply gentle circular pressure similar to the weight of two sheets of paper.”
      “Huh?”
      “Hold on. How much does two sheets of paper weigh?”
      “Just push until I say stop.”
      “How’s this?”
      “You’re not popping packing bubbles, numbnuts. Think: Paper.”
      “OK, how about this?”
      “Much better. Now, I’m closing my eyes. Can you speak to me in Colin Firth’s accent?”
      “Who?”
      The King’s Speech guy.”
      “Ugh. Fine. You bloody well better fancy this, me lady.”
      “On second thought, shut up and flick away.”
      “Hum de dum de dum. I’m going to make her come.”
      “You do realize that I could knee your forehead quite easily from this position.”
      “Fine. Would you mind if I hum the Pretenders’ ‘Back on the Chain Gang’?”
      “Yes, I would. Very much so, actually.”
      “Jeesh. Hmm, mm, hm ...”
      “Oh my god, I’m actually ... wait ... holy shit ... don’t stop.”
      “Hmm, hm ...”
      “Wow ... it feels so good ... I ... umm ... fuck ...”
      “Hm, dmm, dm, hmmmm ...”
      “Ooh ... I’m going to ... wait ... right there ... faster ... softer ... wait ... I’m ...”
      “Hmmm, dm ...”
      “ARGHHHHH!”
      “You ... are ... welcome.”
      “If you tell anyone about this I will kill you.”
      “Who? Me?”

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