Giggling Into the Pillow (2 page)
Read Giggling Into the Pillow Online
Authors: Chris Bridges
Tags: #comedy, #humor, #sexy, #stories, #essays, #sexy stories, #erotica anthology, #silly
But finally I let the site wind down. Life
intervened. Different interests bickered for my attention.
Searching out more smiling nekkid wimmen was becoming a chore (I
know!). And sites like Fleshbot.com were covering the silly sex
news much more thoroughly than I was. Also, hosting an adult site
is expensive, and with the not-a-recession going on, well… Hoot
Island settled down to a simmer, the stories got moved to
hootisland.livejournal.com, and I went about my life.
Only…
I like writing silly smut. I miss it. And
I’m still not seeing enough of it about. So I’m bringing “Giggling”
back out to play, and bringing HootIsland.com back to host more
stories, and working on another collection to be published soon
called “Yodeling Into the Gulley.” Look for it!
Oh, and here’s what I wrote last time:
Larson
building, and you feel as if you’ll die if you don’t find release
and soon. Your stomach muscles crunch, your thighs lock, your jaw
is clenched like a weight lifter with previously-unsuspected
dysentery and still you can feel the sensation coming, as
uncontrollable and unstoppable as a tidal wave. You suck in air to
tighten your control but you might as well use one of those little
paper drink umbrellas to hold back the sea, because the release is
far beyond any hope of containment and it sucks you over the edge
like an electrical rip tide into a gut-wrenching…
you all about how important laughter is to a healthy human and a
healthy sex life, how it can improve your health and your life and
your gas mileage and your relationships with friends and lovers and
public health officials, and why it is vitally important to be able
to laugh at everything in life. I believe I’m also expected to
quote Desmond Morris and Susie Bright and Freud and Masters &
Johnson and The Discovery Channel and Animal Planet and whomever
the hot evolutionary theorists are these days, but I’d just be
cutting and pasting a lot of stuff that you’d just have to skip
over so let’s just assume that I’ve said something terribly wise
regarding humor and sex that justifies your buying this book (“See?
It’s not pornography, it’s social science!”) and we’ll just skip to
the smut.
my work on HootIsland.com, a website I began in 1996 as,
essentially, a very public filing cabinet (or trash can, depending
on your opinion of my work). It hasn’t fundamentally changed since
then, although it has gotten a lot bigger. Hoot Island’s motto is
“silly sex, for silly people” and I’m proud to say that we’ve never
once wavered from that lofty goal. And I’ve met an awful lot of
awfully silly people, who do a fair bit of wavering
themselves.
like, the freaks.
FOUND: One
Dildo
road.
I drove over it and about 300 feet past it
before it fully registered, and by then I was far enough along that
turning around to investigate seemed silly. All I had was a faint
mental snapshot of pink skin in a familiar-looking shape. Nahhh,
couldn't be.
I pulled into the driveway and hauled the
groceries into the house where Teres was waiting, reasonably
patiently. “Hey babe,” I said. “There's a penis in the road.”
“I know,” she said, still watching
television. “I ran over it an hour ago when I dropped the kids
off.”
“Not interested?”
“Nah. There's plenty more around if I need
one. You?”
“No, I'm good. Not the sort of thing I'd
expect to find around here, though.” I dumped the bags on the
kitchen counter and started rooting through them. It was true. We
lived at the end of a dirt road in the sticks. Ten minutes drive
brought us all the pleasures of the city, mostly in the form of
restaurants and bookstores, but as soon as your car turned onto our
area you were in deep, deep woods. Upon seeing it, your first
impression would be that some drunken partier had somehow gotten
hold of a bulldozer and had taken it upon him- or herself to make a
neighborhood, stopping every few blocks to shoot up. The few houses
along the thin, twisty, muddy roads were huddled together where the
builders flang them, like big square mushrooms. Our own house was
at the end of a minor cul-de-sac that we were pretty sure was going
to cause the county problems if and when they finally got around to
paving our roads.
Finding stuff lying around out there wasn't
at all unusual. Our roads had only a passing acquaintance with
anything horizontal or level, and anyone new or foolish enough to
come through at any speed more blinding than 10 mph was just
begging to lose his truck's contents, his engine mounts, his back
teeth, and his kidneys. Toolboxes, tires, old appliances, car
parts, dead animals, nearly dead animals, shoes, bed frames, even
the odd novelty, but, to date, none quite as novel as this. I
started the water boiling as Teres came in to chop tomatoes.
“Nope,” I said. “We've got all the dicks we need.”
“Hello the house!” The front door slammed
open and our roommate Dave made his presence known. He strode into
the kitchen and tossed the muddy dildo in question onto the counter
like an Italian salami. “Found you a replacement,” he said. It
looked disturbingly real, apart from the size and the suction cup
on the base. It had testicles.
“Thanks, we were just wondering when you
were gonna come by and fling a muddy marital aid at us.”
“I know, that's why I hurried. What's for
supper?”
“Spaghetti. Why did you bring this
here?”
“Ha! Who else's would it be? You didn't lose
it?”
“No, I try and keep better care of my
genitalia, and I don't think Teres is shopping around.”
Dave turned to face Teresa, who was ignoring
both of us and our new unit magnificently. “Really? Not interested
in trading up? It's all you could ask for, and it's
machine-washable.” He picked it up and began to poke it past her
cheek, but she raised her right hand and showed him the kitchen
knife she was holding.
“I told you when you moved in: anything you
poke at me will get cut off,” she said, and smiled sweetly over her
shoulder. “Now go wash your pee-pee and get ready for dinner.”
guests/usual cohorts, showed up together just as the bell for the
bread dinged. Kim wasn't currently seeing anybody and had decided
that the best place to not see anybody was over at our house where
she could complain about whom it was she wasn’t seeing. It also got
her away from her perfect, white-bread, ideal relationship parents
who continued to assure her that the right man would come along Any
Day Now. Phen was one of our occasional friends -- he occasionally
stopped by, I don't mean he was only occasionally a friend -- but
was always up for free food and movies. We had laid in a supply of
testosterone-dripping cinema for us to watch while Teres and Kim
harangued the entire male race (I was, fortunately, exempt from
that category on an honorary basis; Dave and Phen were on
probation) and its constant refusal to recognize true beauty and
grace when it saw it, i.e. Kim. I dumped the pasta into the
strainer and ran some water over it while Teres took the pot of
sauce to the table. “Hey,” she called. “Come on back, we're ready!”
A pause, and then, “Ack! Dave!”
I joined her, carrying the pasta and a plate
of bread, and saw what stopped her. Dave had set the table with an
elegant place setting for each of us and a grouping of flowers
shoved together in the center. In the middle of the sad and
lopsided floral arrangement was the dildo, pointing straight up and
clearing the tops of the flowers by almost seven inches.
At least he'd washed it first.
Kim and Phen walked into the dining room and
stopped dead, with puzzled and amused expressions. Phen broke
first. “We having cocktails?”
We explained during dinner. I don't know if
you've ever noticed this before, but it is very difficult to ignore
a 10” penis, especially when you have to look past it to see your
dinner companions. This is not a problem I'm accustomed to dealing
with, and while Dave was well known to be packing more than his
fair share he still seemed nonplussed.
It didn't help matters that it was so very
realistic. The penis, not the dinner companions. I couldn't help
imagining an extremely pissed off man strapped to the underside of
our table, scrabbling desperately at the table leaf clamps.
Teres gestured at it with her fork. “How in
the world did it get out there?” I shrugged.
Dave said, “Got me. When I saw it I thought
some poor fool had been running around naked and drowned in the
mud. Before I picked it up I spent some time poking around trying
to find a better handle to pull him out with.”
“Maybe a jealous lover found it and threw it
out,” Kim said.
“Maybe a plane carrying badly-needed sex
toys to Alabama took a hit and scattered penises all over the
South,” said Phen, who was trying to maneuver the last piece of
bread to his plate without anyone noticing, which resulted, as it
usually did, with all of us watching patiently until he succeeded.
“Maybe it grew naturally.”
“They usually do,” I said. “But that doesn't
explain this one. I wonder if someone's out there now looking for
it.”
“I'd think so,” Kim said. “It's a nice one.”
She looked around at us. “As they go, I mean.”
Dave chuckled. “If I lost my 10” dick I know
I'd be upset.”
“Yeah, you'd only have four inches left,”
Phen said. “Whatcha gonna do with it?”
“Why?”
“Well, it makes a fetching centerpiece, but
it doesn't really fit the tone of your dining room.”
“We'll probably toss it,” I said, looking at
Teres. She gave me a small but definite nod. I've known Teres'
opinions about sex toys for a very long time now, and they are as
follows: if she was already in a state of high excitement and I
slipped one out from under a pillow, she'd embrace it (and me)
wholeheartedly, or whatever. But in the cold light of day they
carried the same erotic charge for her as raw liver. Less,
possibly, since she was better at seeing culinary potentials than
sexual ones.
“You oughta try and find the owner,” Phen
said. “I'm sure this costs a few bucks. Kim? Whatcha think?”
She blushed and punched him in the shoulder.
“How would I know? Geez, guys, like I've got all this stuff
memorized. Just because I'm single you think I'm the local
authority on masturbatory devices, people call me up for
consultation?”
We waited.
“Fuck all of you. It's a 'Salty Cinnamon'
Cyberskin Superstud, 10”, caucasian, $69.95 retail. But I only know
it because I saw it in a catalog and I liked the name, all
right?”
Teres nudged Kim's shoulder. “Do you want
it?”
Kim dropped her fork and put both hands flat
on the table. “Hell, no! I've bought pre-owned cars, second-hand
clothing, and a used dog, but I wouldn't take a used dildo even if
you bleached it first. I mean, ewww. I’m pretty sure I know exactly
where it's been, so I know where it ain't going.” She reached out
and plucked the penis from its home and peered at it. “But it can't
have been out there long,” she said. “Cyberskin feels great, but I
don't think it weathers well. This still looks new.”
The sight of Kim holding a massive schlong
up to her face was causing some disturbing and surprising effects
on my own equipment, so I turned away to look across the table at
Phen, who was now fully visible to me for the first time tonight.
“So, what? Put up notices? 'Found, one dildo, answers to
“Buzz”'?”
He shrugged. “Either that or stake out the
road and look for someone driving by very slowly, with a worried
look on her face.”
“Or his face.”
“Or his face.”
Kim was still inspecting the wang in
question, one hand cupping the balls and one hand firmly grasping
the thick shaft. It would have been fiercely erotic had she not
been sighting along the length with the screwed-tight expression of
someone choosing a pool cue. “I think someone out there is very sad
right now.”
We set it aside and went on with our plans
of watching the Lord of the Rings DVDs, but disembodied dick jokes
became the theme of the evening. We speculated on which one of
Gandalf's wands was the more powerful, and whether or not Frodo
could have used it as a pike. After the night wound down and we had
chanted all the different versions of “one dick shall rule them
all, and in the darkness fuck them,” Kim and Phen left and the rest
of us collapsed in the living room amidst the Cheeto bags and empty
Coke cans.
intervened. Different interests bickered for my attention.
Searching out more smiling nekkid wimmen was becoming a chore (I
know!). And sites like Fleshbot.com were covering the silly sex
news much more thoroughly than I was. Also, hosting an adult site
is expensive, and with the not-a-recession going on, well… Hoot
Island settled down to a simmer, the stories got moved to
hootisland.livejournal.com, and I went about my life.
Only…
I like writing silly smut. I miss it. And
I’m still not seeing enough of it about. So I’m bringing “Giggling”
back out to play, and bringing HootIsland.com back to host more
stories, and working on another collection to be published soon
called “Yodeling Into the Gulley.” Look for it!
Oh, and here’s what I wrote last time:
Larson
building, and you feel as if you’ll die if you don’t find release
and soon. Your stomach muscles crunch, your thighs lock, your jaw
is clenched like a weight lifter with previously-unsuspected
dysentery and still you can feel the sensation coming, as
uncontrollable and unstoppable as a tidal wave. You suck in air to
tighten your control but you might as well use one of those little
paper drink umbrellas to hold back the sea, because the release is
far beyond any hope of containment and it sucks you over the edge
like an electrical rip tide into a gut-wrenching…
Orgasm? Laughing fit? They
share a lot in common, these things, and not just because you can
receive either one from watching your lover naked. Both laughter
and sexual climax release you from tension, often explosively, and
anything that can ease your tension and is legal besides is a Good
Thing. Both experiences can be achieved alone or in company, both
can make you cry out, and both can result in you suddenly needing a
dry change of clothes. One of them is slightly less scandalous in
public (depending on the situation), the other more polite at
orgies (depending on the orgy), but I’d never turn down either one.
If you can manage to experience both
simultaneously
, at least once in your
lifetime, you’ll be sure that God likes you best. If you
survive.
you all about how important laughter is to a healthy human and a
healthy sex life, how it can improve your health and your life and
your gas mileage and your relationships with friends and lovers and
public health officials, and why it is vitally important to be able
to laugh at everything in life. I believe I’m also expected to
quote Desmond Morris and Susie Bright and Freud and Masters &
Johnson and The Discovery Channel and Animal Planet and whomever
the hot evolutionary theorists are these days, but I’d just be
cutting and pasting a lot of stuff that you’d just have to skip
over so let’s just assume that I’ve said something terribly wise
regarding humor and sex that justifies your buying this book (“See?
It’s not pornography, it’s social science!”) and we’ll just skip to
the smut.
my work on HootIsland.com, a website I began in 1996 as,
essentially, a very public filing cabinet (or trash can, depending
on your opinion of my work). It hasn’t fundamentally changed since
then, although it has gotten a lot bigger. Hoot Island’s motto is
“silly sex, for silly people” and I’m proud to say that we’ve never
once wavered from that lofty goal. And I’ve met an awful lot of
awfully silly people, who do a fair bit of wavering
themselves.
like, the freaks.
FOUND: One
Dildo
road.
I drove over it and about 300 feet past it
before it fully registered, and by then I was far enough along that
turning around to investigate seemed silly. All I had was a faint
mental snapshot of pink skin in a familiar-looking shape. Nahhh,
couldn't be.
I pulled into the driveway and hauled the
groceries into the house where Teres was waiting, reasonably
patiently. “Hey babe,” I said. “There's a penis in the road.”
“I know,” she said, still watching
television. “I ran over it an hour ago when I dropped the kids
off.”
“Not interested?”
“Nah. There's plenty more around if I need
one. You?”
“No, I'm good. Not the sort of thing I'd
expect to find around here, though.” I dumped the bags on the
kitchen counter and started rooting through them. It was true. We
lived at the end of a dirt road in the sticks. Ten minutes drive
brought us all the pleasures of the city, mostly in the form of
restaurants and bookstores, but as soon as your car turned onto our
area you were in deep, deep woods. Upon seeing it, your first
impression would be that some drunken partier had somehow gotten
hold of a bulldozer and had taken it upon him- or herself to make a
neighborhood, stopping every few blocks to shoot up. The few houses
along the thin, twisty, muddy roads were huddled together where the
builders flang them, like big square mushrooms. Our own house was
at the end of a minor cul-de-sac that we were pretty sure was going
to cause the county problems if and when they finally got around to
paving our roads.
Finding stuff lying around out there wasn't
at all unusual. Our roads had only a passing acquaintance with
anything horizontal or level, and anyone new or foolish enough to
come through at any speed more blinding than 10 mph was just
begging to lose his truck's contents, his engine mounts, his back
teeth, and his kidneys. Toolboxes, tires, old appliances, car
parts, dead animals, nearly dead animals, shoes, bed frames, even
the odd novelty, but, to date, none quite as novel as this. I
started the water boiling as Teres came in to chop tomatoes.
“Nope,” I said. “We've got all the dicks we need.”
“Hello the house!” The front door slammed
open and our roommate Dave made his presence known. He strode into
the kitchen and tossed the muddy dildo in question onto the counter
like an Italian salami. “Found you a replacement,” he said. It
looked disturbingly real, apart from the size and the suction cup
on the base. It had testicles.
“Thanks, we were just wondering when you
were gonna come by and fling a muddy marital aid at us.”
“I know, that's why I hurried. What's for
supper?”
“Spaghetti. Why did you bring this
here?”
“Ha! Who else's would it be? You didn't lose
it?”
“No, I try and keep better care of my
genitalia, and I don't think Teres is shopping around.”
Dave turned to face Teresa, who was ignoring
both of us and our new unit magnificently. “Really? Not interested
in trading up? It's all you could ask for, and it's
machine-washable.” He picked it up and began to poke it past her
cheek, but she raised her right hand and showed him the kitchen
knife she was holding.
“I told you when you moved in: anything you
poke at me will get cut off,” she said, and smiled sweetly over her
shoulder. “Now go wash your pee-pee and get ready for dinner.”
guests/usual cohorts, showed up together just as the bell for the
bread dinged. Kim wasn't currently seeing anybody and had decided
that the best place to not see anybody was over at our house where
she could complain about whom it was she wasn’t seeing. It also got
her away from her perfect, white-bread, ideal relationship parents
who continued to assure her that the right man would come along Any
Day Now. Phen was one of our occasional friends -- he occasionally
stopped by, I don't mean he was only occasionally a friend -- but
was always up for free food and movies. We had laid in a supply of
testosterone-dripping cinema for us to watch while Teres and Kim
harangued the entire male race (I was, fortunately, exempt from
that category on an honorary basis; Dave and Phen were on
probation) and its constant refusal to recognize true beauty and
grace when it saw it, i.e. Kim. I dumped the pasta into the
strainer and ran some water over it while Teres took the pot of
sauce to the table. “Hey,” she called. “Come on back, we're ready!”
A pause, and then, “Ack! Dave!”
I joined her, carrying the pasta and a plate
of bread, and saw what stopped her. Dave had set the table with an
elegant place setting for each of us and a grouping of flowers
shoved together in the center. In the middle of the sad and
lopsided floral arrangement was the dildo, pointing straight up and
clearing the tops of the flowers by almost seven inches.
At least he'd washed it first.
Kim and Phen walked into the dining room and
stopped dead, with puzzled and amused expressions. Phen broke
first. “We having cocktails?”
We explained during dinner. I don't know if
you've ever noticed this before, but it is very difficult to ignore
a 10” penis, especially when you have to look past it to see your
dinner companions. This is not a problem I'm accustomed to dealing
with, and while Dave was well known to be packing more than his
fair share he still seemed nonplussed.
It didn't help matters that it was so very
realistic. The penis, not the dinner companions. I couldn't help
imagining an extremely pissed off man strapped to the underside of
our table, scrabbling desperately at the table leaf clamps.
Teres gestured at it with her fork. “How in
the world did it get out there?” I shrugged.
Dave said, “Got me. When I saw it I thought
some poor fool had been running around naked and drowned in the
mud. Before I picked it up I spent some time poking around trying
to find a better handle to pull him out with.”
“Maybe a jealous lover found it and threw it
out,” Kim said.
“Maybe a plane carrying badly-needed sex
toys to Alabama took a hit and scattered penises all over the
South,” said Phen, who was trying to maneuver the last piece of
bread to his plate without anyone noticing, which resulted, as it
usually did, with all of us watching patiently until he succeeded.
“Maybe it grew naturally.”
“They usually do,” I said. “But that doesn't
explain this one. I wonder if someone's out there now looking for
it.”
“I'd think so,” Kim said. “It's a nice one.”
She looked around at us. “As they go, I mean.”
Dave chuckled. “If I lost my 10” dick I know
I'd be upset.”
“Yeah, you'd only have four inches left,”
Phen said. “Whatcha gonna do with it?”
“Why?”
“Well, it makes a fetching centerpiece, but
it doesn't really fit the tone of your dining room.”
“We'll probably toss it,” I said, looking at
Teres. She gave me a small but definite nod. I've known Teres'
opinions about sex toys for a very long time now, and they are as
follows: if she was already in a state of high excitement and I
slipped one out from under a pillow, she'd embrace it (and me)
wholeheartedly, or whatever. But in the cold light of day they
carried the same erotic charge for her as raw liver. Less,
possibly, since she was better at seeing culinary potentials than
sexual ones.
“You oughta try and find the owner,” Phen
said. “I'm sure this costs a few bucks. Kim? Whatcha think?”
She blushed and punched him in the shoulder.
“How would I know? Geez, guys, like I've got all this stuff
memorized. Just because I'm single you think I'm the local
authority on masturbatory devices, people call me up for
consultation?”
We waited.
“Fuck all of you. It's a 'Salty Cinnamon'
Cyberskin Superstud, 10”, caucasian, $69.95 retail. But I only know
it because I saw it in a catalog and I liked the name, all
right?”
Teres nudged Kim's shoulder. “Do you want
it?”
Kim dropped her fork and put both hands flat
on the table. “Hell, no! I've bought pre-owned cars, second-hand
clothing, and a used dog, but I wouldn't take a used dildo even if
you bleached it first. I mean, ewww. I’m pretty sure I know exactly
where it's been, so I know where it ain't going.” She reached out
and plucked the penis from its home and peered at it. “But it can't
have been out there long,” she said. “Cyberskin feels great, but I
don't think it weathers well. This still looks new.”
The sight of Kim holding a massive schlong
up to her face was causing some disturbing and surprising effects
on my own equipment, so I turned away to look across the table at
Phen, who was now fully visible to me for the first time tonight.
“So, what? Put up notices? 'Found, one dildo, answers to
“Buzz”'?”
He shrugged. “Either that or stake out the
road and look for someone driving by very slowly, with a worried
look on her face.”
“Or his face.”
“Or his face.”
Kim was still inspecting the wang in
question, one hand cupping the balls and one hand firmly grasping
the thick shaft. It would have been fiercely erotic had she not
been sighting along the length with the screwed-tight expression of
someone choosing a pool cue. “I think someone out there is very sad
right now.”
We set it aside and went on with our plans
of watching the Lord of the Rings DVDs, but disembodied dick jokes
became the theme of the evening. We speculated on which one of
Gandalf's wands was the more powerful, and whether or not Frodo
could have used it as a pike. After the night wound down and we had
chanted all the different versions of “one dick shall rule them
all, and in the darkness fuck them,” Kim and Phen left and the rest
of us collapsed in the living room amidst the Cheeto bags and empty
Coke cans.
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