Hot Tomato!

The gentleman behind me, searching for a word he could say in public while standing next to a woman he hadn’t been introduced to, say “That’s a very ambitious tomato.”

I would also like to thank Kimball Fruit Farm for providing me with this sexy piece of produce.

I was struck by how much of the car buying process I did right the last time I bought the little Honda beast.  But as I read this article, especially about those poor neurotypical salesmen perfecting their handshakes, I came up with an entire set of new ways to mess with car salesmen in the future.

The weakest link may be the handshake.

When the salesperson puts a little pressure on your hand, don’t push back. Fall down. Get upset and threaten to sue.

Look at his hand. Say “When did you last wash your hands?” If he can’t answer, don’t shake.

Or say, “I’m sorry, it’s flu season.” Or “I just sneezed into my hand. Do you have a tissue?” or “It’s against my religion to shake hands.” Offer to shake feet instead.

Then, when they get to the four square sheet, you let them start writing and say “I can’t buy that.” When he asks why, tell him that the color ink he used is unlucky. Make him do it over. Complain that he changed the numbers (which he might have done anyway).

Who knows.  If I get a break in the workflow, maybe I’ll go mess with some car salesmen just for practice.

Last night the sequel told me it wasn’t working because it had to be two books.

Which is exactly what the first book did.

I was not in the mood to buy something.  I was especially not in the mood to buy something from someone who couldn’t be bothered to shave his upper lip.  I was, in fact, in the worst possible mood for some random street salesman to approach me.  As if there is ever a good moment.

I asked him, “What would you do with the sun if you caught it?”

He kind of stares at me.  “Well, uhm, I’m not really sure why you asked me that question.”

I replied, “You’re trying to sell me a sun-catcher.  What would you do with the sun if you caught it?”

He gave a nervous laugh and tried to explain, not very well, what a suncatcher was, with reference to “you can buy them on the internet,” which is an interesting generational marker of no use in answering my question.

I eventually interrupted him.  “Well, if you don’t know what to do with the sun if you caught it, what am I supposed to do with it?”

The light changed.  I began crossing; I had to make a diagonal cross before the light changed, so I was walking as fast as I could what with the thunder in my head. He tried to follow me.

“Well,” he said, “thanks for your time.”

Of course, I answered like an Aspie.  “It was only yours until the light changes.”

I bet he told the folks back at Church stories about me.

Murphy Bullwhip Crack

Whips are kind of like golf clubs.  No one who plays golf can get way with just one club, because there are many different ways to smack a golf ball around.  My last couple of purchases were to gratify the urge to outside on a nice day and make loud noises in the park, maybe learn a couple of different cracks, and see if I can get the full range of motion back in my left arm.

The new toy is for winter days when it’s too nasty to go outside, and you’re stuck inside with low ceilings and nothing much to do but target work.

by Steve Huntress of Northeast Whips

This whip was a special request fulfilled for me by Northeast Whips.  It is a snake whip with a total length, including cracker, of 36 inches.  I got interested in a short snake after I modified my David Morgan to take a replaceable popper.  I can’t remember if it was long enough to hit the ceiling before the mod, but it certainly was afterward.  Now it will never be too long to use inside my house, even if the original popper wears out.  Since it’s paracord, it only set me back $65.  It’s also washable, and the replaceable popper has hygiene advantages.  It needs some serious breaking in, but I can get a little crack out of it already.

Mm crack!

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Here’s how it works. First go to my site, http://www.lpbtales.com and find a book from the list that I write or edit. This means the books with “buy me” photo buttons. If you have a question about whether a book is available, mail me at the address I will give below.

If you find a book you like, than send me an eligible photo of your butt, the book you would like, and a statement that you are over 21 and that I have permission to post a photo of your butt.

Eligible butt photos:

Must be of your butt or someone who gave you permission to photograph their butt (and if it’s of someone else’s butt, I need permission from them and a statement that they are over 21). There are ways to check to see if you stole a photo off the net, and while they are not foolproof, I will be using them. Stay honest. More to the point, don’t get me involved in theft of intellectual property.

Must be tasteful, in as much as a butt photo can be. This means no butts with things in them, no spread cheeks, no gaping holes, no visible genitals. Your back and legs may be included if they are well-behaved.

Must be attractive or interesting enough to help advertise my site. A beautiful butt beautifully presented is nice, but I’d like to see average butts with, say, a nicely presented message about my site penned across the buns. Or you can add a message with Photoshop, but, as I said, it must be your own butt.

In order to receive an ebook, a butt photo must not only meet all of the above eligibility standards, but have something that sets it apart–whether humor, art value, or sexiness–from the run-of-the-mill butt shot.

You may send me as many butt photos as you want. I will give you a book for every eligible photo. However, I only have five books to give away, so you may want to stop at five photos.

Your butt photo will appear on my site or in ads for my site, so you had better mean it when you give me permission.

Send photos to lpbb@lpbtales.com.

Contest begins immediately and continues until I get bored.

I think I’ve covered everything, but if you have a question just ask.

Jathin brought books to and from the library. When the term began, he met his few friends among the students for lunch. Master Rien gave Jathin enough ambri to buy cider and, finally, a new pair of boots. Jathin was as happy as he’d ever been. The only problem was the erotic conjuration book that had fallen into his hands the first day he’d ever spent in Master Rien’s tower.

There was text, and Jathin read some of it. In a dry and occasionally humorous voice, the author explained the value of applying common sense to eroticism. Conjurations were less often ruined by unfavorable stars than by a lack of lubrication or errant fluids smudging a temporary circle. Dry towels were more important than most conjurers suspected. Anyone who used conjuration as an excuse to coax an unwilling partner risked the taint of evil. Clean hands were as important as a pure heart.

Jathin teased himself reading the text, because he wanted most to look at the pictures. The woodcuts showed men and women, separate and together. The drawing style was simple. A few lines here and there, the arch of the throat or the angle of a hand tempted Jathin to bring the book from the case to his bedroom. At first he did so once a fortnight. Lord help him, but he barely glanced at the pictures of men and women together. Two men together, or even a single man held most of his attention. While it wasn’t obvious at first from the pictures of aroused men, soft cocks looked different from Jathin’s own. They came to a point of sorts, and he wondered why.

The picture Jathin had first seen when carelessly opening the book drew him back most often. A man lay in the center of a Graffyn Abjuration. His body was Duls-slender. A few careful lines created a wealth of hair spread out from his head; his arm-pits and genitals, chest and belly were lightly furred. The ink defined his closed eyes and open mouth, the wide-spread thighs and his curled toes The cock in his hand was neither as thick nor as long as the cocks that graced pornographic woodcuts. The way the curve fit into his hand, though, and the lack of any shame on his face or in the text–that’s what drove Jathin to bring the book to bed.

Jathin dare not attempt the actual conjurations, but he lay beside the man in the book and took his own cock in his hand, along with some lard he stole from the kitchen. To avoid soiling the book, Jathin did not touch it once he found the page he wanted. He curled his hand around his cock so that his each fingertip bumped the spot just under the head of his cock when he stroked up and down. When the attention became unbearable, he pulled a towel over his cockhead to catch the spilled seed.