On Fucking, Animals or Otherwise

By Balls Malone

I would like to clarify that when I talk about fucking animals, it is a purely hypothetical scenario I’m envisioning. It’s a campfire chitchat goof, like “what superpower would you like to have?” (you know mine), or “if you could only kill one Backstreet Boys member with an icepick, which one would you kill, and where would you stab him first?” (AJ, and left testicle)

So, when we’re talking about which animal you’d like to fuck, it’s a similar hypothetical question. The assumption here is that the animal is, of course, a completely willing participant and a disease free, premier specimen. You can also specify the sex of the animal and the type of sex act.

I would like to fuck a female tiger. As is my usual preference when getting down, I’d like to exchange fuck-faces to completion (one at a time, of course – 69 is goofy fun sometimes, but it’s much nicer to focus properly and do your respective jobs properly). Following that, it would be nice to relax together for a while until one thing leads to another. Then just see what happens.

I also am aware that oral sex from a tiger tongue would likely be rather painful. I know. That’s the point. Don’t kink shame!

When thinking about this important question for yourselves, do keep in mind that when I use the term “fuck,” I am in not way being hetero or male centric in my use of the term. When I say fuck I mean it in a wider, more universal sense. Whatever fucking is to you, is what I’m talking about.

Too many people are hung up on what is “normal” or “real” sex. Penis fucks and hole gets fucked, and any other shenanigans is queer. And that hole had better not enjoy itself too much, or it’s gonna turn itself into a slut hole, goddamn it!

This entire mode of thinking is fucked. If you can find someone who pushes your buttons and you can push theirs back, then the mechanics of what’s going on is irrelevant: you are fucking. If Person A is able to make eye contact with Person B across a crowded cafeteria while sending text message instructions on Person B getting themselves off (because Person B has informed them of how they are able to do this on the sly), then I would say that Person A is fucking the shit out of Person B.

That’s some good fuckin goin on right there!

Temporal Onanism

It is depressing to me that I have yet to be visited and given a blowjob by my future self. This means one of two things: either time travel does not get invented in my lifetime, or future me is a selfish asshole.

The act of giving oral sex is very much like other gift giving. We may give purely out of a generous spirit, or we may do so because we feel obligated due to social convention or other reasons. But at the heart of it we often give so that we can then receive. It’s a kind of social contract. I give you a birthday present so that I get one in return later. With sex this often is much more a direct negotiation and an immediate exchange. What some rapper or another referred to as exchanging fuck faces.

Access to a time machine would enable one to engage in just such an exchange with themselves. Game changer! The negotiation that would take place would be purely internal, with the important distinction on whether one goes forwards or backwards in time to make with the oral sex (or whatever else). So if I’m feeling horny, all I need to do is zap forward say thirty minutes, do the deed on myself, and then go back to my original timeline to wait for the payoff. Easy. This is the direct equivalent of the negotiated fuckface exchange with another partner.

Then there is the purely generous act of going back in time. Doing so is an entirely altruistic act of kindness for your former self. I suppose you could try to get your former self to reciprocate, but that really is an awful lot to spring on an unsuspecting you, don’t you think? Better just to be giving and generous and regard the experience as a chance to hone your skills.

Now, there are a couple of related issues concerning this whole practice that I should probably touch on.

The first of these is dealing with all the simpleton assholes who are going to be getting their dander up because this is somehow “gay.” First of all, so what if it is? You have a problem with that? Fuck you then. Secondly: is it? Every time you masturbate you are engaging in a same sex sex act (whatever that may be). Now whether a you in an alternate time is actually you or another distinct person is a philosophical question worth exploring. However, I’m willing to leave that determination to keener minds than mine. Regardless of the judgement, however, if I get my hands on a time machine this shit is going down. You can apply whatever label to the behavior that you want.

The second issue that people might have is what they might see as a misuse of a time machine. People might be thinking, “how dare you use such a fantastic resource for such a tawdry purpose! You should go back in time to kill Hitler or something!”

In answer to this I respond: who says I wouldn’t go back in time to kill Hitler? I have a time machine, asshole! I can fit both in.

As well, this whole notion of killing Hitler when he was young to stop World War II and the Holocaust is a crock of shit anyway. Wouldn’t work. Do you honestly believe these huge events were are all the doing of one individual? If Henry Ford had never existed, do you think someone else wouldn’t have figured out the assembly line? Hitler was a product of his times and culture, not the other way around. Eliminating him would just mean that the German industrial military complex would have found some other demagogue to rabble rouse their way into the war they wanted. Yes, some of the window dressing would have been different, but in no way would killing the individual change the political, economic, cultural, historical, and social forces that all came together to create the situation that Hitler exploited to rise to power.

In going back in time to kill Hitler, your gift to the world would probably be nothing more than letting hipsters today rock the Charlie Chaplin stache.

Now you see what a difficult and troublesome thing time travel is if used to fuck with the past to engineer the perfect present. So much better to fuck in the past to engineer just a little more happiness through self love.

Get on it science!

Internet Quiz

Hey guys! I’ve been seeing these numbered quizzes floating around online for a while where people reblog and answer some of them, or ask the poster to answer certain numbers, or some shit. So, I thought I’d write one of my own to fit in with what the youngsters are doing with themselves these days.

If you message me the numbers of the questions you’d like me to answer, I’ll be more than happy to ignore you completely. Because fuck off and mind your own goddamned business.

1. What’s your favorite song?

2. Choose one: fame or fortune?

3. What’s your favorite knot?

4. Favorite bigoted celeb?

5. Choose one: bigamy or celibacy?

6. What is your very favorite outrage?

7. What was your biggest failure to recreate a porn move in real life?

8. Can you wear your favorite underwear when you are likely to fuck? What does your answer say about you as a human being?

9. What was the raddest time you shit your pants?

10. When you and all the other millennials are whooping it up at your Tinder sex parties, why don’t you work harder at life?

11. Choose one: stabbing or shooting?

12. What polygon do you feel best represents your sexuality?

13. Do you have a favorite genocide? If you don’t, and are American, how do you justify Thanksgiving as a holiday?

14. If your genitals were a rodent, what would you give them to chew so that their teeth wouldn’t grow too long and loop back around to pierce your nether parts in a painfully debilitating, but entirely preventable, condition. Seriously, if you don’t take the time to give your rodent junk something to chew on, you’ll only have yourself to blame. (If you want, this question could be developed into an oblique metaphor for masturbation with some kind of low-brow angle on “giving a log to the beaver,” but I’m not telling anyone how to live their life here.)

15. If you had the power to eradicate all of humanity instantly, including yourself, would you do it? If no, then I hope you’re not such a hypocrite to consider yourself an environmentalist.

16. If you could only shave one body part for the rest of your life, what would it be?

17. How many people have you killed during prison riots?

19. When jolly Father Christmas brings you a present, how merry does it make you on a scale of 1 to 10?

20. Give yourself 1 point for every person you’ve kissed. Give yourself 2 points for every person whose private parts you’ve touched (tee hee!). Give yourself 3 points for every person you’ve had sex with. Give yourself 20 points if you’ve ever engaged in fisting while on heroin. Give yourself 50 points if you’ve ever paid someone NOT to have sex with you. Now add up all your points and divide that number by your age. The number this gives you is completely meaningless.

21. Cell mate: Barney the Dinosaur or Elmo? (Keep in mind here that Elmo is a goddamned maestro with a shank and has adjusted all-too-well to prison life.)

Hedda & Lance: a Love Story (part two)

by Balls Malone

part one here

part three here

part four here

part five here

part six here

“Eat my ass, you dirty fuckin slut! Eat it! Lick it out, you fuckin hoor!” Lance Johnson yelled as he pulled his huge cock out of Hedda’s sopping wet cunt and pounced to reverse position and squat on her face.

Lance and Hedda were finishing up another of their nooner sessions where he would fuck her hard on her sofa while watching videos of bare knuckle street bouts off his phone on her big-screen TV. Lance slid his fingers over and into her pussy while she licked his asshole. It took less than a minute of this for Lance to explosively jet semen all over her stomach, leg, the backrest of her sofa, and the big teddy bear propped by the armrest.

“Oh, baby, that was fuckin awesome!” Lance said. He dragged her up off the floor and onto the sofa.

As was usual when he fucked, Lance had left on his shoes. This time they were pristine Adidas tennis shoes, circa 1982: white with blue stripes. He now planted one of them on the coffee table and did some stretches, showing off his magnificently chiseled physique. Hedda masturbated while she watched him pose, quickly getting herself off yet again. Lance then picked up a throw pillow off the floor and used it to wipe off his cock, balls, and asshole.

“Are you two done fucking? You know what? I’m getting really sick and fucking tired of you two– Oh, what the fuck?!” yelled Hedda’s roommate as she stomped into the living room and was treated a view of Lance in all his glory.

“Well, I told ya, Trixey, you wanna join in alls ya gotta do is ask. Whatever ya want! I’ll let ya take yer pick. If yer too fuckin prissy and stuck-up to toss salad, then I’m sure Hedda would let ya work cock for her while she sorts that out herself,” Lance said with a happy smile, stroking his cock.

“Fuck you, pig! For the fucking tenth time, my name is Roxy, you asshole! And put some clothes on, you’re fucking disgusting! Oh what the fuck!” Roxy had just noticed her teddy bear, Chester, all covered in Lance’s semen.

“I knew it was some shit like that. Tinky or Twinkle, all the same kinda shit with you peelers. Yeah, sorry about yer fuckin bear, he had to take one fer the team. If you were there to block fer him, he woulda been fine. Okay, then, see ya next time, Tammy!” Lance said as Roxy snatched Chester of the Sofa and ran to her bedroom to slam her door.

“Ya wanna go get something to eat? I mean, besides my ass,” Lance asked Hedda.

“I should tell a sorry for Roxy,” Hedda said. She got up and started getting dressed. Lance intercepted her as she bent over for her panties, cupping her ass to pull her into a sloppy kiss.

“Why don’t ya let me go and talk to her, baby. I’ll be extra nice. Then we can all have a shower together and see what happens. You know how much I love watching you eat pussy, baby.”

“Is not good time for three way, baby. She is anger about bjørn,” Hedda said.

“Who? Whatever happened to that asshole, it aint got shit to do with me. Give me those,” Lance snatched Hedda’s panties out of her hand and held them up between them. He smelled them and then tried to stuff them in Hedda’s mouth.

“No! It’s her bjørn. Her Chester. You made love explosion on him.”

“What, her fuckin bear? Whatever. Stupid bitch. Fine, then, let her be a cunt about some fuckin toy. We’ll just bring someone else home and make her jealous. What are ya doin this afternoon? Let’s go down to the beach.”

“I have shoot. I tell you. You say you want to watch. Will you come?” Hedda asked, slipping free from Lance. She finished getting dressed, got a dish towel from the kitchen and wiped up the sofa in a half-assed way.

“Yeah, whatever. But I’m hungry so lets hurry up.”

“I just have shower and tell sorry to Roxy. Then we go,” Hedda said.

She had a quick shower and changed into some yoga gear before going to talk to her roommate. The two had danced together at a higher-end strip club for a few months before Hedda’s modeling took off. The apartment had been Roxy’s, but she needed a roommate to help cover rent, since most of her money was going to pay for graduate school. Hedda had been paying more than her share of the utilities for a while now and it was getting a little tense between them.

Hedda ignored Lance jerking off to a video of her blowing him in a toilet stall and knocked softly on Roxy’s door. There was no answer, but Hedda let herself in anyway. Roxy was sitting on the floor hugging Chester, with a bunch of used wet-wipes next to her.

“I am sorry for Chester? Is he clean?” Hedda asked Roxy, taking a seat next to her.

“It’s not about the fucking bear. That motherfucker is an animal, Hedda. You have to break up with him! I can’t believe the way you let him talk to you!”

“Is just fucking talk. Is hot.”

“It’s abusive and demeaning. I think maybe you don’t understand just what it is he’s saying,” Roxy said.

“I am Norwegian, not stupid. You think I am some a kind of a fucking Swede?”

“I know you’re not stupid, Hedda… or Swedish. It’s just I think he’s taking advantage of you. He’s fucking dangerous! I mean, he’s covered in prison gang tattoos, and Dave said some of them are really hardcore. Like, you can’t get them unless you…”

“What?”

“I don’t want to accuse him of anything, but some of that ink you can’t get unless you’ve killed someone on the inside. You need to be careful.”

“Oh, yes, the killings in the prison. He tell me about all it. He likes the knives fight. Don’t worry, he’s very good. He always wins!” Hedda said proudly.

(Stare.)

“What?” asked Hedda.

“You know? He’s told you he’s killed people and you stay with him? I don’t even know what to say.”

“I don’t need what you say. I like real man. He is my viking war man! If you want to go a three way sometime, we can. He says your pussy looks really fresh.”

“No. I… No. I need to think, Hedda. I think I need to ask you to move out. I can’t have this anymore,” Roxy said.

“Okay then. I go. Just pay me money you owe and I go. About two-thousand now, yes? You pay and I go. I’m a sorry for Chester love explosion. He is a good bjørn.”

Hedda left Roxy with her sulking and went to get Lance moving. If they did not hurry they would not have time to rerlax over lunch before he took her to her photo shoot, and she did not want that.

Hedda & Lance: a Love Story (part one)

by Balls Malone

part two here

part three here

part four here

part five here

part six here

“Oh, baby! You know what I love about you, baby? I love the way you suck my cock. I love that almost as much as I love your cunt. And you know how much I love your cunt,” said Lance Johnson, his voice heavy with lust.

“I don’t… No, put him away. It’s taxi!” said Hedda. She was from Norway and still a little shaky with the English. However, she was not wrong: they were indeed in the back of a taxi.

“I can’t, baby! Look what yer doin to me here,” Lance said proudly, as he finished pulling his huge erection out of his Adidas short shorts.

Lance and Hedda had been together for a heady two days. They had met in a night club, when she had all but thrown herself at him. He was tall, handsome, marvelously muscled, and had what she thought was a wonderfully ironic sense of fashion; with his pristine ensemble of vintage Adidas tennis wear. Lance’s seemingly inexhaustible supply of cocaine and ecstasy had not hurt either. He had been well worth blowing in the men’s room. They partied all night and all day and finished things late on their second night at his apartment with the kind of marathon fucking that only Viagra and a strict cardio regimen can provide.

Hedda had awoken that morning with a hangover and a heart full of dirty regret. She could not face putting her clothes back on after showering, so Lance loaned her a retro Adidas outfit of her very own. It seemed he took vintage Adidas very seriously, because he did not have any clothes besides vintage Adidas. He promised to drop her back at her apartment after they had breakfast and he ran an errand. She packed her own clothes in an Adidas shopping bag and they headed out together in their matching outfits, like some kind of nightmarish Adidas commercial.

They shared a special morning together. Lance had started the day by convincing Hedda to blow him in the shower, and he followed that with continued aplomb. He tried to get her to blow him in the booth at Denny’s, and, now, was trying to get her to blow him in the back of the taxi.

The taxi driver watching them in the rear-view mirror was working for her a little, so she almost let herself be won over by Lance’s wooing. After all, he was awfully good looking, and the best coke hook up she had found since moving there. But she wasn’t quite feeling it, and did not want to seem cheap, so she declined his offer yet again. When it became obvious that she was not going to blow him, the taxi driver started shouting for Lance to put his cock away. Lance shouted back some stuff about the reasons why certain kinds of people wind up with an ice pick in their skull. Hedda could not quite follow it, but she did ponder how funny it was that Lance’s full sleeves of prison gang tattoos had seemed so sexy-dangerous to her before, whereas now they just seemed dangerous.

Travel really is the best education.

They finally got out of the taxi at the beach and Lance and the driver exchanged a few more words before Lance threw some money at his face. The taxi peeled out of there, and Lance led Hedda down to the bike path on the beach. Rollerbladers and joggers were enjoying the beautiful day, going to and fro with that glazed enthusiasm so many of them have. Lance waited until there was a break in this sexy traffic, and he quickly reached in his vintage Adidas gym bag to transfer a Glock 19 to the front of his shorts.

“Don’t worry about that motherfucker, baby. He aint shit, and those cats he was talkin don’t got no juice this side of 60th,” Lance said, giving Hedda a sweet peck on the cheek.

They went down to a part of muscle beach where a bunch of guys even bigger than Lance, with very similar tattoos, were working out. She was gratified at all the attention they gave her. Lance had her “hold down his gat” for him and worked out for her. The hard weight of the pistol wrapped in a towel reminded her of the feel of his cock through his shorts. She moistened as she squeezed it tight, watching Lance blast through reps with sweat glistening on his chiseled physique.

Once Lance was all done, he stepped aside with a gargantuan freak show to exchange some boxes and vials for a wad of cash. Then they were on their way.

“Don’t worry, baby. I don’t use that shit. My game is one hundred percent natural. No shrinkin balls here babe! But those freaks pay, man. That shit pays!”

Lance hailed another taxi and Hedda’s heart was thumping as he helped her into it. She knew without a doubt that she was going to invite him up to her place. As far as the ride there went, she would just have to see how the taxi driver struck her.

Road Trip

by Balls Malone

After about an hour of driving she had one of her episodes where she compulsively needed semen. Happy to oblige, I pulled over and she blew me. For all her enthusiasm, she was never very good at head. It was like she was attacking it; little animalistic grunts with manic, jerky motions. A bit frightening, actually, but head is head.

Afterwards, inevitably, her mood soured. We stopped a while later for lunch and recriminations.

mantis

how to die

With a beautiful woman in a luxury high-rise hotel room overlooking a metropolis.

She gets me high. Bathes me. Pleasures me until there’s nothing left to be done.

When we’re finished, when I can’t manage another act, and I’m lying inside her in a fog of post-coital delirium, she cuts my throat with a straight razor.

I want to see my blood spurt across her breasts. Watch it pump black across white sheets in half light.

She slides from bed and moves to the bathroom, leaving me to die alone. The last thing I see is her ass, backlit from the bathroom light as she flicks it on.

goodnight