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Stirring the sauce in an x-rated, counterclockwise motion, Bamberg smiled meaningfully at the girl on his couch. No go, bro; her present attention--if it could be called that--was devoted to listlessly leafing through a housewares catalog. Hey, all the better--gave him the chance to review her resume, so to speak. Kalie Grossman, Age 33. Nice chuckwagon; pretty good tom-toms; maybe a little lacking in the old coffee grinder. Black and Decker, possibly Krups if you squinted. No biggie, not a dealbreaker by any means. Speaking of beverages her drink was barely touched...no matter. A few years ago it would've flustered Bamberg but his older wiser self knew it just meant other things than food and wine occupied her mind. Dork sausage, for one. No, he had to admit it was amazing the time and effort (and money) he'd saved since implementing maxim.com's #1 Snatchcut: a well-fed gal is a "she'll spread" gal. Say what you will, the proof was in the pudding. In the last year alone home cooking had netted him, postprandially speaking, half a dozen hand shandies, four throatjobs and seven full-on bonejobs. Hell, nine if you counted Lucy Catalina and Sally Breanne...but putting exes up on the board was strictly for amateurs. Bamberg wasn't about to go into the record books with an asterisk like certain wannabes he could name (e.g. Dibbs, Mace, Ben Jobson). Anyhow since enacting the culinary campaign there'd been only one single misfire to date--and no wonder, she'd turned out vegan (thanks for the advance notice lady!)...which'd been a stroke of luck actually since 95% of the time macrobiotic muff causes second degree razor chafe. Anyhow, in a heroic recovery Bamberg'd converted the leftovers into a bone-a-thon the very next night with a different, none-the-wiser lady. Reheat, Recycle, Reacharound. Personality-wise this particular one seemed a bit unstable; low self esteem, edgy in her skin. Easy pickings in other words, long as a guy was mindful not to make any sudden movements. Fish in a barrel compared to certain recent dinner guests he could name...speaking of which best check the trout... Almost done. May as well finish setting the table. He eyed its minimalist modern sheen with satisfaction...inspired, no, attaching Grundul legs to a Kyorg? Mix and match was the secret to maintaining one's individuality in this mass produced world. Getting it home hadn't been cheap, thanks to Franklo's selfish refusal to do him a solid--but the investment was about to pay off in droves, and cunnilingus was the currency. Thing was, in the quest for quim God was in the details. If a lady sensed no effort was being spared for her comfort and pleasure, et fucking peter cetera, horniness ensued. Bros who accepted and embraced this would never want for tang. Along these lines Bamberg turned up 89.9, the Vacation Station, deftly fading in more volume such that without being consciously aware of it Ms. Grossman felt the romantic atmosphere quicken. Time to break out the heavy artillery. He lit a cinnamon scented candle, moved the flowers to one side and, with a flourish, set down his ceramic Renoir trivet. Culture. Nature's greatest panty luber. *** As you know, Reader, the fairer sex's delicate sensibilities don't simply switch off post-forn. It being Bamberg's business to remain ever mindful of such minutiae, he headed to the shitter to dispose of the spent cum-bag. There, in the can, sat its wrinkly twin. Christ, he hadn't taken the trash out since whatserface, the pleasantly plump travel agent? Come on, man. Not that this girl would've noticed or cared but Bamberg's sloppiness irked him. To dispel the negative vibe he tried a hearty joke upon reentering the bedroom. The half-naked Kalemeister was perched on the windowsill, smoking; Bamberg rushed forward as if she was about to fling herself from the window. "Don't do it! It's not worth it!" he shouted. "That's so not funny. I tried to kill myself three times in high school." Oh for fuck's sake. Reaching out to hold her, Bamberg forced himself to "react" with animated, earnest concern. "Oh my god. Really? That's awful. I'm so sorry, I didn't know. Why would you do something like that?" And so on. To his surprise she not only seemed to swallow his halfhearted appeasements, but soon was issuing "more sex" signals. As he thrust away, Bamberg mentally berated the girl for her failed suicides, further arousing himself. "So...couldn't close the deal, eh? Why not? Not man enough? Couldn't stand the sight of blood? You bitch!" He came in a triumphant gush.
Date Written: April 07, 2009
Author: Jon Matza
Average Vote: 4.625