Free The Seven Deadly Sins by Corey Taylor Page B

work something out if you get my drift.
    That reminds me: I do not know what the Catholics have against masturbation, but if there were a way to levee complaints on their heads, I would do so in an instant. What the Catholics and Christians call a sin against oneself, the great Woody Allen called “sex with the one you love.” Masturbation and a rented movie beat dinner and shitty conversation with a bad blind date any fucking day of the week. Quote me on that. A little push, a little pull, and a lot of imagination can be just what the doctor ordered after a hard day. Let’s face it, sex sometimes requires talking. For guys, sometimes quite frankly we just need to tap the sexual valve. Pull up cam whores or your porn or red tube or porn hub or a plethora of other worldly Web sites that offer “visual horizontal recreation,” then get a “handle” on yourself and fall asleep watching Forensic Files . Besides, I would never listen to people who spend too much time in wooden booths listening to people’s secrets all day.
    The days of feeling humiliated about normal sexual escapades should all be behind us. Sadly, there are many among us who still equate sex with hateful things like rape and molestation. Small people have small minds cluttered with smaller ideas, and it is a shame that so many of them have giant reaches into huge pockets. If I would never hand control of my sexy bits to a falcon with epilepsy, then why would I be expected to do so with strangers who have no clue about pleasure? I feel like I am going
fucking nuts here. And when I go fucking nuts, I have a tendency to break my lucky Guinness glasses. Damn it guys, I only have so many of those things left!
    Sentient beings with intelligence and morals should be allowed to put their pieces in whatever Reese’s they want, whether they are gay or straight. The stigmas of the past should be eradicated. The powers that be should be the powers of free. Brothers and sisters, the twilight of our sexual revolution is going to give way to the dawn of our lusty victories. We can lead a march through the streets of every major city of the greatest country in the world and proclaim that our privates are private property. No one gets away with murdering our right to coitus. No one gets away with controlling how we feel about how we feel. The right to bare asses is right up there with licking apple pie off the tits of someone called Big Mama. America puts the cunt in country, damnit. We are fucking alive in here.
    I am a big fan of pizza, with ranch dressing handy for dipping. I had no other reason for writing this than to lighten the mood a bit before I pull your panties off. Do you feel me, earth? Yeah, that is my hand on your thigh and my lips on your ear. Besides, does anyone really like having a tongue in their ear? It is akin to a worm trying to take over your head. It is just gross. I would rather have a raccoon’s dick shoved into my navel than have a tongue stuffed into either one of my ears. Now nibbling is a different story. Just give me some tiny bites on any part of me and I am rendered harder than mahogany in the Arctic Circle. I think I am going to drag my wife upstairs and rub something against her. No, I mean it. She has lint on her sweater and the sticky lint brush is on the counter in our bathroom. What did you think I was talking about? You guys are fucking perverts,
man—get your head out of the gutter. That is my wife you are thinking about!
    God, my wife is hot.

    I have had sex with porn stars and rock stars. I have had sex with friends and strangers, with beauty queens and the stuff of wet dreams. I have fucked whores and hags. I have done so much that it is damn near impossible to put a finger on just where my own unique kink comes from sometimes. But one thing is for certain: If it were not for lust, half my stories would be boring wastes of breath. If it were not for lust, my little soirees would be nothing