Exercises For All The Homies Who Want To Have A Long Career Drawing.

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Like a Dragon: Pirate Yakuza in Hawaii (7/∞)

Mlem

One of the best parts about working at a sex shop is the employee discount, and yeah that means excellent deals on sex supplies but that's not the big brain part.

You come to my house. Something is cooking in the kitchen- it smells wonderful. What is it? It's novelty dick-shaped pasta. I've set up a sensual sexy Italian dinner. There are candles set up on the table. They're melting too fast, dripping everywhere- they're low temp waxplay pillar candles. For dessert, I serve you a delicious ice cream topped in penis-shaped rainbow confetti sprinkles and strawberry body paint drizzle, and afterwards, serve coffee with roasted hazelnut warming lube.

We play a board game while we drink. It's sexy monopoly. It's your turn. You roll the dice. They come up as 'whisper into' and 'butt'. I lost the original dice. We're using the sexy dice. You move four spaces.

After dinner, I run you a bath. A bubble bath. The bubble gel? Sensual ocean breeze. There are candles lined up around the tub. The scent is overpowering. Why? They're three-in-one fruit flavored massage oil candles. I'm using so much. It's so wasteful. Do you want to shave? I have conditioning shave cream that smells like limes. And an electric body razor, but you can't use that in the tub.

How about a bath bomb? You toss one in. It's cherry blossom scented. As it dissolves, three sexy bath sex suggestion cards fall out. They're all variations on doggy style, probably because fucking in a bathtub is probably the easiest way to break your hip.

The water cools. You get out an dry off with a novelty towel. If you wrap it around your chest, it looks like you have gigantic tatas bursting through the fabric like the Hulk.

You walk into the bedroom. I'm there, reading an instructional book titled "The Housewife's Guide To Every Day Stripping". I'm wearing a neck pillow designed to look like a massive curved weiner. Also a pair of fake leather bondage leggings and an oversized men's christmas T-shirt that says "Jingle My Bells" across the front.

I see you come in. I put down the book, take off the pillow. Offer you a massage. You accept. I already burned up all the massage candles so I pop a new bottle of CBD massage oil that says something wrong about Chakras on it. It's very gritty. That's because there's little chunks of amethyst in it for some fucking reason. It's fine, though. You say you don't mind.

I don't do massages very often. It's bad. You end up more tense than before. One of your muscles starts to cramp- it's okay. I whip out a bottle of Lidocane topical masculine performance numbing spray. You immediately feel like your shoulder went to the dentist. It's not ideal, but it's better than cramping.

You're not in the mood to bone after that. Which is good, cause I'm actually pretty asexual, but it hasn't come up yet so I'm relieved to avoid the conversation. Instead we get ready for bed. (The weather is terrible, and I insist you stay over.) I set up the futon, then realize it smells like cigarettes from the previous owner and shyly ask if you wanna cuddle in my room. You're down.

I crawl under the covers, placing my penis-shaped pink glitter pride bottle on the side table in case one of us wakes up thirsty. Once you're settled in, I turn off the glowing bare ass night light and the room goes black.

It takes a few seconds for your eyes to adjust, but when they do, you look up at the ceiling. It's dotted all over with little green flourescent lights. Are they plastic stars? No. I've pinned up a thousand glow in the dark condoms. God bless

HANDS

by Larry Tracchini

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