... in highly sensitive places... from a story about the Sex Wars...
edited for decency...

“Jasmine had some sort of bio-engineering degree and was a condom
load-quality inspector for the conglomerate that Meta sold toys for. It
was only later, after the explosion that we suspected that Jasmine was a
double agent actively bartering our vital American sexual techniques
with Al-Queida operatives sequestered in a cell at a rural Idaho
survivalist training camp. They used to send out postcards, you know, a
picture of a well hung goat at a barbecue and the caption, ‘Wish you
were dead,’ sort of stuff.”

“For sex with Jasmine you had to wear this device that was plugged in
below her left breast with a red and blue wire into a data-rhythmic
receptor chip. Damned little thing caught the number of strokes,
moisture content, force and depth, tempo, and measured the loads. It was
difficult not to have ... with Jasmine... her little ... was DC
electric. Once you got those ample ... rocking it was like a mating of a
pair of upside-down June bugs trying to get disconnected. God bless
Thomas Edison for his pneumatic inventions!”

{The full story, /Grandpa Rempo is my Hero/ is available on request in
pdf and only for those who promise not to call me a smut peddling pervert.}

][<

--
To terminate puerile preservation prattling among pals and the
uncoffee-ed, or to change your settings, go to:
<http://maelstrom.stjohns.edu/archives/bullamanka-pinheads.html>