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By Chris Bridges
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By Lesly Sloan
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By Mike Kimera
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By Nick Nicholson
The Bathroom Mirror

© 2003 by Chris Bridges

A person can only look for comfort in a mirror for so long before it becomes too depressing. Tonight Kathy lasted twenty-seven minutes, beating her previous time by twelve seconds.

There was no use for it. She had to go to bed sometime, and with any luck he'd be asleep by now. Taking a deep breath, she double-checked the buttons on her heavy nightgown, adjusted her curlers, and opened the bathroom door.

Her first thought was God, he must have rented a western this time.

Her husband Jerry was a good-looking guy, tall and broad and muscular. He was even good-looking dressed as a ridiculous cabaret cowboy; skin-tight pleather pants, no shirt, leather vest, shitkicker boots, topped off with a tall 10-gallon hat. He might have fit in perfectly in the cast of Oklahoma! or as a missing Village Person, but in their cozy little bedroom he looked absurd. Kathy looked around quickly for signs of rope and sighed with relief when no obvious lariats or branding irons presented themselves.

"Jerry, what the hell are you doing?"

He leaped off the bed to stand proud and tall, fists on his hips. "Howdy, ma'am! I run off those no-account varmints hustling your cattle and I'm here for me ree-ward!" What his ree-ward was supposed to be was obvious, as was the wholly inadequate size of his pants.

Kathy walked past him to the dresser and pulled her earrings off. "Knock it off, cowboy. I need sleep." I need a husband who doesn't think adult movies are guidelines, is what I need. She glanced over to the TV and saw the tell-tale boxes on top: Hopalong Ass-idy, The Wild, Wild Chest, and The Slut With No Name. Oh, god.

"But honey...," he caught himself and continued with his voice dropped down two octaves. "But ma'am, them cattle hustlers were tough to fight. I could surely use some first aid."

She turned to face him. "Uh huh. And what form would that first aid take?"

In answer, he dropped his pants to reveal a massive erection which, Kathy couldn't help noticing, was both throbbing and rock-hard, as per accepted porn requirements. Had to give him credit, he did observe the details. He also clearly expected her to swoon, drop to her knees, and swallow something she had problems getting her hands around, and he seemed a bit put out she hadn't started yet.

Kathy walked over, took his hand (carefully avoiding the bouncing rod that curved towards her like a snake) and sat down with him on the bed. "Honey, we need to talk. Every night for the last three months you've been watching x-rated movies and then trying to act them out with me."

He beamed. "And aren't they great?"

"Yeah, swell. Look, the first few times were okay, all right? Even kinda fun, learned a few new things, had a few laughs. But it's getting old, and it needs to stop."

"Why? You'll scream with ecstasy as I fire load after load of hot manjuice across your face!"

She sighed. "No, Jerry, I won't. I'll scream when that acidic shit gets in my eye, if I can still manage to scream with my dislocated jaw."

"No problem, there's lots of things we can do!"

"Really?" She crossed her legs. "Like what?"

He sat up straight, warming to the subject. "You can go down on me, than I can go down on you, then I can fuck you, and then flip you over and fuck you some more, and then get you on top of me, and then I believe I can either pull out and shoot creamy jism over your quivering belly or I can... um..."


"Fire load after load of... hot... manjuice?" he said in a very small voice.

She patted his hand. "I think you're getting the idea. The stuff you're watching is just too limiting, honey, and I want to do so many more things with you."

"Like ree-ward me for fighting off the cattle hustlers!" he cried, bounding to his feet and waving his cock in her face.

She ducked and rolled across the bed. "It's cattle rustlers, you moron! Forget about the porn tape! Love me like you used to, or else."

"Or else what, little lady?"

"I didn't want to have to do this." Kathy scrambled off the bed and reached into a box hidden under the bed. "Or else this," she said, and produced a video.

Her husband laughed a mighty cowboy laugh. "A new one! Great! I'm open for new ideas! Maybe this one will let us skip that part about going down on you, huh?" He sat on the edge of the bed like a kid at the cineplex. "Come on, we'll do whatever this one does, right?"

She sighed, popped in the tape, and walked back to sit next to him. "You asked for this, you know."

The tape began. Jerry and his whanger leaned forward in unison on the creaking bed, so as not to miss anything.

She wasn't watching, but she could actually hear Jerry's jaw drop open when the movie title flashed by. " Bend Over Boyfriend?" he said. "What's that?"

"Ride 'em, cowboy," she said, and smiled, and reached into the box again.

© 2003 Chris Bridges. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

Chris Bridges is head honcho at "Silly sex, for silly people," and author of Giggling Into the Pillow, a hilarious new collection of silly smut.

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