After long nights and a lot of hard work, we are ready to unveil a new feature here at Guy Needs Girl. Finally putting to use that Bachelor’s in Computer Science, we’ve whipped up a handy application for rating girls. The next time there is an argument over who is better, solve it objectively with the “Is She a Ten?” Questionnaire. For those of you reading in email, you’ll need to click on this link, since despite all our technology, we still can’t deliver it to your inbox.
Disney - the land of a thousand dreams. Some dream of becoming an imagineer, others dream of dressing like a princess. Me? I want to fuck a Disney character. I’m not talking about the humans. My feelings are more sinister, my needs more raw. When I say I want to get some tail, I mean that I want them to have a tail. Daisy Duck, Minnie Mouse, Bambi’s Mom, I’d fuck them all.
I realize that it is physically impossible to commit sexual acts with a cartoon drawing. I did, however, come close to finding the next best thing. I met a girl who, after our introduction, revealed that she worked at Disney. I nonchalantly steered the conversations towards revealing which character she played. I asked her if she wore a uniform.
“No, ” she replied, “I have to wear a costume.”
Excitement burst through me. I casually probed for more information.
“Oh, are you like Goofy or something?” I asked.
“Ha, I wish. Goofy’s my favorite. No, I’m a girl character.”
I could barely contain myself. Sure, she was no drawing, but this could be an interesting experiment.
My curiosity was the block, however. Disney likes to pretend the characters are real, protecting their secret identity. Employees are a part of this secret cult, strongly discouraged from discussing their roles. The more I asked, the more she pulled away. She told me that she wasn’t allowed to discuss it. Pushing her further caused her to lose interest. Finally, she stopped responding altogether when I asked if her costume was anatomically correct.
Although screwing a girl in an animal suit would’ve done little to quench my secret appetite for cartoonophelia, I did buy season passes to Disney just in case.
Christmas is nearly here. I know other websites, TV stations, and print media provide you with a running countdown until that fabulous day arrives, so here at GuyNeedsGirl, we strive to do the same. Christmas is a time for giving and this season I pledge to give back to the community. I proudly unveil our first community-service oriented program: The Twelve Dates of Christmas.
From now until that magical day arrives I will go on dates with twelve different girls. I’ll provide you, my dearest readers, with a breakdown of each. Who she was, what we did, how it went, even down to a numerical Christmas rating (one to five ornaments): you will be a part of it all. Using the bar shown here and to the right you can track my progress from your very own home as we move forward with this program.
The Twelve Dates of Christmas
I know that for my part, it is a lot of time, effort, and money, but that is the sacrifice I make on this, the most spiritual of holidays. So join me, readers, in a wintery celebration like none other!
We’re about to get pretty personal with each other. This post marks the portion of the blog where whoring my stories out to family and friends for blog traffic might get a little awkward.
I started seeing an older woman and asked her over one night to “watch a movie.” Based on appearances, this woman was as normal as any other. I had no reason to think that this evening would lead to anything less than a good time. She arrives carrying an old wooden box under her arm. The box was the size of a chessboard, but much deeper. At first I’m curious about what is inside but soon I’ve forgotten about it and we’re watching the movie.
Eventually we reach the point of the evening where the TV is no longer the focus and she asks if I want to move to the bedroom. I agree and she picks up the box and brings it with her into my room. I ask again about the box. She replies, “just wait, you’ll see”. The box goes on the floor near the bed and once again I’m distracted.
You'll feel a slight tingle...
Now the ball is rolling. Things are getting pretty heavy when she finally stops and asks if I want to see what’s in the box. When an attractive woman is in your bed, I’m fairly certain sure that you never turn down her offer to see anything. I would love to see what is in the box.
She then asks if I have a spare lamp she can use. Uh, sure.
She drags a lamp across the room and begins unscrewing the bulb. Then she opens the mystery box. Inside is an ancient device that appears to be from the 1920s. I’ve seen enough World War 2 torture scenes to know that this is no run of the mill sex toy. I might be in real trouble. She starts screwing in connectors and clamping wires before turning the lamp back on. A hum starts to fill the room, along with the smell of fear and burning ozone.
Remember, we’re talking about a very beautiful woman. True, she was a woman who uses antique electroshock therapy devices as a form of sexual expression, but I still have faith in her even as the electrified prongs hit my bare, exposed, and naive chest. I truly believed, even while the stream of pure electricity was shooting through my nipple and down my body before grounding itself on my belt buckle, that somehow she held in her hands a magical pleasure device would forever top any sexual fantasy I could ever dream of.
But it wasn’t. It shocked the fuck out of me.
In case you were curious, I’ve found a picture of a similar device on ebay: Vintage Device eBay Listing
I never invited her over for a movie again.
