A New Spunk For A New Era

January 30, 2009

You’re probably wondering if I’m still schtoomping the lovely Josephine, huh?

Okay, you’ve probably got better things to do than wonder a goddamn thing about old Tony Spunk but humor me here.

Answer is: Sorta. I haven’t seen her since that night but we’ve talked on the phone and we’ll probably hook up next week sometime. We’re easy on the subject. She’s not a gal for getting serious and that suits me just fine. Plus you know, I have a date tonight with Stephanie from the Goldmine Club.

I’m surprised about it to be perfectly honest. She and I always got along. We’re buddies you dig? Old pals. We’ve shared many a laugh over a beer and a game of pool after hours. We haven’t shared any bodily fluids, however, thanks for thinking it.

It’s not like I haven’t pursued that line of interest, mind. I have because Stephanie is one hot tamale.

But old Stephanie is a smart gal. She doesn’t want to get all involved with a guy who plays the field and I respect that. I tried telling her she didn’t need to get involved at all, but a quick roll in the hay wouldn’t be involvement, just a hobby. She didn’t bite though, sadly. The date tonight is more of a dinner and pool type of thing, because she likes hanging with me. Naturally, I’ll encourage her to drink some moonshine strength bourbon and equally naturally I’ll attempt to see how friendly she’ll allow me to get with her person, which will be “not very” and I’ll go home happy to have spent time with her but desperate to begin pleasuring myself with the first lubricating substance I can get my hands on. Because she’s frustrating, old Stephanie. Ass like a firm mattress and I don’t even get to grind against it. Life is a bitch sometimes. Thank God I have a strong right hand.

Anyway, I’ve decided to take it easy for 2009. Stop going at the ladies like a bull in a herd full of cows and chill out a bit. Have a few dates here and there, relax in between and stop trying to sperminate the world.

Hell, I don’t want to run out of ladies to polish my organ.

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Josephine

January 26, 2009

So my hot date with Josephine. I was fully prepared to come on here and write you fine people a little something about that today, then I woke up and thought, “Meh, maybe tomorrow.”, rolled over and went right back to sleep. I’m fucked, what can I tell you? I feel like a guy who just ran a marathon with his pecker.

Josephine was a girl with a lot of energy. I know I’d been away from the ladies for a whole week and all but really…she was unusually energetic. Like sort of scarily energetic.

We met at this quiet little bar for drinks at midnight and I dutifully sat there with her for an hour drinking White Russians and feeling my ass chafing in that damn leopard g-string I bought for the date, while she told me politely about her job as a dental hygenist. I couldn’t concentrate on that for the g-string business. Never again, seriously. My ass was raw, man! It was like having a barbed wire wedgie or something. Not cool.

The alcohol took my mind off it a little bit, plus the fact I was sitting opposite THE most bodacious set of gazungas God ever placed on this green Earth, helped a ton too. Also old Josephine laughs really easy. She likes jokes – even MY jokes – and she laughs heartily, which is awesome because the harder she laughs the harder her stupendous bosom jiggles. Lord have mercy!

I was just starting to wonder how to go about moving things on to the next stage as my pants were unfeasibly tight suddenly and the Captain was jumping around like a Mexican jumping bean in there, when she moved round my side of the table and stuck her tongue right down my throat without warning. Man, I think I broke some kind of record for departing the premises. I’d dragged her out and into the car in about two seconds. I knew we weren’t making it back to my pad so I pulled into the “excess flow” parking lot at the back and we went for it there and then.

That girl has no scruples at all. For real, her hands were everywhere. She was like the female ME. One minute my hand’s on her ass and my tongue’s in her mouth and the next my pants are round my ankles and she’s bare-assed naked on my lap. Holy shit. She was going like crazy too. “OH OH OH SHIT!” she yelled after a minute or so of bouncing around.

“Yeah baby!” I said, “You’re almost there! You go girl!”

“No…” she said, “I just slammed my head off the ceiling and it fucking hurt!”

So yeah that sort of dampened things for a second but it took even less than that for her to get back to it. I kindly lowered the seats a little. I like my ladies conscious although you know, any port in a storm. I’m kidding. Anyway, I wasn’t even doing anything by this time just letting her use me like a human dildo or something.

Afterwards we drove to her place and instead of saying goodnight, she dragged me inside and goddamn if she didn’t expect me to do it all again. The Captain groaned and it’s not often that happens. I still managed to plough her field though – The Spunk still got the magic, y’all. I didn’t let you down.

I wouldn’t swear or anything but when I was driving home afterwards I’m sure I saw smoke coming out of my fly. Probably the Captain smoking a cigarette. Dude earned it!


It’s Raining Ladies

January 23, 2009

Hola you bitchin’ people.

Tony has been busy, yes indeedy. And by “busy” I completely mean “having sex with the ladies” so y’all can just indulge me for a minute.

So I won the bet although kudos to the Mexican for shadowing me right up till the midnight hour to make sure I didn’t cheat on it. Distrusting little fucker. I used the fifty bucks to get some pussy – heh, I’m totally kidding, Tony doesn’t pay for it, it just lands in his lap!

No, I used the fifty bucks to buy some of these babies for my hot date with Josephine. I didn’t buy them from the UK or nothin’ like that link, I found some right here on the Strip if you can believe it. I know right, Vegas has sex shops, you totally didn’t expect that little bombshell did you?

Actually, I was kind of surprised to find that link up there was a store in the UK because I totally thought limeys were too busy drinking tea and saluting the Queen to be thinking about schtoomping the ladies. My good limey blog buddy The Imaginary Reviewer is probably gonna kick my ass for that comment, but he’s an exception to the rule. I have a feeling that dude’s a deviant like the rest of us so it’s okay.

They had some fucked up shit in that store though let me tell you. I felt kind of innocent in comparison. I didn’t know what half that stuff is actually used for. I mean odd shaped objects that vibrate and pulsate and have multi pronged ends. What the shit?

I’m an old fashioned kinda guy. I use my pecker and my tongue, and my hands know their way around a lady’s contours okay, but some of those gadgets in there looked more like something you’d find at Guantanemo Bay. I got me an education I’ll tell ya. Have you heard of the We-Vibe? I’m totally getting that for some lucky lady.

Another funny story – when I was about nine or ten I’d hang at my aunt Lola’s house a lot. Aunt Lola is the family black sheep and for a while nobody talked about her a whole lot. Here’s an old entry about her in case you’re bored and want the background on that. Let’s just say she ran a special house for ladies who liked to entertain gentlemen and leave it at that.

Anyway, when I was a kid I was round there hanging with Lola and to make a long, embarrassing story shorter, I once tried to beat scrambled eggs with a huge white vibrator. It was a mistake anyone could make. It was in a drawer and I thought it was one of them new fangled mixer things. Yeah. That was awkward.

I still ate the eggs though.

I saw Lola last Christmas at a big family dinner in Henderson – she’s almost 60 now, a touch on the alcoholic side and still dirty as hell, and she slapped me on the back in the middle of the main course and yelled “Bothered any eggs with your vibrating penis lately son?”

So yeah this is getting lengthy (that’s what SHE said!) so I’ll tell you about the actual date with Josephine tomorrow. Believe me, it’s worth waiting for, which is what I told HER on the night!


One Sentence Update

January 21, 2009

El Spunkarino’s wanger feels like it’s been beaten with a salted whip by a fat lady with a grudge.


It’s On

January 19, 2009

Y’all know what tomorrow is, right? Sure it’s old Barry Obama’s inauguration, absolutely, but you know what else? It’s day seven of the ‘Spunk Shuns Sex’ event right here in my pants and it can’t come a minute too soon.

I hope ya’ll excuse THAT pun.

I’m at the stage now where, whenever I so much as hear a lady’s voice, an oak tree blooms in my pants. Even if that lady’s the chick at the DMV who resembles Gene Wilder.

I just survived a weekend of being up to my neck in the ladies and not being able to do a damn thing about it. It’s a cruel world, I just live in it. It’s all about harmony you see. Tony and the ladies go together like crackers and cheese. Or Sonny and Cher. Or Jeremy Piven and an asshole convention. It’s just the way the world is and I am powerless to change it.

So tomorrow night at midnight I got me lined up with a fine lady named Josephine. Josephine and I are meeting up for cocktails and some laughs, but not a single appendage of my own will touch her fine wobbling flesh till that clock strikes midnight, you can be sure of that. Then all bets are off. Just like I’m hoping her pants will be. (You might notice I’ve quit being subtle, y’all, because this is an emergency.)

I met Josephine on Friday night at my show. She was propping up the bar all on her lonesome, in some pastel pink slacks, like my mom used to wear in 1973, and a lilac blouse. I noticed her because her ensemble matched my fuchsia shirt.

Well that and the fact her fine pumpkins were making that blouse work hard at keeping the buttons on.

She actually wasn’t that interested at first. Seems she found my lines ‘corny’. What the shit, lady?

I told her, ‘Sweetie, you must be hormonal or something because those lines are tried and tested nuggets of pure genius that have gained me some fine, premium ass in the past!’. She replied, ‘Tony, you are as insignificant as the head of a mouse’s dick.’ which confirmed she wanted me and didn’t want me to know. I talked her around though. I always do in the end.

She’s pretty fine. Mid-thirties, pear shaped ass that fills a chair when she sits down and those fine twins up top I mentioned earlier. Y’all know I’m more an ass man, but a guy notices all a lady’s glories, yes Sir. Plus she wants me bad seeing as how I refrained from putting out both Friday and Saturday and she totally thinks I’m playing hard to get.

I told her, ‘Doll, my buddy and I have a bet going but YOU can bet your fine ass that the second the bet is over, I’ll have you bent over the hood of my car in the parking lot screaming for Jesus.’

What can I say, I’m an old charmer. Also I’m horny, unable to act on the horny and therefore completely unable to be gentlemanly about it.

I guess we’ll see tomorrow night, 12:00am Mountain Time, oh yeah.

If you’ll excuse me, I have to go polish something.


These Things Are Sent To Try Us

January 16, 2009

Last night Pedro and I did a short set downtown at Leslie Von Snoot’s bar. Leslie called me up, panties all in a knot about some band letting him down and asked if we could fill in.

Filling in is Pedro and I’s specialty (after the ladies, you understand) so we were down there in an instant, like flies on a shit pie.

Fortunately, it was a rockin’ good night, full of good peeps, good beverages and good times but unfortunately it was crammed full to the brim with ladies of supreme quality.

Now I don’t know if it’s just that I’m on day four of a lady-drought – because seriously, all the ladies start to look like Barbarella after a while – or if they really were just grade A. top notch ladybeef, but whoa nellie! There were some fine lookers. It was making The Little Captain cry real tears of sorrow and making me wonder if fifty bucks was really worth giving up this caliber of awesome.

However a bet is a bet and Tony’s too proud to renege on such a thing so I had to make do with flirting heavily and pocketing a few phone numbers. For later. Because that wasn’t in the rules or nothin’. I didn’t touch though. Not a single, soft, voluptuous breast puckered under my fingertips. Of course my pecker hurts like a losing boxer this morning after an enthusiastic session with the Nivea when I got home and thought about all those fine female specimens.

It was hard though. It reminded me of back when I was dating this chick, Teresa who was insanely jealous. Like Lorena Bobbit jealous. If I so much as suggested a lady polish my organ, old Teresa had a cow and turned into Freddy Krueger.

This one night I was heading to the men’s room after a set and this crazy lady cornered me out of nowhere. Quite a fine lady too, big, child bearing hips and that four boob effect that the ladies get when their undergarments don’t fit right. She wanted a piece of me for sure. She had me against the wall in a nano second. She also had more arms than that Goddess chick the Hindus dig. They were in my hair, in my pants, in my shirt. It was like being inside a washing machine full of hands. I mean what could I do, right? Plus that chick was just plain dirty in a good way. And a tad scary. So scary I didn’t try to stop her! It was for my safety, y’all.

Still for some reason old Teresa wasn’t thrilled when she ran out to look for me and found me, back against the wall with some big, doughy whirlwind of a woman rubbing the Captain with her nipples. I mean the chick was crazy, what could I do?

Anyway, what was I talking about again? Yeah, resisting the ladies. It ain’t easy, it’s all I’m saying.


Still Surviving The Drought

January 15, 2009

Last night I took my sister and my nephew for dinner at this little Italian bistro I usually reserve for my sexy ladies. The staff know me and everything. They joke about putting a giant photo of me in a smoking jacket, on the wall there. Those guys!

Nathan is seven now and boy, he ain’t shy. He wanted to go to Hooters but Tony is not that crass. I wouldn’t take a seven year old to Hooters because as soon as that kid’s old enough to be dreaming about boobies, I’ll take him someplace QUALITY where he can get an eyeful of prime, fleshy merchandise that he stands a fair chance of getting up close and personal with. Not a fast food chain full of spring break chicks who’re addicted to peroxide and spray tans. Although, Tony would tap that if desperate, in case there was any doubt.

Georgette’s looking fine. I mean really fine. I couldn’t help but notice, it’s not creepy or anything. She’s a sweetheart. She and I always got along great. Even my mom and Georgette get along awesomely. My mom always wanted a daughter I think. Instead she got a hirsute son who can belch the Star Spangled Banner and who likes loud tuxedos. Those guys are spending the day at my mom’s today as a matter of fact. I don’t know what the hell they talk about. Periods, cooking, Brad Pitt and how my dad was a philandering bastard, I guess.

Day three without the poontang, people. By day seven I’ll be motoring into the nearest bar to snort coke off a hooker’s belly, washed down with tequila while hitting on every lady in the place. It will be an orgy at chez Spunk.

At least I expect to squeeze a plump little senorita’s castanets.