Dear Cotillion forum...

Mrtl's Motif Monday this week was about Your First Kiss. I lamented elsewhere that my first kiss wasn't memorable enough to warrant prose or poetry, and Susie suggested that perhaps I should instead write about the last kiss I had. This devolved into an email discussion wherein she suggested that I start a post in the format of the venerable Penthouse Forum, and let you, the sick fuckers who read this stuff every day, help me to finish the story.

What? I can have you guys do my work for me? And you'll totally giggle and keep coming back?

I like it.

So, here's how it's gonna be: I start the story. You guys comment to tell me what else you think happened. It need not be linear, in case you're posting on top of each other (kin-kay!), so let the imagination go and the juices flow. Polish the candlestick and wax that monkey, we're goin' deep now...


Throbbing Train and the Crystal Cave

My heart had pounded in my chest like a drunk pounds with both fists on the locked doors of the beer cooler at 4 a.m. in Michigan, beat hard and fast inside my heaving bosom as I once again read the letter from Fernando:

My dearest Rosetta,

Take these train tickets, and run to me, as fast as your size 9 feet in strappy pumps will take you down the aisles of the train. If you stand closer to the front of the train, you will be here sooner, before the fire in my loins turns to embers and then to smokey grey soot.

Get over here, bitch.

With deepest respect and a boner that will put your eye out,

Fernando

Well, what girl wouldn't be thrilled to receive a missive like that? Also in the envelope was a train ticket, and a pair of stained boxers that had been folded 16 times; Fernando knew that made me weak in the knees.

He was to be my first, Fernando. Well, except for Roberto and Julio, then there was Rodolfo, and that little - and I do mean "little" - incident with Renaldo. But with Fernando, it was real.

Wait! This sounds more like a bodice-exploding romance novel than Penthouse Forum, doesn't it? Time to turn it up a notch.

My fire-engine red push-up bra was a sharp breath from spillin' the precious cargo as I boarded the train in a wafer-thin peignoir and black fuck-me pumps. I got the lay of the land...no, I was the lay of the land.

No, no, that's too hard-boiled detective novel. One more chance to channel Guccione's contributors:

The only seat that was left empty on the train just happened to be in a car filled with gymnasts and acrobats, all dressed in royal blue spandex, their shimmering nutsacks and cameltoes making the train take on a festive air. I felt an involuntary jolt as the little man in the canoe began weeping and wailing for an oar.

And...and...

Ahahahahaha, god, I can't do it! There's a reason I never wrote erotica for a living, because I laugh too much to finish it right. I didn't hold up my side of the assignment very well, did I?

Still...please leave me your comments in the format of Penthouse Forum letters*...better than mine, please. I mean, how hard can that be?



* and don't tell me you've never read Penthouse Forum unless you want me to think you're a liar, a pussy, or someone in need of corruption, stat!