Posted by Lex Konrad in Sex | Apr 29, 2004
I pace around the living room, my face twisted into a grimace. No more 256 ounce SuperValu fountain drinks for me.
I hear the bath running.
“What the fuck is she doing in there? I told her I have to go.”
“Go in then,” Leslie tells me.
May as well—the girls never lock the door anyway. I find Nova in the tub, splashing about in three inches of bathwater and playing with herself. She’s grinning at me. My mouth hangs open. It would all be damned interesting if I weren’t about to burst.
“I thought you said you’d be quick,” I chide, racing to unfasten my belt and lift the toilet seat.
“No, don’t do that. Come over here.”
“But I have to go.”
“I want you to pee on me.”
Oh. Right. That bit of depravity we’ve discussed off and on for three months. Leslie pokes her head in to see what’s going on. I shrug and pull open my fly.
“Try to let it out as slowly as you can,” Nova commands.
I feel silly standing there with my dick hanging over the tub, but my muscles have already given out. I relieve myself, unleashing a hard stream that splashes against Nova’s clitoris. She gasps under the torrent, surprised at my marksmanship.
She tells me I did a good job and then gets herself off with the showerhead. I’m just happy I didn’t wet my pants.
Posted by Lex Konrad in Dispatches | Apr 23, 2004
Here it is: the new face of the Naked Loft Party. We have categories, we have remaindered links, we have breadcrumbs, we have search, we have detailed archives, we have a couple different flavors of site feeds, we have a drawing of a naked lady. We have liftoff.
I still consider the site to be in beta mode as I have yet to implement a few bits and pieces, most prominently the Gallery and the remainders archives. You may encounter a few oddities and vanished links within the articles. Rest assured, everything will be patched up in time.
Kindly leave a comment if you encounter any bugs, and please make a note of what browser/OS you’re running.
Posted by Lex Konrad in Dispatches | Apr 02, 2004
I used to hang out get smashed down at this biker bar called Red Rock West. Les and I have each been bounced from there on separate occasions, but that’s another story. This bartender used to work at Red Rock, a tall beautiful lass with a tight bottom and plenty of attitude. When the jukebox would flip over to the Simon and Garfunkel hit she’d balance an open Corona bottle on her pretty little head and I’d stub out my ciggy and clap. A loud woman from Reno was sitting at the bar one night. “You’d make big bucks in Reno if you could suck a dick while doing that,” she yelled. The Reno gal then pulled her shirt off, apropos of nothing. By the end of the night I was seeing double and got up the nerve to ask the bartender for her number. She wagged her finger in my face and scolded, “Don’t go there.” And sometimes when I hear the song I think of her. Goodbye Rosie, or whatevafuck your name was.
