 | Nanette and Mr. Happy |
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You would find her enchanting, because there is a naive girlishness about her that attracts. You would laugh until you cried–holding your side, literally in stitches–at her antics. You would throw up your hands in frustration at her “self will run riot,” yet ultimately mother and protect her.
She is my friend, and I want you to love her. Just like I do.
So Nanette has a big fight (one of a never-ending series of battles because he is a creep) with Danny. She is refusing to have sex with him, which is driving him crazy. Even though he cheats on her at the drop of a hat, even though at the acme of their latest tumult she’d strewn his clothes from her open car window all over the streets of their neighborhood, Danny wants to fuck Nannette. But Nanette has no intention of putting out. She wants him to suffer for whatever latest conniving idiocy he’s committed.
Little does Danny know that he will soon feel the wrath of Mr. Happy.
Now I’ve had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Happy on more than one occasion. Nannette is quite proud of his six inch phallic physique and the various attachments and settings which make playing with him so much fun. She’s even described–in vivid XXX detail–the singular pleasure of combining the “jelly tease sleeve” with the quick, repetitive jabs of the “jack rabbit” setting. It seems Nannette plays a lot with Mr. Happy when she’s home alone.
So this particular night, Nannette is home alone when she hears Danny’s car pulling into the driveway. Caught of guard, because–like I said–they are in the middle of this huge, on-going spat and she didn’t expect to hear from him, Nannette grabs Mr. Happy and runs into the bathroom, locking the door behind her.
Three sheets to the wind, as he usually is, Danny still manages to get his key to work in the lock and get inside the house. Seeing the light under the bathroom door, he knocks, begging Nannette to come out, saying that he is sorry and just “wants to talk.” Nanette refuses, telling him to leave. Instead, Danny goes to the kitchen and gets a beer.
He returns to the bathroom door, most likely to continue his snake oil pitch for redemption, because, after all, Nanette always eventually bestows forgiveness. But he hears a low buzz, buzz, buzz–perhaps even a moan or two. Even in his drunken state, Danny is able to finally put two and two together.
“God damn it, Nanette,” he yells into the wooden door, “I know what you are doing in there. You just stop that right now and get your ass out here.” But Nanette doesn’t stop. In fact, her moans become louder.
Danny tries a different approach. “Baby, you know that I love you. I can take care of you better than that thing. Come out here, honey.” Nanette only moans louder.
Obviously Nanette is having much too fun with Mr. Happy to pay any attention to Danny’s pleas. While Nanette continues her-noisier and noisier–climb to orgasmic bliss, Danny is reduced to jealous tears, pounding on the door, begging, whimpering, pleading. But Nanette has better things to do, as he soon hears when she begins screaming in orgasmic release.
The outcome of all of this?
Eventually, since she and Mr. Happy were done for the night, Nanette unlocked the door, emerging from her little “love shack” to find Danny, literally on his knees in supplication. He’d been defeated, at least for that night, by six inches of plastic.
Oh! Another thing? Nanette has a tendency to talk a lot, she’s such a bouncy, perky type. So every time she gets around to telling this particular story? Danny gets dicked again. Now there’s some lip-licking–yes, there is a god–cosmic justice for you!
What a great story! I hope you have more stories to tell about Nanette; she is a great character. (Mr. Happy is pretty cool, too!)
[…] There are many topics we are going to dance around as this space of mine continues to expand, including (but not limited to): financial domination, strap-ons, mainstream books I’ve read and love, really awesome people on the web, phonesex philosphies and how they differ, the world of fetish (lingerie, smoking, heels, tickling, leather, etc.), my personal shoe fetish, friends in my everyday life (you’ve met Nanette already), taboo desires (golden/brown showers, incest, cuckolding, forced homosexuality, etc.), the difference between fantasy and reality and just about anything and everything that strikes my little fancy. […]
[…] Doc Johnson’s G Spot Tickler is a tongue-in-cheek sex-toy review I wrote with the help of my friend, Nanette. Who –as you know– likes these sort of things much more than I do. […]
[…] You remember Nanette, don’t ya? […]
[…] Being female is a most awesome thing. There are bubble baths and lipstick and perfect hair and thumb rings and corsets and tankinis and skin lotions and stilettos and mascara and perfume and day spas and face scrubs and lace panties and purses and candles and mascara and baby doll pajamas and silk stockings and cut-off jeans and shoes, shoes and more shoes. We gleefully indulge ourselves, and it is the smart man is glad we do. And then there are girlfriends. There is nothing better than being a female and having a girlfriend. (Come to think of it, there’s probably nothing better than being a male and having a girlfriend, but that’s for another day.) Girlfriends come in all shapes and sizes. The best friend I ever had I didn’t meet until college. We were so close, I told her I believed that when God was making people with his cookie cutter, after only two cuts –me and her– on the newest batch of dough, She through the dough away. I occasionally share stories with you about two of my everyday girlfriends, Jenna and Nannette. There’s also Laurie, Kandy, Krista, Elizabeth and a few more. Someday I will tell you some of their sometimes debauched, sometimes capricious, and sometimes inordinate adventures. We have plenty of time. And then there are my ON LINE Girlfriends, among them, the three ladies I’m talking about today. ON LINE meaning they are accessible to you via there websites, blogs, and printed media which you SHOULD purchase. Why? Because all three of these girls, like my real life friends, are pretty fucking smart (I don’t do stupid; you should know that by now.) And also like my real life friends, they are beguilingly sexy. Because the Dirty Truth is: SMART IS SEXY. But I’m sure you knew that already, didn’t you? So why don’t we start with Chelsea, who–while not an official girlfriend of mine (I’m kinda Midge to her Barbie)–is certainly someone I admire and even–I admit it–envy. Not in the Green Monster kinda way, but in the Oh My Goddess of Ink, Quill and Parchment kinda way. Because this Brilliant Babe has been blessed by the Keyboard Gods with Kinky Fingers and writes so exquisitely about naughty things, I once said this about that: She dresses it down as everyday prose, but don’t let her fool you…her words are pure poetry. Chelsea’s blog, is a finger licking feast of flawless writing. And while there is plenty of right-on righteous sex, why is it (this is what I ask myself) that even when she writes about absolutely anything from snot to love to pop culture every single word –hell, even the punctuation–sizzles? This girl is rocking it, and apparently Penthouse agrees with the rest of us. Chelsea has an article, “Tough Love,” (about bedroom BDSM games) in this month’s Penthouse. Did I say I envy her? I adore her. Maybe someday she’ll let me hang out with her and Ken. Then we have Isabel Blyss who is kicking up dirt in the Phone Sex arena (and that’s a lot of dirt) with her articulately honed belles-lettres. A writer and poetess, Isabel has a lot of things to say, whether she’s whispering dirty no-nos in your ear, expressing her erogenous vision with provocative “Mini Erotica,” or seducing us with an impassioned rhyme. While she doesn’t brag about it, I happen to know that Isabel is an accomplished poet in her everyday life. A girl who loves words? And does Phone Sex? If I were a guy wanting my fantasy done well, I sure know who I”d be calling. And check out what her callers are saying: […]