Katie Morgan. Image via Wikipedia
Last Thursday night, Tina and I were in New York City on a job. We worked all day until 9 p.m. We grabbed a bite to eat and returned to our hotel. Tina begged me to go clubbing, but … you know me … I’m a sack-a-crap when it comes to fun. So we retired to our hotel room.
When we got back to the hotel, it was around 10:30. We washed up, and I turned on the tube to flip channels. What else do you do when you’re in a hotel with a TV? When I hit HBO, there was a naked woman on screen. Buck naked. She was standing against a green screen, as if doing a news show. Or “The Soup.”
I’m not a scientist, but I could tell this woman probably had a boob job. The indicators were that her boobs were bloated, malformed, and different sized. I’m not talking how most women’s boobs aren’t exactly the same size. I’m talking one was smashed and the other rounded. If boobs were eyeballs and nipples were irises, who the hell knows which direction those eyes were looking.
The boob job has to be the worst invention to human aesthetics ever. I can’t stand the look of a boob job, covered or bare. Not that I’m out asking, but I’ve never met a man (or woman) who said, “I love me a hot ass and a sweet boob job!”
Do you like the way a boob job looks?
After five minutes, we found out this woman’s name was Katie Morgan. She stood full on to the camera and it was in HD. You could see every ounce of her pelvis. She was completely shaven. Or waxed. Or plucked (Ouch!). There wasn’t an ounce of body hair on her. You could see her labia majora as well as a little nub of her labia minora.
Oddly enough, I’m not tugging your tooter when I say, I was not turned on by this woman’s naked body.
I love the female form, and I could look at nude photography all day long. There was something about Morgan’s body that wasn’t appealing. Maybe it was due to her standing pose. I couldn’t figure it out, and believe me, I tried.
I’ve seen Morgan before on HBO’s “Real Sex” series. Apparently she’s been in some Hollywood hits as well. I was familiar with her vocal patterns. If you’ve heard her, she speaks with a high-pitch, a touch of a lisp and a cute rasp.
It wasn’t exactly “The Soup,” but she was standing in front of a green screen with graphics projected all around her. There were cutaways to different
clits clips reinforcing what she was talking about.
We don’t have HBO, and we don’t necessarily watch any kind of porn together (soft or otherwise). Tina didn’t protest leaving it on, so we watched it together.
I don’t remember the name of the show. The content was funny, and scientific in nature. It talked about pheromones and other sex trivia, like how many animals are monogamous. How many animals masturbate (Did you know deers masturbate?) And how many animals practice same-sex sex (This figure was off the charts). There were also pretty astonishingly pornographic cutaways of Morgan in different porn movies from the past. They included pre-boob job and post boob job Morgan. The pre-boob job Morgan was much hotter.
Yesterday, I was sitting at my computer and the clock said 3:30. I thought to myself, “Hey, it’s 30 minutes from the perfect time to have sex. I better get to it.” Then I thought, “Why am I thinking this?” I thought about it, and — as I was removing my pants and taking off my shirt, but leaving on my socks — I remembered that I saw it on that damn HBO show.
According to this show, the best time for a heterosexual couple to have sex is at 4 p.m. Morgan had charts and graphs to back it up! And if you could look past her wandering boob eyes and exposed vulva long enough to take note, you would have learned that too.
So for all you working stiffs with 9 to 5 jobs, you better start clocking out early every once in a while. Or take your spouses or lovers to work. Because 4 O’clock is the time to knock boots, batter dip the corn dog, dippity do da, fix the plumbing, churn the butter, hide the banana, pass the gravy, plant the seed, slab bellies, thread the needle, or stab the trout.
I can recommend, with some certainty … to some of you, but not all, that a little porn does the bedroom good. At least from my experience. I mean, after the credits rolled on the show, I didn’t have to initiate anything. Tina felt the spirit in a major way.
Woo hoo. Honk honk. Phllllbbbt.
You know, when I was thinking about the experience the next day, I couldn’t help but think, maybe Tina was turned on by a naked lady. Maybe she was down with a little of that ubiquitous male fantasy to manage a trois with another woman. But I didn’t ask her about it either. A part of me wanted to keep the fantasy alive.
All said, there were plenty of scenes of hetero sex on screen that would have worked fine. There were definitely scenes that would have turned on Tina’s headlights, bothered her bosom, reddened her holy cow, bleated her batter, randied her candy, put peas in her pot, constitutionally inclined her toward female gallantry.
There was even a shot of three dudes doing a Rockettes type dance, only instead of kicking their legs, they were swinging their twig and berries in a circular fashion. I mean, if that didn’t get Tina’s bedroom ire up, I don’t know what would. It must have reminded her of me getting out of the shower while listening to the local hip hop station.
The countdown to 4 p.m. is on, bitches!
I’m giving this one a double Honk daddy honk!