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The Grand Old Lady Town Has Legends.By Ian56. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.Foreword:In a sun-kissed valley and up over a green hill did one come upon the splendid sight of Old London Town. A landscape of steeples, spires, and belching chimney pots stretching to the far horizon as the populace go about their daily business in the growing community they call; ‘the grand old lady'.Each living their own stories that would be told over and over as the years and generations pass. But some of those tales can only be spoken about in dark shadows with a nudge and a wink. Bawdy stories. Ribald stories. Lusty stories that quicken the heart, catch the breath and fire the blood. Stories that aren’t told in polite company; Tales that can only be shared in places such as this.Max Phallus - the elephant cock of Old London.London. November, 1899.“Good God almighty,” the woman exclaimed as she stood there in the doorway holding a pile of freshly ironed laundry for her new lodger. Remembering her station, she put a hand to her mouth in embarrassment. “Forgive my intrusion, Sir.”Mrs. Hoopenlicker was not one to stand on ceremony and always spoke her mind. Twice widowed and once forsaken, the woman had the benefit of wit, wisdom, and life experience. Or so she thought as she stared unabashedly at the dangling member belonging to the young man standing naked in front of her.Gathering her wits, she knocked on the door she had already innocently opened. “There I go again,” she tutted as she stepped into the spare bedroom. “My most sincere apologies for barging in on you, Mr. Johnson. I thought, perhaps, you had gone out for a short walk to familiarize yourself with your new situation and surroundings. The old lady can be quite the eye-opener for those who have not experienced life in the big city.”Albert Johnson finally found his voice as he stood there still dripping water onto the polished wooden floor. “Uh, I, well,” he coughed and stammered as he tried to cover his modesty with his hands. A futile gesture for he was well aware that, endowed as he was, a fair portion of his member was still showing. “That is quite alright, Mrs. Hoopenlicker. No harm done. I was merely availing myself of the clean pitcher of water and bowl to clean up. I shall be more astute with the lock next time.”He watched as his landlady went over to the dresser and placed the laundry on top. “Thank you kindly,” he replied as he quickly grabbed a clean towel with one hand whilst still trying to hide his largesse with the other. “Your attention to my well-being is much appreciated.”Flushed, she glanced at him as he wrapped the towel around his waist. “Supper is at eight,” she informed him as she walked to the door. “I usually cook some oats and milk with a touch of honey. They say it is most agreeable for the stomach and aids restful sleep. Now, I shall take my leave so you can unpack your baggage and settle in.” With that, she closed the door and went on her way with more than just the daily chores on her mind.It was three days hence and the fading light shone through the lattice window as the landlady and her lodger sat enjoying their late supper together before a simmering log fire. In those three days, they had spent the time getting to know each other. They talked about his family back home in the shires. His new situation as an apprentice teller in the financial heart of the city. His pursuits and Interests as well as life in general and how much he was looking forward to living in the grand old lady.Albert Johnson was nineteen years. He was tall. Countryside lean. Sporting a thick shaggy brown mop of hair with matching brown eyes and an attentive sensible nature. Through connections, he had managed to arrange suitable lodgings near to his place of employment and an initial payment for his monthly rent had been agreed with the lady of the house, Mrs. Hoopenlicker. All in all, things had turned out most fortunate as he sat there enjoying his late supper listening to his landlady chatting happily away about all things under the sun.To his surprise, he found Mrs. Hoopenlicker a most entertaining companion. She was charming, bright, and witty with an easy-going manner that put him instantly at ease. Their little adventure on his first day had, apparently, faded into nothing more than an unfortunate memory and had never been mentioned again.Or so he thought.The sound of her voice and warmth of his supper helped the trials of the day float gently away as he sat on the couch enjoying her company. He rested his bowl on his lap and slowly closed his eyes feeling much contented as he listened.Such was his sleepy repose, he didn’t notice his landlady get out of her fireside chair and ease down beside him and put a hand on his right knee.“By chance in Summertime, Mr. Johnson,” said the older woman as she glanced up at her lodger who was now very much awake and staring wide-eyed at her. “The idyllic dreams of an unattached lady such as myself are sometimes disturbed in a way that does peculiar things to her sensibilities and there is not a jot she can do about it no matter how hard she tries.”The young man was about to say something but she put a finger to his lips. “That first morning those idyllic dreams were very much disturbed by what this lady witnessed and is now the only thing she can think about,” She paused for she understood full well that the next step was the greatest step of all. “If you’d be willing, Mr. Johnson, I should very much like to share this dream with you.” To emphasis the point, she slowly drew her finger down the front of his stays.To young Albert Johnson, it sounded as if his heart was in his skull with his mind all at sea. Rational thought had taken flight and even if he could think straight he doubted he would be able to give voice to it. “Ah, uh, well,” he managed as he stared at his landlady as she cuddled closer to him.All things being equal, Mrs. Hoopenlicker was a fine looking woman. Late forties, he imagined. She was of medium height. Maturely curvaceous. Immaculately presented with long blonde hair that was tied in a fashion down her back. She was wearing a starched white blouse that was buttoned to the neck and tied at the wrists as well as a sensible yellow ankle-length skirt overlaid with flower stitching here and there. A pair of laced leather black boots completed the picture.“Fret not about my presumptions, Mr. Johnson,” she confessed. “But I must speak of the things that are to the forefront of my mind. I ask only that you consider my request in the spirit it is meant,” Mrs. Hoopenlicker saw the first flush of desire flicker in his eyes. “And if I may be so bold, perhaps a little persuasion may assist in your decision.” she offered as she got to her feet and pulled out a wooden stool from under the table.Facing away from him, she placed it in front of the fire as she leaned forward thus presenting her lodger with a perfect view of her shapely backside. She paused for a moment before she turned and put her right foot on the stool. Then, as he sat there watching her little erotic dance, she slowly began to draw up her skirt and petticoats to reveal more of her black stockings to his rapt attention. She stopped at the first sign of her garter and bare thigh. “There now, Mr. Johnson. Do you like what you see?” she teased.“But I hardly know you, Mrs. Hoopenlicker,” gasped Albert. “Though I am much flattered by your attention, I think it only right to point out that we have only just met.”His landlady tugged her clothes a little higher so that the needlepoint of her white French knickers was showing. “Isn’t that the thrill of it though?” she breathed suggestively. “What path we choose shall only concern the two of us at this moment. I trust such an arrangement shall be completely confidential by its very nature. I have needs, Mr. Johnson, and conversation can only get one so far. Besides,” she smiled as she ran both hands down her exposed thigh. “If there had been a whiff of doubt, Sir, you would have said so the moment I laid my hand on your thigh.”Her lodger stared at her. The lady of the house was right. He nodded. “Your words have me at a loss, Mrs. Hoopenlicker,” he replied. “Some things are meant to be and I cannot deny I am aroused by the opportunity you are offering me. Let us have our way with each other and hell be damned.”And so began the strange affair between the landlady, Mrs. Hoopenlicker, and her lodger, Mr. Johnson.“What a magnificent appendage, Mr. Johnson,” gasped Mrs. Hoopenlicker as she admired the young man’s sex as it hung down from his groin. Its length was as long as her forearm with the smooth apple-sized head hidden under the foreskin. “I swear it is the most invigorating thing I have ever seen!”Her lodger was flushed of face as he stood there with his shirt bunched up around his waist whilst his landlady knelt at his feet fawning and cooing over his growing prick. Growing not so much in length but in thickness as the engorged head slowly emerged from its sheath.“May I touch it?” she asked politely, glancing up at him. Heavens, her heart was pounding so vigorously in her chest she felt quite befuddled as she reached up and extended a finger to stroke his stiffening manhood.Albert was beyond reason as he stood gently swaying. What a ridiculous question! He very much wanted Mrs. Hoopenlicker to touch his thing and do so much more with it for he was quite unable to resist the temptations she was offering him.He nodded eagerly. “Please do, Mrs. Hoopenlicker,” he gasped. “But with caution for I have little experience in such things and the bell may ring sooner rather than later.”Grasping the monster at its base, she lifted it up so that its great head and one eye stared back at her as it throbbed in her grip. The most noticeable thing to her was how heavy and hot it was. Pushing it further back, she saw his ball sack reaching down to mid-thigh and she could only imagine how full each nut must be with the syrup contained within. Slowly drawing her fist up the shaft, she paused just below the crown and squeezed him gently so that a large drop of dew appeared. Peeking up at Mr. Johnson, she bent her head and deftly licked the pearl away with her tongue. “Never let it be said,” she smiled as she got to her feet; “that I let a single drop go to waste.”Mrs. Hoopenlicker hefted her skirts and delicately removed her knickers before turning away from him so she could kneel on her couch. Revealing her full bare posterior, she glanced over her shoulder to see Albert fisting his weeping phallus as he gawped at her rear all agog. “Mount me from behind, Mr. Johnson,” she urged as the young man stepped between her spread thighs. “I much prefer to be taken this way.”Albert stared at his landlady’s round bottom that lay before him as ripe and succulent as a split peach. Her rotundity was perfect. Large, yes, but perfectly proportioned with each white cheek hiding the delights in between. She had tilted her hips so that her mound was easily accessible to his excited prodding. As he watched, Mrs. Hoopenlicker reached down between her thighs and ran a solitary finger along her hairy slot.Quickly, he dropped his trousers and stepped out of them leaving his heavy bell end swinging lustily in tingling anticipation. Below, he could feel his testes beginning to churn in their mottled sack as he grasped his stiff penis and positioned himself for his initial penetration of her cunty.Suddenly, Mrs. Hoopenlicker raised a hand. “Wait, Sir, Wait!” she exclaimed. “The wattle. The sponge. Such is my state, I was remiss in my protection,” She pointed to her oak sideboard. “Inside is a small bag. To the left. Please bring it to me, Mr. Johnson.”Albert shuffled across and returned with the bag. His landlady opened it and removed a small wedge of sponge. “Even at my age,” she confessed. “It pays to take precautions.” She then removed a ball of string and glanced at his member. Calculating how much she needed, she used a pair of scissors to snip the required length and tied one end securely around the sponge. “Here,” she said, handing it to him. “Before you insert your prick, Mr. Johnson,” she instructed. “Can you be so kind as to push this into my hole first so that it can soak up your spend. The head of your thing shall force it as deep as it needs to go.”To assist, she resumed her position and reached behind to spread her bottom as she felt him gingerly press the contraception between the lips of her sex and up into her passage as far as he could manage before withdrawing his finger.“Are you ready, Mrs. Hoopenlicker?” he asked as he hefted his large purple knob so that copious amounts of juice oozed from the tip. He was consumed with lust and quivered with sexual excitement.The older woman shivered with anticipation as she looked over her shoulder at the length of meat about to invade her womanhood. To penetrate and touch the very heart of who she was and where her true nature lay waiting.Her finger still rubbed between the lips of her sex to help oil her waiting vagina for his prick was a monster! Could her poor sweet fanny even take such a thing inside it? Not only was it long, but it was as fat as a butchers dog with an angry head that wept impatiently from its single eye. “As I shall ever be, Sir,” she whispered. “Have at it and rest not until my venus has taken every last inch of you!”“Ah!” Mrs. Hoopenlicker rasped as her penetration by her lodger’s immense cock continued. Even though she had taken less than half of him, half of him was so much more than she had taken before. He squeezed another inch inside her and she groaned loudly for she could feel her innards being pushed to one side. “Heavens, Mr. Johnson,” she gasped as she gripped the back of her couch. “I swear that thing will rend me asunder. Oh, oh, Oh!”Albert was all a sweat. The mounting of his landlady, though most pleasurable, was surely hard work! Her fanny was wrapped around his prick like a vice and he had to pause while she got used to his probing. He was beginning to think that having such a large fucker was not a blessing but a curse. “You have the most delightful fanny, Mrs. Hoopenlicker,” he grunted as her sex gripped him tightly. “Are you able to take more of my prick?”Mrs. Hoopenlicker was knocking on heaven’s door. Her mind was away with the fairy folk and the sensations that flowed from her sex made her weep with delirium. Her cunty felt absolutely and completely stuffed full of his cock. And yet, from her glance, she saw that he had much more to give her. Could she take any more? Was she physically capable of being fucked completely by such a thing?“Push, Mr. Johnson,” she urged. “Push as if your very life depended on it. Force your ridiculous prick as far and as deep as you can. I shall accept every inch of you if it is the last thing I do!”His landlady braced herself and thrust her buttocks up to make his penetration easier. Albert steeled himself and thrust forward with his hips in slow surges that had the poor woman impaled on his shaft yelping and squealing with wild abandon. The more he forced into her, the more vulgar her language became.“Mr. Johnson!” she shrieked. “Mr. Johnson, sir. Oh my, oh fiddlesticks, I swear on the almighty,” Another thrust. “Ah, oh, oh, oh, fiddley Fuck!”Albert began to twitch. He was hopping from one foot to the other as he rammed more of his prick into his landlady who was twisting and swearing as she knelt there on the couch. His hands had pushed the cheeks of her arse apart and he had a clear view of her brown hole winking at him above her distended cunt.“OH, you well hung bastard son,” Mrs. Hoopenlicker grimaced as her lodger crouched over her with his large balls slapping wetly against her hairy mound. She felt a sudden surge of pure ecstasy and shuddered through the delightful spell it cast over her. Finally. He was completely inside her. She had done it. She had taken all he had to give and it felt wonderful. Her cunty was full of cock and the head of it pressed somewhere deep inside that made her shiver from tip to toe.She turned her head as he heaved and strained above her. “Take me, Sir,” she begged. “Make me whine like a whore on a Sunday. Use that immense prick to pound my little fanny raw and fill my insides with your seed!”The mounting of Mrs. Hoopenlicker continued apace. The room echoed to the sounds of passionate coitus with the fire casting erotic shadows upon the walls as they danced. Albert was struggling to keep his ardor in check as he flexed his hips back and forth against her upturned derriere. Goblin eyed, he drooled as he watched his fleshy spike appear and disappear inside his landlady who had grasped a cushion and was gnawing on it with a face contorted with pleasure and pain.The filthy language she was using only added to his impending release. “Oh, Mrs. Hoopenlicker!” he cried as he banged away. “I adore the way you express your feelings in such a guttural way. But I fear such debasement shall soon tip me over the edge of madness!”Mr. Johnson was right. Her language was from the gutter. A hellish place she had known all too well before her first husband had rescued her from the life she had been living amongst the dregs of humanity who inhabited the capitals underworld.It was then she sensed that the young man riding her saddle was about to reach his peak. “Do not hold back, Mr. Johnson,” she urged as his thrusts became more erratic. “My constitution is well able to withstand the tempest which you are about to unleash upon me!”Her lodger exclaimed a sudden “Oh!” and hammered her gripped buttocks thrice in quick succession as he shot his thick copious semen deep within the groaning woman.Mrs. Hoopenlicker held firm as an exhausted Mr. Johnson collapsed on her as they reached the top of the mountain together. For an age, he covered her with his face close to hers and she could hear him panting like a sated dog in her right ear.“Sir,” she whispered eventually. “The deed is done. You may unmount me now for I need to remove the sponge.”Albert struggled up and watched as his landlady rolled onto her back, spread her thighs, and with a tug on the string hanging from her sex, pulled out the sodden dam. She held it up to the light as a teardrop of his spend dripped from it onto the floor.As her young lodger stood there catching his breath, Mrs. Hoopenlicker knelt down in front of him and lifted up the drooping length of his spent cock so that it hung twitching from her grip. In the light from the fire, it still glistened wetly from the mix of their combined juices as she examined it closely before she licked his waning tumescence clean.“Does that shock you, Mr. Johnson?” she asked as she knelt back.Albert tried to rearrange his common sense and ability to speak as he watched his landlady lick her lips. “Yes. Very much so, Mrs. Hoopenlicker. Today is a day I shall never forget.”The small clock on the mantelpiece began to chime as she got to her feet and walked over to him. “The first of many I hope, Mr. Johnson,” she whispered as she kissed him on the cheek. “The time is late and the day has been an eventful one. With your grace, I shall retire to bed and think upon things till I drop off. Be so good as to secure the locks and turn out the lamps.”He nodded. “Of course.”Mrs. Hoopenlicker stopped at the door and turned back. “Though it may not appear as such after our little tryst, Albert,” she began. It was the first time she had called him by his first name which somehow made the moment more intimate. “Please be assured that I am normally not a woman of such loose morals. It is just that sometimes I like to pretend I am,” she told him. “This day is done and tomorrow will bring what God or the devil decides. With that, I bid you a good night, Sir.”Her lodger watched her take her leave wondering what lay in store for him in the days ahead.“The Copper Kettle” tea rooms just off Whitechapel were the hub around which the tide of local gossip and news ebbed and flowed.It was mid-morning as the brass bell rang and another customer entered the establishment to meet up with her two friends who were sat in a far corner enjoying another day of doing nothing much at all.“Ladies,” said a familiar voice. “How are we this fine Summer's day?”Constance Mulligan and Edith Dowinger looked up to see their long-standing companion, Martha Hoopenlicker, hanging up her coat and coming over to join them.Mrs. Dowinger smiled at her friend and raised an amused brow. “My, my,” she noted with a glance to the lady on her right. “The way you’re preening yourself, dear Martha, you look like the cat who got the cream. Has something happened?”The younger woman sat down and composed herself as the maid delivered a hot pot of tea and a plate full of buttered scones. Pouring a cup, she smiled over the rim at her two friends watching her. She did so very much enjoy playing their little game of secrets and the adventures they dreamed up to while away the long hours of boredom.She sat forward. “Ladies,” she whispered conspiratorially. “By chance and circumstance, I may have come upon a rather well-endowed solution to our much-discussed little problem.”By Ian56 for Literotica

The Grand Old Lady Town Has Legends.By Ian56. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.Foreword:In a sun-kissed valley and up over a green hill did one come upon the splendid sight of Old London Town. A landscape of steeples, spires, and belching chimney pots stretching to the far horizon as the populace go about their daily business in the growing community they call; ‘the grand old lady'.Each living their own stories that would be told over and over as the years and generations pass. But some of those tales can only be spoken about in dark shadows with a nudge and a wink. Bawdy stories. Ribald stories. Lusty stories that quicken the heart, catch the breath and fire the blood. Stories that aren’t told in polite company; Tales that can only be shared in places such as this.Max Phallus - the elephant cock of Old London.London. November, 1899.“Good God almighty,” the woman exclaimed as she stood there in the doorway holding a pile of freshly ironed laundry for her new lodger. Remembering her station, she put a hand to her mouth in embarrassment. “Forgive my intrusion, Sir.”Mrs. Hoopenlicker was not one to stand on ceremony and always spoke her mind. Twice widowed and once forsaken, the woman had the benefit of wit, wisdom, and life experience. Or so she thought as she stared unabashedly at the dangling member belonging to the young man standing naked in front of her.Gathering her wits, she knocked on the door she had already innocently opened. “There I go again,” she tutted as she stepped into the spare bedroom. “My most sincere apologies for barging in on you, Mr. Johnson. I thought, perhaps, you had gone out for a short walk to familiarize yourself with your new situation and surroundings. The old lady can be quite the eye-opener for those who have not experienced life in the big city.”Albert Johnson finally found his voice as he stood there still dripping water onto the polished wooden floor. “Uh, I, well,” he coughed and stammered as he tried to cover his modesty with his hands. A futile gesture for he was well aware that, endowed as he was, a fair portion of his member was still showing. “That is quite alright, Mrs. Hoopenlicker. No harm done. I was merely availing myself of the clean pitcher of water and bowl to clean up. I shall be more astute with the lock next time.”He watched as his landlady went over to the dresser and placed the laundry on top. “Thank you kindly,” he replied as he quickly grabbed a clean towel with one hand whilst still trying to hide his largesse with the other. “Your attention to my well-being is much appreciated.”Flushed, she glanced at him as he wrapped the towel around his waist. “Supper is at eight,” she informed him as she walked to the door. “I usually cook some oats and milk with a touch of honey. They say it is most agreeable for the stomach and aids restful sleep. Now, I shall take my leave so you can unpack your baggage and settle in.” With that, she closed the door and went on her way with more than just the daily chores on her mind.It was three days hence and the fading light shone through the lattice window as the landlady and her lodger sat enjoying their late supper together before a simmering log fire. In those three days, they had spent the time getting to know each other. They talked about his family back home in the shires. His new situation as an apprentice teller in the financial heart of the city. His pursuits and Interests as well as life in general and how much he was looking forward to living in the grand old lady.Albert Johnson was nineteen years. He was tall. Countryside lean. Sporting a thick shaggy brown mop of hair with matching brown eyes and an attentive sensible nature. Through connections, he had managed to arrange suitable lodgings near to his place of employment and an initial payment for his monthly rent had been agreed with the lady of the house, Mrs. Hoopenlicker. All in all, things had turned out most fortunate as he sat there enjoying his late supper listening to his landlady chatting happily away about all things under the sun.To his surprise, he found Mrs. Hoopenlicker a most entertaining companion. She was charming, bright, and witty with an easy-going manner that put him instantly at ease. Their little adventure on his first day had, apparently, faded into nothing more than an unfortunate memory and had never been mentioned again.Or so he thought.The sound of her voice and warmth of his supper helped the trials of the day float gently away as he sat on the couch enjoying her company. He rested his bowl on his lap and slowly closed his eyes feeling much contented as he listened.Such was his sleepy repose, he didn’t notice his landlady get out of her fireside chair and ease down beside him and put a hand on his right knee.“By chance in Summertime, Mr. Johnson,” said the older woman as she glanced up at her lodger who was now very much awake and staring wide-eyed at her. “The idyllic dreams of an unattached lady such as myself are sometimes disturbed in a way that does peculiar things to her sensibilities and there is not a jot she can do about it no matter how hard she tries.”The young man was about to say something but she put a finger to his lips. “That first morning those idyllic dreams were very much disturbed by what this lady witnessed and is now the only thing she can think about,” She paused for she understood full well that the next step was the greatest step of all. “If you’d be willing, Mr. Johnson, I should very much like to share this dream with you.” To emphasis the point, she slowly drew her finger down the front of his stays.To young Albert Johnson, it sounded as if his heart was in his skull with his mind all at sea. Rational thought had taken flight and even if he could think straight he doubted he would be able to give voice to it. “Ah, uh, well,” he managed as he stared at his landlady as she cuddled closer to him.All things being equal, Mrs. Hoopenlicker was a fine looking woman. Late forties, he imagined. She was of medium height. Maturely curvaceous. Immaculately presented with long blonde hair that was tied in a fashion down her back. She was wearing a starched white blouse that was buttoned to the neck and tied at the wrists as well as a sensible yellow ankle-length skirt overlaid with flower stitching here and there. A pair of laced leather black boots completed the picture.“Fret not about my presumptions, Mr. Johnson,” she confessed. “But I must speak of the things that are to the forefront of my mind. I ask only that you consider my request in the spirit it is meant,” Mrs. Hoopenlicker saw the first flush of desire flicker in his eyes. “And if I may be so bold, perhaps a little persuasion may assist in your decision.” she offered as she got to her feet and pulled out a wooden stool from under the table.Facing away from him, she placed it in front of the fire as she leaned forward thus presenting her lodger with a perfect view of her shapely backside. She paused for a moment before she turned and put her right foot on the stool. Then, as he sat there watching her little erotic dance, she slowly began to draw up her skirt and petticoats to reveal more of her black stockings to his rapt attention. She stopped at the first sign of her garter and bare thigh. “There now, Mr. Johnson. Do you like what you see?” she teased.“But I hardly know you, Mrs. Hoopenlicker,” gasped Albert. “Though I am much flattered by your attention, I think it only right to point out that we have only just met.”His landlady tugged her clothes a little higher so that the needlepoint of her white French knickers was showing. “Isn’t that the thrill of it though?” she breathed suggestively. “What path we choose shall only concern the two of us at this moment. I trust such an arrangement shall be completely confidential by its very nature. I have needs, Mr. Johnson, and conversation can only get one so far. Besides,” she smiled as she ran both hands down her exposed thigh. “If there had been a whiff of doubt, Sir, you would have said so the moment I laid my hand on your thigh.”Her lodger stared at her. The lady of the house was right. He nodded. “Your words have me at a loss, Mrs. Hoopenlicker,” he replied. “Some things are meant to be and I cannot deny I am aroused by the opportunity you are offering me. Let us have our way with each other and hell be damned.”And so began the strange affair between the landlady, Mrs. Hoopenlicker, and her lodger, Mr. Johnson.“What a magnificent appendage, Mr. Johnson,” gasped Mrs. Hoopenlicker as she admired the young man’s sex as it hung down from his groin. Its length was as long as her forearm with the smooth apple-sized head hidden under the foreskin. “I swear it is the most invigorating thing I have ever seen!”Her lodger was flushed of face as he stood there with his shirt bunched up around his waist whilst his landlady knelt at his feet fawning and cooing over his growing prick. Growing not so much in length but in thickness as the engorged head slowly emerged from its sheath.“May I touch it?” she asked politely, glancing up at him. Heavens, her heart was pounding so vigorously in her chest she felt quite befuddled as she reached up and extended a finger to stroke his stiffening manhood.Albert was beyond reason as he stood gently swaying. What a ridiculous question! He very much wanted Mrs. Hoopenlicker to touch his thing and do so much more with it for he was quite unable to resist the temptations she was offering him.He nodded eagerly. “Please do, Mrs. Hoopenlicker,” he gasped. “But with caution for I have little experience in such things and the bell may ring sooner rather than later.”Grasping the monster at its base, she lifted it up so that its great head and one eye stared back at her as it throbbed in her grip. The most noticeable thing to her was how heavy and hot it was. Pushing it further back, she saw his ball sack reaching down to mid-thigh and she could only imagine how full each nut must be with the syrup contained within. Slowly drawing her fist up the shaft, she paused just below the crown and squeezed him gently so that a large drop of dew appeared. Peeking up at Mr. Johnson, she bent her head and deftly licked the pearl away with her tongue. “Never let it be said,” she smiled as she got to her feet; “that I let a single drop go to waste.”Mrs. Hoopenlicker hefted her skirts and delicately removed her knickers before turning away from him so she could kneel on her couch. Revealing her full bare posterior, she glanced over her shoulder to see Albert fisting his weeping phallus as he gawped at her rear all agog. “Mount me from behind, Mr. Johnson,” she urged as the young man stepped between her spread thighs. “I much prefer to be taken this way.”Albert stared at his landlady’s round bottom that lay before him as ripe and succulent as a split peach. Her rotundity was perfect. Large, yes, but perfectly proportioned with each white cheek hiding the delights in between. She had tilted her hips so that her mound was easily accessible to his excited prodding. As he watched, Mrs. Hoopenlicker reached down between her thighs and ran a solitary finger along her hairy slot.Quickly, he dropped his trousers and stepped out of them leaving his heavy bell end swinging lustily in tingling anticipation. Below, he could feel his testes beginning to churn in their mottled sack as he grasped his stiff penis and positioned himself for his initial penetration of her cunty.Suddenly, Mrs. Hoopenlicker raised a hand. “Wait, Sir, Wait!” she exclaimed. “The wattle. The sponge. Such is my state, I was remiss in my protection,” She pointed to her oak sideboard. “Inside is a small bag. To the left. Please bring it to me, Mr. Johnson.”Albert shuffled across and returned with the bag. His landlady opened it and removed a small wedge of sponge. “Even at my age,” she confessed. “It pays to take precautions.” She then removed a ball of string and glanced at his member. Calculating how much she needed, she used a pair of scissors to snip the required length and tied one end securely around the sponge. “Here,” she said, handing it to him. “Before you insert your prick, Mr. Johnson,” she instructed. “Can you be so kind as to push this into my hole first so that it can soak up your spend. The head of your thing shall force it as deep as it needs to go.”To assist, she resumed her position and reached behind to spread her bottom as she felt him gingerly press the contraception between the lips of her sex and up into her passage as far as he could manage before withdrawing his finger.“Are you ready, Mrs. Hoopenlicker?” he asked as he hefted his large purple knob so that copious amounts of juice oozed from the tip. He was consumed with lust and quivered with sexual excitement.The older woman shivered with anticipation as she looked over her shoulder at the length of meat about to invade her womanhood. To penetrate and touch the very heart of who she was and where her true nature lay waiting.Her finger still rubbed between the lips of her sex to help oil her waiting vagina for his prick was a monster! Could her poor sweet fanny even take such a thing inside it? Not only was it long, but it was as fat as a butchers dog with an angry head that wept impatiently from its single eye. “As I shall ever be, Sir,” she whispered. “Have at it and rest not until my venus has taken every last inch of you!”“Ah!” Mrs. Hoopenlicker rasped as her penetration by her lodger’s immense cock continued. Even though she had taken less than half of him, half of him was so much more than she had taken before. He squeezed another inch inside her and she groaned loudly for she could feel her innards being pushed to one side. “Heavens, Mr. Johnson,” she gasped as she gripped the back of her couch. “I swear that thing will rend me asunder. Oh, oh, Oh!”Albert was all a sweat. The mounting of his landlady, though most pleasurable, was surely hard work! Her fanny was wrapped around his prick like a vice and he had to pause while she got used to his probing. He was beginning to think that having such a large fucker was not a blessing but a curse. “You have the most delightful fanny, Mrs. Hoopenlicker,” he grunted as her sex gripped him tightly. “Are you able to take more of my prick?”Mrs. Hoopenlicker was knocking on heaven’s door. Her mind was away with the fairy folk and the sensations that flowed from her sex made her weep with delirium. Her cunty felt absolutely and completely stuffed full of his cock. And yet, from her glance, she saw that he had much more to give her. Could she take any more? Was she physically capable of being fucked completely by such a thing?“Push, Mr. Johnson,” she urged. “Push as if your very life depended on it. Force your ridiculous prick as far and as deep as you can. I shall accept every inch of you if it is the last thing I do!”His landlady braced herself and thrust her buttocks up to make his penetration easier. Albert steeled himself and thrust forward with his hips in slow surges that had the poor woman impaled on his shaft yelping and squealing with wild abandon. The more he forced into her, the more vulgar her language became.“Mr. Johnson!” she shrieked. “Mr. Johnson, sir. Oh my, oh fiddlesticks, I swear on the almighty,” Another thrust. “Ah, oh, oh, oh, fiddley Fuck!”Albert began to twitch. He was hopping from one foot to the other as he rammed more of his prick into his landlady who was twisting and swearing as she knelt there on the couch. His hands had pushed the cheeks of her arse apart and he had a clear view of her brown hole winking at him above her distended cunt.“OH, you well hung bastard son,” Mrs. Hoopenlicker grimaced as her lodger crouched over her with his large balls slapping wetly against her hairy mound. She felt a sudden surge of pure ecstasy and shuddered through the delightful spell it cast over her. Finally. He was completely inside her. She had done it. She had taken all he had to give and it felt wonderful. Her cunty was full of cock and the head of it pressed somewhere deep inside that made her shiver from tip to toe.She turned her head as he heaved and strained above her. “Take me, Sir,” she begged. “Make me whine like a whore on a Sunday. Use that immense prick to pound my little fanny raw and fill my insides with your seed!”The mounting of Mrs. Hoopenlicker continued apace. The room echoed to the sounds of passionate coitus with the fire casting erotic shadows upon the walls as they danced. Albert was struggling to keep his ardor in check as he flexed his hips back and forth against her upturned derriere. Goblin eyed, he drooled as he watched his fleshy spike appear and disappear inside his landlady who had grasped a cushion and was gnawing on it with a face contorted with pleasure and pain.The filthy language she was using only added to his impending release. “Oh, Mrs. Hoopenlicker!” he cried as he banged away. “I adore the way you express your feelings in such a guttural way. But I fear such debasement shall soon tip me over the edge of madness!”Mr. Johnson was right. Her language was from the gutter. A hellish place she had known all too well before her first husband had rescued her from the life she had been living amongst the dregs of humanity who inhabited the capitals underworld.It was then she sensed that the young man riding her saddle was about to reach his peak. “Do not hold back, Mr. Johnson,” she urged as his thrusts became more erratic. “My constitution is well able to withstand the tempest which you are about to unleash upon me!”Her lodger exclaimed a sudden “Oh!” and hammered her gripped buttocks thrice in quick succession as he shot his thick copious semen deep within the groaning woman.Mrs. Hoopenlicker held firm as an exhausted Mr. Johnson collapsed on her as they reached the top of the mountain together. For an age, he covered her with his face close to hers and she could hear him panting like a sated dog in her right ear.“Sir,” she whispered eventually. “The deed is done. You may unmount me now for I need to remove the sponge.”Albert struggled up and watched as his landlady rolled onto her back, spread her thighs, and with a tug on the string hanging from her sex, pulled out the sodden dam. She held it up to the light as a teardrop of his spend dripped from it onto the floor.As her young lodger stood there catching his breath, Mrs. Hoopenlicker knelt down in front of him and lifted up the drooping length of his spent cock so that it hung twitching from her grip. In the light from the fire, it still glistened wetly from the mix of their combined juices as she examined it closely before she licked his waning tumescence clean.“Does that shock you, Mr. Johnson?” she asked as she knelt back.Albert tried to rearrange his common sense and ability to speak as he watched his landlady lick her lips. “Yes. Very much so, Mrs. Hoopenlicker. Today is a day I shall never forget.”The small clock on the mantelpiece began to chime as she got to her feet and walked over to him. “The first of many I hope, Mr. Johnson,” she whispered as she kissed him on the cheek. “The time is late and the day has been an eventful one. With your grace, I shall retire to bed and think upon things till I drop off. Be so good as to secure the locks and turn out the lamps.”He nodded. “Of course.”Mrs. Hoopenlicker stopped at the door and turned back. “Though it may not appear as such after our little tryst, Albert,” she began. It was the first time she had called him by his first name which somehow made the moment more intimate. “Please be assured that I am normally not a woman of such loose morals. It is just that sometimes I like to pretend I am,” she told him. “This day is done and tomorrow will bring what God or the devil decides. With that, I bid you a good night, Sir.”Her lodger watched her take her leave wondering what lay in store for him in the days ahead.“The Copper Kettle” tea rooms just off Whitechapel were the hub around which the tide of local gossip and news ebbed and flowed.It was mid-morning as the brass bell rang and another customer entered the establishment to meet up with her two friends who were sat in a far corner enjoying another day of doing nothing much at all.“Ladies,” said a familiar voice. “How are we this fine Summer's day?”Constance Mulligan and Edith Dowinger looked up to see their long-standing companion, Martha Hoopenlicker, hanging up her coat and coming over to join them.Mrs. Dowinger smiled at her friend and raised an amused brow. “My, my,” she noted with a glance to the lady on her right. “The way you’re preening yourself, dear Martha, you look like the cat who got the cream. Has something happened?”The younger woman sat down and composed herself as the maid delivered a hot pot of tea and a plate full of buttered scones. Pouring a cup, she smiled over the rim at her two friends watching her. She did so very much enjoy playing their little game of secrets and the adventures they dreamed up to while away the long hours of boredom.She sat forward. “Ladies,” she whispered conspiratorially. “By chance and circumstance, I may have come upon a rather well-endowed solution to our much-discussed little problem.”By Ian56 for Literotica

The words for today are: Invective, Imbue, Ribald, Levee.  VictorPrep's vocab podcast is for improving for English vocabulary skills while helping you prepare for your standardized tests! This podcast isn't only intended for those studying for the GRE or SAT, but also for people who enjoy learning, and especially those who want to improve their English skills. I run the podcast for fun and because I want to help people out there studying for tests or simply learning English. The podcast covers a variety of words and sometimes additionally covers word roots. Using a podcast to prep for the verbal test lets you study while on the go, or even while working out!  If you have comments or questions and suggestions, please send me an email at sam.fold@gmail.com

Update on Uncle Dick's Vintage Slot Machine!

Sorry, expletives included!

1. Is the book of Jeremiah in the Old or New Testament or neither? 2. From Leviticus 24's rules for restitution, what other body part is mentioned besides “eye for an eye”? Nose, Tooth, Finger, Toe 3. The Lord sent Jeremiah to the house of what type of tradesman? Carpenter, Shopkeeper, Tailor, Potter 4. In Acts 5, how were the apostles released from prison? Broke out, Walls caved, Freed by an angel, Triumphantly 5. What did James say is “set on fire of hell”? Adulterer, Tongue, Ribald, Unfathered 6. From Matthew 8, whose mother-in-law did Jesus heal? Elijah, Solomon, Daniel,...Article Link

Jack is back on the line to talk about the three trolls currently available, Boulder, Bristlenose and Ribald. We talk about their strengths, weaknesses and synergies. Plus fun things to remember. Hope you enjoy.

Jeremy and Boss explore the woes of renaissance fair life and talk about the career of Dennis Duggan as they explore Bud Lee's The Ribald Tales of Canterbury. --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app

The next time some old person says your music is too raunchy, tell them about these nasty songs they were probably dancing to back in the day.

Deep Sea Spacemen of Earth - get yourself a lungful of Charles Shaw Monsters On Trial - this was because of the frog Jack of Arcades - look how much hay I can carry Impotent Potables - chug it up Cornhole But It’s Cornhole - it’s hardly a podcasp idea Bigfoot: Terrible Rad - Jem Finch you tell Bigfoot to quit all that shreddin The Shrink Next Big Idea - hurry up and have sex with your mother  Cheap Heat - this is the most incapable we have ever been College Horn - go away we’re doing journalism

It had to be done ... Sarah and guest Mabel Slattery wince our way through The Ribald Tales of Canterbury, a porn adaptation of The Canterbury Tales, and find that ... it's not actually the worst adaptation of a medieval text? Listen in to find out how two medievalists can watch an erotic film and then end up talking about the value of currency, sumptuary laws, the best way to prepare boar's head, and medieval anti-Judaism. Warning: This film obviously includes more graphic sex scenes than most movies and some of those details are discussed. If you ordinarily listen within earshot of colleagues, parents, or kids, you ... might want to grab headphones for this one. But, good news: this movie is strangely WAY better on consent for sexual activity than a lot of the things covered for the podcast.

Tim addresses the article everyone is talking about: A huge post-pandemic orgy is planned in Philly. Tim addresses the Post article about purchasing KFNS. The dais discusses. ...And back to orgies. Listeners pop boners for anything. Iggy has banged some correspondents in his day. Mother/daughter shower combo.

Tim addresses the article everyone is talking about: A huge post-pandemic orgy is planned in Philly. Tim addresses the Post article about purchasing KFNS. The dais discusses. ...And back to orgies. Listeners pop boners for anything. Iggy has banged some correspondents in his day. Mother/daughter shower combo.

     This week... A pair of cult comedies about friendship, how to save the environment, the art of clown, and destroying all things we hold dear.     Pauly Shore brings the least Baldwin into a locked down eco facility, runs some generic gags, and shows us that William Atherton has better comic timing than both of them. Wonder is our hapless protagonists can save the Bio-Dome and how were they not smothered in their sleep at any point?     A New Jersey clown has a bad idea to inflate his monthly nut and before he knows it is on the receiving end of a redneck trio's... uh... monthly nut. If that isn't enough, being ganged in a motel leads to all the sad clown's dreams coming true. Yeah. Kevin Smith's buddies made something that you might view as a little Vulgar.     All that and Kevin takes a nap, Tyler awkwardly pops his sterile bubble, Dave decided to talk a social distance walk through an abandoned summer camp, Kieran plots further revenge, and one Craig to rule them all and in the darkness bind them.Episode 148- Organic Ribald

Buying a home as a millennial

Just the Tip Episode 6: Live and Let Live Not Live As Carlsberg would never say… Probably the most inept podcast ever made. Kit and Sands turn their own life Wins into Life Woes while entertaining some pretty eccentric guests. Who else can get an eclectic list like James Mason, Frankie Howerd (and yes millennials! It is spelled that way), Bob Geldof and Tony Montana from Scarface. A Ribald time is had by all trying to help the helpless. Actually it all falls apart as it always does. Listen. Or don’t listen. I would recommend anything else on iTunes The Show Notes Don’t let the fact that James Mason has been dead since 1984. He was happy to be on our show https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/James_Mason Want to see a website that looks like it hasn’t been updated since 1995? Click the link below to see the god Bob Geldof’s timeworn portal to his wise brain http://www.bobgeldof.com Everyone knows Tony ‘’DA MAN” Montana so check out this amazing Pinterest board https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/320740804683068901/ Also the Just the Tip team have a website that is occasionally updated http://fuzzydice.co.uk

Acorn (Cathy Eller) and Tail (Kristen Lucas) have a converstation with Ribald (Ric Rosario) about how you need a little danger in your life. --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/supersquirrelconvo/support

Cambiamos de formato de cara al verano pero mantenemos la misma esencia. Pensando en vuestra salud, durante esta etapa estival inauguramos este Batallón Express en el que durante una hora os hablamos de lo que más nos gusta: los videojuegos. En cuanto a la actualidad, hablamos del éxito de Pokémon GO que ha arrasado en todo el mundo a pesar de estar disponible solo en algunos territorios. Por otro lado, el paso de Evolve al modelo free to play es una buena excusa para probarlo y comentar nuestras impresiones. ¿Y sabíais que Activision llegó a plantear un Call of Duty con ambientación romana?   Hay otras noticias de interés y en esta ocasión también nos acompaña Raúl (Ribald), la persona que está traduciendo Valkyria Chronicles. ¡A disfrutar!

Periel Aschenbrand is the guest. She is the author of two memoirs, the latest of which is called On My Knees. It is available now for pre-order and will be published by Harper Perennial on June 18, 2013. Jonathan Ames raves "Ribald, outrageous, gutter-mouthed, hilarious—a startling new voice in American letters. Watch out Portnoy, watch out Caulfield, watch out Bukowski, watch out E. L. James. Hell, everybody, real or imagined, just watch out! Because here comes Periel Aschenbrand!” And The New York Times calls her "Unsavorily compelling. . .in the manner of a female Howard Stern.” Monologue topics: insomnia, nightmares, pool bars, sushi, low tide, sleep apnea, Buddhism, pity. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

The Three Who Rule enjoy another slow news week with excess meanderings, needlessly extending the length of this week's instalment... however a slow news week coupled with a Classic Series commentary is a good thing. The lads turn their gaze to talking over the *cough* David Agnew *cough* masterpiece City of Death, heralded by Doctor Who fans as one of the best stories of our beloved show. Or at least as the highlight of Season 17. Ribald jokes and insightful analyses are paired like a meal with a fine French wine as we wander the streets of Paris. Check out the show notes at http://www.radiofreeskaro.com

Al Madrigal tells how, before he got hired by The Daily Show, his job was firing everyone else.

Allow me to turn your attention to our collection of jokes told in a foreign language! Turns out the rest of world dabbles in this little thing we at StopMe like to call "telling jokes." Now if you want dead air, just tune into the moment after a tellers from this collection drop the punchline on us uni-languaged USA-ers. Since it's socially quite lame to fake laugh when you don't speak the language (think about it), we can only smile sheepishly and offer our weak thanks for the diversity street cred. Sometimes we are blessed with a translation, but the only thing worse than not getting one is getting an ATTEMPTED translation that fizzles into general awkwardness. Case in point:

This is from our South St./Battery Pk. Expedition (Manhattan, 7/22/07), or Day 2 of Mocha and ‘Nilla’s overnight expedition. We were supposed to wake up in some charming beach-front motel, a little hung over but looking forward to greasy eggs, some good coffee and another breezy day scrounging jokes in the sand. Unfortunately there wasn’t a single room available in any of the beach-front motels; not that we could afford it anyway. So instead I woke up on Mocha’s living room floor staring at a cat turd, the traffic noise outside a far cry from the gentle swish of the waves you heard behind the Hamptons jokes. With a mere 8 hours in front of us to finish off this expedition we needed to stay close to home, thus the South Street Seaport/ Battery Park expedition. It wasn’t the beach, but we could see water, and we ended up with over 40 jokes, an excellent take considering the cat turd.

I just love getting jokes from people on the job. There's just something so Mr. Roger's Neighborhood about bumping into a real NYC native in his City Sights jumper, ready to share with us kiddies a little piece of his "world"— a joke about a guy who pisses vodka and leverages this oddity to get his wife to blow him! Would you be mine? Could you be mine? Won't you be... my neighbor!

I just had to advertise how much of a moron I am.Her: Pete and Repeat are in a boat. Pete jumps off, who's left?Me (expert Joke-ologist): I don't know-- who?The lesson here is if you rely on other people to make your joke work, even professionals, you're just going to end up as a filthy rich blond on a yacht.

As I was perusing our Hamptons jokes I couldn't believe I hadn't posted this one, told from a bike (well, a dude ON a bike)! We were just getting out of our first of several Mercedes-lovin' towns when we were pleased to find ourselves behind this self-propelled, earth-friendly gent. As we passed I tapped the brakes and Mocha, perceptive team player that he is, rolled down the glass and popped the StopMe question, "Excuse me, sir. Do you have any Grey Poupon?" Actually, you know the question as well as I do, and besides, Mocha doesn't get any intuition points because I was screaming, "See if he has any jokes-- get him!!" The guy pedaled a half-dozen times, deep in thought, then Mocha got the camera going just as he came up with the Turtle Mugging Joke. A guy on the go telling a joke about two turtle muggers moving way too fast! Pure joketry (that's joke combined with poetry for you novices).Just by virtue of being on the bike he joins an elite group of StopMe joke-tellers who deliver from weird places or in weird ways. But even without the prop, it's a very worthy contribution.

Something about a yarmulke that just kinda scares me off when we go around with our frivolous request for a joke. But we were so pleasantly surprised by this exchange, which includes a translation that somehow makes this old third grade classic sound like a wise old adage.

Mocha and I had finally made it to the beach after hours of traffic and a lukewarm reception in the rather generic tourist towns along the way (sorry, Hamptons!). We took off our shoes and strolled along the water's edge, hand in hand, just being with each other. Mocha wasn't ready to take the relationship to the next level, however, so we started asking for jokes. This guy has a great Vince Vaughn vibe and seemed to be waiting for some dudes to come by with their camera looking for jokes, even if they were pretty gay. His kids shouting into the camera is a nice exclamation point at the end of a very solid joke, and they go on to tell their own jokes.

Ah, the children. Those little people with such big... heads.Turns out the Hamptons sun jogged the jokemories of the children, as the under-10 crowd makes up a good portion of this expeditions take. Now we all know the appeal of the "jokes by kids" collection is not the jokes themselves, but the charm of the tellers. The false starts, the stage fright, the oh-so-cute kid-like things those kids will do. In the case of the Smile Joke below, it's the "Hey that's not a joke" element that has us all "Awwww!", whereas when adults try this I just get pissed off. I felt bad that I bullied him into a format he wasn't comfortable with ("You say 'knock-knock' and I'll say 'Who's There'")-- not sure what my problem was-- but my sense is he's gone on to a successful life anyway. Just not as a comedian.

Mocha and Vanilla’s overnight expedition! What’s summer in NYC without sitting in LIE traffic during prime beach hours, wondering why the hell you didn’t get an earlier start? The expedition starts off in the little tourist towns (lots of Izods and ice cream) en route to the waves and ends up on the beach itself, with lots of stop-n-go traffic in between. After a day collecting jokes from rich people, though, we couldn’t get a room anywhere and ended up driving back to Manhattan in the middle of the night, crashing at Mocha’s apartment, our dreams of waking up to a Long Island Sound sunrise smothered by a crappy aerobed.

Folks, we have a real treat today for all none of you devoted blog readers: a Guest Poster, Karen (who shall be referred to by her StopMe handle, Kookie-Dough). Aside from being a devoted StopMe fan, she is also my pregnant sister, and despite her resistance is sure to get up off her fat ass and step across the room any minute now.Well, I have to say, when "Vanilla" asked me to choose an ice cream flavor just moments ago, I was actually picturing a Jetson-like apparatus that would make the tasty treat materialize in front of my "fat ass". But, alas, I am now known as "Kookie-Dough," which doesn't do a whole lot for to help with the fat ass, bloated feelings I've been having lately. I must say, I'm totally fascinated by bikinis and especially by people who tell jokes while wearing them. I mean, is it me or is it hard not to look at the bikini-wearers' breasts? What's interesting is that when we're dressing at home and we have just our underwear and bra on, we (and maybe I should be using "I-statements" here...) feel the need to cover ourselves with clothes--a shirt, maybe some pants, what have you. But with a bikini, all bets are off. You put on essentially the same articles of clothing (often with less coverage--have you ever seen maternity underwear?!) and yet it's perfectly acceptable to leave the house, see a parade, tell a joke... food for thought, eh? Speaking of food, how about that ice cream?World's Shortest JokeBald JokeScrew Joke

The funnest part of StopMe is the variety of folks we stop. To quote a great man, "Humor is universal, blah blah blah." The fact is, I'm a guy who still won't answer his own phone, so severe is my aversion toward human interaction. And yet, I get a huge kick out of spending the day soliciting jokes from all kinds of strangers: freaks, wall streeters, skaters, trannies and truckers. There's a joker in every group (even chess players!), and it turns out pin-up girls travel with a pair! That's right, pin-up girls aren't just for posters anymore. Since the 1940s, pin-up girls have developed that all-important third dimension, plus a nifty sense of humor. The three we ran into at the parade were attracting a whole lot of attention (as you can see at the beginning of Retarded Boy Joke) but they were nice enough to tell us a few jokes and educate us on the finer points of authentic pin-up living. Did you know pin-up girls don't have pin-up guy boyfriends (they have greaser boyfriends), but do have Betty Crocker flavored toothpaste?Retarded Boy JokeDry.....Martini Joke

Turns out the reason Mocha and me and Chocolat keep going, "Huh?" is we're pushing 40. That's right, our fellow joke-ologists at Washington University have discovered old people just don't get it, or at least don't get jokes more often than their young counterparts. Click here for the full scoop. In support of this conclusion, you'll notice the average age of a StopMe joke-teller is about 14 (ok, it's higher, but from the perspsective of us graying, flabby late-30s folk, yer all just a bunch of kids!), and the numbers in our Jokes Told By the Elderly collection are less than healthy (thus the inclusion of several middle-agers who are being forced to stand in).Who knew all this jokesperimentation was going on at Washington U.? Showing unfinished Dilbert cartoons to unsuspecting elderly? Asking a college kid to guess Lucy Ricardo's next line? Wonder what other sick things those people are doing in the name of science.

Ok, we admit it— sometimes that wacky, goofy, frivolous, jokey spontaneity you've come to love about StopMe is just a little staged. For instance, this woman told us this cop-bashing joke at first not knowing she was standing behind several cops, but since they weren't in the shot in the original take she. When we mentioned the gaggle of nearby cops, though, she didn't bat and eye and agreed to tell it again standing even closer to one of her targets. The brave girl even had the cinematic instinct to duck away after the punch line for the full effect. Nice touch.

We've been told pirate jokes before but this pirate girl took it fAAAARRRRRRRRRRRther than anybody! We're going to have to make a pirate joke button on the main site, but Chocolat's so lame it'll probably never happen. In the mean time, pirate joke fans, just book mAAARRRRRRRk this page.

We've been playing with various ideas for developing the site. Some are clamoring for more behind the scenes while thousands of others are pushing for more stuff exploring the nature of humor and the ways StopMe joke-ologists expose the funny-vibe (sorry for all these technical terms) of a given time and place. Then we stumbled upon Lenny's Britain and his Joke Booth experiment and realized, Welp, Been Done. And been done pretty good, I might say. So for those of you interested in the sociological aspect of this grand experiment, check it out. The analysis may be from a British perspective but humor is universal blah, blah, blah. In the mean time, if you want the story of three guys on the verge of a collective midlife crisis trekking around NYC bumming jokes, well, keep it here.

Sometimes it's hard to believe they didn't see us coming miles away. This guy was hanging with his biking friends, who you'll see at the end of the video, but rattles off this very complicated joke as if he were backstage at a dirty joke festival. We all know someone who can do this. He's the guy at the party who you plan to can't stand but end up chuckling at his antics. Or, hey, maybe that guy is you. If so, congratulations, as I planned to can't stand you and you won me over. I mean, I don't want to get stuck in an elevator with you or even, really, sit next to you at the dinner party. But from a distance, across a room, I'll laugh at your Timbuktu Joke and probably stumble all over myself trying to tell it to some other introvert the next day.

Oh man, we really screwed up. In this age of Google searches, short attention spans and just way too many choices on the web, anybody with less than 7 drinks in his system is gonna keep the name of his site short, simple and to the point. Our approach? Let's think of a really long name where thewordsallruntogether and no one will remember it because there's a thousand ways to get it wrong ("what was it again, Stop Me If You Heard That One...Before?"). And hey, let's NOT put the word "joke" in the title so people won't know what the site is about until they actually GO THERE! What an intriguing MYSTERY we've created, enticing more and more people who google "jokes" to wonder what sites they're missing that aren't coming up because the word joke isn't in the title! Sure there're nice things about the name. It's something my grandfather used to say before launching into some joke I didn't get even after hearing it about a hundred times, since he never did stop ("Two guys walking down the street. One says to the other, 'You know what time it is?' His friend shows him his watch and says 'There it is." The other guy says, "Damned if it ain't!"). And it's the name, kind of, of an old radio show where people send in jokes and win prizes if the show's panelists don't know it. That's charming! That's quaint! But quaint never got anyone anywhere on the web, and quaint is about all we've managed to be with "Stop Me If You Heard This." Dare we change it? We own the url, TheJokeQuest.com, a much more accurate, catchy, if less quaint, name. What say? Send us your votes, suggestions, thoughts and undecipherable jokes your grandfather used to tell. We'll stay up late pouring over all the emails and letters-- Chinese food containers, the whole bit-- until at some ungodly morning hour we'll look each other knowingly and remove our glasses, rub our eyes (well, Mocha will take out his contacts anyway). We'll all start laughing because there on the table, as clear as the sky, will be the name so perfect we can only remove our glasses, rub our eyes and laugh. All over again. In the mean time, in honor of our very long name, let us leave you with The World's Shortest Joke. (Warning: It's as bad as our name.)

In the last post I touched on what one stands to learn about oneself in the process of listening to a joke. Then there's what you learn about your friends. Let me introduce you to my good friend Mocha, whom I have known since we fronted a band way back in college called "But The Windows Are Closed." He's the guy holding the door open for you, giving you his seat on the subway and asking if your parents are busy tonight because maybe they'd want to join us. Watch him in "Bumbling Mocha Medley" and you'll know exactly what I mean. Then listen to him cackle with delight when the Pussy Pie teller drops the crudest of punchlines and you'll wonder, as I do, Who the hell is this guy?

What's up with the blind animal jokes at the Mermaid Parade? It's funny because Mocha and I have been telling everyone we heard this one joke-set (as we joke-ologists say) "like 5 or 6 times" at the Parade. Then we were coincidently watching Last Comic Standing at the same time (with different wives, however) and the same blind fish joke popped up on the screen before it cut to a commercial (holy shit!), after which the Mermaid number became—I noticed— "6 or 7 times." Well, ol' Vanilla here went back into the footage to craft together a little medley, so inspired was he, but lo and behold we're a pack of liars. There's, uh, not so many, even if you include Mocha telling the fish joke with the pen in his mouth. I know he's reading this (if he even reads this damn thing; please tell me you read this thing dude-- at least you!!), I know he's going "I really thought there was another one... wait, wasn't there another guy—" No, dude— no guy. No woman. Not even a stray Mermaid or a Gorilla or a Pirate telling this joke other than what you're about to see. If I'm wrong, I promise to act out the joke in my underwear in Coney Island next week. Like anyone'd notice.

Chocolat recently stood up at one of those work retreats where you get to learn the dreary life stories of your colleagues and explained he runs a joke site with two college friends. "Just don't ask me to tell you a joke," he said, "I either can't remember or I just don't understand them."He's absolutely right— the hardest thing about telling people you run a joke site is that everyone assumes you've got some great jokes ready to go. The pressure is enormous, and it's clear why so many have died in this line of work.But the truth is there's around two jokes in every expedition I laugh at (without faking) and one of those I remember for about a week, telling everyone who'll listen. Since my circle of friends and family is small enough to fit in a bathtub (stacked, standing, cut up into body-parts, any which way you'd like to fit my circle of friends and family in your bathtub) certain members of this troupe, such as my wife, will hear me tell this joke three or four times to outsiders who somehow stray my way before scurrying away in search of people with not so much body odor. When I think about the jokes I like best, most of them are either misogynistic, crass or just plain sick and wrong. I'd like to say this little reflection exercise taught me something about myself, but really it just confirmed some ugly truths I live with every minute of every day. Anyway, here's the Mermaid joke I'm ashamed to love. Hope you hate yourself for laughing at it as much as I do.