♥ shhexycorin ♥

I had a fucking fantastic time at this year’s Brighton Pride, the parade was fabulous with its Carry On theme and effigies of Barbara Windsor’s massive tits, I met the world’s oldest lesbian and some lovely nurses.

Who I didn’t meet, though, was my lovely Uncle Howard. Always the apple of Nana Corin’s eye, Howard came to the UK when he was just 10, sold as a sex slave to the British Royalty. So successful was he, that he earned his freedom just 10 years later - Time Off For Good Head, is the official term. Since then he’s been happily serving (and living off) the landed gentry, earning his fortune and being treated like a well-groomed pet, except they’d get fucked more often.

Anyway, he told me he was coming to Brighton for Pride and suggested we meet up at Preston Park, maybe take some Rohypnol together and go and sexually harass the boys in the Wildfruit tent.

Sadly I was fucking cunted off my tits by the time I got to the park - there was Rohypnol, there were boys and there was a tent or two, but there was no Uncle Howard! I spoke to him a few days later, when I got my voice back, and he said he’d missed me, but had managed to have fun by himself.

Or not quite by himself, he met these two American guys who introduced him to the game of Slap My Thigh! Which is really not about slapping thighs at all, more pummelling cocks until they’re black and blue, and seeping pus, but they like to keep the game sounding family-friendly.

After the fun in the park wound down, Howard took the Yanks back to his hotel room for a spot of anal-rape. Not that he particularly wanted to, he’s had bluer blood than that in his time, but threesomes were the thing at this year’s Pride and no gay with any self-esteem was going home on his own that night.

Nor was I, but that’s a different story.
;)

Uncle Howard and his cock-spanking Yank buddies at Brighton Pride, 2006

Shhexy Elephant Cunt

BigFrank is a wildlife photographer who could put David Attenborough to shame.

On safari in the petting zoo, Frank had been watching the bunnies humping for a couple of hours, getting hundreds of shots for some new HDR work he’s planning.

After feeding time at 4, the bunnies got tired, and Frank accidentally stumbled into the depths of the elephant enclosure, looking for somewhere to go for a wee. He was just reaching down for a leaf when Gertie, the matriarch, started rubbing her bits on Frank’s back in a clear state of arousal.

Pro-photographer to the very end, Frank risked life and limb to get this XXX shot of an elephant’s vagina.

Such a pretty cunt, wouldn’t you agree? GO FRANK.

An EXCITING new development on this blog is my new chatroom* where we can kick back, relax and enjoy some adult and robust conversation.

Yes, loyal fans, I’m proud to present the shhexycorin forum for your delight, amusement and inevitable intellectual stimulation.

Register for a username and get chatting! It’s going to be the most exciting thing on the internet EVER, I’d buy shares in me now, if I were you.

* Thanks to Sargant’s handy Wordpress extension called RS Discuss.

Recently, I’ve been fucking knackered: working my arse off day and night and dogging my way through the time I had leftover, getting mugged in the process. So I really needed a break and I snuck off to the beach to relax.

Whilst out there I met the lovely Isabella, a good Catholic girl with a desire for me so strong that you almost feel it poking you in the back when we danced…

Who’d have imagined I’d ever be possessed of lesbianic tendencies? Not me, for one! I don’t think I am now, it’s just that sometimes love comes along and hits you in the face like a wet kipper on market day. And Isabella was one such fish.

We met in a beach-front bar where the sangria was flowing like moonjuice. I’d had a couple of jugs and was feeling a little sleepy after a hard day of dogging on the beach, in the sea and off a cliff or too. Just as my head was about to hit the table, a sensual, husky voice told me I had the most beautiful buns she’d ever seen and asked if she might be allowed to butter them up later that night.

No-one has lapped my clam with such expertise.

Who wouldn’t fall for a chat-up line like that? Well, anyone would, I suppose, if Isabella had been a short, fat, hairy failed shoe salesman. Luckily for me, she was a beauty: a fine, voluptuous figure; a wicked sense of humour and a girly giggle that would have made me cream my jeans, had I been wearing them.

We spent every moment we could together. Fortunately, Spain is very relaxed about explicit behaviour in public - we’d just share a sunlounger each day, locked in a passionate embrace with our fists up each other.

I was so sad when I left, and Isabella went in some melodramatic lament - the pilot had problems taking off because the noise was interefering with his radar! Silly Isabella!