I send my lover dildos from across the world because I adore her. The benefits of a woman’s happiness should never be underestimated.

There was the 6.5-inch standard silicone dildo from Cambridge, a first-rate treat for a languid, Mr. Easy-styled solo session.

Now there is the 7-inch rock chick from Oklahoma, which often inspires her heavy-breathing refrain from the classic Rogers and Hammerstein musical at peak moments.

Next will be a thick, pliable 8-inch jelly dildo from Tokyo, and all the big pink box fun this implies.

My mission in life: the perfect Steely Dan for my true love.

“Inch by inch, my lust for you is bigger than a Cadillac.
I’ll will drive that dildo deeper, as long as you call me back.”
Not Fade Away (unreleased version)
Buddy Holly

I’m tired of monotonous newsagents and chic, over-priced coffee shops in the major airports of the United States, Europe and the Orient. I want elegant, sophisticated sex boutiques with exotic dildos that I may acquire to render my lover senseless.

Imagine my nude paramour blindfolded and delicately secured by both her arms and her legs with soft ropes to a sturdy, mahogany Four-Poster Spire bed. Imagine her cunt achingly wet for cock. Imagine me inserting a swirled glass dildo in my lover’s swollen labia, stroking and thumbing her highly aroused clit.

I want her fucked and ravished, spent and delirious, sighing and drained.

And then I want my lover to use the new, pliable double-headed dildo and fuck me like a slut, knowing I often long for a well-hung man to take my ass.

Just like my lover, who pays homage to Descartes: I cum; therefore I am.

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