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xmag.com : May 2002:Perfect Pocket Pussy

So you like to jack off? Well, that's just great! Perverts and sickos like you keep this great
magazine empire afloat. You see, I got a lot
riding here, buster. I got pals that depend on your sick mind to make ends meet. You shoot loads of cash into many of my friends' wallets when you shoot your creamy goulash on the floor. I celebrate and embrace your sick, sick mind. Wash your hand, and I'd gladly shake it. I couldn't care less about you, and that's straight from the heart. But I relish your perverted tendencies. Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I like you so much, I'm gonna help you.

Jim Goad, world-famous woman-beater and notorious
Jew-lover, asked me to review a
pocket pussy, this little plastic lubricated tube that some jerkoff porn company sent to the office. I used it. It wasn't half-bad. Well, all right--it was better than that. The thing is, it's not much different from the traditional-style pocket pussy I've been enjoying for years. During one of my interminable stints behind bars,
I've become more than a simple masturbator--I've become
a Masturbation Artist. I can ride a pocket pussy like
Evel Knievel rode motorcycles. And, I'm proud to say,
I've fashioned most of these pocket pussies using items and artifacts within arm's reach of most run-down working-class homes. I've pleasured myself using gadgets, doodads, and thingamabobs that, by golly, you can make in the cloistered safety of your own household. That's right, amigo--why shell out fifteen to twenty smackers for a cold plastic tube churned out by some uncaring sex-factory worker down in the San Fernando Valley when you can make your own pocket pussy--your own personalized pocket pussy--for pennies on the dollar?

I know times are hard for you. You're single and don't have many prospects. You're not attractive. Blemishes and scars cover your face and torso. You have bad breath. You don't have much to brag about down there in Pants Town. Your package is small and unobtrusive. You are afflicted with chronic erectile dysfunction. You often wet your pants against your will. Even when you try to socialize, it's a disaster. You collect unemployment. Women laugh at you, both behind your back and to your face. Children run from you. Even your mother has blocked your phone calls. Your sister won't let you baby-sit the niece anymore. Your parole officer wants you to undergo chemical castration. In a year from now, your liver will fail and your skin will turn yellow.

"Lubricate the glove, snap the glove onto your penis,
and roll the towel around the glove. That's all!
Then start jackin'!"


You spend more money on pornography than you do on rent. You desperately hunt free Internet porn like a wolf ready to tear into his prey. You stalk the late-night cable shows looking for perhaps a flash of tit you don't have to pay for. The folks at Fantasy Video have considered providing you with your own private booth with a cot in it because you spend so much time there. You're the patron saint of jackin' off. But being a loser doesn't necessarily mean you have to lose all your money, does it? Huh?

At the sweet, unspoiled age of 16, I was serving two years in the McLaren School for Boys. That's right--no girls! So me and some homies were yappin' it up about the pain of being quasi-attractive, sexually charged young males with no suitable outlets for our frustrations. Half-jokingly--but that implies half-seriously--another juvenile offender began wistfully recalling the legendary "fifi," spinning an endless yarn about the fifi's folklore and its proper usage. The term "fifi" is Oregon prison slang for a homemade pocket pussy. This little treasure is made of three components:

1) The glove. Many things can substitute for the fine sheen of a rubber surgical glove...plastic bags, plastic wrap, even a sock if you're desperate...but nothing compares to the heights of ecstasy you can reach with a surgical glove. Trust me on this. The elasticity is real...like an obedient vagina, the glove stretches to the full girth of your penis, but no farther. It remains tight. It warms to friction. A glove's five fingers offer a potpourri of tightness...almost as if you had five pussies at your disposal (or five buttholes if you're a rump-wrangler).


2) Lubrication. Almost anything wet will do...everything from shampoo to my own saliva to a raw, uncooked slab of liver. But nothing on earth can
compare to the sensation--and scent--of some nice, greasy, old-school pomade. In the Youth Home, I was forced to use such hair-care products as Blue Magic and Sulfur 8--terrible for a peckerwood's unique hair-care needs, but superb for lubricating one's fifi. After a while, I was no longer ashamed to be rubbing greasy kid stuff on my penis. In my book, pomades have cornered the market in fifi-lubrication. I'm a greaser, so why shouldn't my cock be a greaser, too?


3) A towel. Any sort of towel is good, so long as it's fluffy. Multiple sock layers can also make for a really sweet fifi. (Pssst--here's an idea--run hot water over the towel to add even greater sensations!)


Lubricate the glove, snap the glove onto your penis, and roll the towel around the glove. That's all! Then start jackin'! Feel free to experiment! The only other rule in makin' a fifi is to "just have fun."

It's up to you now. Spread the word to all the perverts. Share your fifis with friends. A fifi is a great "anytime gift." It's perfect for parties.

Oh, I forgot--you don't go to parties. You have no friends. You're a lonely masturbator. You're a total scrub. But that's OK. With fifi in hand, now your endless time spent alone will seem a little less miserable. Jacking off with your unwanted cock wrapped in a rubber glove, swabbed with pomade, and wrapped in a towel, you can almost pretend you're a human being.






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