Countess Penelope and the Erotic Peanut Butter Sandwich

Kayso did you ever notice how sensual making a peanut butter sandwich is?

He spread me wide and began rubbing it all over me…

So creamy.

I’m a simple girl, really. Peanut butter sandwich, glass of milk (it does the body good, you know) and I’m good. I’ll run my tongue over my teeth, catching every last dry-roasted bit.

It filled my mouth with salty stickiness, and I was gasping for more.

Of, you know the sandwich. ‘Cause PB & Grape Jelly is the bomb, yo.

(DJ Countess Penelope in the henelopouse! Straight outta Scarborough).

EEEEESH…. as if. Scarberia is scary. I don’t strike a very imposing figure, duckies. I try to bat my lashes and seem… I don’t know, and can I step up on a soapbox for a second?

(I’m not waiting for your permission, of course, I’m just gonna do it, that’s how I roll.)

Why should I have to worry about that shit? What is wrong with this world where I have to worry about walking home in the dark? Helena and I are still in Hamilton, and there’s places I just won’t go after dark, and these days it’s dark at 5 o’clock, so just call me Countess Penelope, the hermit queen of the GTA (Greater Toronto Area for those of you not in the know.)

Seriously, it is the ultimate feminist conundrum — I can’t go anywhere without being ogled, catcalled or outright molested.

Dear men: please get down on your knees (oh naughty naughty) and thank whatever deity you may choose to believe in for that dangly bit between your legs — it seems to double as a Get Out Of Harassment Free card. You have no idea the shit we put up with. If you’re wondering why you’re sitting at home by yourself playing Fallout 4 in your underwear, jerking off to YouPorn, it’s probably because women are so terrified of meeting some new guy in case he turns out to be a head case rapist.

God knows I’ve ran into some real winners.

I think I’ll stick to my peanut butter sandwich, myself. It feels so good going down.

Is it wrong that I want to have revenge sex with this couche tard from a while back who, it turns out is deathly allergic to peanuts? You know, just have a peanut butter sandwich right before I go down on him?

Goddammit, I’m wicked.

Enjoy your lunch.



4 responses to “Countess Penelope and the Erotic Peanut Butter Sandwich

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