Tag Archives: contests

Bootyography: Wet T-Shirts Are To Dudes As Rainbows & Unicorns Are To Six Year-Old Girls

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It was just another random afternoon on the beach during Spring Break. I wandered aimlessly from bikini to bikini, wondering how I would close out a day of leering and dodging restraining orders. Slowly, the sky grew overcast and the temperature dropped, so naturally, it was time to whip out the hose and soak some hooters.

PCB03-18 1247 "Dear Diary: Danced in contest today. I think they really liked my glasses!"

I’m sorry. That was cheap, childish phrasing. I should be ashamed of myself.

PCB03-18 1252 Petite and damp: a wonderful combination!

I don’t know why we, as a society, must undermine the power and majesty of the female breast through the use of ridiculous euphemism.

PCB03-18 1266 "Wait, did you say the water would be col-- AAAAAAAH!!!"

Is it not enough that our noble sisters and their secondary sex characteristics must endure the daily affrontery of straps and underwires and whatever the hell an IPEX is?

PCB03-18 1281 "Piercings for everyone!"

Do these marvels of natural engineering truly need a bra to elicit wonder?

PCB03-18 1301 Workin' it like a pornstar

Even worse, I can’t help but suspect that our tawdry trivializations may, in some fashion, lead to bigger –possibly even enormous– issues in the future.

PCB03-18 1292 "That guy over there won't stop staring at me!"

All I can do is look at the smiling face below, that of the misguided contest’s “winner”, and shake my head in disconsolate shame. For I, a self-centered, awful little man, have failed her and everyone like her. In seeking to celebrate, I have mocked. With my lascivious gaze and careless words, I have tarnished her gentle form.

PCB03-18 1310 Cute as a button... with big knockers.

PCB03-18 1313 The dude in the back looks like he's seeing god. Or at least god's ass.

PCB03-18 1315 The winning ingredients

Oh, hey, wait… nipple slip!

PCB03-18 1317 Sweetie, it might be a bit late for modesty...

I’m going to hell, aren’t I?

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Yep, pretty much.

Gratuitous Spring Break: Skinny Britney & Friend (Part the First)

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Confession time. I like pretty girls. I hide it well, but every now and again, a little hint will slip out.

Yeah, I know, the thought-provoking journalism to which you’ve become accustomed around here couldn’t prepare you for this. I feel bad about that, but I have to be true to myself, even if “myself” isn’t always pretty.[1] So here I’m going to present the first installment of my personal experiments in recreational sexological photographism.

I have no idea what their names are; I just call the taller one Skinny Britney, and her little accomplice gets stuck with the nom de bikini Skinny Britney’s Friend. They were both contestants at Club La Vela in Panama City Beach, FL, shaking their shit for a couple hundred bucks and the honor of being the primary objects of my day’s lust. [2]

I sincerely believe SB may be the single most self-confident human being I have ever observed. Completely relaxed while wearing nearly nothin', laughing one moment and turning on the sexxay the next. Amazing.

I sincerely believe SB may be the single most self-confident human being I have ever observed. Completely relaxed while wearing nearly nothin', laughing one moment and turning on the sexxay the next. Amazing.

skinny-britney-and-black-bikini (5)

I love SBF's expression as they both field invitations from boys in the pool below. She actually manages to pull off the "oh, poor baby, I'm afraid not" face with some conviction.

skinny-britney-and-black-bikini (117)

I'm not sure, but I think he was offering his fisting services. For which dude receives my respect... I mean, as random, drunken flirting goes, requesting to reserve space for your forearm in someone's baby bungalow is awfully ambitious.

More to come of these two (including a little video), and lots more… but for now, here’s a gallery.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] “Pretty,” no. A “studly mass of panty-dampening penis power”? You betcher ass, baby.

[2] Said honor being reserved for those lucky individuals who meet my stringent criteria. To wit: female, in my line of sight, and not running away in terror.