PoppyCock In a Pear Tree

Her name is Fruit Rollup. Her penis pleasuring perfectly plush lips fully encapsulated the meaning of the name when it was coined. Currently it's just a snack she buys 3 or 6 boxes at a time. She had wrapped his cock in the treat that most 80's born X'ers and Millennials should be familiar with, it was sold under a different brand called Fruit by the Foot as well, however that would put dimensions into this conversation and his very average 7" penis would feel hard done by, pun intended. Fruit Rollup had wrapped her namesake, strawberry flavoured and now sexually active, snack around his very pretty penis to give her man a blowjob. This particular instance of a now tastier than ever suckling on this very well liked wang, was immediately following a rather aggressive demonstration of oral sex given the night before, sans food-like wrapper. The event was intense. He had noted to himself that it was almost as if Fruit Roll Up was trying to put on a show for some, unbeknownst to him, potentially nosebleed seat stationed, fishbowl stadium seated patron. Her apartment had always emblazoned her boyfriend with this almost Big Brother meets EdTV type feel to it. That unwelcome paranoia may have been partially buoyed by his heavy methamphetamine smoking habit during those months, however, looking back there is a certainty within him that confirmed they were at times surveilled in ways not within his purview. Fruit Rollup however, he will never know whether she had been aware of some voyeuristic ensemble surrounding that cozy little corner apartment of hers. Nestled all snug in a building that defies gravity with its engineering adjustment for a parking necessity. Only in a place like Nautical Village, would this building have this significance for him and be positioned just minutes from the Lake House where he married his soon to be ex-wife just 8 years previous. We must digress for the time-being and get this story of Poppycock and Fruit rollup out for public consumption. Let’s return to the blowie bash shall we...

The dick licking was also the first and only time that Poppycock had received offers from Fruit Rollup for fellatio during back to back sexual encounters. Poppycock wondered if he was the only fella that would have noticed the frequency change. The anomaly almost slipped by his constantly contested reality-monitoring mindseye, mostly because of the overwhelming excitement that was being had at the very enthralling thought that this cadence of head-getting would start to rival the default pussy licking Poppycock was bequeathing Fruit Rollup since they started a tumultuous affair 18 months ago. Poppycock’s cunnilingus was lipstick lesbian quality, to the tune of 3 to 5 perfectly pontificated pleasure pangs per session. This level of engagement on opening night, shored up certainly with the introduction of the cock covering candy during the encore, instigated visions of their future encounters that even this stimulant abusing psychosis loving drug addict would find raunchy and resulted in Poppycock forecasting more ball sucking bliss.

The bliss that this 39 year old would experience during this time in his life was always very short lived. Following each and every coital completion his mind would quickly and regrettably remind him of his husband and fatherly duties that awaited him at his home. Invariably he would need to leave Fruit Rollup, and more times than not, this exit would be precipitated by an argument and subsequent fight between the love birds. These 2 special people just hated the idea of having to part with each other's company. Poppycock would live up to his name that night and bullshit a story that would save Fruit Roll Ups feelings and buoy a more melodramatic escape than was par for his course here.

This is a good time to describe the genesis of his moniker Poppycock. Just a quick glance over to Urban Dictionary will tell you that the phrase “Poppycock” means “utter bullshit”. Being that this Poppycock had battled drug addictions since he was a 16 year old, most of his life story is riddled with lies and purposely concocted utterings of bullshit that were necessary to hide his reality from anyone that he spent time with, loved ones, family and otherwise.

Twin flames is what Fruit Rollup suggested would properly define these star-crossed lovers and their inherently overwhelming love for one another after seeing a psychic and getting specific advice and historical perspective from the medium. Old souls that had attempted in previous iterations of lifetimes to bridge the divide between their always at odds existences. There was even the suggestion that they have always been connected lovers, moreover even engaged in the truest of eternally soulmate type relationships with Poppycock's addiction always being the reason that they have never been able to see the relationship through its initial turmoil and hardships. To give this some perspective a twin flame is a soul-level connection, one of amazement, friendship, and intimacy. But deeper than that, a twin flame is the other half of a soul split in two. One soul, incarnate in two separate beings. As you can imagine, it’s pretty intense.

Moreover and heretofore, these vixens love to fuck in water. Mind you this don’t just mean a quickie in the shower, or a frolic in the tub with some epsom salts. Fruit Rollup and Poppycock fuck cosmically when given the opportunity to be fully submerged from nipples to toes while fornicating with vigor. Witnessing one of these occurrences would render the onlooker convinced without a shadow of a doubt that there is no other environment more conducive to supporting a successful love making rendezvous in a way that enhances Poppycock's situationally hetero-ability to perform. There is obviously something special about the way a certain warmth in the water creates an otherwise impossible ability for poppycocking penis to maintain its strong phallic intent. The erection is neither his hardest version of the legend's good metal, or the limpest ineffectual wet noodle whiskey disk that he could ever try to bend into the peach of a pussy. It would be best described as just the right stick dick to play puck fuck in the hot tub. Moreover, put this twin-flame soul love now in the fucking tub and you can redefine intense. Poppycock has learned not to lay back as he blows his wad remembering ever-so-delicately to point his member anywhere but right back at his fully curly hair covered man’s chest. That ejactulating spider web of evil leaving his wet and throbbing cock ends up becoming a gum like substance once it hits his hair vest. The result is what has been come to be know as "Chest Hair Cum Knots." And that is something you would need to be thankful for... to the point of including the next water fuck expedition in a fully customized version of a song for Santa. Which would go something like...

On the first day of Christmas, My true love sent to me....

A blowie with a fruit wrapped snack candy, and a Poppycock in a pear tree!

To be continued...