Should my friend seek help?

AR7rider.

AR7rider.

Member
my friend wrote this... on a scale of 1 to 10 rate how good the story is

on a scale of 1 to 10 also rate how much my friend needs help

"Get over here you whippersnapper" he said. Marge stood over him, Her

ancient wrinkled breasted hanging down to her waistline. "I never

thought in all my years I would have a chance to suck on such big

titties." Menopause had cause some small hairs to grow in the cleft in

between her bosoms, his eyesight was failing so this really made no

difference to him as he dragged his enormous ballsack over her chest in

order to stick his still flaccid dick on her mouth.

Arnold was eighty six and as horny as ever. He moved over to the small

bedside table. There lay a pile of Viagra he had crushed up earlier. He

rolled up a hundred dollar bill and took a shot straight to his nose.

He stood for a moment feeling his growing cock and fingering his now

loose asshole. Now that he was fully erect his cock looked like a

pepperoni stick, Liver spots marking their territory all the way up and

down his member like clusters of tourists on the Great Wall of China.

Except in the case we are talking about the Great Cock of Arnold.

He remembered the days when he used to play for his college baseball

team. Those were good days. After the game they would all shower

together. Their big cocks flopping around as they walked in. They would

often clean each other. They would play all sorts of games, like

shooting their ejaculate over one another.

Embarrassed he shut his liver spotted dick in minifridge's door to

punish himself. He turned towards Marge. Her vagina looked like a

kitten, teeth and all. Arnold looked magnificent his old cock standing

erect, defiant of god's will, hair sticking out of his ears and nose.

He prepared to give Marge the time of her life. This task would be

difficult given the length of her life. It would be one last hurrah if

you will.

Arnold climbed into the lift elevator attached to the bed and pulled a

Mr. Werther's out of his fanny pack. He slid it into her waiting crotch

taco and prepared to eat her liverwurst. As he was licking her wrinkly

low hanging lips he would have to take a break every five minutes to

take a hit off the oxygen machine, "Keeps me fresh" he would yell each

time. Marge was sad because every time she used her machine after that

she would be smelling her own horizontal fishcake for a week.

Arnold loved the way the toffee treat tasted, "It's no use," Marge

yelled, "I can't feel shit anyway. Arnold would be damned if he didn't

finish his Mr. Werther's. It cost him seventeen cents after all. What a

waster Marge was.

Arnold Thought back to the time when he worked at Mr. Smith's Corner

store when he was nineteen. They would get most of their work done in

the morning. Around two or three Arnold and Mr. Smith would go into the

back supply closet when business was slow and they who would see who

can fit a banana farther in their mouth. Mr. smith would often impress

Arnold by shoving n entire snickers bar down his throat. He only threw

up once.

After he finished his Mr. Werther's Arnold was ready for some fun.

Marge prepared by dumping about a liter of flaxseed oil into Mrs.

Sphincter's next door neighbors. Arnold entered her as cheap steak

enters a sausage grinder. The room was filled with the sound of sixty

grit sandpaper against a wooden spoon. Arnolds hips protested to the

continuous thrusting as he fucked Marge for all he was worth. CRACK!

CRACK! CRACK!

After a while Marge began to look frightened, "Who are you? What are

you doing to me?" Arnold didn't want to be caught so he put a pillow

over her face before she cold make anymore noise. "I'm fucking you

whore." He said. He had gotten into trouble the week before for taking

advantage of the Alzheimer's patients and he did not want to be

chastised again.

Arnold finished, leaving Marge in her bed. Asleep of possibly dead, he

didn't care. He popped a Mr. Werther's in to his mouth and left,

Victorious.

Walking back to his room, he stopped at the top of the stairs savoring

his conquest. He didn't feel to bad about Marge, she always embarrassed

him at bingo night, telling everyone that she was his wife. The old

whore got what she deserved. He took one step down the carpeted stairs,

his hip cracking. He tried to move the other leg forward but his hip,

caught in place only buckled. Arnold crashed down the remaining 23

stairs his head hitting along the way, blood spurting like a feng shui

fountain all over the yellow wallpaper. As he lay dying, he thought

this was a fitting retribution. His Mr. Werthers dissolved as he lay

dead.

theres more if you guys want it...
 
ya he needs some serious mental help, i read like the first two paragraphs and couldnt read anymore
 
jeeze. that was disturbing. but i kinda want to read the rest. it like a disgusting youtube video you cant help but to watch in its entirerty.
 
i read it all.

i am now in the process of killing myself, but taking any assortment of pills isnt working fast enough, thus fore i am now in the procedure of hanging myself

good bye NS, and good bye cruel world

 
Ask and you shall recieve:

Lonely, lonely wasn't the world. Painful maybe, but lonely didn't

encapsulate the way he really felt. He thought it was funny, a little

sad maybe. "Sad" he thought, that the happiest times of his life were

also the worst. He had better lodgings now, a better life, but the

years of pain that defined him had now left him behind. Armond, grew up

as so many young children do in the lower Antilles, Destitute, living

from meal to meal, hoping that the next day would arrive and pass with

no more strife and pain than the day before.

Children often left home when they were old enough to work to send

money home for the family. When he turned nine he went to work in the

phosphate mines, that is where he met her. Her name was Coreen. She was

older than him, by four years. Having some maternal tendencies she

quickly took him under her wing. Holding him close at night while he

cried. Consoling him when he was so far from home. He soon grew to love

her, and she him. A sort of platonic love of at first, one that exists

between those who give care and those who are cared for. As they grew

older this changed. Awkwardness manifested itself for every part of

their relationship, both feeling a strong internal desire that they

could not express or fully understand.

Work in the mine was difficult if not nearly impossible. A day would be

about sixteen hours long. Scraping and transporting bat shit off the

walls and floors to be used for fuel. The feces permeated everything in

the workers' lives. It was everywhere. On their clothes, covering their

hard and muscular bodies, in their shanty homes located not far from

the mine.

It eventually happened one day. He was eighteen she was twenty-two, as

beautiful as ever. She carried with her a grace that makes her seem

nearly divine. He still possessed the awkwardness of adolescence. They

were alone in a tunnel that was not being used for the guano. It had

been harvested the month before and still needed more time for

worthwhile resources to accumulate. They often stole away once or twice

during the long day to break for fifteen or twenty minutes. Coreen sat

on a small ledge of the corridor. He turned towards her, smiling

through the dirt and the grime plastered on his face. She gently

gripped his hands and pulled him close. He wiped the bat shit from

around her eyes and gazed into their hazel beauty. He leaned in and

their lips met gently. She withdrew from the kiss with a harsh gasp.

The culmination of their desires was occurring right before her now.

She looked down and saw Armond's enlarged member. She pulled his pants

loose and let them fall to the ground. She grabbed a handful of the

guano and rubbed it up and down his cock, as hard as all of the muscles

on his toned and strong body. He moaned, this feeling being better than

anything he could have imagined while masturbating behind the shanty at

night. The bat shit lubricated his cock while Coreen slid her calloused

hand up and down its length. She guided him inside her. They made love

while she sat upon the guano covered ledge and he stood thrusting in

and out of her cavern, as deep and magical as the mine itself. He

finished while she held him close and whispered in his ear that she

loved him. He loved her too.

This went on the same way for two months. They would meet, once, twice,

sometimes three or four times a day. After that time Coreen Became very

ill. She became unable to leave the shanty, so sick and so weak, she

just lay on her small straw palle. Armond took her to a hospital; a

young doctor saw the two of them, so in love and so helpless. The

doctor had yet to be emotionally hardened by years of seeing the

impoverished die. He decided to help them even though they did not have

money. Coreen died thirty six hours later. The doctor told Armond that

she had toxic shock syndrome. She has gotten a bacterial infection in

her cervix from all the sex using guano as lubricant. She would be

gone, gone forever.

Armond sits alone on a hill overlooking the ocean, behind him the mine

still functions. Young people were still living out the story that he

and Coreen had. He paused to exhale the smoke from the joint in his

left hand he had been puffing on. A bottle of grain alcohol lay in his

right, already half gone. Armond had lived without her for ten years.

He sat on that hill over looking the ocean twenty-eight years old and

finished with life. He left the mine after Coreen died and began

working as a fisherman, barely eeking out an existence. Better than the

mine though. He looked in to the sunset, tears streaming form his eyes.

He still lover her, perhaps even more now than the day she left him. He

put down the joint and the bottle into the grass next to him. Slowly

Armond reached into a paper bag and pulled out the revolver he had

purchased from the old blind fisherman. He lifted the gun's barrel to

his head and let out one last slow breath and pulled the trigger. Her

kiss still lingered on his lips.
 
I assume you meant no more stories. So here are some poems :)

Today will be a good day

As she pulled up her sundress

She sucked my dick sweetly

Tickling my member

Everything felt so good.

Yellow, the color of her bra

Off; now laying on the floor.

Urethra burning, I have to piss.

Really bad.

Slamming my dick into the side of her cheek.

Eating my dirty dick. I stick it in her ass.

Lick it off. Lick your shiz.

Fuck.

Whose to say I'm sick.

Holding my shit and piss covered dick over her.

Over her, my shitty dick drips.

Right into her mouth I plunge.

Eat it, eat it.
 
Love and death in a time of volleyball... marks masterpiece

"Third time's the charm." Eugene Gwandoya said, as he prepared to set

the ball to his star middle hitter Alaina Lampur. They were finishing

up an individual practice on a Tuesday afternoon. Eugene's mind

wandered as he thought about that morning, the argument he had with his

wife as they left the house. She was on her way to work at the day care

center and he on his way to his office, which was in the same building

as the gym. It was about money, of course. It had been a common quarrel

between the two and Eugene was wondering if all the trouble was worth

it anymore. They had not been in love for years.

"I can't get it, I don't see the point of doing this over and over

again if I can't fucking get it right." Alaina had been working on

shifting her weight appropriately while she hit, and could not seem, to

get the move to flow. It was hard for her to unlearn the technique she

had picked up in her seven years of high school ball. Eugene turned

towards his athlete and placed his hands on her shoulders. Looking

directly into her eyes he said, "you can't just give up, changing

things like this takes time." He let his hands linger a moment longer

than he needed to and they both realized it. He removed them quickly,

but to his surprise, Alaina only drew closer. She arched her mouth up

to his and kissed him, tentatively at first, but it soon grew

tumultuous tongue slamming. Swirling and twisting in each others wet

mouths, experiencing a feeling that was so wrong, but yet so right.

They parted and stood looking at each other. The tension was so thick

you could have beat it down with a dildo. "I, I'm sorry" Lampur said as

she slowly backed away from him. Eugene just stood there not knowing

what to say. Alaina had retreated to the locker room, happy to have one

safe haven where she could hide her embarrassment. She heard a noise

and looked towards the door. Eugene stood in the door with madness in

his eyes that could only be instilled by lust. He walked to her and

looked into her eyes. She did not see her coach anymore. She just saw a

man, at the mercy of his own animalistic impulses, no longer able to

resist or control them. He was a slave to his own madness. He pulled

her spandex around knees and thrust his middle and ring finger his

right hand into he majestic cavern. He moved them in and out of her

juicy cunt as her body straightened and collapsed against his. He ran

the index and middle finger of his left hand up and down her slit,

finding her aroused clit, slowly moving his fingers in a circular

motion around it. She shuddered. Her hand had already made it don the

front of his shorts, feeling the hard veiny goliath that resided there.

"I would like to see you in my office." He said, withdrawing his

dexterous fingers from within her. He walked out of the locker room

smelling them. She left soon after, making her way to his office as

quickly as she could, the space between her legs aching for him. She

entered his office and shut the door behind her. She approached her

coach. He shoved his fingers in her mouth, "Taste yourself whore, tate

it." He said. Alaina ran her hands down Eugene's chest, stopping

momentarily to stare into his dreamy eyes. "Set me up baby", she

crooned. "Don't worry" he said, returning her stare and placing his

hands on her spandex-laden hips. "I am an experienced setter."

He rhythmically removed her top, her body glistening with sweat. Alaina

looked at Eugene and whispered, "What if your wife finds out?" Eugene,

lifting his head from her muff, " I'm not supposed to talk with a full

mouth. But she can go fuck that Persian she met at Bed, Bath &

Beyond." Alaina stared into Eugene's hurt eyes, "Lampur" he whispered,

"I'm really digging you. I want to feel you against me. I want to be in

you."

Alaina paused, unsure if she should tread down this tumultuous path. "Ok."

"I need you to do something for me" "Anything" she replied.

"Put me in your mouth." Eugene moaned, displaying his sexual frustration quite visibly.

She pulled down his nylon windpants, making visible his sculptured

nubbin. "Oh," she said loudly, "I didn't know you were that big."

"Lampur," he replied. I didn't get to this point in my life with only

an average sized penis.

Rolling her eyes, she accepted the pork sword into her salivating

mouth. He nearly made her vomit. But she loved it. Eugene thrusted his

sword in and out, matching the rhythms and sounds of dolphins making

love. "Eeeeeeeee," he said, on the verge of exploding. She pulled away,

"Leave some for me, big daddy." Eugene complied and slapped her across

the face with his dangling appendage. She cried out, an ambiguous

scream, one which displayed the dichotomy of pleasure and pain.

He slid down her Under Armour shorts, revealing her lubricated slit.

His fingers traveled, flirting with her special area. She grew excited,

moaning slightly but then quickly containing herself. He inched his

penis closer, unsure when to make his last stand. When it made contact,

he knew. Her vagina was like a stick of melted butter, if the friction

ceased then the moment would be lost. Melted butter, Eugene thought to

himself. Melted butter and I'm lactose intolerant. The irony was enough

to make him blow right then.

"Coach, just go already. I want your rock hard cock, the ball is in your court."

Eugene realized life is a lot like volleyball. First there is the

set-up, then the attack, and then hopefully the dig. If one is able to

do this, then one has volleyed in the proverbial sense at least. But he

was wasting time. He thrust, meeting the barrier that was her tight

vaginal walls. He was nearly blocked, his large member nearly unable to

fit. "OH," she squealed like a pig with it's balls in a salad shooter.

"You really are horny, coach." Eugene sunk his head, but thrusted

further. In and out, the sweat now glistening on both their bodies. She

rubbing her hands on his sculpted chest and he touching her voluptuous

chest. Seconds turned to minutes which turned to some more minutes,

which eventually turned to hours. It was like battle. He attacking with

his nether rod, she defending with her quiver bone. Every now and

again, he would quickly pull his penis from her moistened hole and

stick it in her mouth, screaming, "Taste yourself whore, taste

yourself." Whoever gave up first in this game would not be a happy

camper.

Finally, as Eugene was about to reach apex, Lampur screamed, "Shoot it

on my face!" He pulled out, slapping her vagina and chest, while

stroking his one-eyed monster.

His ejaculate struck her face and chest and he flipped her around finishing his load on her smooth, round ass.

"Suck it off, " he said, in a dominatrix sort of way.

She was about to engage in the sort of grooming that only comes after a

sexual act as this one, when she noticed the looming figure standing in

the background.

Eugene's wife stood in the open doorway, her mouth set in an open gape,

fit for only the largest of cocks to be sucked in (she had a really big

mouth). She walked into the room, her Persian boyfriend following

closely behind her. The door closed behind them. The Persian moved to

the corner pulling a gold butterfly knife out of his pocket and

flipping it open. Alaina walked up to her coach's wife, who she had met

only a few times at volleyball barbecues. Wiping some of her coach's

spunk of her face on her index finger she inserted it into his wife's

mouth and watched her suck it off. Alaina turned the wife around and

threw he onto Eugene's desk while he only watched in amazement. Alaina

tore the wife's shirt off revealing a pair of milky white tits to big

for the constraints of any bra below a double D. Alaina kissed her way

down to the wife's glorious forest and lifted her skirt up above her

head. Alaina began to kiss and lick her luscious lips and clit. The

wife screamed, "My god, fuck me, fuck me for all I am worth. I'm a free

ball, anyone, anyone take me." The Persian stood in the corner; his

pants down around his ankle while his dark hand ran up and down his

average sized cock. He had the butterfly knife in the other, he was

cutting his arm with it. The blood ran down his arm an onto his erect

cock. It pooled in the little nest of black pubic hair that covered his

undercarriage. A definite ball handling error.

As for Alaina, this was no jungle ball. She was taking an inside shot

on the coaches wife and was definitely making an isolated play on a

certain piece of anatomy. The wife called, "Lampur, you definitely get

a service point." As he came and spewed ejaculate into Alaina's face.

It mixed with the come that was already there.

While watching this spectacle and his member grow he had not had time

to see the masturbating Persian move from his corner. It was too late,

Eugene was dealt an underhanded serve as the Persians knife, covered in

blood and semen, was plunged into his throat. The Persian ran out of

the room, his average sized Johnson hanging from his pants and flopping

and he ran. Alaina and the wife sat by Eugene as he lay on the floor of

his second story office bleeding. Making his way towards death.
 
All I have our poems left.

Hickory Dickory Dock

i hope you choke on my COCK

the clock struck two

AND I BLEW

all over your black smock
 
Only hours seem so far away

The smell of her hair

Her arms in mine

Minds reside where they once were happiest

The touch of her lips still lingers

Around the base of my cock

this is entitled: a man reflecting on a summer's eve
 
I don't have anymore but I'm feeling artistic so maybe I will create some more and bump this later. Thanks for the support guys. I knew the haters would fade out
 
that was extremly disturbing!! how old is this dude writing this shit? im hoping its a lack of a maturity thing rather than somethin more messed up
 
your friend should only seek help if he makes comments that are similar to his storys in public places, or to people he is not all that familiar with. But if he is just a normal kid writing intreiging sexual stories, by all means keep him going.
 
Sorry to be a "hater" but my constructive criticism would be that you are a decent writer and you should either write stuff not full of bullshit or make your bullshit funny. None of it was really funny to me, and those stories without any humor fall into the creepy as hell category.
 
ok i thought these were pretty hilarious and the whole fucked up thing kept me reading. I think the strong point is the fact that this shit is so fucked up its hilarious. so my advice would be to make the shit just a little funnier but still keep it really disturbing. and also the who death thing isn't bad because it makes it more serious which makes it more legit. but still hilarious

POST MORE
 
"She grabbed a handful of the

guano and rubbed it up and down his cock, as hard as all of the muscles

on his toned and strong body. He moaned, this feeling being better than

anything he could have imagined while masturbating behind the shanty at

night."

aw come on man this shit is pretty funny
 
whether you or your friend is writing these doesnt matter but i suggest you write a new one everyday...just to get those thoughts out of your/his head and minus the batshit part of that story i actually thought it was pretty sweet
 
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