The sinister truth...
Attention readers of Chuck's blog:
Chuck is gone for a few days. I suppose I should tell you the truth behind his 'business' trip. Obviously most readers of this blog have fallen for Chuck's cover, or should I say his mild-mannered secret identity. Truth be told, Chuck is not all he claims to be. Sure he is married, and yes he met his wife online, but that is where the reality stops in terms of this blog.
Before I get into what is going on with Chuck's life this week (business trip my ass) I should let you know about Chuck's background and how I first met Chuck in the early 1990's in the San Fernando Valley. Back then I was a college student looking to pick up some extra bucks over the summer. With a high IQ and a practice of abstaining from booze and drugs I found that it was easy to pick up a few extra c-notes a month by lending my seed to a sperm bank just outside of LA off the 405.
During those days donating sperm didn't have the social cache that it has now. Sperm donors, or Jack Oftens as we were known, usually kept a low profile and didn't mention our second source of income. There were two reasons for this. First off, if every guy knew that the average sperm donor in the US makes $5000 a year for three deposits a week, then the supply of donors would cause the price to drop. Second, who wants to admit that you jack off for money?
Which brings us back to Chuck; Chuck at this time was also out in LA and struggling to make it as a Grip in the movie industry. Chuck wasn't a sperm donor, but he did use his tool to make money. Chuck, at that time, was working for a singing telegram service as a decidedly inappropriate 'police officer' who would punctuate the end of his telegram by laying on his back and fellating himself in front of the message recipients and anyone else who happened to be nearby.
At first Chuck would just lick the knob a few times and that would be that, but eventually word got out about his flexibility and requests for more onasitic oral attention were made; with offers of money to improve his technique. Soon Chuck would find himself being summoned to Tupperware parties to do his little dance, make a little self-love and go down tonight. Women, in crowds around naked men, turn into crazed fiends. They would hold his ankles and not let him remove his tool from his mouth. They would stroke him while he did it and even finger his pucker in the hopes of bringing him off; and sometimes they succeeded.
That is about when I met Chuck. In the LA area there are self-help groups for nearly every type of peccadillo. Due to my donation routine, I was in the habit of chocking the chicken every other afternoon at two. This habit was interfering with my work as a tour guide at Disneyland and I knew I needed help. Chuck, on the other hand, was addicted to the money he was making self-fellating himself, but was disgusted with the extent that he let his talent take him. So, every other Tuesday we would both head over to the self-sex anonymous group that met in the local Mormon tabernacle.
You would have been able to recognize Chuck at this time by his noticeable stoop. He spent so much time with his knees near his ears that he stood a good three inches shorter than his old height. Chuck wanted help. He knew that he would soon be so addicted to self-satisfaction that he would stop leaving the house. He told us, on that first fateful meeting, that his ideal life would be to live as a side show freak, constantly working on his John Thomas for the delight of crowds. We all knew he needed help.
The rest of us in the group, who were really all just chronic masturbators, knew that were we able to fellate our own fountains we would be in his situation too. Our hearts went out to Chuck and we knew we had to straighten him out, both figuratively and literally. Our course of action was simple. We had to figure out a way to make Chuck never want to take himself in his mouth again; but how?
As we were in LA, the answer was pretty easy to figure out; hypnosis. We had to have Chuck hypnotized to make him never want to blow his own top again. Feelers were sent out up and down the west coast and near San Diego there was a woman who had success in hypnotizing men's wives to love the taste of semen. We called her and asked if she could do the exact opposite for Chuck. She agreed, but in addition to payment, she wanted to watch Chuck fellate himself one last time.
Our group, knowing that we were truly helping Chuck, readily agreed. We drove him down to a little trailer near the border and met this mysterious woman. Once inside we put Chuck on the bed and removed his pants. Then we pulled the burlap bag off of Chuck's head and as soon as he saw his own member he rolled into position and proceeded to bury his nose in his balls. Within a few minutes you could hear him grunting as he took his own load.
The hypnotist stopped her video camera and told us all to leave the room. She worked with Chuck for two days and when she was done, he didn't want to even see his own semen, much less anyone else's. Never again did he think to place his wang in his mouth, which only days before referred to as his 'cock holster,' and those of us in the support group felt very happy that we had done the right thing.
So that is what happened in the past, but why is he gone now?
Last week I got a frantic call from Sue, Chuck's wonderful wife. She found Chuck in the front seat of his car, locked in the garage, using the roof of the car to assist in returning his body to the flexibility of old. Sue rushed in, thinking he might be stuck, and noticed the tell tale signs of a recent deposit on the corner of Chuck's mouth. Panicked, Sue called me and I put her in touch with that hypnotist in the trailer on the border.
So, that is where Chuck is this week. We're getting him straightened out. Next week, I am going to see another hypnotist for making up such detailed lies about my friends.
Your guest blogger, The Good Husband.
Chuck is gone for a few days. I suppose I should tell you the truth behind his 'business' trip. Obviously most readers of this blog have fallen for Chuck's cover, or should I say his mild-mannered secret identity. Truth be told, Chuck is not all he claims to be. Sure he is married, and yes he met his wife online, but that is where the reality stops in terms of this blog.
Before I get into what is going on with Chuck's life this week (business trip my ass) I should let you know about Chuck's background and how I first met Chuck in the early 1990's in the San Fernando Valley. Back then I was a college student looking to pick up some extra bucks over the summer. With a high IQ and a practice of abstaining from booze and drugs I found that it was easy to pick up a few extra c-notes a month by lending my seed to a sperm bank just outside of LA off the 405.
During those days donating sperm didn't have the social cache that it has now. Sperm donors, or Jack Oftens as we were known, usually kept a low profile and didn't mention our second source of income. There were two reasons for this. First off, if every guy knew that the average sperm donor in the US makes $5000 a year for three deposits a week, then the supply of donors would cause the price to drop. Second, who wants to admit that you jack off for money?
Which brings us back to Chuck; Chuck at this time was also out in LA and struggling to make it as a Grip in the movie industry. Chuck wasn't a sperm donor, but he did use his tool to make money. Chuck, at that time, was working for a singing telegram service as a decidedly inappropriate 'police officer' who would punctuate the end of his telegram by laying on his back and fellating himself in front of the message recipients and anyone else who happened to be nearby.
At first Chuck would just lick the knob a few times and that would be that, but eventually word got out about his flexibility and requests for more onasitic oral attention were made; with offers of money to improve his technique. Soon Chuck would find himself being summoned to Tupperware parties to do his little dance, make a little self-love and go down tonight. Women, in crowds around naked men, turn into crazed fiends. They would hold his ankles and not let him remove his tool from his mouth. They would stroke him while he did it and even finger his pucker in the hopes of bringing him off; and sometimes they succeeded.
That is about when I met Chuck. In the LA area there are self-help groups for nearly every type of peccadillo. Due to my donation routine, I was in the habit of chocking the chicken every other afternoon at two. This habit was interfering with my work as a tour guide at Disneyland and I knew I needed help. Chuck, on the other hand, was addicted to the money he was making self-fellating himself, but was disgusted with the extent that he let his talent take him. So, every other Tuesday we would both head over to the self-sex anonymous group that met in the local Mormon tabernacle.
You would have been able to recognize Chuck at this time by his noticeable stoop. He spent so much time with his knees near his ears that he stood a good three inches shorter than his old height. Chuck wanted help. He knew that he would soon be so addicted to self-satisfaction that he would stop leaving the house. He told us, on that first fateful meeting, that his ideal life would be to live as a side show freak, constantly working on his John Thomas for the delight of crowds. We all knew he needed help.
The rest of us in the group, who were really all just chronic masturbators, knew that were we able to fellate our own fountains we would be in his situation too. Our hearts went out to Chuck and we knew we had to straighten him out, both figuratively and literally. Our course of action was simple. We had to figure out a way to make Chuck never want to take himself in his mouth again; but how?
As we were in LA, the answer was pretty easy to figure out; hypnosis. We had to have Chuck hypnotized to make him never want to blow his own top again. Feelers were sent out up and down the west coast and near San Diego there was a woman who had success in hypnotizing men's wives to love the taste of semen. We called her and asked if she could do the exact opposite for Chuck. She agreed, but in addition to payment, she wanted to watch Chuck fellate himself one last time.
Our group, knowing that we were truly helping Chuck, readily agreed. We drove him down to a little trailer near the border and met this mysterious woman. Once inside we put Chuck on the bed and removed his pants. Then we pulled the burlap bag off of Chuck's head and as soon as he saw his own member he rolled into position and proceeded to bury his nose in his balls. Within a few minutes you could hear him grunting as he took his own load.
The hypnotist stopped her video camera and told us all to leave the room. She worked with Chuck for two days and when she was done, he didn't want to even see his own semen, much less anyone else's. Never again did he think to place his wang in his mouth, which only days before referred to as his 'cock holster,' and those of us in the support group felt very happy that we had done the right thing.
So that is what happened in the past, but why is he gone now?
Last week I got a frantic call from Sue, Chuck's wonderful wife. She found Chuck in the front seat of his car, locked in the garage, using the roof of the car to assist in returning his body to the flexibility of old. Sue rushed in, thinking he might be stuck, and noticed the tell tale signs of a recent deposit on the corner of Chuck's mouth. Panicked, Sue called me and I put her in touch with that hypnotist in the trailer on the border.
So, that is where Chuck is this week. We're getting him straightened out. Next week, I am going to see another hypnotist for making up such detailed lies about my friends.
Your guest blogger, The Good Husband.
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