As children raised by Wiccan parents who celebrated Samhain in lieu of Halloween for the first 18 October 31sts of our lives, we at Lowbrow want to make up for lost time and salvage any remnants of a proper childhood while we still can. That’s why this year we decided to dress up like our cool, better–looking cousin, Highbrow… only sluttier.
True Life: Everybody Hates Handjobs
Even if your partner is ambidextrous and has double–jointed fingers, or promises to add you on Facebook in the morning, a handjob is never the right answer. Let’s be real: you don’t want to spend the next 4 1/2 minutes asking him if he wants it harder, better, faster, stronger. And she knows her way downtown better than any Theta on a Thursday, so just leave it to the pro. After all, we all know ingesting a shot of protein will do you more good in the morning than waking up with carpal tunnel.
Fast forward past the first 40 minutes of sweaty, titillating DFMO — now is no time to start talking. The sound of dry fingers rubbing your partner’s goods is so deafening that even dirty talk seems like an OK idea. But one person always gets into it more than the other, and it’s a total mood–killer when he asks you to dress up in his mother’s pearls and tell him that you're proud of him. Thankfully, with some good ol’ oral, cock’s got her tongue and cat’s got his.
Ladies, haven’t you seen enough Disney movies to know that every fairy tale ends with a happy ending (read: a blowjob from Mulan in a seedy massage parlor in Chinatown)? Maybe one of the dwarfs wouldn’t be so grumpy if Snow White would have blown his mind instead of just toying with his gems. And gentlemen, we all know you need a roadmap and can’t bear the thought of asking for directions, but she can’t bear another night of futile treasure hunting. G marks the spot, Captain Hook.
More from Lowbrow: Overheard at Penn: Lowbrow Edition Word on the Street: Lowbrow Edition Toasts and Roasts: Lowbrow Edition
