Tag Archives: Playboy

642 Things To Write About #3 : Three People


Once again, a day of being uninspired, so on to number 3!

Describe three people (one might be you) at three ages looking at things they shouldn’t be looking at.

Of course one of them is me! Probably, I would say, all three of them is me, but I was actually not the first person I thought of when I read this prompt.

As my Rockstar is getting on to a more seasoned age, it has come to my attention that his propensity for looking at fine ass has remained untainted. As much as I would like to say he has eyes only for my ass, I am not so naïve to believe he is that unmanned (His balls remain firmly attached to himself, and NOT in a jar I keep on my shelf). Boys like to look, and as I myself enjoy the sport of ogling hot women, I completely understand. However, I do not wish my boyfriend to be the pervy old dude young chics whisper about behind their hands when we’re out and about. So, I must train him to be not quite so obvious about his gawking. (Which may prove harder than first thought considering that eyesight is one of those things that doesn’t age so well…)

The second person I suppose shall be me, as this is my blog. I shall speak of two ages of me, so as better to acquaint you with myself.

I seem to recall a time long long ago when I was maybe 7 or 8, when my friend (who was a few years older than me) and I made a habit of paging through her dad’s collection of Playboy and Hustler. While I found this act to be highly entertaining, it’s probably safe to say at such a young age, I should not have been looking at pictures of women seemingly saying, “Look at my pussy!”

As my Rockstar ages, so must I, and while the majority of older teen girls I see still look twelve to me, there is, on occasion, one or two that I find myself silently lusting after. Oddly enough, teen boys still look like ten-year-olds to me. I believe a rewrite of Lolita with lesbian proclivities might be very interesting. (To be clear, I’ve no intentions of ever acting on such feelings of lasciviousness. I remain a pervy old lady from afar.)

Finally, I shall mention my Rockstar’s Daughter. As I am the adult (haha, that’s still so funny to me!) in charge of her in the day, I should probably be editing what she watches on Netflix. Since her dad allows her to watch a surprising collection of PG13 movies (including Without a Paddle) even though she is not yet thirteen, I see no reason why she cannot watch Supernatural. (Though from what I’ve seen, it’s kinda scary for a kid.)  Whatever the case, nothing’s as scary as all the fucked-up shit she sees when she goes to her mom’s house. I believe hearing her mom threaten to call the cops on her half-sister is more damaging that anything she’d find on Netflix.

Click heres for #1 and #2.

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Pornstar Status


You’ve missed me, haven’t you?

It’s ok. You don’t have to admit it. I know that truth.

Anyhoo, I apologize that your last week has been mostly completely devoid of Sparklebumps entertainment. You know what they say- Misery loves company. Yes, I do.  So my intent is to make you as miserable as I.

Just kidding! I loves you all and want you to be happy! It’s not YOUR fault I suck at making basic life decisions, and so I shall drag myself out of bed to write a post that will (it is hoped) brighten your day.

I’ve always dreamed of being a Porn Star. While this urge has mostly remained in my subconcious, it’s always been there a little bit. Ever since my used-to-be-friend and I found her dad’s stash of Playboys.

I believe my desire to be a world famous Porn Queen stems from my histrionic personality disorder and the fact that I want everyone to look at me! Look at me!!!!! If I think this through a little more, I would actually throw a robe on if everyone was looking at me naked and scream, “Don’t look at me! Don’t look at me!”

I must say though, I believe I would be a huge hit if I ever were to film my sexual deviances for public consumption. (Even bigger than that Kardashian chic.) There would be none of that fake orgasming shit while screaming, “Oh god, oh yeah, right there, baby, fuck me good.Aghhhhhhh!” No. That shit pisses me right off. My sex scenes would harbor only true and legitimate cummings, accompanied by my true and legitimate orgasm squeaking. (Shut up. I can’t help it. And anyway, people seem to like it, so there.)

I would also make sure to only star in porn that carries a well-written story line and stars people with stellar acting abilities. I realize this is generally not the prerequisite for skin flicks, but it should be, dammit. Wouldn’t a movie about a Princess who is forced to be a sex slave while trying to save her country from anarchy be much more interesting than a copier-machine repair man accidentally sticking his boner into the secretary’s ass when she drops that memo onto the floor?

You may be wondering what has inspired today’s post.

A few weeks ago, I wrote a little post entitled Anal Glands, Shrimp Scampi, and Gene Simmons. A few days later I was browsing through my spam and saw that this post had been linked to another website. Being the insanely curious woman that I am, I clicked on the link (though I’ve been told that clicking on spam is a bad thing) and my eyes were immediately met with the sight of a girl bent over get drilled by another girl with a dildo. How thrilled do you think I was when I saw that my post made it on to the Strippers for your Desktop website?  I didn’t even realize this was something I was aiming for.

Actually, I must admit, at first I was completely appalled that my superior writing skills were being linked to porn sites (what would my church family say?), but after the initial shock wore off, I just shrugged and thought, “What the hell? There really is no such thing as bad publicity…”

I have since decided that if the whole “real” writing thing doesn’t work out, I shall be able to become famous by writing daily about anal glands. Maybe someday there could even be a Sparklebumps Channel  that only airs well-written porn starring Yours Truly.

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The Paid Companion


Today shall be the day I confess what I consider to be my biggest fault, and how it almost turned me into a prostitute.

You would think a girl raised in a strict Baptist church and sent to a Baptist school would be appalled at the thought of prostitution. And you would be right. I was that girl, once upon a time. I would not say that my life has been filled with great adventure, but I WOULD say that it’s been filled with enough whatever to completely change the way I look at things.

Long before I married my husband, I promised myself that I would never have sex with someone until I was married. No, I wasn’t a virgin when I got married, in case you were wondering. Now I would tell you that I would never marry someone I HADN’T had sex with. According to the Bible, that’s a sin, but hey, nobody’s perfect. And as far as prostitution goes, my thinking has changed enough from that Baptist girl that I once was, that I in no way judge a person who will perform sexual acts for cash.  I’ve not quite decided on whether it should be legal or not, though I can see the many benefits of making it so. Anyhoo, I’m getting off-track.

I know, you’re all chomping at the bit to find out what my greatest fault is, since it’s so obvious that I have none, right? 😉 Kidding. I believe that any cell phone that takes pictures is the invention of Satan himself. Because, really, who can resist sending nudey pics to horny boys everywhere? I certainly cannot. Yes, you all now know that I am a cell-phone exhibitionist. Perhaps it’s my histrionic personality disorder, or the secret desire I have to pose for Playboy, but ever since I’ve had a picture phone, I have made it a habit of sending nudeys to anyone who requests one. Surprisingly, for not being very photogenic, I’ve taken quite a few nice pics with my phone- maybe because the screen is so small one can’t notice the size of my ass. This in itself is perhaps not a great fault, but the fact that I do this sometimes when I’m in a relationship is. I’m not proud of that fact,  but I have promised to tell the truth in this blog. It may be a surprise to you to find out that this little habit has gotten me in some strange situations.  Moving on.

Once upon a time, I received a text from a random unknown phone number, asking who I was. Being the friendly person I am, I started a text conversation with this person. It turned out this person was a massive, body-building black man who had spent 13 years in prison for shooting a man when he was 17. Yes, I know. I should have been done right then. For the purposes of this blog, we shall call him Darkness, because that’s what I called him. (Taken from a simple-minded series of books by Laurell K. Hamilton I had been reading at the time.) Anyway, the man seemed highly intelligent (from his texts) and I found out it was because he spent his 13 years in prison reading. We sent occassional texts back and forth, and from what he could tell (from my texts) I was a classy lady who knew her shit. To make a long story short, I ended up sending one of my lovely nudey pics to him, which turned his attentions from intelligent conversation to trying to get me to do him.

One thing I must point out here. I have no shame in sharing unclad pictures of myself, but that in no way means I want to screw every guy I send them too. I just like to be appreciated….

After many weeks of dealing with texts from Darkness telling me what he wanted to do to me, (which I ignored) he asked me if I wanted to make some money. This intrigued me, since I was broke at the time (what am I saying, I’m still broke) Darkness informed me that he was the owner of an “escort” business, and thought I could rake in the cash because of my tremendous talent to converse on any subject, as well as my other…assets. I asked him how much his clients paid, just because I was curious, and he said $500 per time and his cut was $350. I pooh-poohed his offer, saying that I would never let a pimp (because that’s really what he was) take that much of my earnings, and anyway, I would charge 3 times that for my services. He said ok, nevermind.

A few days later, he texted me and told me he had a potential client that had been shown one of my pics, and was willing to pay my exhorbitant prices. He said he could set it up for the next day if I was willing, and to let him know.

The idea of making $1500 an hour appealed to me greatly, but the reality that I was in a relationship stopped me. Perhaps it is because I have known so many people that fuck so many people that they’ve just met in bars, or go home with people on a first date, but screwing a stranger for money makes more sense to me than doing it for free. Wouldn’t you say? Anyhoo, I never did become an escort, and I no longer hear from Darkness, but I will always wonder, “Am I really worth $1500?” Because that makes me feel kinda good.

P.S. My cousin says prostitutes have no souls. I think he has no soul for saying so.

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