Home > Woman in a Man's Game > Woman in a Man’s Game

Woman in a Man’s Game

January 26, 2013 Leave a comment Go to comments

By Robin Brox
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I was sitting up in the owner’s box last night at Uncolored Condiment Centre, watching my squad of listless bozo’s fall all over the puck, when I suddenly grew terribly bored. I turned to our CFO, a fat, greying man from the Islands and said, “You ever diddle your wife in one of those giant cushy chairs that hangs from the ceiling?”

He grew terribly embarrassed and clutched his clipboard to his chest. He shook his red face left and right and nervously sipped from a nearby soda. I knocked it out of his fat hand.

“You know what I’m talking about, you god damn goober? One of those giant fuckers made out of bamboo or some shit, installed into a rotating hook in the ceiling? You rally up enough pelvic torque and you can send your old fat barnyard wife there into a mind and body heaven where she’ll ooze and quake…”

He interrupted me.

“Ms. Brox, I…I do wish…” He had a terrible stutter that annoyed me. Plus, he could be a little haughty.

“I’ll grant it’s a little hard to find those giant hanging bamboo chairs these days,” I said, looking back at the spiritless hockey being played before me. “You wanna make sure you cushion them up though. Whatever you find from the factory is not gonna’ have enough cushions. Might as well buy extras too, cause there’s gonna be all kinds of mess…”

“Ms. Brox. I…I need to go back to the…office.” He rose quickly.

I cracked open the laptop. There were about 15 screens of good porn up– I closed about half of them. Then I did a quick search. I found a company in Western Lankville that produced pretty sizable hanging chairs– I could tell there was enough width in the seat to accommodate the stutterer and ol’ barnyard.

I had one ordered and ready to ship before the start of the third period.

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