I tripped over something today. It was, if you'll be so kind as to allow me a slight iniquity, a large sex toy. Now, I'm not stranger to sex toys. I know what they look like. Even, to a degree, what they're supposed to feel like. This one didn't have the same vibe that normal adult novelties possess.
When I reached down to remove it from my direct path, I noticed it's oddity: it was covered in sandpaper. Now, far be it from me to judge what Angua does in her own damn time, but I couldn't help but stare at it for a few tense moments, quivering in... well, awe, mostly.
Wait wait, pick your minds up out of the gutter. I told you I wasn't judgemental. What awed me about the sandpaper-covered ***** littering my path was the craftsmanship. I mean, back when I first discovered the wonderful world of autoerotica, I became used to a higher standard of workmanship with the simple things like application of torturous ten-gain sandpaper. I mean, where are our standards when ***** manufactories use new fangled machinery to replace such in-demand artisans? Where's the one-on-one attention, the standards of excelence?
Well, I've still got my first sandpaper sex toy. And lemme tell you, it's no pansy tool: we're talking serious, reliable stuff here.
Wanna borrow it, Angua? It's better than yours, if you're going to perform a Katie.
PS: Supergreen.