1 — Fifi
My first night in jail was the worst. I had been in a strip club just hours earlier and I still carried the sexy scents that permeate such establishments: cigarette smoke, coconut lotion, spilled beer, etc. That, coupled with the fact that I once was an international (hand) model, made me the sexiest inmate in the building and my milkshake brought all the boys to the yard. I was chum in the water and within minutes of entering general population the sharks began to circle. I was certain that I’d be sodomized before midnight. I tried to think positive thoughts but, like a passenger on a bus on the verge of pissing his pants who only thinks of the ocean, I could only think about the broomstick scene in “Shawshank Redemption.”

By nothing short of a miracle my butthole was spared when, in some odd sort of mating ritual, the largest inmate in the room brushed past me and squatted in the corner, winking at me and blowing kisses, and began taking a shit. Oddly enough he didn’t pull his sweatpants down to poop. The steaming load of excrement wafting up from his underwear completely masked my eau de stripper toilette and neutralized the sexual desires of the other inmates. The disgusting display of poor potty training gave me just enough distraction to be able to sneak away and hide in the men’s room to formulate a plan.

Standing on the toilet in the locked stall so that I could see anyone that entered, I found myself unbelievably and uncontrollably horny. Perhaps it was my near pornographic prison rape scenario that I narrowly avoided or maybe it was the memory of the inexperienced cat-like busty, blonde dancer from earlier who climbed to the top of the pole knowing no other way to get down than to belly flop onto her wrist from ten feet up or it might’ve just been the drug cocktail I swallowed seconds before the cops could search me but something had all the blood rushing straight to my wang-doodle.

I had two options: walk around prison with a raging boner pointing straight out the front of my pants like I was well-witching or I could take a couple minutes of me-time to relieve myself. The thought of having imaginary sex with a pretty lady on some remote beach sounded like a nice escape from the white cinderblock bathroom walls and fearing for my life. As they say, “When in Rome…” so I decided to doctor up one of those prison pussies (also known as a fifi) I’d read about using the roll of toilet paper. Not having much experience in this department and being completely dehydrated from the drugs, the only means for moistening “the pussy” I could come up with was to soak the entire roll in the rancid piss water I was hovering above. It may sound awful but I’ll tell you what: I’ve been in actual pussies that felt and smelt far worse.

Just as I was nearing completion I heard a male voice near the door say, “Nieratko? You’re free to go.”
“But I’ve only been here an hour,” I replied.
“Someone posted bail. Time to go,” he answered.
“Ok…just two more minutes…”

This Fifi I was sent from Adult Empire is no wet roll of TP. This thing is fancy. It’s made of soft pillow material, has a foam inside that heats up as you get cooking and uses disposable condom-like sleeves for no-mess cleanup. I imagine that these are the types of Fifis they issue white collar criminals at low security prisons. This is like a hipster Fifi; I’m surprised it doesn’t smell like pine. It’s a lot of fun but let’s not bullshit ourselves: this Fifi wouldn’t last two hours in the downtown Los Angeles jail I was in.

And thankfully I didn’t have to, either.

Rating: 9 GetFifi.com

2 — Cal Exotics Padded Vises
Forked River, NJ (the home of the toilet where the infamous Prom Mom gave birth to her baby nearly 20 years ago before leaving it for dead in a trash can) is not far from my home. I recall back when the incident took place every manner of joke and urban legend circulated about things falling out/off of the wonderful women of New Jersey.

Couldn’t find your car keys?

Chances are they were inside some Jersey girl with high hair and low expectations.

My favorite story was the one my friend told me about the gal whose tit fell off while he was fucking her. What he had meant to say was her new implants hadn’t healed yet and the scar tore open causing her silicone bag to slightly protrude. “Yo,” He explained. “I swear her tit was gonna fall right the fuck off.” 20 years later it’s still my cautionary tale to anyone having sex with a woman with fresh implants: Be careful her tits don’t fall off.

My wife had always wanted implants despite having perfect tits. Napoleon Tit Complex, I suppose. I stalled her as long as possible with the promise of, “Let’s have kids first and whatever damage we do we’ll repair.” Eight months after having our second and final child we found ourselves in a plastic surgeon’s office literally weighing out tit options. I had far more questions than my wife, the most important of which was, “Can you put a third one on her back for slow dancing, doc?” Followed, of course, by, “Do we need to be concerned with one of these new tits falling off?”

Post-surgery I was terrified to touch my wife’s new boobs. Aside from her chest looking like she’d been in a back alley knife fight with a bunch of Puerto Ricans there was some lingering concern that her tits would pop off. Thankfully not long after her scars healed Cal Exotics sent me these sturdy chained vises to put my mind at ease. The fully adjustable padded clamps are perfect for all size nipples from mosquito bites to cow udders and the chain is non-tarnishing and nickel-free so I’m able to chain my wife’s tit to her necklace to keep it from falling off without her tit turning green.

Sadly, they only sent one so there is is the outside chance she might lose the other tit before they send a second set.

Rating: 10 CalExotics.com