You’d thought you could get away with it, didn’t you?
But we know...naughty boy!
For your reading pleasure we will present to you a letter that was published by the Dutch version of Penthouse Magazine in 2002. The story was published anonymously, but it is signed 'MvG' and features a pineapple - so you just know it's him. We even called up Penthuise and got permission to post whole page scans of the letter. It is important to point out the letter was originally published to accentuate some spicy pictures of a foxy model. Which means that the story in the letter is not about the lady in the picture, although we would wish it for him. Further, the letter unfortunately does not extend into the juicy pics - bummer. Nonetheless, a big thank-you and much love to everybody involved in shaming our bandmate for his obsession with heaving bosoms. Don't forget Fabio hates you.
Without further ado, enjoy!
Dear Penthuis Forum,
I’d never thought something like this would happen to me, I experienced an event of sexual perfection and just have to brag about it publically. So, I have been lusting after a certain woman for years. I see her every time I go to this crappy little market at the end of the month when money is short. Day in day out she sits on a cheap little plastic chair selling fried fish in a clothing market. And yes, hers is the only stand that sells food there - who does that? And honestly she must be annoying everybody with the smell, but then again... she is gorgeous. She can do whatever she wants. I secretly asked the other merchants about her. Each one told me the same: everyday she sits there, elegantly, in a tight-fitting dress that doesn't show much skin, but does a good job showing off her tight little body. Her hair is covered up too. The only thing you can see are two made up eyes with mascara, eye shadow, lashes - the works. And despite being in front of a cauldron of hot oil and fish all day, the smell of jasmine envelops her. You can even smell it when you walk close by her stand.
Everyone can tell that she is more than meets the eye. Her perfectly manicured hands are as out of place as the rest of her stand and on top of that she seems to be the only one having fun in this crammed rundown place. While other merchants get beat down by the boredom and heat, she is always playfully bopping her cooking utensils to last years pop hits coming from an old radio that is quietly playing in the background. An air of aloofness surrounds her. It is like nothing concerns her, not the little radio that is stuck between two channels and plays lots and lots of static, not the desperate salesman trying to make a sale and not even the petty thieves that wait for a lapse of attention to relief a tired merchant of some bothersome goods. She and her little stand are an island upon themselves. I always knew that I would regret not talking to her. But, until last week I didn't even had the balls to buy some fish from her yet. But money was short again, and I thought - what the hell? I got nothing to lose. Set up for failure but hoping for more, I approached her stand and ordered some fish. She gave me the food but literally nothing else - no smile, no nothing. Begrudged, I sat down and ate my food. I wasn’t able to enjoy it at all. I waited till business was slow to return my plate, the radio played a song called Soak Up The Sun. I made eye contact, grinned like a horse and jokingly said “Do you want to soak up some sun, too?” Her eyes, softened up, and I was sure she was throwing a smile at me under her scarf. It was like something out of a fantasy. We made chit-chat for quite a while as no new customers came to her stand. We talked, and suddenly she touched my hand and said “Let’s go to the beach.” Instantly my cock tented in my trunks. She closed up her stand, I took her on the back of my moped, and we headed towards the beach. She held on to me while I embarrassingly tried to hide my erection and leaned in her touch.
I knew that I've hit the jackpot when she took off her scarf and dress right then and there in the parking lot. It turned out that her parents made her dress like that while working the stand. And just like that she stood in front of me in panty-like bikini bottoms and a sleeveless next to nothing blouse. She had pitch black hair, a gorgeous smile, and I could see her nipples forming into hard little pebbles. Again the moment was right out of a fantasy. I followed her dutifully to the beach. I didn’t swim but rather spend most of the time admiring her gracefully playing in the waves. I was so hard I could barely stand it. She perfectly knew what was on my mind and played it up big time. She let the waves take away her flimsy blouse and flashed bits and pieces of her breasts. It drove me crazy, and my cock stood blazingly erect, throbbing with every beat of my heart. I grabbed her, and she let me know she loved it. She jolted and squealed with pleasure in my touch and immediately began rubbing herself against my blatant bulge. I embraced her touch and kissed her deeply to sample her unique taste. Even now the taste of jasmine still lingered on her. She puckered her lips and began to greedily suck on my tongue while I held her perfectly heart shaped ass in my hands.
As soon as we left the water and found a more comfortable place, she tossed away her blouse and slid down her panties to reveal a perfectly kept bush in the form of a racing stripe. I could think of nothing but how much I wanted to feel my cook drain into the plush warmth. From the beginning she was exceedingly responsive and told me how she wanted it and showed no inhibition to the pleasure she was giving or receiving. Rather, she wanted this moment to be special for the both of us. She reached into my trunks and planted her hands on my mushroom head and started to entice me by stimulating the sensitive flesh. Her gaze locked onto mine as she stroked, massaged and grazed my crown with her manicured nails, while pre-cum spread across her fingers like nail polish. Finally, she asked me if I wanted to be inside her while biting her lower lip. I speechlessly nodded and pushed her playfully into a large beach chair. She receded to the edge of the bank with her legs with her legs spread as if to invite me deep into her. I grabbed her hips and spread her legs to give me the leverage I required to pound her like a jackhammer. Her head turned side to side, she cried out in momentary pleasure and soon giggled “slowly but surly.” Her wish was my command, and she blushed in a thousand shades of red. From this point on she was like putty in my hands, being overcome and worn down by waves of orgasms. Overcome by a passionate exhaustion, she communicated with the desperate language of her toned body that she wanted it faster and harder again. I affirmatively grunted as our vocabulary shrank with every passing second. During the act my eyes closed and thoughts of our possible future invaded my mind. But I forced myself to stay in the present as it was so much better than everything I ever experienced. I desperately hoped that we could be suspended in time and that this moment could last forever. When I opened my eyes I saw her returning my gaze with an ecstasy drunk face. The look of her hazy eyes hit me like thunder and made me not want to miss another moment of her pleasure. Her limp arms lazily worked up their way to her breasts. She kept a hold of them and squeezed them playfully. I reached down with my upper body to suck on them while I kept pounding away at her. My body strained, and I felt it harder to breath in this position. But these breasts needed to be sucked. Her limber body flexed and a groan of animalistic delight announced one last orgasm. I proudly grinned as she announced her ecstasy. She was so wet that I could drown in her juices and I longed to decorate her body with stringy beads of cum. A moment later, while she was in the pleasant state of orgasmic afterglow, she held me closely, and I came deeply inside her.
Immediately a great exhaustion came over me. I fell into her arms and our naked and sweaty bodies seemingly fused into one. With every heavy breath our connection become more real. I practically inhaled her jasmine scent and reflected on how I would always remember this moment even if it would be just a temporary affair. She stroked my hair, and I was unable and quite frankly too unwilling to move. With the sun standing high over the ocean the world went
dark for me and I peacefully fell asleep. I cannot clearly remember what or if I dreamed at all. But I do recall an impression of her smiling and giggling as she walked off into the nearby trees. I woke up in the sand with the sun sitting low above a purple sky. Overcome by her bittersweet departure, I lazily enjoyed the moment as this is the way these things usually end up or, that is what I heard from others. After a while I decided that it is time to head home, but to realized to my horror that I was unable to move. I panicked and desperately shouted out to attract attention, but no sound was able to leave my throat. The world stopped making sense. Even though I felt no pain at all, I could observe my body mysteriously withering away. Within in what must have been an hour I noticed spots and wrinkles on my skin where they were never any. The decomposition accelerated rapidly, and within the next hour a swarm of insects descended onto me. Due to the absence of pain or other discomforts, my initial panic turned into a morbid fascination. My conciseness seemed to exist outside but bound to my former body. Day turned into night and everything would stay this way forever as some creatures must have probably eaten my eyeballs as the decomposing continued. Now, I am dead and realize my mistake. There was a reason the other merchants ignored her. She stole my seed and with it my life force. I don’t know where I am now or what constitutes the basis of my current residual existence. My sense of time has all but vanished since I cannot see, hear, feel, taste, or smell anything. But my impression is that years have passed by now and that my dead body has turned into a pineapple tree. I cannot comprehend exactly how I know this, I just know it as truth in the darkness that surrounds me.
- MvG, via email
The original letter has been printed to accentuate photos of Janice Bendiz shot by Ignacio Gutiérrez.
All photos along with the printed version of the letter belong to Penthuis Magazine and have been reproduced with explicit written permission of Penthuis Magazine and Ignacio Gutiérrez.
Anatomy of the Heads are a work of fiction, so any resemblance to actual events, locale, or persons, living or dead, is merely