A collection of reader submissions rejected from Penthouse magazine's elite Forum section...
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For the Young at Heart
My wife and I have long been readers of your fine magazine, and while we rarely engage in the sort of exciting debauchery that appears to be common amongst your younger readers, I can quite confidently say that we have an exciting sexual life that I would like to take the time to share with you. I dare say that last Friday offered a libidinous excursion that far exceeded our usual lust filled forays into the world of sensual desire.

I arrived home from my job at the university, where I had been informed, due to their forced retirement policy, that I would been teaching for only one more year. Thus I was feeling a little low. I walked into the kitchen to see Mavis, my wife, rolling around on the floor, dressed only in a bathrobe with her hair in curlers. "I've fallen and I can't get up!" she screamed. "I think I twisted my ankle." Instantly I was there by her side, trying to pull her up so she could get on a chair. However, either I'm not as strong as I used to be or Mavis isn't as light as she used to be because I simply could not get her upright. I strained for several minutes, before falling on top of her in frustrated exhaustion.

"David," my wife suddenly mused, "Do you remember when we used to make love on this very kitchen floor, fifty years ago?"

"I sure do, sugar-plumpkin," I replied, fondly recalling hours of carnal bliss amongst spilled rice and broken eggs.

"I want you now, David" my wife said, a desperate look in her eye. "I want you this instant. I can't wait another second to feel you within me. Give me your man-love, David. Immediately!"

Well, obviously I couldn't give her my-man love "immediately." I'm a 75 year old man and have long since lost the ability to raise the flag on command. However, thanks to the Bob Dole commercials, I've been relying on our little purple friend and I immediately ran off the bathroom to consume one. Then I rejoined my wife on the kitchen floor and waited for the pill to take effect. Mavis helped pass the time been informing me of the latest adventures at her bridge club.

After about thirty minutes, I was ready to go. Not exactly rock solid mind you, but able to get the job done if we went at it slowly enough and with no sudden moves or surprises. I released Mavis from the confines of her fuzzy bathrobe and gazed upon her naked form. The bulbous rises and heaves of flesh excited me and I struggled to climb out of my jacket and suspenders. Soon we were lost in the rabid pleasures that can only be generated via the confines of the family friendly, church approved missionary position.

"Turn me over!" Mavis suddenly commanded. "I want to do it naughty-style!" At first I was unsure of what Mavis meant. We've long since abandoned anal sex, as a result of her occasional hemorrhoid flare ups. Then I realized Mavis simply wanted to engage me via the rear entry method. Eagerly I groped at her form, straining to flop her over onto the kitchen floor so I might gaze on her delectable derriere. I heaved and pulled mightily and soon she flipped over with a resounding thud. Though her ankle was still swollen. Mavis managed to prop her arm up on a chair and raise herself up on engage my purplish tool of love. And thusly we engaged ourselves for several minutes until Mavis started to complain of back pains.

The rest of the night was comprised of similar erotic festivities until we both tired out and began to watch a delightful Bill Moyers special on PBS. Mavis's ankle had not fully healed by the next day and we had to call an emergency ambulance. I will pass on the well wishes of your readership when I visit her in the hospital today.



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