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On my tropical vacation last week, I’d somehow stumbled upon this adults-only amusement park called “Erotica Land.” It wasn’t advertised on any mainstream tourist sites, more like a whispered legend passed between hostel-dwellers. Intrigued, and admittedly a little bored, I found myself walking through its surprisingly tasteful, yet undeniably suggestive, gates.
The park was a kaleidoscope of risqué rides and themed attractions, but one particular monstrosity dominated the skyline: a colossal, undeniably phallic structure that twisted skyward. A neon sign at its base pulsed with a name that made me snort-laugh: “The Cocktival.” I couldn’t resist. As I got into the line, a theme park employee, looking suspiciously like a retired burlesque dancer, handed me two items. “For the cream, sweetie,” she purred, pressing a sealed condom and a pair of industrial-strength swim goggles into my palm. My eyebrows shot up. This was going to be an experience.
“Erotica Land.”
When it was finally my turn, I clambered into the seat, positioning myself on one of the rigid, ergonomic saddles that jutted out from the base of the massive, central shaft. The “cock” was certainly impressive up close – a smooth, polished chrome structure that even had textured veins running along its sides. I adjusted the goggles, feeling a ridiculous grin spread across my face.
With a hydraulic hiss, we lurched into motion. The ride wasn’t just a simple up-and-down. It was a symphony of suggestive mechanics. It spun, it tilted, it pulled you back with surprising force, then pushed you forward with a jolt that sent a collective “Oof!” through the riders. Rapid thrusts alternated with slow, deliberate rotations, mimicking…well, a good fuck. Every twist and turn was designed to simulate the motions of sex, making you acutely aware of your own body, and the bodies of the strangers around you, pressed against the ride. There were moments when the acceleration pinned you deep into the seat, followed by a sudden release that left you momentarily weightless, only for the cycle to begin anew.
Just as I thought my diaphragm couldn’t take any more abuse, the ride shuddered to a halt at its peak. A tense silence hung in the air, broken only by heavy breathing. Then, with a deafening POP!, the very tip of the massive structure exploded. Not with fire, but with a torrent. A thick, white, creamy substance cascaded down, raining over us in a deluge. My goggles proved their worth, repelling the warm, sweet-smelling liquid (vanilla, I think?) that coated everything. The air filled with screams and laughter, a bizarre communion of sticky, delighted chaos.
As we descended, slick with “cream,” I peeled off my goggles, wiping the excess from my face. I stepped off of the ride and immediately found myself back in line, ready for another great fuck!
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