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Doctors beg men not to masturbate with banana peels

azgreg

Chicks dig the long ball
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Doctors beg men not to masturbate with banana peels

Doctors have warned horny young men to refrain from using banana peels to masturbate — the latest bizarre sex trend circulating on social media.

“It’s the closet thing to a blowjob,” wrote one randy Redditor, who claims “he’s been doing it for years.”

However, Dr. Diana Gill of prescription service Doctor-4-U cautions against the perverse practice. “You could develop a rash and sores on the penis which can be painful and might lead to infection,” Gill told the Sun. Not only that, but she claims a person with a fruit or latex allergy could be more susceptible to a reaction from a banana skin.

Man! that doesn't sound a-peel-ing.

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.......and when you are done you can twist it up and smoke it?
 
I smoked a banana peel once. It sucked.
 
Doctors beg men not to masturbate with banana peels

Ha! That's stupid, plus I still have plenty of peaches left...
 
What about plantains they have more starch and much less sugar. I need to know soon I'm going to the grocery in a bit.
 
Being from the older generation and coming from a country that did not ban books because of there detailed descriptions of ways to masturbate meant that i among others were happily able to be fruitful in our experimentations.
For those poor americans uneducated in the ways of being a boy, an extract from the book, portnoys complaint
On an outing of our family association, I once cored an apple, saw to my astonishment (and with the aid of my obsession) what it looked like, and ran off into the woods to fall upon the orifice of the fruit, pretending that the cool and mealy hole was actually between the legs of that mythical being who always called me Big Boy when she pleaded for what no girl in all recorded history had ever had. “Oh shove it in me, Big Boy,” cried the cored apple that I banged silly on that picnic. “Big Boy, Big Boy, oh give me all you’ve got,” begged the empty milk bottle that I kept hidden in our storage bin in the basement, to drive wild after school with my vaselined upright. “Come, Big Boy, come,” screamed the maddened piece of liver that, in my own insanity, I bought one afternoon at a butcher shop and, believe it or not, violated behind a billboard on the way to a bar mitzvah lesson.
 
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